No Peeking... (Pinkie)
|No Peeking... (Pinkie)|
|Date of Cutscene:||22 June 2014|
|Synopsis:||Pinkie takes care of some business.|
|Cast of Characters:||Pinkie (Dropped)|
All that's needed now is a distraction. Oh they'll find this one tomorrow. And when they do, they'll be too busy trying to figure out what happened here to respond to the real chaos. By then, if everything goes to plan... It should be too late.
That's why this little spot is right across the street.
One foot propped on the desk, the killer clown seemed more interested in the view of the sprawling palatial mansion-like grounds overlooking Manehattan' s largest park. The fat lump of an old and aged Pegasus curled up in his seat in fear.
An old soldier. Wealthy. Retired, but a staunch supporter of Moon and Star; one that still made generous donations to the house. This one would make for a nice introductory act to the main event.
"Okay. That's enough chuckling around." Pinkamena muses in a chill whisper, mirthless eyes glancing down through the slots in her ominously featureless mask, blade twirling in the bloodstained grasp of a white gloved hand.
"I'll give you money!" He blubbered, "All the bits you could ever want! Just leave and don't come back! I won't even tell them I saw you!"
"This isn't about money."
The sheer frost in the dark clown's voice was enough to freeze him to his very soul. "... Wh-... Why?"
"Because fate has been cruel and order unkind. The blame is all hers. The punishment? Yours."
The aged, overweight, soldier's eyes widened in horror, the realization setting in. He's going to die. "You're going to kill me."
Of course she was. It took him this long to figure it out? The slow, throaty croak of laughter that filtered through the porcelain smile comes out muffled and slow as the deadly jester cocks her head. "I can sing you a lullabye if you want, to make it easier... Tell a joke?"
He may be aged, but the sudden alacrity brought on by adrenalin is enough to catch even the laughless reveler off guard. Losing her knife in the scuffle, it doesn't last long. For a few hopeful beats he has her down, hands clamped tightly around a slender neck, wringing life from her body with several stunning slams of her head against the old oak desk, mask tumbling away with a spill of pink hair. A sight that pauses him.
It's all the opening she needs to shove, and get him back in his seat with a tsk. "Are you done...? That wasn't funny at all..." Hissed before her own realization sinks in.
"... You saw..."
His eyes widened.
And she had a new knife in hand...