A Dance With Death

by Dee Pad

Chapter 1 - Dead of Night

In downtown Baltimare there is a pub, one with many frequent patrons. This was especially true during the late hours of the night. The pub was of respectable size, as it was at some point a small theatre. But despite the size, the place had few employees, most of the ones it did have worked primarily in the afternoon and evening. During the night—particularly when it was as late as it currently was—the establishment operated on a skeleton crew.

A lone bartender sat behind the counter polishing mugs and wiping down the countertop as he waited for the inevitable moment when somepony would approach for another pint. Despite the small crew tonight, the pub was quite lively, populated by about a dozen liquored-up stallions. Most people would think that they'd have cleared out by now to stumble their way home, not wanting to risk passing out on the floor of the pub and rolled out onto the sidewalk by the grumbling bartender.

But said bartender knew full well why there were still so many stallions present, and why they were still as energetic as they were, and also why they didn't approach the bar as often as one might think. It was because their attention was directed toward the elevated stage at the back of the room. The stage had once been the setting for many a play and musical written and acted by amateur performers aiming to rise to stardom and make their big breakout performance. Whether anypony who stood upon the stage actually gained notoriety in the end was unknown to those who owned and operated the place now, nor did they particularly care.

But nowadays only one set of hooves ever graced that stage. And she was the object of everypony's attention at the moment.

A lone unicorn mare stood before an audience of drunken stallions, the lights shining down upon her causing the sweat beading on her light beige coat to glisten and sparkle. Of course, one did not work up such a sweat just standing still. She was in constant motion, her body moving about the stage as fluid as a stream, her luxurious locks of silky, wavy, golden hair moving with her as though they were prehensile and under her full control. Her dance hypnotized the already-impaired patrons of the pub, her attractive curves and alluring, pink eyes keeping them entranced as she expertly timed her movements to the exotic music playing from the speakers flanking the stage.

The stallions weren't so entranced that they had lost all cognitive functions just yet—though given time, the alcohol would finish the job. No, for even as mesmerizing as the mare's dance was, there was no stopping a room of drunk men from hooting and whistling at the only mare in the room as she performed for them.

But they didn't distract her. This was what she was good at, indicated by the wavy music bars and pink, light blue, and white notes that made up her cutie mark. She did this almost every night, dancing in front of an audience of rowdy stallions for a few short hours. She moved with all the grace and beauty of an angel, enrapturing her audience effortlessly.

None of them were selfless or sober enough to notice just how listless her eyes were, though.

***** ***** *****

Finally, at about two in the morning, the last patron staggered his way out the door, leaving only two employees remaining inside the pub. The bartender ran a weary hoof through his black and white mane as he prepared to clean up the leftovers of empty steins and half-eaten bar snacks off the tables and floor. Several chairs had been knocked over by slovenly drunks and he hoped to the full moon in the sky that there was no puddles of vomit or other bodily fluids to clean up in the bathroom.

As the bartender carried the used mugs to the bar to be cleaned, he heard the heavy hoofsteps of his coworker on the hardwood floors. The unicorn mare entered the room from a side door by the stage, a pair of saddlebags slung haphazardly over her back, and a black sleeve with a small pouch on her left front fetlock that held her portable spellphone. As per usual after a night of dancing, she was looking rather haggard. Her normally-flawless, blonde mane was suddenly a mess, small smudges of eyeliner and mascara still stained her coat after a half-hearted attempt to remove her makeup for the night, and a long, breathy sigh escaped her lungs.

The mare sat herself down on one of the stools at the bar, her elongated breaths indicating that she was still a little exhausted from her performance and wanted to take some of the strain off her aching hooves.

It was the bartender that broke the silence. "Good show tonight, Samba," he complimented with his usual friendly smile.

Samba managed a half-hearted smile back. "Thanks, Tap. How'd we make out?"

"See for yourself." Tap placed a hefty sack of bits on the counter with a loud thud and jingling of coins. "You definitely earned your keep tonight."

"Yeah, well, you're the one lowering their inhibitions with booze. I'm just keeping them distracted so they don't realize how much they're spending."

"Either way, it's appreciated. I can take my husband out to a nice dinner with the tips we made tonight," Tap said, planning out the date in his head already.

Samba stretched her back with a moan. "Must be nice, having somepony to share it with." She leaned onto the bar, looking rather sullen. "Alright, I just wanna get home for the night. Can you divvy those up so I can clock out?"

Tap nodded, dumping some of the golden bits out onto the counter to start counting them up. "Sure. Oh, by the way..." He placed a small scrap of paper onto the counter with a grimace on his face. "'You-know-who' left this."

Samba's chin hit the bar with a groan. She didn't need to look at it. She already knew what it was. One of the bar's frequent patrons had left her a note with his phone number on it, requesting that he call her. Tap may have called the guy "You-know-who," but in actuality, even though this guy left his number almost every night, neither she nor Tap knew which customer it was that kept leaving the notes. But Samba had no interest in indulging her "secret admirer." She was dealing with enough problems as it was, so she wasn't exactly "on the market" right now.

"I wish he'd just give it up," Samba sighed as she crumpled up the paper. "Learn to take a hint, guy."

"Seriously. I know I wouldn't want some creepazoid hounding me for attention, especially since I'm already married, and especially because I know the types of guys that come here for late night drinks. It could honestly be any one of those drunkards, they're all the same." Tap finished dividing the bits between the two of them, dropping half in another bag and passing it to Samba. "Here you go. You go on and get some rest, I'll finish up here."

Samba flashed a grateful grin at her coworker as she took her pay and hopped off the stool. "You're a peach, Tap."

With another night of work finished, Samba stepped outside into the still night air of Baltimare. Being right next to the ocean, the city's atmosphere always had a hint of saltiness, especially downtown where Samba lived and worked; she wasn't too far from the harbor of Horseshoe Bay. The scent wasn't overpowering, but it was certainly more noticeable compared to where she used to live further uptown.

The walk home was always a pain, though, both figuratively and literally. After a night of dancing for hours with only a few short breaks, her dogs were barking. Samba was looking forward to getting back to her apartment and conking out after a hot shower, though it wasn't uncommon for her to just flop down on the couch and doze off and just leave the shower for the next morning.

Samba suddenly felt a mild buzzing coming from her left front leg. Her spellphone was vibrating. She sat herself down on the lonely sidewalk and pulled the phone from its thin sleeve to check it.

A text from Rhapsody.

A hopeful smile made its way onto her face. He must have been up late tonight too, but he did know when she usually got off work and probably didn't want to bother her until she clocked out. Either way, she eagerly tapped the screen to read it.

I found some more of your stuff. You can come by whenever to pick it up.

Samba's smile fell once more. She was hoping for something more than that, but it was her own fault for getting her hopes up. She did that every time she got a text from him, which wasn't all that frequently, in truth. Still, though, she was willing to take any opportunity she could to visit him.

She typed her response, opting to use the edge of her hoof to slowly and carefully tap it out instead of her magic.

k i'll come over tomorrow afternoon

She waited patiently for his response after sending it. It took him an inordinately long time to reply given how short it was.

Sure.

Samba breathed a disheartened sigh. As distant as ever, not that she blamed him. But she was looking forward to seeing him again regardless. She slipped her spellphone back into her sleeve and continued on her way home, a little more pep in her step now that she knew what she was going to be doing with her time tomorrow.

At least it was a quiet night. At two in the morning, there weren't many people out on the street besides herself. The silence was pretty relaxing, with only the clopping of her own tired hooves to add auditory ambience as she walked beneath the soft light of the street lamps.

However, after a few minutes, she could swear her own hoofsteps weren't the only ones making noise. Samba chanced a glance over her shoulder. There was another person walking some distance behind her, but they were too far away at the moment for her to make out any features, not to mention they were wearing a dark hoodie that obscured most of their face.

Samba gulped involuntarily and felt her heart rate start to pick up. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe it was just somepony who happened to be going the same way she was. Another quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the other person was gradually closing the distance between them, and the closer they got, the more nervous she became. Eventually the stranger trotted right up alongside her. Samba tried to ignore them and hope they just passed right along by, but once they had caught up with her, they slowed their pace, matching Samba's walking speed.

Samba glanced toward the stranger from the corner of her eye. She could still only see their muzzle underneath the hood, but all she could determine from the dim lighting was that it was a stallion. The silence had become incredibly unnerving, and she wished he'd just move on and quell her paranoia.

But then, he spoke, his voice low and husky, but he didn't look at her.

"You never responded to my messages. I'm tired of waiting."

Samba's heart started pounding against her ribs. Was this the guy who'd been leaving those notes for her at the pub? Either way, she didn't want to stick around and chat about it.

She was about to break out into a sprint, but the moment she moved, the guy grabbed her by the leg and held her back. Panic overcame Samba in that instant and she did what anypony else in her situation would do: she screamed. Her shrill, frightened cry filled the otherwise quiet atmosphere, but her assailant didn't loosen his grip on her.

But after a few fearful moments of struggling against him, the sound of hurried hoofsteps approaching from the distance could be heard. The stallion looked over his shoulder to see another mare making a beeline toward him. He released Samba and bolted to avoid being caught, but the mare continued her pursuit, only slowing down for a brief moment to give Samba some quick, reassuring words.

"I'll get 'im, don't worry!"

Samba stood there, unmoving and pretty shaken. She watched the mysterious mare give chase down the street. The stallion veered off down an alleyway between two buildings, and the mare followed suit, showing no sign of slowing down. After the two disappeared from sight, Samba heard some odd noises; a metallic bang, followed by a low, heavy whump and the clinking of glass bottles, punctuated by a pained "Oof."

After that, everything went quiet again. Samba waited for something to happen. It sounded like her savior had perhaps apprehended the stallion, but she was a little scared to investigate. It was only out of sheer, morbid curiosity that her hooves managed to cautiously carry her down the sidewalk, making sure to keep her guard up.

Samba carefully peered down the alleyway, half-expecting to be jumped again. However, she saw nopony. The alley stretched on into the darkness, only the light of the street lamps on the opposite street block visible beyond where she stood. With the light of the lamps above herself, she could only see a dumpster on the left wall right beneath the building's fire escape. Aside from that, nothing. There was no sign of the stallion or the mare. They must have continued their escape down the alley and out onto the opposite street.

But—and she had no idea what compelled her to do this—Samba instinctively called out. "Hello?"

Perhaps she hoped that the two were simply obscured by the darkness in the middle of the alley, and she didn't exactly want to just saunter home after a frightening experience like that without knowing if her attacker was still loose or not. Additionally, she'd like to thank that mare for coming to her rescue if she could.

Surprisingly, though, she received a response.

"Uh, hi."

Samba glanced around. That was certainly the mare's voice, and it sounded nearby, but she couldn't see her. Her attention focused on the only thing visible in the alley: the dumpster. Samba stood up on her hind legs, peering into the dumpster.

Sure enough, there was a face looking up at her. Buried up to her neck in all manner of garbage was the mare who was chasing that stallion, her coat a dark, forest green, and her mane short and dark brown. Her race was difficult to determine without being able to see her body, but she had no horn, so not a unicorn at any rate. However, her most distinctive feature was actually an accessory she wore: a black eyepatch covering her right eye. Her one visible eye was a very pale silver, and, along with the weird grin on her face, relayed an expression of embarrassment.

"You okay?" Samba asked concernedly.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine," the mare replied nonchalantly, as though dumpster-diving were a hobby of hers. Her face became more apologetic. "But, uh, that guy might've got away, in case you somehow didn't figure that out."

Samba instinctively looked down the alley again in case he was still nearby, but saw and heard nothing. As shaken as she was about what had happened, right now Samba's priority was thanking this mare for saving her. "Here, let me help you," Samba offered as she slipped off her saddlebags and reached her hooves down.

"No no, that's okay!"

Samba recoiled at her surprisingly panicked reaction. "Uh, you sure? You look pretty stuck there."

"What, this? Nah. I can—hngh!—just wriggle..."

Samba could see some of the trash shift a little, but the weight of the garbage was keeping the mare held down pretty well. "Well, I just want to thank you for helping me out, so the least I can do is pull you out of there," she said, leaning down once more to grab hold of the mare's head.

"You reeeally don't want to do this," the one-eyed mare argued, her voice a little shaky.

"I don't mind getting a little dirty," Samba assured as she began to pull.

Much to Samba's surprise, the moment she tugged on the mare to try and pull her free, she suddenly tumbled backward onto her rump. She had put a decent amount of force into her pull, but there was a lot less resistance than she expected, causing her to lose her balance. She shook off the mild pain of the tumble, then looked down.

And staring back at her, held within her hooves, was the disembodied head of a mare.

The head grinned rather awkwardly, then actually spoke. "Yeah, soooo... I can explain."

"Gyaaaaaah!"

Samba dropped the severed head to the ground and scrambled back against the wall in terror. Her pupils narrowed in confusion and horror, her breathing accelerated, and her heart started beating even faster than when she thought she was going to be assaulted.

"Okay, okay, calm down and please stop screaming before somepony hears you," the head begged, now laying on its side on the cold ground.

"A-buh... A-hah-wuh... Wha...?" Samba stammered and slurred as she pointed a shaky hoof at the mare's head.

"Look, I told you I can explain, you just have to stay calm, alright?"

"You... You're a talking head," Samba uttered in disbelief, her voice quivering. "How are you a talking head?"

"The short answer: I'm a zombie," the other mare stated matter-of-factly.

That reply didn't do much to assuage Samba's fear. "A-A... zombie? Like, eating brains and stuff?"

"First of all, that's a stereotype perpetuated by the entertainment industry," she corrected, sounding a little insulted. "Second, it's a long story, but why don't we start by trying to get things off on the right hoof. Name's Limbo. I'd shake your hoof, but the rest of me is kinda buried in trash at the moment."

Samba just silently stared at the severed head who was staring back up at her with an amicable, sideways smile. She still couldn't figure out if this was real, or some really weird, lucid dream. There was just a pony's head laying on the ground in front of her, smiling and talking to her like it was no big deal.

But as shocked and stupefied as she was, hearing her mention how her body was still in the dumpster reminded Samba that this mare did, in fact, save her life just now. Regardless of how bizarre the situation was, she had been in the middle of thanking her for that before this unexpected discovery. And she did promise an explanation. Samba was admittedly curious about this mare—Limbo.

"Um..." Samba still hesitated. As strange as it was for a severed head to be talking, it felt even weirder to talk back to it. But she swallowed her reticence and finally responded. "I-I'm... Samba."

"Nice to meetcha, Samba. Now, I'm sure you have questions, but, despite my insistence earlier, I do need a little help getting my body out of the dumpster. You mind lending a hoof?"

Samba turned to the dumpster with more than a little reluctance. She'd been willing to help her savior out before she knew any better, but something about the idea of pulling a dead body out of the trash didn't sit right with her, but she did owe her. Needless to say, this was not a turn she'd been expecting this night to take.

The dancer decided to simply put those thoughts out of her head and just think about this as repaying the person who had helped her. Samba leaned over the dumpster, cautiously reaching down and pushing some trash aside to try and find any sign of Limbo's body.

"Uh, how exactly did you end up in the dumpster anyway?" Samba asked as she fished around in the garbage, mostly wanting to take her mind off of the fact that she was looking for a corpse.

"Weeell, I was climbing up the fire escape as I was chasing that guy..."

Samba glanced back at the head laying on the ground. "He went up to the roof?"

"Eeeh, no," Limbo replied with some embarrassment. "I wanted to try and cut him off at the pass, and I've always wanted to attempt a rooftop chase 'cuz they always look so intense in the movies. But, uh, guess my parkour skills aren't up to snuff. I lost my grip and fell into the trash. Hit my chin pretty hard on one of the rungs on the way down, and that's what took my head off."

Samba quirked an eyebrow. "You're head came off that easily?"

"Yeah, fun fact about zombies: they're a little rotten," Limbo retorted sarcastically. "Happens more often than you think, and more often than I'd like."

"You don't look very rotten."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate the compliment. How's it going over there?"

"Oh, right, umm..." Samba rooted around a bit more, hoping she didn't cut herself on some glass or something. But she eventually felt something furry, and the moment she touched it, it moved. It must have been Limbo's leg. Now having a better idea of where Limbo's body was, she reached down with both hooves and managed to find what she assumed to be Limbo's front legs.

"Hey, there we go, you got me," Limbo said with a relieved grin.

With Limbo's confirmation, Samba started pulling until her body was partway out of the trash.

Then, she made the mistake of looking down, staring straight down the open gaps of Limbo's exposed esophagus and windpipe, as well as her separated spinal column and all the torn flesh, tissue, and coagulated blood of her neck.

Samba's face went white and she quickly let go of Limbo's hooves. She hunched over behind the dumpster, hurling her guts up in disgust.

Limbo rolled her one eye at Samba's reaction. "Oh, grow up. You act like you've never seen a severed neck hole before," she quipped as her body pulled itself the rest of the way out of the dumpster on its own.

"That's because I haven't," Samba shot back, wiping the vomit from her muzzle.

She watched quietly as Limbo's headless body felt around the ground, like a visually-impaired pony looking for their misplaced glasses. Eventually, the blind corpse found its head, and Limbo lifted her disembodied skull up. When she brought it close to her neck, an aura of dark red magic drew the flesh and sinew back together, reattaching her head without leaving so much as a seam or scar as if nothing had happened. As gross as it was—especially with the off-putting squelching her flesh made during the process—it was a fascinating sight at the same time.

And now Samba could confirm that Limbo was an earth pony—a zombie earth pony, but an earth pony nonetheless. She was also given a quick look at her cutie mark, which depicted a magnifying glass with a skull behind the lens.

Limbo rolled her reattached head around on her shoulders, working the kinks out of her neck. "Ugh, word to the wise, being decapitated isn't something you become numb to with repetition. Still hurts like heck every time." She glanced over to the other mare quietly staring at her, who looked more than a little confused and pensive. "Okay, so, I said I'd explain..."

"That'd be nice," Samba said, her voice still a tad shaky. "Then again, do I even want to know?"

Limbo rubbed the back of her neck with an awkward sigh. "Look, like I said, it's kind of a long story. Tell you what: why don't you come over to my apartment for a few minutes and I can give you the lowdown over a cup of coffee?"

Samba drew back, her pupils narrowing a little. "Uh... No offense, but the idea of going back to a zombie's place in the middle of the night isn't exactly what I'd call 'appealing.'"

"I can see that, I guess, but, counter-argument: would you rather walk home alone with that creep-o still on the loose?"

Samba hesitated.

Limbo quirked an eyebrow at her persistent apprehension. "Well?"

"Give me a minute, I'm weighing my options."

The undead mare rolled her only eye. "Okay, let's clear something up here. I might be a zombie, but I'm not like the ones you see in movies, or read about in books. I don't eat brains, or flesh, or meat in general. I'm still a herbivore, so my diet consists of the same things as living ponies, along with boatloads of coffee. So, if you're worried that I'm taking you home to cannibalize you, chill, alright?"

Samba lifted an eyebrow, still eyeing her up somewhat suspiciously. "And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

Limbo shook her head with a groan. "Jeezum-crow, what's it take to earn a little trust? If zombies were more common, I'd call this prejudice."

Again, Samba found her conscience reminding her that this mare did just save her life. And she seemed like a friendly enough person for a reanimated corpse. She offered an apologetic sigh. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. There's probably a lot I'm missing here, so I guess I shouldn't judge before hearing the full story."

"Thank you," said Limbo with a grateful smile. "Either way, I can't really let you go without explaining."

Samba froze as she was putting her saddlebags back on. "Wh-What?"

"See, I know it's pretty late and everything, but I can't exactly have you go around telling people I'm a zombie. I just wanna make sure I can trust you before we part ways, you know?"

"It's a secret?"

"Doi. That should go without saying. If it wasn't, you'd've surely heard about it by now, right? And there'd definitely be more of us wandering around. I'll give you the details when we get there."

"Uh, okay..." Samba just decided to quietly accept that. Given the way she'd reacted herself, she couldn't say she blamed her, but she was curious to hear her story.

Limbo started leading the way, pointing down the street opposite the direction that Samba had been going. "My place is just a few blocks from here."

As they walked under the veil of night, Limbo couldn't help but notice the way that Samba was still uncomfortably shifting her gaze toward her every few seconds. It was pretty evident she was still edgy about all this, so Limbo decided it might be high time for a change of subject.

"So, what's a pretty gal like you doing out so late?"

Samba quirked an eyebrow. "Are you hitting on me now?"

"Uh, no, I'm just trying to be friendly. You always this presumptuous about people you just met?"

The unicorn sighed. "Sorry. I guess I'm still a little on edge. The last fifteen minutes have been a bit of a whirlwind."

"I get it. So, what, you were headed somewhere before all that happened?"

"Home. I just got off work."

"This late? What do you do?" Limbo glanced back at Samba's cutie mark. "Something music related, I'm guessing."

Samba was silent for a moment, a slight blush of embarrassment tinging her cheeks. "Sort of. I, uh... dance... at a bar near here."

"Oh, cool," Limbo reacted with a genuine grin. "You certainly got the figure for it. Again, not flirting. And, hey, you don't have to feel awkward about it. As long as you're doing something you enjoy."

"Uh-huh..."

Limbo arched an eyebrow at her dismissive response, but decided not to pry too much and make any assumptions herself. "So, did you know that guy, or what?"

"Not really. I think he's a customer at the bar. Some guy keeps leaving notes asking me to contact him, but I just ignored them. I guess that was him."

"Some people are just rotten to the core," Limbo commented with a grimace. "And that's coming from somepony who's literally rotting. Believe me, I've dealt with my fair share of scumbags like that over the years. I'm no stranger to stalkers and perverts."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you come across them pretty often in my line of work."

"What do you do, then?"

Limbo stopped, gesturing with a proud smile to the apartment building whose entrance they were now standing in front of. "Why don't you come up and see?"

Samba's curiosity piqued once more. She was interested to see what kind of job a zombie would opt for.

Limbo lead her guest through the lobby and to the elevator, riding it up to the fifth floor. The halls were unsurprisingly empty at this time of night, and it didn't sound like many of the other tenants were awake, if any. Limbo stopped in front of one door labeled "506" and stepped inside, flicking on the lights.

Samba paused at the threshold as she looked around. It was not at all what she was expecting. She figured they'd walk straight into the living room, akin to her own apartment, but where she stood looked more like an office than an apartment. Directly in front of her was an oak desk sitting in front of the windows. The only other notable pieces of furniture was an old-looking couch immediately to the left of the door, and a bookshelf to the right, stuffed with tomes. The only indication that this was, in fact, a living space, was the kitchen area to the right of the door, though Samba didn't often see somepony position their television on the kitchen table. A hallway could be seen beyond the kitchen, presumably leading to the bedroom and bathroom, though Samba could not discern any more than that.

But perhaps what stood out more wasn't so much the layout, but the state of the place. First of all, if the sight of the apartment wasn't the first thing Samba noticed, it would have been the smell. The moment the door opened, it felt like she was hit in the face by a force field of odor. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant, but it was an odd mixture of scents. She could detect the distinct aroma of coffee above all else, but there were other smells mixed in with it that Samba couldn't quite pinpoint.

Furthermore, the place was absolutely littered with paper of all kinds. Documents of some kind were splayed across the desk and couch, newspapers were scattered about on the kitchen table and even the floor, and balled up scraps were piled in and overflowing from a nearby waste basket.

Samba's attention was particularly drawn to a corkboard on the left wall. A map of Baltimare had been pinned up there, along with nearly a dozen photos of various ponies and sticky notes with some scribblings on them. All in all, Samba was starting to get the impression that this was the apartment of one of those conspiracy theorists who overblow little things.

"Soooo... This is your place, huh?" Samba commented, not wanting to throw out any rash assumptions just yet.

"Yup," Limbo answered proudly. "Any guesses what I do for a living?"

"Don't you mean 'unliving'?"

Limbo grimaced. "Really?" she deadpanned bemusedly.

"Uh, sorry. That offensive?"

"Just seems like low hanging fruit, if you ask me. I'd rather not have to argue semantics just because I'm dead."

"I'll keep that in mind," Samba said apologetically. She glanced around the apartment again. "But, uh... No, I don't really know what you do yet."

"I'll give you a hint." Limbo sat down behind her desk, leaning back in her chair with a rather serious expression on her face. "What brings a pretty dame like you to my neck of the woods, doll face?"

Samba just raised an eyebrow at the odd question and the forced accent.

Limbo, observing the confusion on her guest's face, dropped the brief façade. "What, never seen one of those noir films?"

"I'm not much of a movie-goer," Samba answered with a shake of her head.

Limbo got back up with a disappointed sigh. "Oh. Well, anyway, I'm a private detective."

Samba's eyes widened with realization. "Oooh, that makes more sense, now. Sorry, with all this stuff around, I thought you might've been some kinda crazy person."

The zombie mare looked around, pouting slightly at the state of her own apartment. "Hm. Maybe I could stand to run a vacuum through this place a little more often. And maybe change the potpourri while I'm at it."

"Is that what that is?" Samba said, sniffing the air in the apartment again. "Hard to tell with the smell of coffee."

"Better than the smell of rotten flesh," Limbo remarked with a shrug.

"I wasn't going to say anything since I didn't know if you'd be offended, but I did notice your particular, uh... body odor on the way here," Samba commented with an awkward grin.

"Bear in mind, I did just crawl out of a dumpster. I normally use perfume or deodorant to mask the smell. Or coffee. I drink so much coffee that I think the scent of it perforates through my skin."

"Does coffee actually do anything for you?" the unicorn asked. "I mean, you're dead. Can your body process it?"

"Well, my partially-rotted organs don't quite digest the way they used to, but I can still eat and drink and stuff, I just don't have to," she answered.

"Then why do you? Isn't that, like, a waste of money?"

"Listen, I was a caffeine addict loooong before I became a zombie," Limbo admitted. "Old habits die way harder than I did, I'll say that. Taste is not a sensation I'm willing to forego just because I don't 'have' to experience it. Plus, I gotta keep up appearances so people don't get suspicious."

Samba stared at Limbo, her curiosity not yet sated. There were a ton of questions on her mind regarding all this, and as much as she wanted to get home and get some sleep after a stressful night like this, she doubted she'd manage to rest well without knowing how a zombie came to be. "I kinda want to back up a bit here. How exactly are you, uh... 'alive'?" she asked, forming the air quotes with her hooves.

Limbo's energetic expression suddenly faltered, becoming a little more sullen. "I have my best friend to thank for that..."

Samba tensed up, feeling as though she may have reopened a particularly painful wound. "Uh, you don't have to go into detail if it's uncomfortable for you."

The undead mare waved her hoof. "No, no, I said I'd explain and I will. Truth be told, you're the first person to find out about this since I was resurrected, so I feel like I owe you that much, especially if I'm going to trust you to keep this a secret."

"Was it a magic spell?"

"Well, that's obvious. My friend was an enthusiast of dark magic, the kind that might not exactly be legal. Mind you, she was simply an enthusiast and never actually practiced the stuff. You know, until I died."

"That never bothered you, being a detective and all?"

"What was I supposed to do? Thank her for bringing me back to life by arresting her? I couldn't do that in all good conscience."

"Fair enough."

"Any other questions?"

Samba thought about it for a minute. While Limbo's "condition" was certainly worth a dissertation's worth of discussion, looking around the apartment, there were a few questions about Limbo's job that came to mind. She picked up a random page of newspaper that had fallen off the desk. "So, what's all this stuff anyway? Is it research for your cases or something?"

"Yup. Gotta keep your ear to the ground in my line of work."

Samba wandered over to the most interesting feature in the apartment: the corkboard with the map and all the pictures of ponies. Now that she looked closer, some of the faces looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place from where exactly. "What's all this for, then? Clients, or...?"

"Victims."

"'Victims'?"

"Yeah. I've got a few cases I've been working on right now, but this is the big one I've been trying to crack. You've heard of the 'Ghost of Baltimare,' right?"

"That's that rumor about the disappearances, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but it's not as much of a rumor as the public would have you believe. The disappearances are too frequent to not be premeditated. All of these people were kidnapped by somecreature, and I'm trying to find out who. The problem is that the kidnapper hasn't left behind any clues at all, making the disappearances look all the more mysterious, which is why they're referred to as the 'Ghost.'" Limbo suddenly knit her brow in aggravation. "And if the B.P.D. would get off their butts and actually investigate for more than a few days after a disappearance, we might have made more headway by now."

"You're badmouthing the cops? Aren't they basically like your colleagues?"

"I have more right to badmouth them than anypony. I used to be one of 'em. It's their apathy and laziness that made me resign to become a private detective."

Samba looked back at the board, observing all the notes and scribbles Limbo had made on it. "So this is like your passion project to stick it to them?"

Limbo shook her head resolutely. "No. I mean, I'll definitely rub it in their faces when I catch the Ghost, but this is also a personal thing." She pointed to one of the photos depicting a unicorn mare with a jet black coat and a red and purple mane. "That's my best friend."

Samba's eyes widened in shock. "Wait, the one that brought you back to life? She was one of the victims?"

Limbo nodded. "Her name's Poe Ravensong. She disappeared a couple weeks after she resurrected me. Given what she's done for me, I've made it my mission to rescue her and all the other people that disappeared. Assuming they're still alive."

Samba scrutinized the mare in the photo. Poe's expression was rather serious, and with the heavy eyeliner she was wearing, and the studs in her ears, it was hard to imagine an enthusiastic individual like Limbo hanging out with somepony like her. "Is she, like... into emo stuff, or what? Not judging, just curious how you two wound up becoming friends."

"Hm? Oh, no. Well, kinda. Like I said, she's into occult junk and everything, but she's actually a major goofball. That's just a picture we took when we were messing around in a photo booth at the mall." Limbo grabbed a strip of photos from off a nearby side table, showing four pictures of herself and Poe making silly faces, although Limbo didn't have the eyepatch. One of them was cut in half, just showing Limbo herself with a dead serious glare. "She's been my best friend since we were kids. And she's also part of the reason why I need you to keep my undeadness a secret. According to an old law regarding necromancy, anypony declared guilty of resurrecting the dead is to be sentenced to prison, and the people that were reanimated are to be... un-reanimated..."

"Oh..."

"So you get it, right? At the very least, I need to keep this under wraps until I save her. And dark magic is called 'dark' for a reason. Those kinds of rituals tend to come at a price. In her case, she had to sacrifice ten years off her lifespan to bring me back."

"Yikes. So she, like, aged ten years after she did it?"

"Well, no, it has to do with 'life force,' but that's all complicated mumbo jumbo. Basically, the life force she sacrificed is what's fueling the magic keeping me 'alive.'"

"Does that mean you'll only last for ten years?" Samba asked worriedly.

Limbo shook her head. "Nah, it's indefinite so long as my brain remains intact. And the spell will repair any damage to my body, which is how I can reattach limbs and everything. Can't fix anything that happened before I was brought back though. It took Poe a couple of weeks to learn the spell, and she did what she could to slow my decomposition. Stuffed my body in a freezer until she could do it, but I'm still not exactly in what I'd call 'peak condition.'"

"I guess I should actually ask: how did you die?" Samba inquired curiously.

"Remember when I said the 'Ghost' case was personal? Well, there're two reasons for that. Poe's one of 'em, but the other is because the Ghost was the one who killed me."

"Really? Then how come you don't know who it is yet?"

Limbo groaned, clearly disappointed in herself. "Believe me, I'm bothered by it to no end. I was on the Ghost's trail, but I guess I got a little too close without knowing. They jumped me and knocked me out, then dumped my body in the harbor. Poe knew where'd I'd gone and went looking for me when I didn't come home. She found me floating in the water in the middle of the night and fished me out, but by then it was too late. I'd already drowned." She sighed wistfully, with a fond smile. "You gotta appreciate a friend that's willing to go to the lengths she did for me. I never would've asked her to do that, but I couldn't exactly argue with her as a lifeless corpse."

Samba offered a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that. And I hope you find her and catch the Ghost."

Limbo shrugged off the somber mood that was starting to build in her apartment, an energetic smile returning to her face. "Alright, alright, I appreciate that and everything, but this conversation's turned into a real downer. I've always been a glass-half-full kinda gal, so I'm not too worried about Poe. But let's lift the mood by getting back to the Q&A. Anymore questions about me and how I no longer live and breath as the warm-bloods do?"

Samba focused her attention on what she considered to be Limbo's most outstanding feature. "I was hesitant to bring it up because I was afraid it would dredge up bad memories, but seeing as we just talked about how you died, I feel like we're a little beyond that. So, I was wondering: is the eyepatch a fashion statement, or are you actually missing an eye?"

"Oh, that?" Limbo chuckled in response. "No, no, it's practical. The eye's gone. I could show you, but, uh... you seemed like you were a bit squeamish earlier."

Samba held up a hoof with an awkward grimace. "Y-Yeah, I'll take your word for it. So, I'm guessing that was the Ghost's doing too, huh?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Unrelated incident, believe it or not. Lost it about a year and a half before I was killed. Obviously that was the last time we allowed pets and fireworks at the police cookout."

"Ooookay..."

"But, hey, on the bright side, the eyepatch makes a good door for Webber."

Samba cocked a puzzled eyebrow. "Uh... 'Webber'?"

Limbo's remaining eye widened in realization. "Oh, shoot! Where are my manners? I haven't introduced you to my partner yet. Hey, Webber, we've got a guest. Come say hi!"

For a moment there was no response from this "Webber" person. Samba glanced around the apartment for any sign of them, but saw and heard nothing. However, when she looked back at Limbo to inquire about it, she froze solid. From underneath Limbo's eyepatch emerged the long, spindly legs of a rather large, brown spider, which crawled down her neck and came to a rest on her shoulder.

"Samba, this is Webber," Limbo introduced, gesturing to the spider casually sitting upon her. "Webber, this is... Uh..." Limbo noticed that the blood seemed to have drained from Samba's face, leaving her white as a ghost and her pupils so narrow they were barely visible. "You okay there, Samba?"

The unicorn blinked suddenly, her color returning to her as though she'd just been snapped from a trance. "Huh?" Her pink eyes shifted between Limbo and the spider, still clearly unnerved. "Oh, I, uh... Sorry, I think I blacked out for a second there," she said shakily.

"Right, my bad," Limbo apologized with a guilty grin. "Probably should've asked first if you were arachnophobic."

"I-I'm not. It's just..." She gulped involuntarily, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. "I know you're a zombie, but I wasn't exactly expecting a big, honking spider to crawl out of your eye socket."

"Aw, you don't have to be scared of Webber," Limbo assured her with a dismissive flick of her hoof. "He can cop an attitude occasionally, but he's pretty chill most of the time. And he makes a killer cup o' joe. Why don't you put on a pot for us, buddy?"

Responding to the request, the spider climbed down Limbo's leg and skittered across the floor, prompting Samba to take a step back as it scuttled past to the kitchen, climbed up onto the counter, and flicked the switch on the coffee maker.

As unnerved as Samba was, the sight of a spider making coffee was almost as bizarre as a talking, disembodied head. "It... can make coffee?"

"Well, he can turn on the pot. I mean, he's a spider. He can only do so much."

Samba took a deep breath to steady her nerves. "Okay... I guess it shouldn't be too surprising that a zombie would have a pet spider."

Limbo cleared her throat, pointing toward the kitchen. Samba followed her hoof to find Webber staring straight at her from the countertop, and she drew back uncomfortably. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn the spider was glaring at her with its eight beady eyes.

"He's not my pet, he's my partner," Limbo corrected. "And he takes offense to stuff like that. I'd apologize if I were you."

Samba gulped. "He's not gonna, like... bite me, is he?"

"Don't worry, he's not venomous."

"Not what I asked."

"Just apologize and it'll be fine."

Samba just continued to stare at the spider, not wanting to take her eyes off it. Webber was tapping a leg on the counter impatiently. "Uh... S-Sorry..."

After a moment of uncomfortable staring, Webber turned around to tend to the coffee pot again, allowing Samba to start breathing again.

"How exactly did this, uh... 'relationship' start?" asked Samba, still with some disbelief.

"Well, as we discussed previously, I do what I can to mitigate my 'unique' body odor, but some animals are more naturally attuned to the smell of rot and decay. Namely: flies. It's not uncommon for me to have a small swarm of them following me home on a hot day."

"Gross," Samba blanched in disgust.

"Agreed. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I don't have an aversion to the same things living folk are off-put by. But I guess other creatures took notice of my plight and decided to take advantage." Limbo glanced toward the spider watching the coffee pot fill up. "Came home one day and found this dink snuggled up in a nest he built up in the corner of my office waiting for his takeout order to show up."

"And you just... let him hang out?"

"Pfft, no. I spent the better part of an hour chasing him around the apartment trying to swat him with a rolled up newspaper. But he's a squirrely one, and I eventually got fed up and just let him do whatever."

"And that's it?" Samba questioned skeptically. "You just kinda... became friends?"

Limbo shrugged. "Well, it's more complicated than that. We've got a symbiotic relationship. I noticed a lot less flies around my apartment while he was here, so his stay here became more of an arrangement. I lead the flies home, he gets to eat pretty much whenever, and, in turn, he prevents them from buzzing in my ears and laying eggs in my brain when I'm sleeping."

"Sounds more like a roommate than a partner," Samba commented.

"Oh, he's actually surprisingly useful during my investigations. His specialties are reconnaissance and infiltration. I sometimes send him in to gather intel for me on the downlow."

It seemed like everything Limbo said just raised yet another question. Samba was starting to feel like she was going to be here all night. "How exactly does he tell you, though?"

Limbo walked over to the kitchen to pour herself her mug of coffee. "I've kinda learned to interpret his body language, but some stuff does get lost in translation. Kinda hit or miss, really." Webber stared at her from the counter and she rolled her eye at him. "Oh, stuff it. I know you try your best, but you're fully aware of your own limitations."

"And it doesn't bother you having him crawling around in your skull?" Just saying that sent an uncomfortable shiver down Samba's spine.

"I tickles a bit sure, but he's usually pretty good at staying still in there, so it's no biggie. Honestly, I sometimes forget he's even there. Case and point: I forgot to introduce you until now." Limbo held up the coffee pot to Samba. "Want a cup?"

Samba let out a long, exasperated sigh. She still had a lot of questions, but she wasn't really in the mental state anymore to continue this conversation. "Uh, no, thanks. It's, um... already late as it is. I'm grateful for your help earlier and you seem like a nice person, but, honestly, I think I just want to go home now." She ran a hoof through her somewhat disheveled, blonde mane, yawning as she did so. "Although, admittedly, I doubt I'll actually get much sleep. I've seen enough stuff tonight that I wish I could un-see. I probably won't be sleeping for the next month."

"Oh, alright... Well, it was fun meeting you anyway. Sorry if I mentally or emotionally scarred you," Limbo chuckled with an awkward and apologetic grin. "But, hey, maybe we could talk some other time. Oh, but I just wanna ask one more time: can you keep all this a secret? If word got to Princess Twilight that there was a zombie wandering around, she might have the spell on me removed before I can find Poe."

Samba managed a weak smile in her exasperated state. "I will. It's the least I can do to repay you for helping me out tonight." She turned to the door to leave, but hesitated, suddenly feeling like something had caught in her throat. "Um... Speaking of which, I-I don't know if I have the nerve to walk home alone tonight." She grinned sheepishly. "C-Can I ask...?"

Limbo accepted her request with a smile. "An escort? I think I can accommodate. I would normally charge for protective services, but just this once, I'll waive the fee," she joked. "Webber, hold down the fort until I get back."

"Um... I-It was nice meeting you... Webber," Samba awkwardly said, feeling weird about talking to a spider, but also not wanting to tick him off, just in case.

The spider lifted a leg in what could perhaps be interpreted as a half-hearted wave.

With that, Limbo left to escort Samba home after a long, exhausting night full of stuff the unicorn never would have expected in a million years, and she was well aware of the irony of feeling safer walking home with a zombie to keep her safe from a living person. There was a large part of her that was hoping that she'd wake up tomorrow morning to find out that this had all been a weird dream, or a hallucination caused by her drowsiness. Of course, she knew in the back of her mind she wouldn't be that lucky.

Comments

[Pyrotechnic]

reading the summery, this has severe Near-Death Experiences vibes. That was a fantastic story by Hadles and this has that kind of vibe. It is for that reason I will keep this in a tab to lurk. I will give a much better review later!