Episode 4: The Art of Keeping Cool
“And what is it that you do, exactly?”
The chubby colt in front of us looked surprised at Grapevine’s question. He squired behind his thick-framed glasses and within the confines of a terribly cheap suit. “Wh- What?”
Grapevine looked at me. A look, I knew, must have looked to the colt like a very frightening thing, but to me was her way of signaling that she had no idea what she was doing.
“We just want to know, Mr. Smykowski, what you do around here,” Grapevine said. “In your own words, of course.”
Poor Mr. Smykowski looked like each question was a surprising, and verbal, attack on him. Like we were trying to interrogate him. Which, I supposed, was what we were supposed to be doing. The snively little manager had introduced us as a consulting team earlier to the staff in a large conference room.
They’d looked scared, which had alleviated us somewhat, as Grapevine and I had felt scared ourselves. The manager told us in a slimy way that we were to interview each employee about their jobs and try to find any flaws in their careers. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what would happen to them if they didn’t do their best.
Before we could protest, they stuck us in a claustrophobically-small room with only a desk and three chairs; two on one side and one on the other. A thick wooden door and heavy windows with blinds over it made sure we were secure in the room, but nowhere else. So far, we hadn’t even had a chance to escape and find Gibbons’ desk.
“W- Well, I’m a Product Consultant,” Smykowski said.
“And what does a Product Consultant do?”
“I take the blueprints we make from the engineers and give them to our customers.”
Grapevine paused. “But . . . don’t customers come here anyway?”
Smykowski gulped. “Well, yes, but you see-”
“So then is your job really useful?” Grapevine asked. He seemed to react like she was coming down on him, though to me it sounded more like she was genuinely curious. Of course, so was I. What was the point of having so many employees if their jobs aren’t useful?
“Well, our engineers, ah,” Smykowski stammered, “they’re not so good with, you know, talking.”
“So your job is just to talk?”
“Well, no-”
Grapevine held up a hoof and Smykowski quieted down. “Now, Mr. Smykowski,” she said, “can you please just tell us why your job is necessary?”
Smykowski looked frozen in place, with his eyes wide as saucers. “I- I talk to the customers . . .”
“But do you really need to?”
“Excuse me?”
Grapevine shrugged. “I mean, it just seems like this company doesn’t really need to have someone who’s only job is doing something that’s already done everywhere else.”
He slammed his hooves on the table. “They need me!” he shouted. “You need me! I can talk to the customers! Those stupid hacks in engineering can’t talk their way out of a fast food menu!” Smykowski started to cough, but angrily refused our help. “A- And without me and my department, this company couldn’t function!”
Grapevine turned around in her chair so she wasn’t facing Smykowski, and motioned for me to do the same. When I did, she said, “I don’t think he’s going to help us.”
“Well you just had to make him mad . . .”
She shook her head. “No, no, I mean I don’t think he’d help us if we asked him to.”
“Why not?” I said. “He seems to think his company is doing this on purpose to him . . .”
“Which they are-”
“Not the point.”
She sighed. “Look, if we ask him to help us, he will probably think it’s like some sort of scheme by his company to test his loyalty. He won’t help us.”
“So what do we do?” I said.
Grapevine smiled. “We move on to the next candidate.” She turned around in her chair again and looked very prim and proper to the sweating office worker. “Now where were we?”
“I was, uh, telling you that this company needs me,” he said.
“But do they really?” Grapevine said. “Can you prove to us that you’re needed?”
“Well not right now-”
“Because I don’t think you can even prove that to Initech, Mr. Smykowski,” Grapevine finished. “After all, why would you be in here.”
Smykowski jumped out of his chair so hard it rattled the glass. “That’s it!” he cried. “I don’t have to take this!” He slammed open the door and marched out, heat practically radiating off of him.
“Well that went well,” Grapevine said.
“That wasn’t funny.”
“No, but neither is us impersonating consultants. Now who’s next?”
I checked the chart, coughed, and checked it again. The same words stared up at me, though I hardly believed them. “Um . . . could someone have pranked us? Or given a false name?” I said.
Grapevine looked quizzically at me. “Pretty sure not . . . why?”
Before I answered, the door burst open and a light purple pony walked in, with a brink pink mane. A colt, it seemed, despite the coloring. And . . . the name.
“So who’re you?” Grapevine said.
The colt sat down. “Twilight Sparkle,” he said.
Grapevine blinked. “Excuse me?”
Twil- er, Sparkle sighed like he had heard the question a thousand time before. Which, I supposed, he probably heard. “Look, yes, I know who I’m named for and no I’m not anything like her.” He sniffed. “I’m not even a unicorn . . .”
“Well, your parents must have been big fans,” Grapevine said.
“Yeah, they sure were,” Sparkle muttered.
Grapevine took a bit of interest in that. Her ears flattened slightly against her head and her eyes narrowed. “And are you a fan, Mr. Sparkle?”
He hesitated before answering, “Yes . . .”
She brightened. “Well great, then. We’re both big fans, aren’t we, Minty?”
I jerked at the sound of my name, and glared at her for using it. Not that Sparkle seemed to care, however. “That’s right,” I said. “Big fans.”
Grapevine gave Sparkle a big smile. “So now that we know that we’re all big fans, would you care to tell us about your job here, Mr. Sparkle?”
“I work in printing,” he said.
“And what exactly is it that you do in printing?”
His look darkened. “I print things. And . . . deal with the printer.”
Grapevine looked at me then continued, “Can I be honest with you, Mr. Sparkle?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
She ignored him and grabbed a piece of paper from my clipboard and slid it across the table to Sparkle. He snatched it and read the contents while Grapevine spoke. “From the start, this interview has been a sham, Mr. Sparkle. As you can see on the paper, your company’s already given up on you.”
“Grapevine, what are you doing?” I hissed.
“Improvising . . .”
Sparkle didn’t seem to hear us. His eyes kept dancing over the little slip of paper as his worst fears came true all at once. The defeat in his eyes was apparent as he sank back in his chair. “W- Why?” he said. “Why tell me this?”
“Because we believe what they’re doing to you here is wrong,” I blurted out.
“Yes, what she said . . .” Grapevine said. “Which is to say, we believe the management here is doing too little to encourage this company’s employees.”
Sparkle hastily nodded. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right! That’s what almost all of us here think; before the new management, we always made every deadline and did it early, but now we’re always overschedule and over budget.
“Heck, poor ol’ Sarge has been catching hell ever since the last quarterly reports. I swear the managers spend half their time at his desk.”
“Sarge?” Grapevine asked.
“Oh, sorry, that’s our nickname around here for Crimson Gibbons,” Sparkle said. “He was a sergeant with the Equestrian Army a few years back. Nice guy, but he’s been acting real strange lately.”
“Oh really? Could you be, uh, specific?”
“Well he hasn’t shown up for work in three days,” he said. “At least, until this morning. Suddenly, he just barges in all happy-like, grabs some stuff from his desk, and just walks out. Never seen him happier in my life.”
From the way Grapevine looked at me, I could tell her alarm bells were going off too. “See now, he certainly sounds like somepony we’d like to talk to,” she said. “About keeping all of your jobs, of course.”
Sparkle perked up at that thought and leaned forward on the table. “All of them, you say?” Grapevine nodded. He smiled, but then his face darkened. “The only problem is that we have no idea where he’s gone off to.”
Grapevine tapped a hoof against her chin. “Well, we could go take a look at his desk, right Minty?”
“U- Um, yeah,” I said. Trying to keep up the act, I said, “But the problem is that manager of yours isn’t letting us leave the room.”
“You know, the manager who is so keen on firing you?” Grapevine added.
“Well, I guess I could help you two . . .” Sparkle said. “I mean, I wouldn’t get fired for this, right?”
Grapevine laughed. “Of course not; you’ll be doing us--and your company--a favor. Cutting the dead bark, if you will. Why, I bet you’ll even get a promotion.”
Now she had Sparkle’s full attention. He still took a few moments to mull it over, but the decision was clear from the start. He nodded. “Alright, let’s do this.”
We all got up from our seats at the table and moved to the door. Sparkle, being the only one allowed to leave, cautiously peered out it. “Coast is clear,” he whispered after a few seconds.
“How do you know how to do all of this?” Grapevine said.
“I’ve read a lot of mystery books,” he replied.
Sparkle snuck out of the room, followed closely by Grapevine and I. “Alright, my manager’s gone,” he said, “but not for long. You won’t get a chance to look before he comes back.”
Grapevine thought for a moment. “We’ll need a distraction.”
“But what?” he said.
“You and I are going to get . . . angry.” She smiled. “Tell me, is there someone or something you’ve been begging to get mad at since you started working here? Remember, you’ll be absolved of this once we report to your company.”
Sparkle grinned like a foal on Hearth’s Warming morning. “I think I know just the thing.” He trotted away.
Before she followed him, Grapevine said, “Alright, find Gibbons’ desk and look for clues. Anything. And make it quick; I have a feeling we can’t keep this up much longer.”
I nodded and watched her scamper off. It was a nice break to be able to find Gibbons’ information, though I felt bad for Sparkle. He’d probably lose his job from this. I felt bad, but reassured myself that catching a murderer was more important. Certainly with a name like his, he had to do something bigger than work in an office all his life. That’s how destiny worked, right?
The main floor of the office was filled with tiny little offices that had no doors. The walls were high enough that they couldn’t be seen by each other, but low enough for sound to carry easily. Inside each of them sat a pony, and with him either racks of blueprints or heavy typewriters. They all sat at the desks, hunched over in hard-looking chairs and didn’t take their eye off their work for more than a few seconds. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to actually work in these. I was so caught up in that though, in fact, that I was nearly hit by a pony coming out of his not-office where the fourth wall should have been.
I quickly lowered my head and shuffled around like I had a reason to be there. Focusing on my work, it didn’t take me too long to find Gibbons’ office; mainly because it was the one that most ponies were avoiding.
The inside was messy, like he had been in a hurry when he last came. Papers were everywhere and more drawers were open than not. He had a typewriter still sitting on his desk, and a few generic pictures of landscapes with inspirational words under them, but other than that his office was very bland.
I walked through the cascade of papers, but couldn’t find anything worth using. Most of them were memos, or memos about memos, or memos asking if he had gotten the memos asking about the memos. I felt the pain of a thousand trees who cried out to be useful, but were silenced.
From across the room, I heard a loud crash which I assumed to be Grapevine’s distraction. Her voice rose over others in the office to say, “Fuck this printer!” That was followed by another crash, louder this time. More obscenities were heard coming from Sparkle.
Knowing I now had less time until somepony showed up to cart us off, I doubled my pace. The only problem was that there were about two hundred pages to sort through in about thirty seconds. Which is, to say, I didn’t actually find anything.
Yeah, I’m going to need you to turn around now,” the manager’s voice said. When I turned, two mean-looking guards in black uniforms were at his side. “You’re going to have to be coming with us.”
I didn’t pay much attention, however, because of what I also saw. A small index card had been tacked to the far wall of Gibbons’ office. On it was a small string of numbers, and a name. “561, Menage a Trois.”
The manager ordered me to come with him again, and stepped closer to me with his bodyguards, blocking off every escape. Well, all but the one that only Pegasi think about. “I think this is the part where I leave,” I said.
Before they could lunge forward, I spread my wings from under the itchy vest and jumped into the air away from their grabbing hooves. There was about six feet of clearance from the top of the not-offices and the ceiling, so I had plenty of room. I swooped over to where Grapevine and Sparkle were still beating on the printer, both covered in ink.
“Time to go!” I yelled down to her. She nodded and I took off again. The only problem I’d been having so far was that, for me, flying only came easy when I gave myself over to my more . . . natural urges. The same urges that saw large, floor-to-ceiling glass windows as open sky. A fancy way of saying I ran head-first into giant windows and slid painfully to the ground.
“Ow . . .”
Grapevine trotted up to me. “Hey, uh, Minty?” she said. “These rooms aren’t open, you know.”
“Yeah, I think I figured that out.”
We were surrounded once again by the manager and his guards. “I will admit your faking was convincing,” the manager said. “Too bad for you the real consultants just showed up. So we’re going to need you to come with us for some questions . . . by the police.”
Grapevine turned to me. “Minty, I’m going to need you to hold on to me,” she said.
“What?”
“Just do it.”
“Stop talking, both of you,” the manager said. He gestured to the guards. “Take them into custody.”
Just as they closed in on us, I grabbed on to Grapevine as best I could and suddenly a white light filled my vision and I could hear a popping sound.
* * *
We reappeared only two feet away . . . on the other side of the window. About forty feet above the ground. Grapevine was slumped in my forehooves, out cold. Luckily, my instincts had again taken over, and my wings were keeping us aloft in the warm updrafts around the building’s concrete base.
Unfortunately, my instincts couldn’t account for the added weight of Grapevine, combined with my flight inexperience sent us quickly tumbling to the ground. I forced my wings open to get some air into them and slow our descent, but they only did so much. At the last second before we hit the ground, I managed to get them open just a little wider and slow us down so we only bounced and scraped across the ground instead of splattering against it. I vowed to work on my landings.
Grapevine moaned and sat up, clutching her head. “Are you going to learn to fly at some point?”
“Whenever you learn to tell me your plans in advance,” I shot back, though my heart wasn’t in it. I added seeing Starshine to my to-do list as I checked myself for any deep scrapes. “Where’d you learn to do that anyway? I don’t remember you knowing how to teleport.”
“I don’t remember me telling you I couldn’t,” she said. She saw me glaring at her cop-out, so she sighed and said, “Okay, so, I’ve been learning since the Summer Sun Celebration.” She looked away, though she didn’t have to explain why. She’d want to teleport so she was never left behind by a friend again.
“So, anyway, what did you find?” she said after a beat.
“Not much,” I said. “Just an address . . . I think. Five - six - one, Menage a Trois.”
Grapevine perked up. “Menage a Trois?”
“Yeah. Do you know where that is?”
“Check behind you.”
I turned around to look at the mountainside. At first, I didn’t see anything. Then, three towers materialized in my vision. The were blue-tinted towers of glass arranged in a delta sort of formation on the landscape. “Is that it?” I said.
“That’s the Menage a Trois Complex. Three massive apartment towers where the richest ponies in Fillydelphia live. Well, the ones without their own buildings.”
“And we’re going there?”
“Seems like it.”
I paused. “How exactly are we going to get in? It seems pretty exclusive to me.”
Grapevine smiled. “You’ll see.”
She led me out to Marshmallow’s car and we drove off to the buildings. The traffic on the streets got even more orderly the closer we got, as the drivers got better paid and more experienced. Which made Grapevine’s erratic driving stand out a bit. I clutched the side of the car and tried not to whimper while she came within a hair’s breadth of hitting the next car. And the next. And the next.
By the time we pulled up to the towers, I was amazed I was still alive. I was still shaking, though, and I had to pry my front hooves off the door to get out. Grapevine seemed to notice, but didn’t bring it up.
The three towers were big. And fancy. And other words that mean the same thing but it was pretty easy to get the idea. Ornate was another word that sprang to mind, though overdone seemed to fit better. Before we went in, Grapevine reached into the glove compartment of the steamcar and pulled something out.
“What is that?” I said.
“Our ticket in,” she replied.
Front doors as fancy as the rest of the building opened easily on well-greased hinges with a whoosh sort of sound. A stallion stood at the front desk, prim and firm in his manner. He kept his chin perpetually up at all times.
“May I help you?” he asked in a tone that implied he wanted to do nothing of the sort.
“Yes, we’re here to check out a room,” Grapevine said.
“All of our rooms are occupied-”
She slid the card from Marshmallow’s car across the desk. The stallion took one look at it, then gave it back to Grapevine. His expression and speaking manner didn’t change, but his tone sure did.
“But of course,” he said. “Feel free to check out whichever room you need. Just please be courteous to the renters.”
Grapevine nodded and led to me to an elevator in the corner of the immaculate room. “What was that all about?” I said. “What was on that card?”
“It’s Marshmallow’s royalty card,” Grapevine explained. “It identifies her as not only part of the The Burb’s city council, but a member of the Blueblood Royal Family. She can pretty much do anything she wants with that card.”
“Really?” I said. “Wow; seems like something scary in the wrong hooves.”
“It is, which is why we should both be glad that Marshmallow’s the kind of pony she is.”
We stepped into the elevator and Grapevine jammed the button with the number five on it. As it rose, I realized that the entire back of the elevator car was made of glass. The view coming off the mountains was stunning to look at as we rose; light glinting off the other two towers and off the peaks of the mountains above.
All too soon, the elevator dinged to the fifth floor and we got out. The hall was silent as we walked along until we got near the end of the hall and stopped at the room. “You ready?” Grapevine said.
“Yeah, but are you? We’re about to charge into a room . . . with a trained sergeant . . . who just murdered his wife . . . and probably has a gun.” I gulped. Suddenly, the plan seemed much worse than on the way up. “How, uh, are we going to stop him?”
“Well, Minty,” Grapevine began, “the thing about that is-” She suddenly turned and kicked the door open before charging in with a yell. I took a deep breath and ran in behind her.
I was prepared for anything: guns, knives, ropes, or anything else other than fighting. Anything, actually, except for what we came upon. You are never prepared to walk in on a couple engaged in the act of coitus. You know the act and may have done it yourself on other occasions, but the act of walking in on it . . . is something else entirely.
They were on the bed.
“Ah!” we all yelled at once. Then so many questions happened together.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re still alive?”
“What is this?”
“Crimson, who are these ponies?”
“Why is she taking her camera out?”
It took a few minutes before things calmed down enough for anypony to speak properly. Grapevine tried to explain, in the calmest way possible, that we were investigating Crimson for murder without using the actual word, “murder”. It worked for about twelve seconds.
“So you think Crimson . . . killed me?”
Grapevine coughed. “We had a hunch.”
“And what sort of hunch was that?”
I sighed. “One based on her magic.” Grapevine glared at me, but I returned the look. Now wasn’t the time for me to feel guilty. “Look, we’re very sorry . . .”
“Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it,” his wife stammered. “To think you two could just barge in here-”
Crimson held up a hoof. “No, honey, it’s alright.” He turned to us. “What exactly did her ‘magic’ say?”
“It, uh, implied that you used a firearm to . . . shoot your wife,” Grapevine said haltingly.
His wife looked shocked, but Crimson just laughed. “Well, I’m not sure if you are thinking of a specific incident, but I was cleaning my guns today,” he said.
“And I was in the room,” his wife said.
“But did the gun go off?” I said. “The message specifically said, ‘Bang.’”
Crimson and his wife looked at each other, blushed, and looked away. I did the same, and Grapevine simply slapped her forehead. “I think we’re done here,” she said.
We both gave even more apologies and quickly walked out of the room and left the hotel in a hurry, not speaking to each other until we were back in Marshmallow’s car. Even then, it was just a few short questions that confirmed we were heading back to Grapevine’s house, and then we were off, back onto the streets and trying to shake off the lingering embarrassment of what had just happened.
* * *
Grapevine parked the ornate steamcar in her driveway and we both got out. I slammed mine shut, maybe a little too hard. Not that I cared at that point. The weight of the day was . . . well, weighing on me. And worse than before, because we had exactly nothing to show for our efforts. Besides a few embarrassing stories that would surely entertain friends, but nothing that could go in the paper.
Grapevine flipped on the lights as we came in, bathing her living room in artificial light. She shoved off the sweater vest and I did the same. I’d have to return those to Marshmallow at a later time. Same with the car, I supposed.
“So that went well,” Grapevine said at last.
“Yeah, sure did,” I said. “It’s not everyday you get a peepshow for free, after all.”
Grapevine snorted. “As if you didn’t like it.”
I turned away and tried to hide the growing redness in my face. Tried not to think about Sterling. Think about nothing, think about nothing . . .
“So what now?” I said, to take my mind off the . . . other subject. “Do we go back to practicing my writing?”
Grapevine shrugged off her saddlebag. “Well, no,” she said. “We keep working.”
“On what?”
“The case, of course.”
I paused. “Uh, Grapevine? The case is over with,” I said. “You know that, right?”
She waved a hoof. “Not likely. We’ve just hit a slump. We’ll need to figure out our next step in this case, and soon before the real killer gets away.”
“Grapevine, we found the stallion you thought was the real killer.”
“Then I thought wrong.”
I stepped closer to her. “It’s okay if you were wrong, you know. I’m wrong all the time . . .”
She shook her head and stepped away from me. “No, not this time. I can feel it.”
I sighed. From the look on her face, it was evident I wasn’t going to be convincing her anytime soon. And it was late, so I was tired and just wanted to head home. “Well, alright,” I said tentatively. “I’m going to head out, and you can tell me what you found in the morning, okay?” I gave her my best smile and started walking toward the door.
Grapevine jumped out in front of me. “Why are you leaving?” she said. “I need your help in this, too.” She smiled a little. “I think I’ll need you to stay with me all night.”
Now, I may be slow sometimes, and hard to pick up on certain . . . signals, but even I could figure out what she meant. And like a puzzle, all the pieces clicked in together. I smirked a little. “It seems like you got over your sickness pretty quick.”
Her eyes went wide. “Well, I just, uh, needed some fresh air . . .”
I laughed. “We both know you were never sick. You just made it up to keep out of work,” I said. “And then you called Ornate about it instead of me directly, so I would come here without Sterling: alone.”
Now it was her turn to take a step back. Which was, in our position, toward the door. “That’s not true . . .”
“Come on, Grapevine,” I said. “We both know it is. It’s just like the kiss--that stupid kiss: you’re trying to get me to yourself.” I sniffed, though part of my brain kept insisting that I couldn’t be that important. I shut it up. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were happy to have somepony murdered just so you could have a reason for me to follow you around. Just like always.”
Grapevine shook her head in desperation. “N- No-”
“Yes,” I said. “Look, I know I’m not the brightest, and that I usually just let myself be led around . . .” I paused. “Because, well, because it’s scary trying to be the leader. But this time, I’m not going to be scared, because I’m going to lead myself out the door.”
I stepped past her. “You’re my friend, Grapevine,” I said, “but I can’t play this game every time we have a case. Just come get me when you want to do another case without all this.”
Anger thumped loudly in my chest, and I avoided looking her in the eyes so as not to stop it. I reminded myself that I needed to be angry. That it was the right thing. I had a coltfriend! I couldn’t be working with a mare who kisses me and wants me to spend the night with her.
As my hoof met the front door knob, she called out to me. “Please, Minty,” she said softly in a voice I’d rarely heard her use. “Please don’t go . . . we can make this right. I promise.”
I didn’t turn around. “If I stay, will we work on writing and forget about this stupid case?” She didn’t respond, and I could hear her softly shuffle her hooves. “I thought so.” Before I could make another decision, I opened the door and stepped back into the night.
The night seemed . . . colder, but it may have just been me. Or the feelings I was getting by looking behind me at the house. I stepped out into the driveway and peered in the direction of West Fillydelphia. It was far, and I was tired. The chances of me flying that far were little, and the streetcars in The Burb didn’t come very far.
Which left me with one option: Marshmallow’s house. I flexed my wings a little to jump into the sky, but could tell that even flying that far wasn’t going to work. There was a . . . tingling at the tips of my wings that increased the more I thought about Grapevine. Just the act of flapping my wings was a little painful.
I told myself it wasn’t because I wanted to go back inside. Instead, I eyed Marshmallow’s steamcar like a predator its prey. I’d seen enough driving, I figured, to be able to do it on my own. As I crept up against the cool metal, I saw that Grapevine had even conveniently left the keys inside. Or maybe her neighborhood was safe enough to leave stuff out overnight.
The cloth seats felt comforting under my rump when I sat in the driver’s seat. The big steering wheel loomed in front of me, like a challenge. I took a deep breath and swiped the keys off the dash and shoved them in the ignition. It took me a few more seconds to figure out that I had to turn them to start the engine. The car roared to life, steam pouring out of a small smokestack to the side.
I thought I could see the curtains of Grapevine’s front window rustle a little, but it may have been my imagination. I carefully selected the shifter into reverse and backed out of the driveway as best as I could. Once I was on the street, I placed it into drive and jerked away from the house. I didn’t look back.
* * *
It took me quite some time, even with the car, to retrace the path to Marshmallow’s house. Mostly because I made sure to keep my speed only slightly faster than an aged turtle. Luckily, cars weren’t on the road at that hour, so I had free reign over the streets. Despite many setbacks and wrong turns, I managed not to crash. Not bad for my first time.
I left the steamcar sitting outside of Marshmallow’s garage while I walked around the house to the front door. I knocked twice on the wood and waited. I could see lights on inside, so I knew her to be awake. Sure enough, the door swung open to reveal Marshmallow rubbing at the corner of her eyes.
“Minty?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was, uh, wondering if I could come in,” I said. Quieter, “And maybe spend the night?”
Her gaze softened when she looked at me, so I suppose I was making one of those faces ponies always talk about but I’d never seen myself use. “Alright . . . come in.”
We stepped through her foyer and she sat me down on her big fluffy couch before taking the giant couch-chair next to it. “What brings you here?” she said.
“I brought your car back.”
“I meant besides that--Grapevine wouldn’t have let you take it back at this hour.”
When I looked down, she simply nodded. “It was Grapevine, wasn’t it?”
“Can’t I just go to bed?”
A little burst of magic and my head lifted up to look her in the eyes. “Minty, you know you can tell me anything,” she said softly. Well, it was supposed to sound softly, but it carried a hint of forcefulness that reminded me of Pullmare/Golden more than anything else.
“We, uh, had a fight,” I admitted.
She huffed. “Again? What for?”
“She wanted me to spend the night.”
“Oh.”
The words hung in the air like they were almost visible, then faded away in the silence of Marshmallow’s high-ceilinged house. “And I don’t suppose you two actually talked it out?”
I shrugged. “How am I supposed to talk it out with her? She just wants what’s hers, and I’m suddenly the bad colt if I refuse.”
Marshmallow shook her head. “I’ve known Grapevine for a while,” she said, “and I know that she doesn’t mean all of what she says. She’s just . . . confused.”
“Doesn’t help me none.”
“No, no it doesn’t, I suppose,” Marshmallow said with a sigh. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I would say that, as her friend, it would be best to actually talk about this to her, rather than me.” She coughed. “After all, she is your friend, right?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Right?”
The magic hold increased, and I found that I couldn’t look away. “Alright, alright,” I said. “She’s still my friend . . . but I don’t know how long I can put up with all of this. I can’t keep feeling like the bad colt in these situations.”
Marshmallow smiled. “This isn’t like a book, Minty,” she said. “There are no good or bad colts . . . just the confused and the lonely. And right now, Grapevine fits both of those.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not my job help her with that,” I said.
Her eyebrow raised. “Somehow I never imagined you saying that. Perhaps I was wrong about you?”
That stung worse than a slap across the cheek, and I bitterly closed my eyes, though they were forced open a moment later by Marshmallow’s magic. “I want to be her friend, okay?” I said. “But she makes it pretty darn difficult. She hasn’t been there for me once in our relationship; it’s been all about her.”
“Then why do you keep coming back?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Because a thousand sentences, a thousand excuses hung on my lips, but I couldn’t choose one. “I . . . don’t know,” I said. I sat back, and her magic let me slip away. “I don’t know.”
“Well it’s not because you love her, is it?”
I shook my head. “No, no . . . not like that. But-” I paused. “I guess I like the idea of her loving me. I guess there’s just something when somepony as tough as her looks at me and just . . . isn’t so tough anymore.”
“But you know she’s broken, right?” Marshmallow said.
“Broken?” I nodded. I liked that word: it fit. “Yeah, that’s the word for it. And, I guess . . . I guess it’s like, I hold the pieces to put her back together, but I have to find a way that isn’t the one she wants.” I looked down. “And it scares me. I never had a lot of friends back home, so I don’t know how all this is supposed to go . . . and I don’t want to lose what I have, not really.”
Marshmallow smirked. “But can you keep this up even when those romantic feelings for you continue?”
This time, I answered without hesitation. “Yes,” I said. Somehow, something edging on conviction had found its way into my voice. “Because, well, I can put up with it, for her.”
“But just a few seconds ago, you said-”
“I know what I said. But, well, this is what I’m saying now.” I paused. “I’ve never been really good at anything; even my special talent is rarely used. So, to be there for her . . . to be good at something for once . . . I have to be the best for Grapevine. I have to be better than she is, for her own sake. Be the better friend to her and pick up the pieces so she can be put back together again.”
Even I was surprised those words were coming out of my mouth. But they felt . . . right. In ways that only truth could. Maybe I wouldn’t ever be a good reporter, but I could at least be there for one when she needed it. That was what friends were for, right?
Marshmallow smiled approvingly at me. “Now you only have to tell her that.”
“Yeah,” I said, “the easy part.” I bit my lip. “So, do you think I should go first thing in the morning?”
“I’d say give her time to cool off,” Marshmallow said. “Maybe wait and do something else first?”
“Like what?”
“I’ve heard a certain flight trainer has been asking for you . . .”
I rolled my eyes. Though at least some flight lessons would let me focus. And keep me from crashing so often. “Alright, I’ll do that,” I said.
“Great!” Marshmallow got up, and I followed her with a little push from her magic. “But now, I think it’s best if we both get some sleep; Celestia knows you look like you need it.”
I didn’t disagree. She pointed at a hallway adjacent to the foyer. “There’s a spare bedroom down the hall--you can’t miss it.”
After that, she disappeared into her room and left me in the living room, alone. Taking her advice, I trotted on tile down the hall to the bedroom. It was a mostly bare room, with only a large, Celestia-sized bed occupying it. The only other feature was a silky white dress that hung on a hook on the closet doorknob. It looked fancy, but I was too tired to give it more than another glance.
It was as if the physical effort of pouring out how I really felt had left me with no energy. I barely made it onto the bed before I was asleep, with the lights still on. And though telling the truth had exhausted me in every way possible, that night I slept the soundest I had since I had arrived in Fillydelphia.
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Man, i feel terrible when i cant read this story....... I NEED MOAR!!!!!!!
God I Fu#@ing love Office Space. This is bringing back some good memories. I love you Author person.
Can't help but be suspicious that there really is more to the murder investigation.
This story never fails to keep me on the edge of my seat. Dammit, I love your story.
Nicely done.
Oh, THE DEVELOPMENT! THE CELESTIA-DAMNED CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!
It's...glorious...
Marshmallow the evil mastermind behind everything!
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*Ahem* If you decide to keep reading, lets just say it ebbs off a bit. Get at least to the beginning of Chapter 19, and you'll see.
Whew, finally getting back to reading chapter to this story. Another solid chapter. The continual advancement of Minty and Grapevine's relationship, and some hints that more things are not well in Fillydelphia.
Also a minor typo I found:
Yeah, well, it’s not my job help her with that,” I said.
-…not my job to help her…
-Missing word there.
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Glad to see you like it! Also, this is quite embarrassing, but I am actually stumped as to what word you believe I am missing in that typo.
Also have I mentioned that your ideas for bed sizes in Equestria are great?
Obvious Office Space parody is obvious!
I've only read the first 500 words or so, but it strikes me that Grapevine is really good at this job she's pretending to be doing... even if she doesn't know it.
Poor Sparkle is going to get reamed in so many non-literal ways it's not even funny. Grapevine is cruel.
Hah! Way to go, you two, your detective skills are truly top-notch.
And, yet again, Marshmallow proves herself Best-Pony-in-This-Story.
Not sure if that's supposed to be significant or not.
Minty..... but..but :c