Chapter 1: Odd Jobs
"Greetings, my — Oh for Sun's sake! One day, Gilda, I should like to walk into our apartment without becoming an accessory to murder."
"Oh. Yeah. I need your help with that."
Trixie stared at the bound stallion hanging lifelessly from a noose in the middle of her kitchenette. "Really? It seems you've been quite thorough."
Gilda rolled her eyes, rising from the sloppy futon and slouching towards the kitchen area. Opening up a cupboard — Trixie noticed that she’d finally got off her rump and fixed the hinge — she spilled an armful of ingredients out onto the dirty work surface, and started making a sandwich. "The body, you dweeb. Cinderblock wants him disappeared, not a trace."
"What, now? It's a week from the Summer Sun Celebration. And it's Wednesday. Gilda, this is going to be arduous. Why did you take this job?"
"Money. Your share's on the refrigerator," she said, tapping it as she opened it up. She took some lettuce, cheese and beetroot from the fridge, and shoved it between two mustard-slathered slices of rye bread.
Trixie yanked the coinpurse on the fridge towards her and examined the contents. She scowled at Gilda. "Where's the rest of it?"
"I shtuck a groth of your share an’ a groth of mine in the rent boxth,” said Gilda, spewing crumbs across the floor before swallowing. “That's the rest. I didn't stiff you, Trixie. I ain't you."
"Hmnph. Fine." Trixie glanced back at the hanging corpse. "Why is my hat floating in front of his hips, like it’s been hung on....” Her eyes went wide with comprehension, then glowed with venom as she realised the arrangement between her beloved hat and the deceased pony.
"Why?" she growls at Gilda.
"I got bored and started playing ring toss."
"My hat!"
Gilda held up her claws. "I was going to put it back."
Trixie stared at her flatmate with every ounce of contempt and anger she could muster, levitated the hat into the air, and turned it to dust with a thought. She summoned a carrier bag from a kitchen drawer, stuffed the floating ball of dust inside, and deposited the bag into the bin.
“Don’t know why you’re being such a sourpuss,” said Gilda, opening the fridge and pulling out a can of hard cider and a can of carrot juice. She threw the carrot juice to Trixie, who caught it in her grasp. “Hay, why don’t you just turn the dude to dust? We can skip all the bullshit and go out drinking, first two rounds on me, eh?”
“Why yes, that’s a fantastic idea, Gilda,” said Trixie, pausing a moment to open her drink and take a sip, “I’ll turn a pony to dust over a period of days, absorbing him into my latent magical aura and displacing him, and while I’m at it I’ll conjure up a siren to scream ‘I am a murderer who murders ponies and disintegrates them’ because that’s what it will sound like anyway to any unicorn who comes within thirty feet of me. You’re an absolute genius, have you considered applying to absolute genius school? They’d give you a Celestial Scholarship, I’m sure, and a sloppy rimjob to boot.”
Gilda rolled her eyes, leaning back against the crumb-strewn countertops. She guzzled the cider, pouring it straight down her throat, crumpling the can in her claw as the last of it trickled out. Then, she let out a loud belch.
“Whatever,” she said, wiping her beak, “Are we gonna do the job or what?”
“Fine. Get the travelling case.”
* * *
By the time Gilda and Trixie were stuffing the stallion into the large, plaid travelling case, rigor mortis had set in considerably. With some straining, Gilda snapped his left hindleg to fold it into the case, but his right one wouldn’t budge. Having no desire to cover the apartment in congealed blood, Trixie settled on wrapping a bright pink scarf around the offending hoof until it was entirely covered, and then left it to poke out of the zipper.
“Mother was always so much better at packing neatly than I,” muttered Trixie, “I will ask her how she does it the next time she visits.”
“It’s not so bad,” said Gilda, “It looks like we’ve got an, uh, stormball stick and we didn’t want the top getting scuffed.”
“Hmm. Yes.”
“And, y’know, it’s bulgy but it ain’t distinctive. We did a pretty good job with the packing peanuts this time. Not like with Short Change.”
Trixie winced. “Heavens, no. You could see his face through the sack-cloth. I still have nightmares about that subway ride...”
The trip to the rooftop garage was uneventful, except for Gilda dropping the bag while pulling it up the staircase, breaking the stallion’s neck with a rather ghastly crunch. Their neighbor, a heroin addict, popped his head out of his door to investigate the noise, but went back into his apartment as soon as he realised there was no heroin involved.
The moon was high as they walked along the rooftop to Gilda’s spot. She fumbled for the keys as Trixie fumbled with the zipper, trying to stop the stallion from sliding out under his own weight. When his entire right foreleg slid out of the bottom, taking a few handfuls of packing peanuts with it, she looked around in a panic. Seeing nopony else in sight, she huffed and set to work covering as much of the dull-orange limb with her scarf as possible.
Gilda’s garage door opened with a rattle, revealing the sleek autochariot inside, her pride and joy. She grabbed the front handle and pulled it outside. As Trixie lugged the travelling case into the trunk, Gilda moved into the driving seat. A complex crystal apparatus was fixed where a pegasus would normally stand, six glass mobius strips held in place by brass pylons, arrays of copper-wire twisting and curling every which way. With a flick of a switch, a thaumatic shield sprang to life around the engine, and a pair of spectral wings glowed faintly in the dark at either side. Gilda grinned.
“Chrome spokes. Two wheels. Zero horsepower.”
Trixie hopped into the passenger seat and flopped back with a groan. “I still think you wasted money on this contraption, but dear Luna these seats are heavenly.”
“I know, right? Didn’t cost a bit extra, either.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Remember when Split-Lip, the idiot, got that hot idea of stealing luxury limousines and then found out nopony would touch them? I broke into his place while he was chasing his tail trying to find a buyer and just yanked the seats straight out. Took ten minutes and an allen key. Got the gearstick too.”
The gearstick was distinctly classier than the rest of the interior, a walnut and silver tip resting atop a burnished steel shaft.
“You could bludgeon someone over the head with that thing...” said Trixie.
“Yeah. My friends back in flight school called me a dweeb for listening in shop class, but look at me now. I bet their seats aren’t even half as comfy.” She wiggled where she sat, sinking into the plush fabric. “So, uh, where are we taking him? The farm?”
Trixie shook her head. “No, it’s bingo night for the pigs. Not the slag factory or the crystal rendering plant either, not this close to the Summer Sun Celebration. It’s Acephalous Construction or the harbour.”
“Harbor. I’d kill for some fish right now.”
“Excellent. Shall we?”
A jolt later, the pair and their cargo were up in the air, flying above the Fillydelphia skyline. Gilda fiddled with a dial in front of her, and after a few seconds of static, a lick of heavy rock blared through the speakers.
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
Trixie grimaced. “Really? This?”
“Oh c’mon, tell me you don’t love this song!”
“Well, yes, I do, but it doesn’t fit the mood. You might as well be playing a dirge at a birthday party. If you want to perform dazzling feats of disappearance, you need the right tone, you can’t just scramble willy-nilly for anything that pumps you up, listen—” she said, flicking the dial with her magic.
‘...is GFFM, Fillydelphia’s finest talk radio station. Up next, Grits Cornpone and Goodmane Combs discuss the new education plans from Canterlot: are they a treasonous conspiracy, or merely a liberal menace? Then Brick Lane with the weather report...”
“We are not listening to talk radio.”
“I know, I know...”
“...it’s like that *huh* and that’s the way it is...”
“Hey, I know this band,” said Gilda, “New band. Run CMC.”
“Oh?”
“They’re from Ponyville. Turn that shit off.”
“Way ahead of you,”
“...I stuck around in Unicornia, when I saw it was a time, for a change...”
“Sympathy for Discord,” said Trixie, triumphantly, “this is exactly the song we need.”
“I see where you’re coming from,” said Gilda, cranking up the volume. “Harbor?”
“Harbor.”
“...stole the food, freed the windigoes, Clover the Clever, she snarked in vain...”
And with the music thrumming through the thin canvas rooftop, they set off.
* * *
Two songs later, Trixie sat up. “Gilda, a detour. We need to stop at Lugnut’s All-Night Hardware.”
Gilda glanced at her and grunted, “Why? You’ve got the kit.”
“We need hacksaw blades.”
“No, we don’t. We’ve got a spare. I checked.”
“Yes, we have a spare, and I don’t trust the one in the saw, it looks stressed. Do you want to be left in some shack in the harbor with a half-dissected corpse because we had two snapped blades in a row? Because I’m not staying with it while you wander off to buy the wrong part from an idiot.”
“Oh come on, that ain’t gonna happen,” huffed Gilda.
“It’s happened before...”
“Midden, like when?”
“Like repairing the wagon last year, like — look, I’m not going to play this foolish game, featherbrain. Will you honestly tell me, that in all your hours of fixing things and shop classes, that you’ve never had two parts break in a row?”
“Yeah, but that’s...” Gilda groaned. “Fine, we’ll go to Lugnut’s.”
“Good.” They were silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to annoy. I’m just, concerned.”
“I know.”
“It’s a dangerous job, after all, with risks that we have to prepare for. We’re like the ponies in hazard suits at the High Energy Magic plant, or food and hygiene inspectors in Manehattan.”
“I know. Chill out. We’ll get the part. I know you worry about this shit, sorry for trying to brush you off.”
“I — thanks. Thank you. I can be a perfectionist, I know.”
“Hah, you’re a regular Photo Finish,” said Gilda, a smile working across her beak as she made a turn. She groaned again. “Oh, no.”
“Nein, fraulein?” In Trixie’s seat sat a middle-aged mare with a turquoise coat and a shockingly white fringe. “Fashion, it is nutzink to be afraid of, my DAHLINK!” she announced, making a grand gesture with her hooves.
“Impressions...” growled Gilda.
“Ah, ze impressions, zey are like a skylight into the soul, zey show all of your wants, und desires, und dreams, und sex, ja, die geschlechtsverkehr, und sex und sex und sex und sex...”
Gilda cracked a grin. “Okay, points for accuracy. Better than your Fancy Pants, at least.” Trixie shifted back to her normal form, and gave a small bow. “Hey, you hungry?” asked Gilda.
“Some food would be welcome, I think,” replied Trixie. She raised a brow, “You ate a huge sandwich not ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah, beetroot just makes me hungrier. I’m craving something with grease...”
“There’s a curry stand half a block away from Lugnut’s.”
“Poppa Dom’s? Yes. I love that guy, eating his food is like mainlining butter.” With a sharp turn, the chariot descended into a cramped street filled with stone buildings leaning towards each other, colorful awnings nearly touching from either side. Warm summer drizzle pattered off the fabric and glanced off the magic sheen in front of the chariot. “We’re here.”
They parked up and made their way through the crowd of drunken students towards the hardware store, and soon the smell of oil and paint thinner cut through the thick, delicious smells of late-night hay fries and beanburgers.
“Twelve inch blade, twenty TPI...” muttered Trixie as she walked through the aisles. After selecting four blades — all twenty-two TPI, but buy-one-get-one-free — she turned to talk to Gilda, who was nowhere in sight. She found her after a minute of searching, browsing the shower fittings section.
“Showers?” asked Trixie.
“Yeah. This one,” said Gilda, tapping an imposing chrome phallus.
“...a tad ostentatious.”
“True, true. But the pressure settings are awesome, all the parts are easy to replace, and the head has a slot for adding essential oil or solvent capsules. Makes preening an absolute breeze.”
“I see the price tag reflects the quality.”
“Yeah. And the manager would probably steal our deposit if we put one in,” she said. Then, she sighed. “I’m sick of renting.”
“Yes. Sunflower Heights is a hole, and the last three places weren’t much better.” She paused. “You know, interest rates are low these days.”
“I hear banks are big on ‘reportable income.’”
“That is a problem, but we have some savings. Maybe it’s time to look into a front business?”
“Not a restaurant.”
“No?”
Gilda shuddered. “Wings. Grease traps. Never again.”
“Hmm. Perhaps a chariot dealership?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can see that, I can definitely see that,” said Gilda, her face visibly brightening under fluorescent lights overhead. “Y’know what, first thing I do after we’re back tonight is make some plans, we can figure something out — oh, do you got the blades?”
Trixie replied in the affirmative, and the pair paid for their purchase. Ready for work and hungry for food, they stepped out into the rain.
There was, of course, a police officer standing next to the chariot.
Stats
Page generated in 0.025 seconds
Total duration
1,007 users online
2,015,298 hits today, 2,004,447 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Okay, this is awesome.
Somebody likes Philip K. Dick, I see.
Why do they call it a hacksaw? I don't get it.
Anyway, I like this. Especially Trixie's Photo Finish impression.
Opening lines made this instantly favable.
3139311 Awesome? Awesome!? Awesome doesn't even begin to describe it! My friend, What we have here is another lesson in how to write a gritty entertaining story.
3139311 Fucking* awesome.
Best shit I've read in a long time, Chuck.
I feel like this should be coming out of Pulp Fiction.
So good.
This is written in the wrong tense. It should be past-tense, like the rest of the story.
1. I've never understood why "hay" is considered some kind of replacement-swear for "hell" when "heck" does the job much better.
2. This last part here makes the entire sentence feel like a run-on. Almost like Gilda can't stop to take a breath. I'd have written it as:
I giggled a bit at this, if only because it comes right after a sentence or two about a heroin addict. Was that intentional?
Missing a pronoun.
Should be a question.
Needs a space.
Say, I'm noticing Gilda doesn't eat meat. I find that odd since Griffons happen to be half-eagle, half-lion, both of which are carnivores. It would have been cute/funny to see Gilda chowing down on a fish taco only to gross out Trixie.
"Ugh! I don't understand why you Griffons could stand eating the flesh of others..."
"Trix, it's a fish. It's nopony you know. Scout's honor."
The chapter ends too abruptly with not a whole lot happening. You should really only ever end a chapter when the tone of the story changes. For example:
Chapter 1: Gilda and Trixie set out to dispose of a body. They have some blah-blah scenes that help set up what they're doing, why they're doing it, etc. When they drop off the body, they turn around to return to their vehicle... only to find a young colt has witnessed them disposing the body!
Chapter 2: Trixie and Gilda chase the colt, despite neither of them really understanding what it is they wanna do when they catch him. (I mean, killing a kid...?) (etc, etc.)
All in all, it's good that you're writing more non-clop fanfics, Chuck. But the start-up to this story is too slow to be considered a crimefic, with much of these scenes feeling far too fluffy to stay interesting. The writing style -- especially the dialogue -- just feels sloppy compared to what I've seen you produce before. I have high hopes for this fic, if only because Trixie and Gilda working together to dispose of bodies is a great concept to work with, but the story itself will need some serious polish if it wants to reach out and grab my interest by the balls.
Watching this, because this is a true dark, entertaining story
A Chuckfinley story that isn't clop? It's been way too long since I've seen that.
Sorry but can't upvote. Well written, but the topic is... wrong.
*reads* ... Wow
)
...
...
...
(
3139335 because the tool is called a hacksaw. It is pretty much a mini bow saw used for pipe and the like.
Btw, dear author. Two things. First, The Great and Powerful Trixie demands more chapters
Secondly, you have a coping saw for your story cover. Unless they want to delicately cut someone apart it, no workie. Thicker bones usually need (at minimum) a bow saw and a pair of bolt cutters or a reciprocating saw for the rib cage and spine. (I do a lot of big game hunting)
By the way, this isn't intended as criticism. I have no idea how dark you want to get with this story, but should you want help with the gory details, just send me a message.
This is going to be well and truly awesome. Both characters are recognizable, but have clearly been doing this for a while; they've both developed considerably from canon, and they have a great rapport going. I'm definitely looking forward to more, especially how they got into this messy business in the first place.
Also:
I found this funnier than I probably should.
I'm not sure why, but I'm a bit squeamish..
3139682
Re: Hay/Hell/Heck- in that line's defense, "Hay" as the standard euphemism is canonical to the world of Equestria as presented in the show. As first reader I apologize for missing all the typos though I'll also stand in defense of Gilda's run-on there because I think she is supposed to be saying all of that in one breath.
Also Gilda does eat meat- she mentions "I could kill for some fish right now", which Trixie doesn't react to. And in defense of that characterization they're disposing of a dead body together, one measly fish isn't something a hardened pro is going to bat an eyelash at.
I also respectfully disagree on the start-up being "slow". For a pulse-pounding crimefic, yeah, maybe. I approved the cut-off for the chapter mostly because I read Wholesale as being a crimefic in subject and a dark comedy more than anything in genre.
Am I the only one who read varnish in the title the first time?
Great story! Liked, fav'd, and impatiently waiting for more.
The way things are going, it seems like the title should be "We'll Dismember It For You, Wholesale"...
3152129
Comment deleted for frank discussion of suicide, not because there's anything wrong with it as such, but because there's no option to hide it from readers. Sorry.
3152339
Whoops, apology mine.
Didn't think that through, unfortunately
tags "dark" "comedy" "slice of life"
this is a type of story I almost never see and because this is chucks story I know he is going to deliver.
also getting to see more of the Gilda and Trixie bromance is a real treat.
I'm content that admitting this made me laugh probably indicates some sort of deeper issues, but as long as they let me be entertained by your work I'm okay with them.
Your Dark Knight Returns reference. I see it.
This made me mad