Magical Wizard Brony Detectives

by Laichonious the Grey

The Good, The Bad, and The Canadian

It was a balmy and wet Kumula, the second Kumula of Alkrima to be exact, that found Retsamoreh and Laichonious in a slump. Whether or not that slump could be called creative or motivational was up for debate. So it was on this rainy day, in their new—and mostly empty—office apartment, that the two unicorns burned the daylight with menial tasks. Rets lay on their newly acquired couch, a rather sickly burgundy color, and contemplated the events that led to his lying on a sickly burgundy couch in an apartment in Manehattan on a balmy and precipitous early summer day. Laichonious busied himself with a new makina idea in the back room, producing odd noises from time to time. Those noises were too close to the mewling of a cat for Rets’ taste.

Cats. Strangely evil creatures.

The white, plastered ceiling provided a blank canvas for the tan detective’s bored imagination. Before him, he could see the events of the last week, none of them really worth remembering. They had been engaged in gathering information on the Library vandalization for all of one day before running into a steel-reinforced concrete wall with a sceptre-thick layer of mortar and brick. They had nothing. No leads, no clues, no case. The witness reports were garbage. Nopony knew what was going on. The ‘witnesses’ were no more than excited bystanders who had claimed to have seen something just to break the monotony of civil stability. The whole city practically hummed with the prospect of vandals loose on the metropolis.

Laich informed him, at length, that the city hadn’t dealt with this level of crime in nearly a hundred years. Apparently, the local press was having a heyday, publishing romanticised versions of the attack that painted the cops in a less-than-favorable light. Fortunately, they hadn’t caught wind of the ‘PIs’ attached to the case. Rets almost wished that they had. Maybe then, they wouldn’t be wasting their time saving cats from trees.

They hadn’t logged any hours with the police in several days; there was just nothing to do for the case. That meant they weren’t getting paid, so they had to take on other... cases.

Like finding cats.

They had a small circle of contacts—only most of them cat-lovers—who supplied them with minor mysteries and commonplace conundrums. He gave a burgundy-laden shrug, at least some cash flow was better than no cash flow. Letters had been sent to Canterlot. Really they could have sent just one but Laich felt the overwhelming need to explain things, so to save on postage, they split the report into several parts. It would have been both gratifying and bothersome to see how Laich would’ve reacted if he didn’t have the bits to send a short novel through the mail.

Another metallic mewl drifted from the back room which gave the perfect cover for a cynical smirk to creep onto Ret’s face. Why was he lying on this couch thinking of the most dull week to have transpired in recent months? It wasn’t like he needed to remember anything; he would just as soon forget it. The whole thing got off to a bad start, what with them being ousted from some quite comfortable circumstances. Though they met with some good fortune after whatever debacle Laich had caused at the castle—obviously, Laich had angered Twilight enough to annoy Celestia which is why she reacted so poorly to a midnight visitor; females seemed to share an unfortunate connection with one another—he would hardly call their situation ideal.

The apartment at least showed some promise. Laich, in his oddly latent paranoia, had run around the whole place the moment he walked in and started writing runes in every third corner, mumbling about eyes on his back. Soon after a quick run-through of the place, they went in search of furniture. By pure chance, or the twisted ways of some perverse and convoluted curse, they were saddled with this sickly burgundy couch. It was a great find at the time, he supposed. At least they didn’t pay money for it. They paid for it later, in cat scratches and blood.

Satisfied with furnishings, they returned to the Library that very afternoon but didn’t find much of use. That is if you don’t count seventeen different compliments for Laich’s hat and a flattened bit that bore a striking resemblance to Elvis on its dented gold face. Especially when twelve of those seventeen compliments came from the head librarian and the bit was too unique to actually spend. So indeed, nothing of use. This, of course, led to them returning to the apartment, empty-hoofed, so they were more than capable of taking an end table, desk, stand lamp, two chairs, one boxspring and mattress pair as well as two-and-a-half sets of leg warmers from the very generous, and very senile, Nanny Nack, from whom they had received the sickly burgundy couch earlier that same day. They had both learned that they were quite proficient at levitation without really realizing it. Juggling half of a dining set and boxspring mattress between them for a whole city block was all it took to awake their latent talent.

“Heh,” was all Rets had to say about that.

It was that very same Nanny Nack who asked them—the Favor. It was that kind of Favor, the type that demands capitalization. It was the Favor that could not be refused, for Nanny Nack was in fact a twisted succubus. That was the only explanation in Rets’ mind. She showered them with random furnishings that they needed and she didn’t want, for the express purpose of asking them this Favor. And she was a little old mare. Nopony with at least a quarter-sized beating heart could deny a favor for a little old mare. So naturally, Laich broke down and took the bait. The Favor was simple: find her cat.

It was a short, rapid, slippery descent into becoming the neighborhood pet retrievers. The only ones with a thirty day financing plan. It wasn’t just that they had a financing plan, that was something other dynamic domesticated domicile-dwelling animal allocators used. It was the fact that theirs was thirty days while the others used the standard one month financing plan. It didn’t matter that a month was exactly thirty days, every month, all the time, forever. It was the fact that they had the flexibility to count to thirty any time they wished rather than waiting for the month to end or begin.

Come to think of it, they seemed to get a lot of business on that alone. Ponies didn’t seem to relish the mandatory interest of at least a quarter of a percent on any financing plan and have to wait for the next month to haul itself around. Just once, Rets wistfully thought, a pony could come here, to their office, with something to do that wasn’t at all related to cutesy-wootsy cuddly-wuddly—knock, knock, said the door.

The tan detective sat bolt upright in the sickly burgundy couch, which coughed out a small plume of dust. Rets didn’t dare reply “who’s there.”

Knock, knock, persisted the door.

Laichonious poked his head out of the back room and stared at the door. “Nopony ever knocks,” he said in much the same way someone would say pigs don’t fly and that natural butter was yellow.

Knock, knock, the door said expectantly.

From behind the frosted glass window of the knobless door came a sudden and sodden sounding voice. “Oi! I know you two are in there, hurry up and open this thing, eh!”

The two private investigators shared a look. It had to be shared because it was one of those communal things, such as an elevator.

A thin tendril of ruby magic snaked its way over to the empty hole in the door where a deadbolt or knob or something would have been. There was a faint click and the door swung open to reveal a pastel electric-blue unicorn with heavy, dripping, nearly-neon green hair.

“Well, well, well! If it isn't Aramis.” The runemaster smirked.

The electric blue unicorn mocked an atrociously executed bow. He even tried to put a flourish on it with a hoof, twirling in front of him. The effect was somewhat diminished by the rainwater dripping down his face. “And if it isn’t Porthos. Say, has Porthos the Pirate been pilfering or plundering any particularly posh places, perchance?”

“Ah, I see that Aramis has alighted on acquired ancillary alliteration.”

“Really?”

“Shut up. I have to have it in writing to get it just right.”

“Whatever you say.”

The tan detective looked at both of his companions as if they were mad. “What are you two on? I’d say I want some but I don’t know if I’m equipped for the trip.”

“Don't worry, Athos,” the blue unicorn replied, “I’m sure we could use your quips for something other than a bad trip.”

Rets narrowed his eyes at the blue unicorn. “I don't know if you’re making fun of me or not.”

“Surely not making fun,” Laich said in an overly dramatic Shakespearean voice, “he doth troll, my dear friend.”

“Kaaay.... What’s with the names? Pissfer, you and Laich said you’d swear off the inside jokes unless I was in on ‘em.”

The blue unicorn, recently accused of being Pissfer, tossed his nearly-neon green hair in annoyance, further dampening the floor. “Really, Rets? We've been joking around with this for the past eight years, how can you possibly forget?”

“You do realize that I have never read that book and never will,” Rets droned, turning back to the sickly couch. He paused, then thought better of the idea of lying on it again. Despite everything they had tried, the couch still looked terrible and he didn’t feel like catching whatever it had.

“Well,” Pissfer ventured wetly, “It’s nice seeing you two again, and I would like to talk and stuff but... you wouldn’t happen to have a towel around, eh?”

“Nope,” Rets quipped automatically. “Welcome to the Office of Awesome, corner of Genius and Swag. No smoking, and no towels.”

“Why are you here?” Laichonious asked, taking a nonchalant sip of his hayshake. All around them, as they were situated in the outside dining area of a humble cafe who—despite their humility in size—had the self-declared best hayshakes in Manehattan. Laichonious was not about to argue that point as long as his cup was full, though. On the other side of their umbrella-equipped, round table, were the only two beings on the planet that would voluntarily have lunch with him.

“Hm?” Pissfer asked, busily doing nothing as he waited for his meal. Unlike the other two, he hadn’t sought out a hayshake, because he apparently valued his figure; whatever that figure was, Laichonious didn’t know. “I guess that question could be extended to, ‘Why are we here?’ The answer is kind of arguable, but it’s a good question, nonetheless.” Rets frowned, although by the twitching of his lips that seemed to want to spring upwards, it was forced. “Why are we here? I know the popular belief is that, well, first there was a whole lot of nothing, and then somebody, something, or a group of somethings or bodies, just were like, ‘Yo, this is a problem. We gotta do something ‘bout dis.’ Then, like, bam, then there was stuff.”

“What?” Laichonious muttered, shaking his head. “I meant why are you here, in this-”

“We are not doing this!” Rets exclaimed, slamming his shake onto the table with enough force to draw the eyes of his peers, a hummingbird, a spider, and a spyglass. “Seriously. Do you two do this stuff on purpose? It’s not cool.”

“Do what?” they asked in unison, and Laichonious rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Pissfer said, pointing to their shakes with his horn. “Have you ever wondered why we drink hayshakes with a straw?” The two blinked at him, and the gentle whir of a hummingbird buzzed overhead, fading into the background shortly after. The entire world, in fact, gave off the sincere feeling of apathy. “Really? Oh mon Celestia, je suis entouré par des idiots...."

“Don’t speak foreign at us, Pissfer, especially when you forget to translate the insult,” Rets chided, turning to his other companion with a sly smile. “So, Laichonious, now that we’ve got our team complete, do you think he can help us out with the library case? I know it’s a dead end so far, but mate, we gotta push forward if we expect to get any good reputation points with the cops. We’re already in deep, lying about being the PIs they sent for.”

“Don’t remind me,” Laichonious grumbled, flicking his ears in annoyance. “If we get caught, it’s going to be worse than getting kicked out of Canterlot. It’s probably jail for like, forever, dude. We need to solve this case, and soon. Speaking of soon, what’s it take to get our meal around here?”

“Nah, we’ve got Pissfer now, and usually we can agree about him being smarter than the both of us combined. Plus, we’re not actual cops, just consultants, technically,” Rets said, looking out to the busy, carriage-choked streets beyond their small safe haven. “So that means we don’t need to work by their rules, generally. Not like, roughing up suspects to get information, but you know, thinking outside the box kind of stuff.”

“Well we all know you were dreadful at that, Rets,” Pissfer said, rapping his hooves on the metal grate table. “But yeah, where is the food, actually? I’m hungry.”

“Stop whining,” Rets retorted, sticking his tongue out. “Aren’t you supposed to be Canadian and have automatic immunity to hunger?”

“Is that even a stereotype?” Laich whispered into the air, leaning back in his seat. They were nearer to the middle of the city than they usually were—such was the price of finding a place to eat that didn’t give you disposable plates to eat on—and their area was just where the towering skyscrapers began and the stout apartments ended. Something, nevermind what because that’s not important yet, caught Laich’s eyes, which suddenly widened in a mixture of fear, awe, and surprise. “Uh,” he breathed out dumbly.

“No, it isn’t,” Pissfer grumbled, glaring at the tan unicorn sitting across from him. Rets just slurped on his shake, ears flicking at his Canadian companion. “I thought you got over making fun of me when I proved I don’t even have the accent.”

“Uh, guys,” Laichonious whispered, a bit more alarmingly. The unimportant thing he was staring at could be seen reflected in his glistening, absolutely stupid-big eyes at this point in time. Rets shushed him with a hoof.

“That’s not a reason to not make fun of a Canadian,” he said, narrowing his eyes and widening his smile in one move.

“Well, Americans are fat and lazy and dumb!”

“Dudes...” Laich said.

“Yes, they are, but I’m not American, I’m Equestrian,” Rets countered smugly, holding a hoof to his chest in pride, or perhaps arrogance. Laich was too busy to double check, and his mouth just moved up and down as the still unimportant thing grew larger along with his eyes.

“But that means I’m Equestrian too, not Canadian!” Pissfer exclaimed, glaring atom bombs at the other unicorn. “Your own logic refutes you!”

“Canadians are the exception to everything, Pissfer.”

“That’s Afghanistan, not Canada.”

“Ponies!” Laichonious shouted, eyes twitching. His arguing friends ceased, for just a moment, but long enough to follow his gaze and watch as a gargantuan shadow fell over their block of the city. When they looked up, all they got was an eyeful of tan balloon, with a smidgen of oak-colored cockpit and swirly cursive red lettering that spelled out “Red Herring”.

“When the heck did ponies build dirigibles?” Rets hissed, and all three strained their necks as the sky-whale swam its way through the mid-afternoon sky. It even passed over a nearby skyscraper, attesting to its magnitude in size when they realized the ship was a lot higher than they first perceived. “I love dirigibles.”

“Dunno, I prefer airships myself,” Laichonious whispered back, as if speaking any louder would cause the magnificent thing to disappear.

“Yeah, airships are always better, but I like dirigibles too. They’re so... oval-y....”

“Oval-y?” Pissfer grumbled. “You like them because they’re oval-y? That isn’t even a word!”

“Yes it is, it means ‘like an oval’. You’re supposed to be smart, Pissfer, you know, besides the fact that you chose one of the most exploitable names in pony history. Get back on topic, anyways. What’s a massive balloon like that doing over Manehattan?”

“Dunno, but at least it’s not called the Hindenpony or something,” Laichonious said, even as the beast of an airship gracefully sailed past them. It was like a veil had been lifted, and the “no talking” sign had been removed. Upon further examination from the scholar, everypony in their general vicinity had frozen on the spot to observe the strange event, and as soon as it was gone, they lurched back into motion. It was, he thought, a lot like those insane time-freeze flash mobs they always did in Grand Central Station.

“Or the Titanic,” Rets said, immediately earning a slap to the back of the head from Pissfer.

“The Titanic wasn’t a balloon, dummy.”

“Blue is a dumb color...” the sore unicorn grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

“So is red,” the Canadian countered.

“Tan is the worst color, and that’s why you’re so grumpy all the time, Rets,” Laich said absently, looking back up to the retreating ship. “I really want to figure out what in Equestria a massive thing like that is doing flying over us. Griffons? No, probably not, they don’t have that technology yet. I don’t see ponies making a dirigible like that, they like their flowery, fancy airships too much. Maybe it’s another species we’ve yet to encounter at length. Oooh... Retsy, Pissfer-y, we’ve got to check that thing out.”

“Later, buddy. We don’t have enough time for that. We’ve still got to run by the library to have Pissfer take a look at it, and then maybe go to the hat store to get him one... because he needs one.”

“Do not,” Pissfer muttered, looking over at another table like a drowning sailor would look at a life raft.

“Yeh, you do, mate. How do you feel about a baker-boy’s cap? I think you’d look adorable.”

The pale blue unicorn snorted, and rolled his eyes. “Oh you guys... you never change, do you?”

“Never ever,” Laichonious said, standing up. “I seriously want to figure out where that thing’s going and why it’s here, dude. Something like that showing up in Equestria without previous knowledge could be a major event. It might be worth attending.”

“Unless it’s like,” Rets said, placing open hooves on the table in a conspiratory fashion, “a supervillain with a freeze-ray, and as soon as he steps out he’s going to start blasting ponies left and right. You sure you want to go follow it?” His voice trailed off into the breeze, which gradually had been growing in the airship’s absence.

“You dork, that won’t happen,” Pissfer snorted. “Oi, waiter,” he called out to a passing worker, who simply raised his eyebrows from under his paper hat. “When’s our food going to be done, do you think?”

“Food?” he asked, looking over us with an incredulous glare. “You guys just ordered the hayshakes. Not any food. It’s noon, folks, wake up already. Order some coffee, and maybe get inside. Storm’s scheduled for today.”

“Not a big fan of coffee,” Rets grumbled. “But thanks for the offer.”

“What an intelligent young lad,” Laichonious quipped as the disgruntled worker trotted off. “He must be a professional surgeon or something.”

“That joke only works if the pony in question actually had their hoof in their mouth, Laicho,” Pissfer said, exiting his seat and stretching his back. “In this case, it’s just a pony who has probably had a bad day. You two are a lot grumpier than when we last met, you know?”

“We’re kind’a in exile, posing as private investigators, in a city we’d never even seen a picture of but know simply because it’s a ripoff of a city we’re used to, and our lives depend on solving a case that, up until you arriving and giving us a smidgen of hope, was a complete dead end. What makes you say we’re grumpy?”

“Well, for one, you used sarcasm in a completely unfunny manner just now, and Laich is burying his face in the table,” Pissfer answered, and the two looked at the only sitting pony in the group, whose face was indeed buried in the metal grate of the table.

“We are going to jail forever and ever,” he muttered into the table, as if it would care. “All I want to do is go see the big balloon, and you won’t even let me have that.” Rets and Pissfer sighed in tandem, and nodded to each other solemnly.

“We’ll go see the balloon, now come on, big boy. I’ll even buy you some cotton candy,” Retsamoreh said, smiling softly. The red unicorn snorted in reply, but peeked out from under his self-induced awkward position.

“Really? Cotton candy?”

“No, because cotton candy doesn’t exist anymore, because I say so. Come on, already, the clouds are moving in and I want to get back to the ‘Corner of Awesome and Swag’ before the storm hits. I... huh, there’s that reporter over there. Remember her, the one that interviewed us about the library thing back when the media was eating it up, even if the story never aired for some reason. What was her name?” he asked, looking to the street. Prowling the road, right in the direction of the Red Herring had gone, was a pegasus of soft, dusty rose, flittering about as his soft eyes and clutching a pad and quill in his hooves. When he passed, they caught sight of a white pilcrow where his cutie mark would be.

“Tab Lloyd!” Laichonious called, immediately perking up. The pegasus on the sidewalk balked, adjusted his black fedora, and grinned at them from across the small stone wall that acted as the barrier between the cafe territory and the street. “What’s up!”

“Ah, if it isn’t my good pals Laicho and Retsy. Pleasures t’the both ‘a yeh,” the pony bellowed, tipping his hat and grinning boisterously. “Sorry if’n I gotta make it short. Big news waits ‘fer nopony, and I cain’t fly since they’re rallying up a big ‘ol storm for the evening. But, er, where’re my manners? Innerduce me t’yer friend, here, pals.”

“Oh, right Pissfer, meet Tab Lloyd,” Rets said, nodding between the two. “He interviewed us a couple of days ago. Really swell bloke.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Pissfer said, nodding.

“Heh, likewise, buddy.”

“Speaking of the interview, we never saw that in the paper. What happened?” Laichonious asked, tilting his head. Tab shrugged, hoof held to his chin in thought, even as more clouds gathered overhead to block the sun. In glancing at them, Retsamoreh might’ve personified them, as if they had a mind of their own, but that wouldn’t work because pegasus ponies, he knew, were up there, driving the clouds around like big fluffy barges.

“Err, right. Sorry about that, fellas. Boss nixed the article for some hotshot reporter. Big Scoop, I think. He did a huge piece on some ‘ol Wonderbolt revealing ‘is secrets. Buncha trash, I read it. Anyhow if that’s all ‘ya wanted, I’ve gotta jet. Big news don’t wait ‘fer nopony, ‘n stuff.”

“Well, wait just a moment,” Rets interrupted, holding a hoof up to stop him - even though they were several lengths apart. “We actually wanted to know if you knew anything about that thing. The Red Herring, right? What’s the deets?”

“Hrm, well, the deets is that it’s some fancy inventor-y fella, we know, just finished build’n his pride and joy which was that glorious munster, and- oh, dangit!” He dropped to the ground, the notebook and quill zipping under his wings, and from out underneath the other one came a thick black umbrella, which snapped open before it had cleared his head. “Look’n what happened now,” he grumbled, just as the rain began mercilessly pounding on the black canvas. The entire street had gone from cheery to outright depressing in under a minute, which, though Retsamoreh and the three strained to clear space under their table’s umbrella, was well done on the weather team’s part. “I cain’t fly in this weather... eh, but that thing won’t be landing, either, so I’d say I’m good for now. I’ll see ‘ya later, pals.”

“B-bye, Tab,” Retsamoreh stuttered, shoving his discarded fedora onto his head in a poor attempt to garner any sort of warmth. With the reporter already cantering off into the gloom, the three looked at each other. “W-well I guess that answer t-that question, Laichonious.”

“Mrr, I’m still curious,” the scholar hissed. “But now we can’t go anywhere. You think the cafe would mind if we borrowed this umbrella? Er, nevermind, that was a joke in poor taste.”

“I love the rain, under most circumstances,” Rets muttered, trying not to break his hat on his horn, “but Manehattan rain just feels like it’s out of a bad noir movie. Let’s go home, guys.”

The sun had set, and the storm was still raging when we got back to the office. Gas lamps, out on the street, burned like angry fireflies in a big jar. We didn’t have much to say, Rets, Pissfer and I. Being a Private Eye, well, it’s tough. Tougher than I thought it would be. But like they say, you either rise to a challenge, or you get crushed by it. So there I was, my aching hooves propped on the desk, thinking about a particular mare I’d left behind. Maybe for good. Maybe for worse.

Rets and Pissfer left me to think. I almost wished they started talking, then maybe I wouldn’t be thinking. Fractured light from the gas lamps outside painted black stripes on the desk and floor, like those antiquated jail-jumpers they put on inmates in the old days. It fit. My heart was in a cage, and it wasn’t just my ribs. I thought about my life, how I got there, what I’d done to get where I am. Not all of it was pretty. It was right about then, I wished I had a good mug of Apple Family cider to take my mind off the past. It was all behind me, but I guess that’s what running gets you. The rain played a quick but lazy staccato on the glass, like a drummer’s brush sticks on a snare. I looked at the shadow cast by my hat, and thought about what it meant to be a wizard. At least, that’s what the hat said I was, and the plaque outside our door.

A soft tap came at that door, it had the ring of destiny about it. The frosted glass gave me a fuzzy shadow to look at. I couldn’t believe my eyes, it had the outline of one familiar stetson I never thought I’d see again. The others were engrossed in their conversation and hadn’t heard the soft knock. Another knock at the door shook me out of my stupor, just like how an earthquake can wake up a building and make it dance. It was the way she knocked, I guess, that made me leap to my hooves. It was the sort of knock that said she was tired, and not just from lack of sleep.

The magic for the lock I had made practically summoned itself to open the door. She stood in the doorway like she owned it, and she very well may have. Coat a stunning tangerine and mane a golden straw, she was tough but kind. The sort of kind that would kick you in the face for a trespass, but apologize for the pain and forget the incident like it never happened. Applejack, a name and face I knew even before I met her, dripped with rainwater, her hat drooping like her tired green eyes. She strolled in like a farmpony set on getting what she wanted.

“Y’all know you’re mighty hard to get a hoof on?” she asked with a smile.

I had to swallow. Her pleasant twang brought up so many happy memories, I could almost forget the last few days. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Applejack,” I managed to reply. “I didn’t know we were a commodity of sorts.”

“Heh, Ah think I remember yah... Lichen was it?” It was like I was a long lost relative, having a pleasant run-in with a cousin.

“Oh, uh, I hope you remember... good things. And it’s Laichonious, or Laich for short,” I tried to smile, if for her sake.

“Oh, don’t you fret any, sugarcube, Ah remember you helped us out quite a bit. Weren’t you workin’ with Twilight? Ah didn’t think Ah’d see you ‘round here, a detective an’ all.”

I looked at the floor sheepishly. “Uh, yeah.... We’re trying out some new things, er, well, I am at least. But we aren’t here to talk about me. What can we help you with, Miss Applejack?”

It almost hurt to watch her slouch, like a weight had dropped onto her back. “Well, Ah was out lookin’ for a detective. Like Ah said, y’all are mighty hard to find, I’ve been all over this here city lookin’ but they were all gone. Heh, like some sort a’ detective holiday was goin’ on.” She gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Ah’m in town tah see my Aunt and Uncle Orange....” Applejack, the most loyal of friends and most dependable of ponies, Element of Honesty, a strong pony in her own right, sat down on my floor with more than rain water streaming down her face. “Somepony’s done somethin’,” she mumbled with what could have been a desperate sob. She looked up at me with those kind, emerald eyes, confused, hurt, angry, and pleading. “They’re gone. And nopony knows where they went. Ah... Ah think they’ve been pony-napped, Laich.”

Comments

[Retsamoreh]

Well this is a tad late.

Have an excerpt.

[12:38:03 AM] Laichonious Raposo: constellation
[12:38:03 AM] Jackson Amber: but for the sake of things
[12:38:09 AM] Jackson Amber: let's say it's a minotaur
[12:38:24 AM] Jackson Amber: because humans are never ever allowed in equestria ok
[12:38:46 AM | Edited 12:38:58 AM] Laichonious Raposo: that word is literally two latin words smashed together and anglasized
[12:38:59 AM] Jackson Amber: ...
[12:39:12 AM] Laichonious Raposo: con
[12:39:14 AM] Laichonious Raposo: with
[12:39:18 AM] Laichonious Raposo: and stellar
[12:39:23 AM] Laichonious Raposo: star
[12:39:31 AM] Laichonious Raposo: tion
[12:39:40 AM] Laichonious Raposo: indicates gathering
[12:39:57 AM] Laichonious Raposo: basically “a meeting of stars”
[12:40:06 AM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): Rets, I'm going to assume you know exactly what that all meant?
[12:40:16 AM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): or are you just piecing it together like me?
[12:40:24 AM] Jackson Amber: Huh?
[12:40:29 AM] Jackson Amber: Oh, he's talking about language
[12:40:34 AM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): ya
[12:40:40 AM] Jackson Amber: A lot of english words came from smashing together latin ones
[12:40:44 AM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): you just ignore him?
[12:40:46 AM] Jackson Amber: s'no surprise
[12:40:46 AM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): sounds good
[12:40:51 AM] Jackson Amber: ... no?
[12:40:54 AM] Laichonious Raposo: I just think it’s funny
[12:40:55 AM] Jackson Amber: I just don't really care
[12:41:00 AM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): same difference
[12:41:04 AM] Jackson Amber: That was bad timing...

[Violet Runner]

YAY CANADA

Edit: the chapter was kind of slow but good non the less.

[Laichonious the Grey]

[Author's Note, Equus Datum: FY 1912 Third Year of Harmony]
They said I was crazy...
[11/14/2012 1:58:12 PM] Jackson Amber: HAAHHA
[11/14/2012 1:58:20 PM | Edited 1:58:28 PM] Laichonious Raposo: I have lots of tweaking and sculpting left to do lol
[11/14/2012 1:58:25 PM] Jackson Amber: eye see what you did there
[11/14/2012 1:58:55 PM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): Pissfer (Strange Quark) shoots Rets
[11/14/2012 1:58:55 PM] Laichonious Raposo: lol
[11/14/2012 2:01:24 PM] Laichonious Raposo: guess what
[11/14/2012 2:01:31 PM] Laichonious Raposo: I hate news anchors
[11/14/2012 2:01:35 PM] Laichonious Raposo: yesterday
[11/14/2012 2:01:47 PM] Laichonious Raposo: (this is 100% relevant)
[11/14/2012 2:01:53 PM] Jackson Amber: (always)
[11/14/2012 2:01:59 PM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): I doubt 100%, but continue
[11/14/2012 2:02:12 PM] Laichonious Raposo: they did a segment on the news about schools not teaching cursive anymore
[11/14/2012 2:02:46 PM] Laichonious Raposo: and they opened it with “Are Kansas elementary schools ready to write off cursive?”
[11/14/2012 2:02:54 PM] Laichonious Raposo: Laichonious Raposo facepalmed
[11/14/2012 2:03:07 PM] Laichonious Raposo: adn tehy made it worse
[11/14/2012 2:03:44 PM] Jackson Amber: wot
[11/14/2012 2:04:29 PM | Edited 2:05:01 PM] Laichonious Raposo: they talked to a guy who was a calligraphist or whatever and introduced him like this “Mr. Whutshisbucket says it’s a bad idea, causing him to spell out how he feels on the subject.”
[11/14/2012 2:04:39 PM] Laichonious Raposo: Laichonious Raposo facepalmed hard
[11/14/2012 2:04:51 PM] Jackson Amber: ...
[11/14/2012 2:05:02 PM] Jackson Amber: it's like bad fanfiction but with the news
[11/14/2012 2:05:11 PM] Laichonious Raposo: I wanted to strangle them
[11/14/2012 2:06:49 PM] Laichonious Raposo: and then Whusthisbucket says “It’s a travesty, they can’t read the Declaration of independence, they can’t read the bill of rights, they can’tread anything that was written during the 18th and 19th centuries. If they got an email from George Washington, they would have no idea what he said.”
[11/14/2012 2:06:57 PM] Laichonious Raposo: I literally shouted at the TV
[11/14/2012 2:07:06 PM] Jackson Amber: LOL
[11/14/2012 2:07:13 PM] Jackson Amber: an email from george washington
[11/14/2012 2:07:15 PM] Jackson Amber: lololol
[11/14/2012 2:07:18 PM] Laichonious Raposo: “GENERAL WASHINGTON WOULDN”T SEND THEM A FREAKING EMAIL YOU IDIOT!!!!!”
[11/14/2012 2:07:37 PM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): not to mention an email would be in block type, not cursive
[11/14/2012 2:07:38 PM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): lol
[11/14/2012 2:07:38 PM] Laichonious Raposo: Laichonious Raposo double facepalmed
[11/14/2012 2:07:44 PM] Jackson Amber: XD
[11/14/2012 2:08:27 PM] Laichonious Raposo: 100% relevant to Ret’s pun
[11/14/2012 2:08:33 PM] Laichonious Raposo: thank you very much
[11/14/2012 2:08:54 PM] Laichonious Raposo: Laichonious Raposo glares at Pissfer with one eye as the other glares at his own face
[11/14/2012 2:09:35 PM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): uh huh
[11/14/2012 2:09:59 PM] Laichonious Raposo: don’t make me stare at your left ear
[11/14/2012 2:10:11 PM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): go ahead
[11/14/2012 2:10:23 PM] Jackson Amber: don't encourage him pissfer
[11/14/2012 2:10:27 PM] Pissfer (Strange Quark): Im an Aspie, I don't get embarassed or any of that shit very easily
[11/14/2012 2:10:44 PM] Jackson Amber: Jackson Amber squits Laich with a water sprayer
[11/14/2012 2:10:48 PM] Jackson Amber: no
[11/14/2012 2:10:48 PM] Jackson Amber: bad
[11/14/2012 2:11:08 PM] Laichonious Raposo: aaaargh! squid juice!!
[11/14/2012 2:11:17 PM] Jackson Amber: ...
[11/14/2012 2:11:20 PM] Jackson Amber: squirtz*
[11/14/2012 2:11:23 PM] Jackson Amber: NO
[11/14/2012 2:11:24 PM] Jackson Amber: BAD
[11/14/2012 2:11:31 PM] Jackson Amber: squirts******
[11/14/2012 2:11:33 PM] Jackson Amber: >:l
[11/14/2012 2:11:45 PM] Laichonious Raposo: ow my sides
[11/14/2012 2:11:57 PM] Laichonious Raposo: lol

Sorry but this was long in coming and it was entirely November's fault. All of the writing for this was done in about a week or so, sort of, I might be lying. And now Rets is going to Florida for a week, I can't imagine why. So yeah, enjoy our silliness. This is an obligatory thing...

Also, I would like to have your opinion on the last bit, it's the first time I've tried writing in that style and I super researched it by looking up old movie scripts and watching old movies and paying very close attention to EVERYTHING.

[Kishin]

1632134

Indeed.

And now......DUN DUN DUNNN!!!!

[ArtieStroke]

1632147 Looks like that locksmith couldn't *puts on shades* "Pick" the right side.

YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

[Treilacl]

“but Manehattan rain just feels like it’s out of a bad noir movie. Let’s go home, guys.”

...and then the story proceeds to go into a Noir style of things... AWESOME!

[djthomp]

Come for the entertaining story, barely make it through the comments without dying of laughter.

The last bit was *wonderful*! I've been looking forward to the noir, and it paid off in spades.

[Biker_Dash]

Yeah... when they find out who ponynapped AJ's kin, she's gonna be doin some serious flank-kickin!

[Alondro]

The villains are doing evil things... such as using ponies for sacrifices to their god, Tirek.

They must all be rounded up and then fed to a hydra.

[metallusionsismagic]

All the detectives in Manehatten have been ponynapped, and AJ wants you guys to save them? I don't see why it would be her concern, or why she'd think the lowest priority kidnapping targets (we can infer from your status as the last ones left) would be capable of rescuing that many professional private-eye ponies. Also, I thought the last part was a dream sequence at first, what with the noir writing style, italic script and inexplicable appearance of a Mane 6 pony,
Dirigidigibidibbles r kewl. And hawrd 2 spell.

[kingtiger666]

I was a private detective once. Turns out, watching every episode of Magnum PI and Psych doesn't teach you every thing there is to know about private detectiving. Detectivating. Detecting. Defecting. Defecating. I'm not sure what's going on anymore is that a giant fish