It was a lovely Saturday morning in Manhattan. Celestia’s glorious sun shone brightly down upon the many ponies that called the city home. Granted, not many ponies were perky morning ponies like Red Top was, but it was a lovely morning nonetheless.
Red Top leafed through the pages of his pocket-sized notebook. The small pad floated in front of his snout, held aloft in his magic. Every so often he glanced up from the page he was reading to make sure he wasn’t going to bump into anypony. Years of practice had made him very capable of navigating Manehattan while jotting notes or looking over his schedule.
The reason for this particular morning’s walk was primarily business. Business, and he needed to pick up some groceries on the way back home. Not that he minded the errand; his wife was an earth pony after all. Just in practical terms it was easier for him to pick up the groceries than it was for her. The fact he didn’t have to do the dishes from breakfast was a nice bonus too.
“Let’s see,” he muttered to himself as he found the page containing the morning’s to-do list. “Gotta get milk, oats, coffee, stuff for dinner, bread, and a treat for the kids at the market…” He hummed softly, flipping to the next page.
“Ah here we are.” He smiled. “Meet with Quick, nine-thirty, Morning Brew’s Coffee House.”
He paused at the street corner long enough to get his bearings. Red Top found himself at the corner of Downer and Mane Street, only a thirty-minute walk from his home. Morning Brew’s Coffee House was a fair distance down Mane Street, another forty-minute walk if he made good time.
Red Top took a moment to stretch before he began his walk. It wasn’t often that he missed the days of being a beat reporter for another pony’s newspaper. It was a lot of hard work for lousy pay and few benefits, not something he could raise a family on. That said, years of sitting behind a desk coordinating ponies, meeting with advertising interests, and planning stories had left him a little soft around the edges.
Becoming an entrepreneur and establishing his own paper had nearly ended in failure. Few ponies were willing to buy an unknown publication without some sort of word-of-mouth and those that did weren’t going to leave their subscriptions to the big name papers like the Manehattan Times or the Post.
Red Top couldn’t fault them for that; he probably wouldn’t have changed his subscription either. His paper had muddled through six months before Red Top hit on an idea. He had noticed how much ponies enjoyed gossiping and speculating about the private lives of others. Even his editorial staff, meager as it was, enjoyed putting together their own mock paper in their free time that was a fun little romp into the fantastical.
With what money he had left, he scrounged together a new paper full of nothing but the juiciest gossip he could get his hooves on. He and a few editors then began writing outlandish headlines and borderline farcical articles about anything they could think of. He ordered a short printing run and sent samples to a few select newsstands in the less affluent areas of Manehattan. To his great surprise they had all been sold out within the day.
There wasn’t really any turning back from that moment. Red Top met with his entire team, informed them of the change in strategy, and did what he could to find work for the writers who didn’t want any part of his new venture. That same month his old paper closed and his new paper, the Manehattan Gazette, began full publication.
It was a success like Red Top had never imagined. Profits were great, advertisers were interested, and it was fun to write for himself and his employees. He also received his first hate letter that same month. He still had that letter framed on his office wall. He couldn’t explain exactly why he had felt compelled to frame the letter. Most ponies had been mildly horrified at the very idea of it. Red Top found it absolutely fascinating that his work had inspired a pony to actually take the time to sit down and write, not to mention spend the postage.
Red Top chuckled to himself as he trotted down Mane Street, his magic securing his notebook into his saddlebag. He had a feeling today was going to be a great day, and he planned on making the most of it with his family when he got home. First, though, there was a little bit of business to take care of.
After nearly forty minutes of walking he arrived at Morning Brew’s Coffee House. The modest establishment, a small, two-story brick and mortar building, sat blending in quite well the surrounding buildings. Only a forest-green awning that shaded a cluster of sidewalk tables and a small sign on the window informed potential customers that the place was, in fact, a functioning coffee shop.
Red Top had once spoken to Morning Brew himself about his peculiar lack of marketing. The old earth pony had simply shrugged and claimed that “it’s worked out pretty well so far.” Red Top shook his head; Morning Brew was a good friend, but he had never been particularly good at small talk.
Shaking those thoughts free of his mind, Red Top scanned the tables out front of the shop. There were only three ponies sitting outside at this early hour. At the nearest table was a red earth pony mare with an orange mane, holding a thick stack of papers in her hooves. Across the table from her was an off-white pegasus stallion, his brown mane partially hidden by a black fedora. The two seemed to be bickering over something related to the papers in the mare’s hooves. Red Top chuckled; he knew that feeling all too well from at least one editorial meeting a month.
At a different table was the pony he was looking for, a tan-coated pegasus with a chestnut colored mane. A unicorn waitress was trotting over to him, a drink carefully held in her magic. The stallion’s back was facing Red Top and he seemed to be distracting himself by tinkering with a camera that was held carefully in his hooves. Red Top smiled as he trotted over.
“Here’s your tea, sir,” the unicorn waitress chirped as she carefully set the cup on the table.
“Thanks very much.” Quick Snap smiled up to her.
The mare smiled back at him before she trotted off. Quick carefully grasped the cup with his forelegs, lifting it to his lips where he took in a deep breath of the steam. He could just barely smell the sweet aroma of honey over the delicate tea. He took a tentative sip of the drink, wincing as the hot liquid threatened to burn his tongue.
Quick set the cup back on the table and let out a bored sigh. He wasn’t the type of pony who often bought things out when he could avoid it. His frugality was borne of necessity more than anything else. While pegasi photographers were usually in high-demand for their ability to get to a scene quickly, he was the notable exception to that rule. The demand for an asthmatic pegasus who couldn’t fly at breakneck speeds from location to location was far less prevalent.
The possibility of additional work was what had brought him to Morning Brew’s Coffee House in the first place. Specifically a tip from his on-again, off-again boss who had suggested that he could get some decent paying freelance work if he met a certain pony. Quick rolled his eyes, more than slightly annoyed that he hadn’t been provided with the name of his prospective employer.
He took another sip of his tea before a familiar voice behind him nearly scared his feathers off.
“Quick, buddy!” Red Top began with a broad grin, “how’s it going?”
“R-Red Top,” Quick started after a light cough, “what brings you around here?”
Red Top quirked an eyebrow curiously even as he took a seat across from the pegasus. “Uh, I’m the one who asked to meet with you again.” He said, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Quick Snap felt a bit of panic welling up in the back of his mind. “Ponyfeathers,” he cursed as he pressed his head into his hooves.
“Easy buddy,” Red Top said as he held up his hooves in a placating manner, “it’s an easy job.”
“The last time you gave me an easy job,” Quick began, his voice laced with suspicion, “it involved taking a picture of a half-dead mare in a hospital room.”
“Fair point,” Red Top admitted with a shrug, “though in my defense, I had no idea how serious Miss Scratch’s injuries were.”
Quick Snap cast a wary glare at Red Top. “Would knowing have changed your mind?” he asked.
Red Top thought for a moment, his lips pursing and his eyes drifting up and to the left. “Well,” he began with a cluck of his tongue, “maybe, maybe not. It’s hard to say with the benefit of hindsight.”
Quick sighed and shook his head slowly. He had never quite been able to forgive himself for doing that job, even if he had been desperate for the money at the time.
“How’s that studio I set you up with working out?” Red Top asked.
Quick shrugged his shoulders. “Depends on the week. If there’s lots of inside studio work then I get plenty of hours, but on the slower weeks I get furloughed.”
Red Top nodded slowly, “I’m sorry to hear that, Quick,” he said honestly. “You’re a talented photographer.”
Quick Snap shrugged off the compliment. He was well aware that his work was more about his lucky timing than his studio quality.
“What do you want, Red?” Quick asked bluntly. “If it’s another picture of a hospitalized pony, than the answer is no.”
Red chuckled, “No, no. Nothing so upsetting.” He answered, “I just need some of that famous timing of yours.”
“What for?” Quick inquired, his wings giving an anxious flutter.
“You know the Wonderbolt’s, right?” Red Top asked.
“I know of them. Everypony knows of them,” Quick Snap replied sarcasticly. “But no, I’m not exactly on a first name basis with them.”
“Right, nevermind that. One of them is out with some sort of injury,” Red Top explained, his horn igniting and retrieving his notepad from his saddlebag. “I got a tip from a pony that it was either Spitfire or Rapidfire, but it could be any of the other ones as well.”
“Okay...” Quick began slowly. “So what do you need me for?”
Red Top flipped through his notebook until he found the page he was looking for. With a meager effort he tore it free and set it in front of Quick. “There’s the address of the hotel that the majority of the team is staying at.” Red Top pointed to the innocuous parchment. “I want you to stake it out and see if you can figure out which one is injured and what sort of injury. I’ll pull some strings on my end and see if I can find out that way. Once we’ve got that settled, I just need a few good photos of the pony in question. Nothing intrusive, you don’t need to get in their faces or anything like that, just a decent set of photos of them around town.”
Quick Snap stared at the paper in front of him, the discomfort clear on his visage. He took a calming sip of his tea before he answered.
“I don’t know Red,” he began, his brow furrowed in concern. “You know I really don’t like this kind of work.”
“Then consider it a favor to me,” Red suggested, his forelegs folding on the table.
“Favor for what?” Quick balked in confusion.
“For not informing anypony that you got me those pictures of Vinyl Scratch.” Red Top said, his voice low.
Quick Snap’s heart froze for a moment, his mouth going dry, a pit forming in his gut. While Red Top may have put him up to the task, it had been Quick and Quick alone who had stolen into Vinyl’s hospital room and taken her photograph while she slept. The guilt still kept him up at night from time to time. Quick swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at his teacup in dejection.
“H-how...” Quick paused to clear his throat and take a breath. “How did you get out of trouble for that?”
Red Top shrugged, “I issued a formal apology, gave them the negatives and the photos, and I personally made a donation to Vinyl’s medical expenses.”
Quick Snap couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped his lips. “It must be nice to be rich,” he noted out loud.
“It’s got some perks,” Red Top agreed, “like the payment I will provide you for every photo you get.”
Quick Snap sighed and ran his hoof through his mane. He needed the extra income, of that there was no doubt. Between rent, food, and his medicine, his budget was tight to say the least. Quick didn’t trust Red Top on a lot of things, but he did have to give the unscrupulous unicorn credit for one thing: he paid well. Past dealings with Red had taught him to get the details first, though. “How much?”
Red Top sighed. He wasn’t surprised, but he had hoped it wouldn’t come up. “Fifty bits for every shot I can use. One hundred if you can get details on the injury.”
“Alright, Red,” Quick relented, his posture sagging in his seat. There was no way he could refuse that kind of money, given his circumstances. “I’ll get you some pictures.”