//------------------------------//
// Dead Bodies, and Other Inappropriate First Dates 
// Story: A-typical Fillydelphia 
// by ThunderChaserCreate 
//------------------------------//

	Nightwhisper stared down at the body, breathing heavily out of his mouth. "Well. This is... awkward, isn't it?"

"Is it?" I asked sarcastically. "I didn't think things could be awkward between two ponies who met three minutes ago."

He shrugged. "Whatever. Look, if they want to bring you in for questioning, just tell them you heard three shots, but you didn't see anything."

"Am I involved in this now? I don't want to be, let me make that clear," I said.

"You won't need to get involved if you just say what I told you!" He was tense, just trying to make a good decision regarding my presence. "You wanna go for lunch?"

"Excuse me?"

Nightwhisper cleared his throat, staring down at the asphalt under his hooves. "I need to relax. This was a stressful day before the murder, and now I just need to... take a breather. Maybe talk to somepony?"

"Um..." I glanced around. "Well, I need to get back to the shop. There's no way Sugar can run it by herself..."

"Was she the one who drenched me with coffee?"

I sighed. "She's my younger sister. She's still in high school, just interning."

Nightwhisper chuckled. "You're interning a sibling? That must be hell."

I laughed, too. "She means well."

We laughed for a while, slowly fading. Two EMT's pushed past us with a stretcher.

Nightwhisper grimaced. "It's awkward again."

"Yup."

He stood there for a minute, then nodded curtly to me. He trotted off, disappearing into the crowd of onlookers. 

"Hey! Wait!" I yelled, breaking into a gallop. I chased him down, meeting him on the corner. "Where are you going?"

"Not sure. Probably a drug store. I'll pick up a frozen burrito."

I tried not to laugh at how pathetic that sounded. "Well, don't you want to get a real lunch? Several food groups, not out of a plastic package?"

He stopped. "If you're up to it."

"Sure thing. Sugar can handle it." I stepped up to his side.

He arched an eyebrow.

"We never get customers. You were the first in... many weeks," I murmured sadly.

"That's too bad," Nightwhisper remarked, starting down the street towards a flashing 'diner' sign.

I followed. "Well, what're you gonna do. We can't afford to advertise, and, even if we could, how many ponies really want to build a large scale project from scratch?"

"What else do you like to do? There must be something you can do on the side," Nightwhisper suggested.

"Non-useful things, that's what. Acting, writing, sketching. Dumb stuff like that." I shrugged.

"Wow. You do... all of that?" He sounded shocked.

"Um... yeah. So what?"

"That's... well, that's... that's kind of amazing."

I laughed it off, feeling my cheeks growing hot. "N-not really. I'm not very good at any of it."

Nightwhisper pushed open the door to the diner, a tiny bell tinkling above his head. A mare approached him, asking the basic questions like 'how many in your party?' and 'booth, table, or bar?'

We took our seats on the tall stools at the bar, and Nightwhisper glanced down at my flank. "Well, what about your cutie mark?" His voice was considerably softer now that we were off the loud streets.

I winced internally, my mouth twitching into a smile for a fraction of a second. I hated when ponies asked about my cutie mark. I looked down at it, myself, staring at the compass in a field of dark blue.

I cleared my throat. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?" Nightwhisper asked, confused.

"I just... woke up one morning, and it was there. I don't know what it means," I said softly, not wanting anypony but Nightwhisper to hear my confession.

He seemed about to reply, but the soda jerk approached us. "Can I start you two off with some drinks?" he asked cheerfully.

"Could I got a coffee? Black?" Nightwhisper asked.

"Sure thing!" 

"Um... cherry soda?"

"You got it! Back in a jiff!" He trotted off, preparing our orders.

Nightwhisper opened his mouth once more to ask about my cutie mark, but I cut him off.

"What about yours, then?" I gestured to his flank, which displaying a black knight chess piece.

"Strategy," he said simply. "It's an asset in police work, you know? Analyze surroundings, make good decisions..."

I nodded. "Do ponies really call you 'Nightwhisper' all the time?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Erm..."

"I mean, it's long... but 'Night' and 'Whisper' on their own sound... weird. What else do ponies call you?" I explained, repeating my question.

He shrugged. "My call sign is 'Hawk 3,' " he stated.

"Call sign?" I repeated.

"It's how they refer to me over the radio." He tapped the black thing strapped to his side.

"Hm. That's pretty good. 'Hawk.' " I smiled. "I like it!"

"What about you? You go by Thunder?" he asked.

"Yup. Boring, plain, and simple."

"It's nice. Powerful. You struck me as a... powerful pony."

I blushed. "It's the sarcasm. It's a... bad habit of mine. I'm overly hostile to ponies I don't know... I have no idea why I do it."

"I can guess." 

The soda jerk dropped off our drinks.

I stared at Nightwhisper. "Yeah?"

"It's that cutie mark. You're ashamed of it." He took a sip of his coffee.

I opened my mouth to protest, but realized that he was right.

"You're hostile and snappy because you don't want anypony getting chummy. You're warding off any possible sources of humiliation."

I grimaced. I know I shouldn't have, but I felt myself growing angry towards Nightwhipser. He was... prying. Prying into the private life that I shared only with my sister. Why had I felt that it was okay to talk about this to him?

I unwrapped a straw and stuck it into my drink, sipping slowly at the sweet, fizzy liquid.

"Why'd you ask me here?" I finally spat at him.

" 'Cause you seemed nice. And curious. And you weren't afraid of the police stuff. Do you know how many ponies I meet who faint at the thought of dead bodies?" He chuckled, hanging his head. "And you walked right up and had a conversation over top of one."

"Wait a minute. This is a date, isn't it?"

He sighed. "Pretty crappy date, huh?"

I nodded. "I think calling your date 'hostile' and 'snappy' was a mistake, yeah."

He sighed again, resting his forehead on the counter. "Yeah. Sarcasm is your bad habit, brutal honesty is mine."

I chuckled. "Well, not as bad as they come."

He laughed a bit, too. "I suppose. Though it gets me in trouble sometimes. It's a good quality for a cop..."

I smiled, putting a hoof on his shoulder. "No biggie."

"You know, you shouldn't be embarrassed of that cutie mark story. I mean, think about it: you could be good at anything, anything at all. Your talent could lie in a million different things. You aren't restricted, like the rest of us."

I looked at him. He smarter than he seemed, deeper, too. "I guess."

"Maybe you're more special than you know."

I tapped the counter rhythmically. "Maybe..."