//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Barn Notice // by totallynotabrony //------------------------------// What the movies do not portray about covert work is how easy it is to become caught up in one’s own hype.  I’ve seen it happen, and so myself, I try to stay humble. Though sometimes, one gets humbled. I’d arrived in Griffonstone.  The contacts I expected to meet, griffons of course, had picked me up from the prearranged meeting place.  Griffonstone is not a desirable place to wait on any street corner, and though I’m fortunate enough to be colored to blend with rock architecture, I’m still a pony.  The locals had been eyeing me before the gang rolled in. I had memorized the dossier on these toughs.  Any small piece of information could prove useful, so even though I was not expecting anything out of the ordinary, it was good practice to know the intel front-to-back each time. Even still, just being prepared did not actually stop the deal from going bad. A bruiser named Gluto was the leader here.  Even under his tracksuit, I could tell he’d probably gotten to his position by being the biggest - quite literally. Gluto Griffon organized crime I’d been invited into his home by his underlings.  That had already put me on edge.  Griffons are abrasive, but have strong nesting instincts.  An invitation into their home makes things personal.  That was a touch closer to him than I had intended this business to get. Speaking of getting close, they also patted me down for weapons.  I hadn’t brought a concealed gun or a knife or anything of the kind, particularly because I expected this. “Octavia Melody,” he said as I entered the room.  It wasn’t a greeting.  He said my name as if weighing it, taking measure of me. “Pleasure to meet you,” I said with a smile, masking my already growing unease.  Gluto was not smiling. “I’ve come to make the final arrangements for the payment,” I went on.  “In exchange for your guarantee of security of the Gutter Isles trade routes, we will transfer a sum of-” “Where’s the money?” he broke in. “I’m making the arrangements for the transfer,” I reminded him. “I was told that you had it.” “No, I’m-” “Had it with you,” he insisted. I gestured to my flanks, completely uncovered.  Aside from my pink bowtie, I wore nothing.  No pockets.  “I’m afraid that is not the case.  I have come to arrange for the money to be given to you.  Who told you that I would be carrying it?” “You don’t have the money?” he said, frown deepening into a scowl as he walked over to me, flanked by two of his associates.  “Where the hell is the money?” Griffons are very particular about their bits.  My ears swiveled as the two griffons who’d led me into the house edged closer to my hindquarters, tightening an increasingly uncomfortable circle. I raised a hoof.  “I’ll get your money, I’m-” POW I saw the fist he made, and I saw it coming at my face, managing to duck most of the force.  However, there wasn’t much I could do about the attack from behind that knocked me to the floor. If one can take charge of a fight, there is a certain rhythm, and pace.  With training and experience, fighting becomes much easier.  However, five-on-one, when you’re already starting from the ground, is long odds.  Adding to that, I was still under the impression that this deal could be saved.  So I took my lumps, trying to protect my head. They did eventually let me up.  I was half-feigning bad injuries, and still aching pretty well all the same.  Even after someone has just gotten through beating you, sometimes the sympathy card still works. It didn’t today, however.  “Take her down to the shore and see if the fish are hungry,” Gluto said.  His tone suggested that he didn’t much care, which gave me hope, but also told me that his underlings might take the path of least resistance since they hadn’t been given specific orders. Two of them pulled my limp self out of the house by my hind legs and took a turn for the cliffs.  I focused on catching my breath, so that I didn’t miss my moment.  It was a little difficult because they weren’t too careful about dragging me. By the time I could hear the ocean, dashing the base of the cliffs, I’d gotten my head back together enough to retain an idea.  Having a plan is always good, but absent that, muscle memory and instinct will have to do. The two of them paused at the edge of the cliff.  In the second it took them to come to a halt, turn to me, and lean down to take better hold, I knew it was time to take over. I kicked both hind hooves up to both chins.  Due to my awkward position, I couldn’t put much power behind the attack, but it was more than enough to set them off balance. I kept moving into a reverse somersault and the moment I had all four hooves on the ground again, charged.  A headbutt to the torso will likely drive the wind from anyone, and the griffon hit the ground again.   If one must fight, taking advantage of terrain is key.  Griffonstone is mostly rocks.  Rocks are harder than skulls.  The griffon was dazed, but I could already tell he wouldn’t be down long. The other one had just gotten up.  Rather than facing him, I turned away.  If he didn’t know to guard against the most basic of earth pony attacks, then he deserved to be bucked in the stomach and sent clear off the edge of the cliff.  Maybe he would even get his wind back and wings working before he hit the water. Wasting no time, I grabbed the prostrate griffon in front of me, yanked half his primary feathers with my teeth, and then, lifting him over my head, pitched him over the edge of the cliff, too.   Do-or-die adrenaline is your friend, but you must pay the price after.  I ungracefully stumbled away from the cliff, aching even more now, spitting feathers and heading for the train station in as direct a fashion as I could manage.  I’ve taken my fair share of beatings in this line of work, but it never gets easier. At the train station message desk, I straightened up, adjusted my tie, and smoothed my mane.  I’m sure I still looked as battered as I felt, but confidence goes a long way. “I’d like to send a telegram, please,” I said to the pony behind the desk, who until I had arrived had been reading the newspaper.  He looked concerned about whatever had happened to my face, but did not comment, instead just taking down my message. JOB WENT WRONG STOP PAYMENT DID NOT ARRIVE AS SCHEDULED STOP PLEASE ADVISE STOP I could have run the morse key myself, but this was his job and I patiently waited for a reply to come back.  He did me the courtesy of writing it down, but by the time he had finished the card, I had already interpreted the news.  I read the message anyway, because I could hardly believe it. TAVI THEY PUT YOU OUT TO PASTURE STOP RISKY JUST TO TALK TO YOU STOP SORRY STOP GOOD LUCK VINYL STOP “There was also a ticket to Ponyville included,” the messenger added. My head swirled.  Well, even more than when I’d been beaten.  How had this happened!?  They had just kicked me out?  Why?  And secondary, why bungle my operation?  A fake justification to let me go?  A manufactured reason to pin to me in order to prove why I should be pastured? “Send a message back,” I urged.  He took it down. WHO BLOODY PUT ME OUT TO PASTURE STOP HOW DO I GET BACK TO THE BARN SO TO SPEAK STOP NEED INFORMATION AND RESOURCES PLEASE HELP STOP We waited.  I hoped and prayed that the extra words for color would help get my dire situation across and not just waste fees for extra characters in the message.   I worried slightly what the message pony would think of the conversation, but reasoned that “out to pasture” didn’t betray anything about me or my work. Five minutes passed.  No reply. “Send another one,” I insisted. Before he could, the telegraph tapped.  RECIPIENT LEFT THE OFFICE AND DID NOT LEAVE FORWARDING ADDRESS. My shoulders slumped.  The company was my lifeline.  They’d provided my ticket here, and were supposed to get me back to Canterlot after the job was finished.  As the griffons had already learned, I had nothing else on me. But now I was out.  I had no idea why, but I did understand that I was in deep trouble.  There was no branch of my bank in Griffonstone.  I’d purposely not carried any significant amount of money in order to avoid the situation that had just befallen me.  Who had told the griffons that I would be carrying the payment?  The same person who ordered me kicked out?  And again, why!? “This ticket,” I said, referring to the one my friend(?) Vinyl had sent.  “I need to get it changed to Canterlot.” “It’s nonrefundable, sorry.” There weren’t a whole lot of better options.  In fact, a ticket back to my hometown was actually about the worst option I could imagine.  It didn’t get me answers.  It didn’t solve my predicament, and stood a fair chance of making it worse. But...after the day I had experienced, I would rather be on a train going anywhere but here. Boarding the train, I leaned against the window. As the train began to move, I listlessly watched as the sun set over the passing scenery.  My sunglasses were pinched between my head and the glass, but it hurt less than it would have to move my aching body, so I let it be.  That left me alone with my thoughts. In my line of work, I have found that there are some skills which are absolutely vital.  I have a good ear for tones and languages.  I can read a room.  I have a certain amount of dexterity.  Not to mention idealism slowly being crushed by an unfeeling world.  I also have an unusual ability that seems to put captions in front of my eyes for important people and details.  Maybe it’s a mental health issue, but it does come in handy sometimes.   All of these are good skills for what I do. I’m speaking, of course, about the music industry, where I got my cutie mark.  However, there are also many parallels to covert action.   I don’t like the word “spy.”  If nothing else, intelligence gathering is only a very small subset of my job and what I do.  I’ve never really come up with a better term than spy, however, because I never have to tell anyone the truth about what I do for a living. Or did, anyway.  I had heard that ponies like me were occasionally put out to pasture.  But they usually did something to cause it.  Not that I’m a paragon of honesty - nopony is in this business - but after wracking my brain I could think of nothing I had done to warrant being kicked out. I had kept my head down.  I had done my job, and done it well.  I was good at being a loner and meticulous in my work.  That was part of why I had been recruited.  Well, and I was willing to do anything to get away from home. And now, my only option was to ride this train back to Ponyville.  Home. I fell asleep at some point, which only brought me to Ponyville faster.  The train pulled into the station on a bright and sunny morning.  I’d gotten stiff overnight, and only barely managed to disembark under my own power.  The pain wasn’t as sharp as the fresh injuries had been, but the ache had settled into my bones. I stood on the train platform and blinked blearily at the town in the light of the rising sun.  It had been years since I’d visited.  The place hadn’t changed that much.  I had. Ponyville Hometown, once Well, I had a few things to do.  I set off. Down at the bank, they told me they’d never heard of me. “I created my account in this very building fifteen years ago,” I argued.  “Lately I’ve been living in Canterlot and using the branch there, but my account certainly does exist.  I accessed it less than a week ago.” “I don’t know what to tell you, Ms. Melody.  Could somepony have closed it on your behalf?” Yes.  I ground my teeth.  Finding out exactly who had put me out to pasture was now a step harder since they’d removed all my assets.  Not to mention, I certainly had no unclassified job history or line of credit to my name. I would be unprepared if I didn’t have a second, secret bank account.  But it was in Canterlot, and I didn’t have the money to get there. I stepped out of the bank onto the sidewalk, slipping on my sunglasses and letting out a deep sigh through clenched teeth.  I had rarely been so close to losing my cool, even when fighting the scum of the earth over the last few years. Speaking of cool, a suave voice said, “Hey doll face, I appreciate that your beauty takes up so much space that it fills the great outdoors, but I hope I could just pass by you for a moment.” I realized I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk.  I also realized, as I looked around, that I knew the two-tone blue pegasus stallion who’d spoken.  “Soarin?” I said in surprise. Soarin Old friend He paused, apparently taken aback.  He glanced me up and down and a look of realization came to his eyes.  “Octavia?  Long time, no see!  What are you doing here?” “I’m wondering that myself.” “You look a little rough,” he said in a quieter, more respectful voice. “Probably,” I agreed.   He glanced around.  “Can I buy you a drink?” “I would be grateful.” We headed to a tavern that I knew but had never entered before.  I’d left town before I had much interest in drinking.  Soarin was apparently a regular, enough to get us a secluded table away from the windows.  He ordered a Bahama Mama. I glanced at the menu - would it kill them to have something healthy, even just a fruit plate or yogurt? - and then ordered a Manehattan. When our drinks came, Soarin went to the trouble of a toast, though informally, not even giving a speech, just a quick clink of glasses. I’d first met Soarin in Canterlot, years ago, and also in a couple other locales around the world.  He’d been a respected member of the Wonderbolts, the aerial demonstration team, but before that he was also an accomplished member of special forces.  Joining the Wonderbolts late in his career had been him taking a relaxing job. We’d worked together, peripherally, a time or two on certain operations.  I couldn’t exactly call him a close friend, but he was a known quantity for me, and perhaps the closest thing I had to an associate in Ponyville.  I just hadn’t been expecting him. “So what are you doing here?” I asked. “I retired a few years back and decided to settle down and live the slow life.”  He took a sip of his drink. “Slow life?  In Ponyville?  You do realize it’s the monster attack capital of Equestria, right?” He grinned.  “That’s why it’s also the drinking capital of Equestria, and the swooning-mares-in-need-of-comfort capital of Equestria.” I shook my head.  “I suppose that’s why you’re also comfortable calling mares on the street ‘doll face.’  As if their reactions to that aren’t as scary in comparison to monsters.” “Hey, I’ve gotten slapped a few times.”  He shrugged.  “Frankly, knowing you, I’m a little surprised you weren’t one of them.” He cocked his head and his flippant attitude pulled back for a moment, leaving the calculating military stallion I knew underneath.  “So what’s going on with you?” He could have pointed out my bruises, or my attitude, or the fact that I was in Ponyville.  But he didn’t, just let me talk. I slowly worked through the events of the past day as we both drank.  I had an empty stomach, but the whiskey in my drink made things hurt a little less. In any other situation, I probably would have prioritized secrecy.  But the company had put me out to pasture, so clearly they didn’t care about me any more.  I trusted Soarin more than them now. “So there it is,” I finished.  “I’ve got nothing.  I can maybe get to Canterlot and get this sorted out, but I’m going to need to get a few things in order first.” Soarin hesitated, but then said, “I’m a little broke, but I can loan you the money for a ticket.” I almost took him up on it.  But no.  Now that I’d had some time to think, rushing into things might not be in my best interest.  “I need to take stock.  I need a place to stay, and money, and some time to gather information and put together a plan.  Instead of a loan, can you help me with a job?” “Hmm.”  Soarin sat back in his chair.  “You know, I did hear about something from my friend, Spoiled Milk.  She’s having a little tiff with her husband, Filthy Rich.  He’s the owner of Barnyard Bargains.” “I already don’t like the sound of this,” I replied.  I knew about Barnyard Bargains.  It was the biggest store in Ponyville, even when I was still here.  But more to the point, I really didn’t want to get involved in marriage troubles.  I already knew too much about that from, er, childhood experience. “Well, it should be low-threat.  You won’t need to carry a piece or anything,” Soarin said.  “But if you do want one, I know a guy.” The front door of the tavern opened.  I’d been monitoring traffic out of the corner of my eye, and now nearly turned to stare.  I could hardly help myself.  The mare who walked in was every color of the rainbow and she had an aura of being the center of attention on top of that. It seemed she was a regular here, too, and came over to our table.  “Soarin,” she said, and glanced at me.  “Who’s this?” I knew who she was, though we’d never met before.  A reputation like Rainbow Dash got around. “She’s an old friend,” Soarin replied, introducing me.   “An old friend?  Of Soarin’s?”  Rainbow grinned.  “Are you a spy?” Rainbow Dash Not funny Soarin laughed.  I didn’t. Rainbow joined us at the table. “So my guy,” said Soarin, continuing the conversation to me from earlier.  “If you ever need a weapon, he can get you anything.  He’ll keep quiet about it, too, won’t tell anyone anything.” “And?” I said.  It seemed slightly strange that he would promote somepony when I hadn’t asked.  “What ‘and?’  The guy is rock solid!  Steady as they come!  Also, his sister might be easy on the eyes and makes the best apple pie you’ll ever have.” “There it is,” Rainbow chuckled.  She apparently knew Soarin at least as well as I did.  “Keep settling for random sugar mamas, because that mare will never settle for you.” The three of us spent the rest of the evening discussing my situation.  Soarin seemed to trust Rainbow, even as the two of them continually traded verbal jabs in a buddy-buddy sort of way.  That didn’t make her automatically trustworthy in my book, but as I had already decided, there wasn’t much I had to lose.  What was the company going to do - put me out to pasture more?