//------------------------------//
// The Offer 
// Story: Slow Fade 
// by Bluegrass Brooke 
//------------------------------//

“Stay on the sunny side, always on the sunny side.” The dust covered mare sang her favorite tune as she piled yet another box onto the wagon, hooves swinging in time to the melody in her head. No matter the circumstances, Pinkamena Diane Pie always had a song to dance to. Her clear voice broke through the morning stillness of the rock farm like a church bell, “Let us greet with a song of cheer each day, though the moment be cloudy or fair.”  

“Pinkie, stop it!” Limestone stamped her calloused hoof against the dirt, sending a concussion that rocked the wagon. “What’s the point in your stupid songs?”

What bee got in her bonnet? “Awe, but, Limestone, we can’t get this little cloud get us down.” Pinkie drew her sister into a hug, surprised to feel her sides tense up like a board. Though she was the stereotypical “tom colt,” Limestone really was sensitive. “It’ll all be okay, Limestone,” she murmured into her sister’s mane.

“But, it’s not going to be okay,” Limestone’s defiant tone set Pinkie back a step. Her sister stood straight, amber eyes flashing menacingly. “You always say it’s going to be fine, that it’ll all work out, but it never does!”

“It does too!” Sometimes . . . Pinkie turned, staring hard at her cutie mark. Three balloons, three balloons for her three wonderful sisters. No matter what happened, she was always the one to make it all okay. There was no way in Equestria she would let them down, not today and not ever. “Don’t worry about it, Limestone. I told you I’m going to Manehattan to fix this humongous misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Igneous’ harsh voice caused both siblings to whirl around and stare at him. The stallion looked as though he had aged five years in the past month. His lined face broke into a pathetic attempt at a smile. “There’s no mistake, Pinkamena. The lease on the farm’s been bought out, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“But—”

“—No buts, Pinkamena, there’s no changing the inevitable.” Igneous sighed heavily, placing the bag of tools slung across his back onto the mountain of supplies the wagon held. “Speaking to that pony in Manehattan won’t change what’s been done.” From his harsh expression, Pinkie knew exactly what he was about to say, but she would not let him, not this time. 

“Daddy, listen to me.” Pinkie stood tall, puffing out her muscular chest. “Life's not a guarantee. Isn’t that what you’re always saying?” She was not about to watch the man she admired most in life give up on everything he worked for. “Sure maybe it’s a little scary, but sometimes you’ve just got to be brave.” She snorted, tossing her curly mane, “When push comes to shove, we’re the authors of our own story and I for one want a happy ending!”

He stared at her for a long while, as though processing what he had just heard. Then, slowly, he nodded. “All right then, darling. Do what you will. But, we can’t stay here, not for the moment that is.” His eyes fell onto the house, with a kind of pained longing, “If you think going to Manehattan can change anything, why, I won’t stop you, Pinkamena. You make your own way.”

Pinkie jerked a nod, scooping up her saddlebags. “All right then, I’m going to say goodbye to Momma, Marble, and Maud.” She rushed forward, hugging her father tightly. “Stay on the sunny side, Daddy.”

He chuckled softly, returning the hug. “I’ll try, Pinkamena, I’ll try.”
 



 
For most ponies, a sunny spring morning was something to celebrate. For Rory Scribe, it was an ever present irritant. He longed to close the thick curtains of his office to blot out the oppressive rays reflecting off of his rectangular spectacles. However, it was hardly good P.R. for the head of the Scribe Incorporated's treasury department to be wasting money on unnecessary electricity. So he sat in his high backed chair and stared at anything but the blinding light from the window.
 
The newspaper lay neatly folded out on his desk. Though it was only seven, Rory had already read it twice; it was never for pleasure. Only a fool read the Manehattan Times for the enjoyment of it. Hidden within its overly-biased pages were a treasure trove of industry leanings and hints of underhanded deals if one knew where to look, and Rory always knew where to look.

There was a loud knock at the door, announcing the arrival of his secretary. The heavily-pregnant mare walked slowly towards him with the air of a scared filly about to prod a dragon with a stick. Rory could not stop the smirk from stretching across his young face. His voice was laced with an icy venom, "Well, look who decided to show up this morning."
 
She continued in a tentative whisper, "I'm sorry, Mr. Scribe." The pegasus made a hasty bow, spilling the folder full of documents all over the grey carpet. "Oh my, I'll just," With some difficulty, she managed to stoop down and collect up the papers. "There."
 
Rory raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Continue, Keynote."
 
"Yes, Mr. Scribe. I was stopped in the hallway this morning by one of the President's secretaries." Attempting to withdraw the paper caused the stack to shake violently. Somehow, she managed to pull out the appropriate document. "The President has finalized the deal to purchase Eincorn International. Though," She noted his impatient expression and the paper on the desk, "I suppose you already read about that."
 
"I did." He glanced down at Keynote's paper. The familiar wall of numbers and text announced its use as a proof of financial backing statement. "I assume Father wants this as soon as possible?"

Keynote jerked a nod, mane threatening to spring out of her loose bun. "Yes, Mr. Scribe."
 
Rory sighed, drawing a pen from his desk and scrawling his signature on the document without bothering to read the details. There was precious little he did not sign these days. If for some reason he were against signing it, he would have to have a damn good reason for his father to accept the decision. Rory rarely took that risk. He dropped the pen in disgust. There was nothing more degrading to a pony of his stature than mouth writing. Unfortunately, as an earth pony, he had to make do. "There. Send that off," he spat, still glowering at her.
 
Instead of leaving him in peace, she stared intently at him. Her face was tight with a mixture of determination and fear that Rory had never seen from her. That would have to be stopped. He leaned forward, emerald eyes flashing a challenge. "What?"
 
"I want to discuss my termination." Keynote took an uncharacteristically confident stance, puffing her chest out.
 
Why must she go down that rabbit hole? Rory gritted his teeth, leaning back in the chair. "What about it?"
 
"It's because of my pregnancy isn't it?"
 
"That was not the reason given in your termination notice." His eyes drifted unconsciously to her midriff. If there ever was a mare that deserved a steady job, it was Keynote. She was perhaps the best secretary he had worked with, despite her limitation. However, her propensity towards pursuing the truth made her a dangerous liability. It was only a matter of time until she discovered one truth too many, and the consequences of that were well beyond his control.
 
"I know, I know." The mare's expression changed to one of desperation. "I would start back as soon as possible. My husband's out of work, we need the money. Please, Mr. Scribe!"
 
Her incessant begging was like a mosquito buzzing in his ears. Rory sighed, rubbing his temple with a hoof. His words came as a gradual crescendo, "The order for your termination came from the higher ups. I have no say in the matter, Keynote. Get your sorry ass back to work before I terminate you ahead of schedule!"
 
The pegasus scampered out of the room without another word. Rory watched the door shut behind her. He moaned, rubbing a hoof through his slicked down mane. A small tinge of guilt came over him then. Under any normal circumstances, his outburst would have been justified, but this time it felt unnecessarily harsh. He was disgusted with himself for scolding the poor mare. But what was he to do? It was his nature, and that ought to be a good enough explanation for her.
 
Rory took out a pen to begin the morning paperwork. Celestia, how he hated paperwork. Though three financial documents were permanently inscribed on his flank, he wanted nothing to do with them. Nothing made his stomach churn quite like sorting through page after page of finance reports, but he would push through it. As tedious at this work was, he was good at it, and it brought him one step closer to his goal, and that, though hollow, was some measure of comfort.
 



 
Pinkie had seen a lot of buildings; really she had, but nothing could have prepared her for how completely intimidating Scribe Incorporated's headquarters was. The massive onyx structure rose seemingly indefinitely before coming to a vicious looking point at the top. Try as she may to steady her heart rate, she still felt like it might burst at the slightest push. She had to keep moving, if not for her, then for her family.
 
Her hooves echoed against the marble floored entryway. With as much bravery as she could muster, she strode up to the massive front desk. A grey unicorn mare with an unenthused expression was scrolling away on a sheet of parchment with a single minded determination any scholar would be jealous of. It took a moment, but she eventually looked up at her, "Yes?"
 
"I'd like to speak to . . ." Pinkie paused. Who did she want to speak to? "Do you know who's in charge of buying property? Apparently there's been some mistake and our farm's lease was bought up." Mistake was an understatement, it was a fiasco. If she did not sort this mess out, their family would likely have to split up to make ends meet. There was no way in Tartarus she was going to let that happen on her watch. 

"Uh—huh." The mare's deadpan expression rivaled even Maud's. "Do you have an appointment?"
 
Is she serious? Pinkie slapped a hoof to her face, "How could I have an appointment if I don't know who to talk to?"
 
Apparently this was logical to the secretary, because she nodded slowly. "Okay. Let me see if anypony has an opening today."
 
Urgh! Pinkie was itching to get this whole mess over with. It was no fun going to such a boring place. As soon as she got the farm back, she would throw a big celebration party in the barn, that was the way to celebrate.
 
"Here we are." The mare's eyes grew as wide as saucers, darting from the paper in front of her to Pinkie.
 
"What?"
 
"Nothing." She cleared her throat, continuing in her monotone, "Mr. Scribe is available this afternoon if you'd like."
 
"Mr. Scribe?" Pinkie's heart began to race and she thought it might burst then and there. "But isn't he the pony who runs this entire place?" Her hooves stretched out dramatically to emphasize the point.
 
"No." The mare did not seem amused by her gesticulations. "Mr. Scribe not President Scribe. He's the president's son and head of our treasury department."
 
"Oh." Pinkie clutched her chest, glad she would not have to deal with that stress. "So what's a treasury department head do?"
 
"He manages all the money into and out of the company." Her lilac eyes darted to the dusty pink saddlebags slung over her back, and dirt encrusted hooves. "You're new in town, aren't you?"
 
Wow. She’s good! "Yeah. I just came from Ponyville."
 
Her mouth opened as if to say something, but remained as stoic as ever. "I'll write you down for three thirty."
 
"Thanks!" Pinkie's eyes followed her pen's progress across the paper. Her writing was beautiful, much better than hers ever could be. That was to be expected, unicorn writing was almost always easier to read than mouth writing.
 
"Name?" The pen tapped rapidly against her notepad, as though waiting for something else.
 
"What?"
 
She blew a strand of silver forelock out of her eyes. "Your name."
 
"Pinkie Pie; Element of Optimism at your service." Pinkie danced in place, tossing in a touch of confetti in for good measure. Her self-made title always made her family and the ponies of Nickerlite smile and laugh. 
 
The mare’s eyes darted to the confetti strewn floor with a look of purest distain. "Lila, element of pick that shit up or I'm calling security."
 
Pinkie's stomach dropped out from under her. Nopony ever responded to her dance like that, maybe she was just cranky. With all the air of a kicked puppy, she scooped up the confetti and threw it in a nearby trashcan. "All done."
 
"Good." Lila levitated a slip of parchment into Pinkie's hooves. Before Pinkie could thank her, she grabbed her hoof, "Don't get him angry, and for Celestia's sake make yourself presentable," she hissed, eyes darting pointedly towards the elevator.
 
"Right." For some reason, the mare's harsh stare was starting to make her sweat. "I'll do that." She turned around, walking back out the doors. Gee, I hope he's not as grouchy as her. That was scary!




 
Numbers, it was always numbers. It was the language of business, the only language his father understood and the one language he despised more than anything else. But, if he did not speak numbers, he was not permitted to speak at all. That was a lesson Rory had learned years ago and one he would not soon forget. So he sat, compiling the numbers to say just what he willed them to.
 
A loud knock against the door broke his concentration. What now? He snapped back, "Yes? I'm busy."
 
Keynote's tentative voice came from behind the wood, "Mr. Scribe, your three thirty appointment is here."
 
Appointment? I didn't make any appointments. It appeared that the front desk got ahold of his schedule again. What poor sap do I have to break today? "Send them in." A pink earth pony mare walked slowly into his office, eyes darting this way and that. Judging from her balloon adorned cutie mark and overly impressed expression, she was not from Manehattan.  A predatory snarl stretched across his face. This could be fun.
 
"Hiya, Mr. Scribe. I'm Pinkie Pie." The mare literally hopped over to his desk, holding out a hoof. When he did not take it, she let it fall back to the carpet. "Boy am I glad to talk to you. There's been this humongous misunderstanding."
 
Rory raised an eyebrow. Somehow I doubt that. "Yes?"
 
"Well, you see," If her tone of voice was anything to go by, he was about to be in for a long winded explanation. "My family has this rock farm near Nickerlite. We've worked on the land for years and years. But, rock farming's not too profitable, so our family's still paying off the lease for the land a little at a time." She giggled, "But there's been this silly mistake. See, the mayor and town council said that your company bought the lease. But that's impossible 'cause we have the lease. I was kinda hoping you'd fix this whole mess."
 
So that's it. Strange, I didn't take her for a rock farmer's daughter. Rory gave one of his cold laughs. This would be far too easy. He leaned forward on his chair, placing his hooves on the polished surface. "You seem to be under a delusion, Miss Pie."
 
"Delu-what now?"
 
"A delusion, Miss Pie. A fantasy constructed in order to deny reality." He continued, glaring at her from behind his spectacles. "There is no mistake, Miss Pie, Scribe Incorporated has indeed bought the lease for your precious little rock farm. We have paid the entire balance in full, I signed the paperwork myself."
 
The mare's smile shattered like a thousand pieces of glass. Her mouth opened and closed, and her eyes began to glisten. "You can't be serious. It's some kind of joke."
 
"Joke?" He snorted an unfeeling laugh. What was with this mare? Did he look like the type to make idle quips? "I do not joke, Miss Pie. I tell the facts. And the fact is that your family no longer owns that farm."
 
"What would you do with the farm?" Pinkie gave a challenging stamp of her hooves.
 
"It's part of our vertical integration strategy. We control the raw material, we control the prices. Your farm is host to a vast store of mineral reserves." Rory shrugged, "Honestly, I don't care whose farm it is as long as it increases our profit margin."
 
"You're a big bully!"
 
Bully? The word was a familiar one to Rory. It was often used by ponies in desperate situations. They felt the world was somehow unfair and that by tagging the perpetrator of that injustice as a bully they might somehow be justified. Pathetic. Simply pathetic. "The world is neither fair nor just, Miss Pie, it simply is. You may take it as a responsible adult or bemoan the point like a spoiled child."
 
The mare stood quivering for a while, tears beginning to stream down her muzzle. Rory contemplated calling security to remove her, but thought better of it. That would go down in the reports, and his father would certainly bring it up at the next meeting. He could see it now, the treasury department head who was too pathetic to control one whimpering little mare.
 
"I'll do . . ."
 
His ears perked up at that. He had not expected her to continue. "I'm listening"
 
Her shaking slowed, and she stood up straight, eyes full of determination. "I'll do anything! Anything in the world if you'll give us back our farm."
 
Rory could not help but be impressed. Generally, when ponies made that statement, it was groveling on the floor. But this mare, this mare had a kind of fire in her, a fire he had not seen in years. It was oddly refreshing. Perhaps, just perhaps he might make use of her, at the very least, it might prove interesting. "Very well, Miss Pie. I shall see to it that your family gets their precious farm back."
 
"Really? You mean it?"
 
"Oh yes." My but she is gullible. Rory tapped his hoof against the desk, wondering just how far she would go for her precious family. "I'll need your full name."
 
"Pinkamena Diane Pie." She cocked her head to the side, eyeing him suspiciously. "Why do you need to know?"
 
"Legal reasons." Rory withdrew a sheet of paper from the desk and began to scrawl on it with a pen. He did so for a few minutes, then took his personal seal and pressed it to the paper. It was official enough for any lawyer's fancy now. He motioned the mare forward. "Here we are, Miss Pie, a legally binding contract that states that I, Rory Scribe shall return your Nickerlite rock farm into Pie family possession once more."
 
Pinkie breathed a sigh of relief, then glanced up at him. "That's it?"
 
"Oh no, Miss Pie. We haven't gotten to your end of the bargain yet." Rory tapped the paper with his orange hoof. "In this contract, it explicitly states that you, Pinkamena Diane Pie shall serve as my personal secretary as long as I see fit. That you shall not seek another's employment while in my service, shall adhere to all dress codes and policies that I establish, shall not speak of this contract to another living soul, and that you will faithfully keep any sensitive information you might discover about your employer to yourself. Is that understood?"
 
"I guess," her voice held the slightest hint of apprehension.
 
Now we'll see how desperate you are. He smirked, slowly withdrawing the contract. "This is my one and only offer, Miss Pie. Refuse and your family will lose the farm."
 
Pinkie gulped, looking between him and the paper. Then, she slammed a hoof against the desk. "I accept."
 
"Smart girl." He signed the paper and tossed her the pen.
 
With only a moment's hesitation, she scrolled her name at the bottom. Then, she looked into his eyes. "Why do you want an optimism pony as a secretary anyway? You need cheering up?”
 
The very idea disgusted him. Optimism pony? Well that explains the ludicrous cutie mark. "No, Miss Pie. I have my reasons." Rory cleared his throat, "You will start work at seven am sharp three days from now. In that time, you will close out any former employment and make arrangements for your personal belongings to come with you to Manehattan."
 
"WHAT? I can't go to Manehattan! I live on the rock farm." A visible panic filled her eyes. "They need me! Who will put a smile on their faces?"
 
"I don't care." It was amusing to see how he had shattered her entire world a few simple words. How remarkably easy it was, and how satisfying. "Once you signed that contract you gave up such luxuries!"
 
"I . . . I" Tears started to spill down her cheeks. "But my friends, my family."
 
He shrugged, "Break ties with them. You are pursuing a career in Manehattan, that is all they need to know."
 
Her hoof struck the floor so hard the desk shook, "No! I won't and you can't make me!"
 
My, but she was confident. That would have to be fixed. Rory slid the chair back, standing for the first time. A familiar stinging pain radiated up his right foreleg, but he bit it back. He walked around the desk, his distinct uneven gait making a soft tattoo against the carpet.
 
She watched him, and cringed a little. Rory knew what she was looking at. His leg was badly twisted and warped into a permanent forward bend. The sight of her looking made his blood boil. Why was it always the first thing anypony noticed about him? He so despised it. "Miss Pie, you have once again fallen under a delusion."
 
"Oh have I now?"
 
"You told me a few minutes ago that you would do anything to save that precious little farm of yours."
 
"That's right." She tossed her head defiantly, "What about it?"
 
Rory gave a cold chuckle, "My how naïve you are. I gave you a good, reasonable offer."
 
"Really? I don't think so!" She spat the words like a curse, visibly bristling.
 
Before the mare had time to react, he pushed her back against the carpet. Compensating for his weak limbs, he targeted her pressure points with all his weight to immobilize her.
 
Pinkie’s eyes looked pleadingly into his. "Stop it. You're hurting me," she murmured.
 
"Am I? Too bad!" His harsh voice echoed around the office. He lowered his head until his hot breath mixed with hers and whispered, "I could have easily asked for this. Then what would you have done?" Before she could protest, he pressed his muzzle to her cheek, rubbing his face against hers.
 
Pinkie began to sob, starting to give a credible struggle. Seeing that his little display might cause an outburst, he released her, standing straight again. There was a fear in her eyes that had not been there before. He laughed coldly. "You asked me why I wanted you as a secretary. I'll tell you the reason, and it's right before me."
 
He allowed her to stand, "You are innocent, you've lived your whole life sheltered from the realities of life. Every aspect of your life is dictated by the mistaken assumption that the world is 'good' and ponies naturally want to do the right thing. In essence, Miss Pie, you are a living delusion."
 
"I'm . . . I'm not."
 
Rory snorted, "Really? What do you believe I was going to do to you just now? Can you say that for a brief moment, you did not think I would force myself upon you as a stallion?"
 
She shook her head, "No! I knew you wouldn't. Nopony would do something like that. You just scared me." Upon seeing his disbelieving expression, her eyes focused on the ground. "All right. I didn't want you to kiss me like that. That's something you do with somepony you love."
 
"Is that all you thought I'd do? Celestia you're dense." Another surge of pain coursed through his leg. His little show had cost him. He decided to finish up their tête a tête. "I want you as a secretary so that I can watch your innocent delusion crumble piece by piece. End of story."
 
Pinkie looked stricken with panic. "I'm not under a delusion. You are!" It was obvious that his little conversation was taking effect, however. Her eyes focused on his, "What if I tell the police? Then what?”
 
He could not stop the smirk from stretching across his face. “The authorities? My dear, we own the authorities!”

“No you don’t! Nopony does.”

“Really? How naïve are you?” He jerked his head to the window and the view of Manehattan beyond. “This city and every pony in it has a price. Shove enough bits their way, and even the police will turn a blind eye.”

Her confident expression faltered for an instant, "But it’s not right. I’ll . . . I’ll tell the princesses then, they’ll believe me."

Rory gave her his most dangerous glare. This was an excellent opportunity to watch an idealistic mare being brought down to reality, to watch her slowly tear away at the seams. But, to enjoy the rose, he would have to clip the thorns. "You know fire is a dangerous thing, Miss Pie."
 
“Fire?”

"Yes, it takes no favorites, consuming everything in its path. I wonder what it feels like to be slowly cooked to death in the flames? It can't be pleasant." Rory savored her slowly dawning expression of horror. "I can see the headlines now, 'Pie Family Burned to Death in their Own Home.' Or, my personal favorite, 'A Tragic Accident: Pie Family Killed by Their Own Rock Tumbler.'" Oh yes, that had done it.
 
He watched her slowly slink back towards the door. "I . . . I won't tell. Don't hurt them."
 
"As long as you keep your end of the bargain, Miss Pie," his words were laced with venom.
 
There was no more confidence left in the mare’s voice now. "I will."
 
"Good. I'll see you three days from now, Miss Pie. Don't be late." Rory watched her slide out of the room. The moment she left, he collapsed onto the carpet, gripping his leg. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to scream in agony. Shouldn't have bent it. Laying on the floor, he began to wonder why. Why had he done that to her? Never in his life had he constructed such an elaborate way to make another pony's life so miserable. He took a sick satisfaction in that knowledge. The moment he had dreaded his entire life had come to pass. He, Rory Scribe was exactly like his father.