Goldengrape and Greta go on the run when framed for a murder they didn't commit.
As far as Goldengrape and Greta were concerned, all they did last night was meet in a diner, chat for a bit, then walk to the nearby carriage bus stop.
But somebody out there really wants everyone to believe that they also murdered someone.
It would only be much later when Goldengrape realized that, if he hadn’t agreed to cover for a coworker for a little bit, he probably never would’ve met her.
But then again, it was impossible to miss the group as they entered, for being all griffons they contrasted sharply with the little diner’s predominately pony clientele. Most of the group were behaving quite jovially, chatting animatedly between themselves as they piled into the closest empty booth and squeezing together so to all fit. However one griffoness instead separated herself from the others, moved to the other end of the diner, and grumpily plopped herself down at the sit-down counter near where Goldengrape normally spent his shift working the smoothie machine.
“Can I get some service here?” she requested rather irately to no one in particular. She spotted Goldengrape. “How about you, Grapes?” she pressed, no doubt referring to his grape-themed cutie mark.
So since he was the closest, Goldengrape hurried over to take her order, professionally straightening the powder blue mane out of his face in the process. “Welcome to Canterlot Diner, how can I—” he abruptly cut himself short upon noticing that despite the griffon’s angry body language, her eyes were puffy and wet from trying to repress tears. “Goodness, are you alright?” he asked without thinking, his focus shifting instead to her emotional state.
“I’m just having a bad night,” the griffon grumbled, reflexively curling in upon herself at the stallion’s attention. “It’s really not any of your concern.”
“Well…maybe,” Goldengrape conceded, “But is there still anything I can do to make your night a little better?”
Despite not really looking like she was in the mood to humor him, the griffoness nonetheless considered it for a moment. “Just…get me something to drown my sorrows in, Grapes.”
“We don’t serve alcohol here, I’m afraid.”
“Next best thing then.”
Goldengrape thumped the counter with his hoof decisively. “I know just the thing.” he turned back to the smoothie machine and quickly whipped together his personal specialty—a white grape smoothie with a dollop of whipped cream on top. “I find this always helps soothe me,” he said as he put the finished drink before her.
The griffon eyed both it and him skeptically for a moment before snatching it up and starting to slurp it down. While she did, Goldengrape took the moment to give her a precautionary look over. Other than her emotional state, the mostly chestnut brown griffon didn’t seem to be injured. In fact, she was fairly cleanly groomed from the tip of her brown tail tuff to the crest of white feathers with pale green tips which swept stylishly towards the back of her head. Her clothes consisting of an unzipped blue hoodie—all the griffons in her group were wearing matching hoodies—and a grey scarf worn underneath were even pristine. Therefore, Goldengrape concluded she hadn’t been in any physical fights. Nevertheless, the griffon oozed the unpleasantness of a creature who’d been hurt, if not physically than more likely verbally.
“You…sure you’re okay?” Goldengrape asked again uncertainly. The griffoness was probably right and it wasn’t any of his concern, but at the same time, the paranoid side of his mind thought that…if someone was being unjustly abusive towards her…
“I’m fine,” the griffon nonetheless stressed again, but she didn’t sound as resolute about it now. Thumping down her emptied cup, she let her head rest on the counter with a heavy sigh, the fight going out of her. “Like I said, things just…aren’t going my way tonight, that’s all.”
“Well…your friends seem to be doing okay,” Goldengrape noted, nodding his head towards the rest of the griffons excitedly getting their orders taken from one of his coworkers.
The griffon allowed herself a not quite invisible smile at that. “They should, though. It’s a time to celebrate for them.”
“But not you?”
“It’s just…” the griffon sighed and sat up again, rubbing the teary wetness away from her eyes. “Okay, so I’m an accountant, right? And I just got back from meeting with Greg…”
“Greg?”
“This griffon investor I coordinate with, and since his office is here in Canterlot and I was in town, it seemed like a good time to sit down and talk numbers with him.”
“But the meeting didn’t go well?”
“No, not for me, since it was spent mostly with him tearing me a new one.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know! Financially speaking, we actually did pretty well this month! We broke even and turned a decent profit, but I guess that’s not good enough for him because he kept going on and on about us not making way more and it…got heated enough that things were said that wouldn’t be good for your sensitive pony ears.” she gave one of Goldengrape’s yellow ears a teasing flick.
He gave the ear a scratch with his hoof. “I’m sorry to hear that though.”
The griffon gave a frustrated shrug. “Either way, there’s not a whole lot you can do to change it, although I appreciate the concern, Grapes.”
“Goldengrape, actually,” he offered gently, motioning to his uniform’s nametag. “And, well…you’ll find I like making our customers happy anyway, Miss…?”
The griffoness raised an eyebrow at his prompting, but since she knew his name, she relented. “Greta,” she replied, “the Svelte Greta though, not the Big Greta.”
Now Goldengrape was the one raising an eyebrow. “…I’m sorry?”
“It’s an in-joke—there’re two Gretas here, me and another one.” She twisted around to point a talon at her compatriots. “See the big griffoness sitting in the corner of the booth?”
Goldengrape looked and blinked. “You mean the big brown one that’s basically all muscles?”
“That’s the one! We’ve started calling her Big Greta so everyone knows we’re talking about her.” Greta then jokingly struck a sultry pose, “while calling me Svelte Greta, for obvious reasons.” Goldengrape snickered at her antics, and since Greta shared it, it seemed he was succeeding in cheering her up a little. She went on. “Anyway… what I really need is just something to take my mind off it and a full stomach seems like a good place to start.”
“Well then,” Goldengrape switched gears by going back to taking her order. “What’s sounding good to you?”
Greta considered it for a moment. “Mmm…I’m feeling like something spicy.”
Goldengrape gathered a mental list of dishes he knew fell into that category and started from the top. “Well, we have a pepper-seasoned hayburger…”
“Spicier.”
“We also have chili hayfries…”
“Spicier,” Greta motioned for him to stop and cut to the chase. “What’s the spiciest thing you guys offer?”
Goldengrape bit his lip. “Well, I guess that would be the Dragonfire Burrito, but…”
Greta’s eyes lit up at that. “Dragonfire Burrito? Now you’re talking! What’s all in it?”
“Well, it’s a peppercorn tortilla filled with a layer of beans and rice slathered in spicy salsa, a layer of sliced jalapenos, then a layer of special hot sauce, all wrapped around a diced core of the world’s spiciest natural pepper, the dragonfire pepper, and topped with melted pepper jack cheese.”
“Sweet!” Greta declared, clearly interested as she rubbed her forepaws together eagerly. “How many can I order at a time?”
Goldengrape’s eyes bulged. “Most creatures only order one.”
Greta seemed to take that as a challenge and gave him a sly look. “I think we’ve established I’m not your average creature by now, Grapes.”
Goldengrape made a resigned shrug then. If that’s what the customer wants… “In that case, you might as well go all in and try for the Dragonfire Challenge.” He pointed at a nearby placard on the wall behind him. “If you can successfully get down five or more Dragonfire Burritos within an hour, your meal is free and you get your name put on the champion list.” As said list was currently fairly short, he hoped that would give Greta an idea of what she was getting herself into.
But if anything, it only seemed to spur the griffon onward. “Well then,” she concluded and eager to begin, “bring on the burritos!”
The waitress Goldengrape was covering for returned shortly thereafter, leaving the stallion to go back to his usual duties manning the smoothie machine. As such, he didn’t really get to interact more with Greta for the remainder of his shift. Not that he was unaware of what she was doing during that time though, because once her friends learned she was going for the Dragonfire Challenge, they all relocated around her so to root her on. When Greta inevitably succeeded at beating the challenge upon finishing her fifth consecutive burrito, it was hard to miss it due to how much cheering there was from the whole group.
And then, even after the rest of her friends had finished their meals, paid, and left the diner, Greta stayed longer and kept going. She was finishing off her eighth burrito by the time Goldengrape went to clock out, at which point her face was quite flushed and eyes watering due to all the spiciness that’d passed through her beak. But unlike when she had first stepped into the diner, she looked satisfied and in a much better mood, pleasing Goldengrape.
“I’m amazed you actually got all of those down,” he remarked to her as he passed by on his way out.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll end up paying for it tomorrow during my inevitable date with the toilet,” Greta assured with a crude laugh while she finished off with another smoothie, probably to wash away the lingering burn of the spices still in her mouth. Goldengrape noticed the smoothie was also a white grape flavor, like the one he’d served her at the start of the evening. She meanwhile took notice of how the yellow stallion seemed prepped to go. “You leaving, Grapes?”
“My shift ended for the night, yeah,” Goldengrape replied. “But I’ll still commend you for your burrito-eating skills before I go.”
Greta laughed again. “Well, thank you for humoring me in any case,” she said. Her grin was genuine. “It…really did help.”
Goldengrape returned the smile. “You’re welcome,” he said.
Greta proceeded to finish off her smoothie and began fishing around in a coin purse for bits—Goldengrape assumed it was for a tip since Greta’s meal should’ve been free after beating the Dragonfire Challenge. “So you’re calling it a day, huh?”
“Yeah, gotta get going to the carriage bus stop up the street and head for home,” Goldengrape explained, pointing vaguely in its direction.
Greta perked up at that. “How about that, so do I,” she noted as she also geared up to go. She seemed amused by this turn of events. “And everybody’s probably wondering what happened to me by now so I better get going too.” She stood up to follow him. “You aren’t weirded out if I join you, right? It’s just we’re heading in the same direction either way, so…”
“No, no, that’s okay,” Goldengrape assured, a little surprised but honestly not minding some company. The trip back to his apartment was usually somewhat lonely at this hour anyway.
So they exited the diner and stepped out into the darkening Canterlot streets. They silently walked side by side while somewhat awkwardly trying to not be awkward about it. By the time they reached the first corner, the awkwardness became critical enough that Greta cleared her throat and attempted to cut the tension.
“So…” she began, trying to make small talk, “…thanks again for…you know…helping improve my mood. I know I was kinda in a rotten one when I came in.”
“I’m just glad I could help,” Goldengrape reassured her. “If any customers can leave happier than when they came in then I know I did my job right.”
“Sweet Grover, did you ever,” Greta replied with an amused snort. She went quiet for a moment as they crossed the street. She looked up at the clock tower of a nearby building. “You know, the next carriage bus is going to be a few more minutes, so we’ve still got some time to kill,” she reasoned aloud. Making another awkward shift, she glanced uncertainly in his direction. “…you wanna get a quick drink?” When Goldengrape gave her a surprised look, blushing, she laughed. “Nah, nah, nah, I don’t mean like that.” She hip checked him teasingly. “You’re cute, but you’re not that cute. No, I’m just returning the favor you gave me.”
Goldengrape nonetheless flustered to himself for a moment, flattered she apparently thought him cute at all. “Well…that’s nice of you, but uh…I don’t really drink.” His blush deepened in embarrassment. “Turns out I’m…too much of a lightweight.”
“Ah,” Greta hummed in understanding. “Don’t sweat it, my cousin’s the same way. It doesn’t have to be alcoholic anyway. It can just be something simple, like…like that!” She pointed directly ahead of them where a simple stand was set up between two buildings and its owner loudly promoting his wares. Goldengrape couldn’t recall seeing it there before so he figured it must be new. Greta ran ahead to it and began reading the sign listing its wares before furrowing her speckled brow. “The heck is a party potion?” she asked aloud.
“It’s a potion that temporarily imbues the drinker with amusing little effects,” the stand owner, an unremarkable looking pony, answered as Goldengrape caught up. “You two interested? I’ve got a good deal on the specials going.”
“I’ve had party potions like these a couple of times before,” Goldengrape said when Greta hesitated. “They’re harmless by design. Worst case you get a potion whose effect does something silly, like making your face turn orange for a couple minutes.”
Greta took that as a vote of approval and shrugged her shoulders, fishing out a couple of bits. “Sure, we’ll take two,” she told the stand owner.
“Two specials coming right up,” the stand owner said and was soon handing them both a flask apiece.
Greta clinked hers off of Goldengrape’s. “To happier days,” she toasted.
“Hear, hear,” Goldengrape readily agreed before they both jointly gulped down their potions.
The next thing Goldengrape reliably remembered was waking up feeling very groggy and his hooves leaden. He squeezed his closed eyes tighter, debating whether or not to keep sleeping in hopes that would make the feeling go away. How long had he been up last night anyway? When attempting to recall, he realized with alarm that he couldn’t actually remember going to bed…or for that matter, returning to his apartment. That thought was then swiftly compounded with the uncertainty of what time it was now. How long had he been asleep? Did he sleep in too late? Was he going to be late for his next work shift?
Then all of those thoughts were chased away upon realizing there was something big and warm curled up against his back. His blood couldn’t decide on whether to freeze in terror or combust in mortification when the implications sank in like a rock dropped in a pond. Slowly and cautiously, he rolled over praying for everyone’s benefit that it wouldn’t be who he thought it was, but he would have no such luck—Greta lay next to him in the quite disheveled bed, still asleep and drooling slightly onto her pillow. Naturally, this only redoubled the unsavory implications in Goldengrape’s mind while also bringing further questions about just what happened last night. The fact he noticed both of them had been stripped of the garments they’d worn last night didn’t help any. Worse still, it still didn’t jog his memory, leaving him with no idea what the answers would be.
His first reaction was to do absolutely nothing to disturb Greta, fearing what her reaction to finding him in bed beside her might be, before deciding that if Greta recalled what happened then he’d rather hear it from her anyway. “Greta,” he gently hissed, trying to gently nudge her into waking, “Hey, Greta!”
On his third try, Greta snorted and began to stir. “Wha…?” she mumbled as she groggily cracked open her eyes and somewhat lifted her head. She looked blankly at the yellow stallion for a moment. “…Grapes?” she murmured in momentary confusion before realization struck her all at once and she vaulted out of the covers, scrambling to the edge of the bed and startling Goldengrape. “Whoa, whoa, WHOA—what the budgie are you doing in my bed?!”
“What am I—what are YOU doing in my bed?!” Goldengrape countered back as he likewise scrambled backwards, moving into a sitting position.
Greta then blanked out again. “Wait, whose bed is this?”
They both stopped short at that then proceeded to glance around, taking in their surroundings for the first time. They were in a generic economy class hotel room, bearing a single bed and all of the usual amenities. However the room had seen cleaner days as not only was the bed a rumpled mess, so were all of the other provided linens, left in heaps seemingly at random throughout. Their missing clothes were also piled unceremoniously in a corner, as if dumped in distracted haste. And to top it all off, several empty bottles littered the floor accompanied by the unpleasant odor of stale alcohol.
Goldengrape had never been in this room before in his life and didn’t even know where it was located within Canterlot. “Well, it’s not mine…” he began uncertainly, reluctant to admit it as it didn’t exactly help his position any.
Greta, meanwhile, had buried her face into her palms. “It’s mine,” she hissed in dismay. “This is the hotel room I’ve been staying in. Goldfinches, I’m lucky I was the griff of my group to get a room to myself or else this could’ve been way more awkward…”
Goldengrape didn’t even want to consider that theoretical. “How…how did we get here though?” he asked. “I…don’t really remember anything after leaving the diner last night…”
“I was hoping you’d tell me, because I sure as heck can’t remember either!” Greta snapped, though less in anger with the stallion and more just this mess they’d awoken to. She sighed as the fight left her as swiftly as it appeared, wearily regarding the ransacked hotel room again. “Well…I hope we at least had fun…” but then the pale green speckles of her brow scrunched together in confusion and she rubbed at her forehead. “Wait a minute, no, I couldn’t have gotten drunk last night—I don’t have any kind of hangover right now.”
Goldengrape blinked, realizing he wasn’t feeling any such symptoms either. “Yeah, good point, all I’m feeling right now is a bit groggy.” He glanced cautiously at the griffon beside him. “…you?”
Greta pondered it for a second. “Well, my stomach feels kinda upset, but I think that’s just from all those burritos.” She rubbed at her belly for a second before giving it a thump as if that’d help settle it. Of course it didn’t, instead forcing out a burp sourly smelling of digesting beans and peppers.
Goldengrape anxiously surveyed the room again, not liking how it looked and feeling like he was starting to flounder inside of the deepening mystery. “Greta,” he began cautiously, needing to know. “You don’t think we…I mean surely we didn’t…”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but fortunately Greta understood what he was getting at. She gritted her beak in a hiss and rubbed the back of her head. “Honestly, Grapes? I’m…I’m not totally sure.” She glanced around again herself. “But uh…it’s certainly looking like we might’ve…ah…”
Before she could finish though, there was a sudden pounding on the room’s door, startling them. They barely had time to react to that before the lock clicked and the door burst open, allowing a squadron of pony police officers to flood inside and surge towards the two occupants.
“DON’T MOVE!” one of them ordered as the stallion and griffoness were swiftly surrounded, “FORELEGS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”
Goldengrape and Greta immediately threw their hooves and paws into the air. “What’s going on?!” Goldengrape exclaimed in alarm.
A plain clothes detective pushed his way to the front of the group. “Goldengrape and Greta Griffon?” the unicorn asked sternly.
“Yes?” both creatures answered simultaneously.
The detective nodded to the officers who proceeded to grab and cuff the two. “You two are under arrest for the murder of Greg Griffon.”
Goldengrape and Greta shot each other a horrified look before snapping back to the detective. “WHAT?!”
Unfortunately, the police ponies weren’t really interested in elaborating despite demands for an explanation, and instead they were roughly escorted out of the hotel in hoof-cuffs. Once outside they were separated and put in different police carriages, with Greta in one and Goldengrape another. So now on his own, Goldengrape was taken back to the Canterlot police station and moved into a somber-looking interrogation room with undecorated brick walls and no carpet. He was left alone here for some minutes, probably so to let him sweat out his situation before the cops came back to question him. If so, then it was working because he was definitely sweating with fear.
First he’d woken up in bed with a griffon he barely knew, had no memory of getting there or anything in-between, and now he was being accused of a murder he also had no memory of. He didn’t even know the unfortunate victim. Greg Griffon…wasn’t that the griffon Greta said she’d met back at the diner? Goldengrape realized that would only make it worse, considering how upset Greta had been about it. In the police’s eyes, that gave her motive…though he didn’t see how the cops figured he also fit into it.
He had time enough to wonder if maybe Greta hadn’t been so upfront with him after all, having actually killed some creature either before he’d met her or sometime during that gap of time he couldn’t remember…but a feeling in the pit of his stomach was nauseated by the idea. He reminded himself that he knew little about Greta, but he still had a hard time envisioning her as a killer, even if accidentally in a fit of anger. Besides, she seemed just as shocked by their accusations as he was. In fact, no matter how he turned it over in his head, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something about all of this didn’t seem right.
Eventually though the detective that ordered their arrest returned, entering the interrogation room accompanied by another more subdued unicorn officer that Goldengrape hadn’t met before. Without greeting their earth pony detainee, the two sat down on the other side from Goldengrape, the accompanying officer setting down a stack of items on the table between them. The detective, meanwhile, set up and started a compact phonograph to record everything that was said onto a wax cylinder.
“I am Detective Swift Case,” he then began speaking matter-of-factly. “Accompanying me is my partner, Shoofly.” He motioned to Goldengrape. “Please state your name for recordkeeping purposes.”
“Uh…Goldengrape,” the stallion replied nervously.
“Goldengrape, do you understand the position you are in?” Swift Case then asked.
“…No? Not really?” Goldengrape admitted. He realized this wasn’t particularly helpful for anyone, but he really didn’t know how else to respond to that question.
“Goldengrape, you and Miss Greta were seen by multiple witnesses entering the Trotter’s Hall apartment complex at around ten o’clock last night, followed by forcibly entering the penthouse of investor Greg Griffon where a scuffle was reported to be heard by other renters. You were both then seen hastily fleeing the scene again around ten to fifteen minutes later in a manner witnesses thought suspicious. Minutes later, Greg was found in his penthouse having been brutally stabbed to death.” Noting Goldengrape’s agape face at all of this, Swift Case leaned closer. “Do you care to elaborate on any of this?”
Goldengrape worked his jaw up and down for a moment, uncertain how to even begin. “There must be some kind of mistake,” he finally stated.
Swift Case skeptically raised his eyebrows at him. “Can you provide an alibi for where you were at the time of the murder then?” he challenged.
Goldengrape hesitated, biting his lip. “…no.”
“Can you provide any other evidence that would disprove your involvement?”
Goldengrape hung his head. “…no.” He then glanced up upon latching onto a possibility. “Wait, do you have evidence proving it?”
“Rather lots, actually,” Swift Case replied and nodded to Shoofly. “Not only do we have eyewitnesses, you were also caught on film entering and leaving the building.”
Shoofly then placed down a black and white photo in front of Goldengrape. To his dismay, it showed both himself and Greta rather determinedly entering a building’s lobby exactly as Swift Case described. A moment later and Shoofly placed down a similar photo of Greta and Goldengrape leaving again at an urgent trot and indeed looking suspicious.
“We also found hair and feather samples at the scene of the crime that match you both,” Swift Case continued, Shoofly also placing the evidence bags of which before him. Goldengrape noted with dismay that the powder blue strands of hair did indeed look like it came from his mane or tail, and the accompanying feather matched Greta’s pale green markings. “We also found additional evidence in the hotel room you and Greta clearly spent the rest of the night in. I’m sure you can confirm this uniform as your own, correct?”
Shoofly set down another, larger, evidence bag within which Goldengrape immediately recognized the work uniform he was wearing when leaving the diner last night. However now it was covered with what he realized, with a sickening lurch, were dried bloodstains.
“Greta’s clothing was found in a similar state,” Swift Case added conclusively.
Goldengrape wondered briefly how Greta was handling her own interrogation before realizing something and swiftly looked himself over. “But…how could I have gotten so much blood on my work uniform but not myself?” he asked, heart soaring at the hope this would prove himself innocent.
Swift Case quickly shot it down again though. “The shower in your hotel room had very clearly been used, no doubt to wash off any evidence of your actions,” he replied with a frown. “As well as anything else you two might have also done in there while you were at it.”
Goldengrape caught what he was implying, suddenly envisioning himself and Greta sharing a shower together and blushed profusely. He started to hyperventilate as this mess seemed to be getting worse and worse. “Look, sirs…I know how it looks, but I’m…” he hesitated, grumbling inwardly over his lack of memory, “…pretty sure I didn’t help kill anyone.”
“Oh really?” Swift Case asked. “Then I ask again: where were you at the time of the murder?”
Goldengrape worked his jaw up and down again. “…I don’t remember,” he was finally forced to admit.
Swift Case scoffed. “Well, isn’t that convenient.”
“It’s really not,” Goldengrape replied in dismay, “Because maybe then I could actually answer some of your questions.” He straightened. “Look, I know it looks bad, but I wouldn’t do any of this!”
Again, Swift Case scoffed. “Tell that to Greg Griffon.”
Shoofly then set down one final photograph of the state Greg’s body had been left in at the scene of the crime. Goldengrape later assumed they showed him this trying to get him to show remorse for his supposed victim. Instead, Goldengrape took one look at the graphic photo and discovered why the interrogation room had no carpet since he then proceeded to throw up all over the floor.
Ultimately Goldengrape still wasn’t able to prove his innocence. Since he couldn’t remember much of anything from that night, he couldn’t even be certain he wasn’t somehow involved, as unlikely as it was. Still, he did try, but he got the impression the questioning was really more a formality and the police already quite decided on convicting him. So dismaying though it was, he wasn’t really surprised when finally told he would be transferred to a prison until at least the case was brought before the court for formal prosecution, which Goldengrape was given no timeline for. Knowing how bogged down the Canterlot courts were with the many petty cases of the nobility, that could be months from now.
Being sent to prison proved fairly straightforward though. He was stripped of any personal clothes or possessions (which went quickly being already unclothed when arrested) and then put into an orange prison jumpsuit. All four of his legs were also cuffed, allowing him enough free movement to walk, but anything faster than a trot was difficult and he couldn’t really reach very far with any of his hooves without dragging the other three along with. He was then escorted into the back of a prisoner carriage where he met up again with the none-too-happy Greta, similarly dressed in a prison jumpsuit, her legs cuffed, and her wings bound to prevent her from flying. Goldengrape initially tried to speak with her so to find out her side of the story and if she knew anything he didn’t, but she instead motioned for him to keep quiet.
Once they were both inside the carriage, they were shackled together with a chain about five feet long that further hindered their movement. They were then sat down side by side on the carriage’s bench seating where that chain was latched to the carriage’s wall, effectively tying them to it. Once that was done, the police left, closing the doors behind them. A few moments later the carriage jolted forward by the two ponies Goldengrape had seen harnessed to it and they were on their way. There was only one window and it was both barred and rather small, but it was still big enough to see the Canterlot streets passing by as they went.
The first couple of minutes of the ride passed in silence before Greta finally spoke. “So how has your morning been going?” she asked, her words dripping with sarcasm.
Goldengrape winced to himself. “Not that great, honestly,” he admitted. He nearly returned the question before catching himself, already knowing what the obvious answer would be. “I take it you didn’t have any luck convincing the cops of anything either?” he asked instead.
Greta snorted. “Oh, that Swift Case guy didn’t even want to hear it,” she grumbled. “It’s profiling if I ever saw it, because he just wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise, not from the lack of trying.”
“Well, they did have photos of us coming and leaving the scene,” Goldengrape reluctantly pointed out.
“Oh, I know, I saw them too. But c’mon, Grapes, I can tell you’re not buying it either.” She groaned. “But they are. And the fact they found us both together in that hotel room just seemed to confirm it in their heads. Not that it mattered anyway, because I can’t recall enough to claim anything untrue. I wasn’t even sure whether or not we did something in that hotel room, so much so somebody decided they probably ought to do a rape test—”
Goldengrape turned horrified. “I would never—!”
“I know, I know, it’s okay!” Greta quickly reassured him. “Don’t worry, it all came back negative, so it doesn’t look like we actually did anything after all. Honestly that checks out because normally I’d still be feeling it the next morning, so…”
Goldengrape breathed a sigh of relief, glad that was one weight off his shoulders. But then he realized it only raised more questions. “Wait, but then why did we both wake up in bed together?” he asked, unsure why they’d do that if it wasn’t for the obvious.
“See, that’s just it,” Greta said, scowling. “Something very much isn’t adding up about all of this and that’s bad since someone’s been killed over it.”
Goldengrape swallowed uncomfortably, remembering the grisly crime scene photos he’d been shown. “The griffon who was murdered,” he began cautiously, knowing how this would sound to Greta, “that was the same one you had that argument with, wasn’t it?”
Greta nodded solemnly. “I don’t need to tell you how that makes me look. But I never wanted the guy dead.”
“I believe you,” Goldengrape assured. “I just wish I could make everybody else believe it too.”
“It’s worse than that though, Grapes,” Greta said seriously before turning to look him dead in the eye. “What’s the last thing you do remember before waking up in that hotel room?”
Goldengrape thought about it for a second. “I remember you at the diner and eating all those burritos…after that there was us leaving the diner…then we stopped at that party potion stand…” he paused, blinking to himself. “Greta, the last thing I remember was drinking that potion with you.”
Greta nodded. “That’s the last thing I remember too,” she confirmed. “So it’s a safe bet there was something in that potion that wasn’t supposed to be.” She let her gaze peer out the carriage window. “Grapes, I think someone’s set us up.”
Goldengrape felt a chill run through him at that. “But why? Why would anyone go to such lengths to frame us for a crime we didn’t commit?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they knew I’d argued with Greg and figured that made me perfect for taking the fall. And because you happened to be there with me, you were thrown in just to sweeten the deal.” Greta heaved her biggest sigh yet. “Either way, I’m sorry I’ve gotten you into this.”
The apology, while appreciated, felt bittersweet given circumstances. “It’s not your fault, Greta,” he assured her. “We should be focusing on exonerating ourselves anyway.”
“Yeah, and how exactly are we going to do that, Grapes?”
“I…honestly have no clue at all.”
So a somber silence fell between them after that. Goldengrape spent it looking out the carriage window, noting they definitely seemed to be heading out of the city as they were already traveling past the edges of Canterlot.
“Where do you think they’re taking us anyway?” Greta asked abruptly. “Nobody told me exactly.”
Goldengrape hadn’t been told either outside of the non-generic “prison.” He looked outside for a moment, trying to determine their exact route. “Well, since they’re taking us out of the city, ruling out the guard station prison and the royal dungeons…I’d guess the Mount Canter Penitentiary on the northern side of the mountain.”
“Any idea what that’ll be like?”
“Not really, but considering it’s a mostly underground facility and…you know…a prison, I’d imagine it’s not fun.”
“Great.” Greta’s arctic blue eyes gazed out the window for a long moment. Outside, the landscape had already transitioned from city to countryside as the carriage made steady progress. Finally, she spoke again, this time more thoughtfully. “You know, we keep asking ourselves why frame us when maybe what we should be asking is why murder Greg?”
Goldengrape blinked at that point. “You think you weren’t the only one he ticked off?” he asked, following her thinking.
Greta nodded. “And considering he was an investor, then whatever it was it almost certainly concerned money, which means there’d be a record of it somewhere and where there’s a record…”
“…there could be proof of our innocence!” Goldengrape gasped in excitement. “But where would you even find those records?”
“Greg’s office immediately comes to mind,” Greta replied without hesitation. “He clearly kept all of his financial documents there.”
Goldengrape furrowed his brow for a moment, tapping a yellow hoof in thought. “Wouldn’t the police have searched there for clues when he was murdered?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Greta relented. “But they clearly didn’t find anything that stopped them from arresting us, so if there’s any chance they’re still there, that’s the place to check.” She thumped her head on the carriage wall behind her. “If only we could get out of here to go look!”
“How would we even do that though?” Goldengrape asked, thinking it not even worth considering. “Just unlatch the door and throw it open?” To prove his point, he slammed his hoof down on the carriage door’s latch and gave it a shove.
It swung open freely and with great ease.
Shocked, Goldengrape scrambled to quickly grab and latch it again. A moment passed as he and Greta both held their breath wondering if their pullers noticed, but the carriage continued rolling forward like nothing happened. So Goldengrape stared at the door in utter astonishment.
“Whhhhyyyyy is this not locked?” he finally asked in a breathy whisper. “Did…did they somehow forget?”
“Who cares?” Greta hissed back, turning eager. “This could be our chance to get out of here! If we time it as we go down the right stretch of road…” She leapt towards the window to check only to be stopped part way by the chain tethering them to the carriage wall. She looked back at it with a frown. “Oh…right.”
“Are you sure running away is really smart?” Goldengrape asked while watching her tug at the chain. “The police will only add it to the list of charges against us and we’re already in enough trouble as it is.”
“They’re about to lock us up and throw away the key,” Greta pointed out in return, “What makes you think we’ll still escape that once we’re there?”
“Yeah, but if we explain to the police our theory about Greg’s real killer…” Goldengrape began.
“Grapes, the police wouldn’t believe us when we told them we didn’t murder anyone,” Greta retorted pointedly. “What makes you think they’d any sooner believe us with this? To them, the evidence is still too stacked up against us!” Seeing the yellow stallion wilt at that thought, she put a comforting paw on his shoulder. “Look, I get it, this is all a lot to deal with, but…”
“It’s more than that, Greta,” Goldengrape admitted, hanging his head. He bit his lip. “I do get what you’re saying, but I’m worried that we’ll just dig ourselves in deeper doing it.”
“Hey, I’m worried too,” Greta assured him as she lifted his chin so to seriously look him in the eye. “Particularly since I can’t guarantee any more than you that it’ll even get us anywhere. But we gotta try anyway, and right now, even though it doesn’t seem like it, I think going at it on our own is our best bet.” She gazed at him with such genuineness that Goldengrape could tell she meant it. “Trust me.”
Goldengrape hesitated. He barely knew this griffon. Arguably, by her own admission, him even being in this mess was because of her. Yet seeing the troubled emotions racing across her face reminded him that she was as much a victim as he was, and as such, she needed his help…just as he was realizing he needed hers.
He looked at the latch holding the chain shackling them and the wooden carriage wall it was bolted to. “All right,” he replied, turning resolute. “I’ve got an idea.”
He stood and faced the latch. Of course, it wouldn’t be as simple as just opening it since the police wouldn’t want them doing that. So Goldengrape instead grasped the chain attached to it with both hooves and pulled with all his strength. Earth pony strength, don’t fail me now! He felt Greta grab him around the middle and throw her larger mass into pulling too. They were rewarded with the latch popping free by its mountings so suddenly they would’ve tumbled noisily to floor if they hadn’t caught themselves.
They waited another moment to see if their pullers noticed anything, but again nothing changed. “Let’s go,” Greta whispered, taking the lead now.
She unlatched the carriage door again and carefully swung it open so to not make any noise. She then carefully stepped out onto the carriage’s rear step, inching all the way to one side of it before motioning for Goldengrape to follow. Latching the door behind him again, he did so, anxiously pressing his back against the carriage and trying not to fall. They waited until they were heading down a relative straight section of road before jumping off then quickly ducking into the foliage lining the lonely country road. From there, they watched the carriage continue on without them, its pullers apparently still none the wiser. After a couple of minutes passed with no sign of the carriage doubling back or their escape being found out, they both started to breathe freely again.
“With a little luck, nopony will realize we escaped right away,” Greta commented to Goldengrape as she turned and surveyed their mountainside surroundings. “But for right now, we need to put some distance from here or else it won’t matter.”
Goldengrape nodded in agreement, putting his trust in the chestnut brown griffon. “Well, you seem to have a better idea on what to do than me, so…what’s the plan?”
Greta grinned slightly as she held up the cuffs binding her forelegs. “First, we ought to find a way to get out of these.”
Goldengrape took in the backcountry around them. “Well, I don’t think we’ll find anything that’ll help us with that here,” he murmured.
Greta nodded in agreement as she started ahead. “Which is why we’re going to have to go looking for it instead,” she responded before giving his powder blue tail a tug. “C’mon!”
So they started hiking across the mountainside, initially heading away from the road then onto a roundabout path taking them back closer to civilization. They reasoned to themselves—albeit reluctantly since they knew the inherent danger—that they were more likely to find the tools they needed that way. In normal circumstances it would be a more than manageable hike that Goldengrape might have even enjoyed, however their bindings hindering their movements wasn’t helping. It made him appreciate why Greta wanted removing them to be their first priority, because they really were in the way. They repeatedly stumbled over them more than once, and since they were chained together, if one of them stumbled, the other did too. But these bindings also meant they couldn’t ever go more than five feet apart from each other.
…resulting in an awkward problem partway in when last night’s burritos finally had their revenge on Greta.
Things had been quiet for a few minutes when the silence was broken by Greta’s belly making a disturbingly angry burble. When she tensed and rubbed at it, Goldengrape turned concerned.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s those darn burritos,” Greta admitted, looking like she regretted her binge from the evening before. “They’re wreaking havoc with my insides and obviously I haven’t had the chance to do anything about it.” She grimaced again, coming to a stop when it didn’t let up. “Yeah, sorry, Grapes, but I really need to make a pit stop…now.”
Goldengrape bit his lip in sympathy and started moving to give her privacy. “Well, okay, go find something to duck behind and…” he stopped when the chains binding them rattled. “Wait a minute, no, Greta, we’re still chained together.”
“Yeeeeeaaaah, that’s why I was apologizing,” Greta admitted with a wince, having already foreseen this. “However we do this, you’re gonna be stuck nearby for it.”
It was a thought neither of them relished. Nonetheless, they hastily puzzled out how to grant her as much privacy as possible. Ultimately, a particularly tall bush allowed them to drape the chain binding them overtop it so Greta could be on one side while Goldengrape sat on the other, trying to ignore the unpleasant noises that followed. It was imperfect, but it worked.
“Oooough, stupid burritos,” Greta groaned from behind the bush after a few minutes of this.
“You…going to be okay?” Goldengrape asked uncertainly. He could only see the top of her head over the top of the bush but he still kept his back turned as an added precaution.
“Yeah, I’ll live,” Greta wearily replied back. “It’s just all a real mess and…” she trailed off for a moment. “…well, you really don’t want to know.”
“No, I probably don’t,” Goldengrape agreed, already having enough trouble keeping his mind off the gristly details.
Greta grunted again in agreement. “Anyway, the worst is over now, so just give me a sec to clean up and then we can be on our way again.”
He caught sight of Greta plucking a pawful of leaves from off the bush and tried to not think about why. Attempting to distract himself while waiting, he focused on the mildly forested terrain in front of him before, a moment later, suddenly perking up.
“Wait, hold up!” Goldengrape declared, pointing through the trees at something squarish just barely visible behind it. “Doesn’t that look like a building to you?”
Greta poked her head over the bush and squinted her eyes. “Yeah…yeah, actually, it does!”
Once Greta had finished, they cautiously moved closer, revealing a small cabin built mostly from cobblestone. It’d clearly been built to stay isolated from Canterlot still further up the mountain while also sustaining itself as needed. However, it was also rustic enough that it was doubtful it’d been built with too large a funding. The facts its layout was very uniform and reminded him somewhat of a small-town post office made Goldengrape wonder if it’d been government sanctioned.
“I think it’s a ranger station,” he concluded as they cautiously sized up the structure, leery of anyone inside who might want to turn them in. It was hard to tell because the blinds were pulled closed over every visible window.
But that concern faded when Greta eagerly pointed out a sign on its front declaring it to be closed. “And at the moment it’s vacant!” she declared, moving closer.
“Yeah, but for how long?” Goldengrape asked as he followed her to the main entrance, which appeared to be through an attached sunroom. “For all we know, the ranger assigned here could be back anytime from weeks to minutes.”
“Maybe, but there’ll be things we can use here and we’re probably not going to get a better opportunity,” Greta pointed out as they stepped up to the sunroom’s exterior door. “We’ll just have to be quick.” She tried to open the door only to find it was locked. “…or not.”
Goldengrape leaned in closer, trying to examine the interior side through its window. “Looks like there’s a hook lock keeping it closed,” he said.
“Oh, well, I can work with that,” Greta said, and she started searching through the woodland debris littering the area, looking for something in particular.
Goldengrape stayed at the door, partly to stay out of her way but also as an anchor, using their being chained together to keep her from wandering too far. “You aren’t thinking about breaking in, are you?” he asked in concern.
“I’m not breaking anything,” Greta assured as she searched. “I’m just going to finagle the lock a little.”
“I’m pretty sure the police will take just as much issue with us finagling and entering, Greta,” Goldengrape pointed out. Still, he didn’t really stop her because he knew she was right—if this ranger station had anything that could help them, it’d be foolish to pass it up.
“Ah-ha, this should work,” Greta declared finally as she found a particularly thin sliver of wood and returned to the door. Slipping it into the door jamb, she wiggled it around until it caught the hook and managed to flip it up. Once she had, the door swung open easily enough, granting them access. “Ta-da!” she declared as they filed into the cramped sunroom. It seemed like the rangers used it mostly for storage.
Goldengrape tried the next door leading into the actual house but it was also locked, this time with a more complicated tumbler lock. “Well, we’re not getting any further than this,” he noted.
“Don’t need to,” Greta said, having instead gone to a tool table at one end of the sunroom and gleefully held up a hacksaw. She motioned to Goldengrape with her free paw. “Here, give me your hooves.”
Uncertain, Goldengrape held up his forehooves. Greta pushed them down onto the table and lined up so to start cutting the cuffs binding them. Goldengrape tensed at how dangerously close that put the hacksaw’s blade to his flesh. “Please be careful!” he pleaded.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing here!” Greta assured as she cut. Instead of trying to cut through entirely, she focused on just sawing through the latch keeping it closed. A moment later and with a soft pop, the first cuff fell open, freeing Goldengrape’s right hoof. “See? Easy! Now relax!” She then started on his left hoof’s cuff. “You know, despite us being practically joined at the hip all morning, I still don’t really know that much about you,” she said, making small talk. “So…how long have you been living in Canterlot?”
“Only about a month, actually,” Goldengrape replied, watching her cut, “so to sell smoothie recipes to businesses. I’m from Ponyville originally.”
“Oh hey, we actually passed through there on our way here,” Greta noted. The next cuff popped open so she turned to the pair on the earth pony’s hindlegs and frowned. “Okay, these next two are going to be a little more awkward, but know I’m just cutting through the cuffs and nothing else, okay?” Then, scarcely waiting for Goldengrape’s consent, she ducked down between his back legs to start cutting. “You make your own smoothie recipes?” she asked, probably using the small talk to keep him distracted from this awkward position.
“It’s…kind of my special talent,” Goldengrape explained. “And since ponies back home really seemed to like what I was creating, I figured…well…”
“…might as well make it lucrative,” Greta finished with an approving grin. There was a pop as another cuff was cut open. “So at the diner, that smoothie you made me, was that one of your recipes?”
“It was, actually, one of my personal favorites.”
He felt Greta nod to herself. “I can see why—I rather liked it myself.”
Goldengrape smirked. “Yeah, I did notice you’d gotten yourself another before leaving.”
Greta shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “So why not make your own business out of it instead of working through somebody else’s?”
Goldengrape shrugged back. “Running a business of my own costs money. Hay, just getting it started requires more bits than I currently own. So…”
“…you’ve been saving up,” Greta concluded as the final cuff came free and she straightened again. “I get you. Well, when you get it running, mail me a couple of coupons or something okay?”
Goldengrape laughed as he turned around to face her. “I’ll remember,” he promised.
“Great!” Greta said before handing him the hacksaw and putting her own forepaws on the table, exposing their cuffs. “Your turn now.”
“…ah,” Goldengrape hesitated, swallowed, then carefully lined up the hacksaw to start sawing through its latch.
He was terrified of letting the blade slip and accidentally cutting Greta, but before he knew it the latch popped open, freeing Greta’s left paw. “See, Grapes?” she praised encouragingly, “Nothing to it!”
“…right,” Goldengrape replied, not as certain, but nonetheless reassured, he turned his attention to the next cuff. Partway through sawing and feeling Greta’s blue eyes on him, he cleared his throat and decided to try and continue the small talk. “Sooo…” he began awkwardly. “What brings you to Canterlot?”
“I told you before—business, remember?”
“Yeah, but coming all the way here from Griffonstone to meet with an investor that only shouted at you doesn’t seem worth the trouble, you know?” When Greta’s right paw came free of its respective cuff, he looked up at her. “Besides, you came with a group of other griffons.”
Greta pursed her beak thoughtfully as she flexed her freed forepaws. “You got me there,” she said before looking him in the eye. “Are you going to be okay getting the hindpaws or are we going to have to think of something else?” When Goldengrape hesitated, staring back at Greta’s hind end like he was only just thinking of that, she smirked. “Then again earlier we were in bed together, so this is probably nothing in comparison to that, right?”
Goldengrape scowled. “That does not count,” he complained.
“Then neither should this,” Greta reminded slyly, patting him on the withers. She then tugged at the collar of her prison jumpsuit. “Besides, this currently has everything covered up back there, so it’s not like you’re going to catch sight of anything you didn’t ask to.”
For a split second Goldengrape found his mind envisioning it anyway before mentally giving it a bap with a psychic rolled-up newspaper, scolding it for being a bad brain. “Oh, let’s just get it over with,” he then concluded and took position behind Greta’s hindlegs before he got second thoughts. He felt her tail drape over him, making him wonder if it was on purpose before deciding to just focus on sawing her cuffs.
He was so focused on this that he nearly forgot their original conversation until Greta got back on topic. “You’re right, though,” she began abruptly, “Me and the others didn’t all come up here for Greg. In fact, I was the only one dealing with Greg since I’m the team accountant.”
“Team accountant?” Goldengrape repeated as another cuff popped free. He watched Greta reflexively stretch that paw in response before turning to the next one.
“Yeah,” Greta continued above him. “See, we’re the Griffonstone boffyball team, or at least the others are. I just manage their funds—again, accountant.”
“Boffyball?” Goldengrape blinked in surprise. He started to lift his head but caught himself before he inadvertently put it somewhere he figured Greta wouldn’t want it. “I thought boffyball isn’t really played in Equestria, much less Canterlot.”
“It’s not, and it’s the off season anyway,” the griffoness admitted. “But a friend of a friend of Gilda’s set us up to play a private game for some of your nobility in hopes it’d help drum up interest and land us an Equestrian sponsor. That’s really why we came to town, and it seems it was worthwhile because things went well, hence the team’s celebrating last night.”
“Except for you,” Goldengrape reminded, as the last cuff came free and he hurriedly scooted out of the awkward position under her. “All because you met with Greg who…”
“…was a real jerk to me, yeah.” Greta sighed. “And thanks to that, that probably got us into this mess now.” She unfolded one of her wings as far as its bindings allowed, enough to place the bound part on the table. Goldengrape, getting the unspoken prompt, started sawing through the canvas straps. “I sort of wish I hadn’t met with him at all. It was not worth…all this.”
“I still don’t understand why someone went to all the trouble of framing us for his murder,” Goldengrape grumbled as he cut through the first wing’s bindings easily enough and moved to do the same with the other.
“Well, if we can get into Greg’s office and find anything useful, hopefully we’ll learn more,” Greta commented as she shifted positions so to aid his cutting.
“Easier said than done though,” Goldengrape said with a snort. He looked up at Greta. “But I sort of have to envy how composed you’ve been compared to me. You don’t seem nearly as scared about this.”
Greta, however, unexpectedly let out a sharp and sarcastic laugh at that. “It’s cute you think that,” she said. As she glanced at him, the guard he hadn’t realized she’d been keeping up this whole time suddenly dropped, revealing to his shock the very frightened griffon hiding underneath. “But honestly, Grapes? I’m terrified this won’t work out and, worse, that there won’t be anything I could do to stop it.”
Stunned, Goldengrape stopped cutting for a moment, surprised she’d revealed this so clearly. “You’ve gotten us this far though,” he pointed out in reassurance. “That’s way more than I could’ve done. If it weren’t for you…well…let’s be honest, I probably would’ve let the police throw me into prison without protest and not gotten anywhere.”
“Aw, you underestimate yourself, Grapes,” Greta replied. “Your cautiousness is probably what’s kept me from just recklessly charging in deeper.” She averted her gaze. “Besides…I’m kind of the one who got you into this, so…I’m sure as heck doing everything I can to get you back out of it.”
Touched, Goldengrape looked at her thankfully. “Well, that just makes it all the better I ended up in this with you,” he said as he resumed cutting. “Because I feel confident that if anyone will do it…it’ll probably be you.”
Greta grinned at that, but it was short lived. “I still need to stress that I can’t guarantee anything here. There is a real chance getting into Greg’s office won’t pan out for us.”
At that point the final strap binding Greta’s wings snapped. Goldengrape stepped back in momentary surprise when she used that chance to give her freed wings a stretch—they were bigger than he thought. “So…what do we do if it comes to that?” he asked while taking a deep breath.
“Assuming the police doesn’t catch us?” Greta shrugged. “Get as far from here as we can and start new lives somewhere else I guess.” She looked to Goldengrape, facing him now that they were free of their bindings. “I don’t know, where would you want to go?”
Goldengrape blinked, considering the question. “Well…I have kind of always wanted to see Trottingham,” he admitted.
“In the Griffish Isles?” Greta hummed to herself before smirking. “Then Trottingham is where we’d go!” She then gave the yellow stallion a playful nudge. “Maybe you can set up your smoothie place there and make a killing selling them.”
Goldengrape chuckled. “And maybe you can help manage the accounting side of it,” he replied, nudging her back.
Greta chuckled too. “You know, you’re a good guy, Grapes,” she said. She then gave him a teasing look. “Of all the creatures I could’ve woken up in bed with this morning…I’m glad it was you.”
“Well…” Goldengrape replied, abashed, “not that we actually did anything in that bed.”
“True, that,” Greta said, making a small wistful smile that he didn’t know how to interpret.
She didn’t speak on it further, so rather than press the subject he set down the hacksaw and thought about what they’d need to do next. “Well, we’re out of our bindings now, so…what’s next?”
Greta looked back at him and smirked confidently. “First, start stripping.” When Goldengrape gave her a bewildered look, she motioned to the orange jumpsuit he still wore. “If we’re really going to sneak into Greg’s office, then we’re going to need to get back into Canterlot.” She tugged at the collar of her own jumpsuit again. “And I don’t think either of us wants to do that while wearing these.”
Both of them undressing while inside that little sunroom was…troublesome…but they managed.
They also found a pair of duffle coats inside a chest, both with hoods that obscured their faces, long enough to cover their bodies almost fully, and otherwise ideal as cover for avoiding immediate attention. Of course, the coats weren’t theirs to take, something Goldengrape was especially conscious about, so he got Greta to agree on leaving an anonymous note saying they were “borrowing” them for a while and would try to return them as soon as they could. Otherwise, they worked to leave no trace they’d been there. Greta even took the broken cuffs, chains, and prison jumpsuits, rolled them up into a ball, and threw them off the mountainside as hard as she could (something she did with great glee) so anypony returning to the ranger’s station wouldn’t have any evidence of who’d been here or why save their note.
With that all done they set off again, and now that they were free of their bindings made much faster progress. Nonetheless, as Canterlot loomed closer, the more nervous Goldengrape became, afraid of going back where they were wanted criminals. What if the police discovered them before they got to Greg’s office? Or whoever was trying to frame them? Unable to answer either question, he began realizing just how far in he was the closer they got to Canterlot.
To minimize detection, they reentered the city via a secluded nature path leading into it. Goldengrape wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find once there, but it was probably along the lines of police ponies actively searching the streets for them because surely by now they had discovered they’d escaped. But instead, Canterlot seemed perfectly normal, with everypony going about their business as usual. Nobody even really paid too close attention to them. Not that they were trying to draw attention—quite the opposite in fact—and they kept their distance from most passersby where they could. But it was nonetheless heartening to see that, to most everybody they passed, they didn’t seem to be anyone out of the ordinary.
Nonetheless, it was nerve racking walking through the streets of Canterlot, forever on edge for the one creature who would bat an eye at them. Goldengrape continuously second-guessed everyone they passed, eyes constantly darting around in fear. Tellingly, Greta was visibly tense, and he noticed she silently but pointedly did everything in her power to stay by his side, keeping him close. At first he thought she was just doing it out of fear, taking reassurance in his company as a known ally, but then he wondered if she was doing it so to actively protect him rather than the other way around…
In any case, they made it to the unflatteringly ordinary office building Greg had worked at with surprisingly little event, and that actually bothered the both of them. “This has been way easier than I thought it would,” Greta murmured aloud as they stepped up to the building.
“Should we be concerned about that?” Goldengrape whispered back, surveying the area for anyone that seemed suspicious, but as it’d been the whole time they’d been back in the city, everyone seemed perfectly normal and ambivalent towards them.
“…I don’t know,” Greta admitted. “But we best stay alert, just in case.”
Entering the building, they found its open floor lobby moderately busy for the now late afternoon hour. The staff wore your typical office dress, but many of their clients coming to and from were dressed more casually, so Greta and Goldengrape coming in wearing duffle coats wasn’t out of the ordinary. It was a bit harder to keep their distance from anyone in here though, so they were eager to keep going to their destination.
“Where’s Greg’s office?” Goldengrape whispered to Greta.
Greta pointed a talon upwards. “Top floor,” she replied and glanced in the direction of the building elevator in time for a group of waiting ponies to enter it. “But let’s take the stairs. Nobody ever uses the stairs, so less chance of bumping into anyone there.”
So, trying to walk discreetly but also casually enough to not raise suspicion, they headed to the stairs entrance and slipped through its door. As hoped, it was devoid of anyone, so it was a fairly quick and uneventful climb straight to the top floor where they exited back into a quiet corridor lined with offices. From there, it was just a short walk around the nearest corner and they were before the door to their destination. It was impossible to miss—printed in big letters on the door’s large frosted window was the words “GREG GRIFFON, GENERAL INVESTOR,” making it clear who its owner had been.
“This is it,” Greta declared before trying the latch. Perhaps expectedly though, the door proved to be locked.
“I don’t suppose you know how to lock pick?” Goldengrape asked hopefully.
The chestnut brown griffoness sighed. “Ironically enough, no. Literally every other griffon I know does, but of course I never took the time to learn.” She stepped back to examine it all for a moment, debating her options. Eventually, though, her gaze settled not on the door itself but the rectangular window sat directly above it. “That transom window looks like it can be opened, though. If it’s not locked, then maybe we can…” She trailed off as, with a running jump, she grabbed the window’s ledge and pulled herself up to it. She experimentally pushed and pulled for a moment before successfully starting to inch it open, swinging it outwards from a hinge at its top. When it was opened as far as it would go, she dropped back down and pointed a talon up at it. “You think that if I give you a boost you can squeeze your way through? You’re smaller than me, so you’d have the better chance.”
Goldengrape gazed up at the open transom window, gauging the size of the space. It’d be a tight fit, but it seemed just big enough to do it, so much so he wondered if the window had been designed for something like this, albeit only in emergencies. “Well, I guess I’ll give it a shot. It’s not like we’ve got an alternative at the moment anyway, do we?”
“We do not,” Greta confirmed, stooping down so he could use her back as a stepping stool. “Just watch where you place those hooves on your way up, mmkay?”
Goldengrape nodded as he carefully climbed onto her back then stood steady as she straightened to her full height, lifting him up closer to the open window. Grabbing the open ledge, he lifted himself up to it then started wiggling through head first. He quickly regretted that decision when realizing, about halfway through, he hadn’t left himself a safe way to drop back down.
“Okay, hold up, I may need to rethink how I’m doing this,” he murmured aloud, pausing to ponder the dilemma.
But then Greta suddenly whipped her head around, catching sight of an approaching shadow at the other end of the hallway. “Droppings!” she cursed in a hiss. “Someone’s coming our way!” She turned back to Goldengrape hanging halfway through a window and made an instant decision. “Sorry in advance for this, Grapes!”
Goldengrape then felt her plant her talons onto his rump and give it a hard shove. Caught off guard, this roughly forced him the rest of the way through the window. He had just time enough to twist his body sideways before flopping into the office floor instead of neatly landing on his hooves as preferred. Aching from the impact, he just stayed there for a moment recovering, which worked just fine because by then whoever was approaching had arrived at the other side of the door.
“Oh, hello,” he heard the apparent mare remarking to Greta as she strolled past. Goldengrape could just make out her outline as a unicorn through the door’s frosted window. She seemed totally unaware of what they were up to. “You look like you’re lost…do you need help getting somewhere?”
“No, no,” Greta quickly reassured—Goldengrape could just envision her standing there and trying to feign innocence. “I think I’ve just about figured it out so I won’t keep you.”
The mare appeared to shrug. “All right, suit yourself.” She then continued on her way. A moment of anxious silence passed.
“I think she’s gone,” Greta finally murmured softly, glancing in the direction the mare had left before turning around to face the door. Even through the frosted window, Goldengrape could see her shooting him a teasing smirk. “You okay?” No doubt she’d heard him fall.
“…I’ll live,” Goldengrape groaned as he picked himself up. Giving his sore but not critically injured body a shake, he opened the door, allowing Greta to quickly slip inside.
Throwing back their hoods, they stopped to take in the office. As offices go, it was fairly standard. A desk was placed at one end with a couple of chairs before it for visiting clients, while a black and modern looking couch sat against the opposite wall. A stout bookcase was next to the door and a trio of filing cabinets stood in a row beside another window, this one overlooking the street outside. A black safe was also placed directly underneath that window, apparently doubling as a makeshift shelf given everything stacked atop it. There was even a tall potted plant that Goldengrape quickly deduced with a frown was fake, which felt insulting to his earth pony heritage but they weren’t there to critique Greg’s décor choices.
He didn’t know where to start. “So now what?” he asked.
“Well, everything still seems to be where it was when I was last here,” Greta noted as she stopped to quickly unfasten her duffle coat, revealing her front and belly. She pointed at the safe in the corner. “Most likely what we’re looking for is in there, so we’ll start with it.”
Goldengrape glanced at it skeptically, particularly eying its unusual looking tumbler lock. “I thought you said you didn’t know how to pick locks,” he remarked.
“I don’t!” Greta reaffirmed happily as she moved closer to the fake potted plant instead of the safe.
Goldengrape scratched at his powder blue mane in puzzlement, not following. “Then I don’t understand how you intend to open it, unless you plan to break it open.”
“Nope, I think I’ve got a better way,” Greta said as she shuffled around the plant for a moment. “Ah-ha!” she said and straightened again, looking smug as she held up a solitary key dangling from its ring.
Goldengrape blinked, surprised. “How did you know that was there?” he asked as Greta finally approached the safe.
“When I was here last night, Greg pulled from the safe some documents to shove in my face,” Greta explained as she used the key to work the lock. “When doing so, he wandered over near that plant, made like he was examining it for a second, before conveniently coming away with the key already in talon. So I figured he had at least a spare hidden somewhere around it, it was just a matter of finding it.”
She opened the safe and they peered inside, but its contents were disappointingly routine. There were only two shelves, the top most containing stacks of papers in corresponding manila folders while the bottom contained a simple lockbox. Greta pulled out the folders of papers and started sorting through them. Stealing a peek over her shoulder, Goldengrape noted they all appeared to be various monthly financial records for Greg’s current investments. Greta stopped when she found the records for the Griffonstone boffyball team and scoffed.
“See, all of these numbers are well into the black for this past month!” she griped, motioning to the listed numbers Goldengrape only somewhat understood. “No red anywhere!” She rolled her eyes as she flipped to the next record with a sigh. “I don’t know why Greg was acting like it wasn’t, it’s not like he was in crippling debt or—oh!”
She stopped on the next record and stared at it in stunned silence for a moment. Goldengrape quickly saw what made it so different from the previous one. “That’s…a lot of red,” he noted in concern.
“Yeah,” Greta agreed, her spotted brow furrowing as she skimmed over the numbers. “Seems Greg was trying to run a side business selling goods…but according to these numbers, he spent way more on the product than he was making back selling it, and it looks like it was only getting worse. He really was losing money, like a sieve, and he didn’t seem to be having much success turning it around.” Her eyes suddenly widened, inhaling in realization. “That’s why he ripped me a new one last night! He must’ve been banking on the profits he got from the team to make up the difference and was upset we weren’t giving him the amounts he needed soon enough!”
“But just what’s he been trying to sell that was costing him so much?” Goldengrape asked.
“Um,” Greta began as she checked the records again. “Apparently a whole lot of…shift pot…whatever that is.” She glanced at Goldengrape. “I dunno, you have any idea what shift pot could be?”
Goldengrape decided to look at it literally. “Maybe…he’s moving pots and pans?”
“No, no, no,” Greta said, shaking her head and showing him the document. “See, look how he wrote it, it’s definitely an abbreviation. I just don’t know what it’s abbreviating.” She leaned on the side of the safe as she puzzled it out aloud. “Hmm, what could pot be short for? Pottery? Potatoes? Potassium?”
While she was doing that, Goldengrape turned back to the safe, wondering if there were any more clues. Eying the lockbox on the bottom shelf, he pulled it out and gave it a shake. When it distinctly rattled from the several bits contained inside, he concluded Greg probably used it as a makeshift cash register for transactions. Since the money within wasn’t his to mess with though, he opted not to open it for now and proceeded to put it back where he found it. In doing so, he accidentally bumped the box on the safe’s floor and was surprised to hear it produce a hollow sound. Setting the lockbox aside, he tapped his hoof on it so to confirm.
“Greta, I think this safe has a false bottom,” he deduced, drawing her attention as he ran his hooves along the edges of the bottom panel, trying to find the way to remove it.
Eventually finding the right concealed notch, he was able to pop it out and reveal the hidden compartment underneath, containing a plain black case with a piece of tape on top marked simply “SAMPLES.” Exchanging puzzled looks, they pulled the case out and placed it on Greg’s desk so to study it better. Opening it revealed six sets of vials slotted in pairs within fitted foam. All of the vials were filled with a small dosage of liquid, but one in every pair contained a faintly purple colored liquid while the other’s was clear but oily. Even odder was a bag full of what appeared to be shed hairs tucked to one side.
Greta pulled one of the purple vials out and held it up to the light. “What the heck do you suppose these are for?” she asked.
“I can tell you they’re magical,” Goldengrape replied and pointed. “Look, you see that faint sparkling in the liquid? That’s a sure sign it’s been imbued with a notable amount of magic.”
“Okay…but what for?” Greta asked, still confused. “What do they do? Why did Greg even have these?”
Goldengrape noticed then a piece of paper attached to the inside of the case’s lid. “Maybe this says?” He started to read aloud what was written on it. “Add hair to purple. Shake then drink. Use counter when finished.” He frowned. “Well, that all sounds like instructions, but…” he stopped upon seeing Greta take one of the hairs from the included bag and drop it into the vial she held. “…you aren’t.”
Greta shrugged, watching as the liquid inside swiftly absorbed the deposited hair. “It’s the easiest way to find out, Grapes,” she reasoned before giving the vial a shake then downing its contents in one gulp. She smacked her beak briefly afterwards. “Huh…didn’t expect it to taste so minty.”
That was as far as she got though before she suddenly lurched, grabbing at her middle with a full body shudder. At the same time, Goldengrape watched with a mixture of awe and dread as Greta’s form started to alter, changing shape and color so rapidly neither of them really had the chance to react before it’d finished. Now an entirely different looking griffon stood before him, one slightly bigger, bulkier, somewhat older in appearance, and colored an arctic grey color instead of Greta’s original chestnut brown with all of her pale green speckling now gone.
Goldengrape sat there and stared for a moment while Greta likewise processed her own shock. “…Greta?” he asked hesitantly.
“…yeah?” Greta croaked, but her eyes bulged and paws clamped at her throat when the voice that came out sounded much deeper and more masculine. “What?” she hissed. She sounded like she was trying to force her voice back to its usual tone with little success. “What?”
It was about then that Goldengrape realized with stunned shock that, he’d seen this particular griffon she’d become before. Hurriedly looking at a picture of the office’s owner hanging on the wall, he confirmed he wasn’t imagining it. “Greta…I think that stuff turned you into Greg!”
“What?” Greta scrambled to find something to check her reflection in. Grabbing a shiny and metallic pen holder, she studied her new form for a moment. “Sweet Grover, you’re right!” She glanced up, pulling a perplexed face. “But wait, wouldn’t that also make me…?” she trailed off before her gaze shot downwards between “her” hind legs. “Oh! So that’s what it’s like to have one of those!”
“Greta!” Goldengrape hissed, uncomfortable by her lack of discretion.
“Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t ever wondered before.” Catching the withering gaze he gave her though, she realized her error. “Well, okay, maybe not you specifically…”
“So how do we turn you back?” Goldengrape interrupted before they went any further down that rabbit hole.
Greta pulled out the other vial paired with the first. “Well, maybe this is that “counter” the instructions mentioned,” she reasoned and quickly gulped it down like she had the first. A moment later and her form quickly changed back to her usual self. She gave herself a quick pat down and breathed a sigh of relief. “Ah, that’s better. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I couldn’t shift back.”
“…shift…” Goldengrape mumbled before slapping himself in the face. “Of course! That’s what shift pot is short for—shifting potions! That’s what Greg’s been trying to sell!”
“I’m guessing these are for demoing how it works to buyers,” Greta reasoned, motioning to the case. She picked up the bag of hairs. “Then these also must be Greg’s.” She stuck out her tongue upon realizing she drank something with that in it, even though she was the one who’d voluntarily done it. “What the potion turns you into is probably determined by the hair you drop into it.”
Goldengrape then had a horrifying thought. “Greta…you remember those pictures the police had that showed us going to and from the crime scene?”
Greta’s eyes bulged again. “You think somebody used these potions to disguise themselves as us?” she asked. Her gaze went distant as she put those pieces together in her head. “Goldfinches, I’d call that clever if it weren’t also so devious.”
Goldengrape closed the case, running his hoof over it. “It also begs the question…who was Greg selling these to? And where did he get them in the first place?”
They never got the chance to discuss it further because that was when the office door burst open and two unicorn police officers stormed in, their horns alight and at the ready. “Nobody move!” one of the two ordered.
For the second time that day, Greta and Goldengrape threw their hooves and paws into the air in surrender. This time, however, Goldengrape recognized one of the ponies. “Officer Shoofly!” he declared, remembering the subdued unicorn from his interrogation that morning. “Please, this isn’t what it looks like!”
“I…I cannot agree,” Shoofly replied with a brief moment of hesitation. “After all, you two have already been charged with murder, breaking and entering, and now escape from arrest.”
“If you’ll just let us explain,” Goldengrape pressed on anyway. “We think we’ve found evidence proving we’re being framed! Here, let me show you.”
He started towards the case still on the desk, but the police ponies only grew more alert at him moving. “Don’t move or we’ll fire!” the other police pony warned again.
Goldengrape obediently resumed his position of surrender but Greta wasn’t as eager to let it go. “Seriously, you’re making a mistake!” She told the officers. “I know how it looks, and yes, we did escape the prison carriage and sneak in here, but we did it to prove our innocence!” She jabbed her beak in the direction of the case. “Greg had that in his safe! We’ve also found documents showing he’s been selling them! Look for yourself and tell me it’s not suspicious!”
Shoofly carefully approached the case, but he never opened it, instead levitating it away from them. “I’m confiscating this as proof for falsifying and planting evidence,” he said as if he hadn’t heard either of them. He said it in an unsteady voice though, as if still trying to convince himself of it.
“Officers, please,” Goldengrape pleaded, “listen to us! Things aren’t as they seem! We think criminals were sold shifting pot—”
He was cut short when the second officer abruptly struck him with a spell. All of his muscles tensed at once as the sharp electrical shock zipped through him before then going completely numb and he involuntarily flopped sideways onto the floor. Behind him, he heard Greta start to shout and swear at the officers, clearly furious, but was silenced when they turned their horns onto her, ready to do it again.
“He was stunned, that’s all,” the second officer explained sternly. “Keep trying us though and we may use something with more force next.”
Goldengrape couldn’t see her from where he lay and couldn’t turn his head, so he could only make an educated guess as to Greta’s reaction to that. Judging from the sounds of her shifting restlessly and the overall aura of anger and alarm she extruded though, she was still contemplating ways to resist. For the moment she didn’t give the officers reason to attack her, but judging from how they remained tense, she hadn’t surrendered yet either.
“Please cooperate,” Shoofly urged finally. “You can come out of here voluntarily and under your own power, or we’ll be forced to drag you out of here ourselves. Either way, we need you both to come with us.”
A tense moment passed. “Grapes stays with me,” Greta finally demanded.
“Fine,” the second officer agreed. “You can carry him out. But either of you try anything funny…” he motioned to his horn, indicating they’d be keeping them under close guard.
Greta must’ve signaled she’d comply because a moment later she was allowed to approach Goldengrape. “You okay?” she whispered into his ear.
Goldengrape attempted to reply that he was, just numb. But slack-jawed as he currently was, all he managed was to slur out gobbledygook.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Greta replied. Her tone was strained and sterile of any of her usual teasing humor. “I’m going to pick you up and put you on my back to ride, okay?”
Goldengrape tried to give his compliance only for slurred nonsense to again ooze out his mouth. Greta understood though and, with surprising reverence, scooped him up and slid him onto her back, wrapping his forehooves around her neck and pinning them there with one paw when he proved unable to do it himself. That done, the officers escorted them out at hornpoint, letting Greta take the lead while following closely behind, ready to act if she tried anything. Greta initially did this looking defiantly resolute, but once in the building’s lobby where there were plenty of passersby to see them being led out, she slowly hung her head, looking more and more defeated. Goldengrape wished he could do something to reassure her, but his current state made it impossible.
Once outside, they found a lonely police carriage waiting for them, not unlike the one that had been taking them to prison but smaller and lighter, capable of being pulled by only one pony if needed. They were loaded up into the back of it, Greta seating Goldengrape beside her since he couldn’t exactly do it himself. This time though they wouldn’t be riding alone as the second officer took a seat across from them, ready to act should they try to escape again. Further, when Shoofly closed the doors behind them, they clearly heard him locking them this time, meaning there was no hope of that conveniently getting overlooked.
Not long thereafter, the carriage jerked forward, presumably being pulled by Shoofly. “So where are you taking us this time?” Greta flatly asked the officer accompanying them, “To that prison?”
“No,” the officer replied to the surprise of them both. “We’re not beating about the bush with this anymore.”
The ride was a quiet and sullen one, but also lengthy. There were no windows inside of the carriage this time, so there was no way to tell where they were heading. All Goldengrape and Greta could do was sit there and wait it out. A part of Goldengrape was grateful for the delay, as it gave time for the stunning spell to wear off, feeling gradually returning to his limbs again. Despite this, Greta kept him close, holding him almost protectively. He could quite easily sense her fear for their situation, naturally not helping with his own, but he understood why. Something about this felt very different from their arrest this morning, filling the carriage with this sense of deep dread.
The officer riding with them didn’t even seem immune to it. He bore this dark attitude of resentment towards them, giving the impression he blamed them both for the situation, but at the same time seemed like he didn’t completely care for this turn of events either. This mixed with Shoofly’s hesitant attitude while confronting them at Greg’s office, like he’d been forced into it, gave the sense neither of them had chosen to do this but rather were ordered to.
Which raised a question Goldengrape really wanted answered now—who had given those orders? Because he suspected that, whoever it was, they did not have their best interests in mind. He wished he could discuss it with Greta, since she seemed to be good at puzzling out things like this, but not only was the lingering effects of the stunning spell leaving his annunciation skills spotty, they couldn’t exactly discuss anything while an officer of the law sat right there in front of them.
Finally, as the beginnings of twilight started to play with the horizon, the carriage came to a halt. “Right, we’re here,” the second officer announced, standing up. “Keep your limbs where I can see them.”
Greta and Goldengrape begrudgingly obeyed. A moment later Shoofly arrived to open the carriage doors, letting them out. As Goldengrape was still a little unsteady on his hooves, Greta helped prop him up by letting him lean on her body as they exited the carriage. Outside, he expected to find some kind of detention center or police-related building, but instead they stepped out into the gravel drive for an inactive industrial factory located somewhere just outside of Canterlot. Both he and Greta stared at it in stunned confusion.
“What are we doing here?” Greta demanded of the officers again keeping them at hornpoint.
“Just…shut up and start walking,” the second officer replied. Both he and Shoofly looked like they wanted to be done with this already.
Giving each other a worried look, Greta and Goldengrape reluctantly moved towards the factory. Inside it was filled with the expected machines though none were currently active. In fact, no workers appeared to be here at all. Instead, there was a small group of creatures standing near an open vat. A couple of them were ponies but the group mostly consisted of just griffons, all in civilian dress and not particularly of high class. They bore such a rough appearance in fact that Goldengrape wondered why the police were associating with them at all.
When Greta and Goldengrape drew close, the group surrounded them, forced them to stand back-to-back, and then tied them together with rope. But Goldengrape was swiftly distracted from that when the group parted, revealing two more creatures who were dressed differently from he and Greta…but were otherwise their exact duplicates.
They stared at the doubles to the concealed amusement of those around them. Greta’s beak even dropped. “…what,” she stated flatly.
“Pretty good likenesses, aren’t they?” a new voice suddenly spoke up. They turned their heads in time to see a new creature approach. He was a middle-aged coppery red griffon, strutting up to them in a smugly confident manner that Goldengrape didn’t like. He also carried an aura like he was the one in charge. “Worked like a treat for our purposes. Nobody at all thought these two weren’t actually you.”
Greta scowled at the griffon as he approached. “And who are you?” she demanded. “Do we know you?”
“Never met in person, but I’m sure you’ve probably heard of me,” the griffon replied, more amused than anything by the questioning. He leaned closer to Greta. “Does the name…Rubedo…ring a bell?”
The name meant nothing to Goldengrape, and he actually spent more time being amazed at the griffon not having a name starting with ‘G.’ Greta did, however, and physically pulled back in shock. “Rubedo?!” She exclaimed, “As in the Griffonstone mobster?!”
Goldengrape gasped, whipping his head around at this news. They’d somehow gotten tangled up with a griffon MOB?
The griffon, Rubedo, laughed at their reactions. “My reputation precedes me as usual,” he remarked as he started to pace in a circle around them. “Though honestly, I’m surprised that after all the running around you’ve put us through, you two hadn’t already figured that out yourselves.”
“Still got farther than the police did,” Greta grumbled pointedly.
“Yes, but we did have some help with that,” Rubedo said before glancing at the two police ponies awkwardly standing to one side. “Isn’t that right, officers?”
Goldengrape twisted around to look at the officers sharply as he understood. “You’re working for him?” he asked them. Even though they hadn’t exactly been their allies already, it still felt like a betrayal.
Both officers didn’t seem particularly eager about it either, averting their gazes from the two they’d effectively turned over to gangsters, but they didn’t deny it or back away either.
“More like we just…struck a deal,” Rubedo explained as he walked between the two officers and wrapped his forehooves around their shoulders like they were old chums. “They help keep the Equestrian police off our tails, they get a cut of the profits we make in our sales.”
“Sales?” Goldengrape repeated before again understanding in horror. “The shifting potions!”
“You’re the one Greg bought his stock from in the first place!” Greta likewise deduced at the same time.
Rubedo shot her a sly finger gun signifying she’d nailed it. “Speaking of shifting potions,” he said, turning his attention back to the officers. “I do believe you two have something else for me, correct?”
Shoofly sheepishly took the case of sample potions from Greg’s office and handed it over to Rubedo. “As you requested, sir,” he murmured as he did so.
Rubedo popped open the case long enough to confirm its contents. He raised an eyebrow at the two empty slots. “There’s a set of vials missing,” he noted aloud in a disapproving tone.
“If I knew they were just going to end up in your grubby talons, I would’ve made sure they all went missing!” Greta shouted at him suddenly.
Rubedo smiled again, understanding. “Ah, well, that explains that,” he said as he passed off the case to one of his minions, who exchanged it for a sack of bits that Rubedo then handed over to Shoofly. “And there you go, boys, your cut as promised plus a little extra to compensate for these…unusual circumstances.” He then waved them off. “Now go on and get back to whatever else you two do. We’ll take care of Miss Greta and Mister Goldengrape from here.” As they scurried off, tails tucked low from guilt, Rubedo turned and gave his two prisoners a look Goldengrape reflexively gulped at.
“Now then,” Rubedo said once the officers were gone, walking back to the tied up prisoners. “I think we’ve kept you two waiting in suspense long enough, hmm?” He nodded to his lackeys who started to move them closer to the open vat nearby.
“Now hold on here!” Greta objected as this happened. “If Greg was working for you on your little scheme, then why did you kill him?”
“Greg wasn’t holding up his end of the deal,” Rubedo replied in a sweetly dark tone, walking alongside them as they were moved. “He promised we’d both gain a lot more profit and customers working through him and his particular methodology, but after several months and him only owing us more and more of the promised money he wasn’t making, well…” he clapped his paws together decisively. “…it was past time to let him go. Business, you understand?”
“And you got your crooked cop friends to frame us for the so-called “pink slip” you gave him,” Greta grumbled as they neared the side of the vat. Goldengrape noted there was an ominous bubbling sound coming from within.
“It was convenient,” Rubedo admitted. “As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, we knew you and Greg had something of a…falling out, Miss Greta, so you gave us excellent circumstances to exploit.” He motioned to Goldengrape. “The fact your stallion friend happened to be there with you when we moved to drug you was really just…an added bonus.” He nodded his head at their two duplicates snidely watching. “Then once you two were out for the rest of the night and set up in the hotel room, we had these two take your forms and do the actual dirty work of making it look like you’d murdered Greg as part of a drunken rage.” He then addressed said duplicates. “Speaking of, once we’re done there won’t be any need for those disguises anymore, so you might as well shift back now.”
The two duplicates responded by pulling out vials of counterpotion and downing them. Less than a minute later, their forms had shifted back into male griffon and pony gangsters respectively. Goldengrape saw Greta scowl at the impersonators, but he kept his attention on their captor.
“So what are you going to do with us?” he asked, fearing the answer.
“Well, the plan was to just get you two locked up, taking the punishment for us,” Rubedo responded as he reached into a cooler left next to the vat, pulling out a sizeable fish. “But then you two had to make yourselves too much trouble for even that. So I think it’ll be better now if you just…disappeared.”
Goldengrape felt his heart leap up his throat while Greta started struggling in the rope tying them together. “You won’t get away with this!” she hissed at their captors as they hauled them up onto a nearby scissor lift.
“Oh, I think we will, Miss Greta, because do you know what this vat contains?” Rubedo rapped his talons against its metallic side. Now that they were on the scissor lift, Goldengrape could see over its edge. It was filled with a roiling and sizzling liquid that didn’t appear at all safe to be around. “It’s a very potent acidic byproduct from the manufacturing that happens here. They store it here until it can be reprocessed for safe disposal, but until then the chemicals in here are strong enough to…well, how about I just show you?”
Rubedo reached over the side of the vat wall to stick the fish in his talons partway into the acid. There was a violent poof of steam accompanied by a loud hissing sound before Rubedo removed it and held it up by the tail for his prisoners to see. It had only been in it for scarcely more than a few seconds, but even in that short space of time the acid had cleanly stripped the exposed part of the fish on down to the bone, and there were even signs the bones were starting to be eaten away too.
“Of course,” Rubedo conceded as he chucked the half-dissolved fish away, “you two will find this out for yourselves in just a moment.”
Goldengrape and Greta stared at him in horror before being jolted out of their shock as one of the gangsters, operating the scissor lift controls, started to raise it up towards the factory ceiling overhanging the vat. Looking upwards, Goldengrape saw a motorized hook and pulley dangling there and understood what they planned to do—use the hook to lower them both into the vat of acid where they would be…
Goldengrape stared down in chilled horror at the disturbing fate awaiting them. As the scissor lift halted at its maximum height and the gangsters riding up with them proceeded to attach their bindings to the big metal hook, he looked to Greta in hopes she would once again have an idea to get them out of this. But this time Greta looked down at the vat in fear, starting to tear up.
“I’m sorry, Grapes,” she murmured sadly. “You were right. We should’ve just stayed in that stupid carriage. But I just couldn’t accept that and now I’ve doomed us both.”
Goldengrape gaped at her, not sure what sacred him more, their impending bath in caustic chemicals or Greta breaking down like this. “Greta, you couldn’t have known,” he said. “And I went along with it, so it’s not like I didn’t play a role too. Besides, if we were always going to go out then I’d rather go out fighting than to have never fought at all.”
“I was trying to make sure we got out of this alive though!” Greta insisted. “That you got out of this alive! Sweet Grover, Grapes, you deserve this even less than I do! You shouldn’t have even been involved.”
“Maybe,” Goldengrape looked down at the vat they would soon be heading towards, then back at Greta, looking her in the eye. “But then I wouldn’t have met you.” Upon seeing Greta’s surprise at that confession, he pressed on. “And even though it’s not ending how we hoped…for me…I’m still glad we got that chance.”
Greta continued to stare at him for a moment before making a thankful grin. “Me too, Grapes,” she admitted, “Me too.”
“Oh, just kiss already and get it over with,” one of the gangsters grumbled at that point.
Goldengrape twisted around so to give the culprit a glare then turned back in time for Greta to lean down and nuzzle his cheek lovingly with her beak. Touched and closing his eyes, he leaned into the nuzzling before planting a small kiss on the keratin beak—if this was really the end for them both, then he might as well go for broke. They barely had the chance to savor the moment before the gangsters startled them by giving them, now secured to the hook, a shove off the side of the scissor lift. They were briefly left dangling there high above everything else while the scissor lift went back down to the floor without them. Then without warning, Rubedo, standing at the controls for the pulley motor, threw a lever and slowly they started lowering down towards the roiling acid below.
Well, this is it, Goldengrape thought, trying to brace himself while watching the acid steadily grow closer and closer, I guess this is the end. He thought to himself he’d better make what peace he could before the time he had left ran out, but the only thing he could think of at that moment was to pray neither of them screamed when entering the acid. Partly because going out screaming in agony didn’t seem very flattering to him, but also partly because, even if it’d be brief, he didn’t think he could stand to hear Greta similarly screaming.
But then, while still only halfway down towards the vat, all Tartarus broke loose. It seemed all of the entrances to the factory burst open simultaneously and a flood of new creatures stormed in, loudly ordering for everybody to stop what they were doing and to get down on the ground. Instead of obeying, Rubedo and his followers all about faced and proceeded to retaliate with whatever weapons they had within reach. A firefight swiftly ensued in which weapons and magic spells were thrown chaotically every which way and the entire factory was filled with so much noise, it was hard to tell what was going on for a moment. But, caught off guard as they were, the gangsters were being subdued quickly by the more numerous intruders, the tide turning against them.
It was then Greta realized who had come to crash the party. “It’s the police!” she exclaimed, voice rapidly filling with hope. “Real police!”
And since they were clearly not on the same side as Rubedo’s group, they both started shouting as loud and urgently as they could for help and for somebody to stop their continuing descent towards the acid-filled vat. Unfortunately, Rubedo himself was guarding the needed controls and he wasn’t giving them up without a fight. As Goldengrape and Greta passed ten feet away from the acid and continued getting closer, enough that Goldengrape started to fear once again it was too late and their end near, Rubedo finally took a stunning spell to the face and dropped to the ground.
At only five feet away, one of the police officers raced for the controls Rubedo had vacated. At that point, Goldengrape couldn’t bear to watch, the acid so close now he could feel against him the little puffs of steam the burbling fluid was constantly releasing. He instead closed his eyes and curled up against himself, trying to buy himself as much time before coming in contact with it. He felt Greta do the same, her tail brushing against him as she tried to keep it up and away from the now dangerously close acid. A shrill noise was filling his ears and he realized it was coming from the both of them, their urgent shouts for help having devolved into just a panicked screaming.
But then at what must have been only a couple of feet remaining before they were forced into the acid, the hook lowering them jerked to a halt. Goldengrape’s breath hitched for a prolonged moment as he waited to know whether they would live or suffer a horrific death. Then, with relief flooding his body, the hook started to rise back up and away from the acid. Clear of the vat again, Goldengrape surveyed the now quieting factory and saw Rubedo and all of his lackeys had been subdued and now in the process of being arrested by police ponies while the remainder worked to rescue them.
He went limp against Greta behind him as the tension drained out of him. “That was entirely too close,” he admitted. “For a second there I really thought we were done for.”
“So did I,” Greta agreed, her breathing heavy as she worked to calm herself. She took in a deep breath. “Speaking of…Grapes, about earlier on the scissor lift…”
“…it was simply a spur of the moment attempt for a hasty closure at what were thought to be our final moments,” Goldengrape finished for her. He turned his head enough to give her a grin. “We don’t need to read into it any more than that.”
“Good,” Greta said with a nod, glad they’d settled that.
They were quiet for a second while riding the hook back up towards the factory ceiling.
“The kiss was a nice touch though,” Greta then commented abruptly.
“Really? I thought it might’ve been cliché.”
“Eh, cliché is cliché for a reason—it’s still effective in the right moments.”
“Though Rubedo’s creatures did see us do it, so it probably started some rumors.”
Now Greta was grinning. “Eh, let them rumor.”
Once the police eventually got them off the hook, out of their bindings, and safely back on solid ground away from the vat of acid, they were met with Detective Swift Case, who proceeded to explain to them the reason for this abrupt but timely rescue.
“We caught up with Officer Shoofly and Officer Blue Bull not long after they left the factory,” he explained while the rest of the police finished arresting and escorting out Rubedo and company. “See, we were already suspecting we might have some crooked cops in our ranks with the trail pointing towards those two, so we were trying to keep a close eye on them to be sure. Once we had them though, they quickly surrendered and confessed so we then came straight here.”
“And not a moment too soon, detective,” Goldengrape agreed, his heart still thumping hard within his chest after the close brush with death.
“So we don’t still need to convince you we’re innocent then,” Greta recapped, getting right to the point.
Swift Case shook his head. “Truthfully, I was suspicious of the charges against you two from the start,” he confessed.
Greta huffed at that. “Well, you could’ve fooled me! You seemed to be completely convinced we were guilty.”
“Apologies, but I was trying to not let on that anyone suspected something was amiss, so we could try and uncover our real culprits,” Swift Case explained.
“And you didn’t tell us any of this, because…?” Goldengrape asked.
“Plausible deniability, mostly,” Swift Case replied. “Though had you arrived at the prison, I probably would’ve taken the time to fill you both in on the basics then. But instead, you both made a break for it.”
“Well, one of you left the carriage doors unlocked,” Greta pointed out. “So it was kind of all too easy to do so.”
“Of course,” Swift Case agreed and smirked. “Who do you think left them unlocked?”
They gaped at him. “Were you hoping we’d try to escape?” Goldengrape asked.
“I figured that if you did, you’d probably do so to try and prove your own innocence,” Swift Case said. “And in so doing, ultimately lead us right to the real culprits, since they probably weren’t going to just stand to one side and let you get away like that when you were meant to take the fall.”
Greta’s face then suddenly screwed up with suspicion. “Wait…are you saying that we nearly died just now because you were using us as bait?”
Swift Case’s face suddenly became one of a pony who only just now realized what that sounded like. “…maybe?”
Goldengrape was glad griffons had long tails, because it proved to be a great thing to grab ahold of when keeping Greta from charging at the detective. “It’s not worth it, Greta!”
“It’d make me FEEL better though!”
Overlooking Greta’s failed attempt to assault a police detective, they were exonerated of all charges in the end. At one point they were nearly had to pay for the lost cuffs and prison outfits they had gotten rid of while on the run, but thankfully more forgiving minds prevailed. They were even able to return the duffle coats they had “borrowed” from the ranger station. But by the time it was all over, it was getting late and Goldengrape and Greta were hungry, tired, and ready to call it a day.
Once allowed to leave the police’s custody at last, they stopped at a carrot dog cart for a quick meal before bidding each other a melancholy farewell at the carriage bus stop and parted ways, Goldengrape returning to his apartment and Greta back to her hotel room. Greta was supposed to leave with the rest of her group that evening, and since she was running late, she had to try and catch up with them or be forced to stay another night at her own cost. So she apologetically confessed that, as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t stay and chat for longer. Goldengrape, however, had nowhere else to be, so once back at his humble apartment, thankfully still as he’d left it before this all happened, he took a shower to wash off the accumulated filth of the adventure before crawling into bed.
The next day he returned to the diner to see whether or not he still had a job, or if he’d been fired for missing his whole shift yesterday without warning or explanation. However, it turned out his boss had not only heard about the police arresting him through Canterlot’s grapevines, he’d also been informed Goldengrape had been framed. So not only did his boss very kindly allow him a pass, given circumstances frankly beyond their control, he also told Goldengrape he was free to take another day off so to recover from any lingering trauma. But Goldengrape honestly just wanted to get back to his usual routine and resumed work that same day anyway.
About a week then passed with nothing out of the ordinary happening and his life going back to normal. He didn’t see Greta again during the whole of that week. Which he supposed wasn’t so surprising, considering she clearly had her own affairs to get back to as well as her not being a local. He simply assumed she went back to her own life in Griffonstone and…that was that. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, or any reason he knew of to expect her to do anything different.
Yet he still found himself missing her teasing and snide wit, and it made Goldegrape realize that, outside of coworkers and the occasional visiting friend or family, he hadn’t really been associating much with anyone since moving to Canterlot until this misadventure with Greta. Now he was realizing that perhaps he needed that more in his life than he’d been appreciating. So by the end of that week, he resolved to start looking into changing that the next chance he could.
But not for the first time, it ended up Greta was one step ahead of him.
He hadn’t heard her come into the diner at all, having been busy making smoothies for other customers most of that particular evening. Which of course she exploited to her advantage, apparently sneaking up and taking a seat at the sit-down counter near where he worked while his back was turned. Then she just sat there, head leaning on one paw and quietly waiting for him to turn around and notice her.
“Any chance you can send one of those smoothies my way, Grapes?” she asked casually when he finally did notice her there.
“Greta!” Goldengrapes declared with a small but not unwelcome jump while taking her in. She looked the same as when he’d last seen her, only now she was again wearing a scarf like the one she wore the night they met. He then grinned. “Well then, one smoothie coming up for you too then.” He busied himself with making it then lingered nearby after delivering it to her. “So when did you get back into town?”
“You assume I ever left,” Greta replied, looking up with her smoothie with a smirk. She paused to take a long slurp before continuing. Goldengrape suspected she was deliberately trying to leave him in suspense. “With Greg gone, management of his investing business has fallen to one of his coworkers, and the poor mare is swamped untangling that Gordian knot. Doesn’t help that she now has to rework all of Greg’s various deals to fall under her name now, and many of Greg’s clientele are using the chance to…renegotiate…terms, particularly now that word’s getting out about Greg’s ties with Rubedo.” She stopped to take another slurp from her smoothie. “Anyway, that includes the business the Griffonstone boffyball team was doing through Greg, and since I’m the team accountant, I’ve had to stick around town a little longer so to make sure that gets all sorted out as we want it.”
“And it’s taken more than a week to do it?” Goldengrape remarked in surprise.
Greta made a curt laugh at that. “When I likened it to untangling a Gordian knot, I wasn’t exaggerating, Grapes,” she assured. “It’s honestly looking like it could take another week on top of that before it’s all squared away. But I’m honestly okay with it, because it’s sort of like a prolonged business trip for me. Whenever I’m not working on that, I’ve been mostly free to use my time as I like here in Canterlot.”
“Been seeing the sights, then?” Goldengrape asked as he decided to be productive while talking with her and proceeded to polish glasses waiting for their next use for smoothies.
“Basically,” Greta relented. “But, you know, the rest of the team went back to Griffonstone days ago, so I haven’t really had anyone to hang with. Since I knew you worked here though, I figured I’d swing by, see how you were doing.”
“I’m doing good,” Goldengrape replied with a grin, heartened by her asking. “It’s honestly been business as usual since we were exonerated, so it’s been a bit nice to get back to the routine again.” He then snorted to himself and lowered his gaze a little. “But I was actually thinking that maybe I should still shake it up now and then, so…your timing’s pretty good.”
Greta grinned at that. “You know, I was actually hoping you’d say something like that,” she said. She again paused to slurp from her smoothie, having mostly drained it by now. “Is it quitting time for you yet?”
“It will be fairly soon,” Goldengrape asked, glancing at the clock, “About another twenty or so minutes.” He shrugged to himself. “Not that I’m in a hurry. I don’t really have anything else planned for tonight.”
Greta nodded sagely to herself and went silent for a moment while finishing her smoothie. Once she had, she pushed the cup aside and leaned closer. “You wanna go see a movie?”
Goldengrape glanced at her questioningly. Greta raised her eyebrows knowingly at him, signaling she understood full well the significance of what she was asking. So he opted to skip over acknowledging it. “Did you have one in mind?”
“There’s one showing at the local theater that’s kinda caught my eye. It’s about two ponies who have to go on the run while hoofcuffed together.” She shrugged to herself. “Thought it might be fun to see if it’s at all accurate to the real thing.”
Goldengrape only needed a moment to consider it. “Sounds like a hoot. Let’s do it.”
