Chapter Text
Equestria was once a bright, peaceful place. Not without its occasional happenings that sometimes boarder on threatening the world, sure, but to be a pony in this wide and varied land was a thing to be celebrated.
But, years ago, things changed. Nopony knew quite what it was, or where it came from, but the powers that be... shifted, so to speak. Darkness once thought lost to the land surfaced from its long slumber, where all wished it had stayed.
The forces of shadow now march across Equestria, leaving terror and blood in their wake. God is in Heaven; all is right in the world.
Heavy rain poured over the frontier town of Appleloosa. A lone pony trotted slowly down the muddy street towards the lone saloon in town. The moon, mostly covered by the storm that raged above, was still high, and the lights in the saloon still bright. Sounds both merry and enraged could be heard within.
Yet, just a few octaves lower than the sounds of voices, there was a song. A song that festered in the back of the mind, and drove good ponies to madness. An ancient tune, sung only by those who had long since vanished from Equestria hundreds, if not thousands of moons ago.
Yet, the traveller was not affected by that song, regardless of the fact that he sought it. T'was not an addiction, but a target; to the traveller, it was his current prey.
Walking forward, the traveller pushed the door to the saloon open. It was packed near to full, a third of the patrons drowning their misery away in booze, another in false merriment, and the last were clashing hoof against hoof and head against head in fury. In a far corner, three large, hunched figures could be seen. Figures that were plainly not ponies, nor friends.
Yet, they would have to wait. For now, the traveller made his way over to the bar where an azure pony draped in a star patterned cloak and hat was seated. The traveller took a seat next to them, and dropped a large bag of bits on the counter.
“Klutzy,” the star-decorated pony said.
“Draconiquus,” the traveller responded automatically. “That them in the back, girl?”
The 'girl' scoffed in annoyance. “The least you could do is remember my Great and Powerful name, hunter!”
“Doesn't answer the question.”
The girl heaved a mighty sigh. “It's them, alright,” she said. “Honestly, what did I, the Great and Powerful Trixie, do to have to be your informant?”
“You needed the bits, and we needed the brains,” the traveller said plainly, as he took a generous hoof-ful of bits from the bag and handed them to her. “This cover it?”
A faint glow emanated from beneath Trixie's hat, coming from her unicorn horn, as she used a little magic to float the bits before her. “Oh, now I remember why,” she said with an almost teasing grin. “I work with you muscle-heads because you pay generously.”
“There's more to our job than just muscle, Trixie,” the traveller said, before rapping his hoof against the counter-top. “Barkeep. The rest of these bits for a jug of mead.”
The pony tending the bar looked at the bag, puzzled. “A bit much for one jug, ain't it?”
“The rest is to cover the damages,” the traveller answered, before hopping off his seat, and slowly making his way towards the large cloaked figures.
“You might also want to keep you head down,” Trixie warned. “The whole place is about to become a splash zone.”
Three houses away from the saloon, there was a post office. From that post office, a pony of an odd persuasion stepped out.
He wore a long red coat and wide-brimmed hat that, combined with the pair of circular orange lenses the adorned his face, made for a pony that was nearly impossible to identify. What little could be seen under this garb, though, was a coat as white as fresh snow, and a mane as black as a starless night.
A faint red glow shone from beneath his hat; the only obvious sign that the pony was, in fact, a unicorn. Beside him floated an open letter, protected from the rain by the magic that surrounded it.
The pale pony trotted slowly towards the saloon, where numerous other ponies were running in the exact opposite direction. One of the walls of the saloon suddenly gained a violent new hole, from which three creatures that looked like a mix between a seahorse, a pony, and a dragon, slammed into the mud, before a length of silver chain wrapped around them, and dragged them back in.
The pale one let out a small sigh, as he continued to walk towards the door. The door swung open, and a familiar blue pony stepped out, and took notice of him.
“Good day to you, Sterling,” Trixie said with a practised bow. “I'm afraid your friend got started without you.”
“Trixie, my dear,” the pale pony, Sterling, replied friendly. “Always a pleasure. Are you off already?”
“Afraid so,” Trixie said in a slightly sarcastic tone. “I've done my part, and now I must be elsewhere. I am a performer first, I'll remind you.”
“But of course,” Sterling bowed kindly. “Whereabouts would you be off to?”
“Ponyville,” Trixie answered. “It's been a while since I visited those old stomping grounds, and something tells me they need a good show, ever since... well, you know.”
Sterling gave a smirk most knowing, but of what, nobody could say. “A noble thought, my friend,” he said. “May the weather find your travels well.”
“And you as well,” Trixie said, before stepping aside from the door, holding it open. “After you.”
“Thank you kindly, my dear,” Sterling said, as he stepped into the saloon. The place was an absolute mess, deserted by all but the barkeeper, the pony sitting at the bar, and the three creatures that were tied up.
Sterling noticed shards of what looked to be rubies on the ground, and on the chests of the creatures, strange divots where a kind of gem might have once sat. It was easy to tell at a glance that these creatures no longer had any power to speak of.
Sterling made his way to the pony at the bar. He was a stallion of strong build and thick hooves, with grey coat that was marred in scars, a messy mane of brown hair, and steel-blue eyes. He wore a short, tarnished white coat with patches of leather armour over it, and several kinds of curious weapons were strapped to his body, from a few small flasks of clear water, to numerous throwing knives, to an iron and wood cross that hung within biting rang. One glance was all it took to say that that cross he carried was more than a little versatile, going by how sharp all four point were, and how worn out the whole thing was. Lastly, on his flank sat his Cutie Mark, the sign of any pony's talent. In this case, that mark was a set of fangs, crossed over by a pair of wooden stakes. “So, those are the infamous Sirens from over a thousand years ago?” he asked, taking a seat. “You put Star Swirl the Bearded to shame, Van Hoofsing.”
“Some problems just need a more physical solution,” the response came after a swig of his drink. “Those wizard types think there's a spell to solve all our problems, when some good muscle, a strong whip, and a couple of knives do a better job at times.”
“Van Hoofsing...” the bar keeper muttered. “You mean... the Hunter of the Night? Slayer of vampires? That same Hoofsing?”
“Only one I know of,” Hoofsing said. “While you're here, Sterling, mind doing the thing to those miscreants?”
“What are friends for?” Sterling smiled oddly, before turning his head towards the snarling Sirens. His glasses drooped forward, as the crimson glow of his horn shone from beneath his hat, silencing the Siren trio with sheer dread.
A bolt of red lightning shot forth, and in a puff of smoke... the Sirens had been transformed into Earth ponies. “There we go,” Sterling said, reajusting his glasses. “No fangs, no magic, no nothing. You're such a big softy, I swear; what would you do without me?”
“Well, they'd have a few more holes in them, for starters,” Hoofsing shrugged.
“What's the meaning of this?” the yellow former-Siren shouted. “Why go out of your way to do... this?!”
“Our 'kill policy' is very particular,” Sterling answered. “Well, okay. His is. Mine's a bit more loose, but you girls don't look too appetising for me. Plus, you're not creatures of the night.”
“That's it? Seriously?” the red former-Siren asked. “Because we're not vampires, we're not worth killing?”
“We could fix that for you,” Hoofsing offered.
“No thanks!!” the last of the former-Sirens, the blue one, shouted quickly. “We like being alive, thanks all the same!”
“And there you have it,” Hoofsing said, before turning to the bar keeper. “They're yours to do with as you please. Prison, exile, integration, execution; it's all you.”
“Not to change the subject,” Sterling said, “but I need to change the subject. Letter from her majesty.”
The contents of the envelop floated out, courtesy of Sterling's magic, and hovered in front of Hoofsing's face. Hoofsing gave it a thorough read, before barking out a laugh. “Small world after all, huh?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Sterling smirked.
“Oh, she is going to hate seeing us so soon,” Hoofsing laughed, as the letter floated back to Sterling, and he finished his drink. “We'd best make headway, then.”
“Good to hear,” Sterling said. “Ponyville awaits.”
As the two stepped out, silence fell.
“... So, question,” the blue Siren spoke. “Did anyone else notice that the red guy wasn't wet at all?”
Trains once ran all across Equestria. Once. Nowadays, the only time a train ran these tracks was if someone was specifically needed in Canterlot. That meant walking. Lots and lots of walking.
Not that it bothered these two much. Most of their lives the past decade or so were dedicated to walking towards problems, if only because their problems always seemed to be off the beaten path.
“Sun's going to be up in an hour,” Hoofsing noted. “Any idea how much longer to Ponyville?”
“Probably about three hours by hoof,” Sterling answered. “Why? Worried you'll get a tan from the sunrise? Or that-”
“You know as well as I that the light doesn't bother me none,” Hoofsing cut off.
“Just as you know the light doesn't bother me,” Sterling said. “Or what, do you think the Storm King's gonna show up?”
“Please yourself, Biter. The Storm King's more a myth than lycanthrops were years ago. That guy ain't real.”
“You sound so sure about that,” Sterling pointed out, as he used his magic to manifest a ethereal guitar. Just as soon as it did take form, Hoofsing quickly raised his shoulder, throwing the cross than hung there into the air, caught it in his teeth as it came down, and with a mechanical click, the short end (top, we suppose) came off, connected to the body by a length of chain. With a mighty swing, the business end of what was now a chain-whip flew through the illusion of a music instrument, before quickly retracting back into the body of the cross. “Boo,” Sterling pouted.
“What have I said about music on the tracks at night?”
“Oh, you only say that because you-”
“The last thing we need is for anycreature out there to jump us,” Hoofsing said.
“At least then the journey would be a bit more fun.”
Hoofsing sighed in annoyance. “You can have your musical number after the job.”
“That's what you said last time!”
Suddenly, Hoofsing raised a hoof to stop Sterling in his tracks. “Listen,” he said. “All that yammering's brought trouble to us.”
Somewhere among the dried hills and dead trees, hoof steps could be heard. The two ponies quickly stood back to back, as figures could be seen rising from the nearby hill tops.
“Why don't you let me take them,” Sterling said. “You already had all the fun with the Sirens.”
“Fine, you do you,” Hoofsing replied. “I'll go on ahead, then. Just make sure you catch up.”
Hoofsing trotted along slowly, the sounds of blood-curdling battle growing distant the longer he went. That Sterling had a bad habit of playing with his opponents.
The sun was rising high into the morning sky, burning away the cloud cover. Whatever had tried to ambush them had officially lost their advantage.
Eventually, Hoofsing came up to a sign, on which was written 'Ponyville; 6km'.
“So, not three hours, then,” Hoofsing surmised. “Still a good ways off, though.” Off to the side, he noticed a familiar wagon parked by an extinguished camp fire. The door to the wagon opened, and Hoofsing couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he saw Trixie step out. “Mornin', traveller.”
Trixie Lulamoon looked at Hoofsing, her expression quickly going from bewildered to shocked until settling on resigned annoyance. “Oh, joy. We meet again,” she sighed. “Can the Great and Powerful Trixie not get one trip without running into you and your pale friend? And where is the pale friend, anyway?”
“Afraid Equestria's just that small these days,” Hoofsing said. “As for Sterling, he's taking care of some rabble that had plans to ambush us a few clicks back. He'll be right behind you in a second.”
With a look completely unphased and unbothered by the strangeness of that statement, Trixie turned her head around, to see the red-clothed pony in question was, indeed, right behind her. “Morning to you too, Sterling.”
“And a fine morning it is, Miss Trixie,” Sterling said. “At least, it would have been, had those third rate neck biters actually put up a fight.”
“Teased with a good time again?” Hoofsing asked.
“Van, you are the only one who's teasing I ever enjoy.”
Trixie gagged dramatically. “Would you two just get a room already?”
“In this neighbourhood?” Sterling asked in faux offence.
“Since we're here,” Hoofsing said, paying little mind to any of the previous comments, “and since we're all heading in the same direction, perhaps three's welcome company?”
“After breakfast, tough guy,” Trixie waved off. “I'm trusting you two either have your own stuff, or already ate, because I'm not sharing my oats.”
“I'm all good,” Hoofsing responded, motioning to the bag on his side.
“That's fine. I just ate, anyway,” Sterling replied.
A quick meal break later, and the newly deigned trio were off on the road once more. Before long, they came up to the large billboard that signified they had officially entered Ponyville.
The sign itself was large, the name written in bright, bold letters. It would have seemed quite welcoming, were it not for the shrivelled up corpse next to it.
“Oh, what lovely decor,” Hoofsing commented sarcastically. “Poor pony's too dried up to identify, too.”
“Sucked clean dry, they were,” Sterling noted, giving the body a sniff. “Smells... three days old. Lines up with the date the letter we got was sent.”
“The princess really seems on top of things,” Trixie commented offhandedly. “Almost impressive, really.”
“She's doing her best,” Hoofsing said. “As are any of us, really. These past few years have been trying on all of us.”
“Though I imagine your line of work's been booming,” Trixie said. “Always a need for a hunter, right?”
“Just as there's always a need for great and powerful entertainers,” Sterling added.
“Excuse you,” Trixie glared. “That's pronounced 'Great and Powerful'. I can hear the lower cases in your words, you know.”
Sterling laughed. “Oh, what fun we have.”
“Let us focus please, lady and pain in the flank,” Hoofsing sighed. “Sterling, we need to report to the head of the town. Trixie... Well, you're here on your own business, so you do you, I guess.”
“Gladly,” Trixie said, as she headed back to her wagon. “If you need the Great and Powerful Trixie, you know where to find me.”
As Trixie trotted off, the two hunters looked back at the corpse. “You think anyone'll clean that up?” Sterling asked. “Doesn't look like good eating like this.”
“Don't be gross about it,” Hoofsing said, as he walked ahead. “Come on. Let's find the mayor, or whoever's in charge around here.”
“Cross hooves we didn't just pass them,” Sterling muttered.
There were many stories to be heard about Ponyville. For a time, it was the main source of just about anything happening in all of Equestria. Whether it was the terror of the ancient Nightmare Moon, the return of the God of Chaos and Disharmony himself, the threat of a Changeling invasion, or even the reappearance of the Crystal Empire, and the danger of the return of King Sombra himself, somepony from Ponyville was nearly always involved. Or rather, six someponies.
Ponyville was once a vibrant, happy place. Now, you'd be lucky just to see anypony out and about to roll out the welcome wagon, or even a 'welcome' doormat.
“Gloomy,” Sterling commented. “Kinda reminds me of the night we first met, yeah?”
“Oh, please,” Hoofsing rolled his eyes. “There were far more bats back then. More stars, too.”
“I knew you were a romantic.”
“And you're hopeless,” Hoofsing said, as the two finally arrived at the town hall, easily the largest building here, though it looks to have seen better days.
Hoofsing pushed the door open, and stepped inside. “Come along, Sterling. Get your work face on.”
“Right behind you.”
The inside of the town hall was, in a word, dusty. What once was a bustling centre of community-driven endeavours now looked nearly abandoned, save for the one pony that was there, pacing back and forth like the floor had just insulted her family.
Upon hearing the door opening, the mare in question looked up. “Oh, thank goodness!” she said. “You made it!”
“Hunter Van Hoofsing, at your service,” Hoofsing greeted. “I take it you are the mayor of this fine town?”
“Yes, sir. Mayor Mare,” she replied. “It is such a relief to have you and your...” She gave Sterling a brief look over. “... friend, here.”
“Sterling, my dear,” the stallion replied. “And please, at least call me coworker. It's more professional.”
“The princess tells us you have a vampire problem here,” Hoofsing continued. “Walk us through it, if you'd be so kind.”
Mayor Mare took a deep breath, before she began her story. “It first started about... ten moons ago,” she said. “At first, we thought it was just another case of Vampire Fruit Bats, since, well, the Apple family's fruits were the only thing being targeted.”
“Beg your pardon, but what?” Sterling asked. “Vampire Fruit Bats? Pull the other leg, my dear; it's got bells on.”
“You're older than I, yet you don't know about Vampire Fruit Bats?” Hoofsing laughed. “I know you to be a joker, not ignorant, Sterling.”
“Bite me, Hoofsing.”
“Um, may I continue?” Mayor Mare asked. “For a while, that was it, until dear old Granny Smith fell under the weather, and Big Macintosh got bit. We believe the vampire got both of them. Now, every night on the new moon, someone else falls victim to this... this menace! You no doubt saw what happened to poor old Mr Breezy!”
Hoofsing hummed along, taking mental notes of all this. “Question, then,” Sterling spoke. “Has Mr Macintosh displayed any usual symptoms since he was bitten?”
“Symptoms? What do you mean?” the mayor asked.
“Clearly, bitten by a vampire,” Sterling explained, “and there are two main ways for anypony to become a vampire themselves, one of which has little to do with the intent of the one turning. That method in question is if a vampire drinks the blood of a virgin, though should the blood-sucker wish it, the change can just... you know, not happen.”
“How convenient,” Hoofsing muttered.
Mayor Mare looked understandably nervous, but took a deep breath to calm herself. “Aside from a bit of lethargy, I feel I can safely say that Big Mac is no vampire,” she said. “He spends a good deal of the day, when he can, just standing in the sunlight. What little we can get of it these days, at least. What was this... other method you mentioned?”
“That would be if someone were to drink the blood of a vampire,” Sterling answered. “But only a real fool would do something like that. Were the pony too weak, the blood of the vampire would be like a poison, and kill them with ease.” Then, Sterling took a breath, rolling his shoulders briefly. “Of course, those that do become a vampire this way are far stronger than the other. Virgin bite victims that get converted are always loyal to their 'progenitor'.”
“And... why is it necessary to emphasise the virgin part?” Mayor Mare asked nervously.
“Because non-virgins that are bitten can, assuming the biter's will is in place, turn into ghouls,” Sterling said. “Y'know, zombie things. Mindless, devour everypony in sight kind of deal.”
“Not to say that it means only a virgin could be the vampire here,” Hoofsing pointed out. “Drinking vampire blood is a universal thing. But, who knows. The vampire here might be from out of town. Just as likely either way.”
The mayor was, understandably, off-put by how casual these two were being about the whole thing. “So... do you at least have a plan to catch this menace?”
“Well, an outline of a plan right now,” Sterling said. “These things take time, and we have until...” he thought for a moment, then groaned in a mix of despair and annoyance, “the next new moon, which is only four days from now.”
“You're doing that thing again, Sterling,” Hoofsing pointed out.
“Just who do these hipsters think they are?!” Sterling started yelling. “Attacking on a new moon! Where's the tradition?! The style?!! You are creatures of the nights, so have some class, for crying out loud!!”
Hoofsing sighed, and turned to face the now confused mayor. “Ignore him, please,” he said. “He's an idiot. For now, though, our plan is to gather intel, and the best place to start will be those Apple ponies you mentioned.”
Mayor Mare let out a small sigh of relief, even while Sterling continued to rave like a mad pony. “In that case, you'll want to head to Sweet Apple Acres, on the outskirts of town. I wish you the best of luck, hunters.”
“I thank you, mayor,” Hoofsing lowered his head in a polite bow, before grabbing Sterling by the tail and dragging him off.
The trot to Sweet Apple Acres was much longer than either of them had thought. Then again, 'acres' was the right word to use when describing it; the plot of land it took up was huge. Last time either of them had seen treks of land this wide before, they were crossing the desert of the Bad Lands.
Fortunately for Hoofsing's sanity, Sterling had finally stopped ranting about 'vampires that don't keep with tradition'. Unfortunately, though...
“They all laughed as he turned around slow.”
That meant he was now singing. Somehow, the lesser of many evils.
“They said, 'you ain't welcome around here anymore; you just might as well go'.”
At least he had a good voice for it. Shame he insisted on showing it off all the time.
“He wiped the blood from his face as he slowly came to his knees, and said; 'I'll be back when you least expect it... and Hell's coming with me'.”
The tempo of the ethereal instruments Sterling had manifested held a slow pace, before suddenly doubling in speed.
“There is a hill at the bottom of the valley,” he sang on. “Where all the poor souls go when they die. And if you listen real close, You can hear 'em like a ghost. Saying 'you're never gonna make it out alive'.”
“Why are you like this?” Hoofsing asked, as Sterling began to trot circles around the earth pony.
“There is a town at the bottom of that hill. They got a secret that they keep like a slave,” Sterling continued. “They got a black magic preacher, and you'll do well to let 'em teach her. You'll be heading up that hill to the grave.” Suddenly, Sterling turned, and began trotting backwards as he sang. “And it is well, with my soul! You line your pockets full of money that you steal from the poor! And on your way down the hill, you hear me ring that bell-”
Hoofsing rolled his eyes in mild annoyance. “I'd pay the Devil twice as much to keep your soul,” he said in a mildly sing-song voice.
Behind those orange frames, Sterling's eyes lit up in joy. “See? You say you don't like the singing, but you play along, you tease!”
“I never said I 'don't like it',” Hoofsing argued, as they came up to the large house of the Apple family. “I just think you pick bad times to break into song.” Hoofsing then banged his hoof against the door. “Apples! This is Van Hoofsing, here to deal with your towns vampire problem! Is there anyone here who might be willing to-”
The door swung open, slamming Hoofsing in the face. “No need ta yell, ya hear?!” the voice of a young mare shouted. “We can hear ya just fine!”
Hoofsing backed away from the door, rubbing his now sore muzzle (much to Sterling's amusement), and gave the new pony a once-over. Her coat was a simple orange colour, her mane blonde, with a simple brown cowboy hat on top, and those eyes which seemed to scrutinise the duo's existence were a bright emerald green.
“Let me guess; Applejack?” Hoofsing asked. “One of the famed wielders of the Elements of Harmony?”
“That's me,” the pony replied. “And you're those hunters from Canterlot.”
“Yeesh,” Sterling cringed slightly. “Can practically smell the hostility off this girl.”
“Ain't much good comin' outta Canterlot these days,” Applejack said simply. “'Specially when you consider the one holdin' yer leashes. That's just the honest truth.”
“'Just your honest opinion', you mean,” Hoofsing stated, nostrils flaring briefly. “Truth and honesty may go hoof in hoof, but they aren't always the same thing, kid.”
“And you say I'm bad at staying on topic,” Sterling muttered. “Allegiances aside for the moment, miss Applejack the Honest, we're here to solve this pain in the neck you've got. May we come inside?”
Applejack gave the two rather hostile looks, before stepping clear of the doorway. “Fine. Come on in, then. Ask what you want, and then rack off.”
Hoofsing took a deep breath, as Sterling placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Let me handle the talking here, yeah?” the pony in red said, as he walked inside.
The inside of the house was, in a few words, warm and welcoming. It was easy to tell at a glance that a kind, loving family lived here. At least, once you looked past the parts that hadn't been used in week, considering the layers of dust.
“So, miss Applejack,” Sterling said. “Is your brother around?”
“Big Mac's out getting some sun on himself,” Applejack replied. “Helps him feel like he's still a regular ol' pony.”
“Fair idea, that,” Sterling agreed. “So, is it just the three of you living here? You, Macintosh, and your grandmother?”
“That's right. Apple Bloom, my lil' sis, used to live with us, but once things started goin' down, I asked Rarity and her sister to take her in for a while.”
“Smart,” Sterling muttered. “Very smart. Now, what can you tell us about how this all began? Anypony... unusual hanging around lately?”
“None whatsoever,” Applejack answered. “When we noticed the apples were being sucked dry, Big Mac and I started doing late-night patrols. See if it weren't just the Vampire Fruit Bats again.”
“First mistake, that,” Hoofsing commented.
“Easy on the sass,” Sterling said. “And on the first... urgh, new moon, your brother was bitten?”
“That's right.”
Sterling tapped his front hooves together conclusively. “Welp! That tells us absolutely nothing of help!” he stated. “If he had been attacked indoors, we could have narrowed things down, but no~! All we know now is that this damn contrarian hipster of a vampire struck here first! Net zero information!”
Applejack blinked a few times in bewilderment. “What's up with him?”
“Ignore is raving,” Hoofsing said. “He's a traditionalist for vampiric behaviour.”
“Weirdo.”
“Aren't we all, in some way,” Hoofsing shrugged. “Your grandmother. How's she holding up? The mayor told us she had taken ill around when all this began.”
Applejack looked a touch concerned as she thought about Granny Smith. “Still pretty bad,” she said. “The doctors don' know what's wrong with her, either. She's eatin', at least, but she ain't got the strength to leave her bed these days.”
“My sympathies,” Hoofsing said. “Can't imagine this limited sunlight's been much help, either. Today seems like quite the lucky day.”
“Hah! Hardly,” Applejack laughed. “Even after Cloudsdale shut their pearly gates after you-know-what happened, preventing e'eryone from entering or leaving, Ponyville still has a fine community of pegasi to clear up the clouds around our home.”
Hoofsing allowed himself a small chuckle. “Were only the other parts of Equestria so lucky. Only saw one or two of those winged folk down in Appleloosa, and hardly hide nor hair of even one last we were in Canterlot.”
“Absolutely phenomenal weather, that,” Sterling commented. Neither of them were sure if he was being sarcastic about something or not. “You've at least got some good fortune for your lot in life, miss Applejack.”
“If only the rest of Equestria could say the same,” Applejack muttered. “You got all you wanted out of me?”
“For all that we're still on square one, yes,” Sterling pointed out. “Riveting interview. Gold star. Five out of five.”
“Zip it already,” Hoofsing sighed. “Now, we'll be on our way. We get any follow up questions for you, we know where to find you.”
“Y'all are sounding more like cops than hunters, ya know,” Applejack pointed out.
“In this day and age, what's the difference?” Hoofsing chuckled. “Come along, Sterling. We're leaving.”
“Do try and be a stranger, now!” Applejack called out as the two stallions stepped outside. “Just 'cause you're out here tryin' ta help people, don't mean we gotta be friendly with your boss! Or forgiving, for that matter!”
“You've made your point!” Hoofsing called back.
Sterling paused mid-stride, his ears twitching at the sound of... something. Curious, he turned his head back, and spied an open window on the upper level of the house. “... Say,” he spoke. “Granny Smith's room wouldn't happen to be that one up there, would it? And that window; always open?”
Applejack raised a brow, puzzled. “Yeah. Why?”
“No reason,” Sterling said. “Just making sure all our apples are in one basket, you could say.”
“Stop being coy,” Hoofsing chastised.
As the two trotted along, they spotted an unfamiliar face approaching. A large stallion with a red coat and orange mane, and a Cutie Mark of a large apple that was cut in half. No doubt, this was Big Macintosh.
“The older brother, I presume?” Hoofsing asked.
“Eyup,” came the simple reply.
“Van Hoofsing. Hunter,” Hoofsing said. “And my partner, Sterling. Think you could tell us anything about the night you were attacked?”
“Nope.”
Sterling raised a brow, and approached the much larger pony. “Can't, or won't?”
“Eyup.”
“... Helpful,” Sterling muttered. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
“Stop bothering the victim already, Sterling,” Hoofsing stated as he began pushing Sterling along.
As they passed by, Sterling took note on the bite marks on Big Mac's neck. Four small, messy puncture marks, that seemed to be healing decently.
“... Least the boy's healing,” Sterling muttered. “Only been bit the once.”
Once the duo had returned to Ponyville proper, they sat down on the first bench they saw, and went over what they had learnt; nothing.
“That had to be the most useless first questioning we've ever been to,” Sterling huffed. “Nothing of value was learnt.”
“Yet you seemed pretty interested in that room upstairs,” Hoofsing pointed out. “Care to share your thoughts?”
“Not just yet,” Sterling said. “Need more ideas swimming around first. What's our next stop?”
“Well, we're in Ponyville,” Hoofsing said. “And that means the other wielders of the Elements of Harmony are within spitting distance.”
“You really think they'd be willing to speak with us?” Sterling asked. “After that showing that little miss Honesty herself gave us?”
“We do what we have to do, Sterling,” Hoofsing pointed out. “Whether anypony likes us for it-”
“Is irrelevant, I know,” Sterling sighed. “You say all this like I haven't been around longer than you.”
“Depends on how you look at it.”
“What, at the concept of time itself?”
“Remember; you joined me over a decade ago.”
Such was their back and forth for the next five minutes. “Well, then,” Sterling said, “where to first? Surely you have somewhere in mind.”
“We'll start with the nearest places first, then the ones on the edge of town, before finishing off with 'the big one',” Hoofsing answered. “That means we either start with the Element of Laughter or Generosity, then on to Loyalty and Kindness, and finishing off with Magic.”
“Why refer to them by their elements?” Sterling asked. “We know their names, don't we? Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Twilight Sparkle.”
“Yes, well, we're hardly even their acquaintances at this point, aren't we?” Hoofsing pointed out. “Professionalism is important. By the by, why'd you ask about that window?”
“If the old lady we never got a chance to even see's a victim, that window's a prime entrance. And if she thought the vampire who, possibly at this stage, could be a pegasus, was a friend or known face...”
“Invited in without a second thought,” Hoofsing finished the thought. “A train of thought to consider, at least.”
“Glad we agree on that,” Sterling said, as he hopped off the bench. “Now, shall we get to work, my friend?”
“Gladly,” Hoofsing replied, getting to his hooves. “Let's go track ourselves a vampire.”