• Published 10th Sep 2012
  • 4,364 Views, 302 Comments

Unnatural Selection - Karkadinn



Spike doesn't know how long he's been running - he just knows he can't stop.

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Ugly Things

Ugly Things



The bees buzzed about the pink bell-cupped garden flowers with lazy contentment, slowed by the abundance of pollen they'd gathered. It was a nice contrast to the seemingly perpetual birdsong. And the sun was shining, of course. Spike had never before seen the sun shine so beautifully, warmly, consistently in his entire life. He was told that it only rained when the pegasi made it rain. There was even a schedule, so ponies knew when to wear raincoats and galoshes.

But for him, all his brain could latch on was the smell of bacon invading his nostrils, rich and aggressive and reminding him of the feeling of its hearty crispiness crunching between his fangs, hard little fragments spilling over either side of his tongue. He swore he'd swallowed it all, but his mouth insisted that some of the softer, oily fat was still hiding in there. No matter how he licked his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed, it wouldn't go away.

At least they'd been nice enough to stop telling him what the food was when he asked. As long as he didn't know, it was just food.

Food that had been made in a way he totally didn't approve of, but he couldn't change that. He was just doing what had to be done. They'd even given him a nice new bracelet so he could walk around and all the ponies would be sure he wasn't a meal.

Which would have been great, except he could barely stand to go out of his room, let alone go outdoors. Whenever the employees checked up on him or he had to make smalltalk with other guests, Spike spent claimed that he was spending his time reading up on Equestria. It wasn't totally untrue. He flipped through magazines and looked at the pictures, and peered over the map again and again till he was ninety-percent sure he knew where the major landmarks were and how far away from each other it all was. The Inn was in one of the biggest blotches in a series of mostly-empty fields with a lot of thick lines crisscrossing them. Farmland or parks or something like that. The way he'd come was clearly visible with its clusters of trees and a segmented line that looked like train tracks. Opposite from that direction, the roads inclined inwards past several widely-spaced clusters of dots, which were probably outlying households and stuff, and then in to Ponyville, which was an unmissable huge mass of dot after dot after dot. There was a big river nearby, and some mountains on the far right end, and more forest over on another side. The ponies might've been masters of their own domain, but there were hiding spots and escape routes outside the town. The biggest dangers were the empty plains were he was at now, and, of course, the actual town.

Not that they were dangerous to him right now, but you never knew.

His eyes followed a gardener pony (he had a huge floppy sunhat, and a spray of grass for a flank symbol) as the employee went around spraying bees with poison. The stuff looked like water, but left a faintly unpleasant chemical tang in the air, and bees dropped immediately after they were sprayed. Spike had tried to tell the guy that he liked the bees, but pony'd just mumbled something about 'company policy' and went about his work. Sighing, Spike left the garden to head inside to the communal study – no one ever studied in it, as far as he could see, so it was a great place to lay low. He took his tea with them in hopes of its weak, mildly sugared taste would drown out the bacon eventually.

Spike settled himself on the couch and found a newspaper to pretend to be reading while he hid from the world. The Inn could get a little rowdy at night, but in the day, the classy partying was mostly outdoors, so he pretty much had the joint to himself. Every once in a while one of the staff would come up and ask him if he needed anything, and he'd say no, and that was it. Still, he couldn't help but tense whenever he heard hooves. He was supposed to be happy. Safe. At peace. But he couldn't make himself feel any of it, even though it was all true on the outside. Throughout the past couple days, his muscles tightened and relaxed so many times from reflexive panic that his arms and legs were sore by now.

Rarity came by before he could get bored of being scared. He still couldn't manage to get scared around her. It was weird, he KNEW she was a pony, knew she ate meat (so did he, so did heeee) and he couldn't get himself to care. Every time she looked his way, he just got sucked into those huge dark eyes and his brain did its best to clunk up. She didn't pay more attention to him than to the other guests, but with him, she was more touchy, patting a hoof on his head, straightening his scales. He liked it, and she kept doing it, saying he was 'such a polite young gentledragon' for whatever reason. He watched for her to lick him or start pinching his belly or something creepy like that, but it never happened. All the creepy was strictly confined to the catered meals.

“Spike dear, you seem to have forgotten to fill out your customer satisfaction poll,” she announced, waving the white card Spike had deliberately ignored in the air. “It's not a formal procedure, of course, but I just wanted to make sure that there wasn't anything else we could possibly do for you.”

“Oh, I'm fine, Miss Rarity,” he replied meekly, eyes downcast.

“Please, call me Rarity, you make me feel such an old maid.” Her weight as she settled on the cushions next to him made Spike bounce slightly. “And please... look at me?” she pleaded gently. With a voice that seemed like it belonged to a creature that could never hurt him or anyone else. “I... I've gathered that you weren't entirely informed about what you were... in for... during your stay. A gross deficiency on the part of the salespony, I shall have the ruffian fired if you give the word.”

“Please don't do that,” he said urgently, all in a quick breath, glancing up at her and then looking away again. He seriously could not look at her and concentrate. Though now the smell of her perfume was getting to him, and that was just as bad. “It's my fault, I don't want anyone to get in trouble.”

“Oh, very well, but do let me know if you change your mind. I must say, for a member of such a, ahem, bold species, you're a very considerate guest.”

“Thanks, Mi- um, Rarity.”

“You do know that you don't have to make your own bed, dear? That's what the maids are for.”

“It's no problem.” He didn't usually have a bed, so having one to make actually felt really nice for a change.

“And I really must recommend the services of Steady Gait, our local carriage master. Most guests prefer to avoid going on foot when they first sight-see, although for the streets of Ponyville during working hours, there's really nothing quite like feeling the under one's own hooves or feet, as the case may be.”

“It sounds nice.”

They settled into a quiet in which Spike was uncomfortably aware of the sound of her breathing, and the weight of her body shifting against the cushions. Subtly, like everything she did, with poise and self-control. He tried to imagine her going on a 'hunt,' tearing into some helpless victim. He could make himself picture it, just barely, but feel it was real? No, it was like a fairy tale.

“Are you certain that there's nothing else we can do for you?” she said meekly, eyes shifting back and forth. So considerate. Painfully so. Spike hated himself for disappointing her even as he wondered what poor souls had been turned into lunch.

“Y-yeah, I mean no, I mean everything is perfect! It really... is....” He heaved a sigh. That bacon taste wouldn't go away, but it was starting to turn metallic like copper. Which should've been a good thing, but it wasn't, somehow.

“I don't mean to be a nag, but... oh dear, there's really nothing I could say after that that would sound acceptable, is there,” she interrupted herself with a nervous chuckle. “I suppose I'll leave you to it, then, Sir Spike....”

“It's just...” he said as she started to get up, feeling his heart sinking with the possibility of being left without her again. She paused, and he licked his lips and looked over at nothing in particular. “I'm still trying to figure out if I should be scared of you,” he said in a rush, eyes widening. He had not really meant to say that.

“Oh...” she said rather emotionally, “oh,” she repeated, much calmer. “I see.” She turned to face him and leaned down so they were closer to eye level with each other, and Spike's brain immediately turned ninety-percent off as he got a whiff of her breath – mint, not meat. “Spike, nopony would ever hurt a guest. That's why you're here, isn't it? I know it may seem odd if you've never experienced it before, but we cherish the well-being of our guests as we would our very own bodies. This is all Rainbow Dash's fault, isn't it? She gave you such a fright... wait, idEEEaaaaaa! You simply MUST let me treat you to the spa, that will loosen up all those tense muscles!”

“What's a spa?”

“What's a spa?! Why, Spike, it's the must wonderful thing you could ever imagine! Come with me, come come come come come!”

He could no more fight her than fight a very polite whirlwind, and he was hustled through corridors so fast he lost track of the turns before ending up in the middle of a back section he'd never seen before, with marble flooring instead of carpet and an atmosphere of plentiful steam.

“Aloe! Lotus! Would you ready the double deluxe imperial treatment for Sir Spike here? I won't be satisfied until he's as limber as a, as a thing without bones, whatever that may be!” Rarity giggled behind a hoof, and it was infectious. He found himself laughing with her even though it wasn't really that funny.

Then Aloe and Lotus came around. He didn't like them. They looked even more identical than most ponies did, and their smiles seemed too polite, too much like Lyra's only with even less personality behind them. And their accents just added an extra layer of awkward on top because he didn't know where they got it from, and started worrying about foreign customs he'd accidentally break that could wind up with him being roasted with an apple in his mouth.

Still, one look at Rarity doomed him, and he submitted to being hauled over to a little table and made to lie down flat on his stomach. It was a really vulnerable position, and Aloe jabbered on about how he was too tense, but he didn't know how else he was SUPPOSED to be with her hooves mashing at him! He kept fidgeting and starting and twitching, no matter how much she told him to just relax, even though her hooves weren't sharpened, even though he knew she wasn't really going to lean down and bit into the back of his neck. Even just closing his eyes and trying to forget where he was didn't work. When you'd told yourself that you had to stay alert a million times, it kinda became a habit.

He heard giggling.

“What's that?”

“Oh, zhat eez just zhe girls. Mizz Rarity'z zizter und her friendz. Pay zhem no mind.”

Hooves pushed down into his back, and Spike thought about how he wouldn't be able to run if she wanted to pin him.

The giggling got louder instead of softer. He was getting good at judging the size of hooves – these were small, but louder than they should have been.

“Tsk. Razcals runnink in zhe hallvayz.” Aloe shook her head and tsked. “Doez zhiz 'elp, dumplink?” She pressed a hoof at the back of his neck and twisted in a peculiar angle that caused something to crackle.

“Y-yeah, sure,” he agreed quietly, not knowing why his body was making weird noises and not liking being out of control of it.

After that was the mud bath. He didn't understand why Rarity made such a deal out of being dirty and then approved of guests just wallowing in filth in this 'spa,' but whatever. Anything was better than having somepony's hooves all over him while he looked away from them. It took a massive effort to keep his trembling from that ordeal under control until he could hide his body under the sludge and just be free to shake.

He put the cucumber slices on his eyes and hyperventilated a little bit until he felt okay. And THEN he relaxed.

Not a lot.

Never a lot.

Just enough.

Time became a nice thing to ignore.

“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER DRAGON SLAYERS, YAY!”

He screamed and flailed around helplessly in the mush before he realized that the three ponies weren't attacking him. They were laughing at him.

“Jeez, what a wuss!”

“Don't you know yer s'posed tah run?”

“You look a bit shrimpy for a dragon.”

Spike still shook, but from humiliation and anger as much as old repressed fears, now. There were three of them... an orange pegasus, a regular pony who sounded an awful lot like the one he'd heard in the wagon he'd hitched a ride on, and a unicorn with purple-pink hair. All fillies. That meant they might actually be weaker than him. Although he couldn't overpower magic, but if he could use one of them for cover and...

Wait, no Spike, this wasn't how it was anymore.

It was safe here.

Rarity said so.

“Are you supposed to be here?” he asked pointedly, and was pleased to see the three little monsters wince and look at each other guiltily.

“They didn't say we couldn't go into the spa,” the orange one half-yelled back quickly. “Specifically. Today. And stop trying to distract us! You're a dragon, you're supposed to be mean, not talk your way out of a fight!”

“So I'm a lazy dragon, so sue me. Go slay someone else.” He didn't like the way they kept looking him, or looking between each other. Like they were telepathically consulting menu choices.

“This ain't no fun. We can't really eat 'im anywho.” The three ponies sighed in unison. “Even though he looks right delicious. Lookit that there cute lil paunch, it'd just melt in yer mouth I reckon!”

Spike got more than a little rude at that point, and the ponies fled, snickering, after seeing that he wasn't going to be amusing to 'play' with. Two of them, anyway. The pink and purple maned one stayed behind. They stared each other down with even, resentful looks.

“Well?” he asked irritably. He'd never felt less relaxed in his life. Okay, not his WHOLE life, but still. The magic of the mud was gone. “Aren't you gonna go bother someone else with your friends?”

“I don't see why sis likes you so much, you're rude,” she said abruptly, sitting down on her haunches.

Spike seriously considered throwing mud in her face.

But that would have been RUUUUUUUUUDE.

“Who likes me so much? I barely talk to anyone!” And none of them really LIKED him, as far as he could tell. There was just Rarity, who obviously felt bad for him, and Lyra, who kept looking at him and licking her lips when she didn't think he could see, and the maid who kept trying to do his bed and pouted when he got to it first every morning.

“Uh, did you totally not see Rarity pouring all that attention all over you?” she asked with acidic scorn. “She hasn't talked to me that much in WEEKS!”

This was Rarity's sister? Spike squinted at her skeptically. Nah, he didn't see it. This crazy little filly wasn't making him weak at the knees or anything. “Are you adopted?”

She glared at him in silent fury, her horn glowing. The mud around him began to bubble and pop, heating up to a near-boil that he found rather nice. “NO I AM NOT ADOPTED!” she shrieked, voice cracking. “Why don't you just hurry up and break a rule already so the cooks can put your over some rice?! Having family care more about a sandwich than you is humiliating!”

Spike's head jerked up. “Ponies don't eat guests. Be our guest, be our guest, put our magic to the test,” he sang weakly. “Remember? I'm not a sandwich.”

She got up in his face, and he stiffened, eyes locked to her well-brushed teeth. “Are so! You just have a 'do not use until' label, like wine or something! Don't you know what happens when you break one of the rules?”

“You... you get thrown out,” he guessed with a sinking feeling. No one had actually told him what happened if you broke one of the kajillion rules. “Right?”

The filly smirked. “Come on, I wanna show ya something.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you!” He sank deeper in the mud, for all that that helped.

“Okayyy, I guess I'll just have to tell Rarity, theeeen,” she replied in a singsong tone. “You know doing what an employee politely asks you to do is one of the rules, right? And I'm the sister of the company owner, so ipsy factor, I'm an employee.”

“Oh. Yeah. Ipsy factor. Right.”

Spike was pretty sure that wasn't how it worked, but he didn't want to get in trouble by making Rarity's sister mad anyway, so he sighed and ducked in the shower to clean off before following the little pony out of the spa. He didn't trust his current guide nearly as much as Rarity... in fact, she made him nervous, the way she pranced about, ducking in and out of places, going one way and then mumbling 'Oh, wait' and then turning around and reversing course. There was no hint of the grace that her apparent sister held, the stately poise, the elegant self-control and wherewithwhatchacallit.

It was because he was halfway expecting it that he didn't freak out when they started going down that little set of stairs to the kitchen. If anything went wrong, it was totally her fault. And he wasn't breaking any rules. The ones he'd listened to, anyway. She wouldn't just let him break a rule he didn't know about, would she?

Would she?

His personal tensions loosened up a bit when she paused just halfway through the swinging door (with those metal plates on the bottom part, what were those even for?), groaning. “Hold on a second, I've gotta put on a manenet.”

“A manenet?”

Spike saw what she meant soon enough when he followed her into the big, empty room of stainless steel and white-polished stone. All of her curly mane had been gathered up into a ridiculous looking transparent baggy thing stuck on her head. Her expression made it look even sillier than it did to start with, and her mane seemed strained, like it'd jump out at any second like a bundle of springs.

He snickered a little, but stopped and tried to look innocent when she glared at him.

“It's annoying, you're so lucky you don't have a mane.”

“Yeah. Lucky,” Spike echoed mindlessly, watching her calm down with the same wary interest that he had with ponies when they were visibly deciding whether to attack him or not.

“Anyway, over here, look.”

She trotted over to a series of stovetops, one of which was on a low burn with a large pot atop it, her little hooves clattering very loudly between help from the room's acoustics and her own characteristic enthusiasm. It was almost cute, in a totally different, less amazing way from how Rarity held herself. Maybe she wasn't so bad once she got away from her annoying friends, Spike thought to himself. Maybe they could work through this thing and not hate each other. Maybe....

The filly lifted the top of the pot off with her teeth and set it down with a clamor that made him jump. “See?”

He went up and tried to peek, realized he was too short and got a stool to try again.

In the pot, bobbing and cooking gently in a foamy, herb-speckled broth, was the head of the changeling guest, eyes gouged out to gaping holes.

Spike fell off his stool, hit the back of his head on the metal of the nearby counter and blinked back tears of pain before jumping to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. He looked back and forth between the pot, its contents thankfully hidden to him at floor level, and the manenetted filly, who was smiling with squinted eyes, the smug expression of someone who'd just won a little argument. Then he looked back and forth again. Cute filly. Dead changeling. Cute filly. Dead changeling. Remembering how just YESTERDAY he'd seen that changeling, whatever its name was – had BEEN – talking, laughing with the ponies, playing badminton terribly. So alive. So dead. Gone, just like that.

“It's headcheese soup!” the filly explained cheerfully, as though completely unaware that it was soup made of a guest like the dragon she was talking to. “Or going to be, anyway. Chef Fletch Fetcher says it's still in the preminilary stages. Wanna taste? Rarity says it's okay just because it's me, and I think it still counts if I share.” She found a ladle and held it out to him in her mouth eagerly, pale green eyes ashine. “Hey, I wonder if changeling tastes like anything. I hear ponies say it tastes like chicken, but other ponies say it just tastes like that because it gets the flavor of the broth you cook it in and stuff. I guess we'll never know since it's already cooking.”

His eyes were fixed on her as she kept her happy expression, which slowly shifted to gentle confusion as she saw he wasn't responding. She really didn't get it, did she? Even when she was rubbing his face in it to prove a point, she still didn't get it. Were they all brain-damaged? Were they just taught to be this way? Had someone taught her... had Rarity taught her?

No, Spike told himself firmly, angrily. No, not Rarity. The rest of them, maybe, but not her. She understood, the Inn was just the best she could do as a victim of circumstances, just like him. That was how it was. All that worry, that concern, that was for him, because she cared about her guests!

“I don't really feel like eating anything,” he told her with total honesty, so she shrugged and put the utensil back in its slot. He started to say something else, choked on his own thickened spittle and swallowed, coughing. “What rule did he break?” he asked, feeling shaky but noticing that his body actually was really still. Like he could just fade from view because her sight was motion based or something. Hah, if only it were that easy.

“He used up like, half of the entire thing of creamer! The creamer is for everyone,” she said self-righteously, nose uplifted.

“You killed a guest over a COFFEE SUPPLEMENT?!” He could smell the meat cooking, going from raw to boiled so slowly, it was attacking his nose and forcing itself into his body.

“Those are the rules. If we don't have rules, we have chaos! Discord and stuff. Dontcha know about Discord?” He stared blankly. Already, she had moved on from the topic. Because changelings weren't ponies, changelings didn't matter. They could pretend to matter, oh sure, but the moment the line was crossed, kaput. “Discord was a mixed up monster who made everything topsy turvy, hobos living with stockbrokers, boots catching fishermen, mimes becoming beloved pop icons! It was crazy and everypony was sad. But then the Princess saved us, stuck Discord in stone forever, and now we have RULES to keep everypony happy!”

“Rules to keep everypony happy,” he repeated carefully, seeing her happiness unbroken. “To keep every... pony... happy. Every. Pony.” She blinked. “What about the rest of us?” He had to get through to her. How couldn't she see it? How couldn't she understand? With Rarity for a sister, she had to! “Maybe we don't want to be eaten. Maybe that changeling could have paid you back for the cost of the creamer or something! How could you just KILL someone over something so STUPID?!”

She scoffed and waved a hoof. “Oh, you're just getting upset 'cause you thought you were a pony. But you're prey. Sometimes we keep prey as pets, we don't have to eat you right now, but it's only a matter of time. Rarity needs food too, even if she doesn't like to see how it's made. I wish you guys would stop panicking when it's your turn.” The pony rolled her eyes, leaning back against the counter. “That changeling guy gave Dainty Dishes a black eye, fighting back, once they told him! Don't you understand that you could hurt somepony really badly if you don't act like you're supposed to? It's soooo immature.”

Spike was speechless.

“It's a good thing most of the staff are unicorns,” she went on, rambling. “'Cause you can't beat magic from a buncha unicorns, even if you can outfight an earth pony or a pegasus! Even if you go for the eye or something so it hurts too much to use magic, you can't do that with ALL of them, and they'll getcha.” She nodded to herself and waved her hoof in his wave. “So you better be on your best behavior around my sister, mister!”

“My name is Spike,” he said listlessly, hurrying out of the kitchen. He wanted to get that smell of boiling meat as far away from him as possible.

She followed after, an unwelcome tail end, her forehead furrowing. “Huh, that doesn't sound like a very delicious name to me.”

It wasn't supposed to be delicious. Because dragons were people, not food. Not. Food. “You still have your manenet on,” he pointed out.

When she blushed and ran back to the kitchen to be rid of it, he slipped off at a fast jog and managed to lose her, running aimlessly.

He couldn't take this anymore.

He couldn't live like this anymore.

Any of them... any of them... could do something dumb, make some stupid mistake, and then wind up on his fork come dinnertime. And this was how scared he felt, how bad it hurt, when he didn't even know any of the guests. What if he got to make friends with them, what then?

Spike found an employee, asked if there was a rule against skipping meals, and immediately asked to be excused from lunch when he was told there wasn't. There were rules, of course, against premature cancellation of a stay. You couldn't just leave unless you had the money to pay an extra fee, and he was broke. And, too, he was worried about using normal methods of travel. Civilized methods like the ponies wanted. Once he was out, he was no longer a guest. He wouldn't put it past a hungry pony, one of them in particular, to track him until he stopped being a guest and then pounce. The map would show him out of here and then he could go....

Back to the woods, where he'd already been harassed by two separate ponies?

To the mountains, even closer to pegasi cloud homes?

He didn't know. Some mythical place in his head, probably.

Come to think of it, he hadn't even listened to all the rules, so he could've broken some of them already. Maybe it would be his head floating in soup tomorrow. Maybe that dragon with the hearty laugh who hung out at the smoking parlor, or even Rarity herself would be nibbling at....

His brain crunched to a stop at that one. Rarity was still pure and clean and pretty. No matter what, he couldn't come to believe otherwise. But he had to talk to her. Had to find out why it was this way, so she could help him understand. With that goal in mind, Spike stalked the halls restlessly, peeking into room after room of potential meals laughing it up with ponies, playing checkers, debating novel symbolism in book clubs, even juggling. Yeah, it was a laugh a minute at the Inn.

So long as you behaved.

Rarity was settling a poker game dispute about some tiny card ruling or other that held sway over a mountain of coins. The perceptive, kindhearted pony that she was, she immediately noticed him standing at the doorway even though he was more hidden than not, and finished up the business right away with the air of a dignified peacekeeper.

“Spike, you're done already? I'd quite expected you to make a day of it, I know I usually do when that call for the spa arrives in my poor overworked muscles. Were the facilities up to your expectations? Aloe and Lotus are artisans of their craft, it's true, but a new client is always a bit of a learning experience....”

“Oh, yeah, it was great. Is it okay if I talk to you about something real quick... in private?” he asked, scratching a toe claw at the floor in a little circle.

“But of course, darling, anything for a guest! Let's retire to the veranda, it has such an air of solacement that I just know you'll find it impossible to be in anything but peak spirits there.”

He trailed behind to the nearby veranda, which was apparently a fancy word for the patio, and joined her at an umbrella-shaded table. There was a pitcher of lemonade sitting there with some glasses, and the ice wasn't even melted even a little bit. She followed his gaze and immediately poured him a glass with a gentle clatter of ice cubes and murmuring liquid against crystal, and he held back the urge to sigh admiringly. She was so... nice. And pretty. And nice.

And totally not like all the other ponies.

“Your sister showed me what was in the kitchen,” he said after a sip that seemed to go straight from sweet to sour, but it wasn't the flavor that was making his mouth twist.

“Oh, Sweetie Belle,” Rarity muttered with unusual irateness, clasping her head in her front hooves, “how can you be such close blood to me and yet so persistently vulgar, I will never understand. Please understand, I never wanted it to be like this. Guests should feel safe!”

Yes. Yes! This was what he'd wanted to hear. Spike's heart soared. She was just a victim, just like him! Together, they could take on the pony world!

“I would like to say it wasn't always like this, but waxing deceitful is unbecoming of a lady,” she continued with a sad little smile. “I used to want to make dresses, you know. I saw a bolt of fabric, a bit of thread, and the ideas just wouldn't stop flowing. But... well, I seemed to be needed here more. Someone has to keep this place from turning into a filthy midden like the Apple family's farm,” she added lowly. “But I'm being terrible, talking so much of myself at a time like this. Are you well, Spike? Was it all so very dreadful?”

“I want to leave. Maybe we could go together,” he suggested in a rush, face heating up furiously. She was a business entrepreneur and he was just suggesting that she abandon her entire life on an impulse. Swell, he was such a smart little sandwich, wasn't he? But he couldn't help it, she was like a dream come true!

“Spike! Have you taken leave of your senses?” Even as he stood up, Rarity's horn glowed, her magic forcing him back down in the chair. “You mustn't leave now, Rainbow Dash is quite the grudge holder, your life would be in peril! I couldn't stand it if anything happened to a well-behaved guest like yourself! In fact, I insist.” She refilled his lemonade even though he'd barely touched it, till the drink quivered perilously at the very rim, as tremulous as her smile. “I shan't hear a word more of you endangering yourself, and the staff will be instructed to be more... discreet... from now on. As for Sweetie, why, I may very well just tan her hide, see if I won't!”

“But... but you said...” He stumbled over his words now that he was faced with the reality of resistance. How could he possibly voice his admiration and respect for her, his LOVE for her, without sounding like a pea-brained dummy? How could he make her understand what it meant to him to finally meet a pony who wasn't a vicious killer? “I mean... why should a pony as great as you be stuck with all these others who LIKE killing and making people into food? You're so much better than them! I know I can't stand it, how can you?”

“I know, I know, it's such a grotesque farce of the noble hunts of the olden days,” she said with dramatic misery, rubbing one hoof against the other as one would wring hands. “But what can one do? Why, if I were to let a guest ill-treat us and get away with it, why, I'd be the laughing stock of Equestria from Canterlot to Manehattan.”

“What?” Spike asked, ice working its way slowly up his spine as he stared into pony eyes of dark velvety dew.

“The tabloids print such trash about our services as is, you wouldn't believe the filth they... but I digress,” she went on, lost in her own little rant about a world that Spike had never been a part of. “A lady of fine breeding like myself is of quite the sensitive disposition, you see, sweet Spikey-wikey. Even the smallest whispers about... inappropriate... conduct between myself and prey species just burns my ears so painfully, and they do so whisper! Honestly, the way some ponies talk, if I'd let that changeling off the hook, I might as well have married him!” She collapsed back against her chair in a mock swoon. “So you see, my dear, my hooves are quite tied in this matter, however awful it may be.”

“I understand,” Spike said numbly, his mouth moving without the rest of him doing much at all.

“Oh, I'm so glad you do, dear! I just knew you would.” She leaned over to give him a friendly little hug with one limb, which would have sent thrills to his heart just minutes ago.

But now, his heart was already stoked with smoldering anger.

“It would be embarrassing if you'd let him live,” he said, just to be very clear on it.

“Yes, exactly! Your astuteness does you credit, sweet Spike.”

Sweet, it occurred to Spike, was also a flavor as well as a compliment.

The tactical part of his brain considered the circumstances, weighed the dangers against the desires in his heart, and found the dangers wanting. No matter how much he looked at her and tried to recall that feeling of safety and comfort, it was gone. It was headcheese soup.

“You know... Sweetie Belle seems like she cares about you a lot,” he threw out idly, watching Rarity tilt her head, those gorgeous mane curls falling and shifting. “But she kind of has a big mouth.” Said things she shouldn't have said. Useful things.

“Whatever do you mean, Spike? Has she been spreading lowbrow, ugly tales?” Rarity asked indignantly.

Spike's eyes drifted to the vast green fields, empty but for ponies playing and ponies in little folksy cottages and flowers that were picked by ponies. “No.” The ugly things were already here, there was no spreading to be done. “I think...” He stopped, unable to say it, and then found that his mouth wanted to keep on going without him. “I think you're the ugliest pony I've ever known,” he went on, careful to keep his eyes away from her so that he wouldn't see the expression on her face. “I mean, all the other ones don't even know it's bad. They don't understand. You do get it, maybe just because it's gross or something, but you get it. And you do it anyway. You treat them so nicely and then just let them croak because some other ponies might laugh behind your back if you showed some pity. You tell yourself you're so classy, and you act like it, you live in this fine fancy place with all its fine fancy rules, but it's all a lie. It's a lie because at the bottom of it, some poor sucker's head is floating in a pot of soup because you want ponies to think you're not weird or anything. To me, that makes you a liar, and uglier than any of the ponies who were honest about what they were and what they wanted. Rainbow Dash told me she wanted me dead. You just want to pretend it's not like that when it really is.”

His eyes swept back and forth. There were no pegasi, no unicorns that he could see right now. Everypony was busy with their own affairs, and all the nearby staff and guests were indoors. No one was paying attention to the two of them. Then he looked back at Rarity, whose mouth was moving, she was saying something, tears gleaming beautifully in her eyes, but his ears refused to hear. His brain refused to understand. Whatever she was saying didn't matter, it was just noise, nothing could take back what she'd already said and he had never, ever met someone so beautiful on the outside and so rotten on the inside.

“I thought the other ponies were really bad, but you're hideous, even worse than all the rest,” he told her calmly. “And I HATE YOU!” he shrieked, ripping the bracelet off and lashing out with one handful of claws.

Directly at her right eye, exposed with one crystal-shiny streak of moisture trickling down from it.

Her scream could have done an opera singer proud, it was almost like a physical force that helped to propel him away as he ran, without thinking – he'd thought too much already, after all. His body knew what to do better than his stupid heart or brain ever did. Spike hopped the little ornamental fence around the veranda, rounded a corner to the other side, found more ornamental bushes and used them for cover as he ran for the nearest treeline. Ran for cover.

Away from comfort, away from the lies, back to honesty and fear and freedom. Although, for hours after that, he was surrounded by the noise of angry ponies barely avoided, barely ran from in time, mobs, hunting parties, search parties and who knew what else, the ruckus they made drifted into his ears and past them and was forgotten as soon as it was gone. No matter how tired he got, his body was on auto, and it told him where to hide and when to run and when to look at the map and when to keep still. The only thing he couldn't escape, the only thing his mind latched onto, was that sound of that beautiful pony's scream.

Would he feel bad about it? Shyeah, right.

Not after all they'd done, what they would still do.

Maybe he was prey to the end, however pretty they wanted to dress it up, but he'd leave these hunters some scars before it was all over, Spike swore to himself.