//------------------------------// // Quickfix Solutions // Story: Lure of the Flower // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// In the corner of Doc’s room, Roseluck hunched over the desk and read what felt like the hundredth book in however many hours. Her eyes strained to stay open. Doc’s room was a collision between a junkyard sale and a science museum for kids. Things floated behind the glass of what looked like giant lava lamps, and metal boxes swarmed with dials and meters. That was all her mind could manage before the lot collapsed into a mishmash of wires and panels and switches. Of course, she’d visited this place before, and had gaped and gasped at the devices all around them like a child in a futuristic theme park. That was when she hadn’t got in her head the haunting, taunting image of two best friends lying on a floor in the florist’s several streets away and without her, Roseluck, there to watch over them. Besides, she’d set out to investigate, and that was what she intended to do. True, that should have meant clues behind magnifying glasses or bits of suspicious metal in plastic zip bags. Or else she and Doc should’ve been pacing and puffing pipes with bubbles coming out. Reading hadn’t featured anywhere in there at all. Nevertheless. This book was entitled: “Living Shadows: A Guide to the Dream World and its Inhabitants”. Behind her, Doc sniffed and turned another page. She turned to check on him. Utterly calm, lounging on his armchair. Were it not for the lack of dressing gown or pipe, he could’ve been a veritable Sherluck, whatever that was. Certainly, he looked more like an expert casually flicking through another mystery to solve. Roseluck sighed and forced herself to read on. Finally, she found the section she wanted: “Darkness and Dreams”. “It is a common misconception,” she whispered, hopeful that reading aloud would keep her from drifting off, “that dream creatures are often dark creatures, yet truth be told, it’s rare to find the two features combined into one form. Certainly, there are many dark creatures that roam the world, such as the hate-hunting Windigo and the spellbinding Siren, and there are many dream creatures that seem to be dark too, such as the common Headless Horse. However, it’s rare to find both traits combined, as most dream creatures are simply metaphors for the mind, internally generated, and make no special effort to subvert sleep.” After this, she shook her head. Drooping eyelids fought against even her hair-trigger fear. The words lurked, but whenever they didn’t jump out at her, they became so heavy that eventually she struggled to concentrate. The page went on without her: “The most dramatic exception is also among the most dangerous: the Baku.” “Any luck over there, Rose?” Doc called. “I can hear you whispering.” “I think so… Hold on…” The book kept her gaze steady, each syllable matching each beat of her chest. “The Baku is a spirit found principally across the Eastern territories of the globe, such as Qilinland and Nippon No Hippon. The reason they are so feared is because of their ability to consume dreams. Unlike the Headless Horse and its ilk, this monster invades the sleeping mind from the outside, an alien force hopping from dream to dream in its relentless search for mental prey. Unlike most external dream creatures, however, a visit from this beast dooms the victim to eternal sleep.” “Doc!” she called, suddenly wanting his presence like a welcoming fire. Yet still her hypnotized gaze ambled across the page through sheer terrified momentum. “Qu’est que c’est?” he said. “There’s a creature here…” “Yes?” “It sounds just like the Tantabus. Look!” Without looking away – unable to look away – she patted the page for emphasis. Onward went the words: “For every dream they consume, they grow stronger, until it is said they are able to escape to the real world and wreak magical havoc. While the latter trait has never been documented except by unreliable oral tradition, their appetite for pony minds – especially old, young, weak, or diseased ones, which are easy targets – has been repeatedly confirmed by unicorn scientists. Their power makes them one of the most feared spirits of the East.” “Oh my gosh…” she breathed. Whereupon, Doc rapped her shoulder smartly. “Come now, Roseluck! You’re jumping to conclusions. That is simply not done.” The spell broke. She gasped as though breaking through the surface of a lake, and turned at once to face him. “What?” “Calm yourself down. There’s no need to get dramatic just yet.” More gently, he patted her shoulder again. The smile played on his lips. She rose from the chair so fast she sent it rocking back and forth. Everything inside her was tap-dancing on fire. “But don’t you see it yet?” she said. “That’s almost exactly what happened to Mister Greenhooves! Nurse Redheart said he was chased by something in his dream. He didn’t wake up after that. If a Bay-koo or however you say its name got him… And it’s too similar to Luna’s Tantabus! That got stronger every time it broke into a dream, and Luna’s guilt was feeding it, and it didn’t even stop until she got over it –” Doc laughed. “Oh yes, quite. Luna is a little scamp, isn’t she?” Roseluck’s tap-dancing mind tripped. “What!?” “I mean, she is a bit of a chancer. The Mare in the Moon, Nightmare Moon, the Tantabus… all the work of one Mistress of the Night. Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Helpless, Roseluck took in the fusty smell of the room. By the tingle of dust and dead heat through her nose, this was a stallion who forgot to dust and polish his machines. And his room was a graveyard of ideas, half-constructed and cluttering up all but those patches he needed to walk through and sit in. A mind like that could go anywhere. No. She stamped a hoof. Any mare who could command bonsais into little pony shapes was not going to leave his wild habits untamed. “Doc, please! The pattern’s the same as described in the book…” She flicked a page ahead and skimmed the text before rounding on him. “Look! It says one of the symptoms is sleeping for longer and longer over months and months. Just like Daisy! Then there’s a, um…” She checked again. “An increasingly depressive mood. Withdrawing from society. Just like Daisy! And then total loss of consciousness! Consciousness!” “Unlike Daisy,” said Doc with a stern voice. “All right, but what about Mister Greenhooves? He’s not exactly Mister Conscious Pony, is he? Oh no, oh no, oh no…” “Roseluck,” insisted Doc, but she waved a hoof at him dismissively and rounded on the book again. All the words slithered across her vision. “This can’t be a coincidence!” she said. “Hard to say.” “Will Daisy end up like that? If we don’t stop it in time –” “Hard to say.” Doc coughed for attention. “Roseluck. My dear, dear Roseluck. Please do not work yourself up. Sans any further clues, it’s not wise to jump to conclusions.” Under those words, her rushing blood slowed. She flinched; his hoof had come to rest on her upper forelimb, and she relaxed and let him guide her around her seat and across the room to the armchair. Deep inside, her electric fear went out. Of course he’s right, she thought irritably. I’m being stupid again. Jumping into a panic: typical, typical Flower Girl. I’m not being sciency enough. Jumping to conclusions. Jumping, jumping, jumping at everything. I’m supposed to be the brave one! “All right Doc,” she said with a sigh, throwing herself onto the cushion. “I won’t, I won’t. Give me a sec… to catch my breath…” “That’s quite all right. I too get excited when I think I’m having a breakthrough.” Miserably, she didn’t bother to correct him. Doc’s brainpower didn’t extend to reading body language well. He’d said “excited”, which wasn’t quite the word she’d have picked. All around her, the mausoleum of ideas – without changing at all – came to life. Empty diodes were waiting to be filled with light. Silent liquids were ready to bubble behind the glass. The irretrievably complicated tangle of wires and pipes and blocky bits over there was now just an engine waiting for the right mind to come and study it. Like a book in another language, but one she knew was generously waiting for her language lessons, and not hiding spitefully from her at all. To get comfortable, Roseluck shuffled in her seat. Were it not for the maelstrom of mad science piled up all around her, this would have been quite a pleasant spot for tea. “Now,” said Doc; he removed a pile of helmets from a stool and drew up alongside her. “Let’s go over the facts as they are. That should keep us cool and level-headed, or as near enough as makes no odds, eh?” His chummy smile and tones were cushions of their own. Soon, she felt her bones and muscles sinking into the plush fabric. “First, plausibility: If it were an odd creature of some sort, then where would it come from? The Eastern territories are hundreds of miles away, and I’m pretty sure Baku aren’t native to Equestria. Certainly not the slap-bang middle of it.” “But the Tantabus – I mean, what about the Tantabus, Doc?” Roseluck cocked her head, trying to appear as an interested colleague rather than as a panicky little foal. “Ha! That’s definitely gone. I think Luna would have noticed otherwise.” “Hold on a second… You said once you can’t just rule out an idea like that. How can you be sure – absolutely, positively sure – it isn’t some creepy thing sneaking around pony heads?” Doc hummed reluctantly. “A point in favour of the ‘it escaped’ idea, perhaps, but only in the sense that a staggering boxer with a black eye and missing teeth hasn’t technically been KO’d yet.” “Eh?” “Oh, nothing important.” On her squishy armchair, she wriggled with glee. Serious scientists, she thought, talking about smart, sciency things! This is where I belong! It must be; I can feel it making my brain bigger! “OK,” she said. “What if a piece of Tantabus did escape? If only one pony had it, no one would know. Luna can’t check all dreams at once, can she?” “Hm. Fair enough point. Oh, you know about Luna’s limitations, do you?” Roseluck frowned. “‘Know’? What do you mean, ‘know’? I thought we were speculating, right?” “Ah. I see. In that case, let me explain; in fact, I learned this from Twilight herself. Apparently, she tipped Luna off about some fillies in town – they called themselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders, you know – and Luna went on to monitor the CMC – that’s short for ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’ –” “I know,” said Roseluck, biting with impatience. “Intrigued, I did a little digging at the time. Called a few relatives out of town, pulled a few strings, you get the idea. That’s how Luna operates, it turns out. Using a network established since her return, she figures out from the grapevine where the likeliest bad dream hotspots are. Kind of like a magician eavesdropping on an audience before going onstage and announcing, with utter psychic conviction, that there was someone there with a heart murmur and a third cousin twice removed who was suffering from a gambling addiction.” He neighed in alarm. “Though for heaven’s sake, don’t tell Princess Luna I made that comparison!” Roseluck’s mouth was dry. Tea was starting to sound good right around this point. “How do you know all that stuff about the CMC?” she said. “Luna told you?” “No, the CMC did. They kept boasting about it after they met in one of their dreams, or something. But what an idea, eh? Dream-hopping! Think of all the secrets you could learn by navigating the pony psyche!” From his familiar manic grin, Roseluck turned her gaze away. She was wondering if he had actually thought about it. Herself, she’d gotten to the bit where they sued you for invasion of privacy. “It proves,” said Doc, spittle flying as he wound himself up to a frenzy, “that individuals can cross over, at least with Luna’s help, and since there’s a magical way, ergo there’s a better science way of achieving the same result! Hence the Oneiro-Scope, a triumph of modern scientific –” “Yes, how does that work?” said Roseluck, suspicion prodding her brain. “I thought you needed big machines just to read pony brainwaves. That’s what you said.” “Never mind what I said.” Doc tugged at his collar. “The point is it works scientifically. Using science. In a sciency, and therefore non-magical way.” “That’s another thing,” said Roseluck, unable to stop her mouth even as her eyes widened at his scowl. “I like science, don’t get me wrong, but… but magic isn’t that bad, is it?” Doc’s lips made a thin line. But what was so wrong about the question? It seemed innocent enough to her. “I’ve nothing against it,” he said calmly, and it was the special sort of calm that preceded a dam bursting and a town being flooded. “However, sooner or later, Equestria must come out of its dark ages and accept a brighter, more reliable future. Anyway, it’s more democratic. The day when earth ponies – oh, and pegasi – can wield the sort of power unicorns hoard at the moment: that’ll be the day when wonders will be open to everyone.” “But you can get magical tools in the shops,” said Roseluck. It was uncanny, part of her was thinking. She had this strange desire to throw torches into a fireworks factory, solely because it hadn’t exploded yet. Doc rolled his eyes and rapped the arm of the chair smartly. “We’re getting off-topic. If I may redirect our attention for a moment…” He ducked down. When he reappeared, another book was clasped between his ergots and his hooves. “You,” said Roseluck, “were reading a book on depression?” “Nightmares and sleeping disorders are recognized symptoms of depression, yes. Think about it –” “Oh, please no.” She gripped her head as the trumpets sounded and the ideas threw themselves into war. “I can’t stand this!” “What’s wrong?” Doc slipped off his stool and thumped onto the ground; judging from the clatter, he’d knocked some of his inventions over. “How do you do it, Doc?” “Do what? Poor Roseluck, whatever’s the matter!?” “Think like this? With all this, this… not knowing! One minute, it’s ‘maybe that’ and ‘here are the facts’, and then you go and talk about something else! Back to square one and going round in circles!” “Eh?” “All we’ve got is a Tantabus attack that can’t have happened because the Tantabus was destroyed, and the only connection Daisy and Mister Greenhooves have got is that they were… they were mopé, or moppy, or whatever. And they hid away and slept a lot. And now you’re telling me I can’t think this or that, but it makes so much sense. Why can’t I think that!? I don’t know what to do!” She slumped on the seat, so weighed down with the thundering hooves of battling ideas that the chair creaked and she felt her spine judder under every inch lost. For a moment, the junk-pile around her looked how her mind felt: lots of bit-parts and no single working machine anywhere among the lot. Doc patted her on the hoof. “We’re getting there, don’t you fret. Sadly, the information is somewhat limited. For all we know, this could possibly be a rare disease –” Seconds from bewailing the bad news, Roseluck opened her mouth… and then rammed it shut again. Her inner scientist would think she was being stupid. “– though how a rare disease managed to sneak into Ponyville and coincidentally claim two random ponies is a mystery to me.” “I don’t believe in coincidences,” muttered Roseluck. “And I will prove it.” “That’s not jumping to conclusions. That’s pole-vaulting Ghastly Gorge to conclusions.” “There’s still room for dream creatures,” she said. “I can feel it.” “Oh dear.” Doc covered his face and turned away. “Intuition. Not a good move.” “Just because we’ve got no proof, doesn’t mean it’s not there.” “No, but that’s the way to bet. Unless you’re the third cousin twice removed, of course.” “Pardon?” Doc met her gaze again, his mouth slanted as though skepticism had sat on one end of a see saw and was wondering why no one was playing with it. He gave way to a look of utter hopelessness, mouth slightly ajar, eyes hiding under the hood of his worried brow. That was an expression expecting rain. “Your friends have been alone for a while,” he said. “Remember: they’re asleep. What’ll happen is we go back and find them exactly where we left them.” “Now who’s going beyond the evidence?” she said, but her lungs swelled with newfound hope. She’d follow him to a dozen more places, so long as she could believe those words. That he’d picked the exact worry right out of her brain proved what she’d known all along; under his dapper collar-and-tie ensemble, behind his unremarkable brown coat, beat a heart attuned to hers… She slipped off the armchair and gave the junk a once-over as though she knew exactly what she were looking for. “Can’t we at least try to find out? That’s what a scientist would do. Well, how would we prove the presence of a Tantabus or a Baku?” “How to disprove it?” Grunting, Doc got to his hooves too. “It’s basic logic. If one thing is true, and only if that one thing is true, then another thing will be true.” “I’m sorry?” Roseluck took tiny breaths; that smell was caking the insides of her nasal chambers, from the clammy feel of it. “I meant: Look for clues only a Tantabus or a Baku would produce. If and only if they’re there will we have concrete evidence of its presence!” “You mean get into a dream?” Roseluck rounded on him, face blooming. “You’ve got another helmet-thing?” “Oneiro-Scope. And no I haven’t. Anyway, what good would it do? We’d be stuck in the dream with the thing; that’s like sticking your head into a burning building to see if the fire’s still there. No, my dear Roseluck, we can’t enter dreams. We can’t even enter pony minds.” Under his breath, he muttered, “How a dream creature’s supposed to get there anyway… now that is another problem…” “Make a detector!” Once more, Roseluck rushed with what felt at first like the tingling chill of fear, and then… flowering joy? Excitement? The nectar of sweet pleasure tingled through her legs and behind her jaw, a sugar rush throughout her whole body. “A detector?” “That’s it!” Skipping over to him, she giggled and added, “We can do it, Doc! I know this is the right thing to do! We’ve got a chance! We’ve got science!” His brow creased. “We?” “Yes!” “We… make a detector?” “You’ve got it in one!” “Right… so you know how to make one, right?” Her skipping stopped. Her feet hit the floor hard. Her full-body sugar rush hit an instant withdrawal as painful as being hit with a celery club. “Uh…” she said. “Yes?” A leftover giggle tumbled out of her mouth. “Or… I suppose you could make it, and I could… um… offer assistance?” Comprehension rose along with his eyebrows. “Don’t you fret about that, Roseluck! You’ve done quite enough, I should think.” “Yay, me.” Wilting, she tried to force a smile to bloom. “After all, we’ve come up with something useful, haven’t we, just by talking?” “Yeah,” she said. “It’s been good, us two, working together.” “I expect you’d like a good rest now to keep that cerebral cortex from overheating, eh?” He winked. Thus Roseluck’s mind walked straight into a brick wall. She pursed her lips around the question… “Wh–?” was as far as she got. “Oh, it’s quite all right. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out, especially not after all you’ve been through so far. What kind of friend would I be if I made you work your horseshoes off, eh?” Now Roseluck’s mind fell backwards into an open hole. She had the definite sensation of falling rapidly away from the light. “Wha? Friend?” was what she managed. “In fact,” said Doc, his voice cheerfully bulldozing through her senses, “I happen to know a mare who can give us the extra help we need.” And for the finisher, Roseluck’s mind hit the water below with a sickening belly-flop. She winced and her stomach jolted. “What!?” she squeaked. In a strange, parallel universe muffled behind her shock, Doc glanced at a clock on the wall. “Ah, she should be on her rounds by now. I’ll give her a call.” Having thus delivered the death-knell, he strode around and through the heaps of machinery and swung the curtains aside. Outside, the metallic clunk of a trash can lid heralded the shuffling of someone rummaging through bags. The smell in the room had been bad enough, but already the smell from outside ran towards Roseluck and mugged her nostrils. Odours of rotting fruit punched so hard she held her breath and weathered the beating. “Quickfix!” Doc called. “Out foraging again, I see!” From outside, a chipper voice – and, to Roseluck’s horror, definitely a female one – responded, “One mare’s garbage is another mare’s treasure, Doc!” “Excellent! Listen, I could do with a pair of quick hooves and a strong horn like yours! Fancy talking shop for a moment!?” “Haha! Another commish, is it?” Quick hooves, thought Roseluck in icy writing, as though the voices graffitied her skull with ice spray. Strong horn. Another commish. Oh my gosh, how long has he known a mare I haven’t even met!? To her horror, a unicorn mare clambered through the window before Doc closed the curtains again. Instantly, the smell brought reinforcements; Roseluck couldn’t take a breath without a gang of stinging, kicking, burning stenches pouncing on her insides. The newcomer, the intruder, the secret mare Quickfix gave her a grin which had far too many teeth. It was only a mercy they were white and not, for instance, rotten brown. “Got an assistant, I see?” Quickfix nodded towards her. “In a manner of speaking, ha!” Doc rubbed his forelegs together so fast they almost caught fire. “Got a little job for you.” “Well, strike while the iron is hot, I say. Got my work cut out for me, have I?” “Gotta go at nineteen to the dozen, Quickfix.” “Ooh, at full blast, huh? I like the sound of this already.” The words mowed Roseluck down. Here was a mare. She was talking to Doc. Doc was talking to her. Every bit of truth, every smile, every rush of winks and nods and laughs and hoof-rubs was a blade cutting her lonely flower down to the lawn. And she’d risen so high above the grass… Tears blurred her eyes, though that might have just been the smell. “Is there… anything I can do?” When the unicorn mare strode forwards to give her a pat, she recoiled. Whether said mare noticed or not, her grin never faltered. “Nah, it’s all right. Docky and I got this, love. You go get a cuppa, or something, eh? No point you standing around on tenterhooks, right?” “You stole the words right off my tongue, Quickie!” Doc laughed, reaching into the nearest pile. Roseluck tightened her jaw. She fought not to breathe in. “OK,” she murmured. “If anyone wants me…” She glanced at the door. “I’ll be outside.” “So what’s the commish?” she heard Quickfix say on the way out. She didn’t hear what Doc said. By the time she was out the door, she shut it fast and went off to find enough tea to drown herself. After all, she thought while trying not to drown in rising misery, what could I do really? Just get in the way. Flower Girl does nothing but get in the way. In the end, she had coffee, because Doc had forgotten to stock up on her favourite tea again.