The sound of Narcisse’s polished hooves rang out, echoing off of the stark edifices on either side of the narrow street. The buildings seemed to encroach on him the further he went, leaning in as if trying to blot out the sun and sky. Dust and debris blew in from alleys to his south, the wind carrying with it overtones of rotting garbage and unwashed bodies.

Just the way he liked it.

Not that he needed to be surrounded by such environs to feel better about himself or look down on those of lower birth. That wasn’t it at all. Narcisse actually enjoyed combing through the back alleyways, skirting across treacherous fire escapes, and delving through the filth of the underbelly of the city.

He relished being on assignment from Princess Luna, and being authorized to get his hooves dirty. Why?

It was the best kind of beauty.

Every scar that he he earned, every blemish or smudge that marred his pristine features; each mark separated him from the typical nobles and elite of Canterlot. Each blotch honored his dedication to the Lunar Princess. It was only she that could command him; it was only to her that he remained her dutiful servant. If only one day she could perceive that he wanted more…

Lighting his horn, Narcisse held up the scribbled address he had copied into a notepad back at the precinct. After reviewing the information on file from the police, including a small entry about this particular pegasus who had possibly crossed paths with the contact, he decided that he was less than satisfied with the answers they had received and determined that he would meet the pony in the flesh.

Lieutenant Oversky Downdraft — Pegasus
The Quartzite Corner Apartments
42 Cannon Lane #412

The accommodations weren’t much to look at, but he had seen worse. Everything about the structures and their color just screamed middle class, seeming to demonstrate that the architect’s main goal had been to pack as many ponies into one building as possible, without making it look like you were packing as many ponies as possible.

Before long, he stood in front of door #412. Narcisse frowned. One would think a border security agent working at the Manehattan port-of-entry would earn sufficiently to live in better lodgings. No matter. He lifted a hoof to knock.

“He already spoke with the police.” The surly yellow unicorn folded his forehooves as he leaned back against the door frame. A cigarette dangled uselessly from his lower lip before he pulled it back with his grubby lips, lighting it with his horn. His face was sallow and his stomach was distended, likely malnourished and overly sedentary. “I really don’t think he feels like talking about it with you or anypony else, so kindly shove off.”

The unicorn brought a hoof up to shut the door, but Narcisse’s magic came up quickly, freezing it in place. He leaned into the stallions face, giving a humorless smile. The stallion stank.

With a flick of his horn, the cigarette extinguished itself, and Narcisse pressed even closer, lowering his voice into a whisper-infused growl. “Sometimes, the police don’t ask all of the right questions.”