Pippin' Ain't Easy

by Rust

First published 18th of August, 2013

Pipsqueak: the newest kingpin to one of Equestria's most notorious crime families. What'chu know 'bout inheritances, hater?

Power. Notoriety. Money. Drugs. Mares. Fear. Weapons. Racing chariots. Blood. Respect.

...Pipsqueak?!

This is the tale of how one little colt inherits the largest criminal organization in the history of Equestria, and manages to turn the underworld on its head...

---

A collaborative effort between the Esteemed Scholar of Debauchery, Mister Moniker, and myself. If that wasn't motivation enough, you are sad and I no longer wish to speak with you.

Chapter 1

On a bright, sunny morning, one of the final golden spasms of a fading summer, in a dirty shack of a building on the corner of Hayweather and Trumbull, a small face was framed by corpse-still curtains as it graced a cracked window sill.

The face, belonging to a young palomino colt running by the moniker of “Pipsqueak,” could have been described as the very incarnation of Discord’s rarely-mentioned inbred cousin, Boredom. Forelimbs resting easily on the sill, one hoof squashing his cherubic features into a comical frown, Pipsqueak was finding himself rather immersed in his usual weekday routine.

Watching mold grow.

Two competing strains were currently battling for supremacy of the window’s filthy facade, one of a spongy, dark origin, and the other light and bearing a feathery texture. Pipsqueak had been observing them simply out a lack of other things to do, finding their primeval struggle to edge the other out to be just morbidly fascinating enough to garner his attentions. It was better than listening to his depressing guardian and the other saps inhabiting the poor excuse for an orphanage.

Yes, he was an orphan, a fact that he had come to terms with — no sir, no repression here, thank you very much. Native to Trottingham, his mother had perished in the last great outbreak of hoof rot, and his father had vanished into the mean streets. With no other family to speak of, and preferring to avoid Trottingham’s already-overcrowded system, he had been placed in the Young Sapling’s Home for Parentless Waifs, the shining star of caring and sharing that Ponyville was so well known for.

It wasn’t so bad. There was enough food to go around at the moment, it hadn’t rained in a while so the holey roof wasn’t much of an issue, and there was usually an abundance of mischief he could get up to. Except for days like today.

Pip sneezed. Perhaps he shouldn’t be sitting so close to the mold. Sunbeam has eaten some last week and started acting really funny, babbling on about how he could, “Feel the earth rotating, dude.” Weirdo.

The colt hopped off his little wooden crate by the window and trudged through the dormitory’s center aisle, flanked on either side by rows and rows of triple-decker bunk beds. Each bunk was three stories high, the third hastily bolted on with rotting plywood and rusty nails. Here and there other younglings went about their weekly chores, cleaning, mopping, and dusting. Nopony could go outside until they were all done, and Pipsqueak’s fellow inmates were so slow they made Rainbow Dash nauseous.

Pip jumped onto his bed and rolled over, staring at the plywood bottom of the bunk atop him. He kicked at it. “Gaaaaauuuugghhhhh.”

“Oy! Knock that off!”

“Sorry,” Pipsqueak mumbled to the plywood. “...except not really,” he added under his breath.

He flopped over onto his head, staring back out the window he’d just been sitting at, but now paying much more attention to the astonishingly glorious day that could be seen through the warring fungus. The sun was hanging high over the Ponyville sky, a fat golden blob of heat and light.

He wondered if that meant Princess Celestia was watching over him. Her sister was nice enough... Pip smiled as he recalled a Nightmare Night several seasons ago. Perhaps the Sun Princess could hear him. Maybe she could help him out. Was it strange to pray to her? He'd seen ponies whisper her name before. Eh, it was worth a shot.

Pip scrunched his eyes shut.

“Princess Celestia?"

He held his breath, ears pricked to intercept the slightest of divine whisperings...

Nothing.

Well, he'd already started. Might as well go for broke!

"If you can hear me, I wanna make a wish.”

He peeked an eye open. Nothing. He closed it again, whispering, “I wish for something cool to happen to me today. Something interesting, something that isn’t boring, or having to do with cleaning or chores. I wish... I wish for an adventure.”

Celestia must not have heard him, though, because nothing happened. Pipsqueak sighed to himself and began to prepare for what was surely going to be the worst day ever.

DING-DONG!

On second thought...

“ADOPTERS, EVERYPONY!” somepony yelled. With that, the dormitory exploded into activity as mops, brooms, and half-folded laundry was tossed aside and every single colt and filly in the room surged through the room, out the door, down the stairs, and into the main foyer of the building, a tidal wave of shrieking, stampeding children that swallowed everything in its path.

The orphanage director, one Mister Wood, was caught with a hoof on the door, turning around as a horrified expression on his face grew and grew at the sight of the tsunami of adorableness heading right for him. He seized a ratty umbrella from the nearby stand and whirled it above his head as the wave closed in around him. “Back! Back, you savages! Hah!” Orphans went flying left and right as the stallion held his ground, nearly carried off his feet by the rush. He brandished it, opening and closing it rapidly, yelling at the top of his lungs. The waifs finally turned and fled around the corners and to the relative safety of the stairs.

“Honestly, we go through this every single time the doorbell rings,” he muttered. Mister Wood turned and wrenched the door open. “Yes? Hello...!?”

The visitor took up the entire doorway, having to lower his massive head to peer in at the director. It was a minotaur, dark as sin and seemingly chiseled from stone, red eyes glaring at the squalor of the orphanage. Huge, gleaming black horns stood out a full two feet from either side of its head, and a solid gold ring dangled from a snorting nose.

“Um...,” was all the director could say. Behind him, the orphans peeked out from their corners and closets.

“IS THIS THE YOUNG SAPLING’S HOME FOR PARENTLESS WAIFS.” The minotaur’s voice was louder than two mountain giants dry-humping each other and nearly as horrifying.

“Y-yes...?”

“AND ARE YOU ONE MOURNING WOOD, THE PONY IN CHARGE.”

Mister Wood swallowed. “I-I-I prefer just Mister W-wood. Uh. And I am.”

“I AM HERE TO ADOPT A CHILD.”

“W-well, that’s very nice to hear, let’s just go into —”

“THAT ONE.” The minotaur pointed a gargantuan black finger into the orphanage, straight at the wide eyes of a certain palomino colt.

Pip blinked.

“Wait, what?”

Author's Notes:

Publishing done by some idiot named Nathan Traveler. Updates weekly while Rust is in basic training. Stay tuned for next week's chapter!

Or we'll find you. And do... stuff.

Chapter 2

“YES, THAT ONE WILL DO. THAT IS THE ADORABLE PONY WAIF I HAVE COME TO COLLECT.” The minotaur continued to single Pip out of the crowd, daring Mister Wood to try and say otherwise.

“Oh, u-um. You’re quite sure, then...?” There was a weighty pause as the stallion tried to think of the paperwork and legalese that he was sure was usually involved in these sorts of things...but Celestia almighty, that creature’s fingers had pecs.

“YES,” the monster grumbled as he reached clear over the heads of everypony in the room to wrap his fist around Pipsqueak’s body. “I AM PERFORMING A PERFECTLY LEGAL ADOPTION. OF THIS COLT.”

Before Pipsqueak could scream (for help or in victory, he couldn’t say), the minotaur stuffed him whole into a large leather knapsack slung over his shoulder. His captor shimmied back through the doorway, compressing his gargantuan bulk until he could fit back through. “THANK YOU,” he added.

“GOODBYE.” The wooden door thundered shut, splintering on impact.

Pipsqueak watched the village of Ponyville pass him by from his sidesaddle seat in the bag. Ponies parted around the minotaur as he lumbered past. Whoever couldn’t move fast enough found themselves picked up and placed neatly ten to twenty yards away, based on the arc of his throw and whether or not he spied a pegasus to aim at.

“Um...excuse me,” Pip mumbled. He tapped on the mountain’s side.

“HM?” One gigantic, baleful eye turned down towards him. His attention taken away from the busy market street ahead of him, Pip’s ride began stepping on anything in his path instead.

“Well, um...Mister Monster...”

“LONGHORN.” A brilliantly pink mare tried to leap into his path with a smile on her face, surveyed the carnage behind him, and went home to party another day.

“Sorry, what?”

“LONGHORN. IS MY NAME. MY HORNS. ARE LONG.”

“Oh. So they are,” the colt observed quietly. “So, um, Mister Longhorn...are you gonna be my dad from now on? N-not that there’s anythin’ wrong with that!” That single, burning eye had turned back on him in full force, and Pip found himself sinking deeper into the sack. From somewhere above came a horrific sound, starting low and gaining intensity with each ground-shaking step. It sounded like trains colliding at the Ponyville Station.

Longhorn was laughing.

“HEH. DAD. CUTE. VERY FUNNY, BOSS.” The market crowd began to thin around them, partially due to the lack of shops on this block and partially due to Longhorn’s efforts.

“So that’s a no?” Pip breathed a sigh of relief; while he was sure he’d win any “my dad could beat up your dad” games for the foreseeable future, having a minotaur for a breadwinner would have been a little strange. “Wait...boss?”

“THERE IS A LETTER. READ IT.” Longhorn scratched at his chest absentmindedly as Pip looked around inside the bag.

“UNDER. YOUR ASS.”

“Oh,” Pip yelped. True enough, a thick, brown envelope was tucked away at the bottom of the sack. Sealed in black wax and spattered with a light spray of blood, it was the single most interesting thing Pipsqueak had ever held. He inspected the scattered crimson droplets before shrugging and tearing the envelope open. “Bugger me if that ain’t right foreboding.”

The letter eased out of the envelope with a faint scent of Marelot red and a breezy hint of basil. Dear Pipsqueak, it began.

If you’re reading this, that means they finally got me. I don’t know who, and I don’t know how, but Celestia knows I probably deserved it. I never should have run away all those years ago, that night your mother passed away.

Pip blinked. His mother...? He continued reading.

Her body hadn’t even cooled off, and I had left to drown myself in the harbor. I wasn’t thinking straight... it was the lowest point of my life. Maybe when you have a mare for yourself one day, you’ll understand how much it hurts to lose her. But that was no excuse for taking the coward’s way out. If it wasn’t for the big lummox who gave you this note, I would have done it, too. But he fished me out of the water and took me to Don Stripa, the local mafia boss.

“Your life was forfeit, now it belongs to us,” Don said. I remember that so well...

They took my name, my things, my mane... all connections to my past were severed and I was jumped in to the Zebrellis. You may remember hearing about them when you were smaller. They are the top crime family of Trottingham. Heh. Were the top.

Months passed. I often thought of you, where you were, what kind of colt you would grow to become. I couldn’t go after you, though, in truth because I had no idea where you’d gone. The mob covers its tracks well, and all they would tell me was that you’d been dropped at an orphanage somewhere far away, somewhere I wouldn’t have to worry about you. “We are your family now,” they told me. I always hated them for that.

So when I stabbed them all in the back, it wasn’t something that bothered me.

The biggest crime family in Trottingham, laid low by one of their own. The media had a field day. And who should be left to crawl up out of the rubble? I did. Your father.

“My what!?” Pip all but shrieked. He looked back at the beefy minotaur. “Mister Longhorn, are you quite sure this is all right?”

The black biped held up his left hand, pointing to the palm with his other. Seared into the thick skin was a branding, one that was eerily recognizable. “I know that mark,” Pip murmured. It was a compass, half-opened to show it pointing resolutely North. “That was Da’s cutie mark.” He surprised himself by remembering. How many years had it been now?

Longhorn rumbled, “THERE IS. NO. MISTAKE.” A nearby storefront canopy collapsed under the sheer rumbling of his voice.

“Oh,” Pip said, then again, more quietly, “...oh.”

He hesitantly returned to the letter.

Once I had my revenge on the Zebrellis, I had to move fast to fill in the power vacuum. I called in my favors, used every dirty trick in the book and even invented a few new ones, and when the dust settled, I was standing at the top of the largest criminal empire in Trottingham. I vowed to give the city a new breed of criminal, one who wasn’t out to murder or steal. A criminal who could make his city great in ways that normal ponies never could. A criminal who used his influence to pull his fellows out of poverty and rebuild the streets from the ground up.

And if you’re reading this, it means that criminal is dead.

It was no secret somepony was after my head. I am The Don. The Don of Dons. With that much power... somepony is always gonna want to take it. Which is why, in the event of my death, I have instructed Longhorn here to open my private safe and give whatever he found within to my long lost son. That’s you, Pipsqueak, my number one son! Contained within the pages of this book is the blueprints to my master plan, a society that has no need for crime. I have named you the heir to my empire, Pip. All you need is in that book.

Make me proud.

— Da

“YOUR FATHER,” Longhorn rumbled, “HE WAS A GOOD PONY. SAVED ME. FROM ZEBRELLIS. STARTED NEW FAMILY. NO MORE SLAVES.” He held his palm up in the sunlight again, gazing at it and his passenger before clenching his fist. “PROUD. TO WEAR HIS EMBLEM.” He looked almost wistful as he stared into the horizon, his tread now taking the two of them out of Ponyville proper and towards the train station.

“You really miss him, huh?” The letter folded crisply and fit back into the envelope without fuss. Beside it rested a small black journal, dog-eared and worn from use.

“HE WAS A GOOD PONY. GOOD BOSS.” Longhorn paused to toss a handful of golden bits at the ticketmaster outside the station. The stallion ducked before they made impact with his relatively fragile face. “GOOD FRIEND,” he concluded.

Pipsqueak toyed with the frayed edges of his father’s notebook for a moment. Da had left all this for him? The father he had never known, had never spoken to?

“Mister Longhorn, I don’t really understand this. How did The Don... my Da, how did he do good things by, well, doing bad things?”

“POWER. IT GETS RESULTS. PONY BUREAUCRACY IS TOO FAT. TOO SLOW. YOUR FATHER, HE HAD POWER — HE DIDN’T HAVE TO PLAY THEIR RULES. THINGS THAT TAKE THEM MONTHS TO DECIDE, HE ACHIEVED IN DAYS.”

Pip scratched at his head, not even sure what the word ‘bureaucracy’ meant. “Like wot?”

Longhorn shrugged his mighty shoulders, causing the colt to brace himself against the rocking motion. “ANYTHING. EVERYTHING. NEW BUILDINGS. INFRASTRUCTURE. HELP THE POOR. REMOVE CORRUPT OFFICIALS.”

Hmm. Pipsqueak had never thought about it that way before. “What about stealing stuff? That’s a crime, innit?”

“HAHAHA!” boomed the minotaur. “THIS IS TRUE. BUT THE DON ONLY STOLE FROM CRIMINALS. THERE IS NO HONOR, NO CHALLENGE, NO FUN IN STEALING FROM ORDINARY PONIES.”

“Rip off the bad guys... and help the good guys?” Pip grinned. “Wow. That’s really smart!”

He rubbed a hoof across the book his father had left him. Being a criminal and all still didn’t settle right in his stomach, but if he was helping ponies in the end, that didn’t really matter, right? The colt’s logic seemed sound.

“So...I s’pose I’m your new boss, then?” He hugged the book to himself, wrapping his short forelegs around the last piece of his family left to him. Longhorn nodded slowly before sitting at the turnstile. The bench shuddered uneasily beneath his weight.

“D’you think I could be your friend too?”

If Pipsqueak hadn’t been watching, he might have missed the tiny glimmer of a grin flash across his new bodyguard’s face.

Chapter 3

Celestia’s afternoon tea was going splendidly, as per usual. A full contingent of palace staff worked to keep her favorite spot on the balcony clean and orderly, her tea flawlessly brewed, and her schedule flexible for what was often the one moment of solace in an otherwise busy day.

She reached for the bone china teacup sitting on the table beside her before retracting her telekinesis. A light ripple danced across the surface of her brew. Then another, heavier than before. And another.

What in the—

Her bedroom doors imploded under a barrage of magical energy, sending a flurry of cushions, paperwork and maids still latching onto linens for dear life around the room. The tempest slowed and broke, fading into silence under the click-clack of hooves on the marble floor.

Ah. Of course. Wait for it, Celestia thought calmly. Five, four, three, two...

“Sister!”

Boom goes the dynamite.

Celestia finished her cup, setting it neatly on the tray with the hoofful of her possessions that survived this most recent storm. Luna’s increasingly grand and boisterous entrances were becoming the stuff of legend...and horrible fiscal insecurity.

“Luna. To what do I owe today’s pleasant surprise?” The poor servants hadn’t even finished re-furnishing her suite from last week’s impromptu discussion on modern Equestrian tax law.

Her sister was obviously flustered; her midnight mane glittered fiercely as a million tiny pinpricks of light faded in and out with each deep breath. All things considered, the level of wanton destruction today was low on the Potential Lunar Apocalypse scale.

“Sister. We have grave matters of great import to discuss with thee. We have spent all morning gazing into the secrets of Our magical demon’s scrying eye, and—”

“I thought we agreed that you should stop using magical demon souvenirs, Luna.” Ever since the hunting of otherworldly creatures for their sometimes mystical body parts had been banned, soothsaying had become a difficult business. Unfortunately, Discord had been firm on that particular stipulation ever since his “reformation.”

That hadn’t stopped Luna from keeping her private collection, obviously.

“What? Dost thou doubt the power of Our eye? We pried it from the shattered skull of Belial Ourselves. ‘Twas thrilling sport.” The Princess of the Night giggled in nostalgic jubilation. “We remember it so vividly: the clash of horn against claw, ancient magicks against Elder signs, the warm splash of demon blood...”

“Good grief, I’d almost forgotten how terribly bloodthirsty you can get, Lulu.” Matter rearranged itself inside Celestia’s teapot to let Discord, the recently socially-adjusted Serpent God of Chaos, climb out of the spout.

“‘Tis one of Our favorite qualities,” the Princess cooed happily.

“Do neither of you understand the basic concept of privacy?” Celestia was beginning to feel the old urge to plunge Equestria into another Ice Age. Luna and Discord both stared at her incredulously.

“...Is that one of your modern social standards the hoofmaidens continue to pester Us about?”

“I’ve heard of it. I just don’t happen to care.”

Celestia counted herself fortunate she’d shed her heavy regalia in the privacy of her chambers. Hitting oneself in the face with a solid-gold horseshoe left quite the spectacular mark. “Let’s just address the topic at hoof, shall we?” she said, wiping the frown off her face with her forelimb and leaving the whitewashed diplomatic facade she’d perfected over the centuries. “Luna, what was it you saw in the—” she paused, suddenly very aware of the draconnequus in the room.

Discord didn’t seem to be paying attention, distracted by a finger up his nose. After a moment, he withdrew and removed a half-eaten jelly donut. “Hey! Been wondering where this went.” He popped into his mouth, smacking his lips as he finally gave the alicorns a wink, “Ah, spicy. Don’t mind me, ladies.”

“Thou hast produced a powdered pudding pastry, pilfered from thine protruding proboscis,” declared Luna, who looked thoroughly confused.

Celestia began, “Could we please get back to —”

“Now say that five times fast,” chuckled Discord, “the powder was making me sneeze all morning. Couldn’t figure out why for the life of me!”

“Why?” wondered the night alicorn.

Discord shrugged. “Adds flavor.”

“LOOK EVERYPONY, THERE’S SOMETHING EXPLODING OVER THERE!”

“Dost Our ears deceive Us!?”

“Oooooh, let me see!”

Both the draconequus and nocturnal princess suddenly rushed to the balcony, frantically peering over the side. The horizon was scanned and the city below thoroughly combed before they realized there weren’t, in fact, any things exploding, imploding, combusting, or any combination of the three.

“A-hem.” They turned. Celestia was tapping her hoof against the floor. “Can we not focus, please?”

Discord whistled innocently, clasping his mismatched hands behind his back as a halo winked to life above his head. Luna’s nose scrunched up as her ears lay flat to her royal skull, her ethereal mane crackling with nervous electricity. There were very few things left in Equestria to be scared of, and an irritated Celestia ranked No. 2 on that list, just short of an encore attempt of the Cutie Mark Crusaders Elder God Summoners (Yeah!). Death was No. 3.

“Discord?” Celestia said to the draconnequus. “You may speak when Luna and I are finished.” Discord pulled a zipper across his mouth and flashed her a thumbs up. “Excellent. Now. Luna,” she glanced around for any other possible interruptions, but luckily none were stupid enough to present themselves, “what brings you to my office?”

Discord slunk away into the corner pocket of the Fourth Dimensional Billiards Plane, disappearing with a quiet pop. All distractions absent, Luna found she had completely forgotten what business had brought her here in the first place.

Celestia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between two hooves. There were times during her rule that she deeply regretted building the foundation of her country on a diarchy. Today would be one more, she decided.

“...Your magical demon scrying eye...?”

“Oh! Of course! We thank thee, dear sister. Sometimes Our mind leads us places Our hooves find difficult to follow,” she laughed to herself, a lovely sound that made Celestia want to uproot mountains and topple kingdoms.

“As We were saying, sister, We hath spent all morning long gazing into the untold mysteries buried deep within the vision of the Eye. It appears that a quite prominent mafioso recently met his end...a dastardly strike that reeks of foul play.”

Rummaging through the small pile of notes beside her tea set, Celestia levitated a folded sheet of paper to herself.

“How strange,” she deadpanned. “I myself have seen the same grim tidings.” Snorting in barely-restrained agitation, she tossed the sheets in front of her sister.

“...In yesterday’s newspaper.”

True enough, the prior day’s edition of the Canterlot Sun featured a front-page splash including a picture of the dead Don. CRIME KINGPIN CLOBBERED BY CRAZY KOOK, the Sun helpfully announced. ENTIRE CITY FAILS TO MOURN, it added.

“Your ‘vision’ is hardly newsworthy, Luna. The entire nation of Equestria somehow knew about one crime lord’s death an entire day before you divined it in your contraband eyeball.” Luna’s mouth opened and closed; the unholy energies of her most prized souvenir had failed her.

“But...how? That-that bastard of a demon! We were guaranteed a minimum of ten thousand sooths said per soul!” Celestia’s blank stare communicated entire ballads of profanity that mere words never could. “...Per gallon,” Luna backtracked softly.

A soft golden glow surround the scattered objects around Celestia’s room. Books reshelved themselves, furniture was reorganized, and everything that had been utterly destroyed was incinerated with increasingly bright flashes of pure celestial heat. That same field of telekinetic energy scooped Luna off of her hooves, none too gently, and began carrying her towards the door.

“Now if there is nothing else to discuss, little sister dear, I’d like to enjoy my last few moments of privacy...in private. Goodbye.” Luna squirmed and thrashed in her sister’s grip, but short of drawing blood she couldn’t break free of the magical hold.

“Sister, wait! -nngh- Th-there is more We must tell thee!”

“Oh, look at that. Sound barrier sigils inscribed on my door. I’d almost forgotten I had cast those there.”

“No, please, you must listen—”

“It’s like I can’t hear you already,” Celestia yawned. The doors began creaking shut between the two princesses.

“Celestia, do not dare to shut thy doors in Our face—”

“Oh, dear. They’re shutting...”

“We are going to—”

“Aaaaaand...they’re shut.”

Celestia’s bedroom sealed itself behind a pair of stout oak doors, three layers of protective barriers, and six separate repulsion sigils. Her bonds finally broken, Luna threw herself at the doors and hammered away at them with hooves and horn.

She had, of course, forgotten about the repulsion sigils.

A powerful blast of magic launched her down the hallway. Ponies that had gathered due to the commotion fell like bowling pins as the princess tumbled through them in a flurry of starlight and feathers. She dragged herself to her hooves, stumbled through the mass of dazed staff around her, and shouted with the full power of the Royal Canterlot Voice:

“WE WERE GOING TO TELL THEE, THOU STUCK-UP BI—”

“I assume you’re still yelling out there,” Celestia’s voice carried smugly through the door. “I thought you should know that I still can’t hear you.”

Luna roared and spat, stomping at the marble of the palace floor and gouging it with every strike of her hooves. Big sisters were the worst.

“We were going to tell thee,” she hissed under her breath, “that there is to be another.” She sighed in defeat and focused on repairing the damage done to her mane during the magical whiplash and ensuing tantrum.

From the ether between the tip of Luna’s left ear and a singularly unremarkable mote of dust floating by, Discord climbed out and began styling the princess’ mane with a large, pink, plastic brush.

“Is Celly being a big meanie, Lulu?” Discord hummed while he worked, absentmindedly scraping away the small made in Taiwan sticker on the brush. Pouting for effect, Luna dropped to her haunches and grouched.

“The biggest.”

Chuckling merrily, the draconequus finished filtering the last few flakes of marble from Luna’s mane and affixed it with a gaudy yellow bow. “So,” he continued, “I heard another Don is on his way to the top. Who’s going to stop him?”

“We had planned to with the help of Our sister,” Luna growled.

“Oh, but who’s to say a strong, upstanding mare like yourself can’t do it on her own? Just think!” Discord swept his companion up with an eagle’s claw, waving at a horizon neither of them could see. “You could be the hardboiled detective, wary of tricks at every turn and dead-set on rooting out the criminal mastermind! It’ll be just like one of those fancy movies you stupid ponies haven’t invented yet!” The princess wriggled out of his grasp, dropping silently to the floor on a cushion of air.

“Like...one of Our beloved novels of mystery and romance? Action and deceit?” The idea was appealing; Luna had become something of a heavy reader ever since her return from exile, and the works featuring Sherclop Holmes and Dick Hayseed were among her favorites.

“Exactly! Here’s your trenchcoat and your fedora.” Discord produced the clothing from a pocket of Nowhere, draping the dark brown trencher over the princess and tossing the hat on top. “Did you want a pipe or a cigar?”

In one hand he held a beautiful wooden pipe; in the other, a pack of leafy stogies. Luna pondered for a few seconds before selecting the pipe.

“There you are. Now go, little Lulu! Go hit the mean streets and take a bite out of crime’s lacy unmentionables!” Cackling with delight, Luna took wing and soared for the nearest window.

“Oh, no, wait,” Discord tittered as he grabbed a fistful of Luna’s tail. She remained anchored in the air, flapping furiously.

“What!?”

Tugging at his goatee, the spirit coolly ignored the agitated goddess in his paw.

“Loose-cannon lone-star detectives always die at the end of the story. That’s just basic trope theory,” he mused. “You’re going to need a partner. If Celestia’s not up for the job...I can’t help but notice that you ponies have had a remarkable surplus of princesses recently. Why not ask one of them?”

Comfortable in her favorite chair at the Golden Oaks Library, Princess Twilight Sparkle sneezed.

Author's Notes:

lel

Chapter 4

Comfortable in her favorite chair at the Golden Oaks Library, Princess Twilight Sparkle sneezed.

Her freight-train of a reading pace now decidedly de-railed, a moment was taken to rub at her eyes, which had been working overtime since the wee hours of the morning. She glanced outside the windows. The sky was as blue as an ocean, slashes of pale white clouds cutting through the troposphere. Tiny pinpricks could be seen dancing through this, pegasi about their aerial business. It really was a beautiful day out. She could feel stirrings in her feathers — like an itch that normal scratching would never satisfy.

Twilight glanced down at her book again. A Theory of Chrono-Spatial Interactions with the Subatomic Realm; a novel by Starswirl the Bearded. She exhaled loudly, blowing up her bangs. Perhaps she could afford a small lull in her reading. The book would always be here, after all. Who would check it out, with its musty, dusty pages and moldy spine?

She sneezed again.

“Bless you,” said her chair.

She mumbled, “thanks.”

Yes. She could do with some fresh air. A reasonable amount — it was best to learn to trot before one canters, as the saying went. Twilight set her book down, repressing the sudden surge of maternal anxiety, and crossed the room to throw open her front door. She blinked owlishly in the bright sun.

Twilight Sparkle then froze in place, one hoof already on her stoop.

Wait, what?

The door was slammed, the day forgotten, the book scorned. All her attention was focused on her favorite, plush chair, which not ten seconds ago had been polite enough to exchange words with her.

“Hello...?” she tried.

“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” it boomed back in reply. “EQUESTRIA HAST DIRE NEED OF THINE ASSISTANCE. WILT THOU ANSWER THE NOBLE CALL? WHAT SAYEST THEE!?”

Twilight’s right eye twitched. Oh, no. She recognized that voice. This could only mean that once again she was about to be sucked up into yet another escapade of misguided enthusiasm, nonsense, and exorbitant property damage. “Princess Luna. Stop being my chair.” But mostly nonsense.

Her favorite upholstered furniture piece abruptly exploded. Stuffing rained down from above in a gentle snow. Princess Luna now stood in its place, looking rather abashed yet adorable in what appeared to be a trenchcoat and fedora. She scuffed a hoof on the floor, whining, “But We like it when thou sit upon us!”

Twilight sighed. “Luna, that’s creepy. What have we been working on lately?”

Luna mumbled something under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Not being creepy... but We have dire need of your services!” protested Luna. She stomped her hoof firmly to the ground. “A mystery has made itself known to Us, the solution of which may yet shape Our great nation! You have been keeping up with the most current of events, aye?”

Twilight resisted the urge to sigh at the princess’ exuberance. Luna meant well, she really did, but sometimes she meant too well. But the prospect of a challenge for her mind to attempt was too tempting to completely brush off. And besides, she did love a good mystery. “Yes,” she nodded. “The library has a complete record of all the major newspapers printed for the last five years.” Five years being the very day she first set hoof in the place. Has it really been that long?

“Then you are aware of the perilous position the criminal underworld is now facing?” Luna queried. At Twilight’s suspicious nod, she continued, “Crime is perched upon a cliff, and We have an opportunity to deal it the worst blow since, well, forever. The Don of Dons is now dead and buried, and if his successor is apprehended before control can be regained, the entire enterprise will collapse without leadership.”

“Organized crime in Equestria could be wiped out overnight,” Twilight breathed, her eyes widening as her mind began to churn. While far from being hoofed the reigns of power, the wings at her sides denoted her status as royalty. Was this a test to see if she could handle more responsibilities?

“Will you help Us, Twilight Sparkle?” Luna said.

There was only one thing she could say to that.

Chapter 5

A sudden jolt of motion interrupted the gentle sway of the carriage. Pip’s eyes fluttered open to the ragged velvet cushioning of the seats. He yawned, stretching himself as he rolled to see where they were now.

“Blimey...” he murmured.

The carriage was slowly rumbling down a broad cobblestone avenue, a ship amidst a sea of motion. There were more ponies than he had ever seen in one place, all shapes, sizes and colors. Earth ponies pulled heavy wagons and unicorns weaving in and out of the traffic while pegasi whizzed by overhead, sliding between buildings. The buildings, oh, the buildings! Never before had he seen towers so tall! Even Canterlot’s elegant spires, often glimpsed on the mountainside from his dormitory window, seemed delicate and puny next to these rectangular stone-and-steel titans.

Longhorn, whom was pulling the cart, sensed him shifting about. The mighty minotaur peered over a bulging shoulder. “WELCOME TO YOUR NEW KINGDOM, LITTLE DON. WELCOME TO TROTTINGHAM.”

Pipsqueak gazed about, wide-eyed. “All this is mine?”

“YOUR FATHER’S SEEDS TOOK TO THE EARTH LONG AGO, AND NOW HIS ROOTS RUN THROUGH THE ENTIRE CITY.” Longhorn bulled through the dense crowd and pulled their rickety carriage along with him into a side street. The sun was blotted out as they slid into the belly of the beast. Pipsqueak couldn’t help but notice that in the shadow of the alleys, ragged ponies watched them pass, slumped against brick and stone or peering from around rusting dumpsters.

Pipsqueak pointed them out. “Longhorn, who are those ponies?”

The minotaur glared into the darkness. The dark shapes flinched away from his steely gaze. “THEY ARE YOUR PEOPLE.”

“Why are they looking through trash? Can’t they just go to the market and buy food?”

“THEY CANNOT. NOT WITHOUT HELP.”

Pipsqueak frowned. “Please stop.” Before the carriage‘s wheels had ceased to move, the little colt had hopped out onto the road, Longhorn watching him with interest. He trotted over to where the shadows darkened. A large bundle of rags by the wall manifested itself as a prone pony, a young mare who might have been called pretty were it not for the many sores covered her body and a mane that seemed as though somepony had tried to shave it away. Pip prodded her on the shoulder. Brightly, he said, “Hullo!”

The mare’s eyes flicked open. She lurched into a sitting position, then proceeded to violently cough , spitting something slimy and foul-smelling onto the cobblestones. When the convulsions had ceased, she looked up at the colt.

“...”

“My name’s Pipsqueak, but all my friends call me Pip! Who are you?” he said.

“...Sassaflash,” she rasped, put off by the colt’s friendliness. Who was this kid, anyway? Didn’t he know any better than to associate with a bum like her? Suspicious, she asked, “what’s it to ya?”

“I was wonderin’ why you’re out here in the garbage.” The colt smiled. “Cushions are a lot comfier.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t know,”droned Sassaflash. “I’ve been on the streets since I could run.”

“Why?” Pip wondered. “Did’ja run away from something?”

“That’s none of your business, you little —” she froze at the sound of something akin to gunshots echoing around the alley. The kid’s giant minotaur had cracked his knuckles in a manner that dared her to finish that sentence. “— adorable scamp. But, I mean, this is a special occasion.”

It was her birthday, after all. It’d probably be a little less bittersweet if she hadn’t forgotten how old she was.

She shifted her rags, revealing a withered, broken wing, feathers rotten and falling off. At the colt’s wide gaze, she explained, “Feather Flu. Had to leave to find meds. My family couldn't afford 'em, so...”

Pip frowned. “My friend’s brother had that once. He went to the hospital. Does it feel bad?”

Sassaflash grimly chuckled. “Heh. No. It started when my wing broke; got an infection. But the cut healed up quick, and I lost feeling in it when the feathers began to fall out.”

“How’d your wing break?” Pip asked, reaching out to touch the ruined limb.

“That,” Sassaflash hissed, “is not for a foal’s ears.” She leaned away from him. “Let’s just say it was the other reason I left home. I never learned to fly, so I ran.”

“Oh,” said Pip. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The young mare gazed at him, open-mouthed, for a good minute, before bursting out into helpless laughter.

“What?” Pip giggled along with her. “What’s so funny?”

“Hehe! You are, kid! Hoo, ‘is there anything I can do!’ Wow, that’s not something ya hear everyday! Hoohoohoo!” First, Scabby Joe steals her cardboard bedding. Then the colts from the next alley over threatened they’d pay her a visit if she didn’t put out tonight. On top of all that, it was her birthday, whoop-dee-freakin’ doo. And now this? Trottingham was in a sick mood today. A sick, sick mood.

The colt scrunched up his nose. “It isn’t?”

“Heh... no. Not really.” Sassaflash leaned back against the wall, rummaging around in her rags for a moment before pulling out an old, beaten-up flask. After taking a deep pull from this, she said, “Kid, you aren’t from around here, are ya?”

“I’m from Ponyville!” he answered brightly. “But my father was from here.”

“Was?” Sassaflash raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. He’s dead now.”

Sassaflash winced.

“...Huh. Well, I’ll drink to his memory.” She swallowed some more, savoring the hot, soothing burn in her stomach. She risked a peek into the flask. Hmm. She was running low. But she couldn't bear to buy some more, not when she had to earn money the way she did.

Sassaflash swirled the liquid around in the flask, brooding. No, she was just about done making money that way, no matter what the colts from the next alley said. But she was too big to steal like she used to, and too small to break into shops like some of the earth ponies in the alley. No, anything was better than having to go back to that streetcorner again.

She looked back up at the colt. “Were ya being serious just then? About offering for help? I mean really.”

“You betcha!” Pip said. “Why wouldn’t I be? I could really do it, too! I’ve got connections!” He turned to the minotaur. “Right, Mister Longhorn?”

“RIGHT.”

At first, Sassaflash thought she’d heard wrong. There was no way the kid had just called the hulking mountain of muscle by that name. There was only one minotaur in the city who went by such a moniker, the right-hand bull of the kingpin himself, and that monster had been taken down with The Don when his casino had been hit, or so the grapevine went.

She gave the biped another look. Everything the streets had taught her said it was impossible, and yet there he was, dark-furred and more scarred than a Roaman gladiator. Horns as wide as a doorway, and shoulders twice as so. If this really was the same bull... something sparked in her sickly chest, something she’d thought had been extinguished long ago.

If it was true, she might very well have her ticket out of this alley. Somepony that high up on the ladder would definitely have the right connections to help a dirty little pegasus with a destroyed wing and Feather Flu. Sassaflash glanced back at the darkness, where the other bums hid, watching, curious. The streets had presented her with a chance, however slim it was, that things just might get better for her.

Quite literally, she had nothing to lose.

There was no reason not to take that chance.

“Alright, I’m listening,” she said.

Ten minutes later, Sassaflash found herself on her very first carriage ride, sitting on the back seat, wrapped in a ratty old blanket while the kid chattered aimlessly about everything and nothing.

The Don had a son.

A fricking son.

Whom was sitting right next to her, a hyperactive little thing with no regard for personal space and a serious case of optimism.

Sure, the kid had showed her the letter and the book, but she couldn’t read anyway. It was the minotaur’s spoken word she believed, not to mention the kid was the spitting image of his old man, from the few times she’d seen pictures in a forgotten newspaper on the sidewalk.

Sassaflash leaned back into her seat and actually smiled for the first time in... she didn’t even know. Happy birthday to me, she thought.

Pipsqueak bounced and grinned like an idiot as he told her about the time he and some colt named Rumble had pranked the orphanage director by replacing his toothpaste with glue. Sassaflash allowed herself to zone out, sinking into the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Ooh, Mister Longhorn, is that where we’re going?”

“YES. THIS IS THE HEADQUARTERS OF OUR OPERATION. HERE WE WILL MEET WITH YOUR LIEUTENANTS AND COMPLETE THE TRANSFER.” Longhorn gestured with one massive hand to the glittering building before them, an impressive fountain of water before this and flags fluttering in the breeze. “WELCOME TO YOUR FATHER’S CASINO. WELCOME TO THE BIG D.”

In the backseat, Sassaflash tried not to snicker.

Chapter 6

“Y’know,” the half-starved pegasus mumbled between mouthfuls of food, “always figured this place was prob’ly pretty dull. Good ta see I can still count on being wrong from time to time.”

The casino roared in activity around them. True to its name, The Big D was a titanic amalgamation of hotel, multiple restaurants and clubs, and the gaming floor where Pipsqueak, Sassaflash and Longhorn found themselves comfortably seated. They were waiting on Pip’s new lieutenants, Longhorn had announced, who should be arriving shortly. Every few minutes one of the staggering number of minotaur staff would stomp by their table and give Longhorn a cryptic stare, followed by a firm nod or shake of his horns.

As for Longhorn himself, his mood was souring by the minute.

“THREE MINUTES. FIFTEEN SECONDS. FOURTEEN. THIRTEEN...” He continued to count off under his breath until a puny weight impacted itself against his crossed arms. Looking down, his haze of rage cleared just enough to see the little Don staring back up at him.

“What happens when you’re done countin’, Mister Longhorn?” The colt had climbed over his half-finished plate of minutely-detailed hors d'oeuvres and rested his hooves across the minotaur’s slabs of muscle and sinew. Reaching out with a titanic limb, Longhorn deposited his boss back in his seat across the table.

“SOMETHING. MESSY.”

A smartly-dressed earth pony approached the table, grinning happily as he pulled a martini from a passing waiter. Longhorn sighed, aggravated, and stood up to meet the newcomer.

“MISTER CAESAR. GOOD TO SEE YOU. FINALLY.”

“Ah, Longhorn, how wonderful to see you back home with the Family.” Caesar finished his drink and tossed it carelessly to a minotaur walking past with a tray of similar glasses. “It’s simply been so dreary without you around for some theatrics. Where did you disappear to, by the by? You left without much warning, my good fellow.”

The agitation building inside Longhorn’s brawn was reaching critical mass. Managing a snort rather than a war cry, he shifted to the side and lifted a finger towards Pipsqueak.

“I HAVE BEEN BUSY. FINDING WHAT REMAINS OF THE FAMILY. MISTER CAESAR, THIS IS PIPSQUEAK - SON AND RIGHTFUL HEIR TO THE DON OF DONS.”

To his credit, Caesar didn’t bat an eye at the sight of the messy-faced foal and his rather… uncultured pegasus companion. His pupil managed to twitch involuntarily, though. This spot-speckled thing in front of him was waving a friendly hello and giving him the warmest smile the stallion had ever seen that he didn’t have to pay for.

“Hullo there, Mister Kai-zer! It’s great to meet you! I’m Pipsqueak, but you can call me Pip if you want. And this’s Sassaflash. I met her outside near some dumpsters and desperate ponies at the end of their rope. She’s a bleedin’ riot.” At the mention of her name, Sassaflash looked up from her food to size up the stallion.

“Nice tie, Con Mane. I’d lose the hat, though.”

He blinked, trying to process the fact that this wretch was actually speaking to him. “My… hat? Whatever for?”

“Well,” she muttered as she smeared a napkin across her face, “Guess I just don’t find it very attractive. Can’t imagine a mare who would, really. Saw a pretty cute couple’a coltcuddlers last week wearing hats like that, though.”

Caesar reeled, disgust evident in every inch of his grimace. “Are you insinuating that I’m g—”

“I won’t judge,” Sassaflash finished before ignoring his sputtering outburst and continuing with her meal.

Struggling to keep himself from shrieking in rage, Caesar plastered on a practiced smile and tapped gently on Longhorn’s arm.

“Longhorn, would you be a sport and talk to me privately for a moment?” His easy smile suggested pleasantry; his flashing eyes screamed murder. Reluctantly, Pipsqueak’s bodyguard took a few thundering hoofsteps away from the table and stopped with Caesar among the golden jungle of the slot machines.

“WHAT.” Longhorn crossed his arms and returned Caesar’s glare with one equally lethal.

“You know what, you oaf. That,” Caesar pointed a quivering hoof at Pipsqueak’s table, “Is no Don. Get rid of it. I don’t care where you found this little urchin, but if it’s not off the premises in under thirty seconds I will personally go up to the Baker’s loft and place an order for four hundred pounds of New Yoke Ribeye, medium rare.” His eyes danced dangerously under the brim of his high silk hat. “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Longhorn only sighed and reached into his satchel, drawing out the blood-stained letter and handing it to his employer. Caesar scoffed and waggled the dirty thing in his hoof.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“YOU COULD READ IT. YOU ASS. SIR.”

Pointedly shelving the comment away for future outrage, Caesar unfolded the letter and scanned its contents. After a moment, he crumpled the few sheets of paper into a wad of detritus and threw it in an ashtray left sitting on the edge of one of the gilded slots.

“So this foal really is the misbegotten spawn of our late Don. You know as well as I do that the other lieutenants and I would never agree to have a brat like that command our empire.”

“THIS EMPIRE,” Longhorn rumbled with all the thinly-veiled menace of an icebreaker advancing on a floatie-clad swimmer, “WAS NEVER YOURS. HIS FATHER BUILT IT. HIS FATHER PASSED IT ON. HE DID NOT. PASS IT TO YOU.”

“Be that as it may, I speak for the Family now. We have a new business model that requires the Don’s petty ideals die just like he did. And I’m telling you to get rid of this creature immediately.” His irritation had boiled into white-hot fury, the carefully-pressed bowtie around his neck wilting visibly as he grit his teeth.

Longhorn grinned.

“NO.”

Caesar choked on his own words before they could spray out of his mouth. No!? To his knowledge, the barely-restrained typhoon of a minotaur had never refused an order before. Granted, he had always taken them directly from the Don himself, but… in the absence of the Family’s figurehead, the cabinet of four lieutenants spoke in his place, Caesar chief among them.

And Longhorn apparently did not give one shit.

“I CAN SEE. YOU ARE NOT CONCERNED WITH THE DON’S WISHES. HIS VISION. IF YOU WILL NOT SUPPORT HIS BOY,” he leaned into Caesar’s face, blowing the stupid hat off his head with a powerful snort, “WE WILL BE ENEMIES.”

Trapped between emotional states both livid and confused, Caesar ground his hoof into the marble floor and bared his teeth.

“I have thirty armed boys on this floor alone,” he seethed. “What have you got, Longhorn?”

The meaty fist shot out faster than Caesar thought possible, wrapping around his neck entirely and lifting him from his hooves.

“YOUR NECK. MY PLEASURE.”

Caesar barely had time to whimper before he found himself airborne.

Pipsqueak and Sassaflash had only just finished their fantastic meal before the scrawny pegasus threw a hoof around her new benefactor’s head and dragged him under the table.

“Giddown, kid!” A roaring slipstream of air tore their plates off the tabletop while the two huddled underneath the stout, oak furniture. Somewhere in the distance of the game floor, a very heavy something crashed into a row of slot machines.

Pulling himself away from Sassaflash’s death grip, Pipsqueak ran a hoof through his mane and whistled. “What the hay was that?” He gawked at the damage he could see from their hiding spot: four separate slot machines, one after another, had been knocked to the floor from their anchored positions. A grey-coated heap raised a weak hoof from the last one, mewling painfully.

Their cover lifted and flipped away from them, landing near a party of unicorns only too eager to leave the suddenly dangerous premises. Longhorn stood over them, glancing around and noting the sudden appearance of two dozen ponies armed with truncheons, bats and brass horseshoes.

“PARDON ME. LITTLE DON. IT’S TIME FOR US TO LEAVE.”

Chapter 7 (unfinished)

A hard rain tumbled down onto the poorly-lit platform. This time of night, Trottingham Station was usually quiet, save for one or two midnight specials. One in particular stood on the rails — Engine 46; all glittering brass and sharp black paint, fresh from the yard — occasionally letting off blasts of steam and softly hissing as the boiler cooled from a hard run.

Above, dark clouds covered the night sky, a pallor of smoke and smog churned out by the city’s mighty factories.

The engineer quietly shook his head to himself as he watched the train’s sole occupants depart. It was strange that nobility chose to travel by rail, but these two rewrote the definition of the word.

Strange, as in not only reserving a private trip from Canterlot to Trottingham, but buying the train that did it. Being a new engine, he was a new engineer, and still unused to the job. Scratching his leg, the engineer figured he was now an employee of the crown.

One of the nobles tapped on the side of the train. The engineer poked his head out. “M’lady?” What, was he going to get a tip or something?

“Keep the coals hot, Pop Smoke,” said the noble, hurried glancing about under the brim of a fedora. “We’ve a hunch that we won’t tarry here for long.”

“Yeah, sure —” the engineer turned to crank the lever for the bellows, then paused. “Wait, my name isn’t Pop Smoke...” He looked back to the noble.

But the noble had vanished, along with the other one. The lonely platform was empty.

Frowning, the engineer shrugged. “Whatever. Now… where the f**k am I supposed to park this thing?”

Two alicorns trotted gamely through the twisting alleys of Trottingham, each clad in a thick detective’s coat with holes for wings, and slick fedoras. Princess Luna puffed at her pipe as she walked, paying the dark recesses of the path no mind. Beside her, Princess Twilight Sparkle took a drag of a cigarette, before launching into a coughing fit. Wheezing, she glared at the larger of the two. “Why exactly do we have to be smoking, again?”

“‘Tis the way of things.” Luna flipped her collar up against the rain, gritting her teeth. “All hard-boiled detectives do this. Didst thou forget to read the reference novella we gifted?”

“Of course I read it. Half the book was the main character being melodramatic and the other half unnecessarily violent!”

“Exactly.” Luna wistfully smirked despite her surroundings, despite the cold rain and filth of the alley, despite the miserable state of her city —

“—Oh no, you are not using this as another excuse to live out another one of your fantasies.” Twilight stomped a hoof, accidentally catching a puddle and splashing everywhere. “And we are not turning this into a second Pudding Incident.”

“THOSE DAMNABLE SENIOR CITIZENS HAD THEIR TAPIOCA COMING TO THEM!” seethed the Night Princess. At the shocked expressions of two nearby station employees, she leered. “Free healthcare for the elderly? Heh! Once upon a time ‘twas considered an insult to live long enough to claim benefits from the Crown. But ponies today are soft and pudgy, thoroughly whipped and filled with bits both chewy and repulsive. Just like their damned tapioca.”

The cost-benefit analysis of replying to Luna’s outburst scurried through Twilight’s head before she lost her train of thought to another fit of gags and half-choked breaths. Her cigarette landed in a pool of stagnant water and fizzled as she crushed the nasty thing under a hoof.

“Just… ugh. Do you have any other information about this villain, other than the fact that scrying with body parts is, oh, disgusting? And illegal?”

Exhaling a cloud of earthy smoke into Twilight’s face, Luna grinned sadistically and plodded ahead as menacingly as she could. “Were it up to us, the wholesale slaughter of demons both large and small would still be a pastime enjoyed by our most beloved subjects. Far be it from us to waste perfectly good, choice cuts of demon. But to answer your question, dear Twilight, yes. We know several secrets the new Don could not hide from my Eye.”

She paused to glare threateningly at a passing nogoodnik, spooking him into a nearby alleyway where he was immediately laid into by a rival band of hooligans. Trottingham was just one of those towns.

“Through the visions of hellfire and brimstone, we have burned many a carefully-hidden truth into our mind. ‘Twas only through our arcane skill that we could now assure you of the fact that the new Don…” the princess puffed away at her pipe for tension, “...once met a pink chicken.”

Luna nodded sagely to herself.

“And it was awful.”

The rainy streets muffled the noise of a certain lavender librarian’s despair. Together, the two Princesses vanished into a maze of brick and gloom. Trottingham swallowed them up.

It wasn’t likely to spit them out anytime soon.

Author's Notes:

Yes, there was a long wait. Rust is super busy, Moniker is super busy, and both also both super lazy.

Super deal with it.

Deuces.