//------------------------------// // Students // Story: Cheerilee Investigates...the Terror of Canterlot! // by The Blue EM2 //------------------------------// There was a lot of grumpy and confused shouting as the students of Crystal Prep shuffled into the hall for inspection. They all seemed quite cross, and were whinging and moaning at how early it was. "Must we get into the hall this early?" said one. "I'd only just started my second breakfast!" "And my clothes won't make themselves!" said another, a girl with vaguely purple hair. "How am I supposed to make clothes if I'm standing in here waiting for a person to look at us? It's all rather silly, if you ask me!" "SILENCE!" called Principal Cinch, trying to keep the baying mob under control. "Silence, each and every one of you. Honestly, you're better than this most days." She turned to Cheerilee. "Please do excuse them; they haven't had much sleep lately. Of course, it is most inconvenient pulling them out of bed at 12 o clock in the day, but I shall see to it that they shall get extra break and some more food for this." "OK then," Cheerilee said. "What are you looking for again?" "A fragment of tartan from one of the girl's skirts," Cheerilee replied. "If I find it, I'll have caught the culprit." Cheerilee walked down the rows and rows of students, trying to find a girl with a thread missing from their skirt. But she was out of luck. The girls were all wearing pants that day. And the boys were wearing reinforced concrete breaches. "It's getting dark!" Cinch called, looking out of the window. "You can't possibly see in this light." "I'll strike a match," Cheerilee replied, and did so immediately. Just then, yet another artillery shell fell from the sky and blew open the roof of Crystal Prep Academy's main hall. "Curses! I forgot about the Canadians!" "Can we go to bed now?" asked a voice nearby. Cheerilee perked up immediately. "Who are you?" she asked, addressing a student who had yellowy skin and ice blue hair, with similarly blue eyes. "I'm Coco Pommel, Suri Polomare's friend," she said. "But most people call me by my nickname." "Which is?" Cheerilee asked her. "Miss. See? I made a joke about how silly Coco Channel were!" Cheerilee inspected Coco Pommel closely. She was the closest thing that Cheerilee had ever seen to a seamstress or dressmaker- without actually being one. "Surely-" "Why are you calling me Shirley?" Cheerilee asked Cinch. "You don't really think that Coco Pommel is behind this, do you?" Cinch asked. "Why, she wouldn't hurt a fly! Her father and I were in the same company during the terrible disaster of many years ago?" "And which terrible disaster was that?" Cheerilee probed. "Heaven's Gate, 1979." "Good heavens!" Cheerilee exclaimed. "Were you in the roller rink?" "I was right in the roller rink, right next to the fiddle player who played nonstop for five minutes straight!" "But wait!" Cheerilee cried. By the light of a passing glue factory, she suddenly saw something. Poking out of the back of Coco Pommel's backpack was a tartan skirt. It was a lead! "Why do you have a skirt in your bag?" "Because I'm not wearing it." "May I examine it?" Cheerilee asked. "Sure." Coco handed it over, and Cheerilee counted the threads. Not a single one was missing. "No, it most certainly is not Coco Pommel. Principal Cinch?" "How dare you call me Principal Cinch!" Principal Cinch thundered loudly at Cheerilee. "But it's your title and surname, is it not?" Cheerilee asked. "In that case, I forgive you," Cinch replied, with a curt smile that did little to betray her increasing levels of annoyance at the sheer absurdity of the situation unfolding before her. "Have you had anything stolen lately?" "Yes. One of the girls reported a tartan thread missing." "Who stole it?" "A thief." "Are you sure it wasn't a pickpocket?" "Certain," Cinch countered. "My students never keep tartan threads in their pockets, or else they would have noticed the tartan threads being removed. Thus, it cannot have been a pickpocket." "Well this throws a spanner in the works," Cheerilee sighed. They had watertight alibis, but to be absolutely sure, Cheerilee left their alibis in a fish tank overnight. The next morning, the phone went. "Mom?" Scootaloo called. "It's Apple Bloom! She wants to speak to you!" "I'm coming, I'm coming," Cheerilee replied, and ran to the phone, picking it up. "Good morning Apple Bloom. How can I help you?" Morning Miss Oliver," said the voice on the other end. "Who's Miss Oliver?" "Sorry, Miss Cheerilee. Sweetie Belle's been hit by another cupcake!" "I'm not terribly surprised." "She was. This one was freezin' cold!" "COLD?" Cheerilee cried in surprise. "Ah know. Whover is doin' this must be losin' interest or somethin'." Cheerilee was triumphant. "It also means that the phantom cupcake hurler of Canterlot has had his or her gas pipe cut off." She sprinted out into the street, still in her pyjamas. "Streetcar!" Suddenly, the sound of bagpipes echoed out on the street as a streetcar came to a stop outside her home. As the streetcar stopped, the sound of the bagpipes deflated and went down in pitch until it stopped altogether. "How can I help you madam?" "The Canterlot gas works, and quickly!" Cheerilee cried, jumping on board. "Right you are madam, away we go." The streetcar started off, and the bagpipes started up again as the streetcar moved off. INTERJECTION FROM MR GREENSLADE Readers who are reading and listeners who are listening are probably confused by the sight and sound of a streetcar sounding like a pair of Bagpipes. The truth is, it is part of the new economy program introduced by the City of Canterlot on behalf of Mayor Mare. It has been discovered that not only is it cheaper to travel by bagpipe, and more efficient, and more music, they also come in a wide variety of colours. See your local bagpipe officer to ask for particulars. You won't be disappointed! It's all rather confusing really. THE STORY SHALL RESUME MOMENTARILY Meanwhile, Cheerilee had arrived at the Canterlot gas and coke works. "Anybody about?" she called. "Only me," said a man. "Most people use solar panels these days." "I'd like a list of all the people who haven't paid their gas bills lately," Cheerilee told him. "Right you are," the man said, and Cheerilee looked at the list. "I think we may have got him," she smiled, as she dialled the first number on the list. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, how can I help you?" the voice asked on the other end. "Terribly sorry, Mr President. Wrong number!" Cheerilee said hurriedly, and put the phone down. She then dialled the next number. "Who would the President want to throw a cupcake at anyway?" "This is the office of Mitt Romney. He's just been hit by a cupcake!" Another few weeks went by. There were no further clues, and even more cupcakes were thrown. Cheerilee went to her tactic of last resort, and walked the streets of Canterlot at night, disguised as a thirty something teacher from Canterlot. When suddenly! Nothing happened. But nothing happened quite suddenly, mind you. Cheerilee switched on her phone to check a text, when another artillery shell fell out of the sky and crashed into the road. "CURSE THOSE CANADIANS!" "Erm, pardon me madame," said a voice. Cheerilee looked a man who was wearing sensibly sized feet and a head to match. He was dressed in the attire of a chef from the Ritz, with several thousand cooking implements around his wait, tied of course, and he was pulling a portable gas stove that was making quite a terrible smell. Issuing forth from it, was the unmistakable smell of... a cupcake. "Can I borrow a match?" he asked, in a strong Fench accent. "My gas oven has gone out." "Here," Cheerilee said, handing him the box. "Keep the box; I have another at home." "Such boundless wealth!" the chef replied. "Well, thank you very much. You have saved my cupcake from going cold, and I think we can both agree that there is nothing worse than a cold cupcake." "Yes, indeed," Cheerilee answered. "Well, thank you. Goodnight, madame!" Cheerilee watched as the strange man pulled his gas stove into the foggy darkness. But Cheerilee had no time to watch him. She had to catch the Dreaded Cupcake Hurler of Canterlot! INTERRUPTION FROM MR GREENSLADE Those of you who think that Miss Cheerilee is not cut out to be a detective, please do right to the writing team at Hasbro Studios. STORY WILL RESUME MOMENTARILY On October 31st, the hurler changed his tactics, and this time Sweetie Belle was hit by a pumpkin cupcake. Naturally, Cheerilee searched the bakery. "Mom," Scootaloo said, as she dug through the piles of paperwork, "Sweetie Belle thinks the hurler is abroad." "They're a woman?" Cheerilee asked. "No, they're overseas," Scootaloo replied. "She has received a postcard that was posted in Denmark. Attached to it was a fragmant of a cupcake." "They clearly still remember me," Sweetie Belle said, looking at the floor. "So, they're in Denmark, eh?" Cheerilee said, defiantly. "We've got them cornered. Cozy Glow!" "Yes Miss Cheerilee?" the girl asked her, having popped out of nowhere. "Puts on sad face at lack of applause, and tries to win sympathy." "We're going to Denmark. Ready my jet pack!" "Can we take sandwhiches?" "Only for food. Mr Ellington, start the engine!"