Murder in Ponyville

Chapters

Ground Zero
On the Old Orchard
Day of Reckoning
Eye for an Eye

Ground Zero

Life can be funny sometimes.

Not in the cracking up with laughter, sides hurting, hard to breathe sort of way. No. That's more of Pinkie's game. And she's good at what she does, in the moments that she can. I'm talking about that special kind of way, when you're laughing at things you shouldn't. When you're so broken up, that your body slows down. When your nerves stop working, and you just can't feel it anymore. No thoughts. Don't know if you're breathing. And all you have is that special kind of laughter. Yeah. That kind of funny. The moments when you sit back and realize that all of life is just a fucking joke.

I lost a friend today.

Not in a dramatic or metaphysical way either. What I mean is, yesterday we had a night on the town together. Real good time; met some pretty ladies. Finest cider in all the land. But this morning? Well, I found him on the side of the road. Rigid. Cold as ice. Never made it home.

But that's just the sad part. Shit happens, and we all know it.

You want to know what's funny? It's that nopony fucking cares.

You hear these stories. Terrible, sad stories about a mare that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Butchered like a julienned carrot, and left sitting pretty. You know the type? Royal guards lining up the crime scene, mayor gushing to make a public statement. Tears and broken hearts all around. It usually happens in a place like Manehatten, or somewhere dark like Filly. It's not so common in a town like Ponyville.

But that's just fine. Because that's not how things went down this morning.

I wasn't the first to find him. Not the third, fourth or fifth either. The truth is, I'm still even nursing a bit of a hangover. So I wasn't exactly an earlier morning riser. By the time I found his body, ponies were already filling up the street. But they weren't there to pay respects. Hell, they weren't even gawking. They were just going about their daily chores. Business as usual. Walk around the corpse if you have to, and be on your merry fucking way.

You want to know what else is funny? I couldn't do a thing about it.

I just stood there, mind collapsing, caught in a moment of disbelief. Turn my head one way, and there's the second best friend I ever have had. Unmoving. Face down on the ground. Turn my head again, and a bunch of everyday ponies. Some with the gall to even wave as they passed me by.

Unreal.

But I had to book it.

Much as he meant to me, I couldn't stick around the crime scene. I was the last one anypony saw him alive with, and now I had to deal with the implications of that. I was sitting in the hot seat of prime suspect number one, should anypony ever bother to stop, look, and give a fuck.

So I found myself pacing around the front of Sugar Cube Corner, failing to piece it all together. Empty mug of hot chocolate and crumbs were the only remnants on my table, and I was stepping with a nervous twitch. Always looking behind my shoulder to see who or what might be coming. Be it the guard, or something more sinister.

None of it added up, and time was not on my side.

Ponyville is not a town of killers. And even if it was, there are plenty of jackasses that have it coming more than my friend. No offense to the mules, but honestly even I think about offing one from time to time. Call it a community service.

Was it something personal? Did he have debts? Enemies I didn't know about? Were there parts of his life he never told? I tried to remember anything I possibly could.

He moved into town about a year ago; came from Canterlot. No baggage. No fuss. Nothing. He was never much in the way of working, but he got by. I didn't ask, and he didn't tell. But I never saw him pick a fight before. Never had to bail him out in a pinch. Never even heard him raise his voice for anything other than a toast.

Fuck. I was beginning to tear up just thinking about it. Who would want to kill a guy like that?

I was halfway through another sip of my empty mug, when I was startled by that awful southern drawl.

"Well howdy there, Mrs Cake. Any chance of a Pinkie round these parts? I've got some apples..."

Farmponies.

Maybe that was the answer. Ponyville was a rural town, with an earth pony mindset.

Maybe it wasn't personal. Maybe it was a message. Maybe it was the work of Earth Pony Supremacists.

You hear stories about them from time to time. Burning wicker pony effigies, and stringing ponies up by their necks. Burning crops and killing pets.

It would explain why nopony seemed to care. Why the town mocked me, and turned a blind eye to the fresh corpse on the side of the road.

Bigots. The lot of them. I was seething, just thinking about it.

I didn't believe the dopey, orange pony had it in her. Not directly. I was well aware of her wretched poker face, and that's a bit of a prerequisite in any kind of a blood sport. No. But that didn't rule out her freakish brother. Don't get me wrong; my friend was built like a fucking rock. But he wouldn't have been a proper match for that red, hulking beast of a stallion.

It was a stretch, even for my standard lines of reason. But it's all I had to work with. And based on those implications, anybody not an earth pony, self included, could be in mortal danger. And if I was next on their chopping block, the last place they'd look is their own back yard. If they were coming for me, I at least was going to have the element of surprise.

And if I was wrong? Well, my addiction to sweets isn't much of a secret. Anypony looking for me, for any reason, is bound to check out Sugar Cube Corner. And when your friend mysteriously shows up dead one day, it doesn't exactly leave you wanting to be found.

On the Old Orchard

So there I was, on the outskirts of renowned Sweet Apple Acres. Green trees with their blood red fruit; enough to feed a town, or a small, personal army if that was more of their thing.

It was midday, with the sun high up in the sky, casting harsh shadows. I knew I had to keep low if I didn't want to be spotted. But I also knew I had other, bigger problems. The Apple family keeps itself well protected. Deceptively well protected. The core members may be close knit and few, but they keep their subordinates on a tight leash. From the milk cows in the pasture, to the pigs in their sty. Eyes and ears and noses are everywhere. Worst of all is their top security dog: Wynonna. She's the muscle that keeps the others in line, and I'm damned sure that she's trained to sink her teeth into the flesh of any unexpected visitors.

It was about this time, that I finally paused to consider the gravity of my situation. I'm not gonna lie; doubts began to surface as fears began to pool. But I already knew the simple truth of the matter: I was fucked if I did, and fucked if I didn't. And if I was to meet my fate in the jowls of a beast, at least it would be a quick and messy end. I would take that over a day of grizzly torture at the hooves of the Apples, or rotting in a cell for the rest of my life in the name of a crime I never committed.

So I pressed on.

I crawled on my stomach, inch by inch, through the highest patches of grass I could find. I prayed to Celestia that nopony could hear the quiet rustle, and my heart stopped every time a twig snapped. I was in the southwestern field; sparse, with the exception of a discarded farm tool. But the stillness was maddening. There was nothing to cover the soft sounds of my approach, and every second I spent there brought me closer to danger. A sudden shift in the winds, and that mutt would smell me from a mile away. A sudden change of whim, and an Apple might peek out a window or round a corner.

I already pulled some reconnaissance before; Applejack was in the market and should have remained there for most of the day. Big Mac was in the east fields, kicking the sap out of trees; whether for business or pleasure, I couldn't tell. He should have been busy though. I hoped. But that still left the old cripple and that yellow filly. Those two ponies could have been anywhere. And harmless as they might be, a single call would have brought about the wrath of Big Red.

I don't like working in the dark. Stay informed: that has always been my number one rule. The only rule I ever live by. Yet there I was breaking it, leaving my fate in Celestia's hooves. Living on chance.

I made it.

And by made it, I mean I had my back to the Apple family barn. I was still behind enemy lines, way over my head, and shit was about to get real. But I had to get a hold of myself. I needed information first. I needed proof of the Apple family's involvement, and a better understanding of the force they were packing.

I needed to find their dirty laundry.

You see, the Apple family owns the largest plot of land in Ponyville. Even if they weren't the head of a local chapter, they still had a lot of fruit to bear. And I'm not talking about apple trees. In any given situation, they would have been expected to donate to the cause. And that meant a cell. A small base of operations to hold meetings, handle and package serviced goods, interrogate or intimidate a pony, and maybe even dispose of a body. Just take a glance around their farm; there's an awful lot of barrels there, and not all of them have to be stuffed with apples.

The options were limited though. Obvious spot was the barn; it could have worked wonders in hosting a get-together. But it wasn't the most discrete location, and it couldn't have much in the way of working surfaces either. Other bet was the "apple" cellar. Out of the way, easily forgotten, and it had about ten feet of earth to muffle any screams. Could have been both. But even with the many promises of backwater bigoted adventures ahead of me, I wasn't exactly rearing to get started.

Everything was still too quiet for comfort. The only sounds were the occasional thumps off in the distance, that I hoped were from bucking apples. My imagination didn't come up with any comforting alternatives. And time was limited.

So I got back down on my stomach and crawled once more, hugging the side of the barn. At the very edge, I peaked around the corner, keeping as low as I possibly could. No Apple members in sight, but something a little worse: Wynonna. Their trained attack bitch was curled up on a patch of grass, having herself an afternoon slumber.

My heart sank, and for a moment I could taste the slightest hint of bile. There was no way for me to slip into the barn without exposing myself to her. So I prayed. I prayed to Celestia; to Faust; to the bookkeeper down by my favorite tavern. I prayed that the beast was deep asleep, as I nearly pissed myself tip-toeing around the corner.

Now, they say you should never directly look at somepony you're trying to avoid. There's a a bit superstition around it, based on the notion that a pony can always tell when something is watching her. It sounds silly, but there may still be some structure to the idea. It's very possible for light reflections to catch and glimmer within your eyes, drawing attention when a pony glances your way.

The truth is, I don't really know the validity of that claim.

But I can tell you that I absolutely did not put it to the test. Never once did I take my eyes off that sleeping bitch. Every time her ear twitched, I saw it. And when her nose wrinkled, my blood felt like acid and my legs went numb. I took every bit of advice I ever heard about proper infiltration, and I threw it out the window. And I probably lost ten years of my life, from busted nerves alone, because of it.

By the time I made it through the barn door, I was ready to collapse into a shivering mess.

But I kept having flashbacks of my friend. Everything from the mugs we shared, to the sight of his body on the road. I reminded myself that I was doing this for him as well.

So I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and had a look around.

Nothing.

All my blood, sweat, and tears and nothing to show for it. In the end, it was just a normal barn. Hay in the loft, plow in the back, and just a bunch of earth pony tools I didn't even recognize. And don't think I didn't look them over. Each one was blunt or caked with mud; not a single bit with bloodstain or a loose patch of fur. They even smelled fresh, of earth and trees; not the slightest fragrance of torture.

I searched everywhere, scoured every inch. And nothing.

That was when the truth hit me. The Apples were more sophisticated than I ever gave them credit for. They were a family that understood the importance of separating work from home. There was only one way they could keep a barn so clean, and that was to operate remotely.

As I said, the Apples owned the largest plot of land in Ponyville. That cell could be off in a corner of a field that nopony has even ever heard of.

The was also the time that I realized I had been searching for too long. Because when I stopped to listen, all I could hear was silence. The sound of apple bucking was gone. And as I careful snuck my way to the barn door and looked across their fields, I could see that Wynonna was gone as well.

I don't want to talk about what happened on the farm after that; I'm not proud of what I did. It's suffice to say that desperate times called for desperate actions, and if you stick around Ponyville for another day or two, I'm sure you're going to hear about it.

The point of the matter is, I needed a distraction. It's the only way I was going to be able to pull off the next part of my plan.

The family had its shit together. That much was clear. But every chain has its weak link, and in the Apple family, I knew it was going to be Big Mac himself. The brute. The muscle. The one that did all of the leg work without understanding the nuances and particulars of it all. And whether through specific disobediance or dimwitted disregard, he was the pony that was most likely to show up red hooved in the end.

So I waited.

And after the galloping hooves passed me by, I made my way to the farm house proper. I still kept a low profile, but I wasn't terribly nervous about being spotted. I was more worried about smoke inhalation.

It was the first time I ever stepped foot into their home. And I can tell you, for a pack of bigotry fueled murderers, the Apple family pulls off their deception well. It's picture perfect; the spitting image of an honest, welcoming country house. My stomach churned as I thought to myself: the same ponies that painted such inviting green walls with their friendly apple decals, also had a habit of chopping up bodies and stuffing them in barrels.

Fucking sociopaths.

I made my way through the kitchen, wary of the oven. It might smell like baked apple pies, but I don't want to think about the sort of things that have been in it.

I could still hear the commotion outside. A whole lot of barking, accented with shrill hollers from the old hag. She was yelling something deranged and incoherent, something about about a water bucket and not letting the timberwolves burn. I almost felt sorry for that walking corpse and her feeble mind. Almost. I didn't hear the big red one, but I knew he was out there. Family always comes first.

I was looking for a tool, something bladed that I could use on their return. But nothing turned up. Their knives were large and unwieldy, a bit too big for simply cutting apples, if you asked me. I still needed proof though. I couldn't clear my name until I had solid evidence of their guilt, and they wouldn't remain distracted forever. And even if I could best them in open combat, a big IF, all I would have is more bodies on my hands and a whole lot more explaining to do. If their cell was remote, and I couldn't find it, my fate would be sealed beyond a reasonable doubt.

So I made for the stairs, checking rooms along the way.

Big Mac's was in the corner. I knew I found it, when I came across a room painted in warm earth tones.

I turned the room inside out.

I searched every closet, every drawer, every box, every chest. I tapped the walls looking for hollow sounds, any kind of hidden compartment. I was looking for tools of the trade, or any kind of document. Just the slightest hint of propaganda, a hoofful of wicker branches would have done it. But I found nothing.

Aside from his very questionable taste of clothing, he was spotless.

But then. By chance. I looked upon his bed. And sitting there, on his pillow, was every bit of incriminating evidence I would ever need to understand his character.

A doll.

A fucking doll, meant for a little foal.

And the whole world came crashing down.

Big Mac wasn't a cold blooded killer. He wasn't the muscle behind a coordinated effort of bigotry. He was just a fag. And any illicit activities the family might be partaking, Mac just wouldn't be a part of.

And no other Apple could have killed my friend.

And as I sat on the queer's bed, listening to the panicked screams of his family below, I couldn't take my eyes off that stupid fucking doll. The longer I stared at it, the more I saw the simple truth looking back.

I was wrong.

Day of Reckoning

My desperation was growing.

The killer was on the loose. I was on the run. And I was all out of leads.

I found myself in a Ponyville alley, cowering behind some broken boxes while I tried to gather up the pieces of my mind. I couldn't go home. For all I knew it was swarming with the guard, and I wasn't about to test my luck. I tried to think of any friend I could contact, anypony that could help me. But I was never very good at making friends, and I just lost the only one I ever trusted.

The sun was setting, and the sounds of the market were growing dim. The air was getting colder; I could feel a chill spread throughout my body, slowing it down. I didn't even know where I was going to sleep that night.

I began to consider skipping town. I thought I might be able to scape out a living in Las Pegasus, or Mexicolt City. I might have to beg, borrow, and steal to get there, but things could still work out fine.

I hoped that Pinkie would understand.

So I sat there. Waiting.

It's something I'm good at; just clearing my mind and letting the world pass me by. It's something in my blood. I knew I would make my move when darkness fell.

I don't know how long I waited, but I was startled by a sound. A familiar voice that I've heard more times than I ever wanted to. A voice that belongs to a particular unicorn that bathes herself in lust and vanity.

I snorted, and was about to go back to brooding. I was pleased to think I might never have to see her again. But a nagging little thought was scratching at the back of my mind. A memory from a night on the town, when both my friend and I had a bit too much to drink. When we were at that honest, trusting stage of intoxication, where you'll bestow your deepest secrets and shames, and never even remember it in the morning.

That was when he told me about this sharp unicorn he once hooked up with. This mare with a dazzling purple mane. They met in Canterlot, and it was practically love at first sight. Just like it was out of a fucking fairy tale. She couldn't keep her hooves off of him, and was even playing the over-possessive game. They made it back to her back to her place, and well. They got pretty close.

But a day or two later, and she was a completely different mare. Wanted nothing to do with him and denied that anything ever happened.

I felt sorry for my friend. But more than anything, it made me think of a particular mare I knew. A fussy white unicorn that takes everything she can until it just doesn't suit her anymore.

A mare named Rarity.

I was already across the alley, peaking my head around the corner.

I could see her walking in the distance, chatting animately to poor Fluttershy.

I couldn't let this go. Gears were turning, and suddenly a lot of things were making sense. Rarity is not a mare that likes to keep loose ends, and there's nothing more precious to her than her own reputation. I don't remember half of what I did last night, but if my friend was telling the same story... and it somehow got back to her...

I don't think he would make it home.

There was a bit of distance to cover, but those two ponies were well occupied. Even from my vantage point, it was obvious that Rarity was deeply enthralled with the sound of her own voice, and Fluttershy was too polite to show her disinterest. And aside from those mares, the streets were almost empty. Ponyville's market isn't exactly known for having a bustling night life, so not much subtly was required.

Though, by the time I closed the gap, I was only catching the second half of the conversation. From what I could gather, those two were headed to the Carousel Boutique, and Rarity was fully engaged in drowning the poor pegasus with fake gratitude. Little quips of thank-you's that were as well rehearsed as they were insincere. Plastic and brittle, like every other vile thing to ever come out of that unicorn.

"I absolutely can't thank you enough, darling. And I'm terribly sorry to fetch you at such an hour."

"Oh, it's... fine. I'm glad to help."

"It's just, I came home and saw my precious wittle Opal so terribly ill! I was positively devastated!"

"Are you sure it's not a hairball this time?"

"Hairball?! Why if it's just a hairball, I'll be relieved! Well. Relieved so long as Opal doesn't dispose of it in a manner that's unbecoming. Especially not on the carpet. Or on my fabric! Or on my dresses! Opal! Mommy's coming! Don't do anything rash!"

Dresses. It's all she ever cared about. At this point Rarity was actually galloping down the road, yelling like a madmare, with Fluttershy depserately trying to keep up. Funny. Rarity would stoop to murder to save face, yet she'd so carelessly scrape her own image across the floor.

I couldn't match pace with them. At least, not if I wanted to remain unknown.

So I let her go.

I was thankful, actually, when the noise died down and I had a moment of peace. It was the best of both worlds. I didn't have to listen to the venomous spit of that whore, and I didn't have to worry about losing her either.

I knew exactly where she was going.

They were both in front of the boutique when I arrived.

Opal's studded carriage was sitting on the pavement between them, without a sound or movement coming from inside. I could tell there was something wrong. Fluttershy was wearing a grave expression, and kept stealing glances at the carrier.

I guess it wasn't a hairball after all.

Still. I felt sorry for Opal.

She might be a raging inferno of hatred and malice, but living with Rarity, given enough time, that would happen to anything. Opal is a victim. Lashing out against the world, as a body would ricochet off a hard surface. A natural, involuntary response to repeated blunt trauma.

I could tell that the conversation was winding down though. Fluttershy was fidgeting, and edging closer and closer to cat box, all but screaming to take Opal away. I moved in further, to see if I could catch any of the parting words. I needed to know Rarity's next move, so I could start planning mine.

"Thank you, thank-you, thaaannk you! Oh Fluttershy, dear, you do so much for me!"

"Yes, but..."

"No buts! Time and time again you pull through for me and Opal, never expecting a thing in return!"

"But I really think I should..."

"I'll hear none of it! You simply must let me find a way to make up for all of your caring generosity!"

"Yes, but Opal isn't..."

"Oh don't you worry on about her, she's in such good hooves now. What matters more is that you simply must let me make you something!"

"I don't think..."

"Something marvelous! Something that radiates all of your kindness. Something with gems!"

"I'm su..."

"Oh I know they're not your cup of tea, but you simply must give them a chance! Why just last night I cut the biggest rock I've ever held, and you should have seen the way it glistened in the light! I could always do the same for you or that rabbit you keep about..."

Stop.

Backtrack. And repeat. If you're not careful, then you already missed it.

This was everything I ever needed.

I don't actually know what was said after that. I assume she continued wallowing in her own vanity, as Fluttershy tried ever harder to pick up Opal and leave. But none of those details mattered to me anymore.

My search was over. It was Rarity.

I thought I would be angry when I found the pony that murdered my friend. I thought my blood would boil and my vision would turn red. I thought I would lose control of my actions and do something I might regret.

But the truth is, I didn't feel anything at all. I was empty inside. I just stared at Rarity, blankly, repeating to myself over and over that this is the mare I was going to kill.

Time passed. Slowly.

The conversation was over, and Fluttershy was leaving.

And as I watched them slip out of sight, I realized that Opal would never be coming home again. And I understood, clear as day, that I would never get a chance to explain the reasons why. I might have been freeing her from the clutches of a wicked mare, but victims sometimes have a way of latching on.

I hoped that one day Opal would understand, and that she may somehow find peace in new life.

But she was gone. And there was no turning back.

So I picked myself up from the ground, stretched from the neck to legs, and made my way inside.

I had never seen the shop so dark before. Racks of dresses and mannequin ponies were casting ominous shadows, shades of darkness stacked against an inky backdrop. And as I walked among the featureless ponies, I could feel them silently judging. As though they could see right through me, and knew just why I was there.

But my cause is pure; I was driven by a righteous fury. So I let them look upon me, and hold judgement as they may. I felt no fear or remorse.

And I had nothing to hide.

Light was coming from the stairs, and I could hear the gentle sounds of a sewing machine up above. Say what you'd like about that whore's avarice, she still has the work ethic of nopony else.

But I couldn't confront her in the workshop. It was her turf, and she had magic, where I did not. The tools of her trade were also at her disposal; scissors and needles that, with a dextrous spell, could turn the tide.

But her focus would be her undoing.

It gave me time and clearance to move past her workshop, to slip inside her bedroom where I could lie in wait.

Inside her closet, in full view of her bed, where I could lie in wait for the moment to strike.

And this is where I am.

Now we are all on the same page, and what I am about to do has been laid bare. As Celestia as my witness, my claws will strike true. I will taste the blood of a wicked mare, and I will know the flavors of retribution.

The sewing machine has long gone quiet. Rarity has already donned her nightgown, and finished her nightly ritual of vanity. She is tucked under the covers, and I can hear the soft rhythmic sounds of her slumber. Quiet, gentle breathes, that she will soon make no more.

I am opening the closet, and I am walking to her bed.

And now, after the longest day of my life, fraught with grief and trial, my moment has come. Now, I will make Rarity pay for what she did to my friend.

I will put her down, for taking the life of Tom.

Eye for an Eye

Rarity tossed about in sleep, unable to find comfort in any position. It had been long day, between her clients' orders and a necessary, though dreadful, social obligation. By the time she arrived home, her hooves were exhausted and she was longing to rest. But it was to no avail.

Opal was sick.

She might have a knack for the dramatic, but the way Opal mewled, with a paw upon on her forehead, was absolutely heartwrenching. Rarity couldn't stand to see the poor dear in such distress. Casting tired hooves to the wind, the pale unicorn cantered right back out the door and into the Ponyville streets. She couldn't wait until morning, she needed the very best for her precious Opal, and she needed it right away. She positively required the aid of Fluttershy. Nothing less would do.

But even after Opal was in caring hooves, Rarity couldn't take her mind off the poor dear. Diligent hoofwork took the place of rest and relaxation, stitching up simple designs in an effort to clear her mind. Rarity tried worked away her worries, deep into the night's hours, until she could sew no more.

Still. It was not enough. When it came time for sleep, her troubles still followed her there. Stress and worry pooling in her abdomen, chilling her into a deep unrest.

So when the closet door creaked ever slightly, Rarity stirred within her sleep.

And when a gentle weight pressed down on the corner of her bed, she groaned, opening her eyes in a fog of confusion.

Something felt wrong.

Rarity didn't understand why, but there was a panic caught in her throat, and an indescribable feeling that she just wasn't alone.

And just at that moment, as she made to sit, a weight lifted from the edge of her mattress. And all of Tartarus followed in it's wake.

Rarity shrieked into the night!

Something was attacking, something she didn't understand. It was claws and snapping and snarling, wriggling and digging into her fur. She could feel it on her skin, raking and ripping, vicious to take hold and tear apart.

It was drooling, and squealing and savage, madness with murder in maw.

Her mouth was open and screaming, her hooves flailing wildly in the air. She lifted and snapped her body, pivoting her hips, desperate to throw the attacker off.

But it was on her before she could stand.

Its jaw was clamped on her throat and growling. Nails gripping and writhing, searching for something vital.

Rarity shrieked and hollered and wailed, tears in her eyes and panic sizzling in her brain.

She reached up with her hooves, slamming them into the foul creater's body, crushing and ripping it away.

A spell was primed upon her horn, as the beast struggled and squirmed within her hooves. Her magic was seething and growing, ready to capture and restrain the aggressor. And just as she was about to cast it, the glow carried far enough to reach the creature of her demise.

It was Gummy. Snapping and swiping, hissing and growling.

"PPIIIIIIIIIIINNNKKIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!" Rarity screamed at the very top of her lungs, anger swiftly replacing the panic that had so briefly consumed her. Gummy was dangling helplessly within her magic, but still snapping and hissing all the same. She slowly, carefully got out of bed and stepped over to the oil lamp. She fiddled with a hoof, unaccustomed to working it without magic, but unwilling to release her grip on the foul beast.

"Hiya, Rarity! Isn't it a bit late to be calling?"

Rarity jumped at the sound of Pinkie's voice, nearly tipping the lamp and dropping the alligator.

"Don't do that to me!" Rarity spat, turning to look towards the window. "I swear you're going to give me a heart attack! You're nearly as bad as your wretched pet!"

Pinkie was smiling back from the second story window sill, nightcap resting on her frazzled mane. "Well you're the one that asked for me, silly. And as to why you'd do that I'm a littl-OH GUMMY!" The pink mare immediately snapped to attention and bounced inside. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you today!"

"Piiinkiiie!" Rarity's face was flush with red, breaths coming out in forceful huffs. "That precious GUMMY of yours just attacked me in my sleep! It was just, j-just so barbaric! Do you possibly have anything to say about this?!"

"Oh don't worry about Gummy," Pinkie giggled, "He's just being a silly little gator head. He. He thinks you killed Tom!" At this point the pink mare was snickering excessively, hoof pressed up to her snout.

"W-WHAT?!"

"Tom-Tom! You know, big, gray..." Pinkie paused her laughter for a moment, pantomiming her hooves into the approximate shape and size of the rock, "... kinda heavy, you used to think he was a diamond..."

"I know what that is!" Rarity snapped, indignation burning in her eyes, "And we agreed to never speak of it again! But what you're spouting off is complete nonsense!"

"Of course it is!" Pinkie blurted out, before leaning in to whisper, "Tom isn't really dead! *Snort* He just partied a teensy bit too hard, and now he's taking a nap on the side of the road! But Gummy thinks he's been murdered, and now he's out to find the killer! It's a murder mystery!" Pinkie was beside herself, bubbling with giggles and holding her side. "And look! Now he thinks I'm conspiring with y-you, and. And. And he's narrating the tragic betrayal to the readers! AND! AND! AND THEY CAN'T EVEN HEAR HIM!" The frazzled mare completely lost it, howling with laughter and rolling on the floor. "ISN'T HE SUCH A GEM?!"

Rarity sat down on her haunches, mouth open, staring at the crazed mare before her. Her eye was twitching and her spell failed, unceremoniously dropping Gummy onto the floor. The runty aligator showed no outward appearance of caring, though. He simply scampered over to his master and leapt upon her, snarling and lashing out with his claws.

It was — Rarity looked over to the clock by the side of her bed — it was two in the morning, and Pinkie was rolling around her bedroom floor with a filthy, vicious alligator. Rarity repeated that statement to herself a second time, hoping it would make somehow make more sense. But it didn't.

*Ahem* "Pinkie, darling."

Both the pink earth pony, and her pet alligator, paused to look up at Rarity. Their eyes were wet with innocence and expectation.

"It's very late at night right now. My poor Opal is terribly sick, and I have multiple looming deadlines from very, very important clients. Now the only way I'm going to complete those orders, and fulfill my duties to my precious Opal, is if I'm allowed to get the sleep I need. So Pinkie. Dear. Would you kindly take your toothless aligator AND GET OUT OF MY HOME!"

Pinkie winced and deflated, as if stricken by a physical blow. "Awwwww, but Gummy and I..."

"NO!"

"Not even just a—"

"NOO! Not here. Not now. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Go. Away."

"Fine..." Pinkie slowly stood up from the floor, gummy latched to the side of her face. "Well, maybe I can still make him think Twilight had something to do with—"

"GET OUT!"

"Okie dokie lokie!"

Rarity's hoof was pressed firmly into her face, as she tried her best to remain civil. It's true that Pinkie was absolutely incorrigible at times, but she was still a close friend.

"And please take your... pet with you, and try to keep him better—" Rarity's voice trailed off as she suddenly noticed the stillness of the room. The window was closed, and all was quiet.

She turned her head, scanning about to find her "guests", but it was to no avail. She was alone. Rarity sighed to herself and simply gave in. It was just a matter of Pinkie being Pinkie, she told herself.

And Gummy being... well, whatever he is.