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The Doors Open For The Night3,373 words
No Stairway3,610 words
For Your Eyes Only3,464 words
The Fuzz5,362 words
And There They Go Again On Their Own...3,391 words

The Fuzz

“By Celestia, are you going to have us stay out here all night?” a stallion asked.

Spencer stopped himself from shaking his head. Here was a pony who hadn’t done his research. He didn’t know of anyone allowed in this club who used Celestia’s name as an exclamation phrase.

“Some of you, yeah,” he said, unable to stop himself.

“Well I–” the stallion started, before the doors opened.

“We’re good to go,” Lloyd said, poking his head out from behind the door.

“That’s the cue,” Spencer said, as Lloyd retreated back inside. He faced the line in front of the door, the fancy looking stallion without pants at the front. He could have told him that he wouldn’t be able to get in here without anything on his lower body, but the way he had pushed his way forward and sneered at his soon-to-be-patrons had brought out something vindictive in Spencer. “Now then, sir, I’m afraid I can’t let you in here without following our dress code.”

The stallion looked at Spencer for a moment, confused, before he started sputtering. “I-I-I beg your pardon?”

“Certainly, have as much pardon as you like,” Spencer said. “Next.”

“Sir!” the stallion demanded, taking a moment to slowly puff himself up. “You cannot possibly mean that you find my clothing lacking compared to some of the… the, the lowlives in this line.”

Spencer was almost about to give him credit, up until that last bit.

“I’m afraid I can. Our dress code is available here–” Spencer pointed at a plaque next to the door “–and following that is one of the prerequisites for being allowed onto the premises.”

The stallion barely glanced at it, before he walked up the steps to stand confrontationally close to Spencer. This did not have the intended effect, as it turns out that even a personal trainer and the best diet money could buy did not change the fact that Spencer was almost twice his mass.

Instead, he looked sideways, towards the oddly dressed ponies and other creatures standing in line.

“You know, there are rumors floating around that there are aliens from another world hiding among the ponies right here in Canterlot,” he said.

“Fascinating.”

“Yes. Imagine what that would do for one’s reputation, if a place like this were told to be harboring alien invaders.”

“Yes… imagine,” Spencer said, struggling to keep himself from pointing out that that was half the reason ponies wanted to get in.

The stallion looked at Spencer with strained calm. “But you’re not an alien, are you?”

“If there’s a threat to Equestria, I’m sure the princesses have it well in hand,” Spencer said, silently groaning at his choice of words.

“Ah! You admit it?”

Before Spencer could retort, another pony stepped up beside them. “Is this going to take long?”

Spencer didn’t know if he wanted to breathe out in relief or worry that it was Sandra who had just ascended the stairs. It turned into the former though, as he caught the slightest glimpse of that mischievous smile she sometimes had.

“My good mare,” the stallion started, his tone dripping with venom. “You will have to wait for your turn.”

Sandra looked at him impassively, and Spencer leant down and said, in a low voice and with all the seriousness he could muster, “Listen, friend, I am deadly serious here- Yeah, she’s an alien, and she’s also a veteran of the psychic wars. Do not mess with her.”

The seriousness in Spencer’s voice was enough to make him look at Sandra’s absolutely still face, before he walked down the stairs in silence, glancing at Spencer who nodded approvingly at him, before he walked off, speeding up slightly when he felt he was comfortably far away.

When it was clear that he wasn’t going to glance back at them anymore, Sandra, whose efforts to keep her face still had been rapidly increasing, let go and broke down into laughter along with Spencer.

“Whooo, I can’t believe that worked,” she said, after calming down enough to do so.

“Eheh, me neither,” Spencer agreed, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Now I have to know. Did you associate me with that song because of the movie?” Sandra asked, her mischievous smile back on her face.

“I’ve actually only seen parts of it,” Spencer noted.

“And I, the girl, have seen all of it. What radical times we live in.”

“How was it?”

Sandra opened her mouth a few times, glancing around as she looked for words. “Odd.”

“It looked odd. Anyway, that’s also good enough to serve as a pass,” Spencer noted.

“Alright, thanks. I’ll bring you out something to drink later,” Sandra noted, softly sweeping her tail against him as she passed.

Spencer didn’t bother to keep his smile from looking dumb as the the evening settled into the usual routine.

A lot of ponies, and some other creatures, entered, others had to go. Some took it gracefully, some took it poorly, many were just confused. Spencer assumed this meant that the rumors surrounding aliens and such remained unverified in pony society, otherwise, surely everyone- everypony, would have cracked the code on whether they could get in or not.

Or the ones he was seeing were just trying their luck anyway.

“Never before have I thought I would once again see my old ship and crew.”

This comment gave Spencer pause. The stallion who said it was clearly trying to sound like Sir Patrick Stewart, but it wasn’t a line he recognized.

“Excuse me?” Spencer asked, taking another, closer look at the pony in front of him.

He was wearing pants. Acceptable pants too- some ponies had figured out that you could only enter the club if you have clothing on your lower body, which had resulted in a few cases of stallions with frilly skirts and one comical scene where a mare had ‘borrowed’ her quite peeved plumber’s plus sized toolbelt, but mostly it just resulted in ponies with ill-fitting cotton hoses over their legs who looked like they had fallen into a truckload of yoga pants.

These looked better. His tail was sticking out of a properly made hole, there were pockets on the right places, a faux leather belt holding them in place rather than a length of hemp, and he had pulled them up far enough to cover his mark without cutting a hole in order to show it off, which some ponies were loathe to do.

“I said, ‘Never before have I thought I would once again see my old ship and crew’,” the stallion repeated, sounding a little uncertain.

Spencer paused again, catching the eye of a former human he knew right behind the stallion in question, who also shook her head in confusion and curiosity.

“Where is that from?” Spencer asked.

“Well… where else?” the stallion said.

“It sounded like you were trying to sound like Picard,” Spencer admitted

“Uh, yeah. It’s when he sees the ship again.”

“The Enterprise?”

“Yeah.”

“I… I don’t recognize that,” Spencer admitted.

“Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later,” the stallion noted, shrugging. “So uuh…”

“When is that from?” the mare next in line asked, curious. “Hey, Spence.”

“Hey, Janice. Yeah it sounds… very emotional for him,” Spencer noted.

“It’s… from the new stuff,” the stallion offered.

The mare put her hoof to her chin. “... Yeah, remember who has been in charge of it lately?”

“Ah yes. Them,” Spencer grunted, his ears laying themselves horizontally.

“Yeah, sounds more like something he’d write.”

“I… guess so,” Spencer noted, and turned back to the stallion. “So uh, what’s your name?”

“Jack.”

“Hold on,” Janice said, stepping up next to Jack. “A new show… Did you…? When did you come here?” she asked, noticeably holding something back from her posture.

“What?” Jack asked, not having expected any… scared enthusaism.

Some of the next ponies in line walked up to listen closer to the exchange.

“Wha’s goin on ‘ere?” a stallion asked.

“I think this guy, Jack, is recently arrived,” Janice said, before turning back to the stallion in question. “Hey, uh, has anyone talked about it?” she asked, still struggling to keep her composure

“Wha… What do you mean?” Jack asked, leaning back a little.

“I mean, have people noticed that we’ve disappeared?” Janice asked, shaking her head slightly to try and put her thoughts into words. “We… We don’t know what’s going on. Are we dead? Is this some sort of afterlife? Did we just vanish? Have you heard anything?”

“N-no,” Jack said, sounding decidedly unsure to anyone who was listening.

Janice turned to Spencer, her breathing picking up slightly. “Who was it that said that thing? You know, that maybe nothing happened to us back home, and us, here, we’re just copies that got, you know, projected here or something?”

Spencer shook his head slightly, to get his bearing. “Y-yeah, maybe.”

“Well I hope so,” Janice said, and turned back to Jack, advancing slightly on him with an eager look on her. “Are you sure you haven’t heard anything? I’m-I’m from Denver,” she said, placing her hoof to her chest. “Have you heard of any strange disappearances in Denver?”

“W-what?” Jack asked, taking a step back, eyes wide.

“What about Hanover?” said another mare, sounding just as excited and worried as Janice.

“Dundee, laddie!” the stallion from before asked, his loud and brusque voice struggling to stay steady.

Jack looked around on the expectant faces all around him, backing away against the railing, his eyes wide. “I’m… I, I, I’m not… I’m… I’m sorry,” he managed.

Slowly, the both scared and excited faces deflated.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said, slowly raising his hoof to pat Jack’s withers, but that didn’t have the effect he was expecting.

Jack flinched and backed away, looking back and forth between Spencer and the other patrons in line. “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m not… My name’s not Jack. I was just trying to get in.”

When the words settled in their mind, there was a short hint of anger from some of the faces, but that wasn’t the worst part for ‘Jack’. It was the sadness in their eyes as their gazes fell onto the cobblestones, and stayed there.

The stallion’s mouth opened and closed again and again, as he stared at the slumped figures, before he jumped as Spencer placed a large hoof on his withers.

He looked up in the bouncer’s eyes, relieved beyond words that he saw only calm disappointment.

“Go on,” Spencer said in a quiet voice, encouragingly, almost kindly. “Get out of here.”

‘Jack’ was frozen on the spot for about two more seconds, before he turned around and bolted down the street.

After a few moments, the doors opened, and Francis poked his head out.

“Hey, Spence. What’s going on, man?”

“Get behind the bar and prepare some drinks... on the house,” Spencer said, gently leading the small group of saddened ponies into the club. The names of their hometowns would have to suffice as a passphrase tonight.

—

“You know how, like, predators get more focused and capable the hungrier they are?” Lloyd asked, two days later.

“Do they?” Spencer asked.

“They do according to wildlife documentaries. Anyway, that’s how I feel, but, like, my prey is a bed. I was so tired earlier, but now I’m feeling okay again for apparently no reason.”

“One of those.” Francis nodded in understanding. “A second wind.”

“There’s a fart joke in there somewhere,” Clive the gryphon said from behind them, gently plucking a string of his violin as he lounged in a booth.

“Always is,” Francis agreed. “By the way, have you guys got the whole thing down?”

“Almost completely,” Clive said. “We just need some bells for that weird horror movie-esque part in the beginning, but that’s no problem.”

“Cool.”

Clive looked around the great, cavernous interior of the club. It felt so different at times like these, between the wild nights, when it functioned more like a community and recreational center.

He gently stretched, spreading his wings. Which netted him a small warning from his side.

“Hey hey,” a stallion said, blocking the gust from Clive’s wings with his own and protecting his dungeon master screen. “Careful.”

“Oh, sorry,” Clive said. “Hey, you guys want some ambient music while you’re playing. What’s going on right now?”

“We’re uh… we’re in a tavern,” a mare said, a bit distractedly, as she looked over some of her papers.

“... You don’t say?”

“Yeah,” the mare said, before the conversation finally registered. “In the game I mean.”

“Oh.”

“Alright, we’re ready!” a mare’s voice called out from the stage that Spencer, Lloyd, and Francis were looking at, and the enormous sets, cranes, and contraptions on it.

“See, the establishing shot with the tarmac,the plane interior, and the airport, have the same sets as the plaza, Holly’s office, and the party floor respectively. The tower lobby is also the plaza of course,” she said, as another mare and a stallion lowered a curtain in front of it, featuring a meticulously painted city skyline basking in the south Californian afternoon sun, and quickly wheeled in the interior of a limousine.

“Now, the part with Argyle and John is just a back and forth conversation, so we’ll have some time to rearrange the sets behind the curtain. We only need some plastic pine trees, a rudimentary fountain, some knick-knacks, and some extras.” The mare turned to the three owners. “Do you have any?”

“Yeah, we have a bunch of volunteers,” Francis said, and pointed to some tables next to the entrance to the back stage. “When they’re not on set, they can sit down over there and just be ready to jump in when needed.”

“I gotta say, this is really impressive, you guys,” Lloyd noted. “I didn’t think it would look this cool, and this is just a rehearsal.”

“Thank you,” the mare said, as the other stage hands smiled appreciatively. “You haven’t even seen the best parts yet.”

“Ooh,” Clive, who was entirely enthralled by the show, leaned in closer, and the roleplayers next to him had similarly forgotten their game for the moment.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Spencer said. “But how do you make the reveal on the TV work? That’s the best scene in the movie.”

“Easy. Just a box with some mirrors in it, directed down under the stage. Just have someone in a wig down there and it should be easy.”

“Cool. Sorry, continue.”

“Yeah, see, we placed Holly’s office up here, on top of the party set, and while Hans is holding his speech, we’ll rearrange it to look like the conference room. Please notice how that means that the conference room set is looking out over the exterior of the plaza set.”

Clive and the owners looked at each other, part in anticipation, part disbelief.

The mare on the stage waved at her stage hands, who wheeled out a police car, with the lights going. “We have some engine sounds in the trunk, windshield made out of sugar, and the hood is actually a mattress, so you can fling yourself from the conference room set down onto it and not have to worry.”

Francis raised his hoof, just as a knock came from the front door.

“Sorry, Lee,” Spencer said, as he rose up and walked towards the door.

During these times, the door was open to most everyone, and everyone relevant knew that already. Ponies, at least Canterlot ponies, didn’t try to enter clubs and bars that weren’t open for business.

In other words, the one who had knocked was a pony, and true enough, Spencer was greeted by a distinct lack of pants, as always.

What was interesting was that he recognized this pony.

“Hello,” the pony said, in an uncertain voice.

“Hey. ‘Jack’, wasn’t it?” Spencer said.

The unicorn shifted a little uncomfortably. “Uhm, no. Not really. My name is Nouveau Noir, and… I want to apologize, and… explain myself.”

Spencer considered the nervous pony in front of him. Sure, he had seemed unhappy in all kinds of ways last time he had seen him, but Spencer hadn’t expected him to be this kind of sad still.

He wondered if perhaps he was becoming a little jaded from his job.

“Come in,” he said, and opened the door fully.

“Are… are you sure?” Noir said. “I’ve… heard that you don’t want anypony who’s not a member to see.”

“We don’t have membership as such,” Spencer noted. “Anyway, I also kinda wanna see you try and make sense of what’s going on on stage right now.”

Kimberly the special effects unicorn mare was showing off some details to the others, some of whom looked back at Spencer, who waved them off calmingly.

“Explain what by the way?” Spencer asked, as he sat by the bar, and invited Noir to do the same.

Noir reluctantly turned away from the, to him, bizarre set on stage. “Well, you see, I’ve been wanting to come in here for a while now.”

“A lot of ponies do,” Spencer patiently noted.

“So I know that you… ponies, and other creatures, are new to Equestria, but... I don’t know where you’re from.”

Spencer nodded concedingly.

“Anyway, I’ve been… talking with ponies, ponies who visit this club, trying to find out what’s going on and how to get in. I uh… realize this sounds a little… sinister.”

“Maybe,” Spencer said, calmly. “Why have you wanted to get in though?”

“I’m a connoisseur,” Noir said. “I simply love the arts.”

Spencer studied Noir for a moment. He could tell a lie while working the door, all you needed was to throw a person off balance just a little, and someone with nothing to hide would simply be confused, while someone who did have something to hide would try and hide their panic as they rushed to figure out what was going on as they felt their carefully stacked pile of deceptions being rocked.

He wasn’t as prepared in this situation though. True, he might have been twice the size of most stallions, but he had only been that impressive since becoming a pony, and didn’t have any experience intimidating the truth out of people. Besides, he didn’t like the thought of doing that anyway.

“Why don’t you let anypony else in?” Noir asked, not accusingly, just intrigued.

Spencer looked out across the club as he searched for words. “... I don’t wanna sound dismissive of a pre-information age society, but this is something we’ve all seen a lot. Have you ever been part of a culture that’s had its lifeblood run out?”

Noir’s eyes shifted back and forth as he thought. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to remember to ask what an information age is.

“Has there… actually, let’s put it like this: The Daring Do books are really popular, right?”

“Of course. I’ve read all of them,” Noir said.

Spencer leaned on her bar, supporting his head on his hood. “Have you been reading them for long?”

“Since the second one,” Noir said.

“A veteran,” Spencer said, in recognition. “Been around the community for a long time then. It’s changed, hasn’t it?”

“It’s… gotten bigger,” Noir admitted.

Spencer smiled, almost smirked at the pony opposite him, and nodded encouragingly.

“And…” Noir continued, searching for words. “Yeah, it’s… changed.”

Spencer nodded in understanding. “Some of the magic from before they were popular is gone, right?”

“... Magic?” Noir asked.

“Some of what made it special is gone?” Spencer clarified, which got him a nod. “Right, it’s still plenty fun, but the old books, they’re… so much of the fun that surrounded it, your clever puns and jokes, they’re all old and dull now, right? The new books are still providing all that, but they’ll be old one day as well.”

Noir nodded silently, as he inwardly wondered where the pony in front of him came from, speaking so knowingly and convincingly about the subject despite not even trying to use the language of the Canterlot cultural high game.

“And one day, they’ll stop,” Spencer said. “Yearling can’t keep writing them forever.”

“Somepony else might write them,” Noir pointed out, which Spencer noted that he did so just a little too quickly.

“Maybe,” he said, meaning “no” and knowing this wasn’t lost on Noir. “But they’ll stop eventually. That’s a sad thought, isn’t it?”

“... Yeah.”

“There’s a community around the Daring Do books, and when the books stop coming out, that community will eventually die.”

“It… might not,” Noir protested, a little weakly. “As long as ponies still like the books.”

Spencer leaned on the bar and politely considered those words. “Oh there will always be those who like something, but all that old and dried up fun that surrounded the early books? Eventually, it will be like that. All of that will be lost, like tears in the rain,” Spencer said, and Noir looked questioningly at him as he groaned at his own words (which Noir had found rather beautiful) and muttered something about “mental workplace injuries” under his breath.

Noir leaned forward a little on the bar. “So you’re trying to stop that from happening with–” Noir waved how hoof around the room “– The things you’re doing in here? The music you’re playing in here?”

Spencer nodded, almost looking a little apologetic. “In a sense, yes. We’re united in the common purpose of keeping our community going, and while I don’t hold anything against someone who just wants some entertainment, letting ‘outsiders’ in, who don’t understand that purpose, would just dilute it.”

Noir nodded while absentmindedly looking at the ponies on stage. “I see.”

“And that’s why I don’t let just anyone in,” Spencer said, before pushing a bowl over to Noir. “But have some cashews.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“I have to get back to planning, but… well, if you’re worried about yesterday, don’t be, alright?”

Noir opened his mouth, but just nodded at the strange stallion as he went back towards the stage. He took a hoofful of nuts, and thought to himself for a moment, before nodding, standing up, and walking towards the door.

As he opened it, however, he almost recoiled from the sight of a pair of guards on the other side, one of them with her hoof raised and about to knock.

“Good day, I am Sergeant Searchlight,” the mare said, and gestured to the mare next to his. “This is Constable Bubblegum. We have questions about this operation.”

Noir took a step back, stammering. “I, I ehm, I… look…”

The sergeant raised one eyebrow at the stallion. “Do you mind if we take this conversation inside?”

“Uhm, no but… you see…”

“Good. Don’t worry, sir, we just have a few questions,” she said, as she stepped into the club.

The ponies on stage were in the middle of wheeling out some props, with all eyes focused on them, as the two sized up the interior for a moment before focusing on Noir.

“What is your position here, and were you present the day before yesterday at two past lunar?” Searchlight said, as Bubblegum pulled out a notepad and quill, and started jotting down the answers.

“What? Uh, no,” Noir stammered.

“Then who were?” Searchlight raised an eyebrow

“I… don’t know.”

“And your position?”

“Nothing! None, I don’t work here,” Noir desperately said in a quiet voice, hoping to not draw attention from the others, and that the guards would simply leave without a fuss, since he had inadvertently invited them in.

Searchlight studied Noir for a moment, her eyebrow raised again, but before she could dismiss him, Bubblegum spoke up.

“What are they doing?” Bubblegum asked, pointing with the quill in her mouth to the stage and all the intricate arrangements and sets on it.

“I… don’t know. Preparing a play, I think.”

“Thank you,” Searchlight said, and walked down towards the ponies, with Bubblegum following closely behind, as Noir hung back, not sure if he should leave now or if he was needed more.

“Citizens,” Searchlight said, loudly and clearly, as she descended the steps.

“Are we?” Clive stage whispered to Lloyd, who nodded in confirmation.

“Officers,” Francis said, rallying quickly, as the ponies on stage looked on in slightly worried confusion. “How can we help?”

“I’m sergeant Searchlight and this is constable Bubblegum. We’ve had a report of alarming behavior in this establishment,” Searchlight said, her voice and posture not betraying anything, which impressed the owners slightly, as they, the special effects ponies, the players, and Clive, were all looking at the pair of guards unblinkingly. “And we’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Ask away,” Lloyd politely said, his stoic and unmoving expression making it abundantly clear that it was absolutely no problem. Whatsoever.

“The day before yesterday, what happened in this locale?” Searchlight said, with Bubblegum standing by with her notepad.

The three owners looked at each other, and then at the other ponies, before deciding that the mare was serious in asking this, then just shrugged helplessly.

“Playing music, dancing, drinking, eating… talking,” Francis said, listing off the usual activities of the bar, before having to reach for others. “Serving, refilling, spilling… belching, farting, sweating, etc.”

Searchlight’s face was like a stone, and Bubblegum just looked at her patiently. The former humans often found themselves impressed by the pony upholders of the law- they had the professionalism befitting their authority.

More importantly, this hinted to them that the guards weren’t here in bad faith or were in cahoots with someone. They had dangled a carrot of belligerence in front of Searchlight, and she hadn’t pounced on it.

“Entertainment on stage then?” Searchlight asked. “Of what kind?”

“Exclusively music,” Lloyd said, who grew tired of stoicism before Searchlight did, and let his posture slump slightly on one side. “Look, sergeant, what exactly are you looking for?”

“We are simply here to investigate whether certain allegations are valid,” Searchlight said, and cocked her head and relaxed her expression, perhaps in recognition of Lloyd’s relaxing his posture. “I’ve heard of this place, and you’re perfectly free to admit or not admit anypony you’d like, but it does make it harder to investigate claims of alarming behavior.”

“What kind of alarming behavior?” Spencer asked.

“I can’t know that,” Searchlight readily admitted in a slightly apologetic tone, before moving towards the stage, inspecting the strange backdrop of the 1980’s Los Angeles skyline and the exotic interiors of the Nakatomi Plaza.

Kim, the special effects supervisor, took a tentative step forward, wanting to block Searchlight from poking at their meticulous work, but was distracted by Bubblegum looking at a pair of saddlebags near the stairs leading up to the stage. “Uhm, please don’t touch that. They’re not ready yet.”

Searchlight looked up at the props and set, very convincing from a short distance of being concrete and glass, and of course the to-her-unfamiliar sight of a black and white police cruiser.

“What is this supposed to depict?” she asked Kimberly.

“Uhm… it’s… a story… about a police officer locked in a really large building with a… a bunch of thieves that have taken his wife and her colleagues hostage.”

Searchlight nodded, trying to not show how intriguing she found that. It might explain the origins of these alarming reports- if these ponies were the types that enjoyed adventures and depicted convincing action scenes, that might have given some ponies a bit of a scare.

“I see,” she said, evenly. “And this story has fights and such?”

Kimberly nodded.

“... Unobstructed coitus?” Searchlight ventured.

Kimberly shook her head after catching up with what the sergeant meant.

“I see,” she said, as she inspected the police car closer, opening the car door and looking at the strange passenger seat when a chiming sound started coming from the crystal where the gear lever was. “What’s that sound?”

“That’s…” Kimberly started, trying to discern what she was hearing, before she noticed the slight shimmer coming from Searchlight’s armor. “That’s the prop control. They’re reacting to your–”

That’s as far as she got before several random effects were triggered, the first notable one being the very convincing fake corpse of a stallion falling from the set of the conference room, onto the police car, smashing the sugar-windshield made with a loud crash and triggering the sirens.

Bubblegum looked up in surprise as Searchlight backpedalled out of the car, drawing her sword and looking around with her eyes wide.

“No!” Kimberly pleaded to the universe.

The whole group of former humans were about to rush up to try and stop a cascade of special effects going off, but were deterred by Searchlight’s drawn sword.

Bubblegum however, rushed up to the stairs, but tripped over the bag that Kimberly had warned her about, spilling out the colorful contents, which flew up into the air, then turned their large, googly eyes at the guardsmare.

“Not the martians!” Kimberly groaned.

Bubblegum froze at the sight of the large eyes staring at her.

The creatures looked at each other, before nodding in confirmation and descending towards the terrified mare, going, “yep-yep-yep-yep-yep-yep!”

“Aah!” Bubblegum shouted, and dove under a table, swiping the air above her to try and wave the terrifying little creatures away. “Sarge! Help me!”

“What!? What’s going on!?” Searchlight screamed, still backpedaling and looking around with her sword held steadily in front of her, before she noticed her junior partner’s distress and rushed to her aid.

Francis, Lloyd, and Spencer moved out of her way as she bolted past them, while she swung with the flat of her sword against the floating puppets. “Get back!” she shouted, the sound of the police sirens still sounding through the entire club.

The martians flowed out of the way like dandelion tufts, their eyes wide an alarm– “Nope, nope, nope nope nope-nope-nope-nope!”– and looked at each other after they drifted out of range. “Uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh,” they said, before focusing on the sergeant, and descending towards her. “Yep-yep-yep-yep-yep-yep-yep! BRRRHING! BRRRHING!”

Searchlight followed Bubblegum’s lead and backed away too, when everyone’s attention was drawn to the miniature of the skyscraper, which blended into the backdrop, lit up like a signal flare, with the sirens still sounding through the club.

“Ah, crud,” Francis said, and trotted up to the stage, grabbing a fire extinguisher and a heavy blanket on the way to make sure the before-then-untested pyrotechnics went out peacefully.

The sirens cut out with a sad beeping sound, and Kimberly emerged from the police cruiser prop to assess the situation.

The two guards’ stress levels were dropping slightly from the sound and light vanishing, allowing Clive to lazily swoop by and collect the puppets of the martians, stuffing them back into Kimberly’s saddlebag, making them let out a dejected “aaw.”

Searchlight stood there for a moment, stunned, before slowly easing her posture, as Bubblegum emerged from under the table.

The special effects ponies looked dejected at the prematurely used props, and the owners were leaning against the stage, rubbing their temples and taking deep, calming breaths, while Clive was back to lounging in his booth with the tabletop players sitting absolutely frozen beside him, eyes wide.

Spencer walked up on the stage and gently removed the now-obviously fake stallion from the hole in the windshield, and Francis seemed certain that the fire on the top of the skyscraper prop was out.

After a moment, Searchlight stiffly sheathed her sword, and took a deep breath. “Well, we have not seen anything… that indicates… criminal activity. So we will… vacate the premises and… and we wish you a good day, citizens.”

“You too,” Lloyd managed, and sat down on his haunches, grabbing a bottle from the edge of the stage.

“That’s fog machine fluid,” Spencer pointed out.

“Uh-huh,” Lloyd sighed, and brought the bottle to his lips.

The two guardsponies made their way towards the entrance, with Noir, who had stayed behind and watched in fascination, beat a quiet retreat along with the guards, glancing back at the relieved ponies in their club.

He didn’t know if this made him less eager to see what was going on in this club, or more.

Author's Note:

Thanks to RP422 and ROBCakeran53 for their help with this chapter.

Yeah, I haven't been able to write much lately. Writer's block, obligations in meatspace, the heat and humidity, and so on, have really kept me from creating much lately. I at least one idea for a scene in an upcoming chapter I'm looking forward to depicting though. ope you all enjoyed this.

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