//------------------------------//
// Tracking the culprit 
// Story: Cheerilee Investigates...the Terror of Canterlot! 
// by The Blue EM2 
//------------------------------//

This is where Cheerilee enters the story. "Hello!" she said, looking at Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. "I heard you saying something about there being something being thrown. Is this true?"

"Are you a professional?" asked Apple Bloom.

"No, a teacher," Cheerilee replied.

"What is the difference?" Apple Bloom asked, clearly confused as the sun dipped below the horizon of the sky.

"They're spelt differently." Cheerilee looked down in shock. "Good heavens? Whatever happened to Sweetie Belle?"

"She was knocked over!" Apple Bloom exclaimed.

"That fact I can see," Cheerilee answered the apple girl (note; the opportunity should be taken to clarify that Apple Bloom was a girl who belonged to the Apple Family, not a girl made of apples). "Did you do it?"

"She's mah friend!" Apple Bloom retorted. "Why would Ah do it?"

"Touche. Do you have any idea who did this fealonous deed?"

"It's too dark ta see," Apple Bloom said, pointing to the sky. "As y'all can probably see, the sun has gone in, and we can't see a thin'. We may need to strike a light."

"We can't do that!" Cheerilee exclaimed. "Or else the Canadians will see me and think I'm a traitor!"

"You're from Canada?" Sweetie Belle asked.

"You've only just figured it out?"

"Then strike a dark light!" Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom chorused together.

"We can't strike a dark light!" Cheerilee exclaimed. "Then we wouldn't be able to see, and that would defeat the entire point of the exercise of being able to see!"

"Surely they won't be able to see a tiny little match," Sweetie Belle said.

Cheerilee sighed, defeated, and took out a match and lit it. "Don't say I didn't warn you." Just then, an artillery shell fell and crashed onto them, leaving a huge hole nearby. "Any questions, other than how do they have such good eyesight? Carrots."

"Yes," said the voice of Apple Bloom in the gloom. "Where's the sidewalk gone?"

"At least you now know the dangers of Canadian long range heavy artillery," Cheerilee sighed. "A pity we had to learn it the hard way."

"Ah've got the answer!" Apple Bloom cried, taking a small box out of her jeans. "Ah just so happen ta have in mah pocket and personal possession a box of Canadian matches!"

"Hurrah!" Cheerilee cried. "They wouldn't dare fire on one of their own matches, would they?" She then struck it, only for another artillery shell to fall from the sky and blow another hole in the road.

"But the Americans would fire upon it!" Sweetie Belle protested. "See? They have a base not too far from here!"

"I know," Cheerilee replied. "My husband works there. We need to try something else."





They tried a candle, but it wasn't very bright and they weren't prepared to light it, for fear of being bombarded again by artillery of either Canada or the United States. So, instead, they waited for dawn to arise, and arise it did, the flaming orange ball that was the sun finally rising into the air and presenting a wondrous scene for all who saw it. And at long last, Cheerilee saw what had struck Sweetie Belle. It was a cupcake, and the icing was intact.

Apple Bloom put her hand on it. "It's still warm somehow!" she said.

"Good," Sweetie Belle sighed. "I hate cold cupcakes, especially if they are made in basements."

Apple Bloom pulled her to her feet. "Ah'll get ya home," she said. "Ah'll even throw a bath and some other special treats into the mix."

"Do you have access to the Belle's home?" asked Cheerilee, more than a little confused at the matter.

"As a friend, Ah do," Apple Bloom replied. "Though Ah need ta get home too. Ma and Pa are probably worried sick about me!"

"Well, good luck," said Cheerilee. "The fastest route now, given the road is out of action, is the sea. Goodbye!" And she fell into the water.

"She's fallen in the water!" Sweetie Belle said.

As Cheerilee swam ashore, she dried herself to save time. 





That night, Cheerilee was up at her desk, thinking, with a pencil in her ear and a series of points jotted onto a piece of paper she had lying in front of her.

"Hmmm," she thought to herself. "Who would want to strike another with a cupcake? In all likelihood, it won't happen again." Getting up out of her chair, she got changed for bed and went to sleep.

Little happened that night, but the morning came, and Cheerilee awoke to an unpleasent smell. Glancing down, she saw that a cupcake was attached to her clothes, cream and icing dribbling down her top. "Oh," she said. "This is all very confusing."





Over the next two weeks, a grand total of two hundred and twenty two cupcakes were thrown at Sweetie Belle. So much so, extra help had to be called in, in the form of Scootaloo, who had a personal reason to want to catch the cupcake thrower, as one of her own friends was being hit by the cupcakes.

"Well, this cupcake thrower has made a fool of the police," Scootaloo sighed, as she checked the paperwork over with her mother. "There's a madman or woman on the loose, and nobody seems to have any idea who it is."

"I disagree," Cheerilee sighed. "The police could be right fools before this cupcake throwe came along. There was one who was convinced that Ottawa was in Iraq!"

Scootaloo sighed. "Apart from them. Anyways, we have to stop them from causing any more chaos. Mom?"

"Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes?"

"Really?" Scootaloo sighed. "These cupcakes were clearly thrown by hand, judging by the impact marks in these photographs."

"Some people are very good with their feet," Cheerilee countered.

"Such as?"

"David Beckham."

Scootaloo nodded. "Were all of the cupcakes identical?"

"Only the first two hundred and twenty one. The last is here. And look what is in it!" There was a piece of fabric inside the cupcake.

"That's a piece of tartan from a Crystal Prep uniform!" Scootaloo realised. "The cupcake thrower is a Shadowbolt!"

"I'm on my way to Crystal City to settle this nonsense," Cheerilee said, and off she went.





"Do you have any idea how utterly ridiculous that request sounds?" Principal Cinch asked, looking up from her screen. "Why would I check how many threads are missing from a tartan skirt from one of my students?"

"You must parade them, as I'm looking for a criminal!"

"I have a record in blackmail, so go find your own." Cinch sighed. "Mr Geldray, sound the students into the hall!"