Earwig; Ace Detective.

House932: She wonders why you haven't responded to her letter from a week ago regarding a cheese-related murder.

You raise your eyebrow at her as she relates that she’d sent you a letter about this matter almost a week past; seeing that you didn’t do anything about it, somepony’s been going through your mail as well, that’s why she’s here to pass the not on to you.

Seems really silly that she’d bring the note with her to verbally deliver the message, rather suspicious really… You wonder what her angle is.

Mothballs: Inspect the gryphoness before making any further choices; you need to see if she has any tells to what she knows…

You scurry around her, ignoring her heated complaints and threats of assault. White feathers on the face… Check. Purple circles around the yellow eyes that dance over your form like a shifting candle light. Check. Long whip like tail with a tuft on the end like a slab of cotton candy? Check.

Long talons that are sinking into your carpet deeper and deeper as you inspect her possibly a bit too closely? Check.

Beak, ready to plunge into someone like a skydiver in some sort of carnivore’s fantasy? Check.

Well, no glowing blue eyes, no holes, no cheese legs. Cheese. This all goes back to cheese, huh? What a racist way to talk to someone, yet easily adapted to code. Either this gryphon… This…

Oh, hey, you recognize her as a local bully. This is Gilda. She stole your lunch money two weeks ago. Your ham and CHEESE sandwich. Could there be a connection?

You try and use all of your sleuthing skills to figure out this additional riddle. Hmmm...

Keairan: She puts up a side case: If tin whistles are made out of tin, what are fog horns made out of?

Oh...That’s a tough one. Fog, maybe? Nono, that can’t be the right answer. She’s giving you another angry look. Oh, you’re missing something obvious here.

Chewed Pencil: She uses more secret changeling code to warn you of the pony assassins right flying towards your window.... because she is actually.... A CHANGELING!

No-no, that’s not right, You’re pretty sure she’s Gilda. Even tastes like Gilda, though she’s definitely giving you weird looks now; not that she wasn’t giving you much worse looks a minute ago. Can’t a bug taste someone’s emotions without being stared at, geeze.

Just to be certain, you lick Gilda. She gives you an even weirder look and shivers visibly. Yup. That’s a gryphon.

You’re pretty sure that the fog horn had something to do with fire though…

That said, you bob a bit from side to side before asking her what else she can tell you. You can’t believe you didn’t think of that first! You’re starting to think you might be the worst ace detective.

She calmly explains- well, calmly is relative for her, you suspect- that it looks like Canterlot is looking into you for unsavory business practices. At your unknowing look, she rolls her eyes and explains that that means that you are indeed being investigated for being a bug. Frankly, to her, it doesn’t matter all that you might end up being smooshed by the long leg of the law, but a mutual… acquaintance seems to think you need saving.

You figure that’s mighty nice of them, and wonder who they might be.

She tells you to mind your own business in a very polite and straightforward manner and you take her order into consideration. By that you mean you cower because she might hit you.

You then ask her why they sent her of all people. She gives you the same look that a large cat does a particularly juicy squirrel.

It occurs to you that maybe you should just shut up.

After grinding her beak in a somewhat disquieting fashion, she growls out that they sent her because they need to stay hidden from involvement, but they seem to know what’s going on. Also, she may have owed one of them… She narrows her eyes at you and then rolls them with equal impact.

You’re the detective, why don’t you try to figure this out?!

All this hot discussion is making you feel light headed, and your vision seems a little foggy. You feel a bit out of your depth; you’re a love detective, this is more than you’re usually ready to do. Dealing with this hot headed lass has certainly made you sweat, and you feel as though your blood is boiling, just from what she’s told you. You swear you can smell the smoke of the fire she’s lit in your mind. Wait…

Is something burning?

Gilda’s eyes widen and she rushes out of the burning building of your life.

That’s totally a metaphor.

Or not.