3 - Bottled Messages
Friday was almost over, and all I wanted was a drink.
I honestly couldn’t remember when that became part of my daily life, but it was there. I guessed it must have started sometime in the past two years, after I finally broke down and decided that sleeping in Stalliongrad was worth the extra cost of alcohol.
When I found out that some ponies would just buy you drinks... well, then it was a matter of economics over pride.
The smart half of my brain yelled at me every day to quit my job at the post office. It was boring, it didn’t pay well, it wasn’t worth it, and it was literally killing me. But at the same time, there was how—minus one customer—my boss said I was the best worker he’d ever had. Iron also... well, he never overtly complimented my work ethic, but the dumb half of my brain still didn’t want to let him down. He was already disappointed with me enough as it was.
Then again, he had a lot of disappointment in his life right now. It all started when I got home to an empty house on Wednesday night, two weeks ago. Iron’s stuff wasn’t on the rack after six sixteen, which worried me slightly. By the time he finally got home after eight, I’d been a nervous wreck. Of course, it was my fault that he didn’t leave a note or anything, because I didn’t flag down a guard and ask what happened. Like I was supposed to seek out the news of my brother’s death.
Anyway, late nights for Iron didn’t end there; he kept babysitting his loser friend’s kids all week. Then, late Monday night of last week, he stumbled back into our house drunker than I had ever seen him. That had been scary the first time. The next time it happened, I dragged it out of him that neither his friend nor the griffin bitch had taken it well when he had to punish them over their stupid fight.
Now, twelve nights later, Iron had spent at least half of them just as drunk—I was gone for two nights, so I didn’t have an exact number. But those nights when he wasn’t drunk, he was just sad; even the nights when it’d been his turn to cook, he’d just brought home takeout instead.
I wanted to stop him. I wanted to tell him to find a better way of coping, or to spend more time with his non-Guard friends. But when I tried to bring it up his drinking in a delicate manner, he just asked, “And...?”
His tone told me that he was talking about Stalliongrad, which... he never really talked about, and I never really brought it up either. It closed down the conversation, too, since I didn’t want to be a hypocrite or admit he was right.
We were just stuck in a stupid, drunken spiral of denial with each other.
The worries about my stupid drunk brother evaporated when a fuschia unicorn mare walked through the post office’s door. That would have been strange enough, in Farrington, but she also sported loud, bronze spikes for a mane. I looked from her mane to the brown box she was carrying, and then I glanced at the clock; of course it was four fifty-six. I put on my brave face as I died inside and greeted, “Hi, is there anything I can help you with?”
As she walked over to my counter, I got a good look at her package; the addressee lived in Hoofington. Every step she took, I felt myself get heavier with dread; she had come in four minutes before I got off. Now, I was looking at the very real possibility of having half my weekend eaten by traveling. Couldn’t you have been five minutes later? I asked her, silent as it was futile.
She set her package on the counter with a “Hi.”
“Hi,” I replied, careful not to bare my teeth any more than a smile. There was a chance she didn’t want it there in an insured, guaranteed two-day delivery—what I did. If she could wait, I wouldn’t have my weekend cut in ha—
“What’s the fastest that I can get this to Hoofington?”
I wanted to beat her unconscious with her package. Instead, I quoted prices.“If you want it there by tonight, it will be one hundred bits; if you want to send it with the rest of next Monday’s out-of-town mail, it’s only be five bits.” I should have charged a premium for showing up at four minutes to the end of my shift, but even though I didn’t like my job, I didn’t want to start breaking the law over it. Iron wouldn’t like that.
The spiky unicorn reeled at the price. “A hundred bits? Instead of five? It’s only getting there a few days earlier!”
I will shove that package up you if you try to argue this. I felt my eyes narrow. I blinked before putting on an apologetic face. “I know it sounds weird, but if you want it sent out outside of the usual, scheduled pickups, someone’s going to have to take it by hoof. Even though the inn gives us a special discount, it’s still forty bits for a room, ten for meals, and then it’s an eight-hour round trip for the delivery filly on top of that.”
“Fifty bits for eight hours of walking?” she sneered.
“I wish,” I blurted out. Catching it, I added, “I mean, the post office gets a cut, there’s taxes... I could go on, but are you really interested in how this whole thing works?” I had to fight from cringing; that wasn’t the polite thing to say, either.
However, for her problems with timing, the mare on the other side of the counter let out either a light scoff or a polite laugh. “I guess she can wait a few days,” she said, placing five bits on the counter.
I breathed a mental sigh of relief; even though getting it ready to send out of town would take a few extra minutes, I’d still be home before five-thirty tonight instead of tomorrow.
So, with my last order of business done for the day, I thanked the customer and she left the post office. I took her box to the back and stamped it with the various labels it needed; when everything was in order, I levitated the package over to the growing pile of out-of-town mail. Most ponies preferred to do things the way that made sense; even though I got sent out on a near-weekly basis, those deliveries were far less common than the ones that simply entailed sending the package along with the pegasus who showed up twice every week.
Anyway, I was done; that late on a Friday, it was only me and my boss in the post office. Mr. McFeely stayed behind until seven o’ clock, for any of the miners who wanted to mail something with their fresh wages. I felt kind of bad to leave him completely alone, but since he didn’t want to pay me for two extra hours, I couldn’t feel too bad about it.
He stepped out of his office wearing his usual old colt smile. With a quick glance at the hallway clock, he remarked, “It’s a tad late for you to still be around on a Friday, isn’t it?”
“Someone came in at five-til with a package for delivery,” I replied.
“Well,” he said with a grin, “I can tell by your face they didn’t want it sent out to Stalliongrad.” I didn’t know if he knew how much I hated that city, and how lightly he mentioned it. Fortunately, he changed the subject: “But anyway, you’re free to go.”
I bowed and went into his office to get my saddlebags. I levitated them onto my back before fastening their buckles. When I went back through the door to the customer area, my boss was behind the counter with me, so as I lifted the counter to let myself through, I bid him, “See you Monday, Mr. M.”
“Good evening, Miss Ardor.” I smiled at our rapport: he wanted me to call him by his first name, but when I was polite out of habit, he started addressing me by my last name in turn. With everything taken care of, including my official dismissal for the evening, I wore my smile out with me into the streets of Farrington.
The good mood lasted about three feet out the front door. From the right side of the landing, a Stalliongrad accent greeted, “Hi there.” It chilled my spine.
I looked to the voice’s source, and I let everything unclench when I saw it was just recently-promoted Lieutenant Justice. Then, I worried that Iron was hurt, or worse, and why was she stalking me if that were the case?
“I want to mail a letter.”
Instinctively, I flinched. She used to live in Stalliongrad, so a letter... Then, I remembered I was off work already, but then she probably knew that—
“Calm your teats, filly, it’s an in-city thing.”
I frowned at her offhooved remark, but I shrugged. “Well...” I pointed at the building behind me. “There’s the post office...”
The lieutenant’s helmet slowly shook from side to side. “This is a personal thing, one I don’t want anyone to know about.” She pointed a hoof at me. “That’s where you come in. The jist of this is, I pay you a hundred bits, you take a letter up to the Market District, and you don’t tell anyone about this. Simple enough?”
“A hundred bits for that?” I blinked, then a sudden realization struck. “Wait, it’s not like a bomb or something?”
That made her bring her hoof back to her mouth over a chuckle. “No, but I like the way you think. And this could have fallout if handled improperly, but that’s where the ‘I’m paying you to keep your mouth closed’ bit comes in.” She glared at me with such intensity that I hunched back. “You’re taking a letter to Starfall. I want to hear his reaction.” Her head turned to the post office, and she pointed at it. “If he or anyone asks, this came from down that chain of command. But Iron doesn’t hear any of this for now.”
I made a sound of protest, but she raised a sympathetic eyebrow and spoke over me. “I know Iron’s not in the best of places right now. I’m trying to do what I can. Starfall needs to think, within reason, that this letter came from your brother, and I need to know where to go from there.”
She finished her instructions by reaching into her armor and pulling out a letter. “So, a hundred bits for that. No bombs, but still a possibility for disaster if mishandled.”
I took the letter and flipped it over so I could see both, blank sides. As I did, I thought about what Lieutenant Justice wanted me to do; it was easy, as long as I had a good enough cover story. However, it’d need an address on the outside to pass for that, so I magicked a pen out of my left saddlebag. Luckily for everyone, school detention slips had given me a good reason to learn how to mimic Iron’s hoofwriting. “It’ll probably look better if it’s actually addressed,” I commented. Then, I wrote both addresses on it and showed the lieutenant.
She looked at it, then back to me. Instead of being happy, she gave a harsh-sounding warning: “That’s not the sort of skill you should advertise.”
Yeah, forgery was bad, especially if it were someone with as many government privileges as the Captain of the Guard. “I’m not stupid. But you want this to look like it came from him, but got minced in the post office system? Who’s to say I didn’t see this coming through and decided to take it in-person, like this sort of thing should be handled in the first place?”
That got an approving nod. “Come find me after you’re done. And don’t tell Iron what you’re up to.”
It was simple enough, so I returned the nod. After that, the lieutenant and I parted ways. She worked in the north gate; Starfall and Comet lived more to the northeast. I headed there.
It was about a thirty minute walk from the south end of town to the north end, but a hundred bits made it difficult to complain—even if the afternoon was humid enough to make me start sweating before I even cleared the Business District.
However, I wasn’t one of those unicorns that could just learn random spells like “cooling myself down,” though. Other than quick, emotional reactions—like teleporting up to the roof when Iron blew up our stove—I was stuck with basic levitation and the ability to sort things quickly. I felt outclassed by some of the other unicorns I’d heard stories about, especially since my cutie mark was an envelope. However, when I saw the trouble that Iron had with some of the simplest of tasks, like getting pages of a book unstuck from one another, I knew it could be worse.
Magic or no, I was hot, which made me thirsty, which made me want a drink. I reasoned that water or some sort of sports drink was what I needed, not something that dehydrated me even more, but that didn’t do anything to stop my desire. The best I could do was to tell myself to focus on the task at hand: I had a delivery to do.
The remaining twenty minutes of the trip up to Starfall’s and Comet’s, I rehearsed my story to tell them. Someone put this in the Guard’s incoming mail, I noticed Iron’s name on the return address, and I decided to take it to Starfall myself. This sort of thing should be done face-to-face, not behind letters and proxies.
Which, that last part was easy enough to talk about as if it were the truth; I didn’t like being used like this. Still, Lieutenant Justice was scary, but only because she didn’t really joke about anything. She also cared about Iron, on some level, so if she said that sending this letter would get Iron back on his feet to have his friend back, I could trust her. All it took was me swallowing a little bit of my personal pride.
Then you can wash it down with a well-earned shot or two, my mind cut in.
NO! I shouted back.
A gust of wind blew down an alleyway, rustling the dust and debris along the cobblestones. I rolled my eyes up to my forehead, where I could just make out the outline of my horn. It wasn’t glowing, but I didn’t trust it; that was the scary thing, too, since magic in the streets was... frowned upon, by guards. They couldn’t do anything about it, other than cite you for a disturbance if you were showing off, but I wasn’t on a very popular road—and it had just been a gust of wind.
Anyway, I managed to get to Starfall’s and Comet’s house without blowing out any windows, and by then, my cover story was definitely a good one—if I needed it at all. One thing I’d picked up in Stalliongrad, depending on the act I wanted to play, is that ponies usually made up their own truths about stuff given what was in front of them. If they saw someone sad and alone, it was easy for them to come over and pretend to care, buy me a drink... and a few hours later, I could get the best night’s sleep possible in that city.
Which, there were sleeping potions that you could buy, but my Stalliongrad routine was like drinking: dangerous, unhealthy, but depending on who you did it with, it could be fun.
I put that whole line of thought out of my mind as I walked through the gate to Starfall’s and Comet’s. It didn’t seem right to even think about that sort of stuff around civilized ponies. So, focusing on the task before me, I walked up to the door and knocked.
I heard voices inside, but I couldn’t make out the words until a female voice got closer: “—besides, it’s probably just a salespony.”
Comet opened the door a crack, saw me, and opened it all the way. “Hi, Max!”
Like always, it was awkward to remember that these two were Iron’s friends, not really mine. Either way, I grinned back and greeted. “Hi Comet. Is, uh, your husband home?”
Her lips pursed a little. “I... he’s supposed to be resting right now.”
“And I’ve been resting. Eleven hours of it,” came Starfall’s voice from deeper within the house—their living room, I’d guess. “Fifteen minutes in the city isn’t going to kill me, neither is a guest!”
Comet’s eyes widened before she frowned, turned, and answered, “Last ‘fifteen minutes,’ you almost fainted after falling into the Market Square Fountain.”
“That was the milk, not—”
Over Comet’s shoulder, Starfall finally walked into the hallway, saw me, and stopped talking. His wife looked from him, back to me, then rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re right, Star. Here’s your guest.”
She turned around from the doorway, then walked halfway down the hallway and turned into their kitchen. I watched Starfall as he glared at her, the whole time, before turning back to glare at me. Then, his eyebrows raised, he shook his head, and he walked down the hallway towards me. “What do you want?”
Hello to you, too, asshole. Instead, I remembered my story. “I’ve got a letter for you.” I levitated it out from my saddlebag, then held it out in front of him.
He took it, looked at both sides, and commented, “There’s no postmark.”
I nodded, slightly impressed. “It did come through the post office, but I saw someone put it in with the Guard stuff, and given what’s going on, I figured this sort of thing should be done face-to-face.”
“And here you are...”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what I can do, but when I saw the letter, I figured this is as close as you two could get, given a letter.”
Starfall scowled at the letter, but then he reached for his shoulder. After he gripped twice on empty air, he scowled harder and brandished the letter at me. “Open this.”
With a thought, I popped the seal on the letter. He didn’t thank me; instead, he shook it open and held it up with his left hoof. He read it, and his scowl softened into an almost ambivalent stare. After he was done, he twirled it around to fold it back up. He stuck it under his left wing, then stared at me.
Then, his eyebrows raised and he shook his head slowly. “Tell Iron that I don’t want any more letters, but if he wants to come by...”
Stallions were usually bad about saying the important parts of what they meant, but I knew what Starfall meant when he shrugged.
I nodded back to him. He stood there, silently for a few moments, then he slowly pushed the door closed in my face. I scoffed a little at that, but I didn’t really want to stand around and hear him stammer through the polite ways to say “goodbye,” so I turned around and left.
There was a second part of this delivery, so I went up to find Lieutenant Justice at the north gate. I didn’t know how sneakily I needed to go there, but I figured if she could talk to me about this in the middle of the street, there wasn’t any need to hug the wall so that the guards up there wouldn’t be able to see me.
When I got to her station, I gave her a quick nod. “It’s done.”
She looked up at the clock that I knew was on the inner lip of the top of the booth. “Not bad, for time.” Then she turned back to me. “How’d he take it?”
I shrugged. “Pretty well. He said to tell Iron he wants to talk face-to-face, not through letters.”
The lieutenant nodded, then set a hefty bag of bits on the counter. “Good. Just remember not to tell that to Iron.”
I frowned at that. “Why? If they’re willing to make up—”
“Because I’m paying you...” Lieutenant Justice shook her head. “Please. There’s more that needs to happen, still. Just be patient. For Iron.”
I didn’t see how not telling him was for the best, but I guessed it might have something to do with Starfall coming back to the Guard. With a shrug, I levitated her bag of bits into my saddlebags and vowed to keep quiet. I didn’t know what “still needed to happen,” but I guessed the lieutenant knew more of it than I did, so I nodded my agreement to her.
After that, I turned and left the northern guard station. That money felt... dirty, even if it was for the best. Then, I remembered that I was being paid to keep a secret from Iron that might repair his friendship.
As I headed south down the main drag of the city, I vowed that, to make up for it, I’d try and keep Iron from sitting around moping any more. It was bad for him, it was bad for me, and for all I knew, it was bad for Farrington.
Unfortunately, now that my delivery was done, there wasn’t much I had to keep my mind off alcohol. I tried reasoning that I was home and that sort of thing was unacceptable, but it didn’t help. Then, I pointed out how normal ponies didn’t fixate on it like I was, but the back of my mind twisted that into, that’s because they just go and get a drink when they want one. That just made me feel guiltier for having that desire in the first place, which just made me want to—
I got a grip on myself. I was not going to let alcohol dictate my life. I resolved to just head straight home, past the two bars on that route. Iron needed me. And if he didn’t want to talk about anything, I could just reread some graphic novels that had sequels coming out soon...
One way or another, it’d be a quiet evening, but a nice one.
To help push matters out of my mind, I instead tried to guess what other “things” the lieutenant was talking about—they’d help me with the Iron situation. The media had a frenzy after that griffin mangled Starfall; Iron had held up remarkably well, even when she came back to the city, and he had to explain, “She is facing justice for her actions.”
I wanted to ask why she was allowed back in his Guard and his friend wasn’t. But, given how little we got to talk that week, I hadn’t wanted to waste an hour or two because he wanted to argue about her again.
At least the incident seemed to put a damper on his “racial ambassador” routine. Though I wasn’t happy he’d replaced “dinners with a bloodthirsty animal” with “drinking alone,” at least I knew he was starting to realize that some things just couldn’t be fixed, no matter how intelligent you pretended they were.
I passed the first bar on my route—a run-down dump, despite its location on the main drag—without much incident. Then, I pondered more about Iron and his griffin. Then, I wondered how much of his current state she had to do with. Iron was a wreck because he had to cope with everything that happened, but how much of that had to do with pride?
He staked a lot on that bitch. Getting her a job, teaching her about our city and culture; it must have been a let-down when he realized that she was just a half-brained beast. It had been annoying when he wanted to try a doomed-from-the-start task instead of spending time with me, but even while I did tell him from the start, he didn’t seem to realize what I meant until it was too late.
I felt sorry for him, and at the same time, I hated her even more.
When I walked by the second bar—a much nicer venue, one I had actually been inside before—I thought I made it past without much incident. Then, a voice called out behind me, “Hey there!”
Turning around, I saw a grayish blue pegasus stallion. He stood out, not because he was an extreme minority in Farrington, but because he was wearing clothes and failing at it. His scarf would’ve looked good ten years ago. Maybe. Combined with his dorky-looking glasses and time-weathered fedora, he looked like an old stallion who got dressed in the dark. In a fashion museum. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty, though, which made the whole thing ironic.
When he saw me regarding his terrible taste in fashion, he nodded at me. “See somethin’ you like?”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes; I wasn’t interested in him or his stupid scarf. I kept walking, but he was relentless enough to rush next to me, like my decision would be affected by how close he was to me. From his breath, I could tell he had already had more than a few drinks. “Get lost, loser,” I sneered at him.
He chuckled before replying, “What’s wrong? You only get hot in a cold climate?”
I stopped in my tracks, which was enough to make him grin victoriously. He knew, I shuddered. How? Had I met him in Stalliongrad one night? Had we...? We might have, I realized, noting how sad it was that I couldn’t answer that question with any certainty. Still, I seethed, this was Farrington, not Stalliongrad.
“So, what d’ya say? A bottle of your choosing, a room of mine... we can get real cozy, neh?”
Violet light flashed from telekinesis, and his head snapped to one side as I slapped him. After a moment’s thought, I did it again for good measure.
He was still stunned over it, so I decided to get away from the situation before it could get any worse. While I turned away, he snapped to his senses and sneered, “What, that’s less than your usual rate?” I left him, but instead of following me, he started muttering to himself: “Whole friggin’ family’s fulla freaks... Ow... Bitch messed up my glasses.”
Home was still five blocks away, so I tried to keep it together. Between adrenaline and shock, I was lucky to make it two blocks, where I found a quiet alleyway to duck into. I sat down, with my back to a fence, and tried not to make a spectacle out of crying.
It wasn’t really a secret, what I did in Stalliongrad. Even Iron knew, even if he didn’t say anything. But if he did know, he should say something... I shook my head.
Regardless of what I did, I didn’t know why I did it. It was fun. It was risky. It was the only way I could sleep, other than the various alternatives. I liked it. I hated it.
I turned that anger back at the pegasus outside the bar. It was school-age drama all over again. If I were a stallion, doing what I did, I’d be hailed as some sort of hero. So why should anyone care if, when I had to go into another city, I got wasted and had sex with the first thing that moved? I was smart about the health end of things, so I wasn’t hurting anyone but me.
Either way, it doesn’t give them any right to judge, I seethed. Just because it’s not romantic or anything.
Feeling slightly better after letting off some steam, I stood up, walked out of the alley, and tried to remember where I had read that phrase before. “It’s not romantic or anything.” I definitely remembered how it had been exasperated or angry—had I said that to someone?
I chewed it over for two blocks, but when I got to my home street, I decided to put it away so I could focus on Iron. Then, it hit me like an errant frying pan:
That’s what he said.
Our fight came back to me. Back when he started going full swing with his stupid dinners with that griffin, I’d told him how stupid it was. That had been his first defense—why was it his first defense?
I shook, but luckily, I didn’t need keys to enter our house. I knew how the lock was built, so I could just undo it with magic. It was easy, something I’d probably done a thousand times before. It took me three tries.
When I opened the door, Iron scrambled to hide a bottle, which was somewhat ironic. Even moreso, he got mad at me: “Maxie? I thought you were out on a delivery...” I magicked my saddlebags off and set them by the door and started walked over to him.
“But, uh, it’s nice you’re home, don’t get me wrong. I just didn’t know, so I assumed, and... wait, Max, what the hell are you—”
I pushed his shoulders back into the couch with my front hooves and shoved my back kneecaps into his. It gave me leverage when I put my face within a few inches of his. I wanted shock; by his wide eyes, I could tell I got it.
Then, I asked a simple question. “Were you dating her?”
Iron tried to get up; between physics and awkward positioning, he was stuck where he was. He dodged the question with an agitated, “Get off me.”
“Answer me.”
He shook his head, feigning ignorance. “I... I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” His breath tasted like whiskey and lies.
I frowned, then pushed up on him a little so I didn’t stab him in the forehead when I put my glare right in front of his eyes. “Take a guess. Or tell me who else you’ve been ‘showing around town’ for the past few weeks.”
“Gilda?” he asked thickly.
I tapped the top of his head twice with my horn.
His eyes darted up, then he looked back at mine, then he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked a lot more fierce and honed, not drunk and stupid. “So what if I was?”
My hind knees turned to jelly. I’d figured it out, but... it was still news to hear it.
I buckled into him and slid down his stomach before I felt the effect that was having on my brother. When I did, I put two forehooves on his knees and stepped back. I didn’t know how to react, but after my mind blanked, the first thing that came out was, “You lied...”
Iron sat back up, hunching down to look at me eye-level. “You made me have to lie to you.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Nope. Don’t blame that on me. You shouldn’t have to lie—”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have to lie,” he cut in.
“But you did.”
“But I did,” he continued. “But, as I’m sure you’re happy to learn, things didn’t work out.”
Of course they didn’t! “Well, duh!” I shouted. “What were you thinking, dating her? You’re a stallion, she’s a wild animal.”
He got off the couch and stood over me. “That. That right there. That is why I had to lie to you.” After he dodged the point I made, he turned around, picked up his whiskey, and walked into the kitchen.
I followed him. “So... what, denial? If you lie hard enough, you’ll trick yourself into thinking you’re doing something that’s okay? That it’s not sick? That it’s not—”
“SHE MADE ME HAPPY!” Iron roared.
Before either of us said anything to break the glass-thin silence, he uncorked his bottle and upturned it into the sink—it had been mostly full, so I knew it was at least fifty bits’ worth of alcohol, down the drain. After it was completely gone, Iron dropped the bottle into the sink with an empty clink. Then he whispered, “Is that such a sin?”
My first reaction was to answer with the obvious “Yes,” but something about his question made me realize he wasn’t asking me. Or at least, he wasn’t just asking me.
For as long as I could remember, Iron was always confident, collected, and in-control. That was what made it frustrating when he made his mind up about something—it was that much harder to get him to see the other point of view. Not because he didn’t consider it, but because he had, and he had disregarded it along the way.
Hearing him ask that question made me realize what I had done to him, what I was doing to him. He had enough doubts in his mind without me.
Granted, he should. It was a griffin, not a mare. Or, stallion even. For that matter, just... a pony.
But at the same time, he was my brother. I wanted him to make the right decisions, not huge mistakes. I thought back to his week of moping around the house, after things at his job had settled. He wasn’t just missing his best friend...
I felt my eyes droop to the floor. Iron didn’t really get to “date” all that much. There was a fling or something with another miner, back in those days. Then, after he made sergeant, he went to a few dinners with the mare at his bookstore; he didn’t come home some of those, but he never did say what happened between them. Ditto with his post-funeral drinking sessions with then-Sergeant Justice.
So he wanted to date a griffin, and apparently liked her. Was that wrong?
I shook my head and started to head out of the kitchen. “I don’t know.”
Behind me, Iron asked, “What do you mean you don’t know?”
I turned my head to face him. “It... it’s a lot to process, and I don’t know?” I raised an eyebrow and shrugged; what did he think not knowing meant?
He shook his head and muttered, “Hypocrite.”
That made me spin hotly on four hooves. “Who are you calling a hypocrite, Mr. No-Drinking-In-The-House?”
Iron scoffed, then turned away from the sink. “Someone who thinks she can judge me based on my interest in one romantic partner.” My stomach clenched, but he kept talking. “Or is it the romance part that you get hung up on?”
His words hit like a punch. I sputtered, trying to think of something coherent to say. I couldn’t. He’d known, he just never talked about it except now, when he was going to mock me over it? I tried to put force and words to my devastation, but all that came out was a croaking, “Y... you knew?”
He squinted at the same time his eyebrows turned upwards. “Y... you thought I didn’t know?” He frowned back into a glare. “And then you accuse me of lying?”
I blinked back the tears, but that didn’t stop them. He knew. He didn’t care. And he... he was mocking me about it! Every ounce of hatred and self-loathing I felt towards myself, every morning-after shower that was never enough... I shook my head, and the tears started flowing.
All I could manage was a quick, “You’re an asshole!” before I darted down both legs of our L-shaped hallway, burst through my door, and locked myself in my room. There, I plopped onto my mattress, hugged my pillow to my head, and I cried.
It was sad, knowing that my pillow was the only thing I had to comfort me, that didn’t judge me while I sobbed into it. As I kept going, even that comfort felt fleeting. At that moment, I didn’t care. I needed something.
The back of my mind suggested a drink. I hated it.
* * *
A few hours later, my throat was sore and my stomach was empty, but I didn’t want to venture out into the rest of the house. I just lay there, stroking my tail that I’d pulled up over my foreleg and wondering where things got so screwed up.
My room was a kid’s room, I realized—not for the first time. Between all the pink and dolls from my early childhood, I always felt out of place in there. But I didn’t really have any hobbies outside of my graphic novels; those were on their shelves, but I didn’t have anything decorative that I liked. Growing up with Iron, two years of moving from apartment to apartment had been enough to teach me not to do anything permanent, because you might have to move in three weeks.
Iron knocked on my door.
I grumbled into my pillow. “Go away.”
“I made you some dinner...” His attempt at a peace offering was pathetic.
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
In response, I heard a plate slide under the bottom of my door. My stomach growled as I looked over at the sandwich that was now in my room, so I levitated it over to me and rolled into an upright position. Begrudgingly, because of the source, I took a bite of it; as soon as I did, I had to fight not to smile.
For two years after our mom died, and even after we got our current house, money had been tight. That was the start of Iron’s culinary explorations—he tried to make the best-tasting things with the cheapest possible ingredients. One of his early successes, and probably my favorite still, was peanut butter and honey mixed with lemon juice.
Now, like every time I tasted it, I remembered those days when we had been a lot closer. Before Stalliongrad, before ten-hour lieutenant shifts... before we drifted apart because we were two very different ponies. Those days had always been stressful, but even then, we got through them as brother and sister.
Outside my door, Iron asked, “May I come in?”
I swallowed my bite of sandwich, then shook my head slightly to myself as I turned the lock with a little bit of magic. I kept my eyes on my dinner, so I only heard Iron as he opened the door and walked over to me, sitting down sideways next to my bed. He put the plate next to me, but didn’t say to not make a mess with crumbs.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him glance around at my shelves and decorations since he didn’t know where to start. I made it easy for him. “Yeah, I know my decorations suck. It’s okay, because you’re right. It’s not like I have any romantic coltfriends to bring over.”
He started stroking the lower part of my mane, which I didn’t really have a way to avoid, but I didn’t mind, either. Finally, he apologized, “I’m sorry, Maxie. I... shouldn’t have said that.”
I turned one eye to focus on him. “What, and keep pretending it isn’t happening?”
Iron shrugged with both hooves before wiping his mouth with his right one. “I... I really don’t know what to say about it. I worry about you, I’ve told you several times you can quit the post office if you don’t like working there... At the end of the day, it’s your choice.”
“Just not one you approve of.”
“Just not one I approve of,” he agreed. “Even with Sherry’s old coworkers looking out for you, there’s always the chance you could get hurt or...” He trailed off with a shake of his head. “I don’t want you stuck with any long-term consequences if they’re from a mistake.”
I shook my head and saw as Iron took his hoof away from me to nudge the plate underneath my still-floating sandwich. I decided not to think about the implications of having the Stalliongrad Police overseeing my little escapades; it was creepy, but that was how Iron would handle that sort of situation. Instead, I just reassured, “I’m not going to get pregnant, Iron.”
“I hope not.” He started stroking my mane again. “I mean, not until you’re sure you want to. I’ve already got a niece and nephew...” He drifted off to silence before adding a quiet correction, “Or at least, I had...”
I tore off the eaten part of my sandwich and hovered the untouched part over to Iron. He shook his head, so I bounced it off his mouth a few times and asked, “Comet won’t let you see them?”
With a smile, he finally picked the sandwich morsel out of the air with his right hoof, then he started stroking my mane with the left one again. “Thanks.” He looked at the sandwich for a moment, then back at me. “And I’m sure she would, but I’m not worried about her. Starfall’s not a fan of indirect tactics like that.”
I remembered Iron’s letter, Starfall’s reaction to the letter, and then I remembered what Lieutenant Justice said about “sticking to the plan.” With a shrug, I resigned to a generic, “Well, I’m sure things’ll work out between you two. Ten years is too long to throw away over...” I stopped myself before saying the blunt version of what happened; instead, I said, “A girl.”
Iron chuckled. “I suppose that’s what this does all boil down to.” He finished off his part of the sandwich before apologizing, “I’m sorry I hid that from you.”
“When did you two start dating?”
“That’s... a little complicated,” he admitted. “But I suppose, for my part? Since the beginning of June.”
I stuck out a foreleg and patted the back of his buzzed head. “Well, then, I’m sorry for the five stallions I kept secret during that time.”
His hoof stopped mid-stroke on my mane, and he hid his upper lip in his lower lip. Finally, he noted, “You’ve only been on three deliveries to Stalliongrad since June...”
I shrugged, then bobbed my head. “It’s a little complicated.”
Iron laughed, except it kind of came as a gust that he tried to stifle. When he got it under control, he put both of his hooves on my forelimb. “May I ask why?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, and it was true. I couldn’t answer that for me, let alone for him.
His head bobbed in awkward silence as he tried to think of what to say. “Just... be careful, I suppose. If you want a different job, we could probably use another office clerk at the Citadel.”
I looked at him and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He returned the nod, then I took a deep breath. In it, I decided I had to care more about him than my own stupid pride. “And I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” I remembered all the crap she always used to pull at the post office, so I clarified, “I mean, I don’t like her, but if she makes you happy...” I shrugged. “Just be careful?”
Iron smiled weakly. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I don’t think it matters anymore.” He rubbed his jaw and absently commented, “I think she hits harder than Starfall.”
It seemed odd, then I drew a connection. “Break up fight?”
“Break up fight,” he agreed. “Though I suppose I could’ve handled the situation better than how I did. She likes space. Lots of space.”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “She lives in a jungle.”
“Indeed.” Iron tousled my mane, then stood up. “Anyway, I was thinking. Tomorrow, we should do something.”
That’d be nice. One way or another, one reason or another, it had been a while since we had gone out together. I definitely missed that. “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t quite know yet,” he said while narrowing his eyes with a sly grin. “But we’ll think of something. Is there anything you want to do in-town?”
For the next few minutes, we discussed ideas and plans for what to do in Farrington, or even in Hoofington since it was only a four-hour trip away. Even though I didn’t really like a lot of his ideas, he was patient with me, and I couldn’t help but think that things were just like they’d always used to be—only now, we were older, and had new problems instead of the scary ones like housing and money hanging over us.
All in all, it was a quiet evening, but a nice one.
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Finally we get something from Max's point of view. I've been really looking forward to seeing more from that character.
Poor, poor Iron Bulwark. Please tell me everything's gonna be Ok for him.
Insufficient quantities of Gilda.
So much racism, just makes me want to slap Max. That said, being a big fan of the Winningverse, I think Max is giving herself way too much crap over her promiscuity. Really, so long as it's consensual and you're using protection sex isn't something to be ashamed of.
Well, this chapter turned out much better than the original version. Maxie at least got her irrational bigotry in check, after only 1 fight. I can finally update the TVTropes page with all the wonderful stuff that happened. Now, I can't give away too much, but I wonder if there's another pony who also manages to wrestle his or her racism under control? :celestia:
Also, Sherry's character has also changed significantly, but I can't say I like it too much. Sure, she has a noble goal in mind, but creating an entire conspiracy just to get two people to talk to each other again really rubs me the wrong way. Now, I consider scheming like this to be a slippery slope that one can stay on the safe side with (Celestia, a.k.a. Best Princess, is a great example), but with future events I can't talk about involving Sherry I find my sympathy for her dropping like a flower pot, hay bale, anvil, and piano sequentially.
But please, don't take it the wrong way and start rewriting the story for another 8 months. Really.
2486586
I know what I'm doing with this rewrite. Look at the order of the three non-Iron main characters that Gilda meets in the first chapter of Summer Days.
Really wish the focus was more back on Gilda and less on the OC's Iron's okay but now Max gets her own chapter? Okay, I guess.
2486342
2486599
Man, you guys are going to hate the next two chapters told entirely from Memo's point of view.
In all seriousness, it's pretty much exclusively Gilda and Iron perspectives from here on out (mix in some Sherry for flavor). Basically, everyone's starting to get their heads screwed on straight, so Gilda and Iron can potentially come back to their unresolved issues without as much external pressure on Iron.
2486644
Well, even if it was all Memo, it'd be okay.
I, I trust you, Nacky....
Ah... I see parts of the original but the vast majority of the content in this chapter is completely new. Splendid.
I was wondering when Iron and Max would finally talk his relationship (or at the moment, former relationship) with Gilda. Especially now that you've retconned (for the better) that original ending in Hearts of Gold, Feathers of Steel. Always a plus to see Iron and Gilda's relationship no longer being doomed to failure.
Although, interesting how major of a change you've made to Sherry's character. In the original version, she was... relaxed, so to speak, and was just a support for anyone who talks to her. Now she's a full on chess mistress, or at least, that's the impression I'm getting.
Ah yes... classic gender double standards...
2486493 Winning Pony FTW!
Now, we've had a chapter from Starfall's and Max's point of view. I'm going to assume next one's either going to be from Sherry's or Gilda's point of view. I'm good with anything, but I will admit that I will be particularly pleased to hear from Gilda again; her chapters are always interesting.
Regardless, I look forward to next week's update.
Although... one issue that occurred to me.
Doesn't this line kinda contradict with an earlier line?
That line implied that Max knew that Iron knew about her escapade in Stalliongrad.
So why was he so surprised that he knew about it? Maybe she would be surprised he decided to bring it up, but I get the impression that part of her knew he knew, so she shouldn't have been too surprised that he knew about it.
... using the word "knew" a lot here, aren't I?
2486941
It does, but only in that she's narrating the chapter and kind of in denial about the whole thing. Sort of like, "If he knew about it, he'd talk to me about it..." which is kind of her subconscious modus operandi as it were.
Wow, this chapter hit like a ton of bricks! It was great to see these two getting some truths out there in the open, and starting on the road to healing.
This chapter also made me feel for Max: dealing with alcoholism and insomnia would be hard enough, and she's got plenty of depression and an inferiority complex in the mix. I'm glad that she got a chapter to flesh her out (or bring these details into the spotlight, at least), and that she ends up looking like far less of a caricature. I hope she gets less hatred now.
You've been absolutely hitting these out of the park, and I can't wait for more! I'm loving the quick pace of updates, too, though obviously take all the time you need.
Also, I love the realistic way you set up the tension between Iron and Max--Iron sees her behavior, at least subconsciously, as degrading and something she should stop. She sees it as a coping mechanism, and expects sympathy and support from him if/when he finds out. Both expect something from the other, but never voice that expectation. This pattern happens all the time in varying degrees in social interactions, and the attention to detail here shines through.
I don't know... It may be far too late, and I've never read the prequel, but what I really hope for is a happy ending for Gilda and Iron. Their togetherness seemed like the best thing in the world...
But alas, the pain must go on :/
I keep forgetting who Sherry is!
Somebody ....please ....remind me!
2487710
Gilda's sergeant in the first story. She got promoted to lieutenant to take Starfall's place after he got into a racist knife fight with Gilda.
Dude, Nick, you said you weren't going to change the story too much before posting. Where's the Cupcakes tribute?
Nice.
Good to see Max getting the memo in an actually reasonable time-frame.
Interesting with Sherry. I wonder what her full game is. Repairing Starfall and Iron, stabilizing Iron's control of the guard are the easy ones, but I feel there is something I'm missing.
.... I wonder if Gilda truly being fired or being run out by Starfall or others would necessitate Fast Hooves' release since everything Gilda did would be suspect and the city council has reason enough to assume the worst.
Waiting for next week for more.
Keep up the good work.
Oh Mr. McFeely- brings warm feels to my heart
You win best person award for that.
2488100
It is sad that his name sounds... gropey.
2487754Nervous breakdown averted. Praise to the Nicknack.
that's a really nice way to put it.
Although, personally, I say she is just bipolar
I seem to recall that the last time we arrived at this point Maxi wasn't able to resist the lure of alcohol. I like it much better this way. Go Maxi, I am rooting for you.
2486644
I see what you did there
I realized one of the reason why I like this so much. It's all character development. I enjoy watching them change over time.
Well, and it's about Gilda...
Love this story, probably one of my very favorites on this site, very well written, and how you put comedic aspects into it is just wonderful, good job!
Need more.
2486493
While sexuality is an integral part of humanity, some people may find it... depressing and degrading. I think it stems from the notion, where as humans we like to think highly of ourselves, and when something comes across pointing that we are just animals that desperately try to prove to themselves that they are something more, it just shatters our perception of who we are.
2490839
There's also the fact that—despite the rather messed up implications—she idolizes her brother, since they're orphans, and he's technically been her guardian/foster father for longer than their mom was. So without getting into "Sex in Equestria" (though I guess I am allowed some leeway with this being a [Teen] story), she's based her whole personal standard for acceptability of sex on a single, overworked parent who only had some... odd relationships that he didn't talk much about.
I mean, can you imagine a 5-year-younger Iron trying to have "the talk" with his sister? I can, and my reaction is mostly one of
, before I remember I don't have to write that hand-turkey level awkwardness.
2489447 I have a suggestion for an activity Iron and Maxie can do together. Sober up. Some quality brother-sister time in rehab.
This. Strictly speaking, James Bond is probably the biggest slut in cinematic history, and yet people love him for it!
Someday, if I ever write a promiscuous female character, I'll probably portray her in the same light as a promiscuous male character would normally be portrayed, if only to highlight the general double standard.
2492654
Don't bother, Chengar Qordath is way ahead of you.
Chapter appears to be delayed
belieber.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/squirrel-nooooooo.jpg
"Turning around, I saw a grayish blue pegasus stallion. He stood out, not because he was an extreme minority in Farrington, but because he was wearing clothes and failing at it. His scarf would’ve looked good ten years ago. Maybe. Combined with his dorky-looking glasses and time-weathered fedora, he looked like an old stallion who got dressed in the dark. In a fashion museum. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty, though, which made the whole thing ironic."
Hipster?... :)