It's Always The Quiet Ones.

" But why do 'I I I' have to go on that smelly old train, it's hardly fit for a newly appointed class representative such as myself..."

If this little pony were whining at me any more she'd be in the ground. But I being a gentleman (I'm a man, and there was this one time I was gentle in 1992) grit my teeth and summon up some more non-existent patience.

"Look errr,..." I check the roster.

"...Diamond tiara, sweetie...can you just do what your teacher asked you to do, hey, get on the train with the rest of your friends, it'd really help me out a lot, there's a good girl."

She flicks her mane in a pompous fashion, but at least she has some basis for her complaint. The cars to my right were originally made to carry potatoes and from what I can gather were created out of the long since failed industrial revolution that never got started. You'd think Celestia would have some train carriages waiting in the wings for such an occasion, you know, if 'Measure 00 1' was so important but just like every other government assignment (and I use the term very, very loosely) I'm forced onto the stage without a script.

The train's boiler begins to cough steam into the afternoon air, diluting the eighty-odd coloured coats lined up in rows of two in front of me.

This whole evacuation has gone to shit. I'm not a neat freak but from what little information I've gathered these ponies were supposed to be evacuated by what I would call 'nine-o-clock'. It's noon. Terrorism works like Russian roulette, play the game for enough time and it's guaranteed someone's gonna die. I for one was not going to give the shady group an opportunity to knock off any kids. For them, out of sight is out of mind and I watch them all smiling and chattering in the line faces beaming, like this is all just a field trip. My fingers itch at the revolver in my breast pocket. It's climbed up from its usual resting place by my diaphragm, decreasing the time in which I can draw it to under a decisecond. It might help it might not. I had scanned numerous times the slate and glass roof tops of the station building for signs of movement, along with the three miles of track that sprawled up to Canterlot castle. My lapel catches my ragged breath and blusters about for a moment.

The children hadn't been told about the threat made against them, I'd have given Celestia a shakedown for her usual attempts at preserving her own serene wonderland over pony safety, but no child should be told they're going to burn.
As it was however one kid in particular was begging to be deep-fried.

I cross my arms at the little mare, trench-coat sleeves turning up like Diamond-tiara's nose. Another greyish pony complete with blue designer glasses, steps out of line by stepping out of the line, swanning up to her friend with a putrid heir of superiority. This must have been Silver Spoon. I only remember that name because it's the one that kept making me crack up when I saw it under 'S'. I mean the adult mares must really hate their kids if they have the audacity to call them things like 'bubble-licious' or 'squirty-cakes'. I mean the names fit perfectly but it's still cruel.

"...I think you'll find 'officer' that as an elected official Diamond Tiara carries with her the reputation of Ponyville elementary school, and as such deserves the same level of respect."

I'm hearing the sour little pony but I'm not listening. I'm instead thinking about how easy it would be to step on the two of them, seeing how they barely come above my pinstriped knee. I push my Fedora's brim above my brow and put on a big fake smile, you know like I'm expected to play clown at birthday parties now. Kneeling down on the red brick I can feel their snooty eyes giving me a once-over.

"You know girls, we were lucky enough to get a presidential car for this little journey of ours, and,...well I'm not really supposed to tell you this but it's all empty at the moment if you'll just follow me."

Their little faces light up quickly enough, exaggerated by an over-inflated ego and over-doting parents. I'd think it was sad if it wasn't so damned funny. I lead them up the bricked platform and gesture toward one of the cleaner looking potato cars. There's twelve in total, eight potato cars, all correlated metal with wooded slats, and four passenger carriages situated at the front, next to an onyx coloured steam engine.

The supervisors and only a few of the children were to sit in the first four carriages, all silk curtains and velour seating. Now there's a perfect scale model of what passes for equality in Equestria. A third get to live in luxury whilst the little guys get to smell like vegetables, only in this case the little guys are actually little guys. You couldn't make this stuff up, but then again why would you want to?

Diamond-Tiara crinkles her brow at the rusted tin box.

"Well you're obviously confused constable. If we're supposed to be better than our peers, and believe me we are, then as class president I and my secretary demand to be upgraded to the en-suite."

"Secretary AND advisor." hissed Silver Spoon, her glasses fogging up from indigence.

"Oh but this is the en-suite little miss..." I say as with a shudder the door swings out.

"That dirty looking lunch box is our lodging for this journey, that's hardly presidential!"

I smile.

"Oh it makes up for its looks on the inside otherwise everyone would be wanting to book it."

The ponies clamber in and look dismayed at the bolted down wooden chairs and tables, attached to the bare wooden floor.

"You idiot!..." Tiara screeches at me. My expression remains complacent,...barely.

"Presidential car my hoof! I find it a wonder that a moron like you knows how to dress himself!"

Silver Spoon gives out a superfluous little laugh, fake in its tone and delivery.

That did it.

"The hell you talking about?" I turn up my coat sleeves at the buttons.

"You're a president, and this is a train car. You do the math" I shut the door and slide the bolt across. That was two problems dealt with at least.

I walk back over to the rest of the children, as I wipe a hanky across my forehead. Those small eyes shouldn't unnerve me as much as they do...maybe it's because they're human eyes, albeit a little larger. I stand legs spread out a little and watch as they slowly stop talking and turn their heads to face me, sensing it's time to board the train. They seem to sense what's going down, even if they can't articulate it.

"Alright every...er...every-pony" I begin, and stab at the roster with an accusing finger.

"I'm guessing everyone's got their lunches?"

They all nod, taking care not to say a word. Maybe saying that they somehow sensed potential danger was untrue. They sensed a man who sensed danger. In rows you could see it on all the little blue, crimson, lime green faces, wrinkling uncomfortably at the eyes and mouth. Another by-product of Equestrian culture under Celestia. Fear and sadness were not very common emotions in day-to-day life.

Sure they cropped up sometimes, but when they did it was a pretty minor affair that wound up with a snug little moral at its end. It meant that when anxiety did present itself, the young foals had no way of expressing it, made all too clear to me by an unsettling display of emotions ranging from nervous laughter to a smile in the same instant. This is what you get when you teach children the world is made of flowers without the bees. You let them get stung a little and then they'd learn not to trust a government by its author.

"Do you have your trip buddy?"

They nod again, a little feverishly.

"O.K, well find the carriage with your number and go sit down, alright?"

But no, they all just stand there, shuffling about on the platform, still unsure about the journey they've so hastily undertaken. I'm doing my best to come across kid-friendly, but some half-hacked McGruff the crime dog sympathiser doesn't seem to be cutting it.

I walk down the line of what are supposedly my little, LITTLE ponies and receive a furtive glance from each one. Now I wouldn't bat an eyelid for a rouge sniper but walking down a completely silent platform except for the asthmatic huffing of the steam engine, those wide un-spoilt eyes just watching me. That was seven kinds of jungle-weird. My thumbs are tugging at my suspenders as I reach the end of the line, just to distract myself. I wheel around on my custom leather heel and a collective flinch ricochets through the entire group. 'Just a smile' I start thinking to myself. 'I don't want to be liked by you, but I'm on duty, trust my position.'

"What's up with you kids..." I'm a bit pissed from drink; it's come to be expected at this time of day. With desperate efforts I fight back at the liquor-induced euphoria and try not to scare off the little bed-wetters.

"C'mon...we're going to the castle, hey, isn't that exciting. Oh I get it, your just a little horse. Am I right.?"
Hot damn, first joke I make in this place and it sucked out loud. Just as I expect there is no response, I'm just grateful they're not crying. I would have been after hearing that. I wonder if this is what purgatory's like.

I pull my fedora low over my eyes and take a pained breath.

"Just get on the train." it sounds harsher when I say out loud.

Slowly, the ponies fan out from the lines and finally find their way up to the carriages and into their makeshift seats. I on the other hand walk up to the passenger carriage (not out of choice mind) and bend down low so as to fit through the angular doorframe. The interior is more luxurious than even I expected. The skirting boards have dark, majestic horses in full plate armour etched into them, complete with some miniature silver chandeliers hooked up to bronze fixtures on the roof. Despite all the glamour I feel like a sardine. There's enough room to stand up, but only just, and as I fumble past the overly elaborate seating plan I can't help but feel the designer is slapping his dick in my face. I mean even the inter-carriage doors have marble tiling, are you serious horse boy? What your sister was hogging your bathroom so you decided to make your own, on rails no less?

I finally spot a corner booth and with difficulty squeeze myself into the upholstery. I guess I owe anyone who bothers to read this and explanation. I have a mild claustrophobia that resulted from a job I was working on in Brooklyn. Guy named Max Medley strolls into my office and asks me my rates. Everyone's got a guy like Medley on their block, a cheap three-piece suit, thinks he's doing you a big favour just by telling you about his day; but word on the street was he was always in some kind of trouble, and that meant work. An easy enough snoop job, it involved me going to this west-side high-rise, find an empty checkbook full with his signatures.

Only thing was this time old Max was drowning in the shit, got himself involved with some crime syndicates no less, so they figure they're gonna send him a message through me. I break down the door to room 87 with a bruised shoulder as recompense, and I'm not rifling through the draws for ten minutes when I begin to smell smoke. Some would-be-gangster had set the stairwell alight four floors below, and seeing as the place was home to only a handful of resident junkies, I quickly deduced that the alarm would be raised the same time I had roasted to 'golden brown'.

So as I'm standing there in the tiny one-room apartment, breathing in larger and larger quantities of the airborne toxins, I decide to go back on my vow to never again call the emergency services and see if there was a fireman kicking around in a nearby station. Lucky for me it was a very nearby station, meaning I could only thank whatever pyromaniac god had given me the in-experienced henchmen as opposed to the more hard-core gang monsters.

Every time I got out my bed I felt like I was climbing down that ladder.

It wasn't by accident I had chosen the corner booth. On top the circular wooden surface that was pressing into my ribs there sat a tall green bottle with a silver stopper gagging it closed. I picked it up in one palm and apprehended the ribboned tag in the other.

TO MR F. PARKLAND- it announced.
DESPITE THE SEVERITY OF THESE CIRCUMSTANCES I HOPE THIS TOKEN OF MY APPRECIATION FINDS YOU WELL.
I WOULD HOPE YOU ENJOY IT MORE THAN MY OTHER 'GIFT'. PLEASE USE BOTH RESPONSIBLY.
YOURS CORDIALLY.
PRINCESS CELESTIA.

The bottle was icy cold to the touch, but for once I wasn't in the mood for alcohol. If anything went wrong I couldn't do my job trapped in a bottle. That was the overly righteous excuse; the truth was more to do with Celestia's timing. I still say she's overly manipulative, probably wants me sedated so I don't give her any more grief for the time being, but if that was the case she had already part way succeeded, I had been tipsy since eight A.M.

As I'm writing this the train has just started to shunt out of the station. My questioning of Rarities possible connection to the Boutique bombing has been delayed for the time being, superseded by this 'royal' escort. I'll admit the idea that she had a hand in bombing her own parlour not to mention herself is nonsensical at best, but so far that's the only lead I have.

Parkland put the pencil and paper back in the outer pocket of his trench coat and resigned himself to a long rail trip. Clearing his throat he pulled the Fedora downward by its wrap-around band and let his thoughts dissolve into the ever-changing scenery outside the window. Equestria was a beautiful place, there was no doubt, but he knew deep down he couldn't truly enjoy these rare moments of bliss, not when the lord of the land would do anything to keep this countryside a fairy tale. There was of course the matter of Celestia's first 'gift' that day, delivered to Parkland at the crack of dawn along with the order to ensure the children's safety in measure '001'.

He couldn't really blame Celestia though, seeing as how he had actually asked her for the damn thing, but never in his minds eye had he expected Celestia to concede so quickly. To Frank the princesses poster-ad, kid-friendly image had once and for all been dismembered, confirming his suspicion that the more desperate she became the more likely she was to lash out. There was a click and the monotonous drumming of the train grew louder for a moment before returning to its normal volume.

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

Frank pushed up his hat to see a cyan pegasus stroll into the car. RainbowDash's normal cocky demeanour was replaced with one more sullen, depressed even.

"Yeah sure, It's a free train."
"Thanks..."

RainbowDash hopped up onto the opposite side of the booth and put her head down on the table, too tired to maintain an athletes posture.

Frank tried to ignore the pegasus pony, but she was all too surreal for him, the dejected look that furrowed her brow didn't seem to mesh with the simplicity of her small frame. The more he tried to look away, the more it was apparent one of them would have to start a conversation. Frank had always considered himself to be the bigger man in a fight, so he figured that the philosophy should apply to casual chat.

He could only pinch at his trench coats' brown lapel for so long before the awkwardness became too intense.
"So...er..."

RainbowDash's multi-streaked hair parted as she looked up at him, her head staying flat against the table.
Frank was about to say 'why the long face?', but caught himself just in time as he saw the irony. He was determined to come up with something, anything else to say.

"You...er...you've got some nice scenery here." Parkland's tone was low, marking him as an in-experienced conversationalist.

"I guess..." RainbowDash admitted.

"I bet it seems better from the clouds?, err well not as a cloud but, er..well you know"

The detective reached around to arrest an itch on the back of his neck.

"Yeah,.. It's pretty great..."

"Well, alright then..."

For a full minute the two figures stayed silent, Parkland turning his steely gaze to the burn through the windows glass whilst RainbowDash looked longingly at the bottle of royal champagne next to her head. Finally she made her thoughts known.

"Hey, Are you drinking that?"

Frank glanced down at her.

"You really don't want to start relying on drink to solve your problems."

Dash gave pause but only for a moment.

"Well maybe it's just that kind of problem." she spoke into her fore-hooves.

The midday sun caught Dash's mane, dispersing it more vividly into its many colours. Suddenly she reached over for the bottle with both hooves, so quickly the glass sounded off against her touch, but Frank was already there, the large brown sleeves blurring over the table, allowing hands purchase on the glass.

"NO! I NEED THIS!"

Pony and man rose up across the table, grasping at the cold glass. Rolling on his heel, Frank twisted it out from Dash's legs.
"My livers already shot to hell kid, you drink this you'll always want another glass."

Rainbow Dash didn't say anything, only look down at the indents in the table top whilst Frank rammed the champagne down the back of the upholstery.

There was visible anger behind Franks eyes, but Dash couldn't tell how much of it has been caused by her.
"Now you owe me an explanation. What do you think is so goddamn impossible to deal with you need to fall down my slippery slope?"

Frank snapped his fingers finally putting name to face.
"Yeah, your that real fast pegasus ain'tcha! The cause of the...whatchamacallit, cloud clearing?"

'There's a sentence I thought I'd never say' Frank reeled inside his own head.
Dash's top half rocked with the motions of the train, her moment of weakness only now settling in.
"I'm sorry, I been under a ton of pressure,...from Cloudsdale, and Ponyville." she deflated somewhat as she let out the words.

"Damnit kid we all got pressure. The bomb scare, that I gotta solve by the way, is that what this is? I'm so under pressure I'm shitting dark matter over here, doesn't mean I get to break down whenever I want."

Frank leaned back in his seat, trying to give Dash the message he was done shouting. It seemed to have gotten through.
"I'm RainbowDash." she murmured finally, looking up at Frank looking out the window.

"I just knew you had alcohol and thought I could talk you into giving me some. I never even touch it usually, just today I woke up really..., I'm just really sorry."

And Frank knew she was telling the truth, a rare quality that had often been dismissed by his partners as dumb luck. He leaned round, putting his elbows flat on the laminate to extend a hand toward RainbowDash. Dash reached out a cyan fore-hoof, keen to make amends.

"Names Frank, I'm your policeman."

Dash's mouth gaped and a chuckle rose from her throat.

"Is THAT what you are, man,...that's much better than I thought!"

"What d'you mean, I thought that was old news."

"Nah, most guys seem to think you're a squatter, and with a hide like that you can't really blame them."

Rainbow Dash's straight shooting was a quality that Frank really missed. Where as Celestia seemed bent on creating an image that wasn't there, Dash wasn't afraid to say that the world was a crap-fair at times. Frank gave her a gruff smile.

"Thing is..." Dash began, slightly unsure of herself.

"...I don't hear any pony else use those swears, they kinda just clam themselves up when they feel super-angry."

"You know I'm swearing, I didn't think you guys understood that?"

"Well 'duhh' sure, we share the same language!"

Frank chuckled at Dash's rudeness.

"Is that right?, O.K then you oversized girls toy what's the dirtiest word you know?"

Rainbow Dash grinned and leant over to whisper into Franks ear.

"Holy crap kid, " he cocked an eye at Dash in surprised mirth.

"The first chance you get and you drop a 'C-bomb' on me. Geeze, that's part of your language!"

Dash almost fell into the aisle laughing, a couple tears rolling out her eyes with Frank not far behind her.

"YHEAH! Heh heh, nope, I never get to say that stuff in Ponyville! Sometimes I think about how much I could really shake things up if I did!."

Frank pictured Celestia's shocked face and couldn't help but smile.

"Where the hell d'you learn that word anyway if no one says it?"

But Dash grew quiet, leaning back against the velour like she was trying to sink into it.

"My Mom and dad used to argue a lot and they said... Well...they...sent me to flight camp while they sorted it out. I don't really see them."

Frank hadn't counted on Dash being dealt a bad hand.

"Oh, sorry to hear kid."

"It's alright, I bet everyone's sad about their families at some point."

'you bet?' thought Frank. 'Poor kid don't know she's in the majority. I'm looking at you as the cause Celestia.'
Frank cupped his hands.

"I was adopted myself y'know Dash. Kinda know what's its like not to really know your folks."
"O.K..." Dash said, seemingly content for the moment.

Outside of the window, the tall grasslands were substituted for wide blankets of snow, streaking past the icy glass for great stretches at a time. It seemed such a short trip from so far away but now it was clear to Frank that mountains were mountains in either world.

Despite being past noon the temperature outside had dropped considerably as the tracks' gradient steadily increased toward the mountains.

RainbowDash's sporting triumphs were a product of her devil may care attitude which so far had never failed in demolishing sny obstacles she encountered. But witnessing the destruction of carousel boutique she had succumb to doubt. She was not faster than an explosion, not from take off at least. The realisation had taken its toll on her athlete's bravado. The cyan pony had felt genuine fear for the first time in months, but now, inexplicably she was feeling better about the otherwise traumatising events. The detective in front of her had it hard 24/7 and contrary to her expectations of what it meant to be a P.I, he was pretty swell.

RainbowDash kicked back in her seat, ready to take on the world.

'Guess I'll abort that prank where I fill his mailbox with storm clouds' she mused to herself.

A sudden commotion for the next passenger carriage broke through Dash's thoughts.

Parkland was quick to react, placing his ear flat against the wall as shouts rose through the cold air.

"What the hay are those guys doing in there!...I can't hear myself think!"

But Parkland was quiet, the feeling that he had overlooked something was creeping across his neck hair.

'There are royal guards in those carriages...' Dash thought,. '...from Canterlot castle. I can't get them to
say a word let alone shout one. So how come...'

RainbowDash winced as somewhere in the next carriage there was a colossal splintering of wood, and the few voices that had not been silenced yet rose to a scream.

"Were' not alone, " Parkland spoke calmly, forcing his body to assume its marksman reflex's.
The detective's muscles visibly stiffened under his trench coat as he reached out for the brass lock on the doorframe.
But some actions are too little too late.

Something threw itself against the tiled door flinging it open, immediately spotting both Frank and RainbowDash sitting together. A deep purple unicorn with blood on its fore hooves knelt down for a second its head reeling, seemingly dazed from the impact. Then it recovered, straightening and standing up onto its hind legs. Its full height was still small even with the boost, but it was the twitching neck and smile that gave the impression of a psychotic.
"Holy…" Parkland squinted with shock as the air above the unicorn's horn became alight with green streaks of lightning, ready to be released with a single nod.

It regarded RainbowDash with lusty, roving eyes and seemed to momentarily forget it was generating a force of nearly a million volts. It rubbed on its crotch hairs, slavering all down its unkept hide like a creature possessed. The maroon animal shuffled uneasily to the corner much to RainbowDash's abject panic. Under normal circumstances, the Pegasus pony wouldn't have to blow her way through a train to get away from danger, but then again Ponyville had never had an official list of 'offenders' for it's population to be wary of. No one seemed to have a clear idea of how to deal with danger, and now the only pony that did would be burnt to a cinder if she so much as screamed.
Parkland's hand twitched toward his coat.

"DON'T MOVE APE BASTARD!"

The nameless militia pointed the crackling aura of energy toward Frank who ceased all movement.' You give these guys one excuse and that's it' he thought. 'Just pray he's unfamiliar withe firearms, it could be your only chance.'
The unicorn's teeth chattered in its skull as it turned back to RainbowDash, by this point devoid of an exit route. Her features, so used to channelling her own tenacity were now aggravated, visibly searching for a strategy to escape. If she took off it would spell the end for her.

"So bluueee,..." the maniac groaned, leaning in over the booth. Dash recoiled as a spark jettisoned over her fringe.
Underneath the table Parkland balled his left hand into a fist. 'Just wait a moment, a fucker this crazy will give you an opportunity.' The large brown folds of the trench coat would exaggerate any movement made in retaliation, making the situation all the more volatile.

Electricity flickered across Dash's face and she shrieked as he clambered onto the seat with trembling back hooves.
"hmm hm hm... " An odious chuckle rasped out of its throat.

"...After your heart stops...I'm going to lick you."
He grabbed at RainbowDash pushing her to the glass. The pegasus was out of options, whether she tried to fight or surrender the lighting would char her to nothing.

"GET THE HELL OFF ME! " Dash yelled but she was met with tutting from the deep purple unicorn, chilling her silent.
"I want to lick you,...for the Masquerade... I want to see the rainbow WITH MY TOUNGE!."

And then, lunging over the velour seating at Dash, the unicorn closed its eyes as if to savour her last moments.
Big mistake. In a tenth of a second Parkland's fingers closed around the varnished oaken grip of the Colt , sliding the elongated barrel from his coat.

He thumbed back the hammer with a mechanical snap at the same moment the horned beast turned its twitching head to look at him.

"Try Skittles."

Parkland pulled the trigger.

His fedora blew away as the chamber rotated, discharging the ammunition through the unicorn's throat. The enormous 'BANG' that defended Dash was superseded by a wet crunch, thrusting the comparatively small body halfway across the carriage before it rag-dolled onto its chest. The electric current in its ebony horn dissipated with a whine. Dash's bottom lip quivered whilst Parkland ducked low and listened at the door to the next carriage. He motioned for RainbowDash to get down, palming the ground with his free hand, but she was in shock for the time being, spattered with what had only moments ago been pumping through a circulatory system.

There were muffled sounds from the next car, and over the noise of the speeding train Parkland heard the rapping of metal on wood...