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Freeze Frame

by ToixStory

Chapter 4: Episode 1: The Meeting

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When you hear somepony knocking rapidly at the door, it’s always a gamble if you choose to answer it. It might be a policepony to ask you about outstanding parking tickets, a salesmare who just wants to assault you with a living version of annoying newspaper ads, or sometimes it’s just somepony who’s plain old crazy. Standing on Joya’s front step was a smiling Grapevine holding up a butler’s uniform.

“So the third one, then,” I said, shutting the door. She got her proverbial hoof in the door by putting her actual leg in the in the path of the swinging door.

“You said you wanted to do some real investigative reporting,” she said, eyebrows rising and falling.

“I don’t seem to recall,” I began, but was pushed back into the house/store by a determined Grapevine.

“Look, just put the uniform on, we need to hurry,” she said. The “uniform” was little more than a tuxedo vest with sleeves for my fore hooves.

“Fine, fine,” I muttered, walking to the changing rooms at the back of Joya’s store. I admit, I was grumpy: a cold shower and burnt breakfast can do that to a pony. I sighed. At least I’d been able to re-straighten my coat and mane, though my tail refused to do anything but flow everywhere, as usual.

I carefully peeked through the door to the small, carpeted changing room to make sure no one was watching before getting dressed. The tuxedo vest was itchy, and a little tight around the waist, but I guessed it would be alright. At least it felt good to be wearing something again.

“It’s a little snug around the middle,” I said as I walked into the main room. Joya, hyperactive as ever, was trying to put out new designs for the Summer Sun Celebration.

“So it is,” Grapevine observed.

Was she blushing? I pushed the thought away. I was still just feeling sour about Sterling’s “conclusion” about Grapevine and I. In my absence, she had changed into a gray-blue deliverypony’s uniform; a very loose, comfortable-looking uniform in contrast to my own.

Trotting between clothes racks to the front register, I asked, “Is there any reason I’m wearing the tux?” Grapevine stood at the front counter, pen floating in a magical cloud next to her, marking up prices on Joya’s older lines.

She looked me up and down and replied, “Because it would look suspicious if two butlers walked in at the same time.”

“Because you’re the only pony she knows that doesn’t look like she sleeps on the street,” Joya clarified, calling from her perch on top of a large display cabinet. Grapevine huffed and rolled her eyes before setting the pen down.

“Let’s go,” she said.

I followed her out the store, and told Joya, “I’ll try to be back tonight.”

“Just try not to break anything else!” Joya yelled back, waving.

* * *

Walking toward Fillydelphia City Hall up Broad Street at noon was like swimming through a tsunami. Businessmares, street vendors, and tourists filled the sidewalks like massive waves, and caught anypony foolish enough to go the opposite direction in their wake. At least I didn’t have to worry about looking out of place anymore; strangers didn’t seem to give anypony besides themselves any attention.

“Can you tell me exactly why we have to sneak into this meeting or whatever?” I asked, squeezing around a scruffy-looking stallion pushing a shopping cart. “It’s not like we’re spies.” Whereas I tried to move around and dodge the oncoming ponies in my way, Grapevine chose to keep to a single path: forcing everypony to move around her.

When I caught up to her, she replied, “The Summer Sun Celebration meeting is always off-limits to the press.” She smirked. “So we’re going to have to cheat a little.” I struggled to keep up with her through the street; not helped by the midday sun beating down on me and my wool tuxedo.

“Isn’t that, you know, wrong?” I asked, panting. She chuckled and turned around to look at me.

“From a certain point of view,” she said.

* * *

The city hall was what Canterlot would have been if it was designed by earth ponies. Fillydelphia was renowned for being an earth pony city, so I assumed I wasn’t far from the mark. A tall, concrete spire rose up from a massive stone base, itself several stories tall. We stood in front of the flat, undecorated facade and looked around like two foals on their first day of primary school.

“Hey, you two, you coming or what?” a voice called out to us, breaking the stupor. It belonged to a harsh, aged mare, her uniform a flashy version of mine. We trotted over to where she stood: the top of a flight of marble stairs, her back to a massive set of wooden doors. “You’re late,” she said sourly.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, trying to keep a control on myself. Since I was a foal, I had always been terrible at disguising myself; nopony had ever been fooled by my Nightmare Night costume. Instead of accusing us of spying or seeing right through our flimsy facades, the silver-maned mare opened the door and reprimanded us for taking up her time.

“Alright, time to ditch,” Grapevine announced as soon as we were out of earshot. The interior was ornate in an earth-pony way; which was to say lots of high ceilings, chandeliers, and tile. I admit to being a little intimidated, walking across the big rugs under the watchful, stony gaze of Fillydelphia’s past mayors; though I don’t admit to my knees knocking so loudly Grapevine had to tell me to be quiet.

“Do you even know we’re going?” I whispered. We took a right turn in the front atrium, our hooves clacking on the tile.

“Like the fall of my fetlock,” she whispered back as she opened a new door. Walking into the next room was like stepping into a different world. White-clothed tables were piled high with serving trays, and every few seconds a pony dressed identically to me would swoop in and carry one off through a set of double doors at the far end of the room. Cooks and supervisors bustled through the hastily-constructed kitchen, sweat pouring from their brows.

“Oh thank Celestia you’re here!” a tuxedo-clad stallion cried as we walked in. He galloped up to me and threw a clean apron to my feet. “They moved the meeting at the last minute to the Caucus Room, and we’re having a nightmare of a time trying to serve all the delegates...” he carried on, not looking my direction anymore. “Oh, if only the cakes would arrive,” he said as he cleared a path back to the serving table. I sat back, stunned.

“You, get those hay fries in there at once!” a nearby chef snapped at me, breaking through my pause.

“But I’m not...” I began, looking back at Grapevine for support. The only thing behind me was a wooden door slowly swinging shut.

“Now!” the white-coated stallion yelled. I got my hooves moving and ran over to the comically-large tray, struggling to balance it on my nose.

“No mother, only stallions take etiquette lessons; what would I ever need those for?” I muttered under my breath as I somehow made it out of the room and into a nearby hallway. No luck slipping away, though; the causeway was lined by waiting, well, waiters. The tray I was carrying kept wavering worryingly, and for a minute-long second, I thought I had almost dropped it.

“Hey!” a fellow server cried, trotting up to me. A sense of dread swept through me, and I already started making an excuse.

Well, no, you see I just like wearing tuxedos everywhere I go, and was a big mix up...

My fears were assuaged when the mare reached over fastened my apron. “You want to look your best for the delegates,” she said with a smile. I returned the gesture, but it quickly faded when I got a good luck at her. The “server” I was talking to was a very distinctive, light-red mare.

“You,” she whispered, her eyes wide in shock, but her face in the same mean sneer she had shown in the bar on my first day in Fillydelphia. “You’re that greenhorn,” she growled.

“And you’re that bit-” I began, but was cut off.

“It’s against the rules for the press to be in here,” she sneered in a sing-song voice.

“And you’re just in here to serve tables?” I shot back. If looks could kill...I’d probably be in a coma; she honestly looked like she thought I was going to turn her in.

“Just stay out of my way,” she said. She bumped my shoulder and moved on, while I managed to not drop the sterling-silver tray balanced precariously on my nose. I gave a quick thanks to Luna and her lucky stars that my wings let me keep my balance as I delved further into the City Hall.

* * *

The Caucus Room held little more than a giant, polished table with chairs all around it. A couple marble busts looked down on the gathered delegates, and it was easy to tell who was whom. The scruffy, worn-looking mares and stallions were there to represent the unions, and the corporations had sent their best-dressed, foal-facediest representatives that they could find. At the head of the table sat the mayor, and the richest mare in the city, herself, Grace Pullmare.

A sigh of relief escaped my mouth when nopony so much as glanced my way when I walked through the wooden double doors.

“You can’t just start charging for the festival! Not only is it unfair, but it goes against tradition,” an age-worn mare shouted; her indigo flank bore the mark of a hammer and anvil.

“That may be so,” Ms. Pullmare began, “But a Summer Sun Celebration hosted by Princess Celestia herself is not a tradition.” She huffed, having to squint her eyes from atop her high-and-mighty pedestal. “It goes without saying that we can’t let the common ruffians into such a historic event.”

“But at 50 bits per ticket?” another union representative questioned, this one an orange stallion with three green apples on his flank.

“A small price to pay for the event we put on,” Ms. Pullmare said dismissively. Maybe it was something in her eyes, or a slight flicker of her horn, but that vile mare pulled everpony’s attention toward her. I’d grown up with a healthy distrust for anypony who made more than what my town was worth, and even I couldn’t help but gaze into those big, blue, crazy-looking eyes.

“But we haven’t done anything,” the indigo mare, apparently the union reps’s leader, said. “You and your committee are the only ones who have done anything to organize this event, and the unions haven’t had a part in anything.” Like a trance broken, the old delegates around the table returned to a combination of shouting and making rash accusations about each others’s loyalties. Bedlam almost ensued when one of the reps challenged a glorified accountant to a brawl. The encouraging shouting was only ended by a direct, Mayoral intervention.

Banging the judge’s gavel with one hoof, Ms. Pullmare brought the room to order and, frighteningly, turned right toward me.

“Well, Violet Mallet,” she sneered, “It looks like your group’s h’orderves are here.” I was desperately hoping at that moment that Grapevine would burst in, or I would have a heart attack, or, while I was thinking about it, Celestia herself would come down from on high and grant me a thousand wishes; just anything to take the eyes of three dozen ponies off of me. All smiles, I politely shoved the food tray off my head and sent it skidding across the polished table towards Violet Mallet.

Opened, the simple dish of deep-fried hay covered in salt looked fallow next to the opulent salads in front of Ms. Pullmare and company. The silver-coated mayor didn’t even try to hide her contempt when the union reps grabbed for the food. My heart’s rhythm had returned to normal with the return of disinterest towards me. Trying to make myself scarce, I crept along the edge of the room, heading toward the door, and then hopefully to a bathroom to get out of the stupid, scratchy vest.

It was that time that Grapevine chose to finally intervene, knocking my heart back out of sync. Without a care for subtlety, she ambled up to the windows around the Caucus Rooms and pretended to clean them, her eyes locking onto mine. I gestured toward the door, and she adamantly shook her head no. She pantomimed writing and thinking: I was supposed to stay there and study what was being heard, of course.

I was trying to signal that if she wanted to so badly then she could do it herself when a lime-green mare in a suit asked if I needed to use the little mare’s room. When I answered that I didn’t, she shoved an empty food platter at me, ordering me to fetch more.

* * *

A brief trip back to the kitchen, and I was emerging into an entirely different world, again. If Fillydelphia was a zoo, then the city hall’s Caucus Room was the reptile house, and I’d just brought them a platter of alcohol. I made myself scarce and tucked into a corner near the bust of Mayor Hollytree, watching the spectacle before me. If there was one thing the two parties had in common, it was their dedication to defending their side of the argument. A few sharp strikes of the gavel brought the crowd to a silence as the wine was passed around.

“You all know the city’s coffers aren’t as bursting as they used to be,” Ms. Pullmare continued once drinks were served. “Why not let the corporations hoof the bill, and we use the taxes for the city?” Sharp tones of agreement were heard from the side with the suits and spectacles. I noticed a significantly larger number of the officefillies were unicorns than on the union side. From the anger I had seen poured on their kind by the earth ponies at the table, I remembered why I kept my wings tucked away so much of the time.

“What, does ‘the city’ need another skyscraper, or is Broad Street getting too narrow again?” Violet Mallet shot back. She placed her hooves on the table and rose in her chair to face above the gathered delegates. “The Summer Sun Celebration is a tradition, and so is cooperation between the unions and the corporations; surely we can work something out.” She turned and glared right into Ms. Pullmare’s eyes. “Nopony ever had any trouble remembering that until you took office, Ms. Mayor.”

“Nonsense,” the mayor rebuffed casually, through the beginnings of sweat were formed on her brow, “I only want what’s best for my city, our city.” Addressing the entire table, she said, “A Celebration to impress our great Princess is what we all strive for, isn’t it?” In private, I had heard the earth ponies casually dismissing Celestia and her sister, but if any of the delegates did, none dared to do so in public. This time, the nodding heads weren’t all from the prim and proper side.

Ms. Pullmare sat down as the arguments began again, a satisfied smile on her voice. It looked like Violet Mallet was doing her best to contain herself from giving the mayor what she had coming. One of the corporate delegates raised an empty glass, reminding me that I was supposed to be doing a job.

“Coming,” I said, hastily grabbing a wine jug with my mouth. The mare didn’t look at me as I arrived at her side; which was a good thing, because I almost dropped the bottle when I saw who she was. Marshmallow Bauble slumped forward in her chair, her head resting boredly on one hoof. She turned around, glass in hand. Her eyes widened briefly before returning to normal; she shook the wine glass toward the bottle.

I poured her drink, feeling like somepony had bucked me in the gut. For some reason, I thought she’d recognize me, though we’d only met for ten minutes a few days ago. Foolish thinking on my part.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling sweetly. I moved on around the table, serving the gathered ponies. The meeting was still going, but it was really only a formality: the major arguments were long since past and anything now was just going to be stalemate. Grace Pullmare herself looked positively bored, her eyes fluttering open and closed. I moved back toward one of the room’s windows, but Grapevine was gone. I hoped she hadn’t gotten herself into more trouble; the last thing I needed at that time was a trip to the city jail.

Ms. Pullmare announced that she was going to take a private recess from the meeting, and the others seemed happy to let her leave. Just having the Fillydelphia Mayor in the room was enough to turn all attention toward her; I imagine the junior officials wanted their own shots at the spotlight.

* * *

Conveniently, the union reps had finished off the platter of hay fries, so I excused myself out the door, hot on the heels of the mayor, or so I thought. By the time I ditched the heavy, silver tray, she was gone.

Grumbling to myself the whole time, I wandered around in search of a bathroom. The place was definitely bigger on the inside, I decided after spending ten minutes getting lost further and further into the city hall. There was plenty to look at, at least: whoever built this place hadn’t spared any expense on the interior design. The many paintings and pottery adorned throughout the building turned my attention gradually from finding...something; I couldn’t remember what.

I was stopped on my quest by being dragged roughly into a small hallway. My instinctive scream was cut off by a violet hoof over my mouth.

“Shh, stop squirming” Grapevine said. She removed her hoof and I spat out a few tiny hairs.

“Was that really necessary?” I hissed. She shrugged and wiped her leg off on her maintenance outfit. “What are you doing here anyways?" I asked.

“Looking for Pullmare’s office, duh,” she said. “Why, were you doing something else?”

“What, no, of course not,” I stammered. Had I forgotten about looking for her? No, just a little distracted, I assured myself.

“Actually,” Grapevine said, “Her office should be close.”

“How can you tell?” I questioned, suspicious. With a spark of her horn, a sign behind me that said, “Mayor’s Office,” lit up; it had an arrow pointing to the left. “I knew that,” I said. She led me down twisting hallways until we came to a rather large door. She pushed it open before I could protest and plunged inside.

* * *

Our dumb luck hadn’t run out yet, and the room was empty.

“I thought we were looking for Ms. Pullmare,” I whispered, still afraid of being heard by somepony.

“And do what, ask her if she has any secrets she has? Maybe get her to tell us the real reason she’s accepting the union tax money without telling anypony?” Grapevine laughed when she saw my expression. “You don't think I got this job because of my good looks do you?"

She whistled a three-note tune as she started to root through the mayor's big desk in the middle of the room. I tried to keep myself from looking at the doorway every three seconds to see if somepony was coming. Drawer after drawer was opened, flipped upside down, then put back in place; all with apparently no avail.

“Ugh, nothing,” Grapevine mumbled as the final desk in the room proved as unfruitful as the last. She slammed the drawer shut.

“Is that it?” I asked.

She nodded and plopped down on her rear. “Back to square one," she said. I walked over to where she sat, shoving papers back into desks.

“It sounds like you already know what she's doing,” I said. “Why do you need more?”

“What's she doing isn't technically illegal; it's not even much of a story," Grapevine said, sighing. “Besides, without anything else to go on, her lawyers could sue the paper.” I tried to smile for her, but she turned away.

I considered trying to hug Grapevine when my worst fears came true- voices could be heard outside in the hall. I turned to Grapevine, who was already scrambling toward a bookcase in the corner; she'd heard it too. I looked every which way, but didn't see anywhere that yelled, “Hiding place.” Of course, the richest mare in Fillydelphia had to have the most boring and plain office in the entire city. The voices grew closer and the doors started to open. No other choice, I dove beneath the Mayor's desk.

The doors creaked open and two sets of hooves walked across the room. One set stopped in front of the desk, and the other eased into the creaking leather chair only a hoof or two from my face. I made myself as small as I could in the crawlspace beneath the desk, trying my best to keep out of reach.

Though panic gripped my heart, my brain acknowledged that I, a lowly daughter of Germane immigrants, was a short distance away from one of Equestria's richest mares's...special bits.

Crossing her legs, she said, "I would like to thank you for joining me, Ms. Peece."

"No, no, it is my pleasure, Madame Pullmare," a familiar voice answered. My blood boiled when I heard her voice: of course it was the same mare from earlier, the same as at the bar. I should've known something was up from the start; there was no way somepony like her came up with the same plan as Grapevine.

"What do you have to report?" the Mayor asked.

"Nothing important," Peece said, then her voice soured. "Though that Grapevine and her new photographer were seen sneaking around."

"Yes, that reporter you told me about," Ms. Pullmare said. "She's not a threat; she couldn't report her way out of a paper bag."

"But-" Peece began, but sharply was cut off.

"But nothing, Ms. Orange Pinyin Peece, we have to focus on the real threat: Violet Mallet." Ms. Pullmare growled and leaned back in her chair. "She knows something’s going on, and won't stop until she gets to the bottom of it. Worse, those union heathens follow her every command, and hang onto every word; if she turns against me, so will they."

No argument from Peece, and certainly not from me.

"Do you need her to be...'dealt' with," the mayor’s stooge asked. Ms. Pullmare laughed like a friend had told her a bad joke.

"No, I'll take care of her myself." She paused and leaned forward in her chair, and I could hear her hooves rest atop the desk. I had to tuck myself into the right corner to keep away from her prying legs. "There is one thing I need you to do, however. Go up to Serenity and make sure our contact within the Corps is still with us; it is imperative the skies be clear where we want them on the night of the Summer Sun Celebration.”

"Yes ma'am," Orange Peece answered. My stomach sank. I didn't want to believe it, but could Lightning Sprint really be a traitor? I wanted to smack myself for thinking it, but it made sense: no wonder she had gotten to be commander of the Weather Corps so quickly. My head was reeling so much that I couldn't control myself when I coughed.

"Did you hear that?" Ms. Pullmare said, sitting up suddenly.

"What?" Peece asked.

"It sounded like...somepony coughing." The Mayor got out of her chair and stood up. "It almost sounded like it came from under here..." she said, getting close to my hiding place. I cringed; the jig was up.

Just before she could check, a loud banging noise rang out from outside the room. "Now I know I heard that," Peece said. The two of them trotted out the door for a brief moment, giving me a much-needed respite. I peeked my head out of the crawlspace, looking for Grapevine. I didn't see her until I noticed one of the bookshelves was swinging open.

Grapevine stood in the entrance to a dark tunnel, hoof on a lever. Her horn was still glowing, presumably controlling whatever had made a noise outside. "Come on," she hissed. I looked back at the office door and took my chances, galloping to the passageway. I made it just in time for the returning Mayor and stooge to see the bookshelf closing, but couldn't spot either me or Grapevine personally.

"I knew somepony was in here!" she shouted. "After them!"

* * *

Grapevine and I galloped down the stone passageway, taking hairpin turns around corners into more hallways. Where they led, I didn't know.

"Where are we going?" I shouted as we took yet another corner.

"Just follow me!" Grapevine yelled back. I could hear hoofsteps getting closer behind us, and tried to increase my speed. With my shoulders and flanks burning, we finally came to a door, and promptly barreled through.

I blinked my eyes in the harsh, contrasting light of the room we were in. Looking around, we were on the second floor of a large library. A few ponies milled about, but mostly it was deserted.

"Great, now they'll have no problem finding us," I said.

"Not if I know a certain somepony couldn't resist coming in here," Grapevine replied. She galloped toward a stack of bookshelves on the first floor, flying down the stairs. I followed her as closely as I could. We heard the secret door slam open behind us as two very angry mares came through. From the railing above, they spotted us.

"Stop!" Mayor Pullmare cried. Reflexively, I froze in my tracks. We were caught. Galloping up to us, I had never seen somepony as angry as Orange Peece was.

"What are you doing here?" she growled.

Marshmallow stepped out from behind a nearby bookcase, Grapevine in tow. "Ms. Grapevine and her associate were just helping me locate a very rare book," she explained.

"Daring Do and the Keepers of the Philosopher's Stone?" Ms. Pullmare asked, reading the cover of the only book Marshmallow had in her saddlebag.

"It's a collector's item," she replied with a straight face.

"Well," the Mayor said, "I will still need your two...cohorts to come with me; I must speak with them in private."

Marshmallow shook her head. "No, you will not. We were just leaving."

"But-" Ms. Pullmare protested, but was met with a death glare by our librarian friend.

"Is a simple mayor trying to defy the orders of a Princess?" she intoned. Mayor Pullmare and Peece grew very silent, and only stared menacingly at us as we walked out.

* * *

"That was amazing!" I exclaimed once we were out of earshot. Marshmallow blushed. "How did you know she was going to be in there?" I asked Grapevine.

"Educated guess," she answered. She had been leading us back from the library to, presumably, the front entrance. I didn't know how she did it; to me every other hallway looked exactly the same. Even all the paintings and sculptures started to blend together after a while.

"Well, then, how did you know about the secret passageway anyways?" I asked. Grapevine laughed.

"They should really put a lock on the records door: somepony might want to take a nice, long look at the blueprints." Marshmallow and I both giggled a little.

We emerged into the front lobby of the city hall, and a few delegates were still standing around. The corporate types nodded to her. The union representatives ignored her, but looked curiously at Grapevine and I. I realized Grapevine and I still had our disguises on; it must have been quite a sight.

A stallion in a chauffeur's uniform pulled a carriage up to us when we got to the outside sidewalk. "Hop in," Marshmallow said sweetly. The interior was opulent in the only way unicorns knew how; lots and lots of pretty stuff.

"Where to?" Marshmallow asked once we had taken our seats.

"Oh you don't have to-" I started, but she cut me off.

"I only take this thing out once a year, you know," Marshmallow said.

"Then do you mind swinging by the Chronicler?" Grapevine asked. Marshmallow told the driver the address and he set off with a grunt. Grapevine seemed to be having trouble adjusting to the plushness of the seats, but I had no such hindrances. I sank into the comforting cloth with a contented sigh.

"Sorry about in the conference," Marshmallow said once we were on our way. "Grapevine is...known for getting into the meeting every year, and I didn't want to blow your or her cover."

"You didn't even know where I was this year," Grapevine sniffed. Marshmallow laughed.

"Maintenance worker washing the windows for the, what, 3rd time?" Grapevine rolled her eyes. I looked outside, through the coal smoke of the steamcarriages, and was amazed to see that it looked like it was only sometime around noon. Had we only been in there for an hour or so? It felt much longer.

“So what now?” Marshmallow asked. I shrugged.

It was Grapevine who answered, “I’m going to try and see if Ornate will let us get this story out.” She sighed. “The only problem is our lack of facts; he hates editorials, and won’t let this story through if we don’t have at least something to back it up.”

Marshmallow thought for a moment, then said, “You could interview me...if you wanted to.”

“No, no, you don’t have to,” Grapevine replied quickly. I was puzzled; it seemed like a pretty good deal to me. Not to mention, word from a Princess was probably worth more than interviews from a hundred ponies.

“Oh, that’s fine, it would probably cause trouble anyways,” Marshmallow said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor of the carriage. Grapevine looked sad, but said nothing. As for myself, I watched as we crossed the Scullyhoof River back into West Fillydelphia and headed for the newspaper office.

* * *

"Rubbish and superstitions!" Ornate Vision exclaimed as he threw Grapevine's notes down on the table. The meeting was going about as well as we had hoped. "We need facts, not guesswork!" Grapvine stood indignantly against our excitable boss while I bravely backed her up from the corner. We were in his corner office, separated from the newsroom by only a thin layer of glass and wood.

"Look, with just the word of you and photographer, it's not enough for something on Page D, let alone a headline," Ornate explained.

"What about Marshmallow?" I asked. She'd dropped us off a few minutes earlier and said her goodbyes, as well as promising to help in any way she could. I hoped she knew what she was getting into.

"An interview with Fillydelphia's infamous, exiled Princess?" Ornate huffed. "Give me a break."

"Hey, don't talk about her like that," Grapevine said.

"Exile?" I asked at the same time. Grapevine turned to answer me, but Ornate clopped a hoof on the table.

"Enough!" he shouted. We both shut our traps as fast as we could. "I'm going to be straight with the two of you," he said. "I know it's not easy working with a new partner, but if you want the front page you're going to need a real story. Get me some proof: a solid interview, some hoof-written notes, something." He turned to me. "And you, little missy, get me a picture for Celestia's sake! What do you think I’m paying you for?”

I tried to back further into the corner, my face turning red. It was only now I remembered my camera was safely tucked away inside Grapevine's saddlebag, still unused.

Grapevine snorted. "Pay? Since when have you paid us?" Ornate turned back to her.

"I will pay you when I have a story that's worthy of the front page! Don't forget, this is a trial period; if you don't start giving me good stories again, you're off the paper, by order of the CEO." He kicked open the door. "Now get out, we have a Sunday edition to finish by tomorrow, and you're not in it." We left unceremoniously, dragging our feet the whole way.

* * *

I kicked a pebble off the sidewalk and it went, bouncing, into the street. We were standing outside the office, nothing better to do.

"So what now?" I asked.

"Hold on, I'm thinking," Grapevine said. She tapped her head several times before raising a hoof. "What about her house?"

"You want us to infiltrate the Pullmare Mansion, the most heavily-fortified home outside of Canterlot?" I asked.

"You're right, she probably wouldn't keep anything good there anyways." Grapevine mused while I kept down the urge to slap myself in the face. "I got it!" she said suddenly. "Her office over at the Pullmare Factory; there's bound to be something there!"

I snorted. "Okay, even if there is, how are we going to get in?"

"Leave that to me," Grapevine said. She stood up and reached out to hail a cab. "Do you feel like a drink?" she asked.

Next Chapter: Episode 1: Caught Estimated time remaining: 10 Hours, 56 Minutes
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