Tiger and Demon: A Manehatten Love Story

by Brony_Fife

Manehatten Heat

Breaking What's Fixed, Part IV: Manehatten Heat

Burn out the day
Burn out the night
I'm not the one to tell you what's wrong or what's right
I've seen suns that were freezin' and lives that were through

Well I'm burning, I'm burning, I'm burning for you
~Blue Oyster Cult, "Burning For You"

I don't know what's taking AJ so long. A sigh crawls outta my lungs as I lean back in my chair for what must be the millionth time in the past hour.

I don't wanna leave AJ's car in the middle of this neighborhood. I've already caught some teenagers lookin' her over. Might be just because'a the bloodstains on the wheels and bumper where it kissed the Daughters, but I couldn't take the risk. A single flash of Mr. Fix-It, his ghost-white barrel shimmering in the mid-afternoon light, and the kids backed off.

Besides the curious kids, nothin' was really goin' on. No police in the area. Commissioner's orders, most likely. After all, if she knows where her little HQ-away-from-HQ is, I doubt she'd let one group interfere with the other.

Coldsnap still out like a light in the backseat. I humor myself with the thought that he's already awake but waiting for some Prince Charming to wake him. It'd totally be his style. His whole life is like some ridiculous stage play. I can just imagine it now: the curtains rise against a darkened backdrop. The narrator walks to center-stage as a headlight focuses on him. The band at the foot of the stage quiets.

Many years have passed since the heroic Sir Coldsnap had fallen in his courageous escape, the narrator says with a charming lilt. His allies managed to get away thanks to his selfless sacrifice. However! The world weeps aloud at the sight of their smote hero! Shall none be there to take his place? Or shall he rise again to take his sword to the heavens that dared cast him out?

O treacherous world! How you have spurned your savior! First stealing of him his rightful place by the goddess' side; then his true love! And then his pizza rolls. You bastards.

The narrator walks off, barely containing his laughter. I'm the only audience, sittin' in a chair that looks suspiciously like the front passenger seat I'm in now. The lights go on and there he is, dressed for the dead, lyin' on his back as the world mourns his passing. I almost laugh. The actor playing me is much taller and broad-chested than I am, but that's theater for ya. The actress portraying AJ has her accent all wrong—she sounds more like really bad Cajun.

Really bad Cajun.

The villain in this little play—whom I imagine would be the Commissioner on a fucking broomstick—swoops in and laughs like a maniac. The special effects crew is givin' it everything they got: dramatic wind and thunder that hammers the walls. Just as she makes her deliciously cheesy monologue about how lost the world is without Our Wonderful Hero, I hear the driver's side door open and feel a body fill the seat.

I'm back in reality. I wave goodbye to my imaginary theater, and take a deep breath. Let myself come back peacefully into a reality I want no part of. All this time I spent thinking up somethin' ridiculous, when I should'a thought over how I ought to apologize to AJ. I clear my mind. I get about a second to think over what I wanna say. I clear my throat and start.

"AJ. I'm sorry... 'bout earlier. Dunno why I did that." I clenched my teeth. That was a lie. I know why I tossed her back. And if AJ's all about the truth, it'd be hard to lie to her, almost as hard as it is for her to lie herself. If she had to be honest with me, I gotta be honest with her. It's the only way.

"No, scratch that. I was just—well, to put it bluntly, I was thinkin’ with my dick. There you were, hurtin’ because of… well, everything, and…” I breathe deep. “It was totally wrong'a me to try 'n take advantage'a you like that." I gulp. "Just like it's wrong of me to do most'a the things I do. So... I'm sorry." A pause. I look aside—

shit

Puffy, pink eyes sitting in dark, dank caves burn holes through me. There are pupils—these little black pinpricks—but they only add to his lizardlike appearance, along with the little red freckles of dragon scales framing the dark caves. Around the eyes, a skull-white head is adorned with leather straps like they're struggling to hold this mess together. A fire-red mane, ash-black at the tips, flows from the skull. His thin, almost-dragonlike frame is dressed in enough black leather and bolts and belt buckles to make him look like some kind'a rock star. His bone-white forelegs end with beetle-black dragon claws instead of hooves. His red snake tail twitches in anticipation.

Those little black pinpricks in his puffy eyes look at me. To Coldsnap. Then back to me. A smile, showcasing his crooked brown-and-grey dragon teeth, slowly creeps across his face like a ghost whispering by a window.

Shit.

A breath of hot air that smells like sulfur gets shot into my face. I gag. "Yo, Tonyyyyyy," he drags in a deep and playful tone. His accent's the same as mine. Broncs. Except that, if accents were beards, mine is stubble and his is a ZZ Clop chin-waterfall.

"H-Heat Freak," I say, trying to maintain my composure. It's The Language again. Words of intimidation, sentences in blood. Somepony always dies at the end of the conversation. Gotta stop at the words. Maintain my cool. I'm only in a car with no real way to escape a fire-breathin' psycho, and he just saw his brother unconscious in the backseat, and he's pissed as shit. No pressure, Tony. No pressure at all.

Silence for an uncomfortable stretch of time. I can tell both of us are holding our breaths. We haven't broken eye contact. "Mind tellin' me why my big brudda's takin' a five in ya backseat, ma zigga?"

I clear my throat. "We were escapin' the police. He got shot. I took him to a doctor, got him fixed up. He gonna be OK." My voice cracks at several points in my explanation, and the He gonna gives away my escaping courage.

Heat Freak leans in closer. I can taste the brimstone in his breath. "Dead-ass?"

"D-Dead-ass," I gulp. Just by the look in his eyes, I can tell he knows I'm scared as shit.

More silence. Those pinpricks scan me. He blinks, the pink, puffy eyes disappearing completely in those dark caves, and for a split second, his head looks even more like a skull than it did before. The grin doesn't leave his face. His breath, thick and smelling of sulphur, washes my face, pawing it eagerly.

I do my best not to shit in my seat. I've only ran with Heat Freak once—and once is enough . I seen what he can do. Lost sleep over it. Lost my appetite for days. That strangely nostalgic sound of a heavy metal shriek. For his prey, it's the last sound they hear.

A small gasp from his victim—this one a young mare simply at the wrong place at the wrong time—her pink eyes wide with terror for half a second. Then a burst of fire.

Then smoke rising from where she once stood.

Then the sudden smell of burned meat.

For a few seconds, nothing but a disturbing silence.

Then ashes began descending. The only proof this mare ever existed, fluttering down around me like falling angels. I look aside and see Heat Freak, that sick bastard—he's got his tongue out like he's tryin' to catch snowflakes. He catches a few on that long, black, greasy-lookin’ tongue of his. Swallows her ashes.

Then he turns to me and he grins.

A chill creeps up my spine, playing on it like deft hooves on a piano. I don't break eye contact with Heat Freak. Don't give him any excuse to kill me. Wouldn't matter much, since he doesn't really need a reason to kill anypony. Coldsnap kills for reasons that only he understands. Heat Freak kills because it's fun.

"Didja get 'em?" he asked.

"G-Get who?"

His lips are close to mine—so close I'm terrified he'll try to kiss me. "Da bitch-ass ziggas what shot 'im, ya dumb fuck-wad!" Heat Freak's sulphuric breath slaps me before the diamond-hard palm of his dragon-claw does. I get knocked back—and my back smacks against the door—and I feel heat wash up my face—and I hear ringing in my ears. From a million miles away comes a voice as thick as mud: "Didja kill da muthafuckas 'r not?!"

"Yes!" I shouted. "Yeah, I killed 'em! I shot out their tires! I got one between the eyes! I made ’em pay for shootin’ Coldsnap, I swear! I SWEAR!"

Silence fills the car afterward. I'm disgusted with myself. Jeez, I sounded like a sniveling little puppy whose master just kicked it in the gut. Only a few hours ago, I was killin' off cops, runnin' over thugs, laughin' like I was invincible. And for a while, I was invincible.

But now? Right now, I'm alone with somepony far more sicker and ruthless than me. I'm just as helpless now as I was in the Commissioner's office. The moment all this registers in my brain, I feel both angry at myself and sick to my stomach.

I recompose myself as best I can and look at Heat Freak. He strokes his brother's mane as the most vulnerable look I've ever seen him make washes over his skeleton face, scrubbing it of any hostility it had. He whispers somethin' to him that, even though he's right next to me, the ringing in my ears won't let me hear. He gives Coldsnap a nuzzle. Then he looks to me, his face still pressed against his brother's body. Silence for a few seconds. Then:

"Thanks, Tony."

The tension in the air distorts into awkwardness. Never been thanked. At least, never... sincerely. It's especially weird that a guy like Heat Freak is the one to genuinely thank me. But it might not be a good idea to get friendly with him. Guy's a walking temper tantrum with dragon-fire. I stammer out a "You're welcome" either way.

A few seconds pass. Then a minute, maybe two. The whole time, Heat Freak hangs onto his big brother, the puffy pink eyes disappearing into the blackness of that skull. I raise an eyebrow as I hear a quiet sob escape the Freak.

Then it hits me. I realize how very close Heat Freak was to losing his brother, the only pony he loved. If AJ got her way, Heat Freak would be left all alone in Manehatten… alone in a city eager to devour him like she does everypony else.

"…Need a minute?"

It takes me a second or so to realize that those words came outta my mouth. The puffy pink eyes pop back open. Heat sniffs, then nods. I gulp. Nod. I open the passenger side door, then get out, closing the door behind me.

I breathe in a lungful of that traditionally rancid Manehatten air. I can taste the toxins in her atmosphere, feel them burn my lungs, but it's a reprieve from the madness nonetheless. I really wish I'd remembered to take the cigs out with me, though. Shit, I could so use one right about now.

I look up out of this alley and into the afternoon sky. It'd be a very pretty shade of blue if it wasn't for all the fucking clouds makin' a mess up there. Suddenly, a pink pegasus flies overhead. They're fast, so fast I almost miss 'em as they shoot past my vision. Whoever it was, they were mostly pink, but I caught some yellow and purple on there.

With a clap, a closing door draws my attention behind me. Fillies and gentlecolts, AJ has left the building. I feel like asking her what took her so long, but the thunderclouds that follow her every step glare me down. The moment she notices me, she looks to her car as if trying to avoid eye contact. She’s not pleased with who she sees behind the wheel.

She walks over to me. I'm not sure what I should be doing as her confused stride brings her closer. Part of her walk feels distressed. The other part feels angry. I seriously consider running away. But short legs never won races against a pissy mare, so I throw the idea outta my mind almost the moment it enters. Before I come to any kinda decision, AJ stands next to me.

A few seconds of silence. AJ sighs. "Arright. We're goin'."

I look up at her. "What about your car?"

She shakes her head. "Ain't mine. Cain't bear to look at it no more anyway."

AJ starts walking. I shoot the car a final, pensive look—catching a glimpse of Heat Freak and Coldnsnap crying in each other's forelegs. Anypony who happens across this without any context would certainly come to some pretty entertaining conclusions.

"Comin' or goin', Tony," AJ calls over her shoulder as she walks around the corner. I decide I'm comin'.

We walk in silence for about a street or two. The filth of this area of town is somethin’ you can actually taste: like sea salt sprinkled on something rotten. The very stink of it all clings to hooves unlucky enough to find themselves on the sidewalk. The overall heat of the day shakes hooves with the stench, partners in crime. There are other ponies on the street, but I guess there’s nothin’ weird to them about a pair of unfamiliar ponies wandering around on their turf.

I glance to AJ occasionally. Her stride has lost its anger. The distress is still there. Some kind of uncertainty, too. Struggling with her feelings—either that, or struggling with how to express them.

After givin' it some thought I decide I oughta try apologizing again. But before I can say anything, AJ sighs. “Tony,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Back there. In the car.”

“Heat Freak and Coldsnap are brothers,” I say quickly. “Wasn’t what it looked like. Swear to Celestia.”

Awkward silence. I hear AJ snort before she quietly giggles. “No, n-not—” aaaaaand that’s about as much as she can get out before her giggles become an outright laugh. It dies too quickly—like anything good in Manehatten—and she turns to look at me. The smile on her face, the corpse of her laughter that died too fast, brings out the best features of her emerald eyes.

She gives me a playful punch on my shoulder. “Not that, ya goofball,” she says, her voice at least in better spirits. “Ah meant… in the car. Between us.” A sigh is shot out from the smile before it opens up again—and I interrupt it.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “It wasn’t right fer me to take advantage of—”

At this, AJ bursts out laughing. Not the gradual bubbling of giggles into a guffaw from before—it just comes out, full-force. She wipes away a tear. “Tony, you—you—come on, you really think Ah’d just let some fella take advantage’a me?” She wraps a foreleg around me—not hard, considering our difference in size—and draws me close, like I’m an old friend she’s known forever. “Ah wouldn’a letcha near me if Ah thought you were no good.”

“So you ain’t… mad?” I ask.

“Fuck no,” she says as she breaks the hug and continues. “Ah try not to get mad over the small stuff. And if Ah do, Ah try not to stay mad.” I follow her as she looks aside to me. “If any of us oughta be sorry, it’s me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

AJ glances down to me as we approach a crosswalk. “Fer bein’ a weepy little bitch. This town ain’t fer that kinda nonsense, no how.” We wait for the light to change, and as we do, she turns her head to look at me.

Her green emeralds dance mischievously. Her warrior lips turn up into a wanting smile. “But if you really do feel bad about it…”

The rest of her answer is given in the silent words of body language: her hips swaying in a mesmerizing way that must have taken some practice, her eyelashes fluttering seductively. And that smile. That smile.

I give her a knowing smirk, piercing her emerald eyes with my deep blues. Looks like today’s gonna have an auspicious ending after all—and after all the shit AJ ’n I went through today, I think we’ve fucking earned it, thank you very much.

---

It turns out that the building I thought was the Commish’s HQ-Away-From-HQ was in fact, not an HQ at all. AJ just knew some folks who lived there, and that they’d be able to help the Doc until the fires in the Kitchen die down.

As for me, the Commish had reserved me a room over at some motel called JOE’S PLACE. On our way there, AJ tells me that the Commish has already sent word to my boss Filthy Rich, and they agreed to wait a week before pickin’ me back up. Gives everypony enough time to clean up after my newsworthy jailbreak.

The motel itself is… well, if I even have to describe it, that only means you’ve either never been to motels at all, or you’ve only been to some nice hotel instead. Any and every motel in Manehatten is infested with vermin, all their sheets smell like sex, and the only thing noisier than the ponies bumpin’ uglies in every single room is the floorboards. At least this one had some cheap rates.

The noises all around us are muffled and ghostly. It feels like I’m gettin’ my downtime in a cramped haunted house. AJ enters the reserved room first. She doesn’t even wait for me to close the door behind us before she starts takin’ off her shirt. I shut the door as fast as I can before her clothes hit the floor, sending some bugs skittering away in the process.

I lock the door as quickly as I can before I feel her teeth clamp playfully on my tail. She pulls me back with a giggle and drags me to the bed. I undo her hair-band, letting loose that wave of gold, and I get a whiff of the farm life. It’s like, even though she hasn’t been home in years, she carries it with her everywhere she goes.

She pushes me onto the bed, then climbs onto it, looming over me. The toothy grin that curves just under her emerald eyes lets out some steam. I reach up with my stubby little forelegs and grab her face—and her face is soft. I know we made out in the car not too long ago, but I get the feeling her face’s softness will surprise me no matter how many times I touch it.

She dunks her head down and we lock tongues, much more furiously and passionately than in the car. All the while, my member’s stiffening. The heat in my loins screams. I can tell AJ’s gettin’ excited too—the speed and sloppiness of our kiss is doubling.

I break the kiss and remove my shirt. She gets a good look at my dick and her toothy grin comes back, coupled with panting. Without even asking—not that I’d say no, mind you—she takes it into her mouth. Her tongue is soft and velveteen, and it works around my penis better than the Commissioner’s tongue did around my horn. She contracts her warrior lips, pounding my pecker with a gentle rhythm, making obscene noises that make me hotter.

I’m small enough that I can reach over and chew her ear. As I gently grind my teeth, AJ moans in pleasure. The vibration is a beautiful thing to feel—the blowjob up to this point was pleasant of course, but the moan was the cherry on the sund—

Aw, shit. I groan in embarrassment as I come in her mouth too soon—and without warning. AJ gulps in surprise and releases my wilting member with a pop. She has this look of shock, as if she’d never swallowed discharge before: eyes as wide as dinner plates, her warrior lips all screwed up into a hilariously perplexing shape.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, the flush in my cheeks now less excitement, more embarrassment. “I—uh, I guess I… shoulda warned you…”

AJ’s face falls. It’s a look of half-disappointment, half-amusement. She looks like she’s reeeeeaaaally fighting the urge to say somethin’ mean. I been heckled by my lovers before for lousy performances, it wouldn’ta been nothin’. Instead, she just sighs through her nose and smiles, shaking her head. “I-It’s OK, Tony. Ah just… was… kinda…”

“…Expectin’ me to last a little longer?”

We were both quiet for a little while longer, the only sounds in the room coming from our noisy neighbors. I watch AJ’s emerald eyes as they scan me. Her warrior lips slowly spread across her face into a wide smile. Finally, AJ facehoofs and giggles. “Tony, quit beatin’ yerself up like that.”

“I wasn’t beatin’ myself up; I was—”

Her hooves hold either side of my member. She looks at me with this mischief-making smile as she slides her hooves up and down. “You’re always blamin’ yerself fer shit, sugarcube. Ah do enough’a that fer both of us.” My member fattens up again, gradually.

She climbs onto the bed, pushing me back a little as she sits down on me, still holding my member like it’s a sacred object. I feel hot again, and the heat of her body—and the weight of her body—make my member ache for some more action. I look up and that face that’s always gonna surprise me looks down at me, with emerald eyes that forgive and a smile that forgets. She wraps her hind legs around my flanks, straddling me.

It should be noted that in Equestria, there’s supposedly such a thing as making love. But in most of Equestria, ponies have sex. In Manehatten? You just fuck. What comes after AJ straddles me is… well, it’s something I can’t even describe. It ain’t fucking. It ain’t even really sex. There’s just this all-devouring sense of connection when I look into her emerald eyes. I’m not too hopeful that this is that “love-making” that seems so glorified in movies or books… but I get the feeling, as we start moving, that it’s pretty damned close.

I last longer this time.

---

Today has gone on too long.

The cleanup around HQ is taking longer than expected, and Baritone’s escape—while masterfully executed and helpfully bumped off a couple of blues who’d been putting their muzzles where they don’t belong—was all over the news, whether I like it or not.

I try to busy myself with going over files to recent cases, but it doesn’t do much. My mind keeps going from Baritone, to AJ’s phone call, to the scar on Spike’s belly, to my Laughing Place—just going over today’s events, around and around, like a merry-go-round out of control. Somepony stop, I want to get off.

Once a pigsty now a disaster zone, my office is cleaned little by little as I try to once again go over everything—not the things that have gone on today. No thanks. I’ve been on that ride, and it makes me sick. No, instead I’m thinking over my plans.

I light up the moment I see it: a photo sticking out of a folder labeled “PRIME SUSPECTS.” I pick it up with my teeth gingerly, trying carefully to not get my tongue over it by accident. (I’ve done that kind of thing more than once— half of my possessions routinely get drenched with drool.) I look back to my desk—only to see it’s still in two pieces where Baritone had knocked me earlier.

The memory makes me absent-mindedly rub the bruise on my chest where his hooves—not much bigger than a foal’s—had launched me. Remnants of his touch. I want them to stay. Bruises on top of bruises.

I sigh, bringing myself away from my daydreams. I put the file back down, since there’s no desk left to place anything on. I open it. Inside is a list of names, all of which are crossed out. All dead ends. All but one.

Ragtime Annie.

Coupled with this name is a photo of a pretty jenny with a curly mane and pouty lips. She’s in her early thirties and looks like she’s in her late teens. If I were more complete, I’d be curious as to what her secret is. That’s not to say I’m not interested in her secrets: Ragtime Annie is a treasure chest of juicy secrets waiting to get cracked open.

When she was younger, Ragtime Annie had a promising career in music. But of course, like ninety-nine percent of all Manehatten dreams, it was shattered by lost time and dirty money. These days, she works as a Madam in the Red Light District, pimping out mares half her age. On top of that, she’s flanks-deep “in with the in crowd”. If anyone in Manehatten wanted to know anything, she was usually the first one to ask… if she could be found.

And that’s where Baritone comes in. He and Annie used to date. It was rather frowned upon, a unicorn and a donkey. I can imagine a younger, more idealistic and hot-blooded Baritone getting into fights because of it. My notes on Baritone made claims that confirm that he still has lingering feelings for Annie, and hints that the feelings are mutual.

I feel a pang of jealousy. It gets erased when I look at down at the bruises on my chest. Baritone loves me in ways Annie can’t have. I touch my bruises, that tender feeling of wounded arteries recoiling when pressured sending rippling bolts of equal measures pain and pleasure through me. I lick my teeth and growl as I replay that moment—Baritone’ little hind legs bucking me into my desk—over and over again.

I sigh. Baritone loves me in ways Annie can’t have.

I look back down to the file. Back to the plan. I’ll wait a week. I’ll wait until the press gets off my ass. I’ll figure out a way to divert their attention. Maybe “capture” some famous criminals who’re standing around until I give the word. The Freezer Burns might do. Might.

That word—capture—boomerangs back to me. Capture. Why does it come back? What is it trying to remind me of?

An image of the Plague Doctor jumps across my mind like a spider crawling across a windowpane. It nearly makes me jump: his skittering, reed-thin limbs dressed in black boots, his face hidden behind a shadowy beaked mask with glowing red eyes that peer out from under his wide-brimmed hat. His long cloak flies behind him—a screaming mass of nightmares and darkness—as he dashes by mind, cackling.

Yes, capture. Another criminal I must bring to justice. I suddenly intake air sharply as the Plague Doctor is trailed by a pair of mares.

I cut off my scream before it gets too loud by stuffing my hooves into my mouth. Tears of fear streak down my face. I remember.

I remember.

The pit-pat-pit-pat of the Plague Doctor’s muffled hooves. Dark alley. A ghostly light. Two shadows behind him are bathed in that ghostly light, washing the darkness off them, revealing them. One a dead grey with purple eyes and a dark mane. The other a blue mare. Pale mane. They flank the Plague Doctor as he goes on and on about his destiny. What he deserves.

His henchmares. Professional kidnappers.

My tormentors.

My lovers.

I acted too soon then. It was too soon.

When I come to, I’m on my side and somepony is prodding me. Somepony touches my bruised chest carefully. Cautiousluy. “What is it, Spike?” I ask, trying not to sound scared or sick.

“Commish?” comes a gruff voice. “You aright?”

I look up. From under a canopy of black mane, a pair of pink eyes looks down on me from a face of white chocolate, perched on a tower connected to a castle of a body that shares the same color. His XXXL trenchcoat barely covers him. His lantern jaw has a small mouth that forms a smirk.

“I’m fine, Heart,” I growl.

“Ya don’t sound fine,” he says.

“What are you, my doctor?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders. “My brother’s a doctor,” he says. “I can get him to take a look at you.”

I blink

(he jumps across my mind like a spider crawling across a windowpane)

and decide I’ve had enough about doctors for one day. “That… uh, that won’t be necessary, Heart.” I roll over onto my stomach to lift myself back up. Heart offers his hoof. It goes ignored as my legs piston me back up to standing. He shrugs again.

“What did you come in here for?” I ask. “I’m sure it’s not because you were concerned about me.”

Heart smirks again. His pink eyes have a quality to them—a sense of tiring, caring, planning, and analysis. The eyes of your big brother after a hard day. “Commish, this might come as a surprise to you, but there are still ponies in this town who care about you.”

Bullshit. I already know about Heart. About him and his being a hero cop. The media sure loves him—nearly every paper off their press singing praise and hallelujah, we got ourselves an honest cop. He doesn’t help himself to any of the contraband, doesn’t use unnecessary force on perps, doesn’t take bribes… In fact, I don’t remember him ever swearing or drinking alcohol. He’s a total colt scout.

Which is why I tried to have some of my boys send a message to him.

Which is why he beat the Tartarus out of them when they ganged up on him.

Which is why we’re keeping a closer eye on one another.

I know he’s onto me. He knows I’m onto him. My mind once again becomes a merry-go-round, this time running through Baritone—through AJ—through the scar on Spike’s belly—through my Laughing Place—through Ragtime Annie—through… Ah, here we go. This is my stop.

This is my stop. I need a distraction. The media needs a hero. The hounds must give chase.

I straighten myself up. “Detective Heart, I have a new case for you.”

---

I walk outside into the final hour of the dying sunlight, Celestia lowering her solar charge for the day. Past the bustling bodies around the MPDHQ, I spot somepony leaning against my car. A bolt of dread strikes me where I stand the moment I recognize Applejack.

She leans against my car like she’s posing for a magazine cover. On her hind legs. Forelegs crossed. Looking right at me with a mischievous little smirk. Her hat is lowered over her eyes, the same way she always lowered it to make herself appear more menacing.

I stop a few feet away from her. We continue to stare each other down. Finally, I decide to break the silence. “AJ.”

“Twi.”

Some more silence. “I thought you said we were done,” I say with a disbelieving smirk.

“Oh, we are,” she says as she gets off my car. “We are.” She walks up to me, her menacing smile still on her shadowed face. The way she trots looks more like predatory stalking—the same way the Plague Doctor walked that night when he was flanked by my lovers.

She stops in front of me, not even an inch from my face. I’ve been told I’m damn scary in a fight, moving so fast I’m hard to keep up with. But AJ’s always been the better fighter, and she proves it with one quick movement—causing my legs to go slack—causing me to lose feeling in my legs—causing my ears to ring—causing blood to sprinkle on the ground.

I hear a voice call to me, separated from reality by the whining ring in my ears. “Ah fucked yer boyfriend!” she shouts. “Ah fucked him!”

Tony?

Baritone?

My Baritone?

I growl as my legs are suddenly set on fire. I propel myself forward, crashing into Applejack. I bite. I punch. I kick. But it takes me a moment to realize I have yet to move Applejack. I haven’t so much as left a bruise on this fortress of flesh. I have my forelegs crossed over her neck, ready to cut off her airflow. She looks at me with an aside glance, her eyes—those ominously-shadowed eyes of hers—daring me to do it.

I can’t hurt her.

And she knows it.

She’s figured it out. It took her long enough, but she did.

With another quick movement, she bucks me off her back. I am flung through the air, and crash into my car. My body hits it with enough force to almost knock it over. It now has a dent in the vague shape of my head on the side.

Once again, my merry-go-round goes round and round, circling around me, chirping madly in my ears. I struggle to get back up. I hear Applejack laughing at me. Laughing at me as she walks away.

My mentor laughs at me. My friends all laugh at me. My brother and sister-in-law laugh at me. My subordinates all laugh at me.

Applejack laughs at me as she walks away.

Somewhere in Manehatten, Baritone is laughing at me. All I’ve done for him. All I’ve promised… and he’s laughing at me right along with Applejack and everypony else.

I look at my reflection in my car’s hubcap. It’s just as distorted as I am on the inside.

---

Breaking What's Fixed
~fin~

Coming Up Next: Silence of Laughter

Author's Note:

And with that, the Applejack arc is complete.

I'm putting this sucker On Hiatus until I can figure out how the other Mane Five are going to play into this nonsense noir. Sorry if that's inconvenient to everyone, but rest assured, Jub and I are going to be bouncing ideas back and forth in the meantime.

Comments

[Mr Skeleton]

awesome