There wasn’t much time to lose. I had to get to Clover. She’ll know what to do.
But first, I had to hide the choker that was laying bare and exposed around my new neck. After all, Spoiled Rotten was never seen without it, and Live Action didn’t look exactly innocent wearing her property. Better find this guy’s bedroom. There, I could get an ascot or something to cover my soul gem. I had to move fast before anypony noticed Live Action missing.
I scurried through the hallways, trying to avoid rooms with ponies in them. Did you ever consider how difficult it is to be as quiet as possible while galloping as fast as you can?
I’ll tell you short explanation: It’s hard. It’s astonishingly, spectacularly, irritably, very, very, very hard.
So of course, I didn’t watch where I was going 100% of the time. Consequently, you’d understand if I crashed face-first into a thing or two. To my luck, one of those things was Clover the Clever.
“Oof!” said Clover, rubbing her stubbed nose. “Sorry Mister Action, I was just looking for-Your Majesty! There you are!” she said as she noticed my signature piece of jewelry. “What were you thinking?? You can’t just murder yourself like that! How the clop am I supposed going to explain this to the cops?”
“Live Action was about to fire you,” I said, looking around to see if nopony was seeing or hearing us. “You know how your big latest movie is going to be. Death of a Salesdonkey will be the hit of a generation! I wasn’t about to throw out that kind of money!”
Clover sighed. “Did you really have to throw Spoiled Rotten out the window, though? Honestly Your Highness, sometimes you need to think these things through.”
“Do you have a way out of this mess or not?”
“...”
“Well, do you?”
“...Yes,” she admitted, “but we’ll have to be careful. And we still need to talk about you acting so irrationally. It’s too risky, Platinum. We could get in serious trouble. Worse yet, the Equestrian government could find out that who we really are, and heaven knows what Celestia could to us then. Now, come on.” She turned and headed for a staircase. “I designed this mansion back when I was architect. The master bedroom should be up these stairs.”
“You were an architect?” I said quizzically. “When did that happen?”
“Back when you were having that affair with three married stallions,” Clover said with an eyeroll. “Don’t blame yourself for not noticing what I had going on. You were preoccupied at the time, after all.”
“Ouch,” I said as we made our way into the bedroom. “Aren’t you touchy today.”
Clover just sighed again as she handed me a turtleneck from Live Action’s wardrobe. I put it on, struggling to get my new wings through the custom-made holes.
“What do you know about Live Action’s private life?” I asked. “If I’m going to be him, I need to know about him as much as I can.”
“Well, for starters, his son’s name is Reel Life, not ‘Filth.’” explained Clover. “The kid’s been through a rough time since Live Action’s divorce. Rumor’s going around that he’s dropping out of school. The ex-wife now visits every Thursday, and her name is Tongue N. Cheek. She split up with Live Action because he was too focused on his work and never gave her the attention he wanted.”
“Good enough,” I said, opening the bedroom door. “What do we do about the dead filly?”
“Just follow my lead,” said Clover with a sly smile. “Oh, and could you get me those eyedrops on the vanity? My only daughter has just died, and I need to look as if I was crying.”
As we got to the ground level from upstairs, we saw that the ponies of Live Action’s had taken notice that Spoiled Rotten wasn’t exactly in much need of an ambulance. Well, maybe she needed it a little. She wasn’t going to get to the morgue by herself, you know.
The guests had also taken notice that Spoiled Rotten hadn’t died of natural causes, either. Whispers of murder flowed about the room like water. Everypony was trying their best to retain their dignity, but the gift of a calm dinner party and a clear, worry-free mind was slipping out of the reach of the partygoers.
“Did you see the body?” said one pony.
“Aye, it was Spoiled Rotten,” said another, “She was Guest Star’s kid, wasn’t she? Poor girl. Her mother’s heart must be breaking now.”
“And what was up with the filly’s eye? It looks positively gruesome!”
“Yes, no doubt it’s been stabbed.”
“Stabbed? You mean like... murder?!”
“Well, you can’t really believe that she jumped out the window all by herself, now can you?”
“I can’t believe it! There’s a murderer in this house! A murderer that kills children!”
“Who do you think could’ve done it?”
“I don’t know! I just want out of this place!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve heard that somepony already called the police. They told us that nopony is allowed to leave until they’ve arrived and questioned everypony here.”
“Oh Celestia’s everlasting mercy, what kind of monster could’ve found it in himself to kill a foal??”
Ouch. That can’t be good for my conscience. At that rate, I might’ve actually started to feel guilty about that.
By then, everyone had noticed that Guest Star had entered the room. An awkward feeling took hold of Live Action’s guests, and they eventually grew silent.
“Let me see her,” said Clover with a convincingly sorrowful voice that quivered with false angst. And yes, the eyedrops had done their job. She began to sniffle as ponies made room for her. She reached the body of Spoiled Rotten, who was laid upon a sofa and had a blanket cast over her corpse.
Clover carefully removed the sheet, seeing the body for herself. Spoiled Rotten had many cuts and bruises inflicted from the thorns of of the bushes, but that was nothing compared to the stab wound that had ended her life. Somepony had tried to shut her eyes in respect, but it was hard to do considering that her bad eyelid was slightly torn, thanks to the fountain pen.
So long story short, she wasn’t a pretty sight. I gritted my teeth at what I had done. I had killed ponies before and I had hardened my resolve to feeling minimal remorse for my victims, but it sometimes got hard when the kill turned particularly gorey.
Fortunately, Clover had then decided to cheer me up with some hammy acting.
“My baby...” she sobbed, shamelessly embracing the corpse until blood and pus leaked out of it, “my beautiful BAY-BEEEE!!!!”
She looked ridiculous! She sounded like a dying walrus faking an orgasam! Her dress was ruined, stained from Spoiled Rotten’s bodily fluids. I had to bite my fisted hoof in order to restrain myself from exploding into laughter, feeling like a boiling teapot of tightly restrained guffaws.
Eventually, they managed to pry Clover off. Her cheeks were streaked with twin rivers of tears and mascara, her nose was dripping with trace amounts of boogers, she was still wailing like a beached whale having a seizure, but she still managed to flash me a grin ear-to-ear for just a nanosecond. I knew then that even though this was all my fault and Clover still had one bucking hay of a lecture in store for me, and yet she had the heart to make a foal of herself to lighten the mood for me.
That, my listeners, is true friendship. It isn’t a series of letters listing the morals you’ve learned in the latest set of shenanigans. Friendship is sticking your neck out for somepony just to make them feel better, even if you’ve been fighting.
...
*cough*
Sorry, I just got choked up for second there. Must be something in my throat.
The guests looked upon Clover with a confused mixture of sympathy and disgust. Again, I need to say that she was covered in pus, blood and tears.
“I n-n-need t-to lie d-d-down,” she blubbered to nopony in particular. There was a murmur of compliance.
“You can use the guest bedroom,” I improvised, “And you know what? I’ll be there in case you need anything. You’re the star of my show, after all.”
We spent the next half hour inside the guest bedroom. In that time, Clover took it upon herself to explain our alibi to me. And thank goodness, it was as solid as any other one we’ve had. Five minutes after Clover finished, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I answered.
In stepped two ponies. The first was ash-gray earth pony smoking a custom-made pipe and wearing one of the silliest-looking hats I’ve ever seen in my life. (Well, lives.) The strangest thing about him, however, was the eyes. His two golden eyes were never quite straight. They were always crossed in someway, changing direction every time he blinked.
“Greetings,” said Cross-Eyes McStupidhat, “The name’s Hooves. Detective Sherlock Herpaderp Hooves.” He gestured to the second pony, who tipped his equally silly billycock hat in response. “This is my associate, Doctor Elementary Watson. He and I would like to ask you two some questions.”