Pinkie Pie Investigations: A Bootleg Fluttershy

by Karibela

What if I'm Right?

Twilight winked at the Pinkie on her doorstep. “Well, hey to you too, Pinkie! So… Fluttershy. You’re saying she’s been looking strange recently?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying! She has weird coloured hair, and on top of that, it’s all the wrong style...”

“Yeah, huh,” Rainbow said, still snoozing on her cloud. “How d’you know she hasn’t just gone to a new hair stylist or something?”

“That’s not all! Her eyes were kind of shaped like Rarity’s, too... how weird is that?”

“Oh darling, that’s nothing to worry about!” Rarity said herself, having just opened the boutique. “Some ponies might get a little sensitive to the sunlight, I’m sure. And what if she’s caught some horrible infection? Oh dear, I had best leave her out of my photoshoots for a while, hmm!”

“But… but that makes no sense! She has to be an imposter, I just know it. She hasn’t said a word of this transformation to anypony yet, has she?”

“Well Butterbees,” said AJ, “I think yer onto a loose thread trail goin’ up the wrong tree, Pinks. It ain’t obvious, but sometimes a pony needs some quiet reflection time-like t’get the best of themselves. It’s just a phase, Ah’m sure.”

Pinkie’s expression turned into something like a sad puppy’s. “B-but, AJ… I really, really think she isn’t right. Why can’t any of you see that?”

“Well Butterbees, Pinks. If it’s such a problem on the membrane, y’might as well go see to lookin’ further into it. Ah’m tellin’ you though: she’s fine, and y’needn’t worry yerself witless. She looks fine t’me, anywho.”

Pinkie pondered on what she’d said. “Yeah… look into it. Of course! It’s time for some high-quality information gathering from yours truly. Thanks, AJ. I might not’ve thought it if you didn’t ‘butterbee’ me into my next phase of investigation, huh?”

~~

Plan in mind, Pinkie rushed to town in search of Fluttershy. What plan, you may ask? It was simple: find any peculiar places the mare went to, secret hideout-style peculiar places, and follow her in. Once there, Pinkie would detective her way in under a fedora, acting like inconspicuous, then…

But wait; that didn’t happen. In fact, When she did find Fluttershy, she found that spending five hours or so following her into the depths of the criminal underworld… was not a thing.

Fluttershy pretty much did the same thing any other normal, bland-as-balsa wood pony would do. She went to the market, talked to ponies, strolled back home and cared for her animals, except there was something strange with how she did it.

When she went to market and bought something, the way she hoofed over her bits was strange. In fact, she never truly hoofed them over at all. When she talked to ponies, they were literally anypony, not just the ones she knew, and the conversation always stayed eerily similar.

Even when she cared for her animals, there was something amiss. Carrots in the bear’s bowl and fish for the bunny. The animals weren’t the only ones who noticed, and were causing an uproar before she flew off back to town.

Pinkie used it as an excuse to investigate further. “Mr. Bear! You don’t think this is the real Fluttershy, right?”

The bear had a clueless expression and shrugged at first, but having looked at the bunny shaking his head furiously behind him, the bear sighed, looked up with mopey eyes, and shook his head too.

From a distance it would look normal, but to a close-up investigator like Pinkie Pie… it was all too clear. Something was wrong about her favourite yellow mare, and there was only one place left to check…

“Check?” Pinkie said aloud to herself as she walked on the path to Sugarcube Corner. “Nah, that’s not the right word. More like, ‘sleep’, ‘cuz investigative work is super tiring. It makes you hungry, too. I hope there’s some mint cookies left around from last night!”

~~

Pinkie burst into the bakery as happy as could be, until she suddenly realised that the Cake’s weren’t the only ones present. There was ‘Fluttershy’, being served at the counter by Mr. Cake!

“What the!” Pinkie shouted. “How’d you know I was gonna go here? You’re not spying on me, are you, ‘Miss Fluttershy’?”

Fluttershy’s cyan mane bounced as she turned. She paused. “P-Pinkie! I didn’t know you were here, honest. I haven’t spied on anypony!”

Oh yeah, of course, Pinkie thought, correcting herself. That’s what I was doing. “Still! It musta taken some Rarity-esque treatment to make yourself look like the real Fluttershy, but you missed three important things. First, the colour of her mane? Phsaw, it’s all wrong! It’s totally supposed to be a shade of, uh,” she said fumbling a lapse in her memory, “Pink. Yeah, that’s it! And secondly, speaking of the mane...”

A crash from the kitchen, presumably by Mrs. Cake, stopped Pinkie in her tracks. “Pinkamena Diane Pie!” shouted a nagging voice from the kitchen, “When have we ever told you to hold an inquisition when meeting customers?”

Another crash. “She’s right, Pinkie,” Mr. Cake said. He had a stern face that she’d only seen when he was really disappointed. “You should be able to accept your friends for who they are as ponies on the inside, not what they look on the outside.”

Pinkie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sweat began pouring down her brow. “B-but, Fluttershy, she’s clearly n-not-”

There was yet another crash from the kitchen before Mr. Cake started talking again. “Look. I’ve heard all about this from everypony that’s come here today. ‘Pinkie’s stalking Fluttershy, she’s acting cookier than a clown’. This really isn’t the kind of attitude you want to be showing everypony, Pinkie! Remember the disgraceful deal with Zecora a few years back? It certainly isn’t the kind of attitude we want to show around here, either.”

Now the sweat turned to tears, as Pinkie looked guilty back at Mr. Cake as he kept talking. She hardly even heard the crash from the kitchens this time. “Pinkie Pie, I really hate to do this in front of your ‘friend’ and all, but… I’m gonna have to send you to your room. Now. You’ve got to reflect on how this could hurt people’s feelings.”

Pinkie dashed to her room, wishing they weren’t looking at her. She closed the door then locked it, and sat enveloped in her beanbag, destitute.