//------------------------------// // #8 // Story: Like Clockwork // by Cackling Moron //------------------------------// Further and further. Still no luck. Paul had started leading the wagon a rather winding route now, feeling that if they’d just kept heading straight they’d be in the wilderness before too long, and figuring that probably wasn’t what Cozy had had in mind. Since it wasn’t what Cozy had had in mind she did not object. The theory - long-shot thought it had been - was that maybe they might-just stumble into that one village or that one town that had missed the news about Cozy. Just on the off-chance. So far, no dice. They’d been doing this whole thing for quite a while now. It was starting to grate on both of them. Cozy had been left with the wagon (again) while Paul had gone into town to reconoitere and she’d been staring at the same patch of sun-frazzled grass for so long she didn’t even hear him coming back until he was thrusting some sort of paper-wrapped package under her muzzle, making her jump. “Here,” he said. “What is it?” She asked, suspiciously, eyeing the package. It looked pretty benign but then again Paul had never, ever done anything like this before, so who knew? He gave it a shake and Cozy got the hint, taking it from him, though delicately and with caution. “Pie. I don’t know. Something with honey and carrots. Sounded terrible to me but the guy selling it told me it was good. Got it for you,” he said. That just made it even more suspicious! “Why?” She asked. “Because I hate the look you get on your face when you eat my food.” “Think it’s pretty generous calling it food…” She had yet to acquire the taste for Paul’s personal brand of clumpy-stroke-lumpy slop, but by now she’d at least stopped having to suppress the urge to gag anytime she ate it. “Laugh it up, Cozy. Do you want this thing or not?” The smell wafting from the package finally started reaching her at this point. Truly, there was honey within. And probably also carrots. “...yes,” she said. “Thought so. There you go. Dig in.” Dig in she did while Paul stumped off to lean against the side of the wagon, hiss in discomfort and massage his leg. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he’d bought her a pie.  That she made the most horrendous face when eating his food was true, but why he would care about that was less obvious - as long as she was fed and alive what did it matter? And yet he did have to admit to a certain level of satisfaction in seeing her burying her face in the thing and hearing the rather cute sounds of very-obviously content pie-consumption coming from inside the bag. Sure, she was manipulating him for all he was worth, but he was playing along knowing this, so hell. Did that still count? For her part Cozy liked the pie, and was increasingly wondering whether it was even possible to actually manipulate someone who knew you were manipulating them. And if not, why even try? Paul seemed to be doing things for her without her even having to make him! Which was nice. And confusing. But mostly...nice… And very confusing. Wolfing down mouthfuls Cozy pulled her head briefly from the torn paper that had previously been containing the pie to ask: “Ish thish celebrathion pie cosh thish ish a goodsh town? Ish thish the one?”  Through mouthfuls of pie. Paul shook his head. “Nope. Got those posters of you up all over. First thing I saw. You know, at this rate it’s looking like you might have to go overseas or something. Considered a haircut? Heh.” Cozy did not look amused, though it was hard for her to look particularly serious being, for one, adorable and also flecked with pastry crumbs for another. She swallowed angrily. “It’s not funny,” she said. “You’ve got to laugh though, don’t you?” She stood up to her full height. Not that this changed a whole lot. “It’s not funny!” She said with a stomp and a snort. “Alright, alright. Mean, I’ll stick with you until you want to get shot of me, so whatever. Just pick a direction and we’ll go.” “There’s nowhere to go!” She wailed, head thrown back. “Is that you giving up?” Paul asked, pulling a metal-and-glass flask from somewhere about his person. Yet another of the things Cozy had learnt was that Paul had just about everything he could need at any time somewhere on him at all times, day or night. “No! I just - it’s - it’s not fair!” She cried, flopping onto her back in the dirt. It really wasn’t! Why didn’t anything ever go her way?! “You know, speaking from experience your best bet probably is to surrender and show some contrition. You don’t feel contrition, Cozy, pretty sure about that, but you could probably fake it until you got it. Trust me, getting them to work for it only makes it worse. And really, I mean, what are they going to do? Lock you in a tiny little kiddy cage? Throw you into some dank pit full of monsters?” Paul asked, chuckling to himself at such a ludicrous notion and taking a swig.  Cozy, however, just rolled back into sitting and nodded. “Yes,” she said. At this Paul choked on his drink, sputtering and coughing for a spell before being able to wheeze: “You fucking what? I was kidding!” He'd heard about her having escaped on her way to somewhere, yes, but he'd just assumed it had been some sort of hippy-dippy friendship borstal or something like that, something soft, these horses being the way they were. Somewhere they'd sit her down and make her colour in things until she stopped being such a bloody nuisance. Apparently not! “It’s fine. I could take that. Not ideal but I could still work with being in a cage. Couldn’t slow me down!” Cozy said, back to brightness. Paul goggled at her, tucking away the flask. “That’s not - that’s not the point! You shouldn’t put a kid in a cage! What’s that going to do?!” “Punish me? For trying to destroy all magic? ‘Destroy the world’?” Hyperbole as far as she was concerned but still, that’s what their argument had been. Paul considered this. “Well, yeah, okay, can’t deny that, but punishment isn’t an end, it’s a means! Gods! We’re back here again! The whole point of punishing someone is so that they can improve and not do whatever it was they did again! Especially a kid! And since you still don’t really get what it was you did wrong what the hell is shoving you into some pit going to do? Are you being honest with me?” “That’s where they were taking me before I escaped.” Paul stared at her, aghast. He then winced as his leg twinged, standing up straight and trying to shift his weight about. “Honestly? Fuck me. Never thought they’d have it in them. Well if that’s their plan then fu- ah, I’m doing it again - if that’s their plan then nuts to them, you don’t turn yourself in! Forget what I said before. Put a kid in a cage, bloody hell…”  He shook his head in wonderment and Cozy hovered up to smoosh his cheek, wings popping through the slips that Paul had actually put there specifically for the purpose. Turns out he could do that - who knew? “Aww, you do care,” she said, getting sent head-over-tail by Paul shoving her away through the air. Gently, mind. “Urgh, get away with that. I just think that’d be a ridiculous thing to do. What good would it do? For you or for anyone? What a waste of time. What a waste of you! You were already doing a pretty job of wasting yourself, didn’t need any help.” “Gee, thanks,” Cozy said, upside-down briefly before righting herself and landing.  Paul was still amazed. He hadn’t thought a whole lot of the horses, really. He found them all rather soft and squishy and quaint. The guards were all idiots, their magic had weird links to ‘friendship’ of all things and everything was just so brightly coloured. And their solution to something like this was to put a child in a pit? In a cage? He was amazed. “Who made that call anyway? To toss you into some dank pit?” He asked. “Think it was more of a mutual decision,” Cozy said. “Get hauled before the court and all that?” “Oh no, the Princesses just sort of decreed it. It all happened so fast!” It really had!  Paul clucked his tongue. “Drumhead bullshit, huh? I know how that goes. Pricks. Why even pretend there’s a process? Piss on your leg and tell you it’s raining why don’t they. Who’re the Princesses, anyway?” He asked, getting a very surprised look from Cozy. “You don’t know the Princesses?” “I don’t know anyone around here. Other than you. And a couple of the ones back in the village. Like Dusty, I guess. So no. They the ones in charge?” “Pretty much.” “Hmph.” Nothing to bolster Paul’s opinion of anyone in any position of authority, ever. Bastards the lot of them, at least in his experience. Grasping fucks from top to bottom and no mistake. Only ever out for themselves and the only thing alive that could fail upwards. Bastards. Spurred by this thought he asked: “Why do you want to be the one in charge, anyway?” Much as with him admitting that he didn’t know the Princesses, this struck Cozy as an incredibly bizarre thing to say. “Because then I’d be the one in charge?” She wasn’t sure how to break it down anymore than that. The answer was right there. What was he confused about? “But what do you want to do in charge?” “...be in charge?” Was she missing something here, Cozy wondered? Or had whatever accident that had brought Paul here done more damage than she might have initially suspected? “Gods, you really are just a child, aren’t you?” “Hey! I’ve told you! Stop saying that!” Cozy snarled, again flying up to get into his face, again being pushed away but this time coming back quicker. Paul stopped bothering. “I’ve had to do what a whole lot people tell me to do in my life, Cozy, and it’s always one bast- always one person getting swapped out for the next one who only wants to be in charge. They come in just to be at the top, get knocked off by the next one. Just a long line of stabbed backs. It’s a mugs’ game.” “Well that’s because those guys you’re talking about weren’t really in charge. If they were like me they’d be in charge of everything, then they wouldn’t have to worry!” “No, what? I mean - what? Okay, think about this. When I was coming up - like, when I was a little kid - we had the Emperor, right? And he was in charge of everything. Guy scared the pants off of everyone, no-one went against what he said or what he wanted.” “That doesn’t sound so bad.” “Hmph. Anyway, so he’s got everyone and everything under his thumb, right? He says jump, people jump - like my toys, hah! But people are still plotting behind his back, because they’re scared of him but they don’t respect him and they sure don’t respect a damn thing he’s ever done.” Paul snapped his fingers.  “The instant he pops his clogs that’s it, open season. Everything he’d spent his life doing just torn to bits by a dozen different people. No-one cared what he’d done, no-one even really cared he’d died. It was just a scramble to get to the top. And he’d spent his whole life putting all that together! Years! Everything he had! For nothing!” “So you’re saying...never die?” He blinked at her. “What, no, how - Cozy - “ “Oh! Make everyone love you instead! Or everyone your friend! That’s kind of what I was going for, actually - then they’d do what you wanted without plotting against you! And if anyone did, you just turn all the others on them! It’s easy!” She said, thinking that she got it now. Paul was back to the old stalwart of rubbing his temples, his eyes shut. “Cozy, just, that’s not how friends- look, think about it this way: Through everything I’ve said, all the people I just told you about, what have you noticed that’s been missing?” “Um…” He gave her a few more seconds but Cozy was stumped and shook her head, holding her hooves up in defeat. “Life! Doing anything other than just getting more! What the hell is the point in only ever being worried about what the next step is? Stairs go somewhere, you know? Somewhere you want to go. That’s how steps work! You don’t just go forever!” “Your imagery really needs work,” she said, frowning in distaste. “You! Just! You’re just - Urgh. Fine. Fine. Yes. You’ve got it sorted. Nothing ever going to slow you down, eh?” “Nope!” Cozy said, shaking her head happily. “Hmph. Didn’t think so,” Paul said before turning on his heel and hobbling off towards the treeline just a little distance from the wagon. “I’m going for a fucking smoke. Eat your pie. Fucking kid why do I even bother...” “Just like that? Paul! Rude! We’re still talking!” He rounded on her and she flinched backward despite herself. He really was rather tall. “Cozy, there is no bloody point in talking about this if none of it ever goes in. You’re just going around in circles. Like water around a drain. Hah. No, I’m joking, sorry, that was harsh. You’re smart. You’re a smart kid. It’s fine. You know what you’re about, that’s fine. So I’m just going to stop talking. Kind of a waste of time anyway.” “What? Hey, it was a joke! I don’t really still want to take over! I was kidding!” “No, you weren’t, don’t lie to me. You’ve got your head set, you’re locked. I can’t do anything about it and, frankly, I’m kind of done wasting my time trying. You want to grind yourself to a nub doing this, want to devote your whole life to this, fine, go nuts. I’ll get you where you need to be and then I’m going home. Send me a letter when you win.” And off he stalked. “You can’t do that! We were talking! Hey! Stop! Get back here! Why aren’t you doing what I tell you?! WHY DOES NOPONY DO WHAT I TELL THEM TO ANYMORE?!” Cozy shouted to an empty space, ending up standing, breathing hard, nostrils flaring, eyes wild, all on her lonesome. With a scream she grabbed up the remains of the pie and threw it as hard and as far as she could which, in the event, wasn’t very much of either because she was only little. She did succeed in completely ruining the pie however, something she immediately regretted.  It had been a pretty good pie. Flopping down onto her rump she sat and felt all that anger from a second ago do an abrupt about-face and come flooding back as an overwhelming sense of being truly and horribly put-upon - the unluckiest pony in the whole world! “It’s not fair…” she sniffled, reaching under her cloak without really thinking and again pulling out the toy that Paul had given her, putting it down in front of her where it stood, steadying itself briefly before giving her a bright wave. She couldn’t help but wave back. “Hey there little guy, you don’t think my plans are dumb, do you?” She asked, wiping her nose and eyes on the back of a hoof. The toy shook its head. Cozy beamed. It got it! “Yeah! You think I’m smart, don’t you?” She asked. The toy nodded enthusiastically. This was more like it! “Tell me I’m good,” Cozy said. The toy seemed to consider how best to fulfil this request and then, after a moment, gave her a tiny thumbs up. Paul had explained what this meant. She was appropriately delighted and radiated in it for a moment. Then: “Tell me you like me.” The toy did the exact same thing as before, movement-for-movement, utterly identical. Just a response. Just what it had been told to do, nothing more. And whatever pleasant feelings Cozy had been enjoying went away. Reflexively and without thinking about it she smacked the toy away. Then, once she realised what she’d done, she leapt over with a quiet yelp to check it was still working. Thankfully it was. Dazed and dirty but working. Hurriedly tucking it out of the way again Cozy set off the way Paul had gone at a gallop, hopping into the air and taking flight after remembering that, thanks to those slits in the cloak, she could do that now more easily. He had not gone far, and she found him leaning against a tree where he was, indeed, smoking again. Angrily too, and not for the first time. He did not look her way when she landed. “Hey Paul?” She asked, quietly. “What?” He asked back, still not looking at her. Cozy wasn’t actually sure what it was she wanted to ask him. She kind of just wanted him to talk to her again, even if only to argue. Just to get something. So she picked a question at random, something that had been bugging her for some days now. “Why did you engrave the toy you gave me?” He puffed before answering. “So you knew it was yours.” Unhelpful. Cozy tried to think about this but she didn’t get very far. It just didn’t make sense. Did it mean something? Was she missing something? What would make it all click, fit together, work like it should? “I don’t understand,” she said. Paul finally looked down at her, even if only for a tiny sideways glance. “There’s nothing to understand, that’s the whole thing.” That didn’t make sense either. “...but why though?” “I told you why. If you overthink everything, you’ll probably miss a lot of stuff. It’s just a thing I did for you. That’s it. Tie yourself in knots trying to dig into something with nothing in it or just, you know, enjoy the bloody toy.” Cozy wasn’t sure she could anymore, for reasons that eluded her. She swallowed. “Hey Paul?” “Now what?” Swallowed again, thinking of the wording. “Was it really that bad? What I did? Really?” She asked. Paul had to turn and look at Cozy properly for that one, just to check she was serious. She was completely serious, staring up at him with wide eyes, expectant, maybe even a little nervous. “Yes! Do you need me to tell you that? Did you not work that out for yourself? Surely the thought must have crossed your mind at the time! Did the looks of betrayal tip you off at any point?” She hadn’t expected quite that vocal of an answer and recoiled briefly before recovering herself. Even then, it didn’t come quite as easily as she thought it should have. Normally it was right there! “Well, I did think that maybe it was a bit naughty at worst, but that’s not so bad. And much worse things have happened! And I didn’t really hurt anyone, did I? Directly? By myself? But maybe I did do some...things that...may have made me feel...not good. Like locking ponies in cupboards. And some...other stuff…but was it really that bad?” “Do you want me to say no, Cozy? That you’re in the right? Tell you it was fine? That everyone is making a fuss over nothing?” She shuffled. “Could...could you…?” “Your world runs on bloody magic! I’m not even from here and I could give you a list of why it was a bad idea! It starts with every one of the ones with horns not being able to open doors and it ends with, oh, the sun stopping working?” Now he mentioned it... “Sure I could have...figured out a way..around that…” “There has to come a point where you admit that you just didn’t think things through. Because you’re just a child. And that’s fine. Everyone makes mistakes. You do know it’s okay to do that, right?” “...no…” “Or that. Stick with that. If you want to be the sort of person people are happier to see dead - well, locked up in a cage in a pit, whatever - than alive then you go ahead, be my guest. That just doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time.” “What else - what else can I do?” She asked, and never had she looked more small or more her age then at that moment right then. “Anything you want, Cozy. Got your whole life. Absolutely anything.” “...I’m not sure what I want…” For a moment it became blindingly clear to Paul that what he was doing here was dumping all over a little kid. A very smart, often dishonest and driven, megalomaniacal little kid, sure, but still a little kid. All at once he felt pretty shitty. “I’m getting that. Hey, look, don’t worry about it right now, alright? Just enjoy your pie. Is it good?” He asked. Cozy kept her eyes on the ground. “...it’s good…” Paul found it hard to fight the urge to just give her a reassuring ruffle or pat. He didn’t do it though. For one he’d have to bend over to do it, and fuck that, for another he wasn’t super-comfortable in touching the tiny, manipulative little child no matter how miserable she appeared to be. “Well then just focus on that right now. You haven’t got to worry about any of the other stuff right now. You’ll be fine, kid,” he said. She sniffled, nodded, sat silently for a second or two and then: “...Paul?” “Yes?” “...I threw the pie.” Paul was at once surprised and not that surprised. “You threw the pie?” He asked. Cozy nodded. “You not like the pie?” He asked. “No, no, I liked the pie - it was good pie! - I just…” She tailed off. Not that she really needed to go on. Paul could work out enough to get the gist. He sighed - she really did have that effect on him - dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. “Fine, that’s fine. Day’s still young and the guy had a bunch. I’ll get you another. You throw this one though and that’s it. Not made of second chances, Cozy,” he said, stretching his back and rolling his neck. Cozy looked up from the dirt. “What?” “I’m getting you another. Don’t object, don’t say thank you. Back in a tick.” She couldn’t think of anything to say either way, her brain just fizzing as it attempted to grapple with why he would be getting her another one after she’d wasted the last one. What was his goal here? And did he have one? And how could someone not? Paul limped away, paused, and turned to delver some parting words: “Just so we’re clear I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, Cozy. Just saying I think you need pie,” he said warningly. “Y-you do like me though. Right?” Cozy asked. Paul hesitated here, not sure what the correct answer could be and even less sure what answer it was that Cozy might be angling for. But then he remembered that he didn’t really care either way, and that trying to make it more complicated would be pointless. “Course I like you, Cozy. You drive me up the fuck- you drive me up the wall, yeah, but you wouldn’t if I didn’t like you, would you? Now don’t wander off, I’m going as fast as my leg can carry me. Hah!” Which wasn’t that fast, really.