Murder on the Friendship Express!

by Shahrazad

Tiny Tinsel, On the Road, With the Warpaint

“Sweet mother of Celestia! There ARE rocks in here!”

Indeed, the car contained several crates of coal, along with many other things. Packed against one wall sat a barrel filled with tools, including a rake, a backhoe, and a pickaxe. A half-dozen sealed barrels, with a water drop printed on them, rested on the opposite wall. Just to the group’s left stood a scuffed hoofcart, secured to the wall with a chain. A heavy, metal tool chest rested on top of a creaking, wooden crate, and next to that—an old radio! The power light was off, but the attached wire led to a sturdy-looking chrome microphone. Everything had, at minimum, a fine layer of dust on it.

“Perfect, now we can just radio for help,” Hot Shot chirped as he reached for the radio. He flicked the mini toggle switch to the ‘on’ position and spoke into the microphone. “Hey, can anypony hear me?” When nothing happened, he turned his head to Whistle Stop. “What gives?”

Whistle Stop flicked the switch a few times without results. He gently turned the radio down so it rested on its face, exposing its backside. The cover had been removed, and a few wires dangled inside, connected to nothing. Whistle’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the radio. “Somepony has removed the crystal in our radio. Without it, there’s no power, and no way to tune it.”

“Awww…” Pinkie whined. “I was hoping to call Twilight.”

Slate sneered at her. “Need some help? Can’t cut it as a gumshoe?”

Pinkie, unperturbed, chirped back, “Nah, I just wanted to ask her if she’s seen my rock.”

Whistle Stop stomped a hoof. “Who cares about your dumb rock? Somepony has committed a heinous crime!”

Tiny gave a little gasp. “No kidding. They left a bloody hoofprint on the floor!” She pointed to a spot on the floor just in front of the toolbox.

“It’s horrible! There WILL be consequences for this…” Whistle Stop said gravely.

“Uhhh, yeah. I think we all know that,” Ignis replied.

Whistle Stop nodded. “Vandalism of company property is a serious offense. The guilty party could be thrown off of Equestria Rail trains for LIFE! What kind of pony would do such a thing?”

Several hooves found their owner’s faces. Pinkie put her hoof in the air and hopped about, trying to get Whistle Stop’s attention. “Oh-oh-oh! I know this one! A murderer! YES! Slam dunk, case closed.” Pinkie slammed closed the briefcase she had just opened for no apparent reason.

“Put that down! That’s my luggage!” Whistle Stop cried. “How did you even get it open? It has a combination lock!”

Pinkie shrugged and said, “The code was one-two-three-four-five. It’s like, the smartest passcode ever! They should make you president, of like, a spaceship or something!”

“BLOODY HOOFPRINT!” Slate shouted, pointing at the obvious clue.

Pinkie’s smile suddenly split her face as she turned to Slate. “I didn't know you were from Trottingham! I love those accents! Say something else!”

“No,” Slate replied in a flat tone.

Pinkie clapped her hooves like a foal watching a clown. “C’mon, just one little phrase? Like ‘I’m off the trolley’?”

“Stop it,” Slate replied.

Pinkie glanced at Whistle Stop, wiggled her eyebrows, and said, “As the actress said to the bishop?” Whistle just tilted his head.

“Stop,” Slate said, louder this time.

“Throw a spanner in the works?” Pinkie had a hard time speaking without giggling. She kept bonking herself on the head in her excitement.

“STOP,” Slate commanded. The blood vessel on his forehead was throbbing.

“Got any crumpets or cake?” Pinkie asked with glee, drooling.

“I’M AT THE END OF MY TETHER!” Slate screamed, his mouth frothing with rage. His face flushed when he realized everypony, except for Pinkie, was looking at him with abject fear. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath he didn't realize he had held in for the last minute, when he heard what sounded like the sniffing of a bloodhound.

Pinkie crawled all over Slate like he was a statue, sniffing like a dog tracking a scent. He didn't realize what she was doing until she crawled off his side and back onto the ground. Her nose got so close to the bloody hoofprint she nearly inhaled it. “Hmmm…”

Everypony stared at Pinkie and the print now. Hot Shot leaned close to Ignis and whispered, “What do you think it means?” He turned to look at her and found his foreleg wrapped around Pinkie Pie instead of his special somepony.

“It’s a clue, silly!” she chirped in reply.

“Wha-what?!” He rapidly looked from Pinkie, next to him, to Pinkie… sniffing the hoofprint on the ground. He couldn't see both at the same time, but his head whipped back and forth as fast as it could go, and each Pinkie was still there when he checked.

“I’m quick, huh?” Pinkie asked, smiling at him.

“LET GO OF HER!” Ignis demanded. She stood right next to Hot Shot, on his other side. He quickly let go of Pinkie and wrapped a foreleg around Ignis. “That’s better…” she purred.

“Y-yeah…” Hot Shot stuttered. He kept his eyes on Ignis, just to make sure it WAS Ignis.

Tiny Tinsel sighed and whined, “Can we move this along?”

“Why? What’s the rush?” Pinkie asked. She was sitting on an overstuffed, red chair, puffing bubbles away on her pipe, wearing her special hat and mustache again. Tiny was certain the chair didn't exist moments ago. “Hmmm… Perhaps you’re the murderess. That bloody hoof print certainly told me a lot.”

Tiny swished her tail as if she were trying to bat away a bloodsucking insect. Her right eyelid twitched as she replied, “Good. I’m so glad you found a clue. Not like I pointed it out or anything, because that would make sense for the guilty party, just point out clues that will put them in jail.”

“EXACTLY!” Pinkie exclaimed triumphantly.

Ignis giggled. “Airhead…” she whispered to Hot Shot.

“It’s a perfect cover. You point out a clue that implicates you, then say you pointed it out, thus throwing suspicion off your tail.” Pinkie slammed Tiny into the overstuffed chair and flicked on the light attached to the miner’s hat she wore. “Spill it, Short Stack! What were you doing in the dining car when the lights went out?”

Tiny blinked in the glare. “Weren't you wearing a plaid hat a minute ago…?”

“I’ll be asking the questions here, Shorty!”

“Don’t call me Shorty!” Tiny growled back.

“Okay, but only if you tell me what happened. That’s a fair trade,” Pinkie said, nodding to herself.

Tiny scoffed and replied, “I don’t have to answer your questions, Pinko.” She folded her forelegs across her chest. “I've got rights, you know.”

“I know! You have the right to be treated like every other pony.” Pinkie nodded at Tiny, who nodded back.

“Yeah...”

“They shouldn't pat your head,” Pinkie said, gesturing to the rest of the ponies in the car.

“Yeah.”

“They shouldn't call you ‘Short Stuff’,” Pinkie continued, now pointing to Quiet Quill. Quill cowered into the corner of the room, using her notebook like a shield.

“Yeah!”

“You should tell me everything!” Pinkie spread her forelegs wide like she was going hug the world.

“YEAH!” Tiny shouted. “Wait…”

“You said yes! No taking it back! Tell-me tell-me tell-me!” Pinkie bounced rapidly on her hooves with unconstrained glee.

Tiny rolled her eyes. “If I tell you what I know, will you leave me alone?”

“Only if you’re not the murderer,” Pinkie replied, without missing a beat.

Slate’s mouth hung open. Hot Shot shook his head slowly and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “I can’t believe that worked.”

“I know! I didn't even have to break into song!” Pinkie replied, right next to him.

Hot Shot squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look at the pony he had his foreleg around. “Pinkie isn't next to me. She’s across the car, interrogating Tiny Tinsel. My foreleg is around my special somepony.” He opened his eyes and looked. Pinkie’s giant smile greeted him. “Oh, come ON!”

Hot Shot felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Ignis glaring at him from his other side. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ignis shushed him with a hoof. She grabbed his foreleg, wrapped it around herself, and nodded with self-satisfaction. Despite her physical proximity, Hot Shot felt like Ignis stood a million miles away. He sighed and looked across the train car to watch the rest of the interrogation.

“So… whatcha’ doin’ here?” Pinkie asked, nonchalant.

“Getting interrogated by a bouncing pink retard. What does it look like I’m doing?” Tiny shot back. She had to squint into the light, which did nothing to improve her mood.

“No no no, I mean what are you doing on this train? Why are you here?” Pinkie eyed Tiny over her pipe.

Tiny sighed. “I’m a traveling salesmare. It’s my job to sell cosmetics door-to-door. I’m on my way to Las Pegasus for a conference. Of course, my cheap boss won’t send me there directly; I get to take the scenic route. So I’m heading for Manehatten to meet up with some other salesmares from the local office, then we all head to Las Pegasus for the conference.”

“What about Felix? How did you know him?”

Tiny shrugged and replied, “Easy, I don’t. We've never met before today.”

Pinkie puffed on her pipe, sending bubbles around the room. Quiet Quill smiled like a filly and poked one that drifted near her. Pinkie snorted and shined her light right at Tiny Tinsel. “Then why would you kill him?”

Slate’s eyes went wide for a split-second before he recovered. “Are you saying she did it? The midget?”

At the word ‘midget,’ Tiny’s ears twitched. Her entire body went rigid. She said quietly, hardly more than a whisper, “What did you just say?”

“Oh, don’t get your horn in a twist, sweetcheeks. I doubt you could hurt Felix; maybe some little fillies might be more your speed...” Slate snickered, and continued, “...or size.”

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Tiny screamed and lunged at Slate. With a casual flick of his hoof, Slate caught her in mid-air and slammed her onto her back. A strangled squeal came out of her mouth when Slate casually stepped on her throat and put a bit of weight on it.

“I think we found our killer,” Slate drawled with a wry grin. He looked down at his victim. “I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse. How about dis: you sing an’ tell me where the dough is, and I won’t play youses spine like an accordion.”

“Hey, I wasn't done asking questions!” Pinkie cried, with a stomp of her hoof. “Let her go, I still don’t know if she’s the killer.” Tiny’s eyes still glared up at the massive form of Slate. Even if she were foolish and flexible enough to kick upwards, she would be lucky to reach his barrel. She was simply too small in comparison to Slate’s bulk. Wordlessly, her horn glowed with a light green aura.

“What do you think you’re doing…!” Slate tilted his head, but at the last second his eyes went wide. Sweat poured down his brow, and his entire body became still, like a statue.

“I said, let her go!” Pinkie shouted. “You’re making her unhappy!”

“Okay,” Slate squeaked, as if he had inhaled helium. He carefully lifted his hoof, and Tiny scrambled away from him, coughing. She rubbed her throat and sucked in a long breath.

“Are you okay?” Pinkie sat Tiny down in the chair again. “I think it’s time for happy juice!” Pinkie pulled a shot glass, already filled with some caramel-colored liquid, out from under her miner’s hat. She pressed a hind hoof on Tiny’s tail, causing her mouth to open like a garbage can. “Down the hatch!” There wasn't too much in the shot glass, so it only took half a second for Tiny to ingest the stuff.

Coughing and sputtering, Tiny wiped her mouth and hollered, “What the heck was that stuff?! It tastes… uh… tastes… pretty gooooooddd…” Her eyes became heavily lidded, and she smiled for the first time. She had a rather pretty smile, pearly white teeth and eyes that gleamed with joy.

“That’s better,” Pinkie said, nodding to herself. “I just love making ponies smile. And if you must know, that was a little bit of my good friend Applejack’s hard cider.” The other ponies in the room looked on, some with abject fear.

“Some cider,” Slate mumbled.

“So, why don’t you tell me what happened in the dining car tonight?” Pinkie asked.

Tiny giggled a bit and replied, “Well, I didn't see much. Just… Just… he-he-he that jerk Felix.” Her smile left her face. “He was a mean, meanie-meanie-pants. Heh. He called me short and spilled coffee on me. So I went to clean myself up. Powder my nose. I like putting powder on. So what, you wanna call me a little filly?!” She put her hooves on Pinkie, like she was going to strangle her, but Pinkie didn't seem to mind the threat. Tiny swayed a bit, trying to keep her hooves in place.

“Nope, you’re not a filly. You’re a grown mare!” Pinkie chirped.

“He-he-he,” Tiny giggled again. “I like you, funny pony. Not him, though.” She pointed with an unsteady hoof at Whistle Stop. He blinked in surprise with a ‘who-me’ plastered on his face, and pointed a hoof at himself. “Yeah, you. I’m not a little filly. I've got a cutie mark, and a mortgage. That’s why I snuck past you on the way to the bathroom. I don’t need your help, I can do it myself. You got a nice bathroom in the employees' car.”

Pinkie blew a few bubbles on her pipe. “Why didn't you use the bathroom in the sleeping car?”

Tiny focused on Pinkie again, or at least tried to. Her eyes wandered around Pinkie’s face. “It was locked.”

Ignis gasped, “That could have been the murderer in there!”

Slate stomped a hoof. “So it’s a mare! Good job, we narrowed down the suspects.”

Pinkie shook her head. “Nope, the bathrooms are unisex on this train. There’s only one in the sleeping car anyway. I guess the employees get their own, which is also unisex, right?” Pinkie turned to Whistle Stop, who nodded. “Welp, that’s a nice clue, but it doesn't really tell me much.” Pinkie sighed and turned back to Tiny. “So… when are you going to get fired from your job?”

Tiny blinked and looked down. “I don’t know. Soon, I guess.”

Slate shook his head. “How did you know she’s gonna get canned?”

Pinkie sighed, her mane going flat for a moment. “Easy, she’s got a letter from her boss telling her to shape up or ship out. That’s why she needs bits. Lots of them, and fast. I guess screaming at customers who pat you on the head or call you short isn't good for business.”

“I said I was sorry! And I’m going to pay for his dental work, honest! I just need a few extra bits…” Tiny whined.

“Okay, that’s motive. Are you convinced she’s the killer now?” Slate asked.

“I agree it’s motive, but it doesn't prove she did it. You gotta have evidence for that,” Pinkie said, as she wandered around the car, stopping to stand over the bloody hoofprint again. “Hmmm…”

“What kinda cider was dat? I never seen booze dat strong before,” Slate remarked, waving a hoof in front of Tiny’s face. She smiled like a foal and relaxed into the chair.

“Oh, that’s probably not the cider. I slipped her a mickey,” Pinkie replied, as if discussing the weather. She turned to the other ponies in the car and smiled.

Hot Shot tilted his head. “Um, what’s a mickey?” he asked. Ignis facehoofed.

“Heh, HA-HA-HA!” Slate’s laugh rumbled from his belly. “Wow, you ARE a dangerous mare. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

Pinkie blew several bubbles on her pipe. “Hmmm… interesting. Do you smell that?” Pinkie’s nose seemed to have a will of its own. It pulled her forward while she grinned and said, “I smell something good in the next car. Let’s go, maybe it’s another clue!”

Slate roughly shoved the group into the next car. It didn't take much coaxing at this point, especially for Tiny. She simply drifted along with the group, like she was on a cloud.

Comments

[Meridian Prime]

Bloody hell this Pinkie is scary.

[ForSpite]

The bit with Hotshot in this chapter was excellent. Very Warner Brothers.