Early in the afternoon on one summer day, an aging stallion stood outside the doors of The Canterlot News, a modest but well respected paper headquartered in a middle sized building just a few minutes from the Royal Castle. The stallion looked up at the sign with a frown before hanging his head in defeat.
“Might as well get this over with.” He grumbled.
Pushing through the double doors in the entrance, the stallion was greeted by several clerks talking to various ponies at their desks stationed around the lobby. Looking around for a pony to talk to, he appeared lost in what he was trying to accomplish in the building until a passing mare notice him. She paused as she looked him over, a bit of concern passing over her face.
“Excuse me, sir, can I help you?” She asked.
“Oh!” The old stallion started in surprise. “Oh, yes please.”
The mare guided him over to her desk, glancing back at him every few moments or so. The stallion wasn't surprised at the looks she was giving him, but wondered what it was that she was so interested in.
Perhaps it was the fact that he had a scar over his right eye, or the limp that he walked with, or maybe it was the most defining feature of the stallion that caused the mare to look at him with such concern.
The stallion, once a pegasus able to fly above the rest, was now an earthbound pony with only his left wing to hang at his side. Where his right wing had once been was nothing more than a scarred stump that spoke of some unfortunate accident or tragedy that had befallen the unfortunate stallion.
“What can I help you with sir?” The mare asked once seated behind her desk.
“I would like to put an ad in your paper.”
“Okay, what kind of ad and how large?” She asked after writing down a few notes.
“Room for rent.” The stallion replied. “Not large, just something that will attract a pony's attention.”
“Okay, do you have the details for the ad?” The mare looked at him expectantly.
“Yes.” The stallion replied, reaching into his mane to pull a small scrap of paper out and hoof it to the mare. She glanced at the crudely written ad and nodded.
“Very well, I will get this typed up right away. How long would you like to run the ad?”
The stallion held a hoof to his chin and thought carefully. “Erm, I think two weeks should be long enough.”
“I'm sorry sir.” The mare sighed. “We recently changed policy, all ads in the paper must be run a minimum of one month.”
“But I can't—er, don't need it run for a month.” The stallion protested.
“I'm sorry, but that's the rule.” Came the reply.
The stallion paused to think about this for a moment before he asked a question which he already knew the answer to. “How much?”
“Forty bits a month.” The mare answered a little too quickly.
The stallion nodded tiredly, looking through the mare rather than at her. “Thank you for your time.”
Without another word, he stood up and turned away from her. Unnoticed by the stallion, a unicorn exited the office to the rear of lobby and looked up just in time to see him leaving.
“Hey!” The unicorn called, but the front doors were shut by the time his shout reached them. Not caring about the odd looks he was receiving from the rest of the lobby, the unicorn rushed to the desk of the mare that had been serving the stallion.
Outside, the stallion was once again frowning, this time looking at the white walls of the Royal Castle not too far in the distance.
“Twenty-eight years.” He whispered to himself.
“Sergeant Cake?” A familiar voice called out from behind the stallion.
He turned to look at the unicorn that had just exited the front doors of The Canterlot News and was looking at him expectantly. Recognition dawned on his face and the stallion smiled as he looked at the younger pony.
“Fine Print!” The stallion exclaimed happily. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here!” Fine Print announced. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, no reason.” Was the answer.
Fine Print's smile fell a small bit, but he hid his emotions well.
“Are you hungry?” He asked.
The stallion nodded slightly. “I could do with some lunch.”
“Come on!” The unicorn pointed down the street. “I know a good place not far from here.”
Once seated in a small cafe and the food had been ordered, Fine Print turned to look at the stallion. The crippled pegasus was still in fine shape and his eyes sharp as ever, but age had still worn the stallion down. Fine Print was unnerved to see him hesitating to order food, something which he had never done before.
“So. . .” Fine Print said, deciding to start the conversation. “How have you been Sergeant Cake?”
The stallion raised his hoof. “Please, it's just Sweet Cake, I'm not a sergeant anymore.”
Fine Print chuckled. “Okay then, how is Donuts doing?”
“He's doing well, got a job at a bakery down in Manehattan.”
“Good, I'm glad to hear it.”
“And you?” Sweet Cake asked. “What are you up to these days?”
“Oh, work.” Fine Print explained. “I'm assistant chief editor at The Canterlot Times now.”
“You don't say?”
“Yeah, pretty incredible, they just up and gave me the job one day.”
“Well, I can't think of a pony who deserves it more. Congratulations.” Sweet Cake raised his water cup in the form of a toast.
“Thanks.” Fine Print smiled, then took a deep breath. “Speaking of The Times—”
“Not now.” Sweet Cake frowned.
“What were you doing there today?” Fine Print carried on despite the stallion's attitude.
“I said not now.” Was his only reply.
“Does it have anything to do with this?” The unicorn brought out a slip of paper in his magic, the same one Sweet Cake had given to the secretary. Sweet Cake's eyes narrowed at the paper and he shut his mouth before he could say anything he would regret.
“What's going on?” Fine Print demanded.
Sweet Cake gave Fine Print the silent treatment for a few moments before calming down and looking back at his friend.
“Listen, Fine Print, I appreciate the concern, but—”
“Sweet Cake, don't.” Fine Print stopped him. “You've done so much for me, you've been the father I've never had, you saved my life for Celestia's sake! So I'm asking you, just let me know what's going on.”
The pegasus glanced out the window before looking down at the paper.
“You're right.” Sweet Cake sighed. “Fine Print, I—I'm going to lose the house.”
The unicorn stared at him, mouth agape.
“B—But! HOW?” He exclaimed.
“A few years ago, I took out a loan on the house to pay off. . . a debt, and I haven't been able to make payments.”
Fine Print blinked as he processed the information. Finally, the gears in his head began turning and he looked down at the slip of paper, Sweet Cake's near illegible handwriting beginning to make sense now. Without another word, his magic lit up and he summoned a pencil.
“What are you doing?” Sweet Cake asked.
“You spelled 'board' wrong. It's spelled B-O-A-R-D, not B-O-R-E-D.”
“Fine Print, I can't even afford to put that in the paper.” The pegasus protested.
“You can't, but I can.” Fine Print said as he continued making changes to Sweet Cake's ad. “Besides, I'm pretty sure you thought that you could put it in for a week or two?”
Sweet Cake nodded.
“Yeah, that's what I thought.” Fine Print rolled his eyes. “New policy, some feather-head in management thought he could squeeze some extra bits out of our customers with the month-long minimum rule. It's costing us a ton of bits, and they'll change it soon enough, but we need to get you in the paper now.”
“I'll pay you back.” The pegasus said quietly.
“Forget it, this won't cost me a bit. I'm the assistant editor.” Fine Print waved his hoof dismissively.
“Thank you, I'll make it up somehow.”
“I said forget it!” Fine Print snapped before regaining his composure. “Cake, you didn't owe me anything back when you found me. Don't think for a minute you owe me now.”
Sweet Cake leaned back frowning, but slowly let out a small chuckle.
“Okay Print. . . Okay. We'll call it even for now.”
The food arrived not a minute later and the two of them began eating. After a few minutes, Fine Print opened up the conversation again.
“Sweet Cake, what, erm.” The unicorn swallowed. “If you don't mind me asking, what happened? Why are you so strapped for bits right now? Don't you have a pension coming out of the Royal Guard?”
Sweet Cake nodded slightly. “That's what you'd think, right? Well, you remember why I was discharged from the guard in the first place?”
“Yeah.” Fine Print nodded. “Some snot nosed little officer made that comment about you losing your wing and you decked him, but last I heard, they gave you a medical discharge with a hefty pension along with it.”
“Well, I may have stabbed myself in the hoof in more ways than one.” Sweet Cake explained. “That snot nosed little officer also happens to run the pension department.”
Fine Print groaned. “Celestia's mane, can't you do anything about? Report him or something?”
“Here's the kicker.” Sweet Cake chuckled. “His pops is a first general, so I couldn't touch him in a thousand years.”
“Maybe I could write an editorial?” The unicorn suggested.
“No, the last thing I want is for ponies to start believing the Guard is full of corrrupt ponies. I've got a few friends still in the Guard working on it, and I'm sure that they'll come up with something soon, just for now I need some extra bits to cover the house.”
“. . . Okay, I won't touch it for now, but if you're still having trouble with bits, come talk to me, alright?” Fine Print relented.
“Alright.” Sweet Cake smiled faintly. “I will.”
“So. . .” Fine Print said after a few moments. “How is Donuts doing? I mean, with um, well, you know?”
“He's coping.” Sweet Cake answered. “We all are, in different ways. She was a special mare, you know?”
“I know. She was, well, you two were always the parents I wanted to have.” Fine Print chuckled. “Rough Cut never stopped being so kind to everypony she met, so energetic. . . it's hard to believe that she's gone.”
Sweet Cake looked outside. “She was never one to waste time.”
The two stallions stayed silent for as long it took for them to recall each bittersweet memory before Fine Print spoke up once again.
“Hey, Sweet Cake, I need to get back to the office, but take care alright? Keep me informed.”
“I will.” Sweet Cake replied as the unicorn got up to leave. “Oh, and Print?”
“Yeah?”
“You're a good friend.”
Fine Print smiled. “I had a good teacher.”
Sweet Cake leaned back into his chair, looking down at the table and seeing a few bits near the edge. He was sure that if he counted them up, he would find the amount necessary to cover the cost of the meal as well as a tip.
With a sigh, Sweet Cake looked out the window and watched as ponies went by. Despite the recent troubles, the retired sergeant felt at peace, confident that life had thrown him enough curveballs for the time being. Maybe, just maybe, he had this crazy world beaten after all.
A few days later, at the same cafe that Sweet Cake and Fine Print had shared not too long ago sat an earth pony mare. Beside her was a set of heavily laden saddlebags, while on the table in front of her was a breakfast salad and an issue of The Canterlot Times.
Scanning over the articles, she read the title page, frowning slightly as she did.
“ 'Millions recovered from Canterlot Bank robbery.' ” She read aloud. “ 'Royal Guard raids the hideout of Phantom Thief, finds enough loot to fill a bank vault.' ”
Looking over at her saddlebags, she smiled. “They didn't get all of it.”
The frown returned to her face as she looked over the rest of the article. From the looks of it, Canterlot was still locked up pretty tight, there was no way she would be able to leave the city with her stolen goods.
She would need a place to lay low for a few weeks until the heat died down. Flipping through the pages, she found the 'Apartments' section. Slowly examining each article, she began choosing where to hide.
“Hotel Bitz? Nice, but a bit too flashy.” She crossed that one out.
“Golden Horseshoe? Maybe.” A circle around that one.
This continued for some time until she reached the bottom of the page. Most of these ones were for boarding houses, often cheap and seedy places with no service and hardly the place for a respectable mare to be seen. She was about to close the page when one of the last advertisements caught her eye. It was a single room for rent in a rather nice neighborhood, not to far from the castle, not too close, and was listed for a rather cheap price.
Normally she would have passed over such a place without a second thought but today, something stopped her. The hotels were always a risk because the Royal Guards were on high alert and would be out in force. She wasn't eager to go rent a place in downtown Canterlot either because even though she was a thief, even thieves had standards. However, this location sounded perfect for her needs. A nice house, secluded with very few Royal Guards patrolling about?
“Perfect!” She said giddily.
Looking for the owner, she giggled.
“Sweet Cake? Oh that's got to be a baker!”
Without another word, the mare put on her saddlebags, paid for her meal, and set out.
Author's Note
New story! Yay!
. . . This is a bad idea.
Feedback is always appreciated.
“What about Friday?”
“Friday works fine.” Sweet Cake answered.
“Uh Dad, do you know where my tie is?”
The old pegasus swallowed another bite of his food and chewed thoughtfully. “Did you leave it in the kitchen?”
Several steps later, the answer was shouted from the kitchen. “Yeah, found it!”
Sweet Cake chuckled. Despite all the insane events recently, some things never changed.
A white unicorn with a brown mane walked into his father's study while adjusting his tie with his magic. Satisfied, he glanced at his father and struck a pose.
“How do I look?” He asked with a nervous smile.
“You look fine Donuts.” Sweet Cake laughed. “She's already gone out with you twice, what are you so nervous about?”
Donuts shuffled his hooves bashfully. “It's just, well, she's so special, you know?”
“I know, son, I know.” Sweet Cake answered wistfully. “There's no other feeling like what you feel now. I know exactly what's running through your mind.”
Donuts smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I better go. She said she'd meet me by the jewelry store on Fifth.”
Sweet Cake raised an eyebrow. “The jewelry store?”
“Yeah, I—” Donuts' pupils shrunk to pinpricks. “ByeDadloveyou!”
The door slammed behind the unicorn, rattling a few pictures in their frames. Sweet Cake just chuckled before taking another bite of his food. He savored the taste before swallowing, noticing how quiet the house had suddenly gotten. A clock ticking on the wall, the occasional noise of the neighborhood, his labored breathing.
Sweet Cake glanced around the room until his eyes fell upon his wedding photo, a small smile coming to his face. He tried to break off a piece of the cake, but found his hoof wouldn't move. He wasn't bothered by this, choosing to keep looking at the picture instead. Slowly, his eyelids began to droop and his vision grew darker by the moment.
Still smiling, he closed his eyes, only slightly disturbed by the sound of a ringing bell that seemed to be getting louder.
Sweet Cake shifted uncomfortably before his eyes slowly opened. The alarm clock on his nightstand bounce on its legs, its shrill ring announcing the time. There was a series of cracks as he moved, his body refusing to obey his mind for a second until his joints finally relented and popped loose. With a creak that could have come from either the bed or Sweet Cake himself, he rolled over and tapped a hoof on the top of the clock to silence it.
Groaning, the pegasus continued his roll until he fell out of bed, landing on three hooves before gently setting his left rear leg on the ground. Step by step, he made his way over to the bathroom and turned the sink faucet on in order to splash cold water on his face. Task accomplished, Sweet Cake walked to the closet and began to dress.
There were very few items in the closet that could qualify as clothing in his closet, most of the closet's space was taken up by accessories to help him around the house. A single saddlebag hung from his right side over where his wing once extended from his body, a hook attached to the tip of his left wing, and a brace on his bad leg.
Last but not least, he took out a red tie and fastened it around his neck.
Ready for the day, he limped downstairs to the kitchen. Breakfast was coffee and day old hay waffles soaked with syrup while reading an old book. He ate slowly and deliberately, occasionally looking at the plate across from him in front of an empty seat.
Sweet Cake sighed sadly. Habits were hard to break, and after twenty-eight years of setting the breakfast table for two, it was impossible to not bring out a second plate each morning.
Breakfast finished, he washed the dishes and placed them in the dish rack to dry. Limping to the door, he glanced at the clock. A thump against the door right as the clock hit five fifteen announced the arrival of the morning paper.
Opening the door, he stepped out onto his porch and picked up the newspaper and began to glance through it when he suddenly stopped. Something was amiss, something was—Oh.
A diminutive unicorn stallion looked at him from the sidewalk with wide, frightened eyes. Sweet Cake was pretty used to that reaction from the average pony given that his appearance was akin to that of some sort of a villain from a fairy tale. Many a young foal had run away screaming at the sight of the “evil pirate pony.”
“Good morning sir.” Sweet Cake greeted him. Despite the gravel in his voice, years of being a guard had honed an edge of civility and control in his tone that tended to cause other ponies to react whenever he spoke to them.
“G-good morning!” He stuttered in surprise.
“Can you I help you in any way?”
The stallion glanced at a copy of The Canterlot News he was holding. “C-can- y-you tell m-me where Mr.-Mr.-Mr. Swee-Swee—”
He began to stutter when Sweet Cake cut him off. “Mr. Sweet Cake?”
The stallion nodded.
Sweet Cake mustered up a small, practiced smile he found to be the least intimidating and responded as softly as possible.
“How can I help sir?”
The unicorn's eyes nearly popped out of his head before he began slowly backing up.
“N-nothing, nothing at all, I made a mistake.” He stammered before turning around and sprinting up the street.
Sweet Cake frowned at the fleeing unicorn, but resolved to try and be more. . . approachable. He didn't blame the other ponies, even Sweet Cake would have been suspicious if a pony as damaged as he was to ever approach him.
There was nothing to be done about it apart from facing the day as it came, so the aging pegasus closed the door behind him and stepped down off the porch.
“Good morning Mistah Cake!” A shrill voice called out to him from the house across the street.
“Good morning Missus Pepper.” Sweet Cake answered.
“ 'Ow are ya tahday?” A plump unicorn mare with ivory fur and a blue mane and tail done up in a bun asked politely as she water her roses out front.
Sweet Cake smiled, although the damage to his face caused it to appear more like a grimace. “Just fine, and yourself?”
“I'm doin' raght as rain.” The mare looked down the street where the timid stallion had run off. “What in Celestia's name was t'at all about?”
“Nothing, probably just a salespony or something.” Sweet Cake brushed it off.
“Oh?” Pepper raised an eyebrow. “An' last nigh'? Or yest'erday mornin'? Were those salesponies as well?”
Sweet Cake frowned at the unicorn, an expression that would have seemed terrifying to a pony that did not know him personally. Pepper, having been his neighbor for nearly twenty years, just frowned right back.
“Must I be subject to you constant nagging?” Sweet Cake asked dramatically. “Shall my days from here on be filled with nothing but your unending search for gossip?”
Pepper winked at him. “There's not much ta gossip abou' ya, 'cept your flanks!”
Sweet Cake chuckled. “Pepper, you are a terrible neighbor.”
“Oh?” The unicorn scoffed. “I suppose, bein' the terrible neighbor I am, that I might be bringin' over some o' my cranberry pies this evenin'? Or woul' that be considered bein' too much of a 'terrible' neighbor?”
“No, no.” Sweet Cake responded hurriedly. “That sounds just about right to me.”
Pepper laughed. “I'll be over at seven, then.”
Sweet Cake wished her a pleasant day before continuing down the street, and even though the limp slowed his walk, it was not enough to delay him very long. Passing several more houses, many of the occupants calling out a friendly greeting as he did, the pegasus reached the main road and made his way in the general direction of the royal castle.
A half hour later, Sweet Cake entered the front door of a small diner that was serving breakfast at the time.
“Mornin' Sergeant.” A gruff earth mare called from behind the counter, her apron colored by various stains both old and new.
“Morning Sunny.” Sweet Cake answered. “The usual if you please.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sunny grumbled. “Be wit' you in just a minute.”
The stallion turned to look for an open table when an all too familiar, but all too chilling voice spoke up from behind him.
“By Celestia's mark, the legend still draws breath.” Although there appeared to be no malice hidden in the tone of the voice, it caused Sweet Cake's fur to stand up on end. There was only one pony that could cause such an effect, an old friend from an all but forgotten time in his life.
Sweet Cake turned around to see a charcoal black unicorn with a grey mane and a scraggly grey beard looking at him from a few tables down. His smile was twisted into a sneer and his eyes seemed to posses a red tinged glow whenever he leaned into the shadows. Despite all the characteristics of an average fairytale antagonist, Sweet Cake knew from personal experience not to judge a creature by its appearance.
“Vil?” He asked uncertainly.
The unicorn's sneer morphed into a slightly less intimidating form of a smile as recognition dawned on Sweet Cake's face.
“Good to see you Sergeant.” The unicorn said, surveying the pegasus with a critical eye. “Well, what's left of you.”
“Vil, you ol' colt of a diamond dog!” Sweet Cake limped over to the stallion, a smile on his face. “What are you doing in Canterlot?”
“Parole officer wanted a meeting in the city this time.” 'Vil' explained. “We agreed to meet up here.”
Sweet Cake nodded and was about to sit down when Sunny walked up beside him.
“Sergeant, you know this bloke?” She asked skeptically.
The pegasus nodded. “Yeah, he, um, he—”
“The good sergeant here participated in a raid on my hideout some time ago. I gave him some information on the whereabouts of my apprentice and he got my sentence commuted.” 'Vil' hurriedly jumped in.
Sunny didn't look very happy, but didn't say anything more and returned to the counter. Sweet Cake took a glance around an saw that many of the patrons of the cafe were openly staring at the duo with dumbfounded curiosity while others furtively snuck nervous glances whenever they thought that they would not be noticed.
“Sit down, Sergeant.” 'Vil' gestured to his table. “If you don't mind me saying, you look terrible.”
Sweet Cake chuckled. “And you haven't changed one bit.”
'Vil' laughed with his friend. “Maybe not on the outside, but I'm a brand new pony on the inside.”
“Oh?” Sweet Cake raised an eyebrow. “When we last met, you admitted that you were still, um, breaking the law.”
“Oh I'm still doing that!” 'Vil' admitted with a smile. “I don't think I'll ever be able to stop my hobbies. But I swear to you, Sweet Cake, that from now until the day I die, I will be a force for harmony.”
“Thanks Sunny.” Sweet Cake glanced at the waitress as she set a coffee cup down in front of him before turning his attention back to his friend. “Harmony? You swore that harmony was nothing more than a lie invented by Celestia to cement her reign as a dictator over a blind population. What in Equestria could have caused you to change your mind about—”
The bell above the door to the diner jingled merrily, announcing the arrival of a new customer. By the way 'Vil's face lit up, Sweet Cake could instantly tell that the unicorn had fallen in the most deadly trap in all of Equestria: Love.
Sweet Cake instantly craned his necked around to look at the door and his jaw dropped. An elderly unicorn mare with a pure white coat, a golden mane and tail, and a perpetual scowl on her muzzle.
The pegasus looked back to his infatuated friend.
“Vil'? Isn't she your parole officer?”
The black unicorn had dropped any pretense of professionalism and was staring at the mare with a rather ridiculous expression adorning his muzzle.
“'Vil?” Sweet Cake asked again as he waved a hoof in front of his friend's heart shaped eyes.
“Huh, what?” 'Vil started as he broke out of his haze.
“She's your parole—” The pegasus began when the mare spotted the duo sitting in the booth.
“INCARNATE!” The mare stomped up to the table. “I told you I needed to meet you in a secure location!”
'Vil smiled up at the snarling mare. “I though I would treat you to breakfast.”
“Idiot!” The mare snapped. “I need to speak with you privately! And just who is this vagrant?”
Sweet Cake raised an eyebrow while using his wing to lift his coffee cup to his mouth, but he didn't bother with a retort. At his age, insults of every type were just wasted air by ignorant creatures.
“This is Sergeant Sweet Cake!” 'Vil exclaimed, still smiling with his goofy grin. “Remember the pony that broke my horn and then helped catch my apprentice?”
“How is the horn, by the way?” Sweet Cake asked. “Still bothering you?”
“Only when it rains.”
“Sergeant?” The mare asked, looking at him more carefully. “By Celestia, you've gone to Tartarus.”
“Nice to see you too, 'Lighthouse' Lily.” Sweet Cake grunted.
The mare lit her horn with a snarl. “Yeah, yeah, gang's all here. Beat it will you?”
Lily's horn flashed and Sweet Cake found himself seated two booths away from his original location. He looked around and found that Lily had failed to teleport his coffee cup with him.
“Oi!” Sunny barked from behind the counter. “What's goin' on 'ere!”
“What's wrong Sunny?” A burly construction pony yelled from across the diner.
“Some mare's harassing the Sergeant!” Sunny exclaimed in a loud voice.
In an instant, half of the diner's partons were on there hooves with cries of anger and indignation, their intense gaze focused on the mare in question. Lily's horn glowed in response with a murderous light and she glared back at the ponies with contempt.
Sweet Cake puckered his lips and emitted a shrill whistle which attracted the attention of all in the diner. Casually, he took out his bit purse and began counting out coins.
“Sunny, can I get another cup of coffee, and two breakfast specials for my friends in the booth over there.” The pegasus said while gesturing to the two unicorns.
“You sure, love?” Sunny asked with a skeptical frown.
“Yup, and throw a bottle of Zap Apple Cider in for the mare, she looks like she could use a drink.”
The standing ponies looked back to Sunny, waiting for her response.
“Well, any friends o' yours is good enough for me.” She shrugged.
The bubble broke and conversation in the diner began to return as usual. Sunny walked over with Sweet Cake's breakfast and a fresh cup of steaming coffee and set it down in front of him.
“For goodness sake, Sergeant!” She complained. “Seems like every other day you start a fight in my joint!”
“Sunny, you know perfectly well I haven't started a fight in here for two years.” Sweet Cake shot back.
“A year an' a half.” Sunny called back over her shoulder. “I still blame you for Hearthswarming.”
Sweet Cake smiled as he eagerly dug into his food. To the casual observer, he was just another pony eating his breakfast. However, if one were to observe his concentrated gaze or his swiveling ears, they might have realized that he was hard at work eavesdropping on a particular conversation.
Two booths down, 'Vil and Lily were having a hushed talk about things that normal ponies would never be allowed to hear. Despite his age, Sweet Cake's hearing had not diminished in the slightest allowing him to hear parts of their conversation.
“The robbery?” He heard 'Vil ask Lily. “What's that got to do with me?”
“One of the crystals that went missing wasn't some gem.” Lily said in a hushed tone. “'Vil, there's something I need to tell you. We lost. . . 'him.'”
“Oh dear.”
Sweet Cake swallowed the last of his coffee and set the cup down. Standing, he left the appropriate amount of bits on the counter and began to walk to the door.
“Take care Sergeant.” Sunny called.
“You too Sunny.” He said as he exited the diner.
Looking into the sky, he guess that it was about seven thirty.
To no one in particular, he asked a question. “It's going to be 'one of those days', isn't it?”
Author's Note
Dedicated to my grandfather, a veteran of World War Two who kept me entertained with his life's stories.
Yes, yes, I know that I said I canceled the story. There were some personal issues.
