Equestrian Noire: Echoes of the Pastby Stale_CoffeeChaptersChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter OneEquestrian Noire: Echoes of the Past Written by: Quasar Pulse (Collaborated with wizard32363) Chapter One “Attraction is only intense when mystery is involved.” The door stood in front of me--“Night Visions, Private Investigator”, it read. It didn’t really say “Private Investigator” anymore, as the letters had started to fade away, leaving a faded title of “Priva- Inv-igat-”, but it wasn’t that hard to read, or so I thought. Best in the town and I couldn’t even afford to get the name fixed. Still, it didn’t seem to slow anypony from bursting in and demanding I help them with trivial cases; anything from the pointless “I’ve mislaid my keys inside my house” to “my cat is in a tree” (and yes, I’ve heard that one numerous times) was fair game for a pony in my office, but it was my decision on which ponies to deny and which ones not to. But this particular day was different. Maybe the lights were dimmer, maybe the little mouse hole in the corner near my door had gotten a little bit wider, but it was definitely a new feeling to me. Even so, I attempted to brush it off as I creaked open the door and made my way slowly to the desk. It was an old Stallone desk, like something straight outta a furniture catalogue, one that those upper class ponies would sit by the fire reading. Sections of the desk were riddled with splinters and chipped wood that had accumulated over the years, and one of the legs was slightly shorter than the others, causing the desk to wobble with the slightest touch. I had tried to balance it out by placing an old monitor on one of the corners, but that didn’t help as much as I thought it would. If anything, it only made the unevenness of the desk worse. I had just settled in when already I heard that first knock, no, pounding, on my door. The sound reverberated through the room, shaking the dust from the ceiling down onto my nose. I ran my hoof along my muzzle, sniffling as I did so. “Come in!” I snorted, still trying to get the dust out of my fur. The door flew open and hit the wall, causing another load of dust to fall gently onto my nose. I looked up in frustration at the ceiling, then back down at the costumer. There she stood--Miss Pie. In any other time period she might’ve been a charming gal, but rumor spread quickly, and the latest word around town was that her relationship with a “Twilight Sparkle” fell through the roof, and now she was back into old habits that just couldn’t die easy--mainly, drugs. Her once-fluffy mane had been reduced to a mess of split ends and frizzled strands, and the wear showed on her face through leathery wrinkles. I could even see that little white mustache she’d tried to wipe off before she walked in here. Disgusting. “Detective Visions!” she yelled. “I-I need your help!” She had that eager look in her bloodshot eyes, one that screamed “something’s wrong!” Of course, I couldn’t deny her--she had been one of my most dependable sources in past cases. She always seemed to find a way to get necessary information on possible suspects--whether it was by force or by selling her most well-known drug, PTSD. At first, I had thought that the PTSD she was talking about was that term used by doctors to describe the condition that most war veterans had, but I later learned what it actually stood for--“Pinkie’s Totally Satisfying Drug”. Now, I had never tried the drug before, so I was unaware of the effects apart from what I had heard from other ponies, and from what I had heard, the effects were certainly life-changing. Anyway, something about Miss Pie’s demeanor gave me an idea of just how much she needed my help. You know that feeling you get when somebody who is hardly trustable asks for your assistance, and you can’t help but say yes for some unexplainable reason? Yeah, that’s the one I was getting. “Well,” I said, “it depends on what you need from me.” She looked at me with that look that just says, “Are you implying something?” I simply looked back down at my desk and shuffled some papers around, waiting for some form of response from her. For once, she was quiet, which was odd since she was quite the talkative gal. It seemed like she always had something to say, even when she didn’t. A cool silence lingered in the air, only to be broken by the sound of papers moving along my desk. I never did like silence. It wasn’t that it was too quiet--it was because silence never meant anything good. In many cases, silence meant trouble, and as ironic as it may sound I don’t like trouble. In that moment of quietude I deduced two things: one, this had to be a serious case, as Miss Pie was never one to stop gossiping; and two, I was definitely going to accept this mission. When I finally managed to get my eyes to look up, Miss Pie’s pupils locked onto mine, and in one swift motion she was on the floor in tears. “I-I’m afraid for Limelight, detective! I went by her house today and she wasn’t there and it was all messy and ransacked and I thought I saw blood but it could’ve been chocolate syrup and I nee-” “Alright Miss Pie, I’m going to have to stop you there,” I interrupted. No wonder Miss Sparkle broke the relationship--Miss Pie didn’t seem to be in the right state of mind. She did mention trouble at a house, though, so my first plan would be to search the residence. If there were any signs of trouble, I would be able to find out about it at the scene. I continued on with my little talk: “Now Miss Pie, you seem a bit distressed and all-around tired. Why don’t you go home and rest, get yourself all washed up, and I’ll go check it out for you. Would that help?” She nodded, a blank stare upon her face, and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. Once again, a cool stillness lingered in the air and I shuddered. I got up and walked towards the door, hesitating briefly before opening it. I poked my head around the frame and gave the hall a quick look as if expecting somepony to show up--not that I was in the first place, but it was nice to give myself something to do as opposed to sitting at the desk. The office building was bland. There wasn’t a whole lot that made it pop. It was like something out of a horror movie really. Throughout the second floor, which I paced often to set my mind straight, shattered glass scattered the floors and old bulbs flickered on and off as the last bits of their energy faded. Every now and then, a train would go by the windows on the fourth floor, shaking the building enough to where a lot of the items on my desk ended up falling and I had to replace them. All the floors after the fifth were where the bums stayed. Random ponies off the streets that had nowhere else to go came crawling to the building in search of shelter and help. Of course, the building’s only permanent resident, Granny Smith, took them under her metaphorical wing and watched after them. She even had the tenacity to let them stay in many of the empty rooms that occupied floors six through eight. Most ponies who walked by the building turned a slight shade of green. Maybe it was that old, musty smell the building had--maybe it was the scent of unbathed ponies. Whatever it was, it certainly made most ponies sick to their stomachs. Not me, though. When I had first come by the building, I didn’t pay attention to its flaws. What I saw was an opportunity--an opportunity to make my life (and the lives of everypony else in Manehattan) better. I stepped into the hallway and turned in the direction of the stairs. It was a fairly short hallway, maybe a good fifty hoofsteps in length, but my office was the only actual room on the floor, so of course the hallway wouldn’t be too long. I had thought about painting the place with a wine-like color, so as to accent the old, dusty red carpet that lined the floor, but I never actually got around to it. I was always too busy for my own good, and I didn’t get paid nearly enough to do it. “But,” I sighed in response to my own thoughts of frustration, “that’s just way things are. Never make enough, and yet, always have enough to get by.” I heard the flapping of wings before I even saw her. They were beating fast, stopping only to maneuver around the corners of the stairwell--at least, that’s what I assumed. “Visions!” an angry voice cried from down below. I smirked. It was the notorious voice of the head of the Manehattan Police Department, Rainbow Dash. She didn’t necessarily like me, mainly because I went against the law and did my own thing as opposed to coming to the department with cases. I couldn’t blame her; I’d be unpleasant towards myself if I were taking all of the good cases too. A flash of blue came blazing up the stairwell and was halted only by the wall opposite of it. I smirked yet again and walked over to the cyan heap. “Commissioner Dash--or should I say Crash--what a surprise to see you,” I said. “Let me guess, you’ve already gotten the news that I took on the missing pony case?” The lump of fluff didn’t move; it simply lay there, breathing slowly. Her mane looked dull for once, which took me by surprise, as it usually had a radiant glow to it. The red looked almost pink; the orange, peach; the yellow, a lighter yellow; the blue, a periwinkle; the purple, a grayish-violet; and the green, a yellow-green. If anything, all of the stress that came with being the commissioner must’ve been taking its toll on the once-glowing mare. After a long pause of utter silence--apart from the rattling in the air ducts--the mare looked up, her forehead creased, with the only part of her that I truly liked, her magenta eyes, glaring at me. The rest of her body stayed where it was, unmoving. “Of course I got the news,” she muttered with a muffled tone. “Why else do ya think I would have shown up?” “Oh, I don’t know,” I teased, “maybe to congratulate me on stealing yet another one of your cases? I seem to be getting pretty good at it, wouldn’t ya say?” Dash stood up and brushed herself off with her wings. Some of the feathers were astray, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She simply shrugged it off and mumbled something about having to preen herself later. “Look, Visions,” she scoffed. “Don’t be gettin’ cocky with me. You and I both know that I have the ability to lock ya up for going against the law, so don’t test me.” She wasn’t wrong about having the ability to lock me up. After all, everything that I did went against the law, all the way down to owning the paper clip that was holding the manilla folder with paperwork from past clients together. The only reason that Dash didn’t ever lock me up was the many nights that we spent alone in her apartment, tangled up in the sheets. The first night was still fresh in my mind, as if it was the first and only time our flowers had bloomed. “...some kind of special privileges?” She was berating me once again. What was her problem? All I asked for was a little detective work. A stern look crossed my face. “Is it because I’m a mare in a stallion’s society, miss? I can assure you, if that’s what you think is wrong with me, then your sheath is showing.” Maybe it was that I constantly berated her, and she had had enough of it. Her moans met with the floor, and the clap of her front hooves against wood were loud enough to wake the ponies below. She turned to me, face flushed with anger, adrenaline, murder. And was that a twinge of excitement I caught twinkling in her eyes? It was her turn to yell, to berate, to destroy my will to live. “And what do you think your ‘detective’ work will ever accomplish, Miss Visions!? All you think it takes is a badge and a magnifying glass. You couldn’t give a buck less about the rules of this society, and your constant eloping around this town is well known. Nopony would come to you for a nickel, let alone some damn police work!” Well that was all it took, wasn’t it? I bit my lip, expecting more out of her. She was panting softly, throwing her hat away, sweat drops flying from the rim of the blue cap. “Just… out.” “Huh?” “Get. Out. And if you even think about dropping a flyer for your services, I will see to your arrest personally.” I couldn’t take it much more. As soon as she looked back at me, eyes drooped and wings flaccid, I knew what I wanted. I knew what had to be done. I turned to the door, lighting up my horn, but it wasn’t the door I was entranced with. Against her kicks and demeaning words she floated in front of me. She yelled once more in rage. “And just what do-” But her words were cut off, her mind was shut down, as soon as my lips met hers. The sparks were instant. I turned to look at the bed, then back to look into her eyes. She gulped, looking away. “This isn-” Again I stopped her, and like all flies to honey, she was mine. She was still blubbering on when I came out of my reveries, and I only caught the final words of what was probably a boring speech. “...and furthermore, I just want your help.” Now that perked my ears up. “Help?” I narrowed my eyes to her. What was her game? “You’ve only just heard about this. You’re playing an angle, and I want to know it. Now.” “Just heard about it? Uh, yeah, that’s true, yeah.” Suspicion. That’s when it hit me. “How long?” “A week, now, and there’s jack squat in the files, around the streets none a the ponies know anything, we’re screwed, V, screwed!” So the police knew nothing and were desperate. How cliche. If only this were a novel. “You know I don’t come… cheap.” I winked at her, turning my back. “Yeah yeah, I’ll save your plots. Again.” I didn’t say another word as I walked away, leaving her speechless, more or less. She was mumbling little angry words as always, a cute little inflection I left when I left her hanging. She kicked the wall, I could hear it. I responded with a calm resolution to the conversation: “And if you harm my hallway, it’s the chains tonight.” I giggled--she knew I was far from serious. We only saw each other on Wednesdays. Chapter TwoChapter Two “Ignorance is cute in small doses.” The streets of Manehattan were always bustling with some form of life, whether it was the usual prostitute or a member of the mafia. Today, there was a particularly young group of harlots across the street eyeing me. Now, if it was the commissioner, I wouldn’t have minded; however, something about call ponies in general sickened me. Maybe it was the fact that they sold their bodies to willing stallions (or mares, depending on which way their barn door swung); maybe it was just how filthy they were. Either way, I couldn’t care--in my head, they were nothing but a nuisance. I looked up and let the rain slowly fall upon my face. There was something about the feeling that I craved. I had spent many an hour in the shower just letting the beads of water roll across my body, sighing in complete bliss at the sensation. I could never really put my hoof on what it was that I enjoyed so much about the feeling of water rolling down my coat. Maybe it was just soothing, and having a stressful job, I kind of needed it. I looked back down and wiped some of the raindrops from my eyes. Looking across the street again, I made out a familiar face amongst the small group of hustlers. Her mint green coat stood out from the rest of the group, as did her bicolored mane and tale. “Lyra,” I mumbled. She was the main gossip on the streets--always had something new to talk about, yet could never give it to you straight. If you wanted an answer, you’d have to pay her one way or another. Luckily for me though, I had my methods of getting things without payment. I trotted up to her, wiping away any sign of a smile I had, licking away the extra hay on my teeth from lunch. One grass-infused breath later and she was already turning away. “Heartstrings…” I grabbed her little collar, most likely left from her previous ‘occupant’. As red leather wrapped around my hoof, mint green fur disappeared from the street into a neighboring alleyway. “Oh look it’s Officer Clip-Clop…” she giggled, a swash of rum entrapping my snout. My own breath could battle hers as we stared eye to eye. The only thing between me and her was one hoofstep and a wall of built-up tension. I looked at her and saw garbage. Her eyes were the reasons that buildings were crumbling. Her fur was hard to the touch, stiff, unwashed. I cringed slightly, letting her collar loose, allowing her to stand up straight on all four hooves. She brushed off the area that I had rustled up, stumbling back a hoofstep into the brick wall, nearly falling over onto the dilapidated dumpster, where former ponies had etched crude comments into the metal. The comments only got worse with time. “Rainbow Crash smells…those sluts are property of Frank Drawbridge...this dump is used for more than trash…” Vile. All of it. She spoke up in a mumble, words starting to slur together. “Oka-okay, so Clip-Clop here wansa little sumting sumtin for ‘is troubes, yeh?” I growled, putting a hoof forward, feeling the hard gravel under my hooves. It chafed at my skin, but this wasn’t the time to worry about that. “You know damn well what I came for…” “Ohhh is th...then...who’re you, again…? Oh yeah...a cusssst-” she collapsed, silently giggling to herself. I sighed, realizing that she wasn’t going to give me what I want as long as I was beating around the bush. I put a hoof onto her chest, rolling her to face me as I pressed deep into her coat, to her bones. “Damnit Lyra, Twilight Sparkle. Where the buck is Twilight-” “Whoa whoa, Clip-Clop, slow yer horthes...I dunno who tha Porkle lady ith!” she chuckled to herself, pointing up at me with her free hoof, the other squished under a mound of dirty, sticky green fur. “ Now if yer looking fer Twilight Marker, I know that pone.” I lifted my hoof up and smacked it down against her, only emitting a laugh from her loud mouth. I twitched, biting back a shout. I breathed in another waft of putrid air before leaning in close to her. “Then where the Tartarus is she?” She tried to buck herself up, hitting both legs against the brick wall, but only slid across my hoof, fur catching in one large bundle. She chuckled once again, her eyes dropping back as if she was to go unconscious, but then her face sprung back to life, revelation crossing her eyes. She stayed silent, and it only took raising my hoof up again to make her cower back, answering in a stutter, still slurring. “Now now Offsir, don’ do that...tell ya what, we can go back to my place...and talk ‘bout it over a glassa wine, howzit sound?” “Oh wonderful, I’d love to,” I smugly remarked, taking my hoof off of her, only to push it close to her muzzle, a reminder that I wasn’t here to play games. “Let’s share that after you tell me what I need to know.” “Oh goodsy!” she said, smiling a big toothy smile full of holes. “That Flashlight lady was down by the Plummet Inn earlier, wi’some biiiiiiiiiig ssssstallion!” She stood, catching her steps midair, tripping over her own hooves until she could stand at an angle, even if it wasn’t exactly a healthy one. “And den POOF! Bye bye Marker…” I twitched again, my entire body shaking with my head. I growled at her, snarling my teeth in her direction. “What does THAT mean?” “She went for a ridey bye!” “She was ponynapped!” “Nooo…” “Then what do you mean, you stupid. Little. BITCH!” It all came out at once. Rage, aggression, hatred. People like her didn’t deserve to be on the streets, let alone out in the world. She was a monster, a menace, and her lifestyle was horrid. I looked down at her, and suddenly it all came together. The years of passive waiting had finally reached their peak. I saw it all in a blur, one swift motion. Hoof beat against fur until my vision turned red. My entire life came before me as I swung at her, a hopeless soul that wasn’t sure whether she was just drunk or purely didn’t give a buck about life. I stood there for what felt like hours clobbering my pain away, all the cruel tendencies that I, in that moment, loved. She was the passion that I didn’t want to admit I had. When eventually I calmed down, tears were forming in the crevices of my eyes, closed to the sight that lay before me. My own pain melted away in the rain, and as I crossed by the limp, nearly breathless body behind me, I could see the world turn a slightly darker shade of gray. I looked to the left street, then the right, orienting myself back into society as I hid my muzzle behind my coat and stepped back into the crowd, sweeping myself away into the ocean. It wasn’t a spectacular building, no, but it stood up, and that’s all that really mattered in this crummy town. The sign flashed colors that, at one point in time, might’ve been beautiful, but now, under the rain, drearily announced to visitors that a haven against the rain was before them. “Alright…” I was thinking out loud. She had been here. The pony had been here and I knew that, or at least, I had to believe that Lyra had given me the correct information. As rain slid down my cheeks, I inspected the entrance, and it provided nothing special. Carts came and went all the time, and the skid marks from her disappearance wouldn’t be here, nor did I expect them to be. I bit my lip, looking at the revolving doors ahead. The rust had started to accumulate on the metal handles of the doors, and the doors themselves smelled of mildew that had been trapped in a closet with sheets and pillows long overdue for a wash. Was it worth going inside? Would they really remember one pony out of the hundreds that came here every month? It was worth a shot. Walking up to the entrance, I heard a screech behind me, turning around just in time to avoid a cart that was pulling up to the curbside, ponies stopping quickly to avoid a collision. “Sorry ‘bout that, miss, didn’t even see ya there!” It was a Manehattan pony, that much was assured. I looked him down. His white fur and blue mane would stand out among a crowd, but he looked...different, as if he didn’t belong. I shuffled away the thought, though, reaching out a halfhearted hoof. “Oh, don’t worry about it, just watch where you’re going next time…” I turned back to the door, pushing myself inside, the squeaking doors rotating around my body. Dust fell on top of my head, and I diligently brushed it away as I usually would. This is just getting annoying… The inside was no better. As the glass bumped up against my plot, pushing me inside, I tripped onto my hooves, falling snout-first onto a nail in the carpet. Luckily it wasn’t sticking out very far, and I managed to get by with just a scrape, only the faint taste of iron meeting my lips. Grimacing, I walked over to the counter. Nobody was there, but the cliche bell on the desk was, and I almost willed myself to push it. So what could she have been doing here? Why would she be here? I turned away, taking a second to look around the lobby. I took a step away from the counter and another to the ‘waiting area’ of the room. One table stood in the center of two rundown couches, a little worse for wear. They were riddled with little holes, allowing the fuzz inside to pop out on springs. The couches were complemented by the peeling shreds of wallpaper, maybe once from the Victorian Era of ponykind, but now hastily replaced with green and white stripes perpendicular to the floor. Swatches of glue along the linings of the new wallpaper weakly stuck it to the previous decor, but it was obvious that somepony wanted to at least try and make it look good. I levitated one of the magazines on the table, leaning on one leg, and took a good look at the cover. It was an old addition of PlayPony, appearing to have been used recently, as no dust had accumulated on the pages. I didn’t keep it up for long, setting it carefully back down next to the other, more dusty ‘Gentlepony Monthly’ magazine. When I felt sure that there was no other pieces of potential evidence to look at, I walked back over to the counter and hit the bell with a resounding clang. The room stood still for a minute before I rang it again, only to have the bell muffled, as it hadn’t finished it’s previous clamoring. “I told you once before, and I’m not going to tell you again! Stop ringin’ that damned b-well aren’t you a new face?” A seasoned stallion approached the counter from a concealed door that blended in with the wallpaper, masking it from sight. He looked to be in his late 50s, early 60s, but it was hard to place a hoof on the exact age. His short stature made me lean over the counter “And just who might you be?” I asked, placing a hoof on the counter to get better leverage. “Oh! Forgive my manners, my name is Patrick Lemonheart. And who might you be, Miss?” “Visions, Night Visions. I’m actually here to just ask about a customer who might’ve come in here recently.” He looked at me carefully, as if studying me, judging me silently. I almost spoke up, commenting on the insult it was to me, but he got to it first. “Oh ho ho, a customer, of course! You’re here for a room!” I shot a questioning look his way, placing both hooves on the counter to try and keep an eye on him as he disappeared behind the counter. “Well umm...no, not exactly, I just want-” “Here we are!” He came back up, stepping up onto a stool, much to my pleasure, as he dropped it in front of me. “The registrar! Now if you would like to sign in, you’ve just got to sign in right along the lines, the dotted ones right there.” He climbed up onto the counter and pointed to a few spaces below a list of names. “Well, actually, I just-” “But you need a pen first! Oh my, how could I forget? Silly me, silly me...let me fetch one for you, darling.” He jumped down and wandered off, behind the hidden door, closing it behind him. For a second I waited quietly, awkwardly. Then it hit me; the sign in was right here, I could just find her name. While the old pony was off to get a pen, I started to flip through the dusty pages of the book, flipping them one by one to the front of the registrar. Nothing. Of course it wouldn’t be in here, what kind of princess would want to make herself known to the world? I thought for a second before realizing that if she had checked in, her handwriting would be different. She wouldn’t dare make a mistake in her handwriting, it would have to be regal, elegant. Once more I flipped through the pages, but this time stopped on the only name written in cursive: D. Webster, Room 312. As soon as I closed the book back to the front, the door behind the counter opened back up, and it wasn’t until he jumped up to the stool that I saw him again. Still, he hopped up to the lower portion of the counter behind the desk and placed a pen on the top of the book. “So, Miss Visions, do you have any recommendations for us tonight?” I stood there for a second, my mind still trying to get over his height, before I shook myself out of the trance and spoke up. “Oh, uh, yes, would you mind if I stayed in Room 312?” “Room 302?” he answered back. I spoke louder, raising my voice. “No, I said 312!” “312.” “Yes.” “Okay, darling, let me just fetch that key for you.” And he waddled off, back into his room to fetch me a key. Chapter ThreeChapter Three “The less you reveal, the more people can wonder.” The numbers loomed in front of me. Whatever was behind this door could unravel this entire mystery, tell me where Miss Pie’s forbidden lover was taken to. Was she really ponynapped, though? This was the only lead I had, and the door was the only barrier between mystery and truth. Hesitantly, after minutes of internal debating, I inserted the key and pushed the door open. The first thing I noticed was the abnormal cleanliness of the place. Somepony REALLY wants to keep their tracks covered. Curious, I stepped into the room, hoping to maybe find something that would point me in the right direction. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though. The wallpaper was kept up extremely well, meaning it must have just recently been fixed. “That, or the princess couldn’t stand the peeling of the walls and had to take matters into her own hands,” I muttered, focusing my attention on the room’s only bed. It rested perfectly in the center of the wall, with only an end table beside it. Unlike most of the furniture I had seen while walking to the room, the bed looked new, as did everything else in the room. It certainly didn’t surprise me, though; if I were a princess rooming in a shady inn, I’d make a few “renovations” to the room myself. As I was glancing over the contents of the room, there came a knock at the door. I looked up and let out a small sigh of relief upon seeing that it was only Lemonheart. “So sorry to protrude. I was simply checking in to see how you’re accommodat- Oh my, what in Celestia’s name happened in here?” He hobbled into the room, a look of astonishment on his face. Clearly, he hadn’t checked the place since “Miss Webster” had departed. I wasn’t surprised; by the state that the rest of the building was, he rarely checked on anything. His head moved slowly from wall to wall, eyes wide and mouth gaping; he was taken aback by the state of the room, that was a definite. “So,” I asked him, “you know nothing of what happened in here?” He looked at me, still shocked. His mouth moved as if to form words, but nothing came. He simply stood there, gawking at me. Finally, after a few minutes of struggle, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “N-nothing,” he stuttered. “Last I knew, this room looked very similar to every other room in the inn. All of this is entirely new to me.” “Figures,” I muttered. It was a disappointment to witness. The inn-keeper couldn’t even keep track of who went in and out of the place, let alone check the rooms whenever somepony left. “I’ll just be going then,” Lemonheart said in a soft voice. He backed out of the room slowly, looking at me as he did so as if expecting me to ask him something else. Upon seeing that I wasn’t going to speak, he turned to shut the door when I stopped him. “One moment,” I called. His cheery voice responded to me with a simple, “Yes?” “What do you know about D. Webster?” “And that’s all you know?” I asked, looking at the inn-keeper from behind a journal. He nodded swiftly, a look of placid honesty upon his face. The information he had on this “Webster” character was very little and vague. From what he had seen of her, she was wearing a black cloak, which covered up most of her figure, making it to where he could barely tell what color her coat was. She also barely spoke to him, and when she did, it was short and quick. Other than that, he knew nothing about her, apart from the fact that “D. Webster” was a cover name. “Well,” I said, closing the notepad, “that’s all that I’m going to need from you. Thank you for the cooperation Mr. Lemonheart. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to my room for the night.” I stood and headed in the direction of the hall, leaving the stout stallion to his own vices. Why in Celestia’s name would the princess come all the way down to this rugged inn alone? More so, why come undercover? It had been hours since I arrived back in the room. Sleep eluded me, my mind constantly racing with questions about Miss Sparkle’s whereabouts. The one thing that stumped me the most was that she was seen here just recently, or at least, that’s what I got out of Lyra and Lemonheart. “It just doesn’t make SENSE,” I exclaimed, kicking the end table out of frustration. It wobbled slightly. Unsatisfied with the outcome, I knocked it over with some magic. It landed with a soft thud, a small cloud of dust kicking up from beneath it. But Dash said that they had known about Sparkle’s disappearance for weeks, so...who’s telling the truth here? “Pacing isn’t going to help, you know.” The voice startled me, causing me to jump slightly. I didn’t hear the door open, nor did I hear somepony walking down the halls. In a flash of light, the bystander appeared in front of me, a small grin on her face. “Hiya there V. Long time no see.” Miss Shy: one of the quietest ponies I had ever met. We had been acquainted before my detective days began, back when she was head of the MPD. She ended up stepping down from the position at some point, saying that she had finally had enough of the stress. From then, she went off the grid, working with freelancers and private eyes here and there as an on/off cop. She and I were still fairly good friends at the time, and she had offered her services to me more than once. Of course, it was only natural for her to take the position of the “bad cop” -- it was in her DNA. Most ponies knew who she was; they knew the name, the mane, the innocent smile, they knew it all. More often than not, she was referred as “the quiet bitch who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you”. And they were right, she wasn’t the nice, innocent pony that most made her out to be. “What are you doing here?” I questioned, still shaken by the sudden presence of another in the room. “Hello to you too,” she sarcastically scoffed. “Anyway, I’m here for the same reason you are: to find this Twilight figure. Saw your name on the sign-in sheet and figured I’d pop in to see if I could be of any assistance. That, and you never really could solve a case on your own; you’re too soft.” “Well aren’t you a funny one as of late. Look, I don’t know how you found out I was here or how you even caught word about the case, but I don’t need your help on this one.” She raised an eyebrow in response, shrugged, and said, “Alright, if that’s how it’s going to be, then I’ll be at Carousel Bootyque if you need any further leads.” With that said, she walked out the room and into the hallway. “Oh,” she said, peeking back into the room, “and I know you need my help. You should stop being a stuck-up lesbian and accept it.” Before I could say anything in response, she disappeared. She wasn’t wrong, though, I needed her help. I was always the soft one when it came to solving cases, usually letting any suspects or witnesses go without a scratch. Maybe I was just a “stuck-up lesbian” as she put it, but regardless, I didn’t want her help; at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I looked back at the overturned end table and sighed. With a quick thought, the wood case floated back into place. I looked over it to see if anything had happened to it, and minus a few scratches, nothing was broken. Besides, this place was a dump, what difference would it make if I wrecked it? Chuckling at the idea, I threw myself onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling. This Twilight character wasn’t going to be easy to find. She seemed to be one step ahead with every move I made, and I didn’t like it; I was one who enjoyed having control over the outcome, even if it meant pulling a few strings here and there.
Chapter OneEquestrian Noire: Echoes of the Past Written by: Quasar Pulse (Collaborated with wizard32363) Chapter One “Attraction is only intense when mystery is involved.” The door stood in front of me--“Night Visions, Private Investigator”, it read. It didn’t really say “Private Investigator” anymore, as the letters had started to fade away, leaving a faded title of “Priva- Inv-igat-”, but it wasn’t that hard to read, or so I thought. Best in the town and I couldn’t even afford to get the name fixed. Still, it didn’t seem to slow anypony from bursting in and demanding I help them with trivial cases; anything from the pointless “I’ve mislaid my keys inside my house” to “my cat is in a tree” (and yes, I’ve heard that one numerous times) was fair game for a pony in my office, but it was my decision on which ponies to deny and which ones not to. But this particular day was different. Maybe the lights were dimmer, maybe the little mouse hole in the corner near my door had gotten a little bit wider, but it was definitely a new feeling to me. Even so, I attempted to brush it off as I creaked open the door and made my way slowly to the desk. It was an old Stallone desk, like something straight outta a furniture catalogue, one that those upper class ponies would sit by the fire reading. Sections of the desk were riddled with splinters and chipped wood that had accumulated over the years, and one of the legs was slightly shorter than the others, causing the desk to wobble with the slightest touch. I had tried to balance it out by placing an old monitor on one of the corners, but that didn’t help as much as I thought it would. If anything, it only made the unevenness of the desk worse. I had just settled in when already I heard that first knock, no, pounding, on my door. The sound reverberated through the room, shaking the dust from the ceiling down onto my nose. I ran my hoof along my muzzle, sniffling as I did so. “Come in!” I snorted, still trying to get the dust out of my fur. The door flew open and hit the wall, causing another load of dust to fall gently onto my nose. I looked up in frustration at the ceiling, then back down at the costumer. There she stood--Miss Pie. In any other time period she might’ve been a charming gal, but rumor spread quickly, and the latest word around town was that her relationship with a “Twilight Sparkle” fell through the roof, and now she was back into old habits that just couldn’t die easy--mainly, drugs. Her once-fluffy mane had been reduced to a mess of split ends and frizzled strands, and the wear showed on her face through leathery wrinkles. I could even see that little white mustache she’d tried to wipe off before she walked in here. Disgusting. “Detective Visions!” she yelled. “I-I need your help!” She had that eager look in her bloodshot eyes, one that screamed “something’s wrong!” Of course, I couldn’t deny her--she had been one of my most dependable sources in past cases. She always seemed to find a way to get necessary information on possible suspects--whether it was by force or by selling her most well-known drug, PTSD. At first, I had thought that the PTSD she was talking about was that term used by doctors to describe the condition that most war veterans had, but I later learned what it actually stood for--“Pinkie’s Totally Satisfying Drug”. Now, I had never tried the drug before, so I was unaware of the effects apart from what I had heard from other ponies, and from what I had heard, the effects were certainly life-changing. Anyway, something about Miss Pie’s demeanor gave me an idea of just how much she needed my help. You know that feeling you get when somebody who is hardly trustable asks for your assistance, and you can’t help but say yes for some unexplainable reason? Yeah, that’s the one I was getting. “Well,” I said, “it depends on what you need from me.” She looked at me with that look that just says, “Are you implying something?” I simply looked back down at my desk and shuffled some papers around, waiting for some form of response from her. For once, she was quiet, which was odd since she was quite the talkative gal. It seemed like she always had something to say, even when she didn’t. A cool silence lingered in the air, only to be broken by the sound of papers moving along my desk. I never did like silence. It wasn’t that it was too quiet--it was because silence never meant anything good. In many cases, silence meant trouble, and as ironic as it may sound I don’t like trouble. In that moment of quietude I deduced two things: one, this had to be a serious case, as Miss Pie was never one to stop gossiping; and two, I was definitely going to accept this mission. When I finally managed to get my eyes to look up, Miss Pie’s pupils locked onto mine, and in one swift motion she was on the floor in tears. “I-I’m afraid for Limelight, detective! I went by her house today and she wasn’t there and it was all messy and ransacked and I thought I saw blood but it could’ve been chocolate syrup and I nee-” “Alright Miss Pie, I’m going to have to stop you there,” I interrupted. No wonder Miss Sparkle broke the relationship--Miss Pie didn’t seem to be in the right state of mind. She did mention trouble at a house, though, so my first plan would be to search the residence. If there were any signs of trouble, I would be able to find out about it at the scene. I continued on with my little talk: “Now Miss Pie, you seem a bit distressed and all-around tired. Why don’t you go home and rest, get yourself all washed up, and I’ll go check it out for you. Would that help?” She nodded, a blank stare upon her face, and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. Once again, a cool stillness lingered in the air and I shuddered. I got up and walked towards the door, hesitating briefly before opening it. I poked my head around the frame and gave the hall a quick look as if expecting somepony to show up--not that I was in the first place, but it was nice to give myself something to do as opposed to sitting at the desk. The office building was bland. There wasn’t a whole lot that made it pop. It was like something out of a horror movie really. Throughout the second floor, which I paced often to set my mind straight, shattered glass scattered the floors and old bulbs flickered on and off as the last bits of their energy faded. Every now and then, a train would go by the windows on the fourth floor, shaking the building enough to where a lot of the items on my desk ended up falling and I had to replace them. All the floors after the fifth were where the bums stayed. Random ponies off the streets that had nowhere else to go came crawling to the building in search of shelter and help. Of course, the building’s only permanent resident, Granny Smith, took them under her metaphorical wing and watched after them. She even had the tenacity to let them stay in many of the empty rooms that occupied floors six through eight. Most ponies who walked by the building turned a slight shade of green. Maybe it was that old, musty smell the building had--maybe it was the scent of unbathed ponies. Whatever it was, it certainly made most ponies sick to their stomachs. Not me, though. When I had first come by the building, I didn’t pay attention to its flaws. What I saw was an opportunity--an opportunity to make my life (and the lives of everypony else in Manehattan) better. I stepped into the hallway and turned in the direction of the stairs. It was a fairly short hallway, maybe a good fifty hoofsteps in length, but my office was the only actual room on the floor, so of course the hallway wouldn’t be too long. I had thought about painting the place with a wine-like color, so as to accent the old, dusty red carpet that lined the floor, but I never actually got around to it. I was always too busy for my own good, and I didn’t get paid nearly enough to do it. “But,” I sighed in response to my own thoughts of frustration, “that’s just way things are. Never make enough, and yet, always have enough to get by.” I heard the flapping of wings before I even saw her. They were beating fast, stopping only to maneuver around the corners of the stairwell--at least, that’s what I assumed. “Visions!” an angry voice cried from down below. I smirked. It was the notorious voice of the head of the Manehattan Police Department, Rainbow Dash. She didn’t necessarily like me, mainly because I went against the law and did my own thing as opposed to coming to the department with cases. I couldn’t blame her; I’d be unpleasant towards myself if I were taking all of the good cases too. A flash of blue came blazing up the stairwell and was halted only by the wall opposite of it. I smirked yet again and walked over to the cyan heap. “Commissioner Dash--or should I say Crash--what a surprise to see you,” I said. “Let me guess, you’ve already gotten the news that I took on the missing pony case?” The lump of fluff didn’t move; it simply lay there, breathing slowly. Her mane looked dull for once, which took me by surprise, as it usually had a radiant glow to it. The red looked almost pink; the orange, peach; the yellow, a lighter yellow; the blue, a periwinkle; the purple, a grayish-violet; and the green, a yellow-green. If anything, all of the stress that came with being the commissioner must’ve been taking its toll on the once-glowing mare. After a long pause of utter silence--apart from the rattling in the air ducts--the mare looked up, her forehead creased, with the only part of her that I truly liked, her magenta eyes, glaring at me. The rest of her body stayed where it was, unmoving. “Of course I got the news,” she muttered with a muffled tone. “Why else do ya think I would have shown up?” “Oh, I don’t know,” I teased, “maybe to congratulate me on stealing yet another one of your cases? I seem to be getting pretty good at it, wouldn’t ya say?” Dash stood up and brushed herself off with her wings. Some of the feathers were astray, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She simply shrugged it off and mumbled something about having to preen herself later. “Look, Visions,” she scoffed. “Don’t be gettin’ cocky with me. You and I both know that I have the ability to lock ya up for going against the law, so don’t test me.” She wasn’t wrong about having the ability to lock me up. After all, everything that I did went against the law, all the way down to owning the paper clip that was holding the manilla folder with paperwork from past clients together. The only reason that Dash didn’t ever lock me up was the many nights that we spent alone in her apartment, tangled up in the sheets. The first night was still fresh in my mind, as if it was the first and only time our flowers had bloomed. “...some kind of special privileges?” She was berating me once again. What was her problem? All I asked for was a little detective work. A stern look crossed my face. “Is it because I’m a mare in a stallion’s society, miss? I can assure you, if that’s what you think is wrong with me, then your sheath is showing.” Maybe it was that I constantly berated her, and she had had enough of it. Her moans met with the floor, and the clap of her front hooves against wood were loud enough to wake the ponies below. She turned to me, face flushed with anger, adrenaline, murder. And was that a twinge of excitement I caught twinkling in her eyes? It was her turn to yell, to berate, to destroy my will to live. “And what do you think your ‘detective’ work will ever accomplish, Miss Visions!? All you think it takes is a badge and a magnifying glass. You couldn’t give a buck less about the rules of this society, and your constant eloping around this town is well known. Nopony would come to you for a nickel, let alone some damn police work!” Well that was all it took, wasn’t it? I bit my lip, expecting more out of her. She was panting softly, throwing her hat away, sweat drops flying from the rim of the blue cap. “Just… out.” “Huh?” “Get. Out. And if you even think about dropping a flyer for your services, I will see to your arrest personally.” I couldn’t take it much more. As soon as she looked back at me, eyes drooped and wings flaccid, I knew what I wanted. I knew what had to be done. I turned to the door, lighting up my horn, but it wasn’t the door I was entranced with. Against her kicks and demeaning words she floated in front of me. She yelled once more in rage. “And just what do-” But her words were cut off, her mind was shut down, as soon as my lips met hers. The sparks were instant. I turned to look at the bed, then back to look into her eyes. She gulped, looking away. “This isn-” Again I stopped her, and like all flies to honey, she was mine. She was still blubbering on when I came out of my reveries, and I only caught the final words of what was probably a boring speech. “...and furthermore, I just want your help.” Now that perked my ears up. “Help?” I narrowed my eyes to her. What was her game? “You’ve only just heard about this. You’re playing an angle, and I want to know it. Now.” “Just heard about it? Uh, yeah, that’s true, yeah.” Suspicion. That’s when it hit me. “How long?” “A week, now, and there’s jack squat in the files, around the streets none a the ponies know anything, we’re screwed, V, screwed!” So the police knew nothing and were desperate. How cliche. If only this were a novel. “You know I don’t come… cheap.” I winked at her, turning my back. “Yeah yeah, I’ll save your plots. Again.” I didn’t say another word as I walked away, leaving her speechless, more or less. She was mumbling little angry words as always, a cute little inflection I left when I left her hanging. She kicked the wall, I could hear it. I responded with a calm resolution to the conversation: “And if you harm my hallway, it’s the chains tonight.” I giggled--she knew I was far from serious. We only saw each other on Wednesdays.
Chapter TwoChapter Two “Ignorance is cute in small doses.” The streets of Manehattan were always bustling with some form of life, whether it was the usual prostitute or a member of the mafia. Today, there was a particularly young group of harlots across the street eyeing me. Now, if it was the commissioner, I wouldn’t have minded; however, something about call ponies in general sickened me. Maybe it was the fact that they sold their bodies to willing stallions (or mares, depending on which way their barn door swung); maybe it was just how filthy they were. Either way, I couldn’t care--in my head, they were nothing but a nuisance. I looked up and let the rain slowly fall upon my face. There was something about the feeling that I craved. I had spent many an hour in the shower just letting the beads of water roll across my body, sighing in complete bliss at the sensation. I could never really put my hoof on what it was that I enjoyed so much about the feeling of water rolling down my coat. Maybe it was just soothing, and having a stressful job, I kind of needed it. I looked back down and wiped some of the raindrops from my eyes. Looking across the street again, I made out a familiar face amongst the small group of hustlers. Her mint green coat stood out from the rest of the group, as did her bicolored mane and tale. “Lyra,” I mumbled. She was the main gossip on the streets--always had something new to talk about, yet could never give it to you straight. If you wanted an answer, you’d have to pay her one way or another. Luckily for me though, I had my methods of getting things without payment. I trotted up to her, wiping away any sign of a smile I had, licking away the extra hay on my teeth from lunch. One grass-infused breath later and she was already turning away. “Heartstrings…” I grabbed her little collar, most likely left from her previous ‘occupant’. As red leather wrapped around my hoof, mint green fur disappeared from the street into a neighboring alleyway. “Oh look it’s Officer Clip-Clop…” she giggled, a swash of rum entrapping my snout. My own breath could battle hers as we stared eye to eye. The only thing between me and her was one hoofstep and a wall of built-up tension. I looked at her and saw garbage. Her eyes were the reasons that buildings were crumbling. Her fur was hard to the touch, stiff, unwashed. I cringed slightly, letting her collar loose, allowing her to stand up straight on all four hooves. She brushed off the area that I had rustled up, stumbling back a hoofstep into the brick wall, nearly falling over onto the dilapidated dumpster, where former ponies had etched crude comments into the metal. The comments only got worse with time. “Rainbow Crash smells…those sluts are property of Frank Drawbridge...this dump is used for more than trash…” Vile. All of it. She spoke up in a mumble, words starting to slur together. “Oka-okay, so Clip-Clop here wansa little sumting sumtin for ‘is troubes, yeh?” I growled, putting a hoof forward, feeling the hard gravel under my hooves. It chafed at my skin, but this wasn’t the time to worry about that. “You know damn well what I came for…” “Ohhh is th...then...who’re you, again…? Oh yeah...a cusssst-” she collapsed, silently giggling to herself. I sighed, realizing that she wasn’t going to give me what I want as long as I was beating around the bush. I put a hoof onto her chest, rolling her to face me as I pressed deep into her coat, to her bones. “Damnit Lyra, Twilight Sparkle. Where the buck is Twilight-” “Whoa whoa, Clip-Clop, slow yer horthes...I dunno who tha Porkle lady ith!” she chuckled to herself, pointing up at me with her free hoof, the other squished under a mound of dirty, sticky green fur. “ Now if yer looking fer Twilight Marker, I know that pone.” I lifted my hoof up and smacked it down against her, only emitting a laugh from her loud mouth. I twitched, biting back a shout. I breathed in another waft of putrid air before leaning in close to her. “Then where the Tartarus is she?” She tried to buck herself up, hitting both legs against the brick wall, but only slid across my hoof, fur catching in one large bundle. She chuckled once again, her eyes dropping back as if she was to go unconscious, but then her face sprung back to life, revelation crossing her eyes. She stayed silent, and it only took raising my hoof up again to make her cower back, answering in a stutter, still slurring. “Now now Offsir, don’ do that...tell ya what, we can go back to my place...and talk ‘bout it over a glassa wine, howzit sound?” “Oh wonderful, I’d love to,” I smugly remarked, taking my hoof off of her, only to push it close to her muzzle, a reminder that I wasn’t here to play games. “Let’s share that after you tell me what I need to know.” “Oh goodsy!” she said, smiling a big toothy smile full of holes. “That Flashlight lady was down by the Plummet Inn earlier, wi’some biiiiiiiiiig ssssstallion!” She stood, catching her steps midair, tripping over her own hooves until she could stand at an angle, even if it wasn’t exactly a healthy one. “And den POOF! Bye bye Marker…” I twitched again, my entire body shaking with my head. I growled at her, snarling my teeth in her direction. “What does THAT mean?” “She went for a ridey bye!” “She was ponynapped!” “Nooo…” “Then what do you mean, you stupid. Little. BITCH!” It all came out at once. Rage, aggression, hatred. People like her didn’t deserve to be on the streets, let alone out in the world. She was a monster, a menace, and her lifestyle was horrid. I looked down at her, and suddenly it all came together. The years of passive waiting had finally reached their peak. I saw it all in a blur, one swift motion. Hoof beat against fur until my vision turned red. My entire life came before me as I swung at her, a hopeless soul that wasn’t sure whether she was just drunk or purely didn’t give a buck about life. I stood there for what felt like hours clobbering my pain away, all the cruel tendencies that I, in that moment, loved. She was the passion that I didn’t want to admit I had. When eventually I calmed down, tears were forming in the crevices of my eyes, closed to the sight that lay before me. My own pain melted away in the rain, and as I crossed by the limp, nearly breathless body behind me, I could see the world turn a slightly darker shade of gray. I looked to the left street, then the right, orienting myself back into society as I hid my muzzle behind my coat and stepped back into the crowd, sweeping myself away into the ocean. It wasn’t a spectacular building, no, but it stood up, and that’s all that really mattered in this crummy town. The sign flashed colors that, at one point in time, might’ve been beautiful, but now, under the rain, drearily announced to visitors that a haven against the rain was before them. “Alright…” I was thinking out loud. She had been here. The pony had been here and I knew that, or at least, I had to believe that Lyra had given me the correct information. As rain slid down my cheeks, I inspected the entrance, and it provided nothing special. Carts came and went all the time, and the skid marks from her disappearance wouldn’t be here, nor did I expect them to be. I bit my lip, looking at the revolving doors ahead. The rust had started to accumulate on the metal handles of the doors, and the doors themselves smelled of mildew that had been trapped in a closet with sheets and pillows long overdue for a wash. Was it worth going inside? Would they really remember one pony out of the hundreds that came here every month? It was worth a shot. Walking up to the entrance, I heard a screech behind me, turning around just in time to avoid a cart that was pulling up to the curbside, ponies stopping quickly to avoid a collision. “Sorry ‘bout that, miss, didn’t even see ya there!” It was a Manehattan pony, that much was assured. I looked him down. His white fur and blue mane would stand out among a crowd, but he looked...different, as if he didn’t belong. I shuffled away the thought, though, reaching out a halfhearted hoof. “Oh, don’t worry about it, just watch where you’re going next time…” I turned back to the door, pushing myself inside, the squeaking doors rotating around my body. Dust fell on top of my head, and I diligently brushed it away as I usually would. This is just getting annoying… The inside was no better. As the glass bumped up against my plot, pushing me inside, I tripped onto my hooves, falling snout-first onto a nail in the carpet. Luckily it wasn’t sticking out very far, and I managed to get by with just a scrape, only the faint taste of iron meeting my lips. Grimacing, I walked over to the counter. Nobody was there, but the cliche bell on the desk was, and I almost willed myself to push it. So what could she have been doing here? Why would she be here? I turned away, taking a second to look around the lobby. I took a step away from the counter and another to the ‘waiting area’ of the room. One table stood in the center of two rundown couches, a little worse for wear. They were riddled with little holes, allowing the fuzz inside to pop out on springs. The couches were complemented by the peeling shreds of wallpaper, maybe once from the Victorian Era of ponykind, but now hastily replaced with green and white stripes perpendicular to the floor. Swatches of glue along the linings of the new wallpaper weakly stuck it to the previous decor, but it was obvious that somepony wanted to at least try and make it look good. I levitated one of the magazines on the table, leaning on one leg, and took a good look at the cover. It was an old addition of PlayPony, appearing to have been used recently, as no dust had accumulated on the pages. I didn’t keep it up for long, setting it carefully back down next to the other, more dusty ‘Gentlepony Monthly’ magazine. When I felt sure that there was no other pieces of potential evidence to look at, I walked back over to the counter and hit the bell with a resounding clang. The room stood still for a minute before I rang it again, only to have the bell muffled, as it hadn’t finished it’s previous clamoring. “I told you once before, and I’m not going to tell you again! Stop ringin’ that damned b-well aren’t you a new face?” A seasoned stallion approached the counter from a concealed door that blended in with the wallpaper, masking it from sight. He looked to be in his late 50s, early 60s, but it was hard to place a hoof on the exact age. His short stature made me lean over the counter “And just who might you be?” I asked, placing a hoof on the counter to get better leverage. “Oh! Forgive my manners, my name is Patrick Lemonheart. And who might you be, Miss?” “Visions, Night Visions. I’m actually here to just ask about a customer who might’ve come in here recently.” He looked at me carefully, as if studying me, judging me silently. I almost spoke up, commenting on the insult it was to me, but he got to it first. “Oh ho ho, a customer, of course! You’re here for a room!” I shot a questioning look his way, placing both hooves on the counter to try and keep an eye on him as he disappeared behind the counter. “Well umm...no, not exactly, I just want-” “Here we are!” He came back up, stepping up onto a stool, much to my pleasure, as he dropped it in front of me. “The registrar! Now if you would like to sign in, you’ve just got to sign in right along the lines, the dotted ones right there.” He climbed up onto the counter and pointed to a few spaces below a list of names. “Well, actually, I just-” “But you need a pen first! Oh my, how could I forget? Silly me, silly me...let me fetch one for you, darling.” He jumped down and wandered off, behind the hidden door, closing it behind him. For a second I waited quietly, awkwardly. Then it hit me; the sign in was right here, I could just find her name. While the old pony was off to get a pen, I started to flip through the dusty pages of the book, flipping them one by one to the front of the registrar. Nothing. Of course it wouldn’t be in here, what kind of princess would want to make herself known to the world? I thought for a second before realizing that if she had checked in, her handwriting would be different. She wouldn’t dare make a mistake in her handwriting, it would have to be regal, elegant. Once more I flipped through the pages, but this time stopped on the only name written in cursive: D. Webster, Room 312. As soon as I closed the book back to the front, the door behind the counter opened back up, and it wasn’t until he jumped up to the stool that I saw him again. Still, he hopped up to the lower portion of the counter behind the desk and placed a pen on the top of the book. “So, Miss Visions, do you have any recommendations for us tonight?” I stood there for a second, my mind still trying to get over his height, before I shook myself out of the trance and spoke up. “Oh, uh, yes, would you mind if I stayed in Room 312?” “Room 302?” he answered back. I spoke louder, raising my voice. “No, I said 312!” “312.” “Yes.” “Okay, darling, let me just fetch that key for you.” And he waddled off, back into his room to fetch me a key.
Chapter ThreeChapter Three “The less you reveal, the more people can wonder.” The numbers loomed in front of me. Whatever was behind this door could unravel this entire mystery, tell me where Miss Pie’s forbidden lover was taken to. Was she really ponynapped, though? This was the only lead I had, and the door was the only barrier between mystery and truth. Hesitantly, after minutes of internal debating, I inserted the key and pushed the door open. The first thing I noticed was the abnormal cleanliness of the place. Somepony REALLY wants to keep their tracks covered. Curious, I stepped into the room, hoping to maybe find something that would point me in the right direction. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though. The wallpaper was kept up extremely well, meaning it must have just recently been fixed. “That, or the princess couldn’t stand the peeling of the walls and had to take matters into her own hands,” I muttered, focusing my attention on the room’s only bed. It rested perfectly in the center of the wall, with only an end table beside it. Unlike most of the furniture I had seen while walking to the room, the bed looked new, as did everything else in the room. It certainly didn’t surprise me, though; if I were a princess rooming in a shady inn, I’d make a few “renovations” to the room myself. As I was glancing over the contents of the room, there came a knock at the door. I looked up and let out a small sigh of relief upon seeing that it was only Lemonheart. “So sorry to protrude. I was simply checking in to see how you’re accommodat- Oh my, what in Celestia’s name happened in here?” He hobbled into the room, a look of astonishment on his face. Clearly, he hadn’t checked the place since “Miss Webster” had departed. I wasn’t surprised; by the state that the rest of the building was, he rarely checked on anything. His head moved slowly from wall to wall, eyes wide and mouth gaping; he was taken aback by the state of the room, that was a definite. “So,” I asked him, “you know nothing of what happened in here?” He looked at me, still shocked. His mouth moved as if to form words, but nothing came. He simply stood there, gawking at me. Finally, after a few minutes of struggle, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “N-nothing,” he stuttered. “Last I knew, this room looked very similar to every other room in the inn. All of this is entirely new to me.” “Figures,” I muttered. It was a disappointment to witness. The inn-keeper couldn’t even keep track of who went in and out of the place, let alone check the rooms whenever somepony left. “I’ll just be going then,” Lemonheart said in a soft voice. He backed out of the room slowly, looking at me as he did so as if expecting me to ask him something else. Upon seeing that I wasn’t going to speak, he turned to shut the door when I stopped him. “One moment,” I called. His cheery voice responded to me with a simple, “Yes?” “What do you know about D. Webster?” “And that’s all you know?” I asked, looking at the inn-keeper from behind a journal. He nodded swiftly, a look of placid honesty upon his face. The information he had on this “Webster” character was very little and vague. From what he had seen of her, she was wearing a black cloak, which covered up most of her figure, making it to where he could barely tell what color her coat was. She also barely spoke to him, and when she did, it was short and quick. Other than that, he knew nothing about her, apart from the fact that “D. Webster” was a cover name. “Well,” I said, closing the notepad, “that’s all that I’m going to need from you. Thank you for the cooperation Mr. Lemonheart. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head to my room for the night.” I stood and headed in the direction of the hall, leaving the stout stallion to his own vices. Why in Celestia’s name would the princess come all the way down to this rugged inn alone? More so, why come undercover? It had been hours since I arrived back in the room. Sleep eluded me, my mind constantly racing with questions about Miss Sparkle’s whereabouts. The one thing that stumped me the most was that she was seen here just recently, or at least, that’s what I got out of Lyra and Lemonheart. “It just doesn’t make SENSE,” I exclaimed, kicking the end table out of frustration. It wobbled slightly. Unsatisfied with the outcome, I knocked it over with some magic. It landed with a soft thud, a small cloud of dust kicking up from beneath it. But Dash said that they had known about Sparkle’s disappearance for weeks, so...who’s telling the truth here? “Pacing isn’t going to help, you know.” The voice startled me, causing me to jump slightly. I didn’t hear the door open, nor did I hear somepony walking down the halls. In a flash of light, the bystander appeared in front of me, a small grin on her face. “Hiya there V. Long time no see.” Miss Shy: one of the quietest ponies I had ever met. We had been acquainted before my detective days began, back when she was head of the MPD. She ended up stepping down from the position at some point, saying that she had finally had enough of the stress. From then, she went off the grid, working with freelancers and private eyes here and there as an on/off cop. She and I were still fairly good friends at the time, and she had offered her services to me more than once. Of course, it was only natural for her to take the position of the “bad cop” -- it was in her DNA. Most ponies knew who she was; they knew the name, the mane, the innocent smile, they knew it all. More often than not, she was referred as “the quiet bitch who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you”. And they were right, she wasn’t the nice, innocent pony that most made her out to be. “What are you doing here?” I questioned, still shaken by the sudden presence of another in the room. “Hello to you too,” she sarcastically scoffed. “Anyway, I’m here for the same reason you are: to find this Twilight figure. Saw your name on the sign-in sheet and figured I’d pop in to see if I could be of any assistance. That, and you never really could solve a case on your own; you’re too soft.” “Well aren’t you a funny one as of late. Look, I don’t know how you found out I was here or how you even caught word about the case, but I don’t need your help on this one.” She raised an eyebrow in response, shrugged, and said, “Alright, if that’s how it’s going to be, then I’ll be at Carousel Bootyque if you need any further leads.” With that said, she walked out the room and into the hallway. “Oh,” she said, peeking back into the room, “and I know you need my help. You should stop being a stuck-up lesbian and accept it.” Before I could say anything in response, she disappeared. She wasn’t wrong, though, I needed her help. I was always the soft one when it came to solving cases, usually letting any suspects or witnesses go without a scratch. Maybe I was just a “stuck-up lesbian” as she put it, but regardless, I didn’t want her help; at least, that’s what I kept telling myself. I looked back at the overturned end table and sighed. With a quick thought, the wood case floated back into place. I looked over it to see if anything had happened to it, and minus a few scratches, nothing was broken. Besides, this place was a dump, what difference would it make if I wrecked it? Chuckling at the idea, I threw myself onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling. This Twilight character wasn’t going to be easy to find. She seemed to be one step ahead with every move I made, and I didn’t like it; I was one who enjoyed having control over the outcome, even if it meant pulling a few strings here and there.
