> Silent Graves
>  by Kiernan
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Camping Trip, Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You'd seriously give up your 'Angel of Mercy' for a 'Truffle Master?'" 

"I have no use for an angel in my plant deck. Besides, I have, like, six."

"But 'Angel of Mercy' is a really good card. 'Truffle Master is only useful in really specific scenarios, and even then, there are cards that do the same job either faster or stronger."

"Well, maybe I want to put myself in those specific scenarios. Maybe I like the challenge. And maybe I can still kick your tail either way. Besides, weakening me in the tourney only makes it easier for you to win, and you'll need all the help you can find."

"Wasn't that a beautiful eagle, boys?"

All of a sudden, the three young colts stopped and looked around. The one in the middle, by both location and age, pulled up his binoculars and looked around. "I don't see any eagles, Mr. Skies."

The stallion leading the camping trip leaned against a tree. He was a short, but well-built pegasus, with a brown coat and a golden mane. "That's because you were talking so loud that you scared it off, and you weren't looking around you." He quickly darted to a nearby tree, and came back with a large feather. "This was a big bird, and you were so wrapped up in your conversation, you missed the beauty of the forest around you."

Red Cap, the youngest of them, looked down at the ground. He was the only earth pony in the group, with a dark brown coat and bright red hair. He'd been the one to strike up the conversation when he asked for his best friend's 'Truffle Master.' "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," replied the oldest, Stargazer. He was tall and thin, with a deep green coat that looked just like his mother's. The only thing that matched his father was his mane and tail. "It was my fault, dad. I'll take the blame."

Cup Nest, Nestor to his friends, stepped forward. He was a unicorn of bright yellow coat with a golden brown mane. "In truth, we all could stand to be better. Forgive us."

Open Skies slid the feather into Nestor's mane. "See that it doesn't happen again. We might have the chance to see something even more beautiful, if only we open our eyes."

With a nod, the group continued into the woods. It was about halfway through the day, and their campsite was still at least two kilometres away. Progress was fairly slow due to the tall grass and the bushes standing in their way, not to mention their adult leader stopping every fifteen minutes or so to point out a special plant or animal.

"So, do you accept my trade?" whispered Red to Star, nudging him with his elbow. "Your circumstantial 'Truffle Master' for one of my angels?"

"Well, that's a different deal, entirely," responded Star. "If I have my pick of your angels, 'Angel of Vengeance' would be preferable, but that would be entirely unfair to you. 'Truffle Master' is only on the level of 'Flaming Cherub.' That's my counter."

"You know as well as I do that 'Flaming Cherub' is crap. If I gave you that card, you'd never let me hear the end of it. I'm trying to make a fair trade, not an enemy."

"'Flaming Cherub' isn't as bad as everypony says," chimed in Nestor. "I've used it several times, to good effect."

"Sure, you can use it to good effect. Any card can be used to good effect if you know how. The hard part is knowing how to use them."

"Which is why I believe I would be able to use your 'Truffle Master' as well as you would use my 'Angel of Mercy,'" argued Red. "I swear, it's a fair trade."

"Duck!" came the call of Open Skies. 

While the other two dropped to the ground, Nestor pulled up his binoculars. He began looking for the duck, but that was quickly brought to a halt as a family of deer leapt over the trio, the fawn not really leaping high enough and colliding with the young colt, knocking him off his hooves and into a bramble. As he picked himself up, he shouted to Open Skies, "I'm okay!"

He wasn't uninjured, however. The impact had caused a few light bruises, and the thorns had scratched him up a fair bit. Neither of these were particularly harsh wounds, but still, light scrapes can easily become infected. Knowing this particularly well, Open Skies called him over and took off his pack, leaning it against a tree.

The next fifteen minutes were comprised of cleaning, disinfecting and wrapping up the wounds to keep them from becoming a problem. It was a simple procedure, and everything needed to fix it was located in your common store-bought first-aid kit. The procedure was so simple, in fact, that Open Skies took the opportunity to quiz the boys on how to do it. Stargazer even helped with performing some of the steps. 

Nestor was fine to walk after being wrapped up. He did have to pull out a few thorns from his pack before shouldering it again, but the rest of the trek to the campsite was without any further incidents. 

"Okay, boys," said Open Skies, dropping his pack in the middle of the clearing. "We've been out here dozens of times. You know this section of woods better than some kids know their own backyards. We've been out here six times each year for the past three years. As you are familiar with the area, you know where the river is. Red, you go down to the water and bring back a bucket of water. Star, you go find some dry branches for our campfire. Nestor, help me clear some land for our firepit and our tents."

Originally, they had planned for Nestor to gather water from the stream, and for Red to help clear the camp, but the switch in jobs was not a difficult change, merely unexpected. It was, however, a called for change, as Nestor was lightly injured. This didn't bar him from doing any hard work, but it had been just over half an hour. Open Skies wanted to keep a close eye on him, just in case something went wrong. One could never tell by a surface examination, and since the boys were under his care, he would be taking extra precautions if one was injured. 

In either case, Nestor seemed to be alright despite his injuries, and the other two quickly and safely completed their jobs. All seemed right with the group. Despite a rocky start, everything was coming up generally well. This was shaping up to be a slightly below-average camping trip.
> The Camping Trip, Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had their water. They had their firewood. They had a cleared out spot to set everything up. They had three hours of daylight left. It was time to set everything up. "Okay, boys," said Open Skies, "who has their guide to local flora on them?"

Each of the colts reached into their packs and pulled out a book. It contained a detailed listing of all of the flora and fauna spotted in this area, with accurate descriptions and pictures. There were sections on trees, grasses, flowers, mushrooms, shrubs, ferns and berry bushes. It clearly denoted what was safe to eat, both raw and cooked, and what wasn't. 

"Excellent preparations," smiled Open Skies. "Since you all did so well in that regard, you can all go on food collection. You can all decide what we're having for dinner tonight!"

This was magnificent news to the boys, and they celebrated in their own ways. With a dismissal from Open Skies, they split. His assertion that they knew the forest better than some kids knew their own backyard was not entirely inaccurate. They had  tasted many of the bounties of the forest, and as a result, they knew exactly what they wanted to eat and would be focusing their efforts  on that. They ate healthy in their normal lives; they could treat themselves out here in the woods. 

Stargazer went north. There was a small clearing filled with onion grass, lemongrass, and peppergrass. He loved these herbs, either together or separate. It was mostly about the texture for him. The fibres in it meant that the flavors stuck around in his teeth for hours to come. Much like the other two, he brought with him a knife and a basket with which he would carry it all back to camp. 

He began cutting the grass, making sure it was still sustainable. He had been coming out here for years, and he was planning on coming out for years to come. He wanted to keep them sustainable. To that end, he'd collected seeds from these plants and replanted them at home, and if ever something was out of balance, he would cultivate new ones out here. That would keep the ecosystem in a nice balance.

Seeing a fluffy bunny hop in under a root, he looked past it and saw some clover. Both he and Red Cap loved clover, so he offered a bit of lemongrass tips to the bunny to exchange for his collection of clover. This would be a fine gift for his very best friend.

Off to the west, the direction they'd come from, there was an orchard with some wild fruit. Nestor was a big fan of fruit, and he knew this section very well. The largest was a very substantial apple tree right in the middle, but it wasn't in season right now. All of the buds had only just begun to bloom. They were not even close to bearing fruit. On the other hoof, there were four little apricot trees just to one side. They had produced a fair few apricots that were of decent size, and those were quickly pulled down by the little unicorn colt. 

He then spent a fair few minutes in the bushes, picking berries. He saw a few birds, and scattered a few seeds from his shirt pocket. He was so enthralled by the cardinals and blue jays that he almost forgot what he was doing. He quickly finished picking wild strawberries for his basket. Just beyond the strawberry patch, he suddenly spotted some wild leek. Stargazer loved leek when he could find it. With a swift cut, it was added into his basket.

To the southeast, Red Cap was walking through a section where the trunks of the trees were very thin and the canopies were very wide. The grass was fairly short, and the trees were thin. He could see so much of the area around him. He was looking for a fallen log that had begun to rot a few years ago. As soon as he found it, he followed it west to a small field of flowers. He loved flowers. Loved the taste, loved the smell, loved looking at them. They were bitter, they were sweet, and they were sour. Everything about them was divine. 

His basket was filled with dandelions and daisies very quickly. Over-filled, actually. Flowers were spilling out over the sides. He picked up his basket and started back to the campsite. However, as he'd spent so long in the field, it was beginning to grow darker. He couldn't see as well in the dim light of the sunset. He tried to use the position of the sun to find the way north and east. Camp was north, and the river was east. If he could find the river, he could definitely find the camp.

As he saw a light in the distance, he rushed forward a few steps. He would have gone further, but he tripped, losing some of his flowers on the ground. As he picked himself up, the light came closer. Stargazer had already returned to camp, and with Red Cap still missing, he'd come out with a lantern to bring him back. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," answered Red. "I just tripped on this vine." He lifted his leg. The vine he had tripped over was in fact, not a vine, but a tree root. A look up the tree revealed some manner of citrus. It was either some early oranges, or small grapefruit. "Hey, can you help me pick some of those for Nestor?"

With a nod, Stargazer flew up into the tree and dropped down eight of the fruits. Four for tonight, and four for tomorrow morning. He then flew back down and helped Red put them into his basket without crushing the flowers. The two then made their way back to their camp.

While they were gone, Open Skies has set everything up. His tent, a small one, was on the west side of the site, and the boys were to the north in a medium sized one, with the firepit being right in the middle. There was a stone and clay basin that they used and fixed up regularly  to make sure that their fire stayed where they wanted it. It wouldn't do well to have the trees catching fire. That would cause quite a bit more trouble than they wanted to deal with.
> The Camping Trip, Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

With everyone back at camp, the boys took to discussing the food they'd brought back with them, almost tripping over each other as they spoke. It was an exciting time for them, coming together to make their meal as good as it could be. Usually, it was just one or two of them going off together. Never before had they been allowed off on their own like they had been today. It was a good experience for them.

"Okay, boys," smiled Open Skies, stepping out of his tent. "We're all back in one piece, with baskets full of good food. We checked to make sure it was all safe to eat, right?"

"I made sure mine was safe to eat," smiled Star. "Tasty stuff, too."

Nestor nodded in agreement. "Almost everything I have can be found at any supermarket."

"And Star helped me with mine," finished Red. "We're in safe hooves."

"Well, it's not quite ready yet," said Open Skies, shaking his head. "First, you have to wash it all. And since we don't have a sink, you know what that means."

The boys let out a collective groan. They would need to go down to the creek and wash them in the freezing cold water. If it were later in the year, and the creek was warmer, that would be a different story, but it was the middle of spring. That water was only just thawed. Still, it had to be done.

They grabbed two tarps that they knew were clean and their baskets. The baskets doubled as colanders in which they could wash everything, but they would have to do it in steps. If the basket was full, there wouldn't be enough water flowing through to wash anything. Knowing that this had to be done, and knowing it would go faster if they decided roles ahead of time, Star turned to the other two.

"So, we know that nopony wants to do the washing," he said. "That said, we can decide like civilized adults who wi--"

"Not it!" shouted Nestor and Red in unison, quickly pulling their hooves up to their noses.

"Damn it..." sighed Star, shaking his head. "Fine, I'll go. But I reserve the right to assign you two as I see fit for my trouble."

"Fine by me," smiled Nestor. "The other jobs may be boring, but I'll take either of them over that freezing water."

"You'll be doing the running, and Red will be doing the sorting. Now, let's finish this up so we can go back and eat."

They set up the tarps, then dumped everything out of their baskets onto one, leaving the other empty. They loaded a hoofful of food into Star's basket, then he went to go wash it in the stream. As he did, Red and Nestor prepared the second basket. Nestor brought the second basket to Star, and took the basket of cleaned greens back to the clean tarp and dumped them. As he returned to Red, the third basket was ready to go, and the first was ready to be refilled.  They cycled like this until the tarp of dirty food was emptied and the tarp of clean food was full. Stuffing the food haphazardly back into their baskets, they rushed back to camp, eager to have their dinner.

Open skies had set up a prep table while they were gone, as well as four foil pouches in which he would cook their dinner. He'd just finished cleaning his knife and was prepared to chop up everything the boys had brought. It's not that he didn't trust them, merely that he thought it would be good to let the boys relax a little. He knew they liked to talk about their trading card game, and since there wasn't much use watching birds without light, he was going to let them talk until bedtime. They were young; they deserved to have some fun with their friends.

Sure enough, as soon as they were back, they all sat down and began discussing their cards again. Open Skies shook his head and chuckled. He didn't understand the game, nor did he really want to. He was just glad the boys were having fun. 

Truth be told, there was a reason he didn't want to spend too much time at home. He and his wife had been fighting, and he thought some time apart to cool off would do them both some good. He'd long been suspecting that she was seeing another stallion, and after seeing her hugging the beet vendor a little too amorously, he'd become progressively angrier. He wanted to forgive her, he really did, but he couldn't move past it. At any rate, he wasn't going to file for a divorce yet. He looked over to his son, the reason he had stayed. He loved his son, and he didn't want to hurt him with this news. 

He shook the thoughts out of his head and continued to chop the food up. He had spent a lot of time with the boys, and knew how they liked their packets. Nestor, for example, had an irritable bowel. He added in a bit more lemongrass to his for the extra fibre. His son, Stargazer, didn't like the taste of daisies very much, so he left all of them out of his pouch. Likewise, Red Cap didn't like mushrooms, so he wasn't given any. There were no alterations to his own meal, as he wasn't particularly picky.

The pouches has a little bit of cooking oil added to keep everything from burning, and were sealed up tight to keep everything inside of them, and the coals out. They were marked O, S, N and R to ensure that everyone would receive the right pouch and tossed them all directly onto the hot coals. While the boys went on and on about their trades and such, Open Skies began cleaning up. It didn't take very long, so after that, he plucked a long strand of grass, placed it between his hooves, and played a short tune on his grass kazoo.

After about forty minutes, flipping it at every five, the pouches were full of cooked food. Everypony took their pouches and ripped open the top, spilling the contents into their camping plates. For a time, the only sound to be heard was the crackling of the fire and the scraping of forks against wooden plates. When all was eaten, save the four grapefruits that had been put aside for breakfast, everpony was happily fed as they retired to their tents for the night.
> The Camping Trip, Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Red Cap woke up surprisingly well-rested. Usually, he didn't sleep very well on these camping trips, mostly on account of a sleeping disorder he had. He was a night owl, and waking up at the crack of dawn was not something he liked, or was happy to do. He was always the last to fall asleep, and always the last to wake up as a result. During the summer months, he would wake up in the afternoon, often falling asleep around sunrise. Such was not the case on these trips. 

It was very odd that he was waking up on his own, especially so late in the day. Usually, Open Skies would have woken him up by shaking his shoulder, or one of the other boys would have done so at his request. Waking up naturally was certainly very odd.

Red slid out of his sleeping bag and rolled it up tightly. He was awake now, he may as well make the most of it. He slipped on his shirt and stepped outside. It was around noon, and yet, the camp was quiet. With a shrug, he picked up one of the four grapefruit. Certainly, it would be a proud feather in his cap when everypony else woke up and saw that he was the first to wake up. They sometimes called him a lazy bum jokingly, and now he could turn that around on them. As he cut the fruit open, he chuckled at the thought of rubbing their noses in the fact that, for once, he was up earlier than they were. 

He finished his grapefruit rather quickly, then set up the campfire again so it would be easy to light tonight. Whatever fun activity Open Skies had planned for today, whether it be wood carving, bird watching, or simply reading from the field manual, having the fire ready to light would be a critical step in cooking their dinner quickly. It was especially important today, as the rest of the group was already late waking up. Any preparative work he could afford them in advance would be worth the praise he would surely receive.

After a time, he became rather bored. He was starting to wonder if maybe they were sick. They were certainly taking their sweet time waking up. The thought that something had happened to them chilled him to the bone. He could feel that something was wrong; he just knew it somehow. It was time to find out what it was.

Pulling the canvas aside, he stepped cautiously into Open Skies' tent and looked around. Judging by the lump in the sleeping bag, he definitely hadn't left or woken up. "Mr. Skies?" He took a step closer. A cold blast of fear rushed through his veins, begging him to go back to the comfort of being outside next to the fire. Surely, they'd all be waking up soon, right? He shook the thought from his head. He had to be brave, just in case he had to leave the forest alone and come back with help. 

"Mr. Skies, are you awake? It's me, Red. It's really late in the day, and we're all worried about you." It was a lie, as the other two were likewise asleep, but if they hadn't been, surely they would be worried about him. He stepped a little bit closer, and placed his hoof on the stallion's shoulder. It was very cold. "Mr. Skies, are you okay?" With a light shake of his shoulder, the tent was suddenly filled with a horrid stench as Open Skies rolled over onto his back.

The sight of him was the most horrifying thing Red had ever seen. The first thing he saw was the black and red bile leaking from every orifice. It was dripping from his lips, his nose, even his eye sockets. His eyeballs had popped out of his skull, and were hanging over his nose by their optic nerves. As his sleeping bag fell open, Red could see that his stomach had distended and parts of his torso had opened up. That was there the smell was coming from.

Red ran out of the tent as fast as he could. He would have screamed, but what came out was vomit. He'd just seen his first dead body. Star had confided with him one day about how mean his mom was to his dad, and how he was scared that they might separate, but Red had never expected this degree of separation. He had no idea how he was going to break the news to him. It was going to break his heart to hear what had happened to his father.

He rushed back into the tent and pulled on his best friend's shoulder. "Star, you have to wake up! It's your dad, he's--" Red was stopped by what he saw. Star had spewed something out of his mouth, and it had sprayed Red's face, a quick wipe of his shirt confirmed it to be blood, and a second look at Star's face showed that he'd met the same fate as his father. 

Red scurried backward, tripping over Nestor as he went. Soon, the tent smelled the same as the other, and a cursory glance at Nestor's face told him that he was completely alone. He now knew why nopony had woken him. They were all dead. Somepony must have killed them in the middle of the night. He couldn't fathom why or how, or for what purpose he alone had been spared. There were no answers here, only dead bodies.

He rushed out of the tent and ran down to the stream, splashing himself repeatedly with the cold water. This wasn't a nightmare; he could feel the cold sting of the water on his face. A few moments passed where he just sat on the riverbank, watching the water trickle by, a bit of watching the squirrels chase each other from tree to tree as he tried to comprehend what had happened. He thought back to the night prior, hoping that he had heard something that would explain all of this that he was missing, somehow. He couldn't think of anything.

When he stood up, it was almost evening. It was time to make his decision. What he decided was not an easy path to take, but he knew it was what he should do. He returned to camp, loaded up his backpack, made sure Star's lantern was full of oil, picked up the rest of the grapefruits, and started his way back home through the woods. He'd never made the journey without Open Skies before, nor had he ever been through it at night. Tonight, he would have to do both. He had to make it back to town as soon as possible, and he had to make sure that the local guards knew what he'd found. His two best friends and the coolest stallion in the neighborhood would not be easily forgotten.
> Ex-Lover's Lover, Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Silver Sands pushed open the door to the diner and walked up to the counter, taking a seat on one of the stools. "Pineapple coconut milkshake, two straws," she called to the waiter, who scrawled that down on a new sheet of his pad. Two minutes later, he placed it in front of her. She paid for it and waited for her other party member to arrive.

It wasn't a long wait. Less than five minutes passed before the bell over the door alerted everypony to a new patron walking in. He sat down next to her and turned to face her. "Are we all clear now?"

"Right now, he's probably at home, crying to his mother about how unfair life is. If he didn't want to lose me, he shouldn't have given up on me."

"Yeah, I could have told you he was a loser. So much time he spent being a little bitch."

"Oy!" shouted the waiter. "Watch your mouth, there are children here."

Stud Muffin held up his hoof. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking about that."

With a dirty look, the waiter returned to his work, and the couple returned to their conversation. "At any rate, I have you now," smiled Silver. "So, where are we going for dinner tonight?"

Stud smiled. "Reservation for two at Le Nom de Fantaisie tonight. Just you, me, and the candles."

"How romantic," smiled Silver. "I hope you have the bits to back that up."

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Of course I do. You should know that by now."

With a smile from each, they began slurping away at the milkshake. They both knew what they wanted out of this relationship, and it wasn't long before they would have what they wanted. While it was true that they had both separated from their significant  others this very morning, they bounced back right away. In truth, they were probably better off with each other than with their previous partners. She wanted somepony with money to throw around, and he wanted a tight hole that was usually available to him.

After their milkshake, he had her address, and a time to pick her up. He went home to put on something more suitable for the restaurant's dress code. As soon as the door closed, his mood soured. "You're still here?"

"I want my dog back, Stud," growled the young mare. "Give her back, right now!"

"She's not here," he answered, pushing her aside on his way to the stairs. "I sent her off to the kennel. You can pick her up there. She's under your name." 

"I'm not going down there just so they can tell me she's not there! Stud Muffin, you go down there right now and bring her back to me!"

"We're not together anymore, Loose Lips. I'm not going down to pick up your dog, no matter how much you shout. You want her? I told you where she is. If you don't go down there in five days, she's not yours anymore. Not without paying a fee, anyway."

"Well, you'd better hurry up, then!" she shouted. "If I don't have my dog back, the court's going to tan your hide!"

The yelling stopped for a moment as Stud slammed the door and locked it. He was filthy rich, and had installed sound-resistant doors and walls in his bedroom so as not to be disturbed by the staff. Now, he was using it to muffle the sound of his crazy ex as he prepared for his date.

There was a fair amount of things to do to prepare for his date, most notably removing the screaming mare from his house. He pressed a button on the intercom that connected him to his security guard. "Hey Bronze, I need you to remove my ex from the hallway."

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Muffin, but you're the only one in your house right now. Ms. Lips hasn't come by today. You told me not to let her in after this morning, and I haven't."

"She's here now. I just had a conversation with her. I want you to remove her, and find out where she came in. There's a hole in my security, and you need to find it."

"Right you are, sir..."

With Bronze now handling the situation, Stud could move ahead with his other preparation. He shed his work clothes, tossing them into the laundry chute as he did every day. He then stepped into the shower, and washed himself. He even had time to sing a ballad to himself as he scrubbed.

Once he was clean and dried, he sprayed himself with a very faint cologne. He had a naturally strong musk that was very effective at wooing the ladies, and this was really just a backup. Next came his pomade, and a strong comb. He had very thick, coarse hair, and as a result, he needed a strong comb to make it look presentable. The pomade had a great hold, and would keep him looking spiffy the whole night, even if things turned as steamy as he was hoping for.

With his mane in proper order, he slipped into his blouse. It was a fancy blouse for a fancy restaurant. It came with a tie and a jacket. He disregarded the tie, as he didn't want to wear it today. He had a lot of chest hair, and he wanted to show it off. He was still going to wear the jacket, as it was a necessity for Le Nom de Fantaisie's dress code. He slipped on the jacket and fastened the two bottom buttons. With a spin, he pointed to the stallion in the mirror, smiled, and clicked his tongue. He wasn't one for sleeping with other stallions, but the one staring back at him would definitely have a shot at changing that. That chiseled jaw, that smooth silver mane, those tourmaline eyes, that pitch black face... He was a damn sexy stallion that lived up to the name "Stud Muffin."

By the time he exited the room, Bronze Badge had escorted Loose Lips off the property. With a smile, Stud turned off all the lights and exited the building, locking the door as he went. Loose had somehow managed to enter without a key the first time, but until he knew how, he wasn't going to take any chances. With a deep breath and a smile, he set off for the home of his new marefriend.
> Ex-Lover's Lover, Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Silver Sands was just putting on her earrings as she heard a knock at the door. She looked at the time. It was almost ten minutes until her date was supposed to show up. She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, Stud Muffin was ready and waiting.

She opened the door. "I'm almost ready, you can wait on the sofa while I finish up."

He stepped in and admired her cream-coloured body. "I would have been here earlier, but I had a bit of a security problem at my home." 

"You're early enough as it is," she chuckled. "Let's just hope that's the only time you come early tonight."

"If it isn't, I'll be sure to give you a repeat performance," promised Stud. "I'm not going to leave until you're completely satisfied; that's my Stud Muffin guarantee."

"A guarantee, is it?" chuckled Silver. "That's good to know. I'll have to put that to the test. Probably multiple times, just to be sure." There were a few clicks from the bathroom as she closed up her makeup supplies in her box. She stepped back out to the living room and gave a twirl. "How do I look?"

"You're giving me second thoughts as to whether or not I want to take that red dress off," he smiled. "Simply gorgeous."

"Oh, aren't you just charming? Come on, we'd best be on our way to the restaurant. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can come back and the real fun can begin."

They left the house and made their way to Le Nom de Fantaisie. It was a very lavish, with a large fountain out front with little cherubs urinating into the basin. The front wall was decorated with flowers and trees, so many that there was a gardener that came by daily just to make sure it was all in good condition. You could barely see the sign from the road, and there was a reason for that. The owner didn't want just anypony coming in. There was a certain demographic he wanted to attract, and the best way to do that was to spread the word of his skill and quality by word of mouth.

He walked up to the host. Before he could be asked, Stud held up his hoof. "Stud Muffin, party of two."

The host checked his appointment book "Of course, Mr. Muffin. Right this way." He led them to a table and pulled out a seat for Silver. As she sat down, he pushed it back in and rushed over to help Stud with his jacket. As they were seated, he gave them both a menu. "A member of our wait staff will be with you shortly."

"Have you been here before?" asked Silver, looking over the menu.

"Numerous times," answered Stud. "My first time through those double doors, I was still only sixteen. I've been back at least twice a year since. I'm on a first name basis with the owner, I'll have you know."

"Now that's a very nice connection to have. And yet, you decided to have me meet with you at an old malt shop earlier today."

"Well, if I had arranged to meet you here, I would have needed a photograph of you so they could identify you at the door. Besides, with how crummy your last coltfriend was, I had to be sure you had a decent dress. A real cheapskate, he was."

"Yeah," chuckled Silver. "Always going on about how important his brother was to him. He's been dead for over a decade, move on already..."

As they chuckled to themselves a waitress came out with a notepad. "How are we feeling tonight?"

"We're feeling like we might want a bottle of Merlot," answered Stud, not bothering to look up. "And two glasses."

"Right away, sir."

"I don't know if you do this with every mare you bring here, but some mares might be a little put off by you ordering wine for them without at least asking."

"Do you want me to order ice water for you, instead?"

"No, of course not. I want the wine. I just don't know how I feel about it, that's all."

"Stick with me, and you'll grow accustomed to it. I always order wine when I come to a place like this, and if you don't want to share it with me, we'll only go through half a bottle."

"Right. I hadn't thought of that. I suppose that ordering two glasses is the proper solution."

Just as she said this, the waitress comes back with the bottle of wine unopened with two glasses. The bottle is sitting in an ice bath and chilling as it sits on the table. "Have you decided what you would like to eat?" she asks.

"So this is the whore you replaced me with!?" came a scream from across the room. The two of them looked up at the cause of the commotion. Loose Lips was climbing over the half wall dividing the entrance from the dining room and running across tables, kicking over glasses and plates as she went. "This fatass dog with tiny tits!?" Before she came any closer, two of the waitstaff grabbed her by the hooves and dragged her out the front door, kicking and screaming as she went. "He has a tiny penis!! No balls, either!!"

After a few moments, everything calmed down. The wait staff rushed to clean up the mess and replace the meals that were ruined. The owner even made his appearance, angrily storming his way to the front to find out who was responsible for the damage to his otherwise delightful evening.

"I wonder who that was?" asked Silver, shrugging.

"My most recent ex," answered Stud. "She's incredibly possessive and oddly resourceful. She broke into my house earlier today. Snuck right past security. It's actually a little terrifying."

"Good for you, escaping that one."

"So sorry for that interruption," bowed the waitress. "Now, what can I bring you to eat?"

"I'll have the risotto, no salt," said Stud, not having even opened the menu. Clearly, he was used to this place by now.

"And for you, Miss?"

"The cucumber salad looks good," smiled Silver, folding her menu closed. As the waitress nodded and walked off, Stud let out a chuckle. "What?"

"You're upset with the archetype of the stallion who orders for his date, and then follow that up with the archetype of a mare ordering a salad. What a hypocrite."

They shared a laugh as Stud uncorked the wine. Despite the interruption, they were genuinely hitting it off, and they were determined to have a good night out.
> Ex-Lover's Lover, Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh, come now, it wasn't that bad," smiled Stud. "A lot of drunk mares have jumped at the sight of a dark chocolate mint on the bill."

"I'm not that drunk," Silver waved, pouting. "I only had three glasses of wine."

"And yet, you thought the mints were spiders," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Just priceless. This will most assuredly go down as one of the most memorable first dates I've ever had."

"Nooo..." she groaned. "I don't want to remember this night. It's embarrassing."

"Come on, just let some time pass. Some day, you'll look back on tonight and laugh at how silly you were."

She just groaned again as they turned the corner back to her place. As he had a security problem at his own house and Loose Lips could just pop in whenever, he thought it best if they went somewhere else instead. Since she was currently detained by the guards, he had the assurance that she wasn't following them, but he'd hate to see her escape custody and show up at his house right in the middle of making love. It would be best if she had no idea where they were, and couldn't interrupt them, even if that meant he couldn't show off his giant bedroom and bed to match.

She unlocked the door and he brought her inside, setting her down on the couch. While he wanted to progress things further, he wasn't sure if he should just yet. She was, after all, intoxicated. Consent  was a tricky thing when liquor was involved. While the restaurant wait staff would certainly contextualize her state of mind before and after the drinks, he didn't want to blow this chance with her. 

He sat down next to her and wrapped his leg around her. He needed to move slowly and carefully here, and let her come to him. With a soft rubbing of her shoulder, she grabbed him by the ears and kissed him. Not just a simple peck, either. He could taste the cucumbers on her tongue. That was a clear green light. His hooves drifted down her back, past her wings and onto her croup, hovering there for a moment before moving down to her haunches. The way she was trying to mount his knee told him that she was very interested in continuing.

He reached up her back, unfastening the tie holding her dress to her breast. As it flopped down in front of her, she started unfastening the buttons on his shirt. She managed to make it about halfway down before he simply pulled the rest of the shirt up over his head, tossing it aside.

She'd moved up and was straddling him. He had to take that dress off quickly before the seams popped and it was ruined. Working quickly, he unzipped it and pulled it up her body, just barely slipping the bottom past her hips before her legs came all the way apart. They were almost completely nude now, and she was sitting in his lap. 

"I want you to see something," she said, moaning into his mouth.

"What is it?" he replied, hoping that this was leading somewhere nice for him.

"It's my shower," she answered, biting his lower lip. "Right this way."

She stood up and made her way down the hall, stumbling as she took off the rest of her ensemble. Not wanting to waste any time, he removed the rest of his clothing as well. As she popped into the shower, she flicked her silver tail, beckoning for him to hop in with her. Who was he to say no?





Glory Daze and his wife, Perl, were sitting in their easy chairs. She was knitting a scarf for one of their grandchildren, and he was reading a western novel. They rather liked their retirement, as it was nice to just sit back in their home and relax. They still went out to pursue their hobbies during the daytime, but the sun had set over an hour ago, and they were winding down for the day, about to go to bed. 

Both of them stopped and looked up as they heard the moaning and shouting from the other side of the wall. Clearly, their neighbor had brought a stallion home, and was having a lot of fun with him. "She seems to be slurring her speech a bit," stated Glory. "I thought her coltfriend didn't like alcohol?"

"Oh, she probably has a new one. You know how she likes to change them up when they run out of money."

Glory pulled the book back up to his nose. "A real shame, that. The redhead was starting to grow on me. A real fun guy, he was."

"He's in my gardening club," offered Perl, returning to her knitting. "If you really were beginning to like him, I can ask him to stop by."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. I liked the guy well enough, but I really didn't have anything to say to him, other than 'I like you more than some of the other stallions she's brought home.'"

Perl laughed at that. "I'll pass the message along when next I see him. He's a good kid, I don't envy him being snubbed like this."

"He is a pretty good kid," agreed Glory. 

"Yes!! Right there!! Harder!!"

"She seems to be enjoying herself," sighed Perl. "I wonder how long this one will last."

"I don't think Silver's going to grow bored of him, by the sound of it, so until he runs out of money, I'd wager. Who knows how long that'll last."

"He had a pretty nice suit when he picked her up. I think he has plenty of cash."

With a grunt the elderly couple returned to their activity, ignoring the screams of intense sexual pleasure rippling through their living room. It wasn't that they wanted to listen in, but she liked to be particularly loud, and they couldn't help but listen to all of the shouting and moaning. Unfortunately for them, Stud muffin had a lot of stamina, and they kept the elderly couple awake for the next hour. When the noise finally stopped and Silver took her new stallion companion to bed, they had already moved to their bedroom and taken their medication. Now that the neighbor had quieted down, they could finally drift off to sleep.
> Ex-Lover's Lover, Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun peeked through the hole in the blinds, slowly climbing down the wall until it was ready to burn its way through Silver's eyelids. Not particularly happy with the light shining in her eyes, she woke up and scooted down, finding herself in the arms of her stallion. Part of him was still poking her, even as he slept. 

"Good morning, Stud," she smiled, wiggling her butt against his thighs. "Sleep well?"

He didn't answer. Her first thought was that he was still asleep. She reached back between his legs and began to caress softly the part of him that had given her such a satisfying sleep. Surely, that would wake him up.

"I want you to feel just how much you mean to me," she moaned, taking him up between her legs and massaging him with her thighs. Already, a sticky liquid was leaking out of the tip and coating her hoof. Not intending to leave herself out, she began to smear it all over her breasts, moaning softly in mild pleasure as she did so. She still had an hour before she had to go to work, there was time to enjoy herself this morning.

She continued like this for ten minutes, hoping he would take some control over her body as he had last night. She was glad he wasn't snoring loudly, but he just wasn't putting in any effort this morning. Perhaps he was just a really heavy sleeper. Perhaps he just wanted her to take the initiative. If either was the case, he might find that he was disappointed, but she would be satisfied whether he felt it or not.

She began to rock her hips back and forth, sliding along his well-lubricated appendage. She wasn't ready to take him in while he was asleep, but she was certainly going to enjoy that medial ridge bumping up against her and ringing her doorbell. She continued to rub until she felt the electrical surge run through her body. As her hips pushed back, she felt a viscous liquid gushing out between her legs.

"Was it good for you?" she asked, thinking that he had to be awake by now. "How was I? The best you've ever had, right?"

Still no answer. Surely, he was left speechless by how good she was. 

"That's right. And you'd better remember this morning, because if you ever leave me, you're never going to feel anything like that again." All of a sudden, the most foul odour she'd ever experienced wafted up into her nose. "Ugh! What is that?" She buried her nose in the comforter, but it somehow smelled even worse. As her tail flicked, it felt like it was stuck in something that was thick and oozy. "Did you just shit in my bed, you bastard!?"

She threw off the covers and leaped out of bed, about to go off on him, but as soon as she saw him uncovered, she froze. It wasn't fecal matter that covered her tail, but the decaying remains of a rotting corpse. She'd been rubbing over her body not the excretions of a pleased stallion, but a deceased one. Her breasts and hooves, her back and tail, they were all covered in blood and bile. Even now, the parts that had come out of his mouth onto her mane were dripping down her neck. And what horrified her the most was that she'd just spent the last half hour pleasuring herself with a dead stallion. 

She took a deep breath. Maybe he was still alive, somehow? Just clinging desperately to life. After all, his body was still warm. If she called a doctor right away, mayhaps they could save him? Pressing her hoof against his neck, she didn't even wait to see if there was a pulse. It was ice-cold and stiff. There was no saving him. He was long since dead.

One wall away, Glory and Perl were just sitting down to breakfast of pancakes and fruit when they heard the scream ring out. Glory almost dropped his coffee mug. "Doesn't she have to work today?" he asked. "I thought she worked on the weekdays."

"She does," answered Perl, taking a swig of her orange juice. "She usually leaves in about half an hour."

Glory furrowed his brow. "With how long they went at it last night, you'd think she would know that she doesn't have time today to fool around before she leaves."

"I don't make her decisions for her, dear," sighed Perl. "If I did, you can bet I'd have picked that blue pegasus with the white mane from eight months ago. He was a real looker."

"The athlete?" laughed Glory. "Of course you liked him. He looked like I used to. Gods, even in your fantasies, you can't stop thinking of me."

"What can I say?" she shrugged, smiling. "I clearly have a type, and you're it." She leaned forward and the two shared a brief kiss before returning to their breakfast.





In the days to come, Loose Lips was arrested for the murder of her ex-boyfriend, Stud Muffin. She had been cited as being caught breaking into his house the afternoon before by breaking a window, she had ambushed him and his date at a restaurant and caused a fair amount of monetary damages, and after being taken into custody at that restaurant, she had escaped the guards that had escorted her away. Naturally, she argued that she "had not killed the cheating bastard, regardless of the fact that he did deserve it," claiming that she had been trying to recover her dog from his house, which she had indeed broken into again. The jury was unconvinced, and she was sentenced to life imprisonment.

Silver Sands had been traumatized by the incident. She moved out of town, going back to her parents' place for a few months while she recovered. When she could finally pick herself up, she went to live in a new town and found a new coltfriend. She opted to slow down a bit and enjoy her life, making sure that anypony that wanted to put their dick in her hadn't recently dipped it in crazy.

Stud's manor was fixed up by his sister and sold to a young entrepreneur who was expanding his business into the city. He'd seen success in both Canterlot and Manehattan, so turning his attention here to the silent city was certainly a fair next step. He even brought his family along to help him relax when he was away from work.
> The Critic, Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Of course, you too!" waved a mare, stepping out of the restaurant. "Taxi!"

In short order, a cab stopped for her and picked her up. "Where are you headed, ma'am?"

"Number three hundred and six, Stirrup street."

"Right away, ma'am."

As the taxi rushed off into the street, the mare pulled out a notebook and pencil and began scrawling frantically. There was a lot of information that had to be written down right away. 

As they were caught in traffic and unable to move, the driver turned around to look at his customer. She was a tall unicorn with a dark blue coat and a curly platinum blonde mane. "I haven't seen you around before. You new to the city?"

"I've been living here for months," she answered, her voice having dropped a bit deeper. "I move around a lot for my job, but I recently bought a house here for my time off."

"Oh yeah? What do you do for a living?"

"I write for a regional news outlet based in San Palomino. I just came back from there last week."

"Fun place. Any articles I might have read?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I'm the reason restaurants rise, and I am also the reason they fall. If you eat out a lot, you've probably seen my work." She put down her notebook and opened up her shoulder bag. "I need to change my dress really quick, so I'm going to draw the privacy curtain. Please try to avoid any bumps."

With a nod, the driver took off again as the traffic cleared. He took very good care of his clients, as he wanted them to remain his clients for a long time to come. His name, after all, was displayed in the rear cabin, and even one bad report could be his undoing, especially if it came from somepony as important as a restaurant critic. He could see his name in the paper now, detailing the way he said certain things that were considered foul. He had to be careful if he was going to avoid that fate.

He came to a stop at the requested address. "We're here, ma'am."

The curtain came aside, and a whole new pony stepped out. Her cyan dress had turned red, as might be expected, but her mane had changed, too. It was short, brown, and balding. Her face almost resembled that of a stallion. "I'll just be a minute, then I'll need transport again," she said. "Wait right here."

Leaving the bag, she grabbed her leftovers and rushed into the house, coming back thirty seconds later without them. Having a better look, the cabby was certain now that he was escorting a cross-dressing stallion. "Where to next?"

"Café by the River on Twenty-Fourth street south."

As the cab took off again, the privacy curtain was closed. They came to a stop at the drawbridge, on the wrong side of the river to their destination. The privacy curtain came open again, and the only things that hadn't changed were the coat colour, eye colour, and build. Now, her mane was straight and black, with a tail to match. she'd even changed her makeup.

"If I may so bold, why the disguise?" asked the driver. "Certainly, if they knew who you were, the owners of the restaurant would give you premium service. After all, whenever we're carrying somepony important, we make extra sure that we don't hit any potholes. Surely restaurant owners think similarly?"

"They certainly do," the 'mare' agreed. "It used to be that whenever I was around, they would watch me eat to make sure I was enjoying the best of their best. Then one day I saw the table next to me not receiving any service. Their waiter had blown them off to focus on me so I would give a good review. It was scathing when it came to service. As such, I decided that I would pass myself off as a common pony and become unrecognizable, so I can see just how they treat everypony else. If wearing a common pony's face will give me a more accurate idea of how they treat everypony that isn't a critic, I can save my readers the disappointment that must come when I'm eating at the next table over."

"Does that work?"

"If you treat all of your customers like you would treat, let's say Sapphire Shores, then they will love you for it, and they'll send good reports to your boss. If one of your customers was Sapphire Shores in disguise, and you treated her poorly because you didn't recognize her, you'd certainly face repercussions for splashing her with a puddle of water on the side of the road. Do you see what I mean?"

"I suppose so. It makes sense when you put it that way. But why a mare? Surely, you could dress up as a stallion and receive just as good a treatment?"

"It's one more degree of separation. They're expecting a tall blue unicorn stallion, but when you show up as a mare, they just think you're another customer. It's an easier thing to hide than dying my coat five times a week."

As the driver nodded again, the bridge came back down and they were free to cross. After that, it was a short trip to the restaurant.

The critic disembarked from the cab, taking her purse with her. "Here's what I owe, plus a little extra for the smooth ride," she said in a sultry falsetto, closer to how she sounded on pickup than she had over the bridge.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Now, you remember what we talked about. If ever I'm in need of a cab again, and I find you specifically, we can catch up and see how far you've come on your own."

"Y-yes ma'am." The way the driver was pulling away made it very clear that he was unsure how to handle being offered such a proposition by somepony he knew was a stallion.

With some batting of his fake eyelashes and a coquettish giggle, the critic waved and walked off into the café. "Hey there. Table for two, please. My coltfriend should be here in a few minutes."

"Of course, Madame," smiled the host. "Right this way."
> The Critic, Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as he was seated, the critic pulled his notebook out of his purse and slipped it under the table cloth, where it was well-hidden. Before long, a waiter was with him. 

"Good afternoon, Madame. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Yes, I think I would prefer a Bloody Mare-y, but It's a little early for alcohol, so can I have that as a virgin?" he replied in his falsetto.

"Of course, Madame. Anything for the stallion joining you?"

The critic tapped his chin. "I think I should wait for him to arrive, and let him pick then."

"Of course, Madame. I will be right back with your drink."

As the waiter walked off, the critic turned his attention to the menu. He had to find some way of tasting most things without drawing a lot of attention. Thankfully, there was a sampler platter, which he could easily use as long as he had a good excuse, and he suddenly thought of one.

When the waiter came back with his drink, he asked, "Do you cater?"

The waiter puffed out his chest and nodded. "Indeed we do, Madame. Were you planning an event that needs catering?"

"I certainly was. My coltfriend's brother is in the process of applying for a boat loan, and he's going in tomorrow to take the exam for his boating license. We were looking for a place that caters that we like. I know it's for two, but can we have the sampler platter? I'll explain to my coltfriend when he arrives."

"Of course, Madame. We have a great many things for you and your coltfriend to try. Is that what you want?"

"And some pierogi as an appetizer. We both like those."

"Right away, Madame."

With the waiter taking his order back into the kitchen, the critic took a sip of his virgin Bloody Mare-y. It was ice-cold, so that was good. The spice mixture left a bit to be desired, but the effort they put in was clear. This wasn't a premixed drink that they would just add vodka to, this was its own unique mix. They were a little heavy on the Worcestershire sauce. Still, it was hoof-mixed, and it wasn't all that bad. He quickly scrawled that down and looked around. 

This was an outdoor dining area, so the tablecloths were weighted to keep them from blowing away. They were also pinned down under foldable umbrellas, likely to either deter the rain or overly powerful sun. On the side opposite the main building was a short wrought iron fence, beyond which sat the river. The gentle splashing as the water trickled over the rocks set forth a gentle, relaxing atmosphere, very quiet and pleasant. He also took note of the brick structures on the other two sides that deterred any wind that wanted to come in and blow things around. In short, the location was well-selected.

The other patrons seemed to be quite happy, too. A young couple two tables over were discussing the needs of their child  while the mare was leaving on a business trip. At another table, a family of four was gushing over the matinee they'd just returned from. Most noticeable was a pair of stallions going over a business deal, seemingly a toy that they were developing for children. 

"Excuse me, Madame," came the voice of the waiter. "Would your name happen to be Dance Fusion?"

The critic looked up at him. "Yes, that's me." This was one of five names he'd given himself this week, names only he knew. "Why do you ask?"

"A messenger just delivered a note for a tall mare with a black mane named Dance Fusion."

The critic held out his hoof. He didn't need to see the note to know what it said. He'd written it himself, among others, and had given them to a courier who was supposed to deliver them at different times to different places. This one was his imaginary coltfriend saying that he would be unable to make it. If it weren't for the sampler platter, he would have ordered two meals, opting to take the second home for trial. Still, he took the time to go through it anyway, to make it seem as if it was new information.

"It seems my coltfriend isn't able to make it today. Says he's working through lunch, and he'll see me for dinner tonight. I guess I'll be sampling half here, and he'll sample the other half later. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"Does he work here in town?" asked the waiter. "If he is close by, I can have one of our staff members make a delivery to him."

"You would do that?" asked the critic, honestly shocked by this. "I mean, he works in the next town over, and I wouldn't want to be a burden, so I must decline, but it's really nice to know that you would do such a sweet thing for us. No, I'll just sample your wares myself and save the rest for him at home. Thank you anyway."

With a nod, the waiter disappeared back into the kitchen. The critic was frantically scrawling under the table, ready to give this place a glowing recommendation just for their impeccable service.

A few minutes more passed before his pierogi came out. With a smile and a "Thank you," he picked one up and took a bite. It was soft and savoury, with just a hint of sour. For his second bite, he dipped it in the sour cream and chive sauce, and it was delicious. This was a mushroom and spinach filling, with sauerkraut mixed in. Simply fantastic. 

He had two more before the waiter came back with the sampler platter, except that it was only half filled. "I've taken the liberty of boxing up the other half for you to take home with you. It is very much safe for your coltfriend."

"How thoughtful," smiled the critic. "The service here is magnificent. I'm telling all of my friends."

"Thank you, Madame. Please, enjoy your meal."

There were over two dozen tiny sandwiches, six small cups of different soups, five appetizers, and three desserts. A sandwich board out front said that the desserts were changed daily, so these would be the ones they were selling today. He started with the appetizers, aside from the delicious pierogi. He already knew how he felt about them. The rest were middling to good. The sandwiches were perhaps not the best. There wasn't much to them, and they were on par with what a kid could make in their own kitchen. A few were pretty good, but most of them were okay at best. The soups were not so bad, especially the corn chowder. That one was actually very good. The desserts were spectacular, though. The lemon cream pie was absolutely wonderful, and the chocolate chiffon was silky smooth. The coconut pecan cookie was strange, but the flavour was spot-on. All in all, the food had mixed results.
> The Critic, Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the critic took the final bite of his final piece of pie, the waiter reappeared. "How did you find your samples, Madame?"

"I certainly found a good many things that I liked. The soups were actually really nice, and I was sure I'd love the pierogi."

"I'm glad to see that your guess was correct. Will there be anything else for you?"

"Just the leftovers and the bill, please. I think it's time I went home."

"Of course, Madame." Hoisting the platter up onto his shoulder, he returned it to the kitchen to bag it all up. He was back in less than a minute, with an expertly wrapped section for the unnamed coltfriend, and a smaller wrapped piece containing what had not been eaten up on top. He placed them on the table, along with presenting the bill. After tasting the food and seeing the numbers, he considered himself pleased with the cost. It was a middling to nice meal, with a fair price.

The critic moved to the register inside the main building, where the host was waiting. There was an indoor dining hall, as well, but one look at the ceiling told him why it was not offered to him. Several light fixtures had been pulled out and loose wires hung everywhere. It was clear that they were fixing a problem with their light fixtures. 

"How long have you been having lighting problems?"

The host shook his head. "A few months, I'm sad to say. We think we know what the problem is, we just have to have an electrician solve it. Should be fixed by the end of the week."

"Well, that's good, at least." The critic paid his bill, plus a twenty-five percent gratuity for the excellent service. As he would be reimbursed the cost of the meal, the gratuity was on his own volition, and the exceptional service was something he would be focusing on in his review.

As he turned to leave, he suddenly tripped on a cable running across the floor. Thankfully, he'd placed his food on the counter while digging through his purse, so it was sitting comfortably. His wig, on the other hoof, had tumbled to the floor, along with half the contents of his purse. Quickly, before anypony could see, he pulled the wig back onto his head  before standing back up.

"Are you alright, Sir?" asked the host, rushing around the counter to help the critic back to his hooves. "You're not hurt, are you?"

The critic rushed to stuff his spare wigs, a dress, and his notebook back into his bag. "I'm alright," he assured the staff. "I just tripped over one of your lighting cables."

"You should be more careful, Madame," he warned. "You could injure yourself if you aren't paying attention."

"I will certainly be more careful in the future," he promised, picking up his food and departing. 

"La mort nous ridiculise tous!" waved the waiter. "A swift journey to you!"





After arriving at home, the critic took off his wig. As he entered his house, the dress came off, as well. He placed them gingerly on their hangers and stands, making sure they stayed in good condition. They were vital pieces of his disguise, and if ever he needed them again, he wanted them to be ready.  Besides, the cotton panties were very comfortable.

Wiping the makeup off his face, he took a swig of bismuth subsalicylate to ease up his heartburn. He regularly overate, and as a result, his acid reflux was out of control. He always kept a bottle or two around to keep it all in check, and something he'd eaten today was telling him that he needed it.

He sat down at his desk, pulled out his notebook, and let out a belch. He could still taste the pierogi on his breath, and couldn't wait to have more tomorrow for breakfast, reheated as they may be. He flipped back a few pages in his notebook and slid a sheet of paper into his platen. His ribbon was new, so that didn't need replacing at all. He just started typing away.

"I went to the Dawn & Dusk Diner in New Horseleans for breakfast recently. The place was packed with freight carriers stopping in before rushing out their cargo for the day, or perhaps some of them were having something to eat before going to sleep for the day, depending on their scheduling. My first impression was that of a seedy underbelly, but after a few minutes of listening to the conversations around me, I was quite charmed by the atmosphere. While you may think of these ponies as street toughs or thugs, at the beginning of the day, they're a hard-working group who deserve some reward for their efforts.

"Unfortunately, no such reward can be found at the Dawn & Dusk Diner in New Horseleans. I decided to go really easy for this, a simple bit of toast, two haycon strips, and two eggs over easy. Any diner in Equestria should be able to do this simple breakfast staple. Unfortunately, pretty much everything was wrong. Perhaps it was because they were busy, but the meal I was given was mostly overcooked. The haycon was so crispy that you couldn't skewer it with a fork. It just broke apart into little shards. The over-easy eggs I ordered came over-hard, so there was no delicious runny yolk to sop up with the floppy, barely cooked toast. Pretty much the only thing they did right was the fresh-squeezed orange juice. Freshly squeezed from a carton  of concentrate and mixed with water. There was ice in mine, and it tasted way stronger than the juice. I asked a few of the other patrons if this was a regular spot of theirs, and the one that wasn't just passing through said it was usually like this, but it was only two bits for an omelet.

"If you have no other choice than to go to this restaurant, wake up your neighbor and have them make your breakfast. You will have a much more enjoyable meal, even if you hate your neighbor. Do yourself a favour and go somewhere else. Sure, it's cheap, but in this case, you receive exactly what you pay for."

He leaned back and twisted in his chair, hearing the popping of the disks in his joints as he did so. He had a few more of these to push through tonight, but his heartburn wasn't disappearing as fast as it usually did. With a stretch and the shaking of his head, he returned a few times and prepared to write the next review. Indigestion or no, he had to complete his work for the citizens of Equestria that went out to eat. Somepony had to protect them from bad food.
> The Critic, Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

He'd downed an entire bottle of antacid now, and it wasn't helping the pain in his chest. He'd made three other reviews this evening, but he was finding it harder than usual to ignore the heartburn. Perhaps a break was in order. Perhaps he needed to start that break with a glass of milk. 

He stood up and made his way to the kitchen. His head was spinning, but he chalked that up to having stood up too fast. With a minimal amount of spilling, he poured a tall glass and lifted it up to his lips. In a few gulps, it was gone. He was feeling a little bit better after that, but still not great. He had another glass, and it didn't help as much as the first.

He went into the bathroom and turned on the tap for the tub, plugging up the drain. It was a slow process to fill this thing, especially at half pressure. This would at least give him time to write one more review before his soak. He sat down at his typewriter and fed in a new page.

"Le Nom de Fantaisie certainly sounds like it would be a good place to eat. The name brings to mind high cuisine and class. In truth, it really only has one of those things.

"Let us start with just finding the place. My cab driver had never heard of it. I gave him the address instead, and I could see why. The sign was hidden away behind a tree. There was a gardener out front, tending to the begonias, so it was clear that they had professionals to do the work that could display the sign, they just weren't doing so.

"Once inside, I was alerted to the dress code. For those of you that wish to know, stallions must be wearing a suit, and mares must be wearing a long gown. Luckily, I was dressed in appropriate attire, but I did see a couple turned away because the mare's dress was too short. For reference, just below the knee is too short, but a slit running up to the hip displaying the bottom of your panties is no problem as long as the bottom reaches almost to your fetlock on at least one side. Yes, I saw somepony wearing that, and they were allowed in.

"The service was very fast, likely because they were pretty early into dinner at the time, and not a lot of ponies had arrived. Before long, I was enjoying a tasty meal, with a live string quartet providing a lovely upscale atmosphere.

"Unfortunately, I then saw something that, when I think back on it, still makes me shudder in disgust. A few tables over, nevermind how many exactly, a mare was sitting all alone. She had told the waitress that her coltfriend was on his way, and ordered the paella for him. She had been sitting on her own for a few minutes when the owner of the restaurant walked up to her table and offered her a note that he'd already opened, telling her that her coltfriend was not going to make it in. 

"If that had been the end of it, I wouldn't have brought this up. He then proceeded to sit down across from her and ask numerous questions about herself. I could see the discomfort on her face quite clearly. He tried to justify asking for her information by giving his own, but it was pretty clear to me that she didn't want to be having this conversation with a perfect stranger. When he put his hoof on her shoulder, she left, barely remembering to pay her bill on the way out and taking none of her leftovers. I wouldn't blame her. As uncomfortable as I was just listening to it, she must have felt even worse being actively involved.

"In short, despite the good food and atmosphere, the night was ruined by an overzealous and carnally-oriented owner. Your best bet for having a good time here is to either enter as part of a group that is either equal parts stallion and mare, or with a higher ratio of stallions. That, or order your food by mail and just have a courier pick it up and bring it to you. If you are a single mare, do not go in alone."

With that done, he stood up and returned to the bathroom. The tub was almost ready for him. He slipped into the lukewarm water and turned off the tap. With a yawn and a stretch, he tried to relax in the bath, hoping that the relaxation would help him deal with the indigestion. He closed his eyes and let the water envelop him.





The next morning came too soon for the intern that was sent to collect the finished reviews. He'd woken up early and caught a cab from San Palomino, just to pick these up. He shuffled his way to the door and rang the bell. After a full minute of silence, he pressed his ear to the door and rang again. It was certainly sounding off inside the house. After that failed, he pounded on the door loudly, shouting "Mr. Fin, are you there?"

After ringing the doorbell once more, he placed his hoof on the doorknob. It turned in his hoof, and the door opened. It wasn't locked, it just swung open. "Mr. Fin? Your door was open. Are you here?"

Taking just a few more steps in, he was careful not to leave the entryway. He'd been in this house last week, and was told he could just come in if he was here to pick up the reviews. They were supposed to be in a sealed envelope here in the entryway, but there was no envelope today. "Hello? Mr. Fin? Are you here?"

No response came. With a great amount of hesitation, the intern stepped into the hallway and took a few steps toward the home office. Perhaps he'd written the reviews and forgotten to place them in the envelope for pickup. "Mr. Fin?" In the event that he was caught snooping, he wanted it to be very clear that he was just trying to do his job. "I'm here to pick up the reviews!"

A cursory glance at the typewriter told him why there were no reviews to pick up. Only five were finished, out of the ten he was supposed to have. They were stacked up on the corner of the desk, ready to go, but not yet in an envelope. Knowing he couldn't leave empty-hooved, he returned to the entryway. Surely, Mr. Fin would be with him shortly. If not, the meter was running up on the cab.

On his way back, however, he peered into the bathroom's open door and saw something pony-shaped in the tub. "Mr. Fin, is that you?" He waited for a response, but none came. Perhaps he was asleep? It would be very uncomfortable if he had to go in and wake him up. Most stallions didn't like to look at each other in the bath, for obvious reasons.

He took a moment to compose himself and stepped inside to wake him. Only, he wasn't sleeping. The bathwater was bright red with little bits of black and pink everywhere. It all seemed to be leaking from his mouth, his nose, his ears, and his empty eye sockets. He was cold to the touch.

The intern rushed out of the house and to the cab driver that had taken him all the way here from San Palomino. "I need an ambulance, right away!"
> The Talk Show, Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Four, three, two..."

A short jingle played, and a mare spoke. "And we're back from our commercial break. We would like to once again thank our sponsors. Quills and Sofas; if you need a quill or a sofa, stop on by and we'll set you up right. We'd also like to thank Red's Rotary Repair; when you need a rotary tool repaired, call Red. Additional funding has been supplied by the Equestrian Board of Print and Press. We're joined today by our guest, Metal Slab. How are you, Mr. Slab?"

"Fine, thank you," he answered. "It's nice to be here today."

"Metal Slab is a coroner with the local guard's office," explained the host. "He's here to give us the details of a case from last week. For those of you that are squeamish, we advise that you exercise discretion in listening to our program today."

There was a brief pause, then the hostess spoke up again. "So, tell us about your recent case."

"Well, about nine days ago, we were alerted that a stallion has died in his home. Now, this sort of thing happens all the time. Older ponies, ponies with medical conditions, stuff like that. It's a normal thing that happens every day, and there are methods of transporting the body that we keep very close to the chest, so as not to make a big scene. We don't want to scare the neighborhood kids, you know? So anyway, we go out to pick up the body from the house, and the stallion looked like he'd been dipped in some corrosive chemical, because his skin below the water line in his bathtub was covered in chemical burns. 

"We took a sample of the bathwater in order to find out what was in it, and it was a mixture of what looked to be his stomach contents, some antacid medication, blood and bile. Really gruesome mix, but it made things pretty clear that there was foul play involved."

"Why do you suspect foul play?" asked the host, leaning back in his chair. "Usually in the detective books I've read, there's some kind of wound. Anything like that?"

"Well, no," replied Metal Slab. "No stab wounds, no cuts, the only damage came from his own body practically exploding. We're about eighty percent sure that he ingested a form of poison that caused him to first swell up and then eventually burst."

"I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that," groused the hostess, grimacing at the idea. "Does that happen often, and I just haven't heard of it?"

"No, that can't be the case," assured the host. "We'd have heard of any grizzly murders by poisoning before now if it was common."

"That is correct, it's very very rare for ponies to die this way," confirmed Metal. "So imagine my surprise when this was the second time I've seen this on the job, and the third time I've heard of these results in my lifetime. To the two most recent ponies that have died this way, we've spotted several connections, but not enough to say for certain what happened. As for the other case from fifteen years ago, we have no connections with either of the two new cases. We're not sure if there is a connection, but I can promise you that the guards are looking into it."

"Now, that is good news," nodded the host. "We like to know that our tax dollars are going towards protecting us from danger. The sooner we can set at ease the hearts and minds of our listeners, the better."

"Indeed."

"Can you tell us about the victims, or is that privileged information?" asked the hostess. "We would like to know, if we can, anything that might be useful."

"Well, I can definitely tell you about the first case. If it's involved, it's old information anyway. It was a father, a son, and one of the son's friends. There was one other colt, whom I am not allowed to name, as he's probably still alive. I haven't heard anything to the contrary, but I suppose we'll see."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted the host. "He was just a colt when this happened?"

"That's right."

"Wow." The host took a deep breath. "That's-- My deepest condolences to him, that can't have been easy to deal with at that age."

"I can't even imagine how traumatizing that would be," agreed the mare. "All of that at such a young age. That's supposed to be the best time in your life, and his was just ruined."

"According to his account, everything seemed fine when he went to bed. He had a bad dream during the night, but rolled over and went back to sleep. When he woke up the next day, he had breakfast, then went to wake up the stallion that was supposed to be watching them. Finding him deceased, he went to his other friends and found them in a similar state. Upon seeing this, the kid loaded up his pack all on his own, picked some fruit to eat on the way back, lit his own lantern and, no joke, navigated his way out of the forest and back to town, on his own, with only a lantern and a five centimetre long knife for protection. He was terrified that a crazed pony with a knife was after his friends, and was tracking him through the woods."

"That's a brave colt if ever I've heard of one," smiled the host. "He was alright afterward, right? He had the strength to carry on despite his loss?"

"For at least another five years. By then, the case was so cold that we stopped keeping up with him. If he has any information that he thinks might help, he knows that he can call up a guard at any time. As can all of your listeners, if they can help shed some light on this."

"And may I just put this on the record?" asked the host, not waiting for an answer. "To the young stallion that once was that little colt, I hope you've had a much easier time since. I hope you've found somepony that makes you happy, that you're in good health, and that you're gainfully employed."

"Indeed," agreed the mare. "We're going to take a short break before we go any further, so here's a word from our sponsors."

The jingle of the radio show played, and as the red light was turned off, the sound engineer called in. "And we're clear. Soft Spoken, go grab yourself a bottle of water, your voice sounded a little scratchy and dry at the end." The hostess nodded, stood up and walked out of the room as an intern rushed in with a note for Metal.
> The Talk Show, Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Four, three, two..."

A short jingle played, and the hostess spoke again. "And we're back again. We would like to once more thank our sponsors. Red's Rotary Repair, when you need a rotary tool repaired, call Red. We'd also like to thank Quills and Sofas. If you need a quill or a sofa, stop on by and we'll set you up right. Additional funding has been supplied by the Equestrian Board of Print and Press."

"We're still talking to our guest, Metal slab," the host informed the listeners. "If you're just now joining us, Metal Slab is a coroner with the royal guard, and before the break, he was telling us about a sudden outbreak of deaths that all have a very specific detail as to the state of the body. Metal?"

"Thank you, Mr. Facts. Before I go into any further detail regarding the past cases, I should let your listeners know that during the break, a messenger from my office came down with an update. We'd yesterday received all of the reports regarding that first case, and I was having two of my interns looking over the information, trying to find a correlation. We're not yet sure what they ingested, but judging by the autopsies, we are pretty sure how the victims would be effected by the poison.

"The first thing you would feel is a sort of burning in your stomach and esophagus. In our most recent victim, the contents of his stomach contained a lot of bismuth subsalicylate. That's a medicine used to treat heartburn, so we can safely assume that he was trying to counteract the feeling. The second thing you would feel is the stiffening of your joints. If you're very active during this time, you might not notice right away, but sitting still or lying down, you might notice right away that it's becoming harder to bring up your leg from a full stop. After that, you might start to feel tired, and after you fall asleep, unless you have a lot of help, you might just never wake up again. 

"We've narrowed it down to about a dozen causes, but we're not yet completely sure how the toxins were given to the victims in the first place, or why it seems to, in the first two cases, skip right over somepony."

"Well, it's a good thing you came in," smiled Hard Facts. "If any of our listeners knows any hazardous materials that might match the description of events listed here today, we urge you to tell your local guardspony. If you tell us quickly, we might just be able to save the life of somepony you care about dearly."

"When we know for sure what killed these few, I'll personally come down here again to let you all know what to avoid in order to stay safe," agreed Metal. "Now, I promised your listeners I would delve into my findings on the other two cases, so let's hold me to that, shall we?

"The next case was seemingly unrelated to the first. We're still looking for commonality, but nothing so far. We do, however, know who did this one. An ex-marefriend of the victim broke into his home several times, including twice the day before the body was found. He'd gone out and found a new marefriend, and she'd killed him for it. What baffled the guards is how she broke into the new marefriend's house and killed the stallion, and missed the mare he was sleeping with. It's not that we think she should have been killed, merely that we're not sure what was going through her head.

"As for the most recent case, we have a very large number of ponies with motive. Hundreds, in fact. The victim was a restaurant critic who has caused several restaurants to go under from bad reviews. He's also helped out a lot of struggling restaurants with good reviews. Blue Fin was his name, and he used to be a fisherpony before delving into restaurant criticism."

"I remember him," nodded the hostess. "We have our own news affiliate, and several of our restaurant reviews agreed with his findings. It's not as though his opinion was a bad one."

"Even so," argued Hard Facts, "His opinion is his own. Was his own, excuse me. Neither we nor our listeners have to agree with him, and you can eat wherever you like."

"But I will say that he had good taste," argued the hostess. "I found my favourite place because of his reviews. He was a great critic."

"Whether or not you agreed with him is irrelevant," retorted Metal, returning them to the topic. "While we do think that this was done by one of the restaurants he's snubbed, we have not entirely ruled out the possibility of this being an accident. We're just not sure yet."

"So you're sure this poison was ingested, but you don't know how it was done?" asked Hard Facts. "What's your best guess?"

"Too soon to say," responded Metal. "Unfortunately, whatever caused it is very good at destroying the body around it, so we're left with very little evidence. We might even be wrong about how the poison is administered. Our best guess for the penultimate victim is that the ex-marefriend laced one of his drinks. For Blue Fin, we wonder if one of his meals was laced with some type of cleaning fluid. A restaurant kitchen is a busy place, and while most of the chemicals for cleaning will just make you really sick, a bad reaction to them can kill you. Sometimes, spray bottles leak."

"You say you don't know how it was administered; could it have been done via injection, rather than having them eat something?" suggested the hostess. "If the bodies exploded as you said, and there's just so much damage, is it possible that the injection sites were just disguised by other damages. Have you considered that option?"

"While it is entirely possible, the needle would need to be really thin and really strong so as to penetrate the stomach and not break. It would be very noticeable, and you would wake up immediately if you were asleep. We know that the damages begin in the stomach, so doing so would not only be difficult, I would dare to say it was almost impossible. 

"We're about out of our allotted time for the day," urged Hard Facts. "Any closing remarks for our listeners, Metal?"

"Since much of this is still a mystery to us, we can't tell you exactly what to stay away from, so until further notice, make sure that you buy food from reputable restaurants, and if you eat at home, make sure you're taking all of the necessary precautions. Wash your produce, cook all food to the minimum safe temperature, all of that good stuff."

"Thanks for coming on, it was such a pleasure to have you."

"Thanks for having me. Stay safe out there."

"When we come back, sports and weather, but first, a word from our sponsors." As the jingle played again, the light above the door went out.

"And cut. Thanks again for coming in Metal. Let us know if you have a breakthrough, and we'll call you back in."
> The Talk Show, Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Thanks, Hun," smiled Soft Spoken, leaving the radio station. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hard Facts."

"Of course," he chuckled. "How could I go on without my lovely cohostess? Have a nice night." 

The two shared a laugh as they split off and headed to their respective homes. Hard Facts had a small house in the suburbs with a wife and daughter, and four pet hermit crabs in a terrarium. Soft spoken, on the other hoof, lived on the third floor of an apartment building with her long-term fiancé. For two years, they'd been saving up for a good wedding and reception, but things kept popping up that drained away their funding. Things like drinking and gambling. Her fiancé was not known to be the most upstanding pony, but he wasn't that bad when he was sober.

Unfortunately, when she opened her door, the smell of rum was there to greet her. He was drinking again. He'd probably lost another game, as well. "I'm home," she called out, almost hoping that he wouldn't answer. If he was passed out on the sofa, she could at least have a quiet evening.

"Roulette fucking sucks!" came the response. 

She let out a long sigh of disappointment. He'd probably lost quite a lot. She didn't know the games very well, but she knew that roulette was an easy way to lose a lot of money really fast. At least with Blackjack and Hold 'em, there was a chance that he would win something, or at least lose only a small amount of money.

"Perhaps you should stop playing roulette, then?" she suggested. "Perhaps you should play something else, or maybe not even go to the casino at all."

"But when the ball eventually lands on twenty-three, we'll be so far in the black that we can invite the whole town to the wedding!"

"That may very well be true, but you haven't won a single game of roulette since you started!" she argued, becoming audibly angry. "If, instead of gambling, we'd been saving up, we could have at least had a small wedding by now. At this point, I'd settle for a backyard wedding with cupcakes."

"We don't even have a backyard!" 

"I have friends with backyards! They would totally let us use it if we could afford all of the other expenses!"

"Well, we can't afford the expenses!"

"Because you keep gambling and drinking away our savings! At least I have a job and an income! I'm the reason we can still afford to pay the rent for our apartment!"

"Hey, I've won fourteen hundred bits this week alone!"

"And you've lost seventeen hundred this week as of yesterday, Ace! That's a net loss of three hundred bits, not counting how much you lost today, and not accounting for your drinking habits!"

Ace stood up. "At least I'm trying for the big win! If I was just taking in small bets here and there, I'd never win anything substantial!"

"You'd never lose anything substantial, either!"

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!!"

Tossing the open bottle onto the couch, Ace stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Despite knowing that he'd taken his key with him, Soft locked the door. She knew he would never really harm her physically, they were just angry with each other. It seemed like every other week, they'd end up in the exact same fight. If he hadn't developed an addiction to the alcohol, he'd be back to his old self; the stallion she'd fallen in love with. He'd been much better with his money back then, making safer, more sound bets. He used to carefully measure the odds and be capable of doubling whatever money she gave him, sometimes more. Not so much anymore. He couldn't hold his poker face while intoxicated.

She made her way into the kitchen and over to the fridge, popping it open and pulling out a container of fried rice. That would be her dinner tonight, as it had been last night. She was emotionally exhausted, and she needed a break. She wasn't even going to bother heating it up, she just took it back to the couch, moved the almost empty bottle onto the end table, draped a towel over the wet spot, and sat down. 

She thought herself a bit pathetic, sitting on a pool of booze eating cold fried rice out of a paper box. She began to wonder where her life had gone so wrong. She'd graduated with honours from secondary school, majored in communications in university, and landed her dream job pretty much right away. Everything had looked so bright for her back then. 

Then she'd met Ace at a charity event she was covering, and they'd really connected. He'd won thirty thousand bits for medical research, and afterward, chipped in an extra two and a half thousand of his own money, for the purposes of fighting off childhood cancer. She looked at her wall of broadcasting accolades, where the first picture of them together had been placed. She was the one giving him the comically oversized check. 

Tears began to flow down her cheeks as she was overcome with multiple feelings at once. The happy memories, the anger she had for him at the moment and the sorrow for the stallion he could have stayed filled her as they all combined to form regret. Her life could have been far different, possibly much better, if he'd stayed the way he was back then.

She was stirred from her thoughts by a knock at the door. She wiped her eyes and walked over, peering through the peephole. She didn't really want to talk to the mare on the other side, but she didn't want her jumping to conclusions and calling the guards, either.

"I'm fine, Biz," she called, her voice betraying her. "It was just an argument about finances, you can go back home."

"A very loud argument," came the response. "The way you were talking, I had to come by. I swear, if he hit you, he'll be out of the apartment complex before he can say--"

"He didn't hit me! We just had an argument. He wouldn't do that sort of thing. He's not a violent stallion, he just isn't very good with money or alcohol."

"Can I see?" 

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Biz."

"I really think I should take a look. My husband, he was always coming back injured, and I re--"

"Goodnight, Biz..."

"It's just that I worry about you. You're thirty-five, never been married, and your fiancé is a dru--"

"Go away, Biz!"
> The Talk Show, Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ace fumbled with his keys until he found the right one, slipping it into the lock and opening the door. "Soft?" He stumbled in and almost tripped over the coffee table. "I'm home!" He shuffled forward and flopped down on the couch. "I made a profit of three hundred bits tonight. Never mind how, just know that I did it for you." 

He scooted his way forward, resting his head against the arm of the couch. He needed a nap for now, like he needed a win last night. He hadn't meant to say such horrible things, and he knew that Soft was right. The biggest thing keeping him from going to rehab and swearing off the booze for good was the fact that he would have to pay for it, and that was expensive. He was already costing her an arm and a leg with his luck running dry, as well as with his addiction taking up so much of their income. He wanted to be better, but he needed help, and he couldn't afford it, especially if he wanted to be married in the future.

He was just about to drift off when the front door swung open. "You have a lot of nerve coming back here!" shouted a shrill voice. 

"This isn't your apartment, Biz," answered Ace, not even bothering to look up. "You need to leave, or I'm calling the guard."

"You wouldn't want to do that," she snapped. "You wouldn't want them to see what you did to your marefriend."

"Sure I would. I let her sleep all night while I was out. No crime there."

"I'm talking about when you hit her!"

Ace rolled over and scowled. "I did no such thing. You were not welcomed into our apartment, Ms. Busybody. You have been asked to leave. This is your final warning. Leave, now!"

"Not until I see what you did to her!" Leaping over the coffee table, Biz rushed into the hallway, grabbing their camera off the table as she went. Ace was too tired and still partially intoxicated, so it took him several seconds just to roll off the couch and pick himself up off the floor. By the time he could stumble after her, she'd already made it to the bedroom, ripped off the comforter, and taken several pictures. A sudden scream was enough to both awaken him and sober him up temporarily. As adrenaline rushed into his veins, he rushed to the other room, to protect his fiancé. Unfortunately for him, she was not the one who had screamed. 

Soft Spoken was unable to make a sound. Her stomach had exploded in the middle of the night. A stream of blood and vomit ran down her cheeks from the corners of her mouth down past her ears. Her eyes were popped out, barely clinging to her by what remained of the optic nerves. She was as cold as ice.

Busybody ran out of the apartment, screaming her way down the stairs and into the street. Ace couldn't move from his position. The shock at seeing her like this had frozen him in place. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Yesterday, she'd been so full of life, and now she was dead.

Suddenly, he remembered what she'd broadcasted yesterday. Somepony was going around killing ponies in a way that left the victims like this. He needed to tell the guards everything he could when they arrived. 

He looked around the room. The first, most noticeable thing he saw was the writing on the wall. Some kind of dark red paint contrasted with the light blue walls of the bedroom. It might have been blood, but he wasn't sure whose. It could have been hers, but perhaps it was somepony else's. He didn't have the equipment to check. He could read it, though. "TOO CLOSE," it said in large letters. He wasn't sure what it meant. 

Next, he saw the drapes fluttering in the breeze. He stepped over and pulled them back. There were shards of glass in the carpet, but none on the fire escape. Whoever had done this had come in through the window. Unfortunately, this was a blind alleyway. Unless somepony happened to be taking their trash out at exactly the right time, they wouldn't have seen anything. There were probably no witnesses. 

Third and finally, he saw a syringe dart sitting next to Soft's body. There was also a puncture hole nearby. She'd been hit with whatever was in that syringe, and that had killed her. The guards could draw hoof prints from that, and possibly catch the perpetrator. That meant that they could stop the guilty party before more ponies died.

"That's him, there!" came a shout from the doorway. Biz was back, and she'd brought guards with her. "He killed his fiancé, and now he's trying to escape through the fire escape!"

Two guards rushed forward, grabbing Ace and holding his hooves behind his back as they escorted him out of the room. He didn't resist. He knew he was innocent, and he could almost prove it. He just had to cooperate with the guards.





His trial was a long and embarrassing one. After he'd left his apartment, three neighbors had heard her discussion with Ms. Busybody, so they knew she was alive when he left. He'd gone to a bar right away, which was confirmed by the bartender that was working that night. He'd had a small glass of gin and related to him his problems. The bartender admitted to giving him fifty bits in exchange for a blowjob. This was his attempt to help him with his money problems. 

Six more patrons of the bar decided to pitch in, as well, and after taking multiple shots in the mouth, Ace had one more drink to wash out the taste, a cup of coffee to help him walk home, and a net profit of three hundred bits. All of the patrons he'd serviced showed up as witnesses to confirm his story, including one who had taken a picture. His alibi was airtight.

An investigation into the syringe yielded no hoofprints, not even partial prints. The user had cleaned it before use and was wearing gloves. The small amount of remaining contents were tested, and found to be a tranquilizer for large animals. It hadn't administered any poison, it had put her back to sleep after the window break. It had gone unnoticed by Ace in the short time he'd spent, but next to the door was a hole in the drywall. A bit of crumbled drywall was also in Soft's mane, meaning she'd fallen.

After all of that, Ace was found innocent. The judge didn't even have to hand down his ruling; the prosecutor had reconsidered everything and dropped all charges. After he was released, Ace took all of the things from their apartment and moved them into a storage shed. Then he took all the money they'd saved up for their wedding and checked himself into rehab. He would never see his beloved mare again, but damned if he wasn't going to keep his promise to her, to become a better stallion. In this way, perhaps he would find her again in the afterlife, and they could be together again with no more fighting.
> The Copycats, Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rusty climbed down the trellis of his front yard, careful to avoid the roses. If he wasn't careful, he could end up with a thorn in his hoof, or worse, alert his mother that he'd been sneaking out again. She wasn't around tonight, but his sister, Dusty, was, and she would make sure their parents knew exactly where he was. If she had no proof, though, he had the benefit of the doubt. When he came close enough to the ground, it was just a small leap over the chives and he was out on the lawn. 

Just as his hooves hit the sidewalk, his sister pushed open the door to his bedroom. "I hope you're ready for your instant potatoes because I--" A cursory glance told her what had happened. He was not in his bed, the window was open, and the screen was punched out. She set down the plates and rushed over to see his tail disappearing around the corner. With an exasperated grunt, she grabbed her house keys, locked the front door, and rushed off after him.

He was probably going to the same place he always went; he and his buddies were always going to their clubhouse after dark. He always came back with a big goofy smile. She wasn't sure what they were doing there. The one time she'd been inside, he and his friends were just lounging around in their bean chairs, laughing at some stupid joke. They'd also apparently been farting up a storm, because the smell was unbearable.

As she rounded another corner, she saw the clubhouse and rushed ahead to it, throwing open the door. "A-ha!" she exclaimed, freezing when she realized that the building was empty. Nopony was here. She could have sworn he'd come this way. "Rusty? You have to come home, or mom's gonna freak out. I'll tell her what you did unless you come out right now!" No answer came back. Not even so much as a squeak or the clippity-clop of little hoofsteps. There was no light, no horrid smell, nothing. He wasn't here.

If he wasn't here with his friends, mayhaps he was out gathering them up. She found a dark corner and squatted down. They didn't live more than five minutes away from here, so they would all be showing up soon. She just had to wait. 

After forty-five minutes, it was pretty clear that he wasn't coming, and all of this squatting was hurting her hips. With several loud pops of her joints, Dusty stood up and walked out. If he wasn't coming here, he was probably just going to one of their houses. 

She went first to Swift's place. He was Rusty's best friend, and she had a good rapport with his dad. He was one of the guards that patrolled the town, and had helped her look into becoming one herself. She still wasn't sure that was what she wanted to do with her life, but it would make a good start to any career if she could learn some discipline. 

To her surprise, Swift answered the door. "My dad's not here, Dusty," he said. "What with the recent string of murders, he's been working double shifts trying to keep the town safe."

"I'm not here for him, anyway," came her retort. "Is Rusty here?"

"He stopped by, but I told him I can't come out tonight. I'm not allowed out after dark since the security went up."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No, he just shrugged, told me he'd come back tomorrow, and left."

Dusty let out a heavy sigh. "Thanks anyway." She turned and left, pretty sure of where her brother was now. 

Two minutes later, she knocked on another door. She was hoping that Rusty wasn't around here; it was a bad neighborhood. Even though her neighborhood was right on the other side of the railroad tracks, this was a seedy place where the crime rate was eight percent higher than anywhere else in town. Despite the inherent danger, this was the home of Rusty's other friend, High Flyer. 

She found apartment 3E and knocked on the door. She could hear a shuffling behind the door, telling her that there were a lot of ponies inside, and after a long pause, three locks clicked open, and a young stallion, not much older than she was, opened the door just a crack, peering through two chain locks. "What do you want?"

"I'm looking for my brother. I have reason to believe he came here."

"Look, kid, I don't know who you are, and likewise, I don't know who your brother is, but we haven't had any guests tonight."

"I know you have a lot of ponies in there. I can hear them moving around. Just send Rusty out here, or I'll come back with a guard to retrieve him."

The stallion's eyes went wide for a moment, then he looked around the room. After a nod, he turned back to her. "Yeah, okay. You come in and grab him, and we'll forget all about this little spat, okay?"

"Okay."

The door closed for a few seconds, there was a clinking of chains, then the door opened properly. "He's in the bedroom on the right." 

As Dusty walked in and the door closed behind her, the door across the hall opened up and Rusty stepped out, stuffing a brown paper bag into his shirt pocket. "Thanks again. I needed a pick-me-up."

"With your sister making dinner, I'd believe it. Now remember, you're paying for it next time."

"Yeah, yeah. See ya, High." With a wave, he left apartment 3F and started back home. With what he had in his pocket, he could enjoy even his sister's terrible cooking. Besides, it gave him something to do all night.





Dusty's body was found two days later in a culvert. Her eyes had been dug out with spoons, her lips had ben cut in several places, and her stomach had been slashed open. There were also several fresh pinholes just underneath her bicep, in an attempt to make the guards think she'd overdosed. As soon as she reached the coroner, however, this theory was disproven. The cause of death was actually multiple blows to the back of the head with a cylindrical object, likely a pipe or cudgel. 

The day after the body was found, a local store owner was reviewing his security footage, and he managed to capture the ponies that were moving toward the culvert with a big bag of something, and leaving with an empty bag. The guards raided their apartment and found numerous controlled substances, in such large quantities that the only explanation was that they had intent to sell it. After a rather nasty fight, two guards left injured, and one of the dealers left in a bag of his own.
> The Copycats, Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What a lovely gift," smiled Whistling Wind. "How are you able to afford such lavish gifts?"

"It's all in how I present myself," smiled Rotten, securing the bejeweled necklace around her shoulders. "And I cannot think of a more lovely mare for it to adorn."

"Not even your wife?" muttered the bartender under his breath, not nearly loud enough to be heard.

"It's such a nice colour, and it fits against my coat so beautifully. You're such a sweet coltfriend." She leaned forward and kissed him. "I'm so lucky to have you."

"And I, you."

"Can I offer either of you a drink?" asked the bartender, putting on his best fake smile. "Perhaps something from the kitchens?"

"I think we're good," said Rotten, waving his hoof. "Why don't you serve somepony else?"

"I'll have another gin and tonic," smiled Wind. "Neat."

"You heard the lady," groused Rotten, pushing the bits toward the bartender. "Whatever she wants."

With a shake of his head, the bartender turned around and began mixing the drink for her. He was halfway hoping that one of them would have ordered something more complicated so he could take a trip to the kitchen. He was uncomfortable watching married stallions picking up mares at his bar. It wasn't really his business, but he didn't like it. 

He'd tolerated it at his last place, but that had cost him his job. An angry ex-wife had sued the restaurant and bar, claiming that her husband had only taken several mares home due to being inebriated, and that he wouldn't have done so if not for the several drinks he purchased regularly from the bartender. While the courts had ruled that the restaurant was not responsible for the actions of the customers after they left, nor were they expected to know that the stallions were married or not, He'd already been fired for being the bartender that had served the drinks in question. He liked this place more, anyway. It had better lighting, a cleaner setup, and the customers tipped better.

He poured the drink into a lowball glass atop a napkin and slid it gently to the mare. Thankfully, another customer down the bar was waving to him, meaning he could go take care of them for a bit. "How can I help?"

"Ish your kitchen sstill open?" slurred the mare. "I fheel like I want shomething tashty."

"Our kitchen's open until two, ma'am. Do you know what you want to eat?"

"I'm not... I don't know what you have, and your menu ishn't readable. It just keepsh moving. Why don't you pick for me?"

"We have a lovely spinach and ricotta panini. How does that sound?"

"Doesh it come with a shide or drink? I'll be honest, I think I should shwitch to water or shomething."

"We can give you some hay fries with that." He reached under the bar and opened the water tap, filling a highball glass for her with cool water. No ice, just a bit below room temperature. 

"Will thish do?" She pushed forward six bits from her pocket. He pushed two back to her and slipped the other four into the register. With a nod, he disappeared into the kitchen.

"Spinach and ricotta panini," he called back to the kitchen staff. When the line cook repeated it back to him, he noted that the trash can was just overflowing. He quickly switched out the liners and hoisted the bag over his shoulder and carried it out back. As he was tossing it into the dumpster, he noticed a rather shaggy-looking pegasus crawling into a cardboard box. He never liked to see them brought this low.

As he went back inside, he called out to the line cook, "Go ahead and add an order of zucchini fritters to go."

"There was a customer out back?"

"He payed. Don't worry about it."

With a shrug, the cook flipped the sandwich and resumed cooking as the bartender washed his hooves. When the sandwich was ready, it was escorted to the mare at the bar, who pushed the two bits back across the counter. 

"These are fhor you," she said, almost pushing them to the floor. "Thanksh for takin' care of me tonight..."

"My pleasure, ma'am." He took the bits and shoved them into his pocket. He pulled those and one more bit out of that pocket, dropping them into the register when she wasn't looking. These would cover the cost of the fritters.

He managed to take care of two other customers before his fritters were ready. Grabbing them, he carried them out back, where the pegasus was lying down for the night. "Hey, before you make yourself too comfortable, the garbage trucks come through at dawn. You'll want to go all the way to the back of the alley, down near the garages so they don't haul you off by accident."

"Oh," came the response from the groggy pegasus, climbing out of the box and picking it up. "Thanks, I needed that."

"Before you go, these are for you." He held out the polystyrene container filled with fritters. "Extra dipping sauce."

The homeless pony furrowed his brow. "I'll gladly take your advice, but I can't repay you for the food."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on me."

He shook his head. "If you give away free food willy-nilly, you're going to lose your job."

"As far as my boss is concerned, I paid for these and ate them."

"You could end up homeless, like me."

"And when that happens, I'd hope somepony would do the same to keep me fed and warm." He placed the container on top of a pallet and walked away. "They're yours now, and I take no further responsibility for what happens. If they rot, it's all your fault."

As the door closed, The pegasus picked up the container. While he felt awful for not paying for them, he was starving. He hadn't eaten anything good in two days. He considered himself to be a principled pony, and very proud, but he was still a pony, after all. Still, as he ate the free fritters, he angrily promised himself that he would gather up a few bits, come back, and pay for them. He wanted to be a functioning member of society again, damn it!





Two weeks later, on the same weeknight, the homeless pegasus was back. He had found work cleaning up litter, and while the pay was abysmal, he had enough to pay for a batch of fritters. As he turned down the alleyway, he noticed a horrid smell that hadn't been there before. No matter, he thought. He would only be here for as long as it took before the bartender came out.

After two hours, the door opened, and the cook came out with the trash. "Excuse me," called the pegasus. "Is there a tall unicorn stallion in a vest in there? I think he works here, or at least did recently."

"He did," responded the cook. "He came out for a smoke break last night, didn't come back in. We're not sure where he went, but if he doesn't show up by tomorrow, he's fired. Boss's orders."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"Somewhere over that way," said the cook, gesturing toward the nearby apartment building. "Ask for Cuba Libre, that's his name. If you find him, tell him to drag his arse down here, at least to clear up what happened to him."

The pegasus nodded and started off. He made it almost to the end of the alley before he found the stallion he was looking for. He'd been beaten to death with some kind of sticks, and in an effort to make it look like it was part of the recent string of killings, a small explosive had been set off inside of his navel. He had been propped up against a dumpster for the last twenty-five hours.
> The Copycats, Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Let's add another sapphire to that," nodded Rotten, pointing to an empty spot. "It has to be perfect for my special lady."

"Of course," smiled the jeweler, drawing on another circle in the outline of the ring to be crafted, marking it with a seven. "Anything else, sir?"

"Nothing more just yet. I'll come back if I think of anything."

"Right you are, sir." The jeweler turned and punched several numbers into her calculator. "I'll have it ready in a few weeks. It will cost eight hundred and ninety-four bits, payable on pickup."

With a smile and a nod, Rotten walked out of the store and continued on his way. He'd been growing less and less happy with his marriage for the past two years, and despite his best efforts, it hadn't improved at all. He'd tried sleeping with other mares to keep him satisfied carnally, he'd tried spending time with other mares for emotional companionship, he'd spent a large amount of money building a new wing onto his house so she would have her own bedroom, and none of it had helped their relationship. Despite his best efforts, it had only served to drive them apart.

Then he'd met Whistling Winds. She'd shown him a world of pleasure he'd never known with his wife. Every curve of her body was beautiful and taut, rather than the floppy, saggy state of his current wife. The problem with her is that she just lived in a large apartment, rather than in a proper house. He couldn't just bring her to his house, either. His wife was still there, living in her own wing of the manor. No, he would need to do something about her before bringing his new lover in.

He returned to his work. He was a very prominent member of a very large shipping company. His entire job was to make sure that the whole city was supplied with wheat and its byproducts. Without him, there was no straw, no flour, and no bagels. Whether the citizens knew it or not, they were at least in part under his control.

After work, he went home. He had to rid himself of his wife, but Equestria had some very draconian laws on divorce. Sharing love freely was just fine, and sleeping with other mares was not a good reason to divorce somepony. He could potentially bring home a mare and hope that his wife hit one of them. Violent behaviour would grant him a clean split, but that required that she did something more than yelling, or blowing his money out of spite. He couldn't count on that. To top it all off, she was in very good health. If she were to suddenly croak, there would be an investigation.

Unless...

He pushed open the doors to his manor, dismissing the servants. All of them. He assured each and every one of them that they would be paid for a full day, but they had to leave. He told them that a pest control specialist was coming by in an hour, and would be spraying chemicals all night. With the assurance that it would be safe when they came back tomorrow, they filed out, knowing that it would be good for their health. 

He waited another hour after that. It was just his wife and himself in their manor, and it was locked up tight. He had been sitting on his bed, contemplating how he would go about doing it. It had to be something that wouldn't make a mess. He'd had a maid his whole life. He didn't know how to clean up after himself, and he couldn't just cover it with a rug. This was beyond him. It had to be clean. At first, anyway. When he was done, she'd be somewhere else, in a big messy pile. That was unavoidable. As he decided on his method, he steeled himself and walked into her room.

She was sitting on her bed, flipping through a book. "Are you about ready to leave?" she asked, not bothering to look up. "The butler let me know you were planning on spraying. He even packed my overnight bag before he left. I assume you have a hotel lined up?"

Rotten didn't answer. In his mind, he was telling himself over and over that she wasn't a real pony, and that she didn't deserve to live. He took a few deep breaths. He needed her out of the way. This was the only course of action. He took a few steps forward.

"Are you just not going to talk to me?" she asked, looking up at him. "The whole silent treatment thing isn't scary, it's just annoying. If you're not going to tell me, I'll just have to make a guess." She stood up and moved to her vanity, throwing her scarf around her neck. "Of course, because you won't tell me, I'm going to go to the most expensive place I can find."

That was enough. Grabbing the ends of the scarf, he pulled back as hard as he could. He placed his knee squarely between her shoulders, pushing her away. Her face immediately displayed surprise and pain. She wasn't expecting this. Her hooves darted up to her neck, tugging the material away as hard as she could. It was warm, stretchy, and smooth as silk, but he was pulling it with such force that she couldn't pry it away.

She ripped open the drawer to her left. There was a pair of scissors inside that she could use to cut the material. As soon as he saw that, he ripped her off to one side, trying to stop her from fighting back. She hit the ground and dropped the scissors. He pulled up as she scrambled to reach the pair of blades that would save her life, but they were just out of her reach.

Desperately, she kicked at him, and at the floor, hoping against hope that somepony was still around to hear what was happening. She couldn't force any air out of her lungs to call out. Her only hope was to make enough noise to attract somepony; anypony. After five minutes of struggling and squeezing, she just stopped. The world had gone dark for her. 

Slowly, Rotten released his grip on the scarf. He checked for a pulse, but he couldn't find it. She was either dead, or really convincing. The way her eyes bulged out of their sockets meant that he wouldn't have to fabricate that. He still had to blow her stomach open, though. It would take a somewhat powerful explosion, but he had something else in mind.

He dragged her out to the shed and shoved an air compressor hose down her throat. As he turned it on, her body blew up like a balloon until her stomach couldn't take the pressure anymore. She burst explosively. He pulled the air hose back out of her, coiling it back in the rack. He then rushed inside, took a shower, and packed a suitcase, making his way to a nearby hotel to secure his alibi.
> The Copycats, Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"HAAA!!" 

Happy Dust leaned back against the sofa and breathed heavily. His pupils had contracted to the point where he couldn't see anything in his periphery, but his focus was unmatched. He wiped the blood and remaining residue off of his nose, licking it off of his hoof. "That's the good shit."

"I told you he wasn't trying to screw you over," smiled Diamond Dew, pushing his mane back over his head. "He works at the bowling alley in Ponyville, so you know he's legit. No way is he giving us fake shit."

"I should have never doubted you, man," smiled Dust, pushing himself forward. "Now, let's go back to work, this thing's due tomorrow."

"I'll prep the next batch, you two keep on track," called Spring Breath, grabbing the razor. "If you feel yourselves slipping, come see your favourite mare."

Almost instantly, the three of them went to work. Dust and Dew were using popsicle sticks and toothpicks to finish their university project; a scale replica of a bridge capable of spanning Fetlock Bay. They had agreed on a suspension bridge with two main struts, and unfortunately for them, they'd put it off. Then Dew's mother had promised that she would buy a wagon for him if he aced the class, and this was a heavy factor in his final grade, so they had to finish it fast. That meant an all-nighter with extreme focus. They'd already lost half an hour going to and coming back from the bowling alley, so they really needed to finish this right away.

When they finished the first arm of the first strut, at a height of seventy centimetres, they all took another hit. Then another at the second arm, the third, fourth, and when the main platform was finished at a meter and a half long, they were ready for another hit. As Dust and Dew moved to the opposite side of the table, they were not met with lines of focus powder, just three empty straws.

"What the fuck, Spring!?" shouted Dew, turning to her. "You had one job! Keep the refreshments flowing!"

"Now we have to cut our own!" agreed Dust. "Where's the damn razor?"

No response came from Spring. Not even an acknowledgement that she'd heard him.

"Wake up!" shouted Dew, slapping her across the face. It didn't do them any good. 

"Fuckin' bitch fell asleep on us!" growled Dust, picking her up and tossing her onto the other sofa. "Pull out the couch cushions, see if she dropped it down there."

Dew was already feeling around in the cracks and crevices. "It has to be down her somewh--AAOCH!!" His hoof bolted out of the couch, landing squarely in his other hoof, being squeezed tightly against his chest. "Fuck!! I found it!"

Dust pulled back the cushion and pulled out the razor, quickly rushing over to the brick and chopping up a few smaller rocks into powder while Dew rushed off to the shared bathroom. After a quick snort, Dust returned to work. This was the hard part: he had to create the suspenders for the main platform using thread. He stretched out three strands of equal length and began twisting quickly to bring them together. He managed to do this twice over, connecting the arms on either side through tension.

As the threads strung along the main cable held up the supports for the main platform, the bridge was shaping up nicely. It was nearly four in the morning, and the bridge was almost done. Despite the fact that they'd only started a few hours ago, it was just about ready to present. This was a good thing, as they had to be in the class this was for in three hours.

"That's the last one," smiled Dust. "The bridge is done." He pulled back, proud of his accomplishment. As he climbed over the back of the sofa, he slipped on a pillow and collapsed on top of Spring Breath.

"Ow!" She kicked him in the gut. "The fuck's your problem, Dust!?"

"My problem? What's your problem!?" he growled back. "You passed out halfway through the project! You left us high and dry! And then, because you dropped the razor into the couch cushions, Dew cut his hoof open! I reiterate; what's wrong with you!?"

"Fuck you!" came her response. "You two were taking so long to build the damn thing that I passed out from boredom!"

"Fuck you! You had one job, and you failed!"

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

There was a pause, then Dust climbed off and made his way to the bathroom. "Dew! You done yet? What say we order some breakfast?" Silence returned. "Dew?" Still nothing. "Don't tell me you passed out, too..."

As he pushed the door open, the scene before him brought him suddenly back to his senses. Dew was collapsed over the side of the tub, having bled out from the cut on his hoof, which was far worse than initially thought. He'd severed an artery along his wrist, and with every beat of his racing heart, massive amounts of blood had poured out. He was unconscious within a minute, and dead within five. Now he lay there, a crumpled heap over the rim of the bathtub. 

"Holy shit!!" exclaimed Dust. "We have to go, now!"

"What? Why?"

"Because Dew is fucking dead! We can't let anypony know we were here tonight! The moment they find drugs in his system, they'll come after us next, so we have to vacate immediately!"

"He's dead?"

"Yeah! That's why we're leaving!" Dust stuffed the remainder of the brick into his bag, as well as the razor. "We were never here, we weren't using drugs, we don't know who broke in and killed him! We were in our rooms all night! Do I make myself clear!?"

"But Dust, th--"

"We were in bed, sleeping!"

"Dust, this is--"

"SLEEPING!!"

"In our own beds?"

"That's right."

"Dust... You live here."

Dust froze on his way to the door. 

"You and Dew are roommates. That story will never work."

Slowly, Dust lowered his bag to the ground. "Then we'll have to hide the body."

Spring raised an eyebrow. "How are we supposed to do that?"

Dust ran his hoof through his mane. "We'll..." he thought as fast as he could. "We'll drag him over to the window. We'll make him look like that killer that's been going around caught him, yeah. Then we'll toss him out onto the lawn. We were in our beds all night, he never came home. Yeah, that makes sense. Let's do this."

Wrapping him in a shower curtain, they pulled him over to the window, used the razor blade to carve a big cross over his stomach about a centimetre and a half deep, carved out his tongue, and tossed him out the window. He tumbled a bit on the grass, then came to rest at a small tree. They hung the shower curtain back on its rail, and Spring Breath left for the remainder of the morning. She had classes in a few hours, but she figured the memory of this would keep her awake for today's classes. With Dew dead, the reason they'd stayed up all night was gone. A night of restful sleep, taken away in an instant, and perhaps a few more in the process.
> The Investigator, Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pry poured himself another lowball of scotch as he reached for his inbox. He'd already responded to most of his mail, and only one envelope remained. He hoped this one was a paying job. He cut it open and pulled out the letter.

"To Mr. Prying Eyes:

"I represent a group of Equestrian citizens concerned for their well-being. In light of the recent string of murders that has cropped up during the last three months, many of us are put rather on edge. We are aware that most of the recent deaths are not from the original source, as the victims turn up in a different state that is more manufactured than the original victims. These murders were committed by different ponies, as evidenced by the fact that they were all manufactured in different ways. 

"That is why I'm asking you, as a private investigator, to look into the most recent cases. Specifically, we want you to find anything you can on the matter of the copycats. We want the guards to find the original, but with them trying to find multiple different killers, we think they're being overworked. This will help clear their workload, and will make the city a safer place to raise our children. I want my son to grow up safe, a notion shared by my peers.

"We believe that, as there are four victims that were killed by an alternate method, there are four killers or groups of killers. The first case has already been admitted to, so we shall strike that from the list of ponies you would need to track down. That leaves three at this time. 

"We do not expect you to do this task out of the goodness of your heart. How good your heart is is not known to us, but your investigative skills are. Upon finding out who these foul ponies are, we will pay five thousand bits each for the information you dig up, less the down payment you will be given on startup for expenses, an amount up to one thousand bits each. It is imperative that this information not only go to us, but to the guards as well, as we want these murderers put behind bars for their actions.

"If you accept, reply to this letter immediately, and I, as a representative of my peers, will come in to speak with you regarding payment for your services. We hope that you will help us to improve the quality of ponies around us.

"Sincerely, Fly Agaricus"

This was fantastic news. It was a paying job that, if completed, would net him three months' rent. Even better, there was a good chance that he could settle the whole thing in three weeks, if he was lucky. That would require working with the guards, but that wouldn't be an issue. He'd worked with them before on several occasions, and he had a good rapport with a lot of them. He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and fed it into his typewriter, hammering away on the keys. 

"Mr. or Ms. Fly Agaricus:

"I am happy to tell you that I will take your case at earliest convenience. My office hours are from eight in the morning to ten in the evening. You can come in at any of those times that is convenient for you. All of my current cases are in the filing stage, so I should be around. 

"I will be asking for the full amount of your down payment, as I do plan on going after all three at once, and the cost I accrue is always variable. For best results, we should start prepared. To that end, any information you have already accrued will be most helpful, so I must request that you bring that with you.

"Looking forward to doing business with you, 
Prying Eyes."

He pulled the page out of the typewriter and folded it in thirds, slipping it into an envelope and securing a stamp in the corner. That would be going out tomorrow morning. In the meantime, he had some paperwork to do, and his dinner had already gone cold in its polystyrene container.





He woke up on his desk the next morning. He hadn't even made it to his bed, despite it just being a pull-out couch in the next room. He could hear his alarm clock going off on his nightstand. Groggily, he walked over to it and turned it off, only to find that he had to rush back into the office to answer the door.

"Mr. Agaric?" he asked, opening the door. 

"Just Gari is fine," responded the stallion standing outside. "I was rather pleased that you responded right away. May I come in?"

"Of course, of course," he responded, opening the door further and stepping out of the way. "You can just call me Pry, if you wish. Please, have a seat."

Gari sat down in front of the desk and removed his saddlebags. "Now, as I said in my letter, I want to know that the pony or ponies responsible are brought to justice. I came to you because you have a reputation for being professional."

Pry smoothed back his short mane and wiped his face as he sat down. "My apologies for my disheveled state," he yawned. "I fell asleep in my chair while doing my filings, and your knocking woke me up, that's all."

"Are you not ready? I can give you time to have breakfast and come back."

"No, no, I'm fine. Your time is valuable, so let's be underway. I'll eat when we're done." He slid a fresh sheet of paper into his typewriter. "Just give me one minute to change out the ink ribbon."

"Of course," nodded Gari. "So, how sure are you that you can find these copycats? As I said, we're all pretty sure that they're all different ponies. They can't seem to agree in their methods or their victims. It all just seems to be too convenient. The last one that fits the modus operandi was that radio hostess. Every other time, the cause of death has been different according to the coroner's reports."

With a click, the ribbon cover slotted back into place. "Pretty sure," smiled Pry. "Now, what can you tell me about the victims?"
> The Investigator, Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pry had been to breakfast, had spent some time at the gym rereading the case notes and deciding on his course of action while working out, had a shower, and was ready to hit the town. He now looked a proper gumshoe, and he would make use of this whenever he could.

First things first, the most recent death was only two days ago, and happened at a local university. That case was still pretty hot. In fact, when he arrived, there were still a few guards on the scene. The section of grass where they'd found the body was cordoned off, the building he'd fallen from had been temporarily emptied of its students, and classes were suspended for a few days. 

"I'm sorry, sir," said one of the guards, stepping forward to meet him. "This is an active crime scene. You're going to have to stay back."

"Prying Eyes, private detective," he responded, pulling out his license. "I've been asked to find out who's responsible for these recent killings, and since this is the most recent location, I figured you all could use a hoof."

"One moment, please." 

The guard walked away, and a captain came back, lifting the crime scene tape. "While I wish you were a detective in my department, I respect that you're willing to cooperate with us. What information do you have so far?"

"Only public knowledge and the coroner's reports." Pry looked over the scene and was able to quickly determine what had happened. "He was thrown from that building, landed here, then rolled over here."

"That's right. We were unable to find any disturbed tiles on the roof, so we suspect it was a pegasus."

Pry paused for a moment, looking up to the roof, six stories up. "I don't think he fell from that high up. He had bruised ribs, not broken ribs. He lived in this building?"

"Room three foxtrot. That window, there." The captain pointed to a window on the third story. "His roommate says he didn't see him all night. They were supposed to be doing homework, he never showed up."

"Do you mind if I head on up?"

"It's a closed crime scene. You'll need an escort." Waving over the guard that had stopped him earlier, the captain nodded. "If you find anything, let us know. We may be doing this for different reasons, but in this scenario, we're both to benefit from working together. We both want to catch this guy. Remember, that license of yours is only valid as long as you stay within the law."

With a nod, Pry and his escort went upstairs. As expected, there was another guard at the building entrance, and one more just outside the room, but with a guard escorting him, he was allowed right through.

"Do you think he would die being thrown from this window?" asked the escort. "I wouldn't think that was enough to kill somepony."

"No, I think he was dead before he was thrown out," replied Pry. "Didn't you see all the blood on the grass?"

"I mean... it wasn't that much blood, but yeah, I saw it."

"My point exactly. Freshly opened wounds, plus blunt force trauma? He should have left a lake out there, but he didn't. Now, the coroner says he had a nasty gash on his wrist. That almost makes me think it was suicide, but then he cut out his own tongue and threw himself out the window? It just doesn't add up to me. No, I just want to have a look around, and see what I can find."

He stepped into the bedroom and began rifling through the drawers, looking for anything that might give him some insight into recent events in the young stallion's life. He found a letter from his mother that would hold up in court as a promissory note, he found a note from his marefriend with some very raunchy pictures, and a letter of recommendation from two separate professors: trigonometry and calculus. 

"Find anything?"

"Not exactly what I was looking for," answered Pry. "This kid had a bright, promising future. Good relationships with his kin, good relationship with his marefriend, good relationships with his professors... I cannot conceive of any reason for the boy to either take his own life, or fathom somepony else wanting to take it. It's baffling to me."

"We interviewed the friends, family, colleagues... Boy didn't have any enemies. He had money problems, sure, but his parents were the ones who kept bailing him out. He didn't borrow money from anypony else, and they were not against lending him more."

"So why the homicide? And if it was a suicide, why cover it up?"

"That's the question we're trying to answer."

"Well, I doubt we'll find anyth--" he tripped over a bag sitting among the dirty clothes strewn about the room. As he picked himself up, he noticed that he was covered in a white powder. "I'm alright," he assured the guard. "What is all this?"

The guard pushed open the bag a bit further and peered inside. "Looks like our good boy was working with illegal substances."

"Or his roommate was. We should bring him in, have him tested. Or, you should, rather. I don't have the authority." he gestured to his powder-covered legs. "Would it be tampering if I washed this stuff down the sink?"

"With the amount we just found in the bag? Not at all."

With a nod, Pry let himself into the bathroom and turned on the tap. He pulled his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and wet it, wiping up all the dust and washing it down the drain. Soon enough, he was completely wiped down.

As he turned off the sink, he suddenly smelled something. "Officer?"

The guard came to the door. "Did you need help?"

"Do you smell that?"

"It's a boys' dormitory, detective. It's absolutely full of strange and horrible smells."

"Yeah, but there's one that shouldn't be here, and yet it is."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying, I think he died here. Do you have a blacklight?"

"What good would that do?"

"If we shine a blacklight on this tub, it should tell us if there was any amount of blood recently." He pulled back the curtain, and the smell intensified. Even more damning, the stains were still there. And at the bottom sat the most damning piece of all. "Was the victim missing a tongue, officer?"
> The Investigator, Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pry rang the doorbell and stepped back. He and his guard escort had come to the manor of Rotten Tomato to see if there was any chance they could pick up the trail. It was cold at this point, but perhaps they could find something, anything, to lead them in the right direction.

"What is it?"

Pry leaned down to the intercom. "I'm a private investigator, and I've been hired to find the killer of Ms. Gleaming Star. I'd like to ask a few questions."

There was a pause on the other end. "The boss says you need a warrant, or you need to come back with the guard. You're not allowed in."

"I am with a guard," argued Pry.

"Badge number two two eight seven," confirmed the guard. "I've been assigned to help with his investigation in the interest of public safety."

There was another pause. "I'm sending up my aide, he will escort you around the grounds and house. If you step out of line, he will not hesitate to throw you out."

A moment later, a bulky-looking security guard walked up and opened the gate. "I'm being told to make this quick," he said, ushering them inside. "Let me make this perfectly clear; nopony within these walls wants to dig up this horrible tragedy. You will keep your questions short and to the point, and any questions they don't want to answer, they don't have to."

"As you wish," conceded Pry. "Lead us to our nearest staff member. You want this quick, so let's spend as little commute time as possible."

They made their way around the inside of the manor, talking to all of the staff members in turn. The maids, the kitchen staff, and the butlers all seemed to be in agreement. She was alive when they left for the night, and she was dead when they came back. The head butler had the additional information that he had packed her bags just before he left, and he was the last one to see her alive. With everypony in the house now fully questioned, it was time to talk to the gardener, who was conveniently out by the shed where the body was discovered.

On approaching, the three of them heard shouting coming from within the shed. The security guard rushed forward and threw open the doors to see Rotten and the gardener about to come to blows. The presence of an audience, especially one so armed as a city guard and a security guard, caused them to step away from each other. 

"Officer," growled Rotten, pointing at his gardener. "I present to you the pony responsible for killing my wife, rest her soul. I demand you take him into custody at once!"

With a nod, the guard stepped forward and took the gardener by the shoulder, leading him out of the shed. As he walked by Pry, he tripped on a clay pot. As Pry helped him back up, the gardener whispered in his ear, "Top drawer, under the wrenches."

With no visible change in perspective, Pry watched as the guard and security guard escorted the gardener outside. When they were clear, he turned to Rotten. "I would guess that your argument was concerning the fact that you found out about his killing your beloved?"

"That's right. When I found out, I came out to confront him about it. I'm lucky you were here, or he might have killed me, too."

"How did you find out, and why didn't you call the guard?"

"One of my staff told me he was bragging about it, just a few minutes ago."

"And what is the name of this staff member? We'd like to ask them for more details."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," chuckled Rotten nervously. "They're trustworthy, I know for certain."

Pry looked around. "This was the scene of the murder, correct?"

"It is. We were leaving for the night to have the exterminator deal with the bug problem. She must have come out here to check on her peonies, and that's when he killed her. I left earlier."

"Do you mind if I look around?"

"For what? I just told you how it happened."

"I want to know if he stashed the murder weapon nearby."

"He choked her with her scarf and then blew up her stomach with this air compressor." Rotten indicated a portable air compressor in the corner.

"Are you certain?" Pry walked over to the toolbox and opened one of the drawers. "Granted, that would line up, but then why didn't he try to move the body?"

"He had to hurry out. The exterminator was coming."

"Right. And did the exterminator come that night?"

"No, he was out of town. I had to reschedule. He came by two days ago. My late wife's peonies are just fine, thanks to him."

Pry pulled open the top drawer and shifted the wrenches aside. There was a photograph underneath it depicting Rotten dragging his wife's unexploded body out to the shed, and three more depicting him exploding the body with the compressor. He turned them around. "I think I've seen all I need to."

"You can't take those!" shouted Rotten, moving between Pry and the door. "That's my private property!"

"Pretty sure it was your gardener's, and he just decided to hand it in to the city guard." Pry stuffed them into one of his many pockets. 

Rotten picked up a pipe from the irrigation system. "You're going to hand those over, and you're going to forget you ever saw them," he growled. "Put them down, or you don't leave here alive."

"Sir, please, be reasonable," pleaded Pry, taking a step back. "I can't cover up a crime, I'm a detective. We do the exact opposite of that."

Without another word, Rotten began swinging the pipe wildly. Pry was able to duck out of the first two swings, but the third broke his left front leg. As he saw the blunt instrument ready to swing again, he closed his eyes, unable to back up any further, and unable to pick up a weapon of any kind to defend himself.

"Rotten Tomato, you're under arrest for the assault and battery of Prying Eyes."

Pry opened his eyes and saw the guard that was escorting him holding back Rotten's wrist, applying hoof cuffs. "And also for the murder of Gleaming Star," he added, standing up. "I have the evidence with me."
> The Investigator, Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Come in."

The door opened, and Gari stepped in. "You called for me?"

"I did," nodded Pry. "Please, have a seat."

"What happened to your leg?"

"Complications with the second case, don't worry about it. Now, the reason I called you in was because all of the cases are now solved."

"All of them?" asked Gari. "It's only been a week. How'd you manage that so quickly?"

"Luck, mostly," admitted Pry with a chuckle. "First, I went to the college student's place. I figured that was a good place to start, since it was fresh. It was so fresh that we found out that the body was moved from its original location. The real scene of the crime was his dorm room. We brought in the roommate, and after testing him for drugs, he told us everything. The real cause of death was that he cut his wrist open by accident, and they didn't want the guards to know that they were doing drugs in their dormitory. It was just to cover up their real crime."

"And they're in jail now?"

"Yep, locked up for hindering a police investigation and use of controlled substances. I have more information in this case file." He pulled out a file folder and placed it on the corner of the desk. "I'll let you look through that later. Now, the second place I went, the location of the second murder, the staff were being very cooperative, but most of them didn't know anything. Except the gardener, that is. When he was accused of murder, he told us everything he knew, including the locations of some photographs that showed the real killer. When we found those, the real killer tried to silence me."

"Tried to silence you, how?"

Pry lifted his injured leg. "He grabbed a steel pipe. It hurt a lot, but luckily, I wasn't alone. A guard was escorting me."

"You're going to be okay, right?"

"Oh, yeah... I'll be fine."

"So, we only have the one left, right?"

"Yeah. Believe it or not, when I was preparing to look into this after my hospital visit, they sort of just fell into my lap. The only evidence of who might have killed the bartender was that his cart had been stolen. Well, the guards found the cart, and the pony who stole it was a known criminal, who had just been released on violent conduct charges. Go figure."

"So, that's all three of them behind bars?"

"All three."

"Awesome. Hopefully, that means no more fakers. Here's what we owe you." Gari scooted across the table a promissory note. "Twelve thousand bits, and a fine bottle of scotch are waiting for you to pick them up at the local bank. I'd have delivered them myself, but they're really heavy, and I don't want to be carrying that much around with me at one time."

"I understand," smiled Pry, accepting it in exchange for all three file folders. "These are yours. I'm glad that the city is now a safer place for your son. Give him my best, would you?"

"Of course," smiled Gari, collecting the folders. "I'll let him know. In the meantime, I wish a swift recovery for your leg."

"Thank you. Have a nice weekend."

"You too."



 

Three days later, as Pry was sitting down to breakfast, he noticed the newspaper of the stallion sitting next to him at the diner bar. "Excuse me, sir, would you mind terribly if I took that front section?"

"Not at all," he smiled. "I was done with it, anyway. I'm focusing my attention on the crossword."

The front page had a picture of Rotten Tomatoes, which piqued his curiosity. "Nine Dead in Prison Homicide," read the headline. The article went on about the details of how the bodies were found. Most notably, they all had the same bloody writing on the wall over their heads. "You Dare." Making matters even worse, this wasn't falsified, as all of their victims had been. The coroner had confirmed that everything in this case matched up perfectly with the original murders.

The contents of the victim's stomachs were examined, and aside from the large amounts of stomach acid and dissolved flesh, there was one thing mixed amongst the prison food that wasn't supposed to be there: Trace amounts of an offshoot of amanitaceae. That wasn't supposed to be in there; it was a highly regulated menu.

That meant that whoever was committing these murders would need to know safe methods of handling that particular family, be up to date with the events surrounding the murders, and have access to all of the facilities used. A public forest was easy, anypony could go in there, but then who would be able to follow a couple into a house without alerting them? Furthermore, they'd have to be able to see through the critic's disguise and be inside of a restaurant he was critiquing. Then they would have to break into the radio hostess' apartment, and then be able to access the prisons and the guards' reports. 

After eating his eggs and hay bacon on toast, he went back home to think on it. He opened up a new bottle of scotch and a whiteboard, and spent the rest of the day trying to piece everything together. He started writing down everything he now knew about the killer. He might not be paid for this particular job, but this was important. He had to find them.

About halfway through the day, he wrote a letter to the guard who had escorted him last week, asking him to stop by tomorrow to help look over the details and correct him if he'd made any mistakes. He wanted to be absolutely certain that the information he had was correct. 

Sure enough, the next morning, the guard stopped by and knocked on the door. After receiving no answer, he knocked a few more times. After half an hour of waiting, he stepped through the door, calling out to ask if Pry was there. He didn't have to ask twice. Pry was sitting at his desk, a bottle of scotch in his right hoof, and his stomach exploded open. The killer had taken another life.
> The Family, Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And then he picked up a great big rock and threw it at the bad guy, knocking him over and shattering the rock into millions of tiny pieces, which rained down like fthmp fthum pthew, and then pwsh thw it finished off the evil army, and the day was saved, and then--"

"Sounds like a very exciting book," chuckled Sunday Brunch, smiling at her son. "You'll have to ask Smooth if you can borrow it again, and I'll have you read it to me. You can ask him when you go on your camping trip."

The little colt's mood suddenly soured. "Aw, mom, do I have to go on that trip?"

"Yes, Pine Spike, you do."

"But it's boring..."

Brunch set down her knife and walked over to the dining table. "Now, now. You know how hard your father works. He's out there every day providing for us, and most of the time, he only has a few hours to spend with us. This weekend, he's finally free to spend a few days not working. He has free time, and he wants to spend it with you."

"Can't we just sit on the couch together and play video games?" he whined. "I hate camping."

"Do you love your dad?"

"...Yeah..."

"Is your love for him bigger than your hatred for camping?"

"...Yeah..."

"Well, there you go. Don't think of this as a stuffy old camping trip, but rather a fun weekend with your father. I'm sure he'd be very happy with you if you afforded him this trip, and he may even be willing to play video games with you another time. How's that sound?"

"Fine..."

Brunch smiled. "Good. Now stop grousing, and prepare for lunch." She made her way back over to the counter and picked up her knife. With deft, smooth motions, she chopped up some carrots, celery, zucchini and onion, tossing them into her wok. She also shredded three quarters of a head of white cabbage and a quarter head of red cabbage, setting them off to the side and tossing them together. She also added some sliced radishes to that. 

As she stirred the vegetables with the longer cook time, she popped open the fridge. There was a box in there that always had edible mushrooms in it. Shitake, portobello, and wine caps were commonly found in there, but today it was empty. This was an uncommon occurrence, as her husband was always keeping them supplied with the best he could find, but they did eat a lot of mushrooms. 

She opted to just make her stir fry without mushrooms today. It wasn't the end of the world. She'd done it several times in the past, and it had worked out just fine. It wasn't as good, but it was okay.

"Mail's here!" came a call from the other room. "I need the key to the mailbox!"

"Just a sec, dear." Turning off the fire under the wok, Brunch walked out to the living room. Yesterday, her husband had brought in the mail, so he had the keys. She fished around in his coat pockets, looking for them. As she was searching, however, she found a plastic bag. Pulling it out, she saw that it was mostly full of wine caps. He'd picked them, but apparently, he'd forgotten to move them to the fridge. They'd be just fine, the wine cap was fairly durable. Besides, these were only a day old or so. They even smelled fine.

She found the keys in the opposite pocket, handing them off to her son. As he rushed outside to grab the mail, she went back into the kitchen, quickly washing and slicing the mushrooms as she tossed the cabbage and radishes into the wok. As she stirred the whole thing around, she heard the front door open and close. 

"There's a notice from the Department of Power and Water, a letter from uncle Mike, and a large envelope marked 'Top Secret' from MQ."

"MQ?" Brunch was about to be very angry. MQ was a lewd magazine marketed to single stallions, and her son was too young to be seeing that. She grabbed the envelope out of his hooves and took a closer look. Her temper turned to a simmer as she realized what had happened. It was supposed to be delivered next door. 

"Is something wrong?" asked Pine, concerned.

"Yes, something is wrong," she smiled. "This was put in the wrong mailbox. Just leave it on the table, I'll deliver it after lunch."

Into the wok went the mushrooms, along with the salt, pepper, and herbs. Those wouldn't be more than five minutes out. While those were cooking, she washed her knife and chopping board in the sink, and pulled out some plates and forks. By the time the table was set, the stir-fry was done, and she served it up. A large helping for her, and a small one for her son.

"We have mushrooms?" asked Pine. "I thought we were out?"

"I thought we were, too, but your dad just forgot to put them in the fridge."

"No, I mean I thought I ate them all last night."

"Pine! Why would you eat all of the mushrooms?"

He lowered his head and shrugged. "I was hungry, and I didn't want to wake you up."

Brush let out a sigh. "Well, I suppose it's better that you ate something healthy. I'm glad you didn't just fill up on junk food, but next time, maybe have a stalk of celery, or a few carrots? It's important to have a balanced diet."

"Okay..." He was still pouting a bit, so she reached across the table and began tickling him. Immediately, the frown disappeared as he began squirming. She didn't cease her assault until his knee hit the bottom of the table. It had put him in a better mood, and the two ate their lunch quickly, happily munching and crunching their crispy vegetables. 

Once they were done and the dishes cleaned, the remainder was put away in containers in the fridge. Brunch made her way next door to chew out the neighbor for objectifying mares, and when she returned with no magazine, Pine Spike had already set up his game console, so they faced off against each other in Tekhidzume VS Equine Kombat for several hours.
> The Family, Part Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm home!"

"We're in the kitchen!" called Brunch. As her husband walked in, his smile quickly faded. "I think I messed something up at lunch."

He sat down next to her. "I guess you were right about that celery. I thought it would last another few days. I take full responsibility for that." He gently nuzzled her neck. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah, it's just some indigestion. We should be better tomorrow. If not, we're going to go see a doctor."

They both looked to their son, fully expecting him to voice an objection to going to the doctor, but no such complaint came. He just put his head down on the table and rubbed his stomach. "It hurts..."

"It sounds like you could use some good news," he smiled, reaching into his saddlebags. "I brought home something special, and as soon as we're all feeling better, we can celebrate." He presented to them a bag filled with morels. "The tastiest I could find."

"I don't think we're in the mood for eating right now," groaned Brunch. 

"Not right now, for when you recover."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "That's very thoughtful, and when we're feeling better, I'm sure we'll appreciate it. But for now, do you think you could just do a simple soup? Or maybe order in?"

"I think I can manage that," he nodded, hopping up and walking over to the fridge to put away the morels in the mushroom box. He began peeling potatoes immediately, having decided on a nice chowder. After cubing and washing them, he brought them up to a boil with some onion, down to a simmer, and then set the timer before sitting back down. "So, what else did you do today?"

"We played some video games," groaned Pine. "I won."

This was quite a surprise. He was usually far more talkative, and especially cheerful when he won a match. "You must really be sick. I've never heard you so quiet before."

"I don't feel good," he moaned. 

With a nod, the large stallion pulled his son up next to him, rubbing his shoulder gently. "It'll be alright, little man. You'll have some soup, you'll have a good night's sleep, and you'll feel loads better in the morning. Trust me, your dad's really smart."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

With a tousling of his mane, he stood up and moved over to the stove, giving the soup a good stirring. He sat down again and picked up Pine, setting the colt down on his lap. "So, what happened when you realized that your lunch was bad?"

Brunch groaned and put her head in her hooves. "I forgot to throw it out. I put it away before we started showing symptoms, and when the stomachache hit, we were too distracted to do anything." 

As she was preparing to stand up, he waved his hoof. "Don't worry about that right now. I'll take care of it. I'll take care of both of you tonight. After dinner, what say we watch a movie? Just a relaxing night at home."

"It sounds like the best we can hope for, given the circumstances," answered Brunch. 

When the timer went off, it was time to add milk, corn and flour to the soup. There wasn't much to a simple chowder, and a few spices mixed in just before serving would make it taste just a little better, and maybe aid in their digestion a bit.

About halfway through the meal, Pine was swaying back and forth, barely able to keep his eyes open. "You feelin' tired, Pine?"

With a wide yawn, the little colt nodded. "Maybe it's the sickness. I think I'm just going to go to bed."

With a nod and a quick bathroom break, Pine and his father walked to the boy's bedroom, and after tucking him in, he was out like a light, snoring softly. With a gentle kiss on his forehead, his father walked out of the room.

"Sound asleep," he told Brunch. "Passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Not even so much as a 'good night.'"

"Well, what did you expect?" she yawned. "He's had a bad day. Cut him a little bit of slack, won't you?"

"I'm only joking," he smiled, placing his hoof on her shoulder and leaning in for a quick peck. "I hope you both recover soon. If you're still sick tomorrow, I'll stay home. The only time I'll go out is to tell one of the neighbors to bring a doctor."

"Once the doctor comes, you can go to work. I don't want you to miss out on your camping trip."

"Nor do I, but it wouldn't be any fun if I'm out there all alone. I'd be worried about Pine the whole time. I would rather spend the whole day sitting by his bedside while he was sick than go out into the woods on my own, leaving him to suffer while I have a peaceful vacation. And I certainly can't just leave you to care for him while you're also sick. No, if this is going to be a big illness, I want to be around to keep you two safe. You're the most important ponies in the world to me. I'm staying right here."

With a playful shove, a smile crept across Brunch's face. He was glad to see her happy, despite her current condition. "You big softie."

"Now, how about that movie, hm?"

She put down her spoon into her empty bowl. "Actually, I'm pretty tired, too. I'm sorry, but I think I should head to bed."

A bit dejected, he shrugged, taking all of the bowls and washing them as she prepared for bed. As he put away the remaining chowder, he made it a point to dispose of the leftover lunch. As he opened the container, his eyes went wide. Something in the stir-fry was causing his wife and child to be sick, but it wasn't the celery. No, something far more sinister was awaiting him. As the truth washed over him, he dumped out most of the lunch. Not all of it, but enough to be certain of what he was about to do. 

He entered the bedroom just as his wife was about to slip under the covers. "Were those mushrooms from lunch in the fridge?"

"No, I found them in your pocket. I figured you'd just forgotten to put them away. I figured they were fine. Winecaps are made of sturdy stuff. Why, do you think they might have gone sour?"

With a hard swallow, he nodded, climbing into bed with her. He was sure of what had happened, and in the back of his mind, he was formulating the plan as to how to proceed. The last thing he wanted was to cause her to panic. Right now, he just wanted her to be calm and happy. He wrapped his hooves around her waist and gently rubbed her abdomen until she fell asleep.
> The Family, Part Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

He waited, wide-eyed and awake, until he was sure she'd fallen asleep. The only sound in the house was the gentle ticking of the clock. She'd been out cold for about fifteen minutes, and there was little chance he would disturb her slumber. He'd lived in fear of this moment for years, and he'd been so careful. Now, there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anypony could do. If he'd come home for lunch, he could have done something then, but by the time he'd arrived that evening, it was already too late. 

He stood up and walked out of the room, making his way to the kitchen. The little bit of leftovers he'd not thrown out was mostly mushrooms, and he picked those out and ate just them, dumping the remaining vegetables in the trash. That started the countdown. He had thirty minutes to change his mind and call for help. He took a deep breath and reached into the fridge, pulling out the bag of morels he'd just put in. These were expensive mushrooms, and very tasty. It seemed that his family wouldn't be recovering before they expired, so he walked out of the house with them.

It was still fairly early in the evening. The sun hadn't even touched down on the edge of the horizon, much less set, so it wasn't quite a faux pas for him to knock on his neighbor's door. After a few seconds, the door opened with a smile. "Hey, man. What's goin' on?"

"I have something for you," came the stallion's response. He held up the bag. "You know how you're always asking for a discount at my market stand? Well, these are for you. No charge."

The neighbor picked them up and examined them. "What's the catch?" he asked. "Or is this because your wife came over here earlier and yelled at me?"

"No catch," he shook his head, "and no apology. I just wanted to do something nice. Truth be told, I didn't even know she had a fight with you."

"Yeah, some of my mail landed in her mailbox by accident. I guess she was pretty upset by that." To explain why, he flashed the cover of the magazine. "I think most of the reason she was angry was because she thought it was yours."

He let out a chuckle. "No, not one of mine. Anyway, enjoy those, and the rest of your night."

As the door closed and the stallion walked back into his house, he still had time to pump his stomach, but rather than doing that, he returned to his son's room, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gently stroking the colt's mane. He'd had a lot of plans for the boy, none of which were viable now. He had set aside a bank account for him to go to the college of his choice, or if he skipped college to go directly into business, he'd have a cushion to fall back on. There was a separate section reserved for his wedding, if ever he decided to marry. None of that would ever be happening.

Knowing he would never see the events unfold before him, he closed his eyes and imagined them in the most beautiful way he could. His son, all grown up, wearing his robes and hat, accepting his diploma with a big smile, and riding off in a cart with his friends to celebrate. When he came back, he had a bride, and they were ready to be married. It was a beautiful ceremony, with an absolutely spectacular cake, and hundreds of guests. His son was beloved by everyone.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as the dream faded back into reality. His son would never be graduating or marrying. Even if, by some miracle, his son would be walking out of this, his dear old dad would not be. Wiping his face, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It had been forty-five minutes. There was no going back now. He leaned down, kissed his son's forehead, and exited the room just as his stomach began to rumble.

He moved to the kitchen, pulled out a quill and inkwell, and began writing a letter. This would be going directly to the captain of the guard. It would tell him exactly what had happened, as well as clearing out any other legal matters. This was a confession, and it read as such. When he was done, he folded it up and slipped it into the envelope just as his own stomach began to burn. He stamped it, carried it out to the post box, and sent it off with the understanding that it would take two business days to take effect.

With that taken care of, he moved softly and silently through the house, turning off every light and closing every curtain. When the whole house was dark, he made his way into the master bedroom, wrapped his front legs around his wife's middle, and closed his eyes for the last time.





Two days later, the guards entered the house, sweeping each room as they went. They were looking for booby traps, which slowed their progress, but no such traps were found. They only found the bodies. First was Pine's body, bloated and bloody, with the exploded stomach indicative of how he'd died. Next, they found the master bedroom, where Sunday Brunch and her husband lay wrapped in each other's legs, their lips still pressed against each other.

The guard captain called in two of the neighbors to identify the bodies, and had them carted off to be entombed. Per the final instructions left by the letter, all of them were cremated. The mother and son were to be placed in her father's family's mausoleum, but the father's ashes were to be scattered around the building. This wasn't necessary for the guards to do, but the captain ordered them to follow through regardless. 

In the months that followed, all talk of the "Silent Graves Killer" came to a halt. It was brought up in hushed whispers from time to time, but never again was there a killing in that manner, nor in a manner that echoed the effects, except in very rare cases. There was another change, however. A large variety of edible mushrooms began growing around the mausoleum, and even up the walls. This was the stallion's final gift to his family.
> The Family, Part Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

To whom it may concern:

I have been caught in my own web. While I could untangle myself by destroying all I have built over many years of hard work, there is no point in doing so. I cannot force myself to go on, not after this. I always thought it odd that in movies and books, parents took their own lives after losing a child. Now, as my own son lays dying next to me, I finally understand why they didn't just start over. 

I suppose I should begin with an explanation. As I write this, my wife and son are dying. I've kept them in the dark, and they are calmly drifting away as a result. Call me a liar posthumously, I deserve much worse, but I didn't want their last moments to be plagued by fear and panic. Given the choice, I'd like their last moments to be without worry, and for their final opinion of me to be as somepony who had their best interests in mind, despite the fact that it was my mistake that cost them their lives. This last part I really do need to stress: this was a mistake; an accident; an unintended consequence. If intent matters at all, I want to make it very clear that I never wanted to see them die.

This was not the first accident I've caused. Long, long ago, I caused the deaths of two colts and a stallion in the woods just south of the city. I didn't intend to do so. A wild mushroom fell into their food, and somehow, nopony managed to catch it. They ate it without anypony realizing how dangerous it was, and by the time I found out what had happened, it was far too late to do anything about it.

Years passed. Slowly, the event faded from my mind, and I moved on with my life. I started dating this beautiful mare. I wanted to find an outlet that didn't harm anypony. Unfortunately, after she took all my money, she told me I wasn't good enough for her, and she was dumping me, effective immediately. I was understandably angry, especially when I saw her kissing another stallion less than an hour later. I found out where they were going to dinner, and snuck into the kitchen. As much as I wanted to, I didn't kill her. What went through my head is that I wanted her to suffer. I poisoned her new stallion and ensured that she'd wake up next to a dead body. I wanted her to hurt as bad as she hurt me. I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of an easy death in her sleep.

That left a bad taste in my mouth. I couldn't believe how horrible I felt after that one. I'd killed an innocent stallion, one who owed me nothing, and whom I'd never met or had a conversation with. He didn't deserve to die, and that was, until today, my greatest regret. If I could do it all over again, I probably wouldn't have killed anypony, but if I did, he'd have been the target I'd pull away from. Perhaps that would have stayed my hand in the future.

The next pony I killed was the restaurant critic. He was a pompous arse who decided that if he didn't like a restaurant, it would go out of business. More than a dozen times, he'd cost me my job. The fourteenth time he walked into a place where I worked, I knew I had to protect my income. I was sleeping on a park bench; I couldn't lose another job because the business collapsed at his hooves. I felt that he had a personal vendetta against me. 

I heard him say how much he loved pierogi. I convinced the chef to add a special mushroom into that particular order on his request. It wasn't difficult to do. I didn't even feel that bad this time. He'd nearly destroyed me several times over, and he almost did so again. I'd finally lashed out at him, and he died that night. "Death makes fools of us all," I'd told him. Now I am the one who has been made a fool.

It seemed that I'd struck too high up that time, as his death drew in quite a lot of attention from the media. He was in the papers, on the radio, and the guards were swarming around town. I knew I'd be caught soon, so I picked the pony who'd come up with the most outlandish story, and tried to make it look like that was what I was doing, even going so far as to say that her theory was too close to the truth, despite it being the furthest from the truth. You can't inject mushrooms with a syringe. I waited for her and her fiancé to fall asleep, but he left, instead. Then I broke in, tranquilized her with some stuff I'd stolen from the zoo, then made her mouth chew up the mushrooms. She reflexively swallowed them, and I drew a small amount of her blood to write the message. It had the desired effect: The guards began looking the wrong way. When I heard that the fiancé was under suspicion, I stepped forward to say that I saw him leave before her time of death. I had to kill an innocent mare; I didn't want to be responsible for the stallion, too.

I met the mare who would be my wife the next day. We hit it off immediately, and a year later, we had our son, and then we were married. She saved me from homelessness by giving me a stable job growing and selling produce as an employee of her father. I owe my life to her. I was finally happy, and there was little chance of me ever having to kill anypony else.

Then, on my son's third birthday, that poor filly was killed by the drug dealers. This started a rash of other killings made to look like they were mine. I couldn't let them go on. I was finally at peace with my violent past. I had a stable job and a family. I couldn't let them take that from me. I called on a private investigator to find out who the perpetrators were, and to gather them all in one place, if he could. I snuck in some contraband and had an accomplice distribute the poisonous mushrooms to the correct inmates. I also had him write the messages for me. I know he won't talk, and to protect him, I'll keep his name out of this confession. He performed admirably, and I gave him exactly what he wanted in exchange. For all intents and purposes, I am the one who killed them. I also distilled the poison and added it into the scotch I gave to the investigator who had tracked them all down. I couldn't afford to have him blabbing.

I swore off of killing for a long time after that. A year passed with nothing happening. Then, this afternoon, my wife found the mushrooms I had collected for disposal, and mistook them for a similar-looking mushroom, the wine cap. She put the silent death mushroom into her stir-fry and fed it to our son. This could have been avoided if I'd just not forgotten to throw them away on the way home. 

Before I started writing this confession, I ate some of them myself. By the time you read this, all three of us will be dead, and in all likelihood, cold and stiff. If, by some insane stroke of luck, my wife or son survive, take good care of them. If I'm still alive, I deserve whatever fate befalls me. I took the coward's way out. My family is innocent. Spare them, if you can. 

I would have our bodies cremated. My wife and son are to be placed in her family's mausoleum. I deserve no such honour, but I would like to be scattered surrounding them, acting as their protector to the best of my capabilities in death.

Fly Agaricus, AKA Red Cap