Chapter 3 — That Government Boy
Chapter Three: That Government Boy
“Prejudice just sounds better with a Southern accent.”
Fog.
It choked the air in a thick, soupy blanket. The rain had cleared up, though, so there was some good news. My watch (recently set to local time) told me the time was about five in the morning, and it showed. Even as I stepped onto the Ponyville train station, my ticket stolen from the sleeping attendant mare at the front counter, the morning darkness plus the fog made visibility next to nothing.
Still, I was finally on my way out of town. And by some divine coincidence, the train pulling up in a few minutes was going to Sleepy Oaks next. All I had to do was get on the platform, wait by my lonesome, board the train, and leave when the engine eventually pulled into the next station.
The station itself was thoroughly unremarkable, just a raised wooden platform with a shoddy wooden roof barely clinging to life above it. I judged (guessed) there was room for maybe twenty ponies, if they packed together tightly and didn’t make eye contact. And to my annoyance, there were no benches to rest on. At least the wood didn’t creak when I walked across it.
Then my eyes fell upon the shadowy figure standing near the edge of the platform. From what I could tell, the robed figure—barely more than a black silhouette against the low-hanging moon—was a mare.
Adjusting the collar of my duster, I ambled towards her. As I got close, I could hear the mare humming under her breath. She didn’t notice as I took up a position next to her, careful to maintain a fair deal of personal space between us. I had no exact idea of how close or far apart the Equestrian idea of personal space was, so it was better to err on the side of caution. So I just stood there and idled, enjoying the tune she was humming. In my opinion, she was quite good at it, and it helped the time go by faster.
Eventually I turned to her. “Quite a catchy tune, Ma’am.”
Before I had even finished the sentence, the mare let out a large gasp and spun to face me. Her cyan eyes found themselves staring at me, the hood of her robes bouncing as she moved. I looked back, quickly forming the opinion that she was one of the nicer things about belonging to a race with two sexes.
I held out a hoof. “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
A hoof of her own over her breast, the tall mare took a deep breath. “No, no, it’s okay; I just wasn’t expecting a strange stallion to come waltzing out of the fog, especially not at this hour.” Her eyes scanned over the platform. “How long have you, uh, been there?”
“Long enough.”
Composing herself, she nodded. “So you heard that little song, then?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” she slowly repeated, inclining her head.
“Something wrong with that word, Miss?”
The mare shook her head. “No, no, just that I haven’t been called that in quite some time. Nor ‘Miss’, for that matter.”
I gestured to her ringless horn, shrugging. “Aren’t they the appropriate forms of address for a young, usually unmarried mare?”
A ghost of a smile darted across her face. “Yes, I do think they are.” A quick, awkward pause followed, only to be axed when the mare said, “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien.”
Without thinking, I replied, “Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait.”
Her eyes twinkled at that. “Wait, you’re familiar with that absolutely ancient song?” When I didn’t immediately reply, she took a step towards me. “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien—the song I was humming. You are familiar with it?”
My mind conjured up memories from years ago, from the S.E.S. Roger Jeune. Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien, despite being dreadfully ancient, was a favorite tune of the Marines aboard the ship, and they’d made sure I both memorized it and could sing it without a Teutsche accent. I simply replied to the mare, “Non, rien de rien.”
She suppressed a laugh. “That’s really, uh, cool. You’ve got to be one of the only ponies I’ve met who knows the song.” The mare let out a quiet gasp. “Oh my stars, I’m so sorry. My name’s Selena. Yours?”
“Jericho,” I replied, holding out a hoof, which she gingerly accepted. The strength of the shake did not impress me.
Selena cocked a brow. “Jericho. That’s a strange name.”
“And you’re named after an ancient lunar goddess; it has the same meaning as the name Luna, no?”
She tensed up at the mention of the Princess. “Yes, it does. Same meaning.”
I tightened my hat. “Clearly both our parents thought we should have unusually unorthodox names, then, hmm?”
Selena’s muscles loosened back up. “Yeah, I guess they did.” As she looked into my face, a lone brow shot straight up. Her eyes repeatedly scanned over every corner of my countenance, as if trying to memorize each facet.
“Something on my face?” I asked in a casual tone.
“I—” She shook her head. “No, just a, a thing. Um, that is, you bear resemblance to somepony I once knew.” Selena shrugged. “My mind wanders sometimes.”
A moment of silence filled the cool air.
Her eyes darted side-to-side. “Soooo.”
“So,” I replied, tightening my collar. For a moment I thought I saw a figure out in the fog, but a quick glance revealed no such pony. I looked up at the moon. “It appears your namesake is still doing her rounds tonight, looking as lovely as ever.”
She shot me smirk from the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, that she is. She always looks so nice, don’t you think?”
I nodded.
Selena took a half-step towards me as she turned her body to face the railroad again. She let out a long sigh. “Most ponies don’t seem to notice the moon, though, I think. Well, they notice it, but they don’t ever seem to really give it a second thought, as though it were just part of the background.”
I shrugged. “Yet another reason I’m glad not to be most ponies.”
She cast me a curious look from the corners of her eyes. To me, it seemed almost like the kind of look a girl gives a guy when she’s trying to figure out if what he’s saying was either genuine or him just trying to get into her pants—not that Equestrians actually wore pants, that is. Selena lazily pawed at the ground. “So... what’s such a clearly clever colt like yourself doing here this morning?”
A hiss of air distracted me from replying. Down the track and only barely visible was a train, creeping along the railroad. It was hardly visible through the fog, but it could be seen thanks to the train’s lantern. I heard Selena let out a quiet groan. Looking to her, I saw the small frown on her lips and the droop of an ear beneath her hood. When she saw me looking, however, she wiped the frown away and perked her ear back up.
“Well, it appears my ride’s almost here,” I said. “Are you going somewhere? Waiting?”
“Hmm? I?” She shook her head. “Waiting. Where are you going?”
“Oh, a bit to the north. Certainly nothing to do with anything boring. I’ve got heroic feats to perform.”
“Heroic feats?” she mumbled.
“Yeah, you can probably figure out what boring things that entails,” I chuckled with a dismissive wave of the hoof.
Her eyes darted up into one corner as she put a hoof to her chin. I guestimated I’d been standing around for nearly ten seconds, watching Selena frolic about her own little world, before she snapped back into reality. “Hey, what’s your sign?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Yes, in case of dwarf hamsters,” she said with utter seriousness. “What’s your sign?”
“Yes,” I hesitantly offered.
“Huh? I, I don’t think that ‘yes’ is a—” Selena slapped her forehead. “Ah! I’m sorry; I haven’t slept well in a day or so. I sort of just... phased out there and stopped thinking, didn’t I?”
I flashed her a smile. “Nah, it’s fine. Kind of endearing, really.” Endearing? I don’t think that was the word you wanted to use at all.
“Wait, what? Endearing? Me?” She set out a bubbly giggle. “You think I’m endearing?”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I replied, “Unless the word suddenly became an insult since last I checked a dictionary, yes.” Note to self: check the dictionary.
The quiet but distinct clack of the train’s wheels on the railroad squeaked as the conductor put on the breaks. Slowly the black steel engine rolled into the station, the four cars behind it following suit.
I let slip a nervous chuckle. “Well, I suppose this is where we say our goodbyes, then. It was fun talking to you, Miss.”
“Likewise,” she chirped, smiling warmly at me.
“If fate permits, maybe we’ll see each other again sometimes soon, yeah?”
She nodded. “Wouldn’t that be just the treat?”
The engine stopped, the gears hissing out air and steam into the cool night, dispersing some of the heavy fog. In the dim light of the cars, and through their curtains, all of which were shut, I saw shapes moving. A car’s door opened up and a lanky green stallion wearing a pants-less suit stepped out. He nodded to Selena, but cocked a brow when he looked at me.
“Howdy,” I offered.
He glanced to the red caboose. “Sir, due to certain circumstances, would you step onto the train now?”
“Excuse me?”
He rose a hoof to me. “It’s a long story, but we need all outgoing passengers to board. Now. Would you kindly show me your ticket and head on in?”
Confused but compliant, I offered him the ticket. So, what, is the Equestrian railroad operated like a police state? Or maybe this isn’t so odd in Equestria? Further investigation needed.
He glanced at my ticket, then took a step to the side. “Everything checks out. Have a good trip, sir.”
“Thanks, mate,” I returned. Walking to the train, a thought crossed my mind. Wait. Why isn’t he asking Selena for a ticket? I mean, yeah, she’s not going anywhere, but he can’t have known that.
As I boarded the train, I glanced back to see Selena shooting me a curt wave. I replied in kind before entering the car proper. “Huh,” I muttered as I realized the entire car was empty. I didn’t waste any time putting my gear into the overhead compartment above the cozy spot I’d chosen to sit.
Though muffled, I could make out voices—Selena and that other stallion—discussing something. I wasn’t able to make out anything specific, just that they were speaking. A large door from the back of the train opened and closed, the motion jostling the whole train. Soon a third, rather deep and throaty voice joined the discussion.
Relaxing, I folded my arms and closed my eyes. I leaned back and let myself get an extra hour or so of sleep.
|— ☩ —|
I let out a satisfied groan as I stepped onto the station platform. Except for actually having a few benches, this station was as unremarkable in design as Ponyville’s. Clearly, the Equestrian railroad companies had spared no expense in trying to make it look like they spared every possible expense. With a cocked brow, I noticed somepony had painted “Go home!” over the door leading to the station’s inner office. The painter had clearly been in a rush; the words were unevenly spaced, had leaked black paint down the door, and there were spots where it had simply splattered. A piece of paper had been nailed to the wall next to the door. “Celestia help us and damn the government!”
What’s going on here? Isn’t the Princess also the government? The sound of company coming up one of the wooden stairways caught my attention. A little blue colt trotted around the corner, only to freeze as he saw me, his eyes going wide.
“Howdy there, kid,” I greeted as warmly as I could. Before I could ask him any questions, he let out a shrill shriek and darted away. He was out of sight in less than a second. “Well, that happened,” I muttered, toying with my hat’s visor. Trying to act as casual as possible, I made my way around the station and into town.
Aesthetically, Sleepy Oaks had a similar look to Ponyville and, I thought, probably the rest of Equestria. Thatched roofs, housing varying in stories but none more than two, unpaved roads, and so forth. The main difference, aside from the odd looks I was getting from the few ponies I saw, was the smell. The air tasted faintly of sweat and hard labor, and as the big “WANTED: MINE WORKERS” sign on the town’s public billboard suggested, that was for a reason.
“Are you strong? Tenacious? Good with levitation?” the poster asked. “A natural leader? Or just looking for a good, solid income in these hard economic times? Then you’re in luck!” The rest was obscured by rather vulgar graffiti suggesting an act that involved the extremely creative use of a rabbit.
The board was located somewhere in what I guessed was the middle of town, against the wall of a building loafing around a large plaza of sorts. Around the plaza, I noted, were a number of shops, including one which boasted “the best malts & smoothies in the South!” That last one stuck out only because the shop had an outdoor section, tables with umbrellas in an area fenced off from the rest of the street, where an opal-coated pegasus mare was. She was slumped forwards, her disheveled mane of light and dark amber having partially fallen over her face. The mare was staring blankly ahead like a rabbit trying to get run over by a carriage, a straw in her mouth as she lazily sucked down what I thought was a smoothie.
Hey, look—someone not giving you a weird look.
I glanced back at the board. Other bits of the board were public notices, various advertisements, unused space, or graffiti. “Count how much the Baron is a See You Next Tuesday!” declared proudly one piece of colorful graffiti. Something about its phrasing rubbed me the wrong way, and whatever a “See You Next Tuesday” was eluded me. So I just stood there, reading the graffiti aloud to myself, hoping a spark of understanding would hit me. See You Next Tuesday was key here, I was positive. Some sort of code?
“Hey!” a lean red stallion called out. I turned to face him just as he went, “You that government boy?”
“‘That government boy’?” I repeated, furrowing my brow.
He spat on the ground. “By Celestia, you are him, ain’t ya?”
“Now, just hold on a second, mate,” I said, holding up a hoof. “Your accent’s a bit hard to understand; I need a moment to process it.”
The stallion lurched towards me. “First ya come to take my home from me, then tried to take my livelihood and family from me, and now you’re sayin’ my accent’s stupid, that it?!”
“Excuse me?” I asked. “I never said that at all.”
He rose a hoof to me, his intent clear in his eyes. “Come here, you little pencil di—”
I gave the guy a side-neck chop as I pivoted and let him fall past me. The mare at the malt shop jerked to attention, staring at me, as were the other ponies I could see through the various store windows. All I offered the mare was a slight tip of the hat before turning my attention to the others. “Don’t worry, everypony!” I called out. “It’s all part of the show, folks. Nothing to see here.”
My attention wandered to the stallion. It took some physical prodding before he was capable, and willing, to speak to me. I started the dialog off myself. “Sorry for that, mate. I didn’t really mean to hurt you. Sometimes good things happen unintentionally, you know? Anyways, here’s my question: why’d you attack me?”
His response was to suggest a rather depraved series of sexual acts involving my mother, something called a “half-bred freak”, grave robbery, and probably broke numerous international laws, I’m sure. For his kind words, I helped him up to his hooves, only to pin him against the wall.
“Okay, you’re clearly about as sharp as a burlap sack full of wet kittens. So let’s start over,” I said with a winning smile. “My name’s Jericho, and I’m from out of town. What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m the Countess of Baltimare,” he spat.
“Oh, my apologies. What’s your name, Ma’am?”
“You ain’t tellin’ them that sent ya.”
“‘Them that sent me’?” I asked, and he simply spat on the ground. “Why don’t you tell me who you think ‘them that sent me’ are so I can tell you that they didn’t send me.”
“That’s just what one’a them’d say,” he growled.
I grabbed him by the chin. “Everypony is entitled to be stupid, but you’re starting to abuse that right, mate.”
He grunted. “And your insults are about as artistic as a group of colorblind hedgehogs in a bag.”
“Look,” I sighed, “I’m a very reasonable stallion, but you’re not helping me, Ma’am. Why not be a dear and simply tell me what I want to know, then I’ll be on my way, and nopony need be inconvenienced any further.” I noticed the wedding ring around his horn. “I’m sure your wife would like you to return as well.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “You leave her out of this.”
I smiled. “Of course, Ma’am. I too want that. I mean, what kind of a monster kills a loving husband for no reason? But give me something to work with here, please. Do you know where the, uh, local sheriff is, perchance?”
He shoved his face into mine, growling, “We ain’t got anythin’ for the likes’a you. Go home an’ tell your half-breed concubine to screw ya—‘cause if ya don’t, we’ll do it for ya.”
“I don’t really know what that means, but I imagine I should be offended, right?”
A grunt was all he gave me.
“Very well,” I sighed—
“Daddy! No!” a little filly cried out.
“Blossom, no!” both he and some distant mare cried out.
A little yellow filly burst out of nowhere and threw herself between the stallion and me. “Leave him alone, you big bully!” she snarled at me.
I took a healthy step back. “Excuse me?”
“Blossom, get outta here!” the stallion begged.
“No, I won’t let him hurt you!”
“Get away from him!” a peach-coated mare shrieked, grabbing up the filly. She was also wearing a wedding band. Her eyes locked onto me. “You should be ashamed of yourself, beating up on good ponies like us!”
“Don’t antagonize that government boy,” the stallion pleaded.
I saw the mare had a bruised eye. “Ma’am, what’s with the black eye?” My glance fell back to the stallion. If he had something to do with that...
She glared at me. “You know darn well where I got it, gov’ment boy.”
“Yeah!” the filly yelled. “When Pwincess Celestia finds out what you been doin’, there’s gonna be a world of hurt for you!” She squirmed in her mother’s arm, her little teeth bared at me. “You’ll never hurt my mommy or daddy again!”
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Look, would you crazy ponies just calm down so we can talk this over and show you that I’m not whoever you seem to think I am?”
“Liar!” she called out. “Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Only a gov’ment boy could do that to my daddy!”
“Do what now?” I asked. “Oh, you mean the side-neck chop? That’s just a martial arts move. I mean, yeah, if I’d done it wrong, it would have killed him via cardiac arrest, and so, in hindsight, that was highly irresponsible of me to do but... I’m not helping my case any, am I?”
“Get outta here,” the mare growled, “you dirty punk. And tell them that sent ya that we’ve had it with your kind.”
“Please, don’t antagonize him,” he begged. “You know what he’ll do!”
I facehoofed. “Okay, you’re all clearly too worked up to care for any civilities. So tell you what, you tell me where I can find the local baron, and I’ll be on my merry way, ’kay?”
“We’ll never tell you!” the filly blurted out.
“No, Blossom, please,” the stallion said. Then he looked directly at me. “Up the road. The fancy mansion with the stone walls. Can’t miss it. Please, just don’t hurt my family.”
“Which road?” I asked. “There are several.”
“North.”
I bowed my head to him. “Thank you very much, Ma’am, other Ma’am, and little Miss.” As I turned to go, I gave the stallion one last glance. “Oh, and remember to tip your waiter—or I’ll cut your balls off.”
That was a stupid thing to say and it won’t help you win over their hearts and minds.
When nopony replied to my comment save the voice, I turned northwards. That one pegasus mare had been watching me the whole while, her eyes glittering with intrigue. The other stares, the ones from the windows, however, were all glistening with what looked like hatred.
So, a baron, eh? Ten Equestrian Bits says that he’s evil—all barons are. It’s the rule.
The walk north didn’t take long, and soon I reached the edge of town. On a nearby hill overlooking the town was a respectable plantation house, but its size certainly didn’t lend itself to being a mansion. The plantation’s design reminded me of back home, though, back to the city of Neuorléans. I continued up the road, noting that the area around the town was characterized by patches of trees, a dreary creek snaking between the trees, overgrown grass and weeds everywhere but the road, and one large boulder marking the official end of town (a posted sign told me so). It all made the town seem barely settled, all alone here at the edge of civilization.
Passing across the little wooden bridge over the creek, I spied distant movement up ahead. As I neared the plantation, I could see the movement had come from the lone stallion standing guard by the plantation’s front gate. His armor was made of iron, failed to cover his neck, face, arms, or anything below the chest, really, and looked like it’d just hastily been put on in the last minute or so.
The insignia on the wrought iron gate behind him was that of a large eye, where the words “Vous Vois” had been inscribed. That means “I see you” in Französisch, a friendly voice in my head offered.
“You’re that government boy, right?” said the guard unicorn, his voice shaky.
“Nope,” I chirped, affecting my friendliest tone. “I’m here to fix the plumbing.”
He blinked. “Wh-what? Really?”
“Dude, yeah.”
“So you ain’t the guy that done beat up the local doctor this mornin’?”
Doctor? Zum Teufel is he talking about? Does he mean that crazy father from before? I asked him, “Somepony actually did that?”
The guard took a long, deep breath, relaxing his stance. “Yeah, pony. It was that government boy, the one they said rolled up on into town by train this mornin’.”
How did he find that out? I made a beeline here, and I only just arrived. A pegasus messenger, perhaps? “No kidding?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy, right?” He shook his head. “This whole nation’s going to, uh, merde, if you’ll pardon my you-know-what.”
Your pronunciation of Französich sucks. “Yeah. Hey, listen, can you open the gate for me? The Baron won’t be too happy if he can’t use his fancy flush toilet, you know?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. I heard that.” With a push of his leg, the gate swung open. “Go on in; there’s no real lock on the gate, so, uh, yeah.”
You are a very trusting stallion and should be fired from your job. You didn’t even check to see if I had any identification... if Equestria even uses identification like that. Huh. I should look into that. “Thanks, mate,” I said, walking past him.
“You have a nice day now, ya hear?”
A burst of movement erupted to my right. I jerked my head in its direction, only to be bashed upside the head with a baton and knocked off balance. “That’s for my sister’s black eye, you bastard!” The weapon, floating in an aura of magic, came at me again. With a jerk of the arm, I deflected the blow off and rammed my shoulder into the stallion’s collarbone.
The shock of my blow allowed me to grab the nightstick and with it jab him in the solar plexus. He managed to let out a choke as I swept a leg around, kicked out his arms, and threw him to the ground. Just as quickly as it had began, it was over, him on the ground, and me pressing a hindhoof onto a very precious part of the male anatomy.
I spat out blood mixed with saliva as I rubbed my aching shoulder. A word to the wise: don’t ram your shoulder into iron armor. It never ends well. “Well, that was most uncalled for, friend.”
“Celestia damn you to the moon!” he hissed at me.
With a smile, I tossed his baton off to the side. It landed in some bushes, scaring a rabbit that had apparently been hiding there. “See? I’m unarmed, you’re unarmed, so let’s just take a deep breath and calm down.”
He tried to spit on me, but the spit didn’t go far enough and just landed on his cheek. “Government boy!”
“Listen, buddy, I might be a government boy, but I most certainly am not from this government.”
“No shit, Sherclops.” He licked his lips. “And when Celestia gets whiff of whatcha boys are doin’ down here, y’all goin’ straight into the sun!”
“So, you hate the government, but not Celestia?” I asked. “What’s going on here?”
“Enough, you savage brutes!” a voice ordered from the plantation. I turned my head to see a mule standing in the opened doorway, wearing a posh monacle over a milky white eye. “Get off him now, government boy!”
I did as asked, allowing the guard to jump to his hooves. With a smile I asked, “Are you a reasonable person who’s willing to talk and not assault me without provocative, uh, providence—no! Without provocation.”
He pointed to the guard. “Stand down and get back to the gate.”
“But,” the guard protested, only to shut up as he caught the mule’s glare. He nodded, silently going to his position.
“As for you, government boy,” the mule told me, “come with.” He gestured his head into the house, and I obliged.
I silently followed him inside and let him lead through the lavishly decorated house to a third-story office. He gestured to the desk as he took a seat at it, and I took my spot facing him. Of course, my attempts to suavely sit down resulted in me bashing my funny bone on the armrest. I tried to hold back a yelp, poorly, and resisted the urge to rub my now-burning arm. But ignoring the pain and the tear wanting to well up in my eye, I kept a straight façade. Or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.
“Would you like a drink? A glass of chardonnay, perhaps?” he started off. The light from the large window behind him made him look like a silhouette, and I could see dust particles flying around in the sunbeams.
“No, thanks,” I said, shaking my head. The pain in my arm had died down to tolerable levels.
“Hmm...”
I glanced around the room, asking, “Tell me, sir—”
“Sir?” he scoffed. “Do I look like a bloody knight to you? Call me ‘Baron’, it’s what I am. I’ve at least earned that much, haven’t I?”
That got my attention. “You’re the Baron, then?”
He grunted in acknowledgement. “Yes, my title. Pretty much my only thing left in my pitiful life.”
Oh, great. He wants a pity party. “So, what’s going on here?”
“What do you mean, government boy?”
I sighed. “I have a name, you know, Baron.”
“And I’d rather not know it,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
You have no social skills, jerk. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is with me. I’m not here to cause trouble; your people attacked me and I defended myself.”
He adjusted his monocle. “I’m well aware, but can you blame them?”
“Yes, yes I can.” I folded my arms. “I don’t even know what’s going on here. All I can figure is there’s something wrong with the local government, and you are the local government, but they seem to love their eternal monarch.”
A pause.
“Is this some trick?” he asked.
“Oh, of course. I’m an expert at trickery in much the same way bricks aren’t.”
His brows furrowed. “What do bricks have to...”
“You’re the local government, so you must know what’s going on here.” I shrugged. “Ergo, I came here.”
He inclined his head. “You’re... you’re not with them?”
“The so-called ‘them that sent me’?” I chuckled. He seems spooked by whoever they are. Perhaps we could play against that? “You might think very well think so; I couldn’t possibly comment. Lying is a very bad habit to have, Baron.”
A burst of comprehension flared in his good eye. His face went red as he stood up, knocking his chair over. “Listen here, government boy!” he barked, pointing a hoof in my face. “I don’t know what kind of sick game them that sent you are pulling here, and, frankly, I don’t give a damn! I’ve had enough with you bullying my town! This. Ends. Here. Got it? Here!”
Well, that failed. Spectacularly. And you’re an idiot for thinking it could ever do anything but. I groaned. “Seriously? And I was finally starting to have a conversation with someone who wasn’t insane.”
He slammed his hoof down on the desk. “Just because my mother was some donkey whore and thus I am some half-bred freak does not mean you can just waltz all over and control me! I don’t care what you do to me, but I’m standing up for the good peasants of Sleepy Oaks!”
My mind was suddenly filled with the inexplicable but terribly attractive vision of the Baron being mauled by a pack of feral dogs—their leader being the three-headed one with all the medals pinned to its chest—which the baron tried to flee from, only to gallop straight into a crowd of rowdy stallions who proceeded to beat him to death with rubber chickens. All that clucking…
Facehoofing, I sighed. “Calm yourself down.”
“You’ve got till sundown to flee town and never come back, or I will call on all my vassals to take up arms against you, march to Canterlot, and personally tell the Princesses of your evil!”
“Wait. If you could have done that the whole while, why didn’t you do that from the start? And now that I think about it, how come Celestia doesn’t already know?”
“Out!” he barked, grabbing a dagger from a desk drawer. “Or so help me, in the name of Princess Celestia, la Maîtresse du Soleil, I will kill you myself!”
A bluff if ever I saw, but best not call it. I doubt this guy could so much as smack a fly, let alone murder a pony. Still, I’d rather not push him into actually having to do anything. I stood up. “There’s no need to be violent—I’ll leave, I’ll leave. But I seriously have no idea what’s going on.” In no time at all, I showed myself out. The guard glared at me as I walked by. I shrugged a “what?” at him, and he only sneered.
As I left the gated compound, I looked out over the trees and at the town. It wasn’t a particularly big town by any stretch of the imagination, I observed. The only interesting thing about the skyline were the two or three little factories spread about the town; at the far western end, the town ended in a small number of docks on the lake’s edge, a lake which quickly turned into a dense swamp the further west it went.
Reaching the small bridge again, I paused and rubbed my shoulder. The hypochondriac in me worried that I’d managed to give myself a hairline fracture during the fight, not something I could really afford to have when the local doctor apparently hated me. Not to mention the wound my pride had taken when I bashed my funny bone. That entire arm was just having a bad day, really. And I was probably going to get a nasty bruise where the nightstick had hit me, if I didn’t have a huge one already. With a sigh I leaned my side against the bridge railing, looking down at the anemic excuse for a creek below.
I didn’t get it. Why had Ponyville, save for that bartender, been so warm and inviting, yet the ponies in this town so tired and angry? The towns were literally a single train stop apart from one another, so what was with the radically different dynamic? And for that matter, who zum Teufel was Selena? The more I thought about her, the less everything made sense. Like that stallion in the suit and the entirely preposterous idea of how he rushed me into the train. That couldn’t have been how trains normally worked, and he most certainly never got back onto the train, because I most certainly didn’t see him when the train arrived in Sleepy Oaks.
“What the hell is going on with this country?” I sighed, shaking my head. “It all looked so sugary and nice up until an hour or so ago.” A large fish surrounded by a school of smaller ones swam through the creek, going in the direction of the swamp, and an idea slowly crawled into my head. With a hoof I performed das Kreuzzeichen. “Himmlischer Vater, time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear my prayer,” I said in a deep voice, kneeling down. “Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear my prayer. Death is speechless, so hear my speech, himmlischer Vater.” I stood back up.
What was that?
Trudging towards the town, I replied, “When an angel is giving you directions, it helps to be in the good graces of his boss.”
|— ☩ —|
“Enough is enough!” the newly nailed-in paper on the public billboard read. “First our land, then our livelihoods, and now they come again to take our FREEDOM?!?! This calls for an emergency meeting in town hall—stat!” It gave a time of when it’d be, which, I noticed from my watch, was ten minutes ago. Perfect.
Looking around the board, I saw what I was searching for. It was an advertisement, complete with a drawing of a stethoscope. “Doc Dome’s Clinic: located on the south side of town, in the old colonial-style house on the hill. Open all hours and days!” Hastily scrawled across the bottom in pen was, “Temporarily moved to 316 Walnut Street.”
The streets around the central plaza were arranged in a sort of heptagonal shape, which quickly branched out a little ways down the streets. Accordingly, if the address to the road nearest my right began with a seven and the street to my left was a one, that presumably meant that 316 Walnut Street was the third street going in a counterclockwise direction from me. And there it was, a sign proudly declaring it as “Walnut Street”.
You realize that you just really overcomplicated that, right?
“Shut up,” I said. In small communities, like those of Sleepy Oaks, the community tended to rally around a certain few figures, such as the sheriff, any democratically elected mayor, the local pastor, and even the doctor—all members who also had a stake in the community, too. And so I set my plan into motion. Admittedly, plans usually had more going for them besides “breaking and entering” and “hope for the best”. Plans tended to have plan stuff.
316 Walnut Street was located in a two-story house on the right side of the street. The house had a covered wooden porch whose stairs squealed in protest when I walked up them. Next the door was a sign reading “Doc Dome’s Clinic!”, decorated with that same stethoscope logo. I opened the screen door and knocked on the real door behind it. No response, formal or otherwise, not even the sound of ponies moving around inside. A few moments later and I knocked again, getting the same response.
The street was empty, so I concluded that the household was probably all at the town hall. Satisfied, I took out a dagger and lockpick. I slid the latter into the lock and used the blade to apply torque to the lock’s plug in order to hold any picked pins in place. A quick bit of fiddling later and I turned the lock’s plug, opening it with that satisfying click of roguish behavior paying off.
Too easy, I thought, slipping my tools back. The door opened without a problem and I slipped in, carefully closing the door behind me. Immediately my nose was assaulted by the scent of vanilla mixed with stale antiseptics and... and... syrupy waffles?
Puzzled, I looked around the hallway that made up the first room of the house. On the left side were two doorways, each leading to two rooms packed with chairs, with respective signs above declaring them a “Well Room” and a “Sick Room”. Walking down the hall brought me to the first doorway (with an actual door, too) on my right. Beyond was a room with two beds and what looked like what would have been an operating table if not for all the tools, bottles of pills, strange fluids in vials, and one hypodermic needle on it. Creeping into the room, I saw that the needle was labeled “morphine”; it was empty, a faded blood stain on its tip.
I backed out of the room and continued down the hallway. On my upcoming left was a dual staircase, one stairway going up and the other down. The one going up had a purple curtain covering its entrance, and the one going down had a sign labeled “operating room” above its doorway. Ooh, basement operating room. The idea of that reminded me of the first case I’d ever worked on, where a psychotic professor at some prestigious medical school had been going around murdering girls, stuffing their dead bodies full of extra organs because “aliens told him to do it”.
Having no immediate interest in the basement, I ascended the stairs. None of the upstairs’ rooms had signs labeling them. They clearly hadn’t been thinking about ponies like me when they were moving in. The first room I entered had a king-sized bed, a closet, a single quadruple-level drawer, and a vanity. While there were a sparse few other things in the room, there was a foreign object on the vanity, and that caught my attention.
It looked like some kind of unusually skinny record player made of wood that some madpony had cut in half and gutted, only to put it back together in an L-shape, find a way to slide in a record partly into the middle, and stuck buttons and a handle on. A luggage tag attached to the handle simply read “Technology!” The little metal panel whereon the buttons were had a little red one labeled “play”. Unable to resist, I pressed the button and immediately crackly voices came out of the device as the record started spinning.
“...and that’s how you get it to erase the odd recording and make a new over it,” a stallion’s voice came out. I quickly recognized it as that of the father from earlier, only without any hint of the earlier accent.
“Really? It’s just that easy?” said a mare, probably the mother, her accent most certainly still there.
“Yep. It’s recording this as we speak, even.” I heard them kiss. “My, the wonders of technology, huh?”
The mare sounded hesitant. “I don’t know, honey. I mean, what does it really do for us?”
He chuckled. “Why, it’s a note-taking device! Rather than spend time writing down any notes about my patients or somesuch, I can simply set the machine to record and take my notes aloud. It’s like dictating to a personal secretary who never gets anything wrong! It’s faster and nopony—nopony—will ever have to suffer through reading my chicken-scratch penponyship ever again.” With a dying whir, the recording halted, the voices going quiet.
Well, that was weird. Nothing else in the room was interesting in the least bit. I sighed as I left the bedroom, my master lack-of-a-plan having failed and made me look like an idiot. Most things of interest would have been stored in the bedroom; as it stood, I was simply breaking into the house of a respected member of the community. Rubbing the side of my face, I found myself staring at a white door with butterfly and flower stickers on it.
No, we’re not doing that.
“Yes, I am,” I countered, opening the filly’s room and stepping in. There, on her nightstand next to a candle, was a book. Approaching it, I found it labeled in nigh illegible script “My Diary”.
Don’t you dare, you monster!
“Oh, but I do,” I said, opening the filly’s book up. It took me a moment to manage to understand all the spelling, tense, and other grammatical errors—aside from the downright schizophrenic capitalization. The first entry was dated about a month ago. By the end, I managed to mentally correct all the errors and made it actually understandable to me.
Dad says we had to move to this crummy house because the old house was old. I don’t know what that means; the old place was awesome! But Star Charmer told me her parents told her it was because those nasty government guys took the house from Dad. I was at a school the other day when Dad came and took me here. I saw Mom and Dad crying together later, but I didn’t let them know I saw them. I was scared. But Daddy gave me a new diary today, so I guess it’s not all bad.
Today, Daddy was happy again. The townsponies all helped give him things—and now I have a bed again! Dad says my old diary got lost, but I think it’s because those meanie government guys took it. Oh no! That means they’ll read all my secrets and tell all my friends and embarrass me and I’ll become a social loser and worse! I’ve gotta go back to my house and get it.
I was so right! Those meanie guys are totally in my house! But it’s okay, ’cause I snuck into my house last night and got my diary and Mrs. Cuddles back! It’ll be our little secret, okay, new diary? If you don’t tell mommy and Daddy, I’ll keep writing in you, okay?
Something weird happened last night. Daddy made me go to my room for no reason when the Sheriff brought something to him. Daddy even closed the clinic! But I’m a clever girl and managed a peep at what Daddy was doing. I didn’t know what it was, but when Dad first saw it, he ran to the sink and puked. Gross! And the Sheriff looked really scared, too. Then they brought it into the basement, but Dad back came upstairs, grabbed one of those voice-thingies, then went back to the basement. He was down there all night, but in the morning he came back up and was all pale and stuff. But then he saw Mrs. Cuddles... and got really, really scared. He asked where I got her, and I told him the truth. I’m a good girl, really! He didn’t punish me like I thought he was; he just stumbled into his and Mom’s bedroom.
Two government guys came to the house last night. It woke me up from a dream about, well, that’s private. But they were all yelling, and I snuck downstairs and saw them: hats and long coats, and all looking scary. One of them punched mommy in the eye! When they saw me, Mommy and Daddy begged them not to hurt me. They hurt Daddy again and left.
The last entry was dated three days ago.
When I finished, I took a deep breath. I ran my tongue across my teeth as I closed the book and set it back where I’d found it. Nodding to myself, I mulled over everything I learned, putting it all into perspective. My angel had directed me here because of them, and for a very specific reason. And in light of all this, whoever they were and whatever they wanted was irrelevant. “By this time tomorrow, you will again have blood on your hooves,” his letter had said. If he was correct, and I had no doubts that it was going to be, then within twelve hours I’d have committed murder. Well, not murder. Murder implies taking the life of an innocent. Murder was a sin; what I had to do was no sin; it was divine retribution. It was my God-given duty as a Teutscher to do this, I resolved.
But before any of that, I needed to go see whatever was in the basement.
|— ☩ —|
That smell of vanilla and stale antiseptics was stronger in here, being the air’s dominant stench, but the sweet scent of syrupy waffles now sadly absent. As I entered the basement proper, my eye was drawn to the chrome operating table in the center of the room, dust particles dancing in the beams of light from the basement windows. Behind the table was a long counter and cabinets the whole length of the back wall.
Up close I could see a strange orange stain on the operating table. By the table was a little table with various tools: scalpels, an unused IV drip, a bottle of whiskey (half full, because optimism was something I really needed right now), a full syringe of morphine, and a bottle of something called “laudanum”. I picked up the last object, looking it over for any indication of what it was; all I found was a label saying “For headaches, cramps, stomach aches, and every other pain—now with 20% more opium!” I set it down, having no need of any such opiates. The syringe, on the other hoof, I pocketed. One never knew when medical-grade painkillers could come in handy, even if those were opium derivatives.
Moving to the back counter, I passed over bottles whose names I couldn’t comprehend, ignoring strange surgical tools whose purposes were beyond me. I opened up one of the cabinets and struck paydirt: another one of those gutted record players; the tag on the handle labeled it as “Coronary Report #1”. After taking it out, I set it on an empty part of the counter and hit the play button. The whir of the record started up, and then the Doctor’s voice, now with a notable hint of his earlier accent but still more formal, came to life.
“This is Doctor K. Dome, resident doctor of the towns of Sleepy Oaks and, if recent events are any indication, the de facto coroner,” he said in a distant, solemn voice. He let out a long sigh. “When the Sheriff came to me with this, I... I didn’t know what to do, but... well, I suppose it was his only choice.” The recording clicked. “Both the time of death and its cause cannot be accurately determined, I’d guess the time has to’ve been within the last few days. The victim appears to be a young mare, between sixteen and twenty-one years of age—it’s a bit hard to tell; the swamp rats appear to have gotten to her... to her... countenance. As for her cutie mark—well, both sides of it, really—are curiously absent from the body. Where they would be is now just raw flesh, as if somepony had been using a cheese grater with murderous intent. Indeed, the only real marks on her body appear to be several bite marks around her neck and inner thighs. And save for that bite on the inner thigh, uh... there doesn’t appear to be any sign of a sexual motive. I checked. ”
He took a deep breath. “But I suspect that’s not the main reason why you wanted me to look at her, now is it? No. Before being brought to me, her heart appears to have been surgically removed, as a part of her chest was open, said vital organ unaccounted for. But here’s where things get complicated: the heart was removed antemortem, that is, before she died, and it wasn’t the cause of death. Where her heart would have been has evidence of bruises, and all veins and arteries leading to the heart were... are surgically tied and show clear signs of rudimentary healing. What’s more, her sternum was broken, seemingly to get at her heart, but that wound was made postmortem—you can tell from the way the bone is fractured, almost none of the typical curling and uplifting associated with fresh bones.
“So... Look, I don’t believe in dark magic or necromancy or any of that hoodoo, I’m a rational stallion, but... unless this mare was literally walking around without a heart for at least a few days... No, forget it. I’m not trained for this, and I’m sure I’m missing something obvious. We need a professional, one trained specifically for this, to examine her before we jump to any irrational conclusions.” The recording clicked. “That said, my official recommendation is that Sheriff Strong restrict any access to the swamps until further notice.” He paused, then added, “And to look for any missing person’s reports filed in the last month for any young mares in the local tri-county area.”
The whir of the recorder ended.
I tried to think of something witty and clever to say to myself, to try to lighten the dreary mood hanging above me, but nothing came to mind. Well, nothing that could at least pretend to be witty or clever. That sucked. A part of me wished I could get a transcript of the recording, but the only way to do that was to play it again and jot one down for myself, something I didn’t really have any time for. I let out a heavy sigh as I put the gutted player back into the cabinet.
As I stepped back onto the main floor, I noticed a back door leading into an alley behind the house. I went to the front door and locked it from the inside. They would never know I was here. Going to the back door, my jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me...” I turned the doorknob and opened the door. “The door was unlocked?” I facehoofed. “You’re an idiot, Jericho.”
Within moments, I was stalking through the back alleys. An idea of where to go next was on my mind, and it had something to do with the direction a certain fish had been going.
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good...
So I just popped on the website as Chris Jericho's theme song started to play on my phone. It was a sign, I thought, as my eyes drifted across the word 'Jericho'. So I clicked in my great excitement.
Aww.
But, as fate would have it, your description has intrigued me. Added to Read Later, will give you an opinion tomorrow I'd imagine.
2482211
I'd suggest reading this. Been reading it since day one.
i can express my excitement for the new chapter i just get jitters
U got a like and a thumbs up from me.
2453042
Yeah, I once saw "Teutschland" on an old Latin-type map of Europe that a friend of mine got in Paris. However, as you'll soon come to see, despite the similarity in names, Teutschland is going to be a very different place than anything you're familiar with. Also, your German was fine enough. I didn't see any immediate issues and I understood it all just fine. I do hope the story continues to please you. Bis bald!
2482206 2483519 2484424
I'm ever so pleased that you're enjoying Jericho. Stick around, boys—we're in for a long tale ahead of us.
2482211
I look forwards to your opinionated review of whatever you see. It's not Clive Barker's Jericho, and indeed Jericho's TV Tropes pages shares its title with the (awesome) television series of same name, but rather Jericho is its entirely unique little animal. Still, your opinion would be handy to have—one cannot improve oneself without criticism, yeah?
2486692
Christmas come early, boys!
in all honesty got no real complaints on your writing way better than mine. i do enjoy how you add German into ive german is my second language though im not very good at speaking it though writing it is good. anyway off topic your story has been really good so far and i cant wait to see whats next. so anyway wir sehen uns spater haben ein tolles Leben. "not sure if i spelled that right. if i didnt i meant see you later have a great life."
2491807
I'm glad you're enjoying it. German is actually my... third or fourth language, and I'm entirely self-taught. So stick around, we've a got a long story ahead of us, ja? (And I promise you the next chapter's going to be interesting, as I hope all are.)
Es fehlen hier einige Satze:
Und hier noch mehr:
this reminded me sooooo much of fullmetal alchemist, except for the baron actually WANTING to help the people.
seems a little all over the place with his profession....
The main character is too stupid.
Seriously, it's just frustrating at this point, and it feels like a cheaply contrived way to get the townsfolk to hate him.
His attitudes are all over the place. He insults, threatens, and talks like an ass towards every pony in Sleepy Oaks, and then has the gall to wonder why they're unwelcoming! What the fuck!?
He's downright annoying, and never makes any move to explain himself. Sure, they're mad at him, but that's because he never once denied being who they said he was! It's like he was intentionally trying to make them believe he was 'that government boy' (and in one case he literally was), and that's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard.
In short, I sort of hate the main character right now. I do like the story, and I will keep reading it. I just hope the main character becomes less... terrible, as time goes on.
Another thing: Ponies are not humans! Your use of human anatomy is highly distracting. Now, I'm no stickler for anatomy. Saying something like 'shoulders', while technically incorrect, is fine in my books, but you just go way overboard. You used the word 'arm' or 'arms' SEVEN TIMES! Ponies do not have fucking arms!
Remember who you're writing, here.
Again, I do like the story. If I don't like a story then I don't bother commenting.
Your story has a good amount of problems. I only comment because I genuinely enjoy it, and I'd love to see it get even better.
i immediately thought of Rayman.
RWJ references? really?
why the fuck is he still even listening to this guardian angel dude? he should have gone back the way he came as soon as he said he was the "government boy"-- i mean, that's when he realized the whole town was crazy and when he should have wondered why he was still listening to this "guardian angel". where is this blind obedience--no, blind faith in this angel--coming from?
and another thing: why did he say he was this "government boy" when asked about it by the mayor? he had an opportunity to clear up the whole mess! what did he hope to accomplish by stirring up the city against him? he knew how fast word spread throughout the town, he should have known he was signing a license for everyone to hate him! and foreigner or no, i don't think his goal is to go around making enemies. so, what possible thought could have been going through his mind?
and another thing: what did he hope to accomplish by breaking into the doc's house? that came out of nowhere.
now, this pegasus who was slurping her shake when he first walked in seems to be the only one who MIGHT be a potential ally to him. she saw and heard about his whole experience in the village so far, and she alone knows the full truth of his experience in town.
of course, there are a bunch of people who know his true experience in town, and they all seemed happy to make the prejudgment. but the reason why i count this mare as a different attitude is because we didn't see her join in the abuse; she didn't say or do anything against Jericho. so id like you, in later chapters, to significantly delve into this mare. if she is a friend, i want to see a lot of development. if she is a foe, well, at least let us know.
and what is this all about; are you secretly writing a zombie fic? wtf? that is possibly the most random road you could bring this down, and while im not saying that you cant make zombies or necromancers or homicidal psychopaths work for this fic, i just think that you don't need to make it dark and spooky and bloody to make this a good read, and besides, there are better, more interesting directions you could go with this story than inserting a whacked out unicorn trying to create zombies or something. please write on a higher level, sir. that dead pegasus found in the woods was hardly a necessary addition to the story. you could be doing more with the fic than the limited potential this situation offers. if youre going to grow this story, grow it the right direction.
now, on the scene where the doctor is checking over the body, i think that you should do a little more research into what coroners look for when investigating a body. i mean, im no doctor, but i can tell that a coroner's report of the body would be longer and more detailed. it just seems too brief and rudimentary to seem realistic. but maybe that's the scientist in me talking; trying to make this story more sciency than it really needs to be.
otherwise, you have a pretty good story unfolding. this kind of story, where the protagonist's goal is to explore equestria and to see everything in it before returning home, always has tons of potential. that was why i was enamored with Echo the Diamond Dog; he stated right off the bat that it was his goal to explore every inch of equestria, ending his trip with ponyville, canterlot, cloudsdale, and the landmarks from the show. but something tells me that this story doesn't have that same potential; this guy seems to have no interest in exploring, he just wants to go see the princesses, find proof that they really do exist and are in fact fallen angels, learn a little bit about equestrian society, then head back home and retire. he doesn't want to live a life of discovery and exploration. that, and the fact that already he is allowing his steps to be guided in a single direction with his blind faith in this angel person, and we see that this story is more limited in the places it can go and the concepts it can explore. and im okay with that; exploring all of equestrian is a tall order if you want to maintain a good pace and plotline. but just be sure that what you do have, you explore to the greatest possible depth. im ready and willing to see a lit more of this guy--if, you know, you can make him smarter. and not quite so jaded.
Always fun to see the street you live on in a story. Almost got the house number, too.
Well, this is certainly interesting. I recognized Laudanaum from Amnesia: The Dark Descent, and the creepy autopsy note doesn't do much to dissuade the similarities. Have to say it's really well written! I think I'll enjoy reading more about our little assassin.
The period here should be before the space, not after it.
I'm confused - is he a builder, a contractor, a detective, or an assassin?
2737367
All of the above...
Aliens? Really? ... Actually, that might explain a lot. I think Jericho might have an easier time if he just said, "Hey, I'm a
Germanforeigner," and put some accent back in his speech.The more I read, the more I like this story.
Great writing!
This s a great read so far, but I'm unfamiliar with what exactly this is a crossover of. At first I thought it was this TV show about a man who couldn't die, but its obviously not... Someone mind telling me?
2737367 Why not all?
On a more serious note, really liking this story, and cut out hearts usually doesn't indicate necromancy unless the blood was drained, my guess is either 1. Witch, or, most likely, 2. Pissed of Warlock.
Hi,
So after putting a pause to FoE: Project Horizons (damn reading 1,300,000w takes time) I stumbled upon your fiction and gave it a try.
So my first thoughts:
- This story is supremely weird, there are many left untold questions that I want to have answers to, yet I fear I might be disappointed by the end of the trail.
- You write very well sir'
- I'll keep reading because I finish what I started.
This story is promising.
The only thing that made me tick:
it's "Je vous vois" "en bon français" (in grammaticaly correct French), you forgot the pronoun "Je", Ich, I, etc... ^^ But if you wanted to go for the creepy, I can only advise you to go for "Je t'observe” as the "vous" in French is used as a mark of respect (which might be odd here), and "observe" here has a far creepier connotation. For even "more creepier”, you could go with: “Je n’ai d’yeux que pour toi” (“My eyes exist only for them to watch upon you”) which is… really creepy as it has love/hatred/stalkerism connotations.
This seems like a very intriguing story and I want to know what's up. I also want the people to realize he's not some government boy! Uhg, and he needs to drop his stupid trench coat and frolic free and nude like the rest of Equestria! :P
So far, I'm seeing the following:
Almost each person in that town is an idiot, or incredibly stubborn AND assumes things very quickly. I'd say that's unrealistic, but that wouldn't be very true, due to how much I encounter this... everywhere.
Not really a complaint, just something I'd like to note. I really like the story thus far, although I do hope to eventually understand what the buck is going on.
Color me intrigued. I'm pretty well hooked at this point; let me know now if the constant comments grow tedious.