Pony Noir: We Crusaders Three

by Commissar Rarity

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Sweetie Belle, Cutie Mark Crusaders
Length: 8846

Noir AU; Sweetie Belle and the CMC take on a job that has an unexpected twist

Set in a noir version of the FiM universe.

Sweetie Belle is part of the CMC, a small gang of orphaned ruffians. They do what they want, and all of Ponyville is their playground. Until one day they're forced to work for the mob boss known as Spike. Sweetie must battle her own demons as well as keep her cool when a job of theirs goes bad.

Published 2012-04-17 21:54:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-29 18:46:21 UTC

I. Beginnings

We Crusaders Three: The Filly's TaleI. Beginnings

My name’s Sweetie. Belle. Sweetie Belle. Celestia, it looks so strange spelled out on the page like that. It’s so strange to be sitting in front of a typewriter and writing. I’m so used to being on the street, causing trouble. Well, there was that time I was a junior reporter for Heartstrings when she got roped into running the Ponyville Times.

 Back when I was just a filly, before I got my cutie mark – how long ago that now seems – I was little more than a brutish thug. Because I was one. With my good friends Scoots and Bloom, I caused trouble all over Ponyville and got into some pretty messy jams.

 I suppose I should talk about Scoots and Bloom now, shouldn’t I? It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… Scoots is a test pilot now, a darn good one. Bloom got married and had a couple kids and moved to Fillydelphia with her husband, Pipsqueak. I always did like Pip, even though we routinely beat the piss out of him for his lunch money when we needed some.

 I’ve talked a bit about them but not about them. Scoots, she’s a pegasus. She could never fly, she just flapped her wings and would hover there feebly, like a chicken only chickens ain’t quite as funny-looking. She always had her mane cut short, a shock of unkempt purple hair coming to a curl in the front. It was kinda silly-looking, but she was always tough and ready for a scrap so anypony who laughed at her learned not to pretty quick.

 Bloom’s just your typical earth pony. I felt closer to her than I did Scoots, on account we had something similar: Our sisters both abandoned us for the same prick. Tell the truth, I envied Bloom deep down inside. Her mane was the prettiest shade of pinky-red, and she always made sure to tie a bow on the back of her neck. When the bow got faded and worn me or Scoots’d lift or buy – usually lift – a new one for her and give it to her.

 Back in those days, Ponyville was Equestrian in name only. The real man in power wasn’t President Blueblood, it was Spike. Babyface Spike. The prick I lost a sister to. Babyface rolled into town one day, as part of the Saddlecian mafia, with his pet bookie Twilight Sparkle in tow. The Saddlecian mafia pretty much took over the town that day, though no one wanted to admit it.

 Then came the War. Stallions were sent off to the front lines, fighting the Griffins and back-stabbing Diamond Dogs. Stallions including my Pa. He died out there, on some godforsaken patch of land. My mother died soon after, of a broken heart. And my sister? She ran straight into the arms of that prick Babyface Spike, leaving me to fend for myself.

 I spent days wandering the streets, looking for a handout. Then I met Scoots, who was at the time a master pickpocket. I later learned she had stolen some bits from the Mayor’s saddlebag, but had been spotted by a copper. She ducked under a gap in a fence and the cop somehow missed that, probably distracted by the thought of donuts. He came up to me and asked where Scoots had gone. I lied and said she headed for the docks. The cop dragged his fat flank off and Scoots popped out, looking at me from the top of the fence. I never could figure how she got up there.

 “Thanks for the save! I thought the Blob there had me,” she said, pushing herself over the fence and landing hard on the pavement. Admirably, she didn’t seem to be hurt much from the impact. “I’m Scootaloo! But if you call me that I will cut you.” Her mood and voice darkened with that last bit. “Call me Scoots instead!” Now she was happy again.

 “I’m Sweetie,” I said after a bit, a little unsure of what Scoots wanted.

 “Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase here,” Scoots said, reading my mind. “I’ve got a proposition for ya. It’s getting hard for me to steal stuff all by myself. I need somepony to watch for me. Y’know, keep an eye peeled for cops and nosy Nellies.” She opened the bag of bits so I could see a glitter of gold, then she shut it lickety-split. “Be my watchpony and I split it sixty/fifty.”

 I ran those numbers through my head, putting the few years I had of formal schooling to use. “I don’t think that comes out right. Sixty and fifty is a hundred-ten. I think fifty/fifty would be better.”

 Scoots laughed and slapped me on the back. “That’s why I need a bright filly like you! I don’t math good. So, fiddy/fiddy? I get the bigger half right?” I gave her an entirely lost look, which just made her laugh. “I’m messin’ with you. So, Sweetie – partners in crime?”

 She extended a hoof.

 It was a few months later we met Bloom. Me and Scoots were wandering the streets on Golden Harvest Lane at night. It was a very stupid proposition, but we were very stupid fillies at the time. Now, GH Lane led to Sweet Apple Acres, the old apple farm that had fallen into disrepair just like the Apple family that ran it.

 “I’m telling you,” Scoots was saying, “Rainbow Dash is just the best. She was gonna be the best Wonderbolt they ever saw.”

 “Yeah,” I retorted, “if she hadn’t broke her wing doing that dumb-rump sonic rainboom.”

 Scoots got some fire in her big purple eyes when I said that. “Shut up, dummy! If she had pulled it off, ponies all around would still be talking about it!”

 “But she didn’t, and now she’s just drinking cider telling everypony that’ll listen that Spitfire has a thing for other mares.”

 That got that mad look off her face, and replaced it with one of pure shock. “Spitfire – whuhuhuhuhuhwhaaa” were her exact words, I believe.

 As I basked in the glow of Scoots looking stupid – which given her manecut wasn’t hard to come by – I noticed another filly walking slowly down the street, burdened down by a basket. She looked really sad, which was bad. Not because of any empathy I might have had – I did have some, don’t get me wrong on that– but because GH Lane was kind of a rough neighborhood. It was filled with Dog refugees and immigrants. It was barely safe for me and Scoots to walk down, much less a depressed-looking filly weighed down by whatever it was in that basket.

 I nudged Scoots and pointed in the direction of the filly, and we both trotted off to meet her. She paused under a street lamp – smart girl – right as her basket fell off her back. The top flew off, and apples rolled across the street. They were small, yellow apples that barely looked fit to eat. The filly fell back on her rump and looked at the flood of apples, big eyes wet with tears.

 “Hey, girl, don’t cry,” Scoots said, setting the basket right side up. “We’ll help ya with these apples. I’m Scoots. That’s Sweetie.”

 I waved at her, and used what little magic I had to gather up the better looking apples and lift them into the basket. Scoots plopped the lid back on and shot the filly her best smile. Even I had to admit she was cute with that grin.

 “Thank ya kindly,” the filly managed after a bit, flipping her pinky-red mane out of her eyes. I noticed for the first time she had a bow in her mane, a dreadful polka dot affair that was more than well-worn. “Ah’m jus’ tryin’ to get these apples to the market f’r tomorrow.”

 “We can help you get it there,” Scoots said. “All we want in return are a couple of those–” I shot her a dirty look. She caught it and gulped, “dee-licious looking apples. Deal?” She stuck her hoof out. The filly examined it, then took it in hers and shook.

 “Deal.”

 “Well, what’s your name,” Scoots asked, sizing up the basket and trying to figure out how to get it to the market without causing a repeat crash.

 “Ah’m Apple Bloom,” the filly said.

 “That’s a goofy name.” I rolled my eyes. Look who’s talking, sweetheart. “I’m gonna call you Bloom-Bloom from now on.”

 “How exactly is that better?” I interposed.

 “It just is, that’s why. You gonna ask Flank Sinatra why he sings ‘Badda-bing-badda-boom baby’ all the time? Shut up and help me with this basket.”

 We somehow all managed to get under the basket, putting the futures of all of our backs in jeopardy. Straining, we started down the street towards the centre of town where the market was.

 “Isn’t there somepony else who could’ve brought these apples to the market?” Scoots asked, sweat beginning to run down her face.

 “Mah brother used to, but he ain’t come back from the war. They said he’s Em-Eye-Ay, whatever that means. Mah sister… She ran off. Ah don’t know where.”

 “Reminds you of anypony?” Scoots shot at me. I glowered at her. If I hadn’t been carrying that heavy basket on my back, I would have hit her. Repeatedly. And hard.

 Instead, I just said, “Maybe.”

 We marched the rest of the way in silence, an hour’s worth of walking and resting and walking. When we reached the market, it was almost day again. We set the basket down and lay down to watch the sunrise. Our view was spoiled by the skyscrapers and lights of the town, but any sunrise is better than no sunrise.

 “Bloom-Bloom, you said your brother was still overseas and your sister ran off. Where’s the rest of your family?” I asked, not realising I had used Scoots’ stupid nickname until the last second.

 “Gone,” she said simply and sadly. I felt a pang of sympathy at this, deep in my heart. Here was a filly, my age, going through the same things as me. Scoots and I could never bond in this way; Scoots had never known her family, she was an orphan.

 “Do you want to hang out with me and Scoots?” I asked, grabbing onto the opportunity to keep her as close to me as possible, as though I were drowning and she was my life-raft. Here was a chance, a chance to be with somepony who understood what I was going through. Bloom looked at me, then at Scoots.

 “Ah gotta run the farm-”

 “You said yourself, everypony’s gone,” Scoots broke in. “They’re gone, Bloom-Bloom. We’re not. You can stay with us.”

 Bloom did her little inspection of both of us again. “What do y’all do?”

 Scoots laughed, a big smile breaking across her muzzle. I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t help myself – I started smiling too! Scoots’ smiles were contagious. “We do what we want!”

 Do I need to tell you what Bloom said? It’s right there at the beginning. We were all together, us, the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

 Oh, how we hated that blasted name! We got that name when Detective Derpy busted us for painting lewd drawings of Diamond Tiara on the side of Miss Cheerilee’s schoolhouse. We were all blank flanks, see, and one of the cops joked that we were crusading for our cutie marks and Derpy thought it was cute enough to write us up as the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Bitch.

 We embraced the epithet with pride, however, even though we decided to just call ourselves the CMC. For a short while, the CMC was a four-pony gang. Then we kicked Pipsqueak out because he was a boy and boys were only useful for beating up back then. Pip never got mad at us for that though, and he became our main source of income by selling newspapers on the corner and then getting beat up by us for the money he made doing his job. I wonder if his parents ever knew that a bunch of girls were taking his money. Probably not.

 It was summer and therefore hot. It was sticky and muggy, and the pegasi said there would be rain in the near future. We had no money and Pipsqueak had hired some muscle to prevent us from beating him up again, so our bank had effectively closed.

 We were bad up for money. So bad up Scoots made a suggestion I still can’t believe she had the guts to make to this day.

 “Why don’t we ask Spike for a job?”

 My eyes widened in shock at the very thought of working for that slimy reptile. I fixed her with my wide-eyed stare and said no thank you I would not work for him only I did it in a much less polite way to which Scoots said well maybe I’ll go on my own only she did it in a much less polite way too. I told her off which led to her jumping me. We scrapped for a bit and she came out on top. The CMC way was to scrap during a disagreement, and we would follow the winner’s suggestion.

 We were going to Spike’s.

II. Ruffian Blues

II. Ruffian Blues

Originally, the dwarf dragon had set up in the tree library, but he had moved to the Carousel Boutique when my sister ran into his arms. The Boutique was now a swingin’ nightclub, no squares allowed.

 The poster on the wall of the Boutique said Haute Couture! Fluttershy takes the stage and your breath, only at the Haute Couture! Oh yeah, they also changed the name to the Haute Couture which was stupid because nopony in the joint seemed to know what that word meant.

 After some clever conniving (begging), the bouncer opened the door for us and we entered the Haute Couture. It was a smoky place, better-lit than I expected. In fact, it looked better than it did as the Carousel Boutique.

 I panned the crowd, looking for my sister. Up on the stage was a lovely yellow pegasus with a long pink mane curled over her eyes singing in a voice that was even more lovely than her appearance. At the bar sat a blue pegasus with a prismatic manestyle – Rainbow Dash herself, I realised – nursing a bottle of cider. I noticed some empty bottles strewn on the floor around her. There’s your hero, Scoots. A lush.

 Over in one corner was a nattily-dressed purple unicorn, reading spectacles perched on her nose as she consulted her adding machine. I had never seen her in my life but I knew who she was – Twilight Sparkle, the only bookie in town and Spike’s pet accountant. Next to her was a pink pony with big blue eyes. Something about her set off my early warning radar and I resolved then and there to avoid her as long as possible.

 My pan slowed as I caught sight of a purple and green lump. No, not a lump. It was Babyface Spike, the Saddlecian mob boss himself. He had a big cigar in his mouth and he was puffing green smoke out of his mouth. Spike watched the pegasus on the stage intently, not even noticing as we made our way to him.

 “Mister Spike, sir?” Scoots asked.

 “Oy vey!” Spike said, looking at us. “What is this, take your kid to the bar day? And what are you guys? A chicken, a marshmallow and a Hearth’s Warming Eve present? Scram.”

 “We’re the CMC. Maybe you’ve heard of us?”

 “CMC? What are you cleaners or something? I got plenty of janitors, trust me.”

 “We’re a gang,” Scoots said in exasperation.

 “Scoots, give it up,” I said. “He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to hire us for anything.”

 “Listen to the marshmallow, Scoots,” Spike sneered, taking his cigar out and blowing smoke in her face. “I don’t wanna hire kids for anything. Go get cutie marks then we’ll talk.”

 “Shut up, I can handle this!” Scoots hissed at me. “Look, we’re a gang. We’ve stolen all kinds of stuff and we beat ponies up regularly.” This was true – we did steal, though it was petty stuff like watches, pocket books and food. And we did regularly beat up a pony.

 “I’m a legitimate businessdragon, kid. Do you want me to call the cops and get you sent to juvie?” Spike stuck his cigar back in his mouth and went back to watching the pegasus – Fluttershy, I guess – as she finished her song.

 “We know who you are and what kind of person you are,” Scoots continued ignoring both my pleas and his disinterest. “There’s got to be some job you can give us no matter how demeaning.”

 Spike laughed sharply. “You know what kind of person I am?” He thrust a claw out, pointing at me. “I know you! You’re Sweetie Belle, the little filly my squeeze left behind.” He pointed at Bloom next. “You’re Apple-something. Apple Cider. My muscle ditched you when her brother bit the big one.” He laughed again. “You really wanna know what kinda person I am, Scootsy? Ask your pals about their sisters.” He waved in the direction of the drinking Dash at the bar. “Ask Rainbow Dyke over there about me.”

 Scoots looked over and saw Dash for the first time. I don’t know how she missed her hero all this time.

 “You know what?” Spike asked, puffing his cigar with the fury of a drunken pegasus general, “Go over there and talk to her. If you still want to work for me after she’s done, fine. I’ve got some crap for you to do.”

 Scoots went over to Dash, dodging waitresses. I shot Spike my dirtiest look and dragged Bloom away before she did anything she’d regret.

 “R-rainbow Dash?” Scoots squeaked as me and Bloom dragged up. Wow. That was the girliest I’d ever heard Scoots sound.

 “I don’t do autographs. Not any more,” Dash announced to the bottom of her bottle. Finding it to be empty, she tossed it to the floor. “Hey, who do I have to yell at to get a drink around here?”

 “I don’t want an autograph,” Scoots managed. I could see that we’d never be done here if she was left to her own devices so I stepped in.

 “Spike sent us over here.”

 Dash said something very rude about Spike that I won’t repeat here. “Is he still calling me Rainbow Dyke?”

 “Yes,” I said uneasily.

 “That rotten little… I drive him around and make sure he doesn’t get his scaly little butt kicked and this is the thanks I get. He calls me names. If anyone’s the dyke it’s Spitfire!” Dash proceeded to suggest that Spitfire should do something that was physically impossible, or at least so I think.

 “He told us to come over here and talk to you.” I was getting really uneasy. I’d learned early on that drunks were unpredictable and not to be taken lightly.

 Dash looked at me, her bloodshot magenta eyes brimming with tears. “I was going to be something. Then I screwed up. And then Spike screwed me. I could be flying again, part of the Wonderbolts, flying up there with Spitfire if it hadn’t been for him. He paid the doctors to ruin my wings, all because he wanted me as his driver.” Another bottle of alcoholic cider was placed in front of her and she leapt on it greedily, popping the lid and practically chugging the whole thing.

 “Now look at me. I’m ruined. Nopony will look me in the eyes. Nopony cares about me anymore, nopony would ever care anymore not you not AJ not Spitfire!” Dash dropped her bottle on the floor, cider spilling everywhere and she slumped to the bar, sobbing.

 Scoots stared at her, jaw slack and eyes moist. I felt miserable. I had never paid attention to the grand tale of Rainbow Dash until I met Scoots. Scoots had a profound love for the cyan pegasus, and her enthusiasm about her idol was infectious. Dash had become something of an icon in my own life too, and now here she was completely ruined and crying in front of me. I felt broken-hearted and crushed at the sight. I couldn’t even imagine how Scoots felt.

 Something clicked in my mind right then and I made a decision. “Bloom, grab Scoots. We’re going back to Spike.”

 We left the broken pegasus there, awash in a sea of misery and booze, and headed back to the smoke-filled atmosphere that was Spike’s table. The dragon looked at us in amusement.

 “So, you met the great Rainbow Dash. She sure is something, isn’t she?”

 “We’ll do your damn work,” I said.

 “What.” Spike couldn’t believe what I had just said. I found it rather hard to as well.

 “But we won’t do it for us,” I continued, not missing a beat. “We’ll do it for her. For Rainbow Dash. If we work for you for a year, I want Dash to go free. Release her from your employment; let her live her own life.”

 Spike scowled at me for a long time. I was starting to worry that he was sizing me up to eat when he finally smiled. “Oy, you’re a filly after my own heart. Okay. And I feel generous today – imagine that, a dragon, generous? Anyway, I feel generous. Not only will I let her go after a year, but I’ll pay you too. Just enough to keep you fed.”

 “Also, I don’t want us to have to put up with my sister or Applejack.”

 “Not a problem, you wouldn’t run into them anyway. My business operates in the back here, and they operate in the front. We got a deal?”

 “We got a deal,” I said.

 He stuck out his hand and I put my hoof in it. I forced myself not to flinch when I touched him.

 That was the day the CMC died, I realised. The day we took that devil’s deal, even if it was for a good cause.

 Spike kept to his word, surprisingly. He kept us paid, and his attitude towards Rainbow – at least what little we could see of it – seemed to have changed. The few times we saw them talk, he treated her with a modicum of respect. She seemed to have improved too. She was drinking less and looked a lot better than she did that day at the Haute Couture bar. Seeing her like that gave me a wonderful feeling of happiness. I can only imagine what Scoots felt as she saw her hero slowly return to life.

 Hero worship is a fickle thing. The idols we build can topple easily, even if we think they’re firmly rooted. Our heroes are houses built on sand, not on rock, to borrow an allegory. We all learned this the hard way – Scoots with Dash, Bloom with AJ, me with you-know-who.

 But I digress. We were getting a steady stream of jobs and pay from Spike. Most of them were simply courier jobs, taking a note to a member of the mob. After a while, Spike took us into his good graces and started giving us harder jobs. Soon we were committing second-story jobs and running courier routes. If you ever heard about the theft of the Cake Family jewels, that was us. I feel confident revealing this as the statue of limitations was up quite a few years ago.

 As I worked more in the back, I got to know the other major players in the gang a little better. The nattily dressed unicorn was Twilight Sparkle and she turned out nicer than I expected, definitely not the type of pony who’d normally work for the mob. The pink pony was Pinkamena Diane Pie, the gang’s chemist. She handled stuff like Mary-Jane and the Big H, so naturally I avoided her whenever possible. The singer was the Fluttershy from the poster. Nice gal, even if her manager was a jerk.

 But for the most part, we avoided encounters with the rest of Spike’s gang, only venturing into the front of the Haute Couture whenever it was absolutely necessary. One of the few times I ventured out into the front, I ended up regretting it. There, walking up to Spike was her. I scowled and whatever reason I had for coming out was instantly forgotten. Blinding myself to her presence, I started for the door.

 “Sweetie?” her voice came over the smoky, dulcet tones of Fluttershy. “Sweetie?”

 I quickened in my pace, avoiding her gaze.

 “Sweetie! I’m sorry!”

 I burst out of the Couture, vision swimming with tears. I chose a direction and ran off, her voice still following me.

 “Sweetie! Come back, I’m sorry, truly, I am! Please!”

 I never looked back. I just kept running.

III. A Simple Job

III. A Simple Job

One day, we finally had It. Our final job. We were to head down to the apartments in Hoof’s End and find a pony named Breezy. There’d a package waiting for us and we were to take this package straight back to Spike and not even peek in it. He promised to pay us double our usual rate so we snatched up the opportunity and set out for Hoof’s End.

 Hoof’s End, for those not in the know, was fairly close to the rougher side of town. Remember GH Lane and the Diamond Dog projects from before? It’s in the same area. It wasn’t the safest place to be, but then again we were stupid enough to be walking down GH Lane in the dead of night, so we were stupid enough to head to Hoof’s End.

 The apartments were some of the crappiest outside of the projects. When we first entered Breezy’s building, I commented that I half-expected it to come crashing down when we shut the door. It smelled faintly of unwashed horses and grease.

 “What was the apartment number?” Bloom asked, squinting to try to make out the number on a door.

 “313,” Scoots read off the piece of paper Spike had given us. “We need to go up two floors, Bloom-Bloom.”

 “Ah know that!” she snapped. “Ah just didn’t know the number.”

 “Uh-huh.” Scoots didn’t sound convinced.

 “Will you two shut up and follow me?” I asked, already halfway up the stairs.

 Room 313. The door was partly open. I looked behind me. No Scoots or Bloom. Rolling my eyes and sighing, I leaned against the wall, waiting for them. After what seemed an eternity of painful, sluggish moments, the other two fillies walked around the corner to meet me.

 I pushed the door open. “Mister Breezy? We’re here to pick up the package. Babyface Spike sent us–”

 There was a dead body. Probably Breezy’s. Lying in a pool of blood, nothing else in the room, not even furniture. Bloom made a strangled noise and Scoots made a sound that was something like “Eeeeee”. The package was nowhere to be found.

 I said the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that could accurately describe the situation we now found ourselves in. It was a very dirty word.

 We did what came natural to three fillies who just discovered a dead body. We ran away screaming at the top of our voices. We had a hideout a few blocks away, so we went there to recover from the shock.

 Bloom was curled up in a ball, shuddering. Scoots was staring out the window, watching the cars go by.

 “He was dead!” Scoots said for roughly the fiftieth time.

 “Yes he was,” I said. I was still processing everything. The words “DEAD GUY” kept flashing in big red letters in my mind. Also flashing: “SPIKE IS GOING TO KILL US”. “Oh, Celestia,” I said. “We didn’t get the package. We didn’t get the package.”

 “Forget the package!” Scoots yelled. “Dead guy! Blood! Everywhere!”

 “Yeah, blood everywhere is exactly how they’ll describe our bodies when Spike is done with us!” I shrieked, my voice cracking. I winced at the sound. “We need to go back and get the package.”

 Bloom had snapped out of her catatonic state and rolled over to look at us. “Sweetie’s right,” she said. “Spike’ll kill us if we mess this up. We need to go back and get it.”

 “Screw that!” Scoots fluttered her wings, eyes wide in fear. “Dashie was right, I should’ve left you guys for the air force academy-”

 “What!” Bloom leapt to her feet. “You were plannin’ on runnin’ out on us?”

 “You were planning on running out on us on Dash’s advice?” I’m certain a vein on my head was standing out. “She’s a lush! I wouldn’t trust a weather report from her if she just came inside.”

 Scoots was about to leap to her hero’s defence when she must have realised it wasn’t worth it. “Fine, let’s just drop it and go get that package. And, uh, not mess with the dead guy while we’re at it.”

 That sounded like a good, intelligent idea coming from Scoots for once, so I dropped it and we started back to the apartment. When we got close to the apartment, we found a rather nasty surprise.

 Cops. Lots of them. And heading the pack, our favourite detective – Derpy Hooves, her eyes crossed, ordering the other cops around. Derpy’s eyes were that way because she had been too close to a perp’s gun when it went off. We found that out later, on a day we weren’t running from her.

 “Oh, crap, Derpy,” Scoots said. “We gotta get out of here.”

 Derpy seemed to perk at the sound of her name, and one of her eyes floated in our direction. She locked on us and turned to face us completely.

 “We better run,” I suggested. We ran. Again.

 “Hey! You fillies! Stop!” Derpy yelled.

 “Where are we gonna go?” Bloom asked.

 “Heartstrings!” I said.

 “That loony detective?” Scoots looked doubtful.

 “Hey, she helped me a while back with that rat problem!” I shot back.

 “Yeah, and then we stole the hubcaps off her car so we could buy donuts. Don’t you think she’s still mad about that?”

 “Maybe. But what’s better – angry Heartstrings or angry Spike?”

 “Angry Heartstrings,” Scoots and Bloom said simultaneously.

 Lyra Heartstrings. The only private detective in Ponyville. She was a nice enough pony, a little brusque at times. She had an office downtown with her secretary, BonBon. We knew Heartstrings because she paid us to help her with a case once. She needed some info, see, and Pip had the info only he wasn’t squealing. She paid us to pressure him, we did – though we woulda done it for free – and we got a favour out of it. And after she repaid the favour, we stole her hubcaps as a show of gratitude.

 And now here we were, looking for her help again. We piled through the door to her suite. BonBon looked up from her desk with a look of distaste.

 “Oh, it’s you kids again,” she said in her thick Manehattan accent. “Lyra ain’t gonna be happy to see youse.”

 “We really need her help!” My words were coming quick now and I hoped she could keep up. “Tell her this’ll be a perfect way to tweak Detective Hooves!” Oh, I forgot to mention – Heartstrings used to be a cop, but she got framed by some crooked detectives. Derpy took her place, and even though she was straight, Heartstrings still hated her replacement.

 BonBon rolled her eyes and sighed before clicking the phone. “Lyra, that gang of ruffians is here to see ya. They need your help tweaking Detective Hooves.”

 There was a pause, and then Heartstrings’ melodious voice drifted from the phone’s speaker. “Send ’em in.”

 We let ourselves into Heartstrings’ inner office, her sanctum sanctorum. The blinds were drawn and it was smoky. Heartstrings leaned against her desk, hoof curled around a glass of Somepony Special. A lit cigarette glowed in her mouth.

 “So, you three came back to see me,” she said, levitating the cigarette away and smashing it in the ashtray. “Wanting my help after you stole my hubcaps.” She lifted her glass and sipped from it. The tension was killing me. “What did you think I would say? Of course I’ll help! How I hate that Derpy Hooves!” She froze, something finally clicking in her mind. “Wait, what did you do?”

 “Nothing!” Scoots yelled in a panic. “We kinda sorta stumbled onto a murder scene and Derpy started chasing us!”

 “Okay, well-” Heartstrings broke off her sentence as we heard a sound in the outer office.

 “I want those fillies!” filtered in an all-too-familiar voice.

 “Oh hell,” Heartstrings said under her breath. Then, louder, “Okay, kids. There’s a closet. Get inside and I’ll take care of Hooves.”

 There was indeed a closet, set off to the left side of the room when viewed from the doorway, which was where we were. Heartstrings shoved us inside and shut the door. The only light to be had in the stuffy closet was a crack we could barely see out of. There also was hardly enough room for one pony, much less three.

 The door to the office opened, and Derpy stumbled in, followed by BonBon.

 “I tried to keep her out but she came in anyway,” BonBon’s nasal voice grated.

 “That’s fine, sweetheart. Go take the rest of the day off.”

 “It’s five-thirty. You’re giving me half-an-hour off.”

 Heartstrings waved her away, and she walked out in a huff. Derpy adjusted her fedora.

 “You got any booze in here, Heartstrings?”

 “Yep.”

 “You gonna share?”

 “No.”

 There was a silence. Derpy turned her head, and one of her eyes rolled in the direction of the closet. My heart skipped a beat, hoping she couldn’t see us through the crack.

 “Where’s the Crusaders, Heartstrings?”

 “They jumped out the window and ran off,” she lied.

 “The window’s closed and the blinds are drawn.”

 “I’m allergic to the sun.”

 “Your window faces east.”

 “It’s a bad allergy.”

 “Uh-huh.” Derpy didn’t look too convinced. “I hope you realise that–” Whatever she said next was blotted out by Scoots and Bloom arguing.

 “Get your hoof out of my ear!” Scoots hissed.

 “That’s not my hoof!” Bloom shot an angry look, I think. Too dark to tell.

 “Shut up you two, she’s right out there!”

 “No, I didn’t,” Heartstrings replied. “You sure?”

 “Found prints in the blood.”

 “Conclusive?”

 “Yep. They hang around there, don’t they? You think they’d have an idea?”

 “Maybe. I don’t hang around them all the time.” Heartstrings sipped from her cup again.

 “Well let’s ask.”

 Heartstrings nodded, and set her glass down. Moving as one, the two detectives started towards the closet.

 “What’s going on?” Scoots asked, right as Heartstrings pulled the closet door open. We tumbled out at the feet of the two detectives.

 “There you kids are. I’ve been chasing you forever,” Derpy said. We were doomed. “Were you running because you thought I was going to arrest you?”

 “Well… yes,” Bloom said.

 “I was chasing you because I needed you for questioning,” she explained. “We found paw prints in the in the blood. They obviously came from a Diamond Dog. Since you three hang out around the projects a lot, I figured you might know of any criminals operating there.”

 All the tension in my gut released at once. I flushed to think of how foolish we were, thinking that Derpy was trying to arrest us.

 “The Rocky Miners,” Scoots said. “They’re the biggest gang in the projects. If anyone’s dumb enough to try to move in on Spike’s territory it’d be them.”

 Derpy and Heartstrings exchanged glances. Then, the police detective flicked her goofy eyes back to us. “Who runs the Rocky Miners, and where does he live?”

 “Fido, and we have no idea. The Dogs don’t like us pony folk much, in case you didn’t notice.” Scoots winked at me as if to say ‘Can ya believe this dweeb?’

 “I know where they might be,” I said slowly. It was true too – I had an inkling of what the detectives wanted.

 “Oh?” Heartstrings looked doubtful, Derpy doubly so.

 “You’ll have to take me along. I know how to get there but not where it is. If that makes any sense.” Again, true. I’d stumbled across a Diamond Dog hideout while exploring the projects. I didn’t know if it was still there, this happened before I met Scoots so long ago.

 “Fine,” Derpy sighed. “Just you, though. I don’t want three dead fillies on my conscience.”

 “Heck no!” Scoots protested. “Either you take us all, or none!”

 “Ignore her,” I advised. “They’re dumb.”

 “You’re not goin’ alone, Hooves,” Heartstrings eyed the pegasus warily. “I go too. You need backup, and not backup on Spike’s payroll.”

 Derpy nodded, fixing her yellow eyes on me. “Right then. Let’s go.”

 I sat in the back of Derpy’s cruiser, the two detective mares in the front seats. I found it strange that their animosity had dissolved so quickly. They seemed almost like friends – like old friends. I pushed that thought from my head and called out directions as I remembered them.

 My mind wandered while I did so. All I could think about, strangely, was the other day. When Rarity… When she came out and surprised me that one day. She had been just as beautiful as the day she left me. Maybe more so.

 And had that been sorrow in her voice as she called my name? No, it couldn’t have been. She didn’t care… did she? Did she actually still care for this grubby sister of hers? Was it possible, even remotely, that she still loved me?

 I didn’t have time to finish this line of thought as we had entered the projects. Heartstrings tensed, keeping one hoof on the butt of her gun. Derpy glanced over at her, not missing a beat when I called out some last-second directions. “Cool down, Ly,” she said. “We’ve done this before.”

 “Not against Diamond Dogs. They’re animals.”

 “So are we.”

 “Well, yeah…” Heartstrings trailed off lamely.

 We travelled in silence for a short while until I saw something I remembered. “Here! This is where they were!”

 Derpy slowed to a stop and peered out at the abandoned-looking warehouse. She and Heartstrings exchanged a brief glance, and then they opened their doors almost in unison. As they stepped out, Heartstrings leaned back in and said, “Stay here.”

 They trotted off to the warehouse, guns at the ready. I sat in the back for a moment. Oh, screw, I decided, I’m following. I opened the door and hopped out, doing my best to slither up to a window unnoticed.

 I shoved my face against the glass, peering in. Derpy and Heartstrings were inspecting one of the many wooden crates stacked up. From what little I could make out in the darkness, the warehouse was full of them.

 “The Big H,” Heartstrings said, levitating a syrette from the crate into the air. The syrette glowed a mint green, casting eerie shadows on the crates and wall.

 “Then it’s either Diamond Dogs or Pie,” Derpy muttered.

 “Smells like wet dog,” the unicorn observed, making a show of sniffing the air.

 “Like I said, Diamond Dogs or Pie.”

 There was the deafening crack! of a gunshot and the whole place lit up. A crate splintered and the detectives ducked into cover. Derpy returned fire, aiming blindly for where she thought the shot came from.

 “Stoopid ponieez! We outnumber you!” came a growling, slightly whiny voice. Must be Fido. More gunfire punctuated Fido’s statement. Heartstrings squeezed off a shot, a lucky one. A Dog dropped from the rafters, dead before he hit the ground. He landed with a wet thump that made me queasy.

“Okay, now we even! Maybe you not so stoopid, ponieez.” Again, gunfire followed Fido’s speech, and once more, Heartstrings nailed the shooter. I guess I underestimated her and she was really good, not just lucky.

 Heartstrings and Derpy scanned the rafters for Fido, guns at the ready. Faster than the eye could see, Fido dropped down, landing on Derpy. The blond mare struck the hard concrete floor, bouncing with the impact. I winced in empathy as Heartstrings pivoted around to face the Dog. She tried to squeeze off another shot, but Fido tackled her, sending her shot wild. I ducked just in time as the bullet exploded the window I was peeking in from. Glass showered me, covering me in nicks, but I didn’t notice.

 I scrambled back up. Fido had pinned Heartstrings, his claws wrapped around her throat in a grim parody of a lover’s embrace. He growled gutturally as she struck at him feebly with her hooves. Her breath was coming in short, ragged gasps.

 The beast atop her snarled wetly, slobber befouling its voice. crack! Fido’s head exploded in a red, chunky mist. Derpy! Somehow, she had recovered enough to shoot him.

 “Nice shot,” Heartstrings rasped, her musical voice hoarsened by the attack.

 “I was aiming for his leg,” Derpy wobbled slightly, eyes even more askew.

 Now that the excitement was gone, I could see the Dog more clearly. His fur – the parts that weren’t mange-ridden or matted with gore – was a bluish-grey. He wore a dark vest and a satchel slung around his waist.

 “Hey hey,” Heartstrings bent down to examine the bag. “What’s this?” She nudged it open, and withdrew a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. My heart skipped a beat. Spike’s package! How was I going to get it from those two?

 “Maybe the girl knows,” Derpy said woozily, cradling her head in her hooves.

 Heartstrings nodded, and the two started for the door, Derpy leaning on her for support. I ran back to the car as quickly as my legs could carry me. Luck must’ve liked the stack of my deck, ’cos I managed to get inside and settled before they left the warehouse.

 The two lurched slowly over to the car, Derpy still using Heartstrings for support. For the first time, I noticed the pegasus’s blond mane was matted with blood. The minty green unicorn was in no better shape, paw-shaped bruises already darkening on her throat. A pang of guilt worked its way into my heart for some strange reason.

 Heartstrings took her erstwhile partner over to the passenger side, and slowly eased her in through the door I opened for them. The unicorn picked the keys from Derpy’s pocket, shut the door and walked over to the driver’s side.

 “What happened?” I asked with concern. I’d originally planned to fake it, but now that I saw the damage, I really was worried.

 “Ambush, kid,” Heartstrings said flatly. “Hooves got the worst of it.” A beat. Then, “Found a package on Fido. Don’t suppose you know what it is?”

 I paused for a moment. I looked at Derpy, lying back on the seat moaning softly. I couldn’t lie. Heartstrings and Derpy got hurt for me, hurt bad. “It’s Spike’s. He sent us to get it from Breezy.”

 “And you found a corpse instead.” There was dead silence. I couldn’t find anything to say, there wasn’t anything to say. “I ain’t gonna screw, kid. Me and Derpy, we been angling to take out Spike for a while. Ever since I got booted off the force, in fact. If I give you the package, will you promise to help me take that snake out, no matter what?”

 I didn’t even need to think. “Hell yes. I hate Spike.”

 “Really?” Her lovely gold eyes glittered at me in the reflection of the rear view mirror. “Then why are you working for him?”

 Dash’s face filled my vision, magenta eyes bloodshot and swelling with tears. “To help a friend,” I said quietly.

 “A friend. We always start so noble and fall so far.” Heartstrings sounded bitter, but that was the last we spoke on the drive back. She dropped me off at the Haute Couture, package in tow. Time to face the music.

 Time to save Rainbow Dash.

IV. Reparation

IV. Reparation

♪ If you’ll excuse an expression I use, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love with a wonderful guy! ♪

 Fluttershy was at the top of her form, dancers were joined at the hip, the air was nothing but blue smoke. It was a good night for the Haute Couture. It would soon be a good night for Spike. It would be a good night for Dash… and for me.

 Spike reclined in his chair, watching the bassist in the band with a hungry gleam in his eyes. A white-hot spark of anger rushed through me. Octavia was a sweet mare, one of the few in the band who ever treated me with respect, and he was eyeing her like a piece of meat.

 I plopped the package down on the table, focusing my long-festering hate in one fiery glare. Spike flicked his eyes to me. He adjusted his hat, running a claw through the feather. “Hello, Sweetie.” The way he said my name made my skin crawl and my stomach churn.

 “Here’s your package,” I spat. “Good ponies got hurt for this. You better not screw the deal.”

 “I am a dragon of my word,” Spike said. “Sparkle’s got your cash. And your crush is free now. Now get the hell out of my nightclub.”

 I was elated, high on success. I barely remember asking Sparkle for my pay. I remember how happy she was when I told her about Dash. I don’t remember what she said.

 I remember Dash. She sat alone in a booth against the far wall, watching Fluttershy, that look of defeat staining her features. I remember telling her she had been set free. I remember her giving me a disbelieving look. For a moment, I wondered if she had truly been beaten so much that hope was beyond her reach.

 Then… she smiled. It was a slow, gradual smile. I found myself matching it. I remember thinking at that moment, she was the prettiest mare I’d ever seen. She engulfed me in a hug, sobbing her thanks. As she held me tight against her body, I felt warmth spread across my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around her and lost myself in a friend’s embrace. It was the best feeling I’d ever had in my life.

 Dash was gone. The feeling remained. I stayed longer than I planned, just sitting there, listening to the music. I was in a hazy, dreamlike state, barely paying attention to anything in the club. And I guess that’s how She found me.

 “Sweetie?” Celestia, I had forgotten just how pretty her voice was.

 I was still too high on Dash’s show of love to try to avoid her. I almost wanted to-

 To…

 To see if I was right. To see if she truly did love me, love the dirty, rotten thief I had become.

 “Sweetie, can you ever forgive me?” I felt as though I had been kicked in the stomach. I.. I hadn’t expected…

 “You don’t – you don’t know what you mean to me. You don’t know how hard this was.” Her big, royal-blue eyes glistened. Her voice was breaking. No, it couldn’t be…

 “I always meant to come back and get you. I came and you were gone. You were gone! Oh, Sweetie!”

 My vision swam. Oh, Celestia! It wasn’t true I refused it to be true! Oh, Celestia.

 “I- I looked all over and you were gone-” her voice caught and she stopped. She looked down and let out a quiet sob. “And then I saw you that day and you ran. You ran. You ran from me! Oh, Sweetie! I’m sorry I left you! I’m sorry I didn’t bring you with me. I’m sorry for running! Oh, Sweetie, please forgive me – please!” She was racked with tears, body shaking uncontrollably. Her mascara was starting to run.

 My heart broke. The lump in my throat swelled, tears started to flow. Oh, Celestia why was I so dumb and selfish? I had only thought of me. Never had it occurred to me that she did this for me.

 “Please say you forgive me, Sweetie,” she whimpered softly, a big tear dripping from her downcast face to the floor. “Please… It’s been so bad…”

 I embraced her, wrapping my arms tightly around her. “Yes! I forgive you! I’m so sorry, I’m the one who was wrong! I ran away when you just wanted-”

 She- Rarity, my sister, my big beautiful sister – she just squeezed me tighter. “Ssh,” she said quietly. “No words.”

 She was right. There were no words to say.

Except…

“I love you, Rarity.”

 And that was it. As ludicrous as it seems, we made up. “Made up”… That phrase seems lacking, given the circumstances. But despite the years of worry and heartache, that one instance somehow made it all better.

W ell, not all. There was still the problem of Spike. I wasn’t around for when Detective Derpy finally took him down, but I was there long enough to see the crumbling of his empire. What happened to us, was, Rarity managed to find herself in the arms of a wealthy politician. He liked us well enough to take us out of Ponyville.

 To say Spike wasn’t happy was an understatement. From what I’ve heard, the moment he lost my sister was the moment his empire disintegrated. Without her, he turned dumb and overly greedy. Diamond Dogs and minotaurs wouldn’t put up with him and started pushing back. The cops got snapped out of apathy long enough to strike back, and that was it.

 As for my friends, Scoots and Bloom… Well, I didn’t see them much afterwards. Rarity was always dragging me around. I later figured she was keeping me away from them. When that happened, I got mad. But then I realised, they weren’t the best of influences on me. At least, Scoots wasn’t.

 One night I snuck out and found Bloom alone in the markets, eating a pear.

 “I thought you didn’t like pears,” I said, trotting up beside her.

 Bloom choked. For a moment I thought I was going to lose her, but then she coughed, and turned towards me. “Sweetie!” She hugged me tightly, like a drowning pony would grab a log.

 “Hey, AB.”

 “Ya wouldn’t believe what happened!” Bloom smiled broadly, so wide I thought for sure her face would fall off. “Mac came back!” Seeing my confusion, she added, “Big Macintosh. Y’know, mah brother?”

 I nodded, memory coming back. “That’s great, AB. But I thought he was–”

 “Dead? Yeah… But it turns out Em-Aye-Ay means ‘Missin’ in Action’. He weren’t dead, jus’ lost. An’ when he came back, they gave him all sorts’a medals and he’s a cap’n now.” Her smile fell a little as she continued. “He ain’t quite the same though… I think summat terrible happened t’ him Over There.”

 I nodded. A few days before, Rarity had talked my ear off about a sweet soldier she had met at a benefit ball. She said he had been in the War, and had lost an eye. Apparently, he had known her prior to leaving. He was a little strange now – well, stranger, according to her – and seemed a little on edge, at all times. I wondered if that was what her brother was like now.

 “He said he’s gonna march up t’ Spike an’ get Applejack back, even if he has t’ tan Spike’s hide.” Apple Bloom sounded awful proud of her big brother. And you know what? She had a right to be. I sure was proud of my big sister now, which was something I had thought impossible months ago.

 “That’s great, AB.” I gave her a quick hug, and quickly explained I had to be back before Rarity noticed. Unfortunately, she did notice, and I ended up in a world of trouble back home. But later that week she met Senator Fancypants, and she forgot all about my late-night excursion.

 I never saw Scoots after my reunion with Apple Bloom, but I heard an awful lot about her. Like I said earlier, she became a test pilot.

 As for me… Well, you know all about me, kid. Otherwise you wouldn’t have tracked me down, eh? Sorry I couldn’t help more with your article. I think you got enough for a damn good story though, even if it’s not the one you set out for.

 By the way, what’s the name again? Tracey? Tracey Lulamoon? Well, good luck, Tracey. I hope you sell your article.