Be Earwig, ace detective. -Mothballs

Sitting in your office, you ponder exactly your existential position in the state of things. Who are you? You are Earwig, ace detective. What is your purpose?

Well…

If someone had come up to you a few years ago, you’d’ve said the same thing that any other self-respecting leech from your hive would’ve said; spying on ponies and stealing their hard earned love. Nowadays, you spy on ponies and steal their hard earned love from them, and get paid for your troubles. Not much of a step up, but what can you expect when your daily living consists of looking in on stallions to see if they are cheating on their mares? That’s a bit dramatic, really; you’re more into looking into things and prying up the sofa cushions looking for love style of detective work.

That is, you’re a relationship detective. Earwig investigation services.

What are you?

A changeling, obviously. Or not so obviously you’d say - after that huge kerfuffle that failure of a leader made at the big wedding shindig, it seems that folks are a lot more wary of any strangers with bright blue eyes. As it was, a unicorn was what most would see, with wrapped legs, just in case something went sideways- a good backup plan was always better than relying on sheer moxie alone. Also, a fedora. You always have a fedora on your head, for the extra mile of protection. A red fedora. Some might think it is tacky, but really, you don’t care. They don’t have hats, so what do they know?

Why are you?

Woah woah woah. Let’s not get into metaphysical discussion! You are you! Why do you need to ask anything about that?

When are you?

Erm… 3 years or so after that wedding went sour. Mid afternoon, but close enough to being night that the sun is about to set. Cocktail time, in most places, but for those of us who are dirt poor, and by us, we definitely mean you, you can’t afford any cocktail more expensive than bathtub vodka.

How are you?

Delicious with a side of bacon. Or so you’ve been told. Still not sure if she was hitting on you or what. Dragons are an odd bunch. You’re also an odd brunch.

Which are you?

You don’t really know how to respond. You’re pretty sure there’s only one choice for who you are, and you don’t exactly know how that could change (Not in any way you’d be willing to admit to, that is.)

Where are you?

Oh! A good question at last!

You’re sitting at your desk in your office. There’s perfect mood lighting, very noire. That cheap little lamp you picked up from that pegasus throws just the right amount of light to make you seem to be far cooler than you actually are. Let’s face it though, you look a little lame. The bandages are a little dirty right now, and it has been a long day; you’re at the point a little hard earned nectar seems to be looming on the horizon.

You have carpeted your office as well, and for once, thanks to a judicious use of smooth vacuuming, it no longer looks like it was dragged out of an alley way. Which it was. It’s a brown color which you imagine to be chocolate, but is really just a dark tan color. You have some pretty good wallpaper! It’s a light red color, which is not pink, and somehow complements the previous shades. It’s more of a salmon color. Mmm. Salmon. You’ll have to remember to wander down to meet that hawk in the morning and pick some up for dinner; ponies don’t even bat an eye if you say it’s for a client.

What are you doing?

Does it even need to be said? You’re in your office, waiting for the end of the day. You’re kinda torn between seeing if you can catch a nap before you clock out, and actually waiting for the day to be over. The wide brim of your hat makes the former seem more and more likely.

Why are you doing that?

… Pushy. Because you’re tired? Do we really have to ask questions about everything?

...Yes?

Well, that’s how this going to go then. Maybe that shut-eye looks even better now.

Don’t be like that! Well…

Be Spike

You have no idea who that is. You attempt to transform into this mysterious Spike, but all you get is another reason that you should allow yourself to catch a few zzz.

Regardless, you decide to keep being yourself, eying the coat you have by the door like the good friend it is; Outside the sun is starting to set, the slanting shafts catching the dust in the air like some sort of gritty movie film, most ponies will be well on their way home by now, but you usually stay a little later for the stragglers. The question remains, stay here a while longer, or try and wait it out ‘til the end of the evening?

You can almost picture a client squeezing her way past the door. She’d be a dangerous dame, tongue just like a blade in a knife fight, flashing and quick, with a face that’d make a changeling queen keel over. A right femme fatale.

That is to say, just the kind of person who’d drive a stallion away from them, then count on you to reel them back in. In other words, just your type; easy cash, just a simple sleuthing job to see exactly how far astray the poor fella she had hooked had gotten.

You adjust the brim of your hat to take on a more rakish tilt. In this metaphorical scenario, it just seems right. You steel your eyes at the door, preparing yourself for just about anything.

Still though, that nap seems really welcoming, and the day has been rather tedious…

What will you do next?

Author's Note

Comment below to drive what happens next!