Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent gets out...again
We return to our hero, Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent—as if you didn’t already know who she was—in another of her moments of greatness, a to-the-death battle of wits against her latest and most nefarious foe.
“Agh, come on!” Basty grunted as she pulled with all of her might. Spreading out her wings and shifting around in the tiny enclosed space. She dangled with one hoof set against the wall, another on the toilet seat, and a third attached firmly to the faucet.
Three solid knocks rang out through the room and Batsy Fluftentuft froze on the spot. “Uh...” she mumbled, her razor sharp mind whirling into action. “Uhm... Yes?”
“Batsy,” a stallion’s voice shouted from the other side, “what are you doing in there? It’s been hours!”
“Oh, uh...” Her eyes darted around the room, before landing on the pull cord of the toilet and a light bulb went on in her head. Balancing on one side and, with the lightning-fast reflexes of a stunted sloth, she grabbed the end of the cord in her mouth and gave it a tug, promptly toppling over and landing with a resounding crash on the bathroom floor. The thunderous rush of running water filled the room – all according to plan!
Outside a trio of night guards stood waiting in line to use the bathroom. The first one nearest the door, a blue and brown stallion by the name Winter Frost, paused when he heard the toilet begin, and was taken aback when a loud thud rattled the doorframe. He gave a concerned look to his comrades, two other guards standing behind him. Black and blue stallions named Night Gale and Iron Hoof were dancing around, their faces scrunched up after a full afternoon of waiting. The first of the two gave a pained nod.
Winter Frost knocked at the door again. “Batsy, hurry up!” He cast a glance to Night Gale, who very much looked like he was sucking lemons. “I don’t think these guys can take much longer!”
“Hold on,” Batsy’s voice came back, slightly muffled from the other side of the door, “Just let me wash my h—Oh,” she screamed, both stallion’s ears bristling, “Oh Celestia help!” Another scream, this time more panicked.
The guards were immediately to attention. Winter Frost bounded forwards, splintering the door and knocking it inwards whilst his two comrades backed him up. “Batsy,” he shouted, gritting his teeth and spreading his wings, ready to fight for the fight of his life, “We’re—” He stopped frozen in the door, his words lost as he set eyes on the scene. Winter cocked an eyebrow, “What are you doing?”
The jig was up, or so they thought. Batsy Fluftentuft stood with both back hooves pressed firmly against the countertop, with her forehooves wrapped around the faucet. Her wings were spread behind her and with the look of a lost foal that had just been caught with her hoof in the cookie jar. Behind Winter Frost, she spied two more guards, each giving a similarly perplexed look, “Uh...” Think, Batsy, think! “... I’m being... Sucked down the drain?” an innocent grin spread across Batsy’s face, her ears drooping slightly.
The guards seemed unconvinced, “... looks to me like you’re wrestling with the faucet.”
“Well—“
“You do realise you’re going to break it like that, right?”
“Uuhhh...”
~ ~ ~
“So then I jumped out the window.” Batsy finished the first half of her story, flashing a wide grin to bartender—a brown stallion clothed in a white apron and hat—standing before her with a raised eyebrow. She was currently sitting at the bar, her hooves rested against the counter whilst other patrons went about their business not paying her any mind. At least, no more mind than any stallion would a pretty mare.
A brown stallion, she didn’t really catch his name, stopped by to give her a tip of his hat on the way out. Batsy responded with a wave, and a sultry flick of her tail. The stallion promptly broke into a gallop and was out the door within seconds. Likely to tell all his friends about the lovely mare at the bar he just met, Batsy concluded. Some things never change.
The bartender, however, was less than amused, “Ma’am, I simply asked if ya wanted something to drin—”
“So there I was!” Batsy launched into the next part, completely ignoring the groans of several ponies around—one of them being the bartender, another being a stallion in a bowler hat who’d only just made it to the door. Batsy almost threw herself off the tiny swivelling stool, sending herself spinning with her enthusiasm, again, “Flying free! It all went perfectly according to plan. I totally wasn’t covered in glass if that’s what you were thinking because I obviously remembered to open the window. It was in the plan after all.”
~ ~ ~
“Ow...”
“Ow...”
“Oww...”
Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent barrelled forwards into the open sky, ignoring the searing pain and loud crunching of broken glass, and the blaring sirens of the guardponies’ barracks behind her. No, none of that mattered now, because she was free, and nopony was going to stop her from getting l—“Sweet Merciful Luna that’s bright!”
A beam of sunlight shot across her face, blinding her. Batsy immediately rolled over, hissing with all her might at the offending entity whilst she shielded her eyes with her hooves, How dare you burn my magnificent eyes!
She was shocked, flabbergasted even. They still hadn’t fixed that, and after she went through all the trouble of filing a complaint with Luna too. She squeaked out one last hiss at the sun, before diving forward down into Canterlot in the direction of what she hoped would be Doughnut Joe’s.
The rushing of the wind filled her ears and, as she drew lower to the ground, Batsy let out a shrill chirp to get her bearing, because who needs eyes when you’re part bat anyway. First thing, she chirped out a perfect A Major Plus-Plus-Plus to get her bearings and turned her ears up to listen for the echo.
However, instead of the perfect A Major Plus-Minus-Plus she was expecting, she was answered by the loud cacophony of breaking glass and panicked screams, and then a solid wall.
~ ~ ~
When she came to, Batsy found herself slumped against the back wall of an abandoned storefront. Her tail hung over her muzzle tickling her nose, and piles of broken shards of glass lay all around. A sign hanging close by read muiropmE ssalG s’norffaS ytevleV and, when she flipped over, it read Velvety Saffron’s Glass Emporium
Batsy shook the excess glass from her mane and scratched behind her ear, “I wonder how I got in here.” Clearly somepony must have dragged her in, she concluded. And that same somepony must be the same pony responsible for all of this destruction.
Batsy nodded, yes. She would have patted herself on the back for her keen deductive reasoning, except last she tried that she got stuck like that for a week, and the doctors said she was not allowed to break any more bones this month... so. Instead, she settled for trotting out into the sunlight.
The sun was still not fixed, but at least it was slightly better. Whoever was in control of it must have heard her curses because it was now a lot dimmer out here. Or it was behind the clouds. She looked up at the sky. Yeah, probably that last one.
Batsy smirked, “I should be a detective.” Detective Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent, PI. It sounded pretty good, but any detective needs a mystery to solve and—Batsy gasped, spinning around on herself to look back at the destroyed emporium. She had one right here!
So it was settled. Batsy put on her most serious face—or was it her thinking face? – consisting of a scrunched up nose and two crossed eyes. She tapped her chin with her hoof as she thought, pacing in front of the now burning building, “Alright, we have a mysterious assailant,” she made a mental checklist, noting that somepony knocked her out, and dragged her into this building. “We also have a crime,” of course referring to the destroyed emporium. “All we need is a clue.”
Batsy was about to set to work when bell’s chiming and ponies’ murmuring were heard approaching from up the street. Casting her keen eyesight, and holding up a hoof to shield them from the sun, which just so happened to feel like getting bright just that moment, she spied a contingent of Royal Guards and fireponies riding their way. Oh no!
Batsy panicked, looked around frantically for a hiding spot. Her eyes settled on a small bundle of bushes to the side. She leapt for that, rolling to her side and clenching her teeth, and vanished into the green undergrowth moments before the contingent of ponies arrived. “Okay, fillies,” shouted the leader of the guard, a white stallion with barely, slightly more green eyes than the rest, separate from the group. Batsy struggled to remember his name—she couldn’t really understand how they could tell each other apart; they looked so similar. She settled for calling him Big White.
Big White separated from the group, addressing his recruits. “Okay, fillies,” he shouted again, “Keep your eyes peeled. Private Batsy is regarded as unarmed and extremely dangerous. You are not to engage her under any circumstances.”
A gasp escaped Batsy’s lips and she clapped her hoof over her muzzle. Big White paused, looking back and over the bushes. After a brief pause, he shrugged, and continued, “Do not look directly at her. Do not speak to her, and do not think about anything she says to you.”
Whilst White did his thing, the fireponies went about hooking up hoses and dousing the burning building in water, but Batsy was more interested in what the guards were saying. “That scoundrel!” she hissed under her breath, putting her back to the guards to clench a hoof. “He’s framed me!” That’s not supposed to happen until at least the sequel. Clearly, Batsy knew for sure that she was dealing with a true criminal mastermind, and one with utter contempt for the mystery genre.
Now she had no choice but to skip right on past getting the witty sidekick and jump straight to the gritty detective work. Bleh.
~ ~ ~
“So I’m guessing you came here looking for a suspect, whoever he or she might be?” The tavern was now empty. Only Batsy and the bartender remained, and the latter’s patience was wearing thin. He ground his teeth as he polished his beer glass for the eighteenth time.
“Hey!” Batsy stopped in the middle of recounting her magnificent adventure to shoot the bartender an icy glare. Her muzzle scrunched. She leapt up onto the bar, leaning with her hooves against the table top, to bring her face over and into the bartender’s own, “Don’t you go jumping to conclusions, Mister! Or I’ll have you deported!”
“...?” The bartender blinked.
“Or, well,” she backed away slightly, dropping to her seat against the tiny stool. Batsy flicked a hoof in the air. “That’s what my captain always used to say, before she got deported.”
“Okay... so why are you here?”
“Oh!” Batsy perked up, “I was looking for a drink!” She leaned back in her seat, looking past the bartender and spying a large red bottle in the back. She pointed to it with a hoof, “One bloody orange on the rocks, please. And add two diet bat pony treats on the side, I’m trying to watch my figure.” She flashed a toothy grin and batted her eyelids—the Batsy Fluftentuft patented, or, well, not really patented considering she just came up with it, Heart Melter —absolutely guaranteed to get the cute little bat pony anything she so desires.
The effects were... less than desired.
The bartender stayed where he was, wearing a stoic expression. His polishing of the glass slowed to a halt as he stared down at her, his eyebrow rising. Batsy wriggled in her seat, edging closer to the counter and pointing again with her hoof to the red bottle. Her eyes darted up to the stoic stallion and back down to the bottle as she put on a slight pout.
At length, when nothing seemed to be happening, Batsy sighed, “Okay, well”—she fidgeted in her seat—“I’m not that fat,” and turned aside, hiding her blush, and rolled her eyes, “But you won’t believe what becoming an immortal alicorn for an afternoon can do to a girl’s figure. At the end of the day I weighed eight no—ten whole pounds! I’m also pretty sure I was about an inch taller than I used to be.”
Deafening silence fell between them, and it carried on for a full minute. “Um—” The stallion sighed, and relented. He turned around and grabbed the red bottle, and began preparing Batsy her drink.
Yes! Batsy cheered inwardly and a little bit outwardly but she tried to hide it. She was leaning forwards, with her hooves against the counter and waggling her legs in the air as she waited eagerly. Yes, she repeated to herself, her mouth watering as the stallion began to pour the red drink.
She could taste it already, the smooth and refreshing tang of the blood orange, coupled with the crunchy, salty, meaty flavour of the—“Here you go.” The bartender slid the glass, atop a white saucer with two pale biscuits in front of Batsy.
“Um...” She eyed the biscuits, giving them a sniff and pushing one off the plate, “These aren’t bat treats?” Or well, they weren’t normal bat treats. She had to admit, she’d never seen diet bat treats before. Mostly because her barracks refused to stock them no matter how many times she asked. Batsy made a mental note to file the proper paperwork for that, too.
The bartender returned to cleaning his glass, turning his back to Batsy so he might work in piece. “Eenope.” He shrugged, “We don’t stock those. Them’s shortbread.”
“Shortbread!?” She turned her gaze back down to the shortbread, frowning at it hopeful that she could will them into being something better. Deciding the cookies not worth her time, she hoofed them away and turned her attention to her drink. At least this can’t go wrong.
Batsy was just in the middle of taking the first sip of her blood orange, when a loud commotion sounded outside. There was a beating of hooves, a stray whiney, and the front entrance burst inwards revealing two Royal Guards in the doorway. “There she is!” The first one screamed, pointing a hoof and holding up a wanted poster with a—not too flattering—picture of Batsy Fluftentuft.
The picture featured her, in her juvenile-recruits uniform, enjoying a chocolate milkshake. She had it cupped between her hooves with almost her entire mouth jammed around the rim whilst her tongue fought to capture a cherry at the bottom.
Before him, not even three feet away, Batsy Fluftentuft spun around in her seat recreating her wanted picture with laser precision, “Mmf!?”
“Get her!”
The other guard screamed and launched himself forwards, just missing Batsy as she leapt, chirping with fright, and flew up towards the ceiling. Unfortunately for the guard, and the bartender, unicorns don’t have wings. Thus he continued forwards, sliding over the bar and tackling the poor bartender to the ground in a pile of glass and broken bottles.
Batsy flew up to the ceiling, grabbing hold of the lantern, and swung around it, wildly waving her hooves, “Hmm mmff!” She pulled the empty glass from her muzzle, “You’ll never catch me al—Oops.” The glass promptly slipped free from her hoof, flying across the room and smashing against the head of a second guard as he came up from behind
He dropped like a stone; that is, a stone fired from a canon, and continued forwards at full speed, his head coming down and crashing through a nearby table, and then sliding with it until he stopped against the wall.
Batsy was immediately at his side, “Oh no!” and panicking. She paced around, “Oh no, oh no, oh no...” This was bad. She was already on the run from the law after escaping her barracks and getting framed by the unscrupulous, mystery criminal mastermind. She can’t be on the books for murder now too! Just think what Luna would say! She’d have to go without bat treats for an entire month! That was not something Batsy wanted to go through again.
No, she had to do something. Batsy stopped mid canter, looked down at the body. She cast a glance around the bar. It was empty, the other guard and bartender, presumably, sleeping behind the counter. No witnesses. This was good.
“What if I just—” Grabbing a hoof, Batsy began to pull. She grunted, putting all her strength into getting the stallion to move and even using her wings to lift them both. The grand sum of all her effort had herself and his hindquarters about an inch off the ground before she finally had to give up for a breather.
She dropped the guard and alighted on his chest, to survey her progress. They were now... three inches from where they started, “This is going to take forever...”
A snort met Batsy’s ears and she looked down, “Ugh...” The guard groaned and began to move, “... where am I?”
“Oh my Luna!” Batsy gasped and leapt off his chest, leaning down beside him and watching as the guard began to recover. She wanted to kiss him, she was so happy. She almost did kiss him, but then she remembered she was on the run from him, so she pinned him down with a table and bolted for the door.
~ ~ ~
The doors burst open and Batsy flew out into the light. This time wary enough to keep her head low as to avoid burning her eyes again. She didn’t notice when a burly stallion in golden armour jumped out from behind and wrapped his forelegs around Batsy, literally whisking her of her hooves, “Aha!”
“Hey!” Batsy yelped and let loose a series of tiny chirps as she was whisked from her hooves and carried out into the open street where yet more guards waited for her with the cart from earlier. She squirmed fruitlessly against the stallion’s legs, kicking and chirping every profanity she knew—destroying several windows in the process and likely scarring a great many dogs-- as she was sat down forcefully at the back of the cart and forced to stay put until somepony else came around to read her rights.
Another guard, this time with a faint bluish tinge to his eyes and a clipboard floating in his aura trotted around from the front of the cart. One looked at him, and Batsy instantly knew what his name should be: Boris. Or, she considered it for a moment, maybe Clippy, but she really liked Boris.
Boris paused behind the cart, levitating the clipboard in front of his muzzle and turning the page to read its contents. “Batsy Fluftentuft,” he began, glancing down to the mare with a slight sneer.
“The Magnificent,” Batsy was quick to correct. She squirmed again, and would have pointed a hoof if she hadn’t found them restrained at her side.
The guard ignored her and started again. “Batsy Fluftentuft. Wanted for destruction of public and private property”—
“I was framed!”
“Violating parole.” His voice rose an octave, but then he paused and waited to see if there be another comment from Batsy. A quick glance down to the mare showed her sitting quietly, her head caressed beneath the stallion’s chin, her hooves crossed, and her cheeks puffed out in an exaggerated pout. “And resisting arr—“
“Let me go!”
“No!” Boris snapped, punctuation his statement with a slap of the clipboard against the edge of the cart, “Now,” he leaned down in front of Batsy to bring their faces closer together, “How do you plead?”
Again silence.
“That’s what I thought.” Boris’ sneer returned and he stood to his full height, turning his head to the side to call over the guards driving the cart. “Okay guys,” have waved them over, “Let’s get thi—“
CRUNCH
Boris was cut short by the sound of fangs digging deep into stallion flesh, followed shortly after by the pained yells of his comrade.
YAHHHH!
The stallion pitched back, pulling his arms forwards on reflex with Batsy still attached. He fell back, collapsed to the ground weeping and clutching at his bleeding arm whilst Batsy soared across the short distance and glomped Boris from behind. “Ahahaha!” Batsy wiped her muzzle with her fetlock and let loose her most fearsome war cry—the very same she used to strike fear into her enemies in the lunchroom cafeteria. She grabbed a hold of the closest things she could reach—his ears—and began the perilous climb to the top of mount Boris whilst several other guards rushed around to his aid.
Boris, his vision suddenly obscured by a grey mass of wings and fur, screamed out in protest, “Get off!” They both wobbled to and fro, Boris bringing up his hooves to pull Batsy off, and Batsy kicking and grappling with her hooves to get to the top of his head.
There was no way in Tartarus Batsy was going to let this stallion capture her again. She reached the top. Finally bringing her one hind hoof up and resting it against the base of his horn, Batsy spread her wings and kicked out.
She took off, knocking Boris into the dirt behind her, and instantly started to gain altitude. Next stop, freedom! Batsy beamed, spreading her wings wide and preparing to soar as high as possible, as far as possible, and as fast as possible. All she had to do wa—Uh oh.
Something caught on Batsy’s leg, halting her progress, and quickly reversing it as she was pulled back towards the ground. No, no, no. She panicked, and flapped even harder, straining with all her might against the unknown force, but was unable to stop herself from being dragged down to the ground.
She was dragged down into a circle formed of the remaining guards, all staring at her with stoic expressions. One of them dimmed their horn as Batsy’s flank touched the ground, and they instantly started advancing on her.
“Batsy Fluftentuft,” one began.
“You’re coming with us.” The other completed.
“No...” Batsy cowered. She stepped back with one hoof and dropped to her haunches, spreading her wings and holding up her hooves in self defence, “No—” She squeaked out, wincing and squeezing her eyes closed, “Please...” a pout, and slight tear at the corners of her eyes, and she awaited the inevitable.
And waited.
“Um...” Batsy cracked open an eye and risked a looked around, “Oh.” She stood back up and folded her wings. The guards each lay around her collapsed in a heap, one frothing at the mouth and the other clutching at his chest, a look of extreme d’aww painted all over his face. “...okay,” she nodded and beat her chest. Well done, Batsy.
A brief survey of the scene revealed all of the guard either unconscious, or, well. Yeah, they were mostly all unconscious. The only one awake was—Batsy didn’t have a name for him but he was lying not far away cradling his arm and muttering something about crazing blood.
She shrugged. Hey, never mess with Detective Batsy Fluftentuft, the Magnificent, which reminded her, she still had a criminal genius mastermind, crime drama hating, criminal on the loose!
~ ~ ~
Captain – Big – White Chocolate of the Royal guard arrived on the scene arrive to find all of his guards in the process of recovering. They all lay, groaning, and rubbing their respective bruises, when White Chocolate came around the corner with two others of his fellow captains.
“What is this!?” He did a double take, gawking at the state of his subordinates. He trotted forwards, making a beeline for the most senior of the troop, Gleaming Spear—Boris. He pulled the private up by the scruff of his neck so he might regard him, “What did I say?” He looked him in the eyes, “Extremely dangerous. You are not to engage Private Fluftentuft without my express permissions.”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Spear recoiled under White’s glare, “I thought—“
“You thought” White spat, “That is the problem. I did not train my recruits to think.” Spear winced under this comment, “I trained them to follow orders.”
“I’m sorry, Captain. But next time we’ll—“
“Next time I’ll be taking charge, thank you very much.”
With his tirade over, White waved his private away, “Go clean up,” and was trotting back to join his peers when one of the guards on the ground raised his hoof. White paused, keeping his eyes level, “Yes?”
The guard’s hoof dropped, “Um.” He coughed, stroking his injured arm. “I think she, uh. She bit me an—”
“She is not a Vampony, Private.”
“Oh.” The guard blushed slightly, his shoulders slumping as he relaxed, and slightly conflicted on how to feel about that. One the one hoof, he was glad he wouldn’t have to be explain it to his wife. On the other, he was really disappointed there weren’t wings to look forward to in his future. “... Okay, then.”
~ ~ ~
Somewhere over Canterlot, in the not-so-abandoned bell tower of the Church of Celestia, a tiny bat pony head peeked out among the parapets to be sure she hadn’t been followed.
“Whew,” Batsy wiped her brow and pulled her head inside. She slumped with her back against the stone wall, with the brass of the old bell reflecting her image above. She was safe. No guards were going to find her here, and they wouldn’t dare to look inside the chapel tower without permission.
Now she had her chance to think. She stood and spread her wings, and jumped up to the top of the bell to find a cosier spot. The tiny space above was perfect for a bat pony of her stature. It was dark and small, with plenty of warmth through the roof-tiles. She curled herself up against the bell, rocking it slightly below her and making it ding slightly.
There was a faint crack, and pieces of debris dropped into her mane from above, but Batsy ignored it as she turned to her thinking face—with added closing of her eyes and rubbing her temples—the super serious thinking face.
At the back of her mind, it nagged at her that she still hadn’t done what she set out to do in the first place, but priorities. There was still a criminal mastermind on the loose, and Batsy had to do something to clear her name before she could have any real fun.
She couldn’t trust anypony—except herself, of course, because since when was the brilliant detective the culprit? Never, that’s when. It was always either the butler or some brilliant evil mastermind with a PhD. None of those things Batsy had in common, except the brilliant part, but she definitely wasn’t evil.
No, she couldn’t trust anypony and they couldn’t trust her. It was up to her and her alone to find the culprit and bring this miscreant to justice, if her name isn’t Detective Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent.
So it was settled. Batsy nodded, resolute, and opened her eyes. She wiggled free of the tight space and kicked away from the bell, ringing it loudly in her wake and flew out of the tower and to the top.
As Batsy settled at the tip of the roof, there was a loud clang, and the crack of breaking wood as something large dropped from its hinges. Batsy paused; her eyebrow raised and glanced around. Nothing seemed to have changed, so she shrugged and went back to her detective work.
She squinted and held up a hoof to shield her eyes from the sun as she surveyed the landscape for any suspicious activity. Ponies mulled around in the market square to the east, guard changed their posts outside Canterlot Castle, and many more went about their business in the streets below. She even spotted several guards arguing loudly, and animatedly, outside the bar from before, but there was nothing that indicated suspicious behaviour.
“Aw...” Batsy sighed, slumping low in defeat. This was going to harder than she thought. She was about to climb down, and return to her cosy spot inside the tower, when a low rumble started from below and the roof shook beneath her.
She stood, looking down beneath her hooves, as the roof shook again. Several tiles broke loose, sliding away and off the edge to fall crashing to the ground below. Then the entire tower lurched to one side and Batsy leapt off, taking to air just as the entire building dropped away from her in one swooping whoosh.
The roof vanished below her into a rising cloud of dust and the crashing thunder of breaking stone, then the dust cleared to reveal the tower, or what remained of it, lying as a pile of rubble beside the—almost—untouched church. Several ponies in black clothing and square hats stood around, gaping in shocked awe. One of them looked up, screamed in terror upon spotting Batsy, and then they all scattered in different directions.
“Oh no!” Batsy gasped, focused on the destroyed tower, “He strikes again!” But this time she was ready. There wasn’t any knocking her out and leaving Batsy to take all the blame.
She squinted, and cast her keen eyesight to the immediate area, immediately spotting a flash of brown and the flutter of a cape as somepony darted away into a nearby ally. “Halt!” Batsy screamed, jumping into her role as the greatest detective slash night guard she’d ever known—Detective Shorn Lock Holmes—“Stop in the name of Luna!”
Batsy darted down in the direction of the alleyway. Stopping in the entrance, she blocked the exit with her wings and searched around for where he’d gone. The clang of trash cans was heard from the back, and a shadow moved around the corner down the alley.
“Halt!” Batsy screamed, “That means stop!” and ran after. She clambered through the crowded ally, knocking down trash cans and came out on the other side into a market full of ponies.
A brief moment of silence; ponies stopped. Their eyes wide as they be held this strange dark brown creature standing ready, her leathery bat wings spread behind her, with pointed, tipped ears folded back against her head, the ends of fangs bearing from the corners of her mouth, and a loose banana peel clinging to the top of her head.
Somepony in the back, a voice in the crowd, shouted out, “Vampony!” and suddenly the square exploded into a blind panic as ponies scattered in every direction. Screaming and the stomping of hooves filled the scene as a large empty area began to clear in front of Batsy.
She ignored them, still looking for the familiar brown of the flank she saw running away from her. In the commotion of the running crowd, a brief flash of it caught her eye, a brown flank with an hourglass cutie mark, and the trailing end of a dark cape flicked out of sight behind a running pony.
“Aha!” Batsy laughed and bounded forwards through the group. She ran headlong after the pony, spreading her wings to take flight. Her keen—and absolutely magnificent—instincts kicked in as she twisted and swerved through the commotion of running and clapping hooves, following his trail further into the crowded market.
It was only a matter of time. Batsy squinted—her muzzle scrunching up and her tongue sticking out—as she focused in on him. He was still running, but there was no way he could get away from her now. She was, after all, Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent, Hunter Extraordinaire.
She banked left, cutting past around a cabbage and knocking it over in her wake, then beat her wings to pick up her lost speed.
Yes, nopony in her barracks had ever been able to lose Batsy Fluftentuft, no matter how hard they tried. Once she had the trail, she could sniff out a pony from fifty yards, and a stale bat treat from a hundred.
The stallion turned right, his back vanishing momentarily behind a grey mare, and Batsy was about to fly off after him when her path was suddenly cut off as another stallion, bright pink coat, and looking the other way as he stepped in front of her.
“Yah!” Batsy screamed, flaring her wings out and bringing up her hooves to protect her face. The stallion’s mane bristled and his head whipped around, then his eyes grew wide and he began to backpedal, his mouth opening wide into a yell as they collided.
There was a loud crack as their heads truck together, and both Batsy and the stallion tumbled to the ground in a pile. They rolled head over hooves, and then came to a sliding stop with Batsy laying on top and the stallion pinned down on his back, and their eyes met.
“Uh...” The stallion blushed, and averted his eyes. “... Batsy, nice to, um—He brought up a hoof to scratch behind his head and turned sideways to put a little space between him and the mare. “run into you?” he laughed, nervously.
Batsy blink once, then again, and a third time, and tilted her head. She frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Taffy Winkle!?”
Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent gets out...again
Part 2: The Investigatening...ining
Oh boy, I bet you’re all wondering what happened to Taffy and I after we ran into each other at the market today, huh? Well, never fear! For Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent. Storyteller extraordinaire is here!
Anyway, what basically happened is this: With my mighty plan foiled, and the unscrupulous, mystery-genre-hating, innocent bat pony incriminating, incrimination of a criminal mastermind gone without a trace, I turned my attention to the immediate next thing of import—getting laid.
Having helped Taffy back to his hooves—if you’re wondering who that is, he’s basically my boyfriend now—I helped him pick up his groceries. Then, realising they were utterly ruined I promised to buy him a new bunch, which he denied reminding me I hadn’t any money—Foiled again!
I should really see about getting this thing called ‘money’, come to think of it... What with how much everypony seems to care about then, they can’t be that much worse than bat treats- or at least better than a shortbread.
Back to the story; we went back to his bakery for a cup of tea and a little chat.
~ ~ ~
Taffy Winkle took a long draw from his cup. Slow, calm, and relaxed, he savoured the sweet taste for a moment longer. The smell of camomile filled his nostrils as he breathed in, and the soft ticking of the shop’s clock was the only sound as, but for a moment, he forgot exactly why he was here.
CREAK
The squeak of a chair and a shuffle of motion brought Taffy back to the present. He snapped to attention, looking up and across the table, just in time to catch Batsy dart back to her seat. She flopped down against the backrest, her hooves folded and arms crossed, head turned sideways as she whistled innocently. “Wh—” Batsy paused upon noticing Taffy’s glare. “—What?” She turned forwards and inched closer to the coffee table. “I didn’t do anything,” she said, and grabbed her own cup. “I’m just drinking my tea.” Batsy promptly shoved her muzzle deep into her drink, and began lapping eagerly at the contents. “Mmmm...” She grimaced, making a show of just how much she was enjoying it, and how totally not scalding h—AAAAAAAAAAAA my muzzle— “It’s lovely.”
Taffy rolled his eyes, stifling a giggle as he set down his cup. “Batsy, seriously...” he inched the cookie plate closer to her end of the table, and watched as Batsy practically pounced on them, dropping the—now empty—cup of tea as she attacked the pile of chocolate chip cookies. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
“Oh yeash, I’m toshaly awsh’m,” Batsy spat between mouths-full. With that, she added a slight wiggle of her flanks in Taffy’s direction, and lascivious wink. She swallowed, and then promptly filled her mouth again to speak to Taffy. “Tha’sh why you’re, like, my besh’tesht boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Taffy turned a bright red, averting his eyes as he glanced awkwardly towards the table. He focused in on the cup, and the swirling tea at the bottom slowly forming a faded S-shape in its sediments. “Yeah, well...” He coughed, clearing his throat. They were still a little fuzzy on those details and, for Celestia’s sake, Taffy hoped that bishop hadn’t been licensed. “Can we just—” He pushed his tea aside, and leaned against the table, using his forelegs for support so he could look Batsy in the eyes. “Explain it to me again, please,” he asked, face serious, “You’re telling me you’re a criminal?”
“Mhm.” Batsy nodded, not really paying Taffy much heed as she scooped yet more cookies into her mouth. “That’s the idea,” she said, and pointed to the cookie. “Say, what make are these?”
“They’re home-made,” Taffy said, then quickly turned back to his questioning. Leaning in closer, he continued, “And you’re on the run from the law?”
“Nice.” Taking a bite of a cookie, Batsy’s mouth scrunched in pure ecstasy. “Mmmm,” she moaned, licking her lips, “This is so good!” She took another bite, and then frowned. “Say...” She used the half-cookie to gesture to Taffy. “Didn’t we just talk about this? Are you okay, Taffy? Is there something wrong with your memory?”
“No, I’m fine.” He spat, and immediately regretted it as Batsy was taken aback. Taffy scrambled to correct himself, shaking his head as he retreated across the table. “No-sorry, I-I mean...” he bit his lip, “It’s just—I want to make sure.”
“Oh.” Batsy’s brow furrowed. “Well, okay...” she said, “I don’t really know why it’s such a big deal b—” Reaching for another cookie, she froze as her hoof met cold porcelain. “...” Batsy tore her eyes away from Taffy to glance to the plate. Her ears drooped slightly, and she whimpered in disappointment, noticing the empty space where there had once been so many, delicious, not bat treats but still really good cookies. “Aw...”
“Wait, hold on.” Taffy rolled his eyes. He put on a smile and silently cursed the gods for ever meeting this pony as he rose from his seat and trotted around the table.
Batsy watched with wide eyes as Taffy went around to the front of the shop then dipped below the front counter.
A cupboard door creaked. There was the sound of glass clinking together, and the same door slammed shut. Moments later Taffy returned with a brown jar on his back that he set on the table before returning to his seat across from her.
“Here.” He popped open the top and poured out a fresh batch of cookies—this time peanut butter—across the plate. “But I’m not giving you any more until you explain to me what’s happening, so you’d better make it—”
Taffy glanced up and froze. He had just screwed the jar shut when he was shocked to find Batsy, sitting innocently in her seat, with peanut butter crumbs around her mouth and a distinct lack of cookies on the plate.
“... Last.”
“Did you say something?”
“Nevermind.” Taffy was deadpan. He checked the jar’s top, then pushed it to the side of the table, next to his cup, where it wouldn’t be in the way. “Now where were we?”
“I was a criminal—“
“You are a criminal,” Taffy repeated, “On the run—” Batsy nodded –“The type of pony who could get somepony thrown in jail just for speaking to her—”
“Eeyup!”
“And you came here!?”
Batsy’s ears pricked at this, and she paused in thought. “You know...” Batsy tapped her chin, and then wiped the crumbs away with her fetlock. “If you put it like that, you almost make it sound like it’s a bad thing...”
“That is a bad thing!” Taffy groaned. He crumpled against the table, using it for support as he rubbed his temples to calm himself.
“Is it?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Taffy insisted. Batsy sounded surprised. At which, to be honest, Taffy didn’t know whether to be surprised or terrified, maybe both. Celestia forbid, he was really starting to hope that priest hadn’t been licensed. “Yeah,” Taffy said. Then swallowing, he slowly leaned back in his chair to look Batsy in the eye again, a half-forced smile on his face. “Batsy, h—” His voice caught, and a tremble ran up his spine. “H-How?” Then, steeling himself again, with some help from a gulp of his favourite tea, Taffy continued. “When? Where? Last time we met you were put on parole!”
“Ah, ah!” Batsy stopped him there. “Double-super-extra parole. Don’t forget the double super, it’s an important distinction.”
“What is that?”
“It’s like regular parole, but double super extra,” Batsy said. She paused then frowned in deep thought. “Or was it... extra double super? Super double extra?” Double extra super, maybe. She snapped back with a wide grin and nodded. “Whatever it is, it is an official term, though. Princess Luna gave it to me herself.”
“Whatever.” Taffy groaned, and then turned back to his line of questioning. He uttered a silent, “...why?” Some part of him felt like face-hoofing, but the pain in his face convinced him otherwise.
Batsy perked up at this. She sat straight in her seat, practically hopping with excitement as she explained. “I wanted to see you of course!” She prodded him in the nose, causing it to scrunch. “Plus, sitting in the barracks wassooo boring,” Batsy said, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her seat. She silently chattered. “Like, oh my Luna, it’s always ‘Batsy this’, ‘Batsy that’, ‘put that down, Batsy,’ ‘take that out of your mouth, Batsy.’ I just wanted to get out of there and have some fun!” She crossed her hooves, sticking up her nose. “I swear, it’s like a prison in there.”
“Batsy...” This time, Taffy really did facehoof. “—Ow—It is prison!”
“Hey!” She scoffed, “Don’t go doubt the Lunar Barracks Three! Just because we have bars on our windows, armed guards, and a set regiment doesn’t mean we’re a prison!” Batsy huffed. “I’ll have you know, Princess Luna treats us very well.
“Besides,” Batsy continued, despite Taffy raising a hoof to interrupt, “I think I have everything under control.”
“Why’s that?”
“Pfft—“ Batsy blew a raspberry. “You don’t have to worry about me, I am Batsy Fluftentuft the Magnificent. There is no predicament I can get out of with my mighty sleuthing skills. All I have to do is track down the pony who framed me, turn him in, and collect the reward.” Taffy’s eyebrow raised and Batsy blushed, flashing a toothy smile as she quickly corrected herself. “I- I mean—Turn him in, clear my name, and then collect the reward!”
“Batsy.”
“Hm?” Batsy’s ears pricked, and she glanced to Taffy.
He leaned back in his seat, deadpanned. “You’re delusional.” Then, not waiting for her to respond, he quickly added, “How do you know he’s even real?”
Batsy’s jaw dropped. “Wha—” She was taken aback. Such nerve! That anypony would insinuate that she, the great Batsy Fluftentuft, P.I. could be wrong! “I—“ Batsy pummelled the table, fully nose-scrunched and wings flared as she glared Taffy in the eyes. “He is, too!” she screamed, and then sat back, pouting. She pulled the cookie jar up between both hooves and gave it a quick nibble, before continuing. “I saw him.”
“Okay,” Taffy said. Ignoring the cookie for a moment—he glanced to where it was on the table, and then back to where Batsy was currently chewing on the jar’s lid. “What does he look like?”
“He’s...” Batsy paused her assault on the jar to think. “Brown?” Yes, she definitely saw brown, or black, or a really dark blue. But really, how many ponies could possibly meet that description? She nibbled on the lid one more time, sinking her teeth into the soft plastic as she wrenched with her faw. The end popped open for a split second, but snapped back shut as soon as she’d released it.
Batsy pouted, Stupid child-safety lock, and switched her tactic, mumbling as she nibbled on the plastic. “He—pft—also had four hooves, and a cape.”
“Right,” was all Taffy could say.
POP
The jar reluctantly parted with its lid, leaving the broken piece of plastic to fly across the table barely missing Taffy’s head. Batsy immediately began digging into her ill-gotten gains. Shoving her muzzle deep into the jar and pulling out the first cookie, to victoriously crunch between her teeth. She sensed Taffy’s brows furrow, and watched as his eyes glazed over, clearly taking in this—obviously—substantial amount of information.
“He also smelled evil,” Batsy quickly added, spitting crumbs across the table. She went back to grab another cookie.
This broke Taffy from his stupor. “That’s it,” he said and rose from his seat. He trotted across the shop, and Taffy watched eagerly as he ducked back behind the counter. There was another loud ruffling of items, and Taffy came back up with his saddlebags clenched between his teeth. “I’m coming with you.”
“Eeeeee!” Batsy screeched. Clapping her hooves, she grabbed one last cookie from the jar and leapt from the seat. She skittered through the air and landed in front of Taffy, chomping down on the cookie as she nuzzled him on the nose excitedly. “This will be great!” she shouted, spitting crumbs everywhere. “We’ll be a crime-fighting detective duo just like my favourite novel! I’m—” Batsy scoffed. She turned away from Taffy, fluffing the fur on her chest with a hoof, “—the brilliant detective, Shorn Hock, naturally, and you can be my Waterson!”
“Wh—Taffy did a double take. He almost dropped his saddle bags he shook his head so hard. “No, no, no, no, no, no,” he shouted. “I am not your Waterson! What even is a Waterson?”
Batsy snickered. She flicked Taffy with the tip of her tail, as she trotted past him. “That’s exactly what a Waterson would say...”
“Okay, fine,” Taffy groaned, “But if we’re going to do this we’d better get back to the scene of the—”
“Hold that thought, Rex.” Batsy stopped him with hoof.
“Rex!?”
“The dachshund-retriever,” Batsy quickly added, “anything can happen in a detective novel, my dear Rex.” A quick glance around the shop, and Batsy’s sharp detecting skills alerted her to the subsequent lack of detective apparel. Instead she mimed her actions as she trotted ahead. “I have a plan,” she said, then shouted to the heavens. “We’re going back to the scene of the crime!”
Taffy facehoofed.
Somehow, he felt like he was making a huge mistake.
~ ~ ~
The burning hot sun beat down on the cobbled stone streets of Canterlot like the unforgiving day-star that it was. Unforgiving, unending, the unyielding rays gave a dream-like sway to the air as the silhouettes of two ponies took form on the landscape—one taking a long draw on her pipe, the other looking rather dragged-along as it were.
Batsy Fluftentuft slammed her hoof down on the pavement with a definitive crunch, the sound of glass breaking beneath her mighty step as she entered the scene of the crime. She struck her famous pose, wings stuck out behind her in an elegant display of her prowess, and—ignoring the blood-curdling screams of ponies fleeing for their lives—Batsy took a draw on her pipe and puffed out some soap bubbles as she surveyed the scene.
Glass, glass, glass, more glass, and—Wait! She squinted at a particular glint near the corner of the storefront. Nope, just more glass. Now if only she had something that would allow her to—
Her concentration was broken by the long, drawn out, hissing hisss from below her. She froze as a tremble ran all the way up her spine, causing Batsy to wince. She bit her lip and squinted as she slowly hissed. “Eeeeee..... Hot!” she screamed, and practically launched herself off the ground.
Separating her precious, burned, hooves from the scorching black earth of the Canterlot Cobble Association, she made a beeline for the first safe haven within reach. Batsy did a somersault, and launched herself through the nearest open window, smashed through the glass, and slammed her face down against the cool floor inside, echoing a loud thud as her body followed suit.
She wasted no time in beginning her investigations. Ignoring the showers of broken glass, and the small part of her that warned against tampering with evidence—she did just break the last remaining window in the entire city block, after all—she quickly put every part of her to work investigating the scene of the crime.
When Perry Winkle—
Terry Winkle?
Pary Tinkle?
Waterson finally made his appearance sporting his dapper brown moustache, monocle, and cane. He made a show of staring at Batsy’s prone position as he carefully etched his way around the outer edge of the room.
She had her meticulous eye glued to the cement floor—as too was the rest of her face, and chest, and really all of her. The only thing not investigating the floor, was her meticulous rump. That was all too busy flagging itself in the air to take of the surroundings. She did, after all, have to investigate all the possible angles.
Tearing his eyes away from Batsy’s... compromised position, Taffy Winkle averted his gaze and coughed. “R-Remind me again why we’re here and—” He suddenly flailed, dislodging the moustache and monocle from his face in a flurry of motion. The two objects clattered and fluttered respectively to the ground behind him as Taffy fixed Batsy with a stern gaze, watching as she rolled and slumped back into some semblance of an upright position. “Why am I wearing this ridiculous getup!?”
Batsy shook her head, clicking her tongue with an adorable smirk—she was so cute when he was flustered. “Tsk-Tsk-Tsk...” She turned and righted herself, plopping her rump down on the cool marble floor having decided it had a rock-solid alibi. Also it felt good on her tush. “Must I explain everything to you, Waterson?”
Taffy opened his mouth to object, but quickly thought better of it. He frowned.
Evidently, Batsy concluded with a sigh, she did, as evidenced by the level, annoyed, moderately confused, and weirdly arousing look he was giving her. Or maybe it was just confusion? Honestly, Day-Pony faces were so weird. How could they get anything across without ear tufts and cute little fangs?
She made a mental note to ask Luna that once they had all of this settled out, and rolled onto her haunches with a flutter of her wings. “Because,” Batsy said. Fixing Taffy in her gaze, she made a move to snatch the monocle from the ground and flitted up to his level, holding the eyeglass in front her face to form a makeshift spyglass.
She held him in her gaze for a moment, look up and down his face and inspecting the stubbles of fur and creases of confusion etching Taffy’s face before finally whispering. “Clues, my dear Waterson.”
This caused Taffy to tense, suddenly not thinking better of it. “I told you to stop calling me—
Batsy cut him off. She spun around as she turned her attention to the rest of the shop, looking over each piece of broken glass with her spyglass—hovering especially long on a glass chair before continuing. “The perpetrator always returns to the scene of the crime, and do you know why, Waterson?”
“Um, clu—”
“Clues!” Batsy shouted, chattering with excitement. The glass chair she’d just been inspecting immediately responded with a loud crack behind her as a large fissure arced through its middle. Miraculously, it only just managed to stay in one piece.
Ignoring her latest act of destruction, Batsy bounced back into the air and glided back down in front of Taffy. Pressing their noses together, she gaze a wide, toothy smile and whispered. “All we have to do is find out who he is, where he went, and how he managed to destroy all of—” She paused. “Well, all of this!” Batsy gestured around them, pulling Taffy’s head to her side as she gestured to the sea of broken glass and shattered figurines. “Somewhere here, some of this broken glass will hide the key to the mystery!”
Taffy, deciding to expertly ignore the very much Batsy-esque indentation in the back wall, the fact he had to cross dozens of ‘Guard-Scene, Do Not Cross’ tapes, and, on top of that, he was pretty sure there were witnesses to their crimes, instead decided to humour Batsy and turned his attention to the broken windows. Particularly, one such window was facing the Lunar Barracks—Batsy’s Barracks—and was suspiciously perfectly parallel to the equally suspicious Batsy-shaped indentation.
All he managed to do was groan. “... Something tells me that they may have gone through the window...”
“Of course!” Batsy squealed directly behind him, causing Taffy to almost swallow his moustache—Where does that keep coming from? “And if he came in through the windows, he’d have to go out through the windows, too!” She did a tiny clap with her hooves. “I’m such a genie!”
“Genius,” Taffy corrected.
Batsy gave a definitive nod. “I am, thank you.”
Taffy had to resist the urge to facehoof. Something was telling him this was going to become a regular occurrence. Instead he simply gritted his teeth, and slowly, calmly, whispered. “Batsy...” he said, “All of the windows are broken.”
Batsy deadpanned. She rolled her eyes. “Uh, duh! Because he had to go through them! Are you even listening to me?”
Honestly, if he weren’t so gosh-darned cute—Batsy felt herself swoon just watching as Taffy snorted and batted at the moustache, trying to dislodge it from his lip—she would have started wondering a long time ago why she even bothered hanging out with these ponies.
Then the thought of bat treats inched its way into her mind, and she suddenly remembered why. Not the diet bat treats, mind you. Those were terrible, bland and tasteless imitations of the real thing. She only ate those because she was watching her figure. No, the real treats were soft and delicious, crumbly-melt-in-your-mouth goodness with the occasional hint of dead mouse...
“Um, hello?” Taffy looked on into Berry’s wide eyes, a look of legitimate concern etching its way into his face as the minutes dragged on. At first it seemed like she was thinking about something, so for the first few seconds Taffy had waited patiently.
But then things started seeming out of the ordinary when Batsy began to drool. And then her mouth dropped open and she’d begun panting, all the while with a wishful, thousand-yard stare.
He tilted his head and scratched under the moustache planted firmly on his lip, then began slowly removing it with a wink of his magic. “Batsy? Are yo—“
“Outside!” Batsy snapped out of her trance, shouting the first thing that came to mind, and causing Taffy to jolt. He jumped, giving a yelp as he flared his horn, and the moustache was violently ripped from his face and flung across the room.
As Batsy made her way towards the front door, Taffy silently whimpered, tears in the corners of his eyes as he clutched at his upper lip. He slumped to the ground, almost crying with agony. “... oooow...”
“Come on, Waterson,” she shouted back. “We have to check outside. There might be more clues over there.”
~ ~ ~
Not long after they had both left, the back door to the room creaked open and two white-coated ponies stepped out into the light. Perfectly identical in every way, their golden armour glinted in the sunlight, casting a shimmer of reflections over the ocean of broken glass.
“Tell me again”—The first guard piped up—“why are we back here?” He turned and looked up at his identical comrade—or they at least would have been identical if it weren’t for the height difference. Captain White stood almost a full foot higher than all his other guards. Even without the blue insignia on his breastplate, anypony could have plucked him out from a crowd with ease.
“Elementary, my dear simpleton,” Captain white said. He clapped his hooves together, rubbing them menacingly. A sly, knowing, smirk creased the edges of his cheeks, and a glint of the eye revealed the hints of a plan.
He began pacing, his well-trained eyes scanning over every inch of the room, veritably slurping up every detail his junior’s reports might have missed.
When he was finally satisfied with his reconnaissance, he settled into a cracked chair near the corner and reclined, folding his forelegs evenly over his lap. “The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, Private Pansy. She may have been well-trained as one of Luna’s Guerrillas, and have knowledge of all of The Guard’s tactics, but she can’t avoid her own nature. Sooner or later Corporal Fluftentuft will return to this place, and when she does, we will be here waiting for her.”
He thrust a hoof towards the front exit. “Now go!” he commanded. Pansy stiffened. “I have the back, you take the front entrance. Notify me of any abnormal behaviour.”
Flashing a salute, Private Pansy shuffled off to take his position. The sound of metal armour clattered loudly. White watched Pansy closely as he took up position in the front entranceway, his back to the inside, and standing stock-still as his training dictated.
When he was sure Pansy wasn’t about to shirk his duties, White turned his own attention to the back door. He smiled.
Oh, but he was going to love the look on Batsy’s face, the realisation that they’d been one step ahead of her this entire time...
She may be one year older than him, but he’s got her this time.
~ ~ ~
“WAAAAIIIT!!!”
“Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-WAIT!” Batsy’s ears were flicked forwards, suddenly alert as she stood to attention. She rocked back and forth from her perch atop Taffy’s back, her eyes peeled, scanning over the ground below like a fine-toothed comb as she tugged on Taffy’s mane. “Back up five steps”—another tug, earning a wince from her trusty steed—“I think I saw something.”
Taffy begrudgingly complied. He trotted backwards with an annoyed flick of his tail, then readers up, kicking with a neigh, and then settled back to all fours to inspect the ground himself. With Batsy’s hold on his reins loosened, he wasted no time in poking his head below his undercarriage to get a better look at the cobbles underneath. “What!?” He asked, eyes blazing over the dull rocks in a blind panic. “What did you see? Is it a clue? Did we find a—“
“It’s over there!” Batsy pulled back on his mane as she leaned over his nape, causing Taffy’s head to jerk up and follow where her hoof was pointing—evidently somewhere between straight ahead, and the middle of nowhere—“Look! Look! Look! There it is! There!” she screeched.
“Where!?” Taffy shouted. He started looking around even more frantically.
“There!” Batsy repeated, with an edge of annoyance in her voice. She pointed again, this time bouncing on Taffy’s back. She gave him a gentle nudge in the barrel to push him in the right direction. “It’s on your left!”
“Ow!” A shiver ran up Taffy’s spine, and he suddenly became stiff.
Batsy sighed. Of course the damn sexy sucker had to be blind, too! “It’s right there!” she groaned, before giving up. With a roll of her eyes and hips, Batsy quickly swung herself off of Taffy’s back. She landed a quick peck on his cheek as she passed, then took flight and swooped down to the ground to pluck the object up between her teeth.
She came back up grinning, hovering just in front of Taffy's face with the delicate object clutched between her fangs. “Mmfmfmfmsmm.”
Taffy squinted. “It’s a...” He had to do a second take, leaning in closer to Batsy face, almost so close that their muzzles touched. His nose scrunched. “A feather?”
“Mhmhm!” Batsy shook her head. She spat the feather out and held it up between her fetlocks, waving it under Taffy’s snout as she repeated. “Not just any feather!” She gave it a long sniff along the length, snorting as it tickled her—
She sneezed into her hoof then quickly resumed her inspections. Those damn sensitive noses, they were really undercutting her magnificent ability to be magnificent!
“It’s a pegasus feather,” Batsy continued, “and—” She gave it a tentative lick, savouring the flavour. She smacked her lips, swishing the complicated mix of chemicals in her mouth before declaring: “It’s pink.”
Taffy looked incredulous. “Uh...” He looked at the feather himself, half not believing Batsy and half afraid to do so. Indeed it was pink, and oddly large for its size. Even as a primary feather it would have been almost double that of a regular Pegasus feather.
Above all, he couldn’t help but ignore the slightly purplish tinge nearer the tip, where the feather suddenly ended in a broken bite mark where Batsy had just ‘sampled’ it. “Are you sure that’s not—
“And!” Batsy took another, larger, bite from the feather, taking her time to properly taste all of it before drawing her last—and most impressive—conclusion yet. “There’s a distinct taste of cinnamon—No!” Another bite and the feather was almost gone. “Lavender, with a hint of jasmine and honeysuckle, but I don’t know of any—”
“Mare-in-Tone conditioner!” Taffy suddenly blurted. The words all clicked in his head. He’d known where he’d heard those ingredients before. “Jasmine and honeysuckle are the key ingredients in Mare-in-Tone female coat conditioner! I use it all the time because it gives you this healthy sheen and results in this divine lovely soft coat it—“
He stopped.
Taffy’s mouth ran dry, his eyes widening slightly as he looked over Batsy, and the look she was giving him in turn. It was... hungry.
He coughed—“Um, well...” Quickly restoring his manhood, and hiding the burning behind his cheeks. “Th-They also make this feather toner for mares, but it’s only available to the royal guard and the elite; it’s so expensive.”
Batsy stuck her tongue out. She wiggled her eyebrows, but quickly returned to the job at hoof. She tapped her chin with the remains of the feather as she returned to pacing in front of Taffy. “Very good, Waterson, and there can only be one pony with pretty pink pegasus wings and the money to afford feather toner fit for a princess.” She paused, face scrunching up in deep thought. “But who...?”
“Um—“
“Shh!” She held a hoof up to silence Taffy. “I’m thinking.”
“But—“
“Thinking, Waterson.” She turned her back to Taffy, dropped onto her flanks, and began rubbing her temples whilst she whispered nonsensical obscenities under her breath. She wasn’t quite sure what purposes the curses served, but she was assured it helped with thinking every time she found her commanders doing the same. “Pink. Wings. Money. Princess.”
“It’s”—
Pink. Wings. Money. Princess.
— “just” —
Pink. Wings. Money.
— “Princess Cadance.”
“Cadance, yes!” Batsy snapped out of her thoughts with a hop. She leapt off the ground, giving a quick shake, and began prancing and skipping in circle around Taffy with excitement. Of course! It was so simple, how could she have missed it! “Princess Cadance had pink wings, and she has exactly the amount of money a princess would have, it’s perfect!”
Anypony that might have seen her would have thought she was shaking off fire ants, but to Batsy that was a sure fire sign that her genius was finally onto something! And boy, did it burn like Tartarus!
Choosing to ignore the burning in her flanks for just a teensie bit longer, Batsy brought herself down enough to sit in front of Taffy and look him square in the eyes with a serious gaze. “There’s only—Ah!” She gasped, and scratched at her flanks, silently swearing under her breath. “Stupid fire ants!” She stood and kicked back a leg, wiggling her rump to free herself from this menace, for now. “There’s only been one problem! Cadance hasn’t been to Canterlot for a year-and-a-half, not since I helped her at her wedding.”
Taffy frowned. “You were at her wedding?”
“Duh, yeah,” Batsy rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t exactly invited, but I did meet her when I was doing my border rounds.” She shrugged, and then leaned in closer to whisper in Taffy’s ear. “This is top-secret, so don’t tell anypony, but I think she locked her keys in the castle, because when I found her she was just kind of just standing outside the gate looking kinda lost...”
Uh...” Taffy was about to ask why she was outside the castle, when Batsy pulled away and continued with a chipper smirk.
“It was a good thing I was there to let her in,” she chirped. “I’d hate to see what would’ve happened if the Changelings had gotten to her, but that’s beside the point—” She gave Taffy a boop, causing a scrunch and a sneeze.
Whilst he was still uncrossing his eyes and straightening the moustache—“Mother of Celestia...”—Batsy continued her pacing.
She returned the pipe to her mouth, and was inspecting what remained of the feather in the light as she spoke. “The point is that there is no way this feather could have ended up here! Cadance didn’t visit the lower business district, she certainly didn’t do it during her moult, and if she did, this feather couldn’t have possibly survived that long!”
With an agitated snort, Taffy was finally able to remove the moustache in time to look up at Batsy, his muzzle still slightly crinkled. “A-Are you saying somepony might be—” He paused. Taffy glanced behind them then leaned in closer, pulling a—virtually ecstatic—Batsy nearer his ear so he could whisper without being overheard. “Impersonating the Princess?”
“Worse,” Batsy mouthed breathlessly. Her eyes were wide, the slitted pupils of the bat pony almost fully round as she stared into Taffy’s own, her gaze deathly serious. “I fear, Mr Waterson, that I must put our case on hold, for I believe we may have stumbled across a much deeper mystery.”
She broke from the stranglehold to fling herself down the street, practically flying as she glided between sprung steps. “Follow me, Waterson,” she sung. “to solve the Pertencarous Plot to Pilfer Part of the Perfect Pink Princess’ Perky Plot!”
“You used plot twice!”
“It’s a homophone!”
“But—”Taffy started a slow trot in the same direction, a frown plastered across his face. “But they’re also spelled the same, so wouldn’t that make it a homograph?”
“Ugh,” he heard Batsy groan from up the road. She stopped at almost a full block away to wave. “Just hurry up already!” And she was gone, off galloping again.
“Okay, okay!” Taffy started with a jump and set off after Batsy at a full sprint. The whole way he was silently swearing to himself. “Oh dear, please, Celestia, let my soul be safe...”
~ ~ ~
~“Sunshine Sunshine”~
~“Sunshine Sunshine”~
~“Ladybugs awake”~
~“Ladybugs awake”~
~“Clap your hooves!”~
~“And do a little shake!”~
The joyous giggling chatter of fillies and mares filled the air; a crowd of ponies gathered, not too close, but also not so far as to miss the show. Stallions and mares watched with mixtures of amusement and befuddlement as two princesses played out the same ritualistic meeting dance they did every time they found themselves in the same kingdom.
Both princesses folded into each other’s hooves, laughing and out of breath, the older one wheezing a little between happy giggles. “Oh, but it was so nice of you, Twilight, for inviting us to stay for the long weekend.”
Twilight was blushing profusely, though it was hard to tell with the massive grin she was sporting. She averted her gaze, turning slightly abashed at the sudden compliment. She brushed back the fringe of her mane. “A-Anything for the Best BabySitter Filly Friend Forever, Cadance,” she said. “If there’s anypony who deserves a break for their wedding ceremony, it’s you two.”
“A-and I really appreciate it,” Cadance said. She gave Twilight one last, grateful, squeeze, before releasing her to look to her husband: Shining Armour, who had just stepped out from behind her in a confused daze. “With all this ‘royaling’, and ‘princessing’, and...” She gave Shining a quick look over. With no small amount of disgust, she plucked a stray piece of carrot from his robe and dispatched it with her magic. “And little Flurry Heart, we’ve been absolutely frazzled. It will be nice to get a break from it all.”
A beat of silence grew awkward.
“...” Cadance glanced to her husband. She coughed. “Isn’t that right, honey?” she said, giving Shining Armour a sharp prod to the side.
“Cabbages!” Shining Armour awoke with a start and a loud whi—iiinnne—he—he—heeey, almost jumped out of his skin as she stumbled, and convulsed back into the waking world. “Save the captain! The salad bowl is—” He blinked for a moment, pausing as his senses started to make sense of the situation.
Looking around him, Shining’s ears dropped. His cheeks burned bright pink, and he couldn’t help but show a goofy smile as he fought back the embarrassment. “Aw, shucks....” He scuffed the ground. “This isn’t the train station, is it?”
The response was almost instantaneous. Smiles cracked and ponies burst out laughing all around him, his wife and sister the loudest of the guffaws. “Oh, Shiney—” Cadance wheezed between eyes a watering. She had to hold a hoof to her chest, using all her royal training to keep herself from—And she fell over clutching at her chest, bellowing out into the sky.
“”Th-The—” Twilight breathed, long and deep, as she worked out the word.
“This is why we love you, honey!” Cadance finally managed to scream out, only to fall over Twilight in another fit of laughter. “I-I mean, y—you—and you slept all the way from the—“
A hiccup and a sneeze caught Cadance off-guard, resulting in a blast and mushroom cloud of pink as feathers fluttered down around them, coating the ground.
“—The castle!”
“Cadance!” Twilight, evidently, had all but stopped laughing, and as Cadance looked her way, she saw her niece looking more shocked, with her hooves covering her mouth. Several more feathers fluttered through the air, peppering a layer of pink over Twilight’s mane and coat.
“Yes, yes!” Cadance waved a leg to placate her, already knowing what the questions were going to be. She was just starting to calm down herself, when she rolled onto her hooves and began brushing away the excess plumage. She snickered. “It’s the moult, Twilight.” With a flicker of pink magic, she gently drifted about a dozen pink feathers off Twilight’s mane and deposited them on the ground in a heap. “I’ve been leaving these darn things all over the place. Nothing I can really do about them.”
