Read Starlight Over Detrot with me.

The story is about.

Monster attacks. Crime. Illegal hallucinogens made from electric fruit.

They say things didn't use to be like this. They say things were different, before Luna came back 60 years ago, but Detective Hard "Hardy" Boiled of the Detrot Police Department has never known any world other than that demarcated by the seedy streets of his beloved decaying metropolis; a world in which the coroners sing and dance, surveillance bugs have personality disorders, and the Chief of Police is a scarier entity than most of the eldritch things the city attracts.

The grey unicorn who turned up dead outside the posh High Step Hotel seemed like just another case, but her missing horn is the pointy tip of a very large and nasty iceberg. It's up to Hardy and his friends - a rejected monster hunter, a psychic cab driver, and an underground antiques heir - to find out what’s going on in an investigation that promises to stick more than a cupcake into the very eye of Detrot.

Especially if Hardy has anything to say about it.

Additional editing by coandco Sig_Awesome, Hinds, Clint, and Raccoon!
Featured on EQD - 5 Stars!
Cover art by MisterMech (http://mistermech.deviantart.com/)
Now with TVTropes page here! (https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/StarlightOverDetrot)

Thursday, April 15, 2021

Sweet Heart’s High Seas Hotel

 Act One, Chapter 16: But Why Will You Say That I Am Mad?

From the outside, it looked like somepony, at some point, had dropped a large, pink and purple pleasure ship in the middle of a parking lot in midtown Detrot.

Telly gave us unlimited credit, and even said she’d let you have this one for free so long as we asked for their specialty rooms. They’re giving us the wedding suite

 

I stared into an abyss of lavender, perfume, and nautical paraphernalia.

The room was made to look like a plus-sized version of standard shipboard quarters. The windows were portholes and the walls were bulkheads. I might have been alright with that. I’d stayed in something similar during my Academy days.

The color scheme and the appointments were where everything fell apart.

Every surface was some lighter or darker shade of red, ranging from maroon down through mauve with an immoderate pass through cerise here and there. Wretched wreaths of fake flower spilled across the only useful table, though I supposed most ponies who would willingly take the Captain’s Quarters wouldn’t have paperwork on their minds.

The bed was the true horror.

I think the proper naval term for it was ‘dinghy’. The tiny craft was suspended from the ceiling by four thick cables, all falling into that same ‘romantic’ decorative schema as the rest of the room. Silk sheets and fluffy, heart shaped pillows sprawled over the control-wheel shaped headboard. Some monster, cruel and insensitive to my bleak condition, had spilled a loose dusting of rose-petals over them.


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Arty

 Act 2, Chapter 7: Executor of the Estate