Roof Thatcher trotted into the dining hall first. It was only proper if the host did his job and represented this household. This entire weekend has been one disaster after the other, first the dead body, and then his son...wait. Thatcher paused in the doorway and scratched his chin. The body was his son... He shrugged, probably isn't important.

"Mr. Thatcher, if you please." Detective Melody gestured to a trio of seats the two had somehow set up within that limited time frame. The stallion in question nodded and trotted over and sat down. He did all of this with an air of importance, after all, he was Roof Thatcher, legendary salespony.

The baffling unicorn, Detective Scratch, started waving her hooves around like a demented hare. That and the fact that she was wearing purple shades and headphones. Of all the things, it's those two! Thatcher wasn't sure if he was insulted or confused. He decided to feel impressed instead. Anymare with the gall to trapeze in his house without any thought to her appearance was alright in his book.

"Vinyl asks for you to recap your entire day, if you please." Ah, so that incessant waving must be some secret way of communicating. How odd. He smiled to himself, perhaps he'll play their game. He doesn't gain anything from hiding anything.

"But of course. Now..."

Roof Thatcher awoke that day feeling refreshed and jubilant. His wife was still asleep, snoring like usual, so he left the bed with the utmost care. He tiptoed to the door and slipped away. He made excellent care that his hoofsteps made no sound as he descended the stairs.

Once on the first floor, he made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. When he arrived, Noble Declaration, the resident newspaper writer, was working on a new article. They shared pleasantries while Thatcher made some hay toast. He made some extra for his wife as well, you can never be too certain.

Detective Scratch nodded knowingly with a solemn grimace. Detective Melody swatted her. Thatcher paid no mind, he wasn't like those other nobles who put gay couples to shame. 'Love doesn't discriminate' he sometimes likes to say.

Thatcher then read the newspaper while munching on his toast. It was nearly half an hour later when his wife came down the steps. She mumbled something, prepared herself some coffee, and took half the toast. Thatcher nodded to her and she ignored him, that was okay. She wasn't a morning pony.

After breakfast, he went to the village. A quaint little place. He always prided himself on his ability to not be snobby, so he was proud to say that the locals did not hate him. Merely disliked him. It's drastically different in other towns. Now, his reason for visiting the peasantry was that he needed supplies for his upcoming party. He had invited several of his good friends and it simply would not do for him to not have the freshest of the fresh.

He made his rounds, visiting several farmers, collecting fresh produce of various kinds. He also visited the recreational center and acquired several games like pong ping and booling. Not quite sure what they are but the store owner said it is quite splendid.

Thatcher returned around two hours later, told his wife to prepare some refreshments for the guests while he set up the entertainment. He did not do that great of a job, but that was okay. He appreciates mistakes, it allows him to grow. When he came out, several guests had arrived.

The retired Major Tomato, although he likes to be called Tom, and his cheery wife, Mint. The two are just adorable. Standing to the side was Thatcher's son, Poof Matcher. Must have come with good ol' Tom. He did say he was staying over at their place, can't remember why.

"My dear Tom, how goes your day?" Thatcher said after greeting the two.

"It goes quite alright, my good fellow. Why, we just saw one of those rare Scissor-tails. It sure made our day just a little bit brighter." He chuckled along with his wife's giggling.

"Indeed!"

Thatcher and Tom would then move too his office. Poured themselves brandy, Thatcher does love a good brandy. Mint would go help his wife in the kitchen. Those two are just darlings in the kitchen, great with their flavors too.

Detective Scratch then crossed her hooves, it was pretty obvious that meant he should stop. So he stopped. She then gestured about something heavy falling, thumped her chest, pantomimed spear thrusting, fell to the floor, and then to finish her bizarre spectacle, she shrugged.

"Vinyl is wondering what your relationship with the Major is. How did you come to meet him and everything."

"Well, it's a long story." Thatcher swallowed and prepared himself for quite the long tale. "It all started when I enlisted. I wanted to be guard to impress my father, a lot of good that did. Anyhoo, this young colt was sitting next to me while waiting to sign up. He introduced himself as Tomato. Little would we know that he would rise up to be Major whereas I would I leave and seek my fortune elsewhere." He coughed, rubbed his throat and looked at his audience of two.

"That...didn't seem all that long. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Continue your story, if you please."

They ran out of the personal supply of brandy in his office so Tom and Thatcher went outside. They barely took a step towards the cellar when Thatcher saw a carriage pull up in the driveway. Who other than the Archduke family. The great stallion of Archduke, it was most amusing to Thatcher when he got news that his dear old friend rose to the rank of Archuduke. AND that he found a filly named Archduchess. Such a shame they named their only son, Embezzle.

Being the good host he was, Thatcher was compelled to trot on over and greet the trio. It didn't take long before their drinking duo became a drinking quadruple. Like he always says, 'the more the merrier!'

While they were exploring the fine options in the cellar, Duke Embezzle let it slip that he knew nothing of brandy. Thatcher took that as an offense to the natural order of fine dining and dragged the colt to one of his game rooms. There, the four of them got...a bit carried away.

When Thatcher came to, he was alone in the room. Even the unopened bottles of brandy were gone. Were it any other day, he would've screamed and cried, but not today. No, today was special. He picked himself off the hard floor and cleaned himself up as best as he could and trotted out. He was surprised to see everypony already in the living room, chattering away like chipmunks. The entertainment was also already here, a miss Octavia Melody, hired because his wife wanted some refinement. How could he say no?

He trotted over to where Noble was relaxing with a drink in hoof. It looked sparkling, perhaps champagne. While on the way, he picked out some hors d'oeuvres and sat next to the writer. The two struck up a conversation about local news and Canterlot news. Apparently Princess Mi Amore Cadenza married a noble. He was now to be referred to as Prince Shining Armor. Thatcher didn't know what to make of that.

Then without warning, lightning struck, casting the house in darkness. Thatcher sighed, he was really hoping that the weather ponies wouldn't go forth with their plans. Perhaps he should've bribed them, postponed it for another day. Oh well, not much he could do now. Oh wait, the guests were panicking.

Thatcher got up and announced that everything would be alright. That the house being cast in darkness is perfectly normal. And sure enough, true to his word, the lights came back on. He had several magic technicians try to figure out why this was, but nopony seemed to know why.

Archduke Archduke asked in his curious way whether or not that happened every time. With the patience of a practiced gentlestallion, Thatcher repeated his sentence and smiled hopefully reassuringly.

Lightning struck a second time, blanketing the room. There were some noise and when the light came back on, there was Poof. The silly colt had a knife stuck in his chest and had his blood spilling all over the blood carpet! Doesn't the colt know how much that carpet cost? It was imported from Saddle Arabia! Thatcher made a move to move his idiot son but promptly collapsed and was knocked out.

When he came to the second time that evening, he was met by nothingness. Or more accurately, the pitch blackness of midnight and an empty house. Thatcher groaned and got up, his hoof clutching his head.

With an exhausted roll, he flopped out of the couch he was on and crashed onto the floor. Thatcher groaned, couldn't this night have gotten any worse! Finally deciding that moping was worthless, especially one of his stature. Thatcher got up and straightened out his mane and coat.

He trotted over to the cabinet and pulled out a glass and brandy bottle. He poured himself a cup and then trotted over to the fire. He stared into those flickering flames. He started to swirl his cup, not caring if the liquid spilled over.

The door opened and Thatcher didn't even blink.

"Margherita, what are you doing at this hour?" He asked, taking a single glance at his wife. The damned mare had her prized ferret on her shoulder, that never spelled good news for him. After he spoke, he realized that he had an unlit cigar in his mouth. He hadn't even realized that he had placed it there.

"I'm here because I have to talk to you. It's about our son. He's dead." His wife glanced at him sparingly before reaching with her magic and pulled out said corpse. It was quite morbid if he thought about it, which of course, he didn't. "Thatcher, we need to burn the body before the Royal Guards arrive, including this." She pulled out the booling ball Thatcher had bought earlier. He wasn't entirely sure why it had to go, but if your wife demands something, you don't question it.

The two of them, in the dead of night, one carrying his brandy and cigar, and the other carrying her live ferret and booling ball. Together, they carried their only son to the fireplace and dropped it unceremoniously. He never stopped swirling his brandy. She never stopped petting her ferret. They watched as the fire consumed and devoured. It would be nothing but ash in the morning.

"I can go now? That was it. I fell asleep on the couch after that and then awoke to Royal Guards keeping me on house arrest." Thatcher asked. He was feeling strangely good.

Detective Scratch nodded.

He stood up, nodded to the two mares and trotted away. He found himself smiling. What could they do? They were just silly mares who were in over their heads, and silly mares don't hold power. He did.