Case Eleven, Chapter Five: Eliminate the Impossible
“No, sir,” Soap Streak replied, leaning back in the chair of the conference room that Flash had pulled him into. “Like I said the last time, I didn’t see anypony suspicious near the vault when those prosthetics were stolen.”
“Yes, that’s what you said,” Flash nodded, glancing down at his notepad. “So who would go out to the alleyway in the back of the warehouse?”
Soap gave him a strange look, removing another stick of apple-orange gum from his mouth and flicking it into a trash can. “Employees go out back there all the time for smoke breaks,” he stated. “I’ve been known to head outside from time to time for a breath of fresh air. I don’t smoke, you know, but I find getting outside for a bit helps me keep my head on straight.”
Flash paused to think for a moment. “That dumpster in the alleyway,” he continued. “How often is the trash collected?”
“Once every morning,” Soap replied. “Garbage usually comes around nine-thirty.”
“And the vault was opened around five PM,” Flash mused. “When you were here and Circuit wasn’t.”
Soap frowned at him. “Are you accusing me of something, officer?” he asked, an added edge to his voice.
Flash paused for a moment and glanced up at Trace and Red, who were both standing at the opposite end of the room, watching in silence. Trace gave Flash a small nod.
“No, sir,” Flash recovered. “I’m just thinking out loud.”
“Smooth,” Red muttered under his breath, only loud enough for his partner to hear. “Trace, you really think we should let him do this alone? He’s fumbling already.”
“I wanna see how the kid does,” Trace replied.
“So, our current theory is that the thief stole the prosthetics and hid them in the dumpster, knowing that the trash wouldn’t be taken out until the next morning,” Flash continued. “Then, later that night, they came back and took the prosthetics out.”
Soap briefly paused in unrolling another stick of gum. “Oh, is that so?” he said nonchalantly, straightening up in his chair.
Trace suppressed a smirk. “Got his attention, good,” he nodded quietly.
“And we did find the car they used,” Flash continued, maintaining eye contact. “And we found plenty of trace evidence in there. Hairs, hoofprints, dirt…” He paused for a moment, deliberately shifting his gaze towards the trash can. “Gum.”
Soap slowly raised a hoof towards his chin and stared down at the floor. His chewing slowed for a moment.
“Apple-orange flavor, and we got a good saliva sample,” Flash said. “That, plus the clay in there that matched the clay in the alleyway. I’m sure if we ever find the culprit, there’ll be traces of clay on them, too.” He slowly stood up. “But right now, we’re focusing on the driver. This is just some mercenary driver, so he’ll probably flip as soon as we catch him for a better deal. You can never trust ponies who are only in it for the money, you know.” He started to walk towards the door. “Well, my partners and I have to go do another look around. We might find something else this time. Thanks for your time, Soap.”
Trace and Red started to follow Flash, both of them shooting the janitor brief, cold stares. Soap Streak continued chewing on his gum frantically, eyes darting around everywhere. Trace let Red go first, then started to close the door behind them.
“How’d you know it was me?” Soap cried.
Trace opened up the door and the three officers reentered. “Security crystal footage for one of the hallways,” Flash explained, closing the door behind him. “There was a shot of you walking down that hallway soon after the vault was opened, then walking back. I spotted clay on the tire of your cart; you swiped Circuit’s key, hid the wing and foreleg in the trash can, and carried them out back, didn’t you?”
Soap frowned and nodded. “I figured that Circuit would be an easy scapegoat,” he grunted.
“So how’d Whitestone get in contact with you?” Red asked.
“One of their crew approached me in a bar a couple of weeks ago; they knew I used to run with a gang that supported them, so I guess that’s why they sought me out,” Soap explained. “They offered me a couple thousand bits to swipe a griffon wing and foreleg for them; I guess they needed one. This donkey—Bentley, I think his name was—helped me plan the theft out, then, the night of the theft, he drove me over, then drove me down to the docks. We handed them off to some pilot on a boat, and he drove me home and paid me.”
“The boat. Describe it,” Trace commanded.
Soap rubbed the back of his head. “It was at night, so I didn’t get many details, but it was being piloted by a dark green griffon. The ship was a fishing vessel, I think—there were nets and stuff hanging from cranes on the sides. It was a dark blue color, I think…” He chewed his gum for a bit longer. “Wait, I vaguely remember the name. Uh...Nacho!”
All three officers blinked. “Nacho,” Red repeated. “A fishing boat named Nacho.”
Soap shrugged. “I didn’t name it.”
“There anything else?” Trace asked.
Soap shook his head. “I didn’t take long looks. Kinda got the impression that I wasn’t supposed to look too closely at any of these guys, you know?” He sighed and stood up, holding out his forelegs. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
He didn’t struggle at all as Red slapped cuffs onto his forelegs and started to drag him out of the room. As they walked down the factory floor, workers stopped and stared, the sounds of machinery fading away to be replaced with shocked murmurs. Soap hung his head in shame, muttering to himself. Up above, Penny Pincher stared from the window of his office, his mouth hanging open.
“Saliva?” Trace asked Flash, walking a few paces behind them.
“I remembered Twilight saying something about this DNA thing that can be found in blood and saliva,” Flash shrugged. “I figured I could bluff my way through there; somepony like him doesn’t strike me as knowing that much about forensic science.” He grinned nervously up at the senior detective. “I did okay, right?”
“You did pretty well,” Trace nodded. “Got a little tense at the beginning, and you fumbled a little when he got edgy, but you recovered nicely. And you figured out how to get his attention and push him towards confessing. Nice job.”
Flash beamed with pride, strutting proudly and drawing some critical stares from the workers as they headed for the exit doors. “Celebrate in private, son,” Trace admonished. “We’ve still got work to do.”
“I don’t care what Detective Deck says,” Phillip stated to his audience of two that morning. “We need to be investigating this.”
“You need not argue with us, detective,” Princess Celestia replied, raising a hoof placidly. She and Luna were both sitting upon their thrones in the throne room, looking down upon Phillip and Daring.
“The Kyaltratek is a dangerous relic,” Luna declared, her voice grave. “The knowledge contained therein could do devastating damage in the wrong hooves; were it not for the wisdom of knowing your enemies, we would have had it destroyed centuries ago.” She pointed a commanding hoof down at them. “We shall ensure that you have the full cooperation of the Canterlot Police. You must find the Kyaltratek and bring the culprit to justice!”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Phillip said, bowing in gratitude.
“Keep us informed of your progress,” Celestia requested. “The Archive’s curator, Hidden Hieroglyph, is in today briefly, but he will be returning home soon. He may be of some assistance.”
“And what about the guard, Crescent Lock?” Daring asked.
“He is currently confined to the barracks,” Celestia explained. “You will find the barracks in the back of the Palace. Raven?” she called to her assistant.
“Yes, Your Highness?” the raven-maned unicorn said, sliding her glasses back up her nose as she stepped forward.
“Please grant the detectives high-level passes so that they may pass through the palace and grounds unmolested,” Celestia commanded.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Raven nodded. “Detectives, please come with me.”
“Good luck, detectives,” Luna called as they exited the throne room.
Raven led them into a small office, where they were photographed and granted two green passes with their pictures and signatures upon them.
“Right, back to the Archive,” Daring declared, pinning her pass to her shirt and exiting the office. Raven opened her mouth to speak, but Phillip raised a hoof to stop her. A moment later, Daring sheepishly poked her head back into the room.
“Where are the Archives?” she asked.
“I’ll show you to them,” Raven said wryly, trotting out. As Daring fell into step behind them, she noticed Phillip giving her a smirk out of the corner of her eye.
“In my defense, this place is fucking huge,” she muttered.
The Archives were still closed to the public while the Canterlot police continued their investigation, but the curator’s office was accessible. Daring rapped at the door.
“Enter,” a voice called from within. Daring opened the door and the two entered.
There was a surprising dearth of books in the curator’s office, with only one slightly filled shelf present: most of the walls were occupied by filing cabinets and files. Hanging up on one wall was a long dark blue hooded cloak that was still in vogue with some of the older Canterlotians.
The curator himself, a four-foot light golden brown pegasus with a mop of reddish-brown hair, bright green eyes hidden behind thick glasses, and the cutie mark of an open scroll with several hieroglyphs written upon it, sat behind the wide desk, studying a large-scale photograph of what appeared to be the crumbling wall of some ancient edifice, the surface etched with cuneiform.
Hidden Hieroglyph dropped the magnifying glass that he was using and stood up, dusting off the front of his clay brown suit and clearing his throat. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Curator Hieroglyph, I’m Detective Finder, this is Detective Do,” Phillip introduced himself, extending a hoof to shake. “We’re looking into the theft of the Kyaltratek last night.”
“Is that ancient Hayrabian?” Daring asked, looking at the photograph in curiosity.
“It is!” Hieroglyph nodded, enthusiasm shining in his wide eyes. “This was found on the wall of a tomb in Al-Jahwar, in the northern part of Saddle Arabia. I was asked to do some translation work. I just dropped by here to finish up on this and to help with the investigation. I'll be finishing up and going home soon.”
Phillip cleared his throat. “Who would have access to the Kyaltratek?” he asked pointedly.
Hieroglyph frowned for a moment in thought. “Well, the restricted section’s vaults can only be opened by myself and the Princesses,” he explained. “In order to get a book out of the vault, one must be a member of the archive for at least five years and complete a form ahead of time explaining which book they want and why.”
Hieroglyph suddenly blinked and scowled heavily, as though a thought had just occurred to him. “Honestly, I would strongly suspect Lord Whisper Wind of taking it. He’s been after the Kyaltratek for years: the archive hosts one of the few complete editions that can still be found. He was actually here at the Archive that morning; he’d signed the Kyaltratek out to take a look at a particular section. As always, he made an offer to buy it from us, but I flatly declined.”
"And the Kyaltratek was still there after he left?" Phillip asked.
"Of course!" Hieroglyph replied. "I checked it in and out myself, and I also do an inventory of the restricted books every night. It was there when I left."
Phillip nodded and made a brief mental note. “Does anypony else have a copy of the key, or know the combination?”
“No,” Hieroglyph shook his head, tracing a hoof across his desktop. “But I do not imagine that it’d be impossible to forge a copy of the keys. They are enchanted, but even enchantments can be outsmarted.”
Daring nudged Phillip. “Excuse us,” Phillip said, stepping back.
“You saw his horseshoes, right?” Daring whispered. “Cloudwalker brand, size elevens. And he is a pegasus.”
“I did see,” Phillip confirmed. “But I can’t just ask for his horseshoes.” He thought for a moment. “Canterlot PD was getting casts of the prints. Might need to take a look at those.”
At that moment, there was another rap at the door. The visitor stepped through without waiting for an answer. Detective Stacked Deck strode in, his own visitor's badge bouncing off of his chest; as soon as the Canterlot detective spotted Phil and Daring, his face creased into a deep scowl, which Daring happily returned.
"Ah, Detective Deck," Hieroglyph greeted him. "Is your crew finishing up?"
"Yes," Deck nodded curtly.
"I shall be headed back home soon," Hieroglyph said, placing the photographs into a briefcase. "I have the rest of these translations to finish. These carvings on the tomb walls provide an incredible amount of information as to the burial practices of ancient cultures!"
“Fascinating,” Detective Deck interrupted, not taking his eyes off of Daring. “Detectives, could you step outside for a moment.”
His tone made it clear that it was not a question. Phillip and Daring followed him out of the room and into the hallway. Deck shut the office door behind him, then took a deep breath.
“I’ve been ordered by the Princesses to allow you to assist me,” he grunted. “I don’t have to be happy about it.”
“We’re not real enthused about it, either,” Daring snapped back.
“Daring,” Phillip ordered her down. Turning to Detective Deck, he extended a hoof. “Let’s bury the hatchet, mate. We’re both after the same thing.”
Deck grunted, but shook the proffered hoof briefly. “Agreed. Just stay out of my way and don’t give me shit.”
“Agreed,” Phillip nodded. “We’d like to speak to Crescent Lock now.”
“I was just going to interrogate him myself,” Deck grunted. “We might as well go together. Barracks are this way.”
"How are you on figuring out how the crystal's image was frozen?" Phillip asked.
"One of the crime scene guys has a theory on a jammer made out of a frequency crystal and a set of copper wire," Deck grunted as they started to trot towards the exit. "He thinks that the thief could've smuggled that in."
The trio exited the Archives and left the Palace interior, striding across a wide field with a wide running track encircling a parade ground with the grass trimmed down like the buzz cut on a new recruit’s mane, decorated by a single flagpole with Equestria’s flag flying atop it. The Royal Guard barracks sat on the opposite end of the field, a single four-story brick building with pure white paint, surrounded by a tall concrete fence with only one gate.
A Royal Guard in full uniform stood in front of the gate. As the detectives approached, he held out a hoof. “Halt! Identify yourselves!”
“Detectives Stacked Deck, Phillip Finder, and Daring Do, here to speak to Corporal Crescent Lock,” Deck announced.
“Wait there,” the Guard ordered. He opened up a gamewell in the wall next to him and spoke briefly into the phone inside. After a few moments, he nodded and hung up. “The deck watch officer will be out momentarily to escort you inside,” he reported.
They only had to wait a short while before the barracks door opened and a blue unicorn with a blonde mane trotted out, his Royal Guard uniform free of wrinkles and perfectly straight. A trio of golden chevrons with two bars was proudly displayed on both sleeves.
“Hey, Phil, Daring,” Sergeant Arc Light smiled and waved as he strode up to them. “Detective Deck. I’m to escort you around the barracks.”
“We’re here to speak to Crescent Lock,” Deck stated. “I understand he’s confined to barracks?”
“Until this gets cleared up, yes,” Arc nodded, leading them through the gate. “Crescent’s not one of the best guys here—honestly, if I wanted to steal from the Palace, I’d pick him as a weak point, too—but I can’t see him as a thief.”
“How well do you know him?” Deck asked.
“Not that well,” Arc admitted, opening the doors for them. “He talks about his sister a lot—poor kid came down with cancer a while back—and he’s really good at drawing, but not many of us know him well. He does his work, takes criticism, and follows orders.”
They proceeded into the barracks with their guide, trotting through an entrance lobby and up two flights of stairs. The hallway extended down to the left, past a common room where several off-duty Guards were chatting around a billiard table. Beyond that were dorm rooms, each with only a simple number to identify them.
The sergeant proceeded to rap at door number forty-three. “Corporal Lock,” he called.
No answer. Frowning, Sergeant Light rapped again. “Corporal Lock!”
Still nothing. Light scowled, then tried the door, finding it was unlocked.
The room inside was small and simple. There was a metal cot in the back wall, a single chair, and a desk with a few drawers. Intricate sketches on colored paper were taped up on the wall, many of them depicting landscapes, night skies, and rough sketches of other ponies. Crescent Lock was nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe he went to the shower or the common room,” Arc Light scowled, trotting off. “I’ll go find him.”
The three detectives silently began to sweep the room. Daring started at the desk. Briefly examining the countertop and finding nothing more interesting than a framed photograph of Crescent with his parents and a younger mare that was probably his sister, she started opening drawers, starting from the bottom. There was nothing in the bottom drawer, but the middle drawer had some art materials: paper of every color imaginable, colored pencils, glue, erasers, and a sketchbook. She started flipping through the sketchbook, noting several half-formed sketches within.
“What do you two think?” Deck asked, patting down the mattress and finding nothing. “He involved in this?”
“Not sure yet,” Phillip replied, picking at the padlock on a hoof locker that he’d pulled out from underneath the bed. “Mistake to make theories before you have evidence.”
Deck frowned. “Speaking of which, I got a call back from the crime lab. They identified the sleeping potion in Lock’s coffee, and in the flavor cup. It’s potent stuff, but it could be easily made using over-the-counter medicines and potion supplies. No real leads there.”
Phillip paused as he unlocked the padlock (twenty seconds, Daring noted. Gotta give him more practice. Maybe next time we get the hoofcuffs out…). “Just the flavor cup?” he asked.
“They didn’t find any traces in the water in the machine, no,” Deck admitted, opening up the locker.
Inside the locker were spare uniforms, all of them folded as crisply as paper, a few loose candy bars, a couple of thick novels—a blue-bound historical fiction novel, and a large gold book on the history of Equestria’s military—and more coffee flavor cups.
“Maple walnut, coconut, pecan...butterscotch?” Stacked Deck commented, studying each of the sealed cups in turn. He shrugged disdainfully. “Guess some like ‘em weird.”
“Odd,” Phillip muttered, studying the two books.
“What?” Daring asked, looking up from her perusal of the trash can, having found little but some candy wrappers, red sketch paper scraps, and broken pencils inside. She glanced over the coffee flavor cups and locked eyes with Phillip, the same thought clearly passing between them.
“Deck, you have a picture of the hoofprints from last night on you?” Phillip asked.
“Uh, yeah,” Deck nodded, patting down his saddlebags. He extracted a few photographs, each depicting a set of plaster hoofprints, the Cloudwalker brand hoofprints cast in clear detail.
Phillip set the pictures down on the desk and proceeded to pass a magnifying glass over them. After a few moments of study, he nodded in satisfaction.
There was a rap at the door. “Detectives,” Arc Light announced, gesturing for Crescent Lock to enter. The corporal swallowed and glanced through the room before stiffening to attention.
Phillip stood up slowly and trotted over, a deep scowl settling across his features. “Why don’t you stop mucking us all about and be honest?”
Crescent Lock swallowed even louder and stepped back a pace. “I, uh...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You faked the theft,” Daring accused. “You were the one who stole the Kyaltratek, and you drugged yourself to make yourself look good.”
“Y-you can’t prove that!” Lock protested.
“The potion was in your flavor cup, which you keep locked up,” Phillip continued. “There’s no sign of picking on the lock, and none of the other flavor cups are tampered with. The thief would’ve had to know the exact flavor cup you were going to pick that night. Not possible.”
“But what about the horseshoe prints outside?” Lock protested. “I don’t wear Cloudwalkers, size eleven!”
“How’d you know what size they were?” Deck asked, frowning. Crescent made a choking sound in his throat and froze, his pupils dilating.
“And no, Hieroglyph didn’t leave those tracks,” Phillip said. “The tracks outside were brand-new horseshoes. Hidden’s horseshoes are too old and faded, and his front left shoe has the wrong size nails. Nice try on the red herring, though.”
“How much you want to bet that if I drag the moat, we’ll find the horseshoes in there?” Deck added. "Or the jammer you snuck in?"
“And I know how you got the Kyaltratek out,” Daring added, holding up the scraps of paper from the trash can. “That romance novel that suddenly vanished from your room today? You made a fake cover and put it over the spellbook. No one thought to look at it twice.”
“Wasn’t a bad plan,” Phillip admitted. “Your flaw was you tried to be too clever about it.”
Lock glanced behind him at the doorway, as if considering escape, but Arc Light’s glare forced him to halt. With a defeated sigh, he hung his head and turned.
“My sister needed the money for her operation,” he admitted. “Some black market seller contacted me, told me that some spellbooks would fetch a heavy price. We worked out the plan to steal it together, and I put it all together tonight. Just my luck that somepony showed up looking for it..."
“If you have any sense of honor left, you’ll cooperate fully,” Arc Light said coldly as Detective Deck pulled out a set of hoofcuffs.
“I will,” Lock mumbled, unable to look at anypony.
“It’s not Nacho, it’s Näckros,” Spike had announced as they poured over lists of shipping boats.
And so, two hours after Soap Streak’s confession, Flash found himself standing on one of the many docks over the Maresippi, staring at a squat fishing boat with peeling dark blue paint and ratty nets hanging over the sides. The Griffonese name was barely visible on the bow, the white paint faded with age and exposure.
“Nopony onboard,” Prowl reported as she trotted back down the gangplank. “You have the owner’s picture?”
Flash pulled a photograph copied from the department’s files out of his pocket and held it up. Tangsoppa was a tall, dark green griffon with piercing brown eyes and dark blue plumage; like his ship, he himself was faded with age, white invading around the edges of his coat and wrinkles spreading from his eyes. His record was still nothing to sneeze at: he had served a lengthy sentence for smuggling, piracy, and aggravated assault in Griffonia before moving to Equestria six years ago.
“There’s a matchbook from a bar near here, the Iceberg,” Prowl told him. “Let’s see if we can get anything out of that while Trace and Red search for more clues.”
“What about me?” Bumblebee protested.
“You’re going to stay here and make sure the scene’s secure,” Prowl replied. “Sorry, Bee, but…” She extended her wings silently.
“Oh, okay,” Bee shrugged. “Today’s not my cardio day anyway.”
Rolling her eyes, Prowl took off, with Flash following her up north to the Iceberg, which turned out to be a ramshackle hole-in-the-wall establishment that sat in the center of a strip mall. They landed and entered to find the interior was a dark, close room that smelled of illicit drugs, alcohol, and body odor. Dockworkers and sailors, most of them griffons, were gathered so closely inside the place that there was hardly room to maneuver around the tables and small bar, and the overlapping voices made conversation nearly impossible unless the two officers were standing right next to each other.
Flash approached the bartender, a gray burro with a long white beard who was currently wiping down the bar. “Excuse me, do you recognize this griffon?” he asked, holding out the photograph.
“Sorry, can’t help you,” the bartender replied without even looking at the picture.
Frowning, Flash turned to a group of griffons sitting around a table, their tattoos all speaking of a naval theme. “Any of you know this griffon?” he asked.
“No speak Equestrian,” one of the griffons growled at him.
Flash and Prowl exchanged scowls and were about to continue when somepony approached and tapped Prowl on the shoulder. “You’re Finder’s friends, right?” the white unicorn whispered, shaking her blue mane out of her emerald eyes.
“Yes,” Flash said warily.
The mare glanced around and leaned in. “Not here. Let’s go outside.”
She led them both back out onto the sidewalk, where the harsh, hot wind battered against them, even in the shade of the alleyway that they then proceeded into. “What is it?” Prowl asked.
“My name is Blue Rose,” the mare declared. "I might be able to help you, but..." She shifted in place a bit, glancing around. "You need to know something about me first."
"Yes?" Flash asked.
Blue Rose hesitated for a moment, then took a breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they had turned into the solid green orbs of a changeling.
Prowl stiffened, then glared, baring her fangs with a low growl. Rose sniffed, then gave her a cold look. "Ease off, officer. I didn't fight in the war. I have my prostitution license, and I'm not using this disguise to steal anything or hurt anypony. Your Supreme Court ruled in '46 that I can live here like this."
Prowl didn't speak, but nor did she relax her posture or gaze. Flash remained impassive, holding out the photograph. “Do you know this guy?”
“Tang,” Blue confirmed, blinking as her eyes returned to normal. “He’s a frequent...client of mine. You looking for him?”
“Yes,” Flash nodded.
“I can find him for you,” Blue offered. “No offense, but I think I can find him faster than you can. Tang tends to hide out in areas where cops aren’t welcome, and I have a lighter hoofstep than you.”
“And what’s in it for you?” Prowl asked suspiciously.
“Sarge,” Flash chided.
Blue Rose glanced around, frowning. “I...kinda hurt your friends, Phil and Daring, a while back. You came in there, and I thought that...maybe I could make up for it. You know, make reparations in a way.”
Prowl raised an eyebrow. Blue sighed in disgust and rolled her eyes. “Okay, and I was hoping for a little taste of your love, too,” she admitted. “You two have got a lot more love than any of those horny bastards in there...especially you.” She turned to Flash and leaned in a bit, sniffing. “You’re freshly in love, so much that you’d do anything for her...and the mare you love is in trouble.”
Flash stepped back a bit, eyes widening in surprise as Prowl growled softly. “How did you…?” he gasped.
“I eat emotions, kid,” Rose replied. “I’m something of a connoisseur when it comes to love.” She sniffed deeply and let out an appreciative sigh, then cleared her throat. “Sorry. Look, I’ll help you find Tang. In return, will you let me have a taste of your love, Officer Sentry? Just a small taste, I promise it won’t hurt.”
“No,” Prowl snapped back, turning to leave.
“Sarge,” Flash replied, giving her a cold look. “I can make my own decisions.” He turned back to Blue Rose. “Do you really need my love?”
“We changelings need emotion to be healthy, especially love,” Blue Rose confirmed. “For us to try to go without it would be like if you tried to live off of only bread and water; it’d make us sick.” She paused for a moment, then added, “And it’s not just for me.” She plucked a photograph from her saddlebag and held it up for Flash to study.
The picture showed Blue Rose in her disguise, grinning at the camera. Next to her was a small blue-green pegasus filly with a short pink mane and a ladybug cutie mark, smiling shyly up at him with pale green eyes.
"My daughter, Ocellus," Blue Rose said. "I can't get much more than scraps in this position, but I feed every spare bit of love I have to her." She smiled at the picture warmly. "She was the valedictorian of her class this year. She wants to be a librarian one day. Loves books."
Flash thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right,” he agreed.
Blue Rose smiled brightly in delight. “Thank you!” she cried. “Hold still a moment; this’ll feel weird, but it won’t hurt.”
Blue Rose leaned in close and gently bit Flash on the neck. Flash shuddered, then let out a low moan, blushing faintly as Rose began to suck gently at the wound. No blood trickled out of the injury, but the more she sucked, the more Flash's blush increased. His knees shivered and gave out as his rump hit the ground.
Prowl growled and placed a hoof atop the nightstick on her belt, taking one authoritative step forward. Rose glared at her and let go quickly, if a tad reluctantly. Flash shook his head as his cheeks returned to their normal color, standing up slowly as the dizziness wore off.
“Good stuff,” she sighed, licking her lips appreciatively. “Strong stuff: young, pure love is always the best taste.” She gave Flash a grateful nod. “This’ll tide us both over for weeks. Thank you.”
“A deal is a deal,” Prowl said as Flash’s cheeks returned to their normal color. “You’ll find Tangsoppa for us.”
“Relax,” Blue Rose said with a wink as she trotted off, a gentle bounce in her hips. “Blue Rose can get any stallion or mare to cooperate with her.”
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...not a Sandbar/Yona shipper I take it?
To each his own.
Still, I do remember Rose in the original draft and I did like her scenes, glad she was brought back.
9978244
I like Yonabar just fine, and I will freely admit that She's All Yak had its cute moments, but I prefer Ocelbar, if for no other reason than Yonabar was a bit out of left field, and I shipped him with Ocellus first.
*Ponies
9978329
Eh, yeah, I guess you're right.
Now, this is a way better chapter than the one with Cadance in it. Slow but a rising tension.
And I like how you’re adding more Deeper characters, allowing us to connect with them.
9978495
Yeah, I'm much happier with this version. Much as I hate to admit it, bringing in Shining and Cadance in the previous version was a mistake. It was one big element that distracted from the rest of the story and that I failed to handle properly.
I have to ask: Tangsoppa?
9978890
According to Google Translate, it means “seaweed soup” (well, imprecisely: it actually has an a with a circle over it, but I was too lazy to keep copying that).
I wanted a semi-nautical name.
Awesome chapter!
9978925
Ah, as I suspected.
It's just that tangsoppa and tångsoppa are pronounced in different ways. On the other hand, I am probably the only one who's reacting to it....
9978951
I could probably change it, but as I said, I was too lazy to keep copy-pasting the correct spelling.
9978939
Thank you!
Great chapter, can't wait for more
Great chapter.
Aww, Blue Rose is a mom now. Good bug and a good mom.