~ III ~
Of Break-Ins & Broken Spirits
Robberies are always a pain to plan and to execute, to steal and make an escape, but the true pains, of course, are placed upon those that walk in on one by mistake. For starters, if those unfortunate souls did not turn back around, then the rest of their afternoon was guaranteed to be spent in a hot, stuffy room.
Of course, it doesn’t help when the robbers won’t let their victims talk, though this is because they are performing a robbery, and robberies have a tendency of making ponies nervous. They think their victims will formulate some plan against them, but in actuality, that latter just want to shit-talk their captors behind their backs: a means of regaining some sense of control, as well as an outlet for the stress of the situation.
All can agree, that the most annoying part of a robbery, is the possible loss of life. Equestria has remained ambiguous about its time period and technological progression, allowing for various creative interpretations of the weaponry created by pony kind. That being said, however, those 'interpretations' of the lazy persuasion tend to rely on unicorn magic going Pew! Pew! Pew!
YOU'RE DOING IT AGAIN.
Spike shook his head, seeing he had made his claw into the shape of a gun. Not like a realistic interpretation: just two fingers (or talons?) pointed forward with this thumb (thumb-talon?) upwards. He fired his 'gun' and nothing happen, unsure why he felt so disappointed.
"Sorry," Spike said, putting away his gun. It was foolish to think he could kill Death anyway. "My claws just move on their own when I tell stories. I can't help it."
NO. THAT IS FINE. Death leaned back in his seat, letting his bony hands drop into his lap. IN FACT, IT HELPS WITH VISUAL CUES, SO KEEP DOING THAT. He looked directly into Spike's eyes, his own two glowing orbs of brilliance. BUT YOU ARE TELLING MORE THAN WHAT YOU ARE SHOWING—A TELLING GALORE AS WE CALL IT IN THE BUSINESS OF REPORT MAKING.
"What? It's not that bad," Spike pouted, crossing his arms and looking away. A thought struck him, and he dared to face the criticism from Death himself. "In fact, telling could be a good thing! It cuts down unnecessary details and allows the authors to exert their voice!"
YOU ARE NOT INCORRECT, Death agreed reluctantly. BUT, JUST AS THERE IS LIGHT AND DARK, HAPPINESS AND SADNESS, THERE IS A BALANCE BETWEEN SHOWING AND TELLING. TOO MUCH OF THE FORMER, AND YOU'RE JUST REPORTING. TOO MUCH OF THE LATTER, AND IT IS A DISCOURSE INSTEAD OF PROSE.
"Exactly!" Spike said, snapping his claw and sitting up in his chair. "You wanna show enough to immerse the reader in the scene, yet tell enough to give the work your voice and avoid redundancies and useless details."
QUITE CORRECT. Death cracked his neck, which Spike raised an eyebrow at, but did not question. NOW THEN—another crack—THE STORY? YOU'VE ALREADY USED YOUR EXPOSITION DUMP ON THE PREVIOUS PAGE OF THE REPORT.
"Oh yeah, that’s right." Spike cracked his neck as well; he was prone to peer-pressure. "So, I decided the first pony I should see was Pinkie. Her place was the closest, and I could eat some sweets for breakfast—only, somepony had beaten me to it…”
"Hooves up!"
Spike blinked. He looked down, gazing at the things at the end of his arms. He then looked up to the two unicorns, one brown and the other blue, who had their horns charged and their eyes narrowed.
Spike shrugged with a confused expression.
"A wise guy, eh?" the blue one said.
Spike looked between his legs, noticing the absence of the thing that made a guy a guy, then looked back up at the two unicorns. He shrugged, though his expression was now sad.
Pinkie stood behind the counter, hooves still raised from when the robbers had first demanded she raised them. If she was honest, she first waved them in the air like she didn't care, but when the robbers implied they would take her life, she suddenly cared very much, and stopped shaking her hooves.
She looked at the drake, who inched his head left. She looked left, realized it was the wrong left, then looked right, where a cash register sat on the counter. Spike nodded, and she also nodded, the latter not knowing what it meant but shuffling towards the object anyway.
'Okay, so she caught on,' Spike thought to himself, shivering as the unicorns stepped towards him. 'Just have to distract these bozos long enough for her to whack em over the head. Playing dumb always garners interest, so just play dumb—it's what I do best.'
"We said raise ‘em!" the blue unicorn exclaimed, his horn glowing brown. "Get ‘em up, or not even your scales will protect you from what will come next."
Spike closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, and opened his eyes. He knew what he must do.
"Listen fellas, I wanna comply in any way possible." He took a step towards them, and when he saw brown magic grow brighter, he proceeded to stop doing that. "In fact, I even hate this bakery! It takes all my money and makes me fat, so I wanna help in any way possible."
Pinkie glared at him.
"Yeah, like anyone walks in on a robbery and..." the blue unicorn stopped talking, blinking at a new realization, before tilting his head forward to peek between his legs. He very much had the thing that made guys, or, at least he hoped so behind the fat of his tummy that blocked his sight.
"Trust me, guy," Spike began, taking another step. The unicorn looked up, expression half-suspicious and half-concerned. "I've had that fat too, but my ex made me shed it. How I did it in two weeks is chalked up to an excessive and a convenient growth spurt, but if I didn't have my best friend to rely on, I would've robbed this place and gotten back the money I worked hard for."
The blue unicorn chose to say nothing next. Instead, he sat down and contemplated his life choices up to this point.
The brown unicorn laid his hoof on his accomplice's shoulder, shaking them. "Hey, c'mon. We've got a place to rob and a situation on our hooves." He kept shaking, though his hoof was batted away. The brown unicorn frowned, lowering his voice to a whisper. "There's no sense in worrying about your weight now. Once we steal this money, we can get you on a proper diet, alright?"
The blue unicorn was still, his head low.
The brown unicorn sighed and shoved him aside. He turned to the drake, "All right, nice try! You may have put my pal out of commission, but your words are meaningless to me." He tilted his head back, looking down at Spike. "Now put ‘em up!"
Spike glanced left. Pinkie was slowly lifting the cash-register.
"When you say put ‘em up," Spike began, looking back to the brown unicorn, "what part of me are you saying exactly?"
"Your hands, of course!" the unicorn said, waving a hoof. "Or claws or what have you."
"See, that's the part I never got." Spike rose his claws, not enough to surrender, but so he could gaze into his palms. "Are these claws or hands? If it's the former—" he wiggled his five… appendages "are these also claws? Is it claws on claws?"
"Uh... claw claws?" muttered the crook with a visibly pained expression.
"And if it's the latter," Spike continued, "then does that mean I have fingers, talons, or claws?'
"Uh."
"It's stuff like this that keeps me up at night." Spike dropped his claws to his sides—if that's what they were called—and looked at the brown unicorn. "So, with everything on the table, how do you want to proceed?"
The brown unicorn sat still. He blinked, his mouth was agape, and he was oblivious to the mare straining to hold the cash register above his head. Its shadow loomed over him, and the next sounds was not a cry but a chuckle.
"How do I want to proceed?" asked the unicorn with a smirk. "First, I’m going to rob this place.” His horn began to glow with a blue hue. “And second, if you live through this, I want for you to take acting classes." His aura formed around the cash register above his head, causing Pinkie to yelp. The object then propelled forward, knocking the mare into the wall and unconscious.
"You bastard!" Spike yelled, shaking with rage at the situation unfolding before him. "You didn't have to do that!"
"Tell me about it," the unicorn replied, grinning. "A simple spell would have put her to sleep. But I've always had a flair for theatrics, and I'd be a fool not to take advantage of her position."
Spike glared at him.
"Oh, don't give me that look, now." He sneered with an imperious shrug of his withers. "Besides, if it weren't for you, she wouldn't have risked putting herself in danger. We woulda got our bits, and she would be just fine. If you're going to blame me, then you have to blame yourself as well. It's only fair."
Spike thought about this. He hated himself for doing so, but try as he might, he couldn't find anything incorrect in the presented logic. Spike hadn't cared enough about Pinkie to realize the danger he could have put her in, and now she was the one hurt because of him. It was foolish to think he could distract the two rogues long enough for it to matter, yet he didn't think twice before attempting to do so at the expense of her safety.
At least that was one thing they could agree on.
The brown unicorn watched with a predatory grin as the drake curled his claw into a fist. "Seems that thought made you angry. You going to do something about it, or just try to talk me to sleep again?"
Spike felt like crying. Despite his best efforts, his body shook, his claw-hand thing shivering in fear of whatever was to come next. He wished he didn't care again, that he could just be cool and punch this stallion in the face and make things right again. His claw reached for the pocket in his scales, resting there.
"So how about it, dragon?!" the unicorn began walking towards him, each step digging the dagger of despair deeper into the drake's chest. "Never tangled with one of your kind before; hell of a thing to put on a resume."
Spike should have drank the vial. He should have let himself not care for another day and allowed his better self to make everything right again. He would hurt ponies again, say unkind words and do harmful things, but it was worth the price, right?
"Y-you're really going to regret h-hurting Pinkie Pie," Spike said, holding up his claws, balling them into fists. "I-It’s always a b-bad idea to mess with a dragon's f-friends!"
The unicorn stopped walking just a few feet away from the dragon. "Wow! Now, if you had said that without the stutters, then you may have sent a shiver down my spine. Heck, with you sounding so serious, I might have ran away out of fear." He then closed the distance between them with two more steps, leaving the two standing muzzle to muzzle. "But that's your shtick, isn't it? Talk up a big game and hope it scares others away? Talk yourself up, and maybe, just maybe, others will believe it to be true?"
Spike growled, tilted his head, and delivered a punch to the unicorn. The blow landed on the brown cheek and made the head attached jerk to the left, but the unicorn's eyes never broke contact during the movement.
"Is that everything you amount to, twerp?" the unicorn said, pushing against the fist as he turned his head back. He grinned. "Your words have more punch than your fists!" His forehoof flew upward, connecting with the scaly chin and sending Spike into the air.
A moment later, a thud sounded from a foot away as Spike crumpled to the ground.
"Pathetic," the unicorn spat, stepping forward. He towered over the felled drake, who heaved and panted, his claws shaking against the floor, struggling to push himself back up. "Your callous words hurt my partner, so allow me to return the favor." He thrusted himself downward, strangling the drake's throat with his hooves. He took a perverse delight in how Spike’s claws swatted at his forelegs, desperately vying for purchase. "Your words are fairy tales; their magic only works when others believe them." His horn ignited blue, tapping it against the dragon's forehead. "But when others stop believing them, do you know what's left?"
An inky blackness began to well around the corners of Spike's vision. His lungs burned, deprived of the oxygen they so desperately needed. He batted the hooves a few more times before his claws fell to the floor, and darkness enveloped his world.
"Nothing."
SO YOU LOST?
"Well, I mean, of course I did." Spike focused on the top of the table, exhaling deeply at the memory. "I've never fought anypony before—the girls usually do that for me. And to be honest with you, that unicorn was right, my big mouth is usually what gets me out of trouble. You take that away, and what do you have?"
Death kept silent, not being keen on stating the painfully obvious.
"A useless dragon," Spike sighed. "A joke in comparison to the rest of his kind and a failure in prowess in the ponies that surrounds him." He smiled bitter-sweetly. "Nothing much more to it than that, or at least, that's what I thought at the time."
"Bro, are you sure about this?" Spike heard a voice past the numbness inside his head, a darkness obscuring his vision. He began to stir. "The food I can get behind, because, y'know, I can eat it, and you can sell it. But are you sure ponies won't realize we've just stolen all the furniture from here?"
"The plan is ingenious, so stop questioning it!" said another. Spike slowly opened his eyes to blinding sunlight pouring in through the front window. "Nopony can trace stolen foods, and we'll just sell the furniture to buy new furniture!"
Spike shook his head a few times, the world taking a bit longer than usual to come into focus. From what he could tell, they were still in the lobby of the pastry shop; only the floor had been cleared of any chairs or tables.
He only made it a few inches in an attempt to stand, being immediately yanked back by his arms. Looking up see what had stopped his movement, he saw shackles around his raised claws, holding him in place.
Metal handcuffs chained his wrists to a pole in the wall. He yanked his claws forward, groaning under his breath to rip the pole out from the wall, pulling harder and harder, feeling his muscles burn from the strain. He cried quietly, giving it his all.
Spike fell back against the wall, panting. His all wasn't enough.
"C...crud..." Spike looked to his left. The unicorns stood at the other end the shop, stacking tables on tables and chairs on chairs with their magic. They continued to chatter, loud enough to drown out sound of his breathing. He looked back up, seeing the key-slot in his cuffs. "...guess...I don't have...any other choice..."
He stuck his finger into the hole (don't think dirty) and cried out after doing so (stop thinking dirty.) A moment later, a blue aura surrounded the handcuffs, emitting small bolts of electricity. Another moment later, a brown face hovered above the dragon.
"So you're awake," the brown unicorn said, "and dumb enough to try the shackle. Did you not think a unicorn wouldn't cast a protective spell on it." He blinked, stooping his head closer to Spikes face. "Can you even pick a lock?"
"Uh." Spike thought back to a time when Applebloom had locked herself in a room. He went to try the lock, only for Applejack to buck it down. He tried another time. He had locked Twilight and himself in a room. He had tried the lock, but Twilight blasted the door open with her magic. "No. But there's a first time for everything, right?"
"Useless, just as I thought." The unicorn lifted his head. He turned around, trotting back to his partner. "Keep silent, will you, and let us finish our work in peace."
Spike tried for a retort but had none—they'd just be inflated words to make himself feel better about the harsh truth. He wallowed in self-pity, berating himself internally. Then, from the corner of his eye, something stirred to the right of him and he looked at it immediately.
Pinkie sat next to him, chained just the same, eyes fluttering open. She kept quiet at first, looking up at her chained hooves, looking left at chained claws, then afar to the not-chained hooves stealing all of her stuff.
She then looked back to Spike and offered a half-smile. "Well, that didn't work."
He sighed, looking forward. "Tell me about it."
They sat in silence for a few moments.
There was a thud, and there was a cry.
"Silver, this hurts!" a voice said. "Why can't we just take the food and dip?! Look! See? My hoof is purple now!"
"You fool!" A slap of epic proportions was heard. "Say not of our names in fear of being tracked!"
"What? It's not like those two can see us." The voice paused as if to double check. "Even if I said my name was Cookie, it's not like they'll be able to tell which is which."
Another epic slap echoed through the building. Its vibration could be felt by the two prisoners, who shuddered at the sensation.
"You imbecile!" said a voice. "Just because they can not see us does not mean they can not hear us! You've given them our identity—we may need to kill them because of your mistake!"
The prisoners shuddered again, not because of the fear of death, but at losing their lives for a few ham sandwiches.
"I am not an imbecile!" said the other voice. "I just so happen to be very pleasant. And who cares if they know our names? It’s not like they know who is which.”
"Oh, yes." The first voice made a snorting sound—or maybe he just snorted. Not cocaine, just oxygen. "Because that's how the world works! Simply knowing of our names would not be enough to condemn us to prison."
"See? I knew you would see to reason."
Another epic slap. Spike and Pinkie wondered if they would at least get a ham sandwich.
"You fool!" The first voice began again. "If those two give wind to the authorities of our names, then no matter which name belongs to whom, they'll still be able to track us down and arrest us!"
Silence.
"Are you sure that's how that works?" said the second voice.
"How what works?"
"Finding ponies. Do the authorities even have a general register of everypony's files? And if so, is it fair for them to have such power?"
"Now is not the time for the abstract policies of Equestria nor pseudo-philosophy!" said the first voice with a tone of panic. "Resume working before the whip comes out again."
Work resumed for the two.
The two not working, like most crappy coworkers, gossiped about those who were working.
"Cookie and Silver?" Spike said, his voice perking Pinkie’s ears. "I know I shouldn’t be one to talk...but Cookie and Silver? What kind of parents name their foals Cookie and Silver?”
Pinkie softly giggled, gazing forward. "Silly ponies. That's who."
A few awkward moments passed.
"I guess you weren’t expecting your morning to go this crazy, hey, Spike?" Pinkie uttered, the usual excitement that followed her words now gone. She kept gazing forward. "But, then again, with how you came in and handled those meanie-BO-weenies, I swore you were going to order everything off the menu again."
"I wish.” Spike chuckled, but no smile came from it. “This whole mess would be over if I just stopped caring, if I just stopped being so afraid.” He sighed. "I have this potion on me, that if I drink it, I’ll stop caring, just like how I was before. I could have drank it, I should have drank it, all because I was too scared.”
He looked to Pinkie, who returned the gaze. “I cared too much about what the results would be, too scared what would happen to me, and yet, I didn’t show that same care towards you, and you got hurt because of it.”
“It’s not your fault!” Pinkie replied. “You didn’t know that meanie was going to pull a fast one...you were just so caught up in the situation is all! You’re a good dragon, Spikey, you know that.”
"I wish that were true, but I’m not. And I'm sorry, Pinkie," Spike continued. "I shouldn’t be this much of a wimp, I should have cared more about you, at least enough to see how much danger I was putting you in.” He slammed the back of his head against the wall. "Breaking up with Rainbow Dash was a good idea after all. I’d just wind up hurting her by caring too much about myself, again.”
"You and Dashie…” Pinkie shook her head, face scrunching up in thought. “...broke up?”
"We split just a few days ago.” Spike cracked his neck. “Nopony has seen her since, so now I’m trying to find here." He pressed his head back against the wall. “Like I’d have any luck finding her.”
"So that's why she was buying so many cupcakes!" Pinkie said. Were they not bound, she would have clapped her hooves. "She bought so many cupcakes that it put your previous order to shame! And here I thought she was throwing some big party.” She slouched forward. "She refused to tell me why, so I figured I wasn’t invited, which made me very sad.” She then beamed. “Guess Dashie still loves me after all!"
"Wish I could say the same," Spike said, looking forward. "I wasn't expecting a breakup with a dragon like me to hurt her at all, but to start throwing a party in celebration afterward?"
Pinkie narrowed her eyes on him, recoiled an inch, and went to lecture the boy, but was stopped when a shadow washed over her.
"Your talks of self-deprecation is boring us to tears," Silver said, enveloping of their cuffs with his blue magic, setting the bound wrists free. "Assist us in moving the furniture to the back door." The same magic then enveloped around Pinkie, lifting her off the floor as she hovered in the air. "Failure to do so or any attempts to flee..."
The magic around Pinkie began to constrict. She screamed.
"Stop!"
The magic stopped.
The pink mare was set down.
The purple drake was set to the task.
Spike, for whatever reason, enjoyed the work at claw, despite who he was doing it for. The chairs weren't heavy, and the repetition from walking the hall to the back door set his body on autopilot. In his mind, he thought of Rainbow Dash, back at home throwing the party of her life, overjoyed to be finally rid of his presence for good.
It hurt him to know, that while break-up reduced him to darkness and ice cream, Rainbow Dash was free of any such pain, having the time of her life.
'Maybe this is for the best for everyone,' Spike thought, pulling a table down onto its side. He then picked it up with both claw, hoisting it over his head as he stumbled toward the back door. 'That unicorn saw right through me; I only get away with stuff because of my big mouth. Take that away and what do you have? Nothing.” He huffed under the weight, but kept forward all the same. ‘I was crazy to think I could get better—that I could become more than what I am: useless.” He made it to the door. ‘I should just mouth shut and work hard, rather than spout all that nonsense.'
Spike set the table down, leaning it against the wall, feeling of accomplishment washing over him as he stood back up. He was strangely happy with himself, of working and being helpful, even if it was for robbers and he was stealing from his friend.
Lifting was not something he could talk up or lie about; it was a thing proven only by doing. If he kept silent for the rest of his life and did more work, then maybe ponies would like him more—maybe wouldn't be such an absurd dragon that everyone found to be weird.
Spike returned the lobby, getting into the groove of the work. He liked this; he enjoyed himself at the moment. Who needed Rainbow Dash to mentor him? Or a friend to get him over fears that were probably true about him anyway. The unicorn was right, he really was useless, but if he worked hard enough, then maybe he would no longer be.
'From this moment on,' Spike thought, picking up two chairs instead of one, 'I'll keep silent and only work!'
"Just what in the hay is going on in here?!"
All movement ceased inside the lobby. Everypony looked at the front door of the shop. A fat, white unicorn stood in the doorway. Cookie and Silver were scared, not because the unicorn was fat, but because he wore a badge on his vest.
Someone had forgotten to lock the front door.
"We are...uh." Cookie did not continue speaking. He looked on with concern to Silver.
"You see, officer," Silver began, feeling the spotlight on him. He rubbed his neck. "We are simply...as you can see...the floors were quite dirty and..."
Silver stopped talking. He looked to Spike, who put down the chairs at the gaze.
Spike raised his claws, not knowing what should say or do, but when Silver nudged his head in the direction of Pinkie Pie, he required no further hints. He looked around, seeing that the lobby was now clear, that all the food was set on tables, and finally, his mind came to a conclusion any sane creature would have in the situation.
"We're hosting a stand-up show!"
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