Chapter 1
They say Manehattan is the city that never sleeps. If that is the case then Ponyville is the town that never awakes.
It is a sleepy village; so many ponies come here believing they have found some peaceful little hamlet to spend their days in. After a life of chaos and confusion they look at Ponyville like it is some kind of fairytale. It is a dream come true... until it becomes a waking nightmare. It is in the quietest places the evil can grow and I have seen in this town things that would leave the most hardened Manehattanite trembling under their covers.
Underneath the pristine façade this town presents to the outside world there is a dark underbelly, teeming with corruption and filth. Everypony turns a blind eye to it, refusing to believe that such darkness could be found so close to home.
It's like they say: the greatest trick Nightmare Moon ever played was convincing the world she wasn't real.
The name’s Thunderlane. I’m a private eye.
The weather team had filled the sky with dreary clouds that kept the sun from shining. It was a day that made a stallion want to stay in bed rather than face a life that wasn’t worth living. That was fine by me… I had no place to be and a mind filled with uneasy thoughts. Hard to brood when the sun was shining and the sound of children’s laughter filled the air. Sometimes the shadows can be your best friends, especially when you have a troubled mind.
I had just gotten done looking into a theft at Doodad’s Toy Shop. It was a boring little affair that was hardly worth my time. The entire case left me longing for more but my door seemed to be bolted shut. So, while my secretary Silver Pond filed her hooves I decided to toast the bad weather with a bit of hard cider.
Celestia is a cruel mistress though and saw to it that I couldn't get a drink in peace. I had no sooner uncorked the bottle then Pond rapt on my door.
"You have a client, boss," the mare said. She was a cute little bundle of nerves with an unfortunate name; a pale teal gal with golden mane and a file full of papers as her cutie mark. There wasn't a drop of silver anywhere on her and I don't think the poor thing had ever taken a dip in a body of water bigger than a tub. Sometimes parents are cruel when it comes to names, not realizing that the moniker one is stuck with can haunt them for the rest of their days.
“Show’em in,” I grunted, placing the cider jug back in my desk and pulling out a soybean stem. I’d just lit the tip and taken my first puff when Pond opened the door and let my new client in.
She was a pale dame with a coat the color of yellowed cream and a mane like golden straw that’d been out in the sun for too long. Not that this one would be caught dead outside if she could help it. She’d done her best to make herself look pretty but it was more for show than anything. I could see it in her red-rimmed eyes that she had never expected to find herself in a place like mine; silly dame should have known better. No one expects to be standing before me and those that do tend to take the precautions needed to prevent the kind of tragedy I deal in from touching a hair on their pretty little heads.
“Mr. Thunderlane?” she whispered, as if she were afraid of being heard. She was a Manehattanite, and a rich one at that if the jewels around her neck were any indication. Already the dame had me interested and she hadn’t spoken more than two words. What brings a mare like this down from her ivory tower to slum it in the dirt with the rest of us? The answer was the same as it always was: trouble.
Already the day was looking better and better.
“That’s the name, sweetheart,” I drolled out, flicking my wing towards an empty chair. “Take a seat before you fall.”
She collapsed in the chair, all sense of poise lost to her as she struggled to contain herself. I’ve found that of all the species that make their way through Equestria is was earth ponies who had to work the hardest at being upper crust blue bloods. Unicorns are just naturally snooty and pegasi are good little soldiers that are designed to adapt. Earth ponies are meant to be on the ground, not up in the sky, which is why it was so rare to find them in the skyscrapers with those that decide the fate of all the rest of us. The few that managed to get a seat at the big table spend the rest of their days trying to fight their more basic urges.
But this dame… this one had seen trouble recently and it was leaving her out of sorts. She found herself in situation not of her own making and she knew she needed to find somepony to get her out.
Lucky for her, trouble was what I specialized in.
“I don’t know where to begin,” she said softly, dabbing at her eyes with a silk hankie.
“Your name would be a wonderful place to start, sweetheart,” I stated. I leaned back, letting a plume of soy-smoke drift from my mouth. It hung over our heads like the clouds that currently blanketed Ponyville’s skies. I figured if it was good enough for this town, it was good enough for me.
"My name is Valencia Orange. My husband is... was... Mosely Orange." She said his name not quite with pride but with expectation. Her husband had been a powerful stallion and she was use to his moniker opening doors and leaving those around her bowing at the mere mention.
But the trouble with names is there aren't solid. Their weight and heft is determined not by the holder. On one night a certain name can get you free drinks. 24 hours later and it will get you a knife in your belly. That was the risk you held when you tried to make your way through the world with just a name and nothing to back it up.
I just stared at Valencia, sending up another puff of smoke. If she thought muttering her hubby's name was going to get her in my good graces she was sadly mistaken. Names and promises don't pay my rent.
She finally relented, head falling to stare at my scuffed up hardwood. "Mosely and I are from Manehattan... he was the heir to the Sun Blessed Orange Grove."
Now she was getting somewhere. Sun Blessed Oranges were about as well known as the Apple Family's crop. The family had a rep for being snobs, having long left their groves in the care of farm hands while they rubbed shoulders with Equestria's elite. If the heir to Sun Blessed was mixed up in all of this that meant there was bits involved. Bits meant trouble.
"How did you husband die?"
Valencia gave a little start. "How did you know he died? It hasn’t even appeared in the papers yet.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at my little smoke clouds. "You stumbled when you called him your husband. Went from present to past tense. That means it was recent and you are still in shock. Besides-" I snubbed my soybean stem out in the ashtray that sat next to my typewriter, "-when a gal with flanks like yours comes strutting into my office talking like you are, it usually means her husband is with the angels."
Valencia's lower lip wobbled and she sucked back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Most stallions would have felt bad for making a dame cry; with my experience I wait to see if they are going to pull out a knife and try and cut me a new smile.
I reached into my drawer and pulled out a soybean stem. The whimpering dame looked ready to turn it down but her frazzled nerves won out and she accepted it, leaning forward so I could light the tip. A few puffs steadied her nerves and she was able to compose herself enough to tell me her story.
"My Mosely brought me to this horrible little town to see his family. You know of the Apples, right?" I didn't even bother to nod. Everypony within 40 miles knew of the Apple Family. "My husband's sister was married to Brown Snout."
Of course. If there was ever a family that was cursed it was the Apple Family. Half the plots in the Ponyville Cemetery were filled with members of that family, many of them having punched their ticket all too soon.
"His kids are the ones running Sweet Apple, aren't they?" I asked.
Valencia nodded. "Yes. Macintosh isn't much but Jacqueline had the makings of a fine cultured mare till she threw it all away." Her words were frustrated and I made a mental note to do some more digging when it came to that sour subject. "We rarely visit but Mosely had it in his head that we needed to come down this year." Valencia looked skyward, shaking her head in frustration. "If he'd just listened to me..."
"Sweetheart, I ain't a shrink so stop treating me as such. Talk to me about the murder or stop wasting my time."
The dame wasn't happy. She was one use to cutting ponies off; being on the other side of it left a bad taste in her mouth. Still, I knew she was desperate and that made her willing to swallow her pride.
"Yesterday morning I heard screams coming from the orchard.”
"You were staying at Sweet Apple Acres?"
"Mosely's idea, I assure you. He was in such a rush to go visit his nephew and nieces that we didn't have time to book a proper hotel and were forced to spend the night in the guest room." She shuddered in revulsion and I got the feeling she was less troubled by her husband's death than she was about sleeping on sheets that didn't have a high thread count.
"You go see what the trouble was?"
"Indeed. Have you ever been to Sweet Apple Acres?" I shook my head no. "There is a little pond about half a mile from the house that they use as a 'swimming hole'. A disgusting little pit, if I do say so myself. The water is positively brackish and-"
"It was dirty. I get it."
"-when I arrived I found Applebloom, that's the youngest of the children, screaming herself hoarse. I thought she had seen a snake or something but it was far, far worse."
It didn't take a genius to figure out where this was going.
"There was Mosely face down in the water!" Valencia lost the battle with her tears. "There were birds swooping down to peck at his body and they followed even when Jacqueline roped him and began to pull him out. He... he..."
I didn't fault her for becoming upset. I've seen what happens to a body when it is left in the water: bloating, disfiguration, bite marks from fish coming in for a nibble... it was a bad way to go. I would have offered my sympathies but I had learned long ago that you don't go giving those out until you have all the facts; more often than not the swell stallion you are praising turns out to be a twisted son of a wolf.
Valencia took a long drag off the soy stem, letting it fill her lungs before she released it through her nose. Bedecked in her finest she looked like a dragon guarding its horde. "The coroner said it was an accident. Told us that Mosely must have gone for a swim and cramped up. I know that is a lie, detective! My Mosely would never have been caught dead in that water."
"But that is exactly what happened: he was caught there, dead."
Scowling, the dame leaned forward, jabbing her stem towards me, sending bits of ash fluttered down onto my desk. "I didn't come here for jokes, detective. I came for answers. My Mosely was murdered and I want the filthy mule who did it put before a firing squad!"
"Sweetheart, I'll be happy to look into it."
"Thank you," she said smugly, leaning back and savoring a another drag.
"40 bits a day, plus expenses."
"40 bits?" she exclaimed, nearly dropping her stem.
"And the first two days will be paid up front."
"That's robbery!"
"Well, you can either investigate attempt robbery or murder. The choice is up to you."
Valencia grumbled but finally relented. She reached under her clunky necklace and pulled out her pocketbook, cutting me check for the 80. I took it and made a show of inspected it for authenticity, mostly just to piss her off. I've had more than a few clients try to screw me out of my bits and I wasn't about to go easy on the dame just because she had a pretty face and some sparkly rocks around her neck.
"How do I contact you if I need you?" she asked.
"You don't," I said, stubbing out my stem and grabbing my fedora, placing it over my eyes. "Don't slam the door on your way out, sweetheart."
Valencia huffed, stomped out and shutting the door so hard I was sure it'd fall off its hinges.
Yeah, this was going to be an interesting one.
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How to Write A Mystery
Part 1: The Time
If you are going to write a mystery you need to decide what time and place it occurs in. This might sound like simple advice but it is more important than you realize. The period your story takes place in (or, in the case of this story, the period it is emulating) effects many aspects; character, plot, and setting are all linked to this simple choice.
Most detective/mystery stories can be placed into one of the following 'eras':
-Victorian. This is the world of Sherlock Holmes... horse drawn carriages, footwork and dark shadowy plots. Don't have your character be chasing after Jack the Ripper in a corvette.
-1920s. The days of Prohibition, the speakeasy and the mob. Your detective needs to be straight, hard and a clean shot.
-1940s-50s (aka Noire). This is where this story takes place. Noire is a bridge between the 20s and the 70s. The detective is a touch jaded. The ladies are dangerous and the suspects are characters. Everyone smokes and every character has a secret. The reader should hear soft jazz as they read the story, even if no music is playing.
-the 60s and 70s. The era of the hippies, the fast chases and the anti-heroes. Your hero could easily be the bad guy, everyone is on the take and the car chases are fast and furious
-The 80s and 90s. Nothing is as it seems. The lives of a heroes are half the show and they are going to spend just as much time hanging out with their family as they will hitting the street. Betrayals are everywhere but there is a glimmer of hope
-2000s. The age of techonlogy. The mystery has moved to the lab and the quirky and the strange are the name of the game. Anyone can solve a murder now and most of the fun is seeing how the heroes interact and how the tropes of the past genres are played with.
Before you start any mystery decide which era it will go in... because once you start down a fog-covered street you can't go back.
1407090
Or you could just write it with the shows time...
Sounds good, I'll read later.
Oh by the way can I use Tydal in a Lost Origins chapter? The Pirates of the Caribbean parody needs a Davy Jones.
This is an insta-fave.
That is all I will say for now.
*Le fave*
Is it strange that I could hear a saxaphone playing.
Now I'm going to say that THAT WAS F*CKING AWESOME!
*puts on Jazz, reads story, enjoys story, favorites it, thumbs it up* Soo is Thunderlane now voices by Bogey or maybe Bing Crosby? Either way thank you.
1409805
Bogey would be the better choice. When I do the voice (as I explained in other stories, i have trained myself to do voice work and can do impressions of celebs and stuff) it is Bogey with just a touch of Rorschach
1409552
Go right ahead
^_^ Here's looking at you kid. Now I have to watch Maltese Falcon
1409528
Okay, what time period is the show set in?
1410360
The Maltese Falcon and LA Noire are the major inspirations for this story. I want to take the old 1940s/50s style mysteries and apply them to MLP... but keep the main characters in character. Applejack will be Applejack, Big Mac is Big Mac, so on... but Thunderlane is Bogey. It won't be a comedy, but instead show how Noire would work in MLP.
I seen enough of LA Noire to enjoy it. I am really behind with my classic movies. Suddenly I want to be a pony sounding like James Cagney. I will never see Hurricane Fluttershy the same again. I am so loving it.
1410494
I picked Thunderlane originally because I saw him as one of the 'select characters' in the search and found it odd. Then I looked and could not find a single story with him with him as a true lead (I see now there are several, but still).
Then, as I was writing, I realized he was black and white...and Noires are black and white and suddenly it fit like a glove. I figure Thunderlane needs to get a fan following and I am going to provide it.
As for his voice being different... well, the Doctor had an American accent and that doesn't stop us from assuming he has a blue box...
LOL true. So true. Now getting head canon all twisted.
1410388
Balls if I know
interesting advice on the timeline thing. copy-pasting to a wordpad document (hope you dont mind). The cool thing is, I have noticed a lot of mystery stories and movies falling into those types of settings. I guess its obvious, and a given, but im going to say it anyway. Man, you really know your stuff. I'll definitely be reading this story considering your last one, I think you're a great writer.
1410853
And that is why I needed to select an era for this mystery. If I chose the 70s, for example, Thunderlane would need to get in alot of car chases (or in this case, wagon chases), have a partner, and be almost an anti-hero. With Noire, chases are out as the focus is on the characters and the grit.
1412092
This is out of my league and I'm leaving it at that. Oh wait, I've already written a detective story... Dammit.
1412102
*chuckles* Don't worry about it. I have alot of experience writing mystery novels (I have one I am still looking for representation for) and as such I have alot to share. But the best advice I can give is pick and choose the advice you use...not all of it you need.
1412107
...wow. Deep man. Wait, what? Oh crap my brain is broken again.
Interesting...
1410434 LA Noire? Does that mean he'll
freak out
whenever somepony lies to him?
This is good. Like, REALLY good. why is this so damn good?