Tritonus

by Catullus Sedecim

A Hard Day's Night - LeBlanc

Chapter 4:

LeBlanc hurt. His everything hurt. His literally everything hurt. He hurt in places that he didn’t know existed. He hurt outside his body. He might well have grown a fifth leg, solely to hurt with it. His hair hurt. He didn’t even know how that was possible. The black of his painted-on stripes had worn off mostly in the rain. He probably didn’t need it, anyway. He’d probably gotten a lot more black onto his pale body. And some blue. And purple. And rotten greens. And whatever other colors ponies bruised. To tell the truth, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had even found new colors to bruise. That would probably be his luck.

It did sound impossible, he had to admit. But if there was anyone who could do it, it was him. If anyone in this whole rotten, godforsaken universe could find new and anatomically inaccurate ways to suffer, it would be him.

For a few years, he’d thought he had bad luck. He’d realized that was a mistake. He didn’t have bad luck. Other ponies had bad luck. He wasn’t that lucky. He dreamed of having bad luck. A day of bad luck would be a blessing. He didn’t have bad luck.

Bad luck had him.

See, a pony who had bad luck would might have been so poor and unlucky he’d need to paint on stripes and sing Zebra Pete for a few bits. He might even have been so unlucky that he’d do it at the only bar in town whose proprietor happened to be a zebra. But they probably wouldn’t have done so on the night that the proprietor’s old friend, Equestria’s first zebra boxing champion, Cassius Hay, happened to be visiting. And they certainly wouldn’t have, after being tossed out, woken up right next to the only zebra police officer in Manehattan.

All told, by LeBlanc’s standards, it had gone well. He’d managed to save a couple of those bits. And he’d certainly been on harder cobblestones. Besides, the truncheon had broken after only about eight hits, and the officer didn’t hit as hard as the boxer had. Not a bad day.

He heard a smooth, calm, and familiar voice. “Well. Don’t you look messy.”

Okay. NOW it was a bad day.

“I don’t suppose I’m lucky enough that you’re a professional impersonator?”

“...Sorry. It’s just me.” He opened an eye, to see that familiar wine-red coat.

“...Maestro.”

“In the flesh. So to speak.” He laughed, and offered LeBlanc a hoof.

LeBlanc raised a hoof. It went right through Maestro’s hand, and the pony let out a loud laugh. “You always go for that one, you know.”

“You know how some people have a musical laugh?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t.”

“Your words strike me to the core.”

LeBlanc tottered to his feet. “Nothing broken.”

“There was,” Maestro said, “Couldn’t have that. You’re so much more fun when you can run.”

LeBlanc sighed. “Right. Sure. Why do you mess with me so much?”

“I mess with everyone.”

“Yeah.” The pale stallion said, tottering on his hooves a bit, and then getting to walk back home, “In a general sense. But not specifically. I mean, if they were all talking to you, someone else would believe me. I know you mess with everyone, but you just arrange stuff. I get the personal treatment.

“You must have one of those faces.” They walked towards the alley LeBlanc had slept in for the last few months. He’d tried the Moonville. A misunderstanding had led to him getting kicked out. He was rejected even by society’s rejects.

“So have you figured it out yet?”

“Figured what?” LeBlanc asked.

“You know. Your past. Why you don’t remember your childhood.”

“You could have healed the bruises too, you know. It makes walking hard.”

“I mean, mother. Father. Little puppy dog. Most people have something, don’t they?”

“That’s probably why you didn’t, I guess. Can’t have me walk two miles WITHOUT being in agony, could you.”

“Wife, maybe?”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t get even an hour of a break.”

“Or husband. If you swing that way. I don’t judge, really.” He paused, “Technically, I do. But only because I control the justice system. And the police. Which is really, really convenient, when you think about it. It means that after I arrest someone, I get to try to convince myself they did it. I usually find myself pretty convincing.”

“Just a nice walk home. Someone to talk to who wasn’t a megalomaniacal tyrant.”

“I’m not a Tyrant. Cloudsdale has a tyrant. Zenith. His daughter’s Rainbow Dash. Nice couple. No, I just do ‘rule a nation with an iron hoof’ things. It’s really quite nice. I get to be judge, jury...”

“Executioner?”

“Pah. Boring. Can’t mess with dead people.”

“Did you find me guilty of something?”

“...No. But good guess.”

“Thanks. Do I get partial credit?”

“Fine. I’ll partially stop annoying you. I’m in a giving mood.”

He paused for a bit, walking along. “Just tell me.”

“That,” Maestro laughed, “Would be cheating. Besides, if I tell you, then I’d have to stop doing this. If you figure out what’s going on, I stop. I’m not the type of man who breaks deals.”

LeBlanc groaned. Sure. Just figure out why you have amnesia and the intangible sadist will stop bothering you. Easiest task in the world.

“Ow.”

“What?” Maestro asked.

LeBlanc looked at his foot. “I think I stepped on some glass.”

“Oh dear. Let me help you with that.”

“Yeah, like you ca-What?” He paused. The voice. It had still had that smoothness, that calmness, but not the same cruelty. Force, but not cruelty. He looked up.

The most handsome unicorn he had ever met looked back at him. Not maroon, but pure white, with golden hair, and blue eyes that you could be lost in. LeBlanc had never thought of himself as a colt-cuddler, but a guy like this could make the most straight stallion on the planet reconsider a bit. His strong shoulders were collared to some kind of coach, big enough to fit ten, at least, but he carried the weight with such grace LeBlanc hadn’t even heard him approach. He gave a beatific smile. “Here. Give me your hoof.”

“Are you going to shove it in deeper?”

“Are you a masochist?”

“If I was, would you take it out?”

The stallion laughed, “You are a strange one.” He shook his head, “I was planning on pulling it out. But if you like it there, I can leave it.”

“Out would be nice.”

“Out it is, then.”

LeBlanc tentatively raised his hoof, and the white stallion looked over it. “Oh. That must sting.” He sighed, “Alright. Just close your eyes, and count to three.”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m not closing your eyes. You might punch me.”

“...Why would I punch you for closing your eyes.”

“I don’t know. So I wouldn’t see it coming?”

“Not my style.” The stallion laughed, and looked over his bruised body, “Besides. Someone else beat me to it. And they clearly did a better job than I could have. You are completely punched. I just have to find another way to render my services. Such as taking this out of your hoof.”

LeBlanc looked at the shining piece of glass, almost two and a half inches long. “I didn’t even feel you take it out.”

“You were distracted by the talking. Where are you going?”

“...Home.”

“And where is home?”

“An alley.”

“I’ll give you a ride.” The stallion gave him a comforting smile.

“I don’t have any money.”

“One, yes you do, and two, what does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re going to offer me a ride in that big coach of yours,” he gestured to the coach, “And then your gang is inside there, and they’ll beat me up, and take my money.”

“I promise they won’t,” he said. “At least in the short term. In the long term, we would very much like to take everyone’s money. It is the route of all evil, after all. Money and nobility.”

“And Maestro.” For once he saw anger in the eyes of the unicorn. It was enough to make him take a jump back, “Okay, not a fan I take it.”

“Money, nobility, and the triumvirate. If we could live without those, we would live in a far better world.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I hope so.” He answered, “The insane see the world differently. I live in a world where thousands crowd into a public park for a place to sleep and hopefully find some food, while other ponies live on estates twice that size by themselves. I think there’s something wrong with that. If that makes me crazy, I’m crazy. If thinking every pony deserves the same respect, the same service, as every other makes me crazy, then I’m proud to be mad as a hatter. I want to help ponies. Society is wrong. It’s turned on its head. We look at noble titles and the Triumvirate and act like it’s normal. In that type of a world, I’m proud to be mad. If everyone joined me in my insanity, we might get somewhere.”

“...Definitely crazy.” LeBlanc sighed, “And what can your insanity get me?”

“A warm bed and a hot meal, to a stallion who sleeps in an alley.”

LeBlanc weighed his options. On the one hand, the stallion was clearly crazy. Mad, bad, and dangerous to know. On the other hand...

“And this hot meal... It is, in fact, a short-term hot meal, yeah? You’re not saying that’s what you’re fighting for?”

“As immediate as it gets.”

“Right, right. And there’s nothing poisonous, or something I can’t digest?”

“It’s perfectly safe.”

“And not made of anything weird, right? Like, you haven’t chopped up ponies and made them into soup?”

“No cannibalism involved.”

“Hmm...” He considered, looking for something else, “The bed. It’s a bed for sleeping on, right?”

“What else would it be?”

“A bed of nails. You could be planning on heating nails up until they’re red hot.”

“It is, indeed, a sleeping bed.”

“Well, you did say it was warm. Most people would say soft, or comfortable.”

“The bed is both soft and comfortable, in addition to its warmth.”

“...Right. But, if I take this, do I have to join you in your insanity?”

“No.”

“Do I have to try to get other ponies in?”

“No, not at all. In fact, you will have to do only one thing with the bed.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Sleep in it. Now get in before it gets too late, you look like you’re going to fall over.”

“Right.” LeBlanc said, going around to the back of the heavy black bus, “I didn’t get your name.”

“Redblood,” The golden-maned stallion smiled, “My name is Redblood.”

“Right. Well, Redblood. I’m not going to join you on some save the world kick. But if I’m getting a free meal and bed out of the deal, then I’ll stay around as long as you like.”

He climbed inside. It was dark in the carriage, but he could tell there were several ponies here, already. Not too many, but he could make them out, as he pushed past them, towards the front of the carriage. He took a seat, opposite the smallest. He couldn’t see, but he wasn’t in the mood for sitting across from people who looked like they could beat him up, and whoever was the smallest seemed safest. He’d done enough being-beaten-up today. He didn’t need more.

His eyes were slow to adjust to the lower light in the carriage. It had probably been a transport for grain, the windows were barely there. But in time, he could start to see more for the shapes. Warm colors tended to come in last, as it happened. But even in this light, he could see the bright red of the filly’s mane and the yellow of her coat. Fairly young, probably late teens. A yellow coat, and blazingly red mane and tail, with big orange eyes. He could even make out the cutie mark. Something carved into it, but he could recognize what the cutie mark was, even at this distance. A red apple.

“Ah,” he said to himself, “So THERE’S the catch.”

Author's Note:

With special thanks to Sexy Pudgy Pinkie Pie, whose adding this story to the KIA list reminded me that, in fact, I did have unpublished chapters of it.