Scratch’s Sparkle Scramble
Yet more pony fanfiction from the mind of Silvertie
Keen Eyes for Errors: Microshazm, Aegis Exemplar
01 - Gryphon’ Basterds
The white unicorn stood in the middle of the lush office, and did her best not to betray any emotion. Unfortunately, she was terrible at it, and her wild, two-tone vividly-blue tail flicked back and forth anxiously as sweat trickled down from an equally wild mane that seemed to be perpetually on “bed head” mode. Why was it that the difference between a messy mane and a professionally-styled one had to be fifty bits?
She looked around the room as subtly as was possible for her - at least in this, she had an advantage thanks to the purple shades she wore almost perpetually. Aside from her, a couple of (rather large and surly-looking) enforcers, and the pony behind the desk, they were alone.
Perfect for conducting the kind of business they were doing.
“You, uh,” the unicorn coughed. “You wanted to see me, boss?”
“Vinyl Scratch. Yes, I did,” the pony behind the desk agreed, hidden in the shadows cast by inconvenient lighting in the room. “Sit, please.”
One of the enforcers pushed a simple chair with wheels into the middle of the floor behind Vinyl, and she took it. The “please” was a little misleading - some ponies took it as an invitation. Not a lot of them lived long enough to survive to put the hard-learned lesson to use. Vinyl only did because at the time, she represented... a significant “investment”, in the loosest possible sense of the word.
“So,” the boss said. “Here we are, Miss Scratch. Barely a year ago, you ate into us for two million bits’ worth of sparkle, and between... generous donations from yourself and some pro bono work on our behalf, I think we’re about ready to cross off your debt to us.”
Vinyl blinked. “Really? I thought I was, like, gonna be here longer than that.”
“You’re welcome to stay on, of course,” the Boss chuckled. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hm? One more job for us, and I think we’ll call it even. The hitsquad will pack their guns away, and there’ll not be any more swords... or stage lights... hanging over your head at concerts anymore.”
“Uh, thanks?” Vinyl blinked. She hadn’t considered that they’d been thinking about doing her in with a stage light... all those times she’d thought about how she was safer on stage than on the street.... “What’s the job? Another delivery?”
“In a sense,” the boss said. “All our usual brokers are currently... occupied. So we’re co-opting you to help close a deal we have going with one of our suppliers. He’s got a shipment of sparkle for us, we’ve got three million bits to give him for it. You’re going to go in, give him his money, and make sure we get our hundred kilos of uncut sparkle, got it? If you can get it cheaper, it’ll only reflect better on you, and there might be a cut in it for you.”
Vinyl wasn’t really listening - she’d stopped at around “hundred kilos of uncut sparkle”. The words bounced around Vinyl’s head. One hundred kilos of uncut sparkle. That’d be enough to make hers a happy world for... sweet Celestia. A very long time. A deliciously dangerous length of time. Nopony knew if it was even possible to OD on sparkle, it was that damn expensive. You might as well be snorting gold filings, it’d be cheaper. Sparkle definitely gave a better buzz, though. Oh yeah.
Now she was salivating, damnit. She shook her head to get rid of that insane idea of seeing if it was actually possible to OD on sparkle. That was exactly what had gotten her so far behind the financial eight-ball and necessitated this unsavory pseudo-day-job. Not to mention crossing the boss and stealing a hundred kilos of sparkle would be an excellent way to get herself gunned down in the middle of the street, before she could even sample her ill-gotten gains.
“Is there a problem, Miss Scratch?” the boss asked, noting the shake of her head.
“No, I got it,” she said. “Just... got something in my head, is all. It’s gone.”
“Good.” There was a creak of chair as the boss adjusted his position. “One hundred kilos. Pure. I know you’ve got a good eye for sparkle, I trust you to make sure our dealer isn’t cheating us. The last few shipments we’ve gotten from him have been... lackluster.”
“What if he is?” Vinyl asked.
“Then no deal,” the boss said. “Tell him to go buck himself, and walk out of there. With the money. LeGrande can have our money when he’s not trying to buck us, and by extension, our customers, over.”
“Got it,” Vinyl nodded.
“Tonight, warehouse six on the south-side,” The boss tapped his hoof on the desk. “Midnight, sharp. Be discreet.”
“Gotcha,” Vinyl nodded again, before a name registered. “Wait, LeGrande?”
“That’s his name,” the boss said, coldly. “Problem?”
“Uh, maybe,” Vinyl coughed. “I, uh, didn’t know he was in this line of work... is it likely he’ll be armed?”
“LeGrande?” the boss paused. “No. But his flunkies almost certainly will, and they’re gryphons - in a sense, they’re always armed.”
“Can I,” Vinyl rubbed the back of her head. “Like, can I get outside help on this? LeGrande... well, last time we met, I don’t think we parted on good terms. Like, he wouldn’t do it in public, but in the middle of a sparkle deal? He might just decide to gut me right then and there.”
“Vinyl... I don’t care how you do it,” the boss said. “You can get your grandmother in on this if you have to. Just make sure that I get one hundred kilos of uncut sparkle on my desk by the end of the week or my three million back if the deal does go sour, and that nopony links to us, you got it? They report to you, you report to me. You know what happens to rats.”
“Gotcha,” Vinyl nodded. “By the end of the week, then.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Vinyl. Autumn, Jack, show her out?”
======
The sun was high in the sky, and the sun shone down on the mountainside city of Canterlot. The cultured city, home to the Princesses’ seat of government, Canterlot Castle, boasted a uniformly clean and glamorous image with pristine white buildings, exquisitely detailed cobblestone roads, and quaint cafes filled with ponies who had nothing better to do than sit about and drink coffee on a sunny day.
It was in one of these cafes that two old friends socialized over coffee, discussing the latest developments, such as there could be, in the lives of two classical musicians.
“And get this,” a teal unicorn gushed, “They caught him! In the toilets, snogging his viola!”
The two mares burst into laughter, and the unicorn’s companion, a grey earth pony with a carefully-managed mane, delicately wiped a tear from her eye.
“I swear, Lyra,” she said in a clipped, refined tone. “You have really fallen in with a weird orchestra. So much more interesting than mine.” Octavia stifled another round of laughter, staring at her reflection in the coffee. “I knew the snogging was coming, but... ugh, did I not say this would happen?”
Lyra grinned as she took a sip of her mocha. “You did, you did. I was sure to tell them that. “Octavia called it, guys, she called it,” I said.”
Octavia nodded. “Good, good. Did I tell you what Woodwind managed to do with his oboe the other day?”
Lyra shook her head, eager to hear it, but what Woodwind did with his oboe was something she’d never find out, as the door to the cafe was thrown open with a jangle of the little bell above the doorway, a white unicorn stood, breathing hard as her goggled visage roved over the cafe, reflecting the world in purple. Barely a two-count and already she was out of place and turning heads. Unsubtle, as usual.
“Is that...?” Lyra asked, as the unicorn spotted them.
“Is it... Vinyl?” Octavia hazarded, a small part of her mind locking down tight as memories tried to resurface unbidden.
“Guys!” Vinyl called out, waving a hoof before running straight for them, squeezing between chairs and dodging around waiters as she went. There were more than a few spilled cups and curses of frustration to mark the rather uncouth unicorn’s rough passage.
“Uh, hello, Vinyl,” Octavia said, wrinkling her nose as Vinyl got closer and the odor of sweat reached her nostrils. “Long... time no see.”
“Heh, yeah,” Vinyl chuckled, rubbing the back of her head and mane with a hoof as she caught her breath. “When was the last time we saw each other?”
“That would be... the music academy,” Lyra guessed.
“After that incident with you and that stallion,” Octavia added, having lost the battle to suppress the memory. “And my bed. I distinctly remember saying I never wanted to see you again. No amount of dry-cleaning ever got those stains out, you know. They had to be burned.”
“Did I mention you look great, Octy?” Vinyl said, changing tack and leaning over next to the cellist, poking her in the side. “You’re quite literally half the pudgy pony I used to know. What was it? Atkins?”
“What do you want, Vinyl?” Lyra asked, breaking in before Octavia had a chance to blow her lid, an event that seemed incredibly likely at present, if Octavia’s jaw was any indication.
“Want?” Vinyl lied, adopting a dismissive air. “That implies I was like, looking for you, or something. You know, that would involve, like, chasing you up at your orchestras and usual haunts, seeing if anypony knew where you were, and that’s way too hard - so not me. Can’t a mare walk into a cafe and spot two old friends and have a chat? Catch up on old times?”
The pair of flat looks directed back at her indicated where her lie was hitting on the “bullshit-o-meter” - somewhere in the red zone. She coughed awkwardly, and kicked the carpet gently.
“Right,” Vinyl pressed on, abandoning the pathetic lie. “See, I need help. Like, I know you two are trustworthy and stuff, right? I need somepony I can trust.”
“... you mean, a favor,” Lyra said, flatly. “I just think you might be looking in the wrong place. Don’t you have anypony else you could ask? Ponies you’ve seen in the last five years?”
“Well, not really,” Vinyl said, face contorting as she tried to work out a way to explain herself. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, got loads of friends, but... well, they’d probably get me in trouble, is what I’m saying, here.” Vinyl looked around at the cafe, where the other patrons quickly abandoned their curiosity and scrutinized their coffees. “Is there somewhere private we could talk about this? It’s kind of sensitive.”
======
Against Octavia’s better judgement, the trio found themselves standing in the entryway to her own pristine apartment in Canterlot Heights. A simple open-plan domicile, the doorway led through a kitchen area and into the apartment proper, where a faux-leather lounge suite sat on top of a thick shag-pile carpet, with a music box in one corner of the room and Octavia’s prized cello sitting on it’s stand in the other corner, all of it lit by the sunlight shining through a wide window that had a spectacular view of Canterlot.
“Hey, nice digs, Octy,” Vinyl said, smiling in admiration as she walked through the walk-in kitchen and began to slowly spin in the middle of the lounge area. “Very swanky. I should get a place up here.”
“No!” Octavia blurted out, before catching herself. “I mean, no, Vinyl - you wouldn’t like it up here, I’m sure. You’re still into that dubclop rubbish, aren’t you?”
“It’s dubtrot,” Vinyl corrected. “And it’s not “rubbish”. I could say worse about your snooty classical.”
“Whatever,” Octavia dismissed. “You’re just saying that because you failed strings. Point is, the neighbors aren’t so... tolerant of loud music. I’ve had to soundproof my walls so they can’t hear me practicing. I shudder to think how quickly they’d try and throw you out after a night of your dubtrot.”
“Oh, okay,” Vinyl shrugged, flopping onto a couch. “Buck that, then. Stuck up prudes.”
“Yeah,” Lyra said absentmindedly, as she picked up an ornament and turned it over in her magic, looking at it. “This block was always way too uptight for me. Seems to suit Octy just fine, though, music aside.”
Octavia rolled her eyes as she stood at the edge of the lounge area. “Look, what I was getting at was that the walls are soundproofed. Not a lot of sound gets out, so whatever it is you’ve got to say, Vinyl, you can say it. Nopony but us’ll hear it.”
“What is the problem?” Lyra asked, still examining the statuette. “I must confess, I’m quite curious. Money troubles? Did you get into financial hot water with the wrong crowd... again?”
“Yeah,” Vinyl admitted, before shaking her head. “And no. No, it’s not a money problem. That’s sorted. Sorta. This is, well...” Vinyl coughed, and pushed her purple shades up her forehead, looking at Octavia and Vinyl with red-irised eyes. “What do you guys know about the sparkle trade in Canterlot?”
“Sparkle?” Octavia’s snout crinkled in disgust. “It’s abhorrent, that’s what it is. Absolutely disgusting. I’m somewhat mortified that such a dirty business even exists in this city.”
“It’s also big money,” Lyra pointed out. “And I get the feeling that Vinyl’s money problems are strongly linked to it.”
Vinyl frowned. “Look, I’ll tell you straight up - I’m making a sparkle deal, three mil for a hundred kilos of pure. I do that, I’m in the clear financially.”
“Where did you get a hundred kilos of sparkle?!” Lyra exclaimed, putting the statuette back with a burst of magic and spinning around to face the DJ.
“I didn’t!” Vinyl protested. “I’m the one with the three million bits making the purchase!”
“Three million bits?” Octavia queried. “Then why in the name of Celestia do you have money problems?”
“I don’t actually own the bits, I- augh!” Vinyl got up and stamped a hoof. “Look, this isn’t going anywhere. I have the money. I need that sparkle. But I can’t go make the deal myself.”
“Why not?” Lyra asked.
“Because the guy I’m supposed to be dealing with hates my guts,” Vinyl explained. “Gustav LeGrande. And he doesn’t know I’m the other end of the deal... yet. I’m worried that if I walk in there and try to deal with him, he’ll-”
“I get it,” Octavia held up a hoof. “And frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. You always did have a way of upsetting the wrong ponies. So you want us to go and make the deal in your stead?”
“Well, sorta,” Vinyl nodded to Lyra. “I was just gonna ask her. It has to be a unicorn, and since I know neither of you are users or even want to deal in sparkle, I reckon I can trust Lyra to make the deal and not try to leave me in the lurch by stealing the sparkle.”
“What’s our cut?” Lyra asked.
“Lyra!” Octavia exclaimed, and Lyra held up a hoof in defense.
“Hey, sparkle dealing’s the sort of thing that gets a pony put away for two decades,” she argued. “I wanna make sure the risk is worth it, you dig?”
“Well, uh,” Vinyl shrugged. “There... isn’t really a cut. But I’ll find a way to make it up to you, yeah? Once there isn’t a three million bit deal riding on the line.”
“So you want Lyra to put her neck on the line and risk a twenty year jail sentence, if not outright physical bodily harm,” Octavia summarized, “and you want her to do it for free?”
“Well... yeah,” Vinyl admitted. “I figured she’d at least be willing to negotiate with me, or something. Talk out a price or something, you know?”
“You are unbelievable,” Octavia spat, sitting down. “There is no way she’d-”
“I’ll do it,” Lyra said. “But that thing you do for me in the future better be good, Vinyl.”
“Excellent!” Vinyl whooped.
“Oh for the love of Celestia,” Octavia groaned. “Lyra, you’re an idiot.”
“Aw, come on, Tavi,” Lyra greased. “Vinyl’s a friend. Sure, she’s stepped on a lot of hooves in the past, and had rather messy sex with her at-the-time-special-somepony on your bed... hay, I think she’s actually done that to all our beds back at the academy...” Lyra’s face fell, and she grimaced as she shook her head and kept going, “But she’s always been there for us, always willing to help us bullshit our way past a lecturer, or into the practice rooms after hours.”
Octavia blinked, and looked down at her own hooves.
“I mean,” Lyra went on, “What about that time we all went out on a bender, and showed up to recital the next morning hungover as Tartarus? I think only somepony as popular as Vinyl could have bluffed us past the lecturer’s curiosity and passed off our sunglasses as a new fashion.”
“Alright, alright,” Octavia held up a hoof in surrender. “Fine, I get it. I’ll go, too.”
“You don’t need to go,” Lyra countered. “I’m already going. Vinyl only needs one of us.”
“Yes,” Octavia admitted. “But you have a tendency to forget details, and if sparkle dealing’s anything like how I think it is, missing a detail could be a deal-breaker.”
Vinyl shrugged. “Got a point. I’ll be there to verify the sparkle’s quality, but I’ll be wearing a mask and won’t say a word, in case LeGrande recognizes my voice.”
“Mask?” Lyra asked.
“Well, yeah,” Vinyl shrugged. “You want sparkle dealers to know your face? I mean, I am kind of a face in the nightclub scene, and all; dunno about you guys in the orchestra circuit.”
“Good point,” Lyra nodded. “I’ve got some rubber animal masks, if anypony wants to borrow one.”
“They’ll do,” Vinyl agreed. “I was gonna suggest balaclavas, but I like the animal masks idea way better.”
“...why do you have rubber animal masks?” Octavia asked.
“Oh, we did a whole concert while wearing them,” Lyra elaborated. “Didn’t I get around to telling you?”
“No.”
“Oh, well,” Lyra chuckled. “See, we thought it’d be a great idea to-”
Octavia held her hoof to Lyra’s mouth for a few seconds, and let it drop. When she did, Lyra had stopped talking.
“Let’s focus, shall we?” Octavia asked. “We have masks. What else do we need?”
“Not a lot, actually,” Vinyl admitted. “Just be at warehouse three by half-eleven, so we can go over the plans and stuff. Dress for the occasion, cover your flank.”
“Why?” Lyra asked.
“I like having my talent on my flank as much as the next pony,” Vinyl indicated her own flank, where a double quaver sat, “But these things are a bit of a dead giveaway if anypony spots you.”
“Ah.” Lyra nodded, eyes flicking briefly to her own golden harp. “I’ll be there, I’ll find something to wear.”
“Ugh,” Octavia groaned, subconsciously covering her treble clef mark with her tail. “I don’t have anything really suited for... sparkle dealing.”
“You’ll work something out, I’m sure.”
======
Vinyl checked her watch again by the light of the magic from her horn with the absence of a lantern in the shadowed warehouse, and Lyra sighed.
“Come on, Vinyl. It’s been thirty seconds since you last checked that watch,” the unicorn said, sitting on a crate and looking perhaps inappropriately flamboyant in a red-floral print shirt and cargo shorts. “Give it a rest.”
The pair were waiting in warehouse three - apparently being used to store pocket watches, of all things. The warehouse was dark, because while Canterlot was the kind of town that didn’t really feel it needed to lock doors, the fact remained that they still weren’t supposed to be there, and that three million bits tended to raise questions of an uncomfortable nature in the world of law enforcement, such as “where did you get that” and “what were you going to buy with it”.
“She’s late,” protested Vinyl, dressed far more appropriately in a nondescript brown jacket and jeans. “What happened to “attention to detail”?”
“We’re early,” pointed out Lyra. “Look, I betcha the moment that watch hits half-eleven, on the dot, she’ll walk through that door.”
Vinyl grunted in disbelief, and looked back at her watch. “Thirty seconds.”
Outside the warehouse, there was a clatter of hooves, and the slam of a carriage door. Vinyl and Lyra held their breath as there were murmured words, and the clink of coin getting exchanged. Vinyl checked her watch one last time as the second hand crossed the twelve, and-
“Hello?” Octavia asked, “Lyra? Vinyl?”
“Octy?” Vinyl asked, lighting up her horn with a glow of magic. “Is that- whoa.”
The new illumination to the room caused the earth pony standing inside the warehouse doorway to be revealed properly; it was Octavia, alright, but-
“What’s with the opera dress?” Lyra asked, aghast. “That is... wow. And I thought I was inappropriately dressed.”
“Pardon me for not having only the finest garments,” Octavia snorted. “It covers my flank, what more do you want?”
“Well, something less remarkable might help,” Lyra muttered. “Did you really have to wear the heels as well?”
“Look who’s talking, Lyra - you can see that floral print from Manehattan.”
“Anyway,” Vinyl intervened, “You’re here, we can begin.”
The trio moved over to a smaller crate, which had been press-ganged into service as a makeshift table, with a large bag resting next to it, and a larger duffel bag resting on it. Vinyl reached into the larger bag, and pulled out a tiny clear bag with small, crystalline powder in it.
“This,” she declared, “is sparkle. The mid-quality stuff, about fifty percent pure. One snort of this and you still probably won’t come down for a couple of days.”
“Not much of it,” Lyra muttered, squinting at the baggie.
“The idea is to cut it down or dilute it so you get more out of it. It cost me a hundred bits,” Vinyl pointed out. “Imagine how much a hundred kilos of pure is worth.”
“Hnngh.” Lyra grunted as she thought of the number. “Alright. So you’re holding something worth more than gold right now.”
“Yup,” Vinyl nodded. “And here’s how you know it’s the good stuff.”
With a pulse of magic, Vinyl fired a beam of light from her horn at the bag; the light passed through the bag easily enough, but as it did, the crystals began to glow, sparkling and glittering in the wake of the light.
“Wow,” Octavia admitted. “That is really pretty.”
“The better the sparkle,” Vinyl said, proudly flaunting her knowledge, “the better the... sparkle.” Vinyl blinked. “Damn, that is catchy.”
“So, what do you need us for?” Lyra asked. “Or rather, both of us?”
“Well, I need you to cast the light spell,” Vinyl explained. “I can’t cast it, I’m supposed to look like the hired help, a thug. You cast it, I evaluate it.”
“What about me?” Octavia asked.
“Well,” Lyra looked Octavia up and down. “You look like you know your stuff. You pretend to be the one evaluating it, and just pay attention to clues from Vinyl.”
“That’ll work,” Vinyl shrugged. “Besides, with the three of us, carrying a hundred kilos of sparkle should be way easier.”
“What else is in that bag?” Octavia pointed to the duffel bag.
“Not a lot,” Vinyl said. “Just the money - cash, unmarked bits. And some contingency plans... just in case. All we need are the masks, and we’re set.”
“Oh,” Lyra held up a hoof, holding up the other bag. “I got the masks!”
Lyra upended the bag, and with a thlap, a wide selection of rubber animal masks flopped out.
“Take your pick!” she invited, quickly snagging a rooster head for her own
Octavia’s hoof hovered over the mess of rubber and synthetic (hopefully) hair, before picking out a large, brown mask - an owl. She turned it over, and nodded. “This will do, I hope.”
“Radical,” Vinyl muttered. “You actually look the part of an inspector, you know, ‘cos owls have eyes for secrets and stuff. Now... what to pick... ah, yes. The pig!”
The trio tugged their masks on, and adjusted them so they could see. By the time they were done...
“Ah ha ha!” Vinyl laughed. “Oh, pony. We look hilarious!”
The average observer would have trouble not agreeing with such a judgement - three mares dressed rather oddly for the most part, with chimaera-esque heads. An owl, a rooster, and a pig. In fact, between the masks and the clothes, there was precious little to identify the ponies definitively.
They were ready.
======
Warehouse six. Unlike warehouse three, it looked like this one was mostly in disuse, with nothing in the building save for a few mildewed crates, a pile of metal girders, and more concrete blocks than anypony probably knew what to do with.
There was a flapping of wings in the air; it heralded the arrival of no less than five cloaked gryphons of assorted tan and tawny coloring, save for the leader, who had plumage that was grey like stone. Gustav LeGrande. He passed through the open double-doors on the far side, and hovered in the air, letting his eyes adjust to the light from the lantern inside, his subordinates following suit.
By day, he was LeGrande: the world-famous pastry chef - his quiches were exquisite, his danishes were to die for, and his eclairs were exceptional, achieving fame from the Gryphon Kingdoms to Stalliongrad and everywhere in between and beyond.
By night, he was LeGrande: mover and shaker in the sparkle underworld, producing the purest sparkle for miles around. It was said that just a few flakes of his weakest-grade sparkle in, say, a tub of icing was what gave him that competitive edge over other pastry chefs, making his eclairs so good that they not only made any day a little more bearable, but you just had to have just one more.
Well, any baker worth their salt used sparkle to spice up their dishes. Perhaps not on day-to-day fare like he did, but for contests, when the oven mitts came off... anything went, although it was a tricky line to tread if one of the judges suddenly passed out in ecstasy.
He touched down, claws on cold concrete as he surveyed the three ponies waiting for him. Each of them was, strangely enough, wearing a rubber animal mask and dressed up to conceal their cutie marks - while unusually executed, it wasn’t exactly uncommon in the sparkle trade, and broadly speaking, he didn’t care. What he did care about was... there. On the back of the pig was a large duffel bag, and it jingled as the pig shifted under it’s weight. It sounded like three million bits.
“Mister LeGrande,” the floral-print rooster said, speaking with a mare’s voice. “Good evening.”
“And the same to you, ma cherie,” Gustav bowed. “I confess, you have me at a loss - you seem to know my name, but I do not know yours.”
“Well, it’s not part of the deal,” the rooster countered. “What is part of the deal is three million cold, hard bits. What’ve you got?”
“We have your sparkle,” LeGrande smiled. “Boys?”
Two of the gryphons stepped forward, and wordlessly dumped their backpacks on the ground. The other two kept beady eyes on the ponies, ready to pounce.
“One hundred metric kilograms,” LeGrande elaborated, fishing something out of one of the backpacks. “Individually wrapped in kilogram cellophane bags for easy transport, preparation and quality assurance.”
There was a flick of claw, and the rooster caught the bag in a golden glow of magic, looking at it before firing a beam of magic light at it. Like a lightshow, the bag lit up, lights glittering all throughout it as the sparkle reacted. The opera-dressed owl stared at the bag for a moment, as did the pig and the rooster, before nodding.
“It is what we agreed on,” the owl said, in a clipped, formal voice.
The rooster looked like they were going to say something, before pausing, and pointing a wary hoof at LeGrande. “Let’s see another pack, huh?” The rooster rolled the hoof about in the air. “One from the middle of the bag, if you would. Or the bottom, even better.”
LeGrande frowned. “What’s this? Don’t you trust me?”
“Personally?” The rooster shrugged. “Yes. But my boss does not, and so, I’m going to need to check that other packet, or we walk, right here and now.”
LeGrande snorted, and dug a little deeper for his next pick, and with a great deal less enthusiasm, dug out the packet and tossed that. The rooster caught it once more, and hit it with another beam of light.
The effects were almost exactly the same as before, and LeGrande held up his claws in confusion.
“See? LeGrande keeps his word, he is the most trustworthy in his clan!”
“Says a lot about your clan,” the owl muttered. “You’re trying to cheat us, LeGrande.”
“Whatever do you mean?” the gryphon asked, his friendly demeanor slipping just a little. There was a pause as the owl just stared at the bag, before turning to face LeGrande.
“This is barely sixty-grade,” the owl spat, throwing the cake on the ground.
“The deal was for a hundred kilos of pure-grade sparkle,” the rooster argued. “No less.”
“I think you’ve been misinformed about the deal,” LeGrande said coldly. “Give me my money, and you’ll get your precious sparkle.”
The rooster stared at him for a moment, as if weighing up his words, then spoke.
“If you don’t have our pure-grade sparkle, then we walk. No deal,” the rooster said, bluntly.
LeGrande gestured with a claw, and there was a ratcheting sound from behind him. With four synchronous flicks of cloaks, the gryphons revealed their weapons of choice, rearing up onto their hind paws to hold the weapons properly.
The Gryphon Kingdoms were a strange and unusual place; compared to Equestria, they were a great deal more aggressive, their opposable claws giving them access to a whole branch of technology otherwise neglected by Equestria; and unlike the Diamond Dog clans elsewhere, they actually had the intellect to make their armament dreams a reality, and none of the Draconic Empires’ experience with what the machines of war could bring to a land.
Machined steel formed a barrel as long as a leg, with a small tag on one end. At the other, a carefully-manufactured firing mechanism was nestled and framed within a polished walnut stock and body, gripping of the weapon facilitated by two handles divided by a large disc-like protuberance; all of it controlled by a single metal tab easily reached by an index claw.
Quite possibly the Gryphon Kingdoms’ deadliest production weapon to-date, the .45 ACP Talon submachine gun, a gun dubbed the “trench sweeper” in some circles. Or as it was better known, “the Chickago typewriter”.
“Oh, feathers,” Owl breathed.
======
“Oh, feathers,” Octavia breathed.
“Calm down, calm down,” Vinyl whispered, struggling to stick to her own advice. “I’m sure they won’t actually shoot at us - it’s just a scare tactic or something. When they give us an opening, we run like buck, got it?”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” whispered Lyra, taking a step back involuntarily.
“The money, if you will,” LeGrande beckoned with a claw. “Make it snappy, and you might live to tell your boss about it.”
“What do we do?” Lyra hissed.
“I can’t just give him the money!” Vinyl hissed back. “If LeGrande doesn’t kill me, my boss will.”
“Vinyl,” Octavia chimed in, “if you don’t hand that money over, we all die. You never mentioned that we might get shot up in a gangland shooting in this job!”
“I’m sorry not everypony likes to play by our plans, Octavia,” Vinyl retorted. “Look, just... get ready to run to cover or something.”
Vinyl’s horn glowed, and the duffel bag lifted itself off her back and placed itself on the ground, unzipping.
“There’s a good piggy,” LeGrande smiled. “Back away from the money, and we won’t have a medley of bacon and chicken on the menu with a side of owl, got it?”
There was a snick of metal snapping, and three cylindrical shapes flew out of the bag, ticking rapidly as they flew ever closer to the gryphons, bouncing on the stone floor of the warehouse and rolling past them.
Just because ponies didn’t have opposable digits didn’t mean they couldn’t dabble and mix the fields of alchemy and clockwork to make grenades.
The gryphons took wing as one, and with a resounding boom and blossom of flames, the air was split, and the ground shook. There were screeches of pain from the gryphons, and smoke began to fill the air.
Octavia screamed, and was tugged to the left as Lyra dragged her with telekinesis, throwing the cellist behind a handy pile of girders before diving behind them herself. A wave of smoke pushed by the gust of wind from the explosion washed over the top of their cover, and with a loud whang, a gryphon followed not long after, head lolling as the corpse draped itself over their cover. Octavia looked at the body in horror, as Lyra tugged the gun out of the gryphon’s claws, and looked at it.
“Over there!” LeGrande coughed, “Shoot them!”
The sounds of gunfire barked through the air as the remaining still-alive gryphons obeyed the order, firing at Lyra and Octavia. The explosions had disorientated them, though, and it showed with most of the bullets flying clean past the pile of girders, punctuated by the odd zing of bullets hitting the solid steel girders.
“Score,” Lyra muttered, bouncing her new find in her hooves. “A gun. Now, if only I had some way of pulling the trigger, I could shoot back... perhaps a short, fleshy tentacle? Octy, do you any idea how I can grow a tentacle in like, thirty seconds?”
“Lyra!” Octavia exclaimed, astounded. “You’re a unicorn! Magic!”
Lyra blinked behind her mask, and stared at the gun. “Oh, right.”
The gunfire cut off as the gryphons depleted their drums of ammunition, and as one, stopped firing to reload. Lyra took the opportunity to float the purloined Talon over their cover, and point the business end at where the gunfire had come from.
Lyra didn’t waste time with a snappy one-liner (although it was clear she wanted to) and settled for just pulling the trigger with a telekinetic tendril, opening up with fully automatic fire. The gun bucked and kicked in her magical grip, the barrel jumping about wildly, giving her an aim that was arguably worse than that of the trained gryphons.
It had the desired effect, though, and after a few strangled yelps of surprise, the gryphons dived for cover all over. Across the warehouse, Vinyl poked her head up, and saw that they were all busy hiding behind concrete pillars - too busy to shoot back, for now. She fished another grenade out of her jacket, and primed it with a snap of the pin.
“Leg it!” Vinyl yelled, throwing the grenade and running. Octavia followed next, breaking cover and running as quickly as she could in her high-heels. Lyra wasn’t far behind, walking a lot slower as she concentrated her focus on keeping the gun steady and firing.
The grenade went off once more, this time exploding and sending billowing black smoke through the area, the gryphons coughing as they tried to disperse the smoke with flapping wings. Lyra kept firing, in the hopes that she’d hit something, and...
With a loud, ratcheting snick, the gun ran dry, and Lyra gulped as she dropped the smoking weapon. The gryphons poked their heads out, and through the clearing smoke, saw nothing but her backside as she ran for the doors, galloping hard to catch up with Vinyl and Octavia.
Bullets zinged past her, sparks showering off the concrete and metal doors of the warehouse as she threw herself out the doorway and to the right, where Octavia and Vinyl were pressed up against the wall, flinching away from the newly forming bullet holes.
“Time to go!” Lyra urged.
“This way!” Vinyl called out, running for warehouse three. Lyra and Octavia followed suit, heads low as there were shouts from behind them, and bullets began to scorch the air around them. Vinyl pulled another pin, and a cylinder bounced behind them, exploding in a cloud of smoke that caused the next shots to go violently wide as Vinyl jinked to the left and pulled the other two down between two rows of crates.
“Where are we going?!” Lyra asked, pulling Octavia along close behind her.
“Sorry, had to lose ‘em,” Vinyl apologized. “I’ve left a car down here, to help us move the stuff. Or I did, anyway.” Vinyl managed to shrug while running. “It’ll make a good getaway vehicle.”
The trio cleared the corner, and entered a wide alleyway behind the warehouses; lined with crates and lit by moonlight, there was a small four-wheeled buggy parked there. A small, two-door carriage, it had room for four, a closed canopy, and a tidy little thaumic engine in the front to pull it along.
“In, in!” Vinyl urged, pulling the driver’s side open with magic and jumping into the seat, starting the engine with a pulse of magic. Lyra pulled open the other door, and levered the seat forward to allow access to the back seat. She waited a moment, and turned around.
“Octavia?” Lyra asked, looking at the owl-masked cellist, concerned. “Are you okay?”
Octavia just responded by limping forward and collapsing against the side of the carriage. Lyra caught her, and pulled the owl mask off Octavia’s head, revealing a sweat-slicked face and a noticeably pale pallor.
“My leg...”
Lyra looked down, and saw Octavia’s rear leg - specifically, how a bullet had punched clean through her left thigh, causing a rivulet of red to soak Octavia’s leg. And she’d been running on it this whole time. No wonder she was sweating - Octavia might not be the toughest pony around, but the girl had a will of forged steel when it came to sticking things out.
“Vinyl, Tavi’s been shot!”
Scratch’s Sparkle Scramble
Yet more pony fanfiction from the mind of Silvertie
02 - Scare Tactics
The doors of Canterlot General crashed open, and two ponies entered. Well, technically three - the third was being carried between the two oddly-dressed unicorns, hovering in a blueish-gold moire of magic.
“Help!” Lyra called out. “My friend’s been shot!”
Within seconds of those words being uttered, no less than three nurses had all but pounced on the trio, swiftly and gently nudging Lyra and Vinyl out of the way so they could get Octavia on a stretcher.
“What happened?” an orderly asked, biting his lip as he examined the hole in Octavia’s leg.
“We were, uh,” Lyra began, before hesitating. “We, um,”
“Walking!” Vinyl interrupted. “We were out for a nice, relaxing evening walk.”
“It’s... two in the morning,” the orderly said, confused. “And you’re all wearing... really weird clothes to go walking in. Where did you get that floral print shirt? Do shops around here even sell that?”
“We were at a fancy-dress rave,” Vinyl dismissed. “The club just closed, and we decided we’d go for a walk. While we were walking, a bunch of gryphons just...” Vinyl reared up and mimed firing a machine gun. “Fly by, bang bang bang. No idea why. They missed us, but poor Octy got hit in the leg. Then they flew off, and that was it.”
The orderly nodded. “I see, okay. We’ll take care of her for you - if you want, you can wait out here until she’s awake, it shouldn’t be too long. You’re lucky, it doesn’t look too serious.”
“Thank you,” Lyra nodded, spotting a seat and sitting down in it. Vinyl looked at the other free seat, and after a quick check to make sure nopony was listening, leaned in close.
“I can’t stay here,” Vinyl whispered, eyes unreadable behind purple shades. “I mean, I care about Octy as much as you, but I need to go back to the warehouse - if I don’t get that money back...”
Lyra frowned, but nodded grimly. “Gotcha. I’ll stay here, then.”
Vinyl nodded, and thumped Lyra on the shoulder. “Cheers. Won’t be long.”
======
The drive didn’t take long - now that it was laden down with only one pony, and not three, Vinyl’s rinky-dink little buggy’s Bevilmiter engine was able to pull the buggy to even greater speeds, and in no time at all, the buggy skidded to a halt outside warehouse six.
Or what was left of it. Smoke still trickled out of the building thanks to the “contingency plan” cinderbombs, and even though the warehouse was somewhere relatively remote, all the gunshots were sure to draw the Canterlot PD like moths to a flame.
Vinyl tugged the pig mask back on, and walked through what was left of the bullet-riddled doors, and bullet casings tinkled gently as she kicked them aside. Retrospectively, it was a miracle that they’d gotten out alive, let alone only Octavia being unlucky enough to get shot.
The warehouse was, carnage aside, largely devoid of anything of interest; even the dead gryphon that she’d nailed with a cinder bomb was gone - but his gun, the one Lyra had used to cover their escape; that hadn’t vanished with him. Vinyl picked it up, and turned it over in the air. Still looked in good nick, despite having been blown up and kicked about just recently. Empty, but you couldn’t have everything.
She floated it onto her back, and kept looking. She couldn’t see the bag of bits, and it didn’t really surprise her. LeGrande obviously didn’t make it to the top of the sparkle-dealing industry by just leaving three million bits behind in an escape. Celestia damnit.
She looked to where the gryphons had stood, and saw, to her surprise, a few packets of sparkle. She ran forward eagerly, and slowed when she spotted why they’d been left behind - stray rounds must have hit them in the gryphons’ bags, causing the precious crystals to spill out, and they’d just... dumped it. Said a lot about their production capability, the casual discarding of a substance that was, gram for gram, easily ten times more valuable than any other in the world, if not more so.
Vinyl picked up a semi-intact bag, and looking around, surreptitiously rolled it up to seal it, and shoved it inside her jacket. Waste not, want not, after all. A third of a bag of pure sparkle was still a good find. Hay, it was still too much for her, it’d go off before she even got through half of it - she’d probably wind up selling it on. Cut down, of course - nopony could ever really handle pure sparkle, it was always cut so the user wasn’t completely zonked out for a day or more.
Vinyl hung her head in shame. And here she was, relapsing back into a life she’d been trying to escape for a year now. She pulled the sparkle back out of her jacket and looked at it. Did she really need it?
There was a clatter of hooves behind her, and she looked to the doors of the warehouse, alarmed, as voices echoed around it.
“Sweet Celestia,” a voice breathed. “What the hay happened here? The door’s swiss cheese!”
“There’s a carriage,” another voice called out. “Somepony’s here.”
“Canterlot Police!” the first voice called out. “Get down on the ground, hooves behind your head!”
Vinyl panicked, shoving the sparkle back inside her jacket, and looking around for another exit. There wasn’t one. She patted her mask to make sure it was on nice and tight, and brought the gun to bear.
The two blue-uniformed police ponies jumped around the corner, and when they saw the pig-headed Vinyl pointing a gun back at them, rolled sideways. When they righted themselves, they’d split up, and had their own guns trained on Vinyl - Smith & Western model 36’es, the unicorn-made “Chief’s Special”.
“Freeze!” the first one yelled, an aquamarine glow of magic holding the weapon in front of the orange unicorn.
“Drop the gun!” corraborated the second, red magic from a purple unicorn.
“Not happening, boys,” Vinyl declined, pointing her gun anew at orange as she slowly moved towards the doorway and the officers. “Move and I shoot.”
“You can’t shoot both of us,” Orange said, calling Vinyl’s bluff.
I can’t shoot either of you with an empty gun.
“No,” Vinyl admitted, “But I can shoot one of you. Do you feel lucky?”
The policeponies stayed silent, their own guns not leaving Vinyl as she gradually got between them. She, in turn, kept her gun pointed at Orange, which naturally left her wide open for a surprise attack from Purple.
With a solid thwack, she was hit around the back of the head with the sturdy revolver, and stumbled, head ringing. Instinctively, she lashed out with her rear hooves, and was rewarded by a strangled grunt of pain as she kicked something long and soft - a throat.
Orange seized her moment of distraction to launch his own attack from the front, and with a hasty swing, Vinyl smashed the stock of the Talon into his jaw. He hit the ground hard, gun falling from his magical grip to the ground in front of Vinyl, who looked at it, and biting her lip, took it, stuffing that inside her jacket as well.
Oh Celestia don’t let them actually arrest me now I’ll go away for so long oh sweet merciful Luna this was such a bad idea why did I think this was ever a good idea-
Vinyl poked her head outside, and seeing a clear coast, apart from the police carriage parked near her own, ran for her own, Talon gun floating behind her as she went. She heard a groan from behind her in the warehouse as she did, and she wasted no time in yanking the door open, tossing her weapon inside the carriage and starting the engine.
“Hey!” Purple yelled, coughing as he staggered out of the warehouse, gun in magical grip as he aimed it vaguely at Vinyl’s carriage. There was a series of loud bangs, and Vinyl ducked her head, weaving the carriage as shots bounced off the outside of her carriage and missed completely.
It wasn’t long before the shots died off as Purple ran out of ammunition, and Vinyl breathed a sigh of relief as she tugged the pig mask off, and gripping the wheel firmly to steady her shaking hooves, rolled out of the warehouse district and onto the main road, heading back into Canterlot proper.
She hoped this wasn’t going to be a thing.
======
Octavia’s eyes slowly opened to a blurred view of the ceiling - white tiles. Sterile bedsheet smell filled her nostrils, and she realized where she was. Between her and the ceiling, a blue-maned white unicorn wearing a white doctor’s coat and the traditional stethoscope around his neck was looking back at her, looking her in the eyes.
“I’m... in the hospital?”
That was what she meant to say. What came out was closer to:
“‘m... n d’ ‘ospit’l?”
“Easy there,” the doctor said, holding up a hoof, and clearing his throat. “I am Doctor Shear. You are in Canterlot General hospital, and you’re a bit groggy from the anesthetic. It’s seven in the morning, and you’ve just had magical surgery on your leg to treat a rather nasty gunshot wound.”
Octavia nodded slowly, working her jaw to get the numbness out as she looked around, taking in her new surroundings. It looked like a public ward, with beds and lockable closets set up for patients on both sides of the room, but she was the only one here today, it seemed. A single door led in and out of the room, in the middle of the aisle between the two sides of the room, to her right, and a tall window let fresh, rising sunlight in through the left, along with a gentle breeze from an open gap.
“So it wasn’t a dream, then,” she mumbled. “I did get shot.”
“You’d be surprised how many ponies say that,” Shear said. “Now, I know it’s not really any of my business, but... how in the hay did you get shot?” The Doctor ran a hoof through his mane as he gestured at Octavia’s leg. “I mean, I’m kind of a fan. Been to see a few of your performances - how does a mare like yourself get shot up? Aggressively negative gryphon critics?”
Octavia paused, and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know what happened. One moment, I’m fine, the next...”
Shear nodded. “I understand. Now, that bullet didn’t smash your femur - that’s a good thing, recovery would be a while coming if it was broken. As it is, you would be able to walk out of here before lunchtime.”
“That’s good,” Octavia smiled. “I expected to be here for a day, actually.”
“Well, that’s up to you - while your leg wasn’t broken, the bullet did a lot of damage to your thigh muscles,” Shear informed. “I don’t know what happened, but either that bullet was unusually destructive, or you managed to run on it for a short distance before succumbing; either way, it didn’t do your thigh any good. It’s healed up and your coat should grow back over it in time, but it’s going to be incredibly tender for a while. You might want to stay here overnight, give it some time to rest.”
“I’ll probably do just that,” Octavia nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Oh, I’m just doing my job,” Shear dismissed with the wave of a hoof. “In the meantime, if you had anything on you that you need, it’ll be in this closet here.” Shear tapped the closet nearest Octavia. “Now, I’m told there’s a fair few ponies who were waiting for you to wake up - do you feel up to visitors?”
“Sure,” Octavia nodded.
“Good,” Shear nodded. “Because the first one in line is a police officer, and I think they want your side of the story for last night.”
Octavia gulped. “Um, okay. Don’t really have much to say other than what I told you, though.”
“I think it’s a formality,” Shear guessed. “He didn’t seem too happy about being here, if that helps.”
Shear bowed his head, and pulled the door open, slipping out of the private room and closing the door behind him. Octavia shuffled about, and grimaced when she moved her leg. She looked under the bedsheets, and saw bandages around her thigh. An experimental wiggle said that the Doctor hadn’t exaggerated about the pain, although she suspected it felt much better than it had... whenever she got shot.
She closed her eyes. And the police were already on her case. Octavia gritted her teeth as best as she could with a head that was still slightly lined with cotton. This was the last time she went along with one of Vinyl’s hare-brained schemes. More trouble than it was worth, really. And it wasn’t like she and Vinyl were that close to start with... who’d blame her?
Her ruminations were interrupted by the door opening, and a strawberry-red stallion wearing a tan shirt squeezing into the room, a haze of gold magic shutting the door behind him. Compared to Doctor Shear, he had the kind of build that suggested frequent vigorous physical exercise, and his shaggy yellow mane suggested he’d been up all night - all of it connected to a tired face that was liberally trimmed with grey stubble..
“Miss Octavia,” the stallion nodded in greeting, before using his magic to fish an identity wallet out of his shirt pocket. “I’m Vice Squad Captain Lightninghammer with the Canterlot Police Department, and I’ve got a few questions for you regarding your little accident last night.”
Octavia nodded numbly. “I’ll help as much as I can, Officer.”
Lightninghammer put his badge away, and pulled out a notepad. “Very good. Let’s start with the obvious: What do you remember?”
“Well,” Octavia stalled, her heart a flutter as she tried to stay calm. The old collaborative story trick. What would Vinyl and Lyra say if they were interviewed? “I don’t remember too much. I was just walking down the street after a party me and my friends attended, when I felt the pain in my leg; I fell over... can’t think of any reason anypony would want to shoot me.”
“Uh huh,” Lightninghammer nodded, taking notes. “Where did it happen?”
“Um,” Octavia swore internally, and thought up an excuse. An embarrassing one, but it beat getting caught out on a lie. “I was a bit... tipsy. Vinyl brought me to the party, so I don’t know where that was, and when I went for my walk, I was just a bit...”
“Drunk, huh?”
“Cider is powerful stuff on an empty stomach,” Octavia patted her belly gently. “Ha ha. I think I’ve learned a lesson on that front.”
“Nothing else you want to tell me?” Lightninghammer asked.
“Nothing springs to mind, Officer,” Octavia shook her head.
“Well, then,” Lightninghammer grunted. “Tell me, are you amazingly informed? In particular, about the last few hours?”
“I... wouldn’t know,” Octavia shrugged. “I was asleep, and haven’t had the chance to get my hooves on a newspaper yet.”
“Well,” Lightninghammer smiled. “It might interest you to know that around the time you got shot, we got reports of gunfire in the south-side warehouse district. There was a trail of blood not far away, like somepony ran a short distance on a shot-up leg before getting into a carriage. A patrol sent to investigate found the remains of a sparkle deal gone bad, evidence of firebombs, and - get this - somepony in a brown jacket and rubber pig mask, who assaulted them, stole one of their loaded sidearms, and managed to escape - they were suspected of having sparkle on them.” Lightninghammer leaned in close. “I don’t suppose you could shed any light whatsoever on what happened at the warehouses last night, could you?”
Octavia swallowed nervously, and shook her head slowly. Rubber pig mask. Vinyl.
“Sorry, I can’t be of any help, Officer. I wasn’t anywhere near the warehouses last night.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know where you were last night,” pressed Lightninghammer.
Octavia blinked. “Well, that’s true, but I don’t recall seeing any warehouses, so I think it’s safe to assume I wasn’t there.”
“Hmm.” Lightninghammer snorted, clearly dissatisfied with how the questioning had gone. “Miss Octavia, I know you are a prominent classical musician. I don’t know what you do in your personal time, and I don’t really care - but know this:” Lightninghammer lunged across the room, and startling Octavia, reared up on the side of her bed, bringing his face close to hers. “I know when ponies are lying, and you’re lying. You were there, you tried to make a sparkle deal, you got shot. The only thing that’s saving your sorry flank is the lack of evidence.” Lightninghammer poked Octavia in the chest with a hoof. “Consider this your official warning from the CPD - if we catch you anywhere near the sparkle trade again - hay, if we can connect you to any crime at all - you’ll be going away for a very long time, got it? Maximum sentence. No bail.”
Octavia’s eyes boggled as she struggled to look at the stallion in her face, and managed a small nod.
Lightninghammer backed off, and walked back to the door, giving Octavia one last look.
“The CPVC will be keeping an eye on you. Have a pleasant day, Miss Octavia.”
There was a click and a bang as the door was slammed shut, and Octavia finally sagged, sobbing and shaking gently. She took a deep shuddering breath, and looked at her hoof, shaking away like a leaf in an earthquake.
I was thatclose.
There was a gentle knock on the door, and Octavia sucked it up, quickly wiping tears from her eyes and sniffling.
“Come in!”
The door swung open under the force of another haze of gold magic - but this time, the ponies coming through were a lot more agreeable.
“Vinyl! Lyra!”
“Helooo, sicky!” Lyra called out, walking forward, unbuttoned floral print shirt fluttering in her wake in contrast to the ungarbed Vinyl. (Save for her usual goggles.) “How you feelin’?”
“Scared out of my wits by our local law enforcement,” Octavia replied. “Also, my leg hurts, but I should be free to go at any time, really.”
“Yeah, I want to apologize for that,” Vinyl said, shutting the door carefully with her magic and walking closer, trying to put a smile on and finding her gaze slipping from Octavia to her own hooves. “This is all kinda my fault. I got you guys involved, and one of you got shot for it.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Lyra dismissed. “How were you to know LeGrande would cheat us like that?”
“I shouldn’t have taken your safety so lightly,” Vinyl countered. “I should have made more arrangements - those grenades weren’t enough.”
“Hey, we got away just fine,” Lyra retorted, before pausing and smiling sheepishly at Octavia. “Well, mostly fine. Octavia took a hit, but she’s a tough girl. She’ll manage.”
Octavia looked at Lyra flatly, and the teal mare just laughed.
“Anyway,” Vinyl leaned in closer. “I went back to the warehouses-”
“I heard,” Octavia remarked, unamused. “Beating up two cops? Stealing a gun?”
Vinyl pouted. “I was wearing the mask, it’s cool. No way they know it was me. And before you ask, yes - I stashed all our masks and the gear back at my place.”
Octavia folded her hooves. “Nice to see you actually think ahead, for once.”
“Moving on,” Vinyl waved a hoof. “Money’s gone, as expected. Most of the sparkle was, too, but a few stray rounds hit the bags, and they just dumped the damaged packets there. I snagged one about a third full.”
“Vinyl...” Lyra growled. “Given recent events, that had better not be for your own use.”
“No, not really,” Vinyl denied. “It’s for personal use in the sense that I’ll be flogging this stuff as hard as I can, as fast as I can for cash or goods we need.”
“And why do you need cash?” Lyra asked. “Is that going to get you the three million you need so you don’t... you know.” Lyra put a hooftip to her temple, and jerked it away, miming a gunshot. “Blat?”
“Not even close,” Vinyl shook her head. “I’ve got less than a week - this money’s going to go towards buying the stuff we need so we can put the squeeze on the sparkle community, track down LeGrande, and take our money back.”
Lyra and Octavia were silent, just looking at Vinyl.
“You’re mad,” Octava declared. “Stark raving mad.”
“You sure don’t do stuff by halves, do you, Vinyl?” Lyra asked, laughing.
Vinyl closed her eyes and shrugged. “It’s a gift. You gonna be ready to get started tonight? I’ve got a lead we can start squeezing - Blueblood.”
“Hay yeah, I am,” Lyra grinned. “I haven’t had this much fun in... Celestia knows how long.”
“Count me out,” Octavia said. The words flowed through the ears of Vinyl and Lyra like a needle being ripped across a record.
“What?” Lyra held out hooves in pleading. “Is this about the getting shot? Because if so, I’ll make sure I take all the hits from now on, okay?”
“Yes, it’s about the getting shot,” Octavia sighed. “It’s also about the fact that I am officially on thin ice with the CPD - if I so much as sneeze at a crime, I’m going to go away. The captain of the Vice Squad knows I was involved last night! He’s got no hard evidence, but...”
“Come on,” Vinyl egged. “This is why we have the masks. We wear those and our disguises, we could probably get away with murder! As long as we don’t get caught, of course.”
Octavia shook her head. “No. Forget it - you two can do what you want.” Octavia folded her hooves again. “I’ll be staying here, thank you. I don’t want to go to jail.”
Vinyl closed her eyes, and sighed. “I... don’t blame you. I suppose I’ve already asked plenty, asking you to come along in the first place. Well, get well soon, Octy. Come on, Lyra, let’s go over the plans at my place.”
“Okay.” Lyra looked at Octavia. “‘Tavi... I wish you were coming along. It just won’t be the same without you being a constant, picky, rational wet blanket on all our wild decisions.”
“I guess you’ll have to make do without, then.”
Lyra nodded. “See you later, ‘Tavi. Hopefully tomorrow.”
The two unicorns turned, and in single file, left the room, closing the door behind them as they left. Octavia stared at the door, hooves curled into the blanket covering her, and bit her lip.
Did she make the right decision?
======
There was a scritching of stone just beneath the window, and with great care and stealth, a figure retreated along the wall of the building, sticking to the smooth surface in a way that didn’t seem physically possible.
The equine shape backed up, and thankful that nopony ever looked up, moved for the roof of the hospital. The sooner she was done with this, the sooner she could go back to her usual black bodysuit - she was of the opinion that white made her look fat.
It wasn’t long before the white earth pony flipped over the top edge of the building; the white suit masked every feature of her body, even using magic to change the color of her tail to match the suit. The only visible part of her body was her eyes and the space around them; a coat orange like a setting sun, and eyes that were a vibrant green.
She walked over to a small pile of objects, and reequipped them - a bandolier carrying an array of small, pointed shards of metal and the sheath for a long black sword went on first, and the second, she took in her hooves - a writing kit and a bottle of dragonflame, already keyed to the only pony she needed to talk to.
She laid out parchment, and with a practised motion, dipped her brush in ink and began to write.
Vinyl planning attack on Prince Blueblood. Awaiting orders.
-Sunset
She threw sand on the paper, cleaned it off, and rolling it up, shoved it into the bottle of dragonflame. Without even waiting for the message to finish burning, she packed away her equipment back into it’s pouch that rode on her back, and took a deep breath, causing her bodysuit to ripple, black color running over her once more.
Next to blood red, it was her favorite color.
