Pinkie Pie, Private Eye

by Sib

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Romance, Fancypants, Sex, Gummy, Pinkie Pie, Fleur de Lis, Gore
Length: 3810

I'm a private eye. It says so on my door. I solve crimes. It's what I do. It's what I've always done.

It's a harsh world that we live in, full of dastardly deeds and villainous villains. It's like a kitchen floor, splattered with so much syrup that the tile is naught but a disgusting heap of caramelizing sugar. This is where I come in. My job is to clean up the messes that ponies leave behind. I am the wet mop, rubbing against the tile to restore it back to it's former luster. I am, in simplistic terms, the janitor of Equestria.

I am Pinkie Pie.

Published 2012-11-22 10:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-11-24 01:28:16 UTC

I: Deadly Affairs

The Prancing Pony, that's what they've always called it. It's a silly name, if you ask me. What sort of awful false advertising is it to call such a dismal bar by such a dreary name?

I am often lost amongst the crowd there, a nobody swimming in a haze of smoke and cards. Sometimes ponies will recognize me, and they'll look at my arrival with either a spark of short-lived joy or a repulsive glare. They might say something, and I might respond with a monosyllable or a grunt of acknowledgement.

If a pony is especially bold, I might be approached from my lone table in the corner. They were always quiet, always slinking into the vacant chair with a wide-eyed stare and a soft word.

Tonight is one of these nights.

I'm sitting at my table, my hoof coiled around my precious glass of hard milk. The brim of my hat is dipped over my brow, shadowing my muzzle, but I can still see. A wisp of my pink mane tumbles down over my shoulder, resting gently against the coarse fabric of my faithful trench coat.

Lying at my heels is a special friend of mine, Gummy. I can feel his scales pressing against my legs. He's grown over the past few months, to the point where he's no longer a cute babe magnet. No, I know well that the alligator at my hooves is a loyal, true-blue killer. His newly budded fangs seem to almost glitter against the dimmed lights, serving as a constant warning that I'm well-protected.

I can see the bartender glancing over at me. His name is Joe, a fine stallion that's never given me any problems. He trots over to me with an easy grin. "Ya need another shot, Miss Pie?" he asks.

"Bit of a splash, sure." I lift my glass to him. "Anything new in the news?"

Joe takes the glass with a burst of magic, his horn humming as it strains to keep a grip on it. "Nothin' save for the usual with a few bad murders sprinkled on the sides. It's been gettin' bad, Miss Pie," He speaks in a low voice, leaning over so that only I can hear.

I'm just about to reply when the door is thrown open. The bell on it's frame jingles in announcement, and in stumbles a dame that I've known the acquaintance of for much too long. With a mane and tail the color of cotton candy and a face that could stop a funeral in its tracks, Fleur de Lis was a mare worth looking at.

Her coat is quite ruffled tonight, and her eyes are frantic. Set against the smooth white of her back is a long cut, sliced down from the nape of her neck to the dimple above her haunch. It's not bleeding. I know Fleur. No matter the case she would have surely cleaned the wound before going outside with a bleeding cut. It was just the way that her mind went.

She spots me in my corner, and her drooped posture straightens up slightly. Slowly, she approaches.

Joe takes the hint and leaves, my cup trailing behind him in a cloud of cream tinted magic. I can hear Gummy underneath the table, his growl low and menacing as Fleur slides in the chair in front of me.

"Pinkie," she coos. "it's been too long, hasn't it?" Her eyelashes flutter in the way that all dames flutter them. She probably thinks that she looks knock-out gorgeous when she does that, but to me it only makes her look desperate.

"That's quite an injury you're sporting, doll," I say. "Where did you get it? Lover's spat?"

"Goodness!" She puts a tiny hoof to her mouth. "What do you take me for, Pinkie? I'm above whores, and you know that."

I smirk. "I also know Fancy Pants and your jealousy towards his 'clients', if you will."

Even underneath a sheath of fur, I can see the blush on her cheeks. "You're despicable, as always. But I'm not here to chit-chat." Her eyes narrow as she glances to the ground, her lips curling in a sneer. "and could you please tell that reptile of yours to hush?"

"Quiet, Gums." I nudge the beast with my hoof and tip up the brim of my hat. "As for you, Fleur, you've never been one to blather. What is it that you need me to do?"

As soon as I say that, all of her flirting and mongering seems to cease. Fleur's expression turns dark, and all of that careless joy is stripped away like the unwanted skin on a slice of bologna. This is the model that I know, and to see the more ruthless side of her is almost comforting to me, because I know that she isn't lying.

My ears perk as she leans forward, and I can smell the thick perfume that's been dabbed onto her nose.

"Listen," she hisses. "I've been suspicious of Fancy for quite some time, you know that, but it's gotten to the point where action needs to take place. He's been coming home later and later, smelling of sweat and not in the mood for anything spicy."

I make no effort to hide my disgust. "I'm a private eye, Fleur. Domestic settlements are not part of my job description."

"Ah, but finding out the bottom of things is, am I right?" she says with a sly smile. "and this is something that I need to know the bottom of."

I sigh. Like it or not, the dame has a case, and it's not in my business to reject offers of work if it'll get me paid. Silently, I rummage through my coat pocket for a pen and paper. "Alright, Fleur. I'll play your game."

"Excellent." She sits up and lets her chin rest on the bottoms of her hooves. "I knew that I could count on you, Pinkie."

Waving a hoof, I pick up my pen and click it open. "Let's just cut to the chase, then. First off, how did you come by that cut on your back?"

Fleur's eyes close, as if in thought. "It was mostly my fault, really. Fancy came home and I interrogated him over a suspicious stain on the edge of his collar. Next thing I know he's taking the kitchen knife and slicing me open!" Her eyes began to ebb with tears.

"I find it hard to believe that Fancy would assault you in such a manner," I reply, keeping my tone flat. There would be no use in getting needlessly angry with her, but I know Fancy. He has a position to hold up, and any lasting evidence of physical abuse would simply ruin his reputation as a 'very important pony'.

"You think that I'm lying to you?" Fleur asks, a hoof squished to her cheek.

"I think that you're exaggerating the truth, but we'll let that slide for now." I scribbled a note onto the paper, using my hoof as a hard surface. "Now, to go back to the stain you mentioned... was it lipstick?"

"Cherry gloss, to be exact," she says. "I can only assume that it's source is one of his usual party guests, the ones that he's always so chummy with."

"I see... mare or colt?"

"I couldn't tell you that, Pinkie dear." She shrugs. "And even if I could, would that help you any?"

"Any information helps," I stuff my pad and paper back into my pocket. "Either way, I think that I'll go to check up on Fancy for a while, maybe wring something out of him."

Sighing, Fleur let her head drop to the table's surface, her mane draping down to her lap. "I just want us to be more 'together' again. I feel like he and I have been drifting for so long." Her tears dribble from her eyes, and I can tell that they're genuine.

I put an awkward hoof to her shoulder as I get up. "I'll do what I can, Fleur, but don't think that me finding out who your husband is screwing is going to help your relationship. If anything, it'll probably make it worse if Fancy finds out that you're sending me out to snoop."

She leans into my touch, her cheek sensuously grazing against my ankle. "I know, Pinkie. Do you think that I'm stupid enough to come to you before going over my other options?"

A blush crawls over my face, and I'm grateful for the collar of my jacket to be covering it all up. "Frankly, love, I think that you're one of the sneakiest dames that I've ever met." I say, earnestly.

"I just don't want to live in a lie anymore," she says. "Partial affairs, maybe, but this... this has been going on for weeks!"

That settles it, then. While before I had thought that Fleur might be pulling me a fast one, I can see now that she's sincere in her concerns. If anything else, her case would give me something to do.

However, I end up leaving The Prancing Pony with a heavy heart. Gummy dogs at my hooves, his belly nearly touching the wet pavement as I walk into the night.

It's raining, yes, but I have a case.

II: The Fat Mare

The rain patters against my hat and coat, drenching it to a sludgy pulp, but I don't mind. In a cesspool like Canterlot, one tends to find even the most mundane things in life to be enriching. For some, it's getting up early enough in the morning to take their time in prepping themselves. For me, it's either solving cases or baking a batch of cookies. I'm perfectly content with either option.

Gummy trails along behind me, his pinkish tongue lolling carelessly from his maw. It makes him look foolish and non-threatening, but my mind is too preoccupied to scold him.

Fancy Pants and I have never been particularly close. In fact, I tend to go out of my way to avoid the elite entirely. Associating myself with them tends to bring about sticky situations that have been more than a hassle to clean up.

I turn a corner into an alleyway and let the darkness engulf me. It's comforting, especially with the reassurance of my faithfully deadly companion. The city has always been engrained into my mind, and it makes it easy to weave a short-cut to the Pants Manor.

It's a pretty obvious place, placed on top of a pony-made hill and constructed with moss coated granite. It makes for a rather hoity toity establishment, but relatively easy to find.

I come up the front gate, blocking the way to the hill's base. There's a large padlock and chain wrapped about the doors, its metallic surface glowing a wine red.

"Sealed with magic, eh?" I say, glancing down at Gummy. "What do you make of that?" I ignore the uncomfortably familiar color of it, pushing it away in the back of my head like an unwanted fruitcake.

Gummy can only offer up a blank stare, occasionally with a gurgle of affection. It's not any kind of substantial advice, but I'll take it. If anything else his presence offers up the privilege to talk to myself without garnering any unwanted attention.

I reach out and take the glowing lock in my hoof. It's quite heavy, and touching it elicits a low warning rumble. "Old Fancy is either at home or out losing himself in the crowd, I figure. Probably the latter if Fleur was telling the truth."

Even from my distance, I can see that some of the manor's windows are lit. I squint in the vain hope of seeing a shadow pass by, but there's nothing. I know that I'm not that lucky to catch Fancy in the act of anything relevant to the case anyway.

Gummy slithers underneath me and lightly mouths my ankle. I shake him off and start back down the road, pulling my hat down below my eyes.

A lone mare is walking towards me, and I press against the walls of the buildings to let her pass comfortably. Our eyes lock as she passes me by, neither frightened nor perturbed.

Out of curiosity I look over my shoulder to observe her. She's an older unicorn, with flabby haunches and a tight dress wrapped around her slate grey pelt. She certainly seems out of place against the nightly backdrop of the city.

I stop in my tracks as I watch her stop at Fancy's gate. She looks up at the manor with a frown, then back at the enchanted lock. Her horn glows with a loud hum, and her face scrunches up in concentration, but her magic is inevitably too weak to open it.

I decide to take a chance and whisper an order for Gummy to stay in the shadows. Tipping the brim of my hat up and tucking my collar down, I approach with an amiable smile.

"How do you do, Miss?" I say.

She looks over at me with a tense frown. "How does it look like I'm doing? Can't you see that I'm a bit busy?" she says. Her jowls seem to act much like pegasus wings as she talks, flapping away in time with her lips.

"Well, you do seem to have fallen into a bit of a predicament, yes." I take up the padlock and let it rattle against its chain. "Are you a friend of Fancy Pants?"

"Why would you care?" the mare says, her eyes narrowing. "And what's with that silly get-up of yours? You aren't one of those thugs that I've heard about, are you?"

"Far from it, Miss," I laugh. "My name is Pinkie Pie, private eye extraordinaire!" I dig out a business card from one of my pockets and hand it to her. It's a simple thing, a basic card emblazoned with three balloons of pastel hues.

She levitates it towards her eyes and suspiciously glances over it. "The design of this is a tad... colorful, don't you think?" she says. "especially for such a dismal profession as that."

As she talks, I take another look at the lock and heft it slightly. The magic seems to buzz against my touch, and my eyes are inevitably drawn the familiar reddish colors. "I work part-time as a party planner, if that answers your question," I reply. "Would you mind answering me a few in turn?"

Her face darkens, and her cheeks seem to puff in indignation. "Whatever for, Miss Pie?" she asks. "I assume you're investigating Fancy? Why? He hasn't committed any crimes."

Dropping the lock, I pull out my pad and paper. "First name basis, eh?" I scribble the info down and offer up a wry smile. "You also don't seem to be from here, judging by your attire." I'm wise to not add in my opinion that she looks like a sausage about to burst from its skin. Insults can always come later. "Have you traveled far?"

"From Manehatten," she corrects me with a loud sniff, her nostrils flaring. "And, if you must know, I'm Fancy's little sister." She reluctantly holds out her bulgy hoof. "My name is Sequin Jeans."

I take her hoof in mine. "Charmed. Are all the members of your family named after some kind of bottom wear?"

Miss Jeans tugs back her hoof and stamps it to the ground. "I suppose it is your job to snoop, isn't it? But honestly, is there anything suspicious about a sister going to see her brother?"

Looking up, I can see the crest of the moon just barely bleeding through a wispy set of clouds. The rain has faltered for now, but knowing my luck it would be back soon enough. "I have to admit that there is something rather fishy about you coming in the dead of night, especially with this lock here blocking you out." I touch it once more, wondering. Could there possibly be some other magically inclined unicorn with a magic aura that red? Or was it really her?

Miss Jeans' voice drags me out of my worried thoughts. "Consider it a family emergency," She snorts. "I didn't think that Fancy would put a lock up!"

"Which is indeed quite strange," I say. "Isn't there a system that unicorns use so that only a special few can crack the egg, so to speak?" I hate to admit my own ignorance, but in the matter of a case, it's always best to swallow my pride.

See, there's a reason why I wear a hat on a constant basis. It's fashionable and snazzy, sure, but its main purpose is to hide my race. I won't say that the unicorns in Canterlot are xenophobic, but they sure as Tartarus have a superiority complex towards their sister races. Even the ones from Manehatten take their pride to a whole new level.

I can see that now as Miss Pants offers the most distasteful sneer that I've seen. Her face contorts like a ball of dough, stretching and pulling to form a massive frown. "Well, yes, you're right."

Nodding, I gesture towards her horn. "Is your special talent anything to do with magic?" I ask. "Would you say that a lock that powerful would be difficult to conjure up?" I found myself beginning to shiver with anticipation, and the matter of the magic's color eats away at my thoughts.

"For your first question, yes, but I specialize in show magic, not pick-locking," she says. "Secondly, you'd certainly have to be well-read to be able to make a lock that can only open for certain ponies, otherwise everypony would have one!"

I sigh, and I can almost feel a few of my mane curls straighten themselves in dread. The realization has not quite hit me yet, but a sick feeling begins to stew in my gut. Nevertheless, I try to give Miss Pants a nice smile in farewell. "Thank you... you've helped me quite a bit."

She shakes her head in distaste, not noticing my troubled expressions. "Well, I wish that you could help me back. Seems like I'll have to fork over some bits for a hotel room, and at this hour? What a rip-off!" she cries, then regards me with a final grunt before turning tail down the sidewalk.

I'm not paying attention to her though. Rather, I'm clicking my tongue for Gummy to rejoin my heels. He follows silently, his beady eyes wide with concern. I bet that he can smell my sudden negativity like a thick musk.

As I'm walking away to my apartment, my mind races. Both memories and freshly buried feelings are tapped like a fountain.

Twilight Sparkle. No other mare ever had magic such a rich wine red. No other unicorn could possibly make such a clever lock. It had to have been her. Fancy must have commissioned her somehow, but how? Why?

I stop at my door, and my hooves are shaking as I dig for my keys. My thoughts are too jumbled to make any sense of it all. I can hear Gummy's jaw snap repeatedly, his pointed teeth clinking together.

Eventually, I open the door and stumble in, closing it behind me only as an afterthought.

I unzip my coat and fling it off to the side along with my hat. It only adds to the clutter of papers on the floor, but I don't care. I trot up to my desk, the one piece of furniture that's ever served me any use or emotional attachment.

Gummy hops up onto my bed with a clumsy lurch. The mattress springs creak loudly in protest, and I look towards him. It's a silly thing to look for complex advice through the eyes of a pet, but it brings a comfort that I'm sure so many others have sought out.

"Gummy, do you think that she might be here? Finally?" I ask him. "You remember Twilight, don't you?"

He blinks back in reply, ever a fool, but ever a friend. I groan and look to the edges of my desk.

My desk could be argued to be one of the neatest things in my little three room floor, but I know that most other ponies would see nothing but a barrage of kitschy junk. A tapestry of newspaper clippings are framed around the outside edges of the desk itself, their brass frames glinting against the murky yellowed light. Amidst the black and white is a series of photographs. They're old things, crusted at the corners and folded several times over, yet they're my most precious possessions.

I pick up the one that I'm looking for, a simple picture of my younger self, decked out in a deerstalker cap and a vintage pipe. My foreleg is wrapped around the shoulders of Twilight herself, our cheeks pressed together while the lens flashes.

Who had taken that picture? Rarity? One of the Cakes? It was hard to remember. I've likely pushed all such memory away, like an unwanted garment. That was usually the case when it came to guilty memories with Twilight.

"She vanishes for two years and now she's back all of a sudden?" I say to myself, not caring if anyone might hear. Leaning back in my chair, I toss the picture aside. It thumps against the carpeted ground with nary a crack. "Sheesh... And not only that, but she's making specialized locks for Canterlot ponies?"

I can't help but laugh. The whole thing seems so ludicrous in my mind that I nearly feel like pinching myself to see whether or not I'm dreaming. Was seeing her again really going to be all that easy? Would she even want me too? Where was she?

"And here I thought that this would be a simple case for me to solve, eh, Gummy?" I chuckle bitterly and slide back to the ground. "At least I have a logical excuse to talk to Fancy now. Surely he'd understand, right?"

Gummy growls in reply and shuffles to the latter side of the bed, making room for me to crawl in next to him.

The sheets smell musty and my mouth tastes like sour milk, but I don't care. We tend to not care about much of anything when our minds are racing with thoughts of something lost.

My dreams are filled with a fear that I dare not write down, of Twilight acting as some mewling consort, of Fancy leering over her with his slicked back mane and yellowed teeth, and of me watching her walk away to him. I reach out a hoof. I try to grab at her but she's gone before our bodies can touch.

I soon wake up drenched in a film of sweat.