Equestrian Noire: Echoes of the Past

by MrMoonBird

Chapter One

Equestrian Noire: Echoes of the Past

Written by: Quasar Pulse (Collaborated with wizard32363)

Chapter One

“Attraction is only intense when mystery is involved.”

---

The door stood in front of me--“Night Visions, Private Investigator”, it read. It didn’t really say “Private Investigator” anymore, as the letters had started to fade away, leaving a faded title of “Priva- Inv-igat-”, but it wasn’t that hard to read, or so I thought. Best in the town and I couldn’t even afford to get the name fixed. Still, it didn’t seem to slow anypony from bursting in and demanding I help them with trivial cases; anything from the pointless “I’ve mislaid my keys inside my house” to “my cat is in a tree” (and yes, I’ve heard that one numerous times) was fair game for a pony in my office, but it was my decision on which ponies to deny and which ones not to.

But this particular day was different. Maybe the lights were dimmer, maybe the little mouse hole in the corner near my door had gotten a little bit wider, but it was definitely a new feeling to me. Even so, I attempted to brush it off as I creaked open the door and made my way slowly to the desk. It was an old Stallone desk, like something straight outta a furniture catalogue, one that those upper class ponies would sit by the fire reading. Sections of the desk were riddled with splinters and chipped wood that had accumulated over the years, and one of the legs was slightly shorter than the others, causing the desk to wobble with the slightest touch. I had tried to balance it out by placing an old monitor on one of the corners, but that didn’t help as much as I thought it would. If anything, it only made the unevenness of the desk worse.

I had just settled in when already I heard that first knock, no, pounding, on my door. The sound reverberated through the room, shaking the dust from the ceiling down onto my nose. I ran my hoof along my muzzle, sniffling as I did so.

“Come in!” I snorted, still trying to get the dust out of my fur.

The door flew open and hit the wall, causing another load of dust to fall gently onto my nose. I looked up in frustration at the ceiling, then back down at the costumer. There she stood--Miss Pie. In any other time period she might’ve been a charming gal, but rumor spread quickly, and the latest word around town was that her relationship with a “Twilight Sparkle” fell through the roof, and now she was back into old habits that just couldn’t die easy--mainly, drugs. Her once-fluffy mane had been reduced to a mess of split ends and frizzled strands, and the wear showed on her face through leathery wrinkles. I could even see that little white mustache she’d tried to wipe off before she walked in here. Disgusting.

“Detective Visions!” she yelled. “I-I need your help!”

She had that eager look in her bloodshot eyes, one that screamed “something’s wrong!” Of course, I couldn’t deny her--she had been one of my most dependable sources in past cases. She always seemed to find a way to get necessary information on possible suspects--whether it was by force or by selling her most well-known drug, PTSD. At first, I had thought that the PTSD she was talking about was that term used by doctors to describe the condition that most war veterans had, but I later learned what it actually stood for--“Pinkie’s Totally Satisfying Drug”. Now, I had never tried the drug before, so I was unaware of the effects apart from what I had heard from other ponies, and from what I had heard, the effects were certainly life-changing.

Anyway, something about Miss Pie’s demeanor gave me an idea of just how much she needed my help. You know that feeling you get when somebody who is hardly trustable asks for your assistance, and you can’t help but say yes for some unexplainable reason? Yeah, that’s the one I was getting.

“Well,” I said, “it depends on what you need from me.”

She looked at me with that look that just says, “Are you implying something?” I simply looked back down at my desk and shuffled some papers around, waiting for some form of response from her. For once, she was quiet, which was odd since she was quite the talkative gal. It seemed like she always had something to say, even when she didn’t.

A cool silence lingered in the air, only to be broken by the sound of papers moving along my desk. I never did like silence. It wasn’t that it was too quiet--it was because silence never meant anything good. In many cases, silence meant trouble, and as ironic as it may sound I don’t like trouble. In that moment of quietude I deduced two things: one, this had to be a serious case, as Miss Pie was never one to stop gossiping; and two, I was definitely going to accept this mission.

When I finally managed to get my eyes to look up, Miss Pie’s pupils locked onto mine, and in one swift motion she was on the floor in tears. “I-I’m afraid for Limelight, detective! I went by her house today and she wasn’t there and it was all messy and ransacked and I thought I saw blood but it could’ve been chocolate syrup and I nee-”

“Alright Miss Pie, I’m going to have to stop you there,” I interrupted. No wonder Miss Sparkle broke the relationship--Miss Pie didn’t seem to be in the right state of mind. She did mention trouble at a house, though, so my first plan would be to search the residence. If there were any signs of trouble, I would be able to find out about it at the scene. I continued on with my little talk: “Now Miss Pie, you seem a bit distressed and all-around tired. Why don’t you go home and rest, get yourself all washed up, and I’ll go check it out for you. Would that help?”

She nodded, a blank stare upon her face, and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. Once again, a cool stillness lingered in the air and I shuddered. I got up and walked towards the door, hesitating briefly before opening it. I poked my head around the frame and gave the hall a quick look as if expecting somepony to show up--not that I was in the first place, but it was nice to give myself something to do as opposed to sitting at the desk.

The office building was bland. There wasn’t a whole lot that made it pop. It was like something out of a horror movie really. Throughout the second floor, which I paced often to set my mind straight, shattered glass scattered the floors and old bulbs flickered on and off as the last bits of their energy faded. Every now and then, a train would go by the windows on the fourth floor, shaking the building enough to where a lot of the items on my desk ended up falling and I had to replace them. All the floors after the fifth were where the bums stayed. Random ponies off the streets that had nowhere else to go came crawling to the building in search of shelter and help. Of course, the building’s only permanent resident, Granny Smith, took them under her metaphorical wing and watched after them. She even had the tenacity to let them stay in many of the empty rooms that occupied floors six through eight.

Most ponies who walked by the building turned a slight shade of green. Maybe it was that old, musty smell the building had--maybe it was the scent of unbathed ponies. Whatever it was, it certainly made most ponies sick to their stomachs. Not me, though. When I had first come by the building, I didn’t pay attention to its flaws. What I saw was an opportunity--an opportunity to make my life (and the lives of everypony else in Manehattan) better.

I stepped into the hallway and turned in the direction of the stairs. It was a fairly short hallway, maybe a good fifty hoofsteps in length, but my office was the only actual room on the floor, so of course the hallway wouldn’t be too long. I had thought about painting the place with a wine-like color, so as to accent the old, dusty red carpet that lined the floor, but I never actually got around to it. I was always too busy for my own good, and I didn’t get paid nearly enough to do it.

“But,” I sighed in response to my own thoughts of frustration, “that’s just way things are. Never make enough, and yet, always have enough to get by.”

I heard the flapping of wings before I even saw her. They were beating fast, stopping only to maneuver around the corners of the stairwell--at least, that’s what I assumed.

“Visions!” an angry voice cried from down below.

I smirked. It was the notorious voice of the head of the Manehattan Police Department, Rainbow Dash. She didn’t necessarily like me, mainly because I went against the law and did my own thing as opposed to coming to the department with cases. I couldn’t blame her; I’d be unpleasant towards myself if I were taking all of the good cases too.

A flash of blue came blazing up the stairwell and was halted only by the wall opposite of it. I smirked yet again and walked over to the cyan heap.

“Commissioner Dash--or should I say Crash--what a surprise to see you,” I said. “Let me guess, you’ve already gotten the news that I took on the missing pony case?”

The lump of fluff didn’t move; it simply lay there, breathing slowly. Her mane looked dull for once, which took me by surprise, as it usually had a radiant glow to it. The red looked almost pink; the orange, peach; the yellow, a lighter yellow; the blue, a periwinkle; the purple, a grayish-violet; and the green, a yellow-green. If anything, all of the stress that came with being the commissioner must’ve been taking its toll on the once-glowing mare.

After a long pause of utter silence--apart from the rattling in the air ducts--the mare looked up, her forehead creased, with the only part of her that I truly liked, her magenta eyes, glaring at me. The rest of her body stayed where it was, unmoving.

“Of course I got the news,” she muttered with a muffled tone. “Why else do ya think I would have shown up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I teased, “maybe to congratulate me on stealing yet another one of your cases? I seem to be getting pretty good at it, wouldn’t ya say?”

Dash stood up and brushed herself off with her wings. Some of the feathers were astray, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She simply shrugged it off and mumbled something about having to preen herself later.

“Look, Visions,” she scoffed. “Don’t be gettin’ cocky with me. You and I both know that I have the ability to lock ya up for going against the law, so don’t test me.”

She wasn’t wrong about having the ability to lock me up. After all, everything that I did went against the law, all the way down to owning the paper clip that was holding the manilla folder with paperwork from past clients together. The only reason that Dash didn’t ever lock me up was the many nights that we spent alone in her apartment, tangled up in the sheets. The first night was still fresh in my mind, as if it was the first and only time our flowers had bloomed.

---

“...some kind of special privileges?” She was berating me once again. What was her problem? All I asked for was a little detective work.

A stern look crossed my face. “Is it because I’m a mare in a stallion’s society, miss? I can assure you, if that’s what you think is wrong with me, then your sheath is showing.” Maybe it was that I constantly berated her, and she had had enough of it.

Her moans met with the floor, and the clap of her front hooves against wood were loud enough to wake the ponies below. She turned to me, face flushed with anger, adrenaline, murder. And was that a twinge of excitement I caught twinkling in her eyes? It was her turn to yell, to berate, to destroy my will to live. “And what do you think your ‘detective’ work will ever accomplish, Miss Visions!? All you think it takes is a badge and a magnifying glass. You couldn’t give a buck less about the rules of this society, and your constant eloping around this town is well known. Nopony would come to you for a nickel, let alone some damn police work!”

Well that was all it took, wasn’t it? I bit my lip, expecting more out of her. She was panting softly, throwing her hat away, sweat drops flying from the rim of the blue cap. “Just… out.”

“Huh?”

“Get. Out. And if you even think about dropping a flyer for your services, I will see to your arrest personally.”

I couldn’t take it much more. As soon as she looked back at me, eyes drooped and wings flaccid, I knew what I wanted. I knew what had to be done. I turned to the door, lighting up my horn, but it wasn’t the door I was entranced with. Against her kicks and demeaning words she floated in front of me.

She yelled once more in rage. “And just what do-” But her words were cut off, her mind was shut down, as soon as my lips met hers. The sparks were instant. I turned to look at the bed, then back to look into her eyes. She gulped, looking away. “This isn-” Again I stopped her, and like all flies to honey, she was mine.

---

She was still blubbering on when I came out of my reveries, and I only caught the final words of what was probably a boring speech. “...and furthermore, I just want your help.” Now that perked my ears up.

“Help?” I narrowed my eyes to her. What was her game? “You’ve only just heard about this. You’re playing an angle, and I want to know it. Now.”

“Just heard about it? Uh, yeah, that’s true, yeah.” Suspicion. That’s when it hit me.

“How long?”

“A week, now, and there’s jack squat in the files, around the streets none a the ponies know anything, we’re screwed, V, screwed!”

So the police knew nothing and were desperate. How cliche. If only this were a novel. “You know I don’t come… cheap.” I winked at her, turning my back. “Yeah yeah, I’ll save your plots. Again.”

I didn’t say another word as I walked away, leaving her speechless, more or less. She was mumbling little angry words as always, a cute little inflection I left when I left her hanging.

She kicked the wall, I could hear it. I responded with a calm resolution to the conversation: “And if you harm my hallway, it’s the chains tonight.” I giggled--she knew I was far from serious.

We only saw each other on Wednesdays.