//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Playing Detective // by garatheauthor //------------------------------// Sunset Shimmer laid motionless. Her eyes were dull and lifeless as they stared at the ceiling, failing to blink even once. Red stained the white T-shirt she wore to bed, the product of a wound delivered fatally to her heart. A puddle of her blood still damped the hardwood, pooling around her. Six girls hovered over her. First, they had been friends, but in recent years feelings had strengthened and relationships bloomed. Some would label them a polycule, but to the girls involved, they had little use for such labels. All they knew was that they loved each other deeply, each and every one of them sharing a bond greater than what mere platonic friendship could offer. “W-who did this?” Fluttershy whimpered, her cheeks dampened by a trail of tears. Applejack growled. “Some sicko must’ve come in during the storm.” “All the way out here?” Twilight asked, shaking her head. “We’re miles from the nearest town.” Castle Rock was isolated, for sure, which made it ideal for the girls. The lack of neighbours, pleasant oak forests, and sunny coastal alcoves were the perfect summer destination. This was supposed to be a celebration of the end of their collective university careers.  And it had been, until last night. Rarity moved towards the window. It had been left open, with a trail of heavy boot prints heading towards it. Each was coloured crimson, tainted by the essence of Sunset Shimmer. “What are you doing?” Rainbow Dash asked. Rarity looked over her shoulder, noticing that Rainbow had moved to Fluttershy’s side, offering her something to cling to when she needed it most. The two of them had always been close, even closer than the other partners they each shared. “Investigating,” Rarity simply said. “You ain’t a detective,” Applejack drawled. “No, but I’ve read plenty on the subject matter.” “Neighatha Christie books aren’t exactly going to make you a crime scene investigator,” Twilight interjected. “Well the closest crime scene investigators are about three hundred kilometers away in Canterlot,” Rarity said, flicking her wrist dismissively. “And besides, have you managed to get in contact with any manner of law enforcement yet?” “I’m not getting any bars out here,” Twilight conceded, shoving her phone back into her pocket. The other girls all looked at theirs, each confirming Twilight’s findings. “Who would do this?” Pinkie Pie asked, mirroring Fluttershy’s question with the same bleak and utter hopelessness. Thankfully, before she completely broke down, Applejack was there to pull her into a strong and comforting embrace. “We’re gonna find out,” she said softly, stroking Pinkie’s side.  Though her voice soon darkened and her posture grew rigid. “Then we’re gonna string them up.” “Applejack!” Twilight gasped. “That’s illegal.” “I don’t care. They killed our girlfriend.” As Rarity approached the window, she looked at the footprints, confirming that they did in fact come from a pair of boots. It was easy enough to tell with the treading of the prints.  If she wasn’t mistaken, it seemed to be about a size seven woman’s— a common enough shoe size, though the implications were perplexing.  Women weren’t commonly known to be murderers and men didn’t often have feet this small. Before she could ponder this for too long, she reached the open window, running her hand along the trim. Its weathered white paint was dusty and she noticed a distinct lack of blood. An oddity, considering that the murderer’s footprints were still well inked in the substance up to this point. She poked her head out of the window and looked up. There was an overhang which protected this side of the house from any rain that wasn’t being blown directly against it. And considering there wasn’t any water inside the room, it was safe to assume that last night’s gales had blown the rain away from this side. This meant that the further lack of blooded prints, coming from a hypothetical controlled descent, could not be explained away. After all, without rain there was no logical way they could’ve been washed off. So, what was a more likely scenario?  Could the murderer have simply jumped out of the window? Unlikely, considering they were on the third floor and there was no wounded villain laying broken outside. Rarity shook her head. Could they have simply thrown the boots out the window and then crept back into the house? She looked back into the room, scanning the floor for any faded prints created by socks or bare feet. There were none, though that hardly sunk her hypothesis. The socks could’ve easily enough avoided being bloodied. Especially in a good pair of waterproof boots. Pinkie Pie sniffled.  “Did you find something?” Rarity nodded. “I think so…” “You think so?” Applejack asked, cocking a brow. Rarity looked at the girls. “I mean it isn’t much, but I don’t think the murderer escaped through the window last night.” “How do you know?” Rainbow asked. “Their prints end at the windowsill,” she said, pointing to the last pair left behind. “And don’t continue outside. Like you’d expect someone trying to escape from this high to climb out the window and down the side, using a rope of some sort. This would of course leave marks on the exterior of the house all the way to the ground. Even if they did jump, and somehow landed safely, there would at the very least be prints left on the window frame. Which there isn’t.” She shook her head slowly. “If I had to guess, and this is only a guess of course, I’d say they threw their boots out the window and cut back through the house.” Fluttershy shuddered. “Are they still inside?” Rainbow patted her tenderly on the shoulder “Of course not, Shy, that freak's probably long gone by now.” “Which means we ain’t likely to catch him,” Applejack grumbled. Rarity moved towards the bedroom’s only door. “Where are you going?” Twilight asked. “Outside, I want to check something out.” “Let me come with you.” “That’s hardly necessary.” Twilight sighed. “Rarity, there might still be a murderer out there and I’d prefer if you didn’t go out alone.” Rarity pondered this for a second before nodding. “Very well.” It was cloudy today, the lingering greyness of last night’s storm still gripping the landscape in a dreary and damp miasma. In the distance, the coastline was obscured, shielded by a thick blanket of fog which nipped at Rarity. The air was heavy with the smell of fresh rain and recently saturated foliage, the rich moisture somehow soothing, even in this most troubled of times. It was this type of environment that Rarity’s imagination was at its most active. Yet, in this moment, her muse was as dead as the body that resided in the house at her back. “How are you feeling?” Twilight asked. Rarity sighed. “Like my girlfriend has been murdered.” “Right…” Twilight paused, pondering how to continue. “You seem to be handling it better than I expected, though.” “I’m numb more than anything else, dear,” Rarity said, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “Give me a week and we’ll see how much of a mess I can really be. For now, however… For now, we have to be there for Pinkie and Fluttershy. They’ll need more support than the rest of us.” Twilight nodded. “Do you think you’ll actually find anything?” “No…” “Then why are you…” “Because it gives me something to do, Twilight. This is something to focus on and move towards instead of just standing still and letting everything overcome me all at once. Maybe, just maybe, I can use this to slowly work through my emotions and try not to add my sorrows and devastation onto everyone else’s plates.” “I see.” Twilight frowned. “You know you’re allowed to fall apart, right Rarity? I mean gods, someone murdered Sunset. It’s ok to join the others in mourning.” “There will be time for that later. For now, I need to hold together for the others.” “Rare…” Rarity said nothing more as she reached over and squeezed Twilight’s hand. It felt oh so cold. “I’m glad you decided to come with me,” she finally said, desperately trying to move away from their former topic. Twilight smiled softly. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” “Well, I appreciate it.” Just as Rarity was about to head towards the side of the house, Twilight placed a hand on her shoulder. “What is it, dear?” Rarity asked. “Look at the van.” Rarity turned and looked, noticing the same old patch of dirt that made up the driveway. It was now muddied beyond belief.   And parked near the house was a beaten-down and incredibly old van. “I’m not sure I follow,” she admitted. Twilight let go of her and stepped onto the driveway, making Rarity wince as her pricy boots sunk into the muck. “Twilight dear, those boots cost-” Rarity began. “The tires,” Twilight shot back. “What?” “Just… come here.” Rarity looked at the mud and then at her own boots. She offered a brief prayer to the goddess of fashion, hoping that her transgression would be forgiven, and then stepped into the mud.  It sucked at her feet as she made her way towards Twilight. She fought through it, though, intent on finding out what had intrigued Twilight in such a fashion. Once they were together again, Twilight pointed at the tires. “They’re caked in mud.” “Well yes, we took a lot of dirt roads to get here, darling,” Rarity said. “I know, but they were all cracked and dry, and it hasn’t rained in these parts for almost two weeks now. Plus…” She motioned to the tire tracks that led up to the van. They came from the only dirt path leading into the forest, “those look pretty fresh and I know for a fact that we haven’t moved the van since we got here.” Rarity walked around the front of the van, heading for the driver’s side. “So, what you’re saying is that someone was driving last night?” Twilight nodded. “It’s a reasonable explanation.” “But why?” “I have no idea,” Twilight said before peering through the passenger’s window. “Huh…” “What is it?” “Someone left the keys in the ignition.” Rarity pressed her face against the driver’s side, peering inside and confirming that the car did in fact still have keys in the ignition. “I thought Applejack had those in her bag?” she asked. “Me too.” Twilight bit her lip, glancing at Rarity through the car. “You don’t think that?” “What?” Rarity asked, cocking a brow. Twilight opened her mouth but promptly shut it. “Wait,” Rarity said, “you don’t think that…” “Never mind!” Twilight snapped. Rarity decided to drop the point and instead tested the door. It was unlocked. As she opened it, her senses were instantly rocked by the overpowering scent of raw ammonia. She drew back, gagging violently for even a whiff of fresh air. “Rarity?!” Twilight yelped. “Are you ok?!” Rarity waved a hand as she caught her breath. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” She coughed. “Though, I think someone bleached the interior of the van.” Twilight fixed her with a puzzled look before opening the door on her side. She breathed in, from a safer distance, and nodded. “It does smell like it,” she agreed. Twilight then held her breath and dipped back in, snatching the keys out of the ignition. Once she was safely away from the toxicity of the van, she breathed deeply and began to examine the keychain closely. “Shit,” she muttered.  “What is it?” Rarity asked. “There’s blood on it.” Rarity stepped around the van and peered over Twilight’s shoulder. Just like she said, there was a bright pink fingerprint on the back of Applejack’s bottle opener. “Holy shit,” Twilight said, her eyes brightening. “We have the killer’s fingerprint!” “So, we do,” Rarity agreed. “But why is it pink?” “Probably blood mixed with bleach,” Twilight guessed. “Whoever did it was clearly trying to mask their trail.” “I’m confused though.” Rarity slowly shook her head. “Why would they go through all this trouble to not only bring the van back but clean it up afterwards?” Twilight simply shrugged. Clearly, she didn’t have all the answers. Rarity moved around to the back of the van. Before she opened the trunk, however, she noticed another splotch of red colouring it, protected from the rain by the handle itself. With great care, she grasped the handle, making sure not to tarnish the splotch of evidence. She then turned it, and popped open the trunk. When the hatch opened, the overwhelming smell of cleaning products wafted out, blowing past Rarity. She powered through it however and surveyed the interior. It was spotless, unnaturally so. This was Applejack’s van and there wasn’t so much as a single grain of grit or stain of soil in the interior. An even more impressive job when you considered the age of the vehicle. Rarity carefully leaned inside and looked around. There wasn’t much of anything back here. Hell, there wasn’t even any litter left inside. This was especially strange considering how many chip bags and wrappers Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie had discarded without care during their four hour drive up here. Though a lack of evidence didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t some. It was just harder to spot. For starters, as Rarity drew back for breath, she noticed that a little tuft of fabric clung to the edge of the frame, right where the van door would’ve fit into place when it closed. She carefully plucked it, examining it closely. If there was one thing Rarity knew, it was the world of fashion, fabric, and materials. This was soft and strong, most likely a Neighyptian cotton. It was also a pleasant and sunny shade of orange. Bright, vibrant, and absolutely perfect for any summer time wardrobe. In fact, it was incredibly common, with each of the girls having at least one article of orange with them. As Rarity examined the frame again, she also found a small trail of debris clumsily left behind. Most of it was black and white ashes, but a small amount of leaf was still intact and dried. Rarity licked her finger and brought a couple flakes up to her nose.  With the overwhelming smell of bleach rapidly dissipating, she could pick up on the substance easily enough. Marijuana. All of the girls used it with varying degrees of dependency. For her part, Rarity usually dosed about once a week, but she knew that Fluttershy treated her anxiety with it daily, Rainbow used it recreationally every couple of days, Sunset was the same way, and then the rest of the girls were more casual users like herself. Rarity shook her head. A false lead, everybody smoked pot and there was no way of telling if this was a little mess the murderer left behind or just a few flakes the girls had forgotten to clean up while sitting on the bumper. She gave the van one final look, noticing something jammed under the back row of seats. Rarity stretched deep into the van, pulling it loose. It was a shoelace, caked with layers of blood and dirt. The only part free of gore and grime were the plastic tips on either end. These were very familiar, with a certain name scrawled onto them in a fanciful cursive. Lavender’s Footwear.  Rarity gasped softly, covering her mouth with a hand. Lavender’s wasn’t some name brand. It was a boutique in Canterlot with limited name recognition and market saturation. It was also a place that Rarity shopped for the vast majority of her custom footwear, including gifts for people close to her. With that in mind, Rarity made her first prediction. There were likely only seven pairs of Lavender’s shoes within a hundred kilometers of this manor, and every single one belonged to a girl within.