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// Chapter 3: Baltimare Smoker 
// Story: The Blue Knight 
// by The_Darker_Fonts 
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The dimming of his room to a burnt yellow in the light of the setting sun only further drew him to the cigar.  The subtle white unicorn had, for years now, been attempting to keep his mouth off of the stub of a cigar, but had found too much comfort in it.  He knew what it did to him, how his life shortened with every puff of smoke, but every time he tried to resist, he found it impossible to stop.  So, as always, he found the stub of a nice Manehattan style in between his teeth, cherry scented smoke rising through the air in front of him.
The stallion stared out at the setting sun through his grimy, stained brown window.  His office was on the fourth floor of his factory, or at least, the main one, which allowed him to view over the other smaller, wider factories and out across the city.  He was able to glance at the sun shining on the waters of the Appatamare.  Everything was dark save the window, the dying sunlight too weak to light the rest of his office any better.  That was fine, though.  He wouldn’t be in here long, at least, long enough to waste kerosene lighting lamps.  
He turned away from the light, walking towards the stark gray door of faded acacia wood.  It’d been well wrought at one point, fine, without the slightest dent or grain in it, but the years of use and sunlight through the infrared windows had aged it, leaving great ravines of wood in it.  He pushed through it mindlessly, grabbing his cloak from a cloak hanger as he went.  He didn’t need it, not this early into the fall, but he welcomed the extra warmth readily.  He was the type to revel in the heat of his office in the midsummer, refusing to turn the A/C on.
He walked down simple, slotted metal star steps, down three empty levels and to the small exit door in the back.  The factory had been empty since six, as overnight production was illegalized after a huge list of scandals and misdeeds had been revealed.  The unworked machinery stood like skeletons, lit by the dull yellow light through several medium-sized windows, watching with ethereal silence as he proceeded.  Unlit furnaced, bare of anything but coal chunks, gaped like ominous mouths attempting to lure him in.  It was a sight he’d seen for the past thirteen years, but it still remained slightly uncanny to watch.
As he entered the bare streets of the city, he glared at a passing group of fillies, shouting for them to watch where they were running.  They failed to acknowledge him, causing small embers of anger to rise in his chest, but with a controlled puff of smoke, he released it.  They were young and didn’t care, nor did they really need to.  His life didn’t concern them, at least, it didn’t seem like it.  He smiled at his little inside joke, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.  He turned briskly and walked down the westside street, towards the living districts.
The city had obviously been designed by earth ponies, and as such, retained their characteristics of simplism.  The city wasn’t fancy, nor had it attempted to be until a new sensation of arts and fashion had swept through with a new and younger generation of unicorns and impressionable earth ponies.  It was interesting to watch, but really, he knew that in twenty year’s time, a new sensation would come and destroy the world of fashion.  It was always like that with cities, all of them except the prestigious seat of the Princess.  Canterlot.  He frowned, the very name of the city popping into his head disgusting him.
Puffing out another cloud of smoke, he noticed something on the side of the road.  It would seem like nothing to the common observer, even those who had walked this street more times and longer than the stallion.  But it was an anomaly that only somepony looking for it would notice.  Something that was only intended for one specific stallion to see, to notice with a single glance.  And the only way that stallion would notice it would be through hundreds of glances, so much so that it was unconsciously memorized in the constant movement of his daily routine.  His daily life.
It was nothing big, but at the same time, it was huge.  His lip curled up, and for the first time that month, the smile hit his eyes.  Finally, finally something had happened.  It’d been weeks since he’d set the plants in Canterlot, and he’d grown rather impatient with the lack of communication or even relative progress made.  He walked up to the grate, bending down to the sewer grate in the side of the road, picking up the purple piece of paper from it.  It had been stuck to the grate with a piece of chewed gum, a long, strong strand of the white substance connecting the paper to the metal.  Primitive, but useful.  
He puffed his cigar once again before tossing it aside.  It might not have been finished, but right now, he didn’t care.  Besides, maybe with this letter, he would finally feel cheerful enough to quit smoking once and for all.  He replaced the cigar with the corner of the letter that had been sticking out into the air.  He trotted happily back to his apartment block, not even minding the way the green was horrendously contrasted with the burnt yellow of the sun setting.  He carefully opened the gate to the entrance to his ground level apartment, entering quickly. 
He rushed to the table, setting the letter down carefully.  Holding one corner of it down with a hoof, he tore the top off, pulling the slightly wrinkled sheet of paper out of the envelope.  He read it quickly, eyes scanning the paper with malicious intent, hoping for the better, praying for the best.  He rarely prayed, but as he came to the closing words of the letter, the last line, he hoped to the very deity he hated that it wouldn’t, couldn’t be so.  Unfortunately, for both him and the stallion who sent this, it was.  
With an angry huff, he walked over to the drawer nearest to his sink, pulling open and producing a cigar.  Using his magic, he lit it, inhaling deeply.
This was bad.  Extremely bad.  Possibly compromising if he didn’t act fast.  Looking around at his apartment, he realized that there was no need for him to stay any longer.  He had work, much more important than running a series of dingy factories.  He threw his cloak on, the only thing that he cared to take from his apartment at the moment.  On second thought he walked back over to the drawer, pulled out the pack of cigars, and then walked out of the apartment building.  He didn’t even need to turn off the light seeing as how he’d failed to have done so when he entered.
The door slammed shut behind him as he trudged across the rough pavement path, stopping suddenly at the sight of Cherry Taffy.  The elderly mare was once again attempting to lift four overstuffed grocery bags in her mouth, obviously causing her at least mild pain and severe frustration.  Sighing, he approached her with an outstretched hoof.  Mumbling around his cigar, he chastised the old earth pony.
“Miss Taffy, you know what I’ve said before about carrying around your own groceries.”  The mare glanced at him with a slightly sheepish glance.  As he took three of the bags into his own mouth, she muttered shortly, “Oh, you know, but I know too, I guess.”
The stallion gave the mare a tight smile around the plastic bags.  The old mare sometimes said things rather confusing, but personally, he found the whole thing slightly amusing.  He kept pace with his slower neighbor, trudging up a short flight of stairs and across an outward facing hallway until they reached her apartment.  He pushed open the door for her, waiting for her to enter before setting the groceries in his mouth on her old table.  The door had characteristically stayed budged open, stuck by some fault in the design of the old doorway made too long ago to fix.
He sighed, looking out of the window next to the table.  The sun was set now, split in half by the horizon, bits of buildings sticking up into the glowing golden.  It was past time to leave, considering all that was going on in Canterlot and how long it may take him to get there.  Nodding to the mare, he said quickly, “I’d be helping you put the groceries away now, but I have places to be.”
“Ladies to see,” Taffy asked with a sort of elderly charm to the question.  
Chuckling softly, he answered, “No, not tonight.  Much graver matters, out of town matters.  I don’t think I’ll be back anytime soon, though.  I hope it wouldn’t be too much to ask if you could tell Hunk about it.”
“Oh, why I’d take care of your place if you needed,” Taffy kindly affirmed.
“No, it’s all right,” he spoke, slightly firm to ensure the brazen mare wouldn’t attempt to.  “Hunk still owes me a favor.”
“If you say so.”  The mare looked out the window with a wrinkled frown.  “Best get going though.  The train leaves soon, if my old memory serves correct.”
The white stallion nodded.  “Well, it does.  But hopefully my young legs will be able to run the city in the time I have.”
The elder pony’s face scrunched up in a boisterous laugh at his joke, turning to her groceries to begin putting them away.  The younger stallion took his leave, closing the door gently behind him.  Puffing out another breath of smoke, he raced off towards the Baltimare Transcontinental.