Pinkie rents a room in an old hotel, nestled in a remote corner of Canterlot, and during her attempts to befriend its wayward inhabitants she plunges the hotel into an existential calamity
Pinkie rents a room in an old hotel, nestled in a remote corner of Canterlot, and during her attempts to befriend its wayward inhabitants she plunges the hotel into an existential calamity.
The wooden wheels of the old cart creaked and groaned as they rolled over the smooth stone of the Canterlot streets. The setting sun lanced through the archways and gaps in the cityscape, illuminating a trio of ponies inside the black cabin.
“Did you read that newspaper I left on the clinic desk this morning?” The blue one asked.
“I'm afraid not, I got a little too caught up in my work. You know how things are,” the yellow one replied.
Pinkie Pie idly listened to the two chat, eyes wandering to the travelling world outside the window: hikers and foals coming home from their latest adventures, cantering through the streets, and in the distance, walking or skipping over the rugged mountainside paths. It was about as distant as it could be from a typical scene of Canterlot centre.
“They say that the diamond theft has a new pair of suspects,” The blue one flashed a grin. “You remember that duet of thieves from two seasons back? The papers reckon they've returned.”
“What a load of old tosh!” The yellow one snorted. “They're really grasping at straws now. They’ll to face the music and admit they've been outplayed. That diamond has been lost forever.”
“I don't think the royal guard plans on ever making such a statement.”
“Then maybe the papers should make it for them! They're running the show at this point anyway,” The yellow one waved his hoof dismissively. “Try any ridiculous story once, that's their game.”
The cart came to a halt and the driver hollered back, announcing their arrival. Pinkie righted herself swiftly and hopped out the back of the cart, pulled a coin out of her mane, and tossed it to the driver on her way. As the cart trundled off to greener pastures, she looked down the empty residential street and to the spire at the end now tinted a washed out yellow from the pale setting sun.
Each hoofstep she walked after the first stretched on agonizingly, each footfall washing fresh waves of nausea over her. She stopped, held a hoof to her head and closed her eyes, ceasing the spinning, but causing the throbbing headache to return. Above this bubbling haze of discomfort were the nascent stirrings of exhaustion.
Did I get to snooze in that cart, or on the train? She wondered. Have I slept at all?
The dull bodily pains rolled off her tail, drifting off into the city ambiance. She looked over to a nearby window and saw a pair of silhouettes behind the curtain, sitting down on a couch, looking enthralled by the tune crackling through their living room gramophone. Smeared across the glass was her reflection eight times over, all distorted across the pane. The reflections looked distinctly happier than she was. She took her hoof away from her head and resumed her march.
The modest spire at the end of the road was unremarkable by Canterlot standards, even if by the standards of her village it was a veritable palace. Fanciful arched windows dotted the round body of the tower, most of them unlit, and neatly coiling around the gaps between each window were majestic patterns of golden filigree. The compact gardens surrounding the tower were made up of well maintained lawns and hedgerows, with a small fountain as an entrance centrepiece, its cascading water flickering with golden glints made by the interior ground floor lights.
As she wandered through the cobblestone garden path, Pinkie could pick out the trace scent of coffee and baked goods, and could hear the clattering of crockery. She hesitated, looking back at the garden entrance, feeling the knot in her stomach tighten. Putting on her best smile and ignoring the shaking in her legs, she strode up to the front door of the building, passing by the plaque circled in ivy.
The Night Sweep Hotel
The spacious porch, coated in a dated brown-and-black patterned wallpaper, was as warm and as inviting as it looked from the outside, and gave way to a tall lobby of white stone and royal red carpet. The most striking thing she noticed about the lobby was its vast collection of paintings, scattered without rhyme or reason, taking up the greater part of the walls, stopping short of the ceiling. Each painting varied greatly from the next; some were landscapes, some were portraits, some even defied definition and were just odd shapes and splashes of colour, even incorporating these odd shapes as part of their frames. Pinkie found herself staring up at the latter the most, mentally tracing the contours of the craft and how each shape would lead to the next.
“You don't see those kinds of colours being used any more,” came a wistful voice from across the room.
A drab mare sat behind a walnut reception desk, her purple eyes set starkly against the grey tones of the rest of her body, following Pinkie as she trotted over to the desk.
“Most strangers just want to sit out and watch the moonrise on nights like this. Do you want a room?” The mare leant forward, resting both forehooves on the desk. “You look like you could use some rest too, dear.”
“I'm not peachy,” Pinkie waved a hoof and prodded her belly. “It's my tummy that hurts,” she stuck out her tongue and made a gagging sound. “I need a bed and some nap time.”
Pinkie retrieved a tiny wrapped up blue parcel from her poofy mane and tossed it onto the counter, where it exploded into a cloud of confetti and mini fireworks. Out from this racket rolled five coins, tumbling along the wooden top.
“How many nights can I get for that?” She asked, her voice uncertain.
“For five bits? Two and a half nights,” with a chuckle the mare swept the coins off the table, “But for that little performance? Keep it up and you can stay here a lot longer.”
Pinkie gasped, her forehooves flailing about in the air, as she reared back on her hind legs. In all this flailing she produced a wizard’s hat, and with a flourish she planted it on her head at a crooked angle.
“Then the Great and Powerful Pinkie shall give you a show like none other!” Pinkie was seized by a pain, and doubled over, grimacing and groaning loudly.
“Let's just get you to your room for now,” the mare stepped out from behind the desk, hooking a key off one of the racks behind her with her tail as she left. “We wouldn't want out lead performer to fall before the show begins, would we?”
Pinkie nodded weakly and accepted the mare's assistance up the flight of steps at the back of the reception.
The pair silently made their way up the spiral staircase, passing by numerous dorms, one on each floor. Under the silver light of the rising moon Pinkie was shown to her spacious room. The open-plan apartment housed a bed, a dining room, a kitchen, and a pillow and a dresser pair with a mirror inset. The large windows at the far end of the room granted a great vista over the Canterlot sprawl and the distant rolling fields towards Ponyville, all painted in the deep blue of night.
“Hey, I'm not that sick,” Pinkie reluctantly plodded into the room. “I can do some more tricks for you right now! Watch what I can do with this pineapple,” she gingerly picked up the pineapple from the kitchen fruit bowl. “Miss... Um, what's your name?”
“Octavia,” the mare smiled. “You don't remember the Gala, do you?”
Pinkie furrowed her brow, rolling the pineapple about in her hoof.
“It's quite all right. You were the life of a party, just not that one.”
“But I love making parties,” Pinkie slumped and let the pineapple fall onto the floor; her mood crumbling with it. “It's what I'm best at.”
“They don't want us to win all the time,” Octavia deftly swept the pineapple back up and placed it back into the bowl. “I'll see you tomorrow morning, Pinkie. Rest well, and Ppleasant dreams.” Octavia stepped back out onto the stairwell and closed the door, leaving the keys on the kitchen counter behind her.
The bed was warm and inviting, and Pinkie squirmed in pleasure as its soft fabrics swallowed her whole, soothing her aches and pains. With each moment passing her thoughts became slower and slower, like the dripping of a tap; the basin catching the last of the drops, and the feeling of their coolness trickling off her brow.
Pinkie awoke suddenly, the water still running over her face. Her bedsheets were soaked, and she could see a heavy damp patch in the ceiling above, from where water was dropping through at a steady rate. Scrunching her face up in frustration she pulled herself forward and out of bed. It was still night outside, and to her it felt like no time at all had passed. She set her hooves on the carpet, and felt it squelch underhoof, water rising around her hooves.
From across the room she could hear the heavy running of water, as from nowhere the kitchen tap opened and started gushing a stream out into the sink as fast as it could. In her sleepy daze, she stumbled over to the sink and knocked the tap down to stop the flow. Turning about, she saw lines of water now seeping in through cracks in the walls.
“Why is this happening here?” She whispered, her breath coming out in icy clouds.
The tap behind her burst, sending the warped piece of metal flying under a heavy spray of water. Pinkie leapt onto it and tried to stop the stream, desperately yelling for help. The room shuddered once, heavily, and the groans of the stonework could be heard all up and down the tower. The cracks in the walls split and more water cascaded in, torrents of it pooling on the floor, knocking over tables, chairs and her dresser.
Pinkie charged towards her bedroom door, pounding and pulling it. She stepped back and gave it a charge, bashing right into the solid, unmoving wood, staggering back, slipping, and falling back into the water. Splashing and floundering about, she dragged herself up onto the kitchen counter, reaching for the keys that Octavia had left her there.
Her world started to tip back, and with a cough and a heave, she fell. There came a thunderous crash of glass, and a roar of splitting earth as the floor gave way, plunging Pinkie and the debris of the room into a deep expanse of water.
Her lungs were burning, half filled with water, and the currents she fought against were merciless in their efforts to drag her down. Above her she could see the outline of a pony looking down through the surface of the water at her. Bashing splintered wood and ragged rock out of her way, she paddled through the screen of bubbles and thrashed against the downward spiral of water. As the shafts of light from above began to dim, she recognised her own face staring down at her. She felt something tug on her hind legs.
She awoke to a clock tower chime the next morning. A brilliant gold light pouring in through her thin curtains, purging the discordant echoes of last night’s dream. Pinkie lay and watched the countless motes of dust waltzing through the morning light, letting their gentle and graceful drifting wash calmness over her.
“I don't want to go back,” she exhaled, holding the back of her hoof to her forehead “And you're not going to scare me into going back.”
There came no response.
Pinkie smugly leapt out of bed and gave a mighty yawn and a stretch. Briskly she trotted up to the mirror and gave herself a look over: firstly bearing all her teeth in a massive grin, then scrunching her nose and mouth up, then waggling her tongue about, before finishing by blowing hard into her hoof and springing her hair out.
“Yup, still looking great!”
Fifteen minutes of cardio workout later, she trotted out the room, snatching her key along the way, and bounced down the stairs, humming loudly as she went.
The front doors to the hotel were wide open, and she could see a couple of ponies outside in the gardens, all sitting around white painted iron garden tables laid with breakfasts and coffee. Octavia was here, sitting by herself at one of the tables, munching on a salad wrap.
“Feeling better today?” Octavia asked as Pinkie sat down at the table
“Mmhm!” Pinkie nodded emphatically
“You missed the early morning serve,” Octavia pushed her plate over to Pinkie with a tiny smile, “I don’t usually eat much in the mornings, now-a-days.”
Pinkie dove into the wrap as fast as she could, sucking in the last loose ribbons of lettuce in through her lips.
“I can be up earlier tomorrow; I can help you bake!” Pinkie said, wiping her mouth. Octavia laughed.
“How long are you planning on staying here for?” Octavia asked
“Until I make some new friends, I guess.”
Octavia looked about at the group gathered for breakfast.
“There's only five guests at the hotel,” Octavia began, surreptitiously pointing her hoof at the first of the ponies; a mint green unicorn. “Room six has been here the longest of them all, I think she checked in about a week ago now.”
Pinkie recognised the unicorn from Ponyville. Pinkie believed her name was 'Lyra'.,
“Room three,” Octavia pointed to two unicorns sitting around a table with lots of paperwork strewn about on it. They both looked incredibly bored and tired. “Checked in two days back, they're a pair of wandering merchants of the snake-oil trade.”
Though they weren't wearing their hats, the identical twin brothers Flim and Flam were still very distinct in her memory.
“Then lastly is a mysterious stranger,” Octavia looked to a lithe looking stallion, reading over a newspaper, with worry weighing heavily upon his brow. “He checked into room two an hour after you showed up, just before I was about to go to bed, and just wanted to stay until this morning.”
“So here those are your options,” Octavia reclined back in the garden chair, an eager smirk ready to greet Pinkie's answer. “Which one suits you?”
“Absolutely not the mysterious stranger-” Pinkie began.
“Wait, what?” Octavia sat up, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. “But he's mysterious and he moved in just an hour before you did; there's got to be a connection!”
“But if I got to know him, he wouldn't be a mysterious stranger, and would lose all of his mystique. I'd be erasing his identity.”
“But he doesn't have one-”
“Ah-bup-bup-bup,” Pinkie swished her hoof up and down. “The Council of Pinkie has spoken.”
Pinkie pushed away from the table and merrily bounced her way across the garden. Springing over one hedgerow planted her right before a startled pair of salesponies.
“Hi!” she chirped, “My name's Pinkie Pie! And I'm certain I've met you two gentlecolts before!”
Flim and Flam looked at each other, fumbling with their words- quick to dismiss her.
“If it's about that dragon pesticide,” said one.
“Or the water breathing potion,” said the other.
“Nope! Neither! I'm just happy to see you both again!” Pinkie looked over their table, all strewn with notes and number tables, but noted above all else that their pastries had no drink accompaniment. “How come you don't have a coffee? Do you want me to get you some?”
“Is she losing her mind, o' brother of mine?”
“I believe she's lost her mind.”
“I've got it right here,” Pinkie vigorously rapped her head with her hoof and then planted both hooves down on their table, jolting some of their paperwork. “You two don't, though. I remember you two were once singing and dancing! You even had a big fancy machine; it was so super duper stupendous! Is that what you're working on now!?” She brought her face right up to the strewn notes, reading the details of an assortment of sales pitches surrounding a tonic.
“Our engineering skills, as stupendous as they may be,”
“Are not being put to use today,”
“For these boring charts and notes you see before you,”
“Are the summary of last evenings efforts.”
“You're trying to make a cure-all?” Pinkie asked, holding up a scrawled up advert featuring a youthful filly uncorking a bottle, from which a fountain of vibrant colours rains from. “But she's not even laughing,” Pinkie scrutinized the filly sketch. “Everypony knows laughter is the best cure for all ills.”
The two brothers levitated the proto-poster up and looked it over.
“It's true; she doesn't look as jovial as she could be.”
“I imagine one would look happier if they'd just cured their rheumatoid arthritis.”
“You're getting it!” Pinkie swung both her hooves over their necks, pulling their heads together. “Now we just have to hitch a plan to work in a machine that does it all for you! Just like the Super Sleazy Lemon Squeezy Eight-thousand!”
“Mechanising it would be an even greater problem than the one around my neck right now.”
“Though brother, the benefits we would reap would be sweeter than this problem's mane.”
“Aw, thanks!” Pinkie let go of the brothers and prodded her squishy mane. “If you believe in something, you can make it happen. Now how about those coffees?”
“That would be absolutely fantastic,” one brother said, as the other rolled his eyes and swept a lot of paperwork out of the way with a groan.
“Coming right up!” Pinkie bounced over to Octavia, who had been watching the charade from afar.
“So how has your foray into the craft of friendship gone?” Octavia asked, forehooves rested upon the table, and her chin rested upon them.
“They want a coffee each.”
Octavia laughed softly and shuffled from the table. “Right, I'll go get them then.”
“Let me come!” Pinkie effervesced, prancing on the spot.
“Not for a moment did I think you were going to let me leave you behind,” Octavia smiled.
The pair departed from the sunny garden and the outside air, to the cramped, detached bakery at the back of the property. To the immediate right as they entered was the coffee machine, and as Octavia began to vend two mugs of coffee, Pinkie gave the cupboards and brick baking ovens a poke around. They were quite old; older than the tower suggested they ought to be, it seemed as if this small bakery had been here before the tower, or even some of the surrounding homes.
There came a sharp whistle from the front gates of the garden, causing Octavia’s ears to perk up.
“Ah! That will be the mail, could you-” Octavia turned about to find Pinkie already halfway out the door, hollering back that she'd get it. Octavia looked over to where Pinkie had been rummaging around, to find one of the ovens lit, and a tray of cupcake mixes slowly cooking away in there. Octavia failed to suppress a smile, in spite of the prodding irritation that she'd planned on saving those ingredients.
The gardens were now abandoned; only traces left behind that ponies had once been here were the empty cups and crumb flecked plates. Flim and Flam had even left before getting their coffees, and had taken all of their papers with them. Pinkie tried to figure how much time she'd spent in the kitchen, it surely couldn't have been long, but it was evidently enough time for the guests to clear off. By the gates, a tall pony in an orange shirt waited with a mailbag on the floor beside him.
“Hi! I'm here for the mail,” she opened the gates for him, but he stayed outside, giving the street behind him a worrisome glance.
“Sure, here you go,” his voice itched with agitation. He held out a tiny stack of four envelopes to Pinkie. No sooner has she taken them he was off, briskly trotting back down the road without a single look back.
Returning inside she scattered the envelopes across the reception desk, still looking for a more proper place to sort them. As she did she spied one of the envelopes was addressed to her bedroom. She ceased her search for an interior mailbox and gave the envelope a stern looking over. The address had been printed onto it, and at the bottom right corner it had a return address of some place in Canterlot named 'The Brightstone Group Building'
Pinkie, having never heard of such a group, nor expecting any letters any time soon, mulled over the notion of opening it.
It's addressed to you, so it's yours. That's how the mail works. The first Pinkie in her head said, sprouting a pair of horns, in lieu of ears.
But nopony even knows you're here. It's probably for the last lodger, ya' dingus. The second Pinkie said, donning a white ring tethered to a shoddy metal wire.
But if it is for the last lodger, and you open it up, you'll know who to send it to! The horned Pinkie smiled smugly, crossing her forehooves over her chest.
Dang, good call. You best open it, sis'. Both Pinkies vanished in a puff of black and white smoke, and Pinkie tore open the envelope.
Inside was nothing.
Well that's a bust. A pair of voices echoed in the caverns of her head.
Pinkie tossed the empty envelope into the rubbish bin behind the reception desk, and on her way out to Octavia in the bakery she spotted a mailbox by the rear of the tower, so she stuffed the remaining three letters in there. Lingering, she stole a glance towards the steps up to the other floors. She still hadn't spoken to Lyra at all, and she knew her room number. Without a second thought Pinkie began her long ascent up to room six, situated just above her own room.
Just as she reached the final steps before room six she fancied she heard strange sounds coming from within the dormitory, like there were a device inside mimicing the sounds of the ocean rolling onto the beach, in a tone too hollow to be real. The slow, rhythmic pulse of the noise was hard to place, it certainly wasn't near the front door, but could have been anywhere beyond. The more her brain ticked over the possibilities of what the source of the sound be, the less interested she became in speaking with Lyra to be explicitly told.
Pinkie returned to her room just below Lyra’s, and craned her neck upwards, straining her ears to pick up just where the, now quietened, sound was coming from. She slowly paced down the length of the room, ears twitching and turning about.
“About,” she spoke to herself, drawing the word out, “here,” she came to a stop just where her dresser and chair were.
The construction work began immediately; with Pinkie hauling over chopping boards, a couple of boxes and piling the lot onto the dresser, before carefully mounting the chair on top of it all. With the utmost of grace she hopped up the tiny platform and onto the chair, where she held a drinking glass up to the ceiling and put her ear to it.
Pinkie’s persistence was rewarded, as alongside the clear pulse of the synthetic ocean, she could also make out occasional rustling of paper. Pinkie continued to listen until she lost track of time and got bored, for Lyra had moved exactly once during however long Pinkie had spent listening in on her.
She hopped down from the tower of furnishings with a huff. Spying was a lot more boring than she remembered it being, and it also left her very hungry. With little gained - other than the belief that her neighbour is up to something - Pinkie abandoned her room and headed back downstairs.
Pinkie found Octavia outside, watering the plants around the front garden, with the table and chairs all stacked away neatly at the side of the tower.
“Wow, you even do the gardens out here as well?” Pinkie trotted over, looking at the wet plants dazzle in the midday sun.
“Yes, I'm the gardener here,” Octavia pushed her green cap back and wiped the sweat off her brow.
“So, what's the deal with Lyra?”
“Who?”
“The pony in room six!”
“Oh, the thaumaturgist? I don't know what force guided her here, but I'm happy she's here; these roses have never looked so radiant before.” Octavia knelt down beside the bush and gingerly lifted a white rose up for Pinkie to marvel at.
“You think she did this?”
“A thaumaturge will often spend whole days in meditation, isolated away from the world,” Octavia looked about at the serene garden and then gestured to the wide breadth of space between the garden grounds and the surrounding Canterlot buildings, all of which seemed to be currently vacant. “It frames the painting well, does it not?”
“But she's not meditating,” Pinkie insisted, stamping her hoof down on the cobblestone for emphasis. “She's working upon something; I heard it through her door and through my ceiling. She's got a plan! Nopony shuffles that much paper without plotting something”
“Hm,” Octavia tapped her hoof on her chin. “That may explain the cumbersomely large suitcase she dragged up to her room when she checked in.”
“Ah-hah!” Pinkie threw her hoof up. “So that's where the alien computer came from!”
“You think your neighbour is an extraterrestrial?” Octavia calmly set down her hose.
“You should have heard the noises,” Pinkie paused, scrunching up her nose, “Wait, you really should have heard them. Don't you live above her?”
“A cello is not the quietest of instruments,” Octavia gave the pressure lever a push to cut off the water, and then began to roll up the hosepipe. “What noises were they?”
Pinkie attempted to mimic the sounds she'd heard earlier, complete with the swaying of forehooves in the air.
“With the departure of our mysterious stranger earlier this morning, I suppose we ought to pass his mantle onto Lyra then?” Octavia smiled and cast her gaze upwards, to the top of the hotel. “I heard these grounds have always attracted strange folk. Now I'm beginning to think I'm just holding the candle for these moths.”
“Oh! Oh! Can I be the wic?” Pinkie asked.
“No need to chain yourself to my metaphor,” Octavia tossed her green cap onto the hosepipe coil, “You'd shine brighter on your own”
“Are you planning on spying on the brothers in room three?” Octavia asked as the pair strode into the main lobby. “It would save me having to invent some story to tell other guests.” Pinkie and Octavia snickered.
“They're building a machine, I hope, unless they give that up as well. I really don't want them to, because they're good at that stuff, and could make loads of ponies really happy with it. That's always something worthwhile.”
“Quite so,” Octavia nodded. “Why, even I could use their engineering skills; as the boiler downstairs has been out of commission for months now. I've had to rely on those instant hot water tabs from the magic shops.”
“You can go lower than we are now?” Pinkie looked at the stone floor of the lobby, rapping it with her hoof and putting her ear to the ground.
“Of course,” Octavia pointed at the reception desk, “Just behind there is the hatch down to the boiler room,” Octavia took a navy blue scarf from behind the desk, twirled it around her neck and strapped on a while saddlebag. “I had it fitted a couple of years ago, when I first moved in, to replace the one that had been there even longer. It's a real maze down there.”
“Going somewhere?” Pinkie inquired, closing the distance between the two, and walking beside her.
“Out shopping,” she grumbled, her shoulders slumping. “Talking about it reminded me I need more heat tabs, not to mention a whole heap of other junk, also some more cake cups for baking. Those cupcakes you baked earlier smell wonderful. I left them to cool off on the windowsill, we'll share them later,” Octavia passed her by and tugged the front door open. “Sorry I have to be a bore, but I've put this off as long as I could. I'll be back later.”
“Don't worry,” Pinkie waved to Octavia. “I won't be going out anywhere.” Octavia returned the wave and trotted on out of the hotel.
You didn't even thank her for the cupcake compliment, was her first thought as the hotel door swung shut. Pinkie scuffed her hoof on the ground. She didn't look happy. Maybe I should go after her?
Pinkie approached the front door, hesitating with her hoof held above the handle. She gently slid her hoof down the warm metal, shook her head, and stepped away from the door.
I’m just over thinking it, she reasoned, I'll make it up to her when she gets back. Pinkie stepped around the reception desk and stared at the closed hatch, a smile creeping across her lips. But before she does...
The hatch creaked open with the usual screech one would expect from a door hardly used, revealing below a dark stairwell. At the bottom of the steps she found a lantern hung up on a rack of metal piping, and with a little effort she lit the thing up. With the lantern strung around her neck she boldly strode off into the depths of the boiler room.
She found the corridor to be unexpectedly long and at times it felt as if it were growing narrower by the minute. Copper piping riddled the walls and occasionally crossed in front of her, so some degree of flexibility was required to manoeuvre through them. Upon reflection, Pinkie took great appreciation in the token exercises that she performed every morning.
As she crossed under the second thicket of pipes she spotted a dusty old plaque mounted up on the wall. She gave it a wipe with her hoof to reveal the text:
Emergency pressure release valves are numbers 21 and 37 Wandering eyes spy light cast out by mighty furnaces Annual servicing required
Pinkie scratched at the lettering to make sure none of it had been just etched on over the previous writing, but couldn't see anything under it. Shaking her head at the errant sign she pressed on, and found a second set of steps heading down. Surrounding her was a dense network of pipes, all sprawling out in different directions, and she noticed some even had numbers stamped on them, which rose to the thousands.
She stood before an iron gate, beyond which she could make out a metal room filled with valves and yet more piping, all lit up by hanging lanterns. An uncomfortable prickling of heat ran down Pinkies back, trickling out over her body, and covering her in itches. Ignoring the itching feeling she pushed the gate open, finding it sweep a broken chain and lock away on the other side. No sooner had she entered the chamber she heard the footfalls of hooves on metal above her.
Amidst the golden haze of light above, two luminous blue orbs blinked unevenly at her. The stranger, clad in a thick black carapace, crept out into the light, its pale insectoid wings quivering with each step.
“Hello,” the changeling spoke slowly and cautiously, its voice reverberating in its throat.
“Hi,” Pinkie tried to hold her friendly demeanour as best she could, “My name is Pinkie Pie, what's yours?”
The wasteland of strewn paper stretched out over the desk and up the walls. Each clipping, or scrawled, note affixed with tiny pins and string. The strings tethered no idle musings, but theory to theory, and facts to facts. A tapestry of her mind was laid bare before her, so that she might pick over the bones and sift through the ashes of her forethoughts. Lyra lifted up a tiny blade with her magic and, from the comfort of her bed, she cut a page from the pack.
“So much for the return of those great thieves,” she spoke softly to herself.
The word 'outsider' was fittingly left by its lonesome self, its strings swaying listlessly like pendulums. Lyra tacked more strings to to the bubble reading 'inside job', and then set her blade back down on the table.
Unless one of the princesses decided to take up grand larceny overnight, she continued her train of thought, and chuckled to herself. I don't think anypony else would be powerful enough to sunder that alarm spell.
One of the larger sheets of paper was a blueprint for the Royal Canterlot Museum, and dotted over it in red ink were the locations of numerous alarm triggers and cage traps. Only one of these markers was drawn in blue ink, indicating it as the only alarm had been triggered. Underneath it was written 'triggered during exit', and was surrounded by a cloud of question marks.
Nopony bothered investigating the alarms, because they worked, but only as the suspect left, meaning they worked their way through the entire museum undetected and then tripped the alarm on their way out. Lyra continued to mull over, lighting up another incense stick on her bedside cabinet.
Which is a mystery in its own right, as those alarms on the outside are a pittance compared to the ones in the inner chambers, even I could crack them. Lyra lay back on her bed, breathing in the sweet coils of cinnamon smoke. Even if it were a last minute blunder, the thief knew how those spells worked.
Lyra plucked the string that had once connected the 'Valley Minerals Company' to the 'inside job' sheet. This is a bold move to make, Lyra. These miners are the prime suspects, with three arrests in the past twenty four hours, bringing the total this week to eight. The sheet reading 'inside job' had been tacked onto a pair of other sheets detailing the possibility that the diamond might have been stolen by those who originally dug it up. But they're miners, not career criminals, and I doubt they have enough technical aptitude, even between all of them, to crack these alarm triggers.
Lyra held a pin over the string bridging the new connection. No‒ the thief knew what they were doing, because they had been briefed, or... Lyra stuck the pin in the string, connecting the 'inside job' to 'The Brightstone Group'.
“They built the alarm themselves,” she said aloud, with a certain degree of smug satisfaction at the theory she'd concocted.
Lyra rolled over on her bed and lifted up the invitation to the old black market the pair of thieves used to use, back in their glory days. Lyra had acquired it a month back after saving one of the traders from incarceration. Tonight she planned to make good use of it.
Neatly folding the invitation up she slipped it into her saddle bags beside her bed, and checked the time– four twenty one in the afternoon, still too early. While she might have had a minor breakthrough with her investigation, she still had plans to visit the black market to see if the diamond had turned up there, or if there were any rumours running about concerning it.
With nothing left but agitated time wasting on her plate, she opted to take a break and fetch another drink. The hotel was quiet, like a blanket of solitude had been draped over the building. On her way down the stairs she heard no noise from any of the usual residents, and even the pink one was nowhere to be seen. She passed over to the reception desk and wrote out a quick note to Octavia, informing her that she would be out for the evening, and to not cook anything tonight. By the time she was done writing, it was apparent that the nib had been worn and needed replacing. She pulled it from the quill, fixed one of her own personal ones in, and tossed the worn one in the bin.
She stood staring at the bin, frozen in shock, cold sweat forming on her brow and running down her head, her heart tightening with each passing second. Casually dropped on the surface of the bin was an open, empty envelope, addressed to room five, sent by the Brightstone Group. As her mind slowly ticked back into action she levitated the letter up to her face, so as to be sure she wasn't just horribly misreading it. The truth was crystal clear before her: there was a Brightstone Group agent in the room just below hers.
Her legs felt weak, but carried her up the stairs faster than she'd ever managed before. Bursting back into her room she lay her hooves upon the chest under her bed and dragged it out. Inside was a device she'd bought a couple of years ago to record moving images of wildlife at night, for that shy pegasus just outside of town. Having departed from her zoological academics, she'd re-appropriated the device for clandestine surveillance. Once again it was about to be put to use.
She pulled up the the bracing stand housing the blank black slate and tapped it once with a jolt from her magic. The black slate flickered to a grainy life, presenting her with an image of her legs and belly. Lifting up a small model of a mouse, which wouldn't fool anyone into believing it were real, she tapped it onto the slate and the image changed to where ever she pointed the head of the mouse. Briskly heading downstairs she set the mouse outside room five, returned to her room, and using the remote control rod in the box, she spurred the mouse on under the door and into the room.
The image on the screen was not as good as it could be, for time had worn the spells that bound the device to function, but they never distorted colour, nor caused lighting errors to appear, as they were appearing now. The floor of the room had been warped by a malign purple glow coming from the mirror in the bedroom, causing it to ripple as if it were water. With great apprehension she drove the mouse over towards the floor, expecting the screen to clear and the picture to return, but the mouse was tossed suddenly by an undulation and rocked about on the floor, rolling with each ripple. Lyra watched, mouth agape, as the mouse tossed and rolled along the shifting floor, finally coming to a rest upside down under the bed.
Standing upright she snatched up a bundle of locksmithing tools from under her bed, slung them over her back and departed for the room below, a severe expression set across her brow and maw.
* * *
By the streamside the foals played; leaping from stone to stone as they tried to cross the water faster than the one before could. A sullen pegasus watched from afar, silently smouldering, her eyes bloodshot and crusted, her yellow mane a wreck and her coat lined with a thin layer of oily filth.
When one of the colts misjudged a step and went face first into the stream, a spark of life jolted her heart, sending a current up her spine and to her mouth, where it tugged at her lips, only to die with their goal unfulfilled. The other foals went to help, to see if he were fine, to help him out of the water, and to move on with their lives. Lightning Dust remained on the bench long after they departed.
She wasn't sure when exactly the vacant-eyed, worn looking unicorn had sat down next to her, but his prolonged silence, and aura of ataraxia were beginning to grate on her. From the furtive glances she made, she pieced together an overall picture of a successful stallion of laudable reputation, a well paid job, a beautiful wife, and a host of other unsightly accolades.
“What do you want?” Her voice was a lot louder and packed with more venom than she had intended.
“Hm?” The unicorn lazily dragged his gaze away from the vibrant skies and swirling clouds above.
“Nothing,” Lightning Dust instantly regretted her decision to speak. She should have just gotten up and left.
“Lovely weather we're having,” the unicorn commented in a slow, lackadaisical manner. “It's really neatly wrapped the day I've had.”
Lightning Dust looked firmly at the ground, and bit her tongue.
“Tonight is going to be an especially beautiful one, I can feel it,” he continued to ramble on. “One that even Luna could not dream up, one that could only be built by consensus and team work. It's going to change the face of landscaping forever.”
The air outside was stifling, with no recompense made by a cool wind. Everything about the scene made her want to be sick.
“We built it together, we all did,” the unicorn snapped out of his reverie as Lightning Dust began to walk off. “Enjoy the evening, madam!” He called to her, and she came to a stop.
“Where can I find a quiet place in the city to sleep?” She sharply asked him.
“Tomorrow we could build you one,” he laughed, “But for tonight, I believe the Night Sweep Hotel is the most remote lodge in Canterlot. Several of my co-workers use it...” He trailed off as the stormy pegasus took flight, leaving him alone on the bench. “I hope you find your way,” he said, imagining that somehow she'd hear him.
* * *
Pinkie Pie set the teapot down on the fold out table and pushed the piping hot cup and saucer over to the changeling sat opposite her. With a flourish she unfurled a napkin and lay it on the table, setting her sandwich and condiments on top of it. The changeling tentatively tried to lift up the cup and saucer, balancing it on the hooks and holes in its forelegs, ultimately abandoning the idea, and settling for bending over and rapidly lapping at it with its forked tongue.
“So, Stimfa,-” Pinkie began
“Nympha,” the changeling corrected.
“That's what I said,” Pinkie took a bite out of her sandwich, slowly munching it. “Rarity really was right about tea parties; they smooth over everything.”
“You still haven't told me what you're doing down here, nor how you came to be here in the first place,” Nympha said.
“I did! I totally did. I got lost, remember?”
Nympha narrowed its eyes at her whilst surreptitiously lapping away at the tea.
“I Pinkie Promise you that's what happened,” the changeling watched as the pink pony made some ridiculous hoof gestures, produced a cupcake from her mane, and splatted it onto her eye. “And now I want to know why you're down here.”
“You promise not to tell anyone?” Nympha looked apprehensively at the dark corners of the room
“I just made a Pinkie Promise!” Pinkie raised her brows and held her hooves up.
“I'm trying to get home,” Nympha said, slowly dragging its hoof around in a circle on the table, and looking wistfully upwards. Pinkie followed its gaze up to the sea of darkness above and the little islands of light it had. “So I decided to build a machine to take me home.”
“How's it going to do that?” Pinkie asked, still looking up at the twinkling lanterns in the inky firmament.
“With a tremendous roar and a blaze of glory,” Nympha leant back on the chair and smiled a crooked smile, its fangs biting over its chitinous mouth. “I'll go to those stars, I'll find my kin, and I'll dwell in the house of my queen forever more,” Nympha sighed, tipping the chair back and rocking on its back legs.
“You must be super duper smart to build that! I know Twilight would love to see it, if, you know,” Pinkie rubbed the back of her neck, and an awkward silence pervaded the air.
“Even when setting aside my racial handicap, I can't imagine that she would want to help me, not for a second, as this machine has been built on the foundations of deceit,” Nympha gestured to an inactive furnace, filled with empty wrappings and boxes. “I couldn't buy or salvage the parts, so I had to intercept deliveries to the hotel,” he tapped his hooves together anxiously.
“Couldn't you do the thing where you look like other things? Then you could go out and buy things!”
“Not without my queen, I cannot. If you're as isolated as I am, you're own your own. A hive queen gives rise to our powers,” it sighed and set the chair back on all four legs. “Without her, we're nothing but overgrown cockroaches.”
“No you're not!” Pinkie defiantly smacked her hooves down on the table, bouncing the teacups up and down, and startling Nympha. “You're a brave pony that's lost and needs help, and I'm going to be the one that gives it to you!”
“How can you-”
“I'm not going to be the pony to build your rocket,” she shook her head, smirking “I'm gonna' find some ponies who will!”
“You said you wouldn't tell a soul!” Nympha leapt off the chair and stood on the table, its wings buzzing frantically.
“They're not going to know it's for you though, silly!” Pinkie reassured Nympha.
“The risk is too great! What if they want to bring more of your kind? If more come down here I'll be found for sure,” Nympha clambered off the table and threw its arms around Pinkie, its blue eyes engulfing her field of vision. “You mustn’t let this come to pass!”
Pinkie calmly rested her hooves on the changeling and tenderly embraced it in a hug. Nympha sat and waited it out, his cold insides shuddering at the close heat pressed against it.
“I'm going to help you,” Pinkie said, breaking off. “And you're going to be able to see your queen again.”
“Please, just,” Nympha tried to speak up, his forelegs rubbing together, “I've worked on this for so long; don't ruin it for me.”
She wasn't sure how she was going to do it, but the goal of getting Flim and Flam down here to construct the rocket was now firmly lodged in her head. The idea resonated in her head, alongside an invasive ringing tone. Pinkie came to a halt, looking around at the corridor she'd returned to, and listened carefully. Surely enough there came tolling of a grand bell up ahead. Pinkie picked up the pace and cantered towards this wildly alien sound. The bell tolled twice more before she got to the steps leading up and out of the boiler room.
Her exit of the boiler room was awash in disorientation, as no longer were there the myriad of colourful paintings adorning the walls, no longer was there a lovingly crafted walnut desk, and no longer was there the door to the back garden. Everything had changed. Pinkie now stood at the bottom of a grand chamber, with marble and white stone stretching high up into the air, stained glass windows set betwixt pillars, depicting ponies harvesting and living amongst the clouds. At the centre of the room was an exalted podium, mounted upon a dais, from which Octavia stood and spoke to a dishevelled pegasus.
“I'm afraid our prices are non-negotiable,” Octavia's voice was carried impressively throughout the massive room, overcasting the audible clopping Pinkies hooves made on the stone floor. “If you want the room for the night it's two bits.”
“Fine,” the pegasus sighed heavily, tossing one coin after the other up at Octavia. “What room number am I? I really just want to get going.”
“You'll be in room four. Would you like me to show you to your room?” She asked, tossing a key and chain down to the pegasus.
“Tch,” the pegasus scoffed, “I'm not a foal. I can find it myself,” she snatched the key off the floor with a glare and stomped off towards Pinkie, glancing over to her as she passed by.
“Huh,” Lightning Dust came to a stop, looking Pinkie up and down. “Deja vu,” she concluded after a moment's thought, and trotted on over to the elevator.
Octavia met Pinkie at the half-way point, following after the pegasus. She smiled warmly at Pinkie, and bowed her head in greeting.
“I'm sorry about Lightning Dust,” Octavia patted Pinkie on the side. “Don't let her get to you.” Octavia pointed to the elevator where Lightning Dust was walking to. “I fancy an evening of music, care to listen?”
“Sure!” Pinkie beamed, “But first I've got to talk to Flim, or Flam. They're still checked in, right?”
Octavia nodded.
“Great! Let's go!” The pair hurried along the grand hall and to the elevator, where Lightning Dust was looking over the controls. Octavia strolled in and pulled down a huge lever on the right, and yanked it to one of the brackets indented in the wall. The elevator doors closed with a clatter and the device spurred into motion, playing a whimsical jingle of a tune as it lifted them up.
The ascent of their metal capsule was marked with a hollow background whine, that faded in and out of earshot, yet if one were to lend their ears to it, they would find its presence constant. Lightning Dust could not help it; between the humming of Pinkie and the stark silence of Octavia, she was left with little else to focus on.
So she waited, in the hope that soon this journey would come to an end, and the elevator would arrive at the fourth floor.
“So,” Lightning Dust lost her composure at roughly the ten minute mark. “How's everyone's day been?” Her voice was wavering; close to breaking into pieces.
“Fantastical!” chirped Pinkie. “I've met new friends, I've explored the hotel, I’ve had fun, I've even baked some cupcakes.” Pinkie then gasped, turning to Octavia and laying her hooves on her side, “Thank you for the compliment about the cupcakes earlier! It really meant a lot to me, but I didn't get time to thank you earlier, and I forgot downstairs, so thank you now!”
“You're welcome,” Octavia smiled warmly, patting Pinkie on the side.
“So you have you met any new friends today?” Pinkie asked Lightning Dust.
“Well,” Lightning Dust thought for a moment, considering the absent-minded soul she'd met at the park earlier. “No,” she answer definitively.
“You can meet me then!” Pinkie wrapped an arm around Lightning Dust, who cringed at the touch. “And then we can be friends!”
“I don't think-” Lightning Dust was cut off by the loud clunking of the elevator arriving at its destination. “Finally!” Lightning Dust exhaled, pulling herself away from Pinkie and stepping out the elevator door.
Lightning Dust came to a complete halt just a few steps out of the elevator. Octavia skulked behind her, looking upwards. Pinkie bounced out after the pair to see what they were looking at, and found herself standing under an open night sky.
Skyward she could see the swirling dust of the cosmos and the moonless night sky; a thousand distant lanterns flickering in between trailing clouds of blue and silver. The platform the trio were standing on was no simple hotel floor, but a metallic grille suspended over a misty veil of unfathomable depth, supported by grand arches of slate that bent over the trio.
“This is bigger than I remember,” Octavia quipped.
“Are we lost? How'd we get lost going up a damn elevator?!” Lightning Dust snapped, taking flight and looking over the edge into the mists.
“Think of it like an adventure!” Pinkie lent on the metal railings and looked over the edge, cooing at the height they were at.
“I don't want an adventure! I want to find my room,” Lightning Dust barked back at Pinkie, lowering herself back to the ground and stomping away down the metal platform. The metal walkway the trio wandered down was not as along as it first seemed, but where it led to was only more disconcerting.
A sprawl of walkways stretched out before them, all at the same level as them, separated by giant pillars of dark metal. Panning away from this sprawl the group could see that some of the walkways went off towards distant walls. These walls were colossal in size‒ possibly hundreds of feet tall, and almost entirely made of slate, with edifices of wrought iron forming sloping entrances to where the walkways met with the walls.
Lightning Dust took flight and soared through the cold air of the superstructure. Ignoring the whining of the pink one, she beat her wings and flew over to the nearest wall entrance. When she landed her body was shaking from the chill, and her breath came out in clouds. A mantle of smooth and bulbous iron surrounded a door she vaguely recognised, but could not place where. Without further consideration she gave the handle a tug and pulled the door open.
She was greeted by the sickly sweet smell of baked cakes first, and secondly by the sight of a highly organized and well laid out living room, stocked with piles of books tactically placed about the living space.
Lightning Dust scrunched her nose up and pushed the door shut. “Ain't my room,” she huffed, taking flight a second time, and making the short journey to the next doorway along. The iron mantle for this doorway was far more angular, and had an eccentric display of pyramids rolling out like coils along the tops and sides of the doorway, cascading all the way to the floor. Putting the confusing display aside, Lightning Dust tugged open the door to this room, wherein she found herself staring into a very sterile white room, laden with plastic curtains. Beyond the curtains she could hear the solemn bleeping of some electrical device. Rising above this noise came the arduously drawn out breathing of an old mare.
Lightning Dust shut the door forcefully, and without hesitation. “How vulgar,” she said under her breath, moving away from the door once her legs had returned to use.
Lightning Dust landed before the third door, its mantle shaped in the image of a roaring lion. She tugged the door open, to find inside a dimly lit workshop, redolent with the scent of oil. She shut the door and stared out at the doors and platforms along the wall. Along this wall alone she could count twenty. With a growl she took flight and leapt over to the next door.
Octavia and Pinkie had arrived at the nexus of the walkways, and were staring at a grand disk of polished metal. Etched into surface of the disk was a spiral of patterns and equine figures. At the edge of the disk were elegant engravings of ponies standing atop rolling hills and watching the sun crest the landscape. The heavens, settled above the hills, gave way to an intricate web of mathematics and equations, marking the beginning of the spiral. Half way through the spiral the mathematics gave rise to elaborate blueprints of rooms and incomprehensible structures, that ought not to be able to support themselves. At the core of the spiral was the open head of a metallic equine, its exposed cranium billowing back out the core of the spiral; locking in an infinite cycle with no beginning nor end.
A darkness began to spill out from the centre of the spiral, bleeding over the images and obscuring it from the starlight glow. Pinkie and Octavia cautiously retreated from the disk just as the machine descended before them. Wrapped and bound up in a mass of reed and twine there hung a giant construct of a pony. Its iron torso, forelegs and head were several orders of magnitude bigger than Pinkie and Octavia, though its hind legs were not present.
Walkways parted and shifted around the central disk, forming a spiral of platforms and staircases running upwards. The giant pillars were moving too, closing in around the pair and meeting up with the tower of stairs. Some segments of slate parted to reveal corridors beyond, now linked up with the new walkways, and the pair could hear the rattling of valves and pistons under pressure.
Lightning Dust swept right past the pair and landed with a stumble some feet in front of them, looking back at the huge slate pillars as they locked in together, sealing them in.
“What's going on? What did you do?” She demanded. Octavia and Pinkie hastily shrugged.
“How did you get in here?” The robotic voice of the machine before them boomed. The source of the voice came from all around them, though the constructed image of the pony had no mouth to speak of.
“We're lost-” Octavia started.
“We're really sorry,” Pinkie Pie tried to continue.
“Do you not know what havoc you could wreck here!?” The machine beseeched.
“We don't want to break anything, honest!” Pinkie pleaded
“You will though, in time, just by existing,” the machine said. Pinkies ears flattened as she bowed her head.
“Who- What are you?” Octavia asked,
“I am The Beacon of all True Forms,” the machine announced, loudly, and lifted its huge hoof as best it could. “And that,” it said, pointing the hoof at Pinkie, “Is an imperfect being.”
Pinkie held a hoof to her chest, wincing, with pinpricks of tears clinging to the corners of her eyes.
“Hey, shut up!” Lightning Dust spoke up, spreading her wings. “Not everypony is perfect! We all make mistakes. You don't get to talk to her like that!”
“I pick and choose no words; my supreme authority on this matter merely dictates the truth,” the machine answered back.
“Oh yeah? Where're you from? What gives you that authority?” Lightning Dust snapped back
“Both questions are meaningless,” the machine replied with a sweep of his hoof, “I have always been and cannot recall not being. If you wish, I can run a simulation of how I might construct myself.”
“You won't be doing anything of the sort ever again!” A mare yelled from above. Looking up the group could make out a pony standing on a platform high above them, next to a small grid of pipes.
“That's the pony from room six,” Octavia gasped.
“Your megalomaniac schemes are done! Finished!” Lyra continued to shout.
Lyra rested her hooves over the railings, and staring down at the group, while her cloud of magic drifted around the valves nearby. The cloud tightened its grip, twisted, and pulled the valves free.
“What're you doing!?” Lightning Dust shouted up at her.
“It was all a ploy!” Lyra shouted, the rest of her speech lost in the roar of rupturing pipelines.
The streams of cascading water slammed into the back of the machine with resounding force. The machine let out a horrific garbled scream of static and noise, and desperately tried to find purchase on the platform with its forehooves, only for them to crush straight through the flimsy metal. Its back erupted into purple fire and blue smoke as the sustained downpour pummelled it, shredding the twine and reed holding it up. In its death throes the machine let out a high pitched electronic whine and fell free of its bonds, smashing straight through the floor and prematurely exploding into huge fragments of fiery blue, before even reaching the mists below.
Lyra vanished back through the door she had come in from, leaving the chaos far behind her. The downpour was unending, as more leaks burst from the piping so did the integrity of the walkways crumble. Waves of water came rushing down the platforms, washing into the trio and taking them to their knees. Lightning Dust took flight, but found dodging the torrential downpours from above more trouble than it was worth, she settled her hooves back on the ground with the others, and the trio fought through the waves with grit and force alone.
They managed to ascend three flights of steps before the flow had become so powerful that they could feel the walkway buckling under the weight of the water. Making a snap decision the trio darted through the water stained tunnel of stone on their level. Lightning Dust lead the charge with her wings spread, racing down the tunnel and towards a point of light up ahead.
“I think I see a way out!” She shouted back to the pair.
A terrible shudder rocked the foundations of the building, sending cracks trickling across the walls and along the floor, stemming from the tower they'd just fled. Pinkie and Octavia felt themselves treading water moments before the wave struck them. Everything was awash in foam and water, yet behind them an even greater wave surged up.
Octavia reached the ladder where Lightning Dust had clambered up, and threw her hooves onto it, entangling herself upon it; then, content with her own safety, she held out her hind leg for Pinkie to grab hold of as she made her pass.
By the time the heavy wave struck, Pinkie and Octavia were half way up the ladder. The force of the water, and the rising current that persisted after, almost forced Pinkie off the ladder. Holding onto the metal bars with just her forehooves she cried for help. Octavia, who had just barely held on, disentangled herself and offered a hoof down for Pinkie. As Pinkie pulled herself up with Octavia's help, she felt something tug on her hind legs.
A pair of pink forelegs, like her own, had risen from the chaotic swirling mass of water and were holding onto her hind legs. She watched, paralysed with terror, as her reflection in the water broke the surface to greet her, with a sickly sweet smile on her lips.
“Fun,” the ghostly disembodied mimic of her own voice echoed, “Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun!”
“I'm not going back with you!” She screamed, swinging her hind legs up and bashing the reflection in the face, causing it to explode in a gush of water.
“Pinkie, I'm just trying to help you!” Octavia shouted down at her, “Quit thrashing about!”
Octavia hauled Pinkie up onto the ladder, and, with great effort, managed to pull both herself and Pinkie up to the surface, where the soaked pair rolled out onto the moonlit grass above.
From their near watery grave below, the trio had emerged in a lush forest, surrounded by thick undergrowth, all lit up by moonlight breaking through the canopy.
Octavia was still trembling with adrenaline when Lightning Dust tried to get her attention.
“That was so,” Octavia spoke between deep breaths, her black mane a wild wreck of splayed black hair. “Exhilarating,” she stared at her shaking hooves with a wild grin. “It's been years since I've felt this kind of adrenaline. I feel so alive!”
Octavia rolled on her back in the grass, giggling loudly, pausing occasionally to kick her legs up in some dance of triumph. Pinkie sat up, tugged the back of her mane, and spat out water like a fountain. Lightning Dust grimaced at the pair of stooges and rose through the canopy for a better look at her surroundings.
The forest they were in was dense, but short lived, as it gave way to rolling blue hills under the moon. Just a short trot away from the edge of their forest was a modern looking road, sweeping through the valley between the hills, and terminating at a ruined building. Lightning Dust could tell it was a ruin even from the distance she was at; for a good two thirds of the building was not only missing, but scattered all around the valley surrounding the building.
Twirling slowly in the air she gave the horizons one last look over before dropping down to meet up with the other two.
“Well I can't see Canterlot anywhere,” she started, having found Octavia and Pinkie now both upright, with Octavia holding Pinkie in a comforting embrace.
Lightning Dust sat on her haunches, watching the pair laugh together, as a familiar clawing sensation raked her chest. Without a look back she plodded away from the pair, and towards the forest. Just as she reached the edge of the clearing she heard hoofsteps behind her.
“Hey! Hey! Where're you going?” Pinkie laid her hooves over Lightning Dust. The sensation wasn't as immediately repulsive as it had been before. Lightning Dust stood there and let Pinkie lean on her, edging her face closer and closer to her own.
“I don't know where I'm going,” Lightning Dust admitted, “You two looked like you did, so I thought I'd leave you to it.”
“But we weren't going anywhere!”
“That's not what it looked like from where I was sitting!”
Pinkie crooked her brow, blinked unevenly, and crooked her mouth.
“Never mind. There's some big ruins down the road.” Lightning Dust explained, the heaviness in her chest easing off. “It may have a map in it so we can figure out where we are, if you want to come along.”
“Sure!” Pinkie beckoned Octavia over and gave Lightning Dust a pat on the side. “And even if the map doesn't help you get home, we will!”
Lightning Dust hid her smile with a turn of her head, and the group made their way through the thick undergrowth of the forest, and out onto the road outside. Lightning Dusk looked left and right down the stone road.
“Now I don't know where this road leads to if we go left,” she said, stepping onto the road and turning right. “I couldn't see any buildings or anything, and the road eventually disappeared, so I figure it probably leads into a tunnel”
“So if we find nothing down here, we can always double back and take the tunnel?” Octavia asked
“Yup', that's the plan,” Lightning Dust replied as they trotted down the road.
The ruin was coming into clearer view now, and they were starting to pass by the debris; huge chunks of blown apart masonry and warped iron, as well as some smaller mechanical components none of them recognised.
They could see the road sweeping about and took them right up to the entrance of the building, but before they got there they saw the mangled sign that had been torn from the front of the building, and was now lying half upright in a grassy knoll.
The Brightstone Group Building
“I got an envelope from them once!” Pinkie commented as they trotted past it.
“What was it about?” Lightning Dusk asked
“It was just an envelope,” Pinkie said. Lightning Dust glanced back at her, brows knotting up momentarily in scrutiny, before shaking her head and returning her eyes to the road.
The building they stood before had seen far better days. Most of the the building was gone, and only one corner of it stood up, with all kinds of offices and meeting rooms exposed to the elements. The odd sheet of paper occasionally lifted from one of the rooms, and blown out into the air. The majority of the ground floor seemed to be in tact, and the concrete grounds surrounding the immediate vicinity of the building were strewn in rock fragments and sodden paper.
Very carefully Lightning Dust crept in through the shattered front doors, cautioning the pair behind her to be wary of the shards of broken glass everywhere. The front room was almost non-existent, as all the rubble from above had fallen down. Shockingly the two things that still stood standing were the elevators and stairs in the far right corner of the room, and the reception desk. Lightning Dust came to a halt as she realised that behind the reception desk stood a metal pony.
“Hello and welcome to the Brightstone HQ. I am Quinn, receptionist model three. How may I be of assistance today?” A female monotone voice came from the metal pony, a bar of light across its mouth illuminating with each word.
“I believe we're looking for directions,” Octavia spoke up, looking to her companions for confirmation.
“You are currently on the Desktop level, for administration and quick storage,” Quinn began to reel off. “For directions, and other local geographical data, you will want to take the elevator, or stairs, to level two,” without a break, the machine continued its spiel of information. “I regret to inform you that due to structural instability, the staff on that floor have been sent home for the day. Maintenance is to be scheduled shortly. The Brightstone Group offer their apologies. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“So is there nopony left here at all?” Lightning Dust grumbled, turning away to explore the remains of the floor.
“Incorrect,” Quinn replied. Lightning Dust stopped short of the desk. “There is currently one employee clocked in for work.”
“Who, and where?” Lightning Dust asked.
“Horace, working as lead designer in the Basic Systems basement.”
The basement was a different kind of sprawl to the dereliction above: large, overgrown vines, leaves and pale blue and white flowers grew upon moss that had grown over the vast majority of the room down here. Plant-life coiled around huge piles of green plastic boards and wiring, which were haphazardly dumped around the basement, like a landscape of miniature hills. Several parts of the ceiling had collapsed in, and tiny waterfalls ran into the room from above, granting life to the plant-life below.
“Hello!” Pinkie called loudly, her greeting punctuated with a loud crackle of miniature fireworks. Lightning Dust winced and frowned at her, ready to berate her, but was cut short by an unexpected reply.
“Hello?” Came a male voice from somewhere further in the room.
They wandered through the garden that had grown on top of the desks and piles of detritus, soaking in the rich aroma of flora, until they came to a large pit in the ground, with short flights of steps descending into it. At the centre of this pit was a large bank of machines, arranged in a semi-circle, each with their own grey slates that displayed constantly shifting algorithms and masses of text. Standing at the helm of this impressive device was a worn looking pegasus of a pale blue coat.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I wasn't expecting anypony to be here any more. I don't recognise any of you though; are you from the government?”
“The government?” Lightning Dust snorted, “Nah, we're just trying to find some directions out of here.”
“So you just stumbled in here?” He raised an incredulous brow
“Yup!” Pinkie chirped. “You're Horace, right? Did you build all this? The metal pony upstairs said you were a designer.”
“You're right on all accounts, madam,” he said, smiling affectionately up at the grand machine behind him. “But if you're lost, then I don't see how I can help you much. My life's work here has sadly come undone; it can't even design some floor plans any more.”
“What about a rocket?” Pinkie asked, grinning ear to ear.
“Pardon?” He asked, apprehension clear in his voice. Pinkie trotted right over to him, paying no heed to his comfort zone.
“I have a friend who needs to build a rocket to go and see his queen‒ she lives in the stars, ya' know‒ and he can't do it by himself! I was looking for Flim and Flam, but now I've found you! Isn't that great!? Now you can help instead!” Pinkie pressed her grinning face close up to Horace, who was now sat on his haunches.
Horace looked up at the large bank of display units and their walls of text. The culmination of his last ditch efforts to save a dead project was unsightly to behold, though not all of it was in vain; of that he was sure. With a sigh he stepped around Pinkie.
“I could use the break,” he said, his body sagging in exaggerated exhaustion, “Where is this fellow?”
“Back at the hotel!”
“There are many hotels here.”
“Wait a moment,” Lightning Dust interrupted, “You know about local area? Do you know where I can get a ride out of here? Preferably one northbound.”
“There's a train station not far from here, I think,” Horace winced, struggling to recall. “It should only be a short walk from here.”
“We could take a detour to it before we head to the hotel,” Pinkie offered.
“Good enough,” Lightning Dust exhaled a deep sigh of relief, “Thank you.”
“Is it fine to leaving this behind, unattended?” Octavia asked, looking up at the grand machine, and then around at the moss covered mounds of rotten scrap parts.
“Gone, but not forgotten,” Horace wistfully smiled at her, “When I return, I expect it shan't have changed.”
In short order the group were happily wading through the forest undergrowth outside for a second time, meandering through glade to glade, using rock formations and large, glowing fungi as landmarks to find their way. It was a group effort, with Horace rambling conjecture as to their current location, and the next way-point, and the rest of the group demystifying his ramblings.
Soon enough they came across a run down train station, which looked like it had been left abandoned for some time. The small building was the kind of sort one might expect in the country side, and was certainly not intended to handle mass transit of ponies. The roof of slate had holes in it, and they could see small mounds of it where sections had come loose, and the walls were simple wood that had rotten and aged over time. The platform itself, along with the rails, had a sparse littering of plants, but otherwise was vacant.
A loud whistle of steam heralded the arrival of a pair of lights upon the hillside, full and bright in the night, steaming towards the old station. From the moss covered old brick station a stallion emerged, pushing open the back door with a creak. He was dressed in a jarringly sharp uniform of blue, with fanciful gold chains. As he made his way across the platform the group could see his form flickering, as if it were projected like film. The stallion came to a halt by the platform, turned to face the oncoming train, and put his whistle to his mouth.
The old train had come to a complete stop, bringing with it a stiff breeze. A chill bit at them all, save for the spectral attendant, who, in his incorporeal form, did not seem phased by it in the slightest. The attendant gave his whistle a sharp blow and simultaneously every door on the carriages rolled open. The insides were, as expected, completely devoid of any passengers, drivers, or staff of any calibre.
“It's a shame to lose our fiery companion so soon,” Octavia intoned with a smile, “But you know what they say about flames that burn the brightest.”
“Aww yeah!” Lightning Dust laughed and raised her hoof. She tapped the same hoof on the ground and looked away for a moment. “You know,” she spoke slowly, turning her attention back to them “You could come visit me, anytime you're in Manehatten; just look for the apartment building with the orange flag, on the waterfront,” Lightning Dust held her head up and puffed her chest out, “In fact, I'm damn well inviting you over. Especially after the good you've done me.”
“We're only doing what any other pony would have,” Octavia smiled sweetly
“No, no,” Lightning Dust shook her head, “It's not just the helping hoof‒ you're right, anypony could have done that; it's for putting up with me. I've been a crummy tag-along. So, thanks for putting up with me. I know I wouldn't have.”
Pinkie flung her fore-hooves over her, and Octavia joined in too, ignoring Lightning Dust's squirming.
“Bleh! I didn't want you to get all mushy on me!” She pleaded.
“I'd love to come and visit at some point,” Octavia said, “I'm sure I could find the time”
The attendant blew his whistle a second time. Lightning Dust shot the train a desperate glance, and then gave both Octavia and Pinkie a pat on the sides.
“Sorry to cut this so short. Thanks again!” She began to canter over to the train. “Come visit!” The train doors slid shut moments after she entered. “It'll be worth it!” She called from inside, hoping they could hear her.
The attendant gave his whistle a second blow and the train began to chug away, its engine roaring and its wheels grinding into action. The station slowly dragged away from her window and was replaced by the blue woodlands of the night. Lightning Dust took a seat and rested her head on the table. The inside of the train was mostly wooden, with lush blue carpet and padded seats, all lit up by the soft yellow glow of fixed lanterns that decked the carriage hall.
“What a weird bunch,” she mumbled to herself, rolling her head over so she could watch the scenery pass by the window, “New start,” she watched her reflection jitter, smeared eight times over the window, “New friends?” With a soft smile she closed her eyes and nestled her head into her forelegs. “Yeah, that's what I need.”
Slowly she faded into a restful, content daze, and watched as the trees faded away, and the train fall into the night sky from which she drunk deeply.
The roar of cannons and cries of battle played like a dark orchestra over the burning skies, and the collapsing city. The air was acrid and smothered with motes of ash and glowing embers. The streets of Canterlot were cracked, broken, and littered with the tumbled piles of debris from partially collapsed towers. Her entourage of cohorts and guardsponies marched towards the old hotel; the nexus of this mechanical incursion. Somewhere nearby, through one of the blasted frontages of an old home, a gramophone played a sombre tune, ripe with longing and despair.
A red shaft of light, like the beam of a warship's searchlight, swept over the street and held its position over the Aspirant and her amassed forces. A loud klaxon sounded from far above, as the source of the red light signalled others to come to its aid. The red light winked out as the first salvo of shells hit it. The hull of the squat flying machine broke apart, and the twin propellers that held it aloft ground slowly to a halt. The burning wreck listed and fell out of the air, striking an overhanging garden, and rolling down to the city level below, clearing most of the hedgerows and garden ornaments with it. A mighty cheer went out as the wreck vanished over the edge, and the Equestrian airship came into view; drifting towards the old hotel, and patrolling the perimeter of it.
The Aspirant came before a colossal gateway of warped iron and black smoke, fashioned by souls so twisted they dared not look upon their own visage, for fear it might kill them. It is these same sick spirits that had, no doubt, constructed this burgeoning empire of metal and fire, which stood out like a crooked claw against the orange, smog laden sky.
It is by her will alone that this terror will be undone, and that weight lies heavily on her shoulders. Though she is has a company of brave souls, the Aspirant listens to the whispered truths of her heart, and it tells her that she alone that shall strike down the foul quarry.
“This is crazy! Who'd build something that big?” The boisterous cohort shouted.
“The desperate an' the scared kind,” the reserved cohort answered.
“You two,” the Aspirant gestured to them both, “When we break through the gate, your task will be to go to the top of the tower and capture the Rogue. If she still has the royal crystal, then your priority should be getting it back at any cost”
Behind the Aspirant and her cohorts a large band of guardsponies hauled over a spiralled funnel, that was mounted upon a gunnery platform. They set the weapon down with a loud grunt, and clambered up onto the platform, bringing it to bear at at the gates ahead.
“Myself and the key here,” the Aspirant nodded to the eager cohort, who was prancing on the spot and psyching herself up, “Shall proceed directly to the Mechanists, and put an end to their devices.”
The spiralled funnel began to glow brightly, white and yellow light flowed down the spiral, meeting at the tip, and humming loudly with power. The guardspony at the rear gave a ready signal to the Aspirant.
“It's hard to imagine that it's come to this,” spoke the most graceful of the cohorts, “So much destruction, all to what end? The vulgarity of this is beyond reproach. I would love to speak to this Keeper of the tower, if you willed it. I'm sure she'd have many secrets to spill.”
“As would I,” the timid one spoke up, barely audible above the maelstrom of violence in the air. “I know it's not what you wanted, but I still believe she can be redeemed. Stray lambs can always be brought back to the herd.”
The Aspirant looked to one of the guardsponies at her side and cocked her head. The guardspony furrowed his brow in thought, looked to his assembled comrades, and then nodded at the Aspirant.
“The guard shall go with you then,” the Aspirant spoke firmly, “I trust your judgement,” she spread her wings and lifted herself off the ground. “I trust each and every one my prodigies; your talents are remarkable and your courage is unmatched. You are my best, and Equestria's best.” the Aspirant lit up her horn and illuminated the rotten gardens beyond the gate. “Tonight we shall remind them of that.”
With a swipe of her hoof the spiralled funnel exalted in a bright flash. The air prickled with heat, and the Aspirant's wings faltered for but a second under the intense heat. When the light faded, only the frames of the gate remained, the tips of the bars were left shorn and red hot. A rallying cry heralded the assault, as the Aspirant's forces stormed into the courtyard of the tower.
The skirmish was as thick as it was fast; with automatons deployed from the inlets dotted about the tower's structure. Each automaton was propelled by a set of whirling blades on their backs, that kept them afloat long enough to dive down on their opponents, latch on, and begin drilling. Holding a shield up over her forces was a good enough deterrent, as the simple machines came whirling in and smashed upon the magical surface.
Reaching the door with little harm was a grand triumph for her, as the guardsponies made short work of the barricaded front doors. The pair of gunpowder kegs left lasting damage on the interior of the grand, cathedral sized, chamber inside; blackening the white stone and flinging rock fragments and debris all across the floor.
“The Keeper should be somewhere on this floor! Find her!” The Aspirant barked, and took off towards the metal gates at the end, which housed the elevation platform. She and three of her cohorts boarded the device, while the rest of her forces stormed off through an oversized pair of doors. Just as the gates closed they heard shouting and discharging of weaponry.
The elevator ride granted them an excellent view over the battlefield, as the ride was interspersed with wide windows looking out over Canterlot. She could see the fires from the Palace of the Risen Sun, all the way down to the refugee quarters near the base of the mountain. From the epicentre she stood in she could see the extent of the damage it had caused.
“We ain't goin' to let this spread,” the reserved one spoke sullenly.
No reply could be mustered before the screech from above pulled her attention skyward. The Aspirant brought her shield up just in time to deflect and absorb the last of the rockets, but the first pair hit home and ripped open the protective cover of the elevator.
The wind blew hard at them, and the sounds of the chaos below were once again filling the group's ears. A propeller driven machine flew by close and latched itself onto the tower with a series of hooks and chains, detaching and reattaching themselves as it pulled itself closer to the elevator, bringing its array of superheated spears closer and closer to the group.
“You won't have us that easy!” The boisterous one shouted, aiming a forehoof mounted prong at the heated spears. The prong crackled with electrical currents and discharged towards the spears, linking them with arcs of lightning. The machine rippled with sparks and small explosions, before the heat dissipated from the spears.
In a change of tactics the flying machine disconnected itself from the wall of the tower, and began to fire its hooks directly into the elevator. The first missed, striking the side of the tower, but the second landed square in the elevator box, just missing the Aspirant by mere inches. The Aspirant spread her wings, but paused when she felt a hoof on her side.
“Ah' got this,” the reserved one gave the hook a firm buck, dislodging it from the wall, lifted it onto her back, and then bucked it right back at the flying device. The hook sailed straight into propeller blades, shredding the blades entirely, and collapsing the pole that held them up.
The flying machine fell from the air, sounding emergency klaxons all the way down to its doom; impaling itself on one of the Canterlot spires.
“We're getting good at this,” the boisterous one quipped, and shared a smirk with the reserved one.
The elevator came to a halt and its gates opened up. The floor was strangely unremarkable, given the grandeur of the rest of the building; a simple corridor with a handful of plain wooden doors running down it, all loosely decorated in hanging potted plants. The only striking feature of the floor was the wide window overlooking the courtyard.
“This is our stop,” the Aspirant and her mirthful cohort disembarked, trotting down the corridor. As they passed by the window they could make out the guards and her two other cohorts down there, through the tall windows of an extension built onto the tower. They looked to be surrounding something at the back wall, which wasn't visible from their view.
* * *
“What an effort,” exhaled the graceful one. The fighting had died down, with the last of the automatons being stamped underhoof by a pair of guards. “And to think she was once so peaceful.”
They stood before a large painting of the dull coloured mare standing before a large crowd, playing her ironic instrument. The majesty of the painting was marred only by the heretical addition of wings and a horn.
The actual Keeper lay on a stage that mimicked the one in the painting behind her. The group watched her chest rise and fall, the only part of her that still resembled an equine. They could tell her breath was shallow and weak, even from the distance they kept. The rest of her was a shattered mound of broken metal and dreams. Her single purple eye scanned the group assembled, with a metallic fold occasionally dropping down to cover it up.
“I'm sorry,” it rasped, “So sorry”.
“Knowing thy sin is the first step on the road to exaltation,” the timid one spoke as she approached, “Exaltation is earned by those of true integrity, and honesty is one of those tenants.”
“I just wanted to feel alive again,” the voice came from a small mechanical projector fixed under the purple lens box. “I didn't want to hurt anyone. Why did it have to end like this?”
“It could not have ended any other way,” snapped the graceful one.
“Sin is not inevitable,” the timid one replied swiftly.
“But destiny is,” she strode up to the stage, enveloping the mare in magic, and dragging her to the edge of the stage, against her weak protests. Keeping the mechanical eye level with her own two eyes, she gently reached out her hoof and placed it on the mare's chest. A moment passed, and her eyes softened, her tense expression receded, and her lips fell in sorrow. “Though I don't believe this was ever supposed to be your destiny.”
Worried murmurs broke out amongst the guard, and the timid cohort approached the stage.
“You've never said that before,” she whispered once she was close.
“I've never felt it before,” her voice trembled.
* * *
The Aspirant stood in what ought to have been a bedroom, surrounded by discarded crates of tonics, its floor covered in sawdust and marked with tiny scorch marks. The kitchen looked used, and the curtains were drawn across the window, but there was no other signs that anybody had been here for any length of time. The Aspirant levitated out one of the tonics and looked it over.
Stimulating and Refreshing! Bold and Daring! Dr Brightlance's Personal Tonic It'll put a spring in your trot, and a salve on your aches!
Displayed on the back was an excited foal drinking the concoction, with a distribution address in small print on the bottom.
“What a waste of time.” Letting out a low growl, she tossed the salve at the wall, smashing the bottle to pieces. “Forget the Mechanists; they're gone. We're heading straight to the dark heart of this beast.”
“So soon? We're going to start the party without the others?”
“We may not have a lot of time available to spend, dear student. With every moment we wait, the beast comes closer to undoing our city, and possibly even the world. For this task, I only need you.”
The building shuddered, and more alarms sounded off, this time far further down, near the ground floor. The Aspirant and her eager cohort turned to the window, and parted the curtains. Below they could see the ground itself shifting and parting. The pair exchanged worried looks as they saw the giant hole that resided in what had once been the rotten garden. There came a second tremor, and a great roar from the pit, which elicited an array of orange lights to switch on, revealing the true depth of the pit. Nestled at the bottom of the pit they could see a bed of pipes and machinery, and at its nexus they saw a small tower, smoke billowing out from underneath it.
“Maybe the tower's falling apart-” the eager cohort swallowed her words and sagged her jaw, as the smoke turned into a bright fire, and the tower at the bottom of the pit surged upwards at an alarming speed.
“What!?” Shrieked the Aspirant as the metal tower soared past the window, blowing it out and showering them with glass and smoke as it passed by. The roar of its engines was deafening, and the pair, despite screaming at the top of their lungs, could not hear each other at all.
The tower steadily rose upwards into the orange skies, not slowing in the slightest, and pierced the cloud layer in a matter of minutes. They could make out its shadow passing up and up through the air.
The eager cohort could not hear the Aspirant, for her ears were still ringing, but the frantic gestures to move were sufficient enough for her to spur her legs into motion. They ran back down the elevator and called it, sending it to the ground floor, cursing and stamping their hooves as they impatiently watched the floor numbers tick down.
The second set of explosions were unexpected, as was the jingling of shattering glass. The pair leant out of the cavity at the front of the elevator and looked upwards. They watched in awe as the top of the tower was fell apart in a vicious explosion, showering the streets below in fragments of metal and shards of glass. From the explosion they saw a figure falling, twisting and turning as it flailed in the air. The figure dropped down in front of them, and for a fleeting moment the Aspirant's purple eyes locked with the Rogue's gold, and just like the gust of wind that followed her she was gone in an instant.
Storming through the lobby they galloped out over to the edge of the metal pit. The sheer drop down was terrifying, but this had to be where the heart dwelt, as they could see more platforms further down, linked up with doorways.
“I'm going to glide us down there, with a bit of magic, so hold on tight,” the Aspirant instructed.
“Should we check on the Rogue?” The eager cohort asked, clambering onto the Aspirant's back.
“If the fall didn't kill her, she certainly won't be going anywhere soon.”
“What about our friends upstairs?” Both of them took a glance up at the smoking top of the tower.
“I pray for their safety, but if their duty is fulfilled, then let their exaltation be complete, and their spirits soar. Righteousness can be praised later, after we have put away our claws,” the Aspirant leapt from the edge, spreading her wings and gliding down with her cohort to the bottom of the pit.
Her descent was awkward, and not without error; her landing more so, heavily hitting the ground and sending her companion tumbling off her back. She rolled in pain, clutching her side, and trying to right herself.
“This is why I didn't leap from the hotel room!” The Aspirant stammered, cantering over to her cohort. “I'm sorry! Can you move?” The eager cohort managed to stand and walk, but each step elicited a yelp and wince of pain.
“We can slow down‒ it's for the best now. I'm sorry I failed you. I should have worked more on my landing. I'm still not used to flying,” the Aspirant flustered, looking over to the brass archway leading into a dimly lit room filled with piping, and housing an old boiler at the back, “I must confess, I'm not sure what to expect from here on. But we'll pull through if we face it together,” with a confident smile she helped her friend along with a supportive wing.
Prickling heat ran across their hides, as the hot air tried to smother them. Breathing was difficult, but it didn't deter them from pressing on, right up to the boiler itself. The dials were non-functional, and inside they could hear the high pitched screaming of pressure. They followed the piping leading out and upwards into the star filled night above.
“What's happening here?” The Aspirant whispered, watching the night bleed over the ceiling and run down the walls.
From the cosmic depths of the ceiling, a large transparent hoof reached out, planting itself firmly atop the boiler. Its form was insubstantial, and the sight of it flickered, like it were projected from a tape reel.
“Pinkie, I know you can hear this,” the eager cohort spoke up, her voice loud and clear, “You need to come home. The others are waiting for you! They're super eager to talk to you again. They're wondering where their friend has gotten to. You're making them scared, Pinkie.”
The distorted mass of curled pink hair emerged from the starscape first, twitching and turning as it stretched out over the ceiling. Her forehooves hauling the rest of her distended upper body into quasi-existance, and with a crooked grimace she spat down at the pair.
“I don't talk to ghosts,” her voice was at once savage and ethereal; its echoes clawing at their skulls, “They're full of secrets and lies,” the grainy image of Pinkie replicated itself eight times over, covering most of the stars.
“We're very much alive,” scoffed the Aspirant, her lips abruptly moving and halting in fractions of seconds, partially fused together, “And we're here to make peace with you.”
“You've hurt a lot of ponies today, Pinkie,” the eager cohort struggled against the now viscous floor, as it melted and sloshed about.
“I have!?” The image cried, tears of bright teal welling up in her eyes, “I've been haunted since I left that village. My head's full of cotton, my insides are all mushy, and you don't even care! Nopony cares about me! What about Pinkie? It's all me-me-me-me with you ponies!”
The floor lapped up against the Aspirant and her cohort, tendrils of orange sludge coiled themselves around their legs, threatening to pull them under. The image above them tore into a fragmented mess of indiscernible array of lurid colours.
“I wanted to get better! I wanted to make friends!” The image's voice dropped a tone, “But all you ever wanted to do was to hurt me. You don't like what I am.”
“Because you're dangerous! You're not meant to be here!” The Aspirant shouted at her, pulling herself free of the tendrils below, which flickered and winked out of existence. “You destroy everything you touch!”
“Your judgement can't be trusted! You're just like all the others,” The mass of distortion began to spiral downwards in a tornado of disturbed faces, all gnashing and screaming in angst. The Aspiriant cautiously lit up her horn and kept herself aloft in the air, staring down the tornado in grim determination.
The voice of the image had deepened to a guttural bellow, shouting loudly. “Why should I trust you over my own eyes?” The tornado broke apart suddenly, and the screaming faces merged together to form one large ghostly visage of Pinkie. “When you can't even see what's right in front of you!”
The Aspirant's horn discharged a bolt of purple, striking the face cleanly across its brow. There was a great flash of light, and the image tore itself apart; the screaming faces dissipating and the cosmic skies bursting into supernovae. The Aspirant shielded herself from the bright explosions, and retreated from the boiler room.
The earth rumbled as the walls///________ __ _
* *******//__*************** **/////////
Pinkie fell deep into the water, struggling to paddle and gain momentum. Each swipe of her hooves felt heavier and heavier, until she could barely move at all. The shafts of light above dimmed, and the image of her true surface self walked away. Her heart thrashed in its cage, and a shroud of despair threatened to smother her. Each waking moment stretched out agonizingly, until she felt something brush up against her hind legs. Her gurgling scream blotted out her vision in a field of bubbles, and in a single tug she was pulled far beneath the surface world, where she would dwell forever more.
