Tiger and Demon: A Manehatten Love Story

by Brony_Fife

Behind Open Doors

Tiger & Demon, Part III: Behind Open Doors

"But once our souls, that is, ourselves, have been given up, the power thus conferred will not belong to us. We shall in fact be the slaves and puppets of that to which we have given our souls."

~C.S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

---

She holds my face in her hooves, our eyes meeting as she really gets into it. Her tongue seems to slide around my horn as if it's exploring. Searching. It covers as many inches as she can fit in her mouth. I close my eyes and breathe softly, forgetting my recent beating and just existing, for now, in this blissful moment, with those angelic lips on my horn.

It's over too soon. Her mouth lets go of my horn with a dissatisfying squelch. The angel goes away and the demon comes back. She looks into my eyes as her hooves let go of my face.

"Do I have your attention now?" she asks.

I wanna laugh again. Hadn't laughed that hard in a while as a matter of fact: the idea that a cop, the Commissioner herself no less, wantin' me as some kind of henchman or vigilante-for-hire or some shit... Instead, I just smile at her. Brushin' up on that patented Baritone charm, dialing it up. Crankin’ that dial up until I hear a click.

She returns the smile, but not with the demon grin from before. It's a smaller, quirkier one. Like she just got answered with another question. Seems the patented Baritone charm is in need of a tune-up.

"Maybe I wasn't being all that clear," she says, apparently in better spirits now that she's released all her pent-up sexual frustration. She moves over and sits on the floor next to me, not once breaking eye contact. Her face becomes a puzzle for a moment, like she's connecting the pieces of something she had forgotten to do earlier.

"The thing is, I have… enemies. Dangerous enemies. And they've taken something from me that I can never get back."

I look at her head, where her horn ought to be, and all I see is this weird semi-circle, a round red line. The top is faded and scarred, but the lower half is much redder. Like she has a second mouth on her head, frozen in an eerie, constant smile. It's a little red smile. Mocking her.

A unicorn without a horn. No magic. Not even able to lift objects by wanting them near you. Suddenly, everything about her makes sense.

"They took your horn?" I ask. I feel like an idiot, but the words are out of my mouth before I can corral them back in. She has this look, a look that begs me not to remind her. I grit my teeth. “I-I’m sorry, didn’t mean t’say it like that…”

The Commish gives me a surprisingly vulnerable look before turning away, that moment of weakness cast aside like trash on the street.

Now look. I ain’t so macho that I wouldn't never hit a dame. I had to; I don't like it, but I had to when the situation calls for it. And as far as harming foals goes, well, that's what landed me in this whole mess I'm in right now anyways. I wanna think I'm above this kinda thing, this kinda depravity, but as my actions have proven, I ain’t.

But.

Takin’ a unicorn's horn? Who the fuck does shit like that? Why would they do something like that?

"Not just my horn," says the Commish, quietly. She looks around, finds her porkpie, and returns it to her head, pushing her bangs down. The little red smile disappears underneath blue and pink bangs. Hiding her embarrassment.

"Not just my horn," she says again. "My dignity. My talent. My life. Everything."

I think this over a bit. Drink it all in. The Commissioner of Manehatten's police force was once a national hero. Trained by Celestia herself to use powerful magics most other unicorns had no chance of learning. Fought gods. Fought gods and won. But then for reasons never revealed to the press, she disappeared along with a few of her buds. Then outta the blue, she's dumped here, in Manehatten. In Equestria's own trashcan with the rest of the garbage Her Highness has no patience for.

She's a demon, all right. The perfect fallen angel. Wings pulled right off her back, and down she went. For no reason at all, those wings were pulled, and that halo burst into flame. She reached for the goddesses as she fell and they ignored her. Body covered in bruises by the time she came to. Bruises and wounds that won't heal.

She fell. And she don't know why.

---

"I take it this is where I come in?" he asks me. His rich voice makes my ears beg me to let them melt. I tell them not yet. Too early.

He's still flat on his back, not even bothering to get up after our violent and raunchy introduction. I move around him, eyeing him from different angles. His cutie mark, a microphone head with a wire coming out the back, glistens from the sweat on his flank. His cuffs make both his forelegs combine into a single unusable limb. The clamp on his horn makes it look even more phallic, but at the same time, makes it look like a ridiculous portrait of male impotence. He's breathing heavy and he's sweating so bad his shirt is soaked. Blood is running down his nose, making him look good and roughed.

He's helpless right now. Weak. A kitten. He's a kitten right now. But there's a tiger in him and I saw it. The proof I saw last night is backed up by the proof that's lying around on the floor. I know Baritone is everything I want. He's the monster I want.

But like all things I want, they aren't ever anything I need. The things I need don't ever get replaced.

"If you want," I say, as softly and as businesslike as I can. "You don't have to choose right away." I feel an impish chill ride up my spine. I feel ecstatic, the way I always do when a good plan starts coming together. It's that kind of excitement that's white hot and black cold, where it's hard for you to hold in your squeals because everything's about to get hoofed to you for a job well done.

"However," I continue, "you'll have to choose here in about ten minutes. A mutual acquaintance of ours is coming by to pick you up if you're interested."

An eyebrow raises to greet my instructions with a question. I don't feed it an answer. Instead I invade his privacy more. Get more in his face. Our lips are only a few inches away. Our hips are only a few inches away. Before our mutual acquaintance shows up, I could take him any way I want.

I could beat him.

I could beat him off.

I could do both.

But I choose none of the above. No. Not yet. Not yet. Baritone's a monster. He's a monster, just like me. He's a monster, and a powerful one, and I'm going to have him. But not now.

"By now, you're probably wondering what's in it for you. You don't strike me as the type who'd just come running to help save a beautiful princess, so I'll throw you a bone." I slap his cutie mark, and he snorts in surprise. His flanks are just as surprisingly soft as his face. I want to slap it again, but I hold myself.

"This cutie mark of yours," I say. "A radio microphone. You a singer?"

Silence. I slap his flank again, a little more playfully this time. "Are you a singer?"

"Was," he says.

"Voice like yours could make girls throw themselves at you. In fact, they probably do." This comment earns a smirk from him. I like that smirk. I feel like taking it right off his face and putting it in my pocket for later.

"You have a voice that deserves to be heard,” I say as I lean forward. “Music. Radio. Stand-up comedy. Maybe even a motivational speaker. Whatever you'd want to do, your life should be spent behind a microphone." I realize I'm leaning into his face close enough to kiss him. I back away the moment he starts getting the same idea.

"You do this for me, Baritone. Be a monster. Be my monster. I've already had knights in shining armor fight the dragons that wronged me, and they all failed. This is a job for a monster. Help me find them. Help me kill them. And then I'll give you your life back."

He smiles.

He looks like he's gonna laugh again. What is it with this guy and not taking me seriously? What is it with everypony and not taking me seriously? No matter what the situation is, I get laughed at. My friends laugh at me. My mentor laughs at me. My brother and sister-in-law laugh at me. My mother and father laugh at me. My, my, my monster... laughs... at me. My hoof comes down, my patience at its end. I hit the ground next to his face.

"I have connections, asshole. I have money! I have power! I can clear your debts with my own checkbook. I can arrange for you to leave Manehatten, for good. I know some nice places in Canterlot. Tatarus, I even know a few musicians who'd love to meet you. I, can, give, you, your, life, back."

---

I hear the hoof hit the ground before I see it happen. The Commish might not be earth pony strong, but she's fast. She'd be a real bolt of lightning in a fight. But I also hear the sound of metal behind the glove she wears. It's muffled, but it's there. Horseshoes. Highly illegal, yet practical for a hornless unicorn who might hafta get physical with Earth ponies.

She spits at me: connections, asshole! Money! POWER! I know she's serious. I already knew she's a national hero. That the Princess trained her, personally knows her. I wasn't about to laugh, but she's so paranoid, it's kinda silly. I wanna tell her to calm down, that I didn't mean anything, but I already know it's a lost cause. There's no use talking to a fallen angel like her.

I nod. I understand. Work for her. Get my life back.

Get back to singin' in front of appreciative crowds. Hobnobbing with successful musicians. Learn from them. Add to my own music. Sing for them. Maybe even do radio spots. Maybe even start my own radio program. Maybe even become an actor, put myself in front of a camera.

Honestly, it sounds a little too good to be true.

But then again, don't demons often make deals like this?

I lift my cuffed hooves, slowly. I'm not sure if she'll hit me if I do, but I lift 'em. When I notice my face is still in one piece, I use my clumsy cuffed hooves to hold onto hers. I even feel the horseshoe under the leather glove and wonder why I didn't feel them before when she cradled my face. I hold her hoof and she pulls me up. I hold onto that one hoof, the bad memories still on the floor like sticky puddles after some particularly depressing private time, the barely-any-light illuminating slivers of her facial features.

She's the color of bruises, the Commish. Covered in wounds. Wounds that refuse to heal. A horn that will never come back. Wings that were pulled off, a halo that was burned away. A unicorn who'd lost her horn for no damned reason.

And you know what? I almost cry. Not for this fallen angel, but for how much further she still has left to fall.

I nod. "OK, then. Let's say I'm interested. What next?"

The demon grin comes back. "All right," she says. "A mutual acquaintance of ours is headed here right now. If you're interested, when he shows up, he's going to ask you a question: 'Going my way, soldier?'" She giggles at the homoeroticism like she's a teenager. "If you're with me, you say 'ALL the way.'"

She leans in closer, that demon grin filling my entire view. "You say anything else, and he has permission to kill you. And I don't know anything about anything, either way. Ka-peach?"

Her hilariously unnecessary use of Neightalian slang makes me smile. Her demon grin warps for a second. Like before, she reacts she's never seen a thug smile before. Or maybe I accidentally cranked the patented Baritone charm too high. Either way, I nod. "Capiche," I say, accenting it better than she did.

She nods. "All right." Her angelic lips purse a moment as she locks eyes with me. She looks like she's doing some inner calculations. A blink. Once. Twice. I kind of get the awkward idea that she's forgotten me. And that she's forgotten where she is. And that she's forgotten who she is. I feel like makin’ a break for it, jumping out the window or something, when she suddenly comes back.

"But just remember one thing," she says, the volume of her voice as low as she can manage while still sounding threatening. "You don't get to leave my city until this is finally laid to rest." She takes a few steps further, advancing on this little kitten in the demon's den. I don't back down. "Ashes, Baritone! When my enemies are... ashes... you have my permission to leave."

Her angelic lips are an inch away from mine. We got time before this mutual acquaintence of our shows up. If I wanted, I could kiss her. She wouldn't mind it. She would love it. Welcome it. Maybe even invite me to take it further. But for one reason or another, I don't. There's so much lust in the air around us. Too much. Choking us.

Suddenly, there's a crash like a rocket had just shot into space from the next room. I look to the door and hear cops shouting. Gunfire. More crashes. Sounds of crackling, like something getting built way too fast. I notice the Commish is walking around her office, knocking objects over. She even stamps on the pizza box.

"Whatta you doin'?" I ask.

"Hit me."

I blink. "What?"

She nods. "Hit me. Hit me as hard as you can." She stands still, gearing herself for the black eye she wants me to give her.

The knocked-over furniture. The crook coming to pick me up. A beat-up Commissioner.

A planned break-in. And she don't know nothin’ about nothin’, either way.

I smirk. This chick. Commissioner Sparkle. I like her. Clever and mischievous, like all the best mares. I never been one to disappoint a lady, so I give her exactly the beating she wants.

A headbutt. Our eyes meet for a split second before she loses the feeling in her legs.

A swing to the jaw. My cuffed forelegs meet her face, giving her another bruise to go with the rest.

I swerve around and buck her with both hind legs, gettin' her right in the chest, sending her backwards, knockin' that damn desk over again. She slams into it hard enough to break it in half.

She lies there, breathing hard, but a smile on her face. I return it. She gurgles something as she slips into unconsciousness.

I try to focus my telekinesis on the doorknob, but I remember the dampener clamp. I sigh and go for the old-fashioned way, fighting the urge to whoop like a damned cowcolt, like in the movies. The door opens and slams into the wall with a single buck. Running out into the open is almost a mistake, because the moment I feel that chill, I figure out exactly who our mutual acquaintance is.

The entire precinct has become a winter wonderland, like a pack of Windigos had rampaged through here. White as a polished tombstone. Ice coats damn near everything. There's even icicles hanging from the ceiling. Cops have become statues and ice sculptures in various poses: some reach for guns or batons, some are scared—and one even munches on a donut like, y’know, everything's okay, being frozen ain't so bad.

Coldsnap walks through this frozen crowd like the unstoppable Old Man Winter he is. His thick, snow-white bomber jacket is decorated with so many pins and buttons I wonder if local gangs are just paying him to advertise. The jacket does a good job of hiding his half-dragon heritage, but his dark blue scales still speckle the back of his neck and freckle beneath his eyes. His mane, just as dark blue as his scales, hangs off his ice-blue head like the icicles from the ceiling. With his unicorn telekinesis, he adjusts his glasses, his dead, grey eyes both landing on me.

"Going my way, soldier?" asks Coldsnap, his sharp teeth gleaming amidst all the snow white.

For a second, I think it over. My debts to Filthy Rich. No. My father's debts to Filthy Rich. I don't owe him shit. Not anymore. He's the one who took everything from me, forcin' me to become somethin' unspeakable. Killin' little fillies. I don't mean shit to him. Filthy Rich will get plenty pissed, but fuck 'im.

I think'a the life I had once. I think of gettin' it back. I think that the Commissioner is just taking advantage of me the way everypony else does. I think of the Commissioner's plight. Her demon grin. Her angelic lips. Clever and mischievous. Like all the best mares.

Shit. What have I got to lose?

"ALL the way."

---

Tiger & Demon
~fin~

~Next Episode: Breaking What's Fixed~

Comments

[ApplebloomOwnsCMC]

1681838 I don't think any of the things you listed for this would work. This story when it comes to tone and how Baritone speaks gives off a " Good Fellas" or " Casino" kinda vibe. You couldn't see Robert Deniro saying, "Yo, bitch-ass nigga" I also couldn't see Baritone talking like some dumb ass black wanna-be gangster. When I think of gangster I see a man standing up straight in a business suit with a cigar in one hand and a thompsan in the other. Not some guy holding a glock sideways and sagging his pants wereing an la lakers jersey. This story is fine as it is I wouldn't change a thing.

[Brony_Fife]

2772749

Read the story and find out. =)

[Kamineigh]

2774311

Found out.