Case One, Chapter Four: Getting to Know You
Carefully, Suunkii filled the test tube with a pale blue liquid, then tipped a small scoop of the pale white dust into the tube. Clasping the tube in a set of tongs, he lowered it into the steady blue flame of the Bunsen burner. The liquid inside began to bubble, then turned dark green.
Suunkii nodded and removed the tube from the burner, setting it into a stand. “You were correct, Phillip,” he declared, shutting off the burner. “That dust you found at all of the crime scenes is indeed organic and does indeed have magical properties.”
“What kind?” Phillip asked, pacing the tiled floors of the forensic laboratories. Daring and Detective Red Herring watched him in silence.
Suunkii rolled his eyes. “I do not know yet. That is the purpose of these tests. I will find out for you.” He took an eyedropper from a drawer and extracted some of the green liquid from the tube. He squeezed out a drop onto a microscope slide, then placed the slide under a microscope. Pressing his eyes to the scopes, he began to adjust the dials.
Behind him, Twilight extracted a book from amongst the creaking, overstuffed shelves in the back of the room and flipped through it. “Ah, here it is,” she declared, pointing to a page as she walked back to where Phillip, Daring, and Red waited. She turned the book around to reveal an image of a flower with five bright purple, teardrop-shaped petals. The flower had a blue circle in the center and a long, pale green stalk.
“Shrinking violets are a rare plant that only grows in fertile soil that’s been infused with magic, like the soil from the Everfree Forest,” Twilight explained. “They require a lot of care, especially since they only emerge from the ground once every few days for a few minutes at a time, and they need to be watered and pruned then.” She looked up. “Not to mention, the pollen isn’t easy to use; you have to harvest it very carefully, and then prepare it in a very precise way. Whoever your assassin is, they’ll be experienced with plants.”
Phillip turned and looked at Red Herring, raising an eyebrow. The detective huffed through his nostrils. “So, you were right,” he grunted. “They were all murdered by a pony who took this shrinking violet stuff, snuck in through the air vents, and attacked them.”
“A high-level unicorn with botanical experience, or connections to somepony with botanical experience,” Phillip stated.
“Right,” Red grunted. “Well, your usual meddling has proven helpful, I’ll admit.” He stepped forward, glaring at Phil. “But as I told you before, this is a police matter, and we don’t need your help with this.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” Phillip commented dryly. Daring forced down a snicker.
Red Herring’s scowl deepened. “I’ve had more than enough of you for the day. Go back home and stay there for the rest of the night.” He stormed out of the lab to find his partner and report on their findings.
Phillip and Daring both looked at each other. “It’s late,” Phillip said. “We can pick this up in the morning.”
“I should have some idea of what this is by tomorrow morning,” Suunkii stated without looking up from the microscope.
“Right,” Phillip grunted, heading towards the exit.
“Finder, wait. A moment,” Suunkii called, his eyes still glued to the microscope. Phillip paused at the door, then jerked his head to Daring, indicating for her to exit. She raised an eyebrow at him, but walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Once the door closed, Suunkii finally looked up and faced Phillip, his eyes creased with worry. “Are you sure that this is wise?” he asked, a note of concern in his otherwise placid voice.
Phillip didn’t answer for a moment. “Suun, I know what I’m doing,” he stated. “She needs a second chance.”
The zebra sighed and ran a hoof across his face. “I am not talking about her, although I am not sure if she can be trusted,” he said. “I am talking about your current line of work.”
“I fight crime, same as when I worked here,” Phillip answered.
“But you no longer have the protection of a badge,” Suunkii answered.
“Don’t need it,” Phillip replied shortly.
Suunkii’s throat convulsed as if he were trying to force words from his mouth, but he let out a sigh instead. “Just...be careful.”
Phillip grunted and turned around, but paused before exiting. "How're Muziqaa and Sirba?" he asked without turning, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible over the radio.
"My son and my wife are both well," Suunkii stated, turning back to his work. "It...has been a while since they have seen you."
"It has," Phillip grunted. He hesitated for a moment longer, then said, "Be seeing you," and exited. Suunkii stared at the door for a moment, then lowered his gaze back to the microscope.
“Doctor Suunkii?” Twilight asked, replacing the book on the shelf.
“Yes?” he replied, his tone once more emotionless.
“What was Phillip like when he was an officer here?” Twilight asked.
“He was, in some ways, much like yourself,” Suunkii replied. “A highly moral, uncompromising individual, who was proud to serve others and fight for justice. He was also my friend.”
“What happened to him?” Twilight asked.
Suunkii didn’t reply for a moment, then sighed. “The same thing that happens to many young, idealistic ponies in this city, Twilight. He lost hope.”
Twilight frowned grimly. “Then maybe all he needs is to find it again.”
The trolley’s bell rang out into the lonely night streets as it mounted the hill. The sign for Honeybee Bakery Street approached, glowing in the flickering light of a street lamp. Phillip reached up and rang the bell. The trolley driver released the grip lever and pulled the brake, bringing the vehicle to a halt. Phillip and Daring both got up and exited the trolley. The vehicle trundled away as the two began to walk up the empty street. Neither of them spoke until they reached 221 and had entered, closing and locking the door behind them.
“You hungry?” Phillip asked, doffing his hat and vest and placing them on the rack.
“Yeah,” Daring nodded. Ciabatta’s sandwich had been long ago.
“You eat meat?” Phillip asked, walking towards the kitchen, past a back door that led onto a small porch.
“Yeah, seafood,” Daring said. She knew many ponies who were totally vegetarian, but she had learned long ago that any food was valuable, and grown to appreciate the taste of fish.
“Good,” Phillip nodded, starting to take materials out of the cupboards and turning on the oven. “Tuna cakes and salad sound good?”
“Sounds great,” Daring agreed, her stomach grumbling.
“Ripper,” Phillip said, chopping up some tomatoes. “There’s lettuce and tuna in the fridge, top shelf on the right.”
Daring opened up the refrigerator, then paused, staring at the contents of a plastic bag on the floor of the fridge. She slowly closed the door, stared for a moment longer, then turned to face Phillip.
“Are those eyeballs?!”
“Yes,” Phillip answered without looking up. “I borrowed them from the morgue. Doing an experiment on the effects of temperature on decomposition.”
Daring stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Detecting her gaze, Phillip looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Daring tried to speak, then sighed and shrugged. Opening the fridge, she retrieved the tuna and lettuce and tossed them over to Phillip.
The dinner was ready within minutes, and Daring found to her great pleasure that, while it was no five-star meal, it was more than palatable. They ate in silence: Phillip did not raise his head from his plate, apparently lost in thought.
Finishing her meal, Daring dropped her plates in the sink and exited onto the back porch. The cool air embraced her as she closed the door behind her. Sighing, she leaned against the railing of the porch, scanning the backyard. The small field of overgrown grass was devoid of any decoration, save for a wilted cherry tree that hadn’t been pruned in years. A picket fence surrounded the yard, separating the property from the neighbors’ yards; the white paint was long faded, and several of the boards were rotten. Nopony else was out at this time of night; the only sources of light came from dim lights from the cottage windows and the stars above.
Taking the packet of Blue Camel from her pocket, she shook out a cigarette and inserted it into her mouth, then flicked open her lighter and lit the stick. A sigh of relief escaped her as the taste of mint and nicotine filled her mouth. She took a long drag, then tilted her head back and closed her eyes, slowly exhaling the smoke.
The door opened and Phillip walked out onto the porch. She turned to see that he was carrying his saxophone. He paused, as if just realizing that she was there.
“Do you mind if I play?” he asked. “Helps me think.”
Daring shrugged. “Nah, go ahead.”
Phillip climbed up onto the railing and raised the saxophone to his lips. He inserted the reed into his mouth, closed his eyes, and began to play. The music that flowed from the bell of his instrument was like a flowing river; instead of forming any recognizable tune, it smoothly washed from chord to chord. He sank to low grumbles, then gradually rose to sharp squeals and cries before settling into gentle hums and whispers. Daring listened in silence to the impromptu concert, observing Phillip. His eyes remained closed throughout, his tail waving and his body rocking in time with whatever beat he set; the energy he put into the music was palpable, but never passionate, always controlled. He never gave more emotion than was necessary, but always enough to provide. His hooves floated up and down the instrument, caressing the unfeeling brass as gently as a lover.
When the concert was over, Phillip slowly withdrew the saxophone reed from his mouth, setting the instrument down in his lap. His eyes remained closed for a long time, then he slowly opened them, looking as though he were waking up from a very deep sleep.
“You’re good,” Daring said.
“Thanks,” Phillip said.
“Where’d you learn to play?” Daring asked. “Teach yourself?”
“No,” Phillip answered. “My father taught me." He looked around at her. “Why d’you ask?”
“If we’re going to be partners, we should at least get to know each other, right?” Daring shrugged.
Phillip considered this for a moment, then nodded. “That’s fair.”
“So, there’s one thing I gotta know,” Daring said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “How does somepony from ‘down undah’ end up halfway up the Maresippi?”
Phillip gave her a sideways look, obviously unamused by her brief imitation of his accent, then spoke. “My parents were part of a traveling band that played across Equestria. I was born in Sydneigh. Wound up traveling across the empire while I was still a baby. My father had me learning music as soon as I could talk, and had me playing in the band.” A faint smile briefly crossed his face, but it disappeared quickly.
“But I earned my cutie mark here,” he continued. “It was when I was thirteen; I’d been going with the band on tours before, and we were staying here for two moons.
“There was a young mare, a few years older than me, who lived in the motel room next to ours. She was nice. Friendly. We became fairly close. But almost every time I saw her, she had some kind of bruise on her face or on her body. Every night, while I laid awake trying to sleep, I could hear her through the vent—crying. The soft kind of crying, the kind when you can’t stop crying.
“I eventually figured out that she had a coltfriend who abused her. He hit her. Stole from her. Raped her several times.”
Daring let out a hiss through her teeth. “What’d you do?”
“She wouldn’t talk to me about it,” Phillip said. “Or anypony. I tried to call the police, but they wouldn’t do anything. My parents and I talked to her, but she was too scared of him to do anything, and he always avoided us.” His hoof trembled, seemingly involuntary.
“She still cried every night," he whispered. "There was blood on her sheets every day. Nopony could do anything about it. Nopony but me.”
He took a breath to steady himself before continuing. “I’d never seen the coltfriend. Didn’t know what he looked like. But there were enough clues in her room for me to work with: marks on her face from when he hit her, his hair in the bathroom, a matchbook from his favorite club in the trash. Things most ponies wouldn’t notice, but they were all so obvious to me.
“I learned who he was, where he lived, what he did every day. And then one night, I slipped out…”
The rain poured down onto his head as he crouched in the alleyway next to the Midnight Oil bar; the drainpipe rattled and grumbled as water poured down it into an open barrel. Distant thunder rumbled through the cold air. He watched the pale orange light of the neon sign reflecting off the puddles of rainwater at the mouth of the alleyway, turning on again and off again in time with his breathing.
And then, his quarry appeared. Cut Stone, a huge, hulking brute of a pony. His coat was granite gray, and his mane was a dark red, slick with rain and sticking to his head. He staggered and weaved across the sidewalk, clutching an empty cider bottle.
Phillip’s heart accelerated at the sight of the other pony, but despite the sudden rush of energy that made his entire body tremble, his mind remained clear and focused. He stood up, pulling up the hood on his rain jacket and tugging his scarf up over his face, covering everything except his eyes. He galloped forward, his hoofsteps splashing against the sidewalk. Cut Stone was too deep in his drunken stupor to notice his presence until it was too late.
He chopped his hoof into Cut Stone’s throat, causing him to choke and stagger. Darting around Cut, Phillip bucked him in the side, sending him tumbling into the alleyway. Phillip sprinted in after him. Struggling to get to his hooves, Cut threw the bottle at him, but he ducked beneath it and tackled him to the ground. Their hooves scrambled against each other as they battled for dominance, tumbling and rolling across the alleyway.
Cut Stone used his greater bulk to pin Phillip beneath him and began scrabbling for his throat, slurring drunken threats. Fending off his clumsy attacks, Phillip lunged up and headbutted Stone in the face, breaking his nose. With a howl of pain, the other pony reared backward, clutching his now-bloodied face. Snatching up a dropped brick, Phillip struck Stone across the face, knocking him down. Pouncing on Cut, Phillip seized his head and forcefully slammed it against the ground with a great crack. His hooves came down like a pair of sledgehammers, mercilessly pounding into the bastard’s face. His heavy breathing echoed in his head, and the scent of blood filled his nostrils; he barely felt the rain pouring down onto his back.
Cut Stone slowly went limp, moaning in pain. Phillip paused in his beatdown and grabbed Stone by the throat, lifting him up so that he could look into his swollen green eyes.
“If you hurt her again,” he snarled, his voice pitched to match the rumbling thunder, “I will know. And I will be back.”
Cut Stone whimpered. Phillip shoved him to the ground and stood up, panting. His defeated prey lay still, unmoving save for his slow, wheezing breath. The rain mixed with the blood and tears across his face. Turning on his heels, Phillip walked to the end of the alleyway, pulling back the hood of his rain jacket and tugging his scarf down, relishing the taste of the cool night air. The rain washed the blood from his hooves, as if trying to wipe away the evidence of his encounter.
He paused, looking up at the black and empty sky above him. A crackle of lightning ran across the clouds as the thunder roared at him. His breathing slowed and his heart rate was already steadying once more. Discarding the scarf into a trash can, he walked away at a languid pace, his face expressionless, and soon disappeared into the rainy night.
“The next morning, we found out that I’d earned my cutie mark,” Phillip explained, his tone still neutral and detached. “I didn’t tell my parents what happened. The wanker spent two weeks eating through a straw. He never hurt her again. She didn’t cry anymore. And I slept peacefully every night for weeks.”
Daring nodded. “That’s quite a story.” She took a drag on her cigarette. “And you were a cop?”
“Yeah,” Phillip grunted. “Joined straight out of Pranceton. Made my way to Detective Sergeant.”
“When’d you leave?” Daring asked.
"About a year ago," Phillip said.
"So you're new to the private eye shtick," Daring stated. Phillip nodded. "Why'd you leave anyway?"
A scowl fixed itself on Phillip’s face. “Wasn’t fit for it.” He was silent for several long moments, then shook his head slightly, resetting his face to its normal neutral expression. “And you?” he asked.
Daring smiled smugly. “When I was a kid, I ran away from home a lot. I’d go exploring the neighborhood, sometimes for days at a time. I memorized the neighborhood streets, learned how to navigate using the stars and the sun, and how to sneak around without being seen: I liked pretending I was hunting for buried treasure in the alleyways and empty lots and stuff. One time, I snuck into an old mansion.”
“It was empty?” Phillip asked.
Daring laughed. “Nope. Some bigwigs were holding a party there. I snuck around their house for four hours, exploring the house from basement to attic. I overheard one of them talking about some old coins that they'd managed to cheat their neighbor out of. When I was in the basement, I found this hidden safe that you opened by pressing some buttons. It took me half an hour of experimenting, but I figured out the sequence and opened it! The gold coins were inside. I snatched them all up in a bag and left. None of them ever knew I was there.”
“Proud of yourself for that, are you?” Phillip said, though he could not hide a smile crossing his face.
“Damn right,” Daring smirked. “After that I went to the library and spent half the day reading about ancient cultures, figuring out who made those coins and what they meant. It was really cool. I found out I earned my cutie mark when I got home. Mom didn’t even realize I’d gone out.” She blinked, then her smile faded. “Then again, she never did notice.”
Phillip nodded. "You still have the coins?"
"Nah," Daring shook her head. "Had to sell them to buy food after I ran away."
“And that's when you joined the Family, right?”
Daring glanced down at her right hoof. The red lines that formed the brand seemed to glow in the dim light. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she muttered, lowering her hoof.
Phillip didn’t reply. After about a minute of silent contemplation, he slid off the railing and walked towards the door. “You should get some sleep,” he quietly suggested, reentering the house.
Daring stayed outside to finish her cigarette, staring up at the distant, twinkling stars. She identified all the constellations she could see: Heracles attacking Draco, Cepheus, and Cassiopeia, Ursa Minor and Major. As always, her eyes drifted towards Polaris, the unmoving North Star. It winked down at her as if reassuring her that he would always be there for her to navigate by. The vision gave her momentary comfort; she felt as though the porch was the deck of a ship, gently rocking beneath her hooves. For the moment, the seas of her life had calmed.
Dousing her cigarette on the porch banister, she retreated back inside, closing the door behind her.
A stream of warmth and light poured down onto Daring’s face, pulling her back into the waking world. She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself staring at the stone roof of her cell, covered in the thin, itchy blankets of her cot and laying on a rock-hard mattress.
Instead, she found herself studying a white tiled ceiling, and realized that she was covered in warm blue sheets and laying on a cloud-soft mattress. Blinking, she sat up and looked around. The bedroom was sparse and mostly undecorated: there were only the light brown walls with the reddish-brown carpeting, a dresser in the corner next to the closet, a bedside table with a clock and a lamp, and the bed. Sunlight shone through the uncurtained window. Daring glanced at the clock to find that it was just past eight in the morning.
Shaking off the remnants of sleep, Daring climbed out of bed, yawning. Stumbling her way to the door, she exited out into the upstairs hallway. The door next to hers was still closed, and she detected the sound of snoring from the other side. She went into the bathroom opposite for a quick morning shower, then descended into the kitchen to make some breakfast.
First was the most important step: turning on the coffee machine and preparing it for percolation. Opening the fridge, she quickly snatched up the carton of eggs, trying not to look at the bag of eyeballs. Then after some rummaging, she pulled a skillet and a loaf of bread out of the cupboards and set herself to work making eggs in the basket.
She had already made six slices and was consuming her third one when she heard hoofsteps approaching. Phillip stumbled into the room, shaking his mane out of his eyes and yawning as he tugged another gray shirt over his body.
“Morning,” Daring said, wondering if he had any other clothes.
“Gmfay,” Phillip mumbled. “Kofeh.” He dragged himself over to the coffee machine, grabbed a mug from the rack next to the machine, filled it to the brim, then drained half of it one go. The caffeine seemed to go a long way towards waking him up; his eyes opened all the way and he stood up straighter, turning to face Daring.
“You made breakfast?” he asked, seemingly just realizing that there was food on the table.
“Yeah,” Daring said. “Least I could do after you let me stay here.”
He stared at her for a moment, then took another sip of coffee. “Thanks,” he said.
She nodded through a mouthful of toast, then swallowed. “So what’s the plan for today?”
“First, we polish this off,” Phillip said. “Then, it’s time we look into the connection between the victims.” He looked into his mug, as if wondering if he could find a clue in the steaming black coffee.
“We need to pay a visit to Silvertongue’s gallery.”
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Its an interesting back story, a little surprised if it wasn't for Philip stayed long enough to make Detective Sargent. That would normally imply years of service starting on the beat before becoming a detective. Of course having a degree and some luck he could've moved up ranks fairly rapidly
8223239
Yup. Phil started from the bottom as a normal beat cop and managed to work his way up to Detective Sergeant. Considering that he's in his late thirties as the story begins, and he'd been working as a PI for about a year, that'd make for a little less than 15 years of service.
Whoo! Excitement! Josi-words! Can't wait for more!
8229567
Yays!
Okay, I do like the new take on Phil's backstory, but I'm still left wondering on Daring's own. I have a feeling, given the way things are going so far and how closed off she is, it'll be one of those slowly revealed things.
i honestly thought that spider-man was going to swing by while reading that origin story. just so iconic of a scene for his character and it feels you made an impressive one for phil as well.
8266787
I'm glad you like it. Creating this new origin story took quite a bit of thought.
This ship be perfect for sailing don't you think?
8330539
Let's ask Phil what he thinks.
"..."
He doesn't agree.
Whelp, I done been hooked. Finder and Daring have a non-romantic chemistry between them by this point that is starting to dimly come into view, and Finder himself is genuinely sympathetic as a character. He seems to be a jazz riff on Sherlock Holmes and every noir-style detective not named Sam Spade, and I love it. His explanation of the incident that led to his becoming a detective is superbly executed. Well done, sir!
I do have some observations and suggestions (and these are truly very nitpicky):
-This is perhaps too many words to describe such a simple action. I like what you are trying to show here, but it could be done more briefly. The first three sentences could be effectively shortened to something like:
“Daring shook a cigarette from the packet of Blue Camel in her pocket, agitated, and managed to coax a flame from the lighter in her pocket. A sigh of relief escaped her as the taste of mint and nicotine filled her mouth.”
I would also cut “the smoke”, since the object is implied from the essential function of a cigarette.
-I know that this is Equestria, and that we as authors and readers willingly suspend much of our disbelief when working in this world, but seeing an hoof “clench” still strikes my eye as odd. Perhaps “Finder’s hoof ground against the rough wood off the railing” would be an appropriate substitution?
-I had no idea what hue “cobalt gray” might be – and because part of my day-job involves colourimetry, it is not often I run into a colour name that I am not familiar with. Upon looking it up, it seems to be chiefly a colour associated with cars. Whatever the case, I think that this choice of description might be bit too obscure, as it broke my immersion. A more common colour name might be appropriate here for the description, such as “gunmetal gray”.
-It is merely a personal observation, but I have never found that using the world “adrenaline” in a scene in which a character feels it does anything but decrease the reader’s own. It is too technical a term for anything but a medical context.. Perhaps replace up to “…rush of adrenaline” with “Philip’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, but…”?
-“[O]ne” is redundant.
This is good. I love detective stories. One of my fave anime's is Detective Conan. This is gonna be fun to read.
This is just great! Next will be a head
So...Equestria's Britian now?
9471931
...where'd you get that idea?
And thanks for the watch!
Diggin' the chemistry between these two, and lovin' thier interactions. Cue some more L.A Noire music.
Still lookin' strong, mousier.