Hoofsteps.
A dimly glowing horn.
Flynn marched up the steps leading to the HQ of Darkreach. When he entered the lofty room in the heart of the mesa, his hornlight glinted off the metal surface of the map-table and surrounding instrument panels. The "briefcase" that Rainbow had brought up from the lower living quarters lay limply on the floor. Not thinking—or caring—Flynn gave the metal thing a meager kick and entered the room proper.
He jolted to a stop upon seeing a thick figure standing beside the table with several strips of edible bleakweed laid out.
Flynn blinked. "... ... ...recovering with a full stomach."
"Stuff it, Baldy," Logan muttered, laying out equal portions of the food. "Been a while since the group ate. Figured I'd prepare rations now that all of the habitual ass-kicking is done."
"Uh huh..." Flynn licked the inside of his mouth. "... ... ...why by yourself?"
"Because I want to feel useful."
"But you are useful, dude. Hell... you're stallion of the hour! If you hadn't caught that freak before it flew away—"
"Did I ask you to bring your annoying ass up here?" Logan grumbled.
Flynn rolled his good eye and sighed. "No, you didn't. But... since I'm here... and since kicking my face in would jeopardize this mission's one and only technology expert..." He leaned against the center table and focused his metal lens on the obese earth pony. "...the least we can do is talk."
"Hrmmmf..." Logan wrapped each portion of bleakweed into linen mats. "There's nothing to talk about."
"Nothing my shiny dome!" Flynn smirked with effort. "Ya hear that? I'm doing the bald jokes for you."
Logan was silent.
"What next? Do I have to sit on my own horn and rotate? Will that put us on the level with each other?"
Logan was even more silent.
Flynn gulped. When he spoke next, it was in a soft tone. Warm and endearing. "You did the right thing, Logan. Back in Storm Prefecture."
Logan froze in place. He gazed blankly beyond the stack of rations he had prepared.
"She's living a good life now, thanks to you," Flynn said. "Hell... they both are." His ears drooped. "Even... even with the Wendigoes roaming about... I just know they're safe. Plenty of holds that the communities can hide in. And—besides—Theanim and Keris and the rest will make sure that the Prefectures are unified as one in harmony, even if it takes decades..."
"Told you never to talk about that shit, Flynn," Logan said in a cold tone.
"Well, I wasn't the one who brought it up, was I?"
Silence.
"You know it was only messing with you, right?" Flynn remarked. "The changeling, I mean. It was using what was in your head and then twisting their voices to try and make you feel bad."
"Yeah? Well..." Logan scooped up the rations in one fetlock and marched towards the exit. "It did a damn good job."
"Well, nice of you to admit that," Flynn said, pivoting to face him the entire way. "Now be a smart stallion and ignore it."
"I already am."
"I mean recognize it for the mind games that it is, don't simply brush the real memories off—"
"Remind me, baldy. Are you an expert in mana-electrical engineering or psychiatry?"
"Uhhhhhhhhh—"
Logan's brown eyes stabbed in Flynn's direction. "So stop buckin' around with a shit science you know nothing about."
"Logan..." Flynn frowned. "...at one point or another, Rainbow is going to ask questions."
"And at one point or another, she's going to have to drop a stinkin' load. What's your point?"
Flynn sighed, face-hoofing. "Can we finally lose the 'Job Squad' pride, Logan? I mean... Hell... Bard's gone. Wildcard's falling apart. How many more lives and limbs do we gotta lose before we level with each other? Rainbow's depending on us and—"
"And she's got us. Look at me!" Logan gestured at the rations. "I'm doing the job of nourishing the whole circus!" He turned to face the stairwell again and exited, nostrils flaring. "Even those of us who don't deserve it."
Thwap!
A linen-wrapped stack of bleakweed landed on the floor of the common room.
Seraphimus' charcoal brown eyes opened. She tiredly looked at the food, then up at the shadow looming over her.
"Eat." Logan glared.
"... ... ..." Seraphimus' muscles stirred. Tiredly—melancholically—she slowly shifted away from the rations.
"You will eat," Logan grunted, tail flicking. Kepler and Wildcard dined in the dim background. "That's not a request." He exhaled angrily. "I'll be doing the rounds... helping Rainbow and Ariel explore the rest of this alicorn-forsaken colony. And when I get back... and if I find you haven't eaten..." He gestured. "You'll be eating my axe instead, got it?"
"Your crazed leader wouldn't approve of such barbarism," Seraphimus hoarsely managed.
"Rainbow Dash is finishing her damned quest whether you live or not!" Logan spat, pointing an angry hoof. "Hell—I've a good mind to fashion your bones into a crude cannon and launch her to the Midnight Armory from here! Don't matter how she gets there so long as she gets there—over your dead body, even!"
"Then what are you waiting for?" Seraphimus wheezed. Her face was still crusty from tears. "What in Verlaxion's name anypony still waiting for?"
"Save the philosophy for somepony who cares," Logan grumbled, turning around. "Hell, Goddess knows I don't." He marched off. "Shoulda chopped your head off in the damn Gondola."
As he walked away, Seraphimus spoke—and it had a sharp edge to it: "You're not nearly as tough as you pretend, mercenary," she said. "I heard the others talking in your absence. The shapeshifting demon... it mimicked someone you used to know... ... ...undoubtedly some unfortunate soul you betrayed."
"You think you're the only soul on the Light Side who lost something?!" Logan spun about, hissing through his teeth. "You think that just because your family croaked and your continent imploded that it somehow makes you special? Friggin' grow up."
"I'm the Right Talon of Verlaxion," Seraphimus said, glaring. "The one entrusted to—"
"You're a punk. And a coward," Logan said. "Always have been and always will be. Don't matter how many friggin' throats you've slashed or crooks you've tossed over cliffsides. All these years you spent hiding behind the name of a Goddess you could have instead spent time trying to improve the lives of those around you... and the so-called life you yourself lived." He shook his head. "I don't care how many medals that the Council of Verlaxion hung on your name. It ain't worth shit." He pointed. "Take what you've got and learn to live with what you haven't. It's what I've always aimed to do. And—you know what? I'm pretty damned proud of it. What do you have left to be proud of?"
Seraphimus said nothing.
"Eat the bleakweed," Logan muttered, trotting off. "It's a lot tastier than your own bullshit."
But... before he exited the common room entirely.
"Y'know... I've been listening around myself..." He looked over his shoulder. "...the changeling came to you too... and the freak could have appeared as any of the souls in your life that loved and respected you. And yet... it didn't choose to be Verlaxion, did it?"
Seraphimus glanced up at him.
"Maybe... just maybe... it friggin' couldn't." With that said, he walked away.
Just as he was in the adjacent corridor, he heard a subtle rustling sound. He stopped briefly, craning his ear.
It was the unmistakable sound of a linen-wrapped bundle of bleakweed slowly... reluctantly being unwrapped...
...and eaten.
Logan said nothing... and shuffled off into the shadowed depths of Darkreach.