The Case of the Missing Mare

by MrPandaa

Ugh, receptionists...

When I first set hoof in Manehatten, the first thing I noticed was a giant skyscraper located on the very edge of the beachfront. The second thing I noticed was the strong wind blowing in from the sea. The only place in Manehatten that could have a dry printing press in this humid time of year would be one with a strong, crisp wind blowing, and I was right in front of it.

The sign above their grand doors read “That Missing Something—Where what you need is always right under your hooves.” So he's the ironic kind of bad guy. Facing the doors, I feel the surge of energy coming on, that nervous adrenaline rush that comes when and only when you know you're in for a fight.

I live for that feeling.

I let it course through my veins and then step through the doors. A cheery receptionist greets me without lifting her head, but I'm not paying attention. I look around the room for anything out of the ordinary, and finding nothing, turn to the receptionist. She looks at me in the bored manner that is trained into all receptionists, her eyes saying, “I'm not happy and I wish you'd leave me alone, but I'll just smile and act happy to make you go away.”

“Can I help you with anything?” she asks. Spying an elevator straight across the room, I say in response, “yes, you can. Can you tell me which floors on this building have open access to the outside air? I've been called by him about possibly putting in a window.”

“Who called you?” she asks suspiciously.

“I didn't stutter. He called me.”

She's convinced. “Thirteenth floor.” she says. “It's the only room.”

I smile and thank her.

As I turn to go to the elevator, she says “Just...be careful. He doesn't like defiance.”

I'm in.

Author's Note:

If you're a receptionist, I'm sorry and I hope you don't hate me forever.