//------------------------------// // Cagestruck III: The Chant and The Mural Painter // Story: Tales Of Planes and Ponies // by Southern Ice //------------------------------// Cagestruck III: The Chant and The Mural Painter “Lyra, keep an eye on the pot, will you? And Shira, bring those tea out, people are waiting out there!” Allesha clapped her hand rapidly as she entered the kitchen. As she approached her, Bon Bon quickly put the sliced bread into a basket. The old woman came by and picked them up. “Thank you, cutter.” It was early in the morning, the mares couldn’t sleep much, but it was enough for them. As Allesha and the volunteers began their work, they asked to join the kitchen. It wasn’t hard, given that Allesha was overjoyed to see their ‘enthusiasm for the cause’. The mares helped around, from preparing the vegetables, slicing the breads, to stirring tea and cleaning the tables. Their work wasn’t exactly complex, but it could be physically taxing doing it at such volume. Bon Bon was used to heavy work, she joined into the flow without much troubles, except for getting used to her new body. Lyra however, was easier to be overwhelmed, so Allesha only asked her for less laborious chores, like watching the pots or cleaning the tables. Still, she was happy that the mares decided to help her. As the hours went by, the line only seemed to be longer. The people of the Hive Ward, as Brise told them, weren’t the most fortunate kind. Most of them looked less than miserable, with some dressed in ragged clothes barely enough to cover their body. Their body was thin, sickly skin grafted upon bones. Dirt, she hoped so, caked their heels and cloaks. Their eyes looked at her, but their gaze was distant. The air was terrible, not only to smell, but to feel. Lyra could see the word sorrow in the air, and grief echoed in the occasional wind. They didn’t pay much attention to her, despite her rather colorful appearance compared to the grim, dull world around her. Not because they weren’t curious, especially the children, who more often than not looked at her with wonder in their little marble like eyes. They didn’t, because they couldn’t afford to. Not all of the folks who came to the establishment were decent folks, even though Allesha tried her best to maintain the comfort she sought to bring to the unfortunate. The volunteers stopped at least two 'thieves' that morning alone, who tried to take a few more slices of bread or a stick of butter. Lyra wasn’t furious, neither was she disappointed. She only saw the miserables who couldn’t afford a dignity for their own. Lyra found herself quite fond of the kids. As strange as it was, the young ones seemed to have a certain curiosity about the mare, affection even. When he came out to clean the tables, they looked at her, observed the mare. When she used her magic to catch something her limbs couldn’t, they gave her cheers and applause. It lightened her, and some of the guest’s mood a little. A small light in the fog blanketed this town. Allesha wasn’t against it either, if anything, the old woman encouraged it, entertaining the guests that was.  In the kitchen, Bon Bon quickly made herself acquainted with her new hands and fingers. As bizarre as it might sound, she actually welcomed this change. Having flexible fingers made her work much easier than using hooves. She could cut and slice vegetables at a faster and refined pace, albeit after a few cuts on her fingers. Grabbing and gripping was less taxing than ever. The air in the kitchen was another welcoming change. Compared to her job at the store, the folks working at the pantry were rather cheerful, or at least chatty and less invasive. Though, she thought to herself, would this be her new life? During the night, she wondered if she could trust that ‘man’ - as Brise informed her, Diz, to help them return to their home? And what if he couldn’t? She could continue working here, well, not exactly working since she wouldn’t get any pay, more like volunteer here. While the atmosphere was lovely, she wasn’t sure if this was the life she looked for, even after what she had done… In the long line of miserable peoples, a man with an old, and nearly broken, lute began to play his damned instrument. Its strings barely sang a beat, much less a song. But still, the man sang. It was a song of the downtrodden, of the sods who had nowhere to go, no life to live, no kip to call home. From the tables, a half drunken man groaned, joining into the song of the downtrodden bard. The songs barely matched. He sang of the old days, the glorious time of the factions, of the greedy Takers with jinks up his pocket, the merciless Guvner judges, the noble Godsmen and many more. His song stretched from tales to tales, clumsily intertwined. Soon, the song, if it could be called that way, spread through the pantry, as Allesha herself joined in the choir. She brought the song back to the present, to the pantry and the guests. The words bounced around, catching people’s ear, soon, they turned the song toward the owner, and the establishment. The entire pantry sang, from the lonely old man who sat by himself at the corner, to the young women with her kids, from those stuck in the line, to the kitchen itself. No one knew the song, or maybe they did. There were those who joined with enthusiasm, trying to follow the beat, and there were those who tried to give their voice in, no matter how offbeat it was. They mocked the tea as clear as the water, and the soup as thick as the tea. The cooks returned with the guest’s filthiness and their lack of manners. They went back and forth, mocking, poking fun at each other. Bon Bon and Lyra were no stranger to singing, and Lyra was a musician, but they hadn’t seen this form of performance anywhere. If the lyric was recorded, and read, it would seem that the singers were arguing with each other, furiously. Yet, in reality, they were having fun, sharing the stories of their sad life with each other with joy. The song went on, but the movement in the kitchen didn’t stop. If anything, the tempo moved them faster and faster. Water boiled before they should, and cooks could slice bread with a single swing. Before she realized it, Bon Bon was tapping her feet on the ground while her hip swayed. Lyra frolicked, her hair swayed as with the tempo, while her voice caught up with the beat. The children followed her, creating a small carnival in the pantry. For a moment, she felt as if she was back in Ponyville. It left as soon as it came, the song finally ended, just as the lunch time came to its end. Lyra sat down on a table, groaned as she realized how tired she was. She heard the sound of a tray hitting the table, and the form of Bon Bon appeared next to her. The earth mare blushed, she coughed and passed the meal to Lyra.  “What was that?” The unicorn asked, still dizzy from all of the dancing. “A little joy.” Came the short answer from Brise as the girl strode toward them. “Or the belief of a brighter day, as the bloods often call it. It tends to do that, if enough people join in.” “Not bad, cutter. If you want to be a singer, the Festhall is always looking for new recruits.” Allesha smiled as she and some of the other volunteers sat down with the mares. “Take a breather, cutters.” Lyra looked at the meal, a simple vegetable stew with slices of bread. The other had some scrambled eggs with them too, but the mare were given mashed potatoes instead.  “Well, your friend and Brise said that you two were horses-” The genasi whispered to her ear before she continued. “Oh, ponies, right. I wasn’t sure if you two can eat meat and the like, so have some potatoes instead. If that’s not what you like? Beggars can’t be chooser, cutters.” And she laughed. Lyra nervously scratched her neck as the volunteers gave them curious looks. Lucky for her, their attention didn’t last long. The unicorn turned to her meal instead. “So… has Diz come back yet?” Bon Bon asked them. She tried to say it as nonchalantly as possible, but clearly, she wasn’t. “That blood sure takes his time. Then again, you can’t really predict a Cipher either.” Allesha said as she cut the bread and used it as her spoon. The way she ate reminded Lyra of how old Equestrian nobles used to eat. While the old woman was rough and didn’t hold herself back when it came to words, she also had the air of a well-adjusted high-class woman. “Maybe we can find him? He must live somewhere near, right?” Bon Bon proposed. Of course, her idea wasn’t the best, but it was an idea nonetheless. “The streets aren’t safe, you know this well.” Allesha replied. “Besides, finding that blood is going to take more time than waiting for him, that Cipher never stays still for long.” “Didn’t that barmy greybeard call kip by the Ruined District?” One of the volunteers remarked. “Where the chaosmen roam?” “And the ex-Ciphers too.” Another added. “I am sorry, but what’s a Cipher?” Lyra raised her hand up. “And some other words, like chaosman and blood, you seem to call him that a lot.” The old woman raised her eyebrows, but quickly remembered something. “Right, this is your first time here after all. I am no mimir, but I guess I can answer some of your questions.” She clapped her hands together then steadied herself. “Even the barmiest berk in Sigil knows who its true ruler is. Who you asked? Of course, clueless like you two might have never heard of her yet, but you will, and you should remember it well. This city, this cage as a lot of bashers call it, belongs to The Lady Of Pain. Her Serenity is the absolute master of Sigil, under her is the dabus, her handmaidens.” Outside, where the ruin and debris covered the streets, floating lanky figures dressed in long robes flew back and forth, hammering down the nail, dusted up the road, laying brick after brick, slowly, but steadily, fixing the city. Their duty wasn’t praised, for it was part of the norm. None dared to question their works, none dared to talk to them either. Safe for some, mostly graybeards, who often gave them a formal greeting, should their eyes met. “But the Lady doesn’t rule the city directly. In fact, nobody knows how she rules the city at all. Instead, she gave powers to powerful groups who swore to run the city, on her behalf. That was when the factions came to be.” Somewhere down the streets of Clerk Ward, a figure stood before the empty Hall of Record. Barricaded for decades, one would wonder what little was still in there. Yet, none dared to ask the hulking mass of the Sons of Mercy, standing guard against the old administration office. Safe for a barmy blood, who did so and earned a shake of the head from the young Red Deaths. “There were fifteen factions that governed Sigil. For six centuries, they were the one who truly ran Sigil, from its legal system, to its enforcement, trade management and the like. Of course, the factions aren’t all do-gooders. If anything, most of them were either corrupt, crooked, self-centered or anything in between. But at least, under their time, the city was at peace, a fragile peace, but still peace.” The figure strode toward the Hall of Information, or at least, what was left of it. He was allowed to enter, after paying a hefty music. Not that he minded, the basher deserved more than what the city paid for them. Inside of the hall, he asked for a meeting, between him and a certain individual. The receptionist talked through her sending stone, before directing him to a private chamber. “But that was more than 30 years ago. The faction’s reign finally came to its end, and the Faction War began. The war was devastating, it managed to make the Hive Ward worse than it was, a feat of its own, cutter. But that wasn’t the worst thing that happened, the war itself was. No one knew exactly how it started, but at the end, the Lady gave the factions her last decree to them: ‘This city tolerate your faction no longer. Abandon it, or die.’ And so, the fifteen factions were no longer.” Soldiers began to move, swarming the hall. Anybody who failed to notice them was kicked out of the way. Heavy boots hit the ground, plates of armor hitting each other, the sound of clashing metal echoed in the hall.  “Three of them were destroyed by the war, wiped from the surface of the Outlands, crushed and changed.” The soldiers surrounded the chamber, bellowing his name. He knew why they did so, and he let it happen. It was what should be, and he had no say in the matter. While of course he could get out of the situation cleanly, it was his decision to be here, and the multiverse’s decision for them to come. Another obstacle he needed to get over, but one that would benefit him more than it would harm him. He didn’t think so, it had been a long time since he held thoughts in his mind. He just knew it. “Six took all they could and left Sigil, finding new holes to hide in, and new prey for their causes.” “The last sixes, however, stayed. They disbanded their faction, tore their charter apart, and took their symbol down. Those who stayed did so for their own good, or for Sigil’s good.” There stood the man whom he wanted to see. But judging from the situation, it seemed that the meeting would be postponed for a later date. The soldiers looked at him, some he knew from before they were born, some considered him a family friend. He did what he should, lightened their heavy souls by turning him in. The other man laughed, silently. He had waited for this chance for a long time. And so, the Master of Portals declared… “The Transcendent Order, or as we called them, the Ciphers, was one such bunch. Barmy as they were, they were the good kind of barmy. When the war tore Sigil into pieces, the Ciphers devoted their entire resources to connect it once more. On the other end though, was then Xaositect, the chaosmen. The Xaositect was the barmiest, most addle-coved berks of Sigil. Some didn’t even consider them a faction at all, so when the Lady ordered them to disband, the chaosmen didn’t bat an eye and went on as if nothing had happened.” “I think I got it…” Lyra said weakly, her elbows rested on the table while her hands massaged her head. “So Diz is one of the Cipher, an old faction that governed the city… And what is blood?” “A blood, cutter, is a person to be respected.” Allesha smiled fondly. “Diz might not seem like the kind, but he was a renowned Cipher during his time. After the war, he was one of the first Ciphers who helped rebuild the city.” “And why would someone like him help us?” Bon Bon intruded. “I am sorry, but I just don’t understand. From what he said, it isn’t easy to bring us back home.” Her eyes focused on the old woman, trying to read her. But she couldn’t find anything. “Only he knows, cutter. We don’t call them Cipher because they are easy to understand.” Allesha sighed. “Rest assured, if he said that he would help you, he would try everything to do so. As unorthodox as that blood might be, he rarely breaks his promises.” The mares turned to each other, then to the door. The only form outside of the soup kitchen was those of the Hive’s unfortunate citizens. The wizard was nowhere to be seen. Lyra felt lost, once again. She felt her hand closed tight in Bon Bon’s.  “And if he can't help you, my pantry always opens our door for you.” Allesha gave them a reassuring smile. The gentle hawk of a woman meant well, but Bon Bon couldn’t fathom that possibility. Sure, it wasn’t the worst working there. However, it didn’t mean she wanted to work there her whole life. The people, this city, it irked her, and Lyra too. If that was what their new life would look like, they would rather do anything else to leave it. “Maybe you can hire a tout? They ought to know where he is and help you hide from the chaosmen.” Brise's suggestion earned a glare from Allesha. “Cutter, you know that they don’t have a jink, how can they hire a tout?” “Maybe they can pay something else? I know a tout who doesn’t trade in jink.” Allesha took a moment to process what Brise said. She quickly realized who she talked about. “No, a thousand times no! Brise, you know exactly how dangerous they are. And while he isn’t as chaotic as the rest, it doesn’t mean I am going to trust them in his hand.” “Who is it?” Bon Bon slammed on the table, her head reaching across the table to Brise. “Cutter, you don’t know what you are getting into.” Allesha said with a firm voice, like that of a mother to her daughter. “While I can’t decide what you are going to do, it isn’t wise to hire a chaosmen as your tout!” Lyra’s body shaken as the words echoed in her mind. What happened last night was still in her head, haunting her memories. She gulped. “A chaosmen? Didn’t you say that they are evil?” “Evil? No, but dangerous? Yes, they surely are. They do whatever they feel like, hence the name chaosmen.” An older volunteer joined in. “You can’t really be sure what they are going to do. At the moment, they might be counting sand on the streets, but in the next, they might burn down a house because they feel like it.” “But he isn’t like that!” Brise defended the person in question. “He is good, just a little barmy, like all chaosmen do, but good. They even allowed him into the Civic Festhall.” Allesha was about to say something, but Bon Bon took the initiative and spoke first. “Can you tell us where he is?” The mare turned to the old lady. “I am sorry, ma’am, but we are going to take any chances we can get.” “You are a brave cutter.” Allesha bitterly said. “But what about your friend? She looks like Bleaker!” Lyra looked up, her gaze met Allesha’s warm eyes, filled with care and worriedness. She felt like a small filly, couldn’t survive on her own and had to rely on others constantly. Gathering all of her courage and determination, she answered.  “We will be careful, ma’am!” Defeated, Allesha could only sigh. “Just come back before it’s dark, will you?” As the shock from their first impression died down, the mares could see the Hive Ward for what it was. And as (un)surprising as it was, the Hive Ward was exactly what they thought it to be. A lawless, nightmarish pit of a town. The streets, if they could call them that, were nigh impossible to navigate, had Brise not guided them. It lacked the straight lines, while also overabundant with twist and turn, winding anywhere they wanted to. The buildings were placed in the most over complex patterns possible, as if it was made of a colt with no artistic talents. Some of them resembled those they saw in Ponyville, but spikier and more imposing. Some clustered, place one upon the other. Some were multiple buildings patched into one. The most common however, were those of the ruined and run down. The stench from the streets was haunting, it was worse than that time when Lyra had to visit a sheep farm. Garbage, filth and many kinds of refuse were dumped everywhere, clogged up the sewer and drain pipes, rainwater mixed with the wastes created thick ooze that dripped down from the roof and gathered into ponds in potholes. The people weren't much better either. Something told Bon Bon that those they met at the pantry were the best of the Hive. Trying their best to ignore those of ‘planar kind’ as Brise told them, which they assumed were the evil looking ones, the three of them made their way across the drudges and the scums of the city. No less than three times had they been forced to stop by either an old lady who tried to sell them her equally bizarre ware, from boiled rat to fetishes made of bone, or a thief tried to take something from them, even if they had nothing on them. The cloak they had, which the mare hadn’t found out from where did they come from, helped. It wasn’t raining, but the air was foul, gloomy and cold. They found it hard to breathe, and coughing had become more regular. They felt their lungs swelled, as if they could cough their lungs out. The smog wasn’t good for them, nor was it for anyone else. No wonder many of the pantry’s guests were sick. Brise, using her innate genasi magic, helped them by filtering the air around her. There they were, barely visible on the street sign was its name: ‘Black Boot Walk’. Brise stood under the sign, she hesitated.  “You are looking for a tiefling called Barmy. He should be around the burned houses, where they painted murals on the ruins. If you can get him what he wants, he may help you.” “You aren’t going to come with us?” Lyra asked. She could see a frightened girl in Brise’s lilac eyes. The genasi shook her head. “Let’s go.” Bon Bon pulled Lyra, before she could ask Brise any other question. ‘Better be quick, before we are too scared to move.’ She kept it for herself. The search for this ‘Barmy’ was both easy, and hard at the same time. Easy, since the street only had a few souls on it. Hard, because everywhere seemed the same. Burned houses, ruins of old buildings, and mysterious murals decorated the street. Honestly, the murals made the grimy street somewhat lively. From what Brise told them, a tiefling should look like Lyra, but with more animalistic features. A pair of horns was one of the common traits.  Some had goat-like legs, while others had tails. Unlike the mare, the tiefling’s skin often took a darker shade and warmer tone. After a few minutes of looking around, the mares found a peculiar looking person. From their figure, they guessed that it was a tiefling. The short horns checked out. The figure sat on a piece of debris with cans of paint and brushes, wearing nothing but a short jacket and a pair of old, tough trousers. His hands and feet were wrapped in off-white rags. The most striking feature of him, however, was their skin. Painted over the skin was numerous paintings, or was it really only one? Some of it was scenic, others were abstract. The painting spread all the way to his face, covering the lower half of his left face with colors. A blazing sun adorned on his chest. That must be the ‘Barmy’ Brise told them about. “Excuse me-” Before Bon Bon could ask him anything, the tiefling held out a finger. He didn't say anything, but that was enough to convey his words. A little angered, Bon Bon was about to ask him once again. However, Lyra stopped her, putting a finger on her lips and pointed at the painting on the wall. It was a torrent of colors, mixed and matched in unexplainable ways. Somehow, it mesmerized them. But even Bon Bon could see that it wasn’t quite finished. Lyra found them a ‘comfortable’ seat, and the two watched the painter finishing his work. It took him a long while. There were moments he pulled the brush out, held it inches away from the painting, only to put it back down. His gaze turned everywhere, from the mares, to the sky, to the painting, then back to the mare and the ground beneath them. Her patience grew thin, Bon Bon forced herself to sit down as Lyra’s eyes begged her to not disturb him. After a torturous hour (for the earth mare, Lyra found the experience while rejuvenating), the painter finally put his brush down on the wall, and gave it a straight, harsh line across, separating the mural into two. Content with his work, he turned to the mares. “You want me to lead you to old man Diz’s kip, don’t you?” “HOW DID YOU KNOW IT?” Surprised, Lyra couldn’t keep her voice down. “Can you read our minds?” “Nah, too complicated. Never get anything above fingerpaints. I just do. So, you need me to guide you to him or not?” He said with the gleeful face of a child. The tiefling himself had the charm of a colt, even if he didn’t look that young. “What do you want?” Bon Bon took her chance. “You don’t take money, right?” “Yeah, jink, copper, whatever you call them. Too abstract, makes too little sense to me. And I am a chaosman!” The tiefling laughed. “What do I want? Sirrah, what can you put on the table?” His eyes looked at them with glee. “We… we don’t have anything of value…” Lyra said, sheepishly. Her gaze shifted to the painting once more. The tiefling took notice of that. “You are an artist, are you not?” He asked her. “Say, cutter, I am looking for someone to paint my back, can you do that?” Lyra looked at him, then pointed at the brushes. “With that?” “With that. If I like the painting, I will guide you to him.”  Bon Bon held Lyra’s hand as the unicorn’s body began to shake. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” But her answer wasn’t one Bon Bon would expect. Lyra rolled her sleeves over and picked the brush up. She stood there, waiting for the tiefling. He nodded, and began to take off his jacket, showing them the rest of the painting on him. He sat down so that Lyra could work on him.  Honestly, she had no idea where to start, or what to draw. Like the rest of his body, his back was covered in ink, paint, and anything in between. She could make out some of the mountain ranges, a tower perhaps? Blindly, she decided to draw whatever came to her mind. A flower maybe? Bon Bon sat still and observed them. In turn, the tiefling observed her. “You two came here from Allesha’s place, right?” He asked nonchalantly. “How do you know all of that?” Bon Bon asked him back, inquisitively. “Have you been spying on us?” “Spying?” He shrugged, making Lyra pull the brush back. “Take too much time, staying in the dark doing nothing but looking. It’s too boring. I just do, sirrah.” A smug smirk appeared on his face. “I don’t believe that.”  “And you don’t have to.” If only Bon Bon could kick him in the face right at that moment, hard and fast, she would. Lyra began to make some shapes and forms in her painting. The flower wasn’t fitting at all, it felt wrong on him. He needed something else, something that could symbolize his character, she thought to herself. And so, she dipped the brush into the white paint can. “So… you are Barmy, right? I am Lyra Hears-” “Don’t bother yourself with all of those things.” He waved his hand. “Names and tags aren’t needed. Just you and me is good enough.” “You don’t like having a name? Do you… hate your name?” “Oh, I have names, and tags too. I just don’t want one to specify myself, fixing me with it. It’s limiting, you catch my drift? What if I tell you that my name is Tony today, and feel like a Hans tomorrow? See? Just call me whatever you like.” “But what if we want to tell other po-peoples about you? How should we tell them then?” “If they know me, they will understand you, sirrah. If they don’t, and not planning to do so, why bother? If you feel like calling me Barmy, do it, if you feel like something else, use it. I don’t mind that. In fact, no, not fact, fact is too hard, it means something that is always right, whatever, I am always looking for new names and tags too. A fancy new name would be good. Fancy? Good? Bizarre? Anything would do actually. Maybe something normal too? I haven’t been called Steve for quite some time. But Steve is too normal, don’t you think? Maybe because it is so normal, that it becomes chaotic? Sirrah, what is the definition of normality to you? What is the state or normal? What exactly is normalcy? All this chaotic city spun around me is normal, but it is chaotic, isn’t it? You haven’t been here long, haven’t you? The cuts on her fingers, they are new. You helped Allesha, didn't you? Speaking of Allesha, did you know that the chaosmen planted the garden behind her for the kitchen? Yeah, planted! We dug the little trees out and planted them down again! Moving houses for them. Houses ‘round the Hive is rather weird, don’t you think? But that makes them normal. A normal house is weird here. Have you tried eating in a normal house? The eggs can taste like fish and carrots, and the milk reeks of beef. But you two don’t know that, do you? You don’t seem like the kind that eat meat after all-” Bon Bon couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows and gripping her fist tight. This man made her feel irritated as time and his conversation went on. His ramble didn’t seem to end anytime soon. Lyra had already given up, instead, she focused on the painting. It was nigh finished. “And old man Diz’s case is properly near the hall too! If he is jailed there, it would mean he is only a few minutes from home, how funny is tha-” “DONE!” Lyra wiped the sweat on her face, and looked at her finished work. Honestly, it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t her masterpiece either. Adorned on his back was a pair of white wings, spread out wide from shoulder to shoulder. Lyra was proud, it was her first attempt at such a thing, but it wasn’t bad at all. The unicorn giggled to herself. Bon Bon however, wasn’t as amused as her friend. She could make out the shape of the wings, but the shapes and lines were a tangled mess. She wondered if this tiefling would be angry or not. Then she thought ‘How would he be able to see it at all?’, he didn’t have any mirror, or a camera. Lyra seemed to realize it too. “How are you going to see it?” She asked him. To which, the tiefling smirked with his teeth bared. “Whatever you painted is fine, sirrah. It’s the intent that matters.” He wore his jacket back up. “So, what did you paint, Unicorn Girl?” “Unicorn? You know that we are ponies too?” Lyra smiled back, shyly. Could this man read their mind? She thought that he must be able to- “What’s a pony? The Arcadian pony? Are you loony, sirrah?” His smile dropped, the young man asked with pure confusion of a child, which took Lyra by surprise. “No, we were ponies, me and Bon Bon were. When we came to Sigil, we looked like this.” She pointed at herself, from her horn to her leg. The tiefling observed her for a moment, then shrugged. “Never heard of your kind before. But no matters. Anyways, what did you paint on me?” “A pair of wings. My pegasus friends said that their wings let them soar freely in the sky. I think that would fit you.” “You have pegasi in your rank too? Huh…” He tapped his chin. “You two are more interesting than I thought.” “Thank you? You are quite interesting too, uh… Mural?” Lyra was hesitant to use the name. “Mural? As in the mural painter you met on Black Boot Walk?” His smile became a little less intimidating, and more playful than it was. “Well, it isn’t the most original, is it?” “Nah, I have seen worse.” He put his arms over their shoulders and pulled the mares toward him. Thankfully, his odor was that of paint and charred wood. “So, Unicorn Girl, Grumpy Face, you two need this Mural here to guide you to the old man’s place, right? Should we go now, or do you two want to do it later?” “Actually, can we come back to Allesha?” Bon Bon said, pressing her anger inward so that she wouldn’t kick his head for the nickname. “She was quite worried when we said that we were going to meet you.” “It’s Allesha to ya, she cares too much. But no matter, let’s give her a visit then. Has been a while since I saw her face to face.” ‘And I can see why.’ Bon Bon thought to herself, trying to escape from the tiefling’s embrace. At the street sign, they saw Brise, still waiting for them. The three met, and Brise immediately berated Mural as she saw Bon Bon struggling to get out.