Ponyville Outskirts An offer you can't refuse (Closed: Pummel)

[Dio]

Arete loved plots. She loved plans, schemes, strategies, feints, and tricks. Little could compare to the intellectual titillation of planning and executing the most brilliant of designs. She giggled to herself as she trotted through the corridors of the safehouse she’d established on the Ponyville outskirts.

A clever combination of underground construction, labyrinthine passageways, and disguised doors led from a nondescript self-storage unit to an underground bunker hidden from all but the most astute of observers. Her inside appointments were lavishly decorated, with plush carpet, soft couches, accent lighting, and a private bar more appropriate for a Stalliongrad penthouse than an austere bunker.

She sauntered through the corridors au natural, preferring to drop her disguises while moving around in her own home away from home. The key to happiness on the job was to find the little things that made it enjoyable, no matter where it happened to take you. Ponyville was a nice change of pace and required different methodologies to utilize it to its fullest. With little in the way of high-class social strata to exploit, Arete couldn’t exactly recycle one of her old personas among the elite. After all, the small town bunch required a different touch to fleece information from them than an *ahem* escort from Stalliongrad that catered to officers and business proprietors with certain tastes in their entertainment.

Though she enjoyed those little soirees, today’s client was a bit different. High class he was not, but high ranking, oh yes! The fun that could be had! Arete licked her lips and grinned devilishly at the thought.

As she opened the door to her lavish receiving chambers, however, her smile turned to a frown. It was empty. Where were her assistants? A loud thump outside the safehouse proper and the sound of a garage-style door opening provided the answer. Arete sighed and trotted farther along to the exterior door. Pressing the switch retracted a section of false wall, allowing Arete access to the storage shed that served as the receiving area. She facehoofed at what she saw.

Those brutes she’d been assigned were just so… brutish. They had no idea how to treat a guest right. Instead of bringing him in and providing him with a cushy chair with a drink, hors d’oeuvres, and cigar in hoof like Arete had planned, they had thrown him down on the cold concrete of the bunker floor. If it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest under the torn uniform jacket, it might be easy to assume he had suddenly, recently, and violently met his demise.

“Boys, boys, BOYS,” she scolded the soldiers, “When I said bring him in, I meant gently. He’s a stallion, not a piece of furniture! Now get him out of cold storage and bring him into my chambers.”

The soldiers grunted a nearly unintelligible affirmative and picked up the limp form, carrying him down the corridor with Arete in lead. She led them back into the facility, directing her help to the proper receiving chambers. After they’d dumped their cargo onto the couch, Arete dismissed them with the wave of her hoof and shut the door behind them.

“Alone at last,” She finally purred. Arete slinked up to the languid stallion on the couch, putting her lips to his ear and a vial of smelling salts to his muzzle. “Wake up, handsome, we’ve got so much to discuss…”

[Bellosh]

Col. Pummel had no idea what was happening to him. One moment, he had been alone at an outdoor Ponyville restaurant, eating a meal alone. The next moment, the world around the grizzled stallion faded into black as he drifted into unconsciousness. Maybe somepony drugged Pummel’s drink, or maybe some sort of other sorcery reared its ugly head? No matter, the colonel was powerless to prevent what was about to transpire. The unmistakably unpleasant odor of smelling salts brought Col. Pummel out of his stupor, and immediately the old pegasus felt a soft couch beneath him. As his vision returned, Pummel perceived unfamiliar surroundings eerily reminiscent of a high-class urban apartment.

Already alarmed, the stallion shot up from the couch, only to come face-to-face with a thing he wished never to see again... a changeling. “What is the meaning of this?” Pummel indignantly spread out his wings, not hesitating to growl at the presumably hostile creature; “Where am I, and how did I get here?” Even without his torn-up uniform, the grim military pegasus looked very much like a pony ready for a brawl.