Prompt #438: "Dark Dealings"

A concrete room. Grey and dull. There is a small window near the ceiling, but it has been barred. A sink in the corner that drips every few seconds to its own rhythm, and as the only sound in the room, it is both comforting and disturbing. It is disturbing because if you hear another sound, it probably means someone is coming to ‘check’ on you. And that generally involves more than taking a look into the room.

A single pony sits in a chair in the middle of the room, hooves tied behind the back. Their face showed signs that they must have been here for a while. Bruises all over, and a dried pool of blood on the floor. They have had little to no sleep, having been in that position for possibly days on end. Sure enough, a sound comes echoing through the hallway. Like a scratching noise, getting closer, louder, then stopping. The rusty metal door creaks open, and a griffon walks in.

“Gilda, always a pleasu-” the pony said, before being knocked to the ground, chair and all.

“How about we skip the small talk. I think this will be much easier for the both of us,” Gilda said, placing a talon on the side of her captive’s face.

“Straight to the point, as usual. I told you, I don’t know what happened to the other half. What I gave you is all I got from my supplier,” he explained, straining to speak due to exhaustion and the fact that there was a griffon practically standing on his face.

“You know, Harry, I’d like to believe you. I really would. But see, I’ve already met with your supplier.” The pony’s eyes went wide at this. “And do you know what he told me?” she said, moving her foot and kneeling down, making sure there was eye contact, “he said he gave you the full 60 kilos. Of course, that was only after I had... coerced him into talking,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Well, obviously, one of us is lying. It’s gotta be him. He’s a really messed up-” A kick in the stomach changed his words into a fit of coughing.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business,” she said, setting the chair upright, bringing his ear right next to her mouth, “it’s always the middle-pony. The one’s who make the product are too scared to do anything stupid, and the other lords know each other well enough not to cause trouble.”

“So, what, you wanna know where it is, is that it?” he asked, still finding it hard to breathe. “Then will you let me go?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“All right. It’s at the abandoned warehouse on 4th. Second floor in one of the offices.”

With that, Gilda turned and headed out of the room.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she said, closing the door behind her.