City Of Towers
Slash...
That was the sound the swift, and lithe claws made as they perforated the soft, silky cloth. The body jerked, and then slumped; limp, lifelessly back.
And so, the deed was done. Unheard. Unseen. The perfect end – the perfect solution. A perfect story. But, as many a pony will say: Where there is trouble... A Gryphon isn't too far away.
A Gryphon saw.
It started out, as a perfect day. He knew it would certainly be an imperfect day soon... But just for a few minutes, it was easy to pretend that it wouldn't.
Spike Doyle preened his lavender scales. It was a daily manoeuvre, one of rebellion. A... confirmation, perhaps, of his reptilian characteristics – of the power he still wields.
An almighty belch broke his chain of thought, and brought forth a scroll of papyrus – sealed with a regal insignia: bearing the mark of the solar goddess. He unravelled the paper-bound message, and was unsurprised by the contents. Hand (well, hoof) delivered by Celestia herself – the news had all of the usual governmental propaganda, descriptions of the "brutal" Lunar Republic and their revolt against the Solar Empire. It also had snippets, containing recent actions of the revolutionary Gryphons.
"How delightfully wonderful." said Spike, as he tried to hold back a yawn. Unsuccessful in his attempt to do so, he sighed, and placed a clawed hand to his forehead – words could not describe the stupidity of the situation thrust upon Equestria: Militant nations, warring over nothing but who sits upon the lonely throne; rebel factions, led by incompetent fools, of whom know nothing of why or what they are fighting for. The main contenders for who rules the land are: The Solar empire – led by the benevolent and current ruler of the nation, Princess Celestia. The Lunar Republic, led by the once mighty co-ruler of Equestria; whom now sits disgraced and, at present, the figurehead of a vengeful rebellion – Princess Luna. And finally, the dishonoured clans of Gryphons in a unified faction the media call the Gryphon Reprisal.
As Spike scanned further, and further down, he couldn't help but notice an irritation on the heel of his hand. He looked down, and discovered yet another scroll, attached to the original. He opened the tiny message, and squinted to read the respectively tiny script.
"... Damn."
"Mr. Doyle..."
"Please, ma'am, call me Spike."
"Alright... Spike. I assume you received my letter?"
The troubled figure of Princess Celestia stood before him, as majestic as always. Her fur was a brilliant white, bathed, and conditioned to perfection. Her mane was a spectrum of greens, pinks, and blues; and the wings bestowed upon her body were of magnificent grace and size. She also was blessed with a horn upon her head – the combination of wings and a horn were a tribute to her royal stature. Known as Alicorns, these powerful horses have always been rulers. Kings, Queens, Princes and Princesses.
Spike tipped his wide-brimmed hat in acknowledgement, and re-adjusted the collar of his arylide greatcoat. "Please, be of haste, Princess. Spare no detail," Spike continued, "Everything must be told, so I can catch the perpetrator of this great crime." The mighty goddess took a step back in shock, unsuspecting of Spike's speedy reprimand.
"I... Yes, Spike... You are indeed correct on the matter... however, my note contained no detail of a criminal offence..."
"Ma'am. You only request my presence in the most dire needs. What should make this any different? Your hoof-writing was partially scribbled, in clear hurry. The... tone, of your message was one of absolute despair, and the paper on which the summons was written had been torn by the pen with which it was inscribed in several places..." Spike concluded, reclining on a nearby armchair, templing his claws as he did so, and uttered: "Murder." in his most persecuting voice.
Taken back yet again by the great detective's words alone, Celestia concentrated on trying to stay standing, her knees buckling under a volatile combination of stress and shock. Reeling, she managed to splutter "Y-yes, detective. M-murder." Even though the Princess was currently engaged in active warfare, the idea of murder shook her to her very core.
The corner of Spike's mouth lifted upwards in a smirk. The feeling of success, and even the pride of shocking his ruler. To Spike, this came as a revelation, for he had a similar effect on many other ponies during his career... however, none as adverse as Celestia's reaction. A sudden thought crossed his mind that the circumstance was perhaps much worse than he had first predicted.
When Celestia had, (at least partially) recovered from her ordeal, she motioned towards the door, and gestured Mr. Doyle to follow her. Breaking his chain of thought, he followed the sound of her hoof-steps – he quickened his pace, and was soon at her side, walking parallel down the corridor. The Princess broke the silence "M-Mr. Doyle..."
"Spike." Interrupted the dragon.
"I wished to discuss the crime with you. The nature is... Rather sensitive."
"How so, your majesty?" asked Spike
"Most suspect a Gryphon... A-as you know, our current relationship is not good. Not good at all." Spike nodded his head "The victim of this... horrendous incident, is one you were certainly familiar with... The daughter of a Mr. Filthy Rich."
"The multimillionaire banker?" Spike asked
"Yes." Continued Celestia: "Ms Diamond Tiara."
A long and cold silence immediately followed, and the name echoed through the mind of the detective. After what seemed like an age, he recovered himself and at last spoke, shattering the stillness.
"Yeah... I knew her." Spike gulped
"Then I take it that you fully understand the importance of the case and that this is also an extremely delicate matter, Spike. The urban area is home to a large proportion of Gryphons... Any problem with them involved is likely to raise tensions, perhaps even causing another uprising. Ponies... Will believe anything these days and if they think it's a Gryphon, they're certain to take action."
"Indeed Princess" agreed Spike,"Perhaps I should leave, and go to the scene, your highness. Time is of the essence."
"Perhaps, Spike, perhaps."
"Then I wish you farewell, Princess." Spike took off his hat and rested it upon his chest in a gesture of salutation.
"Good luck." replied Celestia.
Spike kindly said "Thank you, your highness." before continuing down the long corridor.
It was early afternoon when Spike arrived at Diamond Tiara's personal penthouse apartment, which was situated at the top of the sky-scraper owned by the famous, multimillionaire pony who'd made his almighty fortune in banking. Filthy Rich. However, unlike the tall towers surrounding it, this particular building had just one very unique and unusual feature that made it stand out from any other sky-scraper in Manehattan and, quite possibly, the world.
Size.
"Mr. Doyle!"
The detective grinded his teeth once more at his pet hate. The reporter bounded over to him, notebook and pencil in hand. "Excuse me, Mr. Doyle, do you mind if I get a quick interview from you?" Spike contemptfully shooed the journalist away with his pristine claws.
"B-but, Mr. Doyle?"
"I said, enough."
The reporter backed away at his venomous remark, reeling in discomfort of the great detective's rejection as he did so. "Fine" the reporter huffed, straightening his back and adjusting his collar in the manner that someone would when they felt utterly crushed. The story would've been his, and at the only chance that he gets, he catches the master detective in a bad mood. The boss was not going to be happy.
Then, in a final act of frustration, the reporter roughly packed his pencil and notebook into a small leather bag that hung from his neck and stormed off, angrily muttering to himself as he went.
Sighing in relief, Spike looked up at the expansive building before him admiring the sheer grandeur of the sky-touching construction, which dwarfed its surroundings in comparison.
The elevator ride up was just as enthralling as the building itself, the transparent exterior exposing the blue sky above. Being a fair few floors high, the elevator ride was a slow, long, and quiet one. This gave Spike time to think. He liked to think. Past cases, past days... Even past years flashed before his mind. He let out a smooth, contented sigh. "Dragons slip into memories so easily..." His body convulsed, and his eyes rolled...
Laser dot trembles on the skull. Spice on the spring wind. Sunset eyes defiant in the scope.
A... Bystander noticed the spotting laser and threw herself between me and the target. She couldn't see me, but... Stared me down..
Still in trance, the Lilac figure spoke: "The good old da-"
"Penthouse Floor." The sudden electronic voice startled the serene fire-drake. His breathing quickened, his eyes squinted, and his heartbeat accelerated. The signs of an adrenaline-pumped dragon. The doors opened, and the room was suddenly visible. Battle-scarred, the suite was surprisingly well beat-up. Furniture was scattered, windows were shattered and broken, and the carpeting was torn in many places. "Empty. Just how I like it. Thanks, boys." Doyle was deep in his own thoughts now, even speaking out loud to his comfort of the police abandoning the room just for him.
Spike came out of his daze and blinked his eyes several times. He realised that he wasn't going to get to the bottom of this, if he simply stood taking in his surroundings, so he switched his attention to the matter in hand. He thought about putting his coat and deerstalker on one of the nearby coat hooks, but decided against it. It would be best to sweep the room first. From one of the pockets on his greatcoat, he took out a powerful magnifying glass and set about the long and tedious task of going over the room.
Checking all the shattered window panes, upturned furniture, and sections of torn carpet for something–anything out of the ordinary (given the circumstances). He had already been informed before his arrival of the dire state of the apartment, and where he would find the body of the unfortunate victim. He made a mental note to check that after his preliminary examination. It was then that a moment of triumph came. A slip-up from the criminal, desperately trying to cover his tracks, "They didn't do much of a good job of concealing the evidence" chuckled Spike. This triumph arrived in the form of a bloodied footprint. It was in the shape of a clawed foot, the kind that belonged to a Gryphon, for there was no mistaking the trademark crow-foot.
The crimson red print was smudged where it had been dragged over the floor, and the talons had deeply torn three parallel lines in the carpet as a result. He the quickly searched the room again and found several more of these marks all around the apartment. However, one note about all these findings was... That they all looked similar if not identical. His mind stored an idea at he back of his head. He was just about to turn back when he heard the faintest trace of movement. The slightest sound of a shifting body. The noise would have been unnoticeable to an average pony... But Spike was no average pony. The dragon was certain he heard something. He listened again, holding his breath so as to maintain absolute silence. He could hear nothing, so turned round to go towards the bedroom where the body lay when, suddenly, he heard behind him the loud bang of a door being thrown open.
He had just enough time to see a figure, Half eagle, half lion, surging towards him at such speed that would've put a falcon to shame. What happened next occurred so fast, time itself seemed to slow down. Spike crouched, in an attempt to throw himself out of the path of his attacker, but was too slow. Razor-sharp talons slammed into his chest, driving every ounce of breath from his lungs, severely winding him. At the same time, the blow powered him to the floor and his eyes widened as the assailant reared again, bringing his claw down with such force that it missed Spike's head, and smashed into the floorboards instead, shattering them. Spike took a deep breath while his staggered attacker recovered. He ran the motions in his mind...
Head cocked to the left. Partial deafness in ear. First point of attack.
Two. Throat. Paralyse vocal cords. Stop screaming.
Three. Got to be heavy drinker. Floating rib to the liver.
Four. Finally, drag the left leg. Fist the patella.
Summary prognosis: Conscious in 90 seconds
Martial efficacy: quarter of an hour at best.
Full faculty of recovery, unlikely.
The now hell-bent aggressor charged at Spike. "First point of attack." The dragon clapped his claws together on the Gryphon's head, discombobulating his opponent.
"Two." Spike hooked his adversary in the throat, silencing him in one, fell swoop.
"Three." His left fist clenched, Spike jabbed the Gryphon in the liver, crippling him in pain.
"Four." Pulling the hybrid's leg up, Spike crushed the offender's leg with his forearm, utterly incapacitating him.
"Didn't even put up a fight."
- A/N
This is actually a collaboration between me, and a friend. It began as an assessment... and it evolved into... well, this. Strangely going well, and certainly one of the best things I've written as of late. More should be up in the following few weeks...
This is a rather odd take on Equestria, yeah, I know. But... Warring nations, murder, propaganda... I couldn't pass this one up. My friend wanted a murder mystery? He got ponies.