Streets of Sin

by Jarvy Jared

II: Leaving

Dusk fell, and dawn rose; and with it a stallion awoke. For a moment he was disoriented as he stared at the ceiling; with a sigh, he remembered what today was. He wasn’t sure if he felt shame in trying to prolong the inevitable, as his mind was still muddled with the happy feelings from the day prior.

Opacare got up from his bed and went through his morning routine as quickly as possible. He knew that the faster he left, the better, and the less hesitant he would be to leave. He brushed his hair and washed his face, then put on his vest and cloak. He placed his bag on his back, giving it a brief dust off, then set out from his room. He made his way downstairs and opened the front door.

It was still early in the morning. The sun was barely up, the sky silver and gold with the illumination of both celestial bodies. The clouds were dark and light, fluffy and thin, uncoordinated and unsupervised. The pegasi had yet to redo the heavens. Only a few ponies were out at this hour, mostly setting up early shop. As he walked into town, he made sure not to make any eye contact with any of them, trying to minimize small talk as much as he could. Most ponies gave him nothing more than a passing glance; a few tried to talk to him, but a terse, short shake of his head signified that he wasn’t in a mood for small talk. They respectfully backed off, accustomed to his loner status.

As he walked, he reflected on the town, and his place in its borders. Though physically he was outside of the walls, he remained a citizen of the town just like any other pony. It had become his second home, despite the tragic events that were behind this settlement. He had made new, surprising friendships, with six, surprising mares—he had not thought such a thing was possible after all this time. With Raven dead, Grifford no longer the stallion he knew, and his past effectively destroyed, he couldn’t help but think that friendship would allude him for years.

Yet here he realized how wrong he was—and for that, he was grateful.

He could maybe consider the town, then, a symbol of a brighter future. One that reflected what he wanted to accomplish in Manehattan. He wanted ponies to be happy and free to choose their own lives, without some higher authority breathing down on their backs. He didn’t want to forge bonds through intimidation; he wanted to create relationships through love and care. It was something that his parents, Diei Adminium and Luxi Grace, had taught him from an early age.

“Care for your fellow ponies, and let them have the lives they deserve.”

The phrase resonated in his mind as he walked into the train station. He handed a few bits over to the teller, obtaining a golden ticket: destination, Manehattan. Looking at the nearby timesheet, he saw that the train would not arrive for a good thirty minutes, maybe more. He did not mind, and sat down on one of the benches, pulling his hood up, and thinking back on his parents’ words.

He did not think that the ponies of Manehattan deserved to be ruled by some supreme ruler. Independence, and therefore free will, were ideas that he treasured the most. He had hoped that Grifford would come to realize that they were more vital than absolute control over everything; but evidently, that hope died years ago.

He frowned, then scowled, then lowered his head. It still pained him to see his old friend like this; the Family had obviously corrupted him beyond repair. He doubted he could do much to change his mind.

But there was one thing he could do.

He snapped open one of the compartments of his bag, checking to make sure he had everything. Inside was his Illusionary Mud, in a larger jar, in case he needed it. Along with a majority of his savings, he had brought his signature blue quill and black inkwell. Though he doubted he would need them, the items were reassuring and comforting. He nodded to himself, then closed the bag, his mind returning to his upcoming quest.

First things first: he had to deal with Grifford as soon as possible. Once he reached Manehattan, Opacare planned on immediately setting off for Grifford’s office. He wondered if the office’s location had changed; he figured he would find out when he got there. Next, he would have to confront his ex-friend on Raven Lock’s death. He doubted that it was a simple gas pipe explosion; if there had been any sort of faulty piping, Raven would have noticed. He had been a detective, after all.

Prose did not know, though, how Grifford would react. His memories told him that Finch would likely act distraught, as he had done on the day of the death. Something told him that the act was but a farce, and that Finch really stopped caring for Raven a long time ago. After all, Finch had stopped caring for what the city really needed, and had put Prose in a highly distasteful situation…

Yet another part of him argued that maybe Finch was simply misguided. But of that was the case, what could be done? Time had done little, if anything, to curb his perspective on the world. Who was to say that behind those brilliant blue eyes lay a psychopath hungering for power?

Then again, I’ve been compared to psychopaths much longer than he has…

He wondered if that made him better or worse than Grifford. He was used to the ignorant throwing around insults that made no sense in context; but did that make him indifferent to ignorance?

Another question arose, this one voiced by Raven’s fading voice; it worried Prose that he could barely remember what his friend sounded like. The voice questioned whether Prose was doing all this to help the city—or just petty revenge. He had no answer at the moment; he himself was still unsure of his true motive. Maybe he wanted both.

He shook his head. Emotions disrupted his motivation, and though he grown to tolerate the inconsistencies that emotion brought, they still annoyed him to no end.

No, he thought with a shake of his head. Grifford could not be salvaged at this point. All Prose had to remember was that traumatized filly, the frightened family, and Finch’s indifference, to conclude that he was beyond saving.

He pushed the thought away, in favor of focusing on his primary goal; stopping Grifford once and for all. He wasn’t sure how long it would take, or how, but he knew he could do it.

It was only a matter of time.

Thirty minutes would be nothing.

Rarity put on her makeup gingerly, smacking her lips as the red lipstick spread across her lips. Smiling and seeing that she was done, she turned, heading towards her sister’s room. She knocked on it softly. “Sweetie Belle? Are you ready yet?”

She was met with a low mumble. She frowned. “Sweetie Belle? Are you even up?”

“Mmph. Five more minutes, Rarity,” the younger unicorn groaned from the other side.

The alabaster unicorn sighed. “Sweetie, I told you we had to get up somewhat early to catch the train.” She unlocked the door with her magic and stepped inside.

Sweetie was still in her bed, looking bleary-eyed and unfocused. Rarity huffed, but her annoyance quickly dissipated as she remembered today’s date. She walked over with a smile, as her sister looked at her, disoriented.

“Come along, now, Sweetie. We’ve got to get you up.”

“But I wanna sleep still…”

“You can sleep on the train, dear. Besides, you don’t want to miss Manehattan, do you?”

Begrudgingly, Sweetie shook her head, and crawled out from the covers. Rarity helped her get through her morning routine, before leading her downstairs for breakfast. As Sweetie still was a novice at cooking, Rarity procured a few slices of toast and butter—something small and quick, as they’d eat soon enough.

Sweetie poured herself a cup of orange juice, gulping it down. “So what are we gonna do in Manehattan?” she asked her sister, now much more awake.

“Well, I was thinking we could explore a few business ventures while we tour around the city. Goodness knows I’ve been needing a few new ideas to spring on some newer markets.”

“Is that it?”

“Oh, of course not, dear Sweetie Belle. Especially not on this day.”

“This day?” She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

Rarity sighed. “Really, now, dear? Don’t you remember what today is?”

Her sister’s response was only her brow furrowing in continued confusion. The elder unicorn rolled her eyes, but maintained her smile. “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough.”

Sweetie frowned, but didn’t push the matter any further, deciding that Rarity’s answer was good enough.

Soon they had finished breakfast, and Rarity was quick to wash the dishes. They brushed their teeth and fixed their hair, then made their way downstairs and out the door, Rarity grabbing her bag before they left. The morning sun met them eagerly, and Rarity hummed a little tune to herself.

“So… are you gonna give me a hint about what today is?” Sweetie asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Rarity reminded her. She glanced at her bag, feeling the bits jingle, as well as the gift she wanted to give to her sister.

A few minutes later, the train station appeared in their vision. Walking up to it, Rarity bought two tickets. The teller told her they would have to wait for a little while; nodding, they made their way to a nearby seat and sat down.

She noticed the pony next to her wearing a cloak, the hood up and covering his face. He seemed familiar; and the way he held himself lended itself to the idea. For a moment, none of them spoke. Sweetie had yet to see the stallion, as she was glancing around the station.

After a moment, the stallion snorted. Not in distaste, nor in annoyance, but in bemusement, like he was laughing to a joke only he knew the punchline to. “Really? You ponies couldn’t give me a day of peace alone?”

Rarity broke out in a smile, but before she could reply, she was cut off by her sister. “Opa!” she cried happily. She leapt off of her seat and charged the elder stallion, leaping into his lap and pushing him back. The hood was thrown off, revealing the pewter-grey stallion that they had all grown to appreciate. A soft smile was on his face; but Rarity noticed that it looked somewhat strained.

“Sweetie Belle,” he greeted as she hopped off. “Rarity.” She waved in return. “What brings you two to the station?”

“We’re going to Manehattan!” Sweetie excitedly answered.

His lips noticeable tightened. “Oh? What for?”

“Rarity wants to drum up some new business. Something about new markets?”

“Fashion, I presume.” He glanced at Rarity. “Always were an entrepreneur, weren’t you.”

“Darling, it comes with being an artist. Surely you know that, don’t you?”

“In the past, maybe.” He frowned. “‘Darling?’” he muttered. Rarity quickly looked away, hoping he didn’t notice the faint blush on her cheeks.

“Anyway!” Sweetie continued. “What about you? What are you doing here at the train station?”

“Waiting for the train, I would think.” His dry response made Sweetie’s smile grow even larger, the sarcasm having apparently gone over her head.

“Well, of course you are, silly!” she boisterously replied. “I mean where do you plan on heading on the train?”

For a moment he said nothing, staring down at his lap. Sweetie’s cheerful attitude began to fade as the minutes ticked by. For a moment, Rarity thought that Prose had been offended somehow; but that didn’t make any sense. Even Sweetie’s, for lack of a better word, tasteless tact, did little but annoy him.

“You’ve forgotten?” he asked, voice low. Rarity wasn’t sure whether it was seething with disgust… or exhaustion.

Sweetie looked at him strangely. “Yes?”

He shook his head and sighed. “Of course you would.” He flashed her a small, rueful grin, before turning over and reaching into his bag. He pulled out the jar of Illusionary Mud and held it before him, letting their eyes wander over it.

Rarity was quick to come to the correct conclusion. “You’re leaving today? For Manehattan?” He answered with a slow nod, placing the jar back inside the bag. Sweetie gasped. “Oh… to deal with Grifford.”

“I had to at some point.” He placed the jar back into his satchel. “It was only a matter of time before we came to blows.”

“Rarity?” Sweetie asked, turning to her sister. “Is this the surprise you said I would remember?”

The fashionista shook her head. “No, Sweetie Belle. It’s something less…” She struggled for the words.

“Depressing?” Opacare offered, giving Rarity a knowing glance.

“I was going for bleak, but…” She sighed. “Yes.” She gazed at the stallion, her mouth formed into a concerned frown. “And… you still plan on going through with this?”

He nodded. “I have to. It’s my responsibility.” He looked back at her, his carnation eyes shining dangerously. “It’s what they would have wanted.”

She had to remind herself that this wasn’t completely Opacare’s own endeavor. His parents had set him down this path, though unintentionally, and Raven Lock had been a huge help in the beginning. He was trying to honor the fallen with his future actions, something that Rarity found noble—and yet strangely tragic.

Why has everyone close to Opacare perished? she thought silently. She wondered who would be next.

Sweetie was pouting as Prose turned to look at her. “B-but you’ll have some time to hang out, right?” she asked, her voice hard to hear.

He shook his head, showing his resolve and disappointment. “I’m sorry. But I want to get this over with as soon as possible.” He released a tense breath. “Once I arrive in Manehattan, I’ll make my way to his office and…” His voice trailed off for a second. “… And see what happens from there.”

His brow furrowed as he fell into a deeper thought. Evidently, he wasn’t even sure of the outcome of the encounter. With so much to consider, it was near impossible for the stallion to evaluate every conceivable outcome, even with his intellectual prowess.

Rarity’s frown returned. It seemed that he was going in without a plan; that was unlike the stallion she had come to know. “Opacare… are you telling me you have no idea what you’re doing?”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’m a writer, Rarity. We hardly ever know what we’re doing. But no, I do have a faint idea.” He turned away, looking out into the horizon. “I’m fixing past mistakes, both mine and Grifford’s. Goddess knows he needs it.”

“But! But!” Sweetie exclaimed, gathering his attention. “We… we could come along! Right, Rarity?”

The fashionista looked at her younger sister, surprised. Opacare frowned. “I have to do this alone, Sweetie Belle.”

“But,” Rarity interjected, “if what you said about the Family is true, then it could be dangerous. You’d need all the help you can get, if things go…” She swallowed. “Awry.”

“That’s exactly why I need to go alone. So that if things go awry, then nopony else gets hurt.” In a whisper he added, “Besides me, of course.”

Sweetie stamped her hoof. “No, no, no! I won’t let you go alone! The last time we let you—” She gulped. “You nearly got hung!”

“Hanged,” he corrected, before gazing at the filly guiltily. “I know, Sweetie Belle. And it pains me to say this, but I simply cannot risk you getting hurt.” He shook his head. “Remember. This Grifford is not like the Grifford I knew in school. And this Family… it is a force not to be trifled with.”

His words left a sour taste in Rarity’s mouth. She didn’t like seeing Prose act this depressing and resigned. While a part of her believed he was right, another part encouraged her to find a way to break through his stubborn attitude.

But what could she say? Opacare was a stallion who was determined to complete his goal to the very end. He had gone so far to bury his old identity, crafting a new one in the process; his tenacity kept him going, and his will to succeed meant he could overcome nearly all obstacles. But she worried that he wouldn’t be able to overcome everything, given time; and if he fell, they would all be devastated.

His past was not something they wanted to mess around with; and he was still hesitant about facing it, even after all these years. Was it courageous that he chose to go at it alone, to hopefully prevent others from being hurt by his previous errors? Or was it just a stallion too stubborn to let others give him the help he needed?

“Whether any of us like it or not, this is my battle, my war. I left Grifford myself; I’ll confront him myself.”

Sweetie said nothing for a few moments, staring at the ground. Suddenly she wrapped herself around Prose, giving him a tight squeeze. “Just… be careful,” she whispered.

He smiled and hugged her back. “I will. I promise.” He tried to raise her spirits by adding, “Besides, we still have a train ride together, don’t we?”

That indeed did bring a smile to the young unicorn’s lips, and she plopped down next to Opacare, her mood brightening significantly. It was enough to cause Rarity to smile herself, reminding her of Sweetie’s present.

“But I still don’t understand what’s so special about today,” Sweetie said. Rarity looked down at her, then at Opacare. He smiled softly.

“I’d imagine you’d find out once you reach Manehattan,” he said enigmatically. They returned to waiting for the train to arrive.

Arriving in spectacular fashion, the train made Opacare start. Used to the contemporary trains back in Manehattan and other cities, he was surprised that this locomotive was more steampunk in appearance. The decals around it reminded him of Sugarcube Corner, with its mostly pink color scheme and frosty-white railings. The coaches reminded him of graham crackers, while the tops brought to mind images of cupcakes and cake.

“You look surprised,” Rarity noted with a smile.

He shook his head. “Is everything in this town so happy and optimistic?”

A few ponies—he assumed they were the conductors and engineers—got out to inspect the train, looking for any sign of damages. Seeing none, the engineers nodded, then got back on the train. By now, the station had begun filling up with various ponies, and the conductor took his place in front of one of the coaches. He looked quiet and composed, with his navy cap and matching suit vest; the glasses on his eyes gleamed brilliantly.

The ponies began lining up, and Rarity ushered them to follow. Getting up, they trotted to their place in line. Rarity held up her two tickets, while Prose carried his in his mouth. With each nod from the conductor, the line shortened, and they were beginning to approach.

Once the conductor saw them, his eyes nearly shot out of his head. “You?!” he exclaimed, putting a hoof out.

At first, Opacare thought he was referring to Rarity; after all, she was pretty famous around Ponyville. But as the hoof settled onto him, he blinked, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

The conductor whinnied excitedly. “Oh my gosh! It’s you! The legendary author, Opacare Prose himself!”

The ponies behind them craned their heads, finally recognizing the stallion without his hood. Ponies already on the train gazed out the window, letting out amazed cries.

“Oh my gosh, it is him!”

“What’s he doing here?”

“Probably on a writing trip or something!”

“Did you hear how he vanished for a month?”

“What’s he doing with Rarity and Sweetie Belle?”

“Are they staring a—”

Rarity covered her sister’s ears to block out the obscene expression, while Opacare glared at the last voice’s source, silently telling her not to say anything further demeaning.

Prose cleared his throat. “Yes, I am he. May I board the train?”

He was suddenly assaulted by the conductor, who was holding up a green hardcover. Slightly disoriented, it took a moment to register what the title was.

“My wife and I absolutely love your books!” the conductor said, smiling widely. “Could I get you to sign my first edition copy of X25?”

Prose hesitated. He had not expected to suddenly be assailed by fans of his work at the station, of all places. He had not considered his fame as anything more than an aftereffect, something not worth thinking on. Yet here he was, physically reminded of a result that he had thought little of in the past.

If he were another pony, he might have enjoyed it. As a loner by nature, though, this fame was stifling.

Rarity didn’t seem to mind the sudden attention, though. To her sister’s confusion and Opacare’s annoyance, she began flaunting her mane while nuzzling up close to the stallion, as if proclaiming they were a couple. Prose, while not too knowledgeable in matters of relationships, felt himself grow somewhat hot under the collar. With a grunt he softly pushed Rarity away, and opened his bag, pulling out his quill pen and inkwell.

“Here,” he said as he signed the conductor’s book, handing it back. “Now, can I please board the train?”

No sooner had he said those words that he and the two females were swiftly pushed onto the train. He heard the conductor let out a joyful squeal—how childish, he thought—and the door closed shut on them. He didn’t have time to recover, as almost immediately he was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of fans on the train, all clamoring for his autograph.

This is not what I wanted to happen! he thought, eyes wide and shaky.

It was Sweetie Belle who saved him. As the ponies all began standing up and approaching the stunned author, she placed herself in front of him. “Hey!” she squeaked. “Give Opa some space! Otherwise he won’t sign any of your stuff!”

Quickly, they complied, sitting themselves down, allowing Opacare to stare at them, wide-eyed. He blinked, then looked down at the filly. She smiled up at him. He shook his head, then looked at the train again. They all were regarding him with anxious stares.

He sighed loudly. “Alright, fine. Let me take a seat, then I’ll sign.” Grumbling, he made his way to a booth, letting Sweetie and Rarity in, doing his best to ignore the train’s cheers. There was a hiss as the train began to move.

“Oh, shoot!” Sweetie then said, looking at Rarity. “I forgot to say goodbye to my friends!”

Rarity simply smiled back. “Well, Sweetie Belle, what if I told you that they were a part of what makes today special?”

Sweetie, confused by her sister’s enigmatic tone, looked to Opacare; but he only shook his head, a frown across his lips. Ponies began opening their bags and pulling out various copies of his books, passing them back to the stallion.

It was going to be an interesting ride.