• Published 5th Jan 2013
  • 726 Views, 21 Comments

Darkly Dreaming - Connor Shadows



Tonight's the night. Dexter in the cute and happy world of MLP. Love that pic but i couldn't find the who made it. I don't take credit for this pic, think of it as free advertising

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Chapter One: Pancakes

Darkly Dreaming

By Connor Shadows

Chapter one

Pancakes

The gray stallion awoke to light spilling in through the curtains of his window like streams of pale orange. He felt a slight nudging at his feet. He looked down and saw a small gray colt with a light, brown mane, still in his baby blue pajamas, pushing his father’s hooves back and forth. It was his son, Harrison. He groggily looked at his clock where he saw the green, blocky numbers read 6:45 a.m.

He looked down at his son with a lazy smile, "Why are you up so early, Harrison?”

The three year old quickly looked up and gave silly grin. "Goo’ mornin’ daddy,” he said in that classic, toddler-like tone his father would grow to miss as Harrison grew older.

“Well, good morning to you too, buddy,” the father said in a sweet tone he used only with Harrison; however, it was still not as sweet as a normal person would use when speaking to a small child.

The father took the colt in his arms and gave him a hug, while still embracing his son he slipped off the bed and placed him on his scarred back. He then slowly trotted out of the room while his son gave his tail a few soft tugs.

He then deposited Harrison in his bedroom, which had light blue paint on the walls and the messy unmade bed of the toddler on the far wall. In the middle of the wall was a solid, blue toy-box that contained, well, toys. The tan carpet was stained by an assortment of juices and foods.

“Stay here while daddy gets ready, okay bud?” his father asked kindly, but sternly. “If you do, I’ll make you pancakes,” he called promisingly as he shut the white door.

“Yay pancakes!” was all he heard through the closed door.

He went back down the hall to his room, now looking it over. It was an undecorated room—very plane and soulless, much like him. The orange light coming in through the window lit the room nicely, giving it an inviting glow. He looked at his unmade bed—the green summer blanket was bundled and strewn about. The light, blue walls looked as if they had a green hew to them. The frame of his bed and the side table were part of a rounded, square, oak set. He went to his closet on the wall, to the right of the door. The light, tan doors folded back to give access to his clothes and other personal belongings. He opened the doors and looked over his clothes.

“What do you want to wear today, Dexter Morgan?” he asked himself in a monotone voice.

He saw one of his favorite shirts poking out of the jumble of hung shirts and jackets. It was a long-sleeved, slightly pink, button-up with two chest pockets. The sleeves were rolled a quarter of the way up for comfort. He slipped it on and left the room. He opened the door across from Harrison’s room, the bathroom. It was a small, light-green, tiled room with eggshell walls. There was a half bath, half shower on the far wall with a toilet to the left and a sink with a mirrored cabinet to the right. He examined himself in the mirror. Not only did the shirt cover his scars to avoid questions, but it also fit his lean, built features quite nicely. He grabbed his comb and brushed his short, brown mane to a swoop to the right. This kept it out of his eyes when it got to be longer.

He looked down at the mark on his right flank with his amber eyes. He hated the other term for it.

Cutie mark, that is just stupid there is nothing cute about me.

It was a small, crimson splash that was grouped with a few other, much smaller drops, forming a crescent shape. From the mark there was a short stream of crimson running down to his upper thigh.

It represented spilled blood.

This got many questions from strangers of what it was and why he had it as his mark. He always said his talent was that blood ‘spoke to him’ at his job as a blood spatter analyst for Equestrian Metro Homicide. But that was not the case at all.

He was a serial killer.

He only killed those who deserved it though. He had a code given and taught to him by his father, the person he named his son after, Harry. Never kill an innocent person, leave no evidence, and only kill if you are absolutely sure of their guilt. These are a few of the guidelines in Dexter’s bible—his code.

He called his drive to kill his dark passenger. It was like this force that willed him to kill. With the code his father gave him, he was able to channel his blood lust away from the innocent. Dexter was glad he was given the code because without it, he would probably be in jail and he wouldn't have his son.

He shut the door of the bathroom and did what was implied to do there. After that, he washed his face and went for Harrison’s door. He opened it to see toys tossed around the room and a small colt in the middle of the chaos pushing a train through a building block wall. He was making crashing and train noises.

“Choo,choo!” Harrison proclaim happily.

Dexter gave a small chuckle and chimed out, “Harrison, time for breakfast.”

The small child’s face lit up knowing he would soon get his pancakes. Harrison skipped out the room past his father and came to a stop at his chair. Dexter turned on the light and looked at the room.

The hallway emptied out into an open area that contained a wooden, square table and four matching chairs. At one end was Harrison’s high chair; soon he would no longer need it.

The wall to the right of where Dexter stood was the front door of the apartment, the only door leading to the outside. It had a round window on top to let in light. To the left was the kitchen, it had a wrap around counter-top that had empty spaces for the oven and fridge. The cabinets matched the counter as they were both a light, shiny wood. The top of the counters were a dark grey, shiny stone that Dexter had never taken the time to identify. The counter closest to Dexter stood by itself like a bar. Across from him was his simple living room and study, which contained his computer.

“Okay Harry,” a name which Dexter seldom called him, “ready for pancakes?”

“Yes,” was his answer as his father took him in his strong arms and placed him in his chair.

“Good,” Dexter said as he secured him in the chair.

He slipped behind the counter and turned on the oven. After that he put frying pan he had retrieved from the cabinet above the oven and onto the burning eye. Then, he got out a mixing bowl and quickly got out the ingredients he needed.

He poured milk into the mixture and ask, “Triangles, squares, or circles?”

“Stars!” Harrison called.

“Ah, a challenge,” Dexter murmured in mock intrigue.

As Dexter deftly shaped the batter into the classic star shape, he looked at the clock on the wall. ‘7:25’ is what is read. Until ten, he could spend the morning with his son.

Dexter had finished cooking a little more than half a dozen star-cakes, a name he thought fit them nicely, and was serving two to Harrison, as well as eating a few himself. Then his phone rang; he knew exactly who it was.

He answered, “Morgan.”

It was his department. They told him an address and a crime, “Homicide near Sweet Apple Acres.”

“I’m on my way,” Dexter lied. He couldn't leave Harrison alone. He hung up the phone.

Dexter then started to go through his phone contacts to find the number of Harrison’s sitter. He looked at the clock once again, 8:00 a.m., she wouldn't be happy about getting woken up, but he needed her.

Before Dexter could hit the call button, a knock came at the door. He walked over to the door, looked through the peephole, and smiled.

Dexter opened the door and happily said, “I was just about to call you Ditzy Doo.”

The wild-eyed gray Pegasus with a blonde mane that stood just outside his door smiled, “Really? Guess I beat you to it.”

Dexter closed his phone and slipped in into his chest pocket.

“Come on in,” Dexter held the door open for her, raising his hoof in a way a butler would do for a guest.

“Thank you,” She said rolling her eyes at the way Dexter was standing, still having a smile on her face. “Hey,
Harrison, what you doin?”

The silly colt answered by raising his fork with star-cake chunk attached, dripping a little syrup on the table. He then continued to stuff his face.

Dexter walked back in the direction of his room, “Help yourself,” he said pointing to the plate of star shaped sweetness on the counter of the bar.

“Oh, thanks,” Ditzy said while inspecting the strange pancakes.

Dexter entered his room and retrieved his medium size, black overnight bag. It was his workbag and in the many zipper sealed bag were his crime scene tools. He grabbed his laminated badge that read ‘Equestrian metro Homicide’ hanging it around his neck. He also threw the bag over his head and onto his back, threading his front legs through its straps so it fit snugly on his back.

He quickly walked out the room and back into the dining area of the house and asked, “Ditzy, how did you know to be here early?” Dexter asked a doubting it was just a coincidence.

Ditzy looked up from her plate of star-cakes and swallowed.

“Oh, I got up early this morning to bake you guys some muffins,” she chirped giddily pointing to a basket on the table.

Dexter hadn’t notice them when she walked in but that didn't matter. “That’s it? That’s the only reason, muffins?” Dexter asked slightly confused.

“Oh, no. I had the news on while I was baking,” her expression grew dark and sad. “There was a story on there I knew your department would be investigating, so I stopped baking and flew over here before you called.”

“Well, thanks. I’ll be working late tonight for this case, so feel free to steal my bed,” Dexter proposed while taking Harrison’s empty plate before it found its way to the floor. He rinsed it off and left in the sink. Then he started walking for the door.

“Wait!” Ditzy said returning to her usual self. “Try this before you go,” she said trotting up to Dexter and shoving a muffin in his face.

It smelled like baked apples.

“Do I have to? I’m in a hurry here,” Dexter said impatiently glancing at the clock.

“Yes, you have no say in the matter,” She declared with faked seriousness.

“Fine,” Dexter sighed taking a quick bite.

It tasted just like it smelled, only better. The crumbly, apple goodness took control of his whole mouth as he chewed.

Ditzy saw the pleasure in his eyes

“Good, isn't it?” She bragged with pride on her face.

“It’s great. I’ll be taking this with me,” he nodded between chews.

“Thanks,” she said with a grin

Dexter jogged to the door, still holding his muffin, and opened it letting the sun stream in. “Bye Harrison. Bye Ditzy.”

Ditzy was seated again eating her star-cakes and Harrison was trying to get at them with his baby fork.

“Bye daddy,” Harrison grunted while stretching out his arm towards Ditzy’s plate.

Ditzy smile through pancake full cheeks and waved.

Dexter smiled and shut the door.

Its good I found her for Harrison. Now off to work.