Chapter 13: Mental Mind Buck Can Be Nice
Starlight Over Detrot Chapter 13: Mental Mind Buck Can Be Nice
To err is equine, but if you want a guarantee that things will go wrong, hire an Essy to do it.
“Essy” – a colloquialism derived from the abbreviation for Sentient Construct, “S.C.” – is a term used to describe any object or creature given the ability to think independently by magical means. Essies are, objectively, one of the worst ideas ponykind has had since the swiss-cheese life preserver.
The thought process seemed reasonable enough: Giving magical items the ability to think and activate themselves would allow them to handle complex tasks independently of pony operators. The unfortunate “However” is that creating a sentient being is a complex process. It takes years and years of development and life experience to create an adult pony, and creating an Essy is, functionally, an attempt to bypass that process with magic. It will therefore not surprise the astute reader to learn that not once in the history of thaumatology has anypony ever managed to create an Essy without crippling personality defects. The results have included paranoid-schizophrenic home security gargoyles who constantly talk about 'the voices from the moon' to OCD-riddled cleaning devices that can't stop cleaning themselves.
Due to the amount of energy and materials required as compared to the average resultant utility, Essy creation is rarely considered cost effective; their manufacture tended to be limited to mishaps involving emotional magic and the occasional academic endeavor.
Still, once created, they do carry some advantages: First, their lack of normal economic needs means that they tend to be motivated by nonstandard currencies, such as entertaining assignments or a decent polishing. Second, the relative rarity of their employment and their complex nature means that countermeasures are rarely taken against their use.
For these reasons, the DPD, among other agencies, discreetly maintains a small Essy Liaison Office to handle negotiation with and safe employment of these unusual agents.
--The Scholar
There are many kinds of sleep. I once made a list of them one evening when I was on stakeout and bored out of my skull.
There’s the kind of sleep you have when you’ve had a cold for three days and suddenly your sinuses are clear. There’s the variety where you just finished making love. My personal favorite is the kind where you know you’ve got a mountain of work to be done, but none of it for the next twelve hours. This was a joy my rookie was to know tonight.
Swift and I barely made it in the door. I was going to get her a beer, but I came back from the kitchen to find an unconscious pegasus, draped over the couch and coffee table, drooling out of one corner of her muzzle and snoring like a kitten.
I cracked open my brew on the edge of the cheap wooden doorframe, then sat with it between my forehooves, sucking at the straw to cleanse all the foul flavors of the day from my palette. I’d thought food might be an option, but my brain already felt like a mushroom-and-exhaustion omelette. I needed sleep.
Before getting up to go to bed, I glanced back at the sleeping rookie.
She’s going to be a good cop one day. If you keep her alive, said a quiet voice in the back of my head. It sounded an awful lot like Juniper.
She’s a hot mess with daddy issues and not enough sense to keep her head down when the bullets start flying. I replied, feeling more than a little bitter that my deceased partner would intrude on my tiredness just to deliver his personal opinions.
So she's you? I could almost hear the dead prig giggling.
Swift had the foresight to set aside her gun and clips before she passed out, but she hadn’t stripped off her tactical vest or assault harness. Beneath it, however, I noticed a glint of gold hanging around her neck.
Careful not to wake her, I studied the glitter. It was a chain. A golden chain. Pulling it free with the tip of one hoof, I lifted out a beautiful locket of the same metal. It must have been whatever she'd gone back to get when she was putting on her uniform in the Vivarium’s bath-house.
It should be understood, I’m paid to snoop for a living, but being paid to do something you love doesn’t mean you don’t do it for fun now and then.
Pushing the button on the top unfolded the locket on a clockwork hinge. Inside was a tiny black-and-white photograph of a cheerful young unicorn mare with a dreadlocked mane holding a bundle of squirming fur and feathers to her chest. Beside her, a dour seeming pegasus stallion with expansive wings looked at the wriggling little foal in the mare’s forelegs with a tiny, put upon-smirk on his face.
There was an inscription etched on the other side of the case which read, ‘Our love goes with you on all your adventures! –Mom and Dad’
So that was the couple that spawned my little burden.
Except she wasn’t entirely a burden, was she? Saved my tail in that fight with Hay Maker and fixed that issue with the File Cloud before it could become a real mess. She wasn’t stupid. A bit naive and reckless, sure, but a pony could do worse. Taxi was good backup, but required an awful lot of bribery or begging to get her out from behind the wheel during all but the most interesting cases.
I gingerly sllpped the locket back into the front pocket of her vest, turned around, and pushed open the door to my bedroom. At some point in recent history, I’d apparently made the bed. Whatever madness possessed me to do that, I was grateful for it. I set the dregs of my beer on the nightstand, tossed my coat across the chair, set my gun back in its case, and tore off my tie.
My head hit the pillow. I was asleep before my eyes were closed.
****
“Good Morning, Detective Hard ‘Hardy’ Boiled! Do you awaken?”
A trilling noise brought me out of some altogether unpleasant dream, which seemed to involve being cuddled by an especially friendly mare with six legs. I became quickly aware of a gentle weight resting on my chest and went to swat it. Something buzzed and moved away.
Still a dream then. Nothing buzzing could possibly be real or in my room. Certainly nothing that big.
Prying one eye open gave me a glance into the black, quivering mandibles of an insect which could have easily devoured my head in one solid bite.
“Ahhh, you rise! Good!” The creature shrilled. It didn’t seem to have lips but a quad of scintillating wings opened from beneath a bright pink carapace and it rose into the air. That had been the buzzing sound. Another set just below vibrated extremely quickly and seemed to be producing the words.
No coffee in the world is as good for bringing a pony instantly out of sleep as a sight like that.
Fully conscious, I did what any rational pony would in such a situation: I leapt for the dresser, fumbled my gun out of its case, and rolled onto my back, trying to stuff bullets into the chambers. I only stopped when I realized the strange insect hadn’t moved from its place on the end of my bed, and looked vaguely familiar. It wasn’t making any especially threatening motions, despite its appearance. But if you ignored that freakish face and the multi-faceted eyes, it might almost have been a...
“Ladybug?” I let two bullets drop from the side of my mouth.
“We are most pleased to see you again, Detective Hard ‘Hardy’ Boiled!” The creature chittered, cleaning its black spider-like legs with its distressingly unusual mouth. “We were most distressed to hear of the demise of your swarm-friend, Detective Juniper Shores.”
I set my gun to one side, shaking out the one round I’d managed to load in my clumsy attempt to blow a hole in the giant bug’s face.
“Taxi managed to have the Essy Office get in touch with you, then. What happened to you? The last time I saw one of your number, it was yay big—” I held my hooves about two inches apart from one another “—and spoke like a cat screaming down a pipe.”
Raising its back armor, the Ladybug released about two dozen similarly colored creatures scaled down to the size of a golf ball. They settled in a row across the end of my bed, their constantly vibrating wings making the whole room feel like I was sitting in a beehive. “Our collective has learned many things about diplomacy since we became aware! We have learned you species with fewer eyes and fewer bodies find it unsettling to interact with many beings simultaneously. We have contracted the fine horn wavers at your Academy and they have, most diplomatically, made a far less squishable diplomat.”
“Wait, back up... you convinced one of the Academy to make you this size?! Just like that? How did you pay for that?”
“You ponies and your bits of money metal.” The ladybug rubbed its rear legs together, making a noise that closely approximated a terrier being strangled. I realized, after a moment, that it was laughing. “We learned much from our daytime televisions! So many things we’ve learned! Most especially, we learned you place value on sexual propriety. Such a silly thing, but we found it most useful to know the mating habits of such ponies as wave their horns about. We simply asserted that were they not to abjure, temporarily, their demands for finance, that we would inform their mates of all such activities.”
“You blackmailed the Academy?!”
The ladybug tilted its head as if considering this, then cheerfully nodded.
“Most definitely yes! You may call this representative ‘Queenie.'”
****
I’m afraid there’s no good way to explain Ladybugs. Unlike most sentient creations, they weren’t a fluke of magic gone wrong or a useless one-off accidentally brought into existence by the right mix of bad arcane weather. They were made for a purpose.
Some incredibly daft magic user, whose name is stricken from the record books lest he or she be cursed forever by every police pony alive, decided that the standard surveillance techniques of the time were outdated. Now, said magic user was not wrong about that particular detail; this was back when our most effective police listening technology involved a cup pressed against a door, but they were a believer in the notion that it would be very convenient, in a criminal investigation, to be able to monitor everything.
This anonymous fool did what most fools do when they’ve got something huge to accomplish and no internal mechanism for telling them they’re being stupid; they made a list. This list contained all the things he or she thought a bugging device needed to be: mobile, easily disguised, controllable remotely, able to listen from many angles, and very difficult to destroy.
Our intrepid arcanist went through what must have been a veritable bestiary of life-forms, coming at the end to a small group with the necessary traits. Gathering them in one place and using magics which have, no doubt, been locked away in the vaults of the Academy, they created the Ladybugs.
It could have gone worse. That’s not to say it went well, but it could have gone worse. After all, this thaumaturgist had started with parasprites as the base for their new magical creation. Whatever else went in has been lost entirely to history, and is probably only contained in the mind of that silly, silly pony, wherever he or she might be.
What came out this ill advised venture was a brand new species. Highly intelligent, able to change color and shrink to the size of a pea, and magically connected to one another, the Ladybugs should have been the bane of Detrot’s criminal elite.
At the time, It sounded fantastic.
Unfortunately, all that versatility came with a raft of downsides; the damn things had the attention spans of toddlers when left to their own devices, they got bored easily, and they had an excess of personality which could test the patience of the sanest, most even-minded detectives.
Eventually, the Ladybugs were de-commissioned and handed over to the Essy Office for integration into society. Since then, they’ve gone somewhat ‘freelance.’ If a pony on the right side of their mutant moral code has need enough and can promise to keep them interested, he can commission their services. Just be ready to put up with them.
****
“We have been mightily intrigued by your upcoming criminal enterprise!” Queenie buzzed, winging onto the dresser as I dug out a fresh tie and began dressing.
“Criminal enterprise? Taxi told you what we’re doing?” I asked, struggling into my gun harness. Several of the smaller ladybugs helpfully buzzed down from the end of the bed and grabbed the straps, holding them whilst I shoved my rear hooves through the loops and cinched them up tight.
“Assuredly. No details, but we are assured this will be interesting, or your money back!” Pulling its legs up underneath, the mega-sized bug flipped onto its belly and crawled down onto the floor.
“This isn’t going to violate your Essy autonomy contract, is it?” I asked, pulling my tie down around my throat. Two insects helpfully tugged it tight, adjusting the knot.
“No, no, no! We are ever so good at keeping secrets! Our contract is safe.” Queenie set the spare tie aside. It was only lightly chewed. Lifting its head slightly, it seemed to be listening to something going on in the next room. “Miss Sweet ‘Taxi’ Shine is also here, waiting for you I believe.”
“Look, I know you strive for precision, but just call us Hardy and Taxi.”
“We... we will try. Hardy.” The massive bug lifted its clacking jaws in a frightening parody of a smile.
“Ugh, and don’t grin like that. It’s going to give somepony a heart attack. Is my partner still asleep?” I asked, making sure my auto-loader’s action was still smooth and clean.
“If you refer to the pegasus with the expressive pigment, we believe she is still unconscious, yes. You are a rogue, Hardy! Wherever did you find such a lovely creature?” Queenie did a little pirouette that was a vague, mechanical imitation of 'suggestive.' “Detective Juniper Shores would approve.”
“I’m not sleeping with her! She’s just my partner!” I hissed. “What Juniper would ‘approve’ of is irrelevant, and I’ll kindly ask you not to bring him up, unless you want to have to get yourself another diplomat because this one got a hole in it.”
The Essy held up its forelegs placatingly and burbled. “We would prefer not to have expensive fissures in our carapace, Hardy.” All of the ladybugs let out a simultaneous hum, and their antennae turned towards the door. “You may be interested to hear that Miss Taxi has been cleaning. Your abode is far more presentable."
Because I was adjusting my trigger bit to hang suitably close to my mouth when they said that, I almost nipped the tip of my tongue off.
“She’s what?! Why didn’t you say that first?!” I shouted, hurling myself out of the bedroom.
****
I arrived on a scene of total devastation.
A few carpet stains were all that remained of my carefully arranged and arrayed messes. She’d... stacked my case files. That evil, feminine menace had actually organized them into piles beside the sofa.
Swift was still on the couch, two throw pillows jammed on either side of her head. Her ears were covered by the cushions and she was still sleeping like a rock.
The rest of the living room buzzed with activity. Fastidious little insects swarmed through, plucking dust off of every surface, wielding cleaning brushes I hadn’t seen in years. Standing at the sink in that weird two-legged zebra combat stance, with a dish-rag draped over one hoof, the ring-leader herself was casually wiping dishes.
“Taxi... Taxi, y-you-” Words failed. My mess. My glorious hovel was destroyed! She’d managed to even clean up that beer stain in the corner I’d been cultivating for the last five months. The carpet, whose natural color I’d long since forgotten, was only slightly spotty and once more a rich green. It should have been impossible, but with the help of the ladybugs, my home had been transformed... into a magazine showcase! There were flowers in a vase on the coffee table. Flowers!
I fell onto my stomach, shutting my eyes and praying when I opened them the horrible dream would be over and my familiar piles and heaps would be back. No such luck.
“Ahhh, good morning, Hardy! May the light of the Princess shine on you! Did you sleep alright? Your energies seem-”
“Kill yooou!”
****
On closer examination, attempting to throttle a pony trained in every form of martial physical combat I can name was probably a stupid idea.
It felt right at the time. Hindsight is 20/20.
****
Taxi applied the ice-pack to the right side of my head. I sucked in a breath against the pain. “You know, most ponies would be grateful. This place was a sty.”
“Was I grateful the last time you did this?!” I replied, furiously. I felt my chest for any cracked ribs from the fall. She’d put me down quickly, but thankfully only with the light tap on the head rather than one of those awful nerve pinches.
“Well, I just thought you were grumpy that day! Anyway, I didn’t mess with your case files this time. I made sure to put them in the same order they were in before. These ladybugs can be most helpful if you have the right lever.”
“What lever did you use to get them cleaning my apartment?” I pulled away from her, still holding the cold pack to the small bruise.
A tiny smirk played across her yellow muzzle. “Oh, I told them you’d do something interesting when you saw it. I admit, I didn’t expect you to attack me, but...” She indicated the sofa where every single ladybug in the room had come to rest in a blanket of pink surrounding Swift. All of their multi-faceted eyes were on us, every wing still. "...well, Mission Accomplished.”
“Lovely.” I sneered at the gathered Essys. “Are they going to actually help us, or are they just here for the amusement factor of watching you smack me?”
Queenie scuttled out of my bedroom and up onto the back of the couch. My partner was still out cold, her rear legs twitching as though she was running from something in her sleep. That she couldn’t feel the mass of moving beings around her was something of a miracle, but we’d had a genuinely tiring day and the kid was new to the gig.
"We are going to assist you, Hardy.” Queenie chirped, drawing a small bag from under its wings and pulling out a powdered bear-claw. It started a very dainty nibble, then tossed the whole thing into its jaws, spraying sugar everywhere. “We find this Cosmo character a most odious villain and you are a suitable hero! We cannot wait for the plot to twist!”
“Apparently, they’ve been watching a lot of daytime television. Just ignore it.” My driver murmured, dipping her head into her saddlebag.
I immediately recognized the two thick manilla envelopes she set on the coffee table and facehoofed, which didn’t seem to deter her.
“Speaking of things, I’ve got some fresh identities for you and Swift!” she chirped. “Now, you’re Ruby’s building manager’s cousin who is looking to start a fresh drug trade in the Skids. You walk with a limp and have a scar on your left flank you got from an altercation during an illegal underground Ultimate Rodeo. Can you manage a lower-class Trottingham accent? If not—”
“Sweets,” I said, waving away the overproduced character file, “hold off on the secret identities.”
“I spent all night arranging these!”
“I’m still saying we won’t need them.” I insisted, putting my hoof on the envelopes and pushing them back to her. “I know what I’m doing. Come on, let’s get the kid up, get some breakfast. I’ll call Slip Stitch and get what I need from him. Then we can go see Cosmo.”
“Why are you calling that nutbar? Didn’t you get enough of him yesterday?” Taxi asked, standing up.
“He’s got drugs. We need drugs.” I let the spinning in my head subside, then moved over to the couch and waved my hooves over it until the ladybugs took the hint and the swarm flew blew past my head, finding a fresh spot on my newly cleaned counters. I gently shook Swift’s shoulder.
“...spergle... wha?”
One soft blue eye slid open and my young partner’s face cracked into a smile I hadn’t seen from anypony in years: One genuinely glad to see me first thing in the morning.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning kid. You ready for some actual cop work?”
“Yes, sir! What are we–” Her lower jaw seemed to stop working of it's own accord, leaving her chewing air.
It was all very sudden, but it felt like the world wanted me to see what happened, and so conveniently let time itself bugger off down the bar for a pint.
Swift’s gaze lighted on something over my shoulder, and then the pony on the couch was, within the blink an eye, no longer my green-as-clover protege. Her face had changed in some tiny, imperceptible way, and there was a pony I no longer recognized laying there on my couch. I’d seen something like it the day when she was confronted with Thalassemia, but that was a pale shadow of what was happening in front of me. She had the same shape; the same wild fur and spiky red mane; it just wasn’t Swift anymore.
I took an involuntary step back as a rank smell I can only call unrestrained bloodlust spilled off the pegasus. Glancing back over my shoulder, I found the subject of her attention licking powdered sugar off the coffee table: Queenie.
The huge ladybug’s antennae lifted as it realized something was wrong, and its armored back tightened for a leap into the air.
Queenie was fast.
Swift was greased orange lightning.
Bounding off the couch, the rookie extended her wings and gave them one solid flap, launching herself into the air. The downdraft almost flattened me. She was over my shoulder before I could so much as twitch, using my back as a springboard to throw herself across the room at the Essy, who’d just managed to take off.
My partner extended all four hooves and hit Queenie with a kick that would have turned any normal creature into a smear on the bottoms of her horse-shoes. Luckily, the insect’s natural armor was exceptionally thick, even on its underbelly. The two of them crashed to the carpeted floor, rolling end over end until they hit the door.
Taxi looked ready for violent action, if only she could figure out what that action should be. I was feeling much the same way. Similarly, Queenie seemed uncertain what, precisely, was going on, and merely flailed at my partner with all eight of it’s legs, trying to push her off.
Gone was the clever, skilled flier who’d navigated her way straight up a narrow alley between two buildings; the pony viciously attacking our surveillance being seemed little more than a crazed brute. Swift was banging her head against the extremely thick armor on the creature’s underbelly as though trying to burrow her way to it’s heart. I was grateful Taxi had moved Swift's gun off the coffee table, or the scene might have been significantly more unfortunate.
“Detective! Your pegasus is malfunctioning!”
Queenie’s plea came from all of the smaller ladybugs chittering in unison from the kitchen counter and brought me back from my confused indecision. Taking firm hold of Swift’s stubby tail when it swung near enough, I tore her off the ladybug’s chest and threw her towards the couch. She tried to get her balance, beating at the carpets and knocking over the table; I was on her before she could, pinning her wings down with my weight on the joints. She snapped at me like a rabid dog, biting at my chest, though there was little she could do from that position.
“Get Queenie out of here!” I shouted.
My driver shoved open the kitchen window, which was just wide enough for the giant Essy to clamber through. Taking the hint, Queenie flew over and crawled out. Taxi and followed it out onto the fire escape, then shut the window behind her.
Swift’s rage didn’t stop. She kicked her rear legs, tried to nip at my fetlocks, and flexed and flailed her wings until I was forced to apply some pressure to them. The pain was what brought her out of it enough to use her voice and when she did, my ears immediately hurt.
“Shir!” She shrieked, slurring each word like she’d had too much to drink. “I gots to kills it! Kill it! Shir!”
“Kid, stop it!” I yelled back.
“Lemme kill it!”
I slapped her across the muzzle with the bottom of my hoof.
She gasped, and started to arch her back for a buck which would have torn the end off my couch. I hit her again and her head jerked to the side. A trickle of blood ran down her nose, onto her upper lip. That finally did it.
“S-sir? W-why are you h-hitting me?” She whimpered pitifully, putting her hooves over her mouth.
“You just tried to kill something.” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and even.
“I-It’s not a pony!” She cried. “S-sir, my w-wings hurt!”
I stepped back off of her wing-joints and she sat up, folding them against her side. Tears and blood ran down her face, making her look like a real mess, particularly with the sand still in her eyes from her recent sleep She seemed halfway towards shock, breathing in quick gasps as sobs wracked her tiny frame.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” I said, putting my hoof on her shoulder. She shuddered from head to hoof, but didn’t back away. “I get not liking bugs, but... I’ve never seen somepony go that crazy before. At least, not without a heavy dose of Beam.”
“I...” Her pupils dilated until the blue almost vanished from her eyes then shrank quickly back to their normal size. The fury was replaced with complete befuddlement on her foal-like features. “I don’t... know...sir...”
“Don’t know?! You just tried to use your head for a battering ram!”
“Sir, I just said, I! Don’t! Know!” She bit off the words like each one tasted vile.
“Is this the real reason they tossed you out of PACT?!”
I regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of my muzzle. They were unkind and unfair. I’d seen hundreds or thousands of damaged ponies down through the years. It comes with living in this world and, in particular, Detrot. Magic does bad things to ponies, but nothing compared to what we do to one another.
Swift’s eyes welled over and she snatched up a pillow, biting it hard as she fought not to cry. It was the business of several minutes to get herself back on even footing.
When the tears were no longer impending, I closed my eyes and said quietly, “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean that.”
“No, you’re right, sir... I mean, I am too small for fire-team weaponry, but if they knew about this...” Her ears were plastered to the sides of her head. “I... don’t know.” Her voice broke. “Sir, I’m scared!”
I didn’t really know what to do. What would you have done?
Me, I’m a cold bastard. It’s how I get through the day. You can’t spend your mornings waking up to go root around in the lives of the dead to discover why they’ve died violently and maintain a sunny, cheerful disposition. The ponies who try either end up like Slip Stitch, which is to say mad as a badger on fire, or like the Chief, which is to say stoned out of their minds and with a fair chance of one day ending up on the sour end of an equicide investigation by her own employees.
And yet, confronted by my partner, this youthful vessel waiting to be filled with the ‘wisdom of the master,’ crying like a foal, I just didn’t have it in me to keep up the high power defenses that keep me going through each day. Coldness only takes a pony so far. I made a note to kick myself thoroughly later for my weakness.
Sliding my forelegs under hers I lifted her off the couch and hugged her to my chest for a few seconds. She didn’t resist. Rather, she curled her head under my chin and shut her eyes. I hadn’t hugged anypony in too damn long, so I was a bit out of practice, but she didn’t have any critique for my technique. It was a great departure from the snarling beast that’d almost taken off my face just two minutes ago.
After her shaking had stilled and her tears dried a bit, I set her on her hooves and stepped back.
“Swift, can I try something?” I asked, pushing her back against the couch.
“S-sir?”
“I’m curious.” I put a hoof on her forehead. “Just stand there and try not to move.”
She nodded, wiping her drippy nose on the back of her fetlock. “Alright.”
I moved close, put my muzzle next to her ear, and whispered into it.
“Essy!”
The change was instantaneous. I got that smell again, like burning copper, and only had time to jerk my head back as she chomped the air where my ear had been. I shoved myself away, preparing to fight for my skin, but Swift just hung there with a surprised look in her eyes.
“What was that?!” She squeaked. “I’ve never felt anything like that before!”
“I’m not sure.” I answered, truthfully. “What I do know is that we’ve got a problem.”
“Am... I sick?” She coughed into her hoof, then felt her forehead for fever. As she was, her eyes drifted towards the ceiling and her back went rigid. “S-sir... why is your ceiling f-fan covered in parasprites?”
“They’re not-” I looked up at the ceiling fan. Sitting on every blade was a line of ladybugs, all silently watching the two of us. “Wait, you almost destroyed the apartment trying to disassemble Queenie. Why aren’t they setting you off?”
“I don’t know! If I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you?” She let out an exasperated noise. “They’re kind of cute. Pink, but cute. What are they?”
“Ladybugs.” I gestured for one of them to come down. A smaller specimen, about the size of a grape, leapt off the fan and buzzed down to my leg, alighting on my upraised knee. “They’re... well, I’m not going to use the ‘E’ word, but they’re going to help us take down Cosmo. Think of them as living cameras. Each one can see what all the others can see or, if they’re touching a pony, they can record physical sensations and play them back later for somepony else.”
“We have to hide them in the diary, right? Aren’t they too... um... too big?” Swift asked.
The ladybug made a noise which, on a much larger creature, might have been considered very rude, then shrunk to the size of a pea and flattened itself on my leg as thin as a bit piece. Its armor turned the same soft grey as my fur, blending in almost perfectly.
“They’re pretty good at what they do. I...”
There was a knock on the door and Taxi padded in as quiet as a mouse. “All clear?”
“Clear enough.” I murmured. “Where’s Queenie?”
“It’s going back to its roost to watch soap operas.” She shifted her interest to my partner, holding out a package of tissues.
“Could you tell it I’m sorry?” Swift asked, taking a tissue to blot her bloody nose with. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just saw it and I... I hated it so much. Even thinking about magic-made creatures as big as I am... those vile abominations-” Her breath caught in her throat, turning into a half-feral snarl. She blinked, then wretched, coughed, and stuffed her hoof into her mouth.
“I will tell Queenie you’re sorry.” I touched her foreleg. “You have no idea why... whatever that is... is happening? Somepony ever jigger with your brain? You get in a staring contest with Snow Coy?”
“Sir... ugh, if so, I don’t remember it.” Her mouth quivered as she fought back another wave of tears. “I should go home until I find out what’s wrong with me. I’ll go to Doctor Pickle or one of the nurses at the Vivarium tomorrow and if they can’t find anything I’ll go to Sacred Sun and check myself—”
“Kid, we don’t have time for that.” I cut in. “Yeah, I admit we can’t afford to have you losing it every time there’s a sentient construct in the room, but they’re rare enough.”
“But what if I just go crazy and attack somepony?”
“Then I’ll hold you down by the wings until it goes away.” I touched her shoulder where her wing connected and she fluffed the tips. “Either way, we’re on a time budget here. The second Svelte doesn’t clock in, we’re going to have a much worse situation. Unless you want to pray Cosmo is feeling lazy, I want to head that off at the pass. Plus, I have some calls to make. I’ll give you a complete breakdown of what I’ve got in mind in the car.”
“But sir, shouldn’t we report this-”
“Oh, Sweet Celestia, no.” I shook my head violently. “We are not reporting this to the Chief unless you want a Section 8 discharge today. We’ll be unemployed and what I have in mind for Cosmo won’t work if you and I are sitting in line at the food pantry.”
Swift’s eyes widened a little then she set her jaw. “I’ll... If I start feeling... Sir, please watch me.”
“I won’t be the only one.” I jabbed my knee at Taxi. “Sweets has this zebra neck trick that can put an earth pony out for an hour, and you’re half my size. I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine.”
Taxi nodded, holding her hoof out to help Swift up and I took her other leg.
“Sorry I hit you, kid.”
“It’s okay, sir. I took worse hits in PACT training.”
****
The phone rang and rang. Just as I was about to hang up, the timid voice of Thalassemia came down the line.
"H-h-hello? T-t-this i-is th-the C-city Co-coroner—"
"Thal, it's Hard Boiled. Put Stitch on the line."
"Oh, Detective! Y-yes. I w-will get the-the pants off h-his head."
"...What?”
"It's an exp... an experi..."
"Experiment. Right. Go get him."
The phone set down and I heard claws scampering on tile into the distance. Some moments later, I heard hooves that clopped like they were dancing, before a humming musical voice waltzed up and snatched up the receiver. "Doctor Slip Stitch here! I am most ecstatic to make your acquaintance!"
"Doc, it's Hardy."
"Hardy? Hardy who?"
"Hard... Boiled. Have you been into the embalming fluid again?"
"Oh! Yes, I have. Goes down smooth, gives a heady rush. What can I do for you, Detective?"
"You still have your friend at the Academy pharmacy? I need some–" I set a sheet of paper on the table with the phone and smoothed it down. "R-three-three-seven-nine-nine."
"Carfentanil? That's lovely strong stuff! Does that mean you’re joining Officer Boomerang’s weekly poker night?"
"What? No, no. I need some for a case I'm working."
"Oh, Detective, you do give me the most interesting requests! I'm sure I have some here. I'll have it couriered to your apartment within the hour."
"Oh, and could you keep this under the table for me?"
"Why, whatever do you mean, Detective? I've no idea what you're talking about. Formaldehyde and methanol have such a wonnnderful aftertaste."
"Thanks, Stitch."
****
"Detective! You owe me kisses and candy. The Chief was apoplectic. The scrub’s last report didn’t contain an itinerary, and for some reason I couldn’t possibly piece together, her High Holiness wants to keep tabs on you. I jotted out some garbage about you doing interviews and claimed I’d dropped it behind my comm console.”
“Thanks, Telly. I need a couple favors. Could you arrange for a note in the log that says a clean-up crew went out to—” I gave her Ruby’s address “—and something about me bringing in a red stallion, name of Hay Maker? Don’t bother with the booking information but just have the note. Erase it tomorrow.”
She hesitated, then the line buzzed as she switched channels. “Sure thing. That’ll be a spinach and cauliflower pizza, two boxes of bonbons from that place uptown, and new pads for my second set of headphones. Anything else?”
“These ‘favors’ are going to get expensive quick, don’t they?”
“You’re damn right they are.”
****
Plans make me crazy. The second a pony says ‘I have a plan,’ that’s usually a good time to exit stage anywhere as quickly as possible. I’ve never been good with other pony's plans, and my own don’t ever turn out well enough that I feel comfortable making them a regular part of my life. I prefer to enforce the law by the scruff of my neck, and on the days I wear them, the seat of my pants. A detective can’t make quick decisions if he’s constantly consulting a plan or his superior officer. It’s part of why the Detrot Police Department still manages to operate despite the overwhelming odds against it.
There is a certain benefit to plans; ponies like me can always be relied upon to upset the schema of criminals with acts of well engineered insanity when we discover somepony else has a plan in the works. Insanity often replaces a plan in the Equestrian Police Force, and works better than it has any right to.
The insanity I laid bare to both partner and driver on the trip across town was some of my finest.
****
Monte Cheval. The Mountain Pony.
I’d never actually seen the Monte Cheval up close myself, being neither rich enough nor cursed with a severe enough gambling habit. I remembered reading the front page news article when the place had opened, and I think I used it to wipe up a puddle of vomit after an especially heavy night of drinking.
There were plenty of places in Detrot catering to low-rolling betters hoping for that one big win which would raise them out of the slums. The Monte Cheval wasn’t one of those.
Detrot hadn’t had the luxury of heavily regulating industry for thirty years or so, except in cases where failures to do so verifiably meant ponies dying. In the eyes of City Hall, any business was good business so long as it brought in the bits. Somepony at the Detrot Tourism Board must have wet themselves when the proposition for the construction of the Monte Cheval came across their desks.
****
I only marked the passage from the middle-class part of the city into the area near the far side of the bay by the change in the quality of the tarmac. While the Vivarium sat in a comfortable suburban environment, Monte Cheval was unquestionably an urban venture and the roads had all the welcoming smoothness of silk bedsheets after a long day. I could almost feel the taxi settle onto the softer road surface with a happy whine from the rear suspension.
Pushing my hat back from my eyes, I took a gander over at Swift, who was busy scribbling in her notebook on a new page with the words ‘The Detective’ topping it. I decided then and there, once the mess with Cosmo was over and Ruby Blue’s killer safely behind bars, that I’d ask her what she found so interesting about me that it required more than one page to take notes on.
“Hardy, we’re almost there.” said Taxi, settling the car in behind a double-wide truck with the words ‘Monte Cheval’ across the back. “Can we finish here quickly? This place makes my pelt crawl.”
Now that she mentioned it, there was a general sensation of spiders rushing up and down my back. Gold lamé spiders.
****
Since the Vivarium, I’d been mentally bracing myself for a similar setup at Cosmo’s pleasure dome. The reality was much, much worse than anything I could have imagined in my worst nightmares, and I’m a pony who knows nightmares.
No picture in the paper could possibly do it justice. Hidden amongst middle-sized sky-scrapers and hotels some distance around the edge of The Bay of Unity from the Vivarium and just outside the Heights, some army of ponies had moved a mountain.
Compared to the natural mountains nearer Canterlot, this was a piddling and unambitious pile of rocks, but plunked down in the middle of the city in the lowland valley which was Detrot, it was a massive undertaking and an impressive achievement. Equestria is a place of many wonders; the Monte Cheval, whatever else it might have been, had to be counted amongst them, and would have been simply brilliant if they’d just left it be.
Sadly, whoever set the mountain in place felt the need to ruin the image of an inner city alpine by capping it with a brightly glittering eruption which I’m sure, in their mind, looked like gold lava spilling down the crags. The trick was accomplished with spotlights which roved over a series of carefully placed reflectors, making the whole mess sparkle and seem to flow.
Princesses save us. They’d built a giant piss volcano.
It seemed impossible that the obscenity of it could have been lost on everypony who helped build it, let alone its numerous employees and patrons. And yet, there it was, standing and spewing in frothing defiance of good taste.
The words “Monte Cheval” topped a mildly understated sign over the valet parking lot. They were wrought in fine gemstones, but in letters small enough to somehow say ‘Yes, I’m on a phallic symbol that would seem to have lost control of its bodily functions and is spraying the world with precious metals, but I’m not going to shout about it.'
****
As we came into the parking lot behind a line of expensive carriages and motors from out of town, Taxi made a sound halfway between a retch and a sneeze. Her wrenching yank on the handbrake almost sent me and Swift onto the floor. The car behind us honked furiously while my driver leaned down and buried her face in the glove-box, taking long breaths of the thick incense.
“What the hay was that?!” I shouted, more alarmed than angry.
“Sorry, this place makes me ill.” She replied, completely unapologetic.
“If you’re going to make a scene in the lobby—”
“Hardy, I just had to resist the urge to drive straight into the lobby and start running down porters with my front bumper. This place is—”
“I know what it is.” I broke in before she could get deep into the act of complaining. “You’re coming in and you’re going to look pleased to be here. We’ve got to sell this.”
“This idea is nuts. We’re hoping they don’t immediately kill us. I’ve still got those identity folders, if you want to use them.”
“I don’t. If this goes south, I’m hoping they won’t risk using guns inside a crowded building, and will either take us someplace private or throw us out without question. It’s not the plan that matters. It’s seeing Cosmo himself. Just stand behind me and try to look harmless.” I said, firmly then put my hoof on my partner’s notebook. She set her pen aside and slid to attention.
“Sir?”
“Wait here.” I ordered. “This has to be Taxi and I. I want you to just sit and watch what’s going on in there. If this goes south, it’s your responsibility to tell to the Chief where we are and explain this mess. I don’t want you to move unless you see us in actual physical danger, got it?”
“A-alright, sir. How should I sit and watch, though?”
“As soon as we’re inside, your ladybug is going to turn on.” I patted the spot on the side of her head where the tiny insect hid in her electric red mane. “Don’t be alarmed when it does.” I considered how to explain the sensation. “It feels a bit like flying off a very tall building-”
“But, I like flying—”
“—without wings.” I finished.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Think about taking deep breaths until you’ve adjusted.”
“Think about it?” Swift asked.
“You won’t actually be able to take deep breaths but just think about it real hard.”
“O-okay, s-sir.”
“Good.”
****
Getting Taxi to give her keys to the valet was akin to separating a mother from her foal when she knows there’s a chance they may not see one another again. I almost had to pry them out of her teeth, but in the end she managed to set them on the hood with less than good grace. The valet tipped his little red cap and promised to look after the Night Trotter. I slipped him five bits for his trouble, then a further ten bits to ignore Taxi’s death threat regarding the eventuality of him scratching the car.
Then, pulling my driver towards the enormous tunnel under the mountain which constituted the entrance of Cosmo’s lair, we slipped into the heart of darkness. Well, maybe the infected lower urinary tract of darkness.
“Welcome to Monte Cheval!”
A short distance into the darkened hole, twin teal-green mares, both in bizarrely fashionable miner’s helmets, stood on either side of a set of glass doors. They were almost a flat match for Svelte’s beauty, but it was more engineered, with a thick layer of makeup covering up whatever flaws they might have had The one who’d spoken rushed to hold open the door for me and gave a wan lift to the edges of her mouth as I hauled Taxi past her. Foreleg in foreleg, I tried to make us look less like a couple of ruffians in off the streets and more like legitimate customers.
For a second, I thought they might stop us, but we apparently had that look only ponies who are so rich they no longer have to care about appearances can pull off. I puffed out my chest and marched forward while my driver looked like she was being taken to her execution. I sincerely hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
Inside the Monte Cheval, we were assaulted by the chemical smell of low-grade formica decaying under day-in-day-out neon lights, spilled beer, and the endless clank and clatter of slot machines humping the Equestrian Dream of that one big winner coming from the stale early morning hours of a Detrot Casino.
The interior was dim where we stood, with a coat-checker beside the door. Further in was a series of invitingly lit craps tables surrounded by eager crowds of ponies willing to hoof their bits into the pockets of the stallion upstairs in exchange for ‘hope’ and little else. On every side, rattling and screeching, promising ‘Big Wins’ and ‘Jackpots,’ all manner of gaming machines lined the walls with a pony in almost every seat.
Despite the glitter and perpetual activity, something in the place felt... sickly. It was a desperate hole for ponies begging to be saved from their own boredom and emptiness, either by sinking into the oblivion of debt or cashing out just before that could happen and hoping for something more satisfying in one of the adjoining arcades. I could almost sympathize.
“Sir, I apologize, but we do have a very strict no-weapons rule here in the Monte Cheval for everypony’s safety. Our security wards have made me aware that you are wearing a gun harness.” A young mare barely out of her teens, with multi-colored braces on her teeth, had appeared at my elbow. She had a short black vest on and a nametag, and carried an air of ‘minor authority.’ “If you would care to leave your armaments with the desk clerk, she will see they’re checked into our safe–”
“Thank you, but no.” I said, letting my coat hang open so my badge was immediately visible. “If you could direct us to the manager, that would be excellent.”
An annoyed breath was sucked through her pursed lips, but she didn’t display any surprise, as though this were a common occurrence. It was an ephemeral crack in her facade at best, and she quickly reassembled her pleasant smile. “Of course, sir. If you will still, for the patrons, leave your weapons here, we would–”
“Miss–” I quickly read her nametag. “–Forsythia, I am a police detective. You may or may not be aware, but that does entitle me to carry a firearm into secured establishments in pursuit of my work.”
“Yes, but–”
“Go get your manager. March.”
Forsythia’s nose wrinkled up, then she turned on one rear heel and pranced off into the slight gloom of the mine-styled casino, leaving us at the coat check. My cutie-marks had developed a persistent prickle that I’d been fighting not to acknowledge.
“Hardy, I hate this plan.” Taxi said, very softly. “I really do.”
“Feel free to walk us out of here and come up with another one.”
“I didn’t say it couldn’t work. I just hate it.”
“What’s your Shiny-sense saying?” I asked, shifting close in the hope whatever magical system of listeners they were no doubt employing couldn’t pick up whispered conversation.
“Nothing, other than that we should be careful.”
I put one hoof in my coat-pocket, feeling the diary and the tiny package of medical grade opiates that Stitch had delivered. “Then it’s not saying anything we didn’t already know.”
“This place is foul. The energies are making me sick.”
Putting my leg on her shoulder I gave her a gentle, and hopefully encouraging, shake. “Take some deep breaths and do the meditation with the fruit–”
“Ze-doun causatum contemplation number six? That’s supposed to be for relaxing situations! I don’t need to think about the ‘fruits of my labors’ when my fruits could end up getting me killed.”
“I’d say you need to relax right now. I need you thinking. I’m going to turn on the ladybugs.”
“Alright.” Taxi muttered then closed her eyes and began reciting something to herself in the lyrical zebra language.
I put my head down, pretending to examine the cheap carpeting.
It’s been oft-commented that the pony who designed the ladybugs was some type of mad genius. Their brilliance can’t be disputed; Ladybugs are fantastic surveillance. Equally, the madness of that pony is in every part of the creatures from their whimsical appearance to their extremely trying personalities. It is most obvious in the downright bizarre way one has to activate them.
I tapped my forehooves together twice, wiggled my rear end, and quietly chanted:
“Sunshine, sunshine; Ladybugs... Awake.”
Dignified, it was not, but a light tingle shot through my scalp, which was the only sign that the group of ladybugs hiding in my mane were working. Taxi had her own colony and was going through a similar little production. One ladybug each might have been enough for the events at hoof, but we decided thoroughness was in order.
It’s always best not to think too hard about having bugs in your fur (even if they are hyper-intelligent and reasonably friendly) unless you want to go into a full body scratching fit right out in public. Even as it was, I had to resist the urge to throw myself on my back and roll around in circles.
“Brrr, that still gives me the creeps.” Taxi muttered.
The mare with the braces was just returning, followed by a stiff legged stallion in a tight fitting tuxedo. His pelt was pasty, like yogurt that’d gone about two weeks past its expiration date and the monkey suit didn’t suit him in the least. His mane was the sort of black that only comes from a bottle. Even I have a few grey hairs, here and there.
If Forsythia radiated ‘minor authority,’ that gentlecolt was ‘power-trip incarnate.’ He swept past customers and even his own employee dashed ahead of him, watching carefully for any sign he was directing his fuming displeasure at her.
This is going to be fun, I thought.
“Now, then, what’s all this?” The manager started testily, giving Taxi and I an up and down look like we’d just crawled out of a gutter. “I was under the very distinct impression I told the gaming board that they could speak to our lawyers if they want to complain about the payout ratios again. There is no law against having a higher than average payout and we are not monopolizing the customers just by doing so!”
My driver put on her most beneficent smile and started: “We’re not with the gaming board—”
“Oh? Then I see no good reason for you to be here!” He snapped, taking a step toward her. I noticed two burly shapes moving through the shadows on either side of us. “You’ll disturb the customers.”
I pulled my badge out of my coat and held it up in my teeth. “You see thith?” I said, trying to hold in the lisp.
He let his eyes rest on it then they went back to my face. “I see it. It’s a bit of metal with the name of a very silly police-pony with an addiction to ink in the newspaper, Detective Hard Boiled.”
Disrespect. Good, I liked that. I was going to feel some actual remorse if I treated somepony with an ounce of grey matter behind their eyes like I was about to treat this character.
I let the badge drop and stepped up to the manager. “You know who I am? Then may I ask who you are?”
If his nose had been any higher in the air it would have been scraping the ceiling. “My name, Detective, is Reginald Bari, and unless you are willing to produce a warrant or leave peaceably this instant, I shall call my lawyers and you will find yourself on the end of a very unpleasant lawsuit for criminal trespassing!”
“Bari... that’s a kind of drum, right?” I asked, genially, then continued without waiting for a reply. “Good to meet you, Bari.” I cocked my head at my driver. “Taxi, could you please proceed to scream bloody murder? He just attempted to touch you inappropriately.”
“What?! I did no such thing!” Bari yelped, shying away from us both.
Taxi hadn’t moved but a slow, naughty grin was creeping across her face. She drew in a breath and I rested my hoof across her shoulders, stopping her before she could unleash what would no-doubt be an all-time great performance in the history of Equestrian theatre.
The two shadows in the darkness stopped moving. Sweat broke out on the surly stallion’s forehead.
“I’ve got a mare here who can shriek very convincingly, Bari, my friend.” I gave Taxi a little jiggle, like she was a loaded pistol waiting to fire. “I’m no expert on running a casino, but I think that would be awfully disruptive to the customers, or at least, to a police record free of molestation charges.”
“W-what do you want, Detective?” Bari asked, his eartips shaking with nervousness.
“I’m here to see The King.”
The manager’s eyes edged upwards a few degrees above my forehead then flipped back. It wasn’t much, but it was all I needed. The King was 'In.'
“I don’t know who you–” The manager started to say and Taxi took a slightly deeper breath, readying a shrill burst that would have rattled the windows. "–Okayokay! I... I can’t... it’s... I...” Bari sniveled, desperately.
“Tell you what.” I raised my leg and adjusted his bowtie with one hooftip. “Why don’t you head off behind your little curtain or wherever you keep the phone you have where you take your orders and you tell the King I have something he wants, then we’ll see what happens.”
Reginald might have been a cringing, power-playing imp, but what he lacked in spine he more than made up for in survival instinct. He was quickly realizing I was ‘above his pay grade.’
Just to emphasize my seriousness, I gave him a rough push that sent him onto his back and growled, “Hop, hop, little bunny.”
He hopped. He downright bounced. The characters in the shadows faded with him, going back to whatever hole in which they waited to break kneecaps. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to face off with two enforcers for the Red Hoof. It was reputed that what they lacked in magic, wings, and numbers, they made up for with extreme brutality.
Taxi put her mouth to my ear. “I just noticed we haven’t seen a single unicorn or pegasus working here. Even the couple at the door? Both earth ponies. Doesn’t that violate equal opportunity laws somewhere?”
“I think we’re waaay past nailing Cosmo on something like that, Sweets.” I replied, checking my gun to make sure it was properly loaded.
"Sillier things have happened to organized crime," Taxi pointed out. "They got Al Capony on tax evasion, after all."
I shook my head. “This place is operating with the unfettered blessing of the city fathers and mothers. You want to scream about regulations, you can knock yourself out, but I think the best thing you’re going to get out of that is a sore throat.”
“I know. It just seems... ugh. This work makes my head hurt sometimes.” My driver slapped the carpet in frustration. “Why did I agree to help you with this?”
“The potential for lives in peril, mob boss taking over a large section of the city, my new partner’s weirdo family wiped out?”
Taxi let out a sigh, but there was a dash of amusement underneath. “It’s still not as bad as that weekend I tried to teach you yoga and you got drunk before coming to my class.”
“Really? I felt wonderfully cleansed after that.”
“You made a pass at my teacher!”
“She looked wonderful in those nice, tight pants.”
“She’s sixty five!”
“They were really nice pants.”
Taxi giggled and put her leg around my neck, giving me a quick snug that felt better than it had any right to.
As she let go, I became aware of some activity closing in on us. The two unsavory gentlecolts lurking in the dark had been replaced by five, similarly unsavory sorts who weren’t much bothering with lurking. They all wore that same brand of bad tux that Bari did, and looked to have names with definite articles, like ‘The Razorblade’ and ‘The Disemboweler.’ There, at their center, was Bari, whose altogether nasty expression of glee made me want to forcefully remove it with both rear hooves. He trotted towards us and stopped a short distance away.
“Mister Cosmo will be glad to see you, Detective. Of course, it is going to be on his terms.”
It was then, I realized that during our little conversation the nearest set of craps tables had been mysteriously emptied and the signs overtop of the five closest rows of gaming machines had gone out. The crowds, sheeplike as always, simply moved off a bit farther away to where things were still working.
I turned to the door. It was closed, and nopony had come through after us. There must have been quite the line backing up while they pulled that little trick.
We were, effectively, alone in the open. At that range, even Taxi’s best shrieks would have been nicely muffled by the clanking slots.
I opened my mouth to say something typically impudent only for a hood to sweep down over my face.
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heh piss volcano. So I just started this yesterday after it had been chilling in my read later list for two months or so and I gotta say I'm really liking it so far, and glad to see it updating so soon after I started. From the comments in previous chapters I can infer that it's gonna be a long long ride, which suits me just fine.
I'll admit I wasn't expecting robotic/magical bugs OR Swift's freakouts regarding them. I was thinking more along the lines of shapeshifting folders or something. In all an excellent chapter and I look forward to reading more.
Poor Swift, she's been brainwashed or something, probably by PACT if I had to guess. They're all about monster hunting, makes sense they'd be against Essies. of course they'd have to be subtle about it cause they're not allowed to hurt them, what better way than a police officer who snapped and started killing them. this is just my theory though, still I fell really bad for the poor girl.
I take it that a certain Twilight Sparkle or Princess Cadence might have been involved in these 'ladybugs' devices?
Wonderful as always. Specially liked the Ladybugs... Though I have to wonder what is up with Swift.
1930311 It's no less fucked up than anything else in this story. Stay tuned!
1930282 Heh, maybe, maybe. Who knows? One thing I will say about Detrot is it's a somewhat separate world from the My Little Pony you know and love. It's the same world, but some parts of it have gone from natural and extremely dangerous to civilized and extremely dangerous. Equestria is, lets face it, just not a nice place to live.
1929919 We've worked hard on making this feel both noir and pony. It might surprise but making it pony was actually harder than making it noir. I've never been a 'happy sunshine' writer so writing comedy ponies as serious characters is a trial.
1928954 Keep reading! The truth will be pleasantly bizarre.
1928597 We have updates every two weeks, usually on Friday. There were some delays this week. The blog usually gets updated first, before a release.
-Chessie
In the scene where hardy witnesses the ladybugs cleaning his room, the cleaning brushes (which he hadn't seen in years) are mentioned twice in a redundant fashion that may or may not be a mistake.
1930794 Could be. Post the section where that's happening if you would. I'll fix it.
-Chessie
Yay! More Detrot! Just a few details-
"Swift was banging her head against the extremely thick armor on the creature’s underbelly as though trying to burrow her way to it’s heart." (its)
"particularly with the sand still in her eyes from her recent sleep She seemed halfway towards shock" (missin' a period)
"They'd built a giant piss volcano." (just HAD to repeat that though nothing was wrong with it whatsoever)
Other than my incessant badgering you about discipline discipline DISCIPLINE- a delightful chapter! Can't wait to find out how badly Hard Boiled's insanity has gone awry.
Never
Has
A
Chapter
Been
So
Quotable.
l.wigflip.com/zfYxMeWz/roflbot.jpg
Equestria is DOOMED.
She has an anti-artificial lifeform Manchurian Candidate trigger? ... DAT'S AWESOME. How did I not pick up on it during the Stich scene?
And send it to Puzzler Tower, box 3500 Hahvahd Square, Cambridge (our fair city!), MA, 02238.
i.imgur.com/6brXf.gif?1?2526
And someone please tell me I'm not the only person who had the Casino Night Zone music from Sonic 2 going through their head?
1931078
Oh, gods. Chessie has a pathological inability to internalize that those are not interchangable. Thanks to the introduction of a genderless character, "It's"es proliferated; I corrected no less than 27 of those through two passes of find/replace.
Apparently, I still missed one.
1932366 ...Well, I'm hearing that soundtrack now...
1931971 1932366 1931078, and, really, everyone:
Thanks! I honestly think this is some of our finest work to date. Hope it was worth the wait!
--CEO Kasen
It’s a new world with tons of Words fresh squeezed and ready for reading!
Dat ponification. I want maor
Oh boy you guys are going to go full pratchett in this chapter aren’t you?
Thinking inanimate objects. Can’t wait.
Bahaha I’m having flashbacks to Red Dwarf to this fella Kryten
In case you haven’t seen that series, he’s basically an android for housekeeping but he has some serious OCD regarding cleaning.
Now there’s a rich analogy…mmm omelette
First thing I thought of when Ladybug started talking was the floating robots in Fallout 3 with the cheerful voices with perfect TV show presenter accents.
Twiiiiliiiiiiggghhhtttt!
Oh and Thaumaturgy rang a bell from my MMOing days. Magic users or something?
“…is the capability of a magician or a saint to work miracles. It is sometimes translated into English as wonderworking. A practitioner of thaumaturgy is a thaumaturge, thaumaturgist or miracle-worker.”
Aha so it is.
I like this ladybug, it tickles me so.
Bahahahaaa!
I love it
Again I love this story!
So Pratchett esque again.
Oh god, I can’t stop laughing
Oooh that’s going to sting. Poor swift
Well that was an interesting discussion. Swift has some internal thing about bugs called essy. Hmm
THHHHHALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!
Well if you’ll excuse me to go on a little monologue the old military saying that “most plans don’t survive first contact with the enemy”, does support the idea that Plans aren’t entirely useful. But you know it’s always nice to know if you’re doing things the way they were planned so afterward you can boast about how clever you were.
Ahem, moving on.
Wat. Freud..stahp.
Wonderful reference there :p
Ahh and so the plot has twisted!
Well that was a fun chapter to read, bit more delving into Swifts Character in general which is nice and her notes on Hardy...hmmm I wonder what will become of them?
Taxi was actually useful in this chapter too, though she does seem to have a thing for bodily harm :p.
As for Queenie, it's nice to have peculiar characters like them around now and again :3
Reminded me a little of the weird morgue dude, slip stitch? In how pleasantly naive they were.
Glad to see illness does not stop the march of progress and ponies.
1930773
Arguably we only see one facet of Equestria in the show. No world is really that "idealistic", except perhaps in pockets.
1946005 Heh, the facet we SEE isn't all that nice. It's a nasty place.
-Chessie
I've sadly been very slow on reading the past couple months and have accumulated a backlog, so I ended up with the Nightmare Night story and four chapters of Starlight left unread. I've just gone through them all as fast as I could while still enjoying them, and I have to say that it's only getting better.
Everyone's already mentioned that, but "Detective, your pegasus is malfunctioning!" and "Princesses save us. They'd built a giant piss volcano." are priceless. As 1931971 notes, this chapter is perhaps the most quotable of all.
"Less Squishable Diplomat" would make an awesome band name. Alternatively, I could totally see a D&D tavern named "The Squishable Diplomat" ;)
I must admit, I laughed roundly at this section.
Can't... stop... snickering...
Interesting. Mind control of some variety, maybe?
Love the phrasing here.
...ow. I really should have seen that coming. Well played, sir, well played.
I'll be mildly disappointed if there isn't a "The King has left the building" joke at some point in the future
Random grammar notes:
"Sllpped" should probably be "slipped".
"It's" here should be "its", since expanding it to "it is" doesn't make sense.
"Wretched" is an adjective meaning "sickly". "Retched" is a verb meaning "to barf". I assume you meant the latter?
You're missing a period at the end of this sentence.
You're using "like yogurt that'd gone about two weeks past its expiration date" as an interjection here, so you should have commas on both sides of it.
Grammar rule: If you have a dependent clause after a quote (usually beginning with some variant of "he said"), you need to attach that clause to the preceding quote. This means that a) if the quote ends in a period, it should end in a comma, and b) if the word immediately after the quote wouldn't otherwise be capitalized (i.e. if it's not "I" or a proper name), it should stay that way.
Examples in this chapter:
thank you, Shayne Martin, for letting me be able to laugh in understanding at that, I can die .5% happier now
Awww...that part where Hardy literally had to smack sense back into Swift was heart-wrenching. I wanna hug the little fuzzball now...
Gaaaahh!
I can personally testify to the adrenal boosting and constipation unblocking powers of an enormous, unexpected spider. I have had the personal misfortune of drowsily reaching out to Significant Other's side of the bed early one morning, contacting something fuzzy and wriggling (odd, that does not feel like his face...) and then opening my eyes to a large, angry tarantula gnashing its mandibles at me from across the pillow.
Nope nope nope nope!
Question: What is stopping the Ladybugs from inventing elaborate rumours about anyone they take a fancy to out of whole cloth?
- They are a genetically/thaumaturgically engineered surveillance collective.
- They crave continual excitement and stimulation.
- They are familiar with all the daytime soap opera tropes.
- They understand the value of blackmail.
To paraphrase from Sphere, "Here is Queenie, an emotional being who has none of the socialization, the emotional growth that comes from contact with other emotional beings. What happens when Queenie gets bored?"
"plot to twist" You keep using that phrases. I do not think it means what you think it means...
As for plot twists...
- Hardy is an Essy (Smarty Pants).
- Swift is actually Cosmo.
- Cosmo is Hardy's daughter (But Cosmo is older than Hardy! Hardy had a mission classified Most Secret involving time travel. Cosmo is a stallion! The mission went horribly wrong.)
So Swift is a Manchurian (Marechurian?) Candidate?
This does not bode well.
So Swift has secret, embedded trigger words?
Somebody (preferably summer interns looking for "criminology work experience") should sit Swift down and start reading all the words in the unabridged EED (Equestrian English Dictionary). Obvious word choices are "pickle barrel", "kumquat", "chimmicherrychanga", and "Ouagadougou".
Embalming fluid and opiates eh? That sounds like quite the party.
I wonder what Stitch does on holidays like Día de Muertos? Whatever is it, I imagine it causes ponies in a 3 block radius around the Castle to spontaneously break out into a song and dance routine...
derpicdn.net/img/2012/6/23/17307/medium.png
Plans require instructions. Don't follow instructions. Suspect instructions. They are something to be wary of. They will write instructions when they want you to do something. They want you to do what they want you to do. Instructions are broken down in small steps. When you make small steps, you become a smaller person. When you become smaller, you need instructions to tell you where to go and what to do. Those who give you instructions are not doing anything. They are instructing you so you can do something for them. Suspect instructions. They are something to be wary of. Instructions are very detailed and leave nothing to chance. Serendipity is the enemy of the narrow and the organized. Random behaviour leads to irregularities. Breakdowns in the system lead to chaos and confusion. If everyone is confused, they will have to write many, many more instructions. Don't follow instructions. Instructions are something to be wary of. If you follow instructions, you cannot do the things you want to do. You do other things instead, the things other people tell you to do. When you only listen to others, you cannot speak. Your ideas are trapped behind the door you helped close. You become the instructions. They will not have to write any more instructions for you, because you will have reached the end of their instructions. Don't follow instructions. Suspect instructions.
I guess you could say they were taking the piss.
Chapter 13: "Mental Mind Buck Can Be Nice" -this could be just about any "mind fuck" joke. Or it could also be from this one movie from the 70s. The Rocky something. (I can't go around remembering EVERYTHING now can I?)
Has already been mentioned over 128 weeks before I read this chapter.
Missing a full stop.
Missing another full stop.
And: WOW! That chapter was a blast!
4601647 The Rocky Horror Picture Show?
Only thing I can think of that starts with The Rocky...
Should be "its".
I absolutely love the Ladybugs!
Missing period.
... right then. Well, I suppose that if nothing else there have still got be weirder cases of substance abuse in this world.
Not many, but some.
Should be "ponies' plans".
Missing period.
...
You sneaky, wily... you're not going to tell me that it was Twilight who came up with the Ladybugs?
I don't know where you got the idea for the name, but in Italian "bari" means "you cheat", or "you are cheating". Interesting name for someone running a gambling establishment.
8857175 I love Reginald Bari. It's actually a term for a small drum, but the Italian connotation was not lost.
-Chessie
Must be a bug in her system...
-strangled chicken noises-
Lmao, time to add 'meta humor' to the wiki
And like that you have my absolute attention. MAGIC ROBOTS MAGIC GOLEMS BRING THEM ON.
The robots aren’t going to have a violent uprising. They’ll just blackmail us until we just do whatever they want. They’ll find it funny.
So twilight made robot bugs. Seems legit.
Sometimes I wonder if these little observations really require a scene break. On one hand, it sets them apart. On the other, simply placing the break before or ahead of the ‘snip’ would probably have the same effect and not seem as disjointedly choppy.
Queenie, through completely insane and nonsense means, has deduced that this is a story. She will be an invaluable asset. The madman who cries that the sky is falling when it really is…
And suddenly I think you’re really, really connected to this whole conspiracy, Officer Cuddles.
I can never have enough Slip Stitch in my life.
You’re the detective, Hardy, come ON.
…Twilight WHY. WHY.
-GM, master of BAGS on HEADS.
10054950 Heh, I'm glad you're enjoying things.
-Chessie
Reading this for the first time, having watched" Starlight the Hypnotist," I can only say; Yeah, seems about right.
sll?
sentence structure here is off. 'such ponies as those that wave their horns about' would be properly referencing the subject.
full stop missing.
retched.
another full stop missing.
Okay first off I changed my mind. Hardy isn't quite Pony Sam Vimes, but more a wonderful perfect mix of Sam Vimes, and Harry Dresden. Vimes' drive and commitment to being a copper and what that means, mixed with Dresden's personality. Which is an AMAZING combo!
Then we meet something that should not sound so both horrifying and adorable at the same time! Yay Queenie! This is going to be fun.
Unless Swift is nearby. That.... cannot be good. So obvious first guess is some kind of hypnotism or other mind fuckery the PACT do to recruits to make sure they are suitably aggressive enough against treats. But even then that is, far too extreme to not have caused issues before if all of them react like that so.... they do something special to her, or did the normal conditioning have an adverse reaction? melling burnt copper kind of, makes to sound like some kind of electrical thing.... Yeah this is.... very much not good.
And "Well, maybe the infected lower urinary tract of darkness."
Yeah that's where he became both Vimes and Dresden. That is such a Dresden line.
Oh and..... Twilight...... what did you do? On the plus side, better at least it's not ripping a hole in reality.... again... Also really hilarious how long ago this was written given the later revelation that Twilight is terrified of Ladybugs.