Hard Deadline

by libertydude

A Friend in Need

Price could barely get a wink of sleep that night. Despite the ornate furnishings surrounding him and the clear night giving him all the physical peace he could want, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing.

Obsidian orbs, right here in Baltimare! he thought. He shivered at the thought. He hadn’t been at the Friendship Festival, but he’d heard enough about obsidian: Little glass balls that could turn ponies as powerful as the Princesses into solid stone. It was the kind of thing ponies had nightmares about, and it would soon be loose on Baltimare’s streets.

I’ve got to alert somepony, he thought. Local police? Even if they’re corrupt, surely they’d be unwilling to overlook weapons like that. He shook his head. No way. If Sugar was right about them, they’d throw me to Johnny the first chance they got.

Some city official, maybe? No dice. Baltimare is a twin city of Detrot. The city council probably have just as much dirty laundry as Hemlock did. And I doubt they’d be willing to help somepony who might try to bring them down someday.

He tossed and turned for a long time, and it was only with the light streaming through the curtains that he realized dawn had already come. He pulled the room service cord on the wall and rubbed his eyes.

I should be at the convention now, he thought. But how can I go back? This is the biggest weapons deal since those Artifacts of Discord got loose three years ago! I’m sure Manewell will excuse me for-

A loud knock rung throughout the room. Price started for the door, his stomach already grumbling at the idea of breakfast. His hoof was on the door latch when he stopped. Another knock came, and he peered through the peephole.

His eyes widened. A stallion with a slick-backed hairdo stood out in the hallway, a piece of brass tied to his hoof.

Damn it! Price thought. I should’ve told the cabbie to drop me off somewhere else. Trottelli probably bribed him to find out where-

“Hey, room service!” the stallion hollered. “Got your breakfast! It’s gonna get cold if you dilly-dally!”

“Be right there!” Price called out, then slammed the door’s lockbolt into place.

“Hey!” the goon yelled. Price took off toward the window, grabbing the camera and his bag while the stallion kicked the door. “Come out here, you little punk! You can’t escape me!”

Au contraire, Price thought, opening the window. He leaped onto the fire escape and raced downstairs. When he was about halfway down, he looked up and saw the same goon rushing after him.

“Get back here!” he shouted.

Price picked up his pace and was soon in the alleyway. He began running north, only to see another goon pop out from a side door.

“No place to run,” he said calmly. “Now give up.”

Price turned and ran the other direction. He heard the fire escape clank as the first lackey jumped off, his hoofbeats joining his comrade’s after the reporter. Price burst into the street, dodging between various taxis and carts zooming by.

“Hey, watch it!” a mare in a fur coat shouted from a passing taxi.

Price didn’t even shoot her an apologetic glance. He had only one thought on his mind: safety, by any means necessary. The goons followed him in the street, they too dodging the traffic flowing past them. Price could practically feel their hot breath on his neck and his own heart pounding louder than any cart barreling around him.

Damn it! Price thought. I need to duck in somewhere and-

Just then, he saw the Convention Center standing across the street. Tough Talk stood motionless, staring out at Price and the lackeys like they were distant animals in a zoo.

Of course! Price thought. Jumping on the sidewalk, he ripped his press pass from his bag and waved it feverishly. Tough Talk barely even acknowledged his frantic motions, waving him in with a tiny flick of his wrist.

Price ran to the stairs and around the corner. He peeked out to see Sock and Marrow still racing towards the door. Their teeth were gritted in unrestrained rage, and Price could hear their stomping hooves echoing on the sidewalk.

“Get back here, you-!” Sock didn’t finish the words, as Tough Talk’s raised leg clotheslined him and sent him flying to the ground. Morrow came to a stop just before his colleague and right into Tough’s disapproving glare. Tough lifted his hoof and wagged it in both their faces, a restrained pleasure on his face.

Price grinned. Tough Talk’s earned his pay for today, he thought. I’m safe for now, but that won’t last. I’ve got to get out of here before they completely surround the building. How can I-?

“Didn’t think I’d see you so soon,” a rough voice said. Price Back turned and saw A.K. Yearling looking at him, her body lounging upon the bench and a bemused expression upon her face.

“Oh, hey,” Price said, taking another peek around the corner. Sock and Morrow now argued with Tough Talk, gesticulating inside the Convention Center with wild hoof gestures. Tough stood firm, not budging from the doorway.

Yearling leaned her head far from the bench. “You expecting somepony?”

“Sadly,” Price said. “It seems the henchponies of the biggest mobster in Baltimare want to use me as their personal pincushion.”

Yearling sat straight up. “What?”

“You know how I said truth is stranger than fiction? Well, consider this a demonstration.” He peeked back around the corner. Sock and Morrow had apparently given up arguing with Tough Talk and instead cavorted with newly-arrived henchponies, all in their loose blue uniforms.

“Those the goons looking for you?” Price noticed Yearling now stood beside him, looking out to the entrance. The lackeys now split up and ran opposite directions around the Convention Center. Only Sock and Morrow still paced the front doors.

“Unfortunately,” Price said. “And it looks like I won’t have too long before they get to me.”

Yearling clopped her hooves and rubbed them together. “Not if we get you out of here first.”

Confusion filled Price’s face. “Are you crazy? These are dangerous thugs! You’re best getting far away from me.”

She shook her head. “No way, Jose. I won’t let somepony be harmed for exposing some crook.”

Price sighed. “I appreciate the concern, but this seems a little out of your wheelhouse. Unless you’ve got a transportation or invisibility spell, you better leave me befo-”

He found himself jerked back and pushed against the stairway wall. Yearling’s red-rimmed glasses pushed themselves only an inch from his eyes, and he could feel her hot breath on his face.

“Look, Price. This whole ‘Do It Myself’ shtick gets old fast. I get it, I used to do it myself. But despite what your years of lonely wandering might have taught you, sometimes the best thing to do is swallow your pride and let somepony lend you a hoof. I want to help you, so let me help for Celestia’s sake.”

For a moment, Price could only stare at Yearling in confusion. Only when she leaned in a little harder did he manage to grunt, “Alright.” Yearling’s hoof eased and Price fell off the wall, his head shaking in disbelief. “Never knew fantasy writers could be forceful,” he chuckled uneasily.

Yearling gave a knowing grin. “You should’ve seen me when I was researching in Marapore.”

“Okay then,” Price said. “We need to figure out a way to get me out of here without my friends out there noticing. I know you’re a fiction writer and probably don’t have much experience with criminals, but-!”

A sharp laugh pierced his ears. Yearling’s hooves shot to her mouth, trying desperately to prevent any further guffaws from escaping.

“What’s so funny?” Price asked.

“Nothing,” she said between giggles. “You just reminded me of somepony. A close friend, you might say.”

Price looked confused, then shook his head. “As I was saying, I need to find a way out. Do you know any emergency exits I could slip out of?”

“Sure, but these bums probably have them covered already. I have a much better idea.”

“What?”

She pointed toward at front door. Price’s eyes went wide.

“Are you crazy? They’d see me before I got outside!”

The same knowing smile crossed Yearling’s face. “Oh, my dear sweet Price Back,” she cooed, her hoof stroking Price’s cheek. “Have you ever heard of ‘cosplay’?”

---

“Where the hay is Saw and Bone?” Sock said, pacing along the hot sidewalk. He glared into the Convention Center, hoping to catch sight of their prey. The monstrosity guarding the gate returned his scornful look, causing Sock to quickly turn away.

“Don’t know,” Morrow said. “They’ll be here though. Rip and Tear are buying tickets to get inside too. We’ll flush this little punk out.”

Sock shook his head. “We better, and fast. The Boss won’t be happy if he’s got to pay the Police Commissioner an extra Summer Sun Celebration bonus.”

Just then, the doors opened. A light gold mare in a purple shawl passed through, aided by a figure covered in a black sheet. The cloak scraped along the sidewalk, the stallion just managing to not stumble on the overflowing fabric. A large white mask sat on his head with a long nose protruding outwards and large black eyes staring out into the busy street.

“I must say, Big Rock, your cosplay of Dathos the Destroyer is most sublime!” the mare said. “You’ve even got the right kind of cloak!”

“Thankssssss,” he soothed in a high-pitched voice. “It took me a long time to get the right sssssssssheet.”

Sock turned away from the duo in disgust. Damned freak shows, he thought. Always coming to this town dressed like they’re three years old. Dad wouldn’t have stomached this. Heck, he’d have smacked me around if he caught me wearing any of those get-ups.

Sock and Morrow paced around the doors, desperately waiting for backup or their target to be flushed out. The two exiting ponies continued their discussion as they walked toward the cab stop, their compliments towards each other’s costumes giving way to feverish glee once they entered the first available cab.