The earth pony sat at his desk, bored out of his mind. And absolutely regretting agreeing to work the graveyard shift.
But somepony needed to tell ponies to go away. And it just so happened Honey Tongue was best for the job. Being the coltfriend of one of Equus’s most kind-of-semi-powerful mares gave him some… liberties. Protections. Opportunities to do as he pleased. Nopony would tell him off for being rude. Nopony would call him out for ‘accidentally’ shredding ‘important’ letters. And best of all, his pay check.
Honey wasn’t exactly bored, to say, but there was certainly more interesting things to do than just counting the bits in his wallet. But hey, it beat actually doing his job.
Until a smartly dressed earth mare came waltzing up to his desk like she owned the place. A coat the hue of sunlight, and rosy red mane. Orange eyes. Oh, and was he forgetting the clipboard? Because she had a clipboard, which was held menacingly in one hoof as she advanced.
Honey stopped counting his bits, swiping them off to the side with his hoof. One second to breath, and then he looked up at this intruder, the ‘I’m annoyed, buck off’ face he practiced in the mirror starting to creep into his features.
“Can I be of assistance?” He snapped.
“Secretary Honey Tongue. Is that the name you go by now? How quaint. Ah’ve got a paper ‘ere that says a certain ‘Sweet Hornet’ is wanted by the EUP. Ya wouldn’t happen to know where he is now, would ya?”
His features softened almost instantly, and his face lit up with the other expression he practiced in the mirror. ‘I’m a nice, sweet pony that you can trust!’. But beneath the shiny veneer, he already had the escape routes and exits to the building flashing through his mind. A cold chill started to work it’s icy hooves down his spine, and he stiffened imperceptibly.
Sweet Hornet was dead. Dead, and lying at the bottom of the Neighagra Falls, after a botched zeppelin heist. At least, as far as the EUP knew. The newspapers always seemed to mention that no body was ever found. Honey Tongue could never go back there.
“An’ look ‘ere! A paper that says it wants a… Bittersweet Bee? Now, Honey, Ah’m wondering if ya know where Ah can find Mr Bee?”
Bittersweet Bee had died, long before any of this. Although no corpse was ever discovered, everypony knew that nopony could survive falling off the edge of a cliff in Canterlot. Especially after a robbery of the Royal Equestrian Vault. And certainly not an earth pony like himself.
Ah, well, he’d be sorry to kill off Honey Tongue. He’d grown to enjoy this lie. But all good things had to end, no?
“Apologies, Miss. I have never heard of a ‘Sweet Hornet’ or a ‘Bittersweet Bee’. Perhaps asking a librarian at city hall will help. I can be of no assistance to you. Ta-ta!” He chuckled heartily.
“An’ Ah suppose it wouldn’t be too much trouble settin’ up a meeting with ya boss? Scootaloo?” She asked.
“Oh, no trouble at all, Miss. as soon as she gets an opening in her calendar, I’ll notify you. And, if I can be of any more assistance tracking down these dead stallions, please! I’m here to help!”
The mare turned and walked away. She was at the doorway, stepping over the threshold, when he finally started to relax.
“Th’ only thing is, Honey, Ah never said they was dead.” She slowly swivelled her head to stare at him stonily.
“Dead? Oh, what a terrible slip of the tongue! And all the more embarrassing for me, given my lovely little name! Ha ha ha…” his voice died on the last little laugh. He was beginning to break out in a sweat.
“Again, if there’s anything ya can tell me, Ah’d be positively delighted to hear ‘bout it.” She was advancing, slowly, back to his desk, clipboard still cradled ominously in one hoof.
He had to go. Now. It was a shame that such a dashing young stallion would die such a lonely death in the Everfree Forest, but it was the way it had to be. It was a small mercy that Honey Tongue had already arranged to have a closed-casket funeral. Almost as if he had predicted that a body would never be found.
Almost.
He got up, ignoring the mare, and started scooping his bits back into his wallet.
“Secretary?” She loomed over the desk, trying to look him directly in the eyes.
Once his wallet was ready to go, he ducked under the desk, packing the small felt item full of jangling coins into a small yellow backpack. Inside the pack was a jet-black canteen full of water, non-perishable snacks and a selection of his best tools. A grappling hook. A set of coat dyes and Cutie Mark Concealer. Cotton hoof-slippers to disguise the sound of hoofsteps. A small golden necklace with a tiny four-leaf clover charm. For luck, obviously.
“Secretary Honey Tongue, Ah am trying to talk to ya. Look me in th’ eyes, Honey.”
He ignored her, again, and stuffed a small scroll of aged parchment off the desk and into the bag.
The side door was his best bet. He could take the maze of backstreets and alleyways, easily able to lose any pursuers. Once out of Ponyville and into the Everfree, he was free to take a new name. Live another life. Maybe his next lie would have a little more… power to it.
A grand, mysterious wanderer from nowhere, making a mighty name for himself as a mystical stage performer in Las Pegasus. Yes, he liked the sound of that.
“Viva Las Pegasus, asshat!” He yelled, before popping back up to his desk and slinging a hoofful of black powder at the mare.
She asked too many questions, anyway. As the powder swirled and settled as a thick, smog of a dust clouding the air, and more importantly, obscuring vision, he made his escape; a mad dash for the door, backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder. Luckily, the mare had left the door wide open. A gaping maw, ready to swallow him up, as he escaped into the night. As he sped across the threshold, not sparing a glance for the mare behind him, who coughed and spluttered due to the powder, Honey’s mind was already racing with possibilities. He could be Sundrop Wasp, a great magician. He could be Word Twist, a brilliant hustler making it big directing musical theatre. He could be anypony, anything he wanted be.
All he had to do was make it out of this sleepy dump. He galloped across the foyer, veering sharply to the left, to the side door. Almost there… almost there… and…
He kicked open the door with a triumphant oomph, and shot out the opening like an arrow fresh out of a crossbow-
-right before slamming into a thickly muscled chest, killing his trajectory and stopping the arrow in it’s tracks. Honey stumbled back in a daze, trying to figure out what he’d slammed into. Tilting his head, he was met with a large, incredibly buff stallion blocking the exit. The mystery stallion scowled down at him. Sweet Twilight was he tall. Honey Tongue gulped and pivoted, only to find a very annoyed-looking yellow mare, coat tinged with black, and mane rumpled slightly.
“Bittersweet Bee. Your little jig is up. Ah’m Grand Chancellor Applebloom Apple. Remember mah letters?” she snarled.
“Bucking. Horseapples.” he muttered.
One week earlier.
I stared in the mirror. Looked myself straight in the face. In the eyes. And tried to tell myself, in the mirror, that I was not a monster. That I did not grow claws. Fangs. Slitted eyes and black sclera. A tail.
But to truly, honestly, tell myself the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I couldn’t have possibly said that I was not a monster.
I bared my teeth in the reflective silver. Checked, again, for what had have to have been the fourth time, that my canines were normal, perfectly rounded teeth. Pony teeth. And for the fourth time, my double in the glass showed off two tiny fangs, pointed and strange, breaking the perfect line of straight, white teeth that filled my mouth. Granted, they weren’t as pronounced as Vig’s, but it wasn’t normal. Wasn’t right.
And besides from my own fragmented memory and Vig’s dramatic retelling, those tiny little points were the only proof that the last night hadn’t been a feverish dream. More of a nightmare, actually.
Running through dark woods. Feeling the sway of the moon, power coursing through my veins. Having paws. Claws. Howling at the moon in sheer joy.
Waking up at the end of the night, tired. Remembering with a jolt, the events of the night. The horror, the fear, the disgust at what I was. What I still was, staring forlornly into the mirror.
I was a monster.
Another check, just to make sure that my teeth were still… weird. That I hadn’t suddenly become a normal equine again.
That this wasn’t all just some nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. It certainly felt real enough.
I was a monster. And my day was just getting started.
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean? I was locked up aallll night, I couldn’t have done anything!”
“Then why did I find these on the trees near my cabin?”
Foggy squinted and leaned in to look at the small coloured squares Gybh held up triumphantly.
“You… found photos on the trees near your cabin?”
Gybh aggressively jabbed the small pictures with one claw. “No, look at what’s in the picture!”
“Trees? Ohhhhh. Why were there claw mark on the trees near your cabin? It wasn’t me. Swear to Twilight it wasn’t.”
“If it wasn’t you then who? Or what secrets are you keeping? WHY ARE THERE CLAW MARKS ON THE TREES NEAR MY CABIN?!”
“Take a chill pill. It was probably just a timberwolf or a Canis Minor. Why would I be the culprit?”
Gybh took a deep breath, seeming to calm down a little. She calmly stowed the photos back in one of the pockets of her bright orange coat with a sigh.
“Sorry. It’s just that filly- you know the one, that young one who got attacked by a wolf or something -this whole situation’s got me on edge. And you’re probably the only one I can talk to that could have made those marks. The forest just feels that much less safe.”
“Hey, no hard feelings. And I’m just about certain that those claw marks weren’t made by anything remotely a threat to your safety. Or any of the kids in your care.”
“Yeah… no hard feelings. Have a good one!”
“Thanks! You too!”
And with that, the two went their seperate ways. Neither mentioned that those claw marks had been the least of the weirdness from the previous night. Gybh assumed the howling she’d heard was from Foggy. Foggy barely remembered anything.
And so nocreature was any the wiser. Besides Sauvignon Glamour.
“For the last time, you’re not a monster.” Vig spoke calmly, as if explaining an easy concept to a foal.
“Easy for you to say! You didn’t shift into a wolf-beast-thing last night!” Moonbeam cried.
“Yes, but you can still walk in the sun. And you don’t have to drink blood.” She took a miniature sip of the blood pack in her hooves to punctuate this sentence.
“Just because I don’t have to drink that, doesn’t mean I’m not a monster!”
Vig grimaced and put down the small pack, as if remembering what it really was.
“And look!” Moonbeam stretched their mouth wide open, in an effort to display the tiny fangs that had appeared. “FANGS.”
Vig shook her head slightly, and bared her own impressively large and sharp canines. “Look. Fangs.”
“You’re the only other eyewitness, Vig! You know what I am.”
She sighed, already knowing what was coming. “And what’s that?”
“A MONSTER.”
“Yes, but are you a ‘wolf-beast-thing’ right now?”
Moonbeam thought about it for a minute. “Uhhhh… no?”
“Simple, then. You’re not a monster. End of story. No ifs, buts, or ands.” Vig picked up her blood pack again and gingerly took another sip.
Her friend flopped onto their side with a huff. “I still think I’m a monster.”
Vig exhaled deeply, and tried a different approach. “So, if you really are a monster, what’s so bad about being one?”
Moonbeam looked at her incredulously.
“I mean, I myself am a monster, am I not?” She continued.
“Not really? You have full control over yourself all the time.”
“So if I, a scary being of darkness, that has to drink blood, can’t walk in sunlight, has no reflection, can’t cross running water, and has literal fangs, isn’t a monster, then what makes you, a normal pony every night of the month except one, a monster?” She finally concluded.
“You were there last night! You saw me! I- I- I’m going to be like that again tonight. Oh my Twilight.” They curled into a ball, the realisation sinking in.
Vig patted the curled-up pony awkwardly. “There there. If it helps, we can go deep into the forest or something. You know, before your whole thing starts?”
Moonbeam nodded slightly and seemed to relax a little.
“So, do you even know what it is you are? I don’t exactly have encyclopaedic knowledge of supernatural beings, but we can’t keep calling you a ‘wolf-beast thing’.”
The pegasus uncurled herself and sat up with a sigh. “Lycanthropy. It has to be. No other explanation. Everything I’ve read says it’s a Twilight-damned curse. That’s it then.” They laughed bitterly. “I’m cursed.”