Zipp flicked her hoof and stared listlessly at her phone screen. Normally, she thoroughly enjoyed working at the Maretime Bay sheriff's office. However, the key word was "working."
In what had to be some sort of Maretime Bay record, no incident had been called in for at least two weeks. No crimes reported, no mysteries needing solved, and not even a jaywalking pedestrian outside the office window. Was it the midsummer heat? Were the normally neurotic ponies of the bay area just too sweaty and sluggish to leave their homes? Were these past few weeks just one long deceptive calm before some soon to be sprung storm?
Or was Zipp so bored she was actively yearning for disaster to strike?
She flicked her hoof again, prompting more scrolling. Zipp had leaned pretty far back in her desk chair. Perhaps she'd lose her balance and fall soon. All things considered, Zipp wasn't opposed to that. Tumbling to the floor would be a split second of excitement. Better than staring into the depths of her stale social media feed.
"Huh."
Zipp's barely audible murmur made Hitch perk up from from across the room.
"I heard a 'huh' over there. 'Huh' means something's happening. What thing's happening? What's worthy of a 'huh'?"
Clearly, Hitch wasn't coping with the slow work week any better than Zipp was.
"Nothing, probably. I just noticed it’s been forty minutes since I got ping of Pipp being online. She hasn't posted anywhere or updated any of her bios. I just checked."
Hitch huffed and tapped a few of his desktop's computer keys.
"You're browsing Facehoof while on the clock? That's unprofessional conduct, Deputy."
"I'm browsing Trotter, you out of touch square. Facehoof is a dead platform. And hey, from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're browsing baby names. What's that saying about glass stables?"
Hitch waved dismissively.
"I'm on important business. Now that Eggy is hatched, he needs to be added to the town census records. And since he can't be called "Eggy' anymore, he needs a new name. One that fits a proper dragon. I'm leaning towards 'Spike,' but that's a bit old worldy, isn't it? Am I overthinking things?"
"Overthink whatever you want to, my dude. Not like we have anything else to waste our brainpower on."
Hitch went back to tapping on his computer. Zipp went back to scrolling on her phone. Still no posts from Pipp, and a quick check of her Sleep Stream account confirmed it was offline. Pipp definitely wasn't napping. If she was, she'd be broadcasting it. Worry had started churning the contents of Zipp's stomach. She tried to dismiss it as irrational.
"How about Garble?"
"Eh?"
"Garble. Is that a good dragon name?"
"Uh..."
Hitch clicked to the next tab. "I'll keep looking. There's fifteen thousand entries in here, and we have all day to go through every single one, Deputy."
Zipp did NOT want to look through fifteen thousand baby names with Hitch. With two beats of her wings, she was halfway to the office door.
"I'm going on patrol," she lied. "Never know if I might spot someone... erm... loitering or something. Gotta meet our ticket quota, after all."
"Uh-huh," Hitch huffed. "Say hi to Pipp for me."
"Wha-?"
"C'mon Deputy, I'm not as dumb as you think I am. Ever since you mentioned it, I've been wondering what super secret project Pipp must be working on to keep her offline for so long. It's probably a big heap of disappointing nothing, but you go ahead down to the salon to check on her. I'm gonna stay put in case any townsfolk come in to report anything." He clicked to a fresh page of baby names. "Plus, I still got browsing to do."
Zipp rolled her eyes, but didn't linger. She was the force's Private Investigator, after all. The last time she was the only pony to sense a problem, the Harmony Crystals malfunctioned and somehow opened a black hole in the middle of downtown.
The answer to today's mystery probably wasn't another black hole. Not unless it was localized entirely on the wi-fi router in Pipp's hair salon. Still, Zipp pumped her wings through the hot humid air as she cruised above town. She hoped Hitch was right: that her bored imagination was worked up over a 'big heap of disappointing nothing.'
There was no black hole outside Mane Melody Salon And Karaoke. There were no ponies either. But upon landing, Zipp did see a sign affixed to the front door. It read "Aller déjeuner", which Zipp's royal education recognized. It was Prench for "out to lunch." This was odd, not just because Prench was a dead language, but also because Pipp didn't take lunch breaks. Ever. Lunch was for old farts who still use Facehoof, she often said. Usually between sips of her third or fourth iced coffee of the day.
Zipp go-to retort to that was to make fun of her little sister's pudgy waistline. Today however, she simply peered through the glass doors into the darkened salon, trying to discern whether anypony was inside.
Zipp had expected the entrance to be locked. It wasn't, so the door swung inwards to sprawl her on facedown on the foyer floor. There was her split second of excitement for the day, Zipp supposed. Also, the air conditioner was on full blast in here, making the foyer linoleum was cold as gravestone.
"Dearest me, was that clatter real or just in my head?"
"Pipp?"
The foyer was dark, but a backroom wasn't. Zipp made her way towards it, since that was also the direction of voice she'd heard. As she approached, the whir of machinery and toneless fuzzy music got louder.
"Pipp? Are you ther- agh!" Zipp stumbled forward, tripping over what felt like an overturned clothes rack. That didn't really parse though, since Mane Melody wasn't a clothing store. Not unless you counted the stand near the register, full of of hoofmade anklets and earrings Pipp often commissioned off Izzy. The spa may have been a side hustle, but it never hurt to have a side side hustle, as Pipp often said.
Pipp often said a lot of things.
"Hey, Pipp?" Zipp had finally reached the back room, blinking at the harsh florescent overhead lights. Her greeting was drowned out by a sewing machine of all things, with Pipp hunched intently over the frantically flicking needle. The already cramped room felt even smaller with piles of discarded fabric swamped up to Zipp's shins, and an utterly ancient phonograph sat cranked in the corner. That explained the fuzzy music, at least.
Zipp recognized both the sewing machine and phonograph as family heirlooms donated by their mother, Queen Haven, when Pipp was first getting Mane Melody off the ground. Accompanying the donation was a long-winded story about how self serve sewing and live vinyl records were all the rage in Haven's youthful days of social mixers. The sisters politely listened to their mother's prattling before stashing both pieces of junk in a back room. Zipp couldn't fathom what could have gotten into Pipp's head to dug the machine and music player out again. She needn't ask however, as Pipp had noticed her come in.
"Oh, a patron! Desolé, mon amour, but the Boutique is currently closed."
"Huh? Boutique?"
"Ah, you can forgiven for not recognizing it as such. Not much of a clothing store with no clothes, is it? Save for those gaudy bangles in the stand near the register. But not to worry, dearie! I've been cloistered all morning working on new designs to fill these inexplicably empty shelves!"
The corner phonograph continued its drones while Zipp regarded the shapeless blobs of fabric littering the room. Anyone who mistook the piles for clothes was a madmare.
"Pipp, are you feeling okay?"
Pipp's eyes flickered to a clock hanging on the far wall, but in an instant they were back on Zipp, accompanied by a big bright smile.
"Hm? Oh I'm fabulous as ever, darling. Perhaps a smidge scatterbrained, but I'm sure I'll shake this mental fog soon. I have my craft. And of course my tunes." She didn't include any mention the wall clock, but she did glance at it again.
Zipp wasn't normally the type to dwell on things like hairstyles, but Pipp's mane looked different. For someone so obsessed with personal branding, changing her whole look was out of character for Pipp.
Of course, so was sitting alone in a backroom surrounded by old world stuff. But that wasn't an outright cause for alarm.
"I hate to be gauche for asking darling, but is 'pip' some slang term of endearment? I fancy myself as a in-the-know debutant, but I don't recall ever hearing that word."
Scratch that. Sound every single siren.
Zipp lifted the needle off the phonograph, taking care not to scratch the record. It wasn't an easy task, since her legs were each shaking and sweaty at this point. But now the maddening audio mush was gone. If Pipp was out of her gourd, then Zipp need to be undistracted and clearheaded enough for the both of them.
"Now dearie, don't get hoofsy with that. I need my background noise while I'm work-"
"Penelope Petals, I need you to look at me!"
Pipp nearly flinched at hearing her full name. Nearly. She pivoted on her sewing stool, facing Zipp with a look of barely restrained worry.
"Pipp... do you... recognize who I am?"
The pony who superficially resembled Pipp Petals drummed her front hooves apprehensively. She had three paper cutouts of diamonds obscuring her Cutie Mark, though that was the least of her eccentricities right now. She seemed unable to answer Zipp's question, or possibly unwilling. She did however, look up at the clock again. And when she did, Zipp seized the chance to tackle her.
"Hey! This uncouth behavior!"
"Who in Tartarus are you, and what have you done to Pipp??"
Zipp and the mystery horse thrashed blindly amid the piles of fabric.
"Unhoof me, you... you..."
Zipp desperately shoved her face into her sister's.
"Pipp, are you in there somewhere? Blink twice if you are!"
"Oh for crying out loud, Zipp! Yes, I know who you are. You win. Happy? Jeez." Pipp squirmed out of Zipp's grasp, and regarded the clock once again. She was pouting. Flustered. Very much herself again. "Seriously, would it have killed you to let me stay in character for the final six minutes?"
Zipp tried to sputter a response. No coherent words came out. Not until she saw Pipp reach behind the sewing machine, pull out her cellphone and hit 'pause' on the video camera.
"You were filming some dumb bit?!"
Pipp huffed, appalled at her sister's ignorance.
"C'mon Zipp, don't you ever check Snapchuff trending tab? Or are you still browsing old dead apps like Trotter? You should know that the Mane Six Challenge is totally hot right now."
Zipp was woozy with adrenaline, but she did vaguely understand the video clips Pipp was showing her. The first was of Posey, a gardener from down the road, rolling a virtual die. After it landed on one of six ponies Zipp didn't recognize, Posey began strutting around her orchard with a stetson hat on her head, yammering about apples.
The second vid was of Sunny Starscout rolling the same six sided selector. It landed on a different pony, prompting Sunny to flare up her horn and wings before grabbing the nearest book and staring deep into the pages. Zipp rubbed her tired eyes as the third clip began. It was Izzy Moonbow applying five differently colored stripes of paint to her hair.
"You stay in character for an hour," Pipp explained, "then pull all your best moments to upload as a montage. I was so sure I had Rarity in the bag when I pulled out mom's old sewing machine and record player."
"So... you weren't crazy? Then how come you were listening to warped tuneless static?"
"Oh, is the record player actually broken? I thought all old timey music just sounded like that."
Zipp rubbed her eyes again, this time in exasperation. "So... you aren't possessed by a ghost either.”
"Wha-? Of course not! What gave you such a ridiculous idea?"
Zipp didn't have an answer, so she didn't give one. This was the weirdest afternoon she'd had in awhile, though it was better than browsing baby names with Hitch. Unless Pipp was about to rope her into helping cleaning up the backroom.
"What are you going to do with all this fabric?"
"Hm?" Pipp had deleted her previous fifty four minutes of phone footage and was busy smoothing her mane back into Rarity's ridiculous bouffant curl. "Oh, that stuff can stay there. It’s all Izzy's, so she can come pick it up whenever she needs it. Hopefully not in the next hour though, since I gotta start my recording all over."
"Wait, seriously? You're doing the whole thing again?"
"Tut tut darling," Pipp giggled. "I wouldn't understand a plebian such as you to understand the haute couture of chasing internet clout."
Zipp rolled her eyes and trotted for the foyer. Maybe browsing baby names with Hitch was preferable after all. "Whatever makes you happy, I guess. Just don't get lost in character, m'kay?"
"Au revoir, mon petite papillon! I'll be sure to tell my most gracious viewers about y-" The front door slammed, signalling Zipp's departure.
"Hmph. Spoilsport." Pipp propped up her phone and ran a hoof through her hair to double-check the curls. She'd actually wanted to ask Zipp to join in. But knowing her sister's chronically rotten luck, her own die roll would have come up as Pinkie Pie.