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One Moose2,828 words
Two Moose1,415 words
Three Moose1,096 words
Four Moose446 words
Five Moose1,136 words
Six Moose837 words
Seven Moose522 words
Eight Moose378 words
Nine Moose420 words
Ten Moose908 words
Eleven Moose1,910 words
Twelve Moose838 words
Thirteen Moose295 words

Five Moose

The air of the old city streets filled with brass horns playing in bombastic salvos. A thick crowd of impoverished ponies in suits and dresses had formed, lining up while the bronze effigy of Princess Celestia was carried by robed clerics towards a market square. It was soon placed down before an altar, lined with candles. The orchestra's horn section rested while the drums rolled. A stallion in a white suit and a white hat shuffled up, then humbly placed several golden bits between the bronze feathers of the alicorn statue's outstretched wings. The crowd immediately applauded the gesture, and the stallion in white waved back, smiling proudly.

“Bravo!”

“Bellissimo, Don Farriernicci!”

Don Farriernicci smiled back, juggled a fresh orange in his hoof, and marched on down the line of attending equines.

Meanwhile, atop the grimy, soot-stained rooftops overlooking the holy spectacle, a pony in a brown coat and matching newscolt cap stepped up to the edge. Sweetie Drops glared down at the street, her eyes following the movement of the stallion in white. Somewhere in the distance, the traveling orchestra's horns picked up again, and she shuffled icily from roof to roof, keeping at an even pace with Don Farriernicci, stalking her target far down below.

The stallion in white casually strolled past processions of old wrinkled ponies in veils, little fillies in pale cute-ceañera gowns holding candles, and aged war veterans wearing faded uniforms. The onset of evening was staved off by the persistent glow of hundreds upon hundreds of electric light bulbs, strung up between banners of the Equestrian and Itailian flags that fluttered over the densely packed Palermoats street.

As another effigy of Princess Celestia passed by, Don Farriernicci paused, taking off his ivory hat and bowing his bald head to pay respects. Resuming his stroll, he passed by a miniature theatre where two marionette puppets were fighting with tiny wooden swords.

“Bah! Too much blood for me!” Don Farriernicci mused, much to the chuckles of respectable citizens all around him. He continued on his way, unaware of the shadow high above.

Sweetie Drops shuffled along, passing through a forest of tiny metal chimneys as she carefully eyed the stallion's movements from afar. At last, Don Farriernicci ascended the front stoop of an apartment building's entrance... just as Sweetie Drops had expected. Quiet as a cat, the mare reached into a tiny niche set deep within a brick wall, and pulled out a thick white cloth. Wrapping the item around her fetlock, she used it to mask her hoofprints as she opened a stairwell door and climbed down the dusty steps. Dim sunlight poured in, and the windows rattled with the muffled waves of orchestral noise resonating from the streets beyond. Sweetie Drops slowed her movement, and in so doing she could hear the echoing clops of Don Farriernicci slowly shuffling his fat way up the steps.

Wordlessly, the agent approached a lone apartment door. Before it hung an electric lamp. Holding the cloth over her hoof, she twisted the bulb until the light went out, casting the corner of the stairwell into shadow.

It was around this time that the orchestra stopped. Outside, a celestial priest spoke before the crowd gathered in front of the Princess' effigy, his muzzle clicking in an old world tongue. Between each muffled word, the hushed silence hung in deafening gasps. Sweetie Drops clung to the shadows, eyes glaring out from beneath her cap. She slowly, quietly slid an abacus into the cloth, bundling it tight and aiming it patiently outward from the shadows.

It was then that Don Farriernicci reached the level of his apartment. He came in like a pale ghost, piercing the dimness. His hulking frame loomed before the door to his home as he fumbled for his keys. He paused suddenly, which allowed Sweetie to hear the sudden thuds of her heartbeat as she waited. Swiveling about, the stallion in white squinted at the bulb. He reached over, flicking it with a few waves of his hoof. The light strobed in meager pulses, almost giving away Sweetie's position. But, alas, the stallion in white took no notice of the agent, and he opened the door to his apartment in a casual lurch.

This was the moment. Sweetie Drops emerged from the shadows. Fanfare resumed outside, followed by muffled cheers.

Don Farriernicci turned around suddenly, squinting at the unexpected visitor. “Hah...” He deliriously chirped. “What's this, a present?”

Glaring, Sweetie Drops took two final steps forward and thrust the bundled abacus deep into Don Farriernicci's chest.

RIIIIIP! His jacket and cloak ripped away, revealing coarse brown fur. Breathless, the would-be stallion staggered, clutching madly at his suit... ripping it apart in desperation.

With a mute grunt, Sweetie slammed the abacus hard across the charlatan's skull.

WHACKKK! His pony face tore away, revealing two branching antlers above a dazed moose head. The exposed Capreoline teetered, teetered, clung in desperation to the doorframe... and slumped hard to the ground. THUD!

Sweetie Drops panted from the exertion of her last strike. She didn't notice until a few seconds later that the white cloth had caught aflame from the force of her blow. Unraveling and stamping the thing out, she exposed the abacus, then squatted before the unconscious creature. With an iron glare, she swung one bead aside and sneered, “Three Moose.” Angrily, the agent shoved the abacus deep into the Caproline's muzzle. “THAT... was for Princess Twilight.”

The crowd outside cheered. Fireworks went off. The ponies of Palermoats hooted, hollered, and tossed their hats high into the air. Sweetie Drops marched back out into this bedlam, panting into the fresh smoke rolling over the apartment rooftops. She paused to draw a third hash-mark across a sheet of paper, then rolled it up and stuck it into a pocket of her coat. Swiftly, she broke the clipboard over her knee and shattered it into several smaller pieces. Then, in quick order, she stuffed each piece of evidence down the many-many metal chimneys sticking up all around her.

That accomplished, she tore off, descending the first fire escape she could find. Nopony noticed as she trotted calmly down the streets lined with native Itailians dancing and cheering in reverie. Fireworks sparkled all around her. The orchestra blared. The air was all alive and manic with delicious noise. At last, catching her breath, she paused to rest on a street corner where a minstrel was singing to warbling waves of relaxing accordion music.

The mare pulled the photo of a mint-green unicorn out of her coat. Squatting down on an apartment stoop, Sweetie Drops smiled, cradling the photo and murmuring over and over: “Lyra... little Lyra... your best friend loves you... she loves you, little Lyra...”

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