Chapters Dear Ms. Pie,
I am in dire need of your assistance. My beloved Diamond Tiara has been kidnapped by a fiend who knows no boundaries. He is cold, ruthless, vile, and all around unsavory character who is no doubt tied to the Cult of Discord. I know not his name, only that his coat is pale and his mane is wild with green and red, and that he travels with a blue trench coat and a yellow vest. I have employed Commissioner Bronze Shield to assist, but he is a buffoon, so do not expect much help from him.
Enclosed is a check for half of the bill that is to be deposited at the appropriate bank. You will receive the other half when you return Diamond Tiara to me alive. Failure to do so will result in unpleasant measures.
Best of luck.
-Filthy Rich
“Work,” says Pinkie Pie, sitting on her haunches with her hoof outstretched towards the roof of the building across the street, which appears derelict in the dark, drizzling night of the Ponyville industrial sector.
Wrapped around her hoof is a bulky, gold and metal platted gauntlet with a spool of wires attached to a lever and a canister, with its interior padded for maximum comfort. Attached to the wires is a grapple, and engraved in the plates are balloons, swirling streamers and a smiley face. Though, a smiley face is something Pinkie Pie does not have. She actually has a frowney face, and she is targeting her frustration on her device.
Pinkie Pie shakes her gauntlet and aims it at the building. “Work."
Rain patters off of her dark pink jacket and pushes her matching colored mane against her scalp. But nothing happens. Itchy, cold water trickles down her face and she shakes it again before giving the trigger another pull. That once again results in nothing.
Huffing loudly she stomps towards the edge of the roof and grabs a fat drain pipe, muttering to herself. “Whatever. I didn't want you to work, anyway.”
Her coat tail whips in the wind as she swings herself over the edge and she squeezes the sleek surface tight when she descends down. Water splashes against her face and her backside gets soaked from her landing in a muddy puddle that made a home out of the eroded cobblestone at the base of the drain.
Pinkie Pie gallops across the street and slides to cover by a stack of crates, and after taking a quick peek to the left, ride, up, side and side, and inside the crate for good measure she clambers up the crates towards a window covered in bars. After a quick test she merely pulls them off of the wall and sets them on top of her crate, and then she wiggles her grapple blade underneath the window and grunts as her muscles strain themselves against the lock's strength.
Thankfully the lock on the window quickly pops loose, but it does snap the wood and crack the glass, causing her to cringe and freeze.
All Pinkie Pie hears is her controlled breathing and the rain beating against her and the eyesore of an environment. Though, to be safe she waits a few more seconds before pushing the window up. The wood squeaks and screams like an obnoxious child, pushing Pinkie's heart to beat like a terrified bird trapped in a cage,
Once the window is up far enough she rolls inside and falls flat on her stomach with a splash. The landing pushes the air out of her lungs, leaving her to cough and suck in air while rain pours in around her.
“Oi, ya hear that?” says a stallion out of sight.
Pinkie Pie covers her mouth and stares in the direction of the voice, her blue eyes shining in the dark and her ears drooped.
“I hear your nasty breathing,” says another stallion.
“Nah, I'm serious. I think somepony just broke in,” says the first stallion.
Steps approach and Pinkie Pie crawls backwards, disappearing entirely into the shadows of the hallway. Seconds later a pair of stallions arrive. One is a burly earth pony covered in a ratty jacket and wearing a brown derbie hat. The other is a unicorn who is a bit taller than her and is wearing an old coat. His horn is glowing in a soft blue, enforcing the shadows on his face when he wrinkles his brows and muzzles at the mess.
“I told ya somepony broke in,” says the burly stallion.
Pinkie Pie shifts her hoof on the floor and crouches lower, her tail now swishing slowly.
The unicorn nods. “Yeah. We gotta get the boss out of here.”
Pinkie Pie blinks and flicks her eyes over them. Then time slows to a crawl when she leaps out of cover and takes two hops towards the unicorn. She jumps on his back, and as he buckles and opens his mouth to scream she slams his head into the floor, propels herself off of him and punches the large stallion in his throat. He gags and stumbles back, and Pinkie Pie slides on the floor and rams her hoof into the side of his back knee. He collapses and howl of pain is garbled mess that no one can possibly hear, and Pinkie Pie jumps up and uses her momentum to punch down on the top of his skull. The stallion falls next to his unconscious partner and his hat rolls away.
Pinkie Pie sighs, shakes her limbs, and then grabs the hat and gallops down the hall. She bursts through a door and with next to no thought she straddles herself on the curved railing of the winding staircase. The metal squeaks from the wet fabric rubbing against it, and before she reaches the end of the rail she jumps off, rolls behind a pillar, and presses her body against it. She pokes her head out from cover and looks down into a chamber that is occupied by a dozen ponies surrounding a chained down teenage filly in a tattered white dress that is covered in streaks of black.
Her light magenta coat is stained with grime, her pale violent and white mane is also ruffled and knotted, jut like her tail, but she is still somehow holding defiance in her eyes. In front of her is a board with four dozen wooden cards, all attached to poles.
“You think you can get away with this? My father will kick your flank all the way to the sun and make sure your family never sees a bit again!” says the hostage, Diamond Tiara.
The pony she is talking to is an earth pony that is exactly like Filthy Rich described in the letter. His pale white fur almost glows in the dim light of the chamber, and his green and red stripped mane appears to not have been brushed in years. Even his blue trench coat and the yellow vest beneath it seem to have been pulled from the garbage.
The Captor giggles and pats Diamond's cheek. “Silly filly, I have to care about those things for that to work on me.” He then hooks his hoof around her neck and presses her close to his body while pointing at the board. “Now, we're going to play a game. It is going to be a fun game. It is going to be a very fun game of memory and suspense! Give it a whirl!”
A stallion approaches the board and presses a lever. All ninety six cards spin around, and from what Pinkie Pie can see, all of them have pictures of weapons, rabid animals, body parts and portraits,one of which is a picture of Diamond. A pair of the pictures oddly have a bag of money.
“For every mismatch you make I kill a random pony. Pick wisely, Princess,” says the Captor. He squishes her cheek with a hard peck and skips towards the board, leaving Diamond's defiance to crumble in her pale state.
A shiver runs up Pinkie Pie's spine. She partially blames it on the Captor's voice, but most of it rests on the fact that someone is trying to sneak up on her. Though, when Pinkie Pie turns to confront the sneaker, she sees his muzzle is wrapped in a ghostly lavender tendril. His eyes are wide with panic, but they gradually get heavier. After some seconds his eyes close, his body goes limp, and he is gently lowered to the floor by a light purple unicorn mare with violet eyes and a dark mane with stripes of violet and rose tied to a bun. She is wearing a purple vest and tie with a pale purple dress shirt underneath and has thick rimmed glasses perched on her nose, as well as a derbie hat tailored for unicorns.
Pinkie Pie grins. “Hey, Sparkly.”
'Sparkly', a.k.a. Twilight Sparkle, returns the look with bemusement. “You left the stove on.”
“I was preheating it.”
“For ten hours?”
“Yes. But, lookie.” Pinkie Pie pulls Twilight to the edge and points at the scene below. “We got them. Where's Bronze Shield?”
“Coming.”
“Ewww.”
“What? No, Pinkie, that's not what I meant. He's on his way.”
“Oh... Well, we don't have time to wait.”
And with that, she scurries off into the shadows, ignoring Twilight's hushed calls for her to come back. Her steps make next to no sound as her hoofs barely touch the stone in the dark stairwell. When she emerges into the chamber she charges the nearest pony and slams his head against the wall. The result is a loud crack and the pony crumbles with a spot of red inside a circle of cracks.
All eyes fall on her and right as the next closest pony draws his revolver from his hoof-holster, Pinkie Pie has rolled towards him, hooked her hoof around his neck and swung herself on top of him. She punches the back of his head, forcing him to the ground. His gun goes off and his teeth break, and the bullet rips into the shoulder of the pony operating the board. He screams and falls into the display, knocking it over, thus leading it to snap into pieces upon impacting the floor.
As Pinkie Pie's second most recent victim wails on the floor, holding his mouth, unpleasant stabs of a dozen vibrating knives wiggle their way into her body. Her ears droop at the sight of nine different guns aimed at her, but when they fire, all the bullets bounce off of a purple shield that has appeared around her. Cracks appear from the shots, but Pinkie Pie can still see through and watches with glee as Twilight appears in a flash between two thugs, levitates both of them, slams them together and throws them across the chamber into a pile of crates.
Splintered wood and loose straw spill all over the floor and Pinkie Pie jumps out of the shield, gallops towards a crook who has his sights on Twilight and punches him in the liver. His weapon drops from his pained, explosive gasp and as he buckles, she runs him into the ground and punches him in the face.
Next thing Pinkie Pie knows, there is a bright flash of light, screams of pain and shock, and a terrible ringing in her ears. Her eyes burn, her ears throb from the high pitched ringing, and everything sounds like it is underwater and all the colors appear bleached. Thugs stagger around, firing blindly, blowing out chunks of pillars and floors, and as this happens streaks of purple strike them, sending them flying back with smoky trails of light purple following them.
When the disorientation dissipates, Pinkie Pie blinks the residual bleached colors away and sees thee remaining thugs lying on the ground, groaning and smoking, and Twilight approaching the Captor, who is lying on the floor like a statue of a pony frozen in mid-gallop.
Pinkie Pie grins and climbs off her victim to trot to Twilight. “I knew there was a reason why I hired you.”
Without looking at Pinkie Pie, Twilight's horn glows and the chains holding Diamond Tiara glow purple, then shatter. “You're an idiot. You almost got yourself killed!”
“Wouldn't be the first time.” Pinkie Pie slaps Diamond Tiara on the shoulder playfully, though it still knocks her off balance and brings out a wince. “How you doing, Diamond?”
“Don't touch me,” says Diamond sharply as she rubs her shoulder. “Did my father send you?”
“He sure did.”
Diamond Tiara scoffs. “Took long enough.”
“How about a thank you?” says Twilight flatly.
“You're getting paid. That's all the thanks you need.”
“She does have a point,” says Pinkie Pie.
Twilight shoots her a nasty glare, and she smiles sheepishly and shrugs. Then there is a distant bang, and a dozen sets of hoofs storm in, all shouting indistinctly. Seconds later, ponies in blue jackets with black hats and golden badges rush in, all brandishing weapons. Leading them is a chunky, poorly groomed unicorn stallion of bronze and yellow color wearing a brown trench jacket levitating a revolver.
“Police! Everypony freeze!” shouts the leader.
The criminals moan in response.
“You're too late, Bronze Shield!” says Diamond Tiara. “These two already saved me. Honestly, what does my father pay you for?”
The leader, Bronze Shield, sulks with drooped ears. “Oh... uh, I guess he pays me for...”
Diamond Tiara rolls her eyes and marches her way to the officers with her nose in the air. “Stop your blabbering and take me home. Might as well make some use out of you.”
“R-Right, of course. Um...” Bronze Shield looks around, and then waves at his officers. “Well, get going, lads. Tie them up, put them in the dungeons.”
The officers begin rounding up the fallen criminals, with the Captor's petrified body being cuffed like an X and his muzzle covered, and as this happens Bronze Shield nods to Twilight and Pinkie Pie.
“Thank you for your help, ladies,” he says. “A job well done.”
Twilight nods and Pinkie Pie grins and bows.
“No problem,” says Pinkie Pie.
Bronze Shield nods again and gallops off when Diamond Tiara screeches at him to hurry up. Pinkie Pie cringes with drooped ear and Twilight frowns and shakes her head. Once Bronze Shield is out of sight, Pinkie Pie takes a deep breath and looks at Twilight.
“So~” begins Pinkie Pie slowly while rubbing the back of her neck. “Wanna grab some veggie shawarma?”
“I really don't see why you put yourself through this,” says Twilight, her nose buried in a newspaper with 'COLOR WHEEL SENTENCED TO DEATH' as the headline and her body curled comfortably on a circular couch. “It ends badly for you every time.”
Pinkie Pie tilts a large mirror slightly and marvels at her outfit. A light pink, airy dress shirt is beneath her black corset with a rainbow ribbon down the center and collar, balloons on its sides, and a pink sash with a skirt matching the designs of the corset.
“They don't end all badly,” says Pinkie Pie. “Some of them end up good.”
“Having somepony put a restraining order on you after the first date is not good,” says Twilight.
“That was only one time and he started it.”
“Mhm.” Twilight flips a page of her newspaper. “And the other thirty five times?”
Pinkie Pie whips around, eyes wide and mouth slack. “You've been counting?”
“Yes I have.”
Pinkie Pie's mane deflates, and with sagging ears she looks back at the mirror, forcing a smile to appear.
“Well, in my defense, the other times did not end in restraining orders. Besides, I'm sure this time things will be different. He seemed nice when I met him,” says Pinkie Pie.
“And where did you meet him?” asks Twilight.
“That minute-date place down the street.”
Twilight puts down her newspaper and stares at Pinkie Pie, her expression as flat as a salt plain.
“Really? Minuette's Minute-Date Plaza?” says Twilight. “That place is a front for illegal activity.”
Pinkie Pie trots towards a night stand next to a space heater and uses a brush that is resting next to her grapple gauntlet to brush her mane. Each brush brings back a little bit more of her normal puff.
“Don't be a hater. The food's great. The staff's great. The place is great. Ten-ten if I can rate it,” says Pinkie Pie.
“It's just that -aside from that place's notoriety- minute-dating sounds like a really inefficient way to get to know somepony. There's too many variables involved to be covered in just one minute,” says Twilight.
Pinkie Pie points at Twilight with her brush, leaving half of her mane flat and the other half airy. “Hey, at least I'm trying. You're just sitting here, being a blah and a blerg and all kinds of dull.”
“I'm not dull! We can even ask Spike when he comes back. He'll prove that I'm not dull.”
Pinkie Pie sighs sadly and puts her hoof on Twilight's shoulder.
“Twilight, I love you, but when you're not on a job you're about as interesting as a wet carrot,” says Pinkie Pie.
“But wet carrots are interesting,” says Twilight. “Have you actually studied one?”
Pinkie Pie pulls away, flabbergasted. “Wow. You need to get out more.”
Just then the door opens up and the only civilized dragon in Equestria enters. Spike Sparkle's reptilian emerald eyes are lively and his purple scales are covered by a white dress shirt, a green vest with ruby buttons, and a red tie. Over his dashing attire is a coat tailored for his unique dragon stature and a nifty top hat with an owl feather in it.
Pinkie Pie whistles. “Look at you. Who are you trying to impress, Spike?”
Spike removes his hat and smiles bashfully, pinching its brim between his fingers.
“Rarity made it for me,” he says.
“And how much did that cost?” asks Twilight, her nose out of her newspaper solely for the purpose of scrutinizing Spike's apparel.
“Nothing much.”
“How much?”
“Nothing pricey.”
Twilight narrows her eyes and sits up on the couch, glaring down at him.
“How much?” repeats Twilight.
Spike chuckles nervously. “Only ten bits.”
“Teh-” Twilight sputters. “Ten bits? Ten bits! Are you serious!?”
Twilight hops off the couch and uses her magic to levitate Spike as she frantically inspects him, fin to tail, right to left, speaking each sentence in a sequence of broken words and high pitched panic.
“Ten bits! Ten bits! I can't believe you!” Twilight places her hoofs on Spike's shoulders and peers deep into his eyes, burning his very soul with condemnation. “Do you have any idea what you've just done!?”
“Bought a snazzy suit with my allowance?” offers Spike meekly.
“What?” Twilight looks at Pinkie Pie, who has basically ignored the commotion to brush her hair. “Pinkie, can you believe his ignorance?”
Pinkie Pie looks at the duo's reflection in her mirror, and uses said mirror to flash a smile at Spike. “Relax, Twilight. You got to admit he looks good. He'll be thot hunting before you know it!”
"PINKIE!"
Spike smirks and haughtily tugs at his coat. “I'm glad somepony admires quality.”
Twilight drops Spike and trots to Pinkie Pie, shaking her head and ignoring the seething from the dragon as he rubs his butt.
“You don't get it,” says Twilight. “That allowance money is supposed to be used for something more suitable than a suit. Like a book or a chemistry set or season passes to the museum. Or even stocks!”
Pinkie Pie sighs and patiently looks at Twilight as she places her brush down. “Twilight, what is the point of giving him an allowance if he is not allowed to spend his money like he wants to?”
“Thank you!” says Spike.
“I'm trying to teach him responsibility,” counters Twilight.
“Then let him learn, silly goose.” Pinkie Pie lightly knocks on Twilight's skull, and when her unicorn companion brushes her hoof away she heads towards the door. “I'm going out for lunch, so behave. Don't burn the house down and feel free to raid the snacks.”
“Can I come?” asks Spike. “I want to impress the ladies.”
“The future you can. This is me time.” Pinkie Pie opens the doors and looks over her shoulder, sporting a teasing smile. “Maybe you and Twilight can boil carrots together while I'm gone.”
Spike's stature deflates with a groan. “Aw man. I don't wanna do that again.”
Pinkie Pie snickers and shuts the door when she is out, which turns into a signal for all of the stench of smog, burning coal and wet grime to assault her nose. As long as she has been in Ponyville she has never gotten used to the smell or the distant rumble of aqua-powered textile plants placed on the river bordering the growing city. But it is her new home so she has to take the bad with the good.
As she walks down the dirty cobblestone road, she passes a row of stone tables and benches set up in a surprisingly green park with a statue of swirling alicorns next to them. One is made of marble and the other onyx, and the former lined with gold and the latter with silver. The stone tables are also finely decorated with carved in flowers and prancing foals, and all of them are occupied by ponies pitting themselves in a game of chess with a random stranger or old friends. For Pinkie Pie, she has never actually played chess, but has seen Twilight play it countless times and beat everyone that she crossed. That said, she has learned a few things from watching Twilight slaughter the helpless.
“Move him to B-7 for a checkmate,” says Pinkie Pie, after taking a quick moment to lean over the shoulder of a gamboge pegasus scrutinizing his pieces.
This simple statement perks his ears and earns her a condemning glare from the unicorn across the table. She ignores the look and trots off, humming brightly and manages to go another block before a heavy Southern drawl fills her ears.
“You, ma'am!” says a filly.
Pinkie Pie looks out of the corner of her eye and spots the notorious Apple Bloom zipping towards her from her spot at an apple cart. Thankfully the teenager slow down to a trot before she runs her over, but Pinkie Pie keeps walking, despite the red-headed filly's attempt to talk to her.
“Care to buy some apples?” asks Apple Bloom.
“Not today,” says Pinkie Pie.
Apple Bloom swings in front of Pinkie Pie and smiles up at her, straining her neck, eyes and lips to smile like a bug-eyed shyster.
“Why not?” asks Apple Bloom, stepping closer to force Pinkie Pie backwards.
“I have plenty at home,” says Pinkie Pie. She looks over her shoulder and sees Apple Blooms two ruffian friends -Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo- at the cart, also harassing passerby's.
“Are you sure?” asks Apple Bloom, her smile warping to a skeptical frown.
“Pretty sure.”
“You're pretty sure, but you're not absolutely positively super-duper sure, are you?”
Pinkie Pie stops backpedaling and looks over Apple Bloom's scrawny teenage frame and the accusing glare she is now giving her.
“If I buy an apple will you let me go?” asks Pinkie Pie.
Apple Bloom's harsh expression brightens like one of them fancy electric bulbs. “All right!”
Pinkie Pie sighs, gives Apple Bloom a bit, snags an apple from the cart and trots away. Then she hears it.
“Hey! This is a chocolate bit!” shouts Apple Bloom.
And Pinkie Pie bolts.
After a good five minutes of running, slipping through the crowd, zigzagging through alleys, hopping over boxes for no reason other than just because they were there, Pinkie Pie comes to a stop in front of a square shaped building with a tower on each corner, electric lamps in equal increments around its stone wall, and steel bars over the windows. There is also a set of heavy wooden doors with metal plates and a tree painted on them. Above in bold metal letters is: PONYVILLE LOCAL GUARD STATION.
Barely panting and sweating, Pinkie Pie stares at the words, mind working like a lone miner in a dark tunnel digging for the gem of knowledge in an attempt to figure out how the heck she got there. Though, before any recollection of the path her sporadic running can be made the doors open up and Bronze Shield appears with a group of guards flanking him.
“Now, she's never in one place for long, so we got to split up and search her favorite spots,” says Bronze Shield. “I'll start at her house. You and Caramel can go to the Sugar Cube Corner, and-”
“There she is,” interrupts one of the guards, pointing at Pinkie Pie.
Bronze Shield stops and looks down the steps at Pinkie Pie, and she looks at them, hiding her confusion with an innocent smile. An awkward, heavy silence rolls over the group, and Bronze Shield clicks his tongue and paws at the stone stairs.
“Well...” starts Bronze Shield. “Hi, there.”
Pinkie Pie waves. “Hello. How is life?”
“Fine.” Bronze Shield takes an unsteady breath and walks down the stairs of the station, each step careful, and when he is in front of Pinkie Pie he fails to keep his eyes on hers. “Listen, this is going to sound a bit strange, but Color Wheel wants to speak with you. Personally. Like one on one.”
Pinkie Pie blinks. “Can't it wait? I have to meet up with someone for lunch.”
“No. Color Wheel is getting the noose in a few hours and speaking to you was his last request.”
“Oh... Well, this is awkward...”
After a couple of minutes of talking, begging, denying, more begging and finally caving in to the bizarre request put in front of her, Pinkie Pie and Bronze Shield make their way below the guard station. The air is cold and muggy, the dim lights flicker, puddles of water collect at the base of the walls, and nearly a dozen sets of noisy stepping hoofs ricochet off the barren walls.
As the group walks, Pinkie Pie looks at each cells, noting how they are all empty, and she looks at the guards around her and sees the discomfort pinching at their faces.
“Where are the rest of the prisoners?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“They have been moved,” says Bronze Shield. “Color Wheel has a way of getting into heads so for safety reasons we had them moved to another block.”
“Why didn't you just put him in solitary?”
Bronze Shield opens his mouth, but then clamps it shut and rubs his chin in a state of deep pondering, leaving Pinkie Pie to walk ahead without much care. Though, when she rounds the corner she stops, for sitting in the cell directly in front of her just a few dozen paces away is Color Wheel. Only Color Wheel isn't pale or appearing crazy.
His coat is blue, but has traces of white, his mane is no longer red and green, but is white with the dye remaining at his roots. Most bizarre of all is that his crazy smile and eyes are completely nonexistent. His demeanor is relaxed on his old cot and etched into the wall of his cell is a triangle made up of the infinity symbols all linked together by orbs.
“There you are,” says Color Wheel, smiling gratefully. “I am honestly surprised that you showed up so fast. I thought you had better things to do than visit me.”
Pinkie Pie furrows her brows, raises a hoof and looks at Bronze Shield, who is now next to her, but is out of sight of Color Wheel thanks to the corner. Seeing her confusion, he nods and she blinks and lowers her hoof, putting her focus back on Color Wheel.
“You clean up nice,” says Pinkie Pie carefully. “You actually look sane.”
Color Wheel chuckles. It chills the air and brings a sensation of sharp spiders crawling along Pinkie Pie's spine.
“Thank you. It can be tiresome acting like an unhinged maniac on a daily basis,” says Color Wheel. “Though, I have to say you look lovely when you aren't dressed like a hobo.”
“Thanks, but I didn't dress up for you,” replies Pinkie Pie. “It was for somepony else.”
“I'm sure they'll be a lucky lad if you can keep them.”
Pinkie Pie remains quiet, and Color Wheel crawls off his cot, yawning and stretching out with his hindquarters up and face nearly to the floor. When he is done stretching and yawning he approaches his cell bars and casually inspects them.
“Did you know that these bars are enchanted to drain energy?” says Color Wheel. “The more you interact with them the more of your energy is sucked out and stored so that way if a prisoner tries to escape they are met with a nasty surprise.”
Pinkie Pie steps closer, noticing the faint shimmer on the cell bars, and she closely follows Color Wheel's movements when he puts his eyes on her.
“Did you figure that out from personal experience?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“It happened in my past life,” says Color Wheel. “I was just a poor, dumb colt in Fillydelphia who pressed their luck. Killed myself with a heart attack from messing with these things. The funeral would have been better if there weren't so many fake tears.”
“That sounds like a crazy dream you had.”
“A crazy reality is more like it.”
Silence comes between the two. Somewhere water drips. Somewhere wires hum. Somewhere the conversations of ponies is carried to their spot. Though, what they are about Pinkie Pie is not sure, all she knows is that she liked the Crazy Color Wheel better. This Cool Cucumber Color Wheel is completely different in mannerisms and voice, and she even subtly moves her eyes up and down his body in an attempt gauge his height. But her little inspection gives her a disappointing answer. He is the same height and weight as the one caught in the old warehouse, and his eyes are the same color, too. They just lack the display of insanity that he branded himself with.
“Is there a reason why you wanted me here, or can I just go?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“I'm wondering how you and your unicorn friend found me,” replies Color Wheel. “I thought I covered my tracks, but you and your mare friend came along and ruined my game.”
“Everypony's got a pattern, even if they think they don't have one. You were actually way too easy to find when I figured out your game.”
Color Wheel hums thoughtfully and tilts his head up slightly. This brings Pinkie Pie to look up where his eyes are aiming and sees a moth beating against a light bulb. She quickly looks away from the boring sight.
“I see,” says Color Wheel. He looks at Pinkie Pie with a lazy smile. “Can you tell me what my flaw was?”
“Why do you want to know? You're gonna die soon,” says Pinkie Pie.
Color Wheel shrugs. “I would like to learn from my mistakes.”
“Well, you're gonna die, so I wouldn't worry about it.”
“I'm not going to be dying any time soon.”
“I think you are.”
“I don't think so.”
“Uh, yeah. ”
“Uh, no.”
“You're gonna get hung. That kinda equals death.”
Color Wheel holds out his hoof, grinning widely. “Ah! Kinda. A vague, often meaningless filter to voice a bit of uncertainty.”
Pinkie Pie blinks and her lips scrunch as she stares at Color Wheel's triumphant grin. After some seconds she shakes her head and heads towards the door.
“I'm running late for a lunch. Enjoy your last meal,” says Pinkie Pie.
“And how many times will you fake a smile on this date?” says Color Wheel.
Pinkie Pie's blood and bones flash freezes, and despite her best efforts, her eye still twitches. When she turns around, Color Wheel has his muzzle pressed against the bars, and his eyes and teeth shine in the dim light.
“I really have no idea what you're talking about,” says Pinkie Pie.
“You mean you kinda have no idea what I'm talking about,” says Color Wheel. “You aren't the only one who can read, you know? I can see those mental gears turning, your eyes consuming, the paranoia eroding your very soul. It is quite tragic seeing a proper bit of frock like yourself having no return ticket. I wonder if your friend knows how close to the edge you are.”
“I would love to chat about why you are completely wrong, but-” Pinkie Pie taps her blank hoof “-look at the time. I gotta go. Have fun explaining to Celestia why you were an evil jerk.”
Color Wheel smirks. “Very well. I would love to hear your story when we meet again.”
Pinkie Pie hurries towards the door. “Bezpieczna podróż .”
And the last thing she hears from Color Wheel is his odd chuckle.
Once she rounds the corner, she takes a deep breath, shakes her head and shoulders, and trots towards Bronze Shield, who is surrounded by a group of guards and is nibbling his lips anxiously.
“What did he want?” asks Bronze Shield.
“He just wanted to mess around,” says Pinkie Pie.
“Really?”
“Yep. Have fun with him. I'm gonna grab some lunch.”
Pinkie Pie leaves without another word, but once she is outside, getting her nose punched by the stench of urban Ponyville, she takes another moment to collect her thoughts. This proves to be a waste of a good few seconds since her thoughts have become about as organized as a shaken box of puzzles with some of the pieces taken out. So, rather than wasting more time in trying to make sense of the bizarre conversation, Pinkie Pie forces her hoofs to move, and she quickly walks down the muddy path of Ponyville, giving herself a pain in the neck from forcing her head to stay straight. She then hops on a passing trolley decorated with bright colors and swirling letters spelling “Rich Trolley Company” , takes an empty seat in the back, and closes her eyes; and in the darkness she plunges herself into, Color Wheel's chuckle follows.
The door to the Sugar Cube Corner flies open with a loud bang that rattles the windows and candy themed décor, and the patrons gasp and turn to the who dared disturbed their happy time. Pinkie Pie stands in the doorway, hoof pressed against the bright red and yellow door, barrel heaving from her panting and her puffy mane frazzled and matted to her neck and forehead from sweat. Her airy shirt underneath has also become glued to her limbs and darkened from the sweat below, her ribbon and sash have become undone and her skirt and corset have become tainted with streaks of black.
The crowd turns away from Pinkie Pie one by one, and she takes a deep breath and hobbles towards the front counter, where a short, light gold pegasus colt with a rough brown mane waits for her.
“Chocolate milk?” asks the pegasus.
“Chocolate milk,” answers Pinkie Pie.
The pegasus ducks from sight and Pinkie Pie sighs and slumps against the counter. The nice, cool counter that feels like the sensual touch of the goddess of love wanting to cool her off and fill her with wonderful, comfortable happiness. She is tempted to close her eyes and stick herself on the counter for a good while, but a glass bottle slides in front of her with 'Shake Well' printed on its label, thus spoiling her simple desire.
“Here you go, Pinkie,” says the pegasus.
Without lifting her head from the counter, Pinkie Pie drags the bottle close to her.
“Thanks, Pound,” she says. She twists her head so her chin is on the counter instead of her cheek. “Was there anypony waiting for me? Specifically a unicorn stallion, about a hoof taller than me, weird gray-blue color with a silver-white mane. Has a pin as a cutie mark. Very good looking.”
“You mean that guy over there?” asks Pound, nodding past Pinkie Pie.
Pinkie Pie looks to where he nodded and sees the pony she described sitting in a corner, wearing a burgundy vest over a white shirt, a white ascot, and a golden chained watch in his pocket. Slung over the back of his chair is a long, red overcoat with dark red cuffs and floating in front of him is the newspaper, which his golden eyes scan with interest.
Pinkie Pie thanks Pound, grabs the bottle with her mouth and staggers towards the table. Once at the table she collapses in her chair, pops the cap off and chugs the whole bottle down without taking a breath, leaving a thick trail of dark brown streaking from the bottom to the top. Once the milk is gone she slams the bottle down and smiles at the stallion, uncaring of the brown lining her teeth or the baffled look he is giving her.
“Hi,” says Pinkie Pie.
Bronze Shield deflates in his seat, releasing a heavy puff of smoke from his mouth, levitating a cigar in front of his muzzle. His eyes are heavy, his desk is messy and an old meal of yellowed apple slices and stale peanut butter sits on a metal plate at the edge of his desk, on top of another dirty metal plate. In front of him is an open letter with the Royal Seal stamped on top. The swirling alicorns around the intertwined sun and moon is made of a blood red stamp, and below them starts off the letter with the very posh, very condemning simple opening statement:
Dear Commissioner Bronze Shield,
It has come to the attention of the Royal Guard of Equestria that your performance regarding the City of Ponyville has been below standard.
Bronze Shield takes another puff of his cigar, eye barely managing a twitch when some of the hot embers break off to find new grounds on his lap. Outside the civilians go about their business, living their lives with a new sense of comfort knowing that Color Wheel will soon be ferried off to Tartarus. As for Bronze Shield? He is still stuck in Tartarus, and the ticking clock above his door plays the role of the cruel reminder of his never ending position. Each passing tick like a stone slab thumping in his ears.
Thunk...
Thunk...
Thunk...
Thunk...
The door to his office opens and a mare pokes her head in.
“Sir, there is somepony here to see you,” says the mare. “He says he's from Canterlot. He has the badge and paperwork.”
Bronze Shield nods, despite the colors draining from his bronze coat.
“Send him in,” he says.
“You are late,” says the stallion to Pinkie Pie, his amazement falling into a more mellow state.
“I got caught up at work,” says Pinkie Pie.
The stallion snorts and places his newspaper to the side to pick up the menu.
“It is tragic that a mare has to work,” he says. “She should be at home with the foals and offer comfort to her stallion.”
“You didn't bring up that archaic view when we had the minute-date, Pinprick,” says Pinkie Pie, some animosity creeping into her tone. “Do you believe in herds?”
“As tempting as it is to be spoiled by a dozen mares, just one is burden enough.”
Pinkie Pie grunts sourly and pulls her menu to her.
“We just met and you already think I'm a burden? We're off to a great start,” says Pinkie Pie.
Pinprick smiles slyly and lowers his menu just enough so Pinkie Pie can see it, bringing her ear to twitch and tail to flick from embarrassingly missing his obvious teasing. She decides to blame Color Wheel for this misfortune.
“Then let's start over,” says Pinprick. “What is your profession, Ms. Pie?”
“Well, Mr. Pierce, I just happen to be a consultant,” says Pinkie Pie, returning the smile and looking over Pokey. “And I'm also a part time psychic.”
“Then what number am I thinking of?”
“Twelve.”
Pinprick hums theatrically and flips the page of his menu.
“I'll give you that,” he says. “By the way, I own a store that specializes in clothing for stallions, but I have a nice section for mares. You should visit it sometime. Royal Pin Clothing off the fifth pier next to Davenport's Furniture. ”
“When you say clothing for mares are we talking stuffy or fun?” asks Pinkie Pie.
Pinprick looks over Pinkie Pie's outfit, then replies, smiling. “Yes.”
“Yes to one or two?”
“Yes.”
Pinkie Pie can't help but giggle at this antic. “I see where this is going. I just might have a look at your store just so I can get a new dress.”
“Excellent! Do you know what you want to eat? I'm buying, so don't be humble.”
Pinkie Pie looks at her menu and realizes that she has no idea what she wants. Everything looks good with the ink sketch of donuts, cakes, and other baked goods. However, when she turns the page her eyes snap to a very bizarre picture of a tall glass with bubbles floating from it.
“Hey, Pinprick, do you know what a fizzy drink is?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“No...” Pinprick's muzzle is graced with an energetic smile. “Let's try it.”
The door opens again and Bronze Shield stands to meet a gamboge pegasus with a sharp blue mane, wearing a pressed dark suit with the Royal Seal pinned over his heart and a gold clip on his tie. Said pegasus also has a locked saddlebag strapped to him and a pistol holstered on his hoof with a lightning bolt inside a shield stitched on its grip.
“I presume you are Flash Sentry,” says Bronze Shield, extending his hoof after casting a cautious glance at the weapon.
The pegasus presses his hoof against Bronze Shield's, smiling thinly.
“Yes, that is me. It is good to meet the Ponyville Commissioner,” says Flash Sentry. He takes a quick look around the messy office without moving from his spot. “I'm guessing the whole Color Wheel fiasco has left you busy.”
“Indeed.” Bronze Shield uses his magic to remove papers from one of the chairs in front of his desk, and he offers Flash a seat as he moves to claim his seat. “Please, no need to be standing. I'm sure the trip from Canterlot has left you tired.”
Flash sits down and adjusts his body, trying to find comfort in the old chair. Some awkward seconds of rubbing and squeaking pass before Flash stops moving and he looks at Bronze Shield intently.
“In regards to your assumption of me being tired the train ride was actually fast and comfortable, so I am not too tired,” says Flash.
“Oh, that's good,” says Bronze Shield.
“I mean that in a physical way.”
“Physical?”
“My exhaustion is more...” Flash rolls his hoof next to his head, eyes looking at the rolled up paper on the floor, and freezing after some seconds. “Mental.”
“Mental?”
“Mentally I am exhausted for reading the Ponyville profile. It has, to put politely, displayed an abysmal failure of law and order.”
Bronze Shield might as well have become a statue of chalk from how pale and brittle he feels, and Flash's dark expression is the hammer going against the fragile state of his being.
“The Royal Government has a sacred duty to protect its citizens from criminals. From thugs to corrupt politicians, to abusive entrepreneurs, and whatever else we deem criminal,” says Flash. “You failed.”
Bronze Shield swallows. “In my defense-”
“You don't get a defense.”
Pinkie Pie slams her hoof on the table, coughing and holding her nose to dull the sense of burning bubbles eating away at her nostrils. In front of her is an empty cup lined with bubbling brown liquid and populated with a swirling straw. Across from her, Pinprick casually sips his drink, watching Pinkie Pie's reaction with an amused smile.
He pops his straw out of his mouth and shakes his head, still smiling. “I told you not to drink it so fast.”
“In my defense-” Pinkie Pie takes a deep breath, then coughs again, turning her head away from him. After taking a moment to sniffle and regain her composure she says in a pained, breathy voice: “In my defense you said you don't recommend I drink it in one go.”
“Seeing as how you drank a pint of chocolate milk in one sitting I guess I should have used a more firm statement.” Pinprick uses his magic to take Pinkie's empty cup and he taps his menu with his hoof. “Perhaps we should get something less painful. Like a muffin or a plate of cookies.”
“Or a donut platter. I love donut platters.”
“At least you caught that anarchist, Color Wheel,” says Flash Sentry.
Bronze Shield tries to smile. “Yes, we did. His capture will solve a lot of problems in this city.”
Flash Sentry shakes his head slowly. “I don't buy that. He is a symptom of what is wrong with this city. And what is the arrangement you have with this consultant, Pinkie Pie?”
“A symptom? Sir, I can assure you-”
Flash holds up his hoof. “No. Don't try to defend yourself. Just tell me what arrangement you have with Consultant Pinkie Pie? She appears in much of the newspapers and files and is even credited with multiple arrests, including the capture of Color Wheel, and yet we cannot seem to find her in our business tax records. Is she under the rug?”
Bronze Shield swallows and drums his hoofs on his desk, wishing Flash would look away from him for just a couple of seconds so his brain can actually align his thoughts into something coherent.
“Mr. Sentry,” says Bronze Shield, slow and heavy, “we value all assistance our citizens give us, but if she is not filing her taxes then that is the job of the Royal Tax Collection Agency to handle. Not ours.”
“You're right,” says Flash. “Which is why I have deployed the Tax Agents to look through the department's pay stubs to see how much she owes in back taxes.”
Once again Bronze Shield finds himself becoming stiff, and an uneasy pressure builds up in his gut that brings him close to vomiting in his garbage can. In his state of shock, he can't move, much less lift his eyes when Flash stands up and adjusts his outfit.
“While they are doing that, why don't you take me to Color Wheel?” says Flash. “Perhaps you can do that right.”
A plate of donuts slides between the two, and as Pinkie Pie grins and hungrily rubs her hoofs together, Pinprick tucks a napkin into his collar. As he does this, Pinkie Pie reaches for a donut, but is stopped when she hears a slow melody of violins and cellos playing. The tunes guide a gloomy cloud over her and she looks out the window and sees a group of ponies playing their instruments on a platform made of crates with another box open in front of them. Their eyes are closed, their lips pursed in concentration and their bows glide over the strings, bringing death's melody into the shop.
Blinking, Pinkie Pie sits up and watches them play, feeling incredibly more depressed as the crying strings drag the seconds through every bad memory in her life. It does not take her long to notice the fine stitching on the coats, or the rushed sandpaper rubbing that desecrated the once beautiful instruments shine. She is even willing to put money on the table that the instrumentalists manes are not greasy from lack of care, but purposefully ruined from kitchen grease.
As the music plays, her brows furrow and her gears click in place to spell out: Beethoofen String Quartet Number 14. In C-Sharp Minor if she is not mistaken.
“Pinkie, are you okay?” asks Pinprick.
“I will be in just a second,” says Pinkie Pie.
She slips out of her seat and trots towards the group, which has earned a generous amount of bits for playing depressing music on top of their literal soap boxes. A closer look at their clothing tells Pinkie Pie all that she needs to know about them, since no honest pony would purposefully take scissors to fine clothing and hastily scrub it with dark brown mud from Horseshoe Lake's waterside factory.
“Excuse me,” says Pinkie Pie politely, “can you play something cheerful? You are outside a happy place, after all.”
The music stops and the group looks at her, with the lead stallion -a unicorn of gray coat and a messy black mane- giving her a stink eye.
“Are ya censorin' me, candy tail?” says the stallion with a horribly fake seafaring accent but surprisingly fresh breath.
“I am politely asking you to play something that doesn't make me want to hang myself,” says Pinkie Pie.
“Well, it'll cost ya a pretty bit or two.”
“How about it costs me not sending the guards after you for being frauds?”
“We ain't frauds.”
“If you aren't frauds then you have the worst Baystone accent ever, and you must have run into some pretty sharp rocks because those are the cleanest tears in clothing I have ever seen, and I have never heard of a pony using old cooking grease to wash their manes. Also, do you store your instruments with sandpaper? Because that looks a lot like sandpaper damage to me. I'm sure the guards would love to see how much you swindled out of the good citizens with your violation of the Anti-Fake Homeless Act of 1873."
The group silently stares at Pinkie Pie with wide eyes, with one self-consciously straightening their mane with their hoof, and one of the ponies, a pegasus stallion with an indigo coat and blue mane, leans to the leader.
“I know a couple of happy tunes we can try,” he says with a completely natural regional accent.
Bronze Shield leads Flash and a group of guards to Color Wheel's cell. The cells are still empty and the air is still cold, and when they reach Color Wheel's cell Flash takes notice of the symbol on the cell wall.
“Somepony has been busy,” mutters Flash.
“He drove the prisoners mad, but he's fit to be hung very soon,” says Bronze Shield.
Flash hums and approaches Color Wheel's cell, noting how the imprisoned stallion looks to be quite young. In his late twenties or early thirties. So much life wasted from destructive behavior.
“Prisoner, were your antics worth it?” asks Flash.
Color Wheel's eyes meet Flash's, and a small smile tugs on his muzzle.
“Every last one,” says Color Wheel.
Flash looks at Bronze Shield, who merely shrugs, and the pegasus looks back at the pony.
“Well, the infamous Color Wheel is quite disappointing to look at,” says Flash. “I was expecting you to be more colorful.”
“Disappointment is my specialty,” quips Color Wheel.
“Well, enough of that,” says Bronze Shield, butting his way past Flash while his horn lights up, thus leading to the bars shimmering. “It is time for you get the noose. Lads, if you will.”
Flash steps aside to allow the guards in, giving each one a scrutinizing scowl as they file past him and order Color Wheel to stand tall and still. The pony obeys without question and puts up no resistance when the guards cuff his hoofs and leash his neck. During the course of this event his eyes stay locked on Bronze Shield, offering nothing extreme, only a very subtle hint of fear. Flash cocks his head slightly, but remains silent, and takes another step back when Color Wheel is escorted out of his cage by the leash.
The chains clink against each other and Color Wheel's hoofs, and the atmosphere becomes very stuffy and chilled, like frozen cotton balls being stuffed into one's lungs. So, with a long, steady exhale, Flash follows the group down the hall, casting one last look at the symbol on the wall before leaving its presence.
Bombastic, happy music brings sunshine and rainbows into the Sugar Cube Corner. Dreary and bored faces are now lit up and fresh conversations replace the stale ones. Even the frauds outside have gotten a boost in donations as ponies drop more bits into their box, and each one being met with a thankful smile. And at Pinkie Pie's table, she finishes the last of her donut stack with a content smile.
“This is by far the most interesting courting I have had to date,” says Pinprick, smiling just the same as Pinkie Pie as he prudishly brushes crumbs off of his muzzle.
“Then you need to get out more,” says Pinkie Pie.
“My line of work hardly allows me time. It is not easy running a business, after all.”
Pinkie Pie nods. “Oh, trust me. I know all about it. Just when I think I'm getting a day off the cops come knocking at my door because of some problem. Not that I am complaining since I love my job and I love catching bad guys I mean who doesn't love catching bad guys? Catching bad guys is just a rush of joy without the powder!”
Pinkie Pie slams her hoofs on the table, shaking the dining wares, and she exhales a loud puff of air and slumps in her chair. It only takes her two seconds to realize that Pinprick is giving her an odd look, and she chuckles nervously and slinks her hoof over her chair while giving him the best lidded eyes she can.
“Not that I'm that stuff. Completely powder free. Same time next week?” says Pinkie Pie.
“Uh~” begins Pinprick.
“Good. Bye!”
And in a flash she is out the door and gallops down the street, heart racing, lungs tightening and skin shriveling from her pouring sweat.
“Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid!”
Light shines on Color Wheel through the carefully placed window in the Execution Chamber. Among the crowd that has taken an elevated spot for the spectacle is Bronze Shield and Flash Sentry, but the two are in two areas of the room. Bronze Shield is standing next to another unicorn stallion who has taken a spot by a lever. This one is ashen with a two toned mane of green and yellow, and he is wearing an all black suit. Off to the side, near the exit is Flash Sentry, and he is still watching Color Wheel.
The pony is standing on a platform with a noose hanging in front of him and has a group of four guards watching him with paranoia stamped on their faces. Color Wheel, however, is not looking at anybody but the Judge, an old earth pony who is sitting high on his bench with much of his body hidden by the decorated podium.
“Color Wheel, you have been found guilty by your peers for six accounts of kidnapping, five accounts of murder, one account of attempted murder, and actively practicing and promoting the Teachings of Discord. For these crimes against your fellow pony, you are sentenced to death by hanging. Do you have any last words?” asks the Judge.
Color Wheel looks at the crowd, the ashen pony and Bronze Shield, and when his focus is back on the Judge his lips twitch to make an uneasy smile.
“Ladies. Gentlecolts. Rest easy while you can, for on the third day I shall rise and bring what we all deserve,” says Color Wheel. He takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles at the Judge. “You may begin the countdown, Judge.”
After a brief, heavy pause the Judge nods to the ashen unicorn. Said unicorn swiftly approaches Color Wheel, places a black bag over his head, slips the noose around his neck, and then uses his magic to pull the lever, thus dropping the floor from beneath the condemned pony.
Color Wheel's body drops and with it comes a sickening snap of bones. The crowd flinches, some gasp, and Bronze Shield averts his eyes as Color Wheel's twitching body twirls and sways from the noose. Flash does not look away, though. He keeps his attention fully on the spinning corpse and pushes the disturbed murmurs out of his ears.
After several moments of waiting, the twitching finally subsides and Color Wheel's body is gently laid on a gurney, where an amber unicorn stallion with a brown mane wearing spectacles and a white coat waits. His horn glows and the corpse is scanned by a sparkling, yellow line. After his magical inspection, the doctor prods the body with his hoofs, stopping when he feels the mangled, purple lined neck. With that said and done, he steps back and nods to Bronze Shield and Flash Sentry.
“He's dead.”
Pinkie Pie loves pillows. She is particularly fond of fluffy bed pillows with the frilly edges and soft interiors. They are great for stuffing one's face in to muffle the screams of despair and to soak up the lonely tears of disappointment. They are also good for blocking one's view of unwanted guests who have made it a mission to interrupt the mourning period.
“Pinkie, you can't stay cooped up like this,” says Twilight. “It isn't healthy. Plus, we got work to do.”
“I've only been here for three days,” says Pinkie Pie, her face still in the pillow.
“Three days staring at your pillow and playing the fiddle horribly.”
Twilight levitates a stack of rough, used notebooks and places them on a table cluttered with dead plants, doodles and an old fiddle. She then pulls the chair next to Pinkie Pie and sits down with a stack of mail floating next to her.
“Look, we have a list of clients growing very fast,” says Twilight. “Your popularity has really taken off ever since you captured Color Wheel-”
“Uh huh,” mumbles Pinkie Pie.
“-And now ponies want you to help them. This will help us out a lot for rent. Which, for your information, we are behind on.”
“How much?”
“One month.”
“Oh, that's not bad.”
“Pinkie, that's bad.”
“But not bad-bad.”
“Its eviction bad. Honestly, what have you been doing with all the money?”
Pinkie Pie lifts her head up so her wet, puffy eyes just barely peek over the pillow.
“Do you want the truth or a lie?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“I said honestly for a reason,” replies Twilight.
Pinkie Pie sighs and sits up, wiping her face of tears. “Okay, since you asked.”
=======╣ EARLIER IN THE COLOR WHEEL CASE ╠=======
Pinkie Pie slams her hoof on the polished counter, grabs a light blue unicorn mare by the back of her neck and brings her close so that her nose is squished against hers and her blue and white mane meshes with her dark pink mane.
“How much do I have to pay you to bring that dessert to me?” says Pinkie Pie, pointing her hoof towards a titan of a stallion whose shiny yellow fur ripples like majestic waves from his bulging muscles.
“You can save your money and just talk to him,” says the unicorn, Minuette. She pulls away and walks towards a mess of dirty dishes and crumpled napkins at the other end of the bar. “The minute-dating hasn't started yet and there are no rule of mingling before the event starts.”
Pinkie Pie scrambles after Minuette, having to weave her way around a stallion licking a block of salt at the counter, and when she catches up she once again slams her hoofs on the counter. This time her eyes are wide with panic and she grabs Minuette's cheeks and brings their noses together again.
“Do you remember what happened last time I talked to a stallion by my own free will?” says Pinkie Pie hysterically.
With the help of her magic prying Pinkie Pie's hoofs away, Minuette is able to step away from the counter.
“The tomato incident?” asks Minuette.
“No,” says Pinkie Pie.
“The mud monster?”
“No.”
“The allergic reaction to garlic?”
“No!”
“The cannon?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, yeah, I remember. He slapped the restraining order on you.”
“But it wasn't my fault. He started it.”
“And you shot him with a cannon. Where did you even get a cannon?”
“Family secret. So, will you help out a loyal customer?”
Minuette shrugs. “Eh, why not. A hundred bits.”
Pinkie Pie slams a bag of bits on the counter. “Done.”
Minuette uses her magic to slip the bag under her counter, and Pinkie Pie does a quick look around before she leans close in a whisper that is completely not suspicious to anyone.
“I also got extra if you got the stuff,” says Pinkie Pie.
Minuette mirrors Pinkie Pie's motions, then whispers in her ear: “I got some good words. But honestly, I think you should drop the Color Wheel case. This guy is not like the others.”
Pinkie Pie smirks and coolly inspects her hoof. “That's what they all say, but when have they ever lived up to the hype?”
"Pinkie, I'm being genuine. There is something not right with Color Wheel. He's-"
Pinkie Pie shakes a bag of bits in front of Minuette's face, and her worry dissolves into a lust for cash.
"All yours. Follow me to the back. We got some time before the event starts."
Pinkie Pie smirks and trots around the counter. "Thanks, Minuette. I knew you'd see things my way."
Some Minutes Later
Pinkie Pie got what she needed from Minuette and is now sitting in front of the Olympian stallion, knowing that she has finally found him. The perfect mate. The one to take her off of her hoofs and carry her to a wonderful land of exotic joy. A place of eternal sunshine and rainbows. The one who will eat the moon for her and give twelve great kids (two of which she will be sure to name George and Ambercrombie) and build her a house with a fence and a dog. He is the one to-
“Hai~” says the stallion in a high pitched, squeaky voice.
Pinkie Pie's eye twitches, and her jaw drops with a horrified gag, and the stallion giggles and sips a fruity drink from a coconut cup with an umbrella on top. Her eyes then roll to the back of her head and she flops out of her chair, blacking out when she hits her head on the adjacent table.
=======╣AND NOW BACK TO THE PRESENT╠=======
“Really?” says Twilight. “You blew all of our rent money bribing a shady dating place to bring you a date?”
“Don't be silly. I didn't spend it all on bribing for a date. Which, a little F-Y-I, the table I landed on was Pinprick's which got me a date with him, but he probably thinks I'm a freak so I can safely scratch off a second date and just sit in this room for another fifty years wondering why nopony likes me,” says Pinkie Pie.
“Aren't you overreacting?”
“I'm under-reacting.”
“Right, well you can mope about how you blew yet another date after you get through this pile of requests.”
With a little filly whine, Pinkie Pie grabs one of the letters from Twilight's levitation aura, skims it, then tosses it away.
“The butler did it,” says Pinkie Pie
“You can't possibly know that from reading it,” says Twilight.
“I actually read it, though.”
Twilight's lips hook to a large frown, and her ears and lids droop as Pinkie tosses yet another letter in the trash.
“That was an insurance scam,” says Pinkie Pie shortly after reading it and throwing it away.
Twilight reads the letter Pinkie Pie threw away. “I'm reading this, too, and I am not seeing where you are getting your information.”
“That is because you're seeing the words, but you aren't reading them. You aren't seeing how they all connect.” Pinkie Pie throws another letter to the floor.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Yes it does. Just think of these letters like pictures. You can name every color in the picture but you don't know what the actual picture is because you aren't actually looking at the picture, just the colors.” Her eyes slide along the newest letter. “Check the coltfriend's brother's friend's cousin's marefriend's house for this one.”
Twilight grabs the letter and scribbles down what Pinkie Pie said in a notebook she produces from her pocket, saying: “Words are not colors, though, so your analogy is still flimsy.”
“And that, Twilight, is why you are a wet carrot.” Pinkie Pie cups Twilight's cheek and flashes a toothy smile, albeit weighed down with self inflicted burden and uncaring of the annoyed glare she is recieving. “But don't you worry, my magical grape, I still love you.”
She then winks and clicks her tongue, and after she pats Twilight's cheek she grabs the last letter and lays on her bed, placing the note on her pillow and reading it in silence. Seconds late she turns the letter over, skims it, turns it back, then she stretches her spine on her bed, raising her hindquarters and pressing her front hoofs against her headboard like a stretching cat.
“This one will be fun,” says Pinkie Pie.
“Which one is it?” asks Twilight.
Pinkie Pie slaps the letter to Twilight's chest and moves towards her closet while her companion looks it over.
“Missing pony. Phillipa Driver, a-k-a Screwloose, as the Asylum calls her,” says Pinkie Pie, her hoof flicking through her collection of ill kept vests, jackets and shirts, which are all hung up together in sets. “She disappeared from her cell three days ago, and the Asylum wants to keep this quiet, but her cousin is asking us for help since the ever so talented cops of our fair and quaint little town have not been all that great. I'm thinking pink will do, today.”
“You always wear pink,” quips Twilight, now folding up the letter and stuffing it in her pocket. “What do you want to do about the coltfriend's brother's friend's cousin's marefriend's house?”
“Toss it. We got better cakes to bake.”
Twilight blinks and hesitantly throws the letter away while Pinkie Pie puts on her vest. When the pink pony turns around she flashes an eager smile.
“Ready to go?” says Pinkie Pie.
Twilight sighs and uses her magic to adjust the buttons on Pinkie Pie's vest and straighten out her collar. When she is done with those, the magical aura brushes the wrinkles off of Pinkie Pie's shirt and she takes a step back and eyes Pinkie Pie with a satisfied smirk.
“Yes, I think I am now that you actually look presentable,” says Twilight.
Pinkie Pie and Twilight quickly head down the stairs, with Twilight actually using the steps and Pinkie Pie sliding down the railing. When Pinkie Pie reaches the bottom she hops off the rail and rolls back to her hoofs in front of Spike, who is carrying a box in his little claws.
“Pinkie, you got mail,” says Spike. “It just came in.”
“Ooh, goody! Lemme see! Lemme see!” Pinkie Pie hops to Spike, yanks the package away and tears open the box, only for her eager smile to disappear under the frown of confusion, for in it is a square piece of cloth resting on a cushion of fleece. She cocks her head and gently takes out the cloth and slides out a blank small vinyl record disc.
“A record?” says Twilight as she takes a spot next to Twilight. “Spike, what's the return address?”
Spike picks up the box and gives it a quick inspection. “2009 Notes Street. Apartment Twelve.”
Pinkie Pie puts the disc on the record player, adjusts the device the appropriate spots and cranks it up. When the music starts playing a familiar symphony flows through the messy home, and as each note seeps into her ears, the pink color fades from Pinkie Pie's face. It is an all too familiar Beethoofen String Quartet Number 14 in C-Sharp Minor.
“Pinkie?” asks Twilight. “Pinkie, are you all right?”
Pinkie Pie doesn't answer. Her tongue and throat are too stiff to do anything.
“Pinkie?”
Twilight places her hoof on Pinkie Pie's back and the earth pony snaps into motion. Starting with slapping Twilight's hoof away and rushing out the door.
“Gottaamysterytosolvekaybye!” says Pinkie Pie.
The door slams shut behind her, bringing her roommates to flinch. Seconds later Spike slowly looks at Twilight and scratches his head.
“That was weird,” says Spike.
“Spike, investigate that address. I'm going to catch up with Pinkie Pie,” says Twilight.
“Anything in particular I should be looking for?”
Twilight disappears in a burst of light, leaving Spike alone in the room with the music that now gives the atmosphere and unpleasant feel. And so with a heavy, dejected sigh, he grabs his coat and heads out.
“Sure, Spike, here's what to look for. Why thank you, Twilight, you're the best,” grumbles Spike.
Then he exits the abode, leaving the music to play without an audience.
Pinkie Pie keeps her steps brisk, and her eyes try to stay focused in its search for the address in the selected job request, but they have developed a mind of their own. She sees the many faces looking at her, secretly condemning her. The dirty pedestrians pretend to be going about their day with their reading, feeding pigeons, playing chess or music or just walking. But she knows. She sees their eyes on her. Watching her. Watching every move, every step, every breath. They think they are being smart but she sees through their deception.
Suddenly a flash of purple light appears in front of Pinkie Pie and she digs her hoofs into the muddy cobblestone, grinding her teeth as her hoofs scrape against the stone. When she is in a full stop her hoofs are throbbing and she feels little cracks on them, and Twilight's up close face and the crowd her appearance created does not make things much better.
“Pinkie, can you stop!” says Twilight.
“I am stopped,” says Pinkie Pie innocently. She inspects her hoof and frowns at the chips and cracks that have appeared, but just as quickly as she looks, she lowers her hoof and looks at Twilight with an uneasy smile. “How are you doing?”
“I have been chasing you for the past five minutes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Pinkie, don't play dumb. You have a lot of explaining to do about why you acted strange around the music.”
Pinkie Pie gasps from shock. “Strange? How cruel of you to-”
“Pinkie, stop. You aren't Rarity. You are you, so spill the beans. What's wrong with you?”
Pinkie Pie's charade collapses in shards of disappointment. “Oh... How about we talk later? Perhaps over some grapes and a romantic balcony?”
“No.”
“Ice cream at the lake?”
“No.”
“Bean chili at the Sailor Scout Eatery?”
“Pinkie. I'm being serious.”
Pinkie Pie sighs and dips her head. “Fine, we'll talk. But can we talk after we go to Mr. Driver?”
Twilight stares hard at Pinkie Pie, like a hunter trying to judge where their prey is moving to next, and Pinkie Pie forces a great, friendly, in no way uncomfortable smile. Finally, after some seconds of staring between the two, and the staring of the gathered crow, Twilight relents.
“Fine,” says Twilight. “But I want the whole truth, got it?”
“How about half a truth and some deception?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“Pinkie... ”
“All right, all right, full truth it is, geeze.”
Twilight turns and trots down the street, talking over her shoulder. “Good. I wouldn't want to bring Applejack into this.”
Pinkie Pie follows after her. “Oh, ha. Ha. Like you would bring Applejack over something trivial and completely unimportant like this. You don't even like her!”
Twilight gapes at Pinkie Pie, who is now next to her.
“I never said I didn't like her,” says Twilight defensively. “I just think her views are a bit... backwards.”
Pinkie Pie spins on her hoofs so she is walking backwards, and she grins devilishly at Twilight. “Its a backwards world, Twilight. Learn it. Live it. Love it.”
Twilight rolls her eyes and Pinkie Pie spins on her front hoof until she is facing the right direction and keeps walking, pretending not to notice a familiar unicorn gray stallion with a gray coat and a messy black mane watching her from behind a newspaper.
~~~~~~~~~~
DING! DING! DING!
“Hello!” hollers Pinkie Pie, her hoof above a golden bell and her body leaning over the polished marble counter of Phillip Construction Company.
DING! DING! DING!
“Hellllloooooo!?” yells Pinkie Pie.
Twilight's magic jerks Pinkie Pie's tail, pulling her away from the counter, and the consultant jumps back up and glares at her companion as she tucks her puffy tail underneath her.
“That hurt,” snarls Pinkie Pie quietly, though, with how spacious and empty the tiled lobby is, anyone could have heard her. However, Twilight says nothing and casually looks around the lobby.
There is nothing spectacular. A pair of couches are in the corner, a small table has a stack of newspapers, and on the wall are framed pictures of successful developments. One of which includes a remodel of the police station and the city center.
DING! DING! DING!
“HellLLOOOOOOHHHHAAAAARRRRGHHHH!” shrieks Pinkie Pie.
Twilight whirls around, fire sprouting from her eyes and mane.
“PINKIE, WHAT THE HECK!” screams Twilight.
Pinkie Pie becomes stone stiff, her ears drooped, her eyes wide and reflecting Twilight's inferno, and her knees bending to drop her body.
“I'm just waiting for customer service,” says Pinkie Pie meekly.
Twilight shoots a beam of fire at the bell that turns it into a molten puddle, and she takes a deep, long breath, and slowly exhales, bringing her flames to die down.
“Then stop with the bell,” says Twilight firmly.
“Uh...” Pinkie Pie's eyes stiffly move to look at the liquid remains and the rising smoke coming from the cracking counter top. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Good evening!” says a cheerful mare with a bright smile and a mane tied in a bun, hurrying from the back. “I'm sorry I was oh my gosh what happened to my bell!”
“Twilight did it!”
~~~~~~~~~~
After a very explosive -and apologetic- encounter with the secretary, Pinkie Pie and Twilight find themselves sitting in uncomfortable wooden chairs that push up into their hipbones and leave their rumps sore. Sitting across from them in a large, fluffy chair that curves to the pony form, is a white earth pony stallion with a blonde mane combed to the side, gold eyes, and a blueprint cutie mark. His office walls are completely covered by books, model buildings and wooden yo-yos in display cases. Pinkie Pie has actually never felt so much claustrophobia in her life, and briefly wonders what she would find if she could use a spell to see inside his brain.
Curiosity aside, she puts on her best smile, all while Twilight keeps up her prim and proper and stealthy recovery any person of dignity would after a severe tongue lashing.
“I am going to pretend that you two did not melt my secretary's bell,” says the stallion, Phillip Driver.
“That's nice of you,” says Pinkie Pie. “Isn't he nice, Twilight?”
“Very,” says Twilight.
“Down to business. You answered the letter, so how much do you want?”
Pinkie Pie looks at Twilight.
“Rent?” she asks.
“One hundred,” replies Twilight.
Pinkie Pie grins at Phillip. “Twelve hundred. Take it or leave it.”
“Done.”
Pinkie Pie jolts in her seat, and Phillip arches a brow.
“Is something wrong, Ms. Pie?” asks Phillip.
“That was way too easy. What's your angle?” says Pinkie Pie.
“My angle is getting Phillipa back. I am willing to pay any price to see her again.”
“So if I raise it to fourteen hundred...?”
“Let me put it to you this way. I will sacrifice every bit I have and do very illegal things to see her again.”
“Oh... Well, good for you. Let's keep it at twelve hundred since you're a great guy.”
Phillip clears his throat and leans forward, folding his front hoofs on his desk. “Listen, I will be honest. I fear something terrible has happened to Phillipa. I believe she was taken by somepony of nefarious nature.”
“Why do you think that?” asks Twilight.
“Because one does not go to the Happy Days Asylum and just vanish. The cells are solid, residents there are of ill character and the staff are just as cruel. Every time I was there she was always telling me how cruel they were to her. She was always miserable and tried to hang herself on more than one occasion. But one day, I visited her and she was smiling. Do you know why?”
Pinkie Pie and Twilight shake their heads.
“She said: The Happy Man made her smile,” says Phillip. “You go to that place and nopony is happy. Not even sadists are happy there. So, I asked her who the Happy Man was, and she could never tell me more other than he came at night, loved to draw with her and build houses out of those building logs. These are things he brought, mind you, and he was always smiling. Always. ”
A shiver runs up Pinkie Pie's spine and Twilight furrows her brows.
“Week after week, there was always something about the Happy Man and she became fascinated with him. Whoever he is, I am sure he took Phillipa, and not for a good reason,” says Phillip.
“What do you think this Happy Man would want with her?” asks Twilight carefully.
Phillip shrugs. “I don't know. Phillipa is brilliant, but cannot function without assistance, but she never hallucinated! That is how I know that this pony was no trick of her mind.”
“Do you have the pictures she drew?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“The police confiscated them.”
"So, no chance of seeing them, then?"
“What did Phillipa do before she was placed in the ward?” asks Twilight.
“What do you mean?” asks Phillip.
Pinkie Pie and Twilight exchange looks, then they look at Phillip Driver, their unimpressed frowns mirroring each other.
“I mean, what did she do before she was placed in the ward?” repeats Twilight.
“Nothing,” says Phillip Driver.
“Nothing like she did not do anything wrong, or nothing like unemployed?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“Both. It was her parents that wanted her in that Asylum when they figured out her state, but they never paid her any mind after she was condemned to it. All they did was pay the bills to keep her in there. But if you could see what she was gifted with then you would know that she could have had a bright future if not for them.”
Phillip Driver pulls out a file from his desk and slides it to the two mares. Pinkie Pie is the first to take the file and she flips it open, finding blueprints to various buildings. From small houses to large towers, and stores to forts, and even one place labeled as “Mall”.
“Phillipa may not have been right in the head, but she could build and rebuild,” says Phillip.
Pinkie Pie nods, but keeps her eyes on the blueprints, taking in every measurement, every line, and every note, all while Twilight kept her eyes and ears on their client.
“If you broke something and she could fix it fast,” says Phillip. “Give her a picture of what you want and she would have it done and sturdy. The Rich Building, the Police Station and the Town Center are actually based on her blueprints, but she insisted that I take credit.”
Pinkie Pie looks up from the blueprints, her ears perked in interest.
“Would you mind if I kept these?” asks Pinkie Pie.
“I'm afraid not. Those are sensitive,” says Phillip.
“But you let me look at them.”
“Just to give you an idea of what she could do.” He holds out his hoof. “You may get tours of the buildings whenever you like, but you cannot have an extensive look at the actual prints. It is bad enough that I showed you them in the first place.”
“Right~ Bad. Wink.”
Phillip stares at Pinkie Pie, and she smiles back with an innocent glow as she slides the blueprints back to him, and he looks at Twilight, who just nods.
“She's just being Pinkie, but anything you can give her will help,” says Twilight.
Phillip hesitates and closes the folder. “I suppose the best place to start would be the Moaning Mantel Manor.”
Spike stares at the door in front of him. It is old, its paint is peeling and its numbers have become discolored, but it matches the address. But what fuels the growing dread is not the condition of the door, but what is on it, for there is a message crudely scratched on the door that reads: Knock and Ye Shall Enter , with a trio of balloons underneath.
With a deep breath, he grips the handle and finds that the door is unlocked, so he gently pushes the door open and peeks inside.
“Hello?” says Spike.
Nothing.
He opens the door the rest of the way and steps inside, but upon entering there is a snap, and then a piece of wood and pair of pink hoofs drop in front of him, causing Spike to scream and leap back with a wire snapping off and bringing a cheerful jingle to the room. Spike's heart races and a slowly spinning corpse of an all pink mare reflect off of his wide eyes. Her hoofs move like a broken compass: East, South, East, North, West, North, West, South. And on and on she spins. The chain she is connected to squeaks with her slow movements, and when her chest comes in full view Spike gags at the sight of a charred and peeling skin with thin red lines making a triangle of three infinities connected by orbs.
Spike swallows his bile and he quickly grabs a chair and places it next to the mare. Then he takes a deep breath and breathes a thin stream of fire through his lips, which he has pressed into an O. Sparks fly and bounce off of him and the corpse, and when the chain snaps she falls to the floor in a bundle, which coincidentally leads to the music to stop.
“Do not fret, my dear,” says a stallion through a speaker.
Spike looks towards the voice and sees a phonograph at the far end of the room, its trumpet like speaker aimed towards him.
“She wanted this,” continues the stallion. “Her existence was miserable. Nopony loved her. Nopony cared for her. She was locked away and abandoned in a prison without purpose. I gave her a purpose and she gladly accepted her fate.”
“Moaning Mantel Manor?” asks Pinkie Pie.
Phillip sighs and looks down, his shoulders sagging.
“It is an abandoned house that Phillipa loved to visit when she was young. But when I checked there was nothing and nopony there,” says Phillip.
“Maybe you missed something,” says Twilight.
“Which is why I hired you two. The police are, quite frankly, mentally challenged, but surely you two can find her.”
Spike notices some ink blots on the gag, so he yanks the bundle of cloth out of her mouth and after a quick search he puts the cloth in paper bag for Royal Pin Clothing .
“The funny thing about purpose is that we all desire it, but most are afraid to have it,” says the stallion. “We have been blinded by what our cutie marks say and are terrified to be more than what society places us to be. I think that is why I admire you.”
“We're going to need the location of the cabin,” says Twilight.
“And we're also going to need to see her cell,” says Pinkie Pie.
Phillip nods. “Of course. I can arrange that for you. As for the cabin. It is on the east side of Horseshoe Lake, about a hundred yards from the lighthouse and covered by thorn trees.” He digs into his drawer and pulls out a bag of bits. “I will pay you a portion here and the rest when you find her. Do hurry. I fear her life is in danger.”
Spike hurries over to the vinyl record and takes off his jacket.
“You control your fate as do I,” says the stallion, “and when the truth is forced out all fear will disappear in a great light. The shackles of the barons and the false gods will shatter and the full potential of every individual will be realized. Our fate will be in our hoofs. We will be free of gods and kings.”
Spike turns off the phonograph, carefully removes the disc, and then wraps it up in his jacket and rushes out the door.
The door shuts behind Twilight and Pinkie Pie, and while the eccentric consultant weighs the bag on her hoof, her kind-of-sort-of best friend checks the time by levitating a pocket watch.
“Well, I think now we got some time to discuss your-”
Twilight turns to see that she is in an empty hallway with the nearest window wide open. With a deep frown she looks out the window and sees no sign of her companion, thus resulting in a heavy sigh.
“Of course you ran away.”
Twilight trots down the hall, her charging horn covering her in a sparkling hue.
“You always run away.”
And in a flash of light, she, too, disappears.
