//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: Your human and you: Harmony and heresy // by An everfree rat //------------------------------// +++An active street, one day after incident+++ Many ponies walking up and down the cobblestone roads of the old port town were enjoying the sunny day, for once, without the stifling humidity. Though Celestia's sun felt less like a soft balm today and more like a stern pat on their backs, it was welcome all the same. Two such individuals were strolling along, taking in the scent of sea, baking brickwork and vendors fares. The taller of the two began clapping and snapping their fingers in an odd staccato, causing some of the pony folk they passed to raise an eyebrow or quirk an ear in confusion before continuing to canter on to places to be enjoyed or needed to be present at. Snap-snap-snap pat-pat-pat.. “That's still not funny” Dusty didn’t even bother to frown anymore. Just scowl inwardly. The giggling made it an outward. “Trace! Watch the smiling, you know better.” Dusty hissed to the human walking next to her, tugging the leash trailing high to reach the neck of the pest. A false set of coughs engineered by the human to cover her smile up before the erratic sounding snaps of her fingers and clapping returned. Ear lifted to take in the quick and slow pace of the sounds, dusty just sighed before the last sentence was completed. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with beat work, miss ‘Eee em tee.’ You already made it well apparent how messed up you guys are, this sounds like it should give you flashbacks.” There was a brief pause of time before a response. Dusty groaned, ears folding back. If she let that slip, then this was already hitting her harder than she though. “I don’t really wanna talk about it. It's a nice day for once, the sun is out and I can dry out my primaries from last night. Felt like the rain was crawling into my fur, ech.” A revolted shudder shakes the mares strong frame, wings spreading to half width to shake off the feeling. Cooing in sympathy, Trace reaches down to stroke her silly pony head, eliciting excited response from a passing filly, who was now pointing and squealing with delight, later to beg her mother for a pet human who can pet her. The two canter on down the familiar street, letting the shining rays of a cloudless day colour the air like paintbrush strokes of the divine. Dusty remaining silent as they move by the store fronts. Trace could wait. She knew her pony friend, knew that she herself was the only one in the whole world dusty could confide in without fear of secrets slipping when the peace officer wanted to get sensitive work details off her chest. After all, Trace had a bigger secret to keep by just being herself in this horse town. Country. World. Whatever. A defeated sigh next to her hip brings a smile of triumph to her lips before she has to cover it up. “You see. Its just, I don’t know.” She stops in place by a railing, settling down onto her rump. Head down in thought, she doesn't feel like making eye contact right now. She has her own emotions to work through than to process someone else's at the same time. “Something about this is just too wrong. It's already wrong. I dunno how, but this just feels worse. Like something about it is just the next level of wrong on top of something this horrible. You know what I mean?” Looking up to Trace for some shared pain or understanding, her tall ginger friend opens her mouth like she is about to comment but a voice interrupts the both of them. “That's because it is. There is quite the story of rage in this plot.” The mellow tones drift over the railing from the cafe patio they stopped next to, Dusty only flinching slightly at the vocal ambush. Turning to find Doctor Epitaph' sipping at a mug hooked into the thumb of his batwing, a book open to him on the table. Looking like a detached piece of the night sitting in the day, he felt like an anomaly in the golden rays with his dusky brown fur and iron grey eyes, pupils like thin slits to filter the light to something manageable for his nightbreed background. His smile as calm and a little sad as ever. The giant brimmed straw hat however, was ruining his theme. Smiling to dusty in a more playful way he says to the discombobulated mare, “talking to your pets too? I didn’t see that quirk in you. I need to reassess your profile.” A lazy giggle rolls from his throat in a coltish way at Dusty's black stare before taking a sip of the mug again, he motions to an empty seat. “Please join me, we can start now. I’ll buy.” Slipping into her game mode, Dusty smirks and sits up. “Well someone's gotta hear it. The precinct Shrink is too cooky to wanna share this stuff with and Trace is a better snuggler.” Making a show of tugging on the leash Dusty moves around the railing, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. The human gives a little frown of petulence when she realizes there's no chair for her and dragging one over would be suspiciously clever. Instead she just plops down on the wood planks of the patio floor. Blinking in bemusement as a dusky brown hoof pets at her hair. “Good girl. So well behaved you are.” The coroner says as he strokes the thoroughly confused human who can’t seem to decide how to respond, blinking owlishly as she glances at the two ponies. Before she could do anything the hoof is gone and Dusty is smiling into the back of her hoof, trying to look like she’s leaning forward on it. “You uh. You normally pet random humans you don’t know, doc?” The smirk was getting bigger. Trace noticed and squinted her eyes at her roommate. “Certainly not, they are often temperamental with strangers or things they don’t know. Most ape species are like that. But your girl seemed like the mild type. Usually it takes them to old age to get that way but she seems a young specimen.” Placing a bookmark into his page, he closes the paperback and sets it aside. "Besides, you may come off as somepony who would get a watch-dog with a spiked collar, I know you prefer something loveable at home to come back to." “Yeah well most people think you’re an old man with the way you act and talk. Gotta be catching up though aren't ya?” Dusty grins at him, his response is to drop his muzzle and peer at her over a pair of round, tinted glass spectacles. “My dear, I am only forty two and in perfect health. I can’t help the way ponies see me. Us Nightbreeds are very solemn by nature.” His free wing flitters a bit as he takes a dignified poise in his seat. “Funerary is more like it. I am never going to another one of your families birthday parties until you get a few more fruit bats for inlaws.” Frowning, mug paused under his lip he gives her a reproachful look. “Dusty, that is not an appropriate name to call the Duskbreeds. You can’t just call them fruit bats, its offensive.” “Right, I’m sorry. Old habits, I’m working on it.” She waves a hoove placatingly to him, actually feeling a bit embarrassed for the slip. Snap-clap-clap snap-clap.. It was the doctors turn to blink in confusion, staring at the noise making of the red haired human, distracting him conveniently from the glare Dusty was shooting her way. “How odd. Does she normally do that? Is she restless?” “Uuuhhh yeah, it's a thing she does. Perfectly fine normally but does that alot. I think something in her head is broken.” Dusty said, leveling a look at the ginger to keep her comments to herself. Less audibly, Traces tapped out her message on the wood planks. Dusty could only sigh deeply and try to focus on Epitaph. “So doc, what’re you doing out this bright and early? Working late?” Still holding the mug up he smiles, crossing his hooves on the table. “I was just enjoying a late tea before flying home. I couldn’t get away from poor miss Dainty Threads before she told me more.” “And did she?” There was a pensive silence as the two moved into darker lines of dialog. Working his tongue over an incisor Epitaph finally spoke, slow at first. “Yes. She has told me much I assumed. Some things I still haven't a scene yet, but the lines are all there. Who ever it was, for one, knew where to stick that knife. Knew exactly how much pressure to put on it and did not waste effort as the wounds were not ragged. They know how to kill and probably have done before. Many times.” “Like a soldier?” “Or like a hunter.” He says, looking grimly to his friend. Leaning back in her chair, Dusty lets her hooves rest on the table. “ Griffon.” She says without making it a question. Shrugging, Epitaph leans back against his own chair, moving the other wing to hold his mug, toying with it slowly in thought. “It would make sense, but I don’t want to say it is. We have no proof for or against the idea.” “But it makes the most sense. I’ve met hunters before. Real ones. Predators. They aren’t some joy seeking noble or a mouser on hard times, they have this look to them. They know what things see before they die. The dangerous ones make sure its them. But the scary ones, they don’t let their prey see anythings wrong till they're bleeding out on the ground..” Giving a little smirk, Epitaph looks up to her from the mug. “You do remember we nightbreeds hunt as well?” “Yeah, but there's a difference to eating parasprites and giant moths and killin somethin with fur and big eyes. That.. Aren’t moths.” “I understand what you mean.” He chuckled after. “But i have to warn you, I don’t have anything solid on this idea and you shouldn’t be seeking out poor griffons who chase rabbits on their spare time, I can only interpret what I see from a single victim. For all we know, it was a lucky hit.” “The bruises on her human didn’t look so lucky. In fact, it looked like she got them before she was laid out. There was blood under her nails. You don’t get that deep without taking a big hit, and i know I’ll be looking for somepony, or griff, with bad pelt damage.” “Nails.” Epitaph quirks his head in thought. “That's a minotaur term for claws, is it not?” “Huh? Oh, yeah.” Glancing to Trace and back she adds “Old habits. Pick up other creatures words for things.” “Mmn hmm, speaking of roving diplomats, how are your parents?” “Ugh, can we not go there? They still want me to have Woods move in with me. I told them I have enough stress in my life without my sister taking up space and inviting strange mares home.” Clopping a hoof on the table in finality. The action seems to shake the rather quiet looking human next to the table who jolts and looks between the two. “Ah well. Family is always the same. Regardless, I must be off. It is late for me and I have my work tonight.” Shifting out of his seat gracefully, the batpony leaves the mug, now empty, on the table with an extra bit for the wait staff. “My dear, do try and be nice to your sister, and don’t let this case bother you when you are not even on it. Let the good detectives do their work, yes?” Giving a non-committal grumble, The mare just leans into her crossed hooves. After a quick, friendly farwell the doctor flew off past the apartments, silly hat and all, leaving the two women to their thoughts. It wasn’t long before a tapping sounded out between them on the table. Snap-pat pat-pat.. “I’m really creeped out how you said that with that calm look on your face. You weren’t even an officer, just how many murders DID you deal with?” “Oh Celestia..” “Stop, stoop! I don’t even wanna think of this! Suns and stars why?” Flailing her hooves as if to ward off the conversation, by the end of the tapping code, the mare simply covered her ears. “Uuugh, why is this even funny to you? We’re talking about innocent ponies!” With a shrug, Trace just tapped out a reply. “Wait. Gee aye ell… gallows? Whats a gallows? Is this another ‘Earth’ thing?” Mouth forming a thin line, the woman paused for a moment and carefully tapped out a Doing just that, Dusty leans on the table again, looking a bit worn. “I’ll try, but it's so hard to not when it's your duty.” Before a reply came, a stallion in a green shirt and even greener apron saddled next to the table, notepad in horn-glow. “And would you like something to drink with this conversation, or do you two need more time?” She was sure he was trying to be funny, but his studbun and beard were obviously snarking her. “Yeah, something hot, sweet and that’ll make me jittery, and if you make some comment about when you go on break I’ll break something alright.” The glare was enough to send him on his way, but the sharpness in her voice got him cantering while she breathed out some stress from her system. “One, don’t tell me how to abuse my civilians, two, don’t shortin the words. I’m still getting used to your alphabet and your 'Morice code.' I don’t need to trip over your speech impediment..tapping..thing.” “Shut up.” Smiling at her victory for the moment, Trace took her time to humm quietly till the server came by with the drink. He was tipped an extra bit. =][= +++Later that morning, elsewhere.+++ The glow of the Lho stick gave its orange hue in the less sunny corner of the room, the pale smoke slithering about the air around the slouched figure on a crate that had held old ink bottles. Pyke sat and started at the dust motes cavorting in the rays of light streaming in from the window. It was early in the day, but he had been awake for hours now. He took another drag on the stick, its light narcotic quantity bringing a humm to his system, as well as calming his nerves. It was too early to move right now, and sitting around in enemy territory with no goals bothered him. Survival was a result of goals. Victory, assuredly. But idling. That was a path to sloth, or worse, desperation. Standing and walking to the window again, he looked through its old soot-caked glass into the street. From the second story he was able to get a better look around and have less eyes on him as he learned more of the locals habits as he’d done numerous times earlier that morning. Blowing out the smoke as he watched multi coloured aliens walking about the cobbled streets when they passed, though his newfound residence was light on traffic, they still pranced by when they did come into view. Too chipper. Some dragging humans along by leashes, the wretches acting like animals to the equines. Walking on all fours sometimes, all hunched, sniffing at things, sniffing at each other, hooting and grunting. Pissing on corners and alley ways. Disgusting. Demeaning. Walking away from the window with heavy treading steps, the floor boards creaked and clunked hollow with each step under the hard rubber boot soles. Out of the light and possible passing glances he made his way to the next room, loose boards continuing to groan in protest. The mildewed room next door over had seen use this morning, old maps found of what he assumed was the city, found in an old steamer chest in a storage room were pinned to the walls with thin wood stakes he carved to keep the map up. String and twine scavenged from the building were pinned into place with old rusting sewing needles he found in a small disused sewing machine. The strings ran like a developing spiderweb, other places had notes pinned, scribbled in the Emperors alphabet. He may have been a simple guardsman, but he learned quick. The inquisitor had a pick of many more skilled warriors, he reasoned, he must have been chosen for service due to being able to adapt to problems than dig a foxhole and wait for reinforcements. Oh and how had he been busy. The few hours he had been awake, not in silent, choking prayer, he had put his mind to more productive, and distracting, things to do. Newspapers filched from the front stoop of the residence across the cobble street lay in orderly chaos. Pictures of equines with news articles removed, placed next to scribbled notes in low Gothic. The map had two pictures on it already next to pinned notes and twine lines. Thanks to the local News sheets, he was getting an idea of important areas and the figures residing there. True he didn’t know the language, but some how, perhaps the warp twisted his brain some how, but he was able to understand most of the language. This had caused him panic at first the night prior after a frantic jog through shadowed streets, realizing he understood shop signs and street names, but now he accepted it as a tool to use against this new enemy. Learning this tongue was a challenge, given that it was of different roots from Gothic and mostly due to being a filthy, blasphemous tongue of these xenos, he still took effort to do as the inquisitor taught him; look, assess, make judgment. Taking another drag of the Lho-stick, he felt he would be making a judgment very soon. Tapping the picture of the older mare in a suit, standing next to a curly haired unicorn, fashion boutique behind them, strings leading to notes, and more importantly, street locations. Come nightfall, he could begin his duty to the Emperor. Suffer not the Xeno to live. Ave Imperator.