Prologue
They say the most important part of any meeting is the first impression.
Now, there were a few reasons for this, for one, when one pony meets another, they size each other up, gauging their strengths, appearance, and of course, their temperament. This could also apply to other things as well, such as, for instance, a piece of artwork or literature. Something that catches your eye and draws you to it, reeling you in like a siren, grasping you tight so you can’t let go. Hypnotic, mesmerizing, like the bottle in the moonlight, a few tiny drops left in the bottom of the fragile glass cylinder, calling to you, keeping you away from the one that kept you warm in the night. For this, or maybe because of it, the same bottle, the same, tantalizing liquid, that drink that gave your first impressions that necessary “kick” to improve the night, was taken away by the Royal Princesses to prevent the needful drink from being consumed...or perhaps, in their ivory tower, they themselves were unaware of the proceedings that took place around the common folk.
Octavia Melody, a mare with a treble chef marking her flank, coat dark grey, almost like ash, some ponies said, often didn’t have the best first impressions because of the ones who reigned. Ever since the local clubs were shut down in Manehattan, she found herself unable to properly support her band. Sure, there were the occasional parties that needed classical music, but there just wasn’t enough call for her band. Frederick was….stoic as always when he heard the news that they were dissolving, Beauty Brass merely kept a stiff upper lip, but it didn’t take a telepath to know that she was heartbroken by it. Parish was easily the most emotional one, but, in all honestly, Octavia thought he was the best off. He had family somewhere in Ponyville, they could take care of him for the time being. A cousin by the name of Heartstrings? The former cellist wasn’t sure, but all that mattered was her band was safe, and out of her line of work.
Her “line of work” as it was, was simply, protection. It didn’t sound like much, but in this day and age, it was walking the razor’s edge, Tartarus, sometimes she danced on it as well, today was one of those days.
Placing a hoof on her black and blue fedora as the cold autumn wind beaten against her face, Thompson armed and at the ready as she sat on the window of the car that was riddled with bullet holes. Her black coat whipping in the air behind her, she watched the dirt road pass on by, pebbles and grime shooting up from under the tire’s tread. Ignoring one such pebble that glanced against her cheek, she stared impassively as the road trailed on.
“You alright there sugarcube?” A thick, southern voice to the left drew her attention away from the dirt path, glancing to the head of the Apple family, appropriately named Applejack, dressed in a similar style to Octavia, but a bit more...brusquely than the former cellist herself. Her colt revolver held aloft in her hoof, the barrel still whispering smoke, and of course, her Stetson hat still atop her head.
“I’m fine.” Octavia replied curtly.
Seeing that the former cellist wasn’t in a mood to talk, Applejack hit the top of the roof, gaining the driver’s attention, “Hey Mac, we gonna get there soon?”
“Eeeeyyyuppp.” The driver replied, a large red stallion that looked simple, acted simple, and could definitely punch your lights out if you made the mistake of underestimating him. Octavia heard he practiced boxing in his spare time, and may have competed in a few underground matches. But, to be perfectly honest, Octavia didn’t care.
Silence regained its place as the ruler of the trip.
“....One helluva getaway, huh?”
“I guess.” Octavia said.
“....Good call on spyin’ the step-up, by the way. Can’t ever trust no Carrot.”
“Thank you.”
“How’s your cousin?” Octavia glanced over at Applejack, a brow raised. In her line of work, “asking” about family members usually meant “Shame if something happened to them.” Mentally reviewing her performance, Octavia couldn’t think of a reason why Applejack would threaten anyone she knew. She did her job, kept her mouth shut, never asked questions when she wasn’t supposed to. Hell, she barely drank too, only when the situation was appropriate for such nonsense. Gripping the barrel of the Chicago Violin, she kept a neutral face as Applejack continued on, “That is to say, sugarcube, you two don’t really seem all that close. Just thinkin’ you should keep a better eye on her, I’m fraid one of these days that mouth of hers will get her in trouble.”
“What makes you say that?’ Octavia asked.
“She’s just so….jubbly.”
“....Jubbly?” Octavia had to repeat, she was fairly certain that wasn’t a word.
“Yeah...Jubbly.” Applejack said again, “Hm, anyway, there she is.”
Drawing her attention back to the road, Octavia saw their destination, a farm house on the outskirts of town. An old, busted down looking house, complete with a barn, fields, and of course, several orchids, all of them empty and devoid of life. No pony had come here in a very long time.
It was a safe house for a reason, after all.
Pulling up to the entrance, Big Mac stopped the car and stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting a shotgun to his saddlepack for comfort, shooting a worried glance at Octavia, kept a cool and steady face
“Alright then, Octy, why don’t you take Big Mac check out the house, don’t want no surprises, ya hear?” Applejack ordered, to which Octavia nodded, “I’ll help make our “guest” comfortable.”
Reaching one hoof over the other, she climbed out of the window. Pulling the hammer back on the Thompson, Octavia remained on her back hooves and held the weapon in her forehooves. The stance was somewhat unbalanced, but necessary to keep the weapon steady, besides, she could always balance herself with some careful hoof placement. As Big Mac opened the rickety fence gate for her, Octavia lead the way into the abandoned farmhouse. Neither one of them spoke a word as they trotted up the hill, the silence was all the audio they needed. Octavia because she needed to keep her ears perked, Big Mac because he simply wasn’t big, pardon the pun, on talking at all. Approaching the old, broken down door with a barely working handle, the window smashed in, Octavia deftly held out her left hoof to open the door, hefting the somewhat heavy gun with one hoof as she did. Scanning the entrance, Octavia glanced around, it was a while since she was here last, but it hadn’t changed at all. Save for some growing mold on the floorboards, it was still the same old Farmhouse as always. Rooms adjoined by broken down walls, a kitchen that hadn’t been used in years, rickety staircase in the back, dining room with a table that was broken in half down the middle, and splinters spread everywhere. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and the chandelier wasn’t about to fall, it had fell, making a solid imprint in the wooden floor by way of gravity.
Signaling Mac to stay at the front entrance, Octavia moved towards the staircase and carefully pressed a hoof against it. Putting only the necessary amount of pressure on it to make sure it was safe to step on. Seeing that it was, the former cellist carefully ascended to the second story of the house, gun barrel pointed all the way.
Finally reaching the top of the staircase, Octavia was greeted by a hallway, faring slightly better than the downstairs lobby. At least the wall wasn’t coming apart at the seams for the time being. The hallway was sectioned by three separate rooms, and Octavia checked them all. One was the Master bedroom, one for children, and the last was a bathroom. Octavia didn’t check to see if the plumbing still worked.
One of her ears flicked slightly, and there was a solid thump downstairs, it seems Applejack finally managed to move their “guest” indoors.
Poor bastard.
Well, Octavia felt a cruel smile come to her face, maybe he would be worth pitying, if he didn’t deserve it, that is.
Coming back down the stairs, Octavia had the “pleasure” of seeing a rather lanky stallion with light green or olive fur, a tattered blue and white vest, and what seemed like what remained of a mustache against his face. He was currently being tied to a chair in the middle of the room, what was his name again? Flimmy? Flammy? Octavia couldn’t remember. Either way, he was unconscious, and not likely to go anywhere for a while. Peeking out from behind him, Applejack, on all fours, was performing the finishing touches on the ropes that bound the smuggler, soon enough, she nodded in a job well done and moved from behind the captured pony.
“That oughta hold em. Hey Mac, the stash still there?” She called out, directing her attention towards somewhere behind Octavia.
Turning around, Octavia saw the aforementioned stallion reach into a cabinet hidden under the sink with his snout, fishing around for something. Soon enough though, he pried his head out and held up a box of liquor in his mouth, “Eeeyyyuupp.”
Taking a small slip from the bottle, Octavia glanced through the upstairs window that overlooked the front yard, Applejack had said that there was a car on the way to pick them up, their current one too shot up to go into town, after all, bullet holes were a great way of attracting attention. As for their current guest, Applejack had assured her that the smuggler would be attended to. In the meantime, it was basically time to kick back and relax, though personally, Octavia wouldn’t, or rather, couldn’t, put her guard down just yet. That’s why she was up there, watching the yard. Applejack hadn’t told her to do so, but yet, here she was, watching the road for any sign of trouble. The skies haven’t cleared up yet, so the world outside was still cloudy and grey, but even then, Octavia could peer out and see the sun trying to reach its preferred perch high in the sky. High noon, she believed it was called.
Still, trying to constantly look out for threats and not get bored by the tedium of nothing, Octavia found herself starting to nod off.
And was awoken by a sharp rap on the window in front of her.
Jolting upright, Octavia sprang for her machine gun, and stopped herself when she saw just who was on the other side. A grayish Pegasus with a blond mane and mismatched eyes was flapping in the air, a parcel in her mouth. Strapped over her back was a mail bag, easily identifiable thanks the to words, “MAILBAG” written on it. Wearing a dark blue overcoat, fitting appeal for the chilling months.
Blinking, Octavia opened the window and took the letter out of the mailmare’s mouth, when she did, the Mare spoke in an almost childlike voice, “Two bits Ma’am.”
Quickly checking the envelope to see who it was addressed, and trying to ignore the sense of apprehension that came when she saw it was, in fact, addressed to her. Scouring around in her coat, the cellist found two shiny metal “bits” in her grasp. Tossing them to the mail mare, she caught them with surprisingly speed, giving a formal army salute, she zipped off into the air, as quickly as she came.
Trying to ignore the fact that a mailmare managed to find her despite the fact nopony should know where they are, Octavia glanced down at the mail in her hooves again, this time taking the time to examine it thoroughly. As her eyes scanned the return address, her breath caught in her throat.
Vinyl Scratch. 144, Fullerton Way.
Hoofington, 242011.
“What is she….” Without a second thought, Octavia tore open the letter, fumbling with it until it unfolded in her grasp. Scanning over the words written, the ash grey mare didn’t notice the tears coming to her cheeks.
Hey Tavi, what’s up? Ehhh….Sorry about the band, that really sucks with what happened to you. Hope everything’s going okay down there, this recession is really hitting everyone hard, even over here in Hoofington. Some clubs I played at had to be shut down, and I had to get a job at the local car dealership. Guess nobody needs a mute jazz musician huh? But, it’s not so bad, I’m staying with some friends, and we’re all just sorta huddling together till the economy recovers. there’s this really cool chick named Bon Bon up here. Or is it Sweetie Drops? I always get it confused.
“You always were a scatterbrain, love….” Octavia muttered.
Uhhh...Anyway, I’ve saved up enough for a trip over to Manehattan. I was thinking of stopping by, see how you were doing. I betcha already have a revival plan in mind for the band, and I bet you’ve found a steady line of work. You always were smarter than me anyhow.
Octavia glanced down at the gun resting beside her, and held back a sob.
Anywho, write me back soon Tavi!
Love you, always,
Vinyl Scratch.
“You alright there Octy?”
Broken out of her reality, Octavia glanced over to the sound of the voice. Standing there with a worried look over her face, Applejack started to walk over to her. Rubbing her face, Octavia pocketed the letter quickly and donned her hat, “I’m fine.” She replied coldly.
“You sure? You were starting to cry-”
“It’s nothing.” Octavia said tersely, a harsh snarl coming out of her muzzle. The only thing Applejack did in response was raise an eyebrow calmly and say:
“If you say so, Sugarcube.” Walking up next to her, the mafia boss looked out the window overlooking the front yard, squinting at the horizon, she glanced at the former cellist, “Anyway, just got off the phone with the rest of the boys, says they’ll have a truck here pretty soon.”
“That’s good.” Octavia commented.
“Sure is, but all’s I know is that the ones picking us up might be that there Lightning Dust.”
Lightning Dust….Lightning Dust...Where had Octavia heard that name before? Scrunching her brow in thought, Octavia pondered why that name rung a particular bell.
Seeing her confusion, Applejack nodded, “She’s the one who ran over your old violin last week.”
Octavia took a second to look at Applejack, then nodded slowly. Then calmly, oh so calmly, reached for her gun.
“Ya can’t shoot her, Sugarcube.”
“It won’t be a fatal wound.” Octavia replied.
“Being shot is usually fatal.” Applejack shot back with a raised eyebrow.
“....What about in the fetlock?”
“Just...don’t Octy.” Applejack shook her head, either in frustration or amusement, “Anyway, she’ll be here in an hour or two, probably after sunset, so get yourself fancied up.” As she started to head down the stairs, Applejack paused for a moment, “Oh, and uh, when she does get here, do ya mind sittin’ in the back with Big Mac?” At Octavia’s confused look, the Apple mare continued, “It’s just, Lightin’ ain’t the most steadiest driver, and I’m fearing for his stomach if you know what I’m saying.”
Octavia raised a brow, but kept a calm face as she nodded.
“Great, thanks Octy.”
With nothing more to be said, Applejack headed back downstairs, presumably to deal with their “Guest.”
As she left, Octavia gently took out the now crumpled letter in her hooves, hefting it out in front of her, she sighed. Taking to lean against the wall, Octavia slumped down onto her plot. Releasing a tired breath, her mind wandered briefly, back to happier days.
When did it all change….
“Vinyl, love, relax. You’ll be fine.”
“.....”
“If any of them dislike you for simply being mute, then they're the ones who have to learn to play as well as you do.”
“....”
“Not that? Then what are you so worried about?”
“.....”
“Oh, dear, you worry too much. Now go out there and show them why you’re Canterlot’s best Pianist.”
“.....”
“It sounds awkward when you...ah, you minx.”
Octavia chuckled at the memory, but...how long ago was that conversation? A year? It certainly felt like it….No, it was September fourteenth, and that conversation happened in May...
Sweet Celestia…
When Octavia had heard what Applejack said about this “Lighting Dusty,” she had honestly thought she was joking, if only a little.
She now understood that Applejack had been nothing but utterly truthful.
Sitting in the back of a pickup with only the wooden bars to keep her from a grisly death, Octavia clenched the side of the truck’s bed with white hooves to prevent herself from being thrown off by a hairpin turn taken at high speed. Big Mac, sitting opposite of her, did the same, digging his hooves in and holding on for dear life. Octavia now understood why Applejack said he got carsick when Lightning was behind the wheel, anypony would with the way she drove. The night air whipping past them and encasing them in a rush of cold, bitter wind.
“For Celestia’s sake Dust! Brake!” She heard her normally calm boss scream at the insane mare. But, either Dust was tone deaf, or just not paying attention. Probably both.
“Like I was saying, those Wonderbolt fool don’t know what they’re missing out on. I’m the fastest Pegasus in all of Equestria! Why, if it wasn’t for that stupid Spitfire I’d-Oh, hold on.” That was their only warning before the pickup truck performed a turn that Octavia wasn’t sure it was supposed to be able to do, a trail of smoke came out of the back tires, and Big Mac lost his grip, colliding into Octavia on the other side. The first thing Octavia realized when this happened is that Big Mac earned his name when two hundred pounds of muscle rammed into her, flattening her spine against the wooden bars and nearly breaking through them.
Thankfully though, the brutal torment ended and Big Mac removed himself from Octavia’s Equstrian, “Sorry bout that.” He mumbled.
“It’s fine.” Octavia replied, reaching back to nurse her spine.
“Get a room you t-oof!”
Removing her backhoof from Flimflam’s muzzle, Octavia leveraged her gun into her lap, still somehow holding onto it despite Lightning Dust’s reckless driving. Right now, their captive was kept alive with rope, hammer, and nails keeping him tied down to the bed of the truck.
Quite frankly, Octavia thought he was probably safest out of them.
As the truck came up to the river, Octavia looked out behind her. With the stars overhead, and the moon shining its pale light, the river’s rushing dark water reflected night’s canvas, a somber painting to anypony who would see it. In the distance, she could see the dim lights of Manehattan peeking out over the tree line, the tallest buildings a monument to all their glory, and their sins. It was, in a way, beautiful, and saddening.
Turning back to Big Mac, she started to say something, but her ears twitched.
What is that-
Coming out of the pitch black, a pair of twin headlights and the roar of an engine broke through the night’s silence. Octavia barely had time to stand up as the new vehicle slammed into the truck on the driver’s side.
Everything that happened next came in slow motion.
Big Mac had an expression of surprise as the truck started to flip over, FlimFlamBastard had a freaking smirk on his muzzle, and Octavia herself was thrown free, the Violin still in a deathgrip.
As she sailed through the air, the last thing Octavia saw before she felt the chilled grasp of the water take her was Applejack drawing her revolver and taking aim.
Then, nothing.