Detective Lionheart and the Rage of the Hornless Unicorn
By
A Renegade Time Lord
My dear Nickel,
Something very intriguing has come up, I don’t know exactly what it is. In fact, I have no idea what to make of it. Which is why I sent you this letter, and not the Guard. I remember your interest in, as you say, odd things. Will you stop by my house at two o’clock this afternoon for tea?
Sincerely yours,
Blue Streak
P.S. You do remember where I live, don’t you? 1529 East Mustang Road, here in Canterlot.
“’Intriguing.’" the red stallion repeated. "I hope it’s not something silly like last time, when you lost your saddlebags in your closet. I suppose I had best get showered and dressed.”
Nickel Lionheart folded up the letter, set it on the table, rose from his seat and deposited his coffee/tea mug in the sink. He then exited the kitchen and mounted the stairs, heading to the bathroom for a very badly needed bed-mane cure. Arriving at the landing, he unbelted his bathrobe, tossed it through the open bedroom door and, feeling the cold morning air wash over his now-naked body, quickly entered the washroom, shut the door, stepped in the shower, and received an unpleasant blast of cold water as a shocking wake-up call.
“Ah! Cold!” He shouted, in a voice that could rival Princess Luna’s Royal Canterlot Voice.
“LIONHEART! SHUT UP!” Screamed a very cranky landlord, an Earth Pony by the name of Rusty Gates.
“Sorry, Rusty!” Lionheart shouted back from his new position, standing on one leg in the corner of his shower, shivering violently, waiting for the water to warm up. He tentatively poked the stream with his hoof and found that it was warm enough to step into and NOT freeze one’s dong off. He stepped into the lukewarm-and-rising water and, squeezing some shampoo from an almost-empty bottle, began wash his wild, white mane into submission, an epic battle of wills, then shaved.
Five minutes later, and miraculously not cutting himself again, he reluctantly shut off the lovely hot water that cascaded down and over his back. Cursing the early morning cold, he slid the shower curtain back, eliciting a rather loud eeeeee from the metal of the curtain rings grinding along the metal of the bar they hung on. In an almost frantic motion, he dashed out and grabbed a towel, furiously rubbing it against his legs to warm them up with the friction. Next, he draped the towel over his head and scrubbed, trying to absorb some of the water in his mane into it.
Wrapping the towel across the chest and back, he opened the bathroom door and walked across the landing to the bedroom to find…Fleur-de-Lis laying on his bed, waiting for him. He froze (figuratively), as the upper-class mare let her eyes roam over the stallion, eventually finding their way between his legs. She raised an eyebrow. “Is that for me, Monsieur?” She asked, in a heavy Prench accent. Coloring (and turning his red coat purple), he wrapped the towel about his waist, covering his nether regions, he made his way about the room, gathering his undergarments and covering himself from the stark-white mare.
“You picked my lock again, didn’t you Fleur?”
She adopted a shocked expression and out a hoof to her chest. “Moi? I would never! Oh, fine. Oui, I did. But, when will you give me your poulains, your foals, Nicky? Here I am, laid out to you on your bed and you stand there, refusing me! Are you a stallion or are you a mare?” She taunted, hoping to antagonize him into mating her.
“Fleur, please. Stop breaking and entering, at the very least.”
“Non. Not until you make me your broodmare.” She said silkily, giving him her very best “Rut me” eyes.
Fleur had broken into his apartment at least six times now, not including this one, each time demanding that he rut her and make her his broodmare, as she put it. It was rather grating. Not the desire to rutted ‘til she couldn’t see straight (her actual words), but her persistence. Nickel snorted in annoyance. “As you wish.” he said.
“Non, why will you not – Attendez, quoi?” Wait, what?
“You heard me. Come back tonight. Then I shall make love to you. Faire l’amour, as you say.”
“…Must it be this evening, mon amour?”
“Yes. I have been called to an investigation. I must go.”
“Is that regret I hear, my dear?”
“Yes, it is, actually. Now, may I get dressed unmolested?”
Fleur sighed massively, then slid off the bed, ears drooping, tail dragging. She trundled down the stairs and out of the door, which she locked behind her.
“Capital. Peace and quiet. For now, in any case.” Nickel’s instincts put a smile on his face in anticipation of the approaching rutting at the end of the day.
Free from the pursuant mare, he bumbled about the room, gathering the remainder of the clothing that he was to wear for the day. Crisp white shirt, black slacks, waistcoat, socks, shoes, pocket watch, jacket. Oh, and a tie, mustn’t forget that, he thought, slipping a blue one from the rack in the closet and looping it about his neck. He knotted it with a few expert tugs. He checked himself in the mirror and, satisfied with his clothing, he took up a brush and ran it through his mane several times, making sure the white fibers of the mane were thoroughly submissive.
“I do believe I shall go get breakfast. Where, though? Perhaps I should head over to Blue Streak’s place early? No, she’s never been fond of visitors coming too early… Still, the stickler for protocol that she is, why would she contact me first, instead of the Guard? That is most out of character for her. Questions, questions…”
Nickel halfway descended the staircase and heard somepony knocking on the door, rather hammer-like in its ferocity. “I am awake!” he half-shouted. Quickly, he hopped the remaining half of the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Arriving at the door, he unlocked it, swung it open and came face-to-face with one of Princess Celestia’s Solar Guard, a grey Pegasus stallion. Upon seeing each other, their eyes narrowed simultaneously.
Lionheart was first to speak: “Lieutenant Razorwing. What a pleasure. How may I help you?” His words were pleasant, but his tone conveyed the exact opposite sentiment.
The grey Pegasus’s steely eyes ne’er left the red Earth stallion’s. “Mail for you, sir.” He said flatly, extending his hoof, offering Nickel a letter. Nickel took it, and the moment he did, Steelwing performed an abrupt about-face and marched off onto the street.
“Mail, from Princess Celestia herself, hoof-delivered by her Solar Guard. Must be important.” He said disdainfully, looking at the envelope in his hoof.
He carried it into the kitchen, tossed it on the table, and sat down in the chair. He gazed at the mail for a moment, very seriously considering firing up the stove and incinerating it. Lost in thought for a moment, he snorted in irritation. “Very well.” He said, reaching for the letter. He took a knife left on the table from dinner the previous night and slit the envelope at the top, opening it. Pulling said envelope from the contents, he unfolded the piece of parchment. Another sheet fell out and onto the floor. He bent down and picked it up. It was on a heavier stock than the parchment, and embossed with a stylized silver sun-and-moon motif. It said simply, “Escort bearer to Princess Celestia immediately.” He turned it, looking it over for anything else. Finding nothing, he returned his attention to the larger sheet and began to read:
Ex- Special Agent Nickel Lionheart,
I require to you to come to the Castle today promptly at four o’clock. The enclosed pass will get you escorted to me immediately.
Yours,
Princess Celestia
“Rather a rude summons. I suppose I should be thankful she didn’t come herself, or send her brutes of guards to bring me before her now.” He said, dreading the upcoming meeting with the regent and snorting.
Conscious of an impending feeling of lateness, he looked up at the clock hanging above the sink. One o’clock already?! Faust, time flies. With that, he rose from the chair, slid the summons and the pass back into the envelope, tucked them in a pocket, and made for the door, shutting off the lights as he did so.
Outside, he dug in his pocket for his keys, retrieved them from the abyssal folds of cloth, locked the door double strong, then descended the steps and made a left turn. Coming to a pair of wooden gates, he threw them open, revealing a blue motorcycle, sleek and modern in design.
He threw a leg over the bike and inserted the key into the ignition, twisted it, making the engine respond with an ear–flattening roar. He revved the engine, backed it up onto the street, letting the gates close in the bike’s wake. Putting the helmet on his head, pressing his ears flat, he mentally plotted his route through Old Canterlot as he throttled the bike down the road. I’ll stop by Donut Joe’s for breakfast. he thought. And by Rose’s Roses, to find Streak some roses. Streaks love roses.
10 minutes later, Donut Joe’s Donuts ‘N’ Joe
“Morning, Joe!” Nickel called out to the baker. Not looking up from the griddle, Joe called back, “Hey, Nick. Whaddaya have?”
“Can I get a dozen single glazed and 6 shots of Coltenhagen Espresso, if you’re not too busy?”
“Coltenhagen, eh? You sure? You ‘member what happened to ya’s last time ya had 6 shots o’ dat?”
“Okay then, four shots.”
“Aight, then. Take a load off, yeah?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Joe. Hey there, Hoity Toity.” Nickel sat down next to the designer. “Good morning, Nickel.” Hoity Toity said cheerily. “You’re not often seen here in the afternoon. What are you doing now?” he asked, a bit intrusively.
“Just getting a bit of breakfast before I see Blue Streak and Princess Celestia. You?” Nickel said, causing Hoity Toity to do a small spit take. Spluttering and dabbing at himself with a paper napkin, he managed to get out, “Princess Celestia? Goodness me. Whatever for?”
“Beats me. All I know of it is she sent me a letter this morning with a hurry-to-me pass.”
“Oh. Well.” Hoity Toity began, before being cut off by Joe: “Your order’s up, Nick! Dozen glazed, 6 Colten!”
Nickel was up from his chair faster than Pinkie to greet a newcomer. He dashed to the order, sat down there and began to eat with much gusto, throwing back an espresso shot as soon as his blank flanks touched the red leatherette seat.
In one minute, he had decimated almost half the entire order (5 donuts and 4 shots) before Joe slid the tray away from him, much to his displeasure. “Don’t eat too fast, Nick. They’re good, but not good enough to choke over.” The baker pony said. Nickel said something unintelligible. Probably throwing hatin’ on Joe for taking the remains of the order from him.
“Swallow, my friend. Chew first.”
Nickel worked his jaw furiously, masticating the doughy goodness with astonishing rage. When he had swallowed most of it, Joe brought the tray back. “Ya might wanna, ya know, taste the food before you swallow, yeah?” he admonished. Lionheart turned red(der). He stared at Joe for a moment, then resumed eating, albeit with less enthusiasm than before.
He finished silently five minutes later. While Joe’s back was turned, he took a pen out of his pocket and wrote “Thank you!” on the napkin then took 15 bits to pay for breakfast and fled the establishment. Somehow, the bell above the door didn't ring when he left, nor did Joe hear the bike start up.
Five minutes later, at Rose's Roses
"Hi Rose!" Nickel said brightly, startling the flowerpony, who was crouching under the table at her stand. "Ah! Oh, goodness. You scared me, Nick." She exclaimed, sweeping her mane out of her face. "What can I get for you? A... rose, perhaps?"
"Two dozen roses, please."
"Two dozen? For Fleur?" she asked.
Nickel shook his head. "For Blue Streak. I'm visiting her early. She doesn't like over-punctuality."
"Ah. I see. Two dozen will run you twenty bits." Rose said. Nickel ponied up twenty bits and lay them on the table. Rose handed hm the roses, then scooped the bits into her hoof and bent to drop them into her moneybag. When she came back up, he was still there. "What is it? Are they the wrong roses?" she asked, afraid she had mistaken her own wares. The red stallion smiled and said, "No, Rose. They are for you!" He offered her one of the bouquets. "Congratulations on your marriage."
Wordlessly, she accepted the roses back. She blushed, staining her cream-colored cheeks as he bowed, holding the roses close to his chest, so as not to drop them. He then turned and mounted his motorcycle and rode off. Rose watched him go, then tilted her head and smelled the roses. They were... quite lovely.
About thirty minutes later, (one forty-five) outside 1529 East Mustang Road
When Nickel rounded the corner at the intersection of East and North Mustang Road, he was forced to brake almost as soon as he rounded, making the bike’s tires squeal. Despite her insistence that she hadn’t called them, the City Guard swarmed about frantically, trying to keep passing ponies from viewing the scene, whatever it was. A deep blue Pegasus mare, Blue Streak, fought her way out of the crowd of policeponies and common passersby and trotted up to him. “You’re early, Nickel. I asked you to come here at two this afternoon.” She said.
“Yes, well, I simply wanted to see your b-e-a-u-tiful face again. My eyes suffer from its absence. A gift!” he said, extending the roses to her.
“Oh. Well, thank you, Nicky.” She said, surprised.
“Should I not have?”
“No, no. I… Ah. ‘Tis just as well, I had no other plans for the day. Not after this…” she said, not sure what to say. “Won’t you come inside?” Asked the Pegasus mare, motioning to her house.
