//------------------------------// // Wicked Stable Pt 2 // Story: These City Walls // by KitsuneRisu //------------------------------// These City Walls Chapter 1: Wicked Stable, Part 2 The bell rang softly, gently, tinkling its dire purpose - the heralding of someone at the door of the shop. A lone, azure pony, white hair as curly and frothy as the clouds which surrounded her, looked up from her most important task with annoyance. She hopped down off her lounger, and gently strolled the nimbus-lined floor to the entrance of her shop, at which was someone desperately attempting to get her attention. Right in the middle of her crossword. How absolutely bothersome. She opened the cloud door, stray wisps of smoke and condensation trailing as it flew ajar. "Um..." said the pony behind the door, "Scroll for a Miss Breeze?" Blitz Breeze's slightly annoyed demeanour changed. "Oh... yes. That would be me," she said, courteously, never one to shoot the messenger. "Ah..." The Pegasus courier reached into his saddlebag and thrust a large brown envelope into Breeze's waiting mouth. She placed it gently on the small Grecian-styled counter to the side of the door and then turned back to the courier. "Ah yes... and how much do I owe you...?" "Special delivery, ma'am. Paid by sender," the delivery pony ruffled his wings. "Good thing too, it came all the way from Canterlot. But you know. Buncha rich folk down there. Probably cost a pretty bit to have a within-the-hour sent out." He shrugged. "Anyway, you have a good day now. And thank you for using PHL," he rattled, a line that sounded as if he said it a thousand times before and only meant it twice at the very most. Paid by sender? Blitz thought. This isn't my copy of Sudoku Monthly, then? Drat. She grabbed the envelope, walking back to her lounger in the middle of her workshop cum home. Various half-finished projects lay around in a disorganized manner; mostly sculptures, but some other various columns and furniture were also in the works. She walked to her workbench, where she designed and created scale models of what would later become full-sized cloud architecture, and with a flick of her wing, tossed all the random blueprints and cloud-saws and spatulas off where they went 'poof' on the floor and sunk in a little bit, trying to force their way out of her little shop in Cloudsdale. The chipped, tarnished and scratched surface of the wooden work-bench now empty, she placed the envelope upon it and opened it without much discretion. Holding it down with a hoof, she grabbed the label with a bite and yanked it open, avoiding ripping the scroll itself by mere portions of a centimeter. Her haphazard ways were quite odd; being that when she worked she was usually more focused by a hundredfold, careful never to make a single mistake, and always meticulous in her planning. Never once did she have any returns, complaints or problems, and far be it for her to ever have to, perish the thought, re-do anything. It seemed that she merely saved her focus for when it was truly required. But this segmented concentration worked well for her, at least. She was quite well known in Cloudsdale for her fine art, and ponies always came to her for anything which required the most exquisite detail this side of Equestria. Also sometimes they needed chairs and stuff, which was cool. The scroll, written on fancy paper, with the little hoof-drawn borders and the shiny silvery sparkles that twinkle when the light catches it just right, sat there, remarkably pretentious against its well-worn backdrop. It was written in cursive, too, blasted thing. But Blitz recognized the hoofwriting, and the style, and most of all the fragrance. It wasn't common that letters came with their own personalised scent, but hers did. That rather odd green Earth pony in Canterlot. The fish out of water. Had a peculiar mind, that one, and didn't have many friends, although not for lack of trying. It was a few months ago when Blitz obtained the first of many of her odoriferous opuses, which she had, to her slight embarrassment, originally thought was some sort of bio-hazard. To this day she still didn't know if they were stinky on purpose, or just simply because the paper had been sitting in a place which generally absorbed the very essence of its surroundings She did not want to think about how the store itself was like, in that case. Pardon me, I need to open a window. The edge of a metal, tined spatula, pointed to a V, shot out the side of the wall. Rather quickly, it carved a square-shaped hole and then retracted. With a little 'whomp' sound, the peg was pushed out of the hole where it dropped 3 meters and then slowly drifted away casually on the drafts. On the other side, Blitz Breeze took a deep breath, taking in the late afternoon air. There we go. She walked back to the scroll, and after all that laboriousness, began to read. Dear Blitz Breeze, My salutations to you on this day. I hope this scroll finds you in good health. I have a very important business proposition for you. Please come down and see me immediately. My shop is at 4b HoneyLane Avenue, Canterlot. It is the building surrounded by tape. Yours, Duriandal. Short, sweet, and to the point. Even her pleasantries were written as if they were consciously aware that they served no true purpose. That was her, alright. All her communications since the start had been like this, but this was the first time where she asked to meet in person. Previously, they had a pretty standard consumer - provider relationship, in which Duriandal would ask for specific clouds of a specific nature and Blitz would simply just make them and send them off, receiving payment promptly. And that was the entire nature of their relationship. This letter threatened to change all that. Well, it sounded important, she supposed. Drumming a hoof on the soft floor, she took a quick cursory glance at all the projects she had lined up. Well, nothing requiring completion anytime soon, and anyway, she had this new prototype Cloud Puffer that she was intending to send down anyway... I guess it couldn't hurt. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------' Sergeant Canary kicked a tattoo of rhythm into the side of the desk where she stood, working on papers and other sorts of general police business. It was a bad habit, but one that relieved stress, much to the chagrin of the desk itself. Her little section of the police floor was near the back, where the wall was, a place that she had to work for, Colt-damnit, and ponies be damned if she was going to let anyone get her sweet, cushy spot. I mean, she had a window. A window! Well, it wasn't her window, but it was behind her, and that was good enough already. Her desk was covered with papers of all kinds, a small plastic box full of paperclips that was never opened and was now collecting a fine layer of dust, pencils that were in dire need of sharpening, and a one single tiny framed photo of herself standing next to Constable Berry. Berry had given her the photo frame as a gift when they first partnered up, along with the box of paperclips, so as to 'help Canary tidy up a bit'. Only one of the two remained regularly dusted. Canary didn't have a family to speak of. She moved away at an early age to pursue her life of fighting crime, something that her strained parentage did not approve of, and she just simply became removed over the years. Sure, it was a cliché, but hey, it had to happen to somepony. Berry, on the other hoof, joined the force to protect her family, an ideology that Canary found both naive and hopeful at the same time. But much more naive. She looked around at the other faces of the small sub-station. About 20-odd ponies worked here, from the top brass in his office to the nice little filly at the reception desk with a lovely smile, everyone was part of this station and everyone worked together toward a common goal. There was a sense of respect in that, Canary always felt, and to her, this was her family, and this was her true home. Even Berry, even Berry. Even Berry who was now struggling with the paperwork, as usual, pencil rolling around through the air as she tried to figure out what information went where and as she tried to remember all the police codes necessary to correctly fill out the form. Oh, she'd get it eventually - it'd just take a little longer than if Canary did it herself. Although, Canary had other things on her mind, and didn't really want to fuss with writing right now. A lot of more important things called for her attention, and that was what she needed to concentrate on. This murder, for example, It wasn't just a murder. It was the first in a series. She dropped what she was doing, which was nothing much to begin with, and trotted over to the large whiteboard that sectioned off a large empty briefing space in one corner of the large office, upon which was stuck photographs of the crime as well as little notes that she had jotted down herself. Up in the top left corner was a big '#1' written in marker, under which was placed that first message found at the crime scene - the message that betrayed intent, and gave clear indication of more murders to come. 'One has been freed', it said, cryptically yet clear. Well, at this point, Canary knew there were some things that could definitely be said, some things that could be guessed, and some things that were just unknown. As it was with all cases, of course, this was the standard, but Canary still liked to run through it in her head as she went along. Helped to keep her on the straight. And in her book, nothing could definitely be said. But there was always the next best thing. What could be guessed, definitively, was that this was, as she mentioned to Rebby earlier, a case of a sweeper. "So, sarge, what do you figure?" came a voice from behind her. Speak of the Berry. Canary didn't turn to look at her. But thought for a while and then started speaking. "Sweeper's a kind of serial killer," she explained. "Fancies themselves as a pony who does our job, but better." "Our job, sarge?" "They sweep the streets. Keep it clean. They target ponies in their eyes who are... spoiling society, so to speak." "What, by killing them?" Canary shrugged. "Yeah. Suppose it's the fastest and most efficient way. Sends a clear message too, to the public and to us." "What's it s..." "Don't be naughty or you're going to end up dead," Canary cut Rebby off, knowing exactly what she was going to ask already. "And to us?" Canary turned to look Rebby dead in the eye. "I'm better than you." She turned back, to look at the photographs of the scene again. "At least, that's what they think. It's pretty standard for this kind of sociopath. They don't respect us policeponies because they think we're too weak. They think the law isn't effective, and they're just taking it into their own hooves to... help us clean up. They think they're doing us a favour." Rebby thought for a bit, wondering if she should ask a question that was clearly dancing across a very thin line. "Uh... but... well... what if... they... are?" she got softer and softer as the words came blundering out. "What, if they're really helping us by 'removing' ne'er-do-wells?" Canary wasn't even upset. She expected Rebby to ask that question as well. One thing about an inquisitive mind; you never stop short of asking the hard questions, to her credit. "If it's a murderer killing another murderer, sure. I guess you could argue. We don't do that here, though, it's against Celestia's law. Goes against the principle of fairness and trial. But her." She jerked her horn at the whiteboard. "She was a thief. Petty crime. A few days in lock up, maybe some grilling, maybe she won't do it again, turn out to become a productive member of society. Didn't deserve to be judged so harshly. At least, not in our eyes." "But not by his, eh, sarge?" Berry referred to the murderer. "Not by his," she shook her head slowly. "So, got it all figured out?" "Not just quite. There's something a bit different about this case than others," Canary's view scanned up again to the first photograph in the long line of memories of the scene. "The message." "What about it, sarge?" "Alright, how about you tell me?" said Canary, smirking a little on the inside. "Oh, oh!" jumped Rebby, happy for the opportunity. "Uh... alright, so we have a guy who goes around killing to help us rid Canterlot of what he thinks are 'bad' people." Canary didn't move or speak, her way of saying 'yes'. "And we have a message... uh... saying that there's more to come, and this is just the first, right?" Again, silence. "So... it's... wrong... because..." ... "Because...?" "Who's the message intended for, Berry?" Canary dropped a hint. Berry gave this a bit of thought. "Oh, for us, right? Because... if it were for the public, it'd be in a more public place, and the body would probably still be there." "And also, the message would be clearer that the victim had done something wrong in the first place," Canary amended, "So the message is for us. Why's that strange?" "Because messages directed toward law enforcement are meant as a taunt?" Canary nodded. "Oh, I see," Berry clicked. "If they thought they were doing our job, they wouldn't want to taunt us, would they? They don't get pleasure from challenging the established law, and they don't want to be caught." "Heh," Canary said. "Sounds like you read that out of a book." "Well, I did sarge, I just got to the chapter on signatures and symbols in the field guide, and..." The doors burst open at that point, and hurried hoofbeats ran to the back, where Canary's desk was. She turned around, looking at the sudden intruder. It was a damp, worried Pegasus, wings twitching as if they were on fire, eyes a little bit too wide and her spy-glass shaped cutie mark quivering up and down. It was Quick Silver, the station's only spotter and a very good one at that. She handled reconnaissance and message relays, being an incredibly good tracker and a very fast flier to boot. Also she had a bit of a nervous streak. She almost looked like a blur of silver skin and gold hair, the way she was trembling. Canary just looked at her with a measure of disdain. She hummed an annoyance-dissipating song to herself under her breath, a tuneless, formless thing, as she walked over to the little Pegasus who could not be described as having a handle on the situation. "Silver," she said. "C.c.c..cc.c.canarrrryyy..." she warbled. "Wha... what what what have you got me into this tiiiimmme?" "Calm the hay down, Silver," Canary stamped. "What's up?" "You k..know... know that Twilight Sparkle character you had me scope..?" "Yeah, I do. You found her, huh?" "Y..yeah I found her.. and she's with... with with with company..." Silver trailed off, as Canary swung her head to the door. There, standing, framed by the two globe lights that marked the entrance to any good police station, was a figure, pulled up at full height, with a very displeased look on her face. And as she stepped in, one by one, all the ponies in the station bowed their heads and buckled the knee, in respect for Princess Celestia. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------' The door swung open in front of her. She hadn't even reached up to knock yet, nor did she know if it was appropriate in that setting. Usually the presence of police tape meant that you weren't exactly supposed to enter the place it was blocking. Usually it meant that if you did, you would probably get arrested and thrown into some sort of damp cell with three other unshaven uncouths with names like 'Brass Tacks' or 'Giant Tallywhacker'. Not that it mattered now, though. The tape lay on the ground, one end still attached to the frame, but the other now free and attempting its own version of the freedom dance, thanks to a light wind that channelled up the street at this time of the evening. The pony that exited the door simply walked right into it, as if it weren't there, to meet Blitz Breeze as she touched down on the sidewalk. They looked at each other in silence for a while. The pale green pony in front of her just... stood there. As if waiting for something. "Hi, I'm looking for a Miss Duriandal..." said Blitz finally, after the awkward tension could stand no longer. "Yes, please, come in," said her opposite suddenly, standing aside and bowing lightly. "Ah... al...right," Blitz said, quirking an eyebrow. She was exactly like she was in the letters. She stepped in gingerly. The lights were all off. The setting had a sort of 'surprise party' kind of feel, or perhaps that weird green thing behind her was going to jump on her and do foul disgusting things, perish the thought. It was dark, and shadowy, and the air was musty. She wasn't used to ground-level air; much preferring the cool constant zephyrs that altitude favoured. She let out a little cough, trying to peer through the gloom. This wasn't exactly the kind of welcome that she expected from a letter stating that there was a huge business proposition in the works. The door came to a shut behind her as Duriandal pulled it close, yanking on two velvet tasselled cloths that were tied to the handles. The Earth pony way. "Uh... I got your letter," said Blitz, still taking in her surroundings. The setting sun outside clashed with the bottles of perfume sitting on the central pillar, creating a kaleidoscope of blinking, winking colours, all tinged with a layer of red that enveloped the room. "Could... we... maybe turn up the lights please? And what's with the police tape?" "Should... I be worried?" asked Blitz, worried. "No. Lights are off for your benefit. Please, follow me," Duriandal intoned, straightforwardly. She trotted across the floor, jumping over a certain dark patch that wasn't too clear in this atmosphere, and continued onward to the rear of the shop. "Jump," she said, as Blitz reached that point herself. Blitz just took to flight and hovered to where Duriandal was. Probably safer that way. "Look, what is this all about?" Blitz said. "I hate to be erring on the side of caution, but this is all rather suspi..." A hoof plunged into her face. "Shhhhhhhh," whispered Duriandal. "We'll talk upstairs. I don't think it's safe here." "Wremm, oommfkmmm," said Blitz. The rear door swung open, as they stepped through. There was a bolt on the other side, which latched close as soon as the door shut. And up the stairs they went. At the top, it was much more cosy, calm, and befitting to a place one would feel comfort in. And it was very, very bare. Wooden boards lay under a curved, domed roof. A circular white wall surrounded the entire floor, which was practically un-stained save only the staircase that led back down. Along the opposite end, directly across from the staircase's entrance, was a single bed, which was plain and white and did not offer much in the way of elegance, although it may very well be as comfortable as any regular bed. On the left was a sort of home laboratory system of some kind. Beakers, test tubes and pipettes all lined up in a singular orderly row, with the spouts all facing the same way, along with plenty of other assorted science things and liquids in tubes. There was a little opening up in the roof, at that location, with a grate on it; some sort of exhaust vent no doubt. Next to it was a simple coat-rack, upon which was a white coat of some kind, and a pair of plastic goggles, which lay there doing nothing. On the right was a plain table, upon which were scrolls of assorted sizes, a quill and an ink pot. An Earth pony, using a quill? That's... different. They usually didn't use them because... well, no one likes a feather in their mouth. The desk also held a bunch of other things that weren't worth mentioning. Right in the center, hanging from the ceiling, was a little light that was adequate enough to brighten up the whole room. There was nothing else. It was quite clear that this pony was... different. "This is your room?" asked Blitz, taking a look around. "Yes," came the reply. Duriandal walked to an empty spot along the side of the wall, equidistant between the bed and the writing desk, and stopped. "You may place your... supplies here." Blitz did as was requested, swinging off her saddlebags, full of tools, and plopped them on the floor in a heap. She came prepared, as she usually was. Duriandal looked at the pile with an expressionless face, then slowly, very slowly, nudged it ten centimetres to the left. She looked back up at Blitz. Blitz's expression was also one that couldn't be read clearly, but for rather different reasons entirely. "Ah... hah," said Blitz. "You said you had a business proposition for me? And... what's with the dark lights downstairs? And what's with the police tape? Did something happen here?" "I will answer your questions in order," said Duriandal. In the light, now that Blitz could get a good look at her, she seemed to be rather traumatized about something. She acted meek, she behaved with too much caution, and it wasn't clear if she was naturally this odd, but she was certainly acting quite peculiar. She kept looking down and away from Blitz, as if it hurt her to look her in the face, and her voice was very soft and high pitched, as a salespony would have when giving a presentation. "Firstly, yes. I do. We shall go into elaborations after I have offered you a beverage and you are accustomed to your surroundings. Secondly, I turned off the lights so that you would not have to see the blood. Thirdly," she started rattling off at full speed. "A crime has occurred here which has caused blood to be apparent in the middle of my shop, thereby directly causing the subject of inquiries one and two. Fourthly, yes, many things have happened here, beginning with petty thefts and then cumulating to a homicide which occurred in my very shop. Now that we have covered your general questions, I will offer you a beverage before we start discussing business." Blitz blinked. Repeatedly. "Would you care for a glass of water, Miss Breeze?" Duriandal said, plainly. "Ok... ok... slow down. You remembered all those questions? I don't even remember what I asked anymore!" Blitz shook her head. "But I would love a glass of water." "I am... sorry," Duriandal looked away again, blushing slightly. "I am nervous. When I am nervous... I... get like... this." "Ok now, in all of that, I caught the words 'crime', 'blood' and for some reason you said the word 'beverage' a lot. I think you have the right to be nervous. Now why don't we both get some water and let's talk about this slowly?" Duriandal nodded, eyes flicking back and forth to the shadows outside the windows. She then went over to her lab station, and filled up two beakers with water from some sort of squeezy bottle. "Uh..." said Blitz. "It is... pure water. I need to use distilled, pure water for my concoctions. It is perfectly safe to drink, and these are my drinking beakers; not used for experimentation." Blitz's wing feathers ruffled. "Alright, if you say so," said Blitz, grabbing a beaker by the rim and bringing it over to the middle of the room, where she settled down with Duriandal. "Um... here's ok, right?" "Yes, here is fine," Duriandal said, sliding a coaster under Blitz's beaker. "Ok, so... catch me up here. First of all, this business proposition? I have a feeling that it isn't really that much so, is it?" asked Blitz. "No, it is a business proposition. But not one of which I have previously engaged you with prior to today." "Alright, what's on the table?" "I would like to pay you to spend the night with me." Duriandal said. "What?" "I wish to reimburse you for your company." "Excuse me?" "I want you to sleep with me in exchange for monetary compensation." It wasn't getting any better no matter how many times she changed the wording. "Ok, you want me to... keep you company for payment?" the fluffy-haired pegasus clarified. "Yes. Was that not what I said?" "No... not really. No. Nevermind. Look, first of all, you could have just said in the letter, why did you need to make it sound like a business thing? And secondly, don't you have any other friends?" "Firstly," Duriandal replied, "Because it was the optimum way to get you to arrive. And secondly, no." She answered with such plaintive fact-of-the-matter that Blitz was quite largely taken aback. She, someone whom had never formally met, whose entire capacity was the delivery of little Cloud Puffers, was this pony's single and only choice. But therein begged the question. What for? "You do understand, at the very least, that this is a rather... irregular situation, yes?" "I do. Which is why I am prepared to offer you money for your aid." "That's not really... a consolation," said Blitz. "And you do not have any other options? Anywhere else you could stay? How about the police?" She pointed a hoof up at the sudden idea. "Negative. They have denied me quarters at the station. They said that I should be safe, and that I was not the target of the crime. I still feel uneasy, and wish to have company. You are the... only... pony I know." Now Blitz started to feel a little sympathy. How bad off was this pony that she was the only pony she knew? She would have asked about family, but if that wasn't immediately a consideration, she knew it would be pointless to ask in the first place. Duriandal was staring down again, at her half-drunk beaker of purified water. The straw had a little droplet at the end, glinting in the light. The green pony seemed to be focused on it, as if it held all the answers to the night's problems. "Alright. Well, this is... so weird," Blitz said. "But I'll bite. Alright. I'll... hear you out. At least for now. No promises, alright? But... maybe you better fill me in with some details. Like this crime you keep mentioning. What happened?" Duriandal immediately opened her mouth to start talking. It seemed that she was eager, very eager, to get to this point to be able to share her story. "And go slow," said Blitz. "Go slow." ,---(*< ~---, '---------------' Oh Colt. What was this? Really. Honestly. Personal visit from the princess. Not like she has anything better to do, does she? Sergeant Canary grit her teeth, and stared down the long floor to where the lord and ruler of all the lands was making a personal house-call to her very station. Everywhere, all over the floor, ponies went down at the knee with respect and veneration. Even Staff Sergeant Blue Beat, who was usually hidden behind his office walls, make a special public appearance to join everypony in paying his dues. All of them... save one. Sergeant Canary stood fast, behind her desk, head tilted upward and at an angle, staring straight at Princess Celestia. The angle was to show her unimpressed stance on her being there, and the tilt, well, Princess Celestia was pretty tall. Behind the princess, meekly peeking out once in a while, was a small purple Unicorn, with a straight fringe and a star on her flank. She smiled nervously to all those she passed, as if trying to apologize for their humility. Twilight Sparkle flowed in the wake of the grand lord of the parade, who had somehow found her way to the single one pony who wasn't giving her proper greeting. "Sarge... what are you doing..." said Berry, under her breath and through clenched teeth. Her face nearly touched the ground. She didn't dare get up. The rainbow of hair, flowing magically in the non-existent wind, stopped in the middle of the room. She regarded the ponies around her, and with a single stern, yet generous command, she gave, "Please rise," to the crowd, who did so with much relief. And of course, the one whom the command did not apply to caught her immediate attention. She stepped, in her graceful and sickeningly slow way, up to the desk. "Sergeant," she said. "Princess," Canary returned, gruffly. "I understand that you are looking for Twilight Sparkle," she said, calmly. But there was a tinge behind her words. That kind of tinge that you can subtly catch if you're paying close enough attention. And everyone in the station had nothing else to do but cling onto her every syllable while Sergeant Canary buried herself. It was a tinge that bespoke of... irritation. "Yes, ma'am, she's wanted for questioning in relation to the case that happened on HoneyLane." "Do you not know that she is my personal pupil?" "No, ma'am, I hadn't the faintest," Canary replied with challenge. "And do you think that I would allow my personal pupil to be part of such an unspeakable act?" She placed a hoof on top of Canary's table. Although it was placed with such gentleness and poise, everyone else in the room felt like a bomb had been dropped. Silver felt like dropping a bomb of her own. "Well, that's what we're here to find out, aren't we?" Canary placed a hoof on the table herself. They both leaned forward, the gap between their faces growing ever narrower. Sweat started to trickle down the sides of many a pony that moment. The receptionist covered her mouth with her hooves just to keep from squeaking. "And do you believe that I would relinquish my personal pupil that simply?" Canary stood there, staring at the highest point of authority in the lands. Simply gazing, and studying, and thinking. "To protect and serve ponykind. To protect lives and property. To pursue truth and justice, and to let no compromise keep me from my duty," Canary suddenly quoted. "You know these words, Princess?" "I do. A small part of the PolicePony's creed." "And you know then, who wrote those words?" "I believe I did." "And you would let yourself stand in the way of these words?" Their faces nearly touched by this point. Berry was staring, wide-eyed, stunned and aghast. Silver was doing all she could not to fall over. Staff Sergeant Blue Beat was running through prospective replacements in his head for after Canary was blasted to the moon. "I... will... ohhhhhh no no no!" Princess Celestia suddenly drew back, laughing as hearty as ever, a small tear dripping out of the corner of her eye. "Oh... oh... I can't. I can't. Ah... this is too much." Canary smirked, and gave herself as much of a laugh as she would allow, which was nothing more than a 'heh' and a burst of air. "Oh, at ease, at ease everypony," Celestia waved to the room, all standing there in quite a different sort of stunned silence. "Just a little joke, no problem, no problem, ah... my sides." She struggled to get her breath back from the intense outburst of laugher she suddenly infected the room with. Twilight Sparkle just covered her face with her hoof in embarassment. "Oh, oh, Canary, how are you doing, dear?" her normal cheerful demeanour had returned in spades, and all trace of the annoyance was entirely wiped away. "I'm doing well," Canary replied. "How's the old castle?" "Oh, not bad. Drafty. But you know. Anyway, to business." "Yes, to business." Princess Celestia stepped aside and let a very irked Twilight forward. "Here she is, Sergeant. Twilight Sparkle, at your service." And as the pleasantries ended, that same seriousness crept back into Princess Celestia's voice as she made it apparent now that what she was saying was important, and for real this time. "Now, I understand, as it were, that someone has stated that Twilight here was the one responsible for the murder. It is a foul thing, and truly not something to make light of, but I do have every faith that you will be able to come to a reasonable conclusion." She went on. "And by reasonable I do mean that there is no doubt in my mind, not a single fraction, that Twilight Sparkle is anything but innocent of all charges made against her. But I understand the duty, and therefore you may question her as you will. Of course, I simply ask that you show her the same courtesy that you would show me if I were in the same position." "Of course, Princess," Canary said, undoubtedly. "Wouldn't think otherwise." "Now Twilight, go with the nice officer, and we'll have you home in no time." If Twilight wasn't her normal bubbly self, it was only because this was the first time she was in a police station, and not to mention she was being accused of something quite serious indeed. She nodded to her mentor and took a walk behind Canary to a room that they had for interrogations. Just before Canary stepped through herself, though, Princess Celestia caught her by the scruff and dragged her back. "By the way," she whispered. "I was kidding. Grill her. Also, I want to watch." Canary rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation. But she obliged, nodding to a door next to the one that Twilight had just entered. "Viewing gallery's through there, Princess. Knock yourself out." Celestia totted over to the room, a gleeful sort of cheeky smile on her face. And then, both doors shut, once again leaving the station in peace and quiet. It occurred to every pony at that moment that none of them had actually moved or done anything since Princess Celestia first put one single hoof into the station. There was silence all around. Ponies looked at each other with bewildered expressions, and open jaws. And suddenly the silence was broken. "Ok, just what in the living hay was that all about?!" Blue Beat yelled. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------' "So let me get this straight," said Blitz. "Yes." replied Duriandal, redundantly. "Ah... ok. So. Um... first, you notice things going missing from your store." "Yes." "But, you didn't notice who took them from the start." "Yes." "And how is it you can remember so clearly what was missing but not figure out that it was the one single pony who was there all the time touching your things?" "I count my stock hourly. I do not count the customers." "... right," Blitz nodded. She had begun to slowly figure out how this pony worked. Certain things she could see very clearly, and certain things simply just passed her by right under her nose without a second's realization. She was like a lighthouse that was pointed the wrong way. "But when the police lady asked you..." "I remembered by recalling the times and looked for repeated patterns." "As in the pony who was there fondling your stuff." "Yes." "And now she's dead." "That is what the police say." "And she was killed in your shop, downstairs?" "That is what the police say." "Did the police say you were a treat to talk to?" "No." "Well, I'm surprised," said Blitz. "Because you are something... else." Duriandal frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." "Something else besides what?" Duriandal asked, genuinely. "Ah... it's a figure of speech. It means you're... ah... special." "Yes. That is what people tell me." Blitz sighed. What was she even doing here? Honestly, she didn't know this pony, she didn't really want to know this pony, and it was exasperating talking to her. On the other hoof, she couldn't but feel a little bit responsible, now that she was here and, you know, under the mitigating circumstances, and also the fact that this Duriandal pony was an absolute whack job and was likely to hurt herself if left alone with sharp edges. She noticed Duriandal tapping slightly onto the floor during the silence. It wasn't a rhythm, it wasn't a pattern. It seemed like she was counting something. There were a lot of fives, some fours, intermittently a one or two, but always with a space between, and it seemed to be subconscious. "What... is that, if I might ask?" "What is what?" "The tapping. What's the tapping for?" "Oh, I am sorry... was it bothering you?" She asked, but actually did not stop the action despite her courtesy. "Ah... no, but... I'm just curious, I suppose." "I'm counting. The perfumes that I make. How much is left in each jar. One tap for one draw." She continued the strange measures. "You count them?" "Yes, it helps me... relax." "So this thing... about your memory... at the very least please tell me you know it's... odd." "Yes, so ponies tell me," she answered, looking a bit sad in the process. Well, at least she had feelings. "Well, I didn't mean odd like that. I just mean... It's really really good." "No. Not really," she said, while tapping. "What do you mean not really? It's pretty amazing. You can recall details, events, things... apparently you even know how much is in every single one of those, what, three hundred bottles..." "... three hundred eighteen..." "... down there, and, um, yeah, eighteen. And you say your memory isn't good?" "Only the memory itself, as a benefit, is good. It is not good because it has left me with a lack in other... facets of my character. I am sure you have noticed." Oh yes, she noticed. The tapping abruptly stopped. "Why'd you stop counting?" asked Blitz. "I have reached the final jar," explained Duriandal. Blitz Breeze scratched the back of her neck. She felt like she was in a room with a strange, foreign being. Someone who wasn't quite there. Someone who was made of clouds and made to move with magic... a copy of a pony. There was something... quite un-pony about her. "You're not a robot, are you?" "Excuse me?" "No, nothing. Say. Uh... look what I got for you!" Blitz suddenly stood up, and rushed to her bags. "I actually brought this along because I thought that your business proposition was actually going to be about... you know, business." Duriandal looked down at the floor again, behind Blitz's field of vision. "But, look, check this out," she said, bringing over a small tiny sphere of a cloud. It was an orb, a bouncy, soft, wonderful puffy pillow of an orb, which sat on one flattened side and had a few miniscule holes lining the circumference. "So remember how you were getting me to make your Cloud Puffer thingies? Well I had an idea one day, and I built this as a prototype." "What... is it?" Suddenly, the world had brightened up considerably for Duriandal. She lifted the magnificent object in her hooves, examining it from all angles. It was like a curious child finding her first seashell, or in her case, a cat finding a lava lamp. "Egocentric design, holes, perhaps, for emission. Latch on the top. Solid base to prevent movement. Equilateral distribution," she started rattling off to herself. "Impressive workmanship, high amount of detail, high crafting quality, extremely fine joints, mastercraft potential." Oh, I could get used to you, Blitz thought. Just keep saying stuff like that. Go on. "It is..." Oh, she's figured it out, has she? "It is..." "Yeah, well, I thought it would make a good addition to..." "I have no idea what it is," Duriandal smiled. Blitz fell over. "Ugh, ok, ah. Let me show you. Go on and get some of that stinky perfume stuff you have. Spare stuff. I don't want you to use your good stock and have to start counting again." Duriandal nodded, excitedly. She got up and walked to her lab, and with a few tinks and clinks later, she produced a small vial of clear red liquid, with small black globules suspended within. "Watermelon Whimsy," she said happily. "A new scent I am working on." She held the vial on the end of a set of metal clasps, the end of which lay sticking ceremoniously out of the side of her mouth, like a little pipe. It was all rather cute, really. Also, sometime during that whole event she had managed to put her lab coat on. Blitz didn't even see it happen, although to be fair, she was busy readying her little device. "So, right here. See this opening on the top?" Blitz fluttered her wing at the orb, which had a little flip top now open. "Just put some of that... stuff you have in it." Duriandal nodded, the mixture bubbling in the vial. Slowly, with all care and no haste, she tilted her head and emptied the vial into the opening. It was just enough. "Alright! Now..." Blitz slapped the lid shut. "And you push this..." she hit a button on the side. A cloud button. Yes. Don't question it. Suddenly the device sputtered into life, whirring with some sort of internal mechanism. It grinded and shuddered, as much as two clouds grinding could sound like, and then small wisps of scented mist started to leak out the holes along the perimeter, infusing the room with the sweet, sultry smell of watermelon. "Hey, that's pretty nice, actually," commented Blitz. "What is that stuff you're always putting in the letters you send me anyway? That stuff's really strong." "Um... it's sandalwood," said Duriandal. "Sandalwood." "Yes." "You put... the smell of wood... on paper?" "Yes." Blitz shrugged mentally. Alrighty then. "Well anyhow, this thing here'll keep your room smelling nice and fresh for hours. It's made to release fragrance at a slow steady stream, and one full 'dose' will get you about a day's complete run. Of course you can turn it off whenever you like, and to wind it up you just have to turn the top like so..." She reached out with a hoof to display her diffuser-winding skills, but a rather different noise occurred that made the whole thing topple over, spilling the oil to the floor. "Oh no, my floor!" yelled Duriandal. "Wait! Quiet!" hissed Blitz, her mind suddenly on edge. "You didn't hear that?" "No, my floor, my floor, I need to get a towel..." "Quiet!" She clamped a leg around the struggling Duriandal. Both of them sat there, huddled up against each other, nothing but the crickets and the wind to talk to them. The second time it happened, it was much clearer. Thud. "What was that what was that what was that?" shrieked Duriandal. "It came from the roof! What was that?" Thud. Thud. Thud thud thud. It was the clear sound of walking. Four hooves beating out a tempo on the roof of the shop. Duriandal threw herself into the legs of the elder pony. "Blitz... please... help... what is that...?" "Ok, calm down, it could be anything. It could be anything at all." And it was anything. An eye dropped down in front of a window. It was piercing, black, and it had a lack of things that gave it the nature of an eye, like a soul. It was outlined in a bright, glowing red, and in the middle, a pin-prick of blood shot through the room as the thing stared straight at the two ponies, cowering and shaking in each other's hooves. But it was the smile. The smile on the pale face of the creature, the smile that looked like someone had torn a hole in an oil painting and left it there. The smile that looked like, as it grinned at the couple, flesh was still binding it together here and there in patches, like a Halloween pumpkin gone terribly wrong. And just as suddenly, its eye shifted, changed. It didn't move; it slid. It seemed to be staring off at something in the far distance, and just as suddenly as it had arrived, it was gone. And the two ponies had nothing left to say. The words had drained out of their mouths, their tongues could produce no sound. All there was left was two ponies, alone in a room, on an oil-slicked floor, holding onto each other with the knowledge that that was the only real thing left that would keep them safe. Neither of them closed their eyes. Neither of them went to sleep. And together they stayed, until the break of morning.