When I joined the RCIS, it wasn't because I had a horrible foalhood experience. I wasn't molested, abused, my parents aren't divorced or abusive. Quite the opposite actually. I just joined up because I wanted to do this kind of thing.

My dad, whoo colt, is an interesting character. His coat is the same brown as mine and his mane a very light red. Genetics on his side decided to be a bitch. Oh, but not his race. I got my mom's side on that.

Thinking back on it, there is one reason I wanted to go into a law enforcement type profession. When my father was a colt, almost a stallion as he likes to say, his father took him down to their basement and branded over his Cutie Mark. He told me it used to be a wrench and hammer until his father branded a magnifying glass over it.

In my father's words: "He said 'I won't have no mechanic in the family of lawyers and investigators!'" He scoffs at that,, then says, "I sure showed him when I went and worked for the railroad."

I wanted to stop ponies from doing things like what that gelding did to my dad.

"D-Dad?" I repeat, getting a second nod from the stallion across the table. "What are you doing here?" I ask.

"You know you get your love of Jazz and Blues from me, right?" He asks, smirking and motioning up to the stage. Canary is singing some blues melody.

"Your just perusing around different bars and listening to the music?" I question, placing my forehead onto the table.

"What I'm doing doesn't matter. It's what you're doing. Shouldn't you be at work and not getting drunk?" Furrowing his brow, he gently tugs my mane with his magic. I lift my head to look at him.

"My case right now is really depressing and I hate it and I wanted to get away." I ramble, knowing that I'm being weak in just running off and getting drunk instead of facing the problem.

"The music is okay, It's a good outlet. But not the alcohol. It's almost as bad as doing drugs. It's not a crutch, a crutch helps. Alcohol causes you to need one." He tells me, getting up and walking over next to me.

The drugs statement hits home. And the tears threaten.

"What's going on Andreah?" He asks, placing a hoof onto my back.

"You know I can't discuss on going cases."

"I wasn't talking about the case. I was talking about your personal life. You're not one to run from your work." At this point the waitress wanders over. Dad tells her to take the rest of the cider and replace it with lemonade.

"Hey!"

"You don't need it. Now tell me what's going on. Let's start with that partner of yours. You always put him into good light."

I clench my jaw, thinking where to start.

"Do you remember when I fell out of contact two and a half years ago?"

The sip of lemonade cools my sore throat. Sore from crying. Sore from coughing. But it feels good to finally speak my mind.

"Did you say that you'd be his marefriend?" My dad asks, now that I've brought him up to speed. I shake my head. "Well than there you go. Your not his marefriend."

Sighing, I look over to him. His gentle blue eyes assure me that I'm always cared for. No matter what.

"You should go home and rest. And work tomorrow. You've got a job after all. And remember, I'm always here for you. So is your mother."

"Y'know, I'm probably not gonna remember this in the morning," I remind him. He shakes his head no.

"Not with that big brain up there," waving a hoof at my head. "You'll be able to recall every word," His statement makes me smile. "Now get outta here before you get even more drunk."

"I'm not that drunk!"

"You've got your mom's tolerance. Drunk after one. World's best sex after two."

That's when I threw the rest of my lemonade at him and left.

Pulling open the doors to the hotel, groaning because my head hits the door, I enter the building.

"AH! Miss Reigns!" The receptionist calls. I look then make my way over to her.

"Yes?"

"A 'Tango' left a message for you." She says, grabbing a piece of paper from her desk and hoofing it to me. I grab it with a wing and struggle to read it.

Andreah,

Please make your way to the Vanhoover morgue A.S.A.P. There's something you need to see.

Tango

Thanking the receptionist, I stumble my way to my room. Once in and after locking the door I flop down into the bed.

It took a while but I did eventually fall asleep.

"Do you love me Andreah?" Silver asks, a gun to his temple.

"No, she doesn't. Nopony would love a coward like you." Qwick says coldly, a foreleg slung over my neck. I open my mouth to protest but it's cut off the Silver.

"No need," He says. "I know where I am."

I watch in slow motion as the trigger on his revolver goes back. The hammer going forward and a deafening crack rings out.

Replaced by the screaming of a child. I turn around to watch a red mare shaking a little blue foal. Shut up! She screams. I sure as hell didn't want you!

Dropping the baby into it's crib with a THUD! The crying ceased.

The door to my room burst open and Silver ran in, his gun in his magic. Followed by Qwick with his gun in his mouth. Without thinking, I reach to my nightstand, draw my firearm, and point it at them. They look around the room then to me.

"Woah! Careful there! That's a loaded gun." Qwick states, holstering his. I replace mine and look at the two.

"What the hell is going on here? Make it quick because I've got a killer headache." I demand, rubbing my temples. I look over to my clock. 3:15.

"You were crying out. And with the past history of your foalnappings, Silver and I assumed the worst," Qwick tells me. "Silver. You can holster your gun."

Silver whips his head around and looks at him.

"I can put away my gun when I feel like it." He growls. Then walks over to me.

"You good 'Dreah?" Silver asks, running a shaking hoof through my mane.

"Yea." I exhale, nodding.

"You are going to leave Andreah and me." Silver says over his shoulder to Qwick.

"Why should I?" Qwick protests.

"Because I said so. She's my mare." He shouts, spinning to face Qwick.

"I beg to diff-"

"I said LEAVE!" Silver yells, placing the barrel of his gun in front of Qwick's left eye.

"Hey! Silver! PUT THAT DAMNED THING AWAY!"

"Woah, man. Careful there." Qwick cautions, his voice steady but the tenseness in his neck betraying his fear. "Don't want that thing going off a-"

Silver then positions the gun down and shoots a round into the floor. My ears start ringing and my head starts to feel like it's splitting. I'm unable to make out what was said after.

Then, in one swift motion, Qwick knocked the gun out of his face. Then spun around and bucked silver squarely in the jaw. Knocking it disturbingly out of place as Silver hit the floor. Out cold.

My head starts to hurt so much I become dizzy. My vision blotted out by black splotches until unconsciousness grips me.

Author's Note

'Whoo colt' is a play on words of 'Whoo boy'

Don't ask me what I'm doing because I don't know where i'm going with this. But i do know one thing...

I'M GOING!