"Eight - UnusualSuspects"
By OneTripPony (https://pastebin.com/u/OneTripPony)

URL: https://pastebin.com/ECz1yHyQ
Created on: Monday 28th of May 2012 07:41:17 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 24 of October 2020 06:44:28 AM UTC


> The Carousel bar takes my breath away.
> Not in a good way.
> I spend precious time trying to figure out what asylum these p0nies get their architects from.
> Then, I try to figure out if I should be looking for a door or a carnie in a ticket booth.
> As a bar, I guess I can see the need to stand out.
> ...but, according to what I've been told, this was a dress shop a few years ago.
> Shaking my head with disbelief I find the door, still hanging open on one stubborn hinge and slip into the building.
> It's a mess.
> Tables are strewn around, most knocked over.
> Stools too.
> In the corner on a podium sits a piano.
> Not one of those dime-cheap uprights.
> A proper, classy grand design and a bright cream colour to boot.
> The podium was probably some kinda fashion walkway.
> Now? It serves as a stage.
> Not that this town has the kinda clientele that appreciates live shows anymore.
> Live bartender and a fresh drink, clean glass optional is more their idea of a cabaret.
> To the side of the stage there is an open door with stairs visible behind it.
> Right next to that, and blocking ease of access to the stairs, sits the bar.
> It's a long, curved, laquered arch with a mirrored drinks cabinet behind it.
> I drag my eyes away from the cabinet, eventually, and take in the scene.

> If it wasn't for the post brawl debris, this'd be a classy joint.
> I stand in the center of the mess and slowly take in the whole room.
> Twilight was right.
> They didn't search it at all.
> Every disturbance is related to the struggle.
> The door, smashed in.
> Broken window near a tipped over table, lantern just visible outside by moonlight, resting in a circle of scorched grass.
> Smashed bottles and glasses from thrown aside tables.
> Broken stool.
> Small splattering of blood on... floor, table on it's side and nearby broken stool.
> Somep0ny took a ding to the head.
> Not enough to be fatal.
> Door behind the bar is hanging open.
> Scrapes on the fleur de lys wallpaper are fresh.
> Somep0ny made a break for it upstairs.
> Didn't get far.
> Door at the top of the stairs is still closed. 
> Behind the bar all of the bottles, save those used as ammunition, are still in place.
> The wooden partition is still raised.
> I slip behind the bar and squat down, poking around.
> The light's terrible in here, but I haven't time to find a lantern.
> Instead, I light a match and peer about under the brief lumination.
> Nothing disturbed back here either.
> I poke about a little, then, with a hiss and a shake of my burnt fingers drop the match.

> Another match and I'm on the case again.
> I'm here for two things.
> The first I find quickly.
> Three bottles of fairly strong drink.
> No idea what it is, the language looks like some Equestrian version of french.
> Whadda they call that place? Prance?
> Geez...
> I pocket two of the bottles and hold on to the other.
> Next, I hope the reputation of miss Rarity's neatness aren't exaggerated.
> I find a small bin, just as the other match is about to run out.
> Picking it up, I shake the match out and empty the bin onto the counter.
> Junk, rubbish and just what you'd expect.
> ...There... just waht I was looking for.
> A carefully folded, if battered, brown sheet of paper, with length of parcel string in a nearby strata of trash.
> I take the string, then carefully fold out the parcel paper.
> She's a neat mare.
> Untied it, unwrapped it then folded the paper away and placed it in the bin.
> Any other p0ny woulda tore it apart.
> I spend a while looking at the older, less neat folds.
> It's only a guess, but I have a vague idea of the package size which Rarity recieved that night.
> My best guess puts the box about three hands, by 2 by 1.
> Flat cuboid would be my bet.
> All I gotta do now is find the box that fits the wrapper.

> No luck downstairs and time is wasting.
> The closed door at the top of the stairs and the scrapes catch my attention.
> Perhaps Rainbow stashed more than just a cloak...
> It'd be just like her to have held a few things back.
> I head up the stairs and find the door unlocked. 
> It opens into a similarly decorated level, three rooms.
> Two bedrooms, tidy.
> One looks as if it hasn't been lived in for a long time, but still kept clean.
> Smaller bed, maybe the sister.
> The last room looks like someone has already turned it over.
"Damn it all."...
> ...I mutter to myself, thinking I've been beaten to the punch.
> A few moments looking it over and the truth sinks in.
> This room hasn't been searched.
> Everything that is strewn about is related to dressmaking, stitching and other seamstress work.
> Ribbons, lengths of cloth, sequins, thread, needles a pair of pony dress modelling dolls, one of which is wearing a cape.
> I unhook the cape, fold it over my arm and look around the room
> There's boxes of materials everywhere, but one stands out.
> It's empty and, based on my guess, it's the right size.
> I look it over.
> Solid but plain wood.
> No lock, but a latch.
> Padded, velvet interior with housing for 6 evenly sized objects.
"Hmmm."

> I start to piece the scene together.
> Rainbow came dashing up here to stash a cloak and, if I'm right, a package.
> She throws the cloak on the model, hoping it looks like a dress in work.
> Then, she's left with a box.
> The box isn't important though.
> Never is.
> It's what's in it that counts.
> So, she dumps the contents somewhere they blend in, dumps the box and heads downstairs.
> A day later she's spending quality time in the guardhouse with yours truly.
> I examine the box closely, moving to the window to let the moonlight do it's work.
> There's a shard in there...
> A purple sliver of... glass?
> The pieces start to fall into place.
> I peer around the room and notice the open chest.
> It's about a fifth full with gems.
> Emeralds, Rubies, Sapphires.
> A fortune where I come from.
> Here? Gaudy decorations and snacks.
> These p0nies...
> To diamond dogs, it must look like they parade around with donuts stapled to their clothes.

> I pick through the gem chest.
> A few of the larger ones are cracked.
> One of them is shattered.
> Purple.
> I pick up a couple of the smaller ones.
> Tapping them together tells me they're real.
> Eventually, one of the larger ones gives itself away as a glass fake.
> Now, why somep0ny would want to use glass fake jewels on a dress is beyond me
> Especially when you consider how plentiful the real deal is on this crazy-horse world.
> You only fake something when the genuine article is outta reach.
> So... What were they trying to copy?
> It's suspicious enough to following up so I grab one of the less damaged fakes, a big red radiant cut.
> I head out of the bar for my last stop with more questions to ask but one big one answered.
> On the way I stop and pick up a small collection of brightly hued cocktail umberellas.