9
“We’ve got to put it somewhere,” Rarity insisted, unable to keep the glee out of her voice.
“It’s…” Twilight struggled for a good word. A good Rarity specific word. “It’s improprietous!”
“Gesundheit,” Applejack said in passing because Dash wasn’t back yet.
Twilight realised she’d made a terrible mistake as scandalous lights danced in Rarity’s eyes.
“So would leaving all this clutter for our guests to trip over, darling.”
“They’re not our guests!” Twilight insisted, then pounced on a new line of hoof-wringing. “And they’re not our bedrooms!”
“Well,” Rarity said sweetly, and Twilight hated that she couldn’t tell whether the fashionista had been saving this or just ad-libbed, “an argument could be made that you have, shall we say, exclusive access to--”
“Alright, enough teasin’,” Applejack declared, trotting back over with a trash bag on her back. “Rarity’s got a point, Twi. We gotta make some space an’ the guys’ rooms’ve got closets.”
Twilight surveyed 616B Yancy Street’s living room. Peter and Johnny had confided a suspicion the Thing had intended to use the apartment, built with millions he’d lucked into the year before last, as a sort of field HQ for visiting his old stomping grounds. You could see how they’d get that idea from just how wide the living room was, even by the standards of Manehattan open planning.
Grim Skies’ transformation had turned an already well-built Pegasus, a breed that naturally inclined towards maximum space even on the smallest cloud clusters, twice the size of Big Macintosh. 616B seemed to take up most of the top floor of its apartment building, and that was before you included the kitchen, bathroom and closet.
Very probably enough space for a moving boulder to feel comfortable in his own skin. Certainly enough for its current occupants to have the odd movie night with six mares and a dragon, never mind host a poker tournament. Under Pinkie’s guidance they’d already managed to convert half the living room into a poker themed party space, with black, white, red and gold decorations.
The problem was Spider-Pony and the Horseshoe Torch hadn’t used their space particularly well, filling it with assorted seats, tables, shelves and seemingly random props. In the ‘Eh, I’ll pick that up later,’ style of 20-something bachelors everywhere if they couldn’t already reach whatever they wanted, even by banging their hind hooves on a table until it bounced into mouth range, they’d write it off for at least a month until happening on it in passing.
This was why Pinkie had four shelving units to push together and cover with drapes for a buffet table, and why everything that had covered those shelves was now in bulging trash bags by the entertainment centre, with even more clusters of conversation pieces stretching past it. And naturally they couldn’t just use the hall closet because the boys had already jammed that full of Discord knows what.
“It’s only for a couple hours,” Applejack assured.
“We could always put it through the portal,” Spike suggested, tapping a piece of hardwood floor he was sweeping. “Y’know, stash it at our place.”
Twilight’s nostrils flared. “Oh no. They’ve taken up our time, the hay they’re eating up our space as well.”
Applejack gave Spike a congratulatory wink.
“Jolly good,” Rarity breezed, reaching for the door on the left. A violet telekinetic field yanked her hoof off course.
“Johnny’s first,” Twilight said a bit too quickly, horn glowing, “it’s bigger.”
***
And it was.
Fluttershy and Pinkie joined Spike and the other three Elements to stare through the humble doorway, drawn by the magnetic pull of mystery and morbid curiosity. Afterall Johnnycake Storm was such a…Johnnycake Storm that you just had to see his natural habitat once it occurred to you such a singular entity had one.
Rarity was the least interested, knowing the Torch well enough by now to expect which of her biases were about to be confirmed. Rainbow Dash would probably have been even more uninterested if she’d been there. She’d been intimately familiar with the subject, after all. If pressed the others would have given overlapping answers along the lines of ‘basically a church to himself.’
They weren’t entirely right or wrong.
Because of 616B’s Thing-esque proportions Johnny’s room was long and wide enough to give the feeling of stepping into a 1st-class train compartment, an effect aided by his choice of burgundy wallpaper. He’d strategically cordoned his space into sectors, marking each with different coloured drapes, adding an equally fitting movie star’s dressing room quality.
Applejack indicated Johnny’s bed with her head. “Anypony surprised?”
“No,” everypony but Fluttershy said in time with Pinkie’s, “Nope!”
Johnny’s bed, an almost Escher like shape at the back of the room that seemed simultaneously further away and far too close, was a lavish Canterlot Castle-esque four poster number. It looked like it could either be used as a flotation device by a family of six, and their little dog too, or have wheels and armour plating bolted onto it and turned into a siege engine for the Whacky Races.
“Who was thinkin’ race kart bed?” AJ asked.
“I was thinking some kind of sensory deprivation tank, honestly,” Twilight said.
“Isn’t it though?” Rarity asked, gesturing to the entire room. “Really? When you think about it?”
“He doesn’t have as many plants as I’d’ve thought,” Fluttershy said, figuring she may as well get into the spirit of the thing now that she’d violated somepony’s privacy and was as condemned to The Bad Pony Place as she was likely to get.
The left side’s sectors consisted of a queen-sized bureau that could’ve done for three minotaurs, a stretch of wall that seemed to serve as a kind of trophy case, and an ornate wardrobe large enough to serve as a carriage.
While Johnny’s bureau wasn’t a stain glass window, enough professional photoshoot equipment lined either side of it to put you in mind of a televangelist. Applejack and Twilight glanced at each other, both praying to the Great Pony in the Sky they’d never learn where Johnny’d found this stuff.
“What do we think that’s for?” Spike asked, pointing to a final sector sandwiched between a door next to the wardrobe and the left of Johnny’s four poster. It looked almost like a window into some sort of café dimension, with two plush armchairs and a table loaded with cups and machinery. Oh, and a globe of the world, naturally. Why not.
“Date nook?” Twilight asked blandly, looking between Rarity and Applejack.
“Date nook,” they agreed, nodding in unimpressed sync. Spike blushed.
“Oh, I recognize the thingy on the left from Discord’s catalogues!” Fluttershy said, oblivious to how this concept made everypony stare at her. “That’s one of those deluxe Pranceisian coffee makers. I like those, they use ethically sourced beans. Don’t know about the other one, though.”
Pinkie zipped over to said other one, gasping. “An Istallion gelato engine! They say the ancient masters built these on the lower tiers of the Matterhorn for that extra minty taste and it comes with the super-secret flavour only rich ponies know about!”
The group watched in horror as she grabbed one of the taps, twisted her head upside down with a near Derpy expression, and unhinged her jaw. “Pinkie, no!” Rarity snapped firmly. “You know exactly where that’s been!”
“Aww,” Pinkie whined as Twilight teleported her back to the group, but she didn’t remain disappointed for long, zipping to the new distraction of Johnny’s bureau. “Think that mirror’s magic?”
“Why would it be?” Twilight asked.
“I dunno. It’s just so big!”
“So he can have all his ego in view,” Rarity said with perfect timing. She touched up her own mane as the group snickered.
“’Least he’s safety conscious,” Applejack noted, indicating two fire extinguishers, one bolted to either side of the swivel chair Johnny used to admire his reflection. “Y’can smell so much product in the air the whole block’d probably go up if he sneezed wrong.”
“There’s three more out in the living room,” Spike said, looking a smidge self-conscious.
Rarity stopped considering her hair to eye a selection of photos Johnny had taped to his mirror. Mostly publicity photos of himself, naturally, but a few family and friends, even one of him and Crystal. She didn’t look at that one for too long, concentrating instead on the still unfolding sunset reflected from the window behind them.
“You’ve got to hand it to him, he’s got a decent effect going here,” she said turning to properly admire it.
The others also turned to the right side of the room, fully prepared to admit he had. Johnny’s right hoof sectors, starting directly across from his bureau, consisted of a large window that was probably his own private launching area given its size and scenic view of Manehattan, another trophy display, and what looked like more of a ‘Me Time’ nook.
Its chair and table were the kind a normal pony would own, sporting a music player and headphones. It all would've been quite humble if not for a large mirror reminding you who’s room this was.
A nearby spinner rack contained Johnny’s record collection. It was oddly easy to imagine him flopping into the simple chair after a hard day’s flight and just zoning out to…Applejack trotted up and flipped through some of the albums on display, nodding occasionally.
“Not bad,” she concluded, then craned to see something on the other side of the rack. “Huh…”
The Horseshoe Torch practiced guitar in his down/non-preening time, apparently. Proper acoustic too, like her own back in Ponyville, not a double barrel, multi nitro tubed, electro-Asgardian tryhard number like she’d have figured.
“Didn’t know he played,” she said simply.
“He calls it playing,” Rarity retorted, but it was arbitrary and lacking venom.
“So are we just pawing through Johnny’s things now…?” Fluttershy asked.
“I’m looking for the best place to dump this stuff,” Twilight said primly, jolting the trash bag on her back. She resumed searching.
Even with Johnny’s four-poster and a large, futuristic looking steamer trunk he’d placed at the foot of it, there was still enough space for all five of them to easily mill about. Johnny’s solution to having a big empty carpet was to place a large rug reproduction of the Equestrian flag in the middle of it. Twilight could easily imagine him gaming it to either score patriot/hipster points with different kinds of visitors to his date nook.
So plenty of space, but she couldn’t tell where to dump the contents of the living room where it would most hurt.
“Look!” Pinkie snickered pointing at some toy karts scattered across the bureau and here and there across the room. The others stared uncomprehendingly at her. “Hot Wheels ™!”
Spike and Fluttershy were the only ones to laugh, though the others did smile.
Johnny’s plus-sized bureau seemed to be his main operating hub during his down time. It was covered not just with an expected assortment of mane and coat care products, but wrenches and screwdrivers, novelty joke items, hairdryers, and an unsettling row of blank, doll-like beautician’s training heads.
No literature, Twilight noted, or at least not much. And she had to begrudgingly admire how what she could see liberally scattered across the Torch’s room was relevant to his fields: mostly engineering and automotive magazines. Even—and this did impress her—an odd copy of the Planetary guide.
Part of what put more ticks in the Thing’s Headquarters column was the amount of left side wall still available between Johnny’s bureau and his wardrobe. He’d filled said space with a row of flags from different nations the Fantastic Family had presumably visited (Fluttershy recognised one for Wakanda) and a sort of display he’d made by stacking Lucite cubes on top of each other, all balanced on a large, plush piece of furniture that looked like it might’ve been his bureau’s original seat.
It was wide enough for the cubes to form a four-tiered pyramid, one cube atop the whole pile just slightly shy of bumping into a horsehead wall lamp Johnny had rigged to cast flattering radiance onto his collected glory. Rarity scrutinized it, then grinned.
“Oh, that’s clever,” she smirked,” beckoning the others closer. “Let’s see… Fluttershy, come here a moment, you’ve got the best eyes, no offence to anypony.”
“Alright,” Fluttershy said, ever polite, and tried to draw as close as Rarity’s beckoning hoof seemed to want.
“See it yet?” the Unicorn asked eagerly.
“See what?” Fluttershy leaned in closer to the mirrored surface of a row of cubes, then drew back in terror. “Agh! What’s that?!”
“…your reflection, darling.”
“Oh.”
“But does everypony get the idea?” Rarity grinned.
“So he can lookit his trophies an’ himself at the same time,” Applejack said, a hint of terrified admiration in her voice.
“Yeees,” Rarity hissed with savage delight.
“What is all this stuff anyway?” Spike asked, not liking all this fashionista-based Johnny approval, and tapped a curious talon against a cube as if to demonstrate how low grade the resultant harmonics were.
“Oh, search me,” Rarity said. “I suspect getting misguided parties to ask is the idea. I don’t really think about that side of Johnny’s life. We’ve got enough of that sort of thing ourselves, wouldn’t everypony agree?”
“Is that one loaded?” Fluttershy asked, backing away from a cube containing a Marvin the Martian-esque pistol.
“That’d be just like ol’ sparky,” AJ said. “Make sure this stuff looks cool first, ask if it’s dangerous later.”
“I’m sure a lot of it’s important to him,” Twilight said diplomatically.
She was thinking of and looking straight at the item at the top of the pyramid, a black device made up of dynamic curves and circle patterns that looked as if it could either serve as a hairclip, a lethal boomerang, or both.
***
She recognised it as a communicator belonging to her recent friend Crystal of the Unknowns, one she’d given to Johnny at the end of their relationship so he could “keep in touch”, both perhaps hoping it might rekindle something.
Twilight had repaired it for Johnny during Queen Chrysalis’ attempted takeover of the Unknown’s capital colony, coming to understand how important the youngest of Attilan’s royal family was to the hero as they’d chatted while making their way out of the sewers.
Crystal’s radio (or whatever such an advanced piece of machinery really was) held a strange kind of emotional significance for Twilight as well: during Chrysalis’ attack she and Peter had been in the middle of a terrible…spat, she supposed, brought about by his paranoia after she’d made the mistake of boasting about visiting the Cauldron, Canterlot’s obligatory Bad News neighbourhood, when she was only a little filly.
He’d explained it as a mix of shock at how Twilight’s involvement in “the business” had begun that soon and, really, a lifetime of consequences that had hung over his loved ones whenever his two worlds had collided.
Given what she’d heard of the Goat Goblin she could see why his mind had gone there, but she hadn’t particularly appreciated being reminded of the scolding she’d gotten from Celestia and her parents when Shining ratted her out. (He’d had to scrub the academy toilets for two weeks straight for his own truancy, but whatever.)
She especially hadn’t appreciated the way Spider-Pony had suddenly started attaching himself to every Element of Harmony mission, questioning her every decision when he wasn’t hurling himself protectively in front of her at every stray gust of wind.
Looking at Crystal’s device didn’t just bring back all those awful feelings of her first fight with Peter, but a kind of guilt.
She and Peter had reconciled, defeating Chrysalis with the power of love. He’d accepted her life was as intense, if not more so, than his own and given her the space and trust she needed. She’d accepted that a relationship wasn’t just long nuzzles in the summer sun and that both partners, especially ones that lived the kind of lives they did, had to balance not just fear but frustration. And still respect each other’s feelings and boundaries, a valuable insight once they’d begun to reconcile.
In short, she and Peter? Back together and actually kind of stronger for falling out.
Crystal and Johnny? Broke up again. Or never started. Re-started. Whatever, what was she, Cadence?
Twilight had seen Crystal a few times since then and it seemed she and Johnny were okay, though back to giving each other a lot of space. Crystal seemed happy to be the face of Attilan, forging secret pacts with Equestria to give her un-mutated people a place to live among ponies and perhaps finding her own way in the world.
She also didn’t seem to blame Twilight for still having her relationship with perhaps her perfect pony partner while Crystal and Johnny were back to ‘just good friends’, so that was nice.
***
Applejack whistled suddenly, snapping Twilight out of it. The workhorse had trotted over to inspect the right-side trophies and seemed to find them infinitely more engaging.
“Well ring my bell and call me a TKO! That ball there, that’s Dream Shake’s autograph! An’ is that…? It is! Blind Pass’ goggles! Fadeaway’s vest! Oh shoot, he’s actually got the whole New Yolk Nets’ shoes! They’re all autographed! Agh! An’ he’s even in that photo with ’em!”
Yeah, Johnny’s other trophies were all sports memorabilia, apparently. Autographed memorabilia, which Twilight, Rarity and Fluttershy could understand on an abstract level.
“Oh my stars and garters,” Pinkie whispered, her forehooves balanced reverently on the simple coffee table Johnny used for this display, “those’re Laugh-a-Lympics shirts. The two teams that weren’t rotten! Lookit that penponyship!”
“Dash has gotta see this,” Applejack breathed. She violently stepped back from Johnny’s cubes. “No, that’d be awful, she’d hate this ’cause she’d love it. She’d hate Johnny for havin’ it. Hay, I hate ’im for havin’ it.”
“Have we tried his wardrobe yet?” Twilight asked, trying to get back on track. She squinted at its doors. “Maybe not, it’s locked.”
“Yes but no,” Rarity smiled and beckoned her closer. She held up a hoof to stop Twilight reaching for the sturdy looking magical lock, identical to the one fastened to Johnny’s high-tech steamer trunk.
“Look at it,” she explained. “Really look.”
“Looks like a lock,” Applejack said simply. “’Cause it’s a lock.”
“No, darling,” Rarity said, savouring the reveal, “it’s a burglar alarm.”
Twilight And Pinkie blinked at her as Fluttershy risked a peek between them. “Oh,” she realised. “I think I see. The bolt’s not…?”
“Exactly!” Rarity grinned, casually swinging the door back and forth. “I’ve used it myself now and then. Elegant in its simplicity. One simply attaches it via magic magnet but leaves the bolt, as Fluttershy so quickly deduced, a few easily overlooked but vital inches out of its hole! Should any nefarious types riffle through your clothes—”
“Why?” Applejack asked.
“—they will either be deterred by the sight of your steadfast companion or foolishly poke at it in an attempt to pick it, thus snapping the bolt fast! Not only have you thwarted them, you’ve tricked them into leaving evidence of their crime! Ha HA!”
“So if y’can open a door ya weren’t robbed,” Applejack persisted flatly “,but if y’can’t ya still weren’t?”
“Let other ponies have nice things, Jackie.”
“So it’s open,” Twilight said firmly, telekinetically gathering their trash bags. “Great.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, darling.” Rarity demonstrably swung Johnny’s wardrobe wide with her own magic. They all flinched as magic compartments in the door interiors swung open, spreading out two more racks of transparent garment bags.
She’d called it. What wasn’t Johnny’s legion upon legion of suits, shirts and saddles for all seasons was a row of toolboxes or shelves stuffed with spare FF utility collars and mane-care products. A contortionist flea couldn’t have squeezed between those racks.
“His bed?” Spike suggested.
Twilight glanced at the four-poster. It was tempting but…
Johnny hadn’t finished college. That wasn’t as big a deal to her as it would have been during her awkward early Ponyville days, but sometimes he’d be so cool and together and then he’d say something, and you’d remember this 24-year-old stallion who could light himself on fire was probably never going back to ESU for that engineering degree.
So the space over Johnny’s pillows lacked a diploma.
What it did have, proudly framed under glass in a way that felt like more than just a conversation piece, (not that Johnny wouldn’t take full advantage) were certificates letting anypony who saw them know Tropical Johnnycake Storm was a certified volunteer fire fighter, a reserve E.U.P. search and rescue pony, a member of the explorers guild of Equestria, and a proud graduate of Cloudsdale Flight School.
And because he was Johnnycake Storm between these four plaques was an A2 photo of himself, smirking and with the phrase ‘WINNERS ARE FOR WINNERS’. Whatever that meant.
“Not the bed,” Twilight decided.
“Wouldn’t hurt nearly enough,” Rarity said. Twilight gave her a grateful smile.
“Then that just leaves…” Fluttershy trailed off as they all turned to take in the two doors in the wall right and left of Johnny’s bed.
***
Both featured road crossing STOP signs, with post-it notes stuck on. ‘This means YOU, Webs,’ and ‘Rarity—eh, be gentle.’
Johnny had actually done this twice. Which implied both doors may serve the same purpose and didn’t inspire confidence.
“On three,” Twilight said as Spike and Fluttershy tried to hide behind her on the left.
“Bless,” Rarity said flatly, swinging the right one wide. Applejack gave Twilight a ‘what didja expect’ look as she followed a merrily bouncing Pinkie inside.
Twilight sighed and opened hers. Mercifully it was another closet, presumably Thing sized but feeling crammed because Johnny had turned it into a walk-in wardrobe. What, you expected the one outside to be enough? What was he, poor?
“It’s quite cozy,” Fluttershy ventured, looking around at the various temple like shelves. “Like a casual department store.”
“How many suits does one guy need?” Spike muttered.
“I don’t think that’s all he uses this for,” Fluttershy said, indicating a regular pony sized desk snuggly placed between two almost storefront sized rows of suits. It looked professional and had a mirror, even though there was already one in the opposite wall.
Twilight trotted up to the desk and squinted at the contents. More tools and toy karts, but also a Breightona 300 mug full of quills and two treys overflowing with mail, presumably from a large sack next to the chair. One trey’s label read ‘Fan Mail’, the other ‘Blegh Mail’. The ‘Blegh’ pile was higher and in danger of tipping over.
Oh, also there was a Lockjaw bobblehead. Which glowed with Rarity’s magic and yanked itself sharply to the right.
The trio flinched as the mirror on the opposite wall slid upwards, revealing Rarity’s unimpressed face. She backed up as a row of stairs formed out of the wainscoting. “Thought so,” she said. “I swear I don’t know why I bother with that colt.”
“What’s that on your side?” Spike asked, hopping up the stairs on their side. “Bathroom?”
“I believe it was supposed to be,” Rarity said, muzzle wrinkling with distaste.
“He’s got plants in here,” Applejack said, indicating a shower full of, well, plants. Print outs of complex looking chemical equations were taped to its walls. “We reckon he’s tryin’ to figure out how to create his own product line.”
“He doesn’t shower?” Fluttershy asked, blinking.
“Johnny’s powers…” Rarity began, clearly reluctant to finish.
“Let him burn bacteria,” Twilight supplied. “For a stallion so obsessed with his mane and coat he’s got a very slapdash approach to hygiene.”
“Thank you,” Rarity said. She peered around Spike to admire the walk-in. “Looks like you dears chose the winning door. Bad enough we’re dumping so close to his babies, he’s going to wonder if we did anything to them.”
“Like, say…” Twilight’s eyes glowed with magic and malevolence. A white bag appeared in her corona as she made the trash bags swirl. “Swapping the contents of one bag with all their vacuum bag so many times even I don’t know which is which?”
“They grow up so fast!” Rarity simpered, wiping away a fake tear.
A flame flickered in the Statue of Destiny’s crown. Most pedestrians who noticed it also noticed all the Pegasi circling the landmark and wrote it off as some sort of performance piece.
“Well?” the Horseshoe Torch asked.
Aurora Sheen continued to stare but her body language was oddly relaxed.
“Alright, that’s it,” E.U.P. captain Keeper declared. “Either you come out or we’re coming in.”
Aurora turned her head to take in Wonderbolts taking position in the slits to her right and left then smiled ruefully at Johnny. The Torch glared back as her Dutch white coat and rainbow hair flowed into Lyja the Laser Lasher’s trademark colours like a twist of a magician’s handkerchief or a flower blooming backwards.
Johnny intensified his flame aura as a warning, tinting blue at the edges and filling the statue’s crown with sweltering air.
Lyja sighed. “Could’ve been fun.”
Sparks danced at the edges of Johnny’s narrowing eyes.
“Ah well,” Lyja said simply. She shrugged. “Y’know what your problem is, Johnny?”
“Oh, will you just give it up?!” Johnny snapped.
“It’s that you’re never playing the right game,” Lyja said and suddenly she was backflipping.
Three of the Wonderbolts at the slits dived towards her. Lyja practically pirouetted into their grasping hooves. She winked at Johnny, her eyes glowing.
“Wait!” Keeper barked.
“Aww man,” Johnny moaned, his flames practically drooping.
He threw up a foreleg in time to cover his eyes against a localised burst of laser vision, but that was only the start of their problem. As he looked back, blinking rapidly and still processing, he saw what he’d expected; a tangle of four ‘Bolts. A double of each of them flickered in and out of existence between their writhing wings.
Couldn’t grab her without risking burning one of the real ponies, couldn’t flame off and risk her getting—
“Back up, fellas!” he heard himself say without moving his lips. “I’ll get her!”
The four-pony whirlwind came apart, three Wonderbolts looking around wildly for an imposter that wasn’t there anymore.
“Nopony move!” Captain Keeper ordered, motioning wildly. More ’Bolts shot forward to fill the three gaps in their perimeter. The Torch’s head trailed sparks as he whipped it around searching for Lyja, left, right, up, down…at…
He blinked. “Opal?”
Rarity’s cat winked at him, then fired eye lasers at every available target, scattering Wonderbolts that weren’t sent hurtling back, smoking. Johnny’s inherent distrust of anything that drew friends’ attention away from him gave his instincts enough of a boost to get an epidermal shield up in time to absorb a shot meant for him.
Not-Opal sprang to the ledge of Lady Destiny’s crown and launched herself into the sky, presumably planning to shift to her true shape and use her powers to jet away or perhaps honestly trusting in that Always-Land-On-Their-Paws thing.
Then Captain Keeper was there, a furious wall of E.U.P. colours, throwing out a foreleg. Johnny would swear for years afterwards that she clotheslined the damn Skrull-cat right there in the air.
Lyja sprouted into existence in front of Keeper, looping her forelegs around the officer’s neck and taking her shape as she drove a knee into her new twin’s gut. Keeper retaliated with a headbutt Johnny felt from here, and then they were pitching over, tumbling. Cries of shock erupted from the island below.
Johnny blasted off out into the night air, gritting his teeth as he realised his flaming contrail would force other rescuers back. The two Keepers were twisting too much for him to tell who was punching who, but he’d put money on the real deal. Problem was he may only be able to reach for one with his flamed-off hooves…
A spontaneous elbow from one of the Keepers sent another flying backwards, not under her own power, to skid down a crease in Lady Destiny’s robe. Johnny looped his forelegs around the apparent victor’s waist and whirled, sending them corkscrewing upwards in a curve precious seconds above unforgiving stone.
“I’m good,” wheezed the real Keeper, pushing herself free of his grip, her wings flapping. That clinched it, Skrull’s couldn’t imitate real Pegasus wings. “Get her!”
Johnny spun as a flash of purple erupted a little above them and arced towards the jetty. A shape far larger than Lyja smacked down among a crowd of tourists, miraculously not crushing any.
“Manticore!” somepony shrieked. A stampede of screaming headless-chicken ponies of all breeds was nigh-instantaneous.
Johnny grinned grimly to himself as he shot overhead, locked on the hulking shape of a female manticore racing through the swarm. A lioness head glared up at him, pincers rattling irritably.
He thrust out both hooves, creating a wall of flames in the air in front of the ferry terminal, wincing to himself as he realised that’d do nothing for the panic. Even with Keeper’s Wonderbolts shooting in with padding clouds for crowd control, if anypony got hurt in this mob because of his plan…
The manticore sprang, using a railing to boost itself and suddenly Lyja was summersaulting back into existence, clearing the flames and crouch-slamming into the side of the ferry, almost Spidey style, before sliding down it and ninja flipping to ricochet off the railings of and into the lower deck.
Johnny shot after her, killing his flames and conveniently killing the wall in front of the terminal, and let his momentum turn into a tackle. He wrapped his forelegs around Lyja’s waist this time, holding on vindictively as they went rolling across the deck. Passengers yelped and threw themselves back in their benches as they clanged past.
“’Nuff game for ya…?” Johnny winced as he tried to be the first on his hooves.
“My move!” Lyja shot back. She’d got there first. She spun, bucking a door open.
Johnny stared, almost disbelieving, as the Super Skrull reared up, launching one, two, three blasts down into the guts of the ferry. The whole thing rocked violently, filling the world with the sounds of exploding metal and frothing waves.
He made the mistake of spinning in the direction of people screaming and Lyja was a shadow plunging into billowing engine smoke. He charged through but stopped, spotting a crewmember slumped against the wall and helping them to their hooves. Another shadow sprang out of the smoke, carrying two unconscious ponies over each shoulder.
“We’ve got this!” Captain Keeper yelled. “You shut her down!”
“Owe you big time!” Johnny called back, galloping for build up before bursting back into flame.
“Bet both flanks, kid!”
And that’d just be for starters, Johnny thought, dodging around fleeing ponies. Keeper was one of Grim Skies’ old contacts from back in the day, and had a reputation for turning an enemy’s existence into a long night of the soul. She was also one of the few E.U.P. veterans who tolerated supers like him, hence why he’d brought her in on this. She would absolutely tell Spitfire about this boat thing, it’d be a dereliction of duty not to, but if he finally caught Lyja she’d fight her fellow captain (who outranked her by a couple levels? Johnny could never keep track of how this stuff worked) hoof and tail in his defence.
If all of this worked. All this had already been a gamble as was.
As was his backup plan. Which part of him was hoping he’d get the excuse to go with.
Lyja reached the edge of the deck and used her powers as thrusters, blasting off but keeping close to the water to avoid swarming Wonderbolts. The Horseshoe Torch ignited, seconds behind her and they became twin glows racing towards the lights of the city.
11
Even Johnnycake’s walk in couldn’t hold the vast number of curios the boys had compiled, so despite Twilight’s hopes she had to concede they were going to have to use Peter’s room. It wasn’t the prospect of violating his sanctuary that was weighing on her. She was still mad at him for letting Johnny drop him into this situation and dragging her, Spike and the others along.
It was Rarity.
“Be nice,” Twilight said, facing the other Unicorn down.
“Moi?” Rarity trilled, still looking the epitome of impish elegance even with a trash bag on her back.
Applejack moved before Twilight could say anything (and more importantly before Rarity could quip back) and swung the Spectacular Spider-Pony’s door open.
Peter’s room was smaller than Johnny’s, naturally, probably intended to be a guest room for a normal pony while the Torch’s had been for the Thing. You had to wonder what was behind Peter’s far wall if Johnny’s stretched on past it. Probably utility stuff, since the few other apartments on this floor were currently unoccupied and the end of their hall included not just the building’s maintenance stairwell but a fully functioning freight elevator.
Twilight and Spike knew from nights over, when it was just too much hassle to teleport back to Ponyville, that the Thing sometimes used it to reach this floor, though the staircases took his weight just fine. Johnny used it the most to reach a small workshop he’d set up in 616’s spacious basement, which didn’t stop him straight up working on various gizmos in the living room. Peter could be just as bad with his own homebrew science experiments, which was why Twilight had carefully stored those for preservation and then left the bag in Johnny’s room. Have fun hunting for it, dear.
“How cosy,” Fluttershy said, a genuine compliment.
“Indeed,” Rarity agreed.
Applejack made a positive but noncommittal noise. She was trying not to make a big deal out of the fact Peter’s room was almost the size of her family’s living room. Not his fault a giant robot busted up his ol’ digs. On the other hoof, guy had enough room for a bed and a mother huggin’ hammock, which Twilight was now irritably, telekinetically folding up.
“Gotta admit,” AJ said, “half figured he slept hangin’ from the ceiling.”
“Comments?” Rarity asked sweetly, side eyeing Twilight.
“That’s one,” Twilight said, holding up a warning hoof and telekinetically dumping Peter’s hammock against a wall with more force than necessary.
Now that it was out of the way they could better make out the room. Peter had gone with silver lake blue paint (or the room had come with it, whatever), meaning that, with Johnny’s burgundy room and the daffodil walls of their living room, 616B sported all three primary colours.
There was a strange…office-like sensation, which gnawed at you until you took a step back and realised most of Peter’s space consisted of neatly arranged shelves. No, not even those. Black vinyl or faux-wooden modular shelving cubes, stacked on top of each other, containing mismatched rows of books and overstuffed files. The ones in the middle were reserved for knickknacks and half disassembled household appliances.
“So this is where the magic happens,” Rarity cooed, trotting up to Peter’s unmade bed which, everypony could now not help noticing, sported heather coloured sheets.
“That’s two,” Twilight warned.
“I was referring to that magnificent specimen of a desk, darling!”
Rarity spun perfectly in place to point to it. Peter’s desk was also a recommissioned bureau, though it was mercifully smaller than Johnny’s and an off-white patch of wall suggested Peter had removed the mirror to create shelving space. Two shelves of cubes sat either side of it, a board balanced between them to form a top shelf, three more attached to the wall. While the lower rows contained more disassembled appliances and the odd action figure, the top seemed reserved for used bottles and soda cans.
“Not as Spidery as you’d think,” Spike noted.
“Peter’s careful,” Twilight said simply, shrugging before briskly dumping two bags at the foot of her boyfriend’s bed.
Pinkie hopped up onto the stool, balanced only on her hind legs. “So what’s a Spider-Pony drink?” She squinted. “Banana flavoured Sweet Water Ranch. Zesty Trough, also ’nana flavoured. Crown Cola…no, wait, Diet Crown Cola. Yeesh, basic! Bet licking the rim wouldn’t even give you spidey-powers.”
“Why would you lick the rim?” Spike asked, more caught off guard than he was grossed out.
“So he likes…bananas?” Applejack asked.
Twilight squinted at the way the farm girl was looking directly into her eyes. “Is that relevant?”
“He just never mentioned it, is all.”
AJ sat down suddenly, letting her trash bag tumble off her back to smack against one of Peter’s shelves.
“Here’s a relevant question,” Rarity smirked. She gestured to the bed. “Who’s the little spoon?”
And found herself tumbling out of a violet radiance to land face first in one of the bushes in 616 Yancy Street's courtyard.
***
“Three,” Twilight said, light fading in her eyes.
The rest of the group glanced at each other, Spike with an air of warning.
“I, um,” Fluttershy said for something to break the tension, “I like his pictures?”
She gestured to the right hoof wall, the space over Peter’s bed. The only other furniture was a chair with an attached lamp and another stack of shelves. It served as a reading corner judging by their books and copies of Scientific Equestria. (Though Peter’s immediate reading material appeared to come from a cardboard box full of comic books currently occupying his chair.) This still hadn’t been enough to fill the Thing-like space of the room so he’d covered the wall between his bed and literature with a mural of photos and small posters.
“He still dabbles,” Twilight said, leaving to ferry more bags.
Shots of Manehattan mostly, of course, the Big Apple from impossible angles only a wall-crawler could find, but more mundane ones too. Construction sites, busy intersections. Friends, family. Even the odd group shot of the Elements, more of Twilight and Spike.
Applejack noted his movie poster collection was largely comedies, which tracked. Some wrestling ones too, which surprised her, but then the guy did run around in a luchador outfit, so. The only photo of Spider-Pony in Peter’s collection was a Derby Bugle front page, just the costume spread across a table with the headline Spider-Pony No More?
Had Rarity not currently been extricating herself from her bush she’d have checked the photo credit and taken note that Peter Trotter hadn’t been the one to take it. A private joke?, she’d wonder, instead of, Augh, leaves in my mane, LEAVES IN MY MANE!
Peter’s only other wall decorations were a map of the city taped to his left wall between his desk and his wardrobe, his degree from Equestria State University directly over the bed, and a dartboard next to the room’s only window. News reports were taped next to red ringed sections of the map, while small photos were assigned to rings on the board, all covered in suction cup darts.
The likes of the Shaker, Overcharger, Norsog and Batroc the Leaper earned merely 10 points. Spellectro, Basilisk, Poison Pony and Kraken the Hunter covered 20 to 30. Mister Negative, Doctor Argonaut and local yeti philanthropist Fierce Wisdom (rumoured to be the Crime King) held 40. The honour of 50 was shared by photos of Bugle publisher Ferocious Flattop, sporting two suction cups, and Peter’s fellow shutterbug Snappy Scoop, which was the only one to have an actual dart in it. Right between her eyes.
“Not much of a view, huh?” Applejack mused, peering out the window as if the brick wall on the other side was about to become more interesting.
“He’s cool with it,” Spike grunted, pushing a trash bag into the hammock corner. “Says its useful.”
“Huh?” Applejack blinked.
So did Fluttershy. “Does he not like ponies watching him or something?”
“No, it’s like…” Spike waved a paw, trying to shape something from the air. “Y’know how old buildings like this have these…like in video games?”
“Nope,” said Applejack, a mare happy to get Apple Bloom the latest PlayStable™ for Hearth’s Warming but who’d left her own interest behind in Ponyville’s arcade about a decade ago.
Twilight returned with more trash bags. “It’s an old air shaft,” she explained. “Back in the 1800s cities like Manehattan didn’t always build apartments with enough windows for light and ventilation. It’s why some older models like this can just open onto a wall.”
“Right!” Spike agreed. “Pete uses it to crawl in and out without anypony spotting him.”
Pinkie began to open the window, eyes wide and eager. Applejack maternally slammed it shut.
Rarity primly trotted into the room, trash bag on her back and only a single remaining leaf in her mane. “I thought they were all condemned as safety hazards,” she said icily.
“Most were,” Twilight agreed, not looking at her as she passed back into the living room, “but the few that remain are a lot safer now that nopony uses them to dump their waste.”
Rarity rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, simply passing Spike her bag with her telekinesis.
She hesitated, eyes at the apex of their roll, and went rigid. Repressing a sigh Applejack followed her gaze. And also went rigid.
“’Scuse!” Pinkie said, cheerfully bouncing over them.
She was oblivious to how close her tail came to being tangled in a cocoon of webbing in the centre of Peter’s ceiling.
At first they’d assumed it was some kind of pretentious cosmopolitan lighting rig, and with horror the two staring Elements realised this was because of a metallic impression created by how many used soda cans were poking out between its strands.
Fluttershy and Spike followed their gaze. The Pegasus seemed unphased while the light of gross out admiration flickered in the dragon’s eyes. “Oh yeah, he uses those for target practice. Twilight’s always on his case about it.”
“It’s like something out of nature,” Fluttershy said a bit too happily.
“I may vomit,” Rarity said.
“He recycles ’em,” Spike assured. “Well. Eventually.”
“No, no,” Rarity explained. “I can see Zesty Trough in there. I mean, I know Peter eats the odd fly, but there’s such a thing as standards!”
Twilight returned, looked up at it and tutted with matrimonial disapproval. Then a Trixie-esque look crossed her face. In a flash of purple Peter’s trash/recycling cocoon was now on his bed, his ceiling dancing with cleansing sparkles to rub it in. Rarity nodded in approval and they shared smirks, school filly animosity forgotten.
***
“How long we got?” Applejack sighed, heading out to bundle up more living room stuff.
“At least an hour,” Twilight said, “though given the sort of work these ponies do they could be delayed falling into an alternate timeline or something. Anything. Pinkie’s setting up the gaming tables if anypony wants to help.”
“Enough time for a quick peek,” Rarity declared, trotting over to Peter’s desk.
It was somewhat neater than Johnny’s, though that wasn’t saying much. Peter seemed to have three projects on the go at once, even if he had separated his components and tools into neat sections. He also maximized worktop space by stacking files, a counterintuitive accident waiting to happen.
The only immediately Spider-related materials were what looked like a set of half-finished mask lenses and a homebrew magical charger, with an adorable little wire copy of the spider insignia in its clamps. The flashlight for his costume. If you looked closely, you could see the air around it ripple with low level magic. (Oh, and also the suction cup gun for his dartboard, fresh ammo loyally lined up beside it.)
Very business-like, all things considered. Rarity was disappointed. Not even an action figure to tease, although she could see the odd cartoon character here and there on Peter’s shelves. She turned her attention to Peter’s wardrobe.
“Uh…” Spike began helplessly.
“Nearly done!” Rarity trilled, telekinetically flipping both doors open.
Peter’s wardrobe was as large as Johnny’s, though lacking extra compartments which was very in character. As was his basic—No, Rarity corrected herself, his practical rack of clothing. Some decent suits, including one she was sure was a Sleek Yet Serine number, well done Mr. Trotter, there’s hope for you yet. After that it was mostly winter wear, which made sense from what she remembered of fillyhood lectures from Granny Smith on Everfree beasts: spiders didn’t care for low temperatures.
“No costume?” she asked. She turned to Spike and smirked. “Or has he started leaving those at Twilight’s?”
“Um,” Spike said, blushing.
Rarity chuckled. “Sorry darling, I’ve been naughty tonight, I know.”
“Um,” Spike squeaked, reeling from connotations of Rarity and Naughty.
Fluttershy trotted in dragging yet another bag and hesitated. “Any room in there? We’re almost done but the boys have so much stuff…”
Rarity scanned the rest of the space. Peter’s only other items of clothing were on a shelf he’d set aside for his spare Damage Control vest, hard hat, and paperwork. He used the rest for more boxes, full of…huh.
“Think so,” Rarity decided, reaching in, “if we move some of this.”
Spike was already there to accept a box full of files, the lamb, and she and Fluttershy managed to squeeze the bag into a corner.
“We’d probably fit some more if we put this by the bed,” Rarity decided, indicating a larger, sturdier looking box. The lid wasn’t properly shut, which made it fair game in her book, so she flipped it open. It looked like a pile of action figure accessories and Nightmare Night decorations, though one item caught her attention enough to actually pick it up.
A purple box with gold gilding and a crank.
“Hmm, what’ve you been up to Twilight?” she smiled. The crank glowed with her magic.
“Never seen that before,” Spike said hesitantly, looking up from the trash bag he was hauling over.
“Curiouser and curiouser!” decreed Rarity as a tinny beat began to play.
“Oh,” Fluttershy said, “isn’t that Spider-Pony’s…?”
Spike cocked his head to one side. “♫Livin’ on the edge, fightin’ crime, spinnin’♫…yeah!”
Rarity was about to say something pithy when the door slammed open.
“Don’t touch it!” Twilight yelled, leaping towards them.
Rarity was so alarmed she fumbled the box, sending it tumbling to the floor. That’s what saved her from the razor bat-wing blades that burst out the sides.
The group let out a collective cry as a bizarre effigy erupted from the box, swelling to the size of Spike’s head, somehow worse for being sideways. Applejack was in the doorway immediately, lasso in hoof. Twilight waved frantically and she froze.
“You guys okay?” Pinkie called from the living room.
Twilight shushed her, but it was lost over a teeth stinging rush of static. She glared at the box as the others stared, Applejack cautiously trotting up beside her. The jack of this particular box was a caricature of a grinning goat in lurid greens and purples, the teeth of its demented grin as large as its eyes, so wide and yellow they hurt to look at. A pair of horns slicing out of its purple aviator cap looked like actual knives.
The worst part, somehow, was a banner merrily spread between the goat’s hooves.
GOTCHA!
And then it spoke.
“…Trotter?”
Nopony moved.
“Trotter?” the voice repeated irritably. Even through that cartoonish radio whine they could hear an imperious aristocratic quality to it.
Twilight mouthed ‘Quiet.’
“What do you want, Trotter? Decided you’re not too big to play after all? Or are you so small you need to throw rocks at an old man’s window?”
“Hello?” Pinkie asked simply, almost causing a mass heart attack.
She froze as Twilight rounded on her with wide eyes, the atmosphere hitting her like a wave.
Outraged silence from the radio.
“Who is this?” the voice asked, seething. You could almost believe it was reaching into the airwaves, grasping for you.
Applejack silently put a foreleg to Pinkie’s frozen shoulder and nodded at Twilight, who began to gingerly tip the box right side up with her telekinesis. The goat puppet lurched with unsettling snake motions as it righted.
“Is that little Gem Stone?” Mockery. The predatory delight of a bully. “Sweet Merry Jane?”
Twilight frowned. The batwings were rigid, their magical mechanisms holding the lid open and letting that stupid puppet keep broadcasting.
“…Harry?”
An almost disbelieving plea. Rarity put a hoof over her mouth. Fluttershy’s pupils were shrinking.
Twilight gasped as the lid finally snapped shut. The air in the room rang.
***
“Do I wanna know what that was?” Applejack asked as their collective pulse rate began to lower.
“That was the Goat Goblin, wasn’t it?” Fluttershy said as if from somewhere far away inside herself. “That was Norman Osthorn.”
Twilight nodded simply.
“I’m sorry,” Rarity blurted. “Oh everypony, I’m so sorry, I had no idea--”
“It’s alright,” Twilight assured, picking up the box. “You didn’t know.”
A beat.
“Man,” Pinkie said with unaccustomed vehemence, “what a creep.”
“Amen,” Applejack agreed.
“I thought he was under permanent house arrest,“ Fluttershy said.
Twilight waited until she’d tucked the box away and closed the wardrobe door, her chest heaving with a silent, fortifying inhale.
“He is,” she assured, “out on his old family estate. He’s in no position to hurt anypony, under constant royal guard. If he wasn’t such a cesspool of underworld information they’d probably have tossed him into Tartarus years ago.”
“Right,” Applejack said, “I remember. Pete thinks he only slips plans to other crooks on the sly nowadays?”
“Somehow,” Twilight agreed. “But that’s all he can do. Princess Celestia made sure that formula of his was purged from his body, and he was going to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair before that.”
“He’s not going to come sniffing around Ponyville is he?” Rarity asked. “Because superpowers or not I promise you, if he even looks at Sweetie Belle—!”
Twilight looked between her and Applejack, who had a similar expression now she was instinctively thinking of Apple Bloom.
“Of course not,” she said, trying not to sound like she was this close to patting Rarity on the head. “I mean, we’ll make sure Princess Celestia knows but there’s no scrying spells in there. I checked. Even if he could leave his estate what could he do? All he’d have is a voice he didn’t know.”
Oh great, now Pinkie’s ears were drooping guiltily. Spike, who’d been far too quiet for Twilight’s liking, jumped in before she could attempt to console the party pony. “Wait, you knew Pete just had that thing?”
“Yes,” Twilight said, trying not to let her eyes well up at the look on his face. “He asked me to look some, uh, mementos from his adventures over when we used to, uh,” she tried not to blush, “consult. Before we were official.”
“So is that whole box full of--” Rarity began.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Spike asked.
The other Elements looked between his confused, almost hurt expression and the agony of indecision and guilt on Twilight own face. Rarity reached out to put a hoof on his shoulder.
A rush of wind from the living room! A scrambling sound from the window behind them! They all flinched.
Rainbow Dash flapped into the room, winning the unofficial race because Spider-Pony hesitated at his window to take in how many people were just standing around in his bedroom.
“The-white-zone-is-for-loading-and-unloading,” Dash monotoned into her hooves as he pulled up the window. Everypony blinked at her and she waved a hoof up and down to indicate Spidey. “Y’know, ’cause of all the baggage.”
“Hilarious,” Spidey deadpanned as everypony but Twilight and Spike snickered. He looked around at the trash bags taking up his space, then at Twilight’s expression and settled for just hopping off the windowsill and popping his neck. “Gimme a sec to get cleaned up and I’ll help you finish up. Least I can do.”
His lenses did that signature squint as he noticed the uncertain way Spike was carrying himself, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he trotted over to his wardrobe and swung it open. He froze for the briefest of seconds when he saw the open lid of the memento box then fired a web from his tail, snagging one of the projects from his desk and hastily stuffing it inside. It looked like a boomerang.
“Are you alright, Peter?” Fluttershy asked. She was still trying to get used to calling him by his real name in the costume. “It’s just, you seem a bit, that is, I hope it’s not impolite to point out you’re a bit…um.”
“I could give it a go,” Rarity said flatly, “but it does rather speak for itself.”
Spidey looked down at his suit, covered in grey stains and hardened chips. “Oh, ah, had a run in with a cement mixer. I’ll switch into a clean spare before everypony shows up.”
“Long as ya pull your weight in the meantime,” Applejack said, pointedly tapping one of the trash bags with her tail.
“Sure.”
Peter began by pulling his Spidey-shirt over his head and froze, forelegs still in the now inside out sleeves, as it dawned on him he was shirtless but still in his mask in front of not only his girlfriend but her friends. And Spike.
“Uh…could I get a moment?”
Applejack and Fluttershy hastily made their way to the door, blushing because they’d been brought to be respectable little fillies. Their faces glowed even brighter as Dash flapped backwards, miming a trombone and parping The Stripper, Rarity “♫Ba-duh-duh-duh!♫”ing in accompaniment.
“Want me to run that down to laundry for you?” Spike asked Peter. He was already bundling up the costume, not looking at Twilight.
“That’s o—” Peter turned, now in only his hoof-gloves and boots, surprised as Spike took off with what could be bundled. “—kay?”
“I’ll explain later,” Twilight sighed. She frowned, licked her hoof, and began using it to smooth down Peter’s mask-mane. A purple glow surrounded a brush on his tool shelf for cleaning small components and it began to swirl about him, raising small clouds of cement dust.
“We should pro--” Peter began, then coughed, inadvertently blowing some dust into Twilight’s face. “Sorry! Sorry. Uh, we should probably talk about something real quick, before the party.”
“Oh really,” Twilight wheezed icily, one eyes closed, the other glinting dangerously.
“Not about...That is, it’s a work thing.” Peter realised that since Pinkie had bounced out to help the rest he was now alone. With Twilight right there in front of him. “Have I said sorry yet?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
“But you will.”
“Yes, dear.”
He repressed a sigh because she’d assume it was aimed at her and helpfully turned his head so she could dust his cheek. He squinted at his bed.
“Did you move my cocoon?”
“Do you want to start with me this evening, Peter Glean Trotter?”
“No, dear.”
To be Continued