Blinders On

I was having a delightful dream about some broads I knew back in Manehattan when somepony decided to shake me awake. That was unfortunate. Twins they were.

I rolled out of my bed, rubbing at my eyes and trying to conceal my yawn. Southern Comfort did a double take as she took in my bruised visage. “What happened to you?” she asked, brow furrowed. I was touched, really.

“Fell down some stairs. Some really, really big stairs.” I smiled and immediately regretted it as I felt a cut on my lip open up.

She seemed less than convinced. “You fell down some stairs.”

“Yes.”

“On a train.”

“Yes.”

“Trains are not known for their stairs.”

“You sure? Trains are wonderful machines. They get bigger everyday.” She stared at me. Something told me she thought I was liar, but she was too polite to say it to my face. I stretched and grabbed my clothes. She watched in amusement as I was laboriously doing up the buttons on my shirtfront.

“So not only a hat and a coat,” she said, “but a shirt and tie too? Don't you think you're a little... overdressed?” I could see her point. Nude was the pony standard, but I had a reputation to maintain, after all. Private eyes wore slouch brim covers and long coats and ties. Just the way things were.

We stepped out of our car and began walking forward along the train. Southern Comfort paused as she took in the door to the dining car, torn off the hinges and propped over to one side. The few other passengers were seated at the remaining tables, watching the train crew dejectedly sweep up the wreckage of their once pristine train car. Southern Comfort stared at them, then she turned her look on me. I noticed that the train crew had stopped working to eye my bruises with some accusation. I let it roll off me, like water off a duck's back.

Exasperation crossed her face. “You're really just going to—”

“Yes. Stairs.”

I watched her cradle her head in her hooves. She seemed stressed.

We sidled up to the dining car's serving area, helping ourselves to the complimentary breakfast. Seats would have been hard to come by what with the recent stair-related property damage, but there were so few fellow patrons that we still managed to get a table next to a window. We watched the the countryside lazily pass by as we ate, and I lit up another cigarette once we finished.

One of the train stooges worked up the courage to step up to me. “Excuse me, sir, but there's no smoking on this train.”

I gave him the old evil-eye. “Since when?”

He stared at me. “Since forever, sir?” He motioned at a sign. It had a big “NO” symbol over a cigarette and text about a hundred-bit fine. Good luck getting that. I opted to acquiesce to his demands. I've always been a conscientious sort.

For some reason, Southern Comfort was doing her best to pretend she had no idea who I was. Hard task when she's sharing my table. We finished the ride out with her cradling her head in her hooves.

I was enjoying the silence when I heard the faint sound of music. As we pulled in closer to the Ponyville station I made out what sounded like a full brass orchestra blaring as loud as possible. I looked around, trying to figure out what it was when I noticed Southern Comfort’s smile. Lovely thing.

“What is that?” I asked, as it grew steadily louder. I tried not to wince as it started to get painfully loud the closer we got.

She looked over at me with a big grin. Have to say it looked good on her. “There's only one pony in all of Equestria that would throw a party just because the train's coming in!” She seemed excited. I wasn't. The music became legitimately defeaning as we finally pulled into the station. I gritted my teeth and followed Southern Comfort out onto the platform.

Southern Comfort trotted over to a pile of instruments. On closer inspection it turned out that there was a pony under there, bright pink and poofy. She burst out and stood before us with outstretched arms.

“Hi!” she said brightly. No, not “said”. What's the word... Screeched? Shouted? Made horrifyingly annoying noises with her mouth parts?

“I'm—” She cut off as I shoved my hoof over her mouth. I pulled her in close and stared her in the eye.

“Not. Another. Word. I have a headache and you ain't helping.” My message delivered, I slowly released her.

She stared at me. I stared at her. I knew, somehow, deep in my heart, that the moment I blinked or looked away she would do something to infuriate me. Slowly, I drew my smokes from my coat pocket. There was no movement, and the world was completely silent as we tested our wills against each other. She stood there, with that same manic smile on her face as I lit my cigarette and took a drag. I could feel my eyes starting to water, but I wasn't prepared to lose. So I cheated.

She let out a yelp and fell over backwards with tears streaming from her eyes as I blew smoke into her face. Victory achieved, I permitted myself a sigh, but that turned to a gasp as Southern Comfort gave me a swift left jab to the side. I bent over coughing as she went to help her friend.

“Pinkie! Are you okay? Did that jerk hurt you?” I looked up through a veil of tears as the pink pony was picked up off the ground and fussed over by my previously icy employer.

“I'm okey dokey lokey, Comfort! Who's your friend?” She maintained her happy demeanor through it all. I could feel my eyelid start to twitch. Some things shouldn't happen at six in the morning. Happiness is one of them.

“That's Shank Cartwright. He's a detective I hired to help me with some personal business.” She gave me a calculating look. “Although I'm beginning to wonder if it was a good idea.”

My meal ticket in the balance, I endeavored to make a good second impression. I wasn't much for first impressions, so I tended to rely on the second go around. “Nice to—” I was immediately interrupted as she flung herself forward to dance about me and examine me with a critical eye.

“A private eye? For real? He's got the hat and coat and tie so he must be!” I looked over at Southern Comfort, feeling oddly vindicated. She didn't even do me the courtesy of remembering our earlier conversation, bemused by the pink pony's antics. Rude. “Do you have a magnifying glass? How about a pipe? Violin? Batarang?” She danced her way back to the front and violated my personal space to stare me in the eye. “Did you know your eye is twitching?” she asked with shining innocence.

I was smiling with gritted teeth. “You don't say.”

“I'm Pinkie Pie, by the way. Ooo, are you going to investigate me? Am I perp? A crim?” She slammed her hoof down and looked at me, eyes afire with determination. “You'll never get me alive, copper!” She ran off, laughing all the way. I just stood there, dumbfounded.

I could tell Southern Comfort was entertained. The way she laid on her back laughing was a major tip off. Call it that detective instinct.

See? That's why I'm a private eye.