The Tip

FLASHBACK 1989

      A local diner diner was receiving some great business. Its two toned red and white walls were a stark contrast from the bright yellow booths. The neon signs around the room flickered; most had a letter in them that wasn't illuminated. The metallic gray floors enhanced the sound of the waitresses hooves. She bore an indigo apron fastened around her midsection. She busily hurried around the diner, taking orders and delivering plates of delicious delectables. She squeezed her way past a few customers conversing at a booth.

     "Did you finish your homework?" A tall, pale blue stallion inquired.

     "Yes." The young colt replied. He was a corn flower blue, a slightly different shade than the stallion, with a navy blue mane.

     "Finish those beets?" The stallion asked.

     The colt glanced down at the plate between his forehooves.

     "Yep."

     The colt's attention was caught by a tray of various sweets across the room. One in particular made his mouth water.

     "Can I have the fudge cake?"

     "Close your eyes."

     "Dad, I don't want to--" The colt tried to object.

     "Now."

     The colt reluctantly shut his emerald eyes.

     "Which letter is out in the exit sign?"

     "The 'X.'"

     "What color is the vinyl?"

     "What is vinyl?"

     "The stuff the seats are covered in." The father scratched the seats with an unused fork.

     "Light orange."

     "Yellow. Close enough. What is the manager's name?"

     The colt thought back to when her first saw her when they walked in. She turned around, leaned down to his level, and..."

     "Rose. Can I have the cake now?"

     The father leaned inwards over the oak table.

     "How many hats?"

     "Seriously, dad?"

     "Soarin, if you want a piece of cake then tell me how many hats there are in this room."

     He thought back when he scanned the room. There was the pony with a biker hat with a coat of arms, the chef hat, a green and yellow beanie, and an elderly mare's sun hat.

     "Does a beanie count?"

     "What do you think?"

     After Soarin gave it a few seconds of thought, he choose his answer.

     "Three."

     "You didn't describe them."

     "That's not fair." Soarin pouted.

     The stallion saw the waitress approaching.

     "Time is almost up."

     "One has a flower, the one that the older mare is wearing. One has a picture of some kind of lion on the weird guy with the crooked teeth. The last one is on the chef."

     "What about the beanie?"

     "A beanie is a cap, not a hat."

     "Alright, open your eyes." Soarin cracked his eyes open. He smiled at the waitress patiently waiting at their table.

     "Thank you." Soarin mumbled under his breath.

     "Wow, that is amazing." The mare commented.

     "It's adequate." Soarin's smile dropped.

     "Get him his cake."

      "I guess I know what you will be when you grow up." She gave him a sly smirk.

     "Oh, I'm never going to grow up, ma'am." Soarin said with genuine confidence.

     In the present, Soarin was now engaging is some more adult activities, making out with a mare he saw in a bar five minutes ago. The dark room he was in added to the mood of the two individuals. They briefly moaned in each other's grasp.

      He desperately tried to toss his keys onto the countertop. It failed, but he didn't bother to pick them up. The mare shoved him against the back of the couch in his apartment. She pushed a little too hard, and it caused them to be leaning over the couch's back edge. Soarin's wings fired outwards in response. His left wing accidentally hitting the tv remote, turning the 42 inch flat screen on. It displayed the weather channel.

     All the while, Soarin and the mare made out. They dragged themselves onto the couch.

     "I knew you were going to be my best table." The mare said seductively, pulling out the hair the holding her long blue and white mane together. She pounced back onto Soarin like a hungry tiger. While in the mare's grasp, he studied the news commuting up unto the television. The news reporter on the screen began to speak.

     "Dune, are the police aware of anything that is a lead at this point?"

     "We're at a loss." The fidgety, overweight stallion said. "We really don't know w-what else to do."

     Soarin analyzed the scene. "Dune" was clearly nervous. He brow glistened with sweat. His wings continuously ruffled.

     "It has been a tough few weeks. We hope that the police will be able to crack this one for us." The stallion's eyes darted around, looking everywhere were the reporter wasn't standing.

     "They are closing the book on the Visions break-ins could be just what the olive branch needed to see things in the wrong direction."

     Soarin scooted over to the right side of the couch and reached for the phone. He grasped it, and the mare halted her smooching.

     "What are you doing?"

     "I'm calling in the police."

     "Is there a particular reason?"

     "I think I just closed a case." Soarin motioned to the TV in front of him.

     "You don't tell me that you were a cop."

     "I'm not actually."

     "Oh...." She sighed.

     "What? You sound disappointed."

     "I just thought, you would have hoofcuffs..."

     "Oh, I have some cuffs." Soarin chuckled as the phone dialed the number.

     "Hello?"

     A voice on the other end of the call spoke to him.

"This is the police department of-"

     "It's the manager. He did it."

"Pardon me?"

     "Uh, the stereo robberies. At the Visions chain store. He is on Channel 8 news right now. His wings are rustling and he is sweating like he was just trekking through the desert. Dead giveaway. And he won't look the reporter in the eyes."

"And your name is?"

     "My name? My name is Soarin... Soarin Skies."

"Is there anything else?"

     "Nope, that's gonna do it." Soarin looked at the TV once more. "Actually the tags on the news van are expired, but that is completely unrelated."

     Soarin abruptly hung up the phone. He grabbed the mare on top of him and flipped her over onto the couch. She gasped, but said nothing otherwise. The thought of the tip now ceased to catch his attention as he made out with the mare.

Who is this girl anyway?