MLP Noire: Brushie Brushie.

Three a.m.

It was no longer one late night, but now early in the morning, a tired pink pony sat at her desk, bags under her eyes as heavy as trucks. She was obviously not in a happy mood. The room was quite large with double doors leading into the drab black walled room. Two guards stood Idly, unicorns holding an MP7 and a UMP45 in their magic grasp. The suited pink pony leaned over her desk, pushing aside papers and looked over to the armed guards. The pink pony had gotten quite the wind of the survival of Colgate, backstabbing was not taken lightly among the mafia but the pink pony didn't have quite the force to expend for one mare.

"Tell me, boys. What the FUCK do I do about cleaning up this... This simple... Cleaner pony?"

The guards on either side of the room made eye contact, bullet proof masks covering their confused expression. Don't worry, the question to them was rhetorical.

"You'd think burning her nephews to a charred crisp, burning her house down, and sending two glock armed muscles to put her out of her misery would finish the problem..." she said, the snarl on her face not matching her squeaky tone of voice.

"M-maybe she isn't a big problem?" MP7 choked up after a few moments of silence, then UMP45 added his comment. "Well... Ted... She has a gun and nothing to live for. If I have seen my fair share of movies, that's a pretty bad combination... For the bad guys..."

"Precisely." she pointed to UMP45, giving him a coy little smile. "That's why I would like this bitch dead." she kicked back in her chair, unwrapping a sucker and popping it into her mouth. She hit the call button. "Hey babe, we are going to need a batch of cookies for the smart motherfucker up here."

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(WIP)