Fixing What's Broke, Part II: The Bearded Lady
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
~The Who, "Behind Blue Eyes"
AJ tells me the doctor she knows is a previous resident of Ponyville. Used to be a time-keeper for their town. Owned the town clock tower. Operated it until a family emergency had pulled him out of there and into the trash heap known as Manehatten. I recognize Doctor Whooves the moment I see him, but he doesn't seem to acknowledge or remember me.
The speckles of bruises on his hooves tell stories of loss and depression and needles and shame. I don't even need to guess how his family emergency ended. When the ending is, "And then he became a heroin addict stranded in Discord's Kitchen," you know the story leadin' up to it is not a happy one. These days? He talks about these weird adventures he goes on, traveling through time with that one twisty-eyed mailmare who probably doesn't even know he exists.
His voice is as hazy as his eyes. He greets us with his forced Trottingham accent and a wave. He welcomes AJ into his shanty, recalling when he traveled back in time to when she was nine and he convinced her to leave Manehatten and return to her farm in Ponyville. I look at her curiously. AJ just shrugs it off and tells him she'd love to chat, but we got a job for him.
"A paying job?" he asks.
AJ nods. No time to work out the payment details right now. She refers to him as Time Turner. (Should'a known Doctor Whooves couldn'a been his real name!) AJ tells me she's staying in the car. Wise decision. Discord's Kitchen is the gangland none'a the other gangs wanted; the worst part'a the worst town. The local gang, the Daughters of Discord, would probably steal the car. Paint it. Drive it like crazy. Then crash it. Then sell it.
Turner helps me drag Coldsnap into his shanty, where he goes to work. Even when he's higher than a kite, Turner's a real medical wizard. I assist him however I can until he removes the bullet and patches him up. "So, Baritone," he says, breakin' the quiet that's been sharin' the room with us. "How are things? Last I heard of you, Filthy Rich had you do an assignment. Then you disappeared."
I'm honestly surprised. Here I was, thinkin' he'd forgotten we're at least acquaintences. "Yeah," I say quietly, "that much is true."
"I won't ask what it is," he says, "That's not my business. But how have you been, lately?"
Apparently, my rampage last night didn't even make the news. Or if it did, the Commish did a great job in withholdin' most of the details. I try to recall the last few weeks before that, after the assignment. I remember the assignment itself. All too well.
"Don't do it! Don't do it, she's the only good thing I have left!"
I wait a few seconds. Compose myself. Don't lose my cool. "Lousy," I answer, finally.
Turner stops for a moment. "I'm sorry to hear that." His fake-Trottingham accent is dropped. He goes back to work after lookin' at me, observing me like I'm a fish in a jar.
After a few seconds, he starts talking with that Trottingham accent again. "I know I said I wasn't going to pry regarding the assignment, but I can tell it was..." His drug-addled mind searches for words. "I can tell it was a rather shattering experience for you."
He's reading me. Something I forgot about the Doctor. He's good at reading other ponies. Like, scary good. Body language. Stuttering. Eye-twitches. Every subtle motion a muscle makes can't sneak by him, no matter what time period his mind is in. I could just tell him right now. I'm not just a monster. I'm a baby-killer. I took a wire and choked somepony's little filly to death, and she begged me not to, and she was the only good thing in her life, and I did it anyway even though I wasn't even supposed to do it, I was just supposed to enforce the "payment plan", so I tried to scare her into payin' but I went, I went way too far. I could lay it all out for this would-be time traveler to see.
And why not? He's a heroin addict. Half what he says is stuff that's too crazy to believe anyway. He'd believe it if I told him aliens abducted me and painted my muzzle green. If I told him the truth? Couldn't hurt.
"Yeah. Yeah it was," I say, choosing not to elaborate. I look away.
My eyes gravitate towards anything else to look at. Anything. Unfortunately, there ain't a whole lotta that. Any bits he makes patchin' up crooks goes to his favorite pastime, shootin' up and goin' on adventures with his imaginary assistant. This place is just empty and depressing, more like a cell than a home. A ratty chair. A small table. There's a lamp that might shed some light if you ask nicely.
Finally, a hoof rests on my shoulder. I didn't realize it before, but I had sat down on the floor, staring at the rest of this empty shanty with an equally vacant stare. I look up to see the Doctor, this Time Turner lookin' at me sympathetically. "I know it must be hard for you, Baritone. Everything must hurt. But I know you're not a bad guy."
I killed her.
"You're just in a spot where you're forced to do bad things."
She was pushing eleven at the most.
"The things you've seen are horrible."
She would have seen her eleventh birthday if I didn't put that wire around her neck and demand her mother to pay up.
"The things you've done are probably worse."
Her mother had already given me the combination to her safe, where she kept the money she'd been hiding from Filthy Rich, but I didn't hear her.
"But you'll survive."
All I could hear was her daughter choking and that... excited me in ways I didn't expect.
"You're a survivor, Baritone."
The spark of life drained from her eyes, and as I watched, that fading spark took my soul with it.
"You survive because you're strong."
I killed that little filly, even after her mother had given me the combination to her safe.
"Stronger than you realize."
I killed that little filly for no reason at all.
"...Baritone?"
I...
I can't hold it in anymore. I break down. I cry like the whole world is ending. I can't form words, so the tears runnin' down my face continue the conversation for me. I hold onto the Doc like a terrified foal clinging to his father for comfort.
In between beating the memory out of me with alcohol, I've prayed to Celestia numerous times in the weeks leading up to my rampage. I prayed for forgiveness. Forgiveness for an act that can't be forgiven. I prayed to a goddess who won't listen. Who doesn't love me. Who can't love somepony like me. I...
...I just...
It takes me a few minutes to recompose myself. I cry into the Doctor's shoulder. For these few minutes he's my personal Celestia. Understanding everything just by lookin' at me. He doesn't know what exactly caused my breakdown, but he knows how awful it is. He knows what I am, but decides not to judge.
The Doctor pats me on the back. I feel congratulated, but for what, I'm not sure. "That's a strong stallion, Baritone. Even you get moments of weakness, don't feel ashamed."
But ashamed is all I am. Ashamed of what I am.
The ringing in my ears is gone, but the aches stay. I want them to. They're Baritone's lipstick, these aches. I want to remember our first kiss, the first blows I allowed him to give me. The moment I knew I was in love with him for real. I want to remember for as long as I can.
The cleanup after Coldsnap's needlessly dramatic entrance is a long one. Rescue teams are chipping out survivors while crime scene investigators take photographs. I hear talking. Hoofsteps. Chiseling.
I bring the coffee to my mouth as best I can. My hoof fits squarely in the cup's ring, but no matter how many years have passed, it still feels awkward. There used to be a day when I could lift a coffee to my mouth just by wanting it there. The things we unicorns take for granted...
I close my eyes as I feel that scalding-hot bittersweetness wash over my tongue, glide down my esophagus. Like everything good in my life, it's fleeting, but it's blissful while it's there. I feel a poke at my side. Spike has once again managed to sneak up on me. He holds up a phone.
"Hey, uh, it's The P."
I groan and facehoof. Gran Papa is Manehatten's resident number one incompetent douche, most often referred to as "Mayor." He likes to think he won the voters' trust with his empty promises of hope and change, but thanks to my connections, my vote was the only one that really counted. The ponies of Manehatten even know he didn't win fairly. That's why everypony calls him what his political opponents called him during their smear campaigns: "The Big Potato."
I like the title. It's very fitting. He even has the appearance of a potato: fat, ugly, misshapen, tan coat with this hideous white comb-over. I swear he shot out out of his mother one day and hit a refrigerator. But only Spike and I ever refer to him as The P. Why? It's hard to feel intimidated by a Big Potato, but it's even harder to feel intimidated by P. Helps remind him his place is beneath me.
Spike hands me the phone. Pretty neat inventions, phones. Almost negates the use of letters. I threw mine out of my apartment the very first day of having one after my mother called me six times in four hours.
"Commissioner, what is the meaning of this?!" The P's voice comes through the phone speaker like he's dying. His already choked-sounding voice was never one for radio.
"There was a planned attack on the police department," I respond coolly.
"Not to mention the mess those crooks made getting away! You lost a lot of guys out there. AND last night. I'm still up to my bloated ass trying to cover for you there. You know how bad that makes you look?" I roll my eyes as I mouth his next words. "You know how bad this makes me look?"
I really want to just tell him how bad he always looks. But instead, I just tell him to calm his ass down, the best way I know how. "Whinnypeg."
He falls silent immediately. A few seconds tick by before he speaks again, this time more serenely. "Look, Commissioner, I'm not sayin' you aren't doing your job. But the press is gonna see this, and they're gonna portray our police force as incompetent."
"The press is just as powerless as you are," I say. "They're the ones I convinced to think that your little teenage mistress was somehow the guy who directed Edward Scissorhooves. I'll figure something out, I always do. You're worrying about nothing."
"This isn't nothing," he says. "This was that one creep, Coldsnap. Mr. 'I'll-Bring-the-Frozen-North-A-Little-Further-South-To-Avenge-My-Brother-Who's-Not-Even-Dead' himself. The Tartarus was he doing over there?"
"Fucked if I know," I say. I look around the precinct. A policemare gets chiseled out of an ice-block and falls over. The rescue team tried their hardest, but it looks like they were too late for this one. Her body just goes to pink, wet pieces as it hits the floor. Useless in death as she was in life.
"Coldsnap ain't a nopony, so this ain't nothin'. The press is gonna wonder..." Suddenly, I hear somepony else talking to The P. A small voice, squeaky and whiny. His daughter. "N-Not now, Sunshine," I hear him say. "Not now, Daddy's on the phone!"
Ah, Sunshine. An acquaintence I have only ever had to put up with once. A mare closing in on thirty and still acting like she's five. I wait for the two to finish fighting before P comes back.
"Anyway, everyone's gonna wonder what the heck Coldsnap is doing out and about again, and what he's up to. And don't tell me you're not involved in this somehow. I know you are."
"How does the title of Senator sound to you, P?" Silence. "You like the sound of Senator. It's what you've always wanted. Representing Manehatten, talking to the Princess herself, convincing her to change a few rules. I personally know the Princess. She'd never wanna talk to somepony like you, P. Especially if she knew about your time in Whinnypeg."
"Look, stop bringing that up."
"Then let's not interject pointless conspiracy theories over provable facts."
Long silence. I hear a beep that makes me draw my head back. Spike has been watching me this whole time, and apparently heard the beep as well. "The beep means you have another incoming call," he says. I nod.
"Look, I gotta go, P," I say with a chuckle. He groans at the pun. "We'll talk about this later." I look at the phone's buttons as P starts to protest. To Spike, I whisper, "Which of these lets me change the caller again?"
He points. I press the button as I hear P raging on the other end. His voice cuts out. I place the phone back up to my ear. "Commissioner Sparkle speaking."
"Twi."
It's Applejack. She sounds pissed. She figured it out. I inhale slowly and quietly, expecting to really hear it. That this is it. This is finally it. She's had it with me. She wants to leave. She wants to go home. I expect to hear it. I expect that classic, country-girl indignation. That hypocritical right-wing rage. I expect it but I don't receive it.
She starts with a heavy, slow sigh. "...Tony told me everythin'." Tony. Short for Baritone? Cute. I'll have to remember that for later.
"...What do you mean, Tony told you everything?"
"Tony, the little guy. He's sharp as a whip an' he figgered out that you left me with... with that psychopath. With somepony who would'na thought twice 'bout killin' me. An' he woulda, too, if'n Tony hadn't kept me quiet b'fore Ah unloaded on 'em."
A pause. "Ah... Ah'm hurt, Twi. You an' me, out of all the girls, we were th' tightest." Were. Past-tense. I was right. This is it. Get it over with, girl. Quit and leave. Come on.
"We were tight, an' Ah thought, even after everythin' we'd been through since that day, when they took yer horn, when you started... When you started goin' bad, Ah thought Ah could help you. Save you. Keep you from becomin' exactly what made you." I hear her swallow, then hiccup. Oh, Celestia's mane, is... is AJ starting to cry? No anger? No indignation? Just tears?
"Dash... Dash was right 'bout-chu. Yer beyond any help. Ah shoulda taken her advice. When even the Element o' Loyalty herself turns her back on you, that should really say somethin'. That should'a been mah big tip-off. Ah should'a left."
"...But you didn't."
"No. Y'know why?"
"...Why?"
"'Coz Ah was too stupid t'know better. Ah was dumb 'nough to b'lieve you over Dash. You heard all th'jokes 'bout me that floated all over Ponyville: AJ cain't do math, AJ cain't read, AJ cain't do this, cain't do that, she cain't even shit right half th' time. Ain't got no horse-sense. An' you proved it. You proved 'em right. AJ's--AJ's a dumbass, an' she's a dumbass coz she b'lieved she still mattered to you." Her voice cracks at ''mattered."
I hear a sob. This "poor me" act is getting on my nerves. I feel like just hanging up. I heave a sigh.
"Ah'm goin' home, Twi."
I almost laugh. "And where's home, AJ?"
Finally, she hangs up. No response. No angry outburst. No name-calling. Not so much as a fuck-you. Just a click and a long, dead beep.
She knows just as well as I do that Ponyville won't exactly welcome either of us back with open forelegs. Cloudsdale didn't take back Rainbow Dash after she "went home". Might have had something to do with that tidbit of information I slipped their authorities regarding what their little Dashie had been up to since she'd left (leaving out involvement from AJ or myself, of course). If she thinks she can just go home, she's wrong.
Applejack is weak. She was always weak. She hides this by merely acting tough. And why not? She looks the part. The rough-n-tumble cowgirl with a no-nonsense attitude and a kill-em-all stare. But inside, she's a weakling. She thinks she's a warrior, but really, she's the classic bearded lady. Tough looking, but still too emotional for her own damned good.
On the other hoof, Baritone "Tony" Sanders DID take care of her like I half-expected he would. I didn't plan on his figuring out my passive-aggressive backhoof to AJ. He has a "knight-in-shining-armor" side to him and a "rational thinker" side to him, to go along with his beautiful, beautiful carnage and the aches he is able to cause.
So many parts. So many pieces. So much to play with.
I toss the phone back to Spike. He looks up at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of what must be terror and despair. He looks to the phone, then to me, with this look that tells me his childhood is dying one day at a time.
"What's wrong with Applejack?" he asks. "Is she OK?"
My answer is given silently as I walk by him, into the empty pseudo-winter of the police department. I'm alone. All alone. It's as empty and cold in here as I feel right now.
It takes a little while, but the Doctor knows what he's doin', and Coldsnap is OK. I give him a punch to the shoulder for nearly dyin' on us and bringin' Heat Freak's wrath. I thank the Doc.
"Think nothing of it," he says. I'm not sure what I can pay him with, and he interrupts me. "Don't worry, Applejack knows how she can pay me. In fact, I've got something for you."
He removes a floorboard and feels underneath it. Mumbles. Finds what he's looking for. It's a bag'a some kinda pink powder I never seen before. He hoofs it out to me. "A fellow doctor gave me a sample, but it isn't to my tastes. My TARDIS will suffice." I smirk, having forgotten that he calls the heroin his TARDIS.
I take it. Plan on sellin' it later. We get Coldsnap ready to get put back into AJ's car. "By the way," he says, "I have a new assistant."
"Really?"
We start wheelin' Coldsnap out. "Indeed," he says. "She's a real kicker, this one. You remind me of her. Very strong, despite her own moments of weakness. Her name's Rose. I think she'd like you."
I roll my eyes. I miss the mailmare assistant already.
The moment we get back into the alley, I regret leaving AJ all by herself. The Daughters of Discord wouldn't miss a car in their territory, no matter if it was inside an alley or a bottle. And there they were, surroundin' her car, some leanin' on it, one with his face close to the driver's window, talking.
Even among other gangsters, the Daughters make everypony sick. The males all dress in trashy prostitute clothing, although a few add their own (still feminine) duds, while their few female members wear butch biker getup. Honestly, they're even more cartoonish than the Freezer Burn Brothers, and that's sayin' somethin'. Despite that, they're dangerous and they know it. Even in miniskirts and lipstick, their members are the most testosterone-fueled assholes you can imagine. Confrontational and violent, but curiously lacking the self-restraint of other gangsters.
The worst part? All present members are earth ponies. And all their earth pony members hate unicorns.
Shit.
The moment one sees me, he gets the attention of his buddies. A few lean against the brick walls of the alley as others make as mean a face they can. Their leader recognizes me off the bat, and I hold in an exasperated sigh, accepting that Celestia hates the shit outta me today.
He's rather macho. Got a tough-guy build with a tough-guy jaw. Stubble surrounds his messy red lipstick, makin' his mouth look more like a knife-wound. His little yellow eyes dig into the soul of anypony or anything he looks at. His ocean-blue mane is done up in a very ladylike way, almost adding a spot o' grandeur to his otherwise trashy and intimidating presence. Emphasis on "almost".
One end of the knife-wound goes up. "Baritone?" he asks in a forced falsetto. "That you, hunny?" Unlike the Doctor, his Trottingham accent's the real McCoy.
I greet him with a forced nod. "Crest."
Crest. One'a the Daughters' most trusted. He and I used to dispose bodies together, back when he wasn't really loyal to anypony. I still remember the things he'd do with the bodies we were given. He was a sicko then, and he's a bigger sicko now.
He begins to stalk around me in that faux-marelike saunter, swingin' his hips in a parody of female movement instead of an imitation. Walks around us, in a circle. A few of his buds do the same, grinning at us like rapists. (And a good few of 'em likely are.)
"You know," he says, "I always knew you were the lady-killer type. And you have such excellent tastes. She's like every wet dream a stallion could have: those lips, that accent, that mane, those flanks..."
Huh. Maybe it wasn't the car I should'a worried about.
"And there she was, all alone in her car, crying her eyes out!" I feel the tip of Crest's tail whip at my ass as he finishes his sentence. "That's just awful of you, Baritone, leaving her alone like that. You've gone and hurt her feelings."
AJ was crying? I gotta hoof it to her. At least she waited 'til everypony was outta the car before she broke down. She's every bit the tough girl I took her for.
"Who's 'is bloke?" asks one of the other Daughters. I look aside and one of them is poking Coldsnap. He looks him up and down. "Looks right familia'..."
The Doctor pipes up, his forced accent garnering more than just a few snickers. "He's a patient." I facehoof. Great job, Doctor, just tell the Daughters of Discord that you helped out one'a their enemies. I wonder why everypony I meet inadvertantly does things that put me between a rock and a hard place.
Crest gives the Doctor a shove before I can. His falsetto is dropped completely, and his real voice comes out, sounding like something between a classic Trottingham thug and a barking terrier. "Somepony comes onto our turf without our permission, and you just fix 'em up?! The bloody Tartarus is wrong with you!" He smacks the Doctor, hard enough that he draws a bit of blood out of him.
Situation has headed south. I try to think of something, but Mr. Fix-It probably only has four bullets left in him (If he was fully loaded to begin with), and there are several Daughters present right now. I could use my telekinesis. Throw a dumpster at 'em. But they're so close that they might act before I have a chance.
My eyes fall on the car. Inside, I see AJ's back to us, adjusting the rearview mirror, then her hoof goes down to her side. For whatever reason, she hasn't turned to even look at us. I hear the Doctor try to give Crest an explanation, and then I cringe as I hear Crest's rebuttal. Suddenly, up goes AJ's hoof. Gives a signal. A warning. Get Ready.
I like this chick.
The Doctor gets shoved into me, knocking me over. Outta my pocket comes that bag of powder, and it hits the ground with a muted thump. The Daughters all breathe in hard. The atmosphere around us becomes suffocated in anger.
"Fixin' up outsiders... AND givin' away OUR Shard?!" Crest's voice has reached a pitch I've never heard out of him before. If AJ doesn't act quickly, it'll be the last thing I hear. The Daughters pull out pipes and wrenches and heavy chains and meathooks and tire irons. The Doctor pulls out a screwdriver.
"I'm warning you," he says, his Trottingham accent apparently already beaten out of him. "D-Don't come any closer!"
I wrap my hoof around the Doctor's middle as I see AJ grip the wheel a little tighter. Her right hoof goes to the ignition. I get ready.
Just as Crest starts going on about something I think passes for a quip, AJ's car roars to life. The tires shriek like wildcats as it comes awake and backs up suddenly. Daughters get knocked over like bowling pins. Acting as quickly as I can, I use my telekinesis to heave the Doctor and Coldsnap along with myself onto the car's rear as it speeds backwards. Crest roars as he leaps.
I hear him, and that gives me just enough time to dodge his wrench as he brings it down, slamming the car's beetle-black chassis. The car continues to back up, slamming into him, forcing him back, back, back as far as the alley goes. I hear AJ shout, "Hang onta somethin', sugarcube! Hang on an' DON'T LET GO!"
I'm given a second. If AJ doesn't stop the car now, she'll slam into the chain-link fence at the end of the alley. I use my telekinesis to hold all three passengers on the car in place, grit my teeth and hope it'll hold. With a jolt and a short squeak, the car stops, throwing Crest into the fence hard enough to knock it over completely.
Just as sudden as it stopped, the car shoots forward, the engines roaring and the wheels thumping and the road underneath thundering, blowing dirt and dust all over Crest as he tries to get back up. My telekinesis still keeps us glued to the top of the car as I feel a couple Daughters become roadkill, solid bodies thudding against the car, blood splattering the wheels, painting 'em with proof that this car is just as capable a killing machine as any other gangster in Manehatten.
We shoot out of the alley like a bullet from a gun, and outta the tumbles we go. No carriage can catch us, and no cop is interested in this area of town enough to come investigate. We're home-free.
I climb over to the open sun-roof and dump Coldsnap and our out-cold delusional Doctor into it, pushing them into the back seat. I drop in myself and reclaim the seat next to AJ. She closes the sunroof, laughin' her head off the whole time. There aren't any words. Just this long guffaw, a crowing of victory against the odds.
I decide to join in. We laugh so hard it hurts.