Mapping Manehattan

by The Red Parade

breaking

This is a nice apartment. Fiddle could never afford a place like this. The penthouse is very large and sits on the nineteenth floor of a huge apartment complex. The living room is lush, with soft white carpet and pristine white walls. Well, almost pristine.

Lightning is staring at a painting that’s still mounted on the wall. It’s just a bunch of lines and dots. Modern art. She doesn’t understand it.

Fiddle lounges on the couch, enjoying herself. The couch pillow is very soft. Lightning wonders what kind of activities happened on that couch. That gets Fiddle off of it.

There’s a record player in the corner of the room. A high-end one too. There’s a flat screen TV mounted on the far wall too. On either side there are two large vases with dead plants inside. Whoever lived here was very, very rich.

In one of the display cabinets there’s a set of plates. Lightning recognizes flags painted onto them: Equestria, Germaney, Amareica. She wonders how those countries are faring today.

Fiddle finds a book on the coffee table. It looks like a journal. She opens it to the last entry. ‘They’re starting to quarantine the city. We pushed them to start with the lower districts. Filthy lowlifes. I’m going to get out while I can.’

That makes her angry. Stupid rich ponies. Lightning points out that they’re probably dead now. She opens the cabinet. She wants to break these stupid plates.

Fiddle rolls her eyes. The boss would be mad. You know how she feels about preserving artifacts.

But these aren’t artifacts, Lightning argues. They’re just stupid plates.

Whatever. Fiddle moves down the hall towards the bedroom. She pushes open the door and looks inside. There’s a huge bed in the middle. The sheets and blankets are on the floor, like somepony dragged the sleeper out of bed.

That might explain why the door was kicked down when they got there. Fiddle wondered how the occupant didn’t hear it. Maybe they were a deep sleeper.

The red stains on the carpet explain what happened to them. Maybe they deserved it. Maybe they didn't. That wasn’t for Fiddle to decide. She crosses the room and goes over to the closet.

Inside there’s several suits sitting on the rack. Fiddle laughs. Suits and dresses are useless now. No point trying to impress anypony anymore. She flicks through the clothes, imagining the sheer cost of the wardrobe.

Her ear twitches. There’s a shattering from outside. Fiddle sighs and leaves the bedroom. Lightning is standing in the kitchen with a proud grin on her face. The fractured remains of a dinner plate scatter the floor around her.

Fiddle rolls her eyes. Lightning laughs. At least she’s just destroying the regular plates and not the antiques.

She offers a plate to Fiddle. What if someone hears us? Lightning rolls her eyes. Nopony’s around. Fiddle sighs and takes the plate. She smashes it on the ground. It shatters. That felt pretty good.

They laugh.

Comments

[Miss Direction]

The ret stains on the carpet explain what happened to them.

*red

What if someone hears us?

That sentence in first-person seems dangerously close to dialogue, Mr. Ret Parade. ;P

[The Red Parade]

10153063
That's Mr. Bread Parade, thank you kindly

fixed thanks

Technically it isn't 'spoken,' so more of 'her face says' but I see what you mean.