//------------------------------// // - // Story: Haunted Wasteland // by forbloodysummer //------------------------------// The steady lapping of the waves on the sand guided Spitfire back to the waking world. It soothed her as her eyes flickered open, hypnotic in its constant movement. She was lying on a beach, cool sand beneath her back. A thin sliver of a moon trailed glistening highlights on the low backs of waves in the dark waters, rushing in to wet the sand a couple of wingspans in front of her each time. And the stars, they watched down on her as a million pinpricks of light in a canvas that seemed so immeasurably vast and distant, and yet at the same time only a hoofwidth away. The details of Princess Luna’s night sky were the only sources of light as far as she could see, right out to the horizon. And there was a voice. There was a voice like nothing she’d ever heard before. Her dreams had been all over the place. Sometimes hazy, like her eyes or her memory had pins and needles, sometimes vivid but bizarre, sometimes erotic, as sirens did more than just flirt with her. And that voice had haunted them, running through like a common thread as far back as she could remember. A soft, ongoing melody of wordless oohs, or lyrics that hovered just beyond the edge her ability to make them out. She pushed herself up to a reclining position, supported on her elbows behind her, and waited for her head to stop spinning. Looking to either side made it worse, but there on the left she could see Rainbow sound asleep in her sun lounger, whickering on each outbreath almost too quietly to hear over the waves. How many cocktails had they stayed for, in the end? A whole day of research, if it could be called that, and not much more learned than Rainbow’s clue from her flight with Lightning. All while running on no sleep. Spitfire’s head throbbed, but all in all it wasn’t too bad. She pulled herself further forward with her core muscles until she was sitting on her rump, then held her head in her hooves for a moment as she again waited for it to settle down. The ethereal singing carried on the whole time, coming from somewhere behind her. With great effort, she made it to her feet. Steadying herself, she turned away from the water to look further down the beach. Letting her ears guide her, she crept along the coast, taking care not to disturb Rainbow behind her or the singer ahead – as if her identity were in doubt! And there she was: a pony silhouetted against a backdrop of the moonlit ocean, framed by two palm trees. The outline of the braids falling about her face made her look all the more exotic as she faced out to sea, with Spitfire approaching her from the side. She could hear the words more clearly now, as Aria emptied everything inside of her into the music, and put every singer in pony history to shame. “And I descend from grace, in arms of undertow…” Even up close, it was delicate enough to avoid rattling her brain inside her skull, as most other sounds might have in her state. She wasn’t sure how Aria would take being interrupted, but thought that staying back to listen unannounced would probably go down worse. She wove her way slowly along the dark beach until she stood beside Aria, matching her pose gazing out to sea. Aria stopped singing. There was nothing around for the sound to have bounced off, so it must just have been in Spitfire’s mind that it echoed on and on. They stood there in silence, only a wing apart, for what must have been at least a minute. The cool breeze coming off the ocean was refreshing, but not so chilling as to raise goosebumps. The slight difficulty balancing was less noticeable now she was standing still, but the aftermath of the afternoon and evening of cocktails also left her mouth dry and tasting unpleasant. And her breath stank of booze; there was no avoiding that. Without warning, Aria started speaking, more monologuing to the waves than addressing Spitfire in conversation. “Serenity, tranquility, peacefulness – another might just as easily call that stillness loneliness.” Aria’s voice had a whispery kind of resonance, a gracefulness it hadn’t by daylight, as if it had picked up some depth and mystery from her singing. “But I think it’s beautiful.” She paused, her chest expanding and contracting as she silently took in huge lungfuls of the sea air. It smelled different by night, perking Spitfire up instead of lulling her to sleep. Aria’s voice took on a more wry tone, but even that was muted in the nighttime stillness. “So here am I, living on a desert island, the place you’d move to above all else for its glorious sunshine, and yet I’m more nocturnal than not.” She snorted. “The sunshine at night is about the same here as in Canterlot.” The stars are better here, though. The lights of Canterlot smothered the night sky, whereas Marewo showed it the clearest Spitfire had ever seen from below the cloudtops. Even in the dark, the island was picturesque. “I always did like the night,” Aria finished with a sigh. “I’d switch off the sun if I could.” They both continued to stare into middle distance, eyes held in place by the motion of the waves despite not really focusing on them. After a few moments, Spitfire responded, “I can put in a word with Princess Celestia, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.” Her first attempt at using her voice since waking up came out scratchier than expected, so she swallowed, trying to rectify it without having to shatter the still by clearing her throat. For a while, Aria said nothing, not shifting where she stood. Then, unprompted, she turned her head to look directly at Spitfire for the first time. “I didn’t mean to wake you”– Spitfire preemptively waved a forehoof in the air in dismissal of the apology she imagined would follow. –“but I don’t really care.” Huh. Well, that’s a possible response too. But all that vanished into insignificance when she in turn swivelled her own head to face Aria, and caught sight of the other side of her face. “Whoa, what happened to your eye?!” She blurted out, much louder than anything either of them had said until that point, surprise and concern overriding everything else. The skin around Aria’s far eye was a hideous sight: massively swollen, and dark enough to look black in the moonlight. The eye itself was almost lost in shadow beneath the inflammation, but it looked like it might have been bloodshot solid red. “Don’t worry about it,” Aria said, “it’s fine.” There was even a quiet chuckle in her voice, a more casual and lighthearted dismissal than even Spitfire’s own had been towards the apology for being awoken. What would lead a pony to amusement at that kind of injury? And then images appeared in Spitfire’s memory, connections being made to things she’d thought she’d dreamt. But, now she focused on them… Noises woke her. Maybe. Were they noises? She was lying on a sun chair thing, the world was reeling side to side like she was tumbling in freefall, and the sunset over the sea in front of her fizzed and blurred, like she’d been pressing her hooves against her eyelids for too long. She went to stand up, nearly falling on her face as she did, but getting all four hooves under herself in time. Then she took a step forwards, and ended up going forwards and sideways. But that was ok, she adjusted, lurching to the other side with the next step, pointing herself at the hazy shape of the house and stumbling in that general direction. She heard more noises as she got closer. Yes, they were definitely noises. Bedroom kinds of noises? If Rainbow and Lightning were… “Shh!” she said to her hooves, putting them down softly on the sand with each step, and making extra special sure when she got to the house to slow down and steady herself before leaning against the wall beside the window. The lights were on inside, so it was easy to see in when she snuck forwards, just hoping that the ponies inside were enjoying themselves too much to notice her face at the window. It was… It was Lightning and Aria! Spitfire let out a huge breath and collapsed back against the wall. No, that hadn’t been a dream, had it? She really had woken up from her drunken snooze and caught their hosts in the throes of passion. She rubbed the back of her neck, looking down at the sand and crossing one foreleg over the other. ‘Caught’ might be stretching it, having blundered right the way up the beach to the house to do so, but it certainly sounded better than ‘perved on.’ “I might’ve, uh, overheard you, earlier,” she blushed. She forced herself to look up at Aria, wincing. “Did you hurt yourself?” Even with only one eye to go on, Spitfire could see the twinkle of mischief appear. “Sure,” Aria said, “why not?” She started to waggle her eyebrows, but immediately broke off with a sharp intake of breath. But if that wasn’t the reason, then…? After catching her breath, Spitfire blearily peered through the window again. Aria was wearing something over her front half, something familiar from somewhere. Spitfire squinted, as maybe that would make her eyes work better, and then couldn’t quite believe what they came back with. Was that a Wonderbolts drill sergeant’s uniform, just like her own back home? It even had the right pins and everything! “Gonna break some records for me, hot stuff?” Aria cooed. “Think you’ve got what it takes to be the best? I’d hate to disabuse you of that notion.” That was the point when Spitfire fled. So she was an object of somepony’s bedroom fantasies now? She’d always assumed, she supposed, but never actually seen it before in reality. And it wasn’t what she expected. But how would that fantasy have ended? It was not lust that Lightning had been looking at her with during the day. “Merciful Celestia,” Spitfire breathed, “did she do that to you…?” She brought a hoof to her mouth, feeling it starting to tremble. “I-I knew she had attitude problems, but I had no idea she–” “It’s ok,” Aria said, much too calmly, “don’t blame her.” She even smiled. “I made her do it.” Every instinct Spitfire had said to put a hoof on Aria’s shoulder, if not pull her into a hug. But she slammed into that urge – given what Aria had been through the last time a mare touched her, that was the worst thing she could possibly do. She felt like a monster for it, though, her face twisted in anguish at having to hold back when Aria needed it so desperately. “You can’t blame yourself for that,” she said, instead trying to put as much comfort into her voice as she could, “it’s never your fault.” Is it mine? Would Lightning have snapped like that if she hadn’t had to spend the day in the presence of somepony she’d flown to the far side of Equestria to get away from? No. Whatever factors had influenced Lightning, she’d reacted like that because she was unstable and violent, and that was the end of it. Aria took on that look Spitfire had seen on numerous Wonderbolts trying to be polite but firm in turning down eager fanmares. “Look, I appreciate the concern, but.” And then Spitfire’s eyes widened even further as she remembered Aria’s other injuries she’d noticed when they’d arrived, now barely visible in the dark. The bruises, the marks around her neck. The signs that had been there all along. Who else could have inflicted them, when there was nopony else who lived on the island but Lightning? “But nothing. She can’t treat you like this.” Wanting to hold Aria close and keep her safe became twice as tough to resist. Spitfire bit her lip. Her eyes felt watery, too. Though she also had to recognise that Aria didn’t appear all that affected by it. Sonata had been very convincing for all her stories, so maybe sirens were better at hiding their true emotions than ponies, but Aria’s apparent indifference to it really didn’t seem like she was covering denial, or fear or anything else. Covering her good eye with a hoof, Aria could be seen to take a measured breath, and then spoke animatedly. “If your blue friend” – Aria pointed towards the beach where Rainbow still slept in her chair – “or someone else you know turns up someday sporting an obvious injury, and she tells you it was her fault somepony did that to her, or that she provoked it or whatever, then you’re absolutely right to intervene. And you shouldn’t let any of her attempts to excuse whoever did it stand.” There was a firmness in her voice that would tolerate no arguments. She really did believe it, then, when it applied to anypony else. Before Spitfire could ask the obvious, crucial question, Aria gave an answer. Her voice dropped back to that of her night time musings, but holding no less certainty. “But I’m not like them,” she looked straight into Spitfire’s eyes and shook her head. “I’m a siren. And I do deserve it.” The delusion ran deep, it seemed, and in spite of her own ego. Perhaps ego was the wrong word – Aria hadn’t at any point come across as especially proud or full of herself, but she had acted like she owned the place. And in fairness to her, she did. But that confidence definitely seemed at odds with someone who believed they deserved to be hurt. “I hadn’t realised you were the self-loathing kind,” Spitfire said, aiming to get Aria’s back up just enough for her to see the truth, but not so much as to make things any worse for her than Spitfire could avoid. And the opposite happened. “You don’t know the half of it,” Aria chuckled. “My whole life I’ve fed on hatred and strife–” “That doesn’t mean you deserve her punishing you!” It came out more forcefully than Spitfire intended, but maybe that was no bad thing. “–And just because I’m a pony now and don’t need it,” Aria continued unphased after Spitfire’s interruption, then slowed to deliberately pronounce each word, “doesn’t mean I don’t want it, or don’t like it.” Her voice seemed to caress each syllable with malice. “Bringing out negative emotions in others is what I do.” And Spitfire had thought some of Aria’s smiles during the day had been wicked, but they had had nothing on the one she wore when she whispered, “It’s what I love.” I can’t… I don’t… I don’t even know where to start with that. Perhaps oblivious to how Spitfire had forgotten how to brain and was looking blankly ahead of her, Aria chuckled again. “It’s one of the reasons my sisters and I are better off not living together.” So she’s kind of like Fleet, but, times a hundred? Because Fleetfoot did love to wind ponies up. Like when she sometimes appeared to find it hard to be in the same room as Soarin without throwing bits of cloud at him. Something about frustrating others like that just really amused her. So if you ramped that way, way up… And if they responded as Lightning had, well, there were some ponies who were into that, Spitfire supposed. She didn’t know how far the level of masochism usually went in those things, though she guessed hooves to the face was towards the extreme end. Or you’d see more ponies walking around with black eyes, right? “You’re saying you enjoy it, then?” Hesitatingly, she leaned forwards and peered around Aria to get a closer look at her injured eye. She hissed at the sight: puffy and blown up to twice its normal size. And what was the risk of permanent damage from doing that sort of thing regularly? “The actual pain?” Aria spoke conversationally again, “No, not really. That hurts.” She rolled her eyes – at least, she rolled the one Spitfire could see clearly. “But knowing that I provoked that kind of reaction?” Her voice became low and throaty. “That that need to hurt someone came from me? That’s the most satisfying feeling I know.” You, who earlier today were saying the best thing was something as wholesome as having your singing voice back? Spitfire felt her eyebrow wander upwards pretty much of its own accord. Aria pursed her lips, looking up to one side for a moment before answering thoughtfully. “It’s like a feedback loop. Every instance of pain brings with it an ecstasy inside that I brought that out of someone. That I drove them to that.” She smiled, flashing her teeth. “And that’s so worth the pain.” Squinting at Aria, trying to work out how sensible a mindset she was in to be saying such things, Spitfire sucked in her breath. “That sounds pretty messed up, but also like you’re trying to justify it to yourself.” Finally she let herself reach out to put a hoof on Aria’s shoulder, figuring it probably wouldn’t distress her if she was that deep in… whatever it was she was that deep in. “I’m sorry, but, if that’s what you’re telling yourself to feel like you’re in control, then you need to stop. This isn’t healthy!” Just stick to being drunk all day sunbathing? Even that would be better than this, health-wise. For the first time Spitfire had seen since her arrival, Aria really, properly let her guard down. Or, again, seemed to. But if the sincerity in Aria’s gaze were faked, Princess Celestia ought to hire her as a spy or something. “You are sweet, little pony, and you are naive.” She shifted, not quite deliberately shrugging off Spitfire’s hoof, but moving so it appeared to naturally fall. “But worse than that, you assume I am.” And the image of Aria as a youthful, relatable pony dropped away. She still had the smooth voice and skin, without a wrinkle in sight, but her single visible eye deepened with a wisdom Spitfire hadn’t ever seen outside of the royal sisters. “I’m over a thousand years old,” Aria said. “I do this because I want to, and if I didn’t, I’d leave, or I’d kick Lightning out. There’ve been a hundred lovers before her, and there’ll be a hundred after. Unlike my sister, I’m not the happily ever after type.” She turned back to the waves. Only, now, to Spitfire’s eye, Aria wasn’t just a blip in the ocean’s history, a tiny transient in the life cycle of the never-ending swirl of the currents which swept the world. Aria was, by the standard of pony lifespans, just as permanent as the sea itself, and could have been singing to it almost since Equestria was founded. Though looking at the water, she spoke in a way that still clearly addressed Spitfire. “I’m afraid the cliff notes you were given on domestic violence don’t quite stretch to cover me. This is what I look for in a relationship.” How could Spitfire ever get the answers she needed out of Aria, when the life of a siren was so far beyond her understanding? They might as well have sent me to learn the secrets of the ocean itself. A few restless hours of attempted sleep and a slow, sore, seemingly-endless flight later, Spitfire and Rainbow were in front of a mail clerk in Las Pegasus, ushered to the front of the queue and given the celebrity Wonderbolts treatment despite looking a complete state. “We’re looking for an address,” Rainbow said without preamble. If the green stallion behind the desk found it blunt, the way Rainbow leaned both elbows on his desk – head held up on one while she scowled – probably put him off pointing it out. “All we know is that it’s a castle in a wasteland, and you have to fly over a desert to get there.” “...Right,” the mail clerk replied, wide-eyed, before his professionalism reasserted itself. “Do you have a name?” “Adagio Dazzle,” Spitfire supplied, her voice sounding even coarser than usual. On any other day, self-restraint would have kept her from rubbing sleep from her eyes in front of everypony, but after the two days she’d had that was the last thing she cared about. “Hmmm, let’s see,” the clerk flipped through a big, heavy book of what looked like records, each page sorted into the same columns. “Oh, Dazzle, yes, I know the one,” he said as his hoof came to one particular entry. “Long route, treacherous too.” Spitfire screwed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together. She could practically feel the pain in her wings flare at the thought. But she opened her eyes again a moment later and put on a polite smile for the clerk; one last burst of manners and she’d have the answer she’d been driving towards all along. “And the address please?” “Nocturne Castle, The Badlands.” Letting go of her head, Rainbow dropped both forehooves flat onto the countertop and immediately sunk her forehead on top of them. “She’s in the Badlands,” she groaned. There was no ‘of course!’ moment for Spitfire. She just sighed. “We might’ve known.” “We’ve got a delivery going out that way tomorrow morning, actually,” the mail clerk said, looking down at his records log again and following the columns along Adagio’s row with his hoof. “Big supply run.” Tomorrow morning? It was about noon, so if they rested the rest of the day and spent the night in the softest cloudbeds, then that ought to be ok. Mostly. “How big?” she asked. After a quick glance down again to confirm, the mail clerk said, “It’s a two-pony job. Regional sorting office in Dodge City; that’s their spur.” Dodge City. Spitfire’s lips blew outwards as the air left her lungs. Right, that changed things a bit. They’d need to get half way across Equestria by tomorrow morning. Better to leave straight after lunch and rest on arrival, or sleep first and travel by night? Either way, she was going to need so much caffeine. And then on to the Badlands the next morning. Still trying to weigh up plans, Spitfire heard Rainbow speak up in the meantime. “We’re two ponies. Can we borrow a couple of uniforms?” The pony behind the counter gave her a bemused look. “I thought the whole problem was that you didn’t know where it was?” Even for well-rested flyers, the Badlands was notoriously tricky to navigate. Even the mail clerk had called it treacherous! So no, going without a guide was not an option. “Good point,” Spitfire grunted. But a worse thought came to her. A much worse one. “Give us just a minute, please, we’ll be right back.” She headbutted Rainbow into moving off to one side of the queue. She would normally have used her wings to push instead, but no, they were staying firmly shut for as long as they could. The mail clerk glanced around at the other ponies waiting in line, and looked for a moment like he might protest. But it probably wasn’t every day he faced Wonderbolts who looked like they’d been fighting griffons for fun, and so he quickly nodded and looked away. “What?” Rainbow growled, which was probably fair, given the public headbutt. Spitfire turned around to face her, leaning in close so she could whisper in Rainbow’s ear without being overheard. “She’s in the Badlands. She can teleport. Her ‘values are reflected in the company she keeps,’ you said.” Looking intrigued, Rainbow nonetheless held a hoof over her mouth and yawned. Fragments they’d learned about Adagio so far played over in Spitfire’s head, and any doubt she had in her theory drained away, replaced by a sinking in her stomach. “Unlike my sister, I’m not the happily ever after type.” “Adagio wanted to look up old friend.” “Maybe my sister-in-law needs to pay you two a visit,” said to Twilight Sparkle and Starlight Glimmer. the ponies responsible on two occasions for saving Equestria from… One thing Spitfire had taken away from her conversation with Aria on the beach the night before was that immortals, whether sirens or otherwise, were profoundly different to mortals, and only so much understanding could pass between the two groups. One immortal could only truly connect with another. “Yeah, I think Adagio and Chrysalis might be a couple.” Rainbow’s pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.