Muffins, Sand and Doubles

By Silvertie

"Mummy," Dinky Doo said pleadingly, drumming her hooves impatiently on the dinner table, "I want to go to the Sisterhooves Social!"

"Mummy's told you, muffin," Ditzy Doo replied from her position half-way inside the kitchen oven, voice muffled by the oven mitt in her mouth, "the Social is for sisters - you don't have a sister."

"Can't you pretend to be my sister? Or fib, and say somepony else is my sister?"

"Um, muffin, I don't know anypony who looks like they could be your si-"

*The Black Book*

What? Ditzy almost dropped the tray of muffins she was holding in suprise.

*Black Book*

Odd. Ditzy had been hearing the odd voice in her head off and on, ever since she came to Ponyville - after consulting the local library and doctors in between mail delivery routes and minding Dinky, she'd come to the conclusion that it was just a typical side effect of that huge concussion she got a few years back.

The voice hadn't always made sense - sometimes, it was a mare, others, a stallion; Always, she only caught what seemed like half a conversation.

Today, the voice had piped up again, with a pertinent phrase - she did have a little black book; it had been one of a few things she'd brought back to Ponyville with her after moving back home from Canterlot. Strangely, it had been hidden in her favorite book, The Fifth Board.

Why had it been put there? Had she put it there?

She put the tray of muffins on the bench to cool, and closed the oven.

"But Muuuuuum~," Dinky persisted, throwing an adorable sulk into the mix, "'really wanna go..."

"Look, muffin," Ditzy said, fixing her daughter with half a look (Her other eye, as usual, roved with a will of its own), "Mummy will think about it, okay? Now, you go play while these muffins cool down."

"'kay," grumbled Dinky, giving up the struggle and wandering outside. Mummy was forgetful, and 'I'll think about it' usually turned into a 'Why didn't you ask earlier?' – in other words, she wasn’t going to go.

Being sisterless sucked.

======

"The Black Book! The Black Book!" a mare's voice rang out of the ether.

"Why are you shouting?" responded a male voice with a thick, mixed accent.

"Black Book!" repeated the mare's voice, ignoring the male.

The male sighed. "Bright. Why are you shouting?"

"Because," Bright Eyes responded, "Dinky needs somepony to be her sister for the Sisterhooves Social, and I know a pony that could help - but his name's in the Black Book!"

"Sisterhooves Social?" the male repeated, disbelieving. "It sounds beyond stupid."

“It’s a Ponyville tradition,” explained Bright, “Sisters team up in groups of two and compete in a series of contests.”

“Ah, training combat teams in the guise of family bonding – I see how it works.”

“…no, the contests are things like pie-eating, egg-carrying, mud-pit-not-falling-in, that sort of thing.”

The male sighed. “I retract any positive comments I might have made about it – it’s still really stupid.”

======

Ditzy screwed up her face in determination. She wasn’t going to forget this, and do something else. No. She was going to find the black book, and satisfy the voices in her head.

She wasn’t stupid; she was well aware of the dangers of listening to inner voices, but just this once couldn’t possibly hurt. After all, it was just a book.

The question was - where did she leave it? She turned around, scanning her room with her one good eye. The other one was, as usual, being useless and disobeying her. She knew she put it down somewhere, but couldn’t… quite… remember.

Dinky. Dinky would know – she might be just a foal, but she was a real chip off of somepony’s block – must have gotten it from her father, whoever he was. She always forgot things, and Dinky would know where to look.

“Dinky! Muffin!”

======

Dinky looked up from her sandcastle, and sighed. Mummy was calling, probably to ask her to help look for something. She didn’t really mind, but…

The foal looked at her sand castle – it only had three walls, and half of the central block-house. The masonry was sub-par and the turrets hadn’t even been completed – it wouldn’t survive the afternoon, and she’d need all that time if she wanted to finally get a keep built.

She ran inside, vowing to make this quick. Castle Dinky would get its keep today, on her oath. Sitting inside, at the dinner table, her mummy sat, playing with a muffin, and an identical one sitting opposite her.

Well, Dinky supposed she could spare ten minutes to eat a muffin. If you had no time for muffins, you might as well be dead.

“Yes, mummy?”

“Oh, there you are, muffin. I have a muffin for you, and a small job.”

Oh great, there she goes – the muffin was the bait. Dinky kicked herself mentally, and kept the grin plastered on her face. “What’s that?”

“Mummy’s misplaced that funny little black book of hers,” informed the elder Doo, “But she’s forgotten it somewhere. Do you remember where I left it?”

Dinky wracked her brain – she knew the book in question, it was pretty distinctive. Her mummy had been surprised to find the inside of The Fifth Board hollowed out and used as storage space for such an innocuous item. Dinky had been dying to get into it and crack the code it apparently used – surely it was important, probably a treasure map. But no, muffins, castles and a small case of chaos being unleashed over Equestria had interfered.

Like she always said: If you got no time for muffins, you got no time for life.

Hmm. Where had mummy left the book? Couch? No. Lampshade?

Dinky tilted her head back, and checked – sitting on the wall, the lampshade hung, whole and unfettered with black books. Nope.

Double hmm – it was like those picture books she had, Where’s Waldo Arm? Only, there was no red and white pony to find, just a black book. The answer was before her, she was sure of it. Just like Waldo Arm, the answer appeared before her, and she wondered why she hadn’t spotted it sooner.

“The Narrator’s building up tension!” responded Pinkie Pie from a convenient window, sticking her pink, party-pony nose into things that didn’t concern her.

“You can’t silence the truth!” she shouted back, aggressively, “The Narrator is a dithering hack!”

She was right – the truth couldn’t be silenced. But it could be ignored completely out of hand… or hoof, rather.

“How can you ignore this?!” shouted back Pinkie, waving her hooves about.

The answer was simple; two ponies not exactly known for their ability to split attention were thoroughly engrossed in the black book, which had been discovered in its role as a muffin-plate-not-denting-the-table-mat.

“Ooh…” growled Pinkie, glaring into space where there shouldn’t be any space, “You’ll get yours,” she vowed, drawing a line between her eyes and a non-existant Narrator with a hoof.

The gesture lost a lot in translation – not having claws or fingers made the gesture relatively pointless. Taking on the writer of a story, as part of the story itself, while he’s writing it, makes combat considerably one-sided.

Giving up, Pinkie Pie retreated from the scene in a huff, leaving the Narrator to focus on the Doos and their little black book.

======

Ditzy looked at the squiggles and marks on the page. It was writing, and it was Equestrian, but it made no sense.

“Lantern Hang Shade Quiche?” she read out loud, perplexed.

Next to her, Dinky was glaring at the page like it had been Doom Lord Tyranitar Rex, the monster that destroyed her sandcastle two days ago. (It wasn’t really; books couldn’t be small foals with big shovels, an obsession with perfect frescoes, and a short temper when it came to sandcraft.)

The page had repeating patterns; if you swapped certain letters out, and used every other synonym…

She’d need a bit of paper for this.

======

“Look at her go, I’m honestly impressed. Looks like this world produced something useful after all. I’ve broken more complicated codes, but never this fast and not with so little.”

Bright spluttered. “That’s the highest cipher of Equestrian Intelligence Bureau Encryption! Or it was when I stopped being Head of Security, anyway. It should be virtually unreadable to the average pony!”

“And yet, here we are, watching a foal break it in ten seconds flat, with a crayon and an old coloring-in sheet.”

“She’ll never get the Maginot Connection part of the cipher – and without that, the book’s useless.”

“The one she’s breaking by color-coding every… sixteenth consonant?”

“… Donk,” bemoaned Bright, “who did you fuck to get a foal like this?”

======

Dinky sat back, panting a little. Nothing satisfied like a puzzle solved.

On the back of the old coloring in sheet, a page of writing filled the available space, corrections made to the original black text in blue and red, and liberal interpretations of base-sixteen mathematics noted down in orange.

The results had been output to a second coloring-in page, Captain Puppysmiles’ yellow space-suit proving no visual obstacle to the purple text. Dinky was, ultimately, satisfied – puzzle was broken, she’d used purple (A color she almost never got to use unless she repeatedly sketched motion-art of the town librarian, and she wasn’t going to do that because of the field-day it would cause psychologists) and the muffin had been devoured in her haste.

Back to sandcastles - she excused herself, and like a small pale purple rocket, left the house to finish her sand-castle.

Ditzy just looked at the completed page, numbly. Dinky really was a clever pony, and so nice to her mother…

She read the page. It was a list of addresses, with verbatim margin-notes from the book. Comments like “moves every six months”, and “Check with Fink Rat for exact details”.

In short, a very detailed delivery roster; being a mail-mare, she was well acquainted with the things, and loved them dearly – it was hard to forget what you were doing when you had a checklist in front of you.

But what did it have to do with finding Dinky a substitute sister?

“Well, duh, one of the ponies on that list must be a substitute-sister-finder!” Pinkie Pie chimed in from the window, once again. If she didn’t take care with where she showed up, it was entirely possible that accidents could happen, a la Saw.

“Oh, stick a sock in it,” retorted Pinkie, “Can’t I do my job?”

The validity of such a statement was questionable – what business did Pinkie have in Ditzy Doo’s house?

“Muffin Delivery!” Pinkie extended a hoof through the window, revealing a tidy, plaid-covered basket of warm muffins.

“Oh, thank you, Pinkie!” Ditzy said, cheerfully accepting the muffins, “I’ve been waiting for these.”

She took one out of the basket, and checked a small label – Sugarcube Corner, 1769AP – a premium vintage. Ditzy took a gentle nibble – one might scarf back lesser muffins, but rarity was to be enjoyed… sensually.

======

Rarity looked up from her dress, bothered by something.

“What’s wrong, Rarity?” Fluttershy asked quietly, remaining stock-still as Rarity continued to pin the dress with a haze of glowing pins, despite her distracted state.

“Uh, you wouldn’t understand,” Rarity said, “I just had the feeling that hundreds of minds suddenly thought about something… uncouth… involving myself.”

“Was it… a wet mane?”

“No, it was – wait, Fluttershy – where did you get an idea like that?”

“Oh. Um. It’s nothingpleasedropitandcontinuewiththedresseep-“

======

Back at Ditzy’s house, the muffin-delivery-pony had left, leaving Ditzy to pore over the address list with a vintage muffin cradled in hoof.

Taking a delicate nibble, Ditzy savored the aroma and taste as she pondered Pinkie’s advice, which had been border-line cheating, cutting out a good twelve percent of the story’s expository dialogue.

A pony good at finding lookalikes… she examined the names of the ponies in more detail. Most of the ponies had obviously fake names and pseudonyms. Icy Weiner, Agent Posh Leggings, Captain-Adjutant “Rock-Legs” Sagan… Finder.

Finder? She looked at the entry in more detail. A unicorn that, if the margin notes were to be believed, was exceptional at finding body-doubles and look-alikes. And if he couldn’t find a double, he’d make one with an illusion.

Problem: he lived in Canterlot. Either Ditzy could take Dinky with her, and use Mr. Turkwise’s carriage service again, or find someone to mind Dinky for a little while.

One pony came to mind – had a sort-of-foal of her own, wasn’t an idiot, and Ditzy could broach the topic while discussing the latest issue of Checklists Monthly.

Library time.

======

“Hi, Dinky,” Spike said, by way of greeting, “Twi’ said you’d be hanging out here for a bit, and asked me to see what you’re doing. What are you doing, by the way?”

“Sand castle,” replied the foal unicorn, sculpting the dry medium with tender care, “Try not to breathe, please.”

“Oh, okay.” Spike stepped back a bit, and the baby dragon’s jaw dropped as he realized the scale and scope of the structure in front of him. “That’s… impressive.”

“It is… but it’ll be gone tomorrow,” Dinky said, with regret, “Sand-based fortifications don’t stack well against wind.”

“Well,” Spike said, looking around for Twilight, “I could always breathe a little fire on it, if you really want. Did you know sand turns to glass when you burn it lots?”

“Really?!” Dinky’s eyes lit up, and possibilities for glass-based structures whizzed through her head. Forget castles; with glass framework, she could do so much more. Talk Spike into heating up some basalt, and maybe some more iron-rich dirt, and…

“Yeah, sure,” Spike said, missing the plans unfolding in the eyes of the unicorn before him, “But you don’t tell Twilight I was playing with fire, okay? She’ll skin us both alive if she finds out.”

Dinky drew a hoof across her mouth, zipping it closed and dropping the key into a handy hole, burying it. She didn’t need to speak to create architectural art.

======

Ditzy looked at the door in front of her, and double-checked the address. Yup – this was Finder’s house, in Canterlot. Rain, hail or shine – you couldn’t beat the Royal Equestrian Mail Delivery Service.

A small, sturdy apartment in a more affluent region of Canterlot. It was a nice enough neighborhood, but the door itself looked very sturdy, and even had a small metal-covered slit – Finder must be really tall, to have a mail slot that high up.

Ditzy checked her saddle-bags – as advised by the black book, a photo of Dinky Doo, and three thousand bits in unmarked, used coins. With a confident rap, she banged on the door with a hoof.

Just like delivering the mail, she told herself, just like delivering the mail.

“Who’s there?” A voice called out from inside, “Celestia-damn you, answer me!”

“Uh, Ditzy Doo?” the mail-mare replied, uncertainly.

“Ditzy Doo… stay right there.” With a loud FLACK, a small metal shutter was slid aside in the metal slit, revealing a very not-tall set of eyes, which widened in surprise. “Well, buck my turkey and call me a hat, if it isn’t one of my favorite customers – come in, come in.”

With a loud CLUNK, a cross-bar was removed, and the door swung open, revealing a rather dark house – not being one to refuse invitations, Ditzy stepped in, cheerfully admiring the décor.

Ditzy was not good at recognizing the line between “artistic décor” and “genuine mess”. The house had all its windows closed, lights were few and far between, and the floor itself, while not completely coated in old wrappers and doughnut boxes, only had free space where it looked like ponies walked frequently.

The door closed gently behind her, plunging her into half-light, and she looked at who had closed the door – a coal-grey unicorn with a vibrant-green mane stood there, smiling at her.

“It’s been too long… Ditzy Doo? Is that your cover name? Are you undercover or something?”

“Uh, n-“ Ditzy began, as she sat down on a mostly empty chair.

“Ah, never mind,” dismissed Finder cheerfully, rambling on like a freight train with no brakes into an open-plan kitchen, “You want a muffin? I know you like muffins; just got a batch from Fleur, remember her, right? Here, chocolate chip – no vintage, sadly, but they’re still good.”

Ditzy accepted the proffered food, and took a bite – she fired said bite out as carefully as she could at the nearest pile of rubbish, tongue hanging out in disgust. Finder frowned, and after taking a quick sniff of his own, retched.

“Ah, perhaps they’re a little off… sometimes I lose track of time in here,” admitted Finder, before rounding on Ditzy, “But not you – I know I haven’t seen you for a couple of years. What’s happened? Word was, that you died or something. Certainly stopped being a guard.”

“Uh, I live in Ponyville now, and I-“

“Ah, ah,” Finder cut Ditzy off, “Say no more, I know the rest. You can’t tell me because it’s a top-secret mission, yadda yadda – must be some seriously deep cover for the mission to take a couple of years. But you’re here now, so I’m guessing you wanna talk shop – I hear your bags, they go jingle-jangle as you canter merrily along.”

“That’s right,” Ditzy said, relieved for a break in Finder’s rant, jiggling her bags a little, “You find body doubles and stuff, right?”

“Eeyup,” Finder replied, flopping down into a handy hoof-chair, “That’s still my bread and butter. Who needs a double?”

“I, uh, don’t need a double; I need a look-alike, someone to pretend they’re related.”

“Ah, I get you. Playing the long-lost-relative card, right? Who’s the target?”

Ditzy handed over Dinky’s picture, and Finder took it with a magical glow, rubbing his chin.

“Bit young, isn’t she?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“Ah, I get it – part of the cover, you need another…”

“Daughter – she needs a sister for the Sisterhooves Social in Ponyville.”

“Hmm, a social event…” Finder picked up a short check-list and began crossing out names. “Any combat or anything expected?”

“Oh, no,” Ditzy said, mortified, “No fighting, certainly not. Although… there will probably be mud.”

“Aaaand they’re all gone, and she won’t have anything to do with Ponyville after she got run out of there, and… yes, she might… he can’t, he’s busy dealing with… no.” Finder muttered to himself, nodding and frowning. “Yes, I think it could be done. Doesn’t have to look exactly like the filly, right?”

“Not really, it just has to be believable.”

“Great. I think we’re all set – all I need is my fee, and I can get started.”

“Oh, that.” Ditzy reached around to her saddle-bags and fished out the bits. Celestia alone knew why she received them out of the blue – every week, right after her pay for being a mail-mare arrived, she got another bag of bits, with no notes or anything. Not terribly sure what to do with them, and uncomfortable with having what might be somepony else’s bits, she just put them in a box under her bed.

This sack was just six week’s worth of the bits; whoever they belonged to, she was sure they wouldn’t miss it. In any case, she didn’t know what she was going to do with next week’s bag – the under-bed space was pretty much packed out, she’d had to use a cupboard last week.

Finder took the bag, and gave it a quick search. “Aw, yes. You know how I like my money, Miss Doo. I wish everypony paid like you did – I’ll get started. When did you want the lookalike to show up?”

“Oh, a few weeks from now – I think the social happens on the 28th.”

“Right, 28th… expect a house-guest on the 27th, she probably won’t be much bother; she’ll just get to know the mark and the town, and she’ll be all over it.”

“Is that it?”

“That’s it!” Finder declared, “Although, seeing as you’re here… I don’t suppose you’d be keen for some side-work in Cloudsdale? Not hard, nopony will know it’s you, it won’t take long, I just need somepony to carry a message…”

Ditzy thought about that – her main concern was that she’d be lumping Twilight Sparkle with Dinky for too long. But if it wouldn’t take that long…

“What is it?”

======

“Whew…” Dinky wiped her brow with the back of her hoof as she sat down at the dinner table for lunch break – building construction was hard work when it wasn’t just sand. A slight error in calculating pony-power.

“You okay, Dinky?” Spike asked, concerned. He had it relatively easy – all he had to do was blow fire where indicated, long and hard enough to fuse the sand into glass.

“Yes, just a little pooped,” assured Dinky, nodding as she took a bite of a lunch-muffin, “Building buildings on your own is hard, I might need to find some help.”

The door to Ditzy’s house slammed open with a CRASH, to reveal three foals standing there, proudly.

“Did somebody say, help?” Sweetie Belle stated.

“’cause we’re totally awesome at helping,” Scootaloo added.

“She’s a pretty big job,” Applebloom remarked, referring to the ongoing “sand castle”, “y’all look like you need some help.”

“Besides,” Sweetie Belle said, “we could get our cutie marks for this!”

Dinky was flabbergasted, and Spike was concerned. The Cutie Mark Crusaders – a blessing and a curse in equal measures.

Dinky regained her composure, and smiled. “Sure, girls, if you don’t mind a little heavy lifting and payment in muffins.”

The CMC looked at each other, drawing deep breaths, and Spike put his claws in his ears.

“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER CONTRACTORS, HOORAY!”

======

Cloudsdale; the Pegasus capital of Equestria, for the sole reason that it was entirely built on, and mostly made out of clouds – a material that only Pegasi could walk on, normally. It then made sense that if you saw a Unicorn or an Earth Pony in Cloudsdale, it was a special day indeed.

Of course, being made of cloud meant that Ditzy’s usual wobbly descent was made a lot less painful – in Ponyville, there would be solid trees, impassable terrain and windows to obstruct her. Here, she simply had to not want to hit the clouds, and she passed right through. The ground cloud, however, she couldn’t do anything about, not if she wanted to stay in Cloudsdale. Besides, it was bad form to just fly through the ground at will.

With a soft *whump*, she hit the cloud, and after an impressive forward flip, landed right-way up – you could say a lot about Ditzy’s flying ability, but there was no arguing that she had gotten quite good at recovering from flubbed landings.

She got up, and straightened out her coat, looking about – the concourse had stopped briefly to watch her landing, but now that the show was over, everypony kept on about their business.

One pony in particular was doing their best to remain inconspicuous as possible, sitting with their back to a wall, a large-print edition of the Equestria Daily newspaper in front of their face.

It’s been said before, it’ll be said again; Unicorns in Cloudsdale can’t really do inconspicuous.

The newspaper, aglow with magical focus, lowered slightly, to reveal the face of a pale green unicorn with spectacles and a clearly fake moustache.

“Eagles fly south for the winter,” he said to Ditzy, without preamble.

======

“Oh bugger, it’s the pass-phrase,” Bright observed.

“He’s not a very good contact, is he? He seems like he’s been asking every pony which looks roughly like you the same pass-phrase.”

“Yeah, and I’m quite sure Ditzy… I… wasn’t really listening when Finder went over this bit. Or I’ve forgotten.”

“One thing I’ve noticed,” remarked the male, “You seem to have good fortune. Things work out, which is a godsend in what used to be my line of work.”

======

“Well, of course – it’s cold,” replied Ditzy, without hesitating.

“…uh… Eagles fly south for the winter,” repeated the Unicorn, confused.

“Because it’s cold,” persisted Ditzy – this Unicorn was strange.

======

“I knew your memory was shot, but surely this would jog something?”

“Blame yourself; you’re sitting on most of her- my short-term memory.”

======

“Eagles. Fly. South. For. The. Winter,” spelt out the Unicorn.

The combination of words finally sparked something in the mail-mare’s head, and she joined two-and-two together.

“Oh. OH! Uh,” Ditzy held up a hoof, in a gesture of ‘Hold on a tick, I’m trying to remember the correct response because my memory is not what it used to be’. “Eagles fly south… uh… Lizards shed skin in moonlight!”

The Unicorn breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow, your cover is impressive – Finder’s outdone himself, and found me a real method actor. Agent Long Walks, good to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, too!” Ditzy held out a hoof, and Walks shook it.

“Yeah, okay – so you know what you’re doing, or did Finder just send you up here?”

“Uh, the last one.”

“Right, follow me – back here.” Walks waved a hoof, and lured Ditzy into a fluffy alley-way between two buildings, where he folded up his newspaper, and put it on the ground. Lacking the enchantments to remain on the clouds like its owner, the paper fell through, leaving a temporary hole through which the two could watch the newspaper fall to earth.

“Uh…” Ditzy began, but Walks held up a hoof.

“It’s alright – it happens a lot to me. Listen, we’re busting open a crime ring – but we need someone who isn’t with the Equestrian Intelligence Bureau to fill in for one of our moles. He… uh, hit a snag.”

“What kind of snag? Can’t he just un-snag himself?”

“Uh, it’s a more permanent snag – Short Pier has, regrettably, had a rather harsh encounter with the ground, he’s going to be out of action for a while. Which would normally be fine, only he was working multiple cases, and now this one, which is almost done, is about to go down the gurgler.”

“Oh.”

“So – you need to go to a meeting with this pony – keep him occupied, make small talk, stall; just keep him in the bar, until the Cloudsdale PD can get their hooves into gear and surround the place.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it – uh, if it gets rough, don’t be afraid to rough him up a little in return – as somepony who isn’t EIB, we can just say you were an innocent bystander, yeah? Act casual, we’ll lie and smooth things over and stuff.”

“What do I talk to him about?”

“Anything, everything – except the weather. Don’t talk weather with him; he’ll suspect you’re onto him and his weather-altering protection racket, and he’ll do to you what he did to Agent Beach.”

“What did he do to Agent Beach?”

“Well… uh, he took a violin, see, and – ooh, no time for this, he’s here!” Walks pointed over Ditzy’s shoulder, and at the building opposite.

Proudly displaying the words “Club Cloud Nine” in big block cloud-letters, there was little question to anypony about what the building was about. Standing in the doorway, mid-way past the bouncer, was a red Pegasus with a blue mane.

“Officer Lukewarm Fuzz,” breathed Walks, “Bribed and working for the Family – he’s the one Short Pier was supposed to meet up with – go to it, I’ll call it in.”

With that, he telekinetically pushed Ditzy out of the alleyway, and after reasserting herself after being so rudely pushed, Ditzy cantered up the steps, confidence bubbling in her mind. If Walks was confident she could do this, she was.

======

Diamond Edge was enjoying life as a Bouncer. For once, his size was an advantage (Unlike every other job Pegasi tended to find employment in) and, let’s face it, he got to eye up a lot of nice flank, and it was his job.

To his mind, the only better job would be working at Wingboner Magazine.

In his head, he chalked up another notch on the ‘Job Satisfaction’ track, as a particularly fine, grey mare wandered up the steps towards him, making for the door.

Outside his head, he kept up his staunch face, and stuck out a hoof, barring the entrance; she looked at him, and he shuddered – one eye was focused properly, the other wandered about on its own. He regained his composure, and shook his head.

“Sorry, ‘luv. Members or Invite only.”

“But…” spluttered the mare, “I have a meeting or something with Officer Fuzz,” she explained. Edge didn’t buy the name-drop.

“No exceptions,” Edge replied, noting that the mare seemed a bit too… derpy. She was either a mother, mentally disabled, or both – not ideal clientele, no matter how smoking her flank may or may not have been.

“Just this once?”

“No. Exceptions.”

Like lightning, the mare’s off-eye spun around, and fixed him in the eye – he couldn’t help but look straight at it, and as soon as he did…

LET US PASS, OR THERE WILL BE BLOOD – YOURS FIRST.

“Pretty please? With muffins on top?” spoke the mare, tilting her head in an approximation of a cute manner.

Edge was shaken to his core – he’d heard one voice, and felt another. What was up with this mare? He couldn’t break eye contact with the weird eye, either – what was going on?!

I HOPE YOU’RE NOT THINKING OF LETTING US PASS – I HAVEN’T KILLED IN SO LONG, I’M THINKING I MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW.

“O-okay, you can pass, ma’am. S-stay safe.”

“Hooray! Thank you!”

======

Walks patted his pocket, and turned white – he pulled the item out, and looked at it.

Club Cloud Nine Membership Card

#28,423

Ah, perhaps he should have given this to that ma- oh, no, wait – would you look at that, she managed to talk her way past the bouncer, and – boy is he shaken.

That mare had some serious chops to intimidate a bouncer like that, that was for sure. He made a note to give Finder a tip.

======

“What the hell was that?” Bright demanded.

“A little… encouragement… on my part.”

“I didn’t know you could do that? How can you do that?”

“I can see the world through this one eye, and eye contact is contact enough for that little trick.”

“…you tell me next time you want to use that, alright? Or I start making efforts to convince myself that I should wear an eye-patch.”

There was a sense of ‘Go on’ in the ether.

“…it was pretty cool, I guess.”

======

Club Cloud Nine heaved with heavy bass and rippling techno beats in the semi-darkness – corruptions and perversions of everything from Jazz to Dubtrot thumped through the air, and over the packed dance-floor – despite being only five in the afternoon, Cloudsdale’s arrangement of night and evening shifts meant that there was always some ponies out partying for a few hours before they snatched some sleep and got back to work.

The Club itself was an engineering marvel – completely soundproof from the outside, and perpetual darkness – superdense clouds and thunder-buffers, all in one building.

Of course, all this was so much white noise to Ditzy, who, apart from grinning as she recognized some components of the current song, made her way to the bar. She was a mare on a mission, and – ooh, pretty drinks!

Sixteen bits later, she was entertaining a vibrant drink which looked not unlike Ponyville’s head of the weather team – six colors of the rainbow, all in one slim tumbler. The drink was practically drinking itself, dwindling into thinner and thinner layers as Ditzy watched it go, a shimmering haze above the drink. Very neat.

Oh, right – Mare, mission, meeting, right. She looked around, and rapidly spotted the stallion she was supposed to stall, sitting in a very plush booth. She made her way over, and plonked herself down next to the red stallion, blowing air out of the plush seating.

“This is a private booth,” he grunted.

“Mister Fuzz? I’m…” Ditzy almost forgot what her name was supposed to be for a moment – that would have been a right mess, alright – but continued. “I’m Short Pier.”

“You’re Short Pier?”

“Yup!”

“Short Pier was a Stallion, last I checked. And blue.”

“I’m in disguise, uh… the EIB’s onto me.”

“Damnit!” Fuzz slammed a hoof onto the table, causing his and Ditzy’s drink to jump a little – a small puff of rainbow mist floated out of her drink, causing her to clop her hooves in appreciation. “Looks like I have to go, then, step up the pace of our final plan.”

“Uh, you can’t!” Ditzy blurted out, and Fuzz looked at her.

“Why?”

“Um… you haven’t finished your drink!”

“Leave it – it’s nothing.”

“There’s a fight outside!”

“Doesn’t worry me.”

“That Bouncer is really aggressive today!”

“I can take him – I’m an officer of the CDPD, he’s just a bouncer.”

Ditzy was running out of excuses – she couldn’t mess this up, Walks and Finder had so much faith in her…

“There’s a plot to kill you!”

This got Fuzz’s attention.

“Yeah… uh…” Ditzy cast her mind back to the thrillers she’d read – stories about ponies with hoods and cloaks stabbing each other and stuff. “There’s an… assassin, and he’s… waiting for you outside, so you totally shouldn’t leave just yet.”

Ditzy prayed to Celestia that her story would be brought by Fuzz.

======

Celestia was ears-deep in, let’s be honest, boring discussion about the budget – yes, she had several un-filtered lines of credit constantly draining bits from the treasury, but if Luna didn’t have a problem with it, then that was that – she was the Princess, and only her sister could gainsay her.

Even so immersed in discussion about “critical mass” and “Economic failure in six”, her ears twitched as yet another prayer reached her ears. One of the ‘Perks’ of being a god – you knew when someone was really in trouble.

She ignored it, as usual, and let her sub-conscious handle the prayer. If it was important enough, she’d see it. Otherwise, she’d unknowingly shift some bits around, or pull some strings in reply.

This was probably exactly why said lines of credit were running at almost full capacity.

Primary – it’s Teritary here, with a prayer, from one Bright Eyes/Ditzy Doo. I can’t quite separate the /, it’s bugging me.

Send it through, then; the old captain was still kicking, and despite the reported issues with her new identity as a mail-mare, presumably had enough bits to survive on, what with her pension and all.

Dear Princess Celestia,

Please make it so that Officer Lukewarm Fuzz buys my horribly transparent story.

Yours,

Captain Bright Eyes (Ret.)

“It’s the least I can do, Captain,” she whispered, and her horn lit up briefly, before she returned to the matter of the budget with Penny Pinch.

======

“Alright,” Fuzz said, nodding in agreement with the horribly transparent lie, “How do you suppose we get past the assassin outside?”

Bright was kind of at a loss – she hadn’t really expected that to work; I mean, really – it was such a transparent lie, she could have seen through it. Dinky could probably bust it wide open.

Unfortunately, Ditzy was in charge, here, not Bright, or Dinky. And Ditzy, while she had her good days and bad days, still had a track record of forgetting things while she was doing them, at best.

“There’s an assassin outside?!”

“…That’s what you just said.”

“I know, I’m as surprised as you are!”

“I… what?” Fuzz sat down, and examined his drink in closer detail. “Did this get spiked or something?”

“I see no dragons.”

Fuzz screwed up his eyes, and examined Ditzy carefully. She looked familiar, like he should be worried that she was here, and involved in this whole scenario… but he couldn’t quite put his hoof on it…

In any case, the pony was actually quite different – the one he was thinking of only had one eye, and was a captain of the royal guard, at least. This one looked more like a house-mare; or, given the much-used state of the saddlebags she toted, a mail-mare.

Awkward silence filled the space between them, despite the heavy music, and one of them felt obliged to break it.

“So, how about that weather we’ve been having, huh?”

Everyone within earshot who was aware of Fuzz’s side-work shut up in surprise – given how thickly Fuzz liked to surround himself with flunkies, this made their entire corner of the club so quiet, the sound of someone dropping their glass was totally audible.

Has it been mentioned that Ditzy had a short memory span?

He motioned to the nearest flunky, and after a mutter in his ear, the flunky made for the back exit, bearing the message of “Get the boys down here”.

“So, shall we just wait here for my associates to arrive, then?” Fuzz said pleasantly, as he turned back to his companion, who was… huffing the fumes from her drink?

======

“Hey, Tie. Check out the mare in the booth with Fuzz.”

“Oh, really, now, Swirl, I’ve – oh, pony, she’s huffin’ those fumes from the Tequila Rainboom drink, does she have any idea what she’s doing?”

They watched, bartender and regular, as the grey mare inhaled a Technicolor haze of fumes. The Rainboom was intended to be consumed orally, not inhaled nasally, or injected anywhere; if you did, the effects took hold way too fast, and –

“Shall I get the mop and bucket, Silver? I know where it is.”

“No, no, Strawberry – you just sit there and finish your drink.”

======

THUD

The grey mare keeled over, face-first, sending an empty glass chamber filled with red, orange, green and other colored fumes rolling. Fuzz looked at her, and saw a small trickle of blood seep out of her ears.

He leaned closer, and poked her with a hoof. No response, apart from a new leak of blood from her nose.

Huh, dead – saved him the trouble; and above all, it was most definitely not his fault – not like the other three moles, which had been not his fault in an entirely different and lethal manner.

Dead ponies didn’t speak, and this one wouldn’t be able to talk about what it had presumably seen – time to get a new hangout, probably re-grease some hooves in the PD, that sort of thing.

This was what the Crime Scene Investigators presumed to be the logic behind the average-sized house-brick embedded a full half of its length in the booth wall.

======

Get up, damn it.

No movement.

Ugh, I can’t believe it – bumped off in a cloud-club. What possessed me to snort those fumes? I could tell they were practically capable of stripping paint, just by looking at them!

A red hoof prodded her face, and a trickling sensation built up on her nose.

Great – I died like some junkie who OD’d on whatever foals are doing these days.

The red pony, Lukewarm Fuzz – he made to leave, and the trickling got more irritating.

Without thinking, Bright lifted a hoof, and wiped it away, examining her hoof – red, blood, bleh.

Click.

Bright sat up. She was in control!

Her eye narrowed, focused on Fuzz, making his escape, oblivious to the surprise of his flunkies, who hadn’t the heart to tell him the change in events. The other eye, for once, followed her lead and focused on Fuzz as well.

She was in control.

======

“Wow, look at her go; she’s got cajones to do what she’s doing, I’ll give her that,” Strawberry remarked, watching the mare plant a firm hoof on the larger stallion’s shoulder in a very malicious manner.

“Second thoughts,” Silver replied, watching the flunkies and Fuzz finally react to the mare’s presence; “Perhaps I will need that mop and bucket after all.”

“I’ll get it,” repeated Strawberry, vaulting the counter and rummaging in the cupboard while Silver served another customer.

Meanwhile, a pony that looked like Ditzy Doo served up corrective measures, Captain-Bright-Eyes-style.

======

Outside Club Cloud Nine, Diamond Edge didn’t like the look of all the Pegasi trying to be inconspicuous and loitering on the sidewalk – they all looked like they had a purpose to them, which meant they were, every one of them, dangerous.

And none of them were lookers – that was the most suck part.

One particular pony stepped forward, a Unicorn. Diamond Edge didn’t even know Unicorns could be in Cloudsdale. Still, rules were rules; if he let the wrong people in, Mr. Tie would have his “guts for garters”, apparently – whatever those things were.

Given a potential beat-down (ha!) and having his intestinal tract reduced to something which apparently a lot of his favorite models in Wingboner wore, he chose the (extremely unlikely) beat-down.

“’Old up, this ‘ere’s a private club – yew got a membership or an invite?”

Agent Walks rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, and flashed a badge at the bouncer – now was really not the time. They’d intercepted a messenger not a few moments before, and things were about to go south, like the eagles did – fast.

“Don’t look like no membership or invite to me, guv,” Edge replied, missing the implication.

Walks choked back the rage before it even began – that was the key to remaining in total control, or one part of it, anyway. The other part of the key was to have a way of making someone your bitch in the fastest possible way.

He warmed up the shock spell.

======

Ditzy caught her breath, and got back on all fours - what was she doing, again? And – wow, her hooves hurt, like she’d been walking on Dinky’s Legos or something.

A strangled choke escaped something underhoof, and she lifted it to reveal that red pony she was supposed to talk to and – oh no, she’d managed to mess it up, hadn’t she?

The ceiling fan spun gently, a testament to modern cloud engineering that it supported the weight of three unconscious flunkies with no trouble. The dance-floor, once packed, was now empty, the occupants all taking convenient toilet breaks at the same time.

The bar was empty, save for a cream-colored Pegasus arguing hotly with the bartender over a pile of bits on the counter; and the DJ was still valiantly trying to spin phat beats with an unconscious pony on his turntable, and numerous more flunkies embedded in his amps.

Her funny-colored drink was gone, (somepony must have drunk it at some point) and – look at all those nice police-ponies running into the club and gee whiz, hooves behind the head would probably be a good idea right now, right?

======

Agent Walks levitated the notebook in front of him. “So, you’re telling me you have no idea how this happened?”

“Nope!” chirped back Ditzy, cheerfully. Some nice ponies had sat her down on a chair, and attached a helmet to her with flashing lights on.

“She’s tellin’ the truth, sir,” reported a Pegasus on the other end of the console, holding up a string of graph paper which, given how erratic it was, indicated she was either a habitual liar, or there was some feedback from the last few ponies that used the machine.

Either way, it was consistent, so she really was probably telling the truth.

“So… despite the twenty seven eye-witnesses and victims who were, I quote, “brutalized in hoof-to-hoof combat by a grey mare”” Walks recapped as he referred to his notebook, “and Officer Lukewarm Fuzz who told us he’d do anything if we stopped “That crazy grey broad from whaling on him”, she really didn’t beat up or do anything to anypony?”

“’S gotta be collaboration,” another Pegasus said, “They’re all in the line for being accused of laundry-lists of crimes, anyway – the bartender, and every other patron at the club didn’t see anything for a number of reasons from “I was on the toilet” to “Taps needed polishing, wasn’t paying attention”.”

“Works for me,” Walks replied cheerfully, “You’re free to go, Miss Doo – and thanks for your help today.”

======

Ditzy Doo banked in for her final approach to Ponyville as the sun set, taking care to avoid lamp-posts looming up on her blind-side this time.

With more finesse than usual, she touched down right outside her front gate – a nice change. She checked her own mailbox (It was weird delivering to your own house, so other ponies did that for her when she had mail) and wandered up the driveway, satisfied with her work that day – Dinky had a “sister” for the Sisterhooves Social, and she even found the time to go clubbing!

The doors to her house slid open with a soft woosh, and – woosh? She looked up, alerted. What she’d taken to be her house, she’d managed to mistake with some sort of Manehattan office building… no, wait, there was her portraits, on the wall! And a picture that Dinky drew!

What was going on?

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Doo!” Spike’s voice rang out from behind a small desk – on the side of the door, and wearing a small hat which was tipped to her, Ditzy saw the baby dragon sitting behind a scale-sized desk.

“Uh, hi. What’s going on?”

“I’m a building security guard!” Spike said, proudly, “I’m head of security, which is the Crusaders – they’re patrolling floors two through sixteen right now.”

“Two through six- where’s Dinky!?” spluttered Ditzy.

“Penthouse level, you can get there with the elevator,” Spike informed, pointing across the polished marble atrium to a small rock set of doors in the wall. With a soft *ding*, they ground apart to reveal a wooden box, and a small unicorn trotting proudly out of the doors… until they saw who was waiting for them at front desk.

“Oh, uh, hi, mummy…”

“Muffin… what’s this?” Ditzy waved a hoof at the multi-story building.

“Uh… sandcastle?”

Ditzy narrowed her eyes, and Dinky swallowed. Something told her that this building wouldn’t survive nearly as long as her regular sandcastles usually did.

======

Night fell on Ponyville properly, leaving the city lit only by the street-lamps, lit candles in houses, and the megalithic Doo Tower which stood alone in basalt and glass, as the tallest building outside of Manehattan.

The Book of Equestrian Records, as quickly as they managed  to get data about the monument before it vanished overnight, failed to identify the architect in time; the next day, everypony asked denied any knowledge of such a building ever existing around a mouthful of muffin, and so a wonder of Equestria was lost, for all time.

Ponies belong to Hasbro, as usual.

Author hot-fax: [email protected]