The swaying grass near the station platform added an almost surreal element to the moment. So much metal, a monument to industrialisation. Breathing heavily, the great beast creaked and squealed like a whale out of water, and seemed almost as long. How long? Perhaps as long as a ten story building was tall, maybe. Sundance had nothing to compare it to, no frame of reference, and was simply overwhelmed by the sight of it. It almost seemed alien, as if it had come from a different place in time and space.
"It's thirsty," Whizzer said as the swingarm was brought around from the water tower.
Something told Sundance that the entire contents of the cedar water tower would vanish into the bowels of the huffing, puffing beast. It would drink and the tower would be left dry. An earth pony, who looked entirely too small, stood atop the resting engine and guided the spout into place with a coal-smutted hoof. Sundance, a foal again, watched in reverent awe as this beastkeeper offered the parched behemoth a refreshing drink.
"It's good to have some water here," the sooty pony said to nopony in particular. "Going up the grade is thirsty work, and I always worry that we'll go dry afore we reach Ponyville. Sure, a refill means stopping, but it's reassuring to top off the tank."
In a moment of perfect mental clarity, Sundance knew that he'd have to send his resident changelings to monitor and care for this station. They could fly and could be trusted. Equestria was a vast desert, and any stop along the line was an oasis. Water kept the great beasts moving, water and coal. Waves of intense heat radiated from the parched beast whose great thirst required endless gallons to slake.
"Ever go dry before reaching Ponyville?" asked Whizzer.
"Almost once or twice, maybe," the smutty pony replied from his lofty vantage point atop the locomotive. "I know we burned into the reserve tank once. Winter. Heavy storms. They said that they'd have to shut down the line due to snow, but we just powered through. Deep snow can't stop the Rooster."
"A passenger is getting off," Whizzer said as he placed his right wing over his eyes to protect himself from the sun's merciless glare. "That's a long way from the platform. Goodness."
"A passenger?" This slipped out as a question, not a statement. Squinting, Sundance peered off into the distance and saw… a speck. All the way back in the trees, there was a speck, and that poor speck had a long, long way to hike before reaching the platform.
"A passenger." Whizzer smiled as he spoke. "Well, I'm glad we got the station finished. Good first impressions and all that."
"I am going to guess that I have a new resident," Sundance remarked.
"Or somepony got tossed off the train for being unruly," Whizzer said. "Either that, or a gambler got caught cheating. You know, this place could use a jail, mmm-hmm."
The idea of a jail was mightily unpleasant for Sundance—he couldn't imagine needing one.
The fat unicorn huffed and puffed in a manner far less majestic than the mighty Rooster. He appeared quite sweaty in the heat, and mopped his sodden brow with a faded red kerchief. Even from this distance, it could be seen that his suit jacket had many patches and repairs, his collared shirt had seen better days, and his tie was in a sorry state indeed. It was absolutely amazing that his battered canvas suitcase even survived the trip, and Sundance feared that the decrepit luggage would give up the ghost at any second. Short of leg, and wide of body, the pudgy unicorn didn't walk quite so much as he waddled.
He looked positively miserable as he drew nearer the platform.
"If this guy is a new resident," Sundanced mused aloud, "I'll need to get him home. Tell me, Whizzer… is there a sky truck around here by chance? I left mine at home."
"It just so happens that there's a standard-issue chariot in the woodshed. Single passenger. But it is loaded down with leftover supplies from our stay here. Sire, please, please tell me that you're not thinking of commandeering my services and—
"Oh, but I am, Ensign Whizzer. Consider yourself commandeered."
"Oh, sodding buggery, I've been dry-gulched and blindsided yet again." The ensign sighed. "Aye-aye, Lord Sundance. With but a word, I am at your service. Punnery Sergeant Whizzer, pony transporter."
"You'll have to strap me down with your excess gear," Sundance said to the pegasus beside him. "I mean, it has to go somewhere if you have a passenger."
"That's right generous of you, Sire, if you don't mind me saying so. You're not so much a pompous prick like most of the other lords, if I may be so bold."
"That's kind of you to say, Whizzer."
"Lots of pompous pricks in the world, Sire. There's no shortage of them. An abundance of pricks. And I for one am grateful that you do not count yourself among them. Still, I have me a fat unicorn to haul. What a chore."
"Be nice, Whizzer. Sure, he's… uh… portly… but there's no good reason to be mean about it."
"No offense, Sire, but you're not callous enough to be a proper lord. There must be a shortage of raging assholes in the world if you got signed on."
Sundance started to reply, but was overcome by laughter instead.
"I'm in no hurry to return to Canterlot," Whizzer announced. "I know what awaits me. If you have any mares in need of entertainment back home, you could commandeer my services, you know. Lowly baron though you might be, I cannot refuse your orders unless I am ordered otherwise by asshole brass. I am obligated to oblige."
Sundance had an idea; it was an awful idea, the worst of ideas.
"That poor fellow, I do believe that he is about to drop dead from the heat. Look at how he stumbles. He might need a rescue." Extending his wing, Whizzer pointed with his primaries just as the worst happened. "Oh… oh no, there he goes. He's down and done for."
Wearing a reckless grin, Whizzer dumped a wooden bucket full of water over the unresponsive unicorn's head. At first, nothing happened, but then the rotund fellow began to recover, bit by bit, little by little. Sundance, unsure of what else to do, fanned with both wings, hoping that a little breeze might help cool things off. Not only was it hot, but it was muggy—brutally so—and the breeze that wafted up from the Everfree was downright steamy.
"I'm gonna get another bucket, be right back." Without another word, Whizzer took off.
The unicorn moaned, groaned, and then made a faint, feeble wicker.
Now a bit worried, Sundance continued to flap his wings, and he wished Corduroy were here. This somehow seemed a bit more serious than he liked, and Sundance began to realise that a short walk after getting off of a train shouldn't be enough to do a pony in—even an obese pony wearing clothing in the summertime heat. His gut told him that something more serious was wrong, but what remained to be seen.
"Hey, Whizzer, hurry up with that bucket," Sundance said.
"Aye-aye, Sire!"
"Can you hear me, stranger?" asked Sundance.
"Ahnunfeelsogahud."
"He was carrying a heavy suitcase," Sundance said, thinking aloud. "His magic depleted him, I think. It's not just the heat. Whizzer, do you have any food?"
"There's some ration bars left and I think—"
"Go and get them after you bring the bucket. Hurry. Double time. I mean it, hurry!"
"Aye-aye, Sire!"
The train was gone, but could be heard chuffing and huffing along in the distance as it climbed the Canterhorn grade. A few brave birds had returned, and cautiously chirped to let the others know that it was now safe. Three ponies sat beneath the shady eave of a brick bunkhouse, one fanning with his wings, one watching, and one trying to eat but making a real mess of things.
"The honey-groat ration bars taste bloody awful," Whizzer, the pony that watched said. "There's a metallic aftertaste that just puts me off my feed. Maybe they really are full of iron, as promised. Truth in advertising… who knew?"
Sundance—whose nose was crinkled in disgust as he continued to fan the stricken unicorn—said as he held his head away, "Smells like a secondary school locker room."
"It's like you haven't eaten in a while," Whizzer said to the unicorn.
"I haven't," the unicorn mumbled around a mouthful of crumbled honey-groat ration bar. "It's been a while."
"You have a name?" asked Whizzer.
"Gallows Humour," the unicorn replied.
"Well, that's quite a name." Ensign Whizzer took a step back, extended his wings, and then joined Sundance in fanning duty.
"I was once a Chuckles, but that changed. Everything changed. And not for the better."
Whizzer gave a knowing nod and asked, "You got a story to tell us? Least you can do for us feeding you. Not that we'd charge, mind you. Just basic equine decency, I tell you. There's a lot of money in these old threads of yours, but they've gone tattered." After a sniff, he added, "And are in need of a good laundering."
In response, Gallows Humour chortled, almost choked, coughed, sputtered, and then made a huge effort to swallow. A bit worried, Sundance watched, waited, ready to leap into action, but it seemed as though everything went down fine and without further incident. When he turned his head to have a look, he saw Whizzer steal a glance in his direction, and Sundance wondered what the punny pegasus was thinking.
"My mark ruined my life."
"That's quite a thing to say, Mister Humour." Half at-attention, half slouching, Whizzer shook his head from side to side. "Can't say I've ever heard of a pony's mark screwing a pony's life, but I suppose it's possible. I have to say, I've never seen a pony with a noose for a mark before. It did take me a bit by surprise when I saw it. Left me with a couple of questions, it did. Which I'll probably ask, sooner or later, because I'm rude like that."
Sundance, who failed to notice this detail, said nothing; he didn't try to look, either.
"These ration bars smell like a prison shower," Gallows Humour said as he took a tentative sniff of the offending foodstuff. "Trust me, I know."
"So they stink of unrequited homoeroticism, desperation, a drain clogged with stallion wax, and despair?" asked Whizzer.
When Gallows Humour almost choked, so did Sundance. Somehow, Whizzer maintained an intense deadpan expression—even his eyes showed no sign of mirth. After sucking in a huge lungful of air, Sundance was no better off, and he feared for Gallows Humour's wellbeing as the portly unicorn's belaboured wheezing turned into prolonged gasps. Whizzer's bombshells were something else entirely, something awful, something not wholesome or good.
"You're a funny guy," Gallows Humour wheezed out between gasps. "I used to be funny… but something happened… I became… the punchline." His eyes turned glassy and tears threatened to overflow. "Sunfire Barony seems… deserted. Just a few buildings. What have I done? Have I made yet another mistake? Been doing that a lot, lately."
"Oh-ho, don't you fret. This is just the train station." Whizzer's voice was tinged with kindness as he offered some reassurance. "Are you in some kind of trouble, Mister Humour? Looking for an out? Need some time to recover, do you?"
"I need a place to start over," Gallows Humour replied. "Or maybe a place to end."
"All things end, Mister Humour." While still kind, Whizzer was now more than a little serious. "But not under my watch. Father Goose would have my head. You hang on. I've got a bottle of fizzy fruit punch to wash down those vile ration bars. I was saving it to drink it just before I left, but I think you need it more than I do."
"That's very kind of you." Gallows Humour's head lolled on his neck for a moment, but he recovered and held himself up without requiring assistance. "All this kindness gave my fall to the bottom a slightly softer landing…"
The fizzy soda hissed and crackled in the glass bottle. Sundance's ears twitched with every sound, but his body—with his wings tucked against his sides—remained quite still. After a bit of food and some sugary soda, Gallows Humour had perked up a bit, though it was obvious that he wasn't well. Corduroy had a patient, that much was for certain, but the unicorn would recover. As for Whizzer… well, Sundance believed with all of his heart that Ensign Whizzer deserved a medal. There were soldiers, and then there were Whizzers, the reason why it was the commonly held belief that soldiers were inherently good ponies.
"Alright, out with it. I sacrificed my soda pop so there's no point in keeping me waiting." When Whizzer moved his head, raising it, the hinges of his armor creaked softly.
"I worked with the Manehattan Corrections & Penal System." These words came out as a heavy, resigned sigh and Gallows Humour shook his head from side to side. "It's the mark's fault. Job placement services put me there after I failed to establish myself anywhere else. It's pretty obvious what I did, I think. Executions are rare, but they happen. About a year ago… has it been a year already? I think it has…" His eyes glazed over with tears and his lower lip trembled.
"Feels like so much longer… like a lifetime." His glazed gaze fell to the floor and he shook his head. "I didn't want to do it. I begged. But I was made to do my job. I was cajoled and told that the condemned was truly deserving and the Wardens insisted that there was no doubt of his guilt. I was to end the life of the Broncs Buggerer… he did things to colts… he did awful things… terrible things… and then he buried them beneath the floor in his workshop. This was supposed to assuage me of my guilt. It didn't."
"I know who that is," Whizzer said, his voice low and slow. "They're making a movie about that sick, twisted prick. I has me some mixed feelings about that, let me tell you."
"I was the funniest pony in the prison." Gallows Humour's lips pressed together to form a narrow, straight line, which lingered for a short time before he continued, "Was well liked by the prisoners and the guards alike. Took some lip for not being a hardass, but supervisors saw my jovial nature as an asset. That changed though… all that changed. It all changed the night I tied the noose to hang the Broncs Buggerer.
"Sometimes, when you're nervous and distraught"—he paused here and took a small sip from the glass bottle filled with fizzy, bright red liquid—"you make mistakes. It was my big night. It was my worst night. I was sick with anxiety. But I had to do what needed to be done, right? I mean… that's why we have these marks, right? Right? So why was I so resistant to what I was born to do?"
Whizzer turned away and Sundance could no longer see the ensign's face.
"I messed up plain and simple." His voice now cold and utterly lacking in emotion, Gallows Humour held the bottle of soda inches away from his muzzle. "His neck didn't break. Nope. He strangled, just like his victims. It took forever. Forever. He kicked and thrashed and struggled, but his end was in no hurry. And we let him suffer. We let him hang.
"Did I lose my job? No. Did I get in trouble?" Gallows Humour's eyes closed. "Nope. I was lauded as a hero. I gave him the death he deserved. I got thanked. Got fruit baskets delivered to my home. Got postcards covered in thanks and gratitude. I got a commendation from the governor of the city. It was all too much. Too much. After a few weeks, I quit my job.
"Before I quit my job though… maybe it was the fruit baskets… but I started eating a lot. Like, a lot. Food was comforting. And after I quit my job… well, I had a lot of free time. So I ate. A lot. And my wife watched as I began to self-destruct. But she didn't help me, no. She told me to quit my pity party and get over it. I'd taken a life… I made him suffer… and she told me to just get over it. So I ate even more to ease the ache. She made the ache so much worse."
"Must have been a long year," Whizzer remarked.
"Oh, it was. It was." Gallows Humour's eyes opened, he shook his head, and he took a long pull from the glass bottle. "Since I was the funniest pony in prison, and because I felt like crying all the time, all day, every day, I decided to be funny. I decided that I would end my depression by being funny. Started going to open mic nights. Didn't go well. Ponies were laughing at me, not with me. But hey, that was a draw. That was a draw. It brought in the crowds. Come and laugh at the sad sack.
"The fat sad sack. I was eating… it just made me feel better. I ate, and ate, and after a bad night, I'd just eat until I couldn't feel anything but full. Ponies came to laugh at me so they wouldn't feel so bad about their own shitty lives. But that took its toll, I guess. Wife left me. She left me and went to live with her sister and her mother. That actually helped my career. I made jokes about that, and the ponies laughed at me. The crowds grew larger and the laughs a whole lot louder.
"But the act grew stale. I needed misfortune to be funny. Got served the divorce papers, and on the next day, an eviction notice. The rent hadn't been paid for a while. Just walked away. Left it all behind. Well, almost everything. Went to my parents… but they turned me away. I knew they would. I knew they would. They were never too keen that I married an earth pony. My dad… he stuck his head out the door and told me to leave so that my mother could mourn her lost son. She cried a lot, I guess. Terrible thing, losing a son to a marriage.
"When I incorporated this into the act, nopony found it funny. What a buzzkill. A career killer. My agent quit, but not before taking his sixty percent and then some. I tried alcohol instead of food. Took what I had left of my savings—it was smart not paying the rent—and I did my best to find out if being a lush might save my stand up career.
"It didn't. Spent a few weeks… maybe a few months just completely soused. It kept things numb. I didn't cry as much. But I'm not a funny drunk. Showed up at my parents once more. Didn't leave when asked. Got arrested, and my belligerence got me a beating from the cops. I don't remember being belligerent. Don't remember slipping on the stairs, either. But I did. Was a long way down.
"Heard about Sunfire Barony on the radio. Heard bad things. Heard good things. There was a lot being said. But this Sundance fella… he sounded nice. I needed nice. Ended up at the train station… a few weeks ago? A month ago? I was broke. But I was sober. No money to buy booze. No money to buy a train ticket. I became one of the bums that begs for bits outside the train station. Made a sign, just like all the other bums. Went hungry, just like all the other bums. Did a lot of thinking about how I ended up where I did, just like all the other bums.
"I saved my bits. Wanted to buy food, but didn't. Lived on scraps in trash cans. Ponies throw a lot of food away. They do. I survived on what they threw away, and I hoarded every bit given to me out of pity. Spoke to a nice mare that gave me some soup. Told her what I wanted to do. She bought me a ticket. That was… a few days ago? Time hasn't been right for a while."
"Well, as luck would have it," Whizzer began, "This Sundance fellow is rather nice. Not a prick like most nobles. Not at all a tosser."
"I'd like to meet him," Gallows Humour said. "His story gave me the courage to change."
"As it just so happens…" Whizzer's head turned in Sundance's direction. "I can arrange for you to meet him." He raised his hoof and gestured. "He's a good listener. A bit of a quiet type, which I took for being aloof, but I think I was wrong about that. Also has a sterling sense of humour, and laughs at all my jokes. Even the bad ones."
The soda bottle trembled and almost fell. Gallows Humour inhaled sharply, held his breath for a moment, and Sundance found himself at a loss for words. He managed to smile, but that felt inadequate. The troubled unicorn was having himself a hard time, and his eyes were glassy with tears once more. An immense struggle took place as Sundance tried to think of something meaningful to say, but nothing came to mind. Everything that did seemed meaningless, hollow, or worse, patronising.
"Is it true that you take in society's rejects?"
For a short time, Sundance considered the question, and then responded, "It is true that I take in those that our society has failed. You've had a rough go of things, Mister Humour. Sounds to me that you need a place to recover… and maybe find yourself."
"I do…" Gallows Humour's voice turned raspy and strained. "I've heard so many things. Some say your barony is a penal colony. Others call it a rubbish bin for the dregs of society. But I couldn't believe that those things were true. I had to come and see it for myself."
Somewhat upset—but not with the distraught unicorn—Sundance rubbed the back of his scarred neck with the bony forward edge of his wing. He had one prisoner, that much was true, but one prisoner did not a penal colony make. Twilight Sparkle's public image campaign now made a bit more sense—a lot more sense. He became aware that Whizzer was staring at him, and he wondered why. Maybe it didn't matter. What did matter, as of right now, was getting Gallows Humour home, and settled.
Corduroy would probably scrub him.