Red Rum Cake #1

>it happened when the two of you drew the same name.

>

>you’ve been here for almost a year, your method of getting here entirely a secret

>with the exception of the ever investigating Twilight Sparkle, no one will understand nor cope with your method of entry

>while she was the main reason you ended up in this hellhole you avoid calling Ponyville, that’s all that she quite knows about you as you delved into secrecy

>you were shocked by your being here, sure, but over time, you saw faces, noticed mannerisms, figured patterns

>rich ponies kept getting richer over the past year with a simple flick of your hand, as your own wealth stealthily made into your own possessions

>coercion and embezzlement became your tools behind the scene, and your charming attitude and alluring smile became your weapons on the stage

>you began to understand the sickening mind of some of these ponies, despite the beautiful web they cast around themselves

>they went to no lengths with their smiles and checkbooks, and while you silently did the dirty work, the grease in their well-oiled machine, you were only mildly content with the large mass of bits

>yet it was not enough. You wanted more, something money could not buy enough of

>you wanted the life of these pathetic ponies in your hands, fate deciding them as you wrote each and every name of those who’s crime was existence

>within six months you’ve successfully owned your own humble abode, a small house built like any other home in Ponyville

>you’ve managed to go under the radar with your quiet construction, as you made specific requests to purchase a small house with a basement, so you may tinker with your ‘odd human hobbies’

>many ponies still ask if they can watch you make your woodwork; only four have witnessed it so far, and not one of them has seen a creation and lived to tell the tale

>it was your killing fetish, your trademark; a wooden sculpture of every single pony with godlike detail, you carve into the wood with the victim the model, your slices into the lumber as much as you take into their filthy flesh

>you humbly reach into the fishbowl, teasing your hand a bit as the hundreds of papers tatter around with each motion of your fingers

>like a viper going for the kill, two of your fingers snatch around a slip and briskly pulling it out

>giving wild guesses as to it could be, half hoping it’s that god awful student-turned-detective, you peer at the tab, mildly surprised

Well, well. One of the few mares I’ve hardly bothered to explore. Guess I better go for a walk, then.

>putting on a utility belt with seemingly infinite pockets, you tuck in tool after tool

>screwdrivers, scalpels, a small ball hammer, throwing knifes, a decently large (and precariously sharp) survival knife, a satchel of nails, and a few vials of unmentionable liquids are set into the correct pocket, better equipped than an investigating doctor on the scene

>setting other tools not worth pointing out, with the exception of a covered butcher knife for stickier situations in pockets and latches on the back of your leg, you grab the hydra scale overcoat

>covering your utensils of choice truly well, you leave only a belt buckle to idly gaze on

>tucking a silk white ascot into your semiprofessional dress, you head upstairs into the bedroom, a simple yet sophisticated area with finely made dressers, mirror, and paintings generically casted of mountains and fields

>an overly hefty bed, crafted expertly with your specific instructions, lies with a queen sized mattress of sorts; fit comfortably with two bulky pillows and a thick comforter, no cold night winds shall pester you with fear

>you lock the steel plated door that you had a few friends “enchant” with more spells than Merlin can show off after a fifth of rum on a Saturday night

>lock after lock clicks as padlocks and bolts slide in, impervious to be grabbed or unlocked by magic before the rest of the bedroom’s wall comes sliding down, the edges blurring into nothing, and becoming a normal sight with the rest of the partition

>you do not make mistakes when the new laws of reality came into play with unicorns

>as you brush your sleek hair with a craftily made comb, you brush your teeth in the bathroom, lightly slap on some musk at seems to drive mares wild, and with a final check up in the mirror, you slide a pair of custom made sunglasses into your breast pocket and open the door to go on your venture

>only to discover a grimly smiling unicorn sitting outside your door

-----

Hello, Twilight, fancy meeting you here. I know you try to avoid being rude, but you can always knock.

>Twilight simply stares at you, the unnerving shadows covering the bottom of her eyes as she marks your every move, dancing on your straight and passive face

>you’re already used to this treatment, as she has casted her suspicions on you many times before, only to be left with smoke and dust in her clutch

>over the months she grew suspicious of your murky activities, but with trails of evidence you’ve left behind pointing in opposite directions, she has truly never accused you of the crimes you blatantly committed

>Twi: “Hello, Anon. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out. Would you mind if I come in?”

>thankfully you’ve frozen your mannerisms of anxiety long ago, having normally shifted uneasily

>ponies that aren’t here on “business” that force their way in are often subjected to… disciplinary measures

>with a lack of care at the risk of her coming in, you widen the pathway for her to enter, in which she promptly does so

>you continue walking out, raising a hand to wave your goodbyes

>she panics in realizing you aren’t following her, tries to magic the front door, realizes that she still can’t (you never said the first door was the only one enchanted), closes it manually with some difficulty, and catches up with you

>Twi: “H-hey! When I said ‘come in’, I was kind of hoping you would join me!”

If you haven’t figured, I opened the door to exit; you know full well I don’t mind if you’re in my house, alone or no, so long as you ask.

>Twilight pouts, as if she transferred from prime detective to flirty friend

>perhaps the “cologne” you put on not even a minute ago is working well

>Twi: “So, whatcha up to today?”

Going for a walk, perhaps stop at the Cake’s store to grab some pastries. I do let my sweet tooth get the better of me.

>Twi: “Ah! Uh, hm… I’ve been wanting to have something with honey, would you mind if I…?”

>you continue your steady pace, just enough to not make any noise of your cutlery or show it off to the public, contemplating how to respond for a moment

>to reject her would both hurt her and make her suspicious, and right now all you’re doing is some scouting of the winner of the month

Of course you can come; I just wanted to meet new people. Do you know a person by the name of Pinkie Pie?

-----

>it was to your shock and dismay that you spent ten minutes walking and listening to Twilight explain every last thing

>apparently it’s an embarrassment that you do not know this mare; despite noticing her bubblegum pink presence several times in your “ventures” about Ponyville, neither of you actually bothered to confront each other

>yet she is known to be the epitome of happiness and parties-

>you’re going to love catching this one.

>Twi: “However, Pinkie’s been acting… strange again. I’m getting worried about her, in different ways.”

How so? She sounds like she’s doing just fine, from the way you described it.

>Twi: “It’s just… ever since Mr. Cake has gone missing, along with Colgate, Pinkie has been acting… depressed.”

Perhaps she’s bipolar? Not that I’m a doctor on the subject. Everyone has their ups and downs.

>Twi: “That’s just it; Pinkie Pie hardly ever has her downs, but when she does, she… hello, Mrs. Cake!”

>you give your kind greetings to the well-mannered mare, who looks to be a decent amount of years above you, and you share with each other wonderful smiles

>neither of them can really tell that your gentle grin stems from the disappearance of the fine store owner’s late husband

>he had been your fourth drawing.

-----

>however, it is as you sit when you are somewhat perturbed about the other pony missing;

>Colgate, hm?

>not a name you recognize personally, but it has been strung to the series of disappearances you may or may not have done yourself

>honestly, it’s an insult to your ego that they don’t even consider a second person in the area, bearing in mind that you’re quite precise with how you get them into your possession.

>for example, the day you get Twilight’s name from the “fishbowl of destiny”, you’ll simply court her, playing with her heart, showing her desires be satiated

>enjoy a spaghetti dinner on your roof in the moonlight with candles

>have her pass out with sleeping agents in her food, and silently drag her down into the basement

One day.

>Mrs. Cake: “Pardon?”

One drink, and a slice of cake could, please?

>she nods enthusiastically, her job keeping her mind as ease

>Mrs. Cake: “I’ll have Pinkie bring it out in a jiffy!”

>she walks away, as Twilight looks around for details, her face clearly pleading for sleep over clues right now

You know, you could sleep more, it wouldn’t hurt you.

>Twi: “Anon, ever since the increase of disappearances, there’s been pressure on the guards and detectives looking for clues. As someone who’s personally lived here, I know many people; Pinkie is a suspect.”

>you fold your hands together in thought at this bit of info

You do understand you’re telling this to someone whom you’ve suspected to be the kidnapper and likely killer, correct?

>Twi: “Anon… you know I come to you when I have trouble with this case, I always did. I may have pressed doubts with you, but you keep coming up with indisputable proof that you were nowhere near the scene.”

Yeah, well, doesn’t help that you treat me like a murderer, and then ask me for advice on your next suspect.

>you let the words sting, the effects that of grandeur

>you may be lying out of your teeth in some words, but at the same time you pull them together in some sort of half-truth

>it runs through her head just the way you wanted it to

>Twi: “I know, and I’m sorry I’ve accused you. It’s just when you first came here, you seemed dangerous, scary even. But I understand now that humans have different ways of acting, and even if you seem frightening, it doesn’t mean they aren’t enjoyable. I learned my lesson with that before.”

Yeah, well, it’s alright, so what is it that y-

>”Here’s your SUPER-DUPER cider and Pinkie’s most awesome CAKE!”

>now, you have almost every single pony’s picture in a scrapbook down in the basement, so you knew who to look for

>the facts her name was Pinkie Pie and you’ve seen her before was more than enough evidence to prove who she was

>the puffy hair is still somewhat off-putting

>not to mention the classy maid suit she has procured

Pleasure to meet ya Pinkie, my name is Anon. Hope to be good friends one day.

>Pinkie: “Oh yeah, I can’t wait! I LOVE making new friends~!”

>she hops away to what you can only assume be the bakery’s kitchen as Twilight sips off of her drink, and Mrs. Cake goes to tend for her two foals upstairs

>you reach for your glass to take a drink yourself, but you stop immediately

>you’ve done it many times before, and you see the signs of your drink tampered

>Twilight watches interestedly as you dip your finger into the cup, dabbing only a slight bit onto your tongue for review

>the results are almost perfect with three unique tastes

>Twi: “What’s wrong, Anon? She wouldn’t do anything in broad d-“

A very small trace of Flunitrazepam, and remarkable amount of what appears to be eszopiclone and zolpidem. I’m not sure if she’s trying to make sure we fall asleep, or don’t wake up…

>it took you a moment to notice that Twilight’s head was muffled by cake as her face plows into it

>she’s as unconscious as it gets

>you hear Pinkie closing a cabinet, her humming getting louder as she will enter the room in seconds

>you lift your glass to let the cider cling to your upper lip, pour some of it into a nearby plant pot

>you quickly and quietly shift the cake to the side, rest your head of the side of the plate, and pray that you look like you’re just as out as Twilight

-----

>as Pinkie reenters the quiet dining room, you hear her shuffle to the front door and lock it

>unwilling to move our open an eye, you hear her giggling and cracking somewhat entertaining jokes

>Pinkie: “Hahaha! These clowns look like they won’t ‘cake’ it home tonight!”

>perhaps she had better puns in her repertoire for when people can hear them

>she grabs at your sleeve closest to her, and you feel yourself being tugged off the table

>doing your best to accept the blow in an effort to see what is going on, she takes out off of your chair and you fall to the ground, your head slamming into the wood floor

>that’s going to hurt in the morning

>thankfully the woodwork is smooth enough not engage torture, and you’re soon dragged across the room

> after hearing some sort of noise of an object rolling up, you’re pulled into what feels to be a staircase down

>Pinkie: “It’s a good thing Mrs. Cake got reaaally tired just now! Your feet are REALLY loud!”

>you don’t bother responding as your shoes make a large THUNK with each step you slide down

>as soon as you reach the bottom, she manages to put you in a sitting position, your back against a wall

>your head is still throbbing, but you manage to keep focused and intuitive with the plan you have hatched

>Pinkie: “Now it’s time to get rid of the witness, and soon we’ll be having LOTS of fun!”

>the moment you hear her step on the stairs, your eyes shoot open as your hand rips into your coat

>just as you pull out the survival knife, you realize that she knew you were awake all along, and tapped the stair just to spur you into action

>as soon as your dagger was out, she was in the air with her own weapon, to what appeared to be a decently large kitchen knife in her mouth

>you parry her lethal tackle onto you, but her weight slides her knife off of yours, and it pierces into your shoulder

>you’ve taken some serious jabs and wounds before, but it never seems to help you cope with the pain

GAAUGH!

>Pinkie Pie is on top of you now, pinning your arms down as she lets go of the blade still in you

>Pinkie: “Hehe, I like it when they fight back…”

You’re going to fucking love me, then.

>she doesn’t realize that you’re stronger than the average stallion in this position

>maybe 50-60 pounds on you, you toss her over and fling out throwing knifes from your waist

>our left arm isn’t as accurate thanks to the knife jabbed in your shoulder

>thankfully she didn’t hit any major arteries, you rip it out and take off your ascot

>she’s pinned to the wooden wall by her dress, one of your left arm’s hit her in the back right leg

>she struggles to tear her dress from the wall as you pull out a vial, splashing a few drops on the ascot

>you press the cloth against her face

Hey, what does this smell like to you?

>she breathes in the chloroform and promptly passes out

>you know better and keep it forced over her nose and mouth

>she was trying to fake you out just like you did her, but she is soon forced to breath and passes out

>you check her pulse on her neck

>it’s slowing down at the expected, and you let go

>she hangs there limp, and you dress your battle wound with gauze you keep handy

>thankfully the outside of the hydra scale suit doesn’t show any blood, just the inside

>putting the coat back on, you observe the room

>good freaking god, she’s just as bad as you are

>although much more sloppy

>there’s an incinerator here, and a seat with restrainers on it

>large cache of tools with blunt edges

>you find a large burlap bag, you empty it

>freshly chopped wings and patches of skin fall out

>grimacing at the sight, you return to the unconscious pink mare, dress her leg’s wound and remove the tossed blades, wiping each one down as you reinsert it into their respective spots

>into the bag she goes, she’s gonna need a bath after this one

>just as you leave, you see a small bowl of sorts, with paper strips in it full of numbers

>you see a number chart with that matches the ID with the name of the next victim

>there’s a strip on the table, you look at it and match it up

>it’s yours

>you both had each other for a target

>it was love at first fight

-----

>looking like the richest burglar Equestria has to offer, you make your way back to the main diner room

>donning rubber gloves, you clear the table of the dishes and any signs of evidence that something took place

>tossing the cake away, you hear Mrs. Cake stirring from whatever forced nap she took from upstairs

>putting the dishes in the sink in the back, you pick up the bag and toss it over your shoulder

>you pick up Twilight into the other arm, and turn to see how Pinkie concealed the door to her little “funhouse”

>you curse under your breath when you see that the door is no longer there

The hell is this shit? Fucking magic, I tell you these days…

>you slip out the backdoor quietly, and take to the alleys to your home

-----

>fifteen minutes later, you make it back in your house through a series of sewer ways and back alleys

>you reek like hell but you make it into your basement through a secret tunnel

>you shred off Pinkie’s dress, holding no shame

>knifes and other weaponry tatter to the floor to your shock

>this dress is more than just for witty show

>this lass is a bloody killer

>her hair has straightened out for whatever reason

>you strap her into the harness and set both her and your weapons on the table, before hanging your overcoat up

>thankfully Twilight is still out, and you leave her on the couch in the living room above

>into your bathroom you go to shower, cleaning out the nasty gash

>you stitch it back together without the need for anesthetic

>likeaboss.gif

>redressing it properly this time, you exit the room shirtless to find a rousing Twilight

>Twi: “Ugh… what happened…?”

>you take a towel to your hair and sit down next to her

>she spots your stab wound

>Twi: “Anon, you’re-! Did Pinkie do-“

No, some mare actually confronted me and tried to kill me after knocking you out.

>you’re lying through your teeth, and poorly at that, but you’re obligated to do so

>Twi: “A mare, who was she?”

It was some dark blue mare, in a ridiculous get up. I believe she was referring to herself as-

>Twi: “The great and powerful Trixie, I should have known…”

>Twilight’s eyes sparkle at this; You were just making it up as you go, but it appears you hit the jackpot

I believe that’s right, yes. She threw a large knife at me, but before she could finish me off, Pinkie stopped her and they began fighting.

>Twilight’s eyes look away, narrowing at the information; trying to filter what is true and what is right

>Twi: “That sounds reasonable, but… Trixie is an unicorn, albeit a poorly skilled one. If she wanted to kill Pinkie, she could have done it easily, unless…”

>you scour your head for information you remember about the unconscious mare in the room below

She is Pinkie Pie after all, she manage to hold her off with a cake tin while I grabbed you and booked it out of there.

>she looks at you gravely

>Twi: “You ran away from the fight?”

>you do your best to blow the comment, placing the towel over your shoulders

I’m not a good fighter, Twilight. I was in danger, and I couldn’t leave you there, so I did my best to grab you and get out of there.

>she considers your words carefully, trying to piece what she remembers

>you can tell she’s frustrated with her lack of memory, her head fuzzy from the chemicals in the drink

>why you’re hiding Pinkie Pie’s attempt to kill you both is beyond you; it would be a perfect cover up to hide your blood trail

>it appears Twilight has some condemnable issues with this “Trixie” character, at least, and it blinds her into believing it

>Twi: “Still, Trixie… do you know what happened between them afterwards?”

It’s hardly been twenty minutes since she attacked me, I’m sure if you go down there, there’s going to be one hell of a scene. I need to rest right now, I’m a tad beaten up.

>she nods, and makes her way to the door

>Twi: “I’m sure the disturbance caused a few guards to get there, did you meet any on your way out?”

Not one, lazy fuckers these days. I saw a few ponies to confirm my presence, though. Plus, y’know… Pinkie, if she’s alive anyways.

>she flinches at your empathy, but nods nonetheless

>Twi: “Thanks for saving me, Anon. I’ll be sure to figure out what happened and let you know.”

I hope you find out, I’m not usually being assaulted by random ponies like that.

>you seriously need to come with a good story by the time she comes back, as you close the front door, and make your way into the lair to begin a friendly interrogation

>end