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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 16:30:36 GMT -8
A Prose By Any Other Name
© Jarvy Jared
An author's mysterious disappearance coupled with the appearance of an enigmatic stallion leads to an unlikely tale of friendship and overcoming the past.
Link One: www.fimfiction.net/story/280528/a-prose-by-any-other-name
"They never let you be famous and happy." The Song of Achilles ~~~~~~~~
“The life of one is filled with an infinite amount of choices. One choice shall always lead to another, and then one more; until a whole slew of choices have been made.
“Philosophers have pointed out that we tend to think of choices as a one time thing, when in reality there are so many factors involved in the choosing. From one choice, we get a branch of possibilities, extending in every possible direction that could ever be conceived. Yet, we focus more in the individual choice, rather than the whole pool.
“But that does not mean that we never look back. For some, all it takes is a set of events to make you stop and think and reflect. And for only a select few, those events are enough to make you question your very being. Such few are either the most bitter of cynics; or the most humble and intelligent of ponies, able to understand the very thing that they call ‘themself.’
“These few ponies shall forever carry the weight of guilt on their backs; for they cannot find the strength to forgive their past errors. They move through life like it is a river of sludge, trying to get away from their darkened past.
“It is only through the interaction with others, that any hope of their return can be justified.
“Many a wise pony have said that fame is a two-sided coin. On one hoof, the pony receives national recognition; but on the other hoof, the pony receives unwarranted attention. There is no good side to fame; merely one perspective shown, and one perspective hidden.
“Such is the same with the pony who delves down this path of fame. One face, the one with the smile, hides the ponies true face; one filled with bitterness and regret, unwilling to bask in this “deserving” limelight.
“So how does one pony get away from this false fame? How does one pony actually end up down this road? What choices were made; and what choices can be made, going forward?
“Many a wise pony said that the past determines the present; one’s actions craft who they are today.
“But only a few shall recognize that one can move on from the past.
“Only a few shall realize that the past can be overcome; but only through the help of others. No pony is a mere island; it is only a matter of time before they are invaded by foreign creatures, bent on becoming ‘friends’ with them.
“It is my wish that in the distant future, none of us ever become a lonely island, and that we all voluntarily welcome others into our life.”
EXCERPT FROM FORWARD OF “ELECTIONES FACIMUS,” WRITTEN BY O.P. AT CANTERLOT’S SCHOOL OF EXCELLENCE GRADUATION, AOE 1025
Hills that rolled into the horizon were as silent as the town they guarded. The day’s normally exuberant activities had been subdued. A sleepy atmosphere hung over the town, lingering for the majority of the day. Even Celestia’s sun seemed sluggish; it rose only halfway in the sky, not bothering to move any further. The quietness was deafening; it seemed that not a soul was alive.
Then Rarity returned home.
“Oh my gosh!” gushed Rarity as she entered her boutique. “That was… that was…” She couldn’t complete her sentence, collapsing on her drama couch as tears welled in her eyes.
Sweetie Belle came down from upstairs, concern in her eyes. “Rarity? What’s wrong?”
Rarity only sobbed louder. Her horn glowed and levitated over a tub of ice cream, and she began scooping the contents into her mouth, making om-nom sounds as she did so.
Sweetie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Rarity! This is the third time this week you’ve ended up on the couch!”
Rarity sniffed, turning over to look at Sweetie. “Well, I have a good reason as to why this has been the third time!”
“Which is?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t understand,” Rarity said dismissively, waving a hoof at her.
Sweetie frowned. “Is this about that book series that Twilight got you into?”
“Well, of course it’s about that book series!” Rarity’s eyes glossed over. “Opacare Prose is an amazing author! His books enrichen the soul, burst open the dams of the heart, allow a river of emotion to pour through!” She sniffed, wiping away a few tears. “I just finished his third novel on the way here; Twilight loaned it to me from the library.”
“You mean the one called Storm Song?” Rarity nodded. Sweetie walked a bit closer. “So then why are you crying?”
“Storm Song has got to be Prose’s greatest work!” Rarity levitated over a box of tissues and blew her nose. “It was positively beautiful; very well written!” She sighed dreamily. “I wonder how he manages to do that…”
Sweetie still looked a bit unsure. “So… you’re crying because you thought it was good?”
“Thought it was good?” Rarity glanced at her younger sister. “Sweetie Belle, I know it was great!”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t seem that good to me… just another mushy romance novel.”
Rarity sighed. “As I said before, you wouldn’t understand. It’s for more mature mares.”
“Seriously? It’s just a romance novel!”
“It is not just a romance novel!” Rarity’s voice grew more heated. “It’s a form of art, a type of expression! It’s a way for Prose to unlock to mysteries of the soul and provide interpretation for the otherwise unknown aspects of the heart!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Sweetie grumbled, going back upstairs. Rarity picked up another tub of ice cream and resumed her happy sobbing.
Sweetie opened the door to her bedroom with a grunt. Her fellow Crusaders, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, were on the floor, looking at her with curious faces.
“What’s wrong?” Scootaloo asked.
Sweetie Belle set herself down next to the orange filly with a low groan. “She’s totally obsessed with that Opacare Prose writer. It’s gotten so bad that three times this week she’s come home in tears!”
“The books made her sad?”
“No, they made her happy.”
Apple Bloom nodded. “Ah’ve seen Applejack and even Big Mac reading some of this guy’s books.” She smiled. “It was quite the surprise to come home and see Big Mac crying over a little book.”
Sweetie Belle raised an eyebrow. “Big Mac reads romance novels?”
“Eeyup. Though, he won’t admit it.” She chuckled lightly.
“What about Applejack?” Scootaloo asked. “I thought she wasn’t into that kind of mushy stuff?”
“Well, it’s more like she’ll pick up a romance once in a while,” said Apple Bloom. “But Ah don’t think she’s as obsessed with it as yer sister, Sweetie Belle.”
Sweetie Belle sighed. “I wouldn’t find it annoying, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s made Rarity hard to talk to.”
“What do you mean?” asked Apple Bloom.
“Everytime I try to talk to her, she somehow directs the conversation to that Prose guy.” She snorted. “Seems like that’s the only important thing to her now.”
“Don’t worry!” Scootaloo said. “I’m sure she’ll get over it eventually. Everypony loses interest in an author once in a while.”
Apple Bloom snorted. “Tell that to Rainbow Dash. Is she still hooked on those children books?”
“Daring Do is not a children’s book!”
“It is so a book for children! Applejack told me!”
“Applejack reads mushy romance novels; what could she possible know about adventure books?!”
“Girls!” Sweetie Belle interrupted before the argument could escalate. “Calm down!”
They stopped bickering and turned their gaze back to her. “Sorry, Sweetie,” Scootaloo said sheepishly.
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” apologized Apple Bloom.
“It’s alright, girls. I just wish I could figure out why Prose is so popular.” She sighed. “I tried reading one of his books, but I thought it was boring. Rarity said it’s because I’m too young to understand.”
Apple Bloom nodded. “I asked why Applejack and Big Mac like his books, and they pretty much said the same thing.”
“They’re just books, though,” Scootaloo said. “What’s so hard to understand about them?”
“Apparently you have to be a ‘mature mare’ in order to understand,” Sweetie mumbled, looking down.
“Cheer up, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom said, placing a hoof on her friend’s. “Ah’m sure Rarity will get bored of Prose soon.”
Sweetie nodded, though she still felt a bit unsure.
“Hey, kid! Wanna buy this recently released Prose gem? Only thirty-five bits!”
“No, thanks. I’d rather not.” Sweetie shifted uncomfortably as the seller tried haggling with her. Eventually, she managed to direct his attention elsewhere, while she slipped away.
She let out a sigh. It was beginning to grow annoying how famous Prose was. It had been only a few days, and Prose’s most recent book had blasted sales. She looked around her town, already seeing ponies sitting at benches reading. More of them stood in line at the bookstore, leaving happily, with the author’s novel by them.
“Prose really is a literary genius!” one pony said, his voice high-pitched. “No other author has so accurately portrayed the oppression of animals quite like he has!”
“I’m not sure,” said his companion, his voice deep. “I thought that his book was more on how love is a troublesome emotion.”
“Maybe you’re both right,” Sweetie said as she walked past them. They exchanged looks, before staring off into space, thinking.
She sighed again. Discussing themes, discussing ideas, discussing discussions; somehow, that author had amassed an enormous audience. It was like Ponyville was now part of a giant web, and the spider was Opacare.
She shivered, not liking the thought.
She headed off to Sugarcube Corner, and saw that her friends were already inside. Entering, she took the booth they were in. Quickly, Apple Bloom ordered a trio of malts to share.
“Why is he so popular?” she asked her fellow Crusaders. “Why are all the ponies reading his romance books?”
Bloom shrugged. “Maybe everypony just likes reading mushy books like that.”
“Well, I know one pony who wouldn’t go for that kind of stuff!” Scootaloo asserted. “Rainbow Dash never reads that romantic stuff!”
Nearby, they could hear various other customers discussing the author’s latest novel. Mrs. Cake was arguing with Rarity over the main character’s manipulation of the lead female character. “It was simply preposterous that she allowed herself to be controlled like that!”
“Don’t forget, Mrs. Cake; Jade liked being submissive to that kind of stallion!”
“Any female should be willing to stand up for herself, though!”
“Perhaps, but—”
Their conversation continued for several more minutes, eliciting a bored groan from Scootaloo. “Seriously? Even Mrs. Cake is into that stuff?”
“I wonder who got her into that genre?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“Hiya, Rarity! Hiya, Mrs. Cake!” Pinkie greeted ecstatically. “Are you two talking about Mr. Prose’s newest novel?”
“Indeed,” Rarity said. “What did you think of it?”
“I thought it was rather cute! Just my liking!” She grinned at Mrs. Cake. “Aren’t you glad that I introduced you to the series?”
“That I am, Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake said. “I’ve even got my husband reading it!”
“Even Mr. Cake?” Sweetie whispered. “That’s weird; I’ve never seen him pick up a romance novel before.”
“It’s like the ponies who wouldn’t read this stuff are suddenly beginning to read them!” Apple Bloom whispered back.
“Well, I know for a fact that Rainbow Dash isn’t going to be caught reading that stuff anytime soon!” Scootaloo said proudly.
The door suddenly swung open, and a cyan pegasus with a rainbow mane flew in. She carried a small handbag that seemed weighed down by its contents. “Morning, everypony!” she greeted, the customers greeting her back.
“Hiya, Rainbow!” Pinkie said. “We were just talking about Mr. Prose’s latest romance!”
“Pfft. That stuff?” She waved her hoof dismissively. “How can anypony like reading those mushy books?”
“See?” Scootaloo whispered. “Told ya!”
“Have you read any of Prose’s stories, Rainbow?” Rarity asked. “He writes more than just romance novels, you know.”
Rainbow grinned. “Yep! I just finished his third book in his Trial by Fire series!”
“Really?” Pinkie asked. “I thought you only read those Daring Do books!”
“Daring Do?” Mrs. Cake questioned. “Isn’t that series for children—”
“Yeah, well, now I’m reading Prose’s adventure series,” Rainbow interrupted. She shot Pinkie a partial glare. “Is that a problem?”
Pinkie giggled. “No, silly! It’s awesome to see you reading something else!”
Rainbow smiled. “Yeah, it kinda is.” She let out a sigh. “To be honest, I never thought I’d be reading something other than the perfection that is Daring Do. But… Trent Collins of the Trial by Fire series is pretty cool, too!” Her grin widened. “I guess I have to thank Twilight for introducing me to Prose!”
Scootaloo’s jaw dropped, and the other Crusaders giggled at her expression. “Rainbow Dash? You read Prose’s books?”
Rainbow chuckled. “Just the adventure stuff, squirt. None of that mushy romance stuff.”
“It’s not just ‘mushy romance stuff,’ Ms. Dash!” Rarity exclaimed. “It’s an amazing journey of the soul—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Rainbow interrupted, waving a hoof in front of her friend’s face. “I’m not into that stuff, okay? Trent Collins is so much better than that Jade character. At least he gets what he wants.”
“Why-I—” Rarity spluttered.
“Mrs. Cake? Could you whip up a batch of muffins for me? I’ll be spending most of the morning reading the fourth book.”
“Certainly, Rainbow,” Mrs. Cake said, smiling. “One batch of muffins coming up!”
“We should totally have a party for Prose!” Pinkie said to Rarity as Rainbow waited for her muffins. “I think he really deserves it!”
Rarity raised an eyebrow. “You’d invite a pony all the way from Manehattan to Ponyville, just to have a party?”
Pinkie beamed. “Of course! Everypony loves parties!” The last comment made Rarity giggle, and soon the conversation was redirected back to Prose’s latest book.
The CMC huddled closer together. “I can’t believe this!” Scootaloo whispered. “He’s even got Rainbow reading his stuff!”
“So? Maybe Rainbow just likes what he writes,” Apple Bloom said.
“He can’t be that good,” Scootaloo argued. “Maybe he’s brainwashing the town with his books!”
Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s yer best guess?”
“W-well, what’s yours?” she shot back, crossing her hooves.
“Mah guess is that this Prose guy writes many types of books, and it just happened that everypony in town likes his stories. Simple as that.”
Scootaloo sighed and sat back. “Yeah, maybe…”
“Besides, why do you care what Rainbow likes?” Sweetie Belle asked, cocking her head. “Don’t you look up to her and want to be like her?”
“I know,” the orange filly responded. “It’s just surprising to hear that she’s reading other stuff.”
“Everypony likes to read something different,” Apple Bloom said. “We shouldn’t judge ponies by what they like to read.”
“Apple Bloom is right. If the town likes Opacare Prose, then they like Opacare Prose. Nothing we can do about that,” Sweetie Belle said.
“Alright,” Scootaloo said. “In that case, we should finish our shakes and try for our Cutie Marks again. What was it this time? Hang gliding?”
“Surfboarding?” Apple Bloom suggested.
“No, I thought it was shark jumping.”
“Are there even sharks in Ponyville?”
As her two friends continued spouting out ideas, Sweetie Belle took this time to finish her malt. Her mind swiftly returned to the issue of Opacare Prose.
I shouldn’t be worried about him; he’s just another author. And yet… something seems… off. I can’t explain it.
She sighed, placing the glass to the side. She would have to ponder this issue another day; right now, the Crusaders were about to embark on another quest for their Cutie Marks.
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:44:26 GMT -8
II: The Vanished Author
“No! That can’t be true!” Rainbow vehemently exclaimed in the Golden Oak Library.
Twilight nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so, Rainbow. That’s what the newspapers have been saying. Opacare Prose has seemingly vanished from his apartment in Manehattan!”
She lit her horn and levitated over the morning’s newspaper. The front page had a full article concerning the disappearance. She read the article out loud:
“Famous literary author, Opacare Prose, has seemingly vanished from the face of Equestria overnight, only a week after the release of his latest novel. One of the apartment’s maids discovered the stallion’s absence when she entered his room and found him completely gone. Police were notified, and a full investigation was called.
“A quick search of the room showed that there had been no struggle. There were also no signs of breaking and entering. Police suspect, however, that there was some foul play involved. Based on the maid’s accounts and further searching, Prose left with very few items. Police guess he brought along a small bag, and perhaps a few articles of clothing, due to the absence of a several clothes from his closet.
“Additionally, it was revealed that Prose was a bit of a recluse. Many of the maids even went so far as to call him eccentric. What attributed to this common conclusion was the reveal that he did not ever come out of his room physically—or, at least, whenever the maids were around. As such, not a single one of the maids could give an accurate description of what Prose even looked like, so great was his desire to remain a mystery.
“The investigation is still in its beginning stages. Police have contacted the mayor of Manehattan, and she in turn contacted the Royal Sisters. Further details will be released as the investigation continues.”
As she finished, her friends’ looks went from disbelief to complete shock.
“But that’s simply not possible!” protested Rarity. “Nopony can vanish overnight!”
“This is terrible!” Pinkie wailed. “I was just about to invite him to Ponyville to throw him a ‘Huge Success’ party!”
While her friends gave Pinkie a strange look, Twilight simply ignored Pinkie’s outburst. She shook her head. “Apparently this pony can disappear, Rarity.” She sighed. “I’m worried—”
“That his next book won’t come out for years?” Rainbow interrupted.
The purple unicorn shot the pegasus a withering look, but sighed again. “Maybe a little. But I’m more worried about why he vanished.”
“What do you mean?” Applejack asked.
“For all we know, he could be in danger. There was a rumor that he had several stalkers after him a few days after his latest novel’s release. The newspapers were reporting it for a few days.” She glanced around at her friends. “Maybe somepony’s after him?”
Fluttershy gasped, raising a hoof in front of her mouth. “Oh my goodness, I hope nothing serious has happened to Mr. Prose.”
Pinkie nodded. “Me too. I’d hate having to juggle a stalker and writing at the same time!”
“That’s fine and all,” Applejack said, “but, I have to ask: why do they care if Prose plumb vanished? Don’t they have better things to worry about?”
“When a high profile pony such as Opacare Prose goes missing,” Twilight explained, “it raises alarms with the ponies in authority.” She shook her head. “What’s even odder is that, Manehattan hasn’t had a missing pony report in years. So to have a famous author go missing, after filing several reports of a stalker, in a city that hasn’t had a problem with missing citizens in years…” She looked away nervously. “It raises all sorts of questions.”
Rarity let out a sigh. “Well, I do hope they manage to find him. I would hate to hear that he’s been injured.” In a smaller voice, she added weakly, “And I would hate it even more if he couldn’t finish his next book because of this.”
“Princess Celestia wants us to be on our best lookout for Mr. Prose,” Twilight continued. “He might not be in any danger, but it would ease the concerns of Manehattan and Equestria. She’s ordered several other vicinities to do the same.”
Rainbow nodded. “I’ll organize the pegasi to be on the lookout for him.”
“I’ll try to get the animals to do the same,” Fluttershy said quietly.
“Ah’ll make sure my family and those down in Appleloosa will be looking fer him, too,” Applejack added.
Rarity sighed. “I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do, unfortunately; other than look for him in Ponyville.”
“I’ll do the same! We could be lookout buddies!” Pinkie exclaimed.
Twilight nodded. “Alright. I’ll have Mayor Mare organize the town into groups to look for him.”
They nodded. “Spike, write a letter to Princess Celestia informing her that we’ll be watching for him.” The purple dragon nodded, whipping out a scroll and scribbling a few words. A few seconds later, he lifted the scroll up and blew green fire on it, teleporting it away to Celestia’s chambers.
“He’s missing?” Sweetie Belle asked Apple Bloom at the CMC clubhouse.
The tan filly nodded, her red bow tie shaking slightly. “That’s what my sister told me. The whole town’s having a bit of a panic attack.”
“Why? He’s just an author,” Scootaloo said.
“He’s more than that; at least, that’s what Rarity says.” Sweetie held up a hoof, and mimicked counting down digits. “Other than an author, he’s a pretty good lie detector, a volunteer at the police department, has helped bring in numerous criminals in the past, practiced psychology for a few years, and is also in the medical field.”
“Wow!” Apple Bloom said. “And he’s only got a Cutie Mark for writing?”
Sweetie shrugged. “I guess so. Maybe those other stuff are just other things he likes to do?”
“So he has many talents. So what?” Scootaloo asked.
Sweetie rubbed the back of her head. “Rarity wouldn’t tell me much; but, from what I can tell, him missing is a very surprising incident. Guess vanishing ponies aren’t all that common in Manehattan.”
“They’re not exactly common here, either, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom said. “But, yeah; I guess this is a big deal because it’s a rare thing to have happened!”
“Any ideas why he would have disappeared, then?” Scootaloo asked.
Apple Bloom rubbed the back of her head. “Well… I thought that maybe it was because he didn’t like all that attention.”
“What kind of pony doesn’t like to be famous?”
She shrugged. “Maybe he’s like Fluttershy; he might like being alone.” She looked down. “Or, at least, that’s what I was hoping…”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard mah sister and Big Mac talking in the kitchen the other day. It sounded like they were talking about that Prose feller.” She looked away. “I couldn’t hear everything, but I remember they kept mentioning some ‘stalker’ that had been tailing Mr. Prose for a while.”
“A stalker? Like, a reporter?” Scootaloo asked.
Apple Bloom shook her head. “No, like a crazy fan or something like that.”
Sweetie Belle rubbed her chin in curiosity. She reached over to her side and flipped open her bag, pulling out a thick, purple book. Scootaloo glanced up at the action, then saw the cover of the book. “Ew, are you actually trying to get through one of those mushy romance books?”
Sweetie shook her head. “Actually, what Apple Bloom said reminded me of something.” She flipped open the book to the back inside over, where the author’s short bio was supposed to be. “Look there.”
The other fillies peered over her shoulder. “So? It’s just his bio,” Scootaloo said.
Sweetie shook her head again. “But look above it.” She placed a hoof in the space where the author’s face should have been.
“He doesn’t have a picture!” Apple Bloom realized.
The young unicorn nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a book that didn’t have the author’s picture in it somewhere.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to call attention to his face?” suggested Scootaloo.
“But it’s a mandatory thing,” argued Sweetie Belle. “Every book published has to have the author’s face somewhere. Twilight was telling me about that a few days ago.”
“But why is it mandatory?”
“It’s Equestrian law, Scootaloo. Twilight told me that, after several incidents involving copyright problems, the law was put into effect in order to prevent any other cases.”
“You think it could be connected to Prose’s disappearance?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Maybe… I just remembered that it was a weird thing to see.” She closed the book and placed it back in the bag. “Anyway, I have to get going. Rarity wants her book back; I took it before she could finish it.” She grinned sheepishly. “Oops…”
Apple Bloom nodded. “Ah have to get back to the farm. Ah’m gonna write a letter to Babs Seed; see if she could get her family to be on the lookout for Prose.”
“And Rainbow wants me to help organize the pegasi,” Scootaloo said. “So I guess we’ll meet later on?”
“Yep!” the other two chorused. The three of them left the clubhouse for their respective destinations.
Strange, the pewter grey stallion thought as he made his way down the dirt path. Opacare Prose wanted to get away from all the attention; and ended up calling more attention to him than he wanted. He chuckled darkly at the irony. Well, I should have guessed that would have backfired. Told him so.
He gazed around at his surroundings. In front of him was the path leading to the darker side of the Hollow Shades. Behind him was the bustling city of Manehattan, the lights flickering and the voices of the city rising up beyond the tall skyscrapers. He had always hated the noise; it was something that made him despise the city even more than usual.
The police had set up searchlights on the rooftops, and were busy swiveling them around the surrounding landscapes. Thinking quickly, the stallion ducked into a bush, vanishing before the light could find him. He grimaced. While he was not a fan of running away, he considered this necessary for his goals.
As he waited for the searchlight to move away, he found himself reflecting on Opacare Prose. They’ll never find him, he realized. As far as anypony is concerned, Opacare Prose is dead. He frowned. How long will they continue searching is anypony’s guess. Never pegged Prose for being such a popular guy.
The searchlight glanced around for a few more seconds, before moving away for another area. He let out a sigh of relief, standing up from the bush. He quickly galloped down the path, doing his best to dodge the curious lights from the city. A nearby tree’s low branch snagged his blue vest; he tore it quickly, leaving a small bit of fabric hanging on the branch. He glanced behind, and the searchlight reflected off of him slightly, though not enough for him to be fully revealed. All that the searchers could see were a pair of carnation pink orbs, which they would later attribute to being just a forest creature.
Quickly, he checked to make sure that the brown bag and its contents were intact. Seeing that they were, he resumed his way down the path.
Soon he managed to make his way into the Shades, his grey coat vanishing into the darkness within. He glanced one more time at the fading city, and a slight smile came across his features. Step one is complete. Now onto step two.
With that thought, Dusk Prosa turned away, heading deeper into the forest. His steps were soon enveloped by the foliage lying within, drowned out by the silence that the forest carried.
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:46:15 GMT -8
III: Missing Details
Twilight smiled as she made her way to the Golden Oaks Library; so far, their efforts had far exceeded her expectations. Perhaps soon they would sort through this vanishing pony mess, and return to their normal lives.
She pressed on the door, pushing it open and entering the library. Spike was busy restacking several of the bookshelves, but looked up when he saw Twilight enter. “Oh, hey, Twilight!” he greeted. “How is the organization going?”
“It is going perfectly!” Twilight responded happily. “We’re covering enormous ground, from Ponyville all the way down to Appleloosa. Princess Celestia said that Manehattan has already started its search parties, and Canterlot is sure to follow.” She trotted over to a pile of books and helped Spike put them away. “With our combined efforts, we should be able to locate Opacare Prose in no time!”
Spike nodded. “That’s good to know.” He fixed a slight glare on Twilight. “Though, you sound awfully excited about all this.”
She giggled nervously. “I know, I know… I shouldn’t feel this excited about searching for somepony. But… I don’t know, it’s just so exciting! Straight out of a mystery novel!” She giggled at the irony. “Oh, wow, it would be pretty amazing if Prose wrote about this in his next book.”
Spike chuckled with her. “Yeah, it would. Once we find him, no doubt he’ll be extremely grateful.”
Twilight nodded, then levitated over a scroll and quill over to Spike. “Could you take a letter, Spike? Princess Celestia wants me to keep her updated on what’s going on.”
Spike nodded, and readied his quill.
“Dear Princess Celestia: I’ve managed to organize several search parties, with the help of Mayor Mare. We’ve put various earth, unicorn, and pegasus ponies together and designated them to searching the perimeter of Ponyville. We’ve also delegated several groups into searching the Everfree Forest and even the Ghostly Gorge. I’ve also taken the liberty to entrust Steven Magnet, the sea serpent from our first trip into the Everfree, with searching the deeper ends of the Forest and the nearby rivers.
“Furthermore, my friends have done their best to do their part. Fluttershy has had her animal friends group into parties to search the wooded areas around Ponyville. Rainbow Dash has organized the Cloudsdale ponies, with the help of Scootaloo. Rarity and Pinkie Pie, though limited to Ponyville, are doing their best to keep a vigilant lookout. Finally, Applejack has written to Appleloosa, asking for their assistance. Braeburn has organized the town into search parties, while Little Strongheart has the Buffalo Tribe on the lookout.
“As I understand it, the cities of Fillydelphia and Baltimare are also doing their part to search for Opacare Prose. With our combined efforts, we should locate the author in no time.
“Your Faithful Student, Twilight Sparkle.”
Spike finished writing, and peered up at Twilight with amused eyes. “Steven Magnet, huh? Didn’t think he’d get involved.”
Twilight giggled. “Apparently he’s read several of Prose’s books and is absolutely enthralled by his works. He was more than willing to help out. I never thought I’d see the day when an author would reach cross-species fame.”
Spike chuckled at that. “Yeah, me neither.” He held up the scroll in his hand and blew on it, sending it away to Celestia’s chambers. “What’s next on the agenda?”
“Now comes the hard part. Waiting.”
“Oh, shoot!” Rainbow said as she flew away from Cloudsdale. The pegasus had finished organizing the pegasi into search groups, and had been resting with Scootaloo on one of the clouds. “Thank goodness Scootaloo said that offhand comment! Gotta tell Twilight about this!”
She ducked below the cloud layer, zooming for Ponyville. Cloudsdale was on the western end of Ponyville, meaning she had to fly by Sweet Apple Acres. If Applejack was as efficient as I was in organizing Appleloosa, then no doubt she’ll have the same problem I do!
As she flew by the farm, the door suddenly swung open. Applejack rushed out, her head lowered as she galloped towards Ponyville. She glanced up and saw Rainbow Dash flying by her. “Rainbow! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at Cloudsdale?”
“Yeah, but something came up! I need to ask Twilight something!”
“You, too, huh?” She frowned. “Ah reckon it has something to do with the search.”
Rainbow nodded. “Yup. We’d better hurry!” Applejack nodded at her, and they quickly made their way towards the library.
“WHAT?!” Twilight exclaimed in shock.
Fluttershy shied away, slightly frightened by her friend’s outburst. “S-sorry, Twilight! It’s true!”
“No… no! That can’t be! There must be a mistake; an error, of some sort—” Twilight paced around the room, her hooves quickly digging a trench in the wood. She turned back to Fluttershy, eyes slightly ajar. “Are you certain that your animals don’t know who to look for?”
Fluttershy nodded. “Yes, all they know is that we’re looking for Opacare Prose. They don’t know how to recognize him, though…”
“Argh…” Twilight placed her hooves at the side of her head. “No… I was so sure I had told everypony what he looks like…”
“Uh, Twilight?” Spike asked. “Do you even know what he looks like?”
“Of course I do, Spike!” she responded, a bit huffy. “In fact, I’ll show you!” Lighting her horn, she levitated over one of Prose’s books—Storm Song—and opened to the back cover. “Now, here is what he looks like—”
She cut herself off as her eyes loomed over the back cover. Not a single picture of the author could be found. She blinked twice, hoping that her eyes were playing tricks on her. “Huh?” She flipped the book around, then began flipping through the pages rapidly, eyes scanning each page with resolute vigilance. “No… I was sure that his picture was here somewhere…”
She giggled nervously. “Maybe… maybe it’s in another book. Good thing I have his entire collection in the library…” She lit her horn and brought over several other books, scanning each one dutifully.
“Okay, maybe not that one… or that one, either… or this one… or this one…”
In the span of minutes, she had looked through every book several times, each time her hope slowly fading. She dropped the last book with a groan. “No! How could I not have his picture?”
“M-maybe he didn’t want to get his picture taken?” Fluttershy asked.
Twilight shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have gotten through the publishers without having his picture taken…” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “Wait! Maybe Princess Celestia knows! Spike! Send her a letter!”
The baby dragon quickly compiled a message, sending it to Celestia with a burst of green flame. Twilight let out an anxious sigh. “Hopefully she’ll know better than us…”
Suddenly, the door to the library burst open. Applejack and Rainbow came racing in, followed shortly by Pinkie Pie and Rarity. The latter two took a moment to catch to breath, while Rainbow voiced their combined concerns.
“Twilight! Can you give us a description of Prose? We have no idea what to look for!”
Twilight sadly shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rainbow, girls. I’m at a lost myself. That’s why I had Spike send a letter to Princess Celestia for help.”
Applejack nodded. “That’s good to hear. Maybe the Princess has some information?”
They nodded solemnly at that, anxiously waiting for the Princess’s response.
A few moments later, Spike burped up her letter. Twilight took it and began to read aloud:
“My Faithful Student, Twilight Sparkle:
“It is good to hear that you’ve had the ponies organized into search groups. The question you posed, as to what Opacare Prose looks like, however, is not as well received.
“As I’m sure you have noticed, none of his books appear to have his face on any of them. I’ve talked to my advisors, and they say that there is no way that Prose could have bypassed publishing etiquette without inside help. We have no idea how he managed to not have his picture placed inside of his novels. As such, we have no clear idea what he looks like.”
“Consarn it!” Applejack exclaimed, throwing her hat to the ground. Rarity shushed her.
“However,” Twilight continued reading, “all is not lost. We know that his special talent is writing. The best that we can work with is that his Cutie Mark should be related to his craft.”
“Oh, that’s just great!” Rainbow groaned. “It’s not like many ponies have Mark for writing!”
“I am sorry to tell you that we will be searching in the dark. Do not lose hope, though; with the efforts in the towns and cities of Equestria, we should be able to identify and hopefully reclaim Prose.”
With a heavy heart, Twilight finished the scroll, rolling it up and placing it down. She stomped angrily on the ground. “Darn it all! I was hoping to get something better than that…”
“Like what, Twilight?” Pinkie asked. “A picture? Live CCTV footage?”
“Pinkie? What the heck are you talking about?” Rainbow asked the pink mare.
Twilight placed her hooves on her face. “How could I have missed such an obvious detail?” she murmured. “Now it’s going to take more effort to find this guy!”
Applejack walked over and placed a hoof on her friend’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Sugarcube. We just gotta work with what we have. We’ll find him eventually.”
Twilight smiled. “You’re right, Applejack.” She stood, turning and facing the others. “I’m going to go inform the mayor and the other search parties of this. You girls should do the same with your respective groups.” They nodded and, after exchanging a brief farewell, left to spread the word.
As Twilight was walking out, Spike couldn’t help but murmur, “Well, you were asking for more excitement…” He chuckled to himself, before going back to reorganizing the shelves.
“Sounds like the girls found out as well,” Apple Bloom said at the CMC clubhouse.
Scootaloo nodded. “I guess I jogged Rainbow’s memory when I made that comment about Prose’s appearance. Or lack of appearance.”
“But I just don’t understand why?” Sweetie asked. “I mean, sure, he has some stalkers, but couldn’t the police have helped with that? Why would he go so far to completely remove his face from his books?”
Apple Bloom shrugged. “I guess only Prose knows the answer to that. Maybe he’s scared…”
“Scared?” Scootaloo shook her head. “I don’t know… when you’ve got as many skills as that guy, what could you possibly scared of?”
Sweetie Belle remained silent for a majority of the conversation, lost in her thoughts. She was busy trying to connect the missing pictures with possible reasons for their absence, but was struggling to find a pattern. Normally, she would have found connecting these two enjoyable; but all she got was a bout of frustration.
How? How did he do it? How did he vanish off the face of Equestria? And, more importantly, how did he do it with no warning?
Her mind drifted back to what Apple Bloom had said: “Only Prose knows the answer to that…”
With all the trouble that Equestria is going through, just for this one stallion; he had better have a good answer…
“Sweetie Belle?” Scootaloo waved a hoof in front of her. “Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” Sweetie blinked, then shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Well, are you done? Because I’d like to try out some new methods of getting our Cutie Marks,” the orange filly said.
Sweetie smiled. “Sure. What are they?”
Scootaloo pulled out a long parchment. “Let’s see… we’ve done hang gliding, shark gliding… how about—”
As she began listing out various ways, Sweetie Belle’s mind briefly returned to the question she had posed. How?
Once again, she was met by the same, simple, yet seemingly obvious answer.
Only Prose knows.
“Boss!” The tan stallion burst into the office, breathing heavily.
The boss stallion, a tall pony with a dark brown coat, glanced up from the desk. “Yes, Swol? What is it?” Behind him was a window that looked out at southern Manehattan.
Swol brought out several papers and placed them on Boss’s desk. “I’ve got the reports. They’re saying that Prose has left our area of influence.”
Boss grunted. “Meaning that he’s fled.” He stood. “Oh, well. It was bound to happen.”
“Boss… what do we do?”
Boss scratched his chin with his hoof. “It certainly presents a challenge… we are searching in the dark, after all…” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Prose always was a clever stallion… never thought he would use that cleverness on us…”
He turned away, facing out the window. The streets were busy with ponies rushing to work, and several police ponies stood on the sidewalks, desperately looking for the missing author.
If I know Prose, they won’t find him here, Boss thought. But now it’s a question of where we’ll find him.
He glanced back at Swol. “Have the boys send some letters out to our contacts. I want eyes on the surrounding landscape. And keep me informed.”
“Yes, Boss! Right away, Boss!” Swol nodded and turned, making his way back to the other offices in the building.
Boss returned his gaze back to the window, and he rested a hoof on the glass. “It doesn’t matter how far you run, Prose,” he murmured. “You can’t escape your past.” |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:47:24 GMT -8
IV: The Wanderer
Blasted wolves, Prosa thought as he made his way through Foal Mountain. Ruined my good vest, too. Good thing I always carry a cloak with me.
He opened his bag and pulled out an ash-grey cloak, placing it over his body. His hooves made light taps against the stony ground. He glanced around, making sure that no creature was nearby, before accelerating his pace.
Still, though, those beasts did quite the number on me, he thought ruefully, looking down at himself. Scratches covered his legs, and there were several dirt stains in his coat from when he had to wrestle down one of the wolves. There were sticks in his mane, and several bite and claw marks on his back. He winced in slight pain, one of his legs collapsing under him. Thankfully, in the fight, nothing was broken; though severe bruises were obtained.
He groaned. Those wolves made me lose two days in the Shades. Damn. He glanced down at his leg. And this bruised appendage isn’t making travel any easier.
A cold wind blew past him, and he shivered despite the cloaks warmth. The wind seemed to whisper to him, trying to break his spirit.
“Turn back,” it seemed to say. “You know that there is little hope for you anywhere else.”
He grit his teeth and did his best to ignore the whispers. He trudged on, pushing past the strong wind.
He suddenly slipped, and began sliding down the mountain. Desperately, he reached his hooves out, hoping to grab something. A cliffside suddenly reared at him, and his eyes widened at the potential drop. He desperately hooked his hooves around the trunk of a small tree, managing to stop himself before he went over.
He took a few breaths to steady himself. He pulled himself up, getting back on four hooves. He glanced over the cliffside, seeing the enormous drop. I’m losing my concentration, he realized. I should not have been so careless…
He shook his head, then turned and headed down the correct path. He kept a steady watch, making sure that he didn’t trip over anything or slip again. The wind whispered more words to him, each phrase becoming more and more tempting to obey.
“Turn back. There is no hope for you…”
His patience was beginning to thin. He snorted angrily, turning his head away from the wind. The whispering only grew louder, piercing his ears and entering his brain.
“Turn back, turn back…”
He growled, swiping angrily at the air, as if trying to forcibly remove the wind. It only grew closer and more tempting in its offers.
“There’s still time. Turn back, and no one gets hurt…”
“Shut up,” he growled, pushing ahead. His hooves stomped on the ground, trying to block out the wicked air.
“You know the consequences of your actions. They will find you… and—”
“No!” he suddenly shouted, facing the cliffside. “I won’t turn back! I made this choice; and I’m sticking to it!”
The wind did not answer, seemingly dying away. He was about to turn and continue down the path—
When a wolf’s cry rang out.
His eyes widened, and he turned around, looking to the above cliffside. A pack of Shadewolves, dark and menacing, stood above. Their dark-yellow eyes bore into his pink ones, and the leader growled at him.
They pursued me here? He quickly turned, galloping down the remainder of the mountain.
The pack leaped down and advanced towards him. They barked and growled, their cries mingling into one loud roar. These idiots are going to cause an avalanche!
He leaped to the side, avoiding a lunge from one of the wolves. He landed softly. galloping down the length of the mountain.
The pack split up, three aiming for the front while the other two pursued Prosa from behind. He ground his hooves on the ground to slow himself before he crashed into the three. They growled at him, teeth bared and saliva dripping down their mouths. He glanced behind him, seeing the remaining two glaring at him.
“Easy, easy,” he said, trying to calm down. They only growled louder, and took several steps forward.
The pack leader suddenly roared ferociously, and Prosa heard the mountain rumble. The trees and ground began to shake, and he glanced up. The peak of the mountain had seemingly collapsed, and a white blanket of death fell from above.
The wolves took advantage of this distraction and lunged for him. He ducked under one and dove to the side, avoiding the others. There’s no way I’m going to outrun that avalanche! The pack leader lunged for him, swiping at his body and scratching his chest. He yelled in pain and jumped back, only to be tackled by another wolf.
Thinking quickly, he kicked the wolf off of him with his hind legs. As the leader leapt for him, he rolled away, making the two crash into each other. He tried to get to his hooves, but collapsed as the snow rolled for them.
The leader recovered, and glanced around, finally seeing the snow. Two of the wolves were engulfed by it, sent over the edge yelping. The other two tried to get to higher ground, but were pushed over the edge. The leader growled and lunged for Prosa, and he shied away, pushing himself against the rock face. The face shook with nature’s fury as the full brunt of the avalanche toppled for him. The leader tried to lunge for him again, and nearly bit his head off; but was knocked back by the snow. Prosa’s last view of the beast was it yelping and barking all the way to its demise.
He tried to move ahead, but the snow seemed to accumulate in front of him. He protectively held his hooves in front him, as the white substance piled up. Soon, the opening had vanished, replaced with dark white snow. He closed his eyes, and waited for the rumbling to stop.
“There is no hope… there is no hope for you…”
Somehow the wind managed to pierce through the thick layer. Dusk Prosa opened his eyes in shock. That means there’s got to be an opening somewhere!
He glanced around. The snow was thick enough to block most of the sun, but he could faintly see. The snow had piled around his hooves and body; if he didn’t move quickly, he would surely perish from hypothermia. He shook his hooves, and noticed that he could barely feel them. Frostbite? No; I can’t think about that!
He shook his head and glared at the snow. He concentrated his hearing on the whispers of the wind, listening for where the opening was.
The words became garbled, but it was still clear where they came from. He smirked; how ironic that the wind would be his savior.
There was an opening to his right, as far as he could tell. He pressed a hoof on the side, and noticed that the snow seemed less thick there. He pushed lightly, and the snow began to fall apart! He grinned, and pushed even harder. The snow around him began collapsing, and he struggled to retain his hoof’s position as snow fell around him.
“C’mon, you louse, c’mon,” he muttered. For a moment, snow completely filled his vision.
Finally, the snow collapsed completely around him. His hooves came free, and his head popped out of the snow bank. Bright sunlight glared in his eyes; it was a sign that he was alive. He pulled himself out of the snow, gritting as his cold appendages groaned under the strain.
He took a few tentative steps forward, looking for the wolves. He guessed that they had all perished from the avalanche. He shook his body to throw off the snow that covered him, glancing down when he had finished.
Somehow, both the snow and the wolves had ruined his cloak. Snow sat inside holes made by the wolves’ claws, and he murmured a light curse. He noticed that his bag was missing; glancing around, he saw it in the snow pile and picked it up, making sure that its contents were fine.
They appeared to be, and he slung the bag over his shoulder. He let out a sigh of relief. Oh, thank Celestia I’m alive.
For a moment, he felt doubt pinch him. Should he continue on? No doubt that there would be even more danger in the coming days; he wouldn’t be able to always make it out by the skin of his teeth.
“Turn back… turn back, now…”
If this is an example of what is to come… if I continue on this path… He frowned. Makes me regret letting Opacare Prose leave—
He shook his head. No, he left for his reasons and his goals. To turn back now would be cowardly.
Prior to his disappearance, Opacare Prose never was a coward. And neither am I.
He nodded to himself, and once again began trekking down the mountain. He felt completely exhausted, but continued nonetheless, not caring whether or not he made it. All that mattered was that he try. No matter the danger; no matter the risk.
The whispering wind followed him, but seemed to lessen in intensity; its words faded into little more than air being pushed ahead.
Steven Magnet had experienced some pretty strange things in his life.
First, there was the time that the Mare in the Moon had returned, and six ponies had arrived in the Everfree seeking the Elements of Harmony (at the time, he didn’t know what they were after). After one of them, a white one, had helped him fix his mustache, he had happily allowed them to cross the raging river using his serpentine body.
Then there was the time that a draconequus of Chaos nearly took over. He had heard the draconequus fooling around with the Ponyville, as if it were all a game to him. It was positively dreadful; who mixed chocolate rain with cotton candy clouds? That was hardly aesthetically pleasing; he was thankful that the six ponies managed to stop that Chaos controller.
Then came the return of his old friend, Cranky Doodle Donkey, and his rediscovery of Matilda. Steven smiled as he recalled that day. Cranky had told him about it some time later; though, Matilda was still unaware of the sea serpent’s involvement.
He sighed. It wasn’t that he minded being in the background; but, sometimes he wished that he could do more than just ferry ponies. Or be on the lookout for a pony.
For a week.
Sure, he wanted to help out; but could Opacare Prose please not be so good at hiding? It didn’t help that nopony even knew what he looked like! It was only by that maid’s cleaning inspection did anypony even know that Prose had gone missing!
In short, Steven was slightly bored.
“Maybe I could go on a grand adventure with Cranky, like old times,” he mused, relaxing on his back in the river. He frowned. “Then again, I haven’t had a yearning for adventure in years. Perhaps a simple wedding would suffice.”
He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of sticks snapping. He turned around, looking for the source. He expected to find a Timberwolf, perhaps; even a cockatrice.
He did not expect to find what appeared to be an extremely injured equine.
Blood ran down the sides of his mouth, and his lower lip seemed to have been bitten with extreme force. His mane, a slate-grey with blue highlights, was highly messy, with sticks, dirt, and grime sticking to it. His coat had been covered in mud, the pewter grey transformed into a dirty silver with bronze patches. He wore a dark-grey cloak, and Steven could see a torn blue vest underneath. A small, brown bag was slung over his shoulder. His tail swung weakly, and he seemed on the verge of falling over. His legs moved forward at a slow pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Strangely, though, Steven could not discern the stallion’s Cutie Mark. It seemed to have completely vanished off of his flanks, replaced with a simple, blank, pewter-grey coat.
Despite the obvious pain and discomfort the pony was in, his eyes had not dulled one bit. They remained a solid carnation pink, glowing with intelligence and ferocity that Steven felt rivaled the Bearers.
“Oh my absolute goodness!” he cried, darting forward at the pony. “Are you alright? What happened?”
The pony glanced up at the sea serpent, before chuckling darkly. His chuckles grew to weak laughter, and he nearly toppled over from his shaking.
“Hey!” Steven placed his hands on his hip area. “What’s so funny?”
The pony snorted and managed to calm himself down. “Sorry… it’s just… the first talking creature I meet in a while, and he has the most flamboyant accent…” He resumed a dark chuckling, looking down.
Steven huffed. “Well, excuse me, mister! I happened to be born with this fabulous accent!” He crossed his arms, doing his best to look intimidating to the pony.
He evidently failed, as the stallion cast one quick look at him before giggling madly. “Hey, what’s the deal? My accent isn’t that funny!”
The stallion calmed down. “You’re right… it isn’t.” He struggled to take a breath. “It’s just… I’ve been in the wilderness for what seems forever… I’m a bit crazy for civilization. You know what I mean?” Before Steven could answer, the stallion shook his head. “No, of course you don’t. No one does…”
He coughed, and blood shot out his mouth, marking the ground in red. “As for your first question… I just got through running from Shade and Timberwolves.” He glanced up, his eyes shining with a hint of arrogance. “At this point, I’m more than fine.”
“Shadewolves?” Steven raised an eyebrow. “You came from the Hollow Shades? What on Equestria are you doing here? And in such a sorry state?”
The stallion coughed again, the patch on the ground darkening. “Long… story… no time to talk…” He tried to walk forward, but suddenly collapsed.
“Hey! Wait a minute!” Steven grabbed the pony and held him up. “Yoohoo! You okay in there?”
The stallion couldn’t even mumble, so exhausted he was. Oh, this is definitely not good. Steven leaned close, and was relieved to hear him still breathing, albeit slowly. “I have got to get you to a hospital,” he murmured.
He placed the stallion on his back, and he instinctively held on. Steven turned, and began swimming down the river towards Ponyville. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:49:17 GMT -8
V: Untimely Arrival
Scootaloo stood at the edge of the town, watching the entrance to the Everfree. She stood on the wooden bridge, eyes solely concentrated on the entrance. She narrowed her gaze, as if willing the trees to part to reveal the pony the town searched for.
For a few minutes she said nothing, focusing only on staring. Finally, though, her patience wore out, and she fell to her hind quarters with a groan. “Ugh… this is so boring!”
“Well, better get used to it,” Sweetie Belle said next to her. “We did volunteer to keep watch over this area.”
“Yeah, so why don’t we stop complainin’ and start watchin’?” Apple Bloom suggested, a bit testily.
“It’s just the forest, though!” Scootaloo protested. “Shouldn’t Fluttershy be here to watch?”
Sweetie shook her head. “Fluttershy is down by the Bogg, organizing the swamp animals there.”
The orange filly grumbled something incoherent and turned away, still slightly frustrated. Bloom sighed. “Yer right, though; this is pretty boring.”
Scootaloo snorted. “We’re staring out at the forest. What else could it be, other than boring?”
Sweetie shrugged. “Well, maybe something exciting will happen. You never know.”
“Like Prose showing up?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sweetie turned her gaze back to the forest. “It could happen.”
Scootaloo sighed, but did not question further. She and Apple Bloom resumed watching the forest.
Sweetie’s gaze turned downward, looking down at the river below. The rushing waters splashed against the dirt and rock, spraying foam onto the sides. A few fish swam down the river, beating their fins rapidly to speed their swim.
Suddenly, the fish stopped, and turned. They began swimming back upstream, as if fleeing from something. Sweetie looked up, and peered down the river to see what it was that scared them. Her eyes widened as she saw a large, serpentine creature swimming towards them.
“Girls? Girls!” she cried, getting their attention. “Are serpents a normal thing for Ponyville?”
“Calm down, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo said. “It’s just Steven Magnet. He’s a friendly sea serpent of the Everfree.”
The serpent seemed to be ferrying something on his back. He glanced around nervously, then back at the object on his back. Sweetie noticed that his eyes softened slightly.
He turned, and saw them on the bridge. Quickly he approached. “Steven? What’s wrong?” Apple Bloom asked.
In response, Steven twisted his body to show them what he carried. They gasped at what they saw: a broken and badly injured stallion on his back, taking shallow breaths. His eyes were closed, and had it not been for his breathing, would have seemed dead.
“Oh my gosh! What happened?” Sweetie asked.
Steven shook his head. “I don’t know. I found him like this in the forest.” He gazed at the fillies with sad eyes. “He needs medical attention, and quickly.” His voice was less flamboyant, assuming an unlikely commanding tone.
Sweetie nodded. “We’ll go get help.” She and the other Crusaders went off into town, yelling for the ponies to help them. A few moments later, they returned with Twilight and Mayor Mare, with a crowd following shortly after.
Twilight looked at the stallion in shock. “How is he still alive?”
Steven shook his head. “He said he had been running from Shadewolves and Timberwolves for the past week!”
“He came from the Hollow Shades?” Mayor Mare asked.
Twilight shook her head. “Nevermind that. We have to get him to a hospital!” A few ponies stepped forward with a wagon, and Twilight gently lifted the stallion with her magic and placed him in the cart. “Go; hurry!”
The ponies nodded, and galloped towards the hospital. Twilight and the CMC watched them go, still shocked at the stallion’s appearance.
“Twilight?” Sweetie asked. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I hope so, Sweetie Belle,” Twilight answered with a nervous frown.
Dusk Prosa awoke with a start.
His bright pink eyes, though intelligent, were rendered near useless as he glanced around. His vision blurred, most likely due to him not still fully recovered from his ordeal. Slowly, however, his vision settled, and he managed to get a clear view of where he was.
A set of white blankets covered his lower body, warming him and making him feel slightly sleepy. They smelled like fresh roses; he guessed that they had been cleaned recently. A pair of white, fluffy pillows rested behind his head, and he could practically feeling himself sink between the two. A set of tubes were attached to his arm, running up the side to an IV unit.
He looked up, seeing a small ceiling light hanging above him. It glowed dimly, not enough to hurt his eyes, but enough to make him squint. He glanced to his left, seeing a large, white machine with several lines appearing on its face. He guessed that they were supposed to be his vitals.
I have some rather decent vitals, he thought, nearly grinning sillily.
He shifted around, turning his head to his right. What he saw made his jovial attitude vanish completely.
A set of syringes, both white, rested on a metal tray. The sharp points made him panic, and his breathing increased. The machine with his vitals began to beep rapidly, as his heart rate accelerated to dangerous levels. It didn’t help that he saw a familiar, red liquid in each of the two foreign syringes.
The panic heightened as he realized that he had been stripped of his belongings. His bag, vest, and cloak had been placed somewhere else, perhaps out of reach. His eyes widened as a million worst-case scenarios raced through his mind. His belongings were his life, and without them, he would be a goner!
Somehow, his strength had not returned, and he could not find it in himself to shout in blind panic. However, the constant beeping and his erratic shuffling garnered the attention of the hospital staff.
“Doctor Irons!” a red-headed nurse shouted. “He’s awake!”
“Bloody brilliant!” the doctor shouted in a strange accent unfamiliar to Prosa. He quickly ran over to Prosa and tried to calm him down. “Easy, easy, mate. It’s going to be alright!”
It is most definitely not going to be alright! Prosa shuffled angrily, nearly throwing the doctor away. The nurse made a brief call, and several other hospital staff came in to restrain him. Prosa fought as hard as he could, even managing to throw off one of the doctors.
His struggle eventually subsided as one of the doctors forced a needle into his neck. At first, his eyes widened as he felt the needle pierce his skin, but then all thoughts were replaced with a soothing numbness. His heart rate fell back down to normal, and his breathing slowed.
Doctor Irons thanked the other staff for coming in to help. They nodded, though they seemed somewhat tired out from the ordeal. They left, leaving Irons and his nurse aide with Prosa.
“Feeling better now, mate?” Irons asked with a small smile.
Dusk grunted. He stared at Irons with his bright pink eyes. Irons noticed that, despite the patient being drugged, he somehow managed to retain a sense of ferocity in those orbs.
“Nurse Redheart, could you read me his vitals?” he asked.
Nurse Redheart nodded. “Yes, Doctor Irons. His heart rate has resumed adequate levels. Breathing is normal. Bladder control is… well, it needs work.”
Prosa looked down, and saw what appeared to be a slightly dark spot in the middle of his bed. He blushed in embarrassment.
Irons laughed at the stallion’s discomfort. “It’s alright, mate. You were unconscious; you had little control over your bodily functions when you arrived here.”
He stepped forward, laying a hoof on Dusk’s chest. Seeing the stallion wince, he grimaced. “Yep, that’s broken ribs for sure.” He stared at Dusk’s pink eyes. “Don’t worry; that’s the worst injury you have.”
Dusk grunted. “Thanks,” he barely managed to whisper. His voice came out hoarse, like it had been overused twice. His throat felt dry, and he instinctively licked his lips.
Irons reached over and brought over a pitcher of water and a glass cup. He poured the stallion a drink, giving it to him. Prosa downed the cup quickly, like it was a cup of ambrosia. He held the cup out, and Irons poured him more.
After downing several cups, Prosa’s throat finally felt open enough that he could speak more clearly. “What happened?”
“Steven Magnet ferried you in,” Irons explained. “Apparently you had been attacked by Shade and Timberwolves?” The doctor raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the question. Before Prosa could clarify, he continued: “Three fillies met him first. They ran and got Miss Twilight Sparkle, though not before attracting a large crowd. A few ponies carried you to the hospital, which brings us to here.”
Prosa nodded thoughtfully. “I see… how long was I out?”
“Oh, three days, give or take—”
The doctor didn’t get a chance to finish, as Prosa suddenly shot up, surprising both him and Nurse Redheart. “What?!” he yelled with surprising ferocity. “Three days?!”
Pain suddenly rocketed through him, and he quickly fell back down to resting his back against the pillows. He glared up at Irons. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?!”
Irons raised a confused eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Mate, you were injured and in need of dire rest. If we woke you up, you could have been hurt even more!”
Prosa snorted. “Better injured than late.” He made to move out of bed, despite the pain, but was held back by the doctor.
“Hey, buddy, calm down.” Irons fixed him with a steely glare. “Listen, three days to recover is better than only one.”
Dusk fixed him with his own, bright glare, and Irons felt himself quail under the intensity of the look. “While I appreciate your efforts, Doctor, I am not your buddy.” He glanced around. “My belongings. Where are they?”
“They’re going through disinfectant treatment right now. Getting cleaned, the usual,” Nurse Redheart answered.
Dusk’s eyes widened, and he breathed a low curse. “Of all the miserable luck,” he muttered. “Get me them.”
“But—”
“Now!” he nearly shouted, throwing Irons off of him. “Because if you don’t, we’re going to have a huge misunderstanding—”
“Doctor Irons?” Another hospital staff member poked his head in. “Could you come here for a second?”
“Certainly,” Irons answered. He looked at Prosa with confusion, before leaving to talk to the member.
Nurse Redheart looked at Prosa in slight amusement. “Well, seems like something’s gotten you in a frenzy.”
He glared at her coldly. “Let’s see; I’ve been attacked by two species of wolves, brought into a hospital for three days, have apparently wet the bed, and now have been notified that my belongings are being searched. Frenzy doesn’t begin to describe what I’ve gotten.”
Redheart chuckled. “Oh? And how would you describe what you’ve got?”
“Picture the most annoying thing. Then multiply it by about a trillion, then divide by infinity, and move the decimal over three times. Then raise that to the power of ten.” He smirked. “Then you’ll get the basics of what I’ve gotten.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, before blinking. “Was that… was that humor?”
“No,” he said sharply. “That was just me eliciting an unnecessary conversation.”
“Sarcasm. Great,” she said drily.
“Same to you,” he stated, leaning back and closing his eyes.
Though he feigned annoyance, that little banter had calmed him down tremendously. Surely, now that he was calm, he could talk his way out of this. Leave before any awkward questions ensued.
“What’s your name?” Redheart suddenly asked.
He opened an eye, glancing at her. A twinge of a smile appeared on his lips, mirrored by hers. “… Why should I tell you?”
She shrugged. “You don’t technically have to. But it would help both of us, wouldn’t it?”
He chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I guess it would.” He paused, staring at the nurse. She returned the stare with equally unblinking eyes.
“… Dusk Prosa,” he said, keeping his gaze steady.
She smiled slightly. “Funny. That sounds somewhat familiar to the guy that everypony’s been looking for.”
He was greatly perturbed by this, but tried to hide it. “I see… who was this guy?”
“You don’t know?” She sounded genuinely surprised at that. “It’s that famous Opacare Prose author!”
“Oh, him,” he replied, sounding indifferent. “Yeah. Um. Huh.”
She didn’t seem to catch his worried tone. She was about to say more, when Doctor Irons poked his head in.
“We need to talk,” he said sternly.
Prosa sighed, raising his hooves. “I can guess what about.”
Doctor Irons entered the room, followed closely by several technicians. They wheeled in a cart that held Dusk’s belongings. Irons placed each one at the base of the bed.
“First, the cloak,” Irons said. “It’s been torn to near pieces, and has several pints of blood absorbed into it. Your blood.”
Dusk shrugged. “So?”
“Pints, sir. By all logic, you should be dead.”
“I’m sturdier than most,” Dusk replied. “And call me Dusk Prosa. Sir sounds so… old.”
“Very well, Mr. Prosa.” Irons gestured to the blue vest. “This is yours as well, isn’t it? A dark-blue vest. I haven’t seen anypony wear these things in town, before. Only in Manehattan.” He looked pointedly at the stallion.
Prosa gritted his teeth, trying to think of something quick. “It’s… a gift from a friend.”
Irons seemed satisfied by that answer. “Both the vest and the cloak have been ripped by something sharp.” He sighed. “Looks like your story holds up.”
“Oh, yes, the wolves.” The pewter-grey stallion leaned back, almost casually. “Of course it holds up. What would I have to gain from lying?”
“Perhaps you hoped to hide these?” At this, Irons opened up Prosa’s brown bag, revealing the contents.
An ample amount of syringes lay inside, their tips retracted so that they wouldn’t poke holes in the fabric. Prosa looked away, still slightly disturbed at the sight. Nurse Redheart gaped in shock at the syringes, while Irons had a disappointed look on his face.
“Mr. Prosa,” he started, “do you know what these are?”
“Syringes,” he answered tiredly, as if he had been asked this question numerous times.
“What are you using them for?”
“… I can’t tell you.”
Irons and Redheart looked at him in shock. “Why not?” the nurse asked.
“… I just can’t. Personal stuff.” He looked at the two with a slight glare. “And, if memory serves, I don’t have to give away my personal information.”
“Hospital regulation dictates otherwise.”
“Then discharge me.” Prosa waved his hoof dismissively. “I don’t plan on staying any longer anyway. Besides, I’ve got places to be. And I’ve lost three days time.”
He quickly got out of bed, ignoring the confused looks that the doctors gave him. “Though, I’ll need some directions,” he continued as he grabbed his belongings hastily.
“C-certainly, Mr. Prosa,” Nurse Redheart stammered. “Where are you heading?”
“Ponyville. How far away is that from here?”
The two stared at him with wide-eyes. “… Mate,” Irons said, unable to resist cracking a smile, “you must have been hit pretty hard in the head!”
Dusk narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, Doctor?”
“Ponyville, Dusk?” Irons shook his head, actually chuckling. “You’re already there.”
Dusk stared at him for a few seconds, his mind reeling in shock. He suddenly slapped a hoof to his forehead. “Of course… the fact that I was fighting Timberwolves should have made that obvious. Everfree lies outside of Ponyville.” He sighed. “How stupid of me.”
“Not as stupid as you leaving before you fully recovered,” Irons snorted.
Surprisingly, Dusk smiled. It was a hard, cold smile, and seemed almost threatening. “So the iron doctor has a sense of humor. Will miracles ever cease?”
Irons was slightly unnerved by the smile, but didn’t show it. “We still have an issue with the syringes, you know.”
“Then drop the issue. Simple as that.”
Irons raised an eyebrow. “You are a rather mysterious stallion, you know that, Mr. Prosa?”
That same, sardonic grin returned. “You don’t say.”
“I do say,” Irons said, stepping forward, “and now I say that you’re staying until you make a full recovery. Whatever business you have in Ponyville can wait a day.”
Dusk frowned. “… And if I don’t agree to that?”
“Trust me, you will.”
There was a moment of silence as the two stallions stared at each other. The tension was enough to unconsciously make Nurse Redheart slouch over under the imaginary weight.
Then, Dusk grinned. But it was different. Instead of mocking, or cynical, it seemed to have smidge of warmth, like he had just finished a satisfying game. “Very well, Doctor Irons. I’ll stay until I am allowed to go.” His voice didn’t sound like a stallion who had lost an argument; no, it sounded more like a gamer who had lost the level but won the game.
Irons felt a bit of trepidation rise up in him. Somehow, despite the lack of coldness in that smile, it still unnerved him. He managed his own smile, though it was strained. “Good. Nurse Redheart and I will be checking on you routinely.”
Dusk nodded, returning to his bed, though still clutching his belongings. Redheart and Irons walked out, but not before Redheart cast Dusk a curious look. The stallion caught her eye, but said nothing, looking at her with that same intensity.
Once they were gone, Prosa let out a slow breath. That was close. Nearly gave myself away in all that. Good thing I’m a master at this game. He frowned. But, I fear that this game I play will be my last.
He looked out the window, seeing the town of Ponyville through the glass. There are things I need to do, and as soon as possible. But… perhaps they can wait a day.
He looked back down at his bag, where the syringes still lay. I can only hope that I make it long enough to explain everything…
He sighed, leaning back into the pillow, resigning himself to simply waiting for his release. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:50:57 GMT -8
VI: Rumors
“Twilight?” Sweetie Belle asked the unicorn while they waited for Doctor Irons in the hospital. “Is that stallion going to be alright?” She and the CMC had joined Twilight in waiting for the doctor’s report.
The unicorn shook her head, slightly jostling her brown bag. “I don’t know, Sweetie Belle. I certainly hope so.”
“He’s… he’s not gonna die, is he?” Apple Bloom asked, making Sweetie Belle’s eyes nearly fill with tears.
Twilight winced at the question. “He shouldn’t,” she answered hastily, trying to calm down the little unicorn. “I mean, he didn’t sustain any injuries that would have been fatal.”
A door opened, and out walked Doctor Irons. He walked over to where Twilight and the CMC stood. “Good morning, Doctor,” Twilight greeted, quickly directing the focus away from morbid subjects. “How is the stallion?”
“He’s recovering, Ms. Twilight,” Irons answered respectfully. “We’ve got a few answers to the questions you posed.”
Twilight nodded. “Alright, tell me.”
“First, his name is Dusk Prosa. A rather unusual name, if you ask me.”
“It certainly is,” Twilight said. “Please, continue.”
“Based on the state of his cloak and vest, the story Steven Magnet told seems to hold up. I’m no detective, but I have seen my fair share of Timberwolf attacks.” He shook his head. “But the other marks… from the Shadewolves, I presume. It seems… odd.”
“How so?”
“Shadewolves inhabit the Hollow Shades. And nopony ever travels through there anymore. So why was he?”
Twilight frowned. “That certainly is a matter that needs discussing. Anything else?”
“Well… he doesn’t appear to have a Cutie Mark yet.”
“What?” Scootaloo asked. “What do you mean?”
“Where his Mark should be, is just a pewter-grey spot. He’s blank.”
Twilight scratched her chin. “That’s odd. Nopony should be blank at that age.”
The CMC shared worried looks. What if they ended up like that?
“There’s more; though, it’s highly controversial,” the doctor continued.
“How so?” asked Twilight.
In answer, the doctor leaned in so as to whisper in Twilight’s ear. As he leaned back, Twilight’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you serious?”
He nodded solemnly. “Says it’s for personal stuff. I’m not so sure about that, though.”
Twilight’s eyes grew worried, and she fell silent as she considered this information.
“Twilight?” Sweetie asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, girls. Run along now, alright?”
“But, what about the stallion—”
“He’ll be fine,” the doctor reassured them. “I promise.”
The girls were still unsure, but nodded, leaving shortly after. Twilight and Irons shared a silent look that spoke volumes of their uncertainty.
Twilight discreetly cracked open the door, stepping inside carefully. A quick glance around the room showed that it was empty of any other occupants—save for herself and the patient. The stallion in bed did not seem to notice her; perhaps because his gaze was turned away, facing the side wall. She guessed that he was deep in thought. She shifted her body to more comfortably carry the brown bag she held over her shoulder, trying to do so as quietly as possible. She was unsure whether to say anything or not, and the indecision locked her tongue.
After a period of silence, he spoke. “It’s rude to enter without knocking, you know.”
Twilight was caught off guard by his voice. It was hard to describe, sounding like a mashup of coldness and morbid amusement. She blinked at him, before trotting over. “I’m… sorry about that,” she said, a bit nervously, managing to untangle her tongue.
He waved her apology away with his hoof. “No worries. Everypony makes dumb mistakes like that.”
She let out a nervous giggle. “Yeah… dumb mistakes.”
There was a moment of awkward pause between the two, before he asked, “So, what brings you to my humble bed, Miss…”
“Sparkle,” Twilight finished for him. “Twilight Sparkle.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Sparkle, personal student of Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia.” His voice seemed almost mocking, even dismissive, but Twilight ignored it. “I suppose I should introduce myself.”
“Dusk Prosa,” she answered for him, blushing slightly. “Um, the doctor told me.”
He allowed himself a chuckle. “That he did, huh?” He turned his head, looking at Twilight.
The unicorn couldn’t explain it, but she immediately quailed under the stallion’s gaze. Bright, pink eyes stared at her, brimming with intensity and intelligence. She could tell that a million thoughts were happening in his head, and she could practically see the gears working in his brain.
She gulped. For some reason, she felt like she was under examination.
“So… my question,” Prosa prompted, causing Twilight to blush in embarrassment.
“Er, right.” Taking a deep breath to gather her thoughts, she answered, “I was… coming in to ask you a few questions.”
He stared at her. “Did not the doctor ask already?”
Twilight shook her head. “Well, he did, but I want to ask… other questions.”
He nodded. “Alright, then, Miss Sparkle. Go ahead.”
“Please, just call me Twilight. All my friends call me that.”
His eyes narrowed, and Twilight instantly felt the tension in the room amplify tenfold. “We are not friends,” he muttered darkly, “Miss Sparkle.”
Once again, Twilight was taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. It seemed that Dusk was doing his best to make this conversation less personal, redirecting her statements back at her with cold wordplay. She gulped, apprehension rising in her throat.
“Er, right,” she stuttered, fighting to regain her train of thought. “First off…”
She had intended on asking first with an overly complicated question, but her mind locked up and she froze. Dusk stared at her with mild curiosity. “Yes?” he asked.
“Why don’t you have a Mark?” she blurted. She gasped and pressed her hooves to her mouth. “Oh, gosh! I’m sorry, that was rather rude of me!”
Surprisingly, he chuckled. “Not at all, Miss Sparkle. I figured you would ask me that eventually.” Those pink eyes bore a hint of warmth in them, as if he found this whole situation amusing. “I don’t have a Mark simply because I chose not to have one.”
She looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I never sought for a talent to call my own. I simply lived on without one.” He paused, glancing in her direction. “You don’t need a Mark to live life, Miss Sparkle. All you really need are the essentials.”
“Which are?”
“Food, water, shelter—and a ton of stubbornness to not die.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, though. Everypony eventually gets their Cutie Mark—”
“Even when they don’t want it?”
“Well, I would imagine so!”
He leaned forward, placing his hooves on his chin in contemplation. “Is it really so impossible for me to not have a Mark, then? See for yourself—” He pushed the covers away, revealing his still blank flank. “It’s there, alright. Physically there. Or rather, not there.”
“But—but that’s impossible!” she spluttered.
“Is it?” A sardonic grin came across his lips, chilling her to the bone. “So is surviving attacks from Shadewolves and Timberwolves.” He leaned back, closing his eyes. “We make the impossible happen through determination, do we not?”
Twilight knew she could not answer that question, so she tried asking another one of her own. “So you came all the way from the Hollow Shades?”
He nodded. “That is correct.”
“And what was the destination you had in mind?”
“Ponyville.”
“Why?”
“For personal reasons.”
She waited, thinking that she could prompt him into giving more information. He simply stared at her in silence. She cleared her throat. “Would you mind telling me what those reasons were?”
“I do mind,” he answered simply and tersely.
Twilight nearly sighed out loud. Prosa was good at not answering, that was for sure. She decided to approach from a different angle. “What made you think Ponyville was a good place to visit?”
He said nothing for a few seconds, turning away. Twilight let out a low breath of relief as he finished boring through her skull with his eyes. Finally, he said, “Ponyville certainly is different from where I come from.”
Her eyes lit up, and she could not contain her eagerness from her voice. “Yes? And where did you come from?”
“… Someplace different.”
She nearly groaned. Of course he had to be difficult.
She asked a few more questions, relating to his background and whatnot; and each time, he answered with barely anything. She could only guess if he was telling truths, lies, or half-truths. Strangely, though, compared to his hostile reaction when she had initially entered, he approached her questions with mild amusement. Whenever she asked a question, he answered in earnest; though, in retrospect, Twilight realized that Prosa had never truly answered her inquiries.
By the end of the questioning, Twilight had realized that she had essentially received little to no information regarding the stallion—and she was shocked. Somehow, Dusk had managed to seamlessly evade the unicorn’s persistent questioning with ease, and leave her unaware until the very end!
“If you’re finished questioning,” Dusk said, staring at her intensely, “then I suggest you leave.”
His tone was cold, but it rang true; she was finished questioning him. She had nothing else to ask, because she could not think of anything else that would guarantee her a straight answer. She let out a sigh and got up, walking away from the bed. Dusk turned away and closed his eyes, seemingly letting himself fall asleep.
Before Twilight completely left, however, she noted one final thing. Dusk’s bag had been left on the bedside, and the stallion did not seem to want them at the moment. He must still be tired from recovering, she guessed.
She glanced from Prosa back to the bag, making sure he wasn’t looking. Quickly and silently, she opened the top and pulled out one of the syringes. He won’t miss one. She tucked the syringe in her pack and, after a final glance around the room, she left Dusk alone.
Before she had completely left, she heard Dusk whisper a final phrase. “I enjoyed our little game, Miss Sparkle.”
It sounded innocent enough, yet left a chilling feeling of unease in Twilight’s stomach.
Five ponies entered the Golden Oak Library, their faces down and hidden in the tree’s shade. Eyes were pointed forward, and little joy spread from the mouths. Even the pink one could sense the seriousness of the situation, refraining from bouncing around. They exchanged worried gazes as they approached. Their friend had told them little of what she wished to discuss.
As they entered, Spike greeted them, though a bit solemnly. Even he could tell that something was wrong. They each said their quiet thanks, and Spike nodded to them. Somehow, he managed to fight down the urge to compliment Rarity, as the tension weighed down any words.
The five ponies approached the living room, where a certain lavender unicorn waited. Her eyes were wide with worry, and she cast furtive glances around. Satisfied that it was them six, she gestured to Spike to go upstairs. Surprisingly, the baby dragon did not protest, and left for his room.
She gestured for the others to take a seat, and they did, regarding Twilight with silent, anxious stares. She took her own seat, taking slow breaths to calm herself.
For a moment, nopony said anything, simply waiting for the unicorn to speak.
“… Have you heard what’s happened?” she finally asked.
“A little,” Applejack replied, “but not a lot.”
“Perhaps you could tell us exactly what happened?” Rarity asked.
Twilight took a deep breath. “… Three days ago, Steven Magnet swam into Ponyville carrying an unconscious stallion on his back. I had him sent to the hospital to recover. According to Magnet and the doctors, the stallion was found in the Everfree, having been running from Timberwolves for a while now.”
“Oh, that’s awful!” Fluttershy gasped. “Is he going to be alright?”
“I think so,” Twilight said, “but that’s not all of the story. The stallion came all the way from the Hollow Shades.”
“That far up?” Rainbow asked. “What’s he doing down here?”
Twilight placed a hoof on her chin. “If I had to guess, it almost seemed like he was running.”
“Well, of course he was running!” Pinkie said. “He was running from Shadewolves and Timberwolves!”
The lavender unicorn shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Pinkie. There were places before Ponyville that he could have stopped at to recover. I don’t understand why he kept going.”
“Or why he traveled by land,” Applejack added. “Don’t they have train tracks up by the Shades?”
Twilight nodded. “I was wondering that as well. And they do, and a week ago, the stallion could have gotten on a train and ridden here. That would have been far safer than running all the way down here.” She looked at Pinkie. “That’s why I thought he was running from something. Nopony sane would do something that risky.
“Of course, that’s all assuming that he came from the Shades…”
“What do you mean?” asked Applejack.
“Doctor Irons told me that his vest came from Manehattan, and it was of high quality. The stallion said it was a gift from a friend, but I don’t know… something about his story didn’t seem right.”
“Did you talk with this mysterious stallion while you were at the hospital?” Rarity asked.
“I did. And let me tell you, that was an interesting experience.”
She quickly detailed her conversation with Prosa. Her friends’ facial expressions morphed into confused looks as she recalled the stallion’s half-answers.
“Maybe he has a talent for getting out of interrogations?” Rainbow suggested.
Twilight shook her head. “I don’t think so, Rainbow. From what I saw, Dusk Prosa doesn’t even have a Cutie Mark.”
There were gasps of incredulity at that, and her friends clamored for an explanation. Twilight felt a bit of shame creep up on her as she admitted that she couldn’t completely understand why Dusk did not have a Mark.
“He explained it as such,” she tried. “He chose not to pursue a talent for all of his life.”
“But that’s impossible!” Rarity exclaimed. “Nopony can go their whole life without getting their Mark! It happens spontaneously!”
“That’s what I told him,” Twilight responded. “Know what he said back?”
“What?” Fluttershy asked.
“‘So is surviving attacks from Shadewolves and Timberwolves.’” She shivered. “He said it like it was some sort of sick joke.” She grimaced as she remembered that frosty grin of his, dripping with sarcasm and morbid amusement.
She took a moment to recollect her thoughts. “One thing’s for certain. He’s definitely intelligent.”
Her friends remained silent, unsure of what to say. Twilight cringed as she remembered one last detail, and her friends noticed her unease.
“Oh, no,” Fluttershy murmured. “More bad news.”
“Maybe…”
She took a moment to compose herself. “Before I left, I managed to take a look at his belongings without him noticing. While I couldn’t take the bag home for further investigation, I did manage to sneak something out.”
At this, her horn glowed, and she suddenly summoned an object from across the room. The girls gasped at what they saw.
It was a clear-white syringe, the needle endpoint stuck out. It was empty, and seemed clean, though they couldn’t tell for sure.
“You stole this?” Fluttershy asked.
Twilight blushed slightly. “Not exactly. It’s more like I took it for… further analysis.”
“Twilight?” Rarity asked, a bit of trepidation creeping into her voice. “What does this mean?”
“He had quite the stash,” Twilight said. “His bag, from my brief look, had syringes of various sizes, all empty. I suspect that he planned on using them soon.”
“Using them? For what?” Pinkie asked.
The other girls shared looks of realization. Applejack grit her teeth and hid her face behind her hat. Fluttershy eeped and looked away, while Rainbow narrowed her eyes. Rarity looked away, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.
“Pinkie,” Twilight said, “I think Dusk Prosa was planning on self-injection.”
The silence that followed those words could have weighed down giants. Nopony in the room could believe that they had one of those ponies in their town. Sure, there had been rumors that a wave of needle enthusiasts were sweeping the eastern side of Equestria, but police were quick to pull the plug on the various operations. Yet, with Prosa here, it seemed that the operations had not truly been defeated, and had, in fact, relocated to somewhere else. Ponyville.
“Twilight? What do we do?” Fluttershy asked.
Twilight hesitated, unsure if they could even do anything. “I’m… not sure. I’m really hoping I’m wrong about this. I’d like more evidence that Dusk is actually doing this stuff before we do anything we might regret.”
“Maybe he’s got a weird obsession with sharp stuff?” Rainbow suggested. She winced as she realized what she said. “Actually, that’s probably not any better.”
“Should we tell the Princesses?” Rarity asked.
Twilight shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’re already having a country-wide manhunt. I don’t want to bother them with rumors of a potential user.”
They nodded, a thoughtful silence falling over them. After some time, Fluttershy asked, “Do you think he could be dangerous?”
Twilight took a moment to think before answering, “No, I don’t think so. But… he’s calculating. Like he’s working from every angle that only he can see. He seems determined to do something; but I don’t know what.” She exhaled slowly. “Regardless if he’s dangerous or not, he does need to be watched.” The five other girls murmured their agreement.
After a few more parting words, the five eventually left the library. Dusk Prosa consumed their thoughts and blocked out everything else—meaning that they missed a certain confused trio of fillies who had eavesdropped from outside, unsure of what the group had talked about yet still understanding that it was something serious. Three faces shared uncertain looks as the five walked away, before leaving for their respective establishments to think.
Despite the illumination of the afternoon sun, it was not bright enough to clear away the murky fog that Dusk Prosa brought with him. And the fog would only grow thicker as the days went on. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:52:13 GMT -8
VII: Business
Dusk Prosa groaned. No doubt that the meeting with Twilight was going over in the unicorn’s head repeatedly. If he was lucky, she would hound him for questions; if he was unlucky, she would still hound him for questions.
Why can’t I ever get lucky?
He sighed. It was only a matter of time before somepony started asking around, and he knew that he couldn’t dodge the questions forever. Sure, he was good at it; but, if Twilight was as smart as the papers said, then he wouldn’t be able to keep up the farce for long.
It was two days after his initial awakening, his fifth day in the hospital. By now, he had mostly recovered. The first bandages he had on had been removed, and he was now capable of moving his limbs without feeling them pop and hiss in agony. His ribs still ached, but not as much as they did before, so he could move around without being paralyzed by jolts of pain. Of course, that didn’t stop Nurse Redheart from teasing him about his squeaking; the ribs still pushed up into his lungs, and whenever they did, a slight squeak shot out of him.
He sighed. As annoying as that nurse was, he had to admit she was the most amusing thing he had found in this town.
He got up from his bed, glancing at his flank. It was still blank, even after all the baths and washes he had to take. He let out a slow breath of relief, thankful that his farce still held. He grabbed his belongings, habitually checking the contents of his bag. He frowned as he counted the syringes. One of them was missing.
He sighed. Twilight. Of course she would take one of them. He smirked. Didn’t think stealing was part of her M.O. As he looked at the sharp objects, he felt his heart suddenly beat faster. Quickly he closed the bag’s top, obstructing the syringes from view. He let out a slight breath, hating himself for feeling that way.
He slung the bag over his shoulder, taking a final glance around. Against his own reason, the room had nearly become a second home to him. Despite his nervousness around the needles and such, he couldn’t help but feel a somewhat kinship with the place.
They say that a stallion grows comfortable with the place that takes care of him, he reflected, smirking. ‘They’ certainly know what they’re talking about.
His cloak and vest were still in bad shape. The hospital had been too busy to send them out for repairs. He didn’t mind, though; he had grown comfortable with the holes during his week in the wilderness. Nonetheless, he resolved to have them sewn together soon; after all, he looked better in full clothes than in tattered fabrics.
He was unsure what to feel, now that his release from the hospital was moments away. A certain ache filled him, rendering him slightly numb. A part of him wanted to stay here, perhaps because it was a safe haven; but he knew that he couldn’t. It was safer for him, and for others, if he were released from the hospital. Still, though, he could not help but remember his time here.
Hospitals have never really been my place of comfort. Ponyville’s Hospital seems to challenge that notion.
He shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. Moving forward was of utmost importance. He shuffled the bag around his shoulder, letting it rest easy, before walking out.
A few other hospital staff watched him with slight unease. He ignored their wary looks, instead focusing on two individuals who waited at the front desk.
Doctor Irons smiled. “Well, our favorite mysterious stallion is up and about!”
Dusk nodded. “Ready to be released, Doctor.”
Redheart smirked. “Eager to be free, Mr. Prosa?”
He glared at her, though there was a hint of warmth in his eyes. “Don’t ask such obvious questions, Nurse.” She simply rolled her eyes, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
Irons chuckled. “It’s a good thing that you’ve recovered, Mr. Prosa. And in such a short while.”
Prosa smirked. “Told you I’d be out soon.”
“Mmm. A case of self-fulfilling prophecy, huh?”
“Perhaps.”
Irons gazed into Prosa’s eyes. The pink orbs stared intensely at him, and somehow through him. Neither said a word for a few moments, the two reaching a silent agreement. The other hospital staff regarded them with confused stares.
Prosa did not waver under the gaze of the doctor, but the stares he received from the entire facility was beginning to get to him. This little game will have to be put on hold. He mentally sighed; if it weren’t for the circumstances, he would have played with the doctor for hours.
“… Papers,” he briskly said, allowing his gaze to move somewhere else.
Irons nodded. He reached into his coat and brought out several forms for Dusk to sign. He handed the stallion a quill.
As Prosa signed his signature, he felt his flank suddenly shudder. He chanced a glance, and nearly cursed at what he observed. A slight glow could be seen near where his Mark should have been. He quickly finished signing, and the glow receded. He paused, glancing around. Doctor Irons, Nurse Redheart, and the rest of the hospital did not seem to have noticed.
“How much?” he suddenly asked.
“Hm?” Irons asked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Bits. How much do I have to pay for my stay?”
Irons blinked. “… Er, Mr. Prosa, the stay was free.”
His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “What.”
The doctor nodded, a smirk coming across his features. “What, is that different from the hospitals you’re used to back in Manehattan?”
Prosa did not outwardly show any response to the doctor’s question, and Irons dropped the issue. Inwardly, Dusk cursed himself for being so careless. The doctor was smart; there was no way that he could have kept that part secret for long.
“Anyway,” the doctor continued, “it seems to me that everything is in order. Have you your belongings?”
“Yes.”
“Remember, should something go wrong out there, you’re free to come back here.”
“Who’s saying something will go wrong?”
Irons looked at him knowingly, and lowered his voice so that only he, Dusk, and Nurse Redheart could hear him. “You’re hiding something, Dusk Prosa. And, eventually, we will find out. But, remember this; secrets can bring unimaginable pain.”
Again, Dusk kept a stoic outward expression; yet, inwardly, he was beginning to grow worried. He decided to try for a bluff. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Then it would serve you well to not pursue me.”
Irons was not perturbed, but did drop the issue. He said a few final words to Dusk, along the lines of “proper medical attention” and “getting enough rest.” Dusk waved away his concern dispassionately.
He made to leave, but paused when he reached the door. “This was my favorite vest and cloak,” he murmured. He glanced over his shoulder. “Know any good seamstresses in town?”
Nurse Redheart smiled slightly. Those eyes of his still unnerved her, and she was quick to formulate a response. “Try Rarity’s Boutique. It’s a purple building near the center of town.”
Prosa nodded his thanks, and, after a final glance around, walked out.
“Doctor, are you sure about this?” Redheart asked.
Irons sighed. “Letting him roam free? No.” He stared after the grey stallion. “He’s harboring something. Something… dark. A secret.” He sighed. “But no amount of hospital stay is going to uncover whatever it is he’s hiding. And for his sake… I only hope that somepony uncovers it soon.”
Nurse Redheart nodded at his words. After a few more seconds of staring, they soon returned to work, with the hospital quickly getting over the absence of its most mysterious patient.
Dusk didn’t get off the road from the hospital before bumping into trouble.
No, he did not somehow end up in a tangle with a vicious cobra.
No, he did not suddenly get chased by a stray mental patient.
No, he met Pinkie Pie.
Prosa had run from wolves, gotten near frostbite, and nearly died on his way to Ponyville. Yet all that could not have prepared him for the exuberant party mare’s antics.
“Surprise!” Pinkie shouted as she fired her party cannon at Dusk’s face. The stallion jumped and yelped in complete shock, nearly tossing away his bag. “Oops! Sorry; too much confetti!” Pinkie giggled.
Dusk struggled to catch his breath. “What the actual hell?!” he exclaimed, glaring at Pinkie.
“Aw, that’s not a nice word!” Pinkie trotted over, an oblivious smile on her face. “I’ll just assume that you said ‘What?’ As in, ‘what was that?’” She stood on her hind hooves, stretching her arms up. “That was my welcoming cannon fire for you, Dusk Prosa!”
“How the hell do you know my name?! I don’t even know you!” He picked himself up, regarding Pinkie with a cold glare.
“There you go using that word again!” She leaned in close. “Careful, now; wouldn’t want any fillies to start using that word.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, Twilight Sparkle told me!”
He sighed. “Of course she did. That would make you—”
“Pinkie Pie! Party mare extraordinaire!”
Dusk rolled his eyes. “Whoop-de-freaking-do.”
She looked at him with an expectant smile. He regarded her with a frown, eyes narrowed. She didn’t seem unnerved by the ferocity that shone in his orbs. “What?” he finally asked.
“You’re welcome!”
“For what?”
“For surprising you and making you smile!”
He narrowed his gaze even more. “One: I did not smile.”
“Really?” She cocked her head. “I could have sworn I saw your lips twitch.”
“It’s called a frown, Miss Pie,” he said coldly. “Two: Did it occur to you that maybe it was a bad idea to surprise me?”
She frowned. “What? What do you mean? Surprises are always a good thing!”
“A good thing?” He laughed coldly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose that if I suffered cardiac arrest from the sudden shock, that would also have been a good thing!”
“Cardiac whatnow?”
“Oh, gods, she’s dumb too…” he muttered, shaking his head. “You should be thankful that I don’t suffer from a weak heart, Miss Pie.”
Her optimism returned, and her smile beamed even brighter. “And I am! Because now I can throw you the best ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party ever!”
He sighed, not bothering to protest. He had heard stories of Pinkie’s exuberance, but this… this was just plain crazy. And he could not deal with it right now; not when there were other things to be done.
“Just… which way to the Boutique?” he asked.
“Oh! That’s easy! Just go down the path and head left!” she answered, still holding her smile. “In fact, I’ll go with you!”
He tried to protest, but was cut off every time by Pinkie. He sighed angrily, rubbing his temples. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just go.”
As they made their way towards Ponyville, Pinkie asked, “By the way, what’s this cardiac arrest you talked about?”
“Ask somepony who cares to answer,” he responded darkly. She didn’t seem bothered by his tone, choosing instead to follow him into town.
As they entered the town, Dusk was bombarded by Pinkie’s questions. She asked about anything; from where he came from, what he was doing in Ponyville, heck, even his favorite color was called into question! He did his best to navigate his way through Pinkie’s curiosities, answering only enough to satisfy, yet carefully concealing the full answer. His half-truthed answers only served to heighten her curiosity.
“Come on!” she pleaded. “You can tell me where you came from!”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I want to be your friend! And friends tell each other where they came from, don’t they?”
He scoffed. “There are things I’d rather keep private.”
“Aw. I Pinkie Promise not to tell anypony!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Pinkie Promise?”
She nodded, and proceeded to go through the motions. “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye, I won’t tell anypony where you came from!”
He stared at her for a few moments, before looking away. “… Nah.”
“Aw, why not?” she complained, much to his annoyance.
“Because I reserve the personal right of omission of personal details that would inadvertently increase the amount of notice I would get.”
“Oh! So you don’t want to?”
He stared at her for another second. “… Yes.”
“Oh, okay!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “Alright, you can tell me when you don’t have that right anymore!”
He narrowed his eyes, unsure if the mare was joking or being serious. “I intend to fight to keep that right, Miss Pie.”
They eventually reached Rarity’s Boutique, much to Dusk’s relief. He doubted he would last another fifteen minutes with Pinkie. While the mare bounced at his side, Dusk knocked three times on the door, trying his best to patiently wait.
“It’s open!” a voice sang out from the inside.
Dusk blinked. That’s… do they even lock their doors here? Shrugging, he pushed the door open. By instinct, he stood to the side, letting Pinkie past. The pink mare stared at him in shock, before bursting out in smiles. “Aw, you don’t have to do that!”
He rolled his eyes. “Crazy or not, you’re still a lady, Miss Pie.”
She giggled, and entered, Dusk quickly following behind. Pinkie went into the back while Dusk waited at the front of the Boutique. He saw a row of mannequins standing by the windows, covered with sample dresses and clothes.
“Oh, hello, Pinkie!” a female voice greeted. “What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I was just helping a friend get here!” Pinkie answered excitedly.
“Oh? Then why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”
Pinkie reappeared from the back, and Dusk saw a white unicorn following her. They stopped in front of him. “Oh, hello!” the white unicorn greeted. “You must be Pinkie’s friend!”
Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Yeah… ‘friend.’” He held out a hoof to shake. The unicorn took it in earnest. “You must be…”
“Rarity, dear,” Rarity answered, smiling at him. He simply nodded at the introduction. “And who might you be?”
“Prosa. Dusk Prosa.”
He noticed her smile waver ever so slightly at his name. He frowned. “Is something wrong, Miss Rarity?”
“W-wrong? Why, no, nothing’s wrong,” she said, flustered. “It’s just… well… weren’t you in the… well…”
“Hospital?” He smirked. “I’m out now. Discharged.”
“I-indeed you are,” she said. “A-and what brings you to my humble Boutique?”
“A request,” he answered. He reached over his back, where his garments and bag were carried. Rarity seemed unnerved as his hoof drew closer to the bag. He went past it, grabbing his cloak and vest. He turned quickly, and caught the unicorn’s relieved look. He did not mention this, however, and chose to plow on ahead.
“Nurse Redheart said you’re the best seamstress in town. Is that correct?” he asked.
“W-well, I, I wouldn’t call myself the best.” At that, she couldn’t help but smile slightly. “But, I am pretty good.”
He nodded. “You had better.” His tone seemed threatening, and Rarity immediately felt under pressure. “I would like my cloak and vest restored as soon as possible, thank you.”
She levitated the items over to a nearby table, not once averting her gaze on Dusk. “Certainly, Mr. Prosa. Anything else?”
He was about to answer, but paused. His eyes darted around, and his ears swiveled.
“What’s up, Dusk?” Pinkie asked.
He stepped away from the group, constantly shifting his gaze around. Slowly, he approached the stairs, seemingly intending to go up it. To any other pony, there didn’t seem to be anything on the stairs.
“Um, Mr. Prosa!” Rarity protested. “That’s private quarters—”
“Eep!” a filly squeaked. Dusk was caught off guard, and recoiled in slight shock. As he stepped back, a blurred, white shape scampered up the stairs to another room.
“Sweetie Belle?” Rarity questioned, looking up the stairs in concern. “Was that you?”
She was answered by another squeak, and the sound of a door closing.
Rarity sighed. “I’ll speak with her later…” She looked back at Dusk. “Is something wrong?”
Dusk couldn’t answer. His eyes were wide, and his mouth slightly opened. Confusion passed through his eyes. He blinked twice, before returning his gaze back to Rarity.
When he spoke, his voice no longer carried the same cold confidence it did before. Rather, it sounded perturbed and worried, carrying a more subdued tone. “I’ll… be back later for my clothing,” he murmured. He briskly turned and began walking out.
Pinkie and Rarity shared a confused look. What could have made his tone change so drastically? Both were unsure of the answer. Pinkie shrugged, and followed Dusk, leaving Rarity alone to ponder just what the heck happened. She sighed, resolving to ask Dusk about it when he returned. She turned, and began working on his clothes.
A bead of sweat lightly covered the stallion’s forehead, and he wiped it away. Somehow, that encounter with that little filly in Rarity’s Boutique had distressed him greatly. Sure, he knew he wasn’t the best with kids, but he couldn’t fathom as to why he felt so nervous all of a sudden.
Perhaps it has to do with her response… she ran away from me.
Was he a scary pony? The question had been asked numerous times, and every time he always answered the same: “It depends on what you mean by ‘scary.’” After all, fear was subjective to the individual, and what scares one pony possible may not scare another.
The question, however, had always been in regards to other adult ponies. He could be quite intimidating and terrifying when he wanted to, and in his line of work, it was to be expected. But, he had never scared a child before; and the recent experience at the Boutique was serving to confuse him greatly.
Maybe I should go back and apologize.
Apologize for what? Simply seeing what everypony else couldn’t?
He grit his teeth, unsure if to feel anger towards the filly—or himself.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Pinkie suddenly asked.
He yelped, anger skyrocketing from the surprise. He glared at the pink mare. She didn’t take notice of the sudden hostility. “Nothing that concerns you,” he answered coldly.
She cocked her head. “Really? But we’re friends; friends always share their thoughts!”
He looked away, eyes pointed down the road. “Who said we were ever friends? At this point, you’re little more than my guide; a speck of the momentary, nothing more.”
His tone was cold and blunt, and she finally picked up on it. She glanced away, eyes growing big and sad. Her mane lost some of its usual poofiness, and her coat seemed to become a darker pink. He did his best to ignore her saddened look, focusing his gaze solely on the road.
“Where are we going next?” she finally asked after a moment of silence passed between them.
“First Twilight’s,” he answered, “then the Mayor’s. Then back to Rarity’s.”
She looked back at him with slight curiosity. “Why do you need to see Twilight?”
He spared a glance in her direction. “She took something of mine. I need it back.”
Pinkie seemed surprised at this, but nodded, leading the way to the Golden Oak Library. A few ponies saw Pinkie’s slightly depressed look, and cast confused, even angry looks at Prosa. He side-glanced at them, and his chilling, partial glare was enough to make them shiver and look away.
Eventually they made it to the library. Dusk took a quick look at the structure. He was impressed at its height, seeing that it stood a few feet above the other houses. True to its name, it was indeed made of an oak tree, with bushy green leaves covering tall, dark branches. There were a few glass windows neatly fitted all around, shined and polished to reflective levels.
He and Pinkie approached the red, wood door, and he knocked three times. A few moments later, a diminutive dragon unlocked the door. “Um… hello?” he greeted unsurely.
“I’m here to see Miss Sparkle,” Prosa said.
“What about Pinkie?”
Prosa simply shrugged. The dragon looked from Pinkie, to Prosa, back to Pinkie, before sighing. He held the door open, letting them inside.
If the pewter stallion was impressed with the outside, he was outright blown away by the inside. Never in his life had he ever set forth in a tree-carved house. He was surprised that, despite all the carvings and interior damage, that the tree still stood without collapsing on itself. In front of him were shelves of books, all neatly ordered and arranged. Above was a golden sun emblem, with the rays circling around the center. In the center of the room was a table with a wooden horse’s head carved on top. To the back end of the room were set of stairs leading to the upper layer.
“Twilight? You have visitors!” the dragon called, looking up at the stairs.
“I’ll be down in a minute, Spike!” Twilight called back.
There was the sound of hooves stomping on wood as the unicorn walked down the steps, her horn alight and carrying a stack of books. She glanced over the books, at first smiling at the two visitors. “Why, hello, Pinkie and—”
Her smile dropped, as did the books with a solid thump on the floor. Her eyes widened in realization as she saw the all-too-familiar stallion standing in her house.
“Er, Twilight?” Spike asked, looking at his friend with concern. “Are you alright?”
Twilight didn’t respond, her mouth open. There seemed to be a flicker of light behind her eyes, but it was quickly sputtering out. Dusk decided to try and reconnect the wiring and light up her mind again.
He stepped forward, almost casually, and introduced himself. “Dusk Prosa. We’ve met.”
The mention of his name managed to get the gears working in Twilight’s head again. She shook herself, trying to put on a smile. “Y-yes, we have.”
Spike looked at the stallion with slight curiosity. “Wait, you’re Dusk Prosa?”
Catching the dragon’s tone, Dusk turned to look at him. “Indeed I am. You sound… surprised.”
The dragon shrugged. “No offense; but the way that Twilight had described you earlier, she made it sound like you were some sort of crazy horse demon or something.”
Prosa allowed himself a rare grin, though it drooped a little when he saw Spike back up in slight fright at the sardonic manner. “I see.” He turned his gaze back the unicorn. “Spreading rumors, are we, Miss Sparkle?”
Before she could respond, he trotted over and helped carry over several of the fallen books to one of the shelves. He quickly put them in their place, before trotting back over to his spot. Spike walked over and inspected the books, before turning back to the stallion with shock in his eyes.
“Wait… how’d you know where to put each of them?” Spike asked.
Prosa shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
As her dragon charge gave her a confused look, Twilight decided to cut to the chase. “Dusk,” she said, nearly slipping into a tone that a schoolteacher would give to misbehaving students, “would you mind telling me what you are doing here?”
Dusk quickly replied in a semi-bored tone, “Oh, you know. Just got discharged from the hospital, decided to take a look around this place.” He glanced back at Pinkie. “Don’t know what she’s doing here, though.” His eyes then shifted back at Twilight, and his tone grew more colder. “And, of course, to take back what is mine.”
Twilight rocked on her hooves uncomfortably, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Don’t play dumb, Sparkle,” he suddenly snapped, any bit of amusement immediately leaving him. “It really doesn’t help with your figure.”
Everypony was taken by surprise by the sudden vehemence, most of all Spike. “Hey!” he exclaimed, glaring at Prosa. “Don’t talk to Twilight like that!”
“I’m not talking to Miss Sparkle,” he responded, still glaring icy daggers at the unicorn. “I’m talking to a thief.”
Twilight’s legs began shaking under the stallion’s intense gaze. She tried to maintain eye contact as best as she could, but was quickly faltering. Her voice wavered between shaky and high-pitched panic. “I-I’m not sure exactly what you mean, Dusk.”
The stallion nearly sighed. It was painfully obvious she knew exactly what he meant. “Don’t play this game with me, Miss Sparkle,” he said, his tone still cold. “You’ll start it, I’ll finish it, and you won’t like the ending.”
A heavy silence lay between them, as Dusk’s carnation orbs stared directly into Twilight’s soul. Under his narrowed gaze, the unicorn felt herself shrinking and hunching over, as if in pain. She looked down and scraped a hoof on the floor, as if trying to physically ward off Dusk’s dark influence.
Meanwhile, Dusk had settled into a slightly bent position, unbeknownst to even him. Unconsciously, his past was somehow integrating itself with his present. His bent form and narrowed gaze made him seem more threatening; if he had been fully aware of his actions, he might have even bared his teeth.
Pinkie and Spike watched, unintentionally fascinated. The smartest mare in Ponyville was squaring off against the mysterious stallion from the north; and she was in the midst of losing her battle. Her lips shook, and her jaw moved, struggling for words of defiance. Yet none came out, and all she could do was look down, in shame—and yet, also in curiosity.
Finally, she had to ask, “How did you know?”
“I counted.”
She looked up at him. “You know the exact number of syringes you have?”
“Yes.”
She sighed, before lighting her horn. From behind the wooden stallion head she levitated over the missing syringe. He eyed it for a second, nearly hesitant, before suddenly swiping and grabbing it, safely placing it back in his pack. He let out a brief breath of relief, an action that wasn’t missed by the purple unicorn.
Her gaze narrowed. “You were going to use them on yourself, weren’t you?”
Give little away, he reminded himself. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. He replied, with the hint of amusement returning, “Assertions made without evidence can be dismissed without evidence.”
She sighed, defeated. “Is there… anything else I can do for you, Mr. Prosa?”
“Perhaps,” he mused, his voice suddenly turning thoughtful. “Could you point me in the direction of the Mayor’s Office?”
“O-of course,” Twilight answered. “It’s in the Town Hall, center of town.”
He smirked slightly. “Of course it is.” He turned to leave, but before he had left the tree, he paused.
He glanced over his shoulder. “No doubt you have… misconceptions about me, Miss Sparkle. A word of advice?” His tone dropped back into threatening. “If you value you and your friends’ safety, stay out of my way.”
With that, he turned back to leave. The door closed snappily behind him, leaving Twilight, Pinkie, and Spike staring at it with expressions of disbelief.
“Well, that was awfully rude,” Spike snorted, “right, Twilight?”
Twilight didn’t answer. She stared after Dusk with a confused expression, completely blown away by his attitude.
Pinkie also stared after him, but suddenly she growled. The other two looked at her in shock. “Pinkie?” Twilight asked.
“I don’t get it,” she murmured. “Why is he so mean?” She began pacing around the floor, head down. “There’s gotta be a reason.” Her head suddenly shot up. “Wait! I’ve got it!”
She zoomed out the door before Twilight could question her. The unicorn tried calling her name, but Pinkie had already vanished into the distance.
“Twilight?” Spike asked. “What do you think Pinkie is going to do?”
Twilight sighed. “If I had to guess, probably something crazy.”
“You want to what?!” Mayor Mare exclaimed in shock.
Dusk sighed and rolled his eyes. Seriously, what was so hard to comprehend about his request? “You heard me the first time; I won’t repeat it.”
Mayor readjusted her glasses. “I’m sorry. It’s just… so sudden, you know?”
“I don’t.”
She waited, expecting a little more, but got nothing. “It’s been awhile since anypony has decided to move to Ponyville, Mr. Prosa. And it’s even more surprising since you only arrived a few days ago.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What, I can’t decide quickly?”
“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant!” she quickly protested. “It’s simply that… well… it’s a rather odd request.” She returned a raised eyebrow herself. “You want the house at the edge of Ponyville, on the road to Canterlot?”
“Yes.”
“That house is in ruins, Mr. Prosa. I brought it up as a joke. And yet you intend to settle into it, knowing its decrepit state?”
He nodded. “Hardly a complicated matter, is it?”
She shook her head. “Perhaps not for you. But for me?” She let out a rueful laugh. “Dusk Prosa, only a few hours released from Ponyville Hospital, wishes to move into our humble town—and into one of our poorer homes, as well.”
“Don’t tell me that’s too complicated for you.” His tone was mocking, but Mayor took it heartily.
“I suppose it isn’t,” she responded. “With the Element Bearers in our town, as well as Pinkie Pie’s antics, well… I suppose this isn’t as complex as I make it out to be. It still is a strange request, though.” She chuckled. “Oh, well. I suppose I’ve seen stranger.”
“Speaking of Pinkie Pie,” Dusk said, “is she always like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, crazy.”
Mayor waved a hoof at him dismissively. “Oh, yes, very much. But don’t worry; you’ll get used to it.”
Yeah, like getting used to a massive itch that you can’t reach.
“Well, enough of the pleasantries,” Mayor Mare said. She brought over a clipboard covered with a few documents. “I’ll need your signature for a few official items.” She then carried over a blue quill pen and a black inkwell.
He nodded, though inwardly hesitant at signing. He was worried that the faint glowing from the hospital would return. Nonetheless, he resolutely wrapped the quill in his hoof and dipped the point in the dark liquid. He felt his flank vibrate, and was scarcely aware of a light glowing at the edge of the desk. He ignored these sensations, doing his best to maintain a neutral face as he signed the documents quickly. When he had finished, he placed the quill down and handed over the clipboard, nearly letting out a breath of relief.
“Well, now, everything seems to be in order,” Mayor Mare said. “When do you plan on moving in?”
“Later on today, if possible.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “Usually ponies would take a few days to move in, you know.”
“I’m not like usual ponies,” he simply answered.
There was a silence between them as they stared at each other. They seemed to be waiting for the other to make a move, to slip-up; yet it appeared that neither were willing to make that mistake. Prosa was determined not to falter, and he stared at the mayor intensely. His gaze let her know that he would not say much further, and she sighed, seeing that he would be true to his word.
“Very well,” she finally said, standing up. “Where can I reach you when we’ve finished moving your stuff in?”
“That won’t be necessary,” he responded, also standing up. “I’ll be moving my stuff in on my own.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me that you brought little else than your clothes and your bag?”
“I suppose you could say I’m not a materialistic kind of stallion.”
She smiled. “Well, you certainly are a strange one.”
“So the ponies here keep telling me.”
He turned to leave, but before he did, Mayor Mare gave him one final piece of advice. “Pinkie Pie’s probably going to quickly learn that you’re moving in.”
“So?”
“So she’s likely going to go full ‘Party Planner’ for you.”
He smirked. “I think I’ll refuse her offer.”
“You don’t understand.” Her tone turned grave. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” The very idea of somepony saying that he couldn’t refuse was laughable; after all, it was a simple matter of saying no, right?
“You’ll see,” she answered with a devious smile.
He frowned, but said no more, walking out of the office with his bag by his side. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:53:43 GMT -8
VIII: Settling In
Dusk let out a brief breath as he walked out of the Mayor’s Office. He glanced up, and saw the sun beginning to settle into its afternoon phase. He squinted in the harsh light, realizing how much time had passed since he had been discharged from the hospital just that morning.
At least I got most of what I wanted done, he thought as he made his way down the road. Now all that’s left to do is to get my clothes back. I hope Rarity has finished them. He frowned slightly. There’s also something I have to also address there as well…
He turned, intending to make his way towards the Boutique, when something pink suddenly shot up in front of him. Startled, he fell back on his haunches with a strangled cry.
He quickly calmed down once he saw who it was. He rolled his eyes. “Miss Pie!”
Pinkie smiled down at him. “Hello, Dusk!”
He stood, dusting himself off. “What do you want, Miss Pie?”
She bounced all around him. “I know why you’ve been so mean lately!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Do tell.”
“It’s easy! You’re still recovering from being attacked by those wolves; what you need is a chance to unwind!”
“Sure, yes, whatever. Let’s go with that,” he said, brushing past her. She followed him, ecstatic as ever.
“What were you doing in Mayor Mare’s office?”
“Business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Housing.”
“Ooh, cool. Were you trying to sell her a house?”
A faint grin crossed his lips. “Not exactly. More of the opposite, really.”
“More of the opposite—” She interrupted herself with a loud gasp. “Oh! I get it!” She beamed at him. “You’re moving into Ponyville!”
“Indeed,” he said dismissively, not caring that she seemed exceptionally happy over this. “You’re quite perceptive, Miss Pie.”
Not catching his mocking tone, she said, “Oh, thank you! Just call me Pinkie Pie; all my friends do it!”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a giggle. “Oh, wait! We’re not friends!” She smiled at him. “At least, not yet.”
He rolled his eyes. “Right.”
“Oh, but now that you’re moving in, there’s so many things I have to do!” She turned away. “How many balloons will I need? Who do I invite?”
Dusk gave her a curious look. “What are you planning, Miss Pie?”
“A party!” she exclaimed, beaming back at him.
“For who?”
“Somepony special!” She glanced away for a second. “Ooh, I hope he likes it!”
Prosa nodded slowly. “I’m sure he will.”
“Oh, wait! I don’t know what kind of cake he likes!” She frowned for a moment, before suddenly turning to Dusk. “What’s your favorite kind of cake?”
The stallion was taken by surprise by the question. “Me? What are you asking me for?”
She shrugged. “I just need suggestions, that’s all.”
Dusk was not particularly an expert in party etiquette. He never really liked them in the first place. They were often times too loud, and filled with ponies he could care less about. His first thought was to answer with a snide, “I don’t care,” but, after a quick thought process, realized that it would be better to answer with something else.
“I… prefer mousse cake,” he answered truthfully. Been awhile since I last had it, though.
She beamed. “Wow! Good choice!”
She then proceeded to bombard him with seemingly random question after random question concerning what to put in the party, ranging from the types of balloons to the candles on the cake. Dusk, despite his limited experience in party-arranging, did his best to answer each question with a full answer.
She hugged him after the barrage of questions had finished. “Thank you, Dusk! I just know that this pony is going to enjoy his party! I’ll be sure to send you an invitation!”
Invitation? But she doesn’t even know my address yet— She suddenly bounded off before he could confront her, leaving him alone in the center of Ponyville.
He blinked. “… Glad I could help,” he murmured. His lips twitched into a near-smile, but he forced it down. Turning, he walked down the road, making his way to the Boutique.
Sweetie Belle sat in one of the chairs, watching Rarity work on the vest and cloak. Her big sister had her brow furrowed in concentration as the sewing machine quietly hummed. Her horn was alight, holding a needle carefully. She arched the needle down and pulled it through one of the holes in the vest, pulling it tightly to seal it. She repeated the action until the hole had been sealed, the blue cloth now completely fixed.
As Rarity moved onto the cloak’s holes, she glanced at her sister. “Sweetie Belle,” she said, causing the filly to look at her, “may I ask you something?”
Sweetie Belle felt dread seep into her heart, but she did her best to ignore it. “Sure thing, Rarity,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Why did you run away from that stallion earlier?”
Sweetie winced. She knew that Rarity was going to ask that soon enough. “Run away? W-what do you mean?”
Rarity sighed. “Sweetie, you know what I’m talking about.”
The filly looked down in shame. “… I… I don’t really know,” she said. “I mean, I just sort of panicked.”
Rarity looked at her sister with concern, but waited for her to continue.
“I didn’t expect him to see me! I thought I was pretty well hidden.”
“Well, you certainly were,” Rarity said. “I didn’t even see you. How did you do that, anyway?”
Sweetie blushed. “Um, well, I tried to hide behind one of the stair posts. I was small enough that I could fit behind it.” Rarity nodded at the explanation.
“A-anyway, when Mr. Prosa suddenly looked up at the stairs, I was worried that he’d found me out. Then he started making his way upstairs, and I… well, you know the rest.”
Rarity nodded slowly. “But what were you doing on the stairs, anyway?”
Sweetie turned away. “I was just curious to see Dusk Prosa again. I didn’t expect for him to suddenly notice me, though.”
“I see,” said Rarity. “But you were just… curious?”
“Well, yeah,” Sweetie said indignantly. “I did find him first, you know.”
“Technically, Steven Magnet found him first.” Rarity turned back to the cloak, changing the thread color to brown. She began patching up the holes. “I must admit, I was rather surprised that he had gotten out of the hospital after only a few days. Most ponies, after sustaining such horrendous injuries, would stay in the hospital for a week or two.”
Sweetie was silent for a moment, before asking, “What about you?”
“Hm?”
“Why did you act all flustered when he said his name?”
Rarity glanced at her sister nervously. “W-well, it’s just that… I never expected him to show up in my shop.”
“Why?”
“W-well, I—”
“Does it have to do something with him being a user?” Sweetie blurted.
Rarity gasped, dropping the needle. She faced her sister, appalled. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
Sweetie blushed furiously, cursing her outburst silently. After a bit of coaxing from Rarity, she confessed that she and the CMC had heard the conversation in the Golden Oak Library. Rarity, after a bit of reprimanding her sister, sighed and turned back to her work. “I suppose I can’t blame you fillies for listening in,” she said. “You would, of course, be curious; especially from the vague answers that Doctor Irons and Twilight gave.” Soon she had finished the cloak, and placed it to the side.
Sweetie shook her head. “I don’t understand, though; what’s a user and why’s it wrong?”
“Well, you see, Sweetie Belle—”
She was interrupted by the sound of knocking on the door. She turned away from her younger sister. “Come in; it’s open!” she called.
The knob turned, and the door was pushed open, revealing a pewter-grey stallion carrying a brown bag.
“Mr. Prosa!” Rarity greeted, trying for a smile, which he did not return. “I’ve finished your vest and cloak just in time!”
The stallion stepped forward silently, making his way over to the seamstress. His intense gaze was enough to make Sweetie Belle shiver, despite it not being trained on her. He lifted up his vest and cloak, inspecting them closely, making sure that there were no errors.
He nodded to himself, then turned to Rarity. “I’m impressed by your work, Miss Rarity,” he said. “I’ve not seen craftsmanship of such high level.”
While he said this without so much of a smile, Sweetie Belle could hear a faint kindness and gratitude in his words. Rarity seemed a bit flustered. “W-well, thank you very much, Mr. Prosa. It was a joy working on your clothes.”
He nodded, before suddenly turning to Sweetie Belle.
The filly nearly collapsed under his gaze, the pink orbs seeming like they were staring into her soul. Seconds passed, but they felt like hours to her, and she could not help but glance at her sister for help. Rarity was at a loss as to what Dusk was doing.
“This is her, isn’t she?” he murmured. “The one I caught on the stairs…”
Sweetie gulped, but nodded in affirmation.
He bent down so that his face was at her level. The intensity of his gaze was still there, but Sweetie thought she saw something else. Something… vulnerable. She wasn’t sure how else to explain it, other than it was different than before. Gone was the coldness that he had continuously put on, replaced with a different emotion.
“What is your name?” he asked softly.
“S-S-Sweetie B-Belle,” she stammered.
He smiled, and once again she was surprised. There seemed to be genuine warmth in his smile. Rarity also seemed to notice this, as she was staring at Dusk with wide eyes. “A pleasure to meet you formally, Miss Sweetie Belle.”
“I-it’s nice to meet you, too,” she said.
He stood, still looking down at her. “… I scared you, didn’t I?” he asked softly. “When I came here first… when I looked up the stairs… I scared you…”
Unsure how to respond, Sweetie simply nodded.
He sighed, and Sweetie thought she could practically feel something similar to sadness well up in him. “I am truly sorry for scaring you, Miss Belle.” He frowned. “It was rather… mean of me, wasn’t it? Especially since you were the one who spotted me on that serpent’s back.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Huh? How’d you know that?”
His smile returned, though it seemed weaker. “I wasn’t fully unconscious. I recognized your voice.”
She nodded thoughtfully. He chuckled lightly. “I must admit, you surprised me when you suddenly darted up the steps.”
Her eyes lit up in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes; I did not expect to find a filly hiding behind one of the posts. In fact, I’m not sure I expected to find something at all.”
Sweetie giggled at that. Dusk smiled. “So, do you accept my apology?”
The white filly nodded with a small smile. “I do.”
“Thank you very much, then.”
Prosa turned back to his cloak and vest. Grabbing them, he quickly put them on, before turning to Rarity. He dug around his satchel, before procuring a few golden bits. He gingerly placed them in Rarity’s hoof. “Your payment.”
“Oh, I can’t charge you for that—” she tried to say.
“You’re the business owner; I am the customer. Simple as that,” he interrupted.
He turned, making his way to the door. Sweetie and Rarity watched him go, the former smiling at the stallion, while the latter still looked a bit confused. Before he had reached the door, however, he glanced over his shoulder at the two.
“Miss Rarity,” he said, “no doubt that you and your friends have some… ideas regarding who I am and what it is that I am doing. I won’t try to stop you from thinking such things.” He fell silent for a moment, before continuing, “Be aware, however, that I do hear, and I do comprehend, what you say about me.”
Rarity was about to question further, but he trotted out, closing the door shut.
Sweetie looked at her sister. Whatever trepidation that Rarity had been feeling upon Dusk’s arrival had vanished, replaced with simple confusion. “What do you think of him now, Rarity?” Sweetie asked.
Rarity shook her head to clear her mind. “I guess… perhaps he is not as bad as I thought he would be.”
“But… he’s a user, right?”
“That’s what we think.”
“Does that make him a bad pony?”
Rarity sighed. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Sweetie Belle.” She turned to clean up her work.
Sweetie looked once more at the closed door, imagining Dusk Prosa in her mind. He certainly was strange. First he had seemed cold and distant; but to her, he had appeared as a warm and kind stallion. It was like he had been two different ponies; two different personalities, in the face of different situations. Those two personalities conflicted, though, clashing and fighting like mortal enemies.
She wondered how he managed having such conflicted identities. She hoped that the kind one would, in the end, win the battle.
I know I’m not the kindest of ponies. And I doubt I ever will be. But… I just couldn’t bear to not apologize to that filly for scaring her.
Dusk sighed. I also know that there is a lot of suspicion on me right now. Mostly due to these… curses. He glanced down at his bag, a frown crossing his features as he saw the faint outline of the points. Nervousness welled up within him. I wish I didn’t have this condition. The ponies’ looks of disdain don’t usually hurt me, but they can become tiresome.
Speaking of my condition, what time is it? He glanced up at the sky, seeing that the sun was now at a lower angle. Good, right on time. Once I move in, I’ll be able to get this over with.
He trudged down the road, with his cloak’s hood pulled back to air out his mane. He glanced at a few ponies passing by, wondering what they thought of him. Am I just another pony to them? Or perhaps, something more?
Dusk Prosa, the mysterious stallion from the north. Owner of at least several dozen syringes. He sighed softly. I suppose this is what I wanted. But this isn’t how I expected it to turn out.
His thoughts drifted back to his interaction with Sweetie Belle. I did something I probably should not have done. I dropped my guard. But it was necessary, wasn’t it? I had to show myself differently to ease that filly.
He frowned. But Rarity was there. She saw me drop my guard. Now she knows that I’m not the coldest stallion in town. Will this spell disaster for me, though, I wonder?
He shook his head. Better to leave that issue for another day. I’ve one more thing to do.
He walked in silence as he made his way to the north side of town. His thoughts cut out most the outside noise, and soon he found himself facing a dirt road leading to Canterlot. He glanced up, suddenly aware of how quickly he had gotten there.
Losing focus, lost in my thoughts. Gotta concentrate.
He began walking down the road, listening to the surrounding wildlife. A few birds were chirping, and several squirrels ran on by, stopping to stare at him for a second. He walked past them in silence, though he did give a few some passing glances. He felt a twinge of pain as a few of the animals ran away, fearful of his intense stare, but fought the feeling aside. He had chosen to look that way for a reason; and he wasn’t about to abandon that lesson.
Soon, he had reached where he needed to be. Despite the Mayor’s warnings, Dusk was still caught by surprise by what he saw.
The house was a faded brown, with dust and grime settling on the outside boards. The windows were dusty and covered by thick blinds, masking the inside of the building. The porch was also a faded brown, with broken steps leading up the door. The porch ceiling hung precariously, supported by four wooden support beams that looked as if they might collapse at any minute. The door was a simple screen door with a wooden back; it was perhaps the only item in good condition.
Dusk glanced up, seeing that the roof had miraculously no holes in it. He could see a small, brick chimney rising out of the left side of the roof. The light-grey shingles looked sturdy enough, and he noticed a gutter running along the edges, trailing down to the ground. Based on the height of the building, he surmised that it was perhaps two stories tall, with an attic at the top.
Bigger than I expected. Oh well.
He stepped forward onto the patio, careful to avoid any weak boards. He carefully opened the screen and wooden doors, stepping inside and glancing around.
Surprisingly, the inside was in much better repair than the outside. Cherry wood floors covered the ground, with a star-patterned rug being the entrance carpet. In front of him was a hallway leading into the kitchen. The walls were a faded white, running up the ceiling. Next to the hall were a set of stairs leading up to the second level.
He took another step forward, placing a hoof on a mahogany table with a small lamp. Dust instantly covered the bottom of his hoof. Intrigued, he pulled the chain, and the lamp lit up.
Impressive. This place still runs electricity.
He walked into the kitchen, the white marble tiles clacking under his hooves. A large kitchen table was in the center, with eight chairs on its sides, circling it. It had a granite counter that was also dusty, but he figured he could clean it later. A large chandelier stuck to the ceiling, and with a pull of the chain, he confirmed it to still be working.
To the front of the kitchen were a sink and an oven. They were rather simple; but he didn’t mind. The sink was a marble counter on top of a wooden cabinet, the pipe running down the insides. The oven was a dark-steel color, with a few knobs to adjust the heat. He noticed that these were not as dusty as the other furniture, their surfaces rather shiny in comparison with everything else. At the end of the sink was a large, white freezer and refrigerator, still managing to function.
Stepping away from the counter, he made his way to the dining area, which was to the left of the kitchen. Cherry wood returned as the floor, with the faded white walls also making a reappearance. The table stood sturdily on four legs, with six chairs on its sides. Another chandelier hung overhead; he quickly checked to make sure it worked, making a satisfied smirk when he confirmed it. Turning his head, he saw that another archway led to another room. After one final glance around the dining room, he walked into the new area.
This, he assumed, was living room area, judging by the three, olive green sofas that complemented the dark, wooden floor. The sofas faced a stony structure that Dusk decided to inspect. He knelt down, seeing that charcoal sat in the mouth of the structure. He saw that the column ran upwards and out of the house itself.
So this is the fireplace and chimney. He found himself grinning. Nice.
After a few more walks around the first floor, he decided to make his way upstairs. Returning to the entrance, he carefully stepped up the steps, the wood creaking under his weight.
The upstairs floor was apparently devoid of any light fixtures, so he had to carefully make his way to each room. There were three: the bathroom, a bedroom, and a storage room, the latter of which led to the attic. He walked over to the bedroom and peered inside.
The room was extremely dusty, and he let out a few coughs while waving his hoof. To the side was a simple, alder-wood desk with a similar wooden chair. There were a few small cabinets to hold some trinkets at the ends. At the other side of the room was a royal blue bed, neatly made and the covers tucked behind the pillows. Next to that was a small nightstand with a lamp on top. To the other side of the bed was a large, walnut bookshelf that was filled with several books. Dust covered the spines, masking their titles.
In front of him were a set of windows that let him see past the eastern side of the road. He peered out the window, seeing the north edge of the Everfree in the distance. At that length, the forest seemed peaceful, even serene, and he could not help but smile at the irony. Distance somehow made relative how dangerous a place could be. The closer you were, the more dangerous.
Perhaps it is the same with ponies. Perhaps it is the same with me.
He walked over to the bed, removing his cloak and draping it at the end. He placed his satchel next to him with a sigh, glancing around. Despite the rather decent state of the inside, he knew he could only ignore the outside for so long.
It’ll take time for my address to be established, as well as getting comfortable with my new surroundings. Perhaps I can work on this house in the meantime?
He placed a hoof on his satchel, toying with one of the zippers, before opening a side compartment. He procured a set of books, and walked over to the bookshelves, placing them on the rack. He waved away some of the dust from the books, revealing their titles. As he replaced and organized, he mentally went over the titles of the books.
History of Equestria… Pro Quibus Supponit… The Equestria Heritage Dictionary… His hoof raced across the spines as he saw each title, before stopping at the three books he had placed. Jaded Storm, A Game of Flames, and X25. He smirked as he looked at the name of the author of the trio. Opacare Prose.
You may be dead, old friend, but you live on in your books. I’m surprised that your fame managed to reach this far into Equestria. Prosa looked down. Still, though, there is a hint of regret from what I had to do. But I still think it was necessary.
He walked back over to the bed, plopping himself down next to the bag. He suddenly remembered the second task he needed to perform, and mentally prepared himself for what he was about to do next. He turned and opened the top of the bag, revealing the prickly points of the syringes. He gulped, apprehension rising in his throat, and he struggled to calm his heart.
He gingerly picked up one of the syringes, his hoof shaking in near panic. He brought the point to his left foreleg and closed his eyes. He could practically hear his heart hammering in his chest as the point grew closer to his body.
Every second I waste means a life is in peril. I have to get this over with, and quickly.
With a grunt, he stuck the point into his foreleg, and pulled the pump back. Red liquid slowly filled the tube, and he waited a few seconds for it to fill completely. Once it was done, he quickly removed the syringe with a gasp. He noticed that sweat was dripping down the sides of his face, and he wiped the drops away.
One… down… several dozen more to go. He stepped up from the bed, holding the syringe in front of him. He carefully made his way down the steps and into the kitchen. He opened the freezer door and placed the syringe inside one of the empty ice racks. He then closed the door with a fast exhale.
Dusk then returned upstairs. He opened the other compartments of his bag, revealing several strange items. He first grabbed a black inkwell that appeared empty, and then a blue quill. He placed them on the desk side by side, in a certain position, as if he had done the action numerous times. He then grabbed a roll of papers and placed them on the desk in the center, next to the quill and inkwell.
Finally, he took out a small, framed photo and a golden locket, gently placing them on the desk. Within the photo frame were two earth ponies. On the left was a light-grey stallion with a navy mane, and on the left was a gunmetal mare with a baby-blue mane. They smiled at him, though they were empty expressions. His heart longed to feel their smiles first hooved. But he knew he never would. Nonetheless, he tried to ignore the depressing emotions, in favor of his recent positivity.
The plan is coming together. All I have to do is stay out of the spotlight, and I’ll be fine.
He looked around, satisfied with what he had done so far. But my work is far from over. He glanced out the window, seeing that it was still late in the afternoon. Good. There’s still some time. I think I’ll go out and grab a few supplies for the house.
He grabbed his satchel, carefully closing the top and making sure that his bits were still all there. He nodded to himself, before slinging it over his shoulder and making his way downstairs. He reached the door and opened it, walking outside.
Though the house was still in disarray, there was no doubt about it; Ponyville had just gotten a little larger. Its newest, and most mysterious resident had just moved in. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:55:07 GMT -8
IX: Conflicting Views
Boss looked out his window once more, peering down at the streets below. He reflected on how long it had taken his family to buy the city streets. All that money and body thrown around, in an attempt to own this glorious city; was it worth it?
It most definitely was! For, in the time that his family had ruled, the city of Manehattan had been prosperous. Poverty was now at an all time low under his rule; and crime was miniscule at best. So what if a large portion of the city’s profits went into his bank accounts? It was their debt to him; necessary and proper.
He smirked. Most of the city’s underground had gotten it through their heads that he and his family was in charge. Gone were the antiquated ways of ruling from the shadows; now, he could conduct legal business in the open, and get away with the illegal at the same time. His family was the first to do so, the first “modern Mafia,” and that was a title that he held most dear.
However, just because his family had all the power, didn’t mean that there were ponies who wished to change things. He frowned as he remembered a particular pony. His features were just as mysterious as his past, and they had always seemed to change in varying lights. Yet his name; his name was now a house-spoken name, so common and popular.
Opacare Prose. You tried to escape your past, but mark my word; I will have you back.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocking at his door. He glanced behind, before calling, “Come in.”
Swol entered, looking exceptionally tired. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”
“Indeed?” Boss responded, back still turned. “Do tell.”
“A lot of the boys are starting to wonder about this search for Opacare Prose. Say that he’s not worth all the resources we’re expending.”
Boss said nothing for a moment, but his figure suddenly stiffened. He nodded to himself. “Ah, I see.”
He turned, and brushed past Swol. The tan stallion could feel Boss’s anger rise around him, and instinctively flinched away. When the boss stallion got angry, there would be bodies left over. Nonetheless, he followed him from a safe distance.
Outside of the door was a large office complex, with desks lining up down the center. The cubicles were filled with various ponies of various shapes and colors, all busy at work. Several were filling out paperwork, presumably for shipping in illegal materials from Caballusia. Others were working at accounting, checking to make sure that their finances were in good hooves. The entire complex ran like a well-oiled machine, efficiently completing each task and moving onto the next. Hooves tapping were the clockwork machinery within, and the ding of typewriters was the inner alarm.
Boss’s voice, however, was the sign of the machine not working correctly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, surveying the room with a steady gaze, “it has come to my attention that some of you have been questioning my desires.”
A few of them looked up, but a few kept working. “Swol must have said something,” one of them muttered.
Boss continued, “And unless you all wish to be on the underside of my hoof by the end of the day, I suggest that those who are asking when they shouldn’t present themselves.”
A few tense seconds of silence followed, but it appeared that nopony was going to stand up. Boss let out a sigh. “Alright, fine. We’ll do this the hard way. Until somepony admits to the questioning, I’m cutting all your paychecks by forty percent.”
There was a chorus of loud protesting, but the point got across. Two unicorn stallions and an earth mare stood up, regarding Boss with sullen glares. Boss walked over, his brown coat blistering with restrained anger.
“I recognize you,” he said, glaring at the three individuals. He looked at the first stallion, who was a pale green color. “Newt Ginger.” He looked then at the second stallion, who was a darker blue. “Viper Navy.” He turned his gaze to the female. “And… Minx, was it?”
Newt smirked. “So, you still retain some intelligence to remember our names, do you?” Boss’s eyelid twitched, but he said nothing. “Impressive, old man.”
Viper took a direct approach. “Yeah, we were the ones who were asking those questions. What of it?”
Boss began pacing back and forth, looking at each pony individually. “You were wondering why we’re investing so much energy into finding Opacare Prose.” He glanced around. “Alright; how many of you were wondering the same thing?”
A few heads shared glances, and slowly a set of hooves were slowly raised in slight shame. Most of the room, however, remained silent at this spectacle.
“Boss,” Minx said, “why don’t you tell all of us why this Prose guy is so important.”
“Prose is no ordinary guy, Minx,” he responded with a dark chuckle. “You forget, he’s a famous author, investigator, and many other things.”
The mare rolled her eyes. “Right. But why does any of that matter? All of Equestria is looking for him; we could be taking over this city even more, while it’s busy searching!”
“It would be easy,” Newt added. “We’ve already got the police in our hooves; we could get the whole governmental body to work with us.”
“And the papers are also on our side,” added Viper.
Boss nodded at their suggestions. “Perhaps you are right. It would be easy.” He turned away. “But Opacare Prose is more important.
“Despite our hold over this city, Prose was one of the few who managed to… break loose of our grip.”
Minx and the others stared at him in shock for a moment, before she shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding. You mean he’s onto us?”
Boss chuckled ruefully. “What can I say? He’s a smart stallion. It figures that at one point he would connect the dots.”
He turned back to the trio. “The point is, he has information on us. And I don’t want that information released.”
“So why don’t we kill him?” Newt suggested.
Boss glared at him. “Your crudeness is appalling, Newt. Think about how much we could accomplish with a live Prose.”
“All I can picture is one more dog to throw into the fighting pits,” he responded carelessly.
The brown stallion suddenly lunged forward, gripping the younger stallion by the throat. His voice dripped with menace, his hoof tightening on Newt’s throat like an iron vice. Newt tried to throw off the older stallion’s hoof, but to no avail, and his face began turning blue from the lack of oxygen. Minx and Viper looked at them in shock, but did not move, curious as to why Boss was attacking one of their own.
Boss leaned forward, his mouth curved into a distasteful frown. “Don’t you dare talk of Prose like that!” he growled.
He finally released Newt, the mint stallion falling to the ground, gasping for breath. Boss turned away in disgust. “No matter how destructive Prose could become, he remains an equine of respect. And so long as I am around, we will treat him as such. Understand?”
Most of the room grunted in affirmation, while Viper and Minx looked at Boss in slight confusion.
“Opacare Prose is a rare case. We have some… history, he and I. And no matter how far he tries to run, he is still within my grasp. Once we find him, I will coerce him into resuming an active role in our organization.” He turned back to face them. “That is why he is so important. He has potential; potential to further our own ends.” He turned away, and with a nod, dismissed them.
Minx and Viper shared a look, but said nothing. They bent down and helped up Newt, who glared at Boss with sullen eyes. They returned to their work stations in silence, and soon the complex was filled with the rustling of papers and the clacking of typewriters.
Boss nodded to himself, before walking back to his office. He knew that it wasn’t just potential that made Opacare vital. He had experience; and, in the coming days, that experience would become necessary. He is important; important to everything.
The door closed behind him with a shut, leaving a busy office behind.
In all honesty, Sweetie still found it hard to believe the events that had transpired only a few days before. Based on the conversation in the Golden Oak Library, coupled with Rarity’s apprehensive reactions, she had assumed that this Dusk Prosa pony was not a nice stallion, to say the least.
Then again, she also had to consider that her sister and her friends were talking about Prosa being a “user,” which, after coaxing Rarity, Sweetie learned was not a good thing at all. She had learned about illegal drug use at the school, but she had never imagined that she would ever confront a potential drug user in her own town.
For a potential user, though, Dusk seemed… different. Not in a bad way, but he was strange. The difference in attitude between his arrival to the Boutique and his return was huge; it seemed that he was an entirely different pony. From a cold, guarded stallion to a more warm, polite pony, it certainly seemed that Rarity’s previous misgivings were in poor taste.
So perhaps there was more to being a “user” than just using drugs. Perhaps it was the pony, not the syringes, that mattered.
And, if Dusk Prosa’s kindness in the past was a sign of anything, it was that there was more to the stallion than rumors. Perhaps, behind that satchel bag filled with syringes, behind those guarded, pink eyes, there was something much greater. Something better.
Sweetie Belle’s fellow Crusaders, however, did not share her same sentiments.
While Scootaloo was a bit more lenient, Apple Bloom retained her family’s suspicions. “Ah don’t buy the nice guy act,” she said, frowning. “Ah mean, he did snap at Twilight.”
“To be fair, Twilight did kind of steal his syringe,” Sweetie said.
“Ah suppose Ah can give him that. But that still doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“Me neither,” Scootaloo piped up. “I mean, it just seems so odd. He kind of did brush off everypony, at least that’s what I heard.”
Sweetie nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess it kind of is. Still, though, don’t you think we should give him the benefit of the doubt?”
Bloom and Scootaloo shared a look. “Ah’m still not sure about that,” the tan filly responded nervously. “Applejack did say that we should stay away from him.”
“Because he’s a user?” When Apple Bloom nodded, Sweetie continued, “But we don’t know that for sure.”
“What else could he be using those syringes for?” Scootaloo asked, still remembering how Rainbow had confronted her on staying away from Dusk.
“Maybe something sciency,” Sweetie suggested. “Maybe it has to do with medicine?”
“The only medicinal syringes Ah know are shots,” Apple Bloom responded. “And nopony needs to hold dozens of them with him at a time.”
Sweetie couldn’t argue with that reasoning. It made sense; why would anypony need so many syringes? She still doubted that Dusk was indeed a user, but the evidence at hoof seemed to suggest otherwise. She sighed. “I can’t argue with that. But I still think that we should give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Apple Bloom looked at her, unsure. “But Applejack said—”
“Applejack could be wrong.” She looked at Scootaloo. “So could Rainbow. So could Twilight, and the town…” She pointed at herself. “I could be wrong, too. But, we don’t know anything for certain, so we shouldn’t jump to conclusions early.”
They fell silent at that, realizing that Sweetie was right. They were going off of only what their elder peers said; and, in times past, their elder peers weren’t always right. The issue with Zecora’s arrival came to mind for all three, and they reflected on how only Apple Bloom had truly known that Zecora meant no harm.
Perhaps, then, the same could be said for Prosa. Mysterious, intelligent, and hidden, he may seem like a bad stallion to the majority of town; but, perhaps underneath that cold exterior, lay something different. Something unique.
Scootaloo spoke up. “What do we do, then? We’re technically not allowed to be anywhere near that stallion.”
Sweetie smirked slightly. “Has that stopped us before?”
Admittedly, it hadn’t, and the Crusaders knew that, despite the many warnings of their peers, they still found it in themselves to go on a misadventure.
“But we don’t even know where he lives,” said Scootaloo. Apple Bloom nodded in agreement.
To that, Sweetie’s smirk grew. “I think I do.” She whispered the location in her friends’ ears, and they gave her a shocked look, surprised that she had figured that out.
After a moment of rumination, they eventually decided to see Prosa the day before the party, to better get to know him. While the others were apprehensive still, Sweetie looked forward to seeing that mysterious stallion again with a smile.
Twilight and her friends met at Sugarcube Corner to talk about the latest developments. Pinkie quickly brought over several milkshakes for them to feast on, before settling herself down with a bright, excited smile.
“I can’t believe this!” Rainbow exclaimed, her voice loud with rage. “That guy’s actually moved into Ponyville!”
Applejack nodded. “Ah agree. It’s just too darn weird for me to believe.”
“Well, he’s here now,” Fluttershy said quietly. “Maybe we should let him be?”
“Let him be?!” the cyan pegasus yelled, glaring at her pegasus friend in indignation. “Fluttershy, are you crazy? He’s a user!”
Surprisingly, Fluttershy did not back down. “We don’t know that for sure, Rainbow. All we know is that he has syringes in his bag!”
“But that’s all the proof we need!”
Applejack shook her head. “Whether or not he’s a user, we still should be wary of him. Have you heard what he’s like?” She glanced at Twilight. “How he acted?”
Fluttershy did not say anything to that, looking down at her hooves. Twilight said nothing either, looking out the window towards the north side of town.
“He’s cold,” Applejack continued. “And rude. And awfully full of himself. Ah don’t like him.”
“Me neither!” Rainbow added, crossing her hooves with a huff.
Rarity, meanwhile, looked slightly perturbed. Noticing this, Fluttershy asked, “What’s wrong, Rarity?”
She looked up. “It’s just… well… I’m not sure Dusk Prosa is all he appears to be.”
“What do you mean by that?” Rainbow asked. The other girls had not heard of what had happened at the Boutique.
“His behavior when he first entered my Boutique, compared to his behavior when he returned…” Her voice trailed off as she thought long and hard. “It doesn’t add up.”
“How so?” Applejack asked.
“I’m not sure ‘cold’ is the best way to describe him,” she said with a frown. “I’d say he’s more aloof than anything. When he came to me, asking me to mend his clothing, he was distant, secretive. But when he returned for the clothes, he was kinder.” Her brow furrowed. “Perhaps it was because he wanted to apologize to my sister.”
“Ooh! I remember that!” Pinkie said. “He was awfully surprised when she suddenly darted up the stairs, wasn’t he?”
Rarity nodded. “There’s more, though. He’s… well… he’s well aware of what we’re saying about him.”
Rainbow snorted. “So? Isn’t that what we wanted? For him to know that he’s not wanted here?”
“Rainbow Dash!” Rarity scolded. “You cannot honestly say that he deserves all the pain we’re giving him!”
“Sure I can!”
Before the two could argue further, Fluttershy shouted, “Girls!”
The others turned to her in shock, as her voice was loud enough to be heard by the whole bakery. She blushed in embarrassment, but nonetheless continued, “We shouldn’t be talking about Prosa like this! What if he’s hurting because of all we’ve said? What if he’s sad that ponies think he’s a user, just because he has syringes?” She looked at each one of them. “Would you want the whole town discussing you in a negative light, when they don’t know anything about you?”
There were several moments of silence as the others took the butterscotch pony’s words in. Certainly, they would not like being painted in a bad light. All their dreams would be for nil, dashed away for a juicy rumor.
And rumors were all they had, after all. Dusk Prosa was mysterious; too mysterious, in fact, that little information could be gained about him. All they had to go off of was the idea that syringes meant bad news. Yet, if they could not show evidence to the claim, what could they possibly say about the stallion? For all they knew, he could be the nicest stallion in town. Perhaps his sense of what was nice was different; perhaps he had different views, different perspectives and ideas.
Twilight suddenly remembered Prosa’s words to her. “Accusations submitted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence.”
Rumors are not evidence, she realized. Rumors are intangible, without substance. They cannot be solely relied on for concrete proof. And these rumors were born out of the conception that anypony with syringes did not have good intentions with them. As of late, that idea has held strong, as it has not been refuted nor argued against.
Yet, with Dusk Prosa here, and with Rarity’s account, I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve misjudged the stallion. We know nothing about him after all. Guarded, cold, and intelligent are the best ways to describe him; yet that does little to help us. How can we hope to better know him, if we don’t trust him?
And how do we go about trusting one who refuses to be trusted? Who refuses the simplest of gestures, in favor for the cold exterior that he exerts? How do we know that there is more underneath that shield?
“We don’t know,” she realized, the others looking at her in surprise. “We don’t know anything about Prosa. Nothing concrete nor substantial.” She looked around at them, her voice growing stronger. “That means that we can choose to try and be kind to him, and fail, or do nothing and fail either way.” Though failure was one of her biggest fears, Twilight realized that it was a necessity. Only those who did nothing were the true failures; those who failed and learned were the ones who grew.
Rarity nodded. “I agree. We cannot sit back and let simple gossip about this stallion ruin our perception of him. We must simply try to better understand him.”
“And if he doesn’t let us?” Applejack asked with a raised eyebrow. “If he turns us away?”
Twilight looked at her with fierce resolve. “Then we’ll know we tried anyway.”
Applejack and Rainbow shared a look. They still had their misgivings about Dusk, but… if Twilight thought they should still try to be hospitable towards him, then try they would.
“Alright,” Rainbow said, turning back to the lavender unicorn, “but if he turns out worse than we expected, I’m calling dibs on driving him out of town.”
“Silly Dashie!” Pinkie spoke up, still beaming obliviously. “You can’t drive ponies! They’re not cars!” Before Rainbow could put in another word, Pinkie continued, “Besides! I’m sure that the party I’m throwing at the end of the week will show that he really is a nice stallion!”
Twilight giggled. “Oh, right, the party. I nearly forgot about that!”
Pinkie nodded ecstatically. “Yup! The best part, I don’t think he knows the party’s for him! Ooh, I just know he’s going to be so surprised!”
While the others shared a laugh, Rarity looked slightly away. Somehow, she had a feeling that Pinkie’s exuberance would not hold out well against Dusk’s more refined manners. If the way he had referred to Pinkie was any inclination, it was that he was not particularly fond of her.
Then again, she mused, he probably isn’t too fond of anypony.
Strangely enough, that brought a smile to her face. She couldn’t explain the reason, just that it felt right. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 18:56:56 GMT -8
X: The Calm Before The Storm
The house, after a few days of working, was now in much better condition. Prosa had managed to rig a hose up to one of Ponyville’s hydrants, letting him wash away most of the dirt and grime that covered the wooden exterior. The grime that had remained had to be removed by brush, which he had done the day before.
He had spent most of his bits on paint and wood alone. He had fixed up the porch ceiling, putting in new, stronger wooden posts to support the roof. Any weak boards on the porch itself had been removed quickly, replaced with stronger wood made from mahogany trees. The paint had been set to the side while he waited for the house to dry.
Inside, the structure had been polished completely. Dust had rose in ample amounts, but Dusk had been quick to open a window and shoo it out. Now the furniture was shiny and clean, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction in his work. The windows’ blinds had been dusted off, the glass repaired, but he still kept the barriers in place so as to reject anypony wishing to take a closer look inside. The door had also been repaired, the knob polished to golden perfection.
The stallion now sat at his desk, the blue quill in his hoof and two white scrolls before him. The room’s lamps had been turned off, but he could still see around. His flank vibrated, but he ignored it, knowing that nopony was watching as he wrote. The quill dabbled in the inkwell once more, and as he set the tip down to the point, a faint glow emanated around the darkened room.
The first scroll had been sent a few hours before, arriving at his window by a messenger bird, as arranged. It was asking a simple question: how everything was, if he needed anything, and so forth. He had placed the scroll on his desk, and was now penning a response back.
So far, the plan is coming together, he wrote in silence. The ponies here have their misgivings, but I’ve been able to get by without much incident. I can only hope that I last long enough for all of this to blow over.
He mused for a second on how much he should say. Time was of the essence, and he knew that writing too much would be exceptionally dangerous. Writing too little, however, could also mean disaster for the entire operation.
I’ve managed to compensate for the days I was unable to perform my operation, he continued writing, frowning as he recalled the feeling of the needles against his arm. So far, blood has been stable. I should be able to send them out soon.
Deciding that was enough, he rolled up the scroll and walked over to the window, opening it. A quick whistle, and a bird flew by, glancing at him. He gave it a few encouraging whispers, before presenting it the scroll. It nodded, taking the object into its beak and turning, flying away quickly.
He sighed. This, though rather mundane, was to be his life now; he had better get used to it. A bit of him still hungered for the excitement of his past, but he was quick to shoot it down with feelings of shame and guilt. I made a promise not to fall into that life again.
Turning, he walked out of the room and down the stairs, the floorboards creaking quietly under his weight. He made his way to the front door, opening it and stepping outside. The late morning sun shone brightly in his face, and he squinted under the harsh light. He stepped off of the porch and walked over to where the paint cans were.
There were five cans in total. He had spent a majority of his bits on the paint alone; getting the right greyish-brown had been quite difficult. Luckily, he had managed to acquire the right amount of taupe from a paint shop in Ponyville. He eyed the house with a bit of apprehension, seeing how long it would take to repaint. He glanced back at the paint cans, the metal handles at the side and glistening in the sun. He sighed, knowing that the task at hand would be tedious and tiresome.
He picked one of the brushes that lay next to the cans, and bent down, intending to flip open the first can.
“Hiya, Mr. Prosa!” a squeaky voice shouted, surprising him.
He nearly yelped, and he accidentally grit the brush even harder in his mouth, hurting his bottom jaw. He dropped the brush and whirled around, eyes flashing fire in annoyance—but let out a sigh when he saw who it was.
“… Miss Sweetie Belle,” he addressed, trying to stay somewhat calm. Looking at her, he saw that there were two other fillies—one, an orange, pegasus pony, the other a tan, earth pony with a pink bowtie—who were trailing behind her at a slight distance. The two regarded him with slightly nervous stares, while Sweetie simply smiled at him. “Your friends, I presume?” he added, pointing a hoof out at the others.
The young filly turned, seeing her friends still a bit of a distance from the stallion. “Come on, girls! Mr. Prosa won’t bite!”
He couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the filly’s enthusiasm, flashing his teeth and only further intimidating the other two. Seeing this, he dropped the smile, regarding them with an indifferent glare.
The orange filly, after a moment of hesitation, took a tentative step forward. As she looked up, Prosa could see that she wasn’t that afraid of him. Her eyes had a spark of curiosity in them, which drowned out any fear she might have had.
She tried for a smile. “Hi! I’m Scootaloo!” she greeted, holding out an orange hoof.
He glanced at it for a second, before leaning down and taking it with his own pewter hoof, giving it a gentle shake. “Charmed, Miss Scootaloo” he said simply.
He looked at the tan filly, who had averted his gaze. He blinked, realizing that she was probably a bit fearful under his intense gaze. He looked away from her, but keeping her within eyesight. “And you are?” he asked.
“Uh… Apple Bloom,” she muttered.
His lips did not so much twitch at the awkward response, but inwardly, he saw an opportunity to ease the tension. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss ‘Uh Apple Bloom.’”
The elicited a few giggles from the trio, and he nearly let out a satisfied sigh. “You don’t have to call us anythin’ fancy,” Bloom said.
“And together, we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” they chorused. “On a quest for our Cutie Marks!”
Slightly caught off guard by their cry, he let out a slow breath. He turned back to Sweetie Belle, who had not lost her smile through this all. “How exactly did you find me?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t too hard. The way you were talking to Rarity and Pinkie; it sounded like you wanted to be alone. So I thought, you’d be somewhere more secluded.” She placed a hoof on her chin. “But I didn’t think you’d like the houses near the Everfree, because of… well… the wolves.” She looked up, and he nodded slightly, before continuing, “So, I thought that you’d like the house at the edge of town, on the road to Canterlot!”
He narrowed his eyes. “And how exactly did you know about the house?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I tried to get my Cutie Mark in real estate by helping Mayor Mare out. That house came up a few times.”
He nodded again, before falling into an intense silence. He regarded the strange fillies with a darkened stare, almost as if he was examining them closely. Despite Sweetie’s enthusiasm, even she felt a bit small under his gaze.
“You’re smart, that’s certain,” he commented, regarding Sweetie with a softer gaze. His voice, however, seemed to grow more irritated. “But, did it occur to you that perhaps I wanted to be alone for a reason?”
The fillies shared a look that suggested otherwise. He turned away, facing the house. “I wasn’t expecting guests anytime soon…” he murmured.
When he said no more, Sweetie looked down, a bit dejected. She had hoped that Prosa would have at least had the decency to tell them that they weren’t wanted—
Her thoughts were cut off by the stallion suddenly sighing. “Well,” he said, turning and facing them, a small smile on his face (that this time did not scare the others), “you’re here now. Not much I can do about that.”
Seeing the white filly’s face light up when he said this made him feel something resembling an ache in his heart. He guessed that it was a feeling from a long time ago, back when life hadn’t gotten so complicated that he had to—
He mentally shook his head, diverting his mind from its current thought course.
“I could probably use some extra help,” he added. The fillies looked up at him questioningly. He pointed at the paint cans. “I doubt I could paint the house quickly on my own. But, if you’d like…” His voice trailed off, though his unspoken question was still heard.
“Sure thing, Mr. Prosa!” Sweetie chirped cheerfully. “We could get our Cutie Marks in house painting!” She grabbed the other two fillies and dragged them over to the cans, ignoring their surprised protests. They flipped open the cans and, after grabbing some of the brushes, began recoating the house with taupe paint.
Dusk soon joined them, and what they lacked in size, they made up with energy. For every cubic foot in height he covered, they did at least twice as much in length.
The image, however, brought up a painful memory. One that he had fought away for a while. He winced as if in pain, as the image of a young colt being forced to work in a polluted factory raced across his mind.
“Mr. Prosa?” a voice called, bringing him out of his thoughts.
He turned, seeing Scootaloo standing in front of him with a slight frown. “What is it?” he asked.
She pointed at the upper section of the house. “How are we supposed to paint that section? None of us can reach it!” She glanced at him, adding, “Er, no offense to your size.”
He nodded. “None taken,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. He thought about taking the fillies up on top of the porch roof, but decided against it; the wood still needed replacing, and he figured that they might end up breaking it with their weight.
After a moment, he said, “I have an idea.” He faced Scootaloo, placing the brush against his ear, securing it. “Grab a paint can and hop on my back.”
She gave him a questioning look, but did so, placing the brush behind her ear and putting the can on his back. He began backing up, nearly moving all the way down to the road.
“Mr. Prosa?” Scootaloo asked, but he ignored her, focusing on the house.
“Hold on tight,” he said. Before she could respond, he accelerated into a full gallop. She squeaked but held on tightly, hooves clasped strongly around his mane. Just as they were nearing the house, he jumped up.
His hooves hit the wall solidly, but did not break through. He grasped at the space between the planks, managing to hold on tightly. Scootaloo gasped as she saw the position they were now in. They hung onto the side of the house, with Prosa keeping his belly flat against the side, ignoring the paint that smeared his midsection. The can nearly fell, but he caught it with his fluffy tail.
The others looked at them in shock. “Couldn’t ya have just used a ladder?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Don’t have one,” Prosa grunted. The faint ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Besides, that would have taken the fun out of everything.”
Scootaloo giggled at the statement, slightly making the stallion wobble. “Careful!” she warned. “I don’t want to fall!”
“You girls finish the bottom section,” Dusk ordered Sweetie and Apple Bloom. “Scootaloo and I will handle the top.” The two nodded, leaving the hanging ponies alone for the moment.
Scootaloo began coating the upper half, with Prosa doing a little with the brush in his mouth. He moved across the wall so as to help Scootaloo paint, getting more taupe into his fur coat. He didn’t mind it, though; the mess made would all be worth it, should the house end up looking decent again. Due to the positioning of the boards, however, he couldn’t move vertically; something that Scootaloo was quick to notice.
“What about the topmost part?” Scootaloo asked, pointing to the section right above them.
“Got a plan for that, too,” he grunted. He motioned for her to hold on tightly.
He took a deep breath. It had been a while since he had to perform this particular trick. Then again, it had been a while since he had to scale any large buildings without a rope.
He suddenly arched his back and flung his body upside down, making the orange filly squeak in surprise. His legs landed on top of the roof, while his head pointed down. Scootaloo hung onto his back tightly. The paint can was tossed over, landing on the roof.
He was just about to suggest Scootaloo to use her wings to balance herself, when he realized something. He frowned.
“You can’t fly, can you?” he suddenly murmured.
Her eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”
“You’re not painting while hovering.” Seeing her dejected look, he added, “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”
“Yes, it is,” she said. “I’m the only pegasus who can’t fly.”
Despite the uncomfortable position, he strived to glance at her. “I can’t fly either. Yet here I am, clinging to the side of the house.”
“Only because you jumped—”
“No, it was because I wanted to overcome a physical limitation.” He briefly sighed. “I can’t imagine what it means to not be able to fly when you should; but let me tell you this. No matter how hard it is, you will find a way.”
“Really?”
“Maybe one day, someday; maybe not, perhaps never. It is important, however, that you still try. Understand?”
She stared at him for a few seconds, before nodding. “Good,” he said. “Now, how about you start coating the walls once more?”
“But how?”
In answer, he suddenly plucked her from his body, digging his hind hooves into the roof so as to root himself in position. “Ever try painting upside down?” he said, making her giggle slightly.
So it went about that they covered the topmost section of the house in rich taupe paint. Sure, there were more conventional ways of painting, but it was as Dusk said: Where would the fun be in that? After some time, they had completely covered the house in paint, restoring it to a more colorful glory.
Dusk slowly lowered Scootaloo back to the ground, then did the same with the paint bucket, before lowering himself off of the roof with a thud. The fillies couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance; his slate-grey mane had more than a few splotches of brown left in it, the blue streaks quickly darkening.
He glared at them, making them stop laughing. “You don’t look as great either,” he said. They looked down at themselves, realizing that they, too, were dirty.
Scootaloo looked at her flank expectantly, but let out a sigh when she saw that no Mark had formed. The other Crusaders let out similar disappointed sighs.
Dusk sighed. “Bathroom’s inside, second floor, door to the left. Get yourselves cleaned up.”
“Then what?” asked Sweetie Belle.
He glanced at the sun, seeing that it was settling into its afternoon phase. “Lunch,” he said simply. And I’ll have to perform my operation again soon.
They entered inside, the CMC and Prosa traveling upstairs. While the fillies walked into the bathroom, Prosa entered his bedroom and shut the door.
The fillies didn’t hear him suck in a curse as the all-too-familiar feeling of a syringe sticking into his hoof raced across his mind.
“I have to admit,” Scootaloo said while they waited for Prosa to come out of his room. “Mr. Prosa is… well… kinda cool!”
Apple Bloom nodded. “Yeah, Ah guess he kinda is.”
“See?” Sweetie said, smiling. “He’s not so bad!”
“Maybe,” Apple Bloom responded, “but Ah still think we should be careful with him.”
While the two talked, Sweetie took a look around. They sat in the kitchen area, around the kitchen table, patiently waiting for Mr. Prosa. The counters had been cleaned and cleared of any messes, though somehow Sweetie doubted that Prosa even made a huge mess. The stallion had still not returned from his room, and while Sweetie had considered looking for him, she now considered the idea quite foolish. She was, after all, currently on Mr. Prosa’s supposed “good” side; she didn’t want to jeopardize that privilege.
However, despite her restraint, soon her patience began to wane. That and, her stomach was beginning to complain. She glanced down at her belly, then back at the hall, up the stairs, before letting out a sigh. I wonder what’s taking him so long?
While the girls were happily discussing the stallion in question, Sweetie’s boredom could no longer be maintained. She politely excused herself from the table, though the others did not notice. She quietly trotted over to the bright white freezer that stood in the front of the kitchen. Maybe I can find something to eat in here?
She placed a hoof against the door’s handle, struggling to pull it open. “Uff!” she grunted, straining to pull it open.
Scootaloo and Apple Bloom finally noticed their friend’s situation. “Here, let us help,” offered Bloom, she and Scootaloo coming over. Sweetie nodded her thanks. Together, they pulled hard on the handle, straining to open the sturdy door.
They underestimated how much force they were together applying, so when the door suddenly swung open, they were thrown back against the marble table.
Their groans quickly turned into shocked gasps as they observed what lay inside the frozen storage.
The center and top sections were filled with syringe racks, each one filled to the top with a red liquid. A few puffs of smoke billowed around the syringes, coating them with a light shade of white frost. The points had been retracted, the levers pulled up and still. Each of the syringes had a tag attached to them. A closer look revealed each one read a set of symbols.
She could not recognize the writing, but she thought it looked like something that Ms. Cheerilee had been teaching several older students. Cursive, she had called it. The fancy way the lines dipped and bent were fascinating enough, but she was more curious as to what they indicated. She could just make out several recognizable symbols between the illustrious lines.
A zero… a vertical line... and a degree symbol? Sweetie thought, confused.
“S-Sweetie Belle?” Apple Bloom stammered. “W-what is this?”
“I-I don’t know,” said the white filly, eyes wide in shock.
“Th-that’s blood,” said Scootaloo, surprisingly quiet. “W-why is blood in th-there?”
“Wh-whose blood is it?” Bloom asked back.
The fillies quivered at this newfound revelation, unsure what to make of it. The sight of the blood-filled syringes made their own blood cool; it seemed so out of place, even with a stallion as strange as Dusk Prosa.
Is this what he’s been doing with the syringes? Sweetie wondered. The answer seemed obvious; yet she felt unsure. Something prevented her from truly believing that Prosa really was using the syringes to store blood. His blood? No… that would be too weird. But maybe…
Before she could take a step forward to examine the syringes closer, they heard the sound of hoofsteps coming down the stairs. “Quick!” hissed Scootaloo. “Close the door!”
They nodded, and quickly shut the door with a strangled gasp. Before Prosa could fully reach the bottom and turn into the hallway, they scurried back into their seats, doing their best to look innocent.
Dusk entered the kitchen a moment later, and he frowned when he saw the fillies smiling faces. “What?” he asked, confused.
Sweetie coughed. “Er, nothing. Just smiling.”
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, instead going over to the stove and turning it on. He walked over to the freezer; for a second, they thought he was going to open the door, but he walked past it, opening the refrigerator, grabbing a carton of eggs. He glanced over his shoulder. “How do you like your eggs?”
A few minutes later, they all somehow managed to sit at the table without looking awkward, their stomachs full with delicious egg and lettuce sandwiches (with just a pinch of pepper). Sweetie had to admit that Prosa was a great cook, and judging from her friends’ faces, they too had reached a similar conclusion.
Still, though, her full stomach did not fully divert her attention from the question that threatened to burst from her mouth. She so badly wanted to ask Prosa why: why there were syringes in his freezer; why they were filled with blood. Why they needed to be frozen. Why they were marked with the strange writing. Yet she couldn’t.
Why can’t I? It should be something simple; all I have to do is bring up the needles! So why can’t I?
Dusk stared at her through carnation eyes, his gaze searching and narrowed. Sweetie nearly gulped, nervousness welling up inside her. But as she stared back at him, she thought she could see a similar feeling behind his eyes. Is he…?
“You’re wondering about something,” he suddenly said, glancing around at them. “All three of you.”
“How did you know?” Scootaloo asked sheepishly.
Dusk shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re all staring at me.”
“Oh…”
He sighed. “That leads me to conclude that you’re wondering something about me.” His voice seemingly quivered between words, but Sweetie thought that was just her imagination acting up. He leaned back, fixing them with a hardened stare. “So, ask away.”
They gaped at him as questions flew past their minds. Sweetie’s question kept pushing against her throat, and she nearly gave in to asking it; yet, she couldn’t. Her tongue lashed against her wishes, refusing to form the words she desired. Her breath refused to exhale, refused to vibrate the air so as to communicate. The other Crusaders looked at her in anxious silence, thinking that she would ask what was on all their minds.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Prosa raised an eyebrow. “Could you perhaps run that by me again—”
Her voice began working again. “Why don’t you have a Cutie Mark?” she blurted. She gasped and placed her hooves in her mouth, blushing furiously, both in embarrassment and anger. Darn it all!
Prosa blinked twice. “Why don’t I have a Mark?” he repeated.
Scootaloo and Apple Bloom temporarily glared at Sweetie, but their curiosity won over their anger. “Yeah, that’s what she—we,” Scootaloo corrected herself, forging a nervous smile, “want to know.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” the orange filly answered. “We’re always searching for our Cutie Marks!” She looked at Prosa sheepishly. “And, well, it’s kinda weird that you don’t have one.”
He blinked again, before narrowing his gaze. “… Fine,” he said, looking at them with suspicious eyes. Sweetie thought she heard a hint of relief in his voice. They only just managed to retain their innocent looks.
“I thought the story is rather self-explanatory, though.” He raised an eyebrow at them. “I don’t have a mark because I don’t want one.”
“How could you not want a Cutie Mark?” Apple Bloom asked. “It’s every kid’s dream to have one!”
He nodded. “But I’m not a kid any more, am I?” A playful smirk crossed his lips. “Oh, sure, at one point I did want a Mark. But I grew up. Things got in the way. Adult things,” he added, a bit of a dark undertone to his voice.
“But you had to have discovered your special talent sometime or another!” protested Scootaloo.
“But, as you saw, I have many talents. Scaling walls, gymnastics, cooking is even one of them, etcetera, etcetera.” He smirked. “I find that having many talents helps in the long run than just having one specific talent.”
He leaned forward. “I could have pursued one singular talent like everypony else, certainly. In fact, I did, for a while. But, when I did that time had rushed by too fast.” He frowned. “By the time I realized what I needed, everything had gone by without me.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sweetie asked.
He looked at her softly. “It’s alright to try for your special talent. But I wouldn’t constantly pursue it. That just gets in the way of more important things.”
“What could be more important that a Cutie Mark?” Scootaloo asked.
“Many things, young ones,” he responded, addressing all of them. “Spending time with your family, for example.” He chuckled darkly. “I know I regret not spending enough time with my folks. Hanging out with your friends is another fine thing to do.” His face fell, and he frowned. “I certainly regret not doing that enough.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to have a Cutie Mark, then hang out with your family?”
“Would that change anything about you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Would the pony you are then, be different than the pony you were?”
“She’d have a Mark,” Scootaloo blurted.
Dusk genuinely laughed. “Indeed she would. Still, though, little changes about you. Sure, you have your Mark, you have your talent, but, in general, that doesn’t change who you are. Who you really are.”
“Are you saying that Marks are pointless?” Sweetie asked, a bit incredulous.
“Far from it, Miss Belle,” he said. “Cutie Marks are essential to everypony. They sustain your living, give you respect, and let you demonstrate what you love doing. But there is something more important than those. Cutie Marks put things in perspective.”
He gazed at each of them, his voice somehow soothing, yet with a hint of melancholy thrown in. “You are so young. You are so free. You have a childhood to spend with each other, and perhaps adulthood as well. Though not as frequently,” he added with a shake of his head. “The point is, if you spend all your time searching for a Cutie Mark, then you’ll end up losing the ponies you’ve grown close to. What matters isn’t the Mark; it’s the journey for the Mark.
“Tell me, once you get your Mark—”
“If,” Apple Bloom automatically corrected.
“When,” he corrected back, smirking, “you get your Mark, what will you do? Would you constantly do what your Mark tell you to do?”
The three Crusaders shared a look, unsure of what to say. He nodded. “Exactly. You have the end goal, but you don’t know the way to get there. You don’t have the path in sight. Nor do you see the branches and trees and creatures that you will meet along the way.
“Certainly, the Mark will always be important. But it is the journey, the ponies you meet along the way, that matter the most.” He looked at each of them. “Childhood is short, innocence even shorter. But value them the most, as they don’t last forever. Above all else, never lose touch with the ones who are closest to you: your families and friends.”
“Of course we won’t!” Scootaloo said, grinning. “The Cutie Mark Crusaders never abandon each other!”
Apple Bloom returned the cry, but Sweetie frowned at Dusk. “Is that why you’re so cold? Because you lost touch with the folks that care?”
His attitude changed from slightly jovial to absolutely frigid in a second. He glared at Sweetie in silence, and she felt herself shrinking under his intense look. He clamped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth in anger at Sweetie’s question.
And, just as suddenly, his coldness vanished, replaced with a look of longing. His gaze went glossy, eyes looking at—and yet, not—the filly, becoming distant and faded.
“Uh, Mr. Prosa?” Scootaloo asked.
The stallion did not respond.
“Great job, Sweetie Belle,” mumbled Apple Bloom. “You broke him.”
Prosa suddenly snorted, shaking his head vigorously. “Hmm? Sorry, I was… thinking,” he said. His voice, previously vibrant as he lectured the trio, became more guarded, shrouded in an aura of mystique. He glanced out the window, seeing that it had quickly passed noon. “No doubt that your siblings and friends are wondering where you are,” he commented.
Before any of them could protest, he quickly shooed them out. “I suppose I owe you a thank you for… visiting,” he said as he pushed them out the door. “Don’t make it a habit,” he added.
“But—” Sweetie was cut off by Prosa shutting the door in her face. She sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that…”
Scootaloo and Apple Bloom looked at their friend. “How come you didn’t ask him about the blood?” the orange pegasus asked,
Sweetie shrugged and furrowed her brow. “I guess… I want to believe that they’re nothing bad.”
“Ah still think you should have asked him about them,” said Bloom.
The white unicorn sighed. “Maybe. But then he might have been driven out of town. And I don’t think he deserves that.” She looked at the others. “Do you?”
After their experience with Prosa, they admitted that they wouldn’t want to see this stallion driven away. Sure, he was quite strange, but there was an air of interest around him that constantly piqued their curiosities. “So,” Scootaloo said, “do we just keep quiet on this?”
Sweetie nodded. “We’ll just say we went out crusading again.”
The three of them walked off of the porch and onto the dirt road, heading back towards Ponyville. Sweetie cast another look at the house, seeing that the curtains had been drawn, shutting off the inside.
She whispered an apology to the wind, knowing that Prosa wouldn’t hear it.
Funny, Prosa thought as he closed the fridge door after he had placed another syringe in. I was certain that Sweetie would have asked me about these…
He sighed. Letting them into my house was a risky move. And it figures that they, as fillies, would be curious as to what lies in here. He frowned. Still, though, asking me about why I don’t have a Cutie Mark was a turn of events I couldn’t have predicted. Nearly went all Canterlot’s School of Excellence on them. Maybe some higher power was looking out for me.
He sighed, turning and heading back upstairs to his room. He opened the door and walked over to his desk, sitting in the chair. He picked up the photo frame that lay at the side, staring at it.
Sweetie’s question as to why I’m so cold… only you know the answer, he thought to the picture. The smiling faces of the ponies only made his heart grow sadder. It’s not that I lost touch with those who care about me. It’s just that they were robbed before I could give them a chance.
Mother, father… I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you.
It had been a long time since Prosa had grieved, but now he did so, in silence. His tears hit the frame, and his whole body shook; but he said nothing, allowing himself a rare moment of weakness. I’m sorry, he repeated in his mind.
I’m sorry. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 19:00:40 GMT -8
XI: Pars Aperiendi
Night fell upon the town of Ponyville, covering the land in a serene darkness. The moon illuminated various parts of the land below, flashing brilliantly past the tall pine trees to the eastern end. The moon rose high above the northern hills, and in its light one could see the faint outline of Canterlot in the distance. Already, the flowers of the night were blooming, covering the landscape with light blue petals. A gentle breeze blew on past, rushing through the trees’ branches, causing several nightingales to fly into the night sky.
As tranquil as the scene was, the town itself was the complete opposite. At a certain town hall, there were the sounds of ponies moving various party decor into the building. A pink pony was managing the arrangements with surprising ease.
“Get those balloons up right away!” ordered Pinkie Pie to a group of ponies. “And you!” She pointed a hoof at an alabaster unicorn and an orange earth pony. “Put up those party banners!”
“Really, Pinkie?” the orange one said, rolling her eyes. “I hardly think Prosa is worth all this trouble.”
“I think he is, Applejack!” Pinkie argued, a mad gleam in her eye. “So you had better get to work with Rarity, got it?!”
Applejack gulped down her pride and set to work, helping Rarity put up the banners.
Meanwhile, Rainbow and Fluttershy were helping put up several orbs of light. While Fluttershy was placing them delicately, Rainbow was quickly throwing them across the hall.
“Careful, Rainbow Dash!” advised Mayor Mare. “We don’t want to break any of these decorations.”
Rainbow rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. With all the trouble we’re going through, Dusk Prosa had better be grateful!”
“I’m sure he will be,” Fluttershy said as she put up another orb. “Who knows? He might even show a nicer side to him.”
“That’s a far-fetched idea, Fluttershy,” Rainbow responded. “There’s only one side to that guy; and I’m pretty sure ‘nice’ isn’t there!”
Pinkie saw Twilight coming over, and trotted up to her. To her side was Spike, holding a list. “How’s the other stuff going, Twilight?” Pinkie asked.
“The Cakes should be arriving with the chocolate mousse cake any second,” she responded. “I’ve also managed to get Vinyl Scratch to come and play some music.”
“Excellent!” Pinkie exclaimed, clapping her hooves.
Spike glanced around the room, seeing that mostly everything had been done. “Let’s see… hang up the banners, check; put up the balloons, check; place lights, check—”
The door to the hall swung open, revealing Big Mac carefully carrying the prized cake. Evidently, he had been practicing ever since the Friendship Express incident, as now he could easily hold up the delicacy without it wobbling. Behind him were Mr. and Mrs. Cake, still regarding him with a touch of wariness.
“Have you got it, Bic Mac?” Pinkie asked.
“Eeyup.”
“Good! Just set it over there,” she said, pointing to a nearby table. The red stallion nodded and walked over.
“Got the cake, check.” Spike looked up from his scroll. “Have we sent out invitations?”
Pinkie nodded. “Ditzy Doo’s been flying around, handing out the cards.”
“Who’s responded?”
“Everypony in town!” Pinkie squealed, hugging herself. “It’s been awhile since I last threw a huge party together. I think the last time was when Twilight first came to town! Oh, I hope Dusk likes all of this!”
“I’m… sure he’ll be surprised,” Twilight managed to say. The nagging feeling of doubt kept poking at the back of her mind, and she tried to ignore it.
Pinkie suddenly frowned. “What’s wrong?” asked Twilight, looking at her friend in concern.
“I sent an invitation to Dusk, but I don’t remember ever getting a response,” she mumbled. “Maybe he missed it?”
“Maybe you sent it to the wrong address,” suggested Spike.
Pinkie shook her head. “No, that can’t be it. I got Mayor Mare to tell me where he lives.” She shrugged. “Oh, well, he’s probably coming. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to send a response.”
“What, like a surprise appearance?” Spike asked with a roll of his eyes.
Pinkie’s attitude brightened. “Yes! Exactly! I knew he had it in him!” She hugged the young dragon fiercely, before bouncing off to another activity.
They both blinked at the mare’s enthusiasm. Twilight gained a small, slightly confused smile.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to have a party tonight?” Spike asked the unicorn. “I mean, not that I mind, but shouldn’t we also be focusing on searching for that Opacare Prose guy? Or have you forgotten?”
Twilight shook her head. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I was actually hoping to get a few ponies to be on the lookout while the party is going on.” She placed a hoof on her chin pensively. “If Dusk comes, maybe I can convince him to join our watchers?”
She walked over to where Applejack and Rarity where, the two of them busy putting up little globes of light. “Oh, hey, Twilight,” Rarity greeted with a smile.
Twilight nodded back, before saying, “Could I ask you two to return to lookout duty a little later on in the party? I wouldn’t want to possibly miss Prose.”
“Sure thing, Twi,” Applejack drawled, grinning.
“Yes, we’ll keep a keen eye out while we enjoy ourselves,” Rarity added.
“Thanks, girls,” Twilight said with a smile.
Meanwhile, Pinkie had walked up to Mayor Mare with a big smile. The coffee pony was busy pointing out where to place several party decor, but had a frown on her face. “What’s wrong, Mayor?” Pinkie asked.
She turned to face the party mare. “Oh, hello, Pinkie,” she said, the frown lessening slightly. “I’m just thinking.”
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
“Well…” She gestured around the hall. “Could you explain to me one more time what we’re doing?”
“It’s simple! We’re throwing together a huge welcome-to-Ponyville party for Dusk Prosa!” Pinkie spread her arms wide. “It’s going to be so amazing!”
Mayor nodded. “That’s nice, Pinkie, but have you considered the pony in question?”
“What do you mean?”
Mayor scuffed her hoof on the floor thoughtfully. “I’m not sure Dusk Prosa is the ‘outgoing’ type. He made it quite clear in his choice of housing.” She glanced at the pink mare. “My point is, how do we know he’s even going to like this party?”
“Oh, he will! I’ll make sure of it!”
“Your optimism is nice, Pinkie. But maybe Prosa wouldn’t like that?”
Pinkie frowned, settling back down on four hooves. “Huh? Why wouldn’t he?”
The mayor sighed. “You’ve seen how he acts—cold, guarded, a bit blunt. He’s not the nicest pony to have graced our town. Who’s to say that he won’t react negatively to all this attention we’re giving to him?”
Pinkie glanced away, the mayor’s words finally sinking in. “I guess it is a bit of a long-shot… he was kinda mean. But!” she added, turning back and regaining her smile. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t welcome him with open hooves!”
Mayor Mare nodded, returning a small smile. “I suppose you’re right. We shouldn’t forgo our natural hospitality. We need to make sure Prosa feels right at home, here in Ponyville.”
Pinkie saluted. “I’m on it, Mayor Mare!”
She scampered off, probably to fulfill another party requirement. Mayor Mare smiled, turning back to the decorations. Perhaps this party will be enough to break that stallion’s icy exterior.
Mayor’s words, however, had done enough to disrupt Pinkie’s normally vibrant attitude. She gazed outside, in deep thought, wondering how she should deal with Prosa’s lack of an answer.
“Maybe if I… No, that wouldn’t work. What about… nah.” She continued mumbling to herself, eyes glossing over as she spoke absentmindedly.
The CMC showed up a few minutes later at the entrance, wearing bright, eager smiles. “Hiya, Pinkie!” Sweetie greeted cheerfully.
Pinkie’s eyes settled on the little unicorn, and she let out a loud gasp. A lightbulb shot of her mane; she grabbed it and tossed it to the side, breaking it. “Sweetie Belle!” she exclaimed, beaming at them. “You’re just the filly I needed!”
The trio shared confused looks. “Wait, what?” asked Sweetie.
“Nevermind that! Just listen, Sweetie Belle. I need you to do something for me…”
The stallion in question glanced out the window of his home, seeing that the night had fallen upon the town. He nearly smiled as he saw the moon shine down upon the hills.
He did not claim to be nocturnal, but those who had known him in the past would comment that he seemed more alive in the night. Perhaps it was because it was the only time of the day in which he received the least attention. Most ponies were busy heading home for a warm dinner before relaxing into a peaceful slumber; but he always worked the hardest at nightfall. The darkness of the world had long been an ally of his, and he had been able to use it to his advantage.
Here, at night, he could let down a few of his barriers, knowing that nothing would be watching. Here he could revel in his privacy, knowing a secret only he knew, relishing the feeling of being the intelligent one in the group. Alone, he prospered; alone, he survived; alone, he lived.
Alone.
That word reverberated around his mind, throwing off his thoughtful mood. Alone? Is that what I am? No; that’s what I chose to be. He tried to reassure himself, but the feeling of doubt persisted.
Alone is the only way that they would survive. Alone is the only way I could hide.
Would it be so bad to belong?
I can never belong. Not with my past.
He glanced at the side of the desk, seeing the mess of invitations that he had gotten from Miss Pie. He had been tempted to throw them away at first glance, but he could not find it in his heart to do that. He hadn’t even opened a single letter, for reasons unknown to even him. As he peered at the papers, what Sweetie Belle had said, as well as his troubled thoughts, swirled around in his mind.
Alone.
But this is a chance to not be?
There was something about those papers that seemed… inviting. Decorated in mint green and bright pink, and adorned with hearts, he could tell that the invitations were to something bright and cheerful—a stark contrast to the atmosphere around the house. On the back of each paper read the same thing:
“To Our Friend, Mr. Prosa.”
So there had to be more ponies involved, based on the wording alone. He reasoned that this had to be some sort of large-scale event. But friend? Prosa nearly chuckled at the word. He was no one’s friend. The closest he ever got was as an ally, nothing more.
Yet, this was Miss Pie he was talking about. From what Mayor Mare had said, as well as his own experience with her, she seemed dead-set on making ponies her friend.
Even he.
He?
I? I am no friend. I have no friends.
He glanced back at the center of the desk, where another letter lay. His thoughts grew even more muddled as he reflected on the letter. If I have no friends, then who is this? An ally? No; he is something more than that. But is he a friend?
Who am I to judge what a friend is and what a friend should be? I, who has no idea what a friend even means.
His frown deepened as one final, confusing question rose to mind. Am I friend of anypony?
A daunting question, if he had ever seen one. He could not reasonably answer it. The only way he could was by asking others.
Which once again brought him back to the invitations. Sighing at the inevitable outcome, he reached out and grabbed them, slowly opening each and reading them.
“You are invited to a party!… You are invited to a party in town!… You are invited to a party in Town Hall!… You are invited to a party in Town Hall tonight!… “ Oddly enough, not one of the letters had the name of the recipient of the party indicated on any of them. He sighed as he tossed the last letter back onto the desk.
“Why a party on a night such as this?” he wondered aloud, once again looking out the window. “A chance to socialize, or a chance to remain hidden? Look out the window, O town, and behold what I behold; a sense of peace, a contrast of the pain and guilt that I have known for so long.” He looked down. Or maybe I’m afraid. Afraid of being in the open.
Lamentation was not unknown to Dusk, and it was something he constantly struggled with. Memories past, of actions he would always regret, flew by his eyes, leaving him to wonder with regret.
“Could things have been different, had I done something else?” he muttered. “Dusk Prosa!… Podex perfectus es.”
Therein lies a chance to no longer be alone… but with belonging, comes danger. I may not show it, but I do care about those in that town. He shook his head. Were I to go out, who is to say that danger would not follow? Who is to say that my past won’t catch up?
He walked back over to the bookshelf, peering at Opacare Prose’s novels. These, in the past, helped me overcome my guilt… and yet new guilt followed. He placed a hoof on one of the novels. Do you forgive me for what I’ve done, old friends? Because I haven’t. I never will.
He sighed. And that is why I don’t go out. Because I am the danger. I fear. I cannot be forgiven, so I do not allow myself the chance.
Once again, Sweetie Belle’s words came to him, speaking in a whisper.
“Is that why you’re so cold? Because you lost touch with the folks that care?”
He turned, facing the desk, looking at the items that lay upon the wooden frame. His eyes glanced at the photo frame. They, who were robbed… He shifted his gaze to the scroll. They, who I kept away for their safety… He took one final look at the blue quill and black inkwell. They, whom I killed to save…
Consumed by some strange urge, he walked over to the desk and reached out, grasping the frame with his hoof. He looked down at it, deep in thought. Once again, the smiles that he saw were hollow, without substance… or life.
Alone. That is what I am.
Don’t go out. Don’t go out. Don’t go out. Don’t go out.
Stay.
… Knock, knock, knock.
What sounded like hooves beating on the downstairs door brought him out of his sorrowful thoughts. Uncertain if he had heard anything, he waited for another sign of clarification.
… Knock, knock, knock. He heard something muffled, perhaps a cry; but that was all the clarification he needed.
He moved away from the desk and made his way down the steps, eyes trained carefully on the door, still grasping the photo frame. He was unsure who had come at this hour; and he had no intention of being at all welcoming.
But he sighed; it wouldn’t do to be icy this late at night.
Biting back a cranky curse, he stepped up to the door. He placed his pewter hoof upon the gold-bronze surface, and twisted, pulling the door wide.
He blinked in surprise.
Standing outside his door was a certain unicorn filly, looking up at him with emerald eyes. Her purple and pink mane fluffed out behind her slightly, her white coat covered by what appeared to be a red cape. Plastered on the back was a blue shield with a gold-yellow, small equine figure on top.
He nearly addressed her as miss, but remembered that she preferred not to be called as such. He gazed at her for one more surprised second, before forming a frown. “… Sweetie Belle?”
The young filly smiled up at him. “Hiya, Mr. Prosa!” she greeted cheerfully.
He blinked in confusion, and for once he could not figure out what to say. Any previous thought immediately left his mind, replaced by a feeling of incredulity. “Uh…”
“What are you doing still here?” she asked, looking up at him.
He didn’t respond by voice, his mouth moving but no words coming out.
“Didn’t you get the invitations to the party?”
He blinked again, remembering the cards on his desk, before answering, “Y-yes, I did.”
“So why aren’t you at the party?”
“Why do you care?” he automatically asked in a cold tone.
Immediately after he had said this, a huge weight of regret was heaved on his shoulders. Sweetie looked away, her eyes wide and filling with tears. The feeling inside was foreign, unfamiliar, untamed; and yet as raw and rich as any emotion. It pushed past his logical thought process, and instinctively knelt down to comfort the filly.
You asshole.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to snap like that.”
She wiped her eyes, looking back at the taller stallion. She managed a small smile. “I forgive you, Mr. Prosa. You probably are just having an off day.”
His mind went back the the photo frame on his desk, then the letter; and then back to Sweetie herself. “You could say that,” he murmured.
“So why not come to the party? It oughta cheer you up!”
Ignoring the slightly mangled grammar, he sighed. “I… can’t. I’m…” He turned away, looking back up the stairs. “I’m busy.”
She caught his look up the stairs, but said nothing about it. “Busy doing what?”
“Work.”
“Does it have anything to do with that?” She pointed a hoof out, and Dusk looked to his side, finally remembering that he still held the photo in his hooves.
He looked down at the picture, the familiar lamentation reentering his heart. His eyes grew distant once more, and his face fell. He was unaware of Sweetie silently noticing the look.
He was unable to answer with words, so he resolved with a slow, steady nod. What else could he do; lie? To do so would be to desecrate their memory, tarnish their reputation. Something he could never do.
“Who are they?” Sweetie asked.
“My parents,” he answered, his voice becoming somewhat strained.
“They look pretty nice,” the filly commented brightly.
He nodded solemnly. “They were.”
Her smile morphed into a concerned frown. “Huh?”
He did not respond, turning and re-entering his home. Sweetie, after a moment’s hesitation, followed after him.
He clutched the photo in his hoof tightly, still looking down at it. Somehow, Sweetie’s distant presence made the image have a bigger impact on him. Bitterness cloaked his heart in a grey veil, clutching it in a dark vice. The tension built, and soon tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. He quickly blinked them away, hoping that Sweetie hadn’t seen them.
But she had, and she had already concluded what was wrong. “Mr. Prosa?” she asked, stepping up to him. “Are you okay?”
A strange thing occurred. Sweetie’s close proximity somehow lessened the pain, reducing the strain back to a throbbing, dull ache at the back of his mind. Now as he looked at the picture, he felt a tinge of warmth return to those smiles. It wasn’t enough to bring him out of his depressive state, however, and his frown only deepened.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Sweetie said softly. She nuzzled up to him, doing her best to comfort him.
“Always.”
“Why, though? Why don’t you just—”
“Not look?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t. I simply can’t.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m afraid that if I don’t look, I’ll forget.”
He looked up, sudden realization hitting him. “Why am I telling you these things?” he murmured. “You are but a filly. Innocent.” He glanced at her. “And I am but a cold stallion.”
She nodded, before saying, “But underneath that cold pony is a warmer heart.”
“Lies.”
“Or maybe you’ve convinced yourself of that.”
He stared at her, seeing that there was a fire behind those emerald eyes. It burned of such intensity, such earnesty, that rivaled his harsh, pink gaze. Does she truly believe what she is saying? That I have warmth inside of me?
Children are sometimes wiser than we make them out to be. Perhaps they are smarter than even the wisest of stallions. For they are earnest and innocent and truthful, with none of the boundaries that the adults must bear.
Paradise is made up of these fillies, he reflected. Theirs is the glory of the end. Blessed, indeed, are the meek.
His lips slowly lifted into a tired and impressed smile—one that raised Sweetie’s spirits. “You are truly an intelligent little filly, Sweetie Belle.”
He stood, going up the stairs and placing the photo back on his desk. Sweetie patiently waited for him to return downstairs.
He returned shortly after, wearing the familiar blue vest across his torso. “This party,” he started, a bit hesitant. “Will it be… nice?”
She smiled at him. “It will be, Mr. Prosa!”
He nodded, before walking out with her. In the moonlight’s glow, she saw him smile a bit nervously. She gave him a reassuring hug, catching off guard. After a moment, though, he returned the gesture. Together, they walked down the dirt path towards the Town Hall.
Pinkie Pie waited by the door while the other ponies waited for her call. She peered out towards the path up to Canterlot, eyes straining against the stained glass. A million bolts of excitement and apprehension ran down her mane to her tail, and she couldn’t help but smile in anticipation.
The moment she saw a familiar, small white filly, with a pewter-grey pony, enter her view, her smile widened enormously. She turned, facing the others. “Here they come!” she said. They nodded and, at her command, hid in the back of the Town Hall, carefully concealed. After making sure everypony was in place, she too joined them in hiding.
The minutes grew long, and waiting soon became a chore. It seemed that the two in question were not intent on arriving quickly; something that only slightly irked Pinkie Pie. Regardless, all waited as patiently as they could, though some began fidgeting once the first ten minutes passed.
After several more painful moments, they heard voices.
“… What I just don’t understand is why there was no information on who this party is for,” they heard Dusk Prosa say. His voice grew louder, though still muffled, meaning that he was nearing the door. “Surely Miss Pie would not miss such an obvious detail?”
“Of course she wouldn’t! Pinkie’s the party mare of Ponyville!” they heard Sweetie respond, her voice slightly cracking. “St-stop laughing!” she exclaimed after they heard Dusk snicker quietly at the voice crack. “Anyway, she’s pretty much the expert on parties around here.”
“Still, though, purposely omitting the guest of honor’s name seems quite the blunder to me.”
“Holy cow!” Pinkie whispered to Twilight. “He’s actually talking a lot! And he sounds nice!” Twilight quickly shushed her.
“Why do you think she did it?” Sweetie asked. Their footsteps stopped right before the door.
“Hmm.” He paused, placing a hoof on the door, slowly pushing it open. “I suppose the only real reason for such a lack of attention would be to throw a—”
“SURPRISE PARTY!” Pinkie and everypony yelled, popping up from behind the stage. The stallion was taken by complete surprise. Confetti rained from the ceiling as banners were displayed, all saying “Welcome to Ponyville!” in bright, bold lettering. Pinkie blew a party streamer before suddenly firing off her party cannon towards Dusk.
That would have been fine, had Pinkie not somehow forgotten that she had left the streamers’ ammunition unopened—meaning that she was firing at least a dozen plastic boxes at a high velocity towards their faces.
The stallion instinctively grabbed Sweetie and ducked to the side, just barely dodging the projectiles. He glanced back, seeing the boxes fly out the door, before glaring back at the party mare. “Pinkie!” he barked sharply. “What the devil?!”
Pinkie giggled nervously. “Sorry! Guess I forgot to open a few things!”
Dusk snorted. “Best party pony in town, my flank…” he murmured to himself. He got up, helping Sweetie off the ground. The filly seemed a little shaken by the experience, but quickly recovered, smiling at the pink pony.
“Good job getting him here, Sweetie!” Pinkie exclaimed. “Maybe you have special talent in leading ponies to parties!”
Sweetie shrugged. “Actually, Mr. Prosa didn’t really need leading. He came on his own.”
“Really?” Rarity asked, looking at the stallion with slight curiosity. “That certainly is an…”
Dusk smirked knowingly. “An improvement? I suppose it could be considered one.”
He glanced around once more, taking in everything. “I suppose I should have seen this coming. In retrospect, it makes sense.” He glanced at Sweetie. “I suppose, then, that you only visited to get me?”
She blushed. “Well, that was part of it—” She protested further, but stopped when she saw the stallion’s smile return.
He turned back to the party mare, whose smile had widened enormously. “Well, Miss Pie, you certainly caught me off guard. In fact, a lot of this town has caught me off guard.” He placed a hoof on his chin in thought. “I wonder why? It’s been a long time since I had experience such genuine liveliness in any place.”
Rarity smiled. “If you stick around, you might find that there’s more where that came from.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep you to that.” He glanced back at Pinkie. “I’m not the most outgoing of ponies, but just this once I’ll try to enjoy myself. I believe that there is something you ponies say when the guest of honor has arrived. What was it? Oh, yes, it was—”
“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!” Pinkie shouted, somehow summoning a blue polka-dotted party cap. She signaled to Vinyl, and got the party music playing in seconds. The other guests began dancing and partying around, the music bringing motion to their hooves.
Sweetie went off to find the other crusaders, leaving Dusk alone at the door. He looked around, seeing the smiling faces of the town; and couldn’t help but smile with them.
His eyes wandered around at the various party decor, before settling on the cake in the far back corner. He chuckled to himself. Chocolate mousse cake. Just like I prefer it. I really should have seen this coming…
Then again, there were more pressing issues at hoof…
He mentally shook his head. There would be a time of reflection later; goddess knew that he had spent far too long lamenting. Right now, he ought to focus on enjoying himself as much as possible.
Starting with, of course, that cake.
As he walked over, he noticed two familiar-looking ponies standing by the table. One was a stallion, with a blue-grey coat and a taupe mane. The other was a white mare with a light-pink mane. The mare heard him approach, and turned to greet him with a smile. Dusk instantly recognized who she was, just from her blue eyes alone.
“Dusk Prosa!” she greeted, smiling.
“Nurse Redheart,” he said, actually surprised. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”
“She’s with me, lad,” the stallion said, turning and looking at Prosa with his pine-green eyes. “Ponyville Hospital will be fine without us for a few hours.”
Prosa smiled. “A good evening to you, Doctor Irons. And to you as well, Redheart.”
“The feeling’s mutual, mate,” Irons said, his smile widening. “I must say, you certainly seem different from the stallion I had to prod days ago!”
Prosa glanced over his shoulder to where Sweetie and the other Crusaders were partying. “I suppose you could say I’ve had some help.”
Redheart nodded. “Good. Celestia knows you needed it.”
Dusk stared coolly at her, but couldn’t restrain the smile crossing his face. It had been a while since he had any sort of banter; and this conversation was quite the welcome.
They talked a little more, regarding Dusk’s current establishments, before they wandered off. Dusk watched them go, before turning back to the table. He eyed the cake with a tinge of glee, before grabbing one of the plates.
“You’re not seriously going to eat the cake now, are you?” a familiar female voice asked.
Dusk sighed, turning around. “I was considering it, Miss Sparkle,” he responded, eyeing the lavender unicorn with slight annoyance. “Can you blame me? I haven’t had mousse in many a night.”
Twilight managed a small smile. “Well, don’t let me stop you, ‘Mister’ Prosa.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Satire? You’ve changed.”
“The same could be said about you.”
He set his plate down. “Indeed it could. Though, now it really is can, isn’t it?” He grinned to himself. “Only a short while ago, I would not have found myself at a lively party.”
Twilight nodded. “You certainly seemed like the kind of pony who liked to remain secluded. May I ask why you came?”
He frowned, though not in contempt. “I suppose I grew tired.”
“Tired of what?”
“Things,” he answered vaguely, still unwilling to divulge too much information.
Twilight didn’t try to pry further, accepting the fact that Prosa still had some restrictions. “To be honest, not many of us thought you’d actually come. It was only Pinkie and Sweetie who showed any hope of you coming.”
He nodded. “As I’ve said before, partying is not my preferred form of enjoyment. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have means of joy.”
She looked away. “I wasn’t sure if you even felt joy…”
“Why is that?” he asked. He was actually surprised; that was something he had not expected Twilight to say.
“Well… if your behavior at the library was any sign of anything…”
At once regret entered Dusk’s mind, and he averted his gaze. His mane fell in front of his face, masking his features.
Twilight blinked. “Oh, gosh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring that up.” She scraped her hoof on the floor. “Ugh, this was supposed to be a nice time… bringing up bad memories isn’t going to help—”
“No.” Dusk held up a hoof. “It’s… it’s fine.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I’ve… been thinking about that event. And… I realize that I haven’t resolved that issue.”
She said nothing, letting him continue, a curious look on her face.
He turned to her, sadness in his eyes. “My behavior, no matter how justified I made it out to be, is inexcusable in retrospect. It was rude, and mean, and completely atrocious and unnecessary.” He looked away. “Calling you a thief, and in front of that young drake… that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
A silence fell between them, and Dusk expected Twilight to simply walk away. It was to be expected; and he mentally braced himself to the inevitable absence.
Suddenly, he felt a pair of hooves wrap around him, hugging him slightly. His eyes widened, astounded, and he glanced at the mare to his now very close side. “M-miss Twilight?”
It was a warm hug, one that someone would give as a sort of peace-offering. She didn’t say anything at first, simply giving him a smidge of affection. Eventually, she released her hold on him, giving him a slight smile.
“It’s nice that you apologized, Dusk,” she said. “But I should apologize, too. After all,” she added, blushing somewhat in embarrassment, “I did kinda steal that from you.” She didn’t need to clarify what she meant, the meaning coming across easily.
He nodded, thankful that she didn’t seem intent on pursuing that topic at the moment. “What now?” he asked after a moment of silence.
She smiled. “I’ll talk to you later. Right now, why don’t you enjoy yourself? The cake is practically calling your name.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can practically hear it calling, ‘Convivium in me!’”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You speak Latineigh?”
He smirked. “More than meets the eye, remember?”
She giggled at his humor, before leaving him at the table. He smiled to himself as he watched her go, happy that he had resolved that issue. Turning around, he licked his lips, once again picking up a plate.
Because he was feeling especially good tonight, Dusk helped himself not to one, but to two, pieces of the chocolate mousse cake. After eagerly gulping down the second slice, he let out a contented sigh, tossing the plate into the nearby trash can. He had to give props to the Cake family; when they made dessert, they certainly knew what they were doing.
Scanning the room, he saw that the ponies were most definitely enjoying themselves. Nurse Redheart and Doctor Irons were towards the back, talking with a brown earth pony who wore a green tie, and had an hourglass as a Cutie Mark. Next to him was a grey pegasus mare with a wheat-yellow mane, her eyes slightly disjointed. Her Cutie Mark was represented by a set of bubbles; he couldn’t discern what possible purpose they held.
Though who I am to judge? he reminded himself quietly. A certain pony’s mark brought happiness but also pain to those close to him.
His eyes drifted over to the side of the room, where Pinkie and the Crusaders were. The pink pony was entertaining the young fillies with a set of games. They had looks of absolute joy on their faces, and Dusk felt his own lips rise at seeing them. Sweetie saw him looking, and gave him a friendly wave; he returned it, briefly, before looking away.
Such a quaint town. So lively, filled with actual life. So unlike the false streets of Manehattan.
He blinked. Had he seriously thought that? Perhaps this town was not only affecting him on an emotional level, but also on a subconscious level. He wondered if that was a bad thing. Having spent so much time being guarded, actively opening himself to others now seemed so… foreign. Unfamiliar. He was unsure whether to feel relieved that he felt this way; or scared that he would slip.
As with any operation, the chance of risk increases as time goes on…
“Um… Mr. Prosa?”
The voice was extremely quiet, but though the party sounds nearly drowned it out, Prosa nonetheless managed to hear that meek sound. Ears twitching, he dropped out of his thoughts and turned, facing the source of the voice.
He was met by a butterscotch-yellow pegasus with a pink mane and sapphire eyes. She looked at him shyly, but had a small smile on her face. He fixed her with an quiet, intense, questioning gaze, making her look away in embarrassment. “Yes?” he asked, his gaze softening after a moment. “Miss…”
“Fluttershy, although you don’t have to call me Miss.” She blushed. “Um, that is, if you wouldn’t mind…”
“Fluttershy? Ah, yes, the animal caretaker of Ponyville.” He held out a hoof to shake, and she kindly took it, offering her a small grin.
They turned their gazes back to the room, specifically the center, where an orange earth pony and a cyan pegasus were hoof-wrestling—apparently due to a dispute over the cider. A semi-large crowd had gathered around, cheering them on.
“Who are they?” Prosa asked Fluttershy.
She pointed to the earth pony first: “She’s Applejack.” She moved her hoof onto the cyan pegasus. “And she’s Rainbow Dash.”
“Friends of yours?”
“Uh huh,” she said cheerfully.
He raised an eyebrow. “So why don’t you hang out with them? Instead of… you know… being over here with me?”
She shook her head. “It’s fine to watch. I don’t like getting too much attention.”
He nodded knowingly. “Ah, cognatae spiritus.”
She gave him a confused look. He explained. “It’s Latineigh for a kindred spirit.” He smiled. “I prefer the background to the foreground as well.”
She giggled lightly. “I guess that also explains why you chose that house at the edge of Ponyville.”
He sighed. “It actually explains a lot…” he said to himself.
Fluttershy gave him a confused look, but chose not to pursue the matter. “Anyway… how are you enjoying the party so far?”
“It’s… interesting, to say the least.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s been a long time since I ever went to any sort of party.”
“Why is that?”
With a shrug, he responded, “Life.”
She nodded. “It does get a little hectic every now and then. But,” she added, “that’s why it’s always a good thing to take a moment to relax.”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. “And if there is no time to relax?”
“There always is. Sometimes you just need somepony else to show you it.” She gave him a small smile, and then—much to his surprise—gave him a quick hug.
As she stepped out of the hug, he saw that there was a faint blush to her cheeks. He smirked. “I see you like me already.”
She eeped, but giggled softly. A few more words were exchanged, and then she said her goodbyes, leaving to talk to another partygoer.
Curiouser and curiouser. If I wasn’t so sure, I’d say the ponies are beginning to warm up to me.
The party slowly began to dwindle as the night went on, with several ponies leaving. Lyra and Bon Bon were first, followed by Cranky and Matilda. While the former ponies left with loud voices, the latter were more subdued. Several saw that Cranky, despite his usual grouchiness, had a small smile on his face as he left with his love.
A few other ponies had come up to Prosa during the party. Most said very few words, tired out from all the partying; he was thankful that he didn’t need to talk. He had noticed, however, that Rarity and Applejack were missing. Upon questioning several ponies, he learned that they had left the party sometime before, “on lookout duty.”
He wondered what that meant.
He glanced at Applejack’s family, consisting of Big Mac and Granny Smith; Apple Bloom was still hanging around with the Crusaders. They regarded him with silent stares, but he didn’t detect anything unkind in them.
Granny Smith approached the stallion as he finished talking with another pony. She fixed him with a stern glare, one that he cooly returned, unwilling to back down. He could feel Big Mac’s eyes stare at him questionly, undoubtedly still feeling uneasy about letting the pewter stallion anywhere close to his family.
“You oughta know that mah family has been a part of this town since its beginning,” she stated.
“Indeed.”
“And we care an awful lot about it.”
“Of course.”
“So… Ah don’t want t’ hear you making any trouble, ya hear?”
He nearly chuckled out loud. Her voice, though strained from age, had not weakened the slightest. It commanded him with authority, and he immediately knew that it would be safer if he heeded her words.
Still, though, he had one more thing to say before he could agree.
“And if trouble comes after me?”
She narrowed her gaze. “Then you’ll deal with it mightily.”
At that, he smiled. “Wise words, Miss Smith. I’ll try and refrain from becoming a bother.”
She nodded, returning the smile.
Big Mac, and Granny Smith soon left after. Apple Bloom followed them, but not before giving Prosa a quick goodbye.
The numbers eventually grew sparse, leaving only maybe ten other ponies, not counting Dusk, left in the Town Hall. Among the numbers was a certain rainbow-maned pegasus, who had been giving Dusk the cold shoulder since the beginning of the party. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why; she still had her qualms about letting Dusk anywhere near the town. Scootaloo had shadowed her, but once she had seen the pegasus fix her magenta gaze onto Dusk, she instinctively backed off, knowing that something was about to go down.
She flew towards him, stopping just in front and touching down, all the while glaring at him. He returned a steady gaze, his mouth and features neutral. Her face, meanwhile, had her brow furrowed, the corners of her mouth dipping downward. An air of vehemence surrounded her, and perhaps a weaker pony might have cringed under the weight.
But Dusk refused to show any weakness. He had dealt with similar ponies in the past; those who were arrogant and full of themselves. He had handled those like he had handled his own case of arrogance; by putting them in their place, before they could launch a preemptive strike.
The only problem was, Rainbow Dash was not like the ponies of his past.
Before he could get a word in, she placed a hoof against his vest angrily. “Well?” she asked, glaring at him.
Inwardly, he was taken by surprise by her forwardness. Still, he maintained a cool attitude, responding, “Well what?”
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Is what true—”
“Don’t play dumb with me!” She pushed him, making him slide up to the table where the cakes were. “You know exactly what I’m talking about!”
The action raised up a painful memory. He visibly winced, as if in pain, eyes blinking rapidly as if he was trying to clear his vision.
Scootaloo noticed Dusk’s sudden discomfort, and quickly tapped Rainbow’s shoulder. “Rainbow! Take it easy!”
The cyan pegasus glanced back at the filly, and took a slow breath. She retracted her hoof, allowing Dusk to regain his composure.
I still regret having to nearly push that stallion off that balcony, he thought, frowning as the image of him holding a pony by his mere hind hoof raced across his mind.
“I’m not going to play any games,” Rainbow said, still glaring at Prosa. “Those syringes. What are they for?”
Dusk saw Scootaloo grow a concerned look at the mention of the syringes. He quickly glanced back at Rainbow, carefully choosing his words.
“The reasons are my reasons alone, Miss Dash.”
She scraped her hoof on the floor. “That’s not a good enough answer!”
“But it’s the only answer you’re going to get.”
She snorted angrily. “Why all the secrecy, though, if they’re just syringes? You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
“We all have our secrets.”
“None of us have suspicious secrets!”
“All secrets are suspicious by nature. It’s only natural; they, as living enigmas, should be regarded with slight unease.” He leveled his gaze at her. “Knowledge is power; and power can corrupt.”
She growled. “That still doesn’t explain why you had to be all hostile to Twilight about them!”
He returned a glare of his own. “Did you perhaps consider that this is the reason why I chose to try and keep those syringes a secret?”
She reeled back in shock. “Excuse me?”
“Your reaction is the answer to my secrecy, Miss Dash. You are immediately appalled by what I have, and set about confronting me about something you don’t understand.” His glare grew more powerful, shutting her up and preventing a retort. “Ponies fear what they don’t know; but even more so when they see, and still don’t understand. To be ignorant is to be dead; to conclude without evidence is to be rendered obsolete.”
He took a step forward, and the intense gaze was enough to force Rainbow back.
“You, Rainbow Dash,” he continued, “would rather confront me over something you don’t and don’t want to understand, than try and understand where I am coming from. Are you so self-centered that you think that what you think is always right?”
“Are you?!” she retorted. She immediately regretted it, as Dusk’s restraint broke. His lips curled, and he bared his teeth. His head lowered, his pupils shrinking to miniscule levels.
Truly, he was a frightening pony once you got him mad.
And yet, just as quickly as his anger rose, so did it fade. Rainbow didn’t know, but Scootaloo had been behind her, staring at Dusk.
The fear in her face was enough to make the stallion pause, and his anger retreated in response.
He took a calming breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Exhaling, he opened them, his gaze much more calm. “Every day,” he barely whispered.
His mouth closed, and his gaze fell, and he became unmoving.
Rainbow blinked, before snarling, “Hey! That doesn’t answer what those syringes are for!”
He said nothing.
“You’re a user, aren’t you?!”
Still he remained as silent as the night that encompassed the world.
“Hey! Stop ignoring me!”
“Dusk isn’t ignoring you, Rainbow, silly!” Pinkie suddenly exclaimed. Her unexpected appearance made the trio jump back in slight surprise. The pink mare barely gave Dusk a glance, but retained a cheerful smile. “He’s just said his peace, and feels that nothing more needs to be said!”
Dusk mentally raised an eyebrow, wondering how Pinkie had so accurately reached that conclusion.
“Besides, I think you’ve done enough questioning!” Pinkie continued, frowning at Dash. “And as much as I want to know what those syringes are for, I won’t have the guest of honor be harassed. Okay?”
Dash glanced between Dusk and Pinkie, seeing that the two had pretty much told her to move on. She let out a disgruntled snort, but nonetheless conceded. “Fine!” She took off, flying out, but before she had completely left she yelled, “Dusk, you had better not do something stupid!”
He merely nodded, and the sound of wind breaking followed shortly after.
“She wasn’t bothering you too bad, was she, Dusk?” Pinkie asked.
Not anymore than expected. He shook his head no. Pinkie smiled reassuringly, before giving him a quick hug.
“Don’t worry about her! She just hasn’t gotten to really know you yet!”
Pinkie didn’t notice, but Dusk suddenly stiffened, struck by sudden fear. He quickly shrugged her off, doing his best to not cast suspicion. Pinkie, oblivious as always, gave him a final smile, before moving off to help clean the Hall.
That left Prosa with Scootaloo. The young pegasus was staring off towards where Rainbow had flown off. Her eyes were large, and Dusk could tell that a storm of emotions was forming behind her violet eyes. A sea of sadness and confusion swirled within, her look growing distant. Dusk wondered if he should comfort her; but even if he did, what could he say? That Rainbow really didn’t mean what she said? That she was drunk?
He knew that those would be lies. Rainbow meant everything she had said; and Dusk knew that he would have to tread lightly around her.
He approached Scootaloo cautiously, though unsure of what to say initially. The filly turned to face him, her bottom lip quivering in shock.
Just as he was about to speak, she interrupted: “I’msorryforRainbowDuskpleasedon’tbemad!”
The fast string of words caught him off-guard, and he paused.
“Anywayhopeyouenjoyedthepartytakecare!”
She scampered off, leaving behind a bit of smoke in her wake. Dusk blinked, before letting out a brief sigh, unsure what to make of it.
“I… guess that’s fine,” he murmured. She talked just as fast as Rainbow flew…
It shouldn’t have bothered him; Rainbow’s reaction was, after all, a guarantee. Yet, with all that had happened tonight, Dusk couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed in the pegasus.
He shook his head, determined not to feel depressed again. He began helping clean up the Hall, tossing bits of confetti and party streamers into the nearby trash bins. He scraped the tables clean, clearing any crumbs, and swept the floors dry. Thanks to the combined efforts of both Dusk and everypony else, the Hall was completely furbished once again.
He let out a satisfied sigh as he tossed a final piece of confetti into the trash. The work had, thankfully, put his mind at somewhat of a rest, and Rainbow’s harsh words became little more than a distant memory.
He heard a set of hooves approaching, and he turned, seeing Twilight Sparkle walk up to him. Next to her was Spike who, despite the night of partying, still looked quite awake. The unicorn had a nervous look on her face, and Dusk frowned. Anticipating potential danger, he asked, “Is something wrong, Miss Twilight?”
She scuffed a hoof on the floor. “Not exactly. It’s more like… I have a question.”
“Oh?”
She took a slow breath to calm herself. “I assume you’ve heard about Opacare Prose’s disappearance?”
He nearly flinched at the name, but remained outwardly stoic. “I have. I’ve been hearing it on the news for a few days now.”
“And I assume you know that many of the cities and towns of Equestria are looking for him?”
“I do.” His frown deepened, and he suddenly felt a jolt of worry race down his spine. Had he messed up? Had he grown careless?
“And, well…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, seemingly at a loss for words.
Spike slapped a hand to his face. “For goodness sake, Twilight! It’s not that hard of a question to ask!”
“Well, excuse me, Spike, but I think it is!” she responded, a bit testily.
Prosa raised his hoof, gaining their attention. “I think it would be beneficial for us all if you were to actually ask me the question, Miss Sparkle.”
She sighed. “Of course. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, well, as I’ve said, Equestria’s been on the lookout for Opacare Prose for a few weeks now. We in Ponyville have been busy doing our part to help.”
“By setting up watchers, I imagine?”
“More than that. We have a system of watching implemented. We’ve got pegasi looking out from above, and Fluttershy is asking for the assistance of the woodland critters. Applejack and her family have made contact with the members in Appleloosa, so they’re also assisting us.”
“But?”
She sighed in frustration. “I can’t explain it, but it seems like all our efforts are for nothing. We haven’t found a shred of Prose anywhere!”
“I see…” He gave her a questioning look. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“Well… I was thinking that maybe we need someone with expertise.”
He and Spike both raised an eyebrow.
“Let me explain. Prosa—and please, don’t bother trying to deny it—we know you’re from Manehattan. I was thinking that, if Opacare left from there, then maybe it would take a Manehattanite to fish him out.”
Neither of their eyebrows lowered, but Dusk gained a somewhat troubled look.
“I know it’s a long shot, but at this point, I’m willing to use whatever chance we can get.” She stared straight into Prosa’s eyes. “Dusk, can I ask you to join our watchers?”
He didn’t respond, the eyebrow finally lowering. He stared straight ahead, as if deep in thought. Yet his eyes betrayed nothing of the inner workings of his mind, carefully glazed so as to prevent outsiders from looking in. The troubled expression grew, and he scrunched up his muzzle as if in disgust.
Then, for the briefest of moments, the unicorn and the dragon thought they saw genuine fear in Prosa’s eyes.
And then, just as suddenly, it was gone, replaced with a thoughtful guardedness. He didn’t say anything at first, his head lowering, eyes pointed at the floor.
“… I’ll think about it,” he finally said, still not meeting their gaze.
Twilight and Spike shared a look, but Twilight simply shrugged, deciding that that was enough of an answer. She said her farewells to Dusk, before leaving for the Golden Oak Library.
Dusk took a moment to regain himself. He tried slowing his breathing, getting his heart rate down to resting beats. He wiped away a traitorous bead of sweat, closing his eyes and counting to ten. Don’t panic.
After a few seconds, he let out a wary breath. He had calmed just enough to not break down. Okay, he tried to reassure himself. I can still make this work. The situation is still under control.
In a frenzy he returned back to cleaning, going over seemingly every inch of the Hall, just to get his mind off of Twilight’s request. For some time, he managed to do just that; the dust balls that had appeared were enough of a distraction anyway.
Once he had finished cleaning (again), he returned back to the table, still thoughtful. Twilight’s request returned to mind, though this time it wasn’t as troublesome as before. I think… I think I can still do this. So long as I don’t reveal anything, I should be able to blend in fine.
He took a deep breath, calming his nerves. He put on a mask of indifference, determined to not let Ponyville see his inner anxiety.
“Hey, Mr. Prosa…” a tired voice called to his left.
He turned and smiled, seeing an exhausted Sweetie Belle standing by his side. She looked up at him with bleary eyes. There were some streamers in her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind them. “Sweetie Belle,” he greeted. “I assume that you had fun?”
She nodded. “Oh, it was a blast. Did you?”
He chuckled. “To my chagrin, I did indeed.”
She frowned. “Having fun isn’t something to be embarrassed about, Dusk.”
He only chuckled again, making Sweetie’s face contort in confusion. “I’m more surprised you knew the meaning of the word!”
“Chagrin isn’t a hard word, Dusk!” Sweetie protested.
“When I was your age, not a single adult could tell me the meaning of chagrin,” he responded. He playfully ruffled her hair, making her yelp in surprise. He glanced around, seeing that there were still a few ponies left over whom had decided on staying to help Pinkie reorganize her party accessories. He nodded to himself, seeing that his presence was no longer necessary.
“Hey, Mr. Prosa. Quick question.”
He mentally sighed. Please don’t be something awkward. “Yes, Sweetie?”
“Would you like to join the Crusaders?”
He paused. “That’s… your little club, right?”
“It’s more than a little club!” She pouted. “It’s an endless quest for our Cutie Marks!”
“I’m sure. But why me?”
“Well… you don’t exactly have a Mark, right?”
“How observant.” His dry tone went over her head.
“So, why don’t you… you know… join us? I’m sure you’d have fun!”
He levelled his gaze at her. “Sweetie, I’d be busy so much that I’d have no time to actually go ‘Crusading’ with you.”
“I know that! I was just thinking that you could be an honorary member or something!”
Dusk once again paused, seeing the earnestness in Sweetie’s eyes. Her eyes were wide and pleading, despite her tired status. After a moment of contemplation, he gave a small smile.
“Just let your sister know to make me a cape, okay?”
The tired joy on her face made his heart soar for some reason. Somehow, despite everything, Sweetie still could brighten his mood. He offered a friendly, warm hoof to the white filly.
“Come on; I’ll walk you home.” |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 19:01:59 GMT -8
XII: Contemplation
Boss sat at his desk, reading over the report that Swol had sent in. He had to admit, that no matter how seemingly addlebrained the tan stallion was, he was highly efficient in his work—a skill that was highly sought after in the Family.
The report was fairly simple, consisting of the monthly wages of all the workers. It also had the city’s economic status, housing status, plumbing, as well as general happiness—though that measurement was most likely varied between testers. The tan stallion certainly had upped his game ever since he arrived in the family all those years ago.
Hmm. Just about the time that Prose did as well. Thinking that made Boss frown. It’s hard to believe that it’s been years since then. I was but a mere colt in a bigger, more dangerous world.
He sighed. It was his Family that had gotten him through, but it was also his stubbornness and grit that helped him along the way.
And Swol. Swol helped a ton.
He would never admit it out loud, but that somewhat clumsy stallion was one of his best friends. Sure, Boss may have acted like he didn’t like him (or, at least, shown any preference); but that was part of the duty of being the bossman. He couldn’t afford to show any bias towards anypony when in the presence of others. Still, though, Swol had grown to become somepony that Boss could truly trust in his organization.
Unlike that backstabbing, two-timing, betraying—
He cut his own thoughts off with a sigh, flipping over the last page of the document. Such thoughts bred negativity; and in an organization as complex as his, it wouldn’t do to have the members see him in such a state. The moment he showed any signs of unease, he knew that somepony would step up and throw him out.
He nearly chuckled out loud. Here, in his office, he was somewhat allowed to relax. His attitude was usually abrasive and rash; but it kept order, and that was all he cared about.
Well, mostly all he cared about.
He rubbed his eyes, still exhausted from the week’s events. Between managing a Family, managing the city, and managing the search parties, he had been driven to near insanity just trying to keep this place in any sort of order. It didn’t help that most of the lackeys were mumbling behind his back about him, or calling him overly obsessive with Prose. Only a few higher-ups actually cared enough to work; most others simply sat at their desk and did their best not to attract attention.
He supposed it was to be expected. After all, all organizations had some workers who didn’t care much for the end goal. This realization, however, did little to improve his mood.
He closed the folder, pushing to the side of his desk. He let out a breath, observing the room. Pine-green, wooden walls surrounded him, with faded white stripes serving as a nice contrast. A few paintings from olden times covered the sides, while an older chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light. In the front of the room was a mahogany-wooden coat rack, with a brown peacoat and taupe fedora. He found himself staring at the door. His eyes traced his name embellished on the window, before settling on a faint silhouette behind it. He narrowed his gaze, before saying, “Come in.”
The knob turned, and Swol entered. The tan, younger stallion glanced around as he walked towards Boss, clutching a set of envelopes with him. Boss nodded at him, allowing him to approach. Swol placed the envelopes on the desk.
“Here ya go, Boss,” he said. “That’s our most recent reports on Prose’s disappearance. I’ve also got some more data on the current state of the city.”
Boss nodded. “You work quickly, Swol. A shame that we don’t have that same efficiency when it comes to other things.”
Swol nodded carefully, not responding. Boss took the envelopes and opened each one, peering at the contents within. He shuffled through them in a thoughtful silence.
If we had somepony who was as smart as Prose, we’d have found that stallion by now, he thought.
“Boss?” Swol suddenly asked. “I have a question…”
He nodded. “What is it, Swol?”
Swol scraped the ground nervously. “It’s… about Prose.”
Boss stiffened, but nodded anyway, trying to make himself seem less hostile.
“You say that… he isn’t beyond our reach. But…” Swol frowned. “What if he’s too stubborn to see that he needs to come back?”
Boss also frowned, seeing the logic in Swol’s statement. “I suppose… if Prose is as smart as he always has been… then he should join us regardless of his attitude. He cares too much for this city, anyway.”
“Don’t we all?”
The question caught Boss off guard, and he looked at Swol in surprise. Swol’s eyes were vibrant and earnest, and he seemed to be pleading something silent with his superior.
Boss sighed. “… Indeed we all did.” His frown deepened into a scowl. “In a way, we all still do.” He gestured a hoof to the window, emphasizing a silent point.
Swol nodded. “Do you… do you think that’s why Prose left, then? That he didn’t think we cared?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Only Prose knows.”
They returned to a thoughtful silence, with the stallion in question on their minds. They unconsciously avoided each other’s gazes, not wanting to see the hurt in the others’ eyes as a result of Prose’s absence.
Finally, after many minutes, Boss spoke: “You’re… a good friend, Swol.”
Swol’s eyes widened, and he frowned, thinking he had misheard him. “Boss…?”
Boss simply nodded. Swol gave him a surprised look, but turned away.
Another few minutes passed, the only other sounds between seconds being the quiet ticking of the nearby clock, as well as the subdued roar of the city. To both stallions, such sounds were commonplace; yet, as the minutes passed, they couldn’t help but feel that something was… missing.
It was only a few moments after that both realized what it was.
Opacare Prose.
Swol may not have been around at the start of the Family, but he had been present back when Prose and Boss had been as close as brothers. He, too, had been welcomed into this subset of the family; a group of three stallions, who wanted to change the world. They had been different in nature, but united by their cause.
Still, the question remained as to why Prose was now gone, seemingly from this earth. It made no sense to either of them; but then again, Prose had never been the most revealing of ponies. Admittedly, Swol and Boss could say that at points Opacare seemed to fall into his own, little world, abandoning the one he had for so long lived in.
Boss had grown used to Prose’s antics; yet now, in light of the recent events, Prose’s now sudden absence seemed to be breaking every careful barrier that he had in place. Spite, anger, fury, and pain filled his heart, and he struggled to control himself and his emotions. Something told him to give up the hunt; to let Prose be free… but he knew that the missing stallion would never be free of his past.
Yet who was he to judge? He, too, could never be free of his own follies.
He only prayed that, when Prose returned to his side, the law of error would finally leave.
Boss suddenly stood, the movement making Swol look at him. He stepped around his desk, moving quickly for the coat hanger. “I need to think,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to give Swol a parting look as he walked out the door.
The hinges locked, and the door closed, clicking. Swol stood still, hearing the distant footsteps of Boss going downstairs. He heard the front door open, and heard the city suddenly explode in noise; before quieting up as the door closed.
He worried for Boss, for his friend. The strain that Opacare Prose had thrust upon him was mind boggling; yet, Swol could safely guess that Prose never would intentionally do such a thing to a friend.
Whether or not Prose’s disappearance was due to the strain of his old job in the Family taking ahold was unknown. It was as Boss said: “Only Prose knows.”
Swol, after a moment, nodded to himself, before turning to leave the office area. He still had some questions regarding the search, but decided against asking them until later. Right now, Boss needed his space to think and conclude; and, as Swol had learned, that time was absolutely vital.
“If there’s one thing to come out of this whole fiasco with Prose,” he quipped, “it’s that Boss is getting more exercise.” With a careful shut he closed the door, returning to the main area.
It may not have been ideal peacoat weather, but that didn’t stop Boss from enjoying the familiar feeling of having the item and the fedora on. While winter was but a few months away, fall was quickly arriving, and already he saw that many ponies were starting to break out the warmer clothes. A somewhat cold breeze blowing by further solidified this need.
He walked in mostly silence, though he did greet a few ponies on the way. Most were surprised to see him out of the office, but were courteous to give little more than a greeting back. It wasn’t everyday that they saw the stallion who had helped their fair city out and about. They knew he was not especially a fan of small talk, and as he looked like he had someplace to be, they were quick to keep conversations short.
But where was he going? Even he did not know; he had walked out without the destination in mind.
He wondered for a moment if that was a bad thing; then he looked up.
Manehattan’s skyline never ceased to amaze him on those rare times he would look to the heavens. Stainless steel structures rose to incomprehensible heights, with cerulean windows gleaming in the sunlight. In the windows he could see the faces of various office ponies wearing their white-collared shirts, tapping away at keyboards and presenting charts to their bosses. The recent implementation of electricity—still an infantile product—was also evident by the various screens showcasing various ads and slogans that surrounded various buildings.
He adjusted his gaze, seeing the Equestrian State Building standing true and tall ahead, her regal point piercing the sky. The bricks had been recently cleaned, as a nearby newsstand stated; and a few puffy clouds floated around it. Several pegasi were flying around it, making sure that nothing was out of place. Below them, he saw several colts and fillies staring up in awe, completely taken aback by how tall the building was. Truly, it was a testament to the unrelenting determination of the pony; no matter what obstacles were ahead, they could rise above it all.
As he moved down the sidewalk, the city’s true nature appeared before him. Taxi coaches raced down the streets, while stallions and mare briskly walked down the avenues. On boulevards he saw several business ponies conversing; they gave him a brief greeting, before returning back to their conversation. Several ponies at various stands shouted out their product, garnering attention and a few hungry mouths. The scent of freshly prepared hot dogs and delectable pretzels wafted through the air, and he himself nearly stopped for a quick bite. He opted against it, though, knowing how addicting those foods could be and preferring his usual body size.
Sights and smells and tastes and touches and sounds… these were the true senses of the city. They enabled the user to navigate through the maze-like streets and paths. But if one were to stop for a moment, and take it all in, then they too would see the city for what it was.
Manehattan, at least to Boss, held opportunity for everypony who dared cross its borders. To him, it was the prime example of a group of ponies getting together and doing it right—amassing a gigantic city and allotting chances to those within. If you wanted to get somewhere in life, you had to work hard for it: that was the city’s philosophy. No pony ever got anywhere without some hard work.
He crossed at an intersection, heading for Central Park. Gradually the city’s sounds became distant, though were still loud enough to be heard. As today was a work day, most ponies were away in the aforementioned skyscrapers. A few families were in the park, however, most of them with their kids. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched them play; this was perhaps the single, most important element of the city.
Families’ happiness.
As he took a seat at one of the benches, he reflected on that element. Why was it that he cared so deeply for these families? They were technically below him; middle-class workers, while he was an upper-class figure. And yet, he felt a certain desire to help them whenever he could.
Perhaps it was the fact that it was the families that ultimately made Manehattan a great city, and he was simply doing his civic duty to keep his city running.
Or perhaps it was because he appreciated the values of a family more than anypony else. He supposed that was due, in large part, to him not really having a family…
He shook his head. That was nonsense. He had a family; in the form of the Family. The one family he would ever need.
He smiled as he thought that. Yes, the Family was very much similar to the real deal. The siblings—or workers—helped keep order, and the boss—the parental figure—guided and instructed the family and all its operations. And sure, there were arguments and fights every once in awhile; but they were nothing that a firm reprimanding couldn’t take care of.
And much like a family, Boss was happy to be in it, even if he didn’t show it.
So then why couldn’t Prose be happy?
The thought was so sudden, that it made him reel back in shock. What kind of foolish question was that? Everypony, despite their position, had grown to at least appreciate the Family! It was simply the way things were!
And yet… and yet…
Was Prose ever happy?
He closed his eyes, trying to remember if Prose ever laughed, or smiled, or seemingly enjoyed himself. But he found no such things lying within his subconscious. At first he reasoned that he had merely forgotten, in all this time; yet in his heart, he knew the truth.
Prose hadn’t been happy at all.
But he stayed for ten years! Why didn’t he leave sooner? What made him leave in the first place?
The only answer Boss could amass was in the form of the vanished stallion, frowning at him from afar. Only Prose knows.
His frustration and anger boiled, but he managed to keep himself calm. Whether or not Prose had been happy didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered now, was getting Prose back to where he belonged.
He stood, dusting off his coat, before making his way down the path that headed out of the park.
“Oof!”
Something hit his side with a soft thud. He glanced down, and saw a light, teal-colored earth pony with a golden mane sitting on the ground, rubbing her head. “Ow…” she murmured, tears in her eyes.
An azure stallion and a daffodil mare—the child’s parents, he assumed—ran up, intending to comfort her. While they kneeled by their child, the filly glanced up at who she had bumped into. She let out a gasp, and pointed a hoof at him. The parents, confused by their child’s reaction, turned their gazes—and let out equally similar gasps.
“Oh, dear!” the mare cried. “Sir! I’m very sorry about this!”
Boss managed a small smile, trying to ease their worry. “It’s alright, miss. No harm done.” He bent down, looking the filly in the eye. “In the future, though, it would be best if you looked before you ran, understand?”
The filly nodded, still looking at him with awe. He gave her a small smile, before standing and turning around. “Bye, Mr. Mayor Finch!” she cried after him.
He smiled to himself. Mayor Finch. Funny how a Boss could also be the Mayor of Manehattan. He gave the child a small wave, before finally exiting the park. While Prose still haunted his mind, he was feeling significantly better now; perhaps because the child reminded him what was equally important.
Keeping this city safe. That was something both of us could attest to wanting to do.
And with that thought, Grifford Finch—Boss—returned to his Family, feeling that perhaps Prose wouldn’t be such a problem after all. After all, if I can become Mayor, then perhaps he can rejoin us. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 19:04:27 GMT -8
XIII: A Crusading Morning
For once, when Dusk Prosa woke up, he did not immediately feel like he was in any danger.
That did not mean, however, that he was above feeling nervousness. The bag of needles on his stand and his shaky hooves testified to this. Quickly, before he suffered anything long term, he closed the bag and slid it under his bed.
His gaze wandered around the room. It had been a few days since the party. One of Pinkie’s party hats rested on his bookshelf, a reminder of that annoying, yet strangely enjoyable, pink mare. Though he had not been given any parting gifts, he couldn’t help but think that the hat was enough.
His eyes moved onto the desk, where an unfinished letter lay next to a recently sent one. The blue quill pen had been dipped in the ink, poised for usage; yet strangely, he had no desire to use it at the moment. At first, he thought this was because he wasn’t in the mood; but shortly after, he had deduced that it was because the need had seemingly vanished.
Such a revelation might have made him uneasy, but he shook it off. He was determined to enjoy himself while he remained in Ponyville, and such thoughts were merely burdens that he did not wish to bear at the moment.
Glancing out the window, he saw that it was quite early in the morning. Celestia’s sun had not even reached a quarter of the way up, still hiding somewhat behind the eastern hills. Yet the warmth was wide and open, easily traversing the landscape and breaking through Dusk’s window, landing on the stallion and bringing a soft smile to his face. Though he could not say he preferred day over night, he did acknowledge that the morning heat was, in some ways, a welcoming sensation.
He walked over to his desk and chair, taking his vest and putting it on. He then walked over to the bathroom down the hall, fixing his gaze on his reflection. A surprisingly content stallion stared back, his mane—a slate-grey with its familiar blue highlights—somewhat unkempt. He took a comb and brushed it, all the while thinking back to the party.
I have to admit, that was fun. I haven’t had that much fun since foalhood. Placing the comb down, he opened the mirror cabinet and took out some gel. He spread the material on his hoof, before bringing his hoof back to his head. He carefully massaged and caressed his mane into its normal appearance—smooth and streamlined, with a hint of sharpness. How long has it been? Nearly two decades? He chuckled to himself, finishing up with the gel and rinsing his hooves. Goddess, I am getting old.
The thought was somewhat disturbing. A stallion in his twenties was by no means ancient; yet, for Prosa, such an age carried the same weight and stress of a sixty-year-old. Seemingly, whatever had happened to him, made him feel older than he really was. Whether that was a blessing or a curse was, at best, a moot point.
He forced the thought aside, drying his hooves on the nearby towel. He gave himself a final look, making sure that everything was prim and proper. Seeing that it was, he nodded, before stepping out of the room.
The day would have proceeded normally; had not the sudden, faint smell of smoke wafted up his nose.
His eyes shot open, and he sniffed the air, wondering how he had missed the scent. He glanced around, before settling on the stairs. A faint outline of smoke had traveled upward; he immediately knew where it was coming from. Don’t tell me I left the oven on! he thought, instantly panicking.
He raced into his room and threw open the window, before dashing out and down the stairs. He headed straight for the kitchen, intent on shutting off the oven as fast as he could.
What he found was both relieving—and highly irritating.
Sweetie Belle stood on top of a stool, trying to—apparently—cook several bits of lettuce. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom were handing over the butter and oil, doing their best to be helpful. None of them had noticed the smoke billowing out from the pan, nor the gaping expression of the stallion nearby.
He blinked, thinking he was seeing things.
When they turned to face him—equally surprised at his appearance—he blinked again.
“Oh, hey, Dusk!” Sweetie greeted cheerfully.
The gears in his head began working again, and his mouth began moving. He stammered, he stuttered, but he managed to get a few words out: “… Uhn?”
Well, almost words.
“What’s wrong, Dusk?” Apple Bloom asked, looking at the stallion with concern. “Ya look like you had seen a ghost or somethin’!”
“Unnnnnhhh?”
Scootaloo scrunched up her muzzle. “Huh. He must be broken or something.”
Finally, he was able to form a coherent sentence: “… What are you three doing in my house?”
Sweetie gave him a big smile. “We thought it’d be nice to cook you breakfast!”
He stared at her, before suddenly exclaiming, “Did you three break into my home in the morning?!”
His tone was more surprised than mean-spirited. Apple Bloom was the first to respond. She tapped her hooves together sheepishly. “Uh… I guess we… kinda did.” She frowned as Prosa resumed stuttering.
Scootaloo bristled. “Hey, his door was unlocked! Technically, we couldn’t break in if we didn’t break anything!”
Dusk slapped a hoof to his face. Of course I forgot to lock the door…
The fillies gave him some sickening innocent smiles, completely oblivious to the danger they were in. He took a slow breath, trying to calm himself; but failed to do so.
“Sweetie Belle,” he called, putting on a strained smile, “can I ask you something?”
“Yes, Dusk?”
“… Do you realize that there is currently smoke amassing in my home?!”
Several more windows were opened, and the smoke was fanned out, leaving the house with a much cleaner air. Had there been curious onlookers, they would have concluded that the house itself had swallowed an extremely hot chili pepper and was in the process of expunging the taste in a rather… extreme manner. It was decided that the windows were left open for a little while, to ensure that the house had been properly cleared of any smoke.
Meanwhile, the three fillies looked at Dusk with sheepish smiles. He had placed his head in his hooves, and was rubbing his temples. A low groan rumbled from his throat, exasperated. The groan was then followed by a low growl from his stomach, reminding him that he had not yet eaten breakfast.
Only seconds later, a similar sound came from the girls. They blushed, faces turning a deep shade of crimson. For a moment neither sides said anything, choosing to wait for the other to do something.
Finally, Dusk looked up. He stood, walking over to the pan that Sweetie had been cooking on. Looking down, he saw that the lettuce had somehow caught on fire; the leaf’s veins and edges had been burned to a crisp. He was quite surprised at how badly the filly had managed to mess up the lettuce.
“But why lettuce?” he wondered aloud.
Sweetie responded earnestly, “Well, we thought it would be an easy thing to cook.” She looked down sadly. “Guess we thought wrong, huh?”
Dusk didn’t say anything, simply staring at the burnt delicacy. He picked up a spatula and peeled off the lettuce, tossing it into the trash. The fillies cringed in embarrassment as they heard the soft plop of the food.
He quickly washed down the pan, drying it with a paper towel. He placed the spatula down, before bringing over the cooking spray. Seeing that the bag of lettuce was still out, he brought that over as well.
He glanced at the fillies. “Watch,” he simply commanded.
Though it had been a long time since he had stove-cooked lettuce (an odd delicacy, but still enjoyable when prepared right), he still knew his way through the cookbook. He first sprayed the pan with the oil so that the lettuce wouldn’t stick, turning on the stove to a light heat. He washed down a few leaves of lettuce, carefully scrubbing them, before plopping them onto the pan. He shook the pan a little, igniting a small flame; he quickly subdued it, knowing that having it up too long would ruin the taste.
Dusk then opened up a top cabinet, bringing out some kale and salt. He placed the kale on top, turning the stove to low, before sprinkling some salt over the leaves. The pan began to pop and fizzle, but they could all smell the kale beginning to cook.
“Something more,” he muttered. He walked over to the pantry, bringing out a few small nuts. He placed them on a cutting board, slicing them into fine bits, before placing them to the side. He then walked over to the refrigerator door, pulling out a loaf of bread, and taking out two slices. He placed the slices on a paper plate next to the pan. He then placed the loaf to the side as well.
He didn’t want to burn the leaves, though, and knew that he had to keep a sharp count—else the leafy food burn up.
“Unum, duo, tribus, quattuor, quinque!” he counted, before turning the heat down to zero. With the spatula, he carefully lifted the lettuce and kale dish, placing them onto one of the slices. He then sprinkled the sliced nuts on top of them, before finally covering it with the top slice.
The smell of salty peanuts and perfectly heated kale and lettuce filled the air, wafting deliciously up their noses. “Wow, Dusk!” Scootaloo commented. “That smells really good!”
He smirked. He waved the sandwich around, the fillies eyes following it eagerly. Apple Bloom put a hoof forward, perhaps to further waft the smell into her nose; but Prosa backed up. “Ah ah ah!” he said, smiling devilishly. “This one is mine.”
He placed the sandwich on the table, before turning back to the fillies. He gestured at the kitchen sink and counter. “Now, you try.”
Apple Bloom gave him a confused look. “Um, what?”
He gestured again. “I showed you how to make this. Now, you try.”
“Try?” Sweetie asked.
“Cook,” he clarified, with a smile. “I’ve found that one can get better at a skill through eager practice.”
Seeing their nervous faces, he smiled in reassurance. “Don’t worry; I’ll be helping you while you three work.” They smiled at that, though they still felt a bit uneasy.
They pushed their thoughts aside, however, preparing themselves for the task at hoof. Sweetie stepped up first onto the stool, letting out a slow breath. She then began her work.
Though there were a few mishaps (a fire nearly ignited Dusk’s mane), the fillies finally managed to create a half-decent meal for themselves. Though they were tired, they happily cleaned up the sink and counter, satisfied with their work. They were only mildly disappointed when they found their Marks absent.
Breakfast therefore went as expected—or at least as one could expect with three filly intruders and a stallion who had only a few minutes ago had to air out his own home. The four of them happily muched on their sandwiches. Prosa was still slightly peeved that the Crusaders had entered his home without permission, but decided to let it slide. Fillies will be fillies after all.
The Crusaders surprisingly refrained from asking Dusk more on the syringes they had found in the fridge all those days back. Whether it was because they had forgotten or had ulterior motives, Dusk was unsure, but silently thanked heaven that his secret was still relatively secured. That being said, the fillies were still inquisitive about many things. Their attention was mainly drawn to how good a cook Prosa was, despite, by his own admission, “never having been trained by some world-class chef.”
“You could say,” Dusk said, as he finished off his plate, “I learned on the fly.”
“Really?” Sweetie asked. “Why?”
“One word: college.”
Of course, they didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, nor did they understand why he was struggling not to laugh at his own joke. But they nonetheless nodded, trying to appear polite.
Other questions arose, such as one concerning Dusk’s vaulting a few days prior. He explained vaguely, “When you’re an adult, you tend to pick up some pretty weird talents every once in awhile.”
Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “College?”
He nodded, though there was a bit of a guarded look in his eyes.
Another question, this one asked by Scootaloo, concerned what Prosa was planning on doing today. “Honestly?” he answered, leaning back a bit, “I have no real plans.”
That’s a little lie, but they don’t need to know.
Sweetie Belle’s eyes lit up. “So you’re free? That’s great!”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have something planned, don’t you?”
Sweetie nodded. He sighed. “Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I was dragged into your shenanigans.”
“It’s kinda a given once ya join the Crusaders,” Apple Bloom remarked sheepishly.
He nodded, fixing the fillies with an amused gaze. He stood, before grabbing the dishes and walking over to the sink, quickly washing them. Once he was finished, he said, “I’ll need my cape, of course.”
“We’ll pick it up at Rarity’s,” Sweetie answered with a smile. Prosa nodded at that, before walking up to the front door. He opened it, and smiled at the sunlight entering his home.
“Shall we?”
Retrieving the cape was quite easy; a short walk to the Boutique was all it took. Along the way, the Crusaders were excitedly bouncing by Dusk’s side. The stallion smiled quietly, having taken a particular liking to the fillies.
Rarity met him at the front entrance to the store, happily letting him in while she retrieved the cape in question. Sweetie went upstairs with the Crusaders to grab a few essential items; Dusk distinctly heard the phrase “parachuting off cliffs” come up once or twice.
He was unsure whether to feel nervous or impressed that the girls were willing to try seemingly anything to get their Cutie Marks.
Rarity returned a short time later, the red cape caught in her magic. It was much larger than the one Sweetie had on at the party, and instead of a filly on the back, there was a golden adult stallion attached to a brilliant blue shield. She handed it to him with a smile, and he quietly looked over it, taking in its features.
“You remembered my measurements,” he remarked, looking back up at her.
She waved a hoof, unabashed. “I always remember my customers’ particular dimensions.”
“Dimensions is an interesting way to put it.” He smirked. “You’re sure you didn’t memorize them for some other reason?”
She scoffed. “I’m fairly certain there was no other reason to beheld.”
“Ouch, I’m hurt.” He mockingly placed a hoof over his heart, as if in pain, making the mare laugh.
“You’ll need to be thicker than that while you hang out with the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” she said, smiling at him.
He rolled his eyes. “That I can tell. Got any advice?”
She smirked. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
“I’m almost certain that I’ll end up doing just that by the end of this.” He closed his eyes and grinned. “Something tells me those fillies are crazy for their Marks.”
“And you’re doing them a big favor by joining them,” Rarity assured him, placing a hoof on his chest. “Just try to keep them mostly out of trouble, okay?”
“I can try. But I can’t guarantee.” He smiled at her. “That good enough?”
She nodded, also smiling at him. “I’ll see you tonight for guard duty, right?” she suddenly asked.
He had nearly forgotten that today was his first official guard duty. Caught by surprise, he quickly nodded in confirmation. Though still somewhat wary by the prospect, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to “help” where he could.
Shortly afterwards, the Crusaders returned downstairs. They toted their signature capes on their backs. On their sides were satchels, likely filled with various gadgets and devices to suit their crusading needs. Their large, beaming smiles reminded Dusk of Pinkie’s, and a nervous chill ran down his spine.
What have I gotten myself into?
Seeing the stallion with her sister, Sweetie asked, “Uh, did you guys have a moment or something? Why is Rarity so close to you, Dusk?”
Rarity coughed and stepped back, a blush on her cheeks. Dusk turned away, frowning, unsure exactly what to say to that.
“Why, Sweetie,” Rarity stammered, fanning herself, “what on Equestria do you mean by that?”
Sweetie shrugged. “I wouldn’t actually mind if Dusk became my older brother.” She frowned and scrunched up her muzzle. “Just, don’t get me any younger siblings, okay?”
That rendered her sister unconscious. Dusk caught her with a sigh. “Poor choice of words, young Belle,” he commented, placing the unconscious unicorn on her fainting couch.
Sweetie frowned. “What do you mean—”
“Never mind that!” Apple Bloom interrupted. “We’ve got a whole day of crusading ahead! So we had better get going!”
She dragged Sweetie out the door, leaving Scootaloo and Dusk alone for a moment.
The orange pegasus looked up at the stallion in confusion. “What do you mean, that was a poor choice of words?”
He coughed into his hoof. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He gestured Scootaloo to move, with him following after her out the door.
“Okay!” Apple Bloom exclaimed. She pulled out a scroll from her satchel, and her eyes began glancing over it. “Let’s see what’s first on the agenda…”
Scootaloo glanced over her friend’s shoulder. “There! Parachuting off of the tallest cliff outside Ponyville!” She eagerly went for her satchel to pull out the chute, but Dusk calmly stopped her with a steady hoof.
“Let’s not partake in something potentially fatal,” he said, leveling a stern gaze at her. “We wouldn’t want to die before we get our Marks, would we?”
Scootaloo grumbled. “Way to ruin the fun, Dusk.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Surely there are more conventional ways of getting your Mark?”
Apple Bloom returned to her list. “That… actually eliminates most of what’s on here.”
Dusk nearly fell over. “You’re kidding.”
Sweetie grabbed the list. “Actually, there’s a fairly decent number of activities we could try that don’t involve us getting really hurt.” She pointed a hoof out. “How does hoofball sound?”
Prosa rolled his eyes. “That asinine sport?”
Scootaloo frowned. “Hey! Ponies get paid a lot to play that game!”
“True,” he countered. “But it doesn’t seem appealing.” He made a disgusted face. “Waiting around for the other team to hit, catching balls, throwing it back to first… it seems all boring.”
Sweetie gave him a skeptical look. “Didn’t you run through Everfree and the Hollow Shades?”
He cringed. “Right. You’ve got me there.”
Apple Bloom shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t really want that as my Cutie Mark. It’s fine to play it for fun, but for mah special talent?” She glanced at the other fillies. “There are more interesting ones, Ah think.”
“What do you suggest, Dusk?” Scootaloo asked.
He placed a hoof on his chin thoughtfully. “Where there’s a need, there’s an opportunity,” he said. He pointed a hoof out into the center of Ponyville. “All you have to do, I think, is look for things that you could do to help out.”
Apple Bloom frowned. “That doesn’t sound like much.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes, it’s better to start with the basics than mess up at step five.”
They walked around the town, garnering a few odd looks from the locals. Most were pleasantly surprised to see Dusk with the fillies, and even more so when they saw him toting a bigger version of their cape. The stallion was neither embarrassed nor abashed by them, smart enough to acknowledge how silly he looked.
The fillies began entering a few shops, hoping to try their luck at some practical talents. Sugarcube Corner was the first stop, the four of them entering the parlor eagerly. Pinkie happily greeted them, and as the fillies explained their predicament, she offered a few suggestions that were in the realm of possibility.
While they talked, Prosa stood next to the grey pegasus he had seen at the party. Up close, he saw that her eyes were somewhat lopsided, though she had a big grin on her face. She turned to face him, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh! You’re Dusk Prosa!”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he quipped, putting a hoof out to shake. “I saw you at the party; we didn’t get a chance to talk.”
She took his hoof and eagerly shook it. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Ditzy Doo. Though, my friends call me Derpy.”
“I’ll stick with formalities for now.”
“I’m just waiting for my muffins.” Ditzy pointed at the fillies that were talking with Pinkie. “I guess you’re having fun with them?”
“I suppose so,” he mused, stretching a bit. “Though I wonder if I’m but a chaperone to their Crusader antics?”
She shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think so. You seem nice; and Sweetie seems to have taken a liking to you!”
He chuckled softly. “You think so?”
Ditzy nodded happily. “I guess you guys are on a Cutie Mark quest?”
“Indeed we are. ‘On an endless quest for our Cutie Marks,’” Dusk quoted.
“That’s nice. Dinky was going to try for her Cutie Mark today, but she had some chores and extra homework to do.”
“Dinky?” He gave her a questioning look.
“My kid,” she answered, smiling. “A real love-bud and cutie.” She sighed. “I’m thankful that she didn’t turn out as bad as I did. What with the eyes and all.”
Dusk frowned, before placing a steady hoof on Ditzy’s shoulder. “Miss Doo,” he said, “self-satire is never a good thing, and I would advise you against it.”
She sighed again. “Maybe. But sometimes I feel like I might be a little burden to her.”
Dusk shook his head. “Nonsense, Ditzy. You are her mother, and I’m certain she loves you very much.”
“You sure?”
He smiled. “In this brief interaction, I already like you. If Dinky is as good as you say she is, then she does love you.”
She smiled, before giving him a brief hug. “Thank you, Dusk.”
Mrs. Cakes soon arrived with a fresh batch of muffins, placing them on the counter. Ditzy opened her satchel to pay, but was stopped by a pewter-grey hoof.
Dusk reached into his vest and pulled out a few bits, before placing them on the counter with a small smile. “Allow me.”
Ditzy gave him another big hug, as well as a more enthusiastic thank you. She grabbed her bag of muffins, and trotted outside, a slight bounce in her step.
The fillies and Pinkie had finished their conversation, and were giving Dusk several huge smiles.
“Well, that was really kind of you,” Pinkie commented brightly.
Prosa smiled. “I’m in a good mood today.”
“Did you see how happy she was when she left?” Scootaloo said. “You’d swear she hadn’t been having a bad week!” She looked back at Dusk. “Maybe you could get a Cutie Mark in therapy!”
His chuckle and good-natured “Maybe” masked his concern for Ditzy. He wondered what had made her feel down. Hopefully nothing too serious…
“Enough chit-chat, everypony!” Pinkie ordered. “We’ve got some milkshake Cutie Marks to get!”
She pushed Dusk and the Crusaders into the kitchen, the stallion a bit flustered and the fillies giggling in excitement. They vanished from view, and soon a strangled, male yelp shot out as the first casualty of the Milkshake War was taken. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 19:07:19 GMT -8
XIV: A Raging Afternoon
Thankfully, the destroyed milkshake that had splattered his vest was washable, though that did not hinder the scathing glare Dusk gave the fillies in annoyance. They had seemingly been left unscarred by the Milkshake War, the milks and shakes somehow completely missing them. The room had been splattered in a plethora of colors and liquids, decorating the walls with the sugary delights.
Prosa sighed. “Now would be a good time to see if we can get our Marks in cleaning up.”
The point was understood, and the three fillies each grabbed their own mops from Pinkie and began washing down the walls. Prosa was quick to join them, first flicking off the remnants of a shake from his vest before washing his mop against the walls. Soon, their combined efforts managed to clear the space of all of the residue, leaving it spick and span.
Pinkie didn’t seem mad at them for the mess. She scrubbed down the walls twice as quickly, smiling and humming to herself the entire time. She did her best to cheer up the girls, encouraging them to keep trying. She offered buying them shakes to cheer them up; but they surprisingly turned her down, deciding to try and move on to another way of earning their Marks.
They left Sugarcube Corner, tired but determined smiles on the fillies’ faces. Prosa walked behind them, quietly listening as they rattled off more of the list, sometimes putting in his own suggestions.
Soon, they had covered most of the town, going in and out of various shops, returning outside tired and still blank. Coin counting at the bank ended with Scootaloo accidentally locking one of the bank tellers inside the vault; and, while the visit to the hospital was nice, the constant sound of groaning ponies eventually drove them out (though Dusk stayed for a little longer to exchange a few words with Redheart). Their disappointment, however, was mostly put aside with their joyful hearts, happy to be out and about—and with Dusk Prosa, nonetheless.
Their next destination—though they were wary of it—was the schoolhouse. They trotted up the path towards the red, wooden building, Scootaloo mumbling something about this being a dumb idea. Dusk stayed silent, eyes glancing around; he had actually not been to this side of Ponyville, and was eagerly taking in all the details.
His thoughts were suddenly stopped when he bumped into Sweetie. He was about to admonish her, when he saw that Scootaloo and Apple Bloom had also stopped. They all stared ahead at something, disbelieving looks on their faces. Dusk frowned, thinking something was wrong. He glanced ahead, eyes peering forward to whatever it was they were looking at.
His frown deepened into a scowl at what he saw.
A crying, purple-grey unicorn lay in the middle of two fillies. The fillies were saying something, making the pegasus only cry harder. At the distance that Prosa and the girls were, they could not tell what they were saying; but they could easily tell that it wasn’t anything remotely nice. The fillies that surrounded the pegasus were both earth ponies. The first was a pink filly with a purple-and-white mane, with a small tiara for her Cutie Mark. The other was a similar grey to Prosa, with a white-grey mane and a pair of rounded glasses. She had a spoon with a heart at the end as her Cutie Mark.
As they approached, the words soon became clearer.
“I thought the Crusaders had it rough, but you’re even worse!” shouted the pink filly, grinning evilly.
“A blank flank, and a retarded mom?” added the grey one. “Wow! What terrible luck you have!”
The shivering unicorn pleaded, “Stop saying that!” But her cries were drowned in the bullies laughter.
“Who are they?” Dusk whispered to Sweetie.
The white unicorn noted that there was a particular edge to Prosa’s voice. “Diamond Tiara is the pink one,” she answered, “and that’s her friend, Silver Spoon.”
“And the unicorn?”
“Dinky Doo. Miss Ditzy’s—”
“Daughter,” he finished, a vehement tone in his voice.
“That’s just low!” Scootaloo whispered as they got closer. “Picking on Ditzy just because she has funny eyes! Everypony knows there’s nothing really wrong with her!”
Apple Bloom nodded, scowling. “Ah guess those two haven’t gotten the memo.”
Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon heard them approach, and turned, seeing the fillies and Prosa standing before them. “Oh, look, the blank flanks!” Tiara taunted. “Come to play with your other loser of a friend?”
“Don’t ya dare call Dinky that!” Apple Bloom shouted, glaring angrily at the two.
“Why?” Silver Spoon asked with a dark grin. “Don’t tell me you actually care!”
Diamond, meanwhile, saw the company that the Crusaders were with. She let out a disgusted snort. “Ugh! Really, Apple Bloom? First a blank flank, and now you’re hanging out with that creepy stallion?”
Prosa narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, trying to control his growing anger. Dinky looked up, her eyes filled with tears. The sight wrenched Dusk’s heart, and he nearly let out a low growl.
“He’s not creepy!” Sweetie defended. “Once you really get to know him—”
“Get to know him?” Diamond cut her off. “I didn’t think you were that dumb, Sweetie! I mean, hanging out with a user? Come on, surely you know how stupid that is!”
“He’s not a user!” Sweetie protested. But Diamond and Silver wouldn’t listen, laughing down her protests.
“Oh, this is hilarious, Silver Spoon!” Diamond cackled. She pointed at Apple Bloom, “We’ve got a farmer who can’t buck apples—” She moved her hoof over to Scootaloo; “—a pegasus who can’t even fly—” Her hoof rested on Sweetie; “—a unicorn who can’t use magic—” Her hoof landed back on Dinky, actually slapping her; “—and a stupid, blank flank unicorn with a stupid mom!”
Her taunts made Dinky sob loudly, and Dusk’s anger heightened to dangerous levels. He took an advancing step, standing in front of the Crusaders. Scootaloo made to follow him, enraged, but a hard hoof stopped her. She looked up at Dusk in surprise—and then in fear, as his brow had furrowed up and his body was shaking all over. He let out a low growl, making the bullying fillies pause.
“What, you think you’re a dog?” Diamond taunted.
The taunt did little but annoy him, and he took another step. It seemed like a dark aura was surrounding him, and his eyes seemed to flash brilliantly. His lips curled up, revealing bared, clenched teeth.
“Enough!” he simply commanded. His voice held huge authority, putting so much power behind one, simple word. With the same power, though, he poured fear and anger, and the very atmosphere seemed to burn with his fury.
“Leave. Her. Alone.”
Tone dripping dangerously into malicious intent, it seemed that it was taking all of his willpower not to bash those fillies’ heads in.
His voice was enough to make them quiver. Yet they stood their ground, glaring at Prosa defiantly. “Why should we?” Diamond asked, trying to appear uncaring.
He took another step, bending low. His eyes narrowed, the pupils shrunk to pinpoint pricks , his gaze locked on the fillies like he was targeting them. If looks could kill, Diamond and Tiara would have been completely vaporized.
“I think you know well enough why,” he spat, pressing his face into hers. “Do not be ignotae, nor play stultae with me.”
They were caught off guard by his foreign tongue, and by how harsh he had spoken the words. “W-what?” stammered Tiara, backing up slightly, only to bump into a petrified Silver Spoon.
He took another step, pushing them with his own presence away from Dinky. Her sobs were drowned out by his rage, and a wave of pure spite washed over his mind. He glanced at the fallen filly, eyes cloudy, a storm of emotion burning up inside. His gaze then snapped back at the bullies.
“Ponies like you absolutely disgust me,” he said darkly. “Cretins who exercise fear, just to place themselves above others… beasts who consider themselves so superior as to shame and ridicule those they perceive as less…” He gaze hardened, and his voice became a mere whisper. “Monsters are what they are. What you are.”
Backing them against a nearby tree, he craned his neck so that he was at eye level with them. A tough, cold, unforgiving glare carefully held back his explosive fury at Dinky’s bullying. As the Crusaders watched in shock, they noticed that the very air seemed to dip into cold; the stallion’s attitude has somehow morphed the atmosphere into one where harshness reigned supreme. Adding to that effect was the way Dusk carried himself; as a predator, a vigilante, somepony not to be angered at any means.
Fear clutched all the ponies’ hearts, but the Crusaders tried to fight down the feeling, watching Dusk with growing unease. They had never seen him become this furious, this fearsome—and in such a short while as well.
“Your kind makes me unimaginably, irrevocably sick. And believe me when I tell you, I have seen the darkness in ponies’ hearts. I have witnessed terrifying things that lay in ponies’ hate and ignorance.
“You are monsters. Beasts. Wendigos, wobberjacks, the deadliest demons from Tartarus incarnate. But above all else, you are cowards—afraid of anything that might usurp your supposed ‘power.’ And I know how to deal with cowards—permanently.”
He leaned forward. “You will stop. You will cease this senseless act of intimidation. And you will run.”
Diamond took a step back. “O-or what? You’ll tell Miss Cheerilee?” Before he could answer, she pressed on, “She won’t believe somepony as creepy as you!”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure I could think of a more violent means of stopping you.”
He was so close that they could feel his warm breath on their faces. It seemed like smoke was coming out of his nostrils, so angry was he. “If you try anything remotely hostile, and I happen to catch wind of it… well… let’s just say that you’re not going to like what ten years of pain feels like on somepony else.”
He glowered at the two with such force that one might have thought he could have incinerated them with his eyes alone. “Are. We. Clear.”
Three, little words—and yet, they spoke volumes of his supposed intent. Fear raced down Diamond and Silver’s spines, and their limbs froze up in reflex. His gaze bore through them, analyzing their every weakness and uncertainty, bent on exposing them at a later date. Gradually, their limbs began to move, and they backed up into a full trot. They fled, scared tears running down their cheeks.
Such a sight made the others feel guilty—and though he did not show it, the same feeling gripped Dusk’s heart like a cold, iron vice.
Necesse erat, he tried to reassure himself. A necessary measure. Yet that unease remained as strong and as heavy as before.
He looked down at Dinky, pity filling his heart, replacing the guilt. Bending down, he took her hoof in his, helping her up. His eyes lost their intensity, falling back into a sympathetic gaze.
“Miss Doo?” he asked. The harshness of his voice had vanished, replaced with generous concern. He was answered by a loud sob, before the filly suddenly rushed forward and hugged him. Several shivering thank yous poured from the young one’s mouth, coupled with racking sobs.
“It’s alright,” he softly said, rubbing her mane. “It’s alright. I’m here, I’m here.”
A few moments passed, and Dinky’s sobs gradually subdued. She finally calmed down enough to stammer out something coherent. “Those mean fillies were making fun of Mommy,” she said tearfully. “I didn’t like that at all, but when I told them to stop, they started teasing and making fun of me instead!”
He gripped her close as another cry erupted from her. “There, there, young Doo. You have nothing to cry about.” When she gave him a confused look, he continued, “You readily stood up to them to defend your mother, did you not?” He smiled kindly at her. “In my eyes, that marks a true victory.”
Apple Bloom and the others walked over. “Are you okay, Dinky?” she asked.
Dinky nodded. “Yes. Thank you for asking.” Bloom and Sweetie gave the young unicorn a consoling hug.
Scootaloo bore a scowl as she looked to the road where the bullies had fled down. “They had better not bother you again, or else I’ll knock them upside the head—”
“Scootaloo.” Dusk’s tone was somewhat sharp, and she looked at him, confused. “Don’t.”
“Huh?”
He trotted over, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “I know you want to get back at them; but you shouldn’t want to resort to violence as a means of retribution.”
“Huh?” she still asked, confused by his words.
He sighed. “Violence isn’t the answer, Scootaloo. It only adds more pain. Threats of vehemence do nothing to douse the fire that bullies fuel.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?! Let them get away with it?!”
He gazed down the road. “… No. You defend yourself and your friends. But you don’t resort to physically hurting them.” His voice fell. “I don’t want you to fall down to my level…”
She was silenced by that, Dusk’s words sinking deep into her mind. Sweetie stepped forward, giving Dusk an unsure look. “So then what was that whole deal with Diamond and Silver then?”
“Empty threats, Sweetie Belle,” he said, frowning. “But threats nonetheless.”
A heavy silence fell between them, with Prosa doing his best to comfort Dinky. His mood had darkened, and he had a faraway look as he thought wordlessly. So many old methods rose to mind; so many weapons he could use, so many weaknesses he could exploit, if only to destroy the bullies’ resolve…
Looking at Dinky, and then at the Crusaders, he remembered why he hated that past. Their faces, like they had seen a darker side to a supposed bright knight, heightened his guilt; and he looked away in shame.
Sweetie, however, saw his pain, and was quick to comfort him. She gave him a quick squeeze, and he—hesitantly at first—squeezed her back.
Late noontime was fast approaching when the stallion and the fillies returned to town. They had offered to stay with Dinky for a while, partly because they wanted to make sure Diamond and Silver wouldn’t return, and partly because their previous enthusiasm had evaporated. The young, purple-grey unicorn clutched to Dusk as if her life depended on it, and would not leave the stallion’s side even as they entered town.
They stopped at Sugarcube Corner for a quick bite, Pinkie greeting them eagerly. Her smile fell when she saw the pain in their faces, her heart collapsing as she saw the tears in Dinky’s eyes. Quickly, she prepared for them several shakes and warm delicacies to cheer them up. Dusk politely declined, saying he would eat later.
While the filly’s chowed down, Dusk glanced around. The Corner was mostly empty, the lunch rush having already been served. Outside, the ponies passed on by, blissfully ignorant of the turmoil that was happening inside. Dusk approached Pinkie after a moment of hesitation, though he was unsure why he chose to move.
Pinkie had already caught on to the stallion’s weighted attitude, and with a frown she asked, “What happened?”
He shook his head. “Bullies. Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.”
She nodded sadly. “Oh, those two… they’re such big meanies.”
“That’s an understatement.” With a surge his anger returned. “Driving a filly to cry? Making fun of a pony’s impaired vision? How low must they be to—”
“Dusk.” Pinkie placed a hoof on his chest. She spoke in hushed tones. “I get that you’re angry, but please, don’t be mean to them.”
“Too late,” he muttered darkly. “Those bullies need to learn their place…”
She was not thrown off by his attitude, pushing her hoof against him. “But yelling at them? Threatening them? How is that any better?”
“It isn’t. But it was necessary.”
She looked at him with uncertainty, her mane somewhat deflated.“I won’t be the one to judge. But… just try to be careful, okay?”
He nodded, his scowl losing some of its intensity. “Hopefully this is all the trouble I’ll be facing here.”
It was a vague statement, but Pinkie chose not to question it. She could tell that Dusk was fighting a wave of emotions, and didn’t want to possibly provoke him any further than those fillies did.
She glanced to where the Crusaders and Dinky sat. The girls were busy doing their best to keep the unicorn’s spirits up, and were definitely succeeding, judging by her small smile. Pinkie noticed that Dusk was also looking. Something akin to determination, a fiery emotion, rose behind his eyes.
“You’ll be taking her home, right?” she asked. By his gaze, she already knew the answer.
The fillies soon finished their meal, and Dusk and Pinkie walked over. With a curt nod, he signaled it was time to leave. He looked down at Dinky. “Address?”
She gave it to him, and he walked up front, hiding the fillies behind his larger frame. Pinkie couldn’t help but think it looked like he was protecting them from any outside threat. And the way he gazed out, with determined, steadfast, unwavering eyes, added to that.
It was enough to make her smile again, assured that Dusk would be true to his word, and she gave them a small wave as they left the bakery.
Dusk knocked on the door, the fillies still behind him. Ditzy answered the door soon after, and her face grew worried as she saw the stallion looking at her warily. He shuffled to the side, revealing Dinky. The smaller unicorn rushed forward and hugged her mom tightly, a gentle sob falling from her mouth. Ditzy held her tightly, eyes closed, before looking back up at Dusk.
“Tell me everything,” she said. Dusk nodded, and they stepped inside of Ditzy’s home.
It was a nice house, Dusk supposed, with warm yellow for its walls and green furniture all around. The occasional pine-wood decorative piece could also be found lying in the center of rooms, adding to the design. The house was simplistic in design, though Dusk couldn’t say that was bad. To the left of the entrance were a set of stairs that presumably led to Dinky’s room and the other bedrooms.
A set of hooves trotted down the steps, and the brown earth pony that Dusk had seen at the party appeared. “Ditzy? What’s happened?” he asked in a distinguished accent, seeing the shivering filly.
Ditzy responded by gesturing them all over to the living room. She, Dinky, and the brown stallion took a seat on the far sofa, Dusk and the Crusaders taking their own seats in the back.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Ditzy pointed the the brown stallion. “Girls, Dusk, this is Time Turner. He’s my…” She blushed in slight embarrassment. “… coltfriend.”
Dusk nodded. “There is no need for chagrin. A pleasure, Mr. Turner—or at least as close to a pleasure as one could get, given the circumstances.”
“Never mind the pleasantries. Just tell us what happened,” implored Turner.
Dusk proceeded to fill them in on what had happened, with the Crusaders adding in their own details. Ditzy began shaking in fury as their full account was revealed to her. Time Turner did his best to comfort her, squeezing both her and Dinky, trying to mask his own rising anger.
Once Dusk and the girls had finished talking, Ditzy let out an angry snort. “I thought Filthy Rich was keeping control over that little beast of his!” Time Turner shushed her for the language.
Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Filthy Rich?”
Turner faced him and nodded. “That’s Diamond Tiara’s dad. He’s business partners with Silver’s father, which is why the two girls are friends.” He shook his head. “For some reason, he doesn’t see his daughter being the bully.”
The pewter stallion’s gaze narrowed. “A business tycoon…” he muttered, a deep scowl forming. I’ve had to deal with enough of those way back when.
“I won’t stand for this continued abuse!” Ditzy suddenly shouted, getting to her hooves and flaring her wings wrathfully. “If I have to tear down that idiot’s house just to get him to stop his daugher, I will!”
She made to leave, perhaps to rampage on over to the stallion in question, but was held back by her coltfriend. “Ditzy, please! You have to be civil!”
“I’ve been civil for far too long!”
“You’re scaring Dinky!”
That made her pause, and she looked at her young daughter guiltily. The filly had some tears in her eyes, scared of her mother’s reaction. Ditzy hugged her daughter, trying to comfort her. Time Turner joined in on the hug, and the three of them began to cry.
“I just don’t know what to do!” Ditzy wailed, holding on to her daughter sturdily. “I can’t do anything, Cheerilee can’t do anything; and Rich refuses to do anything!”
Dusk looked away, both out of a feeling of polite manners as well as a ton of sadness. The scene before him brought forth more painful memories; images of a torn past, of crying fillies, mothers, and fathers, ran past his mind, strengthening his guilt. He wanted to do something to help, to put Rich in his place.
I know one way… but I made a vow never to do that again.
He forced himself to look at the family. He bit his lip and clenched his teeth, holding back frustrated tears. He had to do something, and knew he could; yet, he wouldn’t. Deep down, he knew that his hypothetical action would result in more detrimental effects than positive ones. And no matter how badly his body and soul cried for vengeance, he could not bring himself to resume that ancient role.
And yet… perhaps there is one thing I can do.
He stood up from the couch, walking over to the sobbing pegasus. He placed a hoof on her shoulder. She looked at him, eyes welling up.
“Nil desperandum,” he said. “Do not despair. Tu ne cede malis sed contra audentior ito. Yield not to misfortunes, but advance all the more boldly against them.”
Ditzy suddenly hugged him, gripping him in a powerful, emotionally-charged hold. He did not flinch away, letting himself be her rock of support in this dark sea.
“Stay home,” he advised, his voice suddenly as soft as silk. “There is no need to confront a dark world today.”
Soon, they broke the hug, and Dusk had to leave with the Crusaders. He gave a soothing hug to Dinky, and the Crusaders also gave their own comfort. With heavy, yet resilient hearts, they left, leaving behind the seed of hope in the small home.
Be strong, Miss Doo, Dusk prayed.
He looked at the fillies behind him, noting their tired looks. “Dusk,” Sweetie Belle said, looking up. “I… I don’t feel like pursuing my Mark for the rest of the day.” The others expressed similar sentiments, caught up in the wave of emotions that had engulfed them.
Dusk nodded, before saying softly, “Me neither…”
The Crusaders returned home much later, leaving Dusk alone in the center of town. He watched them go off in their respective directions. He had first considered walking home with them; but he figured that they’d be fine.
He shook his head, both in shame and anger. The outburst he had expelled had been violent, conjuring up images of a past he’d rather forget. Even though Diamond and Silver were being exceptionally cruel, they were still just kids. And kids could both be smart and stupid. He was fortunate that the Crusaders had not turned out as those two.
A part of him felt some pity for the bullies. Their actions were likely due to their upbringing; it was a common factor in all cases of bullying. Though he could not guess with Silver, he could assume that Filthy Rich did not have a tight hold on his daughter. The way she carried herself, the condescending way she talked, the way she regarded Dusk with indifference… it all screamed of a child out of control.
He wondered if that made her dangerous. Bullies, in comparison to the ponies he had met in his past, were comparatively minute in threat; yet, he recognized their potential to be a local hazard. He considered going after them, for a more elaborate talk; but decided against it. If Filthy is as smart as Manehattan said, then he ought to know what to do.
That was, of course, assuming that Diamond did not warp the story somehow. Dusk had a feeling that she would.
He glanced up, noting the sun’s position, realizing that it was time. He turned, making his way to his house, all the while deep in his thoughts. A grim frown crossed his lips. It seemed that no matter how far he ran, no matter how much he tried to change, there was a part of him that would always remain as this intimidating stallion. The fear on the Crusaders’ and the bullies’ faces certainly contributed to that.
Is that who I will always be? he thought. This… intimidator? The Prime Intimidator?
He shook his head. No, he could not be that forever. Nothing was permanent; change was the one constant of life. The fools were the ones who did not adapt to a constantly morphing world; and by Celestia he refused to fall into that group of individuals.
One of the mantra’s he had learned from his School of Excellence days came to mind. He began repeating it in his head, using it as a way to block the growing feelings of lamentation and regret.
Omnia mutantur nos et mutamur in illis… All things change, and we change with them.
Soon, his house came into sight. He let out a sigh, before mounting the porch steps and entering inside. He peered at the clock, seeing that there was just enough time to perform one more duty. He gulped, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable task.
It’ll be over in just a second, he reassured himself, calming somewhat.
He went up the stairs, heading for the closet. Standing on his hind hooves, he brought down a white container that was cool to the touch. He knew that the cold would preserve the samples as long as they needed to be held. He opened the top, performing a routine check, making sure that the container was empty and clean. Nodding as he saw that it was, he returned back downstairs. He then headed for the kitchen, opening the freezer door.
Several racks of needles lay there, and he sucked in a nervous breath, cursing his phobia. He closed his eyes, as he struggled to breathe. The needles peered at him with angry faces, their points becoming the blades and knives of a corrupted city alley. He shot a hoof out, grabbing several needles, and placing them desperately in the container. He continued this action, with several pauses in between, until the freezer had been emptied completely. He snapped the top of the container shut, then slammed the door closed, letting out a ragged breath.
Somehow, in his haze, his dark sense of humor rose. I can take on wolves just fine; but when it comes to transporting these syringes, I’m always out of breath.
The container wasn’t too heavy, but he knew that he needed something to hide it. He bent down to one of the lower cabinets, bringing out a cardboard transport box that was the right fit. He placed the container inside, before closing the top and taping it. He carefully held the box on his back, perfectly balancing it. He nodded his head, before rotating and heading out the door. Time was of the essence; the faster he got this over with, the better for all involved.
His thoughts clouded his awareness of the environment, so much so that he was not aware he was at the post office until the doors suddenly jumped out at him. Stopping just short so that he wouldn’t bump into the glass frames, he opened one of the doors and stepped inside.
A somewhat bored looking stallion greeted him, but Dusk did not initially respond. Walking up to him, he reached behind and placed the box down. The gesture, though wordless, was easily understood: he wanted to mail this out.
The mailpony nodded, handing over a clipboard with some paperwork. Dusk looked around, making sure nopony was watching, before signing it, his flank glowing faintly. He quickly finished, handing the clipboard back to the stallion. He took it, making sure everything was in order, before moving the box to the back room for transport.
Prosa nodded a silent thanks, before turning to leave. As he left the building, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a pink and grey blur. He stopped, eyes darting around, on guard.
Several strained seconds passed, before Dusk snorted and shook his head. He figured he had to have been seeing things; it had been a long day after all. He sighed, then trotted his way back home.
“Did you see what was in the box?” Silver Spoon asked Diamond Tiara.
“How could I?” Diamond angrily whispered back. “The top was closed, remember?”
“Oh…”
The pretentious filly snorted. “Whatever! It was probably something lame, like an old notebook or something!” Her lips morphed into a sadistic smile. “Besides, we’ve got more important things to do than worrying about what he just sent out!”
“Such as?”
“Getting back at him, of course! I’ll have my father speak with him sometime later.” She placed on a mock pouty face. “All it will take are a few crocodile tears and some blubbering, and that stallion will be out of our manes for good!”
“You said it, DT!” Silver bumped her flank against her friend’s, both of them laughing as they made their way back home. |
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Post by jarvyjared on Jan 8, 2016 19:10:49 GMT -8
XV: A Worrisome Night
Rarity and Applejack were once again on lookout duty for the night. They decided to cover the northern edge of Ponyville, taking up watch on the path facing towards Canterlot. Little activity had been noticed; it seemed that Opacare had no intention of making himself known any time soon.
“‘Police still in the dark on how Prose vanished,’” Applejack read from the town’s newspaper. “‘Little information has been obtained, and hypotheses are rare. Mayor Finch says he has his best stallions on the case, and hopes to dig up something soon.’” She let out a sigh. “Prose oughta have a Cutie Mark for hiding instead of some writing thing.”
Rarity nodded in agreement. “Indeed. One would think that someone from Manehattan wouldn’t be this quiet!”
Applejack frowned at that. “Ah suppose that doesn’t include Dusk?”
Rarity gave her a confused look. “And what exactly do you mean by that, Applejack?”
She pulled her stetson down, covering her face somewhat. “Nothin’ much. Just that Ah don’t completely trust him yet.”
Rarity huffed. “That’s because you didn’t see him at the party.”
“Neither did you!”
“I already had personal experience with Prosa! And besides, Sweetie told me how he was during the party; very much a gentlestallion! Even apologized to Twilight!” She glared at the orange pony. “In my eyes, that marks somepony who is willing to own up to his mistakes. Unlike our friend, Rainbow Dash!”
Applejack snorted. “I doubt that Rainbow Dash could be a gentlemare if she tried!” She glanced out the corner of her hat. “Still, though, he’s hiding something!”
Rarity sighed. “Applejack, darling, I know you’re the Element of Honesty; but ponies have secrets, and it wouldn’t be very gracious of us to pry into them.”
“Whatever you say, Miss ‘Fake Eyelashes,’” Applejack responded, turning away and smirking to herself while Rarity silently fumed.
The banter continued for a little while, though Rarity thought she felt a third presence nearby. She quickly dismissed the idea, thinking that it was just a figment of her imagination. It was only sometime later that Applejack recalled something important.
“Say, wasn’t Prosa supposed to meet us here for lookout duty?” she asked with a frown. “Ah haven’t seen him leave his house.”
Rarity also frowned. “You’re right. I wonder where he is?”
“Probably late.” Applejack snorted. “Ah wouldn’t past him to shirk past his duty.”
Somepony laughed—it sounded vaguely forced—, but it was neither of them. They gasped in surprise, before turning around.
There, standing next to the brick wall that served as Ponyville’s northern gate, was Dusk Prose. He wore his ash-grey cloak, the hood pulled down, revealing his smirk. His carnation eyes danced with amusement at Applejack’s statement. The waning moonlight glided across his frame, like a windy veil.
“Rarity and Applejack. Miss me?” he asked, still smirking. Yet his cocky grin was not as strong as Rarity had been accustomed to seeing. Something in it had cracked, weakening it, and she could tell he was trying to bottle something in.
“W-what the?” Applejack stammered. “How—how did you get behind us?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You missed me.”
“How?” Rarity asked. “Your house is just ahead! There is no way we could have missed seeing you!”
He nodded. “Indeed. You are quite capable of seeing me.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “But did you observe?”
“What the huh?” Applejack asked, glaring at him. “Y’all better explain yourself, mister!”
He trotted forward casually, pointing a hoof out towards his house. “You were so busy looking at the front door,” he explained, before waving his hoof over, “that you missed seeing me leave by the back. You must widen your gazes and consider all possibilities when on stakeout.” He shook his head. “No wonder Twilight needed me to help out. You’d have missed a rampaging centaur who could steal magic with your levels of observation.”
Applejack spluttered, completely taken aback by how casually the stallion had pointed out their blunder.
He placed a hoof on his chin. “Forgive me, that was hyperbole. I would hope that nopony misses a rampaging centaur.”
He took his place next to Rarity, calmly settling down, watching the moon rise. Rarity eyed him in quiet contemplation. He seemed less guarded, his shoulders less stiff in the joints. In fact, his whole figure seemed less cold.
Perhaps it has something to do with that party? Or was it something more?
“Like what you see?” His sudden voice and slightly mocking tone brought her out of her thoughts. She blushed, and fanned herself, while he winked at her playfully. Applejack couldn’t help but guffaw at her friend’s predicament.
“Oh, hush, Applejack!” Rarity exclaimed, glaring at her friend. “You’re the pony who missed Prosa leaving!”
“You did too!” she retorted.
“Well, maybe I would have seen him if you hadn’t been bothering me about him!”
“Says the pony who apparently has something to give to him!”
“I’m not the one bad-mouthing him, am I?!”
“No; you’re the pony who’s defending somepony suspicious!”
Prosa raised an eyebrow. “Ladies, I’m literally right here.”
They clamped their mouths shut, turning their heads and meeting Prosa’s unamused gaze with sheepish grins. “Eh heh heh… sorry about that…” Rarity apologized. Applejack blushed and stammered out an apology as well.
Rarity quickly changed the subject, “So, did you enjoy Crusading for the first time?”
A troubled expression crossed his features. His stiffened, the smirk fading and his barriers being lowered. “Initially, I did. But then…” He proceeded to tell them what had occurred with Dinky and the bullies. They nodded understandingly as he finished, Rarity with a look of disgust.
“That dreaded Diamond Tiara! It’s bad enough that she makes fun of Sweetie Belle and her friends for being blank flanks; but calling Dinky those names?” She huffed angrily. “I say, it really riles me up!”
Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Yet, nopony seems to have done anything to stop her for good. Why? Are ponies scared of her father?”
Applejack shook her head. “It’s not like that, Prosa. Here in Ponyville, we pride ourselves on not lowering ourselves to the level of bullies.”
“What, fighting back is the definition of bullying?”
“If fightin’ becomes violent, yes.”
Dusk scowled. “When did standing up for oneself suddenly become the same as being a bully?”
“Ah don’t know. You’re the one who yelled at them.”
“Anypony would have, so long as they have sense.”
“Anypony with sense would have realized that doing so sets a bad example for our young ones!”
“Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon, and Filthy Rich are already doing that!”
Applejack sighed and leaned back. “That may be so… and I actually agree with you on that. But there comes a point where ya have to compromise in order to keep peace. We don’t want fillies and colts growing up thinking violence is the first option.”
He looked away, something akin to shame in his eyes. “No, we do not indeed.”
The conversation drifted back to the task at hand—watching—with Dusk giving out a few helpful tips. He managed to assist Rarity in several small observations, such as how the distant redwood tree was mildly waving in the nightly breeze. Even Applejack began getting a hand on the art of observation, much to her surprise and somewhat chagrin. Their skills were still nubile and immature, paling in comparison to his; but it was a start. Gradually, Applejack begrudgingly began to take a different look on Prosa. Sure, he was a strange pony; but she found herself suddenly warming up to him.
Rarity was curious, however, on how Prosa had even gotten such knowledge of the skill. “I’m surprised,” she said, looking at the stallion with wide eyes. “The only times I’ve heard of this observational deduction were in books!”
“Oh? What kind of books?”
She began listing them off, starting with several mystery novels—most notably, Sherlock Hooves—as well as recent releases. “Come to think of it, there was a new series that came out that I’ve heard had the main character uses a similar method?”
He raised an eyebrow. “And what was this character’s name?”
“I believe it was Trent Collins,” she answered.
Dusk immediately stiffened, and the two mares were quick to notice this. “Is something wrong?” Rarity quickly asked.
He shook his head. “No, no. I was just… thinking…” His answer didn’t sound convincing. Rarity was about to press harder, but then he continued: “I… learned this from a detective from Manehattan—a close friend of mine.”
Applejack gave him a curious look. “A ‘friend?’”
Dusk gave a bitter sigh. “Well, he’s more of an old acquaintance now. We… drifted apart, after some time…”
Rarity and Applejack shared a look, both tempted to ask further. However, as Dusk now had a faraway gleam in his eyes, the two concluded that heading down that path would likely be harsher than it appeared. They returned to looking down the road, eyes searching.
The silence between the three grew to become uncomfortable; the need to discuss anything was high. Rarity decided to try at a different angle with Prosa. But she didn’t want to discuss small things, such as gossip; something about the stallion suggested that he was not fond of small talk.
Well, it’s a good thing I don’t just gossip, she thought.
“Have you any idea on what we should be looking out for?” she asked Prosa.
He blinked, coming out of his thoughtful gaze, giving her a somewhat confused expression. “What do you mean?”
“For Opacare. Do you have any hints, any tips, besides careful observation?”
He frowned. “Nopony in Ponyville knows what to look for?”
“Well,” said Applejack, joining in on the conversation, “apparently Prose had managed to hide from the public for a while now. Seems like he had some help in making sure he didn’t have a face.”
“So nopony knows what he looks like?” he clarified. As Rarity nodded, he closed his eyes, and seemingly said a small prayer of thanks.
Strange, the alabaster unicorn thought. “Princess Celestia has said that we should be searching for stallions with anything writing related as their Cutie Mark.”
His frown returned. “That is… incredibly specific.”
Applejack gave him an incredulous look. “Specific? There could be a thousand stallions with those Marks!”
“But how many would have a Mark that was related to actual writing?” he argued. “Sure, there a few stallions who would have Marks in, say, scroll-writing, but how many would have the essentials of writing? Like, quills? Or ink? Or pens, or—” As he listed off some more possibilities, Rarity detected a large of amount of worry creeping into his voice.
Something occurred to her. Neither she nor Applejack had mentioned the possibility of Opacare’s Mark literally being writing-related—i.e., being the materials that made writing possible. Yet, Prosa here had somehow deduced that there was indeed a probability that such a Mark existed. But he hadn’t seemed like he had known Princess Celestia’s words, and had been caught off guard by her advice.
How did he know? she silently asked herself. Either that was an incredible amount of deduction, or something else is at play. But for the life at me I can’t figure it out!
“Dusk,” she said, interrupting his ramble, “how did you know that Opacare Prose would have quills, or ink, or pens, or anything that can be considered a writer’s item, as his Mark?”
He paused, mouth agape. His pupils shrunk to miniscule sizes, shot with fear and apprehension. “I-I-I never said that he did have a Mark as I described,” he stammered.
Applejack raised an eyebrow. “You suggested the possibility, Prosa. But none of us had ever considered thinking about it that way.”
“W-well, it was pretty obvious.”
“Really? So how come the Princess didn’t think that?”
“M-maybe she wasn’t thinking like how I was thinking?” he responded, voice sounding strained.
That, surprisingly, made Rarity paused. While she held Princess Celestia in high esteem, she had to admit that some of her antics were… less than regal in nature. The incident at the Gala rose to mind, and as she saw Applejack’s brow scrunch up, she guessed that she had thought the same thing. Certainly, Her Royal Highness was wise; but even she, despite all she had seen and observed, was still a pony. She could make mistakes, and miss things of great importance.
Perhaps, then, she hadn’t thought as Prosa had, because she never needed to, nor had she ever wanted to—nor, known to.
Still, though, that didn’t quite answer how Prosa had made such a guess. It seemed too specific of an answer to be a shot in the dark; but then again, perhaps she wasn’t thinking as Dusk was thinking. Glancing at Applejack, she concluded the same for her friend; they simply could not “think” as Dusk.
“I… see,” Rarity finally said after a few moment’s pause. “So… it was a lucky guess with a bit of deductive reasoning, then?”
Dusk let out a sharp, relieved breath, nodding. “You could say that,” he said, a bit too quickly, turning away.
Rarity could have sworn she then heard Prosa mutter a curse about Opacare, but his voice was soft and distant, so she thought little of it. “Is there anything else you can give us?” she asked.
He sighed, slightly hesitant. “… Maybe. Statistically speaking, we ought to be looking for a stallion of medium build. Certainly, we won’t be seeing anypony as large as, say, Applejack’s brother.”
“And why is that?” asked the orange earth pony.
“We know he’s from Manehattan. And the average size of stallions there is… well…” He raised a hoof to his head. “My height.”
Applejack raised an eyebrow. “So ya are from Manehattan.”
He shrugged. “No point in denying it.”
“And you’ve somehow managed to calculate the average height of the stallions in Manehattan?” Rarity asked.
“I’ve had a lot of free time,” he simply said, though there was a hint of a chill to his voice.
Rarity placed a hoof on her chin in rumination. “So, we’ve established that Prose likely has some sort of ‘writer’s item’ as his Mark; and that he’s about medium height.” She sighed. “To be honest, that’s not much to work with.”
He nodded. “That’s all I’ve got. But, I am curious: why?”
The question caught the fashionista off guard. “Why what?”
“Why does everypony seem to care about Prose?” The question had something hidden behind the words, but Rarity couldn’t discern what.
She pursed her lips, considering her answer. “Well… he was famous.”
“And?”
“I would imagine that when a famous pony goes missing, it would stir up some sort of controversy.”
His frown deepened into a concerned grimace. “Is that it?”
Rarity shook her head. “Far from it. Manehattan hadn’t had any disappearances in years; so this, coupled with the fact that Prose was so well known, was shocking.”
He looked away, scowling. “Don’t tell me the only reason Equestria cared for that arrogant cad just because he was famous!”
She was shocked by the sudden vehemence in his voice. “Goodness, no! I was not suggesting that!” she said, trying to calm him down. “There’s more to it than just a famous pony going missing!”
“Really?!” he asked bitterly. “Do tell, then.”
Applejack decided to speak up, “Look, it was the right thing to do. Somepony goes missing, and it don’t matter who it is, ponies are gonna be on the lookout for him.”
“Does one life really warrant so much effort?”
Though he asked in a sharp tone, both mares detected a hint of desperation, even a pleading edge to his voice, almost as if the answer was something he desperately needed—and yet did not want.
“Dusk,” Rarity said quietly, “all lives warrant care.”
He took a short while to think on her simple response. The moon had reached its peak in the sky, the light finally delving into a pale night. Soon the sounds of nightly creatures filled the air; somehow, they brought a sense of tranquility over them.
Dusk finally looked back at the mares, his eyes filled with a sudden pain. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He turned away, his navy-blue mane flowing somewhat in the nightly gale.
“Dusk?” Rarity asked, concerned. “Are you alright?”
He nodded. “Yes. Sorry. I just…” He sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. “When it comes to these kinds of things… I’m very passionate about them.”
Rarity smiled. “It’s okay, Dusk. That just means that you care deeply for others.”
Her words sparked something in him, and he turned to face her, eyes wide and surprised. For a moment, a tentative silence hung between them, and Rarity thought she had said something wrong.
And she realized she likely had, for no more words were said. Dusk had retreated back into his mind for good.
As with many nights before, though, the guard turned up nothing. No speck, nor smidge, nor bit of Opacare Prose had been unearthed by any of the guards stationed in Ponyville. Rarity and Applejack were, understandably, disappointed; but Prosa, on the other hoof, seemed quite content. They all packed up their belongings, and bid each other silent farewells, returning home.
The day’s events weighed heavily on Prosa’s mind. It surprised him that, even in a cheery town like Ponyville, malicious intents still lingered. For some reason, it occurred to him that he could be the harbinger of such intents; after all, his past was littered with some dark methods and practices. As he stepped into his house, the weight increased, and he hunched over, his mind consumed by bleak thoughts.
With every step I take forward, the past approaches. Why can’t I ever run away far enough? How long until it finally lets up?
It will never let up. Not until this is all over. Not until I am all over. Not until Dusk Prosa has also vanished…
He let out a depressing sigh, walking up the steps. Entering his room, he saw that the blank scroll, black inkwell, and blue quill remained, still untouched. His mind was still clouded and muddy; yet now he felt a desire to write.
He sat down at the desk, looking down at the scroll. All his writings up to now had been mostly formal, regarding the status of the operation. But now? Now all he wanted to do was talk. To speak, to converse, with somepony more than an ally…
He wanted to let a friend know him.
He chuckled darkly. How long had it been since he had written anything remotely creative? Weeks? He briefly wondered if perhaps his writing would come sloppily, and nearly considered giving up before he began, thinking that it would be pointless to try.
And yet…
And yet, he had to. Writing was Dusk’s therapy. It always had been, ever since foalhood.
Ever since his parents had died.
Ever since he had discovered why he needed to draw blood from his veins.
Ever since he had embarked on a dangerous path.
Ever since he had fled the life he had known.
Through the days, weeks, months, and years of his life, through every change and every disturbance; writing remained his one constant, the one thing he could count on to be there for him.
My past is filled with mistakes, and darkness, and errors… but writing remains the brightest light I have ever found.
He picked up the quill, a feeling of familiar confidence racing across his body. This was his element; this was his expertise. There was no need to fear writing. All that mattered was to get the words out. He placed the tip to the paper, and began to write to his friend.
Dear Raven Lock… |
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