Act 2, Chapter 2: Hush Now, Quiet Now
Starlight Over Detrot
Act 2, Chapter 2: Hush Now, Quiet Now
The griffins and the pegasi have had a long, rocky, and bloody history. The reason for it is not complex. Griffins eat meat, and pegasi are made of meat.
It provides a biological backdrop to the cultural reasons pegasi value flying skills and athleticism so highly: Those who did not display strong flying skills tended to wind up on a griffin's plate. It's been further suggested that the pegasus power to manipulate weather and generate electrical storms is in fact a combination of magical and evolutionary adaptation to a hostile Equestrian airspace. Nothing quite puts off a predator like being tazed in the beak whilst several thousand feet in the air.
In something of a great paradox, the pegasi owe a lot of their current identity and capacity to the stresses put upon them by tormentors higher up in the food chain.
The predatory practice did start to die down around the time the pegasi got fed up and started organizing their own militaries: When the ones who survived were the ones who started fighting back in force. Ultimately, though, it was the alliance of the Three Tribes of Ponykind that put a stop to the practice just about entirely. When the price of a meal might include being turned into a newt and bucked into next week on top of being electrocuted, other meals started to appear more affordable.
The two remained cold warriors for a long time afterwards, however; It was only well after Celestia and Luna rose to power that a genuine treaty was worked out between Equestria's two most prominent flying species, who could then walk amongst their prehistoric enemies without fear of being eaten or shock-fried.
Which is not to say that the two species never get into a scrape every now and again.
--The Scholar
I wanted to ask more questions, but I could see my driver starting to nod off as the burst of relieved energy gave way to a combination of drinks and what was probably several sleepless days and nights. It was a potent cocktail, and she was flagging fast.
I helped her into the dinghy, threw a sheet over her and turned the air conditioner on before flopping down underneath, resting my head on an awful red throw pillow with a cherubic foal stitched into it.
From that horrendously unfashionable vantage point, I let my mind wander.
I thought about a day, many years ago, when I’d run through open, grassy fields following my brother, who was shouting encouragement as I fought to keep up with my shorter legs.
Wait. You never had a brother, Hardy.
This wasn’t what I needed if my brain was going to go for a walk-about. I shut my eyes, tight as I could, and forced my brain to quiet. There, in the darkness behind my eyelids, I tried to wrap myself in my own memories. Juniper laughing over a bottle of wine. Mom, baking in the kitchen or carving in her workshop. Dad, in from the station house, washing a bit of mud off his badge or digging it out of his horse-shoes. Eating dinner with Taxi, who was showing her latest little magic trick or talking in the corner to my father about some nuance of a case he was working on. My brother holding me while we slept after I’d had a bad dream—
No, dammit! That’s not mine!
Nothing would quite silence the distinct sensation that I was no longer alone in my own head.
I should have been appalled. Frightened. Disgusted. Instead, I felt as though somepony was trying to comfort me.
I eased downward into a confused, but somehow still pleasant sleep. Dreams are still dreams, even if you’re not sure whose they might be.
****
“Hardy! Hardy! Wake up!”
Hooves shook my shoulders violently and I swatted at them in my semi-asleep state. This earned me a toe in the stomach that brought me fully awake all in one go.
“Egyyah! Sweets! What’d ya do that for?!”
“Wake up!” My driver gave me another good shake to make sure I was fully conscious, then stomped back into the bathroom. I heard water running, then the flush of the toilet, before she called out, “I went out this morning and fixed my radio, then I called Telly and told her we’re back on the grid. She left a message to call Sykes.”
“Sykes? What does he want?”
Taxi almost danced back in, wiping the edges of her muzzle with a towel draped over one leg. “He knows where Swift is!”
“What? Sykes?!”
“Apparently!”
I used the edges of the dinghy to haul myself up before dropping onto all fours and doing a full body stretch. My rest had been interrupted by a succession of strange and sometimes foalish dreamscapes, but I felt excellent. The floor wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I’d slept in many worse places and I hadn’t felt like moving the empty food containers off the couch. While she’s usually very finicky, my driver has been known to turn into a bit of a slob when on the bad side of a downward spiral. Much like myself, actually.
“Erg... was that the news that required you to shake my fillings loose?” I asked, grabbing my hat and the diary from my makeshift night-stand. I stuffed the book down my coat front, then mashed the hat over my ears, wiggling them through.
Taxi gave me a sober look. “Jade knows you’re back.”
“How? I told Telly-” I stopped short as I realized what I was about to say. Jade had eyes everywhere within the Castle and, if nothing else, she had intuition that would give Taxi’s a run for its money. “Forget I said anything. What does she want?”
“I think Telly parsed it down to something fit for equine ears. The gist of it was that you need to come in right now, this very second, or you’ll suffer until the stars fall out of the sky.”
“Huh. Jade must be taking more of the green squares if she’s feeling that kindly. I expected a death squad sent out immediately.” I waved one hoof. “I’ll see how I feel once we’ve picked up the kid. Setting hoof in The Castle after what we pulled is begging for another trip to the hereafter.”
“You can’t avoid her forever, you know,” Taxi murmured.
“I’m fully aware. Now get your stuff and call the front desk to let them know you’re checking out. We’re leaving.”
****
Taxi kept peering at me in the rear view mirror as we drove along, as though making certain I was really, actually there. That I had only experienced a subjective day between strutting like a champion of the world into Cosmo’s office and waking up on a slab was still terribly disorienting.
Gingerly shifting the fur on my chest about, I finally found the zipper and pulled it down a few inches. I tapped the socket, then breathed a relieved sigh as the light came on. Wasn’t looking forward to my first ‘charging’ session.
So many questions. Too many.
Don Tome, librarian to the criminal underworld, was probably the best one to answer the ones about my new organ, but knowing him he was about to exact a price I was uncomfortable paying. The meeting with Jade was bound to be painful or great fun, or both. I’d often fantasized about what I’d do if she finally dropped the hammer and fired me.
There was also the distinct possibility that someone might, at some point, try to kill me again. I’d been gunned down from a cloud the last time, and if our opponents knew my exact location, nothing was stopping them from taking another shot. Taxi’s sense of her city could be relied upon to keep us free from stalkers, but very little could prevent a determined assassin from taking down a target if he knew where they were going to be. That left me with unpredictability and the fact that they probably believed me still dead already as my only actual strategic havens. I needed a safe place to stay, but I couldn’t worry about that until certain things were handled.
All that remained if I survived that insurmountable list of lethal problems was the kid.
“Hey, could we pull over so I can ring back Sykes?” I asked, over the seatback.
By way of answer, Taxi tugged the Night Trotter into the far lane, pulling us to a stop beside a telephone box. “There’s a fur stylist up on the corner, bless the sky. Do you mind if I go get myself fixed up?”
“No, go ahead. I’ll probably be a few minutes.”
“Telly left a number for Sykes, but unless you want to risk Jade listening in you’d probably better use an actual phone rather than routing through the station house.”
“Alright. I’ll see you in a few. I hope they do emergency jobs. Blue is not your color.” I sorted through my pockets until I found a few stray coins, then stepped out onto the street corner as the cab pulled off towards the nearby boutique.
****
“Aye, ye stinkin’ stoat shite! Callin’ me early in tha mornin’ ye best not be askin’ fer a hand-out! Oi gots oi a gun and a belly full of drunk what will come down and rain lead and hellfoire on ye!”
“Sykes, it’s me.”
“...Me feckin’ who?”
“Hardy! Jeez, I’m out of the game for three weeks and everyone forgets the sound of my voice.”
“Hardy! Scramble moi eggs, boyo! Oi heard ye was...well, ye wee pretty has been tellin’ tales of woe. She said ye was dead o’ gunshot. De kind ye ponies don’t walk away from.”
“I’m still amazed at how many things in the world can be both right and wrong simultaneously.”
“Now what’s that supposed ta mean, boyo?”
“Nothing important. Where’s the kid?”
A long silence.
“Yer wee girly is kippin’ at a motel ‘over top of a griffin beat doive what’s called The Plot Hole... but Hardy, me soul, oi gots to warn ye...”
“Warn me of what?”
“Yer kiddo ain’t loike she was, matey. Sometin’ broken inside. She sings and wroites little ditties ta pay her tabs and... boyo... she foights. Ne’er seen nothin’ loike it. Yer girly ain’t roight no more. Oi tries to talk to her, keep her safe, and sometoimes she’s alright and sometoimes she don’t even see me. Talks loike oi ain’t there to somepony name’a Grape or sometin’.”
“You think to get her to somebody who could help?”
“Hardy, ye ain’t seen yer sweet thing scrap. Them is a bunch what loikes a tussle an’ a pint an’ a leg’o foine meat. They ain’t too picky what koind of meat, either, but girly uses them PACT and copper foightin’ styles, an’ holds ‘er own against griffins what should be usin’ her leg bones for toothpicks! She’s fast and madder than a badger on foire.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“She... well... Girly knows what she needs and if she was a griffin, it be a stiff cup and a scuff o’ the knuckles. When Oi found ‘er she were diggin’ in dumpsters, covered in blood, and smelled loike a week’ old kill. Ain’t so much better now.”
“Right. I’ll go pick her up and see what I’m dealing with. Thanks for the tip.”
“Hardy?”
“Yeah?”
“Ye be careful down there. Them is not sorts what is impressed by a shield and gun.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Take care, Sykes.”
“Ye too, laddy.”
****
As much as I wanted to get going immediately, Taxi’s dye job would not be rushed. The stylist just shook his head as I passed him the money for the job, pushing it back as he said something about it being ‘a fine pleasure to fix such a disaster.’ I pocketed the bits just as my driver trotted out of a booth, her fur still damp and a pleased smile on her face. Her mane was unbraided, but it looked distinctly more like hers. The black and white layers were back to their normal shades. It must have required magic to get that dye out so quickly. .
“Ahhh, that’s better,” I said, holding open the shop’s door.
“You’re telling me! You mind if I ask, though... shouldn’t we be keeping our heads down? If nothing else, the dye was a decent disguise.” Taxi wanted to know as she stepped out into the greasy morning air ahead of me.
“Honestly?” I shrugged, stepping up to the cab parked out front and opening the back door to climb in. “Someone tipped off our assassin that we were at Cosmo’s. Reginald Bari, most likely. The little weasel smiled at me as we were on our way up the elevator. He’ll probably be in the zebra lands, drinking mojitos and chasing striped flank by now. I think we’ve got a grace period, here, before he or someone he works for finds out I’m up and around. I may just have been a target of opportunity or not a target at all.”
“They did burn your home...” she reminded me.
“Yes, yes they did,” I replied, feeling a twinge of sadness. I really had liked that apartment. “I’m assuming they’re looking for Ruby’s diary. If they want that, they’ll need me alive. If they don’t... well, I can’t live the rest of my life in a log cabin somewhere. I need to find out who is working all these angles. Once we’ve got the kid, I think I know a place we can bunk while we work this out.”
“Shouldn’t we... I don’t know.” Taxi hauled herself behind the Night Trotter’s wheel and started the engine, letting it idle. “Hardy, I have no idea how to handle something this big. I mean, whoever this is... they just killed the head of one of the most dangerous crime families in the whole of Detrot, which means the whole of Equestria, just to tie up a loose end. This is the sort of thing the police call Canterlot to take care of! We should at least tell the DPD!”
“Yeah, and the Department is going to do precisely what, may I ask?” I heaped my coat beside my head, resting my cheek on it. “You know the job. You think Jade would authorize an investigation? My cutie-mark has been all aflutter since I woke up in that freezer. I’m going to do what I do. Investigate.”
“That’s what I was afraid of...” She prodded the pedals and turned us onto the thoroughfare, then added, “Oh well. If you can’t be talked out of it, then I guess you’ve got wheels. The more ponies you have watching your back, the less likely someone or something is going to put another bullet through it. Besides, I was getting tired of the decor at the High Seas.”
“Glad to hear, because, if I’m honest, I don’t want to do this without you.”
That got a smile out of her.
“Now,” I added, “let’s go find Swift and see what she’s been getting into.”
****
Crossing the city during the morning rush is misery no matter which city you happen to be in. Detrot’s complex web of byways, highways, and under-streets doesn’t make that any simpler. Even with a knowledgeable cabbie who was more than happy to cause near-death experiences to save a few minutes, the trip was longer than it should have been, and I was getting antsy by the time the traffic started clearing.
Peering out the window, I realized we were heading in the direction of Detrot International Air Chariot Port. As we drove, I started to see shadows passing between us and the sun, far higher than all but the most ambitious skyscraper might climb.
Sky Town.
Sky Town had kind of aggregated, perhaps literally out of the blue, when enough of the pegasus and griffin residents had decided that they were tired of sleeping on the ground; It had done so without the benefit of any kind of central planning or taste, so that, instead of the traditional pegasus cloud-city style with massive columns and high-roofed temples, the whole was a confusing mishmash of conflicting novelty architectures. I saw one cloud shaped like a fairy-tale castle, adjacent to another shaped like a rubber duck, incidentally lit from below by a spotlight to make the place glow yellow inside.
The whole thing reminded me of when I was a foal, lying on my back in the grass and gazing up at clouds, interpreting their shapes - Except that when they found a cloud was shaped like a dog with five legs and a gland problem, somepony had not only tried to live there, but parked that cloud next to every other bizarrely-shaped cloud they could find.
On the ground below Sky Town was a loose, slightly seedy confederacy of fuelling stations, greasy spoons, and cheap hotels designed to cater to the budget-minded traveller and provide the clashing clouds above with a modest income, as well as a place for the winged to interact with their landbound friends and family.
I didn't visit much. Investigations in Sky Town were left to the DPD's flight-capable officers, and I didn't envy the poor bastards one bit for that. A pegasus' preferred method of body disposal tends to involve said corpse being shoved onto a cloud and pushed out over the Wilderness, which means the thing is either eaten by Wilderness beasts, or simply drifts endlessly. Depending on the weather and the stability of the cloud, however, this had been known to backfire; Most famously, during Mayor Snifter's inaugural 'Clean up the City' speech, which was interrupted by a cadaver crashing through his podium.
Between the buildings, I could now and then snag a glimpse of the port itself - and it almost made up for the aesthetic atrocity committed by Sky Town.
Emerald towers of suspended cloud sprouted from a huge, golden spire sitting in a vast green field, miles from anything else. Hordes of winged creatures spun in orderly circles around it, some trailing the fat, cigar-like air chariots while others had only themselves and perhaps a cart for their possessions, all waiting to go through customs.
My heart beat a little harder as that old, foal-like wonder crept up from wherever it hides when I’m being cynical and pissy. I’d never wanted to fly myself, nor was I a big fan of heights, but there was something truly glorious about that holding pattern of comers and goers, a beautifully choreographed dance of aerial beings, all passing through the mighty tower on their way to parts unknown.
****
The ground traffic had thinned until we were very nearly the only ponies on the road aside a few pedestrians and other cabs on their way to the Air Chariot Port to deliver and pick up travelers.
Only a few ponies remained on hoof. While that part of the city couldn’t exactly be called ‘safe,’ nor was it rife with crime. The farther we drove, the darker it became as clouds crowded out the already spare sun until it was a reasonable facsimile of twilight in the deep alleys. We passed a roaming group of griffin tribals, decked out in full war regalia, who stared at the car with undisguised suspicion until we turned another corner.
Neither of us were especially familiar with the grimy ground district beneath Sky Town, so we ended up doubling back a couple of times on the narrow streets before finally resorting to standing on the curb and waving down a passing pegasus air traffic patrol-pony. He directed us towards a particular cloud structure hanging somewhere down a series of back roads.
I thought it’d been my imagination, but as we got closer I saw that it did indeed bear a striking resemblance to a wedge of cheese turned on its end. The complete lack of municipal building regulations governing the shapes that clouds could be in Sky Town meant there were more than a few of these hideous eyesores. Space was cheap, though, so many a budding amateur architect started there, designing cloud homes and hotels.
We wound our way closer, navigating largely by Taxi’s internal compass. Even with directions, we damn near missed it.
The Plot Hole was one of those fine places frequented by youthful idiots drinking their way to middle age and old killers hanging around out of cussed stubbornness. I’d been into a hundred like it, or so I thought. The beer was going to be watery, but if you asked for water, the whole building would laugh.
The place itself spilled like a nasty infection through the bottom floors of what might have been a cheese shop in better days. If it were a roach motel, the roaches would be demanding tea-towels and better accommodations.
Someone with shallow pockets had done the facade, which was a set of boarded-up windows covered in griffin tribal symbols spray painted over the plywood, leaving the cheese-cloud up above as the only identifying mark. It was the kind of place you either knew was there or somebody told you was there. They didn’t advertise, because there were no door guard and no tuxedos. If you went into the Plot Hole, it was understood that you were there of your own accord and anything that happened to you was your own damn fault. Not Responsible for Lost or Stolen Limbs.
Outside on the corner, a crowd of laughing, boozing pegasi air-navy wrestled hooves and claws with a bunch of young griffins over an upturned cable spoon.
Taxi swerved to avoid a plastered old fella who’d probably had one too many salt licks, skidding onto the curb-side beside a parking meter. The Night Trotter’s brakes whistled unhappily at being so treated, steaming in the mid-morning air as we got out.
My driver started to feed a rusting parking meter that looked like it hadn’t been maintained since cars had been invented. I gave her a curious look. “You think somepony is going to come around here to boot the car?” I asked.
“I’m just being cautious,” she countered. “Besides, while you were gone I made a little bit of extra money and put in an alarm system.”
“What kind of alarm?” I asked, warily.
Patting the hood, she pulled a tiny black box from her saddlebags and pressed a button on it. Something inside the car shuddered and a soft glow suffused the interior upholstery before fading a moment later. “Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to touch the seats right now, unless, of course, you liked the idea of spending several weeks screaming in the burns unit of Holy Sun Memorial.”
I grinned as she secreted the black box away. “Whatever happened to 'peace and light'?”
“Peace and light don’t apply to anypony who touches my car without asking.”
****
We circled the building twice, looking for the entrance. All of the doors we tried were boarded over or chained shut. We could see a couple of ponies and griffins coming and going from the rooftop, but none of them heard us, were sober enough to listen, or cared to stop when we tried to shout for assistance.
Finally, one of the navy pegasi, his cap flipped backwards on his head, stumbled away from his friends and gave Taxi a wink. Beer stains covered his uniform’s lapels and every other step was in the wrong direction.
“Heya pretty! You feel like ditchin’ the square and comin’ with me fer the night?” he drawled, holding his beer bottle protectively to his chest.
Before I could step between them to prevent a murder, my driver returned his smile with a demure tilt of the chin and swish of the tail. “Oh, I’d love to, but I don’t have a drink of my own. You happen to know how I could get into this place?”
The sailor glanced at me, raising his bottle in my direction, “Whaddabout’ cher colt-friend?”
“Oh, he’s not my colt-friend. He’s got a little lover boy named Scarlet waiting for him, anyway.” I half opened my mouth to protest, but let it snap shut and settled for an irritable snort. Ignoring me, she stepped closer to the sloshed pony, brushing her cheek against what must have been an absolutely foul shoulder. “So how about it? Mind showing us the way?”
Obviously surprised to find his tactic had netted him any interest whatsoever, the stallion gave me an appraising, cockeyed look before turning back to Taxi. “Sure, shweet thing!” He slurred. “T-there’s a rope fer ponies wid-out wings over t-there.” He tipped the mouth of his bottle towards the corner of the Plot Hole. “-hiic. Lemme f-fly yah up!”
“Oh, that’s so sweet!” She gave him a little kiss on his scruffy cheek and even in his drunken state, he pinkened. “I’m afraid of flying, though, so I’ll just climb. Why don’t I meet you inside? You can get another couple of drinks and I’ll be right there.”
“T-that’s a g-good id-dea...hee!” The blushing sailor flared his wings and stumbled sideways. He flapped them weakly, lifting about a meter off the ground before flying face-first into an electrical pole directly behind him and sliding into the gutter. He let out a snort, kicked one rear leg, then started to snore.
Taxi let out a slow breath, then tore a kerchief out of her bag and began wiping everywhere she’d touched the drunk.
“I guess there was no prettier way of doing that, was there?” I murmured, kicking the stallion’s bottle off the curb.
“Unless you wanted to snuggle up with him and pout your lips a little, no.”
“I’m not criticizing,” I replied, trotting off toward the corner of the building the sailor pointed at. We’d passed the rope twice and I’d paid it no mind. It was knotted at intervals for easy climbing and wrapped around a cleat, driven into the brickwork. The thick rope went up through a hole six meters in the air onto one of the lower take-off platforms.
“Ugh, they couldn’t have settled for stairs, could they?” I grumbled, working my jaw and forelegs a bit.
“Come on. You used to be able to do this. Remember when we were kids?” Taxi grinned and leapt onto the wall, grabbing the twine in her teeth, hauling her rear legs up to the first knot and clambering up like a spider-monkey.
My heart should have been hammering at the thought of climbing that building, but it was, again, strangely peaceful. Taxi peered over the side and shouted, “Hey! You gonna be down there all day?”
“I’m working up to it, dammit!” Grabbing ahold of my anger to bolster my courage, I stretched up and grabbed the rope in my teeth, using a garbage can for a step-ladder as I dragged myself to the first knot.
****.
I grabbed the ledge, using my rear hooves to brace against the side of the hole. Levering myself up, I caught Taxi’s hoof, pulling myself onto the platform. Getting up I brushed myself off, flicking a bit of brick dust from my coat.
Taxi was giving me one of ‘those’ looks.
“What’d I do now?” I asked, shaking myself off.
“You just climbed a three story high rope,” she replied, tilting one ear towards the ground very far below. I hastily backed away from the edge, putting one hoof on my stomach.
“And?”
“You’re not even breathing hard.” She pointed out, touching my chest.
“I...” I looked down at myself, then turned in a circle. She was right. Three stories up and I wasn’t even winded. I should have felt some burn in my muscles, but they felt just like they had when I’d woken up that morning. “Huh. Coffee and a heart transplant will do that to you, I guess.”
“You’re not kidding. How are your batteries?”
“Could we find something to call them besides ‘my batteries’?” I groused.
“Fine. How are the magic rocks in your chest?” Taxi gave me a flippant wink.
I gritted my teeth and unzipped my plug pouch. The light was winking on and off. “I’ve got some left. A few hours, at least, before I have to try out that plug Stitch's assistant gave me.”
“Don’t take too many chances with that, please? The Archivist said you’re three days from a heart attack when you’re fully charged, and physical exertion or injuries will drain it more quickly.”
“Good to know. Don’t worry. As soon as we get out of here, I’ll find myself a wall socket.” Turning to the darkened doors at the end of the platform, I straightened my hat and walked into the Plot Hole, ready for anything.
****
Why do I ever think I’m ‘ready for anything’?
****
“Bang up, swing down, make a red robin from the dusty song of a gun-”
In spite of the morning sun on the horizon, inside the Plot Hole, it was dim and what little light did creep through was a sallow yellow sneaking through cracks in the boards covering the windows. A low, thick haze of cheroot smoke obscured the details of the bar’s interior. I let my lungs adjust to the tickle of vaporized tar pervading the dreary atmosphere.
“Drink down, fly away, farther than the sun can find you-”
A double-bass strummed a steady beat to the words of an unseen but very sweet voice on a stage somewhere across the half-empty bar room. Through the smoke and the moving bodies, I couldn’t make out much, though as my eyes grew accustomed I started to find details here and there. What I’d thought was just one floor turned out to be three, the ceiling having been torn out of the bottom two floors to make additional seating accessible only to those who could fly.
Most of the patrons seemed to be griffins of different colors and shapes. Some were tribals, though most were the city dwelling variety who were both less muscular and smaller, with a more refined air about them. I hopped sideways to avoid a beast that might have given Sykes, who was undoubtedly the largest griffin I’d ever met, a match in a claw-wrestle. The hybrid tipped his cap and raised a beer to his beak, slurping messily.
There was another scent, underlying the sweat, brewing beans, and smoke that gave me pause. It took several seconds to identify but when I did, I wheezed and tried not to breathe. Cooking meat. The whole place reeked of meat on a grill.
Taxi stumbled against my side as a tall stallion pushed past us onto the platform we’d just climbed up and leapt off, spreading his wings and sailing into the morning air. I pulled her towards what I presumed to be the bar. It had the greatest concentration of empty space, it being early morning and only a few dedicated alcoholics sipping brews. Most of the crowd was sitting around the stage.
“Hide away, cry softly, in a hollow tree, begging for heaven to take you-”
I climbed onto a stool with my driver beside me and called out to the thick necked griffin behind the bar, “Hey! Bartender. Little service?”
“I’m a barista, dick wit. This is a coffee shop,” he said without turning, seemingly very intent on cleaning a set of mugs.
“Well, barista... Little service or do I have to go ask your mother to stop hiking her tail down in the alley to get up here and make me a cup of coffee?” I shot back, putting both hooves on the bar.
The barista slapped a towel over one shoulder then swung to face me. He had only one eye, the other covered by a black patch, and his jawline was a mass of old battle scars. Stalking forward, he set his terribly sharp talons in front of me and glared down at me from his huge height.
“What did you say, little stallion?” His voice held all manner of promise of death and pain, should my answer be the wrong one.
“I said, your mother’s having a good dicking in the alley, and she’d probably make me a better day-starter, so either go get her or give me some brew, chop chop,” I replied, letting a slow, impudent smile spread across my face.
It should be noted that griffins have very few rules of social discourse. As far as I’ve been able to discover, they believe the world is governed best by two things; a strong hierarchy and huge testicles. If you have one, you don’t need the other. You can get damn near anything in griffin society by either having courage or position.
The barista turned one eagle-eye closer, then burst into a hearty laugh. “You, stallion, are going to die horribly one day. You got a griffin friend?”
I pulled open the flap on my chest, showing the socket with its heart shaped plug. “Already happened, and yeah, he’s a tall drink of piss, name of Sykes. I woke up from a three week coma this morning and I could really use a pick-me-up.”
Shifting his weight, the griffin snatched a cup from under the bar and jammed it in the espresso machine, flipping a switch that set off a series of clicks and buzzes. “Aye, I know Sykes. Bucket of piss, more like. You a cop, too?”
“Sometimes.” I pulled my badge off over my head, setting it on the bar and pushing it a few inches to one side. “Sometimes, I just want some coffee and a bit of quiet.”
“Coming up.”
Before he could move away, I reached out and lightly caught his foreleg. “Hey, one more thing?” A 20 bit piece appeared from my coat pocket, and I slid it across to him. “You seen a bright orange pegasus, about half my height, maybe a bit... odd?”
“You mean Li'l Fireball?” The barista shifted his weight, crossing his talons over the bit and making it vanish into a fold of his tatty apron. He jerked his beak at the stage. I twisted on the stool towards it; The added height allowed me to just barely see over the crowd of tall avian heads.
“Whisper to me, pray to see, hanging from the mistletoe tree, those we lost to devil’s deeds...”
That gorgeous, sad voice kept time, hitting each verse with a metronome’s perfection. It was poetry, sung and spoken, and if I hadn’t been so intent on my task I might have stopped to have a weep. Sentimental it was, but it reminded me of better times.
I peered around, trying to find Taxi in the foggy, darkly-lit room. For a moment, I thought she’d vanished, until I caught sight of her up on the second balcony. How she’d gotten up there without wings was anypony’s guess. She waved to me, then pointed her toe at the stage.
My attention turned back as I tried to pick out what was going on in front of the dark curtain hanging in the corner. There was the bassist, a thin griffin with his instrument leaning against his chest, and a microphone stand with the mic tilted all the way down.
There was a head between us, but as it moved, I knew who was standing there before I saw the salmon-colored plumage spread out to either side of her.
Swift.
Officer Swift Cuddles. The second unluckiest sadsack of cop flesh the world ever did see.
Her first day on the job, she’d puked in a garbage can on a crime scene. The second day, a mad musical medician offered her an eyeball on a stick. The third day, she’d watched her partner die of a sucking wound to the chest in the office of a mobster.
“In time, let yourself be saved, and hope to come back, when home is grave.”
I'd never heard her voice like that.
“She’s somethin’ isn’t she?” The barista had returned, dropping my coffee on the counter beside me. I absent mindedly fiddled the straw around to my lips and slurped it. It was damn fine, bitter and brisk. “Li’l Fireball came in about... two weeks ago with your friend, Sykes. Crazy. Covered in what I’m pretty sure weren’t animal blood. Big Eddie-” He flicked a claw at the other corner of the room. At first, I took the form he was gesturing towards for a novelty mummy of a griffin propped against a table; On second inspection, I saw that it was moving. “-has a thing for pony flank. Made a play, tried to take a nip, and she broke his collarbone.”
“How’d he get like that?” I asked.
“She broke his collarbone.” My server’s beak clacked as he snickered to himself. “The three story fall while he figured out you can’t fly with a broken collarbone did the rest.” Using his bar towel, he wiped at an old stain on the counter. “Her set’s off in a minute if you want to talk to her. She stays upstairs in the cloud. Comes here every day and just sings that depressing shit. Pretty, but makes you wanna toss yourself out a window. Crowd loves it, though. Freakiest little horse I ever did meet.”
As I watched, Swift’s song or poem, or whatever it was, came to an end. She lowered her head. I expected applause; it’d been a lovely piece to my untrained ear. The only sound the congregates made was to snap their claws and tap their hooves, keeping the bassist’s beat. She stepped backwards, vanishing behind the black curtain as an older pony wearing a beret hopped up to the mic.
“That there was Li’l Fireball, ladies and gentlebeings,” he announced with a sweeping bow towards backstage. “Thank you all for coming to the open brunch. Tips for Miss Fireball go in the jar by the stage and we’ll make sure she gets them. Anyone not tipping, please die in fire.”
The flock of griffins dispersed, some stopping to drop a few slips of gold into the jar before moving off with their coffees and glasses, a few to the higher floors and most to the coffee bar.
“She’ll be over here in a minute. Just you watch. She always orders the same thing.” The barista rumbled.
True to his word, Swift reappeared once the crowd had moved off and picked up the tip jar, balancing it between her wings as she walked, eyes on the floor, towards the bar. None of the audience accosted her, though some offered words of approval. She didn’t acknowledge them. Big Eddie’s eyes glittered, watching her with malevolent, altogether ineffectual fury as he sipped a steaming cup.
She stopped in front of my stool, still staring at the floor.
What do you say to somepony who watched you die? How many things can you say? Nothing seemed appropriate and the pegasus was a shadow of herself . She still wore the battered tactical suit, but it was torn and stained in places, like she’d been in several nasty dust-ups of some sort. Her wings, normally preened within an inch of their lives, had feathers sticking out in every direction. Even as I watched, one came loose and dropped to the ashy floorboards.
“Kid?” I inquired, trying to keep the worry carefully contained.
“Could you please move? You’re in my seat,” she murmured in a voice soft enough I had to lean forward to hear it.
“Swift?”
Reluctantly, she lifted her chin from its dejected sag and her eyes found mine. They widened slightly, then she shook her head violently from side to side, almost spilling her tip jar. After a short pause, they dropped again. “Could you move? You’re in my seat.”
I slid onto the stool beside that one and waited as the rookie climbed up. It was high enough that, by all rights, she should have used her wings to help, but they were in such poor condition I doubted she could command more than basic flight.
She sat, hunched over the bar, as the barista set a small salad topped with diced chicken in front of her and a cup that smelled strongly of brandy. Pushing the tip jar across, she waited while he counted out the coins for her meal, then slid it back. I noticed he didn’t take a tip for himself.
“Swift, it’s me,” I tried again, putting my hoof on the edge of her plate before she could take a bite.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know who you are. I just want to eat my lunch. Please, leave me alone,” she muttered, tucking into a piece of lettuce.
What did I think I was going to find? Three weeks she’d been thinking I was dead. I was probably much the same when Taxi pulled me out of the bar after Juniper died.
Grabbing her shoulders, I turned her to face me. “Swift! It’s Hardy. Look at me!”
“Hey, buddy, don’t-” The barista started, but I tore my sleeve back off of my gun and glared him down until he backed away before returning my attention to my partner. Putting my hooftip under her chin, I forced her head up and peered into her wasted young face.
Sykes hadn’t exaggerated. Something defining piece, some necessary part, some essential essence was gone. She might have been ten years older, or fifty. The grime clinging to her matted fur made it hard to tell. Her face was lined with old tears. The scent coming off of her was of unwashed pegasus strong enough to stun a charging bull at fifty paces; musk, coffee spice and mildew.
She didn’t pull away, but nor did her expression show anything but bland neutrality. “I’m sorry, sir. I talked to Shotty today, too. It’s okay. I’m fine here.”
“Shotty? Your friend Grape Shot? He’s talking to you?” I asked. “Where is he?”
“Yes, sir. He comes and goes. You’re not going to be talking to me all the time, too, are you? I dream about you sometimes. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, dammit! Kid, I’m here! I’m really here!” I barked, giving her a good shake.
“That’s impossible, sir. The bullet was a seven sixty two by fifty one at three hundred meters. It hit you in the chest. You died. You were dead. I saw.” Her filthy ears splayed out against her head. They had sores around them, where the fur looked quite unhealthy. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.
“Ugh, Taxi paid off a friend of mine and got me a heart transplant in time; she used that magic heart from Cosmo’s brother. I’ve been in a coma for the last few weeks.”
It was technically true, although I think omitting the various details wherein I had actually been very dead was probably simpler than the whole story. That could wait for another time, hopefully after I’d had a chance to speak to The Don. I still needed some explanation as to how a changeling’s ticker had ended up in in my chest.
“Swift, it’s me. I swear,” I insisted, pulling her off of her seat. “Let’s get you out of here.”
For a pony in such a sad condition, she sure moved quick. I barely ducked her first strike and the second one caught me a glancing blow on my weak shoulder. I stumbled back against the bar, sweeping her salad off the counter into her face. Despite the distraction, she was on me instantly like a crazed animal, her wings buffeting my sides.
Stupid opponents fighting a pegasus tend to try to get range and re-group after this sort of attack. It’s a tactic I’ve seen plenty of griffins use. Griffins are ambush predators and if the prey doesn’t immediately fall, they’re not built to fight a protracted battle, particularly if outmatched by a speedy opponent. The key is to get close before the pegasi press the counter attack and pick you apart one piece at a time. Earth ponies can do close.
Grabbing her by the neck in my forelegs, I rolled fast onto my side across the cigarette-butt strewn floor. She tried to get her knees up to kick me between the legs, but I had height and strength on my side as I forced her head to one side, crossed my fetlocks and cut off the flow of blood to her brain with my knees. She snapped at my throat, but almost immediately, her struggles became weaker and she started to just pound on my ribs with her free wing. It hurt, but less than one of those shots to the groin would have.
A glass hit the floor beside my head and the surprise loosened my grip just enough for her to get purchase and shove herself away. Distracted for just an instant, I saw Taxi’s yellow hooves dance by my cheek and noticed, for the first time, that there seemed to be a melee going on on every side of us. The barista was locked in some very fancy hoof to claw combat with my driver who was keeping him off of us while the rest of the bar fought a pitched battle for... some reason. I’d missed the start, though I could only imagine we were the catalyst. That or it was just Barfight o’Clock.
I jerked sideways as a half empty beer can crashed beside my face, splashing across my chest. Bottles, plates, or flying claws seemed to be the weapons of choice, although a few were wielding bar stools and canes. It was a joint for griffin poetry aficionados and, being a group not naturally keen on criticism, I’m sure nothing quite relieved creative differences like bottling someone who gave you guff for splitting your infinitives. Unfortunately, it wasn’t convenient to the task at hoof.
Using my seat, I levered myself into a standing position as Swift dragged herself upright. She was moving slowly and her powerful wings dragged the dirty floor.
"Kid, snap out of it!" I shouted, trying to be heard over the fighting.
No such luck. Lifting her wings, she prepared to launch herself at me when a movie-monster rose out of the battlefield behind her. Before I could get my trigger to my lips, Big Eddie, his mane blowing in a breeze that'd snuck in from somewhere and his bandages trailing across the floor behind him, cracked my partner across the side of the head with his mug. She immediately slid to the floor, dazedly drooping against the bar.
The giant beast was the same size as Sykes, with a patchwork of gauze criss-crossing his face. In the half-light of the coffee shop, he was a scary golem, looming over my unconscious partner. Taxi was still engaged, using one leg to pound on the barista while another pinned a dangerous looking stallion with a shaved mane to the ground. Any hope of her assistance was out the window. I leveled my gun at Big Eddie's forehead, ready to send him on his Great Hunt. It would have complicated my day to shoot a civilian, but after the month I’d had, it was definitely looking like an option if he laid another talon on Swift. He watched my weapon, twisting his head on his neck in that altogether bizarre way only birds are capable of.
"Oi saved yer feckin' loife, an ye wanna pip me?" he asked, in a familiar tribal cockney.
"Thanks, but my life is handled," I replied out of the corner of my mouth, clutching my trigger tightly.
"Ye take yer crazy girly outta 'ere and don't come back, ya hear?" He gestured at Swift with his fluffy tailtip. "Don' need no whacky-in-the-'ead broad in 'ere makin' me loife 'arder. Oi got my lick in. Now sod off." He nodded in the direction of the door, then leapt into the air, grabbing one of the columns up to the second floor and climbing claw over claw up to the balcony. Swinging himself over, he snatched a cup of coffee off an unoccupied table and propped himself on his claws, watching the fight unfold.
Few times in life is one presented with situations that go better than expected. I decided to count my lucky stars and retreat while they were still shining.
Most of the combatants were just getting warmed up and didn’t seem much interested in towing it with a firearmed opponent, so I shoved Swift's body off the floor onto my back and settled her limp weight across my spine. She'd lost more than a few pounds and couldn't afford to lose many more if the ease with which I mare-handled her were any indication.
"Taxi! I got her! We're going!" I shouted, hoping my driver could hear me. I'd lost track of her, but some seconds later, a canary-colored form appeared with a big, self-satisfied grin.
"This is my kind of place!" she exclaimed.
"What isn't your sort of place?” I snapped. “Get my badge off the bar and then help me get her down the rope." I pushed the door to the platform open and stepped out, hopping out of the way of a barreling griffin running out of the Plot Hole at full tilt.
****
While the fight raged, Taxi climbed to the ground and I hauled up the rope, securing it around Swift’s waist before lowering her into my driver's waiting hooves. I let myself down slow, dropping into the alley beside them and hoisting my partner back onto my shoulders.
Our drunken sailor friend was still laying in the gutter. His cap was missing and his pockets looked to have been turned inside out. Still, it could have been worse. He was alive, and in the nastier corners of the city that’s as much as can be asked for.
After Taxi stopped to lightly pet his head, the two of us moved on. The car was right where it had been and as Taxi disabled the car’s alarm, I tossed Swift into the back seat, folding her limp wings against her sides as neatly as I could. The smell off her quickly filled the tightly enclosed space.
“I know I should have asked this before we started a battle in a coffee bar full of griffin war poets hopped up on heavy doses of caffeine, but what are we going to do now that we’ve got her?” Taxi asked, starting the vehicle and turning us into the flow of mid-morning travelers.
I glanced over at the filly, her face scrunched up in discomfort. Her foreleg wheeled a little, as though she were chased by some horrible dream. The sleep seemed troubled, but considering how long she’d probably been awake, I decided to let her rest. That and a physical altercation in the car didn’t sound like a fun way to spend the ride.
“For now, the Vivarium,” I directed and she pulled down a side-street, turning us in the direction of the Bay of Unity. “Once we get there, we’ll either have to get somepony to hit her with a sleep spell or maybe that zebra neck trick while we handle our other errand.”
“Why? Where are you planning on going?” Taxi asked, quizzically.
“The Castle. I may not like it, but Jade needs to be handled before she does something rash, like put out an APB on me. After that, we’ll see if we can regroup and call in some favors. I want to be there when Swift wakes up.”
“Why do I get the feeling I just cashed my last police paycheck?”
“Drive.”
I pulled my hat down, burying my nose in its lining as I tried to cover the stink rolling off my partner’s body. It was going to be a long day.
****
Some ponies have the bus as their time to process the events in their lives. Some have just after dinner, laying in bed. I’ve got the cab.
I tried. I really did. Each time I thought I’d found a good place to start, it slipped between my hooves and I was left spinning. So many of the events of the last three days... except it hadn’t been three days, had it? It’d been a month.
Twenty eight days since I first saw poor Ruby’s corpse in that alleyway.
Losing that amount of time, one expects their city to have changed significantly. I put my hooves on the windowsill and stared out at the day. It was grey, like many other days in Detrot, and yet I felt a renewed sense of purpose that’d been missing for years. I still didn’t know what that purpose was, but it was gradually growing in my gut.
If destiny ever really touches us, mine was smacking me about the ears.
The task before me was as straightforward as any I’d ever been given; solve the deaths of three ponies, including my own. Why did that have to be so complicated?
Juniper often told me that my best option, given a moment of uncertainty, was just to take the next step. As was most frequently the case, he was right. I didn’t have to like it.
****
Taxi didn’t even bother with the front entrance. She just waved to Minox as we passed the Vivarium’s columned facade. It was a quiet day at the sex club and the minotaur pointed her around the side of the building.
Nopony was there to meet us as we pulled up in front of the disguised doorway and Taxi put on the parking brake.
“Now what?” she asked, more to herself than to me. I didn’t answer, but instead stepped out of the back seat, looking both ways. The back of the Vivarium backed right up to the Bay and the waters lapped against the concrete shore with a calming regularity.
I didn’t even see him coming.
If Taxi’s greeting was enthusiastic, Scarlet’s was downright unsafe. He crashed into my side like an affectionate bowling ball, smashing me against the car. His legs went around my middle and he hugged me so tightly my eyes felt fit to pop out of their sockets.
“Deeeteeeectttiiiiive!” he cried into my mane. Struggling to breathe, I prized one hoof underneath his knee and, as gently as I could, pulled him off.
“Scarlet! Get ahold of yourself, stallion!” I coughed.
“You were dead!” He sobbed, putting his forehooves on my chest and turning my face back and forth to make sure all the pieces were still there.
“Yes, and now I’m not.” I set him back a few inches and fixed my coat. “And if you don’t mind, let’s skip that entire line of conversation. I’ve had that talk with three people today already and it’s old. Let it just be said, I’m fine.”
Taxi had on one of her smug smiles, specifically the kind she usually reserves for when I’m embarassed or in pain caused largely by what few social reservations I have left. I rolled my eyes and patted Scarlet on the cheek, then turned back to the car.
“Scarlet, I want you to go get After Glow and the medical staff. We’re going to need them,” I told him.
“Whatever for? Are you hurt?" His already vaguely feminine voice climbed an octave or two. "You just said you were okay!”
“I’m fine, but we found Swift.”
“Oh my...”
****
After that, things happened quickly. Scarlet called After Glow, who practically tore the secret door off its hinges charging out into the back lot. For a pony that old, she sure could move. She took a few heavy breaths leaning against the back of the Night Trotter, then pushed herself upright.
“W’ere is she? Where’s mah granddaughter?!” she barked, covering her worry with anger.
I nodded at the car and she jerked open the back with her horn. The metal shrieked and Taxi winced, but getting between After Glow and Swift would have been closely akin to getting between a mother bear and its cub, if the mother bear was endowed with the power to fling a pony into the upper atmosphere. It was worth having to straighten the door hinge.
“Awww, little bird... what’ve ye got yerself up to now...” she murmured, doing a quick inspection of my partner. Pulling back, she raised her eyes over the car’s roof. “Where’d ye find ‘er? Ah been lookin’ fer three weeks!”
I shook my head and answered, “She was staying with a friend of ours. She... honestly, I don’t know what happened. Found her in Sky Town. Could you get medical already?”
“Yer damn right, get medical, ya idjit! Why’d ye bring her here?!” the furious unicorn demanded. “Why didn’tcha take’er to a damn hospital afor’ ya called us?!”
“I got between her and her salad and she went for my throat,” I recalled, shoving my coat across my chest protectively. “You want her in a psych ward wearing a straitjacket, go right ahead and take her to the emergency room. I can’t think of anyplace that has guards paid to handle a rampaging pegasus trained in police and P.A.C.T. combat tactics. I’m just lucky she wasn’t strapped when I jostled her lettuce or I think I’d have a fresh hole.”
Glow listened to my explanation, the grimace on her face deepening the already canyon-like lines. With incredible tenderness, she wrapped Swift in a glow of magic, lifting her out of the car and headed for the hidden door. “Give us an hour. We gots to look’er over.”
“I’ve got to check in with the department. Keep her sedated. I want to be here when she wakes up,” I ordered. The matronly unicorn glanced over her shoulder, but nodded.
“Don’t take too long, ya hear?” Glow growled. “Ah ain’t a patient sort and if Ah wasn’t in a hurry, Ah’d wring some proper answers out of ye. Ye’ve got two hours ‘afor Ah send Zeta ta come get ye, an Ah don’t think ye wanna be dragged out yer department roped to an annoyed zebra.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “Could you have an extension cord set up for me when I get back? I need a charge.” I tugged my chest flap open, showing her the blinking light.
She flicked her eyes at the plug. “Anythin’ else? Cookies? Spot of tea?”
“Some bagels would be great. Oh, and tell the dragon when you see him... I’m ready to play.”
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Turned into a Newt? I suppose they got better, though.
2758317 He will be.
-Chessie
"loads shotgun" you have three chapters to fix her or the entire Swift Brigade, or whatever we're going to call ourselves don't think we discussed that at the meetings yet, will come knocking at your doors. well maybe not fixed cause you can never go back to how you were after something like that but at least closer to the Swift we knew.
2758495 Eee! I can't make any promises. Swift is still going to be cute! I swear! She'll just be...um...
*reads Chapter 25, which she finished today.*
How do you make something like this 'cute'? I may be about to be hunted down by shotgun wielding Swift Cuddles fans.
-Chessie
2758506 that's why you're getting three chapters not just one. can't expect a complete recovery either but just enough that we're satisfied. it's really your own fault for making such an adorable and endearing character. "loads RPG"
I stopped reading this awhile back. I'll have to read it from the start so I know what's going on. That's a mix of "ugh" and "woo!"
Glad to see this is still getting updated. It was pretty great, from what I remember.
2758544 I'm glad to have you back, then! It's been faithfully updating every two weeks for a year now. I'm hoping I can increase my output a bit, because this is a LONG story.
-Chessie
2758363
Wait, 'he'? So it's not Twilight?
Everything I knew is wrong
Good chapter could have been longer still great thanks.
2758656 Heh, I wish I could write longer chapters. I've tried. 10k every two weeks is about my max output. Granted, that's roughly three books a YEAR.
-Chessie
2758598
While it wouldn't be the first fanfic where Twilight was male... No. It's not Twi.
Which I'd hoped not to leak just yet, as I was really having fun reading some of the more morbid Notes in Tara Strong's cheerful "Dear Princess Celestia" voice, but what can ya do?
Hint: Try the first paragraphs of Chapter 8's Note.
--CEO Kasen
2758731 I'm guessing "dragon", then. Probably not Stella, although the idea amuses me.
Also: good chapter! Yay! I've added some more stuff to the TVT page; two entries from this chapter, and the rest are things that I'd forgotten about, or couldn't find the trope name for. Also, looking at the page's history, I'm the only person to ever make changes to it. Huh.
2758880
You missed a trope from the last few chapters, I think I fixed that. First time editing a page, so I have no idea if I did it right.
2758963 Oh, thank you! I hadn't actually known for sure that was a trope, much less its name.
2758963>>2759014
I swear, thank you two so much for the TV Tropes page. That's really massive for us. We get some pretty regular traffic from there now.
-Chessie
NOOOO!!!!!
Poor poor Swifty, how could you. Now I just want to hug her even more than ever.
2758495 *loads rifle* I'm with you buddy, three chapters...
Nope! It's 'past' you want
I am ALWAYS happy to see more Detrot, and this was a fine, fine day for it. Count me as one of the Swift fans who will only love her more as a noir-haunted loony with a taste for vengeance. Sometimes the stuff you go through is important, especially when it's broken faith: it's like a maturing process, and though you can't go back to lost innocence, there is a great beauty to the survival, if it's played right.
New-heart Hardy is best Hardy, and I'm betting that traumatized Swift is best Swift—and I'm probably gonna actually cry when she recognizes that Hardy is with her again. 'Cos it hurt so badly that she couldn't even acknowledge that, and she just wrote him off as another hallucination. Hardy got in her head like he was a parent, she blames herself for his death, and she's been suffering SO much…
It won't cure her, but I demand my chance to bawww as Hardy swiftly cuddles Swift Cuddles. I want to be there as much as he does when the penny finally drops. Her guilt's pretty awful and breaking through the denial is gonna hurt worse than the Plot Hole ever did, and yeah… it won't cure her. All the same, it's important.
2759705 Awww, man, it's good to see you Ajinx. Yeah, this is going to be a good chapter or two here. Very Swift centric. I've got some idea of what I want to happen, but the story has to move too. It's tough to balance the two.
-Chessie
2759730
Dunno if we're mutual read-each-others, but whatever you've got in mind for Swift can't possibly be as risky as what I'm about to risk with some of my main characters! So be brave! It's okay to fling some readers screaming over the side if it's for a purpose, especially a thematic purpose.
Swift was the innocent rookie, trusting in Hardy's invincibility. Now she can be a real cop who viscerally understands the limits of justice and doesn't let that stop her from doing what is right. It would be easy to just turn her into a hyperpowered badass defending her dream of Hardy and still retaining a twisted form of that innocence, like the caterpillar of old Swift had become a butterfly of Death to anything that threatens Hardy: no comprehension of consequences and no off switch, just a continuation of 'broken cuddles mode'.
And I don't think you're going to do that.
Because she'll be SO much deeper when she accepts that she could not save Hardy, and that no amount of vengeance will render him immune from some day being taken away again, for good.
Go get 'em. You're doing Celestia's work, here, and this is truly a great story.
2759755 You know, your suggestion sounds nicer. Stop it! You're gonna make me feel guilty here!
-Chessie
2759911
Combine 'em. DO IT FILLY
I've gone back and CHANGED chapters that were already posted, when I needed to tweak the direction things were going. It was back in Rarity's Worst Day Ever, when Dash slept with Big Mac because he was mooning about on a cliff angsting about being a gay colt. I had to make him more childish about it and less serious because his situation wasn't really the point, it was the premise for a real catastrophe in the making, and his selfdestructiveness was upsetting readers.
Swift is in a similar place, so you're gonna have to take that into account. It's very noir, so she almost HAS to absorb some really painful lessons about what one good pegasus can really do against the problems of the world. And just turning Dark and becoming evil isn't noir, it's just Nineties grimdark. Noir is way cooler than grimdark because honor matters, and grimdark is just nihilistic, assuming that if you can't be the superhero you just curse everything and become another villain. In Noir, you can be heroic and honorable and STILL fail, because you're tough enough to stand the hurt, and your heart is pure.
I bet you Hardy would expect Swift to make it through this without being corrupted. Jes' sayin'.
2759997 Hee...heeeheeee...
You're gonna hafta wait and see what happens. You're predicting things that're all 'emotional and grim'. I don't do that. I'm more inclined to do 'terrifying' and 'bizarre'.
I can't wait to see some of the fan art that comes after next chapter pops.
-Chessie
... You jerks. Gah I'm just glad she is still alive, I kinda think finding Swift was just a Tad bit rushed but I'm to relieved to give a damn. I look forward to reading the reunion with Swift and Hardy. I expect tears and sadness. Also you can totally make a spin off with Hardy this next Halloween and make him Iron Pony, cause ya know, battery in his chest. That would be cool.
Anyways, glad to see this is still up and running. Still waiting for that fourth member of the team.
Twitchy tail!
2760196
Not that we didn't find some amusement in doing Nightmare Night, but it ran on so long and created such a delay in the story we really wanted to tell that I would personally lick Discord's taint before we do another holiday special episode.
--CEO Kasen
2760481
Not even for a loyal fan such as me? Ha, well it doesn't have to be a full on special. Just like a random comment of Taxi mentioning it while they pass a costume shop or something. Or like have Swift make a comment that he reminds her of a cartoon character.
Nonetheless Iron Pony reference is needed. You can't not make one. Another side note, you should totally give Hardy's heart a side effect of being able to charge something. Would be hilarious if they jumped Taxi's car with Hardy's heart.
2759997 Really interesting, that difference between noir and grimdark.
2759161 You can tell where you get traffic from? Cool. I know I started on a bunch of series, both published and fanfic, from TVT.
2760196 That bit was actually supposed to feel a bit rushed. She left her gun behind and Hardy's mental condition is, as they say, not good. The next few chapters will have a feeling of 'crap happening at breakneck speed'. It's on purpose. Promise.
-Chessie
2760689
We can. The Stats button includes a referrals breakdown (Not surprisingly, 77% EQD).
--CEO Kasen
If I ever make a set for a movie or something in a bar, I'm going to have a clock in the background. And instead of a 9, it's going to be labeled "barfight o'clock." And as soon as the inevitable barfight starts, it's going to hit that time. because that may be the best line I've read in a while.
2763148 Heehee...That was one of Kasen's. He has some damn good lines now and then, even if I do most of the day to day grind type writing. He really gives the story its flavor.
-Chessie
2758880 when I think "male dragon," and "not Twilight" I think Spike.
At first I thought that it didn't quite sound like him, but he'd certainly be influenced by Twi's writing style, and probably make some changes after the unnamed period of time between the show and now. Reading the notes in his voice is interesting, and doesn't seem entirely off.
Speaking of Spike, what was his place in the dragon wars?
2765621 No idea. I avoided the Mane Six as completely as I could for this story, while still making their presences known. I do sorta wish I'd been more particular, but then, it does leave it to others if they wanna write something in the same universe to figure that stuff out.
-Chessie
2758677 You write plenty I just read it fast so it felt short. My bad I do that a lot.
2768309 No worries. I really do wish I could output like Somber or Shortskirtsandexplosions, but I find my quality drops meteorically after about 1k per day.
-Chessie
I am surprised that this story does not get more love. I just powered through the 4 most recent chapters and I really want to know what happens next, but as I read I noticed that the number of views per chapter had dropped almost exponentially from the very beginning. I do not think that view counts like that do this story justice. The setting is established nicely and the characters are all flawed and believable and with actual depth and motivation(though Hardy is suspiciously at peace considering he just woke up from being most assuredly dead and the Stilettos that helped shut down the drug lab were a little overpowered but those are more nitpicks than anything). I say all that to say, that you have got a fan in me. Looking forward to the next chapter.
If I were a more patient and decent soul I would've paused between each chapter to allow the incredible gushing praise spurt from lips to probably wind up everywhere. Since I'm not, one comment will have to suffice.
This fic is truly a work of art. I have been endless reading quote and begging friends to examine it because it truly is incredible. This is the most incredible and compelling works of noir fiction I've read in far too long. Mickey himself would be proud to call Hardy a friend I think. This fic has had me spellbound since i opened the first chapter. I've done a serious mischief to my sleep schedule I confess which probably says things about me i'm not crazy about but are definitely worth it.
Your grasp of metaphor and how your characters tick is truly incredible. You personalize them so beautifully that they truly feel like real beings in some alternate world. I can imagine them living these words and I don't say that lightly. The unfolding of this story has left me truly breathless, every time some new facet is exposed I feel my heart beat quicker as I imagine how Hardy and his acquired group will manage, I won't deny I was shocked at his death and did have to gold back a few tears. I am truly grateful I was able to get to the next chapter so quickly as otherwise I fear you may have gotten very vexed pms
My only critique is Swift's colouration, I can't quite get a grip on her colours. she seems to oscillate from a neon pink to salmon in the latest chapter to orange in other spots and her mane and eye colour feel like they're either rarely mentioned or simply don't register as much as her pelt colours do. Other than that all I humbly ask is that this incredible epic continue. I can't wait to see how things progress.
Sorry bout the delay, I was caught up with other stuff before I could sit down and read this chapter. I know I say this for just about every chapter but damn, that was a good chapter.
SWIIIIIFFFFTTTT
I love this idea of leaving dead bodies in clouds. So glad we got some sky town activity, with Griffon social norms to boot.
SWWWIIIIIFFFTTTT
Some more wonderful wordplay going on.
Dat Scarlet reunion, dawwww.
I imagine there will be a Hardy returns to his old folks at the police station scene. That will be so awkward, I can't wait. But yeah, Jade knows. She always knows.
SWWWWWIIIIIFFFTTTT
Well this was a packed chapter, granted it's all about getting the band back together but damn even a bar room brawl in there. Lil fireball indeed.
Oh dear, it appears she blames herself for Hardy's death. I'm sure Granny glow and Hardy will eventually set her damaged vehicle of a mind back on the right road but I think this is a case of "things will never be the same again" for this lil race car.
Though it had to happen sooner or later, cute swift was bound to come crashing to earth.
2772547 Heee, Hardy is 'suspiciously at peace'. You've no idea. Let us just say, your suspicions are well founded.
Blessedly, there are only a few Stilettos and those drug dealers were only 'level one'. Rats in the basement, as it were.
-Chessie
I used to always keep 1 or 2 chapters of this story unread, in case of noir emergencies (this is the only story i do so, this is like my 3rd favorite story) but i couldnt keep torturing myself everytime i saw a new chapter in my favorites, it hurts more now because i have no more after i read a new one, what should i do?!!
on a side note, i loled when i thought about a detrot fortress 2
After glow as the soldier
Scarlet as the Scout
Swift as the pyro (lil fireball, plus she's really strange as far as ponies go)
Sykes/Eddy as the Demolitions
Taxi as the Engineer (loves technology and machinery)
Hardy as the heavy (Tough, dies a lot, heart transplant from a different species)
Slip Stich as the Medic (I had to sit down when I thought of this, i laughed too hard)
Hardy's Assassin as the Sniper
??? as the Spy
Jade as the Administrator
Telly as Saxton hale :P cuz she's awesome
Detrot Fortess 2
I had too much fun with this
2787507 I would play that! Oh man, I wish one of our artists would do something like that. I might commission one of them. It'd be an EXPENSIVE picture but... awesome.
-Chessie
2788443
but wh would be the spy? oh, i know, the giant ladybug! what was his name again?
2793426 2773017 2772547 Awww, it's good to hear we're getting new readers. Glad to have you!
-Chessie
2788559 Queeny?
Personally, I think Taxi or Zeta(?) would do well as the spy.
2809155 Zeta would look sexy in a suit. Heeheehee!
-Chessie
2809155
ahh thanks, but zeta is more like the scout with speed, and less prone to backstabbing then queeny, maybe ill make 2 different teams of characters then
Hey there you two! Just got caught up and damn is this story addictive! I've stayed up till 3AM the past week reading this (being unemployed has it's benefits). Sorry about unintentionally spoiling the 'not Twilight' thing for everyone
but I made that comment before reading the comment about Twilight. This story is fantastic and I love an author (or in this case authors) who respond to the comments. Really interesting to see a writing team. I would tear out someone's eyes if they tried to change something I had worked hard on. Anyways keep up the good work and I hope to see more of you 
P.S. I have an inconspicuous black van if anyone in the unofficial Cuddles Brigade wants to carpool. Lots of storage room for stuff and things.
2821030 I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Don't worry guys! Swift is...um...
You know, I think it couldn't hurt for me to go find a nice bunker before the next chapter releases.
Anyway, yeah, CeoKasen and I started off both writing the story, but our styles were too different. I'm a much more consistent writer. I can churn out words, day after day. Kasen is a much cleverer writer. He's got beautiful turns of phrase and understands the mechanics of writing a scene. Most of the best lines in this story are his, while the 'character moments' are mostly mine. We developed the plot between us, usually over fast food and bad coffee.
One thing I will say is that it has taught me to get my ego out of my writing. This story would not be HALF so good as it is without being able to accept Kasen's alterations, input, constant fixing of my hideous grammar, and truly spectacular ideas. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I may write the day to day stuff, but he's the reason Starlight Over Detrot exists.
Behind the scenes, Coandco, our second editor, works the purely mechanical. He's a real magician with a red pen. Trust me, if you could see an unedited version of a chapter, you'd think I was an idiot.
-Chessie
Wueeey, Swift. I am REALLY interested in what's the kid been up to in the time Hardy was out cold (yeah, I know
). And the thing about a bunker? Sounds like there is a doozy incoming. Bring it on! (umm, if it would be ok with you, of course 
)