Life on the Murder Scene

by The Red Parade


I'm (Not) Okay, I Promise

“Look alive, sunshine!”

I gasp, eyes fluttering open as I flail out of bed. Someone’s banging at my door. “FUCKING--”

The banging stops. After I untangle myself from my bed sheets, I stumble over to the door and throw it open. Twitch recoils as she lays her eyes upon my beauty. “Dear Celestia, you look horrible.”

“No shit! Like you look perfect when you wake up,” I spit back.

“Bitch, I am perfect.” Twitch smirks. “Get your shit together and let’s go.”

I rub my eyes. “Urgh. Right, fine. Give me like five minutes.”

“You look like you’re going to need a bit longer than that.” 

I slam the door in her face, cursing Celestia for letting her exist. I shake the sleep from my head and try to organize my thoughts. The early morning sunlight trickles in from the window behind the conference desk, and I remember Octavia’s visit from yesterday. 

So I guess the first order of business today is to go talk to Apple Fritter. She might be a peaceful mare, but I’m scared that one day she’s going to lose her patience with me and stab me with a trowel. But on the bright side, maybe I can get some breakfast off of her too.

I trot across the room to my bathroom and turn on the sink. As I wait for the water to warm up, I hazard a glance at the mirror and raise a hoof to my black eye. Doesn’t sting as much anymore, but still hurts. 

Oh well. I splash some water on my face and sigh. Another long day ahead of me. Shit, it’s Thursday, isn’t it? I’m supposed to meet Faders at The Galley for drinks… if he was still alive anyways.

Maybe I should still go. Shoot the shit with the regulars or something. Then again, they’re probably going to start asking questions that I don’t want to answer. Besides, it isn’t going to be the same without Faders.

I dry myself off and exit the bathroom. I head over to my gun rack and start throwing on my equipment: my holster, coat, and rifle. I do a quick mental inventory of how much ammo I’ve got left after yesterday’s scuffle and figure I’ve got a few days before I have to go buy more.

Satisfied, I grab my stetson from the coatrack and plop it onto my head, making my way out. I blink a few times to adjust to the sunlight, but quickly spot Twitch sitting in her jeep on the curbside. She flips through a newspaper absently, chewing her lip in thought.

I slap the door twice to get her attention and hop into the passenger’s seat. She crumples up the newspaper and tosses it into the back, starting the car. “Alright, Sunshine, where we heading?”

“Fritter’s farm first,” I reply, buckling up. “Tavi says I need to have words with her.”

“Great, so I get to be your personal chauffeur,” grumbles Twitch.

I smirk at her. “Hey, if it’s any consolation, Tavi’s gonna be there too!”

Twitch rolls her eyes, but I see her cheeks turn red at that. I lean back in the seat and close my eyes, sighing. I’ve got to mentally psych myself up for this.

Don’t get me wrong, Fritter’s usually pretty quiet… well, I guess she’s always quiet when you put it like that. But when she’s pissed off, she can get scary. And she doesn’t even talk! Sometimes I get nightmares where she gets a voice somehow and yells at me. I shudder at the thought.

But still. I don’t know when Octavia figured out what I do, but I don’t know if she told Fritter. I don’t how long I can keep this a secret from her anyways, but I at least need to finish this mission first. Even if it’s the last one I ever do.

Guess I’ll worry about that later. Before I can go beat up these gang bangers, I’m going to have to survive a talk with my… whatever Fritter is to me. 

Honestly? I’d rather go fight the gangsters.


Apple Fritter owns a nice little farm on the edge of Appleloosa. If I remember right, she took it over after her brother got kicked out of town and became a Deputy Marshal. Still, she does a helluva job. 

Twitch parks the jeep in front of the farmhouse, and the smell of fresh apples hits my face. In the orchards I can see her hired farmhooves moving in between the trees, working under the desert sun. I can also see Octavia’s sedan in the driveway next to Apple Fritter’s old pickup.

“Celestia, I hate that smell,” Twitch grumbles.

“Of what? Apples?”

Twitch nods in affirmation. “Can’t even remember the last time I was out here.”

“Wasn’t it when Fritter’s cousin decked you in the face with a stool, after you said that strawberries were the superior fruit?” I ask, poking her in the side.

“... shut up,” Twitch mutters, slugging me in the shoulder.

We trot up to the door, leaving our guns in the jeep. Fritter doesn’t like them in her house. I knock three times on the door, and we wait for a response. “Coming!” calls a voice.

After a few seconds, a familiar face pulls the door open. Octavia dusts her hooves off on an apron and smiles at us. “Ah, Raindrops. So glad you decided to come. And here I thought I’d have to go drag you out of bed.”

“Yeah, well, Twitch here beat you to it,” I reply, trotting into the quaint little foyer.

“Oh? Well, I suppose I have to thank you then,” Octavia says. “I don’t believe I caught your name?”

Twitch takes off her hat and holds it against her chest as her right eyelid starts jumping. “S-Strawberry Sunrise,” she stammers. “But, uh, ponies call me Twitch.”

“Ah. Which name would you prefer?”

“Uh… Strawberry is fine,” she mutters.

Octavia beams and nods. Inside, I roll my eyes. Watching this play out is physically painful. 

Twitch gestures at her apron. “So, uh… you cook?”

“I try,” Octavia replies, “although I’m not nearly as good as Apple Fritter is.”

“I, uh, could show you some stuff? Y’know, if you want?”

Octavia blinks and shrugs. “Well if it isn’t any trouble, then by all means!” As Twitch stumbles into the kitchen, Octavia chuckles and turns to me. “Apple Fritter is by the barn,” she says.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, great, thanks. Can I trust you to be alone with her?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“...sure. Just don’t break her, okay? I need her.” With that, I head through the house and to the backdoor. I step onto the back porch, squinting as the sunlight assaults my eyes once again. The orchard stretches out around me, trees spanning out into the distance. I never figured out how they managed to grow shit in the desert, but that’s why I’m not a farmer.

I hop into the air and take a quick flight to the barn. There’s another pickup parked in front of it, and I spot Fritter loading some boxes into the back. I touch down next to her, sending some dust scattering into the air. “Hey, what’s up?”

Apple Fritter tips her hat at me. She lifts a crate effortlessly and shoves it into the bed of the truck. She gestures to some bales of hay nearby, asking me to take a seat.

I comply and settle down, wincing as some straw digs into my butt. Fritter wipes her brow and fetches her boards from her saddlebags. You holding up okay? she asks.

I shrug. “Fine, I guess. We really going to have this conversation again?”

We can stop when you tell me the truth, she replies. 

“This shit again? Come on, Fritter, have I ever lied to you before?”

She nods, her hat bobbing up and down.

“... Okay, valid, but I’m not lying now. I’m okay, I promise.” I fold my arms across my chest and crack a smile. 

Apple Fritter doesn’t return it, though. She writes something, but scribbles it out before starting again. If you say so. What happened to your eye?

“Nothing,” I reply, absently raising a hoof to it. “Just some… work issues.”

Right. Some rivalry going on in the weather service? Even if she can’t talk, I can sense the sarcasm dripping from her non-existent voice.

“Yeah. Work stuff. You know how it is,” I reply.

Apple Fritter sighs and shakes her head. This is the reason we broke up the first time.

I flinch at that. “What is?”

Communication, she writes. You’re not telling me anything. And I can’t live like that.

Inside, I want to laugh at the fact that a mute pony is lecturing me about communication. But that’d probably just piss her off, so I shove it back down. 

“Yeah, I know. I just… don’t want to worry you, you know?”

I know how much Fading meant to you, Apple Fritter writes. You two knew each other forever.

“I know that,” I snap. “You don’t need to remind me.”

Then tell me the truth. Are you okay?

I throw my hooves up in the air. “What do you want me to tell you? That I’m not o-fucking-kay?”

Apple Fritter frowns. This goes beyond his death, Raindrops. He was worried about you, he has been for months. You just brushed him off every time he asked.

“And how do you know what he thought? I’m tired of you guys putting words in his mouth!”

Because he told me. He told me that you’ve been drinking more lately. We’re all worried about you.

I sigh, rubbing my head with my hooves. “Don’t. Please, I’m fine. If you want me to stop drinking then fine, I’ll stop.”

I don’t ‘want’ you to do anything, but tell me what’s bothering you. I don’t ask for much from you, you know.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I swipe absently at the hay bale, sending some loose straw flying into the air. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I guess I’m just numb right now. Maybe it’ll hit me eventually.”

Apple Fritter pats me on the shoulder and nods. For a second I wonder what would happen if I told her the truth. That I’m so far away from being ‘okay’ that it isn’t even funny. That she’s right, and so was Faders: I haven’t felt okay in a long, long time.

But I shake it off. I’ll feel better after I get the bastards. That much I know. As I get off the hay bale, my stomach makes itself known by letting out a long rumble.

Apple Fritter smirks. Hungry?

“Maybe,” I answer.

Well, that I can help you with… if Tavi hasn’t burned down my kitchen by now.


“What, were you kissing her goodbye or something?” I ask, kicking at the dirt and scowling as Twitch trots towards me. “The fuck were you doing that took ten minutes?”

Twitch just shoves me. “Fuck you.”

“You wish. Where are we heading next?” 

“Back to Lone Hill. There are a few spots we can check, but the odds aren’t good.” 

I grunt in confirmation. “When are they ever good?” Usually we end up with two options: ask around and see who’s talking, or sit back and watch them, see where they go.

At this point they already know we’re coming though, so I figure it’s best if we just hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast. Then we knock ‘em down and hit ‘em again just for the fun of it.

I nod and turn to the jeep. “Whatever. Let’s go take some numbers and break some knees.” 

“What is it with your obsession with breaking knees?”

I roll my eyes as I pull open the passenger’s side door. “It’s not an obsession, it’s a hobby. Learn the difference, bitch.”

“Whatever.” 

Twitch pulls us out of the driveway and onto the lone road heading towards Appleloosa. 

I pick up the newspaper and flip it over to the sports section. “Trade deal between Cookie Downs and Lucky Slugger up in air after Baltimare Blues back out… aw, fucking seriously?” 

“Yup. Dunno what Arty Dodger’s even thinking. I mean, come on! They get Bull Barns and a shit ton of money from the Commandos in return for basically nothing.” Twitch snorts in disgust. “Sure, he had a fucking horrible year, but that dude pitches better than their entire bullpen combined.”

“Damn straight.” I sigh, slapping the paper angrily. “I just want to see Downs in Duster browns. Is that too much to fucking ask?”

“It is if you’re a Monsters fan,” Twitch says.

We share a laugh at that. “Fuck Manehattan,” I say. “They’ve won enough Equestrian Series for a lifetime. They oughta let the Dodge Dusters take center stage for once.”

Twitch nods as she flicks on the turn signal. “Yeah, but at least we get good things out of this rivalry. Like last year’s fight?”

“Oh, that was a good one. You see the look on Woods’s face when Jet Star charged the mound?”

“How could I forget? Kinda pissed he missed that throw with the helmet.” Twitch shakes her head sadly. “Bastard Woods deserved it. ‘High-and-in’ my ass. Can’t believe they didn’t toss him.”

I shrug, folding up the paper. “That’s baseball for you.”

“Yeah, but seriously, I can’t wait for Cookie to finally get over here. I mean, an outfield with Fly Ball, Pop Out, Ray, and Cookie? That’s pretty much a wet dream.”

“Only if Balfour and Side Strike can get their shit together on the mound,” I reply.

Twitch waves a hoof at me. “You lay off of my dude Balfour!”

“...I still think your crush on him is creepy,” I mutter.

She raises an eyebrow. “What? It’s perfectly normal to like someone as hot as Balfour.”

“He’s like eighty!”

“So? Bitch, you had a crush on Wall Bounce! He's ancient! He was alive when they created baseball!” 

I roll my eyes and huff in annoyance. “...one time. It was one time, and I was drunk.”

“Don’t care. You’re still wrong.”

“... I hate you.”


Twitch takes us back to Lone Hill so we can weigh out our options. As she pulls into the Mast’s parking lot, the first thing I notice is a Marshal’s Office cruiser parked by the curbside.

Two browncoats hop out of their car as we pull up, flagging her down. Twitch nods at them, parking the car next to them. “Howdy, help you?”

“Got another one for you,” says the first cop, a black pegasus with a black and yellow mane. “You busy?”

Twitch shakes her head. “Nah, come on in, let’s hash it out.”

The pegasus glances at the other cop, who nods back. “You can stay out here, Strike, I got this.”

“Rog.”

Twitch and the other cop head into the Mast, leaving me out there alone. I pick up the newspaper again, but I can feel Strike’s eyes boring into me. I sigh internally and flash her a fake smile. “Something on my face?”

Strike scoffs and frowns. “You’re that bounty hunter, aren’t you? Killjoy?”

“Maybe? What, you got warrants or something?”

“Wish I did,” Strike spits. “You’ve got a lot of blood on your hooves.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And I’m guessing yours are sparkly-clean?”

Strike rolls her eyes and shifts on her hooves. “It’s ponies like you that make things a whole lot harder for us,” she mutters.

I toss the newspaper aside. “Fine, intrigue me. How so?”

“You have no regard for your own actions, you’re reckless, and you leave a big fat mess wherever you go,” she rants. “You know that shoot-out you caused yesterday in Appleloosa? Three civilians got shot in that. One of them’s in critical condition. And did you give a shit? No, just tried to fly away.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. After a few seconds I shake it off. “Right, because if I stayed, you lot would be thrilled to see me. Don’t try and guilt trip me. You fuckers are just as guilty as the rest of us. You think you can just stomp on us because you wear a badge? You fucks do the exact same shit as us, but somehow it’s justified, because you have the law on your side? Tell me how that’s fair.”

Strike narrows her eyes at me. “I’d watch myself if I were you. You’re one more fuck up away from getting tossed into jail.”

“Oh no, I’m so scared.”

Strike rolls her eyes again and climbs back into her car, slamming the door shut. 

I stick my tongue out at her and can feel her seething through the tinted windows. “Fucking pigs.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, before going back to my paper, dreaming about baseball teams and things that don’t really matter.