//------------------------------// // The Postmare Always Dies Twice (Ponyville Confidential) // Story: Scootaloo Dies a Bunch // by alexmagnet //------------------------------// A thick haze filled the room, making the cramped office feel even more muggy than usual. The blinds were half drawn, but even then the light that seeped in through the cracks was enough to make Scootaloo more than a little uncomfortable. She never complained though, and she wouldn't dream of changing it. As uncomfortable as it made her feel, she knew it made her clients even more uncomfortable, and that was a good thing. It's hard to lie when you've got the sun beating down on your face and the smoke intensifies it by making a mini greenhouse. Scootaloo didn't like it when her clients lied. She'd lost a lot of good partners that way. Her current partner, a cute little drink of water with a bow and an accent that said she meant business, was sitting across from her on the opposite side of the desk, patiently waiting for Scootaloo to say something. The door to the waiting room was cracked open a bit, and Scootaloo could hear the steady click clack of the typewriter as her secretary, Ms. Belle, filled out the day's reports. Of course, they couldn't actually afford a typewriter, so she was just tapping her hooves on the desk, but the effect was the same. "Kinda hot, ain't it?" The comment caught Scootaloo off guard. Not because it was an unreasonable question, but because she was facing away from Apple Bloom in a high-backed chair, so it merely startled her a bit. Without turning around, Scootaloo replied, "It's, like, the middle of summer. Of course it's hot." "Then why are we sitting inside a smoky room in the middle of summer?" Scootaloo sighed. "Because it's part of the atmosphere, AB. Haven't you ever read a noir novel?" "No," she answered simply. "Just read your lines and don't improvise." Even though she couldn't see, Scootaloo could tell that Apple Bloom was rolling her eyes at that moment. Murmuring something, she said, "So, word around town is that you picked up a new client the other day, Scoots. Dame with a dress two sizes too small and eyes you could get lost in." Scootaloo nodded at the window. "She was a pretty thing. Think Ms. Belle might've even been a bit jealous. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" "You're a real lady killer, Scoots," said Sweetie Belle from the other room, a noticeable amount of sarcasm in her voice. "What did she want?" asked Apple Bloom. "Says she's worried about a guy tailing her. According to her she's done nothing wrong, but if I know dames, and I do, she's got herself into more trouble than she knows how to handle.” Apple Bloom stood up and walked over to the door, closing it all the way as quietly as she could. As she walked back to Scootaloo’s desk, she leaned in, whispering, “If she’s got some stiff tailing her, then she’s bit off more than she can chew, that’s for sure. The real question is what did she bite into?” “The Maltese Griffon,” said Scootaloo matter-of-factly. “She says it’s some priceless statue from the war, or maybe it’s a unsigned piece by a famous artist. She kept changing her story. Either way, I’ve never heard of it, and so that must mean it’s big. Don’t worry, Bloom. I can tell you’re getting nervous. You’re always quiet when you’re nervous. I’m not gonna get in over my head. I’m just sticking my nose in a bit to see if I can’t sniff out some kinda profit, then I’m right back out.” Apple Bloom gave a gruff laugh. “That’s what you said last time, Scoots, and look where you ended up. Three weeks in the hospital bed on a morphine drip and a bit of metal from your spleen as a souvenir. You really wanna go down that road again?” Laughing back, Scootaloo said, “You worry too much. I’ll be fine. Although,” she paused, “there is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about.” Frowning, Apple Bloom watched the back of Scootaloo’s chair. “What is it, Scoots? Somethin’ come up?” “Right after that poor mare with the shadow problem came in, another came in a few minutes later.” “Oh yeah? What’d she want?” “Wants us to investigate a murder, says it’s real important.” Apple Bloom hesitated a moment. “Who’s the vic?” The chair started to turn slowly. Lines of light from the window streaked across the fabric, and then across Scootaloo’s face as she completely turned around. “Me…” said Scootaloo, a knife protruding from her chest. A few seconds later her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped back into the seat. Apple Bloom let out a loud and exaggerated gasp, dragging it out for far too long. “Bum bum buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum!” The door opened up and Sweetie Belle walked in holding a piece of paper. “Aaaaaand scene! Okay, I think that went pretty well, huh?” “Yup!” chirped Apple Bloom happily. “All right, Scootaloo, scene’s over. You can get up now.” Scootaloo remained in the seat, blood now pooling at her hooves. Sweetie Belle approached her, nudging her shoulder with a hoof. “Huh,” she remarked. “She’s dead. Like, actually dead.” “Wait,” said Apple Bloom, holding up a hoof. “Does that mean we got a real murder mystery on our hooves?” Sweetie Belle shrugged. “It’s either that or a really stupid plot twist. Take your pick.” “Hmm…” “Not a real question, Bloom,” said Sweetie, shaking her head.