Taking the Case in Hand

by IGIBAB

Chapter 1 - The Cakes Problem

That sound. The mild noise of industrial plastic getting creased up. The sweet smell of that heap of glucose, food colouring, and glucose again. It's more of a habit, a bad habit, than a real pleasure.

It's been a few years now since I started buying only those candies from Baltimare. They taste worse than the ones from Canterlot, and the differences with Ponyville's cannot be expressed by words. But the prices are way more competitive, and when looking at the amount I swallow everyday, I'm better off thinking about my wallet first.

Strangely, the feeling of that little sweetness on my tongue is always the same, unchanged since all those years. The sugar beginning to dilute on my buds right after the first contact. The saliva slowly rising while I start to roll the candy in my mouth, in order to have every pieces of my tongue, every square centimetres of sensors, able to enjoy the taste.

I put the paper on the desk, next to my crossed hind legs and some other wrappings, some of them glued to the wood by the weeks gone by. Then, I lean my back into my chair again, taking the same nonchalant position, to wait.

This room is really in a dirty state. The desk is a mess, not counting the papers and the empty packages of all kinds lying on the ground, some spilling their white grains all over the floor. The shelves are covered in dust, so much so that it's impossible to distinguish what was originally on them. Books with faded titles, pictures discoloured. And that magnifying glass next to my leg, barely transparent because of the dirt.

The chair squeaks from old age, as I'm slightly swinging on two of its legs. Paradoxically, it's the place where I feel the most alive, the most myself, and the most dead at the same time. Maybe it's chronological: Once, I was here alive, I am here now myself, and I will be here...

Nobody today, again. Evidently, there's not enough stuff happening here for someone to cross that old door with a blurred window.

A blurred window, I've always been unaware of the official term and found that really cliché for a detective. But it's also because I liked that cliché that I got one installed. It's silly, the designation should figure on the receipt, but I didn't think about checking it.

The light is decreasing behind the blinds, letting some pretty orange stripes appear in my office.

A small wind also blows by the small opening of the window, slightly lifting the curtains, making the light undulate.

Noises are coming from outside. Probably foals playing. I even hear their parents calling for them, the evening is coming, so most likely to go home, eat, that kind of stuff...

I'll have to go home soon, to make myself something. I mean, I have time, there's no risk of someone coming to tell me to clean up my desk, to do something... Not anymore.

But oh well, I'm hungry, and sweets are nourishing, but only up to a certain extent.

A strange smell of something burning comes up. It's from the street. An odour of caramel accompanies it. Sacrilege! Who dares letting a dish containing sugar burn!?

... Darn, I'm getting carried away. Keep your calm Bonbon, close the windows, the curtains, get out of the office and... Rha! Nasty paper, what are you doing on my way!? Let go of my hoof! Every time it's the same, the paper soaked in this glue sticks to my coat, and when I use a hoof to remove it, it stays gripped on the other. Some help from a unicorn would be useful. But, since there's none here anymore, I just get it to stick on the desk. Another one that will solidify here, like an old Hearth's Warming Eve's decoration made by a three years old foal in kindergarten. Maybe I should try to do arts?

This absurd thought gets a little laugh out of me as I walk towards the door, a little more into it than usual. Why? Nothing special happened today. This day has even been as boring as possible and I didn't even take advantage of it to evaluate my situation.

Does the answer to this sober excitement lie behind the door? Nothing seems to be there. I open it and disappointment appears in me. No one. Not even a letter from one of my friends, from here, from Canterlot or even from Manehattan.

A small sigh and I go on the left. My office is a door located inside a rectangular courtyard.

I wasn't always the only one to propose my service here. Back in the day, the mail company was facing my office, for example. Along the four walls, there are many doors, shops and store fronts, all closed. In the past, they were open all day long and everypony was exchanging happy discussions, laughs and customers. Mail, dentist, doctor, library, a bunch of public installations and administrations. Even the market took place in the middle of this great square, when this place was still Ponyville's centre.

All of them ended up rising and took their independence. The city hall was rebuilt somewhere else and this area started to decay. It's not in ruins either, but after ten years... That's progress.

My hooves tread on this paved earth on which greenery is taking back its right, since no one is there to trample it. I walk under a little arch made of stone leading to Ponyville, its outskirts. Since the great series of renovations and constructions, the old city-centre has nothing of a centre anymore.

"I was waiting for you," says an enchanting voice, causing me to jump.

Left of the exit, sitting on a bench, evidently embarrassed and wearing her work cap. A unicorn whose colour immediately gives you a taste of strong mint at the bottom of your mouth. Her presence alone angers me, and the fact that she addressed me with such discomfort, that can only mean one thing, it infuriates me even more. I look away and pick up my pace. She starts going after me, of course.

"Bonbon, wait!"

I don't listen to her. I won't give her that pleasure, not after what she's done to me.

"Listen to me! I need to talk to you!"

This troubled wobbling in her voice, that pleading tone. She knows what I think, what I feel. And she still tries. Dammit she's so stubborn! I coldly reply:

"You're on duty! You should not talk about that!"

"But precisely! That's why I came to see you!"

I abruptly stop. I hear that she does the same, a few meters behind.

"And what does the non-commissioned officer Heartstrings have to tell me?"

"Mr. Cake is dead. He's been murdered."

I hear the singing of the birds stop in the distance, as well as the sound of the town, as my heart skips a beat, the smell of burned up caramel still floating in the air. This day was supposed to end without troubles.

Author's Note:

It's when you fall that you realise how dangerous it was to swing on a chair.

Comments

[MatTheBook]

ok then

[MatTheBook]

"Mr. Cake is dead. He's been murdered."

...........

https://images.app.goo.gl/JACSbaCcBUNmeda19

[MatTheBook]

"Mr. Cake is dead. He's been murdered."

I hear the singing of the birds stop in the distance, as well as the sound of the town,

https://youtu.be/ws9UHWfnZcA

[KingSombraTheTyrantRuler]

I'm looking forward to the next chapter. Keep up the good work!

[overdue]

The style of this fic is absolutely beautiful. Somehow the slight messing up that the translation does makes me appreciate it a lot more. all the little details

[IGIBAB]

11535243
... Alright XD Didn't saw it like that but ok. Thanks