Streets of Sin (T)
Feb 9, 2016 2:57:37 GMT -8
Post by jarvyjared on Feb 9, 2016 2:57:37 GMT -8
This story is a sequel to my longest story as of late, A Prose By Any Other Name, which you can find on this site, as well as Fimfiction and Fanfiction.net. As such, you may want to first read through APBAON before you read this.
Streets of Sin
© Jarvy Jared
With Dusk Prosa gone, and Opacare Prose returned, the author's past mistakes can finally be fixed by returning to Manehattan. But these streets are not the safest, and soon he will embark on an adventure far greater than stopping the Mayor.
Show the story some love! Leave a like at my Fimfic link: Streets of Sin, or follow it on Fanfiction.net: Streets of Sin
In a darkened room, one pony sat in a chair, staring over a crisp newspaper. One of his advisors had handed it to him, having found it intriguing enough to warrant his attention. The light scent of a burnt cigar drafted throughout the dark room.
He sat on a bronze-red chair, his Tyrian-purple eyes moving restlessly across each sentence. His white-smoke fur masked the sea of emotions that rumbled and tossed inside; briefly, he flicked his ivory mane away, and for a moment one could see what amounted to shock wisp by. His jaw tightened, clenched, then relaxed; he took a slow breath, then glanced around.
The room was empty, but not barren of color. Lipstick-red adorned the walls, with mahogany wood furniture adorning the sides. It was a small office, one that suited his needs. On his desk was a picture frame, a light-lavender unicorn filly between a faded-pink unicorn mare and himself. A brief smile crossed his lips, before being replaced with a taut frown. He glanced away, feeling a stab of pain in his heart, and whispered a silent apology.
His horn lit in a golden glow as he absentmindedly flipped through the pages, though his mind remained only on the front article. He did the action only to do something else while he thought.
He had heard of the events that had transpired in the past month. The missing author had been the center of all of Equestria’s attention; for that, he was glad, for it meant that less attention was focused on him—and by extension, them. The operation could continue as smoothly as it did; though, he did know there was one issue that needed addressing.
Pressing a button on the underside of his desk, he made a simple request. His voice was soft and eloquent, like a politician, or a professional liar. The command was met with a simple affirmation, and he leaned back, waiting.
A short moment later, the door up front was pushed open. A zebra mare walked in, calm, fuchsia purple meeting his darker shade of violet. Her polarizing mane draped down her shoulders enchantingly, and her cobalt cloak only barely covered her hindquarters. He had caught several of his men staring at her flanks; her risque behavior grew more troublesome with each day. The gold ankhs that hung from her ears glistened from the halls’ light, before transforming into a faded bronze as the door closed. Darkness reigned again, though not enough to mask his displeasure.
She walked up to him, mischievously smiling. “Sir,” she greeted, carefully omitting his name. “To what is it that I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?”
She leaned forward, voice dripping into a whisper. “Did you perhaps have a need I was required to satisfy? It has been so long, has it not?”
He glared at her. “Aryna. Your witchcrafts will not affect me.”
“Many stallions have said that before.” Aryna laughed, her voice like crystals dropping into a pool of water. “Oh, do not fret. I know you have a loving wife to return to.” Seeing his throat tighten, she stopped going down that path. “Perhaps it would do us both well as to explain why I am here?”
“One. It is not your pleasure, nor mine, that you are here,” he stated angrily. His eyes narrowed. “We need to discuss Raven Lock.”
Aryna let out a sigh. “Oh, what of that dead stallion? Surely you do not wish I had not done what I have done.”
“I wanted him subdued, not killed.”
“I did both, in the end.”
“You disobeyed my orders.”
“Or carried them through, depending on the perspective.” She sighed. “I tire of this banter. Tell me what you want.”
He let out his own sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I worry that we’ve drawn too much attention to ourselves, what with you little… ‘removal.’”
“Let us not beat around that metaphorical bush. I killed Raven Lock, I did not remove him.”
He scowled. “The point is, we may be facing a growing threat from other sources.”
That surprised her. “How? I handed over the documents I found in his apartment. His contacts have been taken cared of.”
“Have they?” He levitated the paper over to her. “Read the front article.”
She did so, her eyes also going slightly wide. To his shock, she smiled. “So. The game has evolved.”
“‘The game?’” He snorted. “If you think this is a game, perhaps I should let you lose for once.”
She chuckled. “Forgive me. I was only lightening the mood.”
“I prefer this darkness, mind you.”
She placed the paper down. “So he has returned. What of it?”
He gestured at the paper. “According to what he has said, Raven Locked helped him disappear in the first place.” He leaned forward menacingly. “Who is to say that he won’t eventually discover us?”
She met his gaze evenly. “There is a chance he might… but it is very low. After all, there is nothing that connects us to the crime scene.”
“But he still is connected. It would only take a few moments of critical thinking to evaluate that the gas explosion was not the real cause of death.”
“Even then, he would be like a blind slug fumbling in the darkness. He would have no leads to go off of that would lead to us.”
He sighed, settling back onto his chair. “Perhaps you are right. Still, though, it is concerning. We may have a breach in our operations.”
She shook his head. “I will ensure that it does not come to that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
She flashed him a smile, one that clearly demonstrated her cold-killer personality. “You were a bank owner. You know something called insurance, yes?”
For a moment he did not respond, mulling over her response. Then, he gave a simple nod as he understood what she was implying. “Do what you must. Dismissed.”
Two unicorn stallions read over the teleported note carefully. The pale green one had a calm smile on his face, while his friend, a darker blue, looked on with a slight frown.
“What do you think, Newt?” the blue one asked. “Should we do it?”
Newt Ginger shrugged. “C’mon, Viper. We’re comminators. This is in our job description.”
“We intimidate, yeah. But since when have we done that?” Emphasizing his point, he flicked his hoof out at the note.
Newt snorted. “You act like we’re the bad guys or something. But you have to remember, bad is relative and subjective.”
Viper Navy rolled his eyes. “Maybe so, but still… If it weren’t for the money, I’m not sure I’d do this.”
Newt frowned. “Don’t tell me you’d abandon your own friend just because this looks bad.”
Viper quickly shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that I don’t want to do anything too rash.”
The green unicorn placed a reassuring hoof on his friend. “Don’t worry, Viper. This won’t go wrong. I promise.” Viper smiled and nodded.
Newt returned to the note. “Of course, there still remains the issue of not getting caught…” His eyes lit up. “We could double up, get twice the load.”
Viper nodded. “Sounds good. But we’ll need some help. Know anypony?”
Newt smirked, a sinister glint in his eye. “I know just the mare…”
He placed the note down and walked out, his brother following closely.
At the bottom of the paper, the curving and beautiful characters of the Zebrika language morphed into one simple, translated phrase: “The Mayor and the Author shall fall.”
To them, it was like music in words, one that spelled a brighter future.
Streets of Sin
© Jarvy Jared
With Dusk Prosa gone, and Opacare Prose returned, the author's past mistakes can finally be fixed by returning to Manehattan. But these streets are not the safest, and soon he will embark on an adventure far greater than stopping the Mayor.
Show the story some love! Leave a like at my Fimfic link: Streets of Sin, or follow it on Fanfiction.net: Streets of Sin
O: Shadowy Figures
In a darkened room, one pony sat in a chair, staring over a crisp newspaper. One of his advisors had handed it to him, having found it intriguing enough to warrant his attention. The light scent of a burnt cigar drafted throughout the dark room.
He sat on a bronze-red chair, his Tyrian-purple eyes moving restlessly across each sentence. His white-smoke fur masked the sea of emotions that rumbled and tossed inside; briefly, he flicked his ivory mane away, and for a moment one could see what amounted to shock wisp by. His jaw tightened, clenched, then relaxed; he took a slow breath, then glanced around.
The room was empty, but not barren of color. Lipstick-red adorned the walls, with mahogany wood furniture adorning the sides. It was a small office, one that suited his needs. On his desk was a picture frame, a light-lavender unicorn filly between a faded-pink unicorn mare and himself. A brief smile crossed his lips, before being replaced with a taut frown. He glanced away, feeling a stab of pain in his heart, and whispered a silent apology.
His horn lit in a golden glow as he absentmindedly flipped through the pages, though his mind remained only on the front article. He did the action only to do something else while he thought.
He had heard of the events that had transpired in the past month. The missing author had been the center of all of Equestria’s attention; for that, he was glad, for it meant that less attention was focused on him—and by extension, them. The operation could continue as smoothly as it did; though, he did know there was one issue that needed addressing.
Pressing a button on the underside of his desk, he made a simple request. His voice was soft and eloquent, like a politician, or a professional liar. The command was met with a simple affirmation, and he leaned back, waiting.
A short moment later, the door up front was pushed open. A zebra mare walked in, calm, fuchsia purple meeting his darker shade of violet. Her polarizing mane draped down her shoulders enchantingly, and her cobalt cloak only barely covered her hindquarters. He had caught several of his men staring at her flanks; her risque behavior grew more troublesome with each day. The gold ankhs that hung from her ears glistened from the halls’ light, before transforming into a faded bronze as the door closed. Darkness reigned again, though not enough to mask his displeasure.
She walked up to him, mischievously smiling. “Sir,” she greeted, carefully omitting his name. “To what is it that I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?”
She leaned forward, voice dripping into a whisper. “Did you perhaps have a need I was required to satisfy? It has been so long, has it not?”
He glared at her. “Aryna. Your witchcrafts will not affect me.”
“Many stallions have said that before.” Aryna laughed, her voice like crystals dropping into a pool of water. “Oh, do not fret. I know you have a loving wife to return to.” Seeing his throat tighten, she stopped going down that path. “Perhaps it would do us both well as to explain why I am here?”
“One. It is not your pleasure, nor mine, that you are here,” he stated angrily. His eyes narrowed. “We need to discuss Raven Lock.”
Aryna let out a sigh. “Oh, what of that dead stallion? Surely you do not wish I had not done what I have done.”
“I wanted him subdued, not killed.”
“I did both, in the end.”
“You disobeyed my orders.”
“Or carried them through, depending on the perspective.” She sighed. “I tire of this banter. Tell me what you want.”
He let out his own sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I worry that we’ve drawn too much attention to ourselves, what with you little… ‘removal.’”
“Let us not beat around that metaphorical bush. I killed Raven Lock, I did not remove him.”
He scowled. “The point is, we may be facing a growing threat from other sources.”
That surprised her. “How? I handed over the documents I found in his apartment. His contacts have been taken cared of.”
“Have they?” He levitated the paper over to her. “Read the front article.”
She did so, her eyes also going slightly wide. To his shock, she smiled. “So. The game has evolved.”
“‘The game?’” He snorted. “If you think this is a game, perhaps I should let you lose for once.”
She chuckled. “Forgive me. I was only lightening the mood.”
“I prefer this darkness, mind you.”
She placed the paper down. “So he has returned. What of it?”
He gestured at the paper. “According to what he has said, Raven Locked helped him disappear in the first place.” He leaned forward menacingly. “Who is to say that he won’t eventually discover us?”
She met his gaze evenly. “There is a chance he might… but it is very low. After all, there is nothing that connects us to the crime scene.”
“But he still is connected. It would only take a few moments of critical thinking to evaluate that the gas explosion was not the real cause of death.”
“Even then, he would be like a blind slug fumbling in the darkness. He would have no leads to go off of that would lead to us.”
He sighed, settling back onto his chair. “Perhaps you are right. Still, though, it is concerning. We may have a breach in our operations.”
She shook his head. “I will ensure that it does not come to that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
She flashed him a smile, one that clearly demonstrated her cold-killer personality. “You were a bank owner. You know something called insurance, yes?”
For a moment he did not respond, mulling over her response. Then, he gave a simple nod as he understood what she was implying. “Do what you must. Dismissed.”
Two unicorn stallions read over the teleported note carefully. The pale green one had a calm smile on his face, while his friend, a darker blue, looked on with a slight frown.
“What do you think, Newt?” the blue one asked. “Should we do it?”
Newt Ginger shrugged. “C’mon, Viper. We’re comminators. This is in our job description.”
“We intimidate, yeah. But since when have we done that?” Emphasizing his point, he flicked his hoof out at the note.
Newt snorted. “You act like we’re the bad guys or something. But you have to remember, bad is relative and subjective.”
Viper Navy rolled his eyes. “Maybe so, but still… If it weren’t for the money, I’m not sure I’d do this.”
Newt frowned. “Don’t tell me you’d abandon your own friend just because this looks bad.”
Viper quickly shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that I don’t want to do anything too rash.”
The green unicorn placed a reassuring hoof on his friend. “Don’t worry, Viper. This won’t go wrong. I promise.” Viper smiled and nodded.
Newt returned to the note. “Of course, there still remains the issue of not getting caught…” His eyes lit up. “We could double up, get twice the load.”
Viper nodded. “Sounds good. But we’ll need some help. Know anypony?”
Newt smirked, a sinister glint in his eye. “I know just the mare…”
He placed the note down and walked out, his brother following closely.
At the bottom of the paper, the curving and beautiful characters of the Zebrika language morphed into one simple, translated phrase: “The Mayor and the Author shall fall.”
To them, it was like music in words, one that spelled a brighter future.
