Chapter Twenty-One:

Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

Cold... everything was so cold… It was as if the sun had abandoned Equus decades ago, leaving it to freeze…

Shivering within the confines of his plated armor, Private Weathervane struggling to keep the crest of the surrounding hills in sight. This was made hard by the free roaming clouds coasting the sky. Though he knew this job was an important one, Weathervane considered the darkness a blessing. It saved him from having to look at all that snow.

It’s like a sea of ashes out there, he thought, almost groaning.

“This is such fucking bullshit,” he hissed. Boiling blood, the only source of heat in his frozen hell, blackened his veins. Weathervane normally hatted to curse, but under the circumstances he felt a few obscenities were rightly called for. They flew from him like arrows.

“Fucking bullshit, fucking bullshit, fucking bullshit.” The profanity made Weathervane’s mouth felt filthy. “It’s fucking bullshit!”

“Think you could yell a little louder, Private? There's probably a couple ponies in camp who didn’t hear you.”

Perhaps that anger of his wasn’t so fierce, for Weathervane’s hollering tightened into a squeak of terror. Hidden beneath Weathervane’s raving had been the sound of snow crunching under a hoof. There was the chance that the Private might have heard the other soldier approaching if he were silently manning his post, but Corporal Sunny Fields thought that unlikely.

“Sorry, Fields,” Weathervane mutter, thankful for the swatch of clouds drifting overhead. It helped to hide his shame. “It’s the night! It’s getting to me… My armor’s starting to feel like the inside of a freezer.”

Sunny Fields sat next to the Private. A tough blanket, nearly half an inch thick, protected their flanks from the cold.

Sunny Fields removed his helmet, then shivered as his grey mane was tussled back from his brow. “There’s no one here who doesn’t sympathize with you, Weathervane, believe me. I think most of us were stationed in Canterlot or Baltimare before coming up to Equestria’s freezer box.”

Sunny paused and grinned at his comrade. “But let me tell you something. If Broadside was to hear you shouting and carrying on like that, you won’t have to worry about the cold for much longer. He’ll toss you on a mound of sticks and make a bonfire out of ya. It’ll be heat for the troops, and maybe even a hot meal later on. You’ll be surprised what a pony on a steady diet of made ready meals will eat.”

“Okay, I get it!” Weathervane was turning a sickly shade of green, his own made ready meal churning uneasily in his stomach. “And you don’t have to be so disgusting. Jeez.”

“Just want to make sure you understand the situation, buddyroo. I kinda like you. Would be a shame to see you get made into pork chops.”

“I’m being serious, cut it out.”

Another flash of that damn grin made Weathervane ready to claw bark, but at least Sunny Fields stopped his ribbing. If there was one thing the Corporal loved more than pushing Weathervane around, it was getting his feathers in a ruffles.

The two would only sit silently for a minute or two. Weathervane tried to remain stoic and unconcerned, but neither characteristics were apart of him. Weathervane’s wings shifted impatiently as he stared at Sunny from the side of his face.

Hoping he wouldn't get anymore of Sunny’s bullshit, Weathervane at last asked, “So what’s the word? Anything from up north?”

Sunny sighed. Weathervane readied himself for dismay.

“Yeah, we got word,” Sunny said. “They said our report was received and filed, then told us to hold our position.”

“You gotta be kidding me. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Not this time, Private.”

“What more do they want from us? We’ve been up here for a month now and haven’t seen diddly! Whoever’s hiding from us doing a damn fine job, and I don’t think that’s changing anytime soon.”

Sunny chuckled. “Well it’s a good thing for the both of us that you aren’t part of intelligence, isn’t it? Nevertheless, our orders remain. The one bit of good news is that we finally know when the convoy is leaving the roost.”

“Well… that’s good right?” Weathervane dared a smile. “At least we know when we’ll be pulling out of this frozen crap heap. When’s it heading out?”

“It’s three days, Private. Three and a half, considering we’ll be catching a ride with Captain Shining Armor and the fourth platoon late morning.”

Weathervane’s wings drooped. “Oh, jeez.”

“Yep.”

“I guess that means we’re going to be moving camp again.”

“Yep again. We’re moving out tomorrow night, headed north a ways. I think Broadside is going to double the scouting parties, though, so don’t expect things to get any easier. All those empty reports are starting to mess with him.”

“But that’s not our fault! There's nothing up here.”

“Welcome to the Equation Guard, Privage It’s a tough business. They should’ve told you that back in basic.”

Weathervane turned away from Sunny Fields, grumbling under his breath. The Corporal considering asking his companion to speak up, if for no other reason than to see him squirm.

Nah, I’d say I reached my quota of pissed off Privates for the day.

Corporal Sunny Fields let Weathervane stew in his self pitying misery in peace, and instead turning his attention to the desolate stretch of land in front of them. Nearly five weeks out and he still had trouble making heads or tails of the place. That was likely why he kept getting sentry duty with this dunderhead. Scouting parties had to at least be able to find their way around camp.

Sunny Fields sighed. It was going to be a long night, longer still if Weathervane continued to sulk and bitch. The Corporal almost wished for a flurry. At least then they’d be able to go back to camp and hole up in a nice tent with a wooly sleeping bag.

What’s my life come to when the one thing I want most is a sleeping bag, Sunny thought.

Sunny Fields would get his storm, though, it wouldn't come on a gale of snow. This would be the last cold night that either Corporal Sunny Fields or Private Weathervane would have to suffer.

Death rode the wind which blew back Sunny’s mane and stung Weathervane’s eyes. If only their inexperienced noses could scent it.

If a normal pony was to look down at the third platoon’s campsite, they’d likely think that they were gazing upon a small collection of snow drifts. Though most of the Equestrian guard had a severe lack of applicable experience when it came to certain aspects of wartime and conflict, there was one thing that they had in an abundance: books and dedication.

Lieutenant Broadside was not a stupid pony. He had drilled his troops mercilessly before they had set out into the frozen wastes, making sure that they could properly set up camp and then break it down again in a matter of minutes.

“But what’s key, soldiers,” he had said, undeterred by the dozens of sweaty brows and frustrated faces staring around at him, “Is subtly. That means no hoofprints, no loud noises, and no fires. Every single one of you will have to pull your weight, and then some, if were are to undertake this special mission.”

This had been the day that Broadside had received his orders from Shining Armor himself. He gave the speech to his soldiers from atop a stack of hay bales. The training yard was filled with ponies struggling with strange ivory tents, not standard issue in the slightest.

“Illusion magic is out of the question, you see. The amount of magic it would take mask out camp wouldn’t be too substantial, but it would be enough to be sensed by any practicing magic user with more than three brain cells. More than that, casting an illusion spell repeatedly would leave an arcane residue on us and our equipment. And we can’t have that, can we?”

For all it’s worth, Broadside had down a fine job preparing his troops. He had taken every caution and used every trick available to him.

And yet… experience proved to be the superior. Experience backed by an abundance of tact,

This is the third platoon’s doom...

A pair of eyes, so black they swallowed moonlight, watched the sentries. Even though they spoke low, the strong country winds carried their voices far. The superior, a Corporal it seemed, was bragging about a mare he had back home. A real bed winner.

“You should see her shine in bed. Them crystal ponies are the freaking best, I’m telling you.”

Fucking amateurs. The lion in wait glanced up to the moon. It had been carved out, leaving only a pale smile in the sky. This was good. Not only were the thicket of clouds on their side tonight, but so was the moon itself. It wouldn’t be long now. Full dark would descend on the sleeping camp of soldiers, and then…

And then we get to work.

It took no more than ten minutes. An invisible hand had reached up and pulled shut the great curtain. The moon winked out of existence.

The pony stood. If there had been any light, the sentries would’ve seen a stallion with the stature of a log cabin. He stood tall and broad, all features bleached by the dark. The stallion waited only a moment before starting down the slope. He seemed well suited to the snow, despite his size.

Other shadows rose, unbidden, to join him. There must have been half a dozen in total, each one possessing those lethal set of eyes.

“You’re talking out your ass,” Weathervane said, almost chuckling. “There’s no way that’s possible. I mean, how could somepony be that flexible? Is she a gymnast or something?”

Weathervane sat facing Sunny Fields, but the Corporal kept his attention to the rolling hills. This meant that Weathervane wouldn’t be able to see that shiteating grin of Sunny’s.

“You’d be surprised what a pony could do in the moment, Corporal. One time we were in the shower and she-”

The grin fell. Sunny Fields squinted out into the dark, his brow furrowing.

“Hey, what the hell-”

There came a sharp whistle, then the sound of choking. Though visibility was poor, Weathervane was close enough to Sunny Fields to see tufts feathers hanging in the dark. The arrow protruding from his friend’s neck was barely visible.

Reality moved at a crawl. Weathervane watched stupidly as Sunny Fields reached up to paw the length of wood. His eyes were all whites with a hint of bloodshot creeping in. Sunny tried to speak, but it sounded like he was drowning in the words. After an agonizing second, Corporal Sunny Fields pitched over to one side. He hit the ground facing Weathervane.

Seeing the bip of blood beneath Sunny’s chin brought reality crashing back. Weathervane was on his hooves in an instant, a scream rising to his throat. Unfortunately, it would be ripped out from there by a cruel, steel tip.

In five seconds time, Weathervane fell beside his friend. There would be a second or two more of life for him, but no more. His life’s blood was slowly pooling out onto the snow, mixing with Sunny’s. Private Weathervane’s last moments in life were spent gazing into the face of Sunny Fields.

They stood around the dead sentries. The dark figure to lead the soundless charge stood a head taller than any of those around him. He scanned the hills spanning the perimeter, waiting patiently.

“Think there was a problem?” one shade asked, a mare’s voice. She peered up at the tall stallion, anxious. “We should be seeing something by now.”

The mountain of flesh and armor said only one word. “Wait.” It sounded like the command of some vast gravel pit.

So they waited. A year rolled by in the span of three long minutes when they eventually saw what they were looking for. Off to the groups left came a flashing light, no greater than the size of a bit. It winked at them three times. This was good. This meant that three other groups of sentries along the camps perimeter were dead.

A few second later came another twinkle of light, this time to the right. It winked twice.

“That’s the perimeter taken care of, sir,” a stallion said, moving the leader’s side. “Six groups of two. Should we give the signal now?”

The leader lifted his head skyward. He studied the clouds.

“Nasu,” he said, “come here.”

With his keen eyes adjusted to the pitch black, the large pony watched the mare strode forward, cradling her quiver of arrows all the way. The bow on her back was nearly as long as she was.

“Yes, sir?”

“The wind’s more unpredictable than I’d like. Will our cover hold?”

The mare lifted her head, almost in an imitation of her leader. She scented the air. At last she met his gaze again.

“Ten minutes, at least. All should be dark. After that, I don’t know.”

The stallion nodded, then turned to the party. “Give the signal.”

The first mare stepped over the dead bodies, getting a few paces away from the group. She shut her eyes and brought her focus to the tip of her horn. The unicorn flashed a dim light six times.

Even when the unicorn rejoined rank, the party waited thirty seconds before moving out. It wouldn't take long for the message to be passed along to the other five groups. Still, better to be safe.

At last, the big stallion looked to his troops. Though the faces staring back at him were studies of patience, he could tell they were anxious to begin this next leg of the mission.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s move out.”

And so they did…

They descended on the camp in groups of either five or six. To Lieutenant Broadsides credit, the night’s assassins had to analyze the row of tents carefully. They couldn’t overlook one by accident. But those eyes -those empty, unforgiving eyes- had spent two years becoming acquainted with the snowy landscape. The teams moved into position with the utmost confidence.

Nothing was said, not even when the teams of assailants broke off into pairs. One pony would move to the flap of a tent while their partner readied a weapon. Some clutched knives between stained teeth, others used the dark auras of their magic to ready bows. The archer, Nasu, was one of the latters

The archer drew back her bowstring, feeling the swelling tension in every muscle and hollow of her body. It was a queer enchantment. Not many of Nasu’s comrades understood her or her tactics. What they did understand, though, were her results.

The stallion by the tent flap, codename Ocelot, arched an eyebrow at Nasu. “Ready?” he whispered.

She took in a breath, savored the sharp sting of cold in her lungs, then exhaled. “Do it.”

He smirked. “Don’t miss.”

Ocelot pulled back the flap. A stallion, no older than Nusa, slept close to the opening. Though the soldier was piled under layers blankets, he shivered at the rush of night air. The soldier started to blink himself awake.

Nasu fired, planting the arrow between those bleary eyes. The stallion was dead in an instant.

Something stirred behind the corpse. A furry lump sat up, casting aside its blankets. A mare with a bad case of bed head swung herself around, seeing Nasu’s silhouette painted in the open flap. By then, Nasu had already knocked back another arrow. The steel tip found the mare’s throat half a second later.

An arterial spray flew up, decorating the white canvas in a gruesome splatter painting. The mare fell back into her makeshift bed.

Nasu stood there for a moment, studying the bodies. She felt light and empty without that invisible hand pulling her taut. Finally, Nasu took a step back and nodded to Ocelot. He let the flap close shut.

“Good shooting, beautiful,” Ocelot said, smiling wanely. “We got a few more wake up calls to make. You good for a few more?”

Nasu didn’t respond. In fact, she was heading to an adjacent tent, an arrow knocked back. Ocelot watched after her for moment before following.

“Fine, didn’t want to bloody up Mary anyways.”

This wave of death continued on for half an hour longer. Some of the Crystal Empire’s youngest and brightest soldiers went into the afterlife dreaming of warmth and home. A handful would wake to the cold as their assassins crept into their tent, but the ponies in black were as swift as they were merciless. By two in the morning, everyone in the third platoon would by laying dead in their beds…

Everyone, except for for one…

Cold… he was so cold…

He didn’t mind being hogtied as much as he did the cold. The bastards could have at least left him a blanket or something. The lit lantern in the corner of the tent was such a cruel joke. The only upside to the cold was that it helped take the stallion’s mind off the taste of blood in his mouth. They had gagged him as well, so there was nothing to do but savor that coppery goodness.

Why’d they even bother, Lieutenant Broadside thought, Anypony who could help me is dead.

Broadside glanced over to the flap of his tent, the dull ache in his muscles and the cold temporarily forgotten.

They’re all dead… all of them.

Faces flashed through Broadside’s mind. They had all been so young, all so full of potential. Though most were soft and a bit complacent, Broadside knew that they had the makings of truly exceptional soldiers. In allof them had been the desire to serve Equestria, to try and make it a better place.

And they killed them for it. Slaughtered them in their sleep…

Broadside was left to stew in his anger and grief for nearly an hour. It was close to dawn when someone finally pulled back the flap of his tent. All those simmering emotions were forgotten when Broadside got a good look at the pony.

What surprised Broadside about this stallion wasn't the scar crisscrossing his scruffy face, nor the ridiculously long sword sheathed on his back. What made Broadside balk was the pony’s armor. Though it was the color of soot and heavily dented, there was no mistaking the ornate armor of the Royal Guard. The scrollwork twisting along the black metal looked practically regal compared Broadside’s. Not even a Lieutenant of the Equestria Guard had armor that nice.

“Good to see you’re awake, Lieutenant,” the stallion said, sounding horse. His expression was stoic, as if cut from granite. Even if Broadside was the kind of pony to beg, he knew there would be no bartering with a pony such as this.

I can see it in his eyes. Whatever love for the world that makes a pony sane has long left this guy.

The visitor took a step into the tent, letting the flap drap lazily over himself. “There’s someone who wants a word with you, Lieutenant. Make both of our lives a little easier and don’t struggle. I don’t like to get nasty.”

A funny statement. From the look of the guy, it seemed that getting nasty would be a talent of his. Maybe even a hobby.

Broadside swallowed. Here was an emotion he had long abandoned: fear.

In earlier days, before Ponyville was gripped in the throes of its current growing pains, the Ponyville post office had been a peaceful place. It's quiet serenity had only been matched by the town’s graveyard. During these peaceful days, Derpy Hooves, the mare manning the front desk, could set back, relax, enjoy a blueberry muffin and listen to her shows on the radio -a radio play adaptation of a book titled ‘Hearts Across Detrot’ was all the rage lately.

What wonderful days…

“Coming right up!” Derpy said, trying her best to keep her demeanor upbeat and chipper. Her sandy colored mane, usually no more than a little rebellious, was an outright bird’s nest today.

Derpy brought out a book of stamps from under her counter and slid it across the splintered wooden countertop. “Anything else I can help you with today, Cranky?”

The donkey across from her scowled and muttered. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary for old Cranky Doodle Donkey, and Derpy knew he meant nothing by it. It was just how he was.

“No, that'll be all,” Cranky said at last, his voice a slow drawl. He grabbed the stamps and put them in his saddlebags. As he dropped the book in, his eyes locked in on something beyond the open flap.

“Oh yeah, I nearly forgot.”

“Something wrong?” Derpy’s smile twitched and began to dwindle, even before she asked the question. Two more ponies had appeared behind Cranky, bolstering the current line of ponies to a solid ten.

Oh Celestia, how many packages can we get in a day?

“Yeah,” Cranky replied, not looking at her. “Nearly forgot I’d come to drop off a package too. That’s why I needed more stamps!”

Cranky brought out the box, gripping the thick twine wrapped around the box with coffee stained teeth, and dropping it on the counter with a thud. It's wrapping paper was a muddy brown that resembled Cranky’s own coat all too well.

“Yes, sir, we’ll get that shipped for you right away!” Derpy took hold of it, turned, and put it with the rest of the outgoing packages. The new guy would be by any minute to grab what he could from the stack and take it to processing, but Derpy figured that wouldn't be soon enough. She could see five other ponies in line struggling awkwardly with packages.

And guess what, you’re not even half-way through to lunch yet, either! The thought of waiting three more hours to tear into that hay sandwich and banana nut muffin was agony.

Cranky nodded and offered the mare a seemingly half hearted farewell before departing. That was good. Derpy hoped that she might be able to catch up before the line grew any longer.

As Derpy engaged the next pony in line, her dark knight finally arrived.

A curtain of ivory beads somewhere to her back twitched sideways, and through it walked a pony cut from the same cloth as the night. Derpy paused mid-sentence, hearing that ever familiar rattle. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned broadly.

“Midnight! The bin’s about full in here. If you could grab it, I'd be ever so thankful!”

There was something in the mare’s voice that sounded more than gratitude. It was something soft and warm. Whatever it was, it made Midnight Dreary flush uncontrollably.

“Sorry about that, Miss Hooves,” Midnight said. “Got a little backed up in the sorting room.”

Derpy Hooves wanted to tell him to stop with that ‘Missus’ business, that Derpy would do quite nicely. Before she could do so, however, a mare cleared her throat curtly. The line had shifted, and the next pony up was glaring daggers at Derpy.

It was a task and a half, but Midnight managed to drag the full bin past the curtain of beads. What greeted Midnight as he entered the sorting room was a flurry of shuffling hooves and papers, as well as the scent of aged wood and parchment -these odors actually helped soothe Midnight’s frayed nerves greatly.

Ponies bustled this way and scurried that way, but one -a unicorn- stood amidst the chaos, watching Midnight through the circular lenses of his glasses. Unlike the other ponies in the post office, this one actually wore clothes: a neat, black suit with a maroon tie splitting his center.

“You put the spare bin out?” The stallion asked.

Midnight gave start at the sound of that reedy voice, but quickly answered, “I did. Made sure to do it before I started back.”

The stallion gave a prim nod, and a cloud of crimson magic adjusted his glasses. “That's a good, lad. Well, no time for lingering. The sky wagon gets here early tomorrow, and we have to get all this sorted before closing.”

Though he spoke to Midnight, this earned a cry of “Yes, postmaster!” from the other ponies around. Midnight glanced at his co-workers hesitantly. Not a single one of them saw anything unusual about their behavior. Nope, it was just a another day in the Ponyville post office.

“Hurry along now, Midnight,” the well dressed stallion said, not sounding the least bit rushed. Midnight shrugged. Eerie voices spoke to him through the dark mouths of shadows, so who was he to judge ponies?

By ten of the clock, the stream that had nearly swept poor Derpy Hooves away dwindled to a trickle. By ten-thirty, even that had dried up. Finally the office was starting to resemble the peaceful haven it used to be.

Each pony at the Ponyville post office had his or her own way of bearing through the grind. For Derpy it was the radio plays that came and went on 97.5 -that was, when the office was quiet enough for her to hear them. For postmaster Silver Script, it was sneaking some peppermint brandy his cousin floated to him from Canterlot. It didn't take long for Midnight to find his own little niche to help him through the day.

The door stenciled with the words ‘Postmaster’ first opened then closed as Silver Script stepped out of his office. He straightened his tie with a hoof and shivered lightly. The morning rush always left him feeling frazzled, so it was customary that he take a moment of privacy to refresh himself. He smiled to himself, but it was short lived as he noticed the dark stallions shifting absently through some of the sorted packages.

Silver Script’s eyes narrowed behind his spectacles as he approached his newest employee. “What exactly are you doing, Midnight?”

Silver Script couldn't see the stallion’s thoughtful expression with his back to him, but he surely saw it when Midnight turned. It wasn't the look of someone who had been caught with their hoof in the cookie jar. He looked to Silver Script like a child analyzing a showcase of classical art.

“Have you seen where some of these packages are going?” Midnight asked. He pointed over to a map of Equestria tacked up on the opposing wall -a gift, hoof signed by Celestia herself, that Silver Script received when he ascended to postmaster.

“They're going all over the country! Some as far as…”

Midnight glanced back at the map, already forgetting the name of the city on the far left of the country. When it was too far away to read, a faint voice whispered from somewhere unseen.

“Vanhoover…”

Midnight hesitated for a moment, then continued. “Vanhoover, that's what it was. Forgot its name for a second. According to the map, it’s a three day travel time by sky chariot.”

Despite himself, Silver Script couldn't help but smile. “That must be Mrs. Butters, sending a care package back to her son. Good on her.”

Now that smile faded. “Wait a moment... Don't change the topic! Tell me what you were doing just now?”

“I was only seeing where the packages were going, and then finding the place on the map.” Midnight's eyes widened. There was the guilt that Silver Script had been expecting.

“Was I doing something wrong?”

Silver Script rubbed at his chin. Mail theft didn't necessarily run rampant in Ponyville’s branch of the Pony Express, though there had been a few cases. Either way, Midnight didn't strike the postmaster as the thieving kind -the quiet stallion’s initial expression of wonder seemed too sincere.

At least Silver Script shook his head. “No, I suppose not. I forgot you're an... ‘out of towner’.” Silver Script muttered those last words as if they might well condemn him, despite the fact that they had the sorting room to themselves for the moment. “I suppose Equestria must seem like such a novelty to you.”

“Yes… a novelty...” Midnight smiled nervously.

Midnight remembered the trio’s cover story well enough, at least he hoped, but he was thankful he’d never have to recite it to Silver Script. The postmaster was part of the noble few who knew and understood Midnight’s vicarious situation.

Silver Script surprised Midnight by giving him a friendly smile. “Well, things have quieted a bit. Take a break if you like, then see if Miss Hooves needs any help out front. If not, then get to work sweeping the back rooms.” Silver Script’s mood darkened suddenly.

“I'm not sure who it is, but somepony keeps forgetting to wipe their hooves. A cleanly workstation is a productive one, Mr. Dreary, never forget that. I plan to have the culprit found and tried before the weeks out.”

“Yes, sir, will do!”

With another prim nod, Silver Script was off to check on some of his other employees -the ones whose shifts hadn't ended that hectic morning. Midnight stood there for a time, thoughtful.

A quick glance at the piles of packages to his left, and already the desire to try and pinpoint the mail’s destinations was gone. Suddenly Midnight was self-conscious and far too aware of himself. Perhaps he would just go ahead and see if Derpy needed his help.

Besides… Midnight gave the room a wary once-over. It's a little too quiet in here. The voices are starting to come in clearer now.

As if to emphasis his fears, Silver Script’s voice rang out far clearer than it should've considering he was now two room away from Midnight.

“It's a perfectly innocent question, Scrabble, and I don't see why it warrants any hostility. Just tell me if you wipe off your hooves before entering work... What? … What do you mean you smell peppermint on my breath? Just what are you insinuating, sir!?

Hearing enough, Midnight hurried for the exit. He made perfect use of the floormat on his way out.

For most of the denizens of Ponyville, twelve o'clock marked a reprieve from the day to day struggle of work. They'd break from work, go get a sandwich from Tulips or a cupcake from Sugar Cube Corner, shoot the shit with co-workers, and then pretend that they didn't have another four or five hours left of their shift. For Midnight, this process was a little different.

“Guess it’s time for you to be headed out, huh?” Derpy asked, turning down the radio to speak. Midnight had just finished sweeping up the lobby. Broom cradled in the crook of on foreleg, and the stallion eyed the floor skeptically. It didn't seem as if he heard Derpy.

“Midnight? Are you listening?”

It was the sound of his name that got Midnight’s attention. He turned to her, his expression like that of someone slow to wake up.

“I'm sorry, Miss Hooves, were you talking to me? I kind of zoned out.”

“So I noticed,” Derpy giggle. “And you really don't have to call me Miss Hooves. Miss Hooves is my mother, and I'm in no hurry to grow up into that busy bee.”

Derpy grew somber suddenly, something most uncharacteristic of the usually bubbly mare. “Been trying to tell that humbug of a postmaster that for over a year now. It’s because of him that people call me that!”

Midnight shifted the broom into his opposite leg, then scratched the back of his head. “Sure thing… could I… get your name? I've only heard you as Miss Hooves.”

Derpy stared at him flatly, or at least she seemed to -Midnight had a hard time telling what she was looking at when both her eyes seemed to look in opposite directions. That's when she raised a hoof and tapped the tiny, golden placard on the counter. It read thusly: Derpy Hooves

There was a flush across Midnight’s cheeks, followed by an apologetic smile. “Silly me. Didn't see that there.”

Derpy brightened immediately, giggling. “Don't worry about it! Anyways, I was just asking if you were going to get ready to leave soon. It’s ten till twelve now.”

“Is it really?” Midnight spun around to the grandfather clock on the other side of the lobby. The old man confirmed what Derpy said, ten till.

“Wow, time has really flown.” Then, with a frown, Midnight added, “Or maybe I'm just not working that much. Five hours really hasn’t felt all that long.”

“That’ll happen when you’re busy. Don't worry yourself over it, though. You keep up what you're doing, and you won’t hear any complaints. Silver Script likes you well enough.”

That made Midnight feel a bit better.

“Thank you, Miss-” Midnight stopped, all expression falling from Derpy’s face. They stared at each other, Midnight's mouth agape as he wrestled with his tongue.

“Derpy,” He said at last. “Thank you, Derpy.”

The small, grey pegasus beamed.

It didn't take Midnight long finish up his work. After the broom and dustpan were put away, all that was left was a confirmation from Silver Script and a signature for the time card.

Within ten minutes Midnight was walking back out to the lobby a free pony, though, he didn't feel too happy about it. It was mainly the thought of how Alabaster and Little Whisper would be working halfway till sunset while he was already finished.

Midnight was halfway across lobby when Derpy called out to him. When Midnight turned back, he saw her fluttering along after him, grinning.

“You going out for lunch by chance, Midnight?” she asked. There was a warmth emanating from the mare, as if she was an oven. It was a quality Whisper herself had. Midnight equated it to her being a kind and loving sort of pony. Midnight figured the same could be said for Derpy.

“Actually, I am,” Midnight replied. “Was going to meet up with my friends and go… somewhere.”

The excitement on Derpy’s face sagged at that. “Oh, so you already have plans then?”

Midnight thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Lunch has been the only time in our schedule for us to try out new restaurants.”

“I see…” Derpy dropped to her hooves. “I only ask cause I just clocked off for lunch too. Was just going to see if you'd like to eat with me.” Then, almost balefully, she added, “No one around here ever wants to. But anyways, maybe we can do it another time.”

Midnight regarded Derpy thoughtfully. The Mayor had told Midnight and his friends on their first day that it would behoove them to make a few friends -or at least acquaintances, if nothing else- as soon as they could. Mayor Mare had assure them that she didn't fear they would be discovered, but she said that ponies who stood apart from others tended to stand out. Standing out was not in the trio’s best interest.

Alabaster had accepted that news well enough, but it was Little Whisper who was thrilled to hear that. All three had promised to themselves -as well as the Mayor- that they would do their best to open themselves up to the town every chance they got.

Is this such an opportunity, Midnight mused to himself. Why the heck did it have to fall on me, though?

Irony was a fairly new concept for Midnight Dreary, but not one he didn't understand. How ironic it was that it might have to be the timid, introvert to make the first friend in Ponyville.

Midnight swallowed the lump in his throat. “Well, if you'd like to, maybe you could join us sometime? I… I don’t think my friends would mind.”

Midnight stumbled back a step when Derpy exploded into a thunderous squee.

“Really? You mean it?” Derpy’s grin was fit to split her face. “Now, don't let me be a bother. It's really no big deal if you can't or... don't want to.”

Midnight wasn't sure what to make of the brief flash of hurt in Derpy’s eyes, nor was he sure that he hadn’t put it there. If only Whisper could have been there. She would’ve told Midnight that he was conducting himself rather well.

But Whisper wasn't here. Midnight thought that maybe his hesitation had betrayed reluctance, and now he acted quickly to rectify that.

“It'll be fine,” Midnight said. “My friends have said that we need to start meeting new ponies. If we don’t, people around town might start to think we have something catching.”

Derpy giggled. “Ha, that's silly. If you really say it's okay-”

“It is, I promise.’

“Then I won't be one to argue! Maybe we can do lunch tomorrow?”

Derpy was back off her hooves and slowly drifting upward. It seemed she was oblivious, though.

Derpy nearly fell out of the air when throat cleared itself behind her. They both whirled. The ever prudent Silver Script stared flatley at the couple from behind the front clerk’s counter. Neither Derpy nor Midnight were sure how much he had overheard from their conversation.

Silver Script spoke in a sharp tone that rang with all the finality of an ultimatum. “You’re lunch hour is just that, Miss Hooves, an hour. And as for you, Mister Dreary, we don't look too kindly on employees loitering after clocking out. You’ve put in your time, now go and enjoy the rest of your day.”

Midnight and Derpy gave a rigid solute before darting in opposite directions. The front door slammed shut behind Midnight, while beads rattled after Derby.

Dinner had been eaten and gone for an hour, but still the tiny house smelled of garlic and parmesan cheese. Not that anyone was complaining.

Alabaster sat in a rocking chair the landlord had given them, examining the cotton toboggan he had started to work the day they come into Ponyville. It was a mismatched thing, made with red and yellow yarn. The only place to buy good yarn in Ponyville was currently closed -’Out on holiday’ the sign hanging out front read. For now he was making due with some small spools he bought from the general store up a few blocks.

Fucking froo froo shop is probably overpriced, anyways. And I bet it reeks of perfume too.

Midnight lounged on the couch across from Alabaster, flipping his way through Whisper’s paperback. He had made it three quarters through ‘Hearts Across Detrot’ and was doing his best to grind through the last stretch.

Satisfied that he had royally botched his latest project, Alabaster sighed and tossed his lapful onto coffee table. The clatter of crochet needles brought Midnight out from the confines of his imagination.

Midnight, not liking the glint of venom in his friend’s eyes, asked cautiously, “Having some trouble?”

“Some?” Alabaster snorted. “More than some, kiddo. Might as well brake my needles and burn my yawn.”

Midnight did his best to look sympathetic. A rather noteworthy effort, considering this was a pony who nearly throttle him once. Alabaster continued to glower. The rocking chair creaked fiercely all the while.

Thinking he had done his friendly obligations, Midnight returned back to ‘Hearts Across Detrot’. He managed another page when his friend interrupted him again.

“Hey, Midnight, can I ask you something?”

Midnight peered over the book. There was something in the way Alabaster looked at him that made Midnight bookmark his current page and set the book aside.

Somethings bother him. Worms of anticipation writhed uneasily in Midnight’s stomach.

“What’s getting to you, Alabaster?” Midnight asked.

Alabaster smiled, though his gaze remained sullen. “Caught that did you? About time. I’m as easy to read as a picture book once you get to know me.”

“What is it?” Then, by some crazy hunch, Midnight answered himself. “Is it Little Whisper?”

Alabaster stopped rocking. “What makes you say that?”

Midnight’s nose wrinkled and his ears fell flat. Why had Whisper come so quickly to mind? There was something there, like a tiny bone hiding in a particularly juicy slab of meat. Then it came to him.

“It's about lunch, right?

Alabaster learned forward, his golden eyes alight. “That’s right on the fucking money, guy.”

Midnight couldn’t stop himself from flushing. There was something in Alabaster’s gaze -it’s intisity maybe- that moved Midnight.

“I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times by now, but you’re going to hear it once more. I got a point to make, but I gotta beat a few bushes to make it.”

“Okay.”

Alabaster wetted his lips. “ So me and Whisper go back, as you know. We’re both about twenty-five, more or less-”

“More or less?”

Alabaster paused, then shrugged. “Yeah, more or less. What do you want, dude? I never knew my parents, not to mention the fact we both grew up in the fucking wilderness. Keeping track of ponies birthdays seems pretty redundant when you have clans of dragons constantly warring, packs of slavers trying to make a quick bit with the Free Pony elite, and literally everything in nature wants to kill and eat you. Makes for a rough climate. Just be glad that Whisp and I haven’t decided to skin you and wear you as a vest.”

Midnight sank into the couch, his head hanging like a scalded dog’s. The heat on his cheeks flared into spotlights. After he was sure he wouldn’t be interrupted again, Alabaster continued.

“As I was saying… shit, what was I saying?”

“Twenty-five,” Midnight muttered, never looking up. “More or less.”

“Right! More or less. We’re about twenty-five, and Whisp has spent damn near ten years of that time with yours truly. Enough time for me to pick up a thing or two about that little mother of ours. Now, we know Whisper can be quite the actor. She can fool just about anyone… even me at times.”

Alabaster paused to scratch the side of one cheek. There came a soft rasping sound. Alabaster wasn’t sure what pissed him off more, the idea of having to hunt do a decent razor to replace the one he lost, or the fact that his facial hair would likely never grow in well enough to truly warrant shaving.

Either way, it’s some bullshit.

“But she’s not as clever as she thinks, Midnight. At least, not always. There’s tells. Very subtle tells. I’ve picked up on a few of them through the years so I could know when she’s bullshitting me.”

Midnight tilted his head. “Tells? What do you mean.”

“Clues, my boy, I’m talking about clues. It’s something in the way she acts. They’re very subtle, though… unless she happens to be pissed at you. She’s pretty straightforward with that.”

Midnight nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. “So what’s wrong with her? What tells were you picking up on?”

Alabaster started to speak, when the cave of his mouth slanted to a shrewd smirk. “Tell you what, Midnight, why don’t we make a game out of it? It’ll do you good to do some critical thinking.”

“This isn’t going to be like when you tried to teach me how to play cards is it? I didn’t like that.”

“No, you lucky git, it isn’t going to be like cards. I want you to think really hard on this now: what made you guess I wanted to talk about Whisper a moment ago? And more specifically, why did our little luncheon today come to mind?”

“Well, I guess…” Midnight glanced over to the stairwell, appearing as if to struggle with a piece of food not properly chewed. “To answer both questions, I guess it’s because I was thinking about her too.”

Midnight pointed to the paperback. “Yesterday, she asked where I was in the book. Oh, Alabaster, she was so excited when I told her. Seeing her that way…” Alabaster was genuinely surprised when Midnight began to grin.

“I’ve been having a hard time getting through the dang thing, but seeing her so excited got me interested in reading it again, which is saying something! Whisper said the next few chapters would really pick up the pace of the story, and was she right.”

The grin faded. Midnight’s expression became hazy and demur, the default expression which Alabaster so associated with his friend.

“I was so sure she’d ask me about it today… but she didn’t... I would’ve brought it up myself if my mind hadn’t been elsewhere. Not that it’s a big deal or anything. We can always talk about it later. It’s just that it kept popping up in my head as read just now...”

Midnight’s gaze dropping. He didn’t realize that he had been gradually leaning forward as he talked. Long conversations were something of a physical exertion for Midnight, and they always left him feeling a bit winded. Midnight reclined back into the sofa, saying no more.

Alabaster stared at him, but Midnight had the idea that his friend’s attention was elsewhere. There was a spacey look in his eyes.

At least Alabaster’s focus narrowed back to reality. “Funny thing, boyo, but your observation is a tad apt. Hell, you missed the nail, but you still hit the board.”

“How so?”

“You remember our waitress today?”

Midnight smiled. Brie, the tired looking mare who had both seated and waited on the trio all three times they had eaten at Pimento’s Sandwich Shop, had given Midnight a free slice of cherry pie early that day.

~“You’re far too skinny, boy”, she had said with a wink. “Here, this will help ya put some meat on them bones.~

“Brie, you mean. Yeah, I like her.”

Alabaster laughed. “No, you don’t. You like pie. Don’t even deny it, I can tell by the twinkle in your eyes.

“Anyways, she’s my biggest tell. You remember when she started to mention how she used Whisper’s little trick for her flowers?”

Midnight nodded, starting to understand.

“If there’s one thing I know about Whisp, she loves helping ponies out when she can… and then talking about. Whisper has been carrying around little gems of knowledge from hundreds of books for years, dude. If she can spread some of that wealth, it makes her week. Do you see where I’m going with this, dude?”

Midnight nodded. He saw where Alabaster was going now. “I don’t think she said more than four words to Brie today.”

“Or anyone else, either,” Alabaster added. He was rocking back and forth again.

“She spoke to us plenty, sure. Asked about our day, if we were still getting along with everyone, if the work was too much, yada yada yada. But how much did Whisper have to say about her own day when I asked?”

Midnight remembered exactly what she had to say. “It’s about like yesterday.”

“Yes!” Alabaster nearly shot out of his rocker. “Exactly! That’s all she fucking said.”

Midnight’s speculation waned. He wasn’t sure if he was as convinced as Alabaster anymore. “Maybe her day really was like yesterday. That doesn’t seem all that impossible.”

Alabaster shook his head, his exaltation turning mirthful. “Midnight, if there’s one thing Whisper and I have in common, it’s that we like to talk. Granted, we both gravitate to different flavors of conversation, but damn do we have the gift for gab. No, I'm almost positive there's something eating at her. Otherwise, we would be hearing about how precious the farmer’s granddaughter is, how how their barn’s coming along, or some other hick shit.”

Midnight considered this for a moment, then said, “I do think something’s off, but… I hope you don't mind me saying, but I think you might be looking a little too deeply into this. Maybe she just… I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t feel well? I heard somewhere that there’s a bug going around. Maybe she got bit?”

Alabaster thought for a moment that Midnight was joking. The seriousness he saw writ upon that dark face cheered him greatly.

“Damn it, Midnight, do me a favor and never change, okay?”

Midnight tilted his head, blinking. “Umm… okay?”

Alabaster sighed and slouched back into the rocking chair. He allowed himself to be rocked for a time, until at least the chair went still. The only conversations held then were between planks of wood as the house started to settle.

“Maybe you’re right,” Alabaster said. “I think a part of me just wants something to be wrong. With everything going so well for us lately, it’s got me a bit on edge. I’ve been convinced that there’s something lurking around the corner, and I want nothing more than to get the drop on it before it drops on us.”

“Then isn’t that all the reason to enjoy what we have now?” Midnight asked. “I’ve come to hate the idea of living in constant anticipation. It’s bad for my stomach.”

Of all the ponies to feed Alabaster some food for thought, he wouldn’t have expected it to be someone who didn’t even know their own birth name. It struck Alabaster funny. Maybe it was that weirdness that conveyed such startling truth in what Midnight had just said.

“Now don’t you go getting wise on me, boyo,” Alabaster said amiably. “You’ll be no fun.”

Alabaster pondering on his friends for a little while, eventually reaching for the ugly toboggan to give it another try. Midnight tried to get back into his novel, but it was hard going. Something Alabaster said kept sizzling, hot and fresh, in Midnight’s mind.

Midnight closed ‘Hearts Across Detrot’ for the final time that night. “Hey, Alabaster?”

He waited for Alabaster to look up from his work before continuing. “You’ve told me about some of places you and Whisper have seen and some of the places you’ve gone. However… I’ve been wondering a bit about before you two met. You’ve told me little about the ponies you lived with, and nothing at all about Little Whisper…”

With a wry smile, Midnight added, “I’m sure they would make for some good stories, maybe even better than those about Dozer and Phoniks. I know you said you didn’t want to talk about how you and Whisper met yet, but I was hoping...”

Midnight tapered off, leaving the question to hang in the air like a pendulum.

Of all the things in Alabaster immediate future that he wouldn’t be prepared for, this was a conversation that he had seen from a mile away.

Okay, maybe half a mile away.

“Those are some long stories, buddy, and not particularly happen ones at that. I won’t speak for Whisper. If you want to know something about her, then ask her.”

And let her deal with making up those lies.

“As for myself?” Alabaster started back to work on his project, hoping that Midnight wouldn’t see how troubled his really was. “Let me get back to you on that. There’s some things I don’t think I’ll mind talking about, but… just let me think on it, okay?”

Midnight nodded eagerly, his face practically beaming. Even if it would be weeks or months before Alabaster decided to open up such stories to him, Midnight was more happy just to have finally touched on the issue.

The weight of Midnight’s curiosity, like that of a lead ball, had left his stomach. What Midnight didn’t realize was the lead ball wasn’t really gone. No, he had just dropped it on Alabaster instead.

The day was spent. Sunlight drained from the windows as the air began to fill up with the chirping of crickets. Midnight laid across the tiny couch, his stomach full and his body comfortably weary. A part of him was ashamed to be tired. Lugging packages, hauling bins, and tidying up after ponies; it all seemed so trivial when compared to bucking apple trees or scaling the sides of buildings.

It had been nearly five minutes since Alabaster had left Midnight to his own devices, and he now found himself sad to see the pegasus leave.

Leave me to drown in my boredom, why don’t you?

Midnight thought briefly about the book on the coffee table, then wrinkled his nose.

“I've had enough of that grizzled sad sack,” Midnight muttered, thinking of the stoic faced lead in the novel. “I’ve got one jerk too many in my life as it is. Another just make things feel too crowded.”

Midnight sighed and rolled over onto his back. It took some wiggling and worming before he felt truly comfortable. Those bottomless pools of blue traced circles along the popcorn ceiling. The old lamp above Midnight’s head burned away, it’s light casting tiny pockmarks all across the ceiling. Midnight’s gaze felt them like an abrasion of the skin.

“I’m bored,” he said at last. Admitting to it seemed to give the feeling an oppressive weight. Repeating the phrase only made it worse.

~“We gotta find you a new hobby,” Alabaster had said the other day. “Hell, we all need new hobbies.”~

Midnight had agreed. He knew Alabaster must have been feeling particularly antsy. The scarf Whisper had shown him back in Appleloosa was tucked away somewhere, likely with that toboggan. Both would remain unfinished for the time being.

Midnight spoke to himself again just then -a bad habit he was picking up from Alabaster. “Maybe that’s why his has been working on his other hobby. Though, I don’t really see how ‘sampling the local flavour’ can be considered a hobby.”

Thinking about the bottles hidden beneath the loose floorboards, it wasn’t surprising that Midnight’s train of thought would quickly steer into Whisper’s direction.

“Does Whisper have any hobbies?” When the flecks of shadow refused to answer him, Midnight continued. “I know she’s bought some books, but is that all she does for fun? Read? That’s all I’ve seen her do…”

Mulling over the idea, mulling over his friends too, Midnight cracked a small smile. The singularity of their nature, their simplicity, was probably the greatest thing the three of them had in common. A bunch of boring pees in a boring pod. Midnight understand that he needed to grow into this world, but he was comforted to see that his friends did too, in some way.

Despite that warm gush of affection, Midnight was still being crushed by his own boredom. He knew very well where the silence was leading. Crickets and cicadas sang for the fallen sun, but their voices weren’t the only ones that did so. Beneath their accompaniment, a vein of white noise ran like a subterranean river. Midnight felt it more than he heard it.

I think it’s time for a walk…

Midnight sat up, ears twitching. It was highly likely that Alabaster and Whisper would be asleep by now. Even if they did happen to come downstairs for a glass of water or to use the bathroom, Midnight doubted he’d be missed.

“They’d think I was asleep,” he mused. “And if not…”

Midnight thought about two nights ago. He was lying in his bed, listening to those darker friends of his, when he’d heard the shuffling of hooves from downstairs. The clattering of glasses, followed by the soft click of a closing door, told Midnight just who it had been. He would get no trouble from Alabaster as long as he knew about the bottles beneath the floorboard.

Despite all of his justifications, Midnight still hesitated halfway between the couch and the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the stairwell. A part of him was convinced he’d see Alabaster or Whisper staring at him from the bottom step. Neither were there, though.

After a long second, Midnight moved to the door. The night opened up to him like unfolding arms.

Though it was warm outside, a steady breeze carried with it the memory of a much kinder spring. It swept back Midnight’s mane and planted a kiss upon his dark brow. Midnight’s heart stuttered along with his clopping hooves, but at least that wind managed to elevated his spirit.

Midnight studied the houses of his neighborhood. There were no stars out tonight, a thick curtain of clouds had separated the earth from the sky. This was fine by Midnight. When there were no stars to gaze upon, one only needed to turn their face to the houses. Most windows were snuffed out at this hour, but a few still burned the late night oil.

These sparse few piqued Midnight’s curiosity, but he managed to force himself along. He wanted a little more distance between himself and home before he really opening up his ears. Briefly thinking back to last night made Midnight shiver.

“I couldn’t bare to hear that sobbing again,” Midnight thought aloud. “It sounded like someone was being torn in two.”

It didn’t occur to Midnight that maybe it wasn’t the sorrow in those muffled cries that disturbed him so, but how familiar the pony sounded. Then again, Midnight wanted to give that poor soul as little thought as possible. The sound had been wretched.

Midnight turned off his street, and onto another labelled ‘Willow’ by a nearby street post.

“If I stay straight for about ten minutes, I’ll be at the post office.” Then, after taking in the empty sidewalks around him, Midnight added, “Heck, I would probably get there in about five… Ponyville almost look like a dream at this hour.”

Though Ponyville remained a mystery to him as a whole, there were at least some parts that were laid comfortable within his grasp. He felt uncharastically at ease as he strolled down Willows Street. Now far enough from home, and certain that he remained unseen by any prying eyes, he picked out a bench half a block ahead of him. Midnight went to it and sat

Though Midnight was at rest, he started to feel Ponyville sway around him. Midnight’s previous walks had been accompanied with a teeming sense of anticipation, as if the night itself had been expecting him. Tonight was now different.

This is what it must feel like to be on a boat, Midnight thought, recalling Alabaster’s reenactment of their cruise from the Dragon Lands.

At last Midnight closed his eyes, allowing himself to swoon. It took some time and concentration, but eventually his mind slipped into that dark sheath of ice. Consciousness focused itself down into no more than a knife point, then plunged hilt deep. That current hidden beneath the world surged forward in a rush. A river of shadows babbled to the pony, its voice that of many.

Though Midnight was developing a knack for bidding and dismissing the shadows, he couldn’t help but be momentarily overwhelmed. It was like being pummeled by a hurricane. That sliver of concentration threatened to slip from, but Midnight gritted his teeth and held to it.

“Quiet,” he whispered, adjusting himself. The bench was horribly uncomfortable. “Quiet now, please.”

The shadows responded instantly, their collective shrinking down to an excited murmur. Smiling, Midnight cracked an eye open. He was still alone. Only a couple of windows were lit now. Taking single breath, Midnight felt ready at last to listen.

Speak to me, he commanded. The voices came forward once more, but as a trickle. Swallowing an ocean whole would make a pony choke. But if that pony were to use a straw?

So much of what Midnight heard sounded like a jumbled gargle. He wasn’t sure what these voices were trying to tell him, so he gave them little of his attention. That grotesque slurry of words made Midnight uneasy. He used the blunt of his focus to tone them out. It didn’t leave much left, only half a dozen or so snippets that he could understand.

A few of these floating voices:

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s out here somewhere. I saw it Tuesday night!” It was a filly, her voice pitched high with youth. “The thing was stalkin’ about, all spooky like.”

Another filly responded, “Oh please. Your have to be full of horse apples if you think there’s actually a ghost out here. It sounds like you’ve been hanging around Pinkie Pie too much. Next thing we know, you’re gonna be getting freaked out by twitchy tails and achy knees.”

“Scootaloo! How can say that?” Midnight actually flinched. Somehow this third girl’s voice was higher still, her octives tickling his eardrums. “Applebloom is at least trying. Can you imagine how cool a ghost hunting cutie mark will be? It’ll be so awesome!”

The second filly, Scootaloo, grumbled beneath her breath.

The first filly tittered. “She’s just draggin’ her hooves cause we had to practically pull her out of bed. She’ll come around once we’ve caught ourselves a bonafide ghost.”

The second filly protested, the third questioned, and the first just laughed. Midnight followed them for minute. Though he couldn’t see the fillies, he heard them clearly enough as to be standing amongst them. There wasn’t much more they said that wasn’t bickering.

I hear enough of this from Alabaster and Whisper, Midnight thought, allowing his mind’s eye to roll. He was wading back into the shadowy murk. Though there was so much Midnight couldn’t comprehend about this talent of his, he did understand one thing: that the number of intelligible voices would grow fewer and fewer still as the night waned on.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to dig around too long. Another voice, a pair of them actually, fluttered from the gloom.

“I know it sounds cruel, but there’s nothing we can do now. He had every chance to clear out before things got bad. Heck, we offered to pay for the train ride, for Celestia’s sake!”

The voice, that of a stallion’s, sounded horse. Midnight wondered if the he hadn’t been gargling gravel.

“Cruel? Cruel!?” This was a mare. She sounded like she was on the edge of hysteria. “Our brother is laid up in some hospital with a ventilator crammed down his throat, and your saying we should just… what? Ignore him? No, Fin, I’d say that’s heartless.”

Fin was quiet for a moment. The silence was so palpable that he wondered how neither of them choked on it.

At last he said, “Dad… have you even told dad yet?”

“Oh please, I know exactly what he’d say. All that bastard cares about is work. He abandoned his son and then replaced him with bits.”

“Pearl… first off, Dad didn’t abandon him. Surf chose to stay in Detrot, even after his so called ‘friends’ destroyed Mint’s home. And second, I think you’ve overlooked just how hard dad’s worked to make a life for us here. Do you know how many other ponies were interviewed for site manager? Nineteen. Twenty equally qualified ponies, and dad was one of six picked. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Silence again. Midnight found it hard to breath. The last thing he heard before shifting away was a single sentence spoken with enough venom to make Midnight sicken.

“You’re just like father.”

This wouldn’t have been the first time Midnight eased dropped onto an argument, yet it still left him feeling dirty and vile. He couldn’t completely say why.

There were a few more tidbits scattered across the night. He found them here and there, like a crow picking up shiny peeples. Thankfully, there was nothing more scandalous than a young mare than reciting dirty poetry to a friend. Midnight’s perusing would only be interrupted every few minutes when he would sneak a peek at the sleeping world he had left behind. Still no one.

What Midnight enjoyed the most about these little stints wasn’t the gossip or the secrets in embroched on -in fact, it would be about a half hour after he finished eavesdropping before he could say he wasn’t disgusted with himself. No, it was the pease. The longer he listened to the shadows parasailing about him, the more placated they became. It was only until he started humoring them that he was able to silence the pests.

Nearly an hour had passed since Midnight had stepped out for his walk. More lights had winked out. Dozens of windows gaped out at the world like the hollow sockets of a skull. The herd of idling clouds had finally moved on, making room for the moon to assert herself.

It wouldn’t be long now before Midnight would need to head back home. Besides the fact that his erect back ached and his flank hurt, Midnight’s mind was starting to feel taxed. Holding that sicle of ice in the center of his head had nearly exhausted the poor fella’s reserve of willpower. Beside’s, it wasn’t as if there was anything else worth listening to. The last clear voice to cut through the din of garble was the whispered rambling of a madpony. More than likely a sleep talker.

Midnight was getting ready to withdraw from the drying pool when he heard it. A single word drifted from the ether of darkness, carried on ebony wings starlight.

~Midnight…~

Midnight’s heart stopped. The breath he had just drawn caught like a lump in his throat.

~Come to me, Midniiiiight~

Midnight was suddenly no longer in Ponyville. That wailing, pleading voice transported him, taking the stallion back… back to Appleloosa. The street side bench was replaced with a wingback chair and the crickets were now Alabaster’s syrupy sleep talk. And what was that smell? Why, it was the smell of a stallion wearing ten thousand miles and had just bought Midnight lunch. What was his name? Gavell?

~LISTEN~

Fear threatened to seize Midnight then and there. He was knocked senseless by memories a few weeks old. So much had happened since the trio had come to Ponyville in such a short time. How easy it had been for Midnight to push aside all those unpleasantries in place where most ponies greeted you with a smile.

“No,” Midnight hissed, “I can’t let myself panic. I can’t! I-”

~Midniiiiight~

His eyes flew open. Fur damp with sweat clung to Midnight like a wet blanket. Though he had closed himself to the shadows, Midnight still held onto that cold blade of concentration. It was as if he couldn’t let it go.

Midnight breathed deep, giving himself a count of ten. That voice, distant but drawing ever closer, sounded just as serene and just as inviting as it had in Appleloosa. And though his rubbery legs pleaded for him to run, to flee, Midnight forced himself to stay.

Midnight had yet to be introduced to the concept of valor, however, that wasn’t to say he didn’t have an example of it. That room in Appleloosa dissolved from his inner eye, and was replaced with an image of Alabaster. It was Alabaster standing before Dozer in Flutter Dust’s cantina.

Midnight allowed himself a smile. “If Alabaster was brave enough to stand up against a beast twice his size, then the least I can do is sit here without losing my head. And if anything does happen… well, I’m in the middle of town, ain’t I? I can just screa-”

~COME TO ME~

Midnight nearly bit the tip of his tongue when his teeth clacked shut. Whatever the voice was, real or not, it sounded as if it were on top of him. But the street was still empty. Midnight shifted uneasily, wishing the streetlamp over head didn’t feel so much like a spotlight.

Something had happened to the night. It was somehow different than when Midnight first stepped out of his home. It took Midnight a long second to identify what was off. Then it clicked.

I’m not sitting beneath a streetlamp.

“Then how can I see,” Midnight asked himself. “How the hell can I see?”

There was a street lamp across from Midnight, but it’s circle of light was weak and flickering out. Half an hour ago, the hulking shape behind the lamp had been just that… a shape and nothing more. Now Midnight was not only able to make out each of individual brick from the building, but he could even read the sign hanging from the front door.

~No immediate vacancy. Speak to Miss Haymaker to place a reservation on an apartment~ The rest was just an address.

Midnight gaped. Ponyville shone with a bright, pale illuminessence. There was the crazy notion that morning had come early. This was absurd, of course. Midnight couldn’t have been sitting on that bench for more than an hour. Besides, this looked nothing like the harsh bray of daylight. It reminded him more of the nightlight Whisper left on in bathroom.

“But that’s no where as bright as this… what even is this?” Midnight no longer bothered to whisper. “Is it… the moon?”

Just saying the word had a peculiar effect. Gravity suddenly reversed, and it felt to Midnight as if he was hanging onto the bench by the fur of his ass. Something was pulling Midnight… tugging Midnight… trying to raise Midnight above Ponyville and all those who slept within it.

“It’s up there… it’s up there watching.” Midnight didn’t know what he was saying, but that it couldn’t be good. The fear on his voice sounded too much like madness.

“It’s waiting for me to look up.”

Oh damn, why did I say that!

It was as if speaking the act made it inevitable. Midnight’s eyes bulging with strain as he tucked his chin to his chest. He made himself stare at the cobblestone

I won’t do it. I won’t! I-

~Midnight~

The muscles in Midnight’s neck were welded steel, yet the turned as easily as greased lightning. Hot tears raced tracks down his cheeks.

“Please don’t make me,” he cried. “I just want to go home!”

But there’s no pleading with destiny. Midnight looked up.

~There you are, Midnight~

A milky mass had eaten the stars and the darkness between the stars. There weren’t even clouds anymore. The pale body above Ponyville was massive. There wasn’t even a sliver of sky to be seen now.

Holy hell, I think that’s the moon!

Midnight couldn’t breathe. His jaw hung down to his chest, and still he couldn’t inhale. At last he could. Midnight’s breath came in a sharp gasps that stretched his lungs to maximum capacity. The pearly surface of this alien moon crumpled and creased, pulling away from a massive ring of blue.

It was an eye. A great, watching eye.

~NOW I SEE YOU~

Midnight hardly heard the voice. He had waded into the waters of that eye, an eye that was so much like his own. Its undertow drug him up and up, up to the pit of tar set in the middle of that ires.

Perhaps this was for the best. If Midnight could see what was happening to the world he knew, then there really would be no coming back from the waters of insanity.

Phantasms of pure depth were leaping and careening down the empty streets, uncaring of all the hard surfaces that had subjugated them for so long. Reality had been abolished tonight. For now, the shadows would rejoice in their improbability.

The moon spoke to Midnight again, but it spoke with a power beyond the poor stallion’s canny. He felt the earth vibrate beneath the bench.

~YOU’VE RAN FROM ME, MIDNIGHT, BUT HAVE STILL SOUGHT ME OUT. YOU’VE DEAFENED YOUR EARS, YET HAVE OPENED THEM ONCE MORE. THIS IS ALL GOOD~

Midnight trembled. The calms waters of his soul broke as the words came falling on him like so many stones.

~EVEN FOR A LIFE BORROWED, THERE MUST ALWAYS BE CHOICE. YOU CHOSE TO LISTEN… YOU CHOSE TO FIND YOUR WAY BACK~

Midnight’s mouth had never been so dry, yet still he managed to croke out, “I… I chose?”

The silhouettes froze. Whatever music had carried them along the street of cobble and stone had ceased. The pony on the bench now commanded their attention.

~YOU CHOSE~

The eye shook. Midnight couldn’t help but to shake with it.

“B-but I don’t understand…” The phantoms moved, drawing closer to Midnight as if to hear him better. “W-what did I c-choose? W-what the heck did I choose!”

~YOU CHOSE ME~

Midnight laughed hysterically. He had held onto sanity with bloody fingertips, but was now slipping.

“A-and what are you?” After a second, he repeated the question with a flavor of Alabaster. “What the fuck are you!?”

The eye, or moon, or whatever the thing was, spoke no more in words. What came next did so in a rush.

The bud of ice held between Midnight’s eyes blossomed into full winter. Claws, claws colder than anything imaginable, sliced Midnight from forehead to brainstem. But they didn’t stop there. Starting at his neck and traveling down to the tips of his hooves, the blades dug furrows through Midnight’s body. It felt as if he was being flayed alive.

Midnight, robbed of thought, screamed at last. He screamed for Little Whisper. He screamed for Alabaster. He screamed for anyone in world. Yet the only ones to hear his wails were the entourage of specters. And at the sound of Midnight’s cries, they fell upon him.

Midnight never realized he was choking. Probably couldn't. The shadows of the world poured down his throat like an ocean, filling his belly cold, cold darkness.

Midnight had come at last.

As morning came the following day, the citizens of Ponyville would awake to blankets kicked to the floor and to pillows sticky with sweat. Partners will have bruises from beloveds who had kicked them in the night, but they themselves would wonder how they had managed to stay asleep.

A dreamless night had passed, leaving many unrested and some even ill. They would all swear that they had slept right through the night. Yet…

Oh well. They would only shrug and go for seconds of coffee. Soon enough, most would find their stride and go about their day as they normal would. For that’s all this was. A normal day.

Wasn’t it?

Alabaster, bleary eyed and half-asleep, stood before the stove. The kettle of water on the front burner was hot, but it would be another minute before it started to steam.

Bad dreams had wracked him through the night, leaving him awake and unrested. Strange dreams they must have, given that he woke up in a puddle of sweat around midnight. He couldn’t remember a one, though.

No trouble on me, though. I’ll just drown that shit in coffee.

Curls of steam were beginning to curl from the kettle’s spout when Little Whisper stepped into the kitchenette. Alabaster half turned, and considered her for a minute. Her coat shone, as if freshly brushed, and her eyes were clean of the gunk that crusted over Alabaster’s.

Still, last night’s talk with Midnight weighed on his mind.

“How you doing this morning, Wisp?” Alabaster asked, his rusty voice cracking.

Whisper was adjusting her braids, but she stopped when she laid eyes on Alabaster.

“Holy crap. Better than you, by the looks of ya.”

“Heh. I ain’t never been no sleeping beauty, babe. And no, before you ask, it’s not because of you. A touch of insomnia, I’m guessing. Happens to the best of us.”

Whisper moved to his side. Alabaster sighed as he felt his friend’s loving warmth press against him.

“You want to talk about?”

Alabaster shook his head. “Nah, not really. Midnight will be getting up soon, and… yeah, just better not.”

The motherly look Whisper was giving him turned amused. “You know you’re going to have go wake him up, right? He’ll sleep all day if you don’t.”

“What?” Alabaster’s lip turned up into a petulant scowl. “Why me?”

“Because it’s your turn.”

“You know, I thought the deal was that I fed him and you change his newspapers. You were the one who wanted to keep him after all.”

Whisper’s tail give him a resounding *whack* to the flank. “Don’t you even try to give me that stony resilience, Al. It isn’t befitting of a blowhard such as yourself. Besides, I’ve seen how you two are getting along.” With a mischievous grin, she added, “It’s plum enough to make a mare jealous, so it is.”

Alabaster bumped her back a step, glaring. “Alright, that’s enough out of you. I’ll go get him if it means you’ll shut your trap. Just be sure to mind my coffee, will you?”

Whisper gave Alabaster another *whack* as he started away.

Grumbling and grunting, Alabaster started off for the stairs. He made quite a show of it, stomping along each step as he ascended to the second floor.

If the racket I’m making doesn’t wake Midnight up, I’ll buck his ass out of bed.

He knocked on the door when he got to Midnight’s bedroom, but this was only a preliminary courtesy. If a simply knock or two on the door could wake that pony up, there would be no need for anyone come fetch him.

“Yo, Midnight, time to get up!” Alabaster spoke as he twisted the door knob. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation that made him do so, but what he said next came out as a sort of sing song.

“~The sun’s not up, but we got you a cup! A cup of stimming cow pi-~”

Alabaster was halfway into the room when his song tapered off into a croak. It was still dark out, but there was enough moonlight streaming through the open window to light the well enough. And it was by moonlight that Alabaster saw the empty bed.