//------------------------------// // On Overwatch // Story: The Viper Of Canterlot // by Jest //------------------------------// My living space was… not good, but by the look of all the dust, it hadn't been touched in a while so it should at least be private. It was nice to know that I could at least lay low here for the moment before I got things moving and established a better position. With that in mind I… I sniffed and remembered why I had been so adamant on finding a shower, as I reeked. “I’d settle for an acid bath at this point,” I muttered to myself. Though I’d planned on settling down until at least nightfall, in the hopes of getting some rest before beginning my recon, I really did need some way to stop smelling like an open sewer. To that end, I clambered back out into the open and started maneuvering my way through the junkyard toward the building at the forefront of the property. Keeping my keen senses active and engaged, I was able to make it to the structure without noticing anyone. A quick glance towards the setting sun told me that it wouldn't be long until nightfall, which was weird because I hadn't thought that much time had passed. Still, those were thoughts for later, for now, I was looking for a hose, or even a pool of water at this point. A bit of searching revealed that there was indeed a hose, but it was only a few feet long, and it was sitting directly under a large, window. Taking a peek inside revealed that someone was at the counter directly behind the window, chopping something with a long knife. Behind them lay a cramped dining room where two other ponies sat playing cards and chatting amongst themselves. I decided to risk it, and slipped over to the house, pressing myself against the side and slithering under the window. Thankfully the back of the house directly overlooked the junkyard so it wasn't likely that I’d be seen. Even any passing pegasi would find it difficult to spot me due to the towering piles of junk and derelict vehicles that cut off any sight lines. Secure in my spot, I settled in and slowly shifted over to the hose before turning the tap on. The flow was not significant, but I didn't want to risk turning it higher lest I end up getting heard. Thankfully no one made any sudden movements, signaling to me that I was still undetected. I waited a few more seconds, and after there were no shouts of confusion or calls to see what moved outside, I began to scrub myself. It was a slow process so I decided to focus my hearing at the house, hoping to listen in on any conversations occurring within. To my surprise, it barely took any effort to pick up what was going on inside, my strange biology making eavesdropping easy. It made sense, given the viper’s role as an ambush predator, but even with that in mind, I still wouldn't have anticipated that they’d have this level of keen hearing. “How was the market this afternoon?” Asked a masculine-sounding voice I assumed was the patriarch of the house. I kicked myself for not paying more attention to the ponies’ appearances before I got into position as I couldn't put a face to a voice yet. “Not bad,” answered a soft, female voice from further in. “Did those roughians harass you again?” asked another feminine-sounding voice from right next to the window. “No. They came by but after they saw the cog they left,” answered the earlier soft voice. “You can't leave that at home. Without the protection of the R.C, those hooligans will rob you blind,” added the other female voice that I was from then on, calling Pony Mom. “If you don't get a little use out of it then those union dues were wasted,” remarked a slightly bitter, slightly relieved-sounding masculine voice I named Pony Dad. “I know, I know,” murmured Pony Child. “It's just that the elevator market is usually so heavily patrolled that I didn't think I’d need it.” “You can't think like that. Those Crimson Dawn weirdos may look like nothing more than buckball hooligans but they have contacts in the guard,” Pony Dad pointed out. “Same goes for the Azure Ocean,” Pony Mom added. “But they don't come out this way,” Pony Child retorted. “Yes, but Culvert Center is their territory,” Pony Mom exclaimed. “I forgot about that… this sucks,” Pony Child muttered. “Is there anywhere not being controlled by those stupid gangs?” “Not down here,” Pony Dad declared. “But you knew that already.” “I know,” Pony Child murmured bitterly. “I just hate it down here. It's always dark and everything smells.” “Don't you worry kiddo. Shouldn't be more than another year or two and we’ll have enough bits to move topside,” Pony Dad stated confidently, though I could tell that there was a certain emptiness to his words. “Alright, everypony. Come load up. Salad’s ready,” Pony Mom offered. “Augh Mom. It's not a salad if it's just lettuce and dressing,” Pony Child whined. “It is if you add crotons,” Pony Dad stated. Pony Child groaned. “Stop complaining and come get your food,” Pony Mom declared. “Wait, aren't we short one plate?” Pony Child asked. There was a tense, but momentary silence. “Your sister already left for work,” Pony Dad remarked. “We thought you knew,” Pony Mom added. “No,” Pony Child muttered. “She didn't say goodbye.” “I’m sure she’ll be back tomorrow. Now come eat before it gets soggy,” Pony Mom softly ordered. “Okay,” Pony Child agreed. By then I had more or less cleaned myself off, and I ran the water for a few extra seconds to was away any trace of me being there. Once done, I lingered for a moment, curious if they were going to give me any more juicy information. However, the conversation turned to more mundane, with talk of their day and what wreck Pony Dad was working on coming up. “Interesting,” I whispered to myself. Slipping back the way I came, I slithered through the shadowed junkyard back to my little hideaway. After wrenching it open, slipping inside, and settling into a nook, I began to mentally review the bit of accidental recon I had just done. First off, though I had not anticipated that there would be multiple large gangs present, I also hadn't anticipated an entire underclass to be sitting right under Canterlot. The R.C. as it was called sounded a bit like a union but one that was probably between various junk vendors rather than just everyone who worked at this one junkyard. That kind of mercantile banding had happened in humanity’s past, so it made sense that it would happen here. Really it was just a bit of a surprise that a bunch of junk merchants could even cobble together the resources necessary to protect themselves in such a manner. Clearly, the junk trade was a bit more lucrative than the name would have you believe. Crimson Dawn, Azure Ocean, red, and blue. Reminded me a bit of various gangs both historical and contemporary from humanity. Heck, as far back as roman times there were gangs that fell under those two opposite colors, having been born from the wildly popular chariot race teams of the time. It also reminded me a bit of a certain video game, but that was a less relevant observation. Lastly, there were the markets. Elevator market was likely close to the elevator, which made sense for reasons which should be pretty damn obvious. It being monitored by the guard seemed logical, though it painted a grim picture of the guard’s priorities. They wanted to secure travel to the upper plate, but beyond that, they didn't seem terribly interested in policing the streets. “Yet there was a military base on the side of the mountain,” I remarked to myself. “Weird.” Culvert Central was probably just another market, this one likely a little further inland, likely near a culvert. Though a useful tidbit of info, it wasn't nearly as illuminating as the other things I had uncovered during my impromptu shower. Still, it was enough to spark an idea, one that sounded a lot better than sneaking around at night in a strange place. “I could follow this junk seller around. Get a lay of the land, and listen in on things,” I declared, only to frown. “I still need to get a more general vibe check of the place first. Find out where I could hide, and if there is even enough cover to get from A to B without being spotted.” That settled it. I’d still need to do an initial sweep of the area while I had the aid of the night, but after that, I’d get my initial intel from following the kid and listening in at a market. Trade centers were the quickest way to take measure of a people and a place, after all. With that in mind, I settled in between the metal ribs of the downed aircraft and rested my eyes for a little while. I jerked upward two hours later, suddenly aware of the fact that I had slipped into a sort of hunter’s trance where I didn't move a muscle, was aware of everything but was still able to rest. It felt like I had become a loaded spring, only the act of remaining cocked and ready cost me nothing and in fact had been rather nice. Though it made sense logically, given my new serpentine nature, it was still a bit of an odd realization. “Wait a second. That's just waiting from a Bethesda game,” I muttered aloud. “I wonder if I can set a sleep timer for myself and wake up an exact number of hours later.” I hummed to myself. “A thought for later,” I concluded. Setting out, I paused at the exit to my new home and peered out over the junkyard. As I had previously guessed, it was dark, lit up only by a pair of flickering flood lights no doubt meant to deter trespassers and thieves. They weren't very good at their job though, creating large areas of darkness that I could easily use to slip in and out of the yard with little effort. All without being illuminated. Doing just that, I spotted the hole that I had used to get in here, to begin with, and made my way over to it. Once outside, I looked around to find that the road, or what did a good impression of a road, was fairly empty. The elevator leading up was fairly dark, with only a single one of the metal boxes operating at such a late hour. A glance in that direction confirmed only a skeleton crew of guards that had formed a box-like perimeter around the station. Turning away from the elevator area, I slipped into the shadows and headed deeper into the plate. What I found was a winding maze of tunnels, streets carved from junk mounds, and enough random pipes to fill a Mario level. In short, I could move just out of sight completely unseen with very little effort while also keeping a close watch on the road. I spotted a few ponies moving about at this hour, but they wore heavy clothing and kept to the shadows. There were a few more brazen individuals I spotted, real tough-looking sorts that cared a lot less about being spotted out in the open. Though their apparel varied greatly, it all fit into the style of a punk biker gang along with a bright red bandana usually worn about the neck. Observing one group of these hoodlums, I watched as they strode down the street, talking animatedly to one another. Making no effort to quiet their conversation, I could hear everything from my position in a nearby ditch. “-And then this giant earth pony showed up and told me to buzz off or she’d stomp my head in,” one of them declared. “When I asked her whose turf this was, she said that the shop was under the protection of the matriarch.” “What's that?” asked another voice. There was the sound of a fist impacting the back of someone’s head followed closely by a grunt. “What did you do that for?” demanded the earlier voice. “You should know this by now, you dope. The matriarch rules the Platinums. She's their big head honcho,” shot back the first voice. “But I thought they only let unicorns into their gang. You said this pony that bothered you was an earth pony,” murmured the now humbled second voice. “I don't know what her story was or why she was working for those horn head supremacists, but she had the pin and everything,” replied the first pony. “So what did you do?” Asked a previously silent third voice. “I left,” stated the first stallion. “We’d need a whole heap of boys to take down an enforcer and even then we wouldn't be making it outta that scrap without a few new scars.” “And a few less limbs,” added the third voice. “I still don't get it. I thought you said there was only one of them,” retorted the less bright second speaker. “If you think you can take an enforcer of the Matriarch on all by yourself then the next time you see one of those white suit-wearing horn heads, challenge ‘em to a fight. See how it goes for ya,” grumbled the bitter, angry first stallion. They turned a corner a few seconds later, leaving me behind to think about what I’d heard. Unicorn supremacists were expected, but that name, Platinum, along with the relative fear that even a single one of them carried was not. They were clearly more well-organized then these street-level thugs, though there were at least a few smart cookies in their midst. I continued on, winding my way through the trash and observing my surroundings, listening in on whatever conversation I could. Occasionally I’d stop and peek into one of the ramshackle homes, or glance down a back alley. Most of the time my inspections did little to help my situation, as most folk weren't keen on chatting out in the open. Couple that with the relatively barren nature of the streets at this hour as well as the general lateness of the day and it made sense that I wasn't picking up anything useful. Sure I was able to eavesdrop on a few conversations and observe a few ponies but I couldn't glean anything important. Those I stealthy passed by were eager to return home after a late shift, their skin covered in soot or pockmarked with burns. The conversations I heard were mostly small talk, discussions of the weather, the rising price of bread, and things like that. That was until I stumbled upon a slightly denser cluster of homes and businesses that made up a small town amidst the sea of junk. Right at the edge, in an ill-used alleyway I spotted a pair of guards beating a random pony senseless behind a dumpster. Though my first inkling was to help, I resisted that urge and clambered on top of a nearby roof to get a better view instead. The guards had taken off their helmets and covered their armor with cloaks, but even at a glance, they were easily clocked. One was a tall, thin male with a pointed horn on his head and a bitter gleam in his eye. The other was a squat, wide-shouldered pegasus mare who seemed more bored than anything, kicking their downed foe with little true effort. This third pony was a pencil-thin stallion that looked to be about middle age. He wore a raggedy jacket, beat-up jeans, and a cloak that would be easily opened to display some hidden contraband he kept on his person. Any such vials or bottles of banned substances were smashed on the ground a few feet away, piled in the corner of the alley. “I think he’s learned his lesson,” stated the mare, stepping back from the downed male. “No, he, hasn't,” growled the other guard, punctuating each word with a solid kick. “He has. Lay off him,” ordered the mare. “Fine,” muttered the unicorn guard. He took a step back only to lurch forward and hoof the rising stallion in the midsection, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him to the ground in a heap. “Are you done?” demanded the mare. “Yeah,” murmured her partner. “I’m done.” “Good,” the mare began, leaning down until she was face to face with the groaning stallion lying on the ground. “Now if I ever hear about you selling drugs to my partner’s son. Or any child for that matter. The captain will hear about this. Got it?” “Got it,” wheezed the downed stallion between labored breaths. “Right. Let's get out of here. Elevator’s gonna be shut down soon. Can't miss our trip topside,” declared the mare as she stood back up and faced the other guard. “Thanks again for this boss. I don't know what I’d do if I found more of that shit in his room,” murmured the lanky stallion. “Don't worry about it. Keeping dirtbags like this in line is what the Regulators do,” replied the mare before the pair trotted off. As I watched them go, the mare retrieved her helmet from behind a peice of scrap and plunked it on her head. As she did so, her cloak slipped from her shoulder, revealing a tattoo. It was a large shield not unlike an antique police badge, with a pair of crossed, blood-covered swords over it, and the numbers five, zero, and one at the bottom. “Looks like even the guards got gang problems,” I whispered to myself. “Though it's a bit hard to argue in defense of an asshole that sells drugs to children.” I watched as the stallion slowly rose back to his hooves, wheezing all the while and clutching his midsection. Again I wanted to help, but again I stifled that desire, choosing instead to remain in the shadows. There wasn't much point watching as he scrambled around in search of any remaining drugs though so I left the alley, slipping down a drain pipe and reentering the street. In search of more interesting bits of information, I began to make my way through the small cluster of structures. What I found was a relatively tight-knit community guarded by grey-cloaked ponies that stood at both of the two entrances into their tiny village. Though they were ponies, that was about all I could figure out about them as they kept their faces hidden from sight with deep hoods and heavy clothing. I could also see that they had weapons either obvious or half-hidden beneath their dark robes. They carried themselves like guards, but the sight of them didn't exactly elicit hope. Fearful ponies cowered in their homes, glancing only occasionally out their windows to where the silent, grey-cloaked ponies stood. A scant few street lights lit with magical fire bathed the entire area in an eerie glow, adding an odd backdrop to the entire scene. I spent a few minutes lurking around the area, hoping to pick up some bits of conversation or the like. I came up empty-handed, as none of the grey cloaks did anything but stand around in utter silence. Seeing as though I wasn't going to get anything out of this little expedition, I set off, heading towards another cluster of structures a bit further away. Unlike the mostly residential area I had just passed by, this space was dominated by several large factories. Most looked as one may assume, blocky, dark, and occasionally belching steam or smog into the air. One however, stood out, as it was illuminated by neon lights and bore a large sign indicating to all that this was the ‘Velvet Underground’. Even from a distance, I could hear the pulse of music, and the distant hum of conversation drifting on the wind. Slipping through a pipe, and across a narrow expanse, I took roost in the second story of a burnt-out home overlooking the entrance. There I was able to see that there was a duo of bouncers standing outside, observing a small line of patrons eager to enter. The operation clearly wasn't as large as the rather ginormous former steel mill would have you believe. Most of the structure remained dark or was boarded off, with only the main factory floor being lit up with rainbow strobe lights or the twinkle of a disco ball. The bass was powerful, knocking tiny tufts of dust from the rafters with each titanic thump. “Apparently dubstep is alive and well here,” I murmured to myself. Training my hearing at the front entrance, I observed the line and noted that they looked like locals. They all wore some manner of clothing as did all ponies, with most wearing some mix of punk, metal, or goth aesthetics. A few looked like gang members, but none wore the colors they were known for, having evidently left their allegiances at the metaphorical door. It was an interesting cultural snapshot of the area but that was about all it was. The conversation was surprisingly mundane, with those waiting in line mostly talking about their day or mentioning how excited they were for the evening. Only the two door guards were interesting, being that they were both earth ponies with grey skin, and had a sort of military punk aesthetic going. They wore army helmets that bore the letter A on them, and while one had a large spike at its top, the other had a row of the things running from her brow to the back of her head. They had leather jackets, tall, nearly knee-high steel-toed boots, and plenty more shiny metal spikes, as well as anarchist markings. One of them also looked a bit familiar, with dull purple hair, grey skin, and a permanently bored expression. She seemed to be in charge while the other one leaned against the wall near the entrance, rolling a butterfly knife around in her hand. They looked cool, with their mix of goth, military, and punk aesthetics that blended into a unique style that I couldn't help but appreciate, if for no other reason than the intimidation factor alone. I could only enjoy the view for a while before I started to get bored and antsy. Nothing was happening and I wasn't interested in listening to distant dubstep or random, unhelpful conversation. I had gotten up and was about to continue on my way when a random spot near the entrance began to glow and sparks shot up from the ground. All eyes turned to the spot, and though some ponies seemed confused and surprised, the door ponies weren't the least bit startled. From that, I assumed that this was probably something they had seen coming, with the magical hum likely heralding the arrival of V.I.P. When the spell was completed I turned out to be wrong, as although there was indeed a pony there, she had arrived with several large wooden crates. The new arrival wore a robe of blue and purple, and while she held a staff in one hand, she had a clipboard in the other. Her face was obscured by a deep hood, one that was impenetrable even to my heat vision. There was simply nothing inside the clothes, either that or there was some kind of magic at play that kept their identity hidden. Either way the individual was approached by the two door guards, with the leader taking the well… lead. “Are you from the Cabal?” Asked the door guard. “I am,” came a distorted, almost mechanical-sounding voice from within the mage’s hood. “I assume you are our contact with the Daughters of Discord?” “I am,” replied the towering earth pony. “Please,” the mage began, extending her hand and offering the clipboard. “Sign here.” The other party did just that, before handing it back to the new arrival. “Everything seems to be in order. Thank you for choosing the cabal for all of your illicit substance needs. Please come again soon, we should have quite the sale of magical weapons in the coming week,” the mage replied. “Thank you. Good night,” replied the door guard. “And to you as well,” the mage replied, bowing slightly before vanishing in a small explosion of multicolored sparks. “I’ll bring it inside. You watch the door,” ordered the lead guard. “Yeah, I know the routine,” whined the other helmeted woman. The other female simply leaned down and plucked the largest wooden crate from the ground without so much as a grunt of exertion. She may have hoisted it with ease, but it definitely looked heavy, as the woman’s shoulders flexed, and her muscles bulged. Though her expression remained neutral, I could tell that her jaw had tightened and that she was focusing completely on her task. Though it looked for a moment that one of the ponies from the line may try to sneak inside, one look at the massive, muscular mare was enough to stop that from happening. Once inside, things calmed down again, leaving me to contemplate the bit of information I had just received. Two new names, the Daughters of Discord, the apparent owners of this palace, and the cabal, a less than scrupulous dealer of banned substances. Though intriguing, I was most interested in the teleportation magic that they had used to get here, as that would be quite useful to me in the future. The Daughters were less intriguing, even if I half-remembered one of them from somewhere. With that thought in mind, I decided to wander a little deeper, winding my way through the litter-strewn streets of the factory area. Making my way to the backside, I noticed that although one of the great shops was cold, and dark the other was still operational. The clank of metal and the thunder of titanic impacts could be heard as I slipped past the chainlink fence that barred outsiders. It didn't exactly do much to someone who could slither through the drainpipes that were too narrow for all but a child to enter. Once inside the perimeter, I weaved through piles and piles of long metal pipes. Organized by length, and other factors I couldn't figure out from just a cursory glance they likely represented millions of bits in product. The yard was large, but sparsely lit, with only the area immediately behind the building containing any people. There, ponies hefted pipes onto the back of small, narrow trucks though where they could possibly be destined wasn't certain to me. It wasn't like they could go up the elevator, though now that I was thinking about it, the central pillar could hold the key. Large enough that even a dozen of the model T-looking trucks could fit within it, if it was indeed a freight elevator that would make sense. The only other option was bringing it topside via one of those sky dock things which seemed silly. Either way that was a concern for another time, as although it was interesting, I wanted more info about the various factions at play. Working the angles, exploiting weaknesses, and taking control of things from the shadows would come after. That thought made me stop and made me realize just how much of my own thought process was for lack of a better word. Alien. Already I was imagining how best to black mail the various leaders in order to gain their compliance and support. With their aid, I’d be able to build a pack of killers that would be tough enough to take on the invaders. None of that bothered me in the slightest, yet only a day ago I was for lack of a better word, meak. I had never really gotten in a fight, and could barely bring myself to hurt someone even if they deserved it. I had only ever raised my fist in anger to punch walls or strike punching bags. Yet here I was, imagining all the people I’d probably have to kill to get my way. Was this purely my new alien physiology at work? The unique biochemistry of our bodies do push and pull on our psyche that much I knew from Earth but could that be enough to change me? Or was this part of the transformation forced on me? I had been given a mission, and my every thought bent toward that goal as if it were a black hole, pulling me in. “Existential crisis later. Finish recon now,” I muttered to myself. I wondered, briefly, if that urge to refocus myself on the mission was even my own thought. Then I brushed it aside and pushed onward, aware of the fact that I had already spent about three or four hours out on recon already. I needed to conclude things and give myself time to get back to the haunt I had claimed in that junkyard. Lingering around the workers I discovered very little so I continued on after listening in for only a few short minutes. Heading further into the plate, I slipped through a crack in the fence and headed towards a larger, taller series of scrap structures in the distance. Or at least that was the plan, as I noticed that a half-collapsed warehouse in the middle of a mostly abandoned area had a light on. I clung to the shadows and made them my home as I slipped ever onward toward the point of light I had previously noticed. I tried to peek through a window, but it was so warped I could see only colored blobs on the other side. Though dilapidated, the warehouse still had good enough soundproofing that I couldn't make out anything either. Remembering those old Batman episodes, I slithered over to a drain spout and clambered up it all the way to the very top. Sure enough, there was a skylight and one illuminated by the flickering of the same soft blue flame I had spotted earlier. I made careful not to let the sound of my slithering body alert anyone, straying only to what few spots on the roof that didn't seem ready to collapse. In the end, I was able to get over to the window without making a single noise. Peeking over the lip, I found that I was almost perfectly above what appeared to be a meeting spot of some kind. A single pony sat at a table illuminated by a lantern within which was a soft blue flame that flickered on some unseen breeze. “Who are you… hmm?” I whispered. The pony’s large ears twitched and I blinked in shock, more than a little surprised that she had heard me. Even still, there was no way she could have figured out my location, and sure enough she looked left and right before relaxing. Likely thinking it was just the breeze, the hat-wearing pony extended her black-gloved fingers and began to drum them against the table. I would have left after the first few minutes passed by without change, but something about this stranger struck me as familiar in the way the other pony had. I felt like I knew them, but seeing only their gloved hands and the top of their hat left me with few clues about who they could be. They had style, that much was obvious, as the black chapeau had a wide brim with a single white feather sticking out of it. Thankfully the curiosity fairy heard my pining for more information and decided to help a brother out. This assistance came in the form of the sound of a distant door opening followed by two sets of footsteps- hoofsteps? With one approaching the table and taking the seat across from our strange while the other stood nearby. The new arrivals had many similarities, such as very little hair or feathers. On their head, a white shirt, black jeans, and entirely irrelevant suspenders. The differences lay in the fact that the person who sat down was a griffon, as made obvious by their large wings, pointed beak and clawed hands. I immediately recognized one of them to be Gilda, due to the light purple color around her eyes and overall attitude. How one managed to make the feathers atop their head short I don't know, but she had done it. There was a bit of mystery around how the scrawny male standing next to her was, as they were a kirin who had simply shaved their head. Though broad-shouldered, the kirin was rail thin, and had the appearance of an addict or someone who cared very little for their health. “Good evening, Gilda, Fern Flare,” greeted a familiar voice. “Wait… is that-” I whispered, only to catch myself before I said another word. The hat was removed and placed on the table before them, revealing that it was indeed a black-suited Rarity. Impeccably dressed, she looked like the picture-perfect mafia member, complete with a black tie, red lipstick, and subtle dark eyeshadow. “Evening, mediator Rarity,” Gilda exclaimed. “Whatever,” muttered the Kirin. “Your companion has very poor manners,” Rarity remarked, retrieving a knife from somewhere in her suit, flipping it open, and stabbing it into the table. “Very poor manners indeed.” “You won't intimidate us,” growled the kirin. “Fern. Shut the hell up,” Gilda shot back. The kirin flinched and took a step back, his jaw clenched tight. “Thank you, Gilda,” Rarity offered. “Whatever. Let's just get on with this,” Gilda muttered. “Very well. Since you have forgotten your manners I suppose I should also assume you’ve forgotten the reason for this meeting,” Rarity began, splaying her gloved fingers. “You stand accused of damaging the brotherhood’s property and since you refuse to do us the kindness of simply paying for what you’ve broken we have negotiated this meeting.” “I didn't break shit,” Fern spat. “I will not say this again Fern, shut the fuck up,” Gilda spat, glaring daggers at her companion. “If I have to repeat myself one more time I’m going to rip your balls off before she even gets the chance.” Fern seemed ready to fire back only to bite his tongue and visibly shrink. “Apologies,” Gilda exclaimed, her jaw tight with rage. “Continue, mediator Rarity.” “Thank you kindly, Gilda. Now then,” Rarity began again. “Witness, you may enter.” There was a click, and then the sound of nervous hooves approaching from behind Rarity. I couldn't quite see them from my angle, but they sounded young, not child young but not yet a full adult. They were also dainty as if their owner didn't have much weight to put behind them or they had been trained not to. Fern stiffened at the sight, and Gilda just sighed knowingly, melting into her chair. “Is this the man who assaulted you the other night?” Rarity asked, pointing to Fern. “It… it was,” whispered a voice so soft I could barely hear it. “Well then. Thats concluded. You may return to the other room if you like,” Rarity dismissed. “If it's all the same to you mediator. I’d like to watch,” murmured the new arrival. Rarity paused for a moment before chuckling. “Very well darling. It is your call,” Rarity declared. “You just couldn't fucking listen, could you?” Gilda spat, glaring at Fern. “Wha-what? You're just taking her side?” Fern declared. “Just like that? On the word of some whore?” “I’ve had to sit here enough damn times to know that when that while the light of that lantern lands on you, can't tell a lie. So, Fern. If you really didn't do it, just state that you didn't do it,” Gilda shot back. “Well, go on darling,” Rarity offered. “I did- I didn't do-” Fern’s face contorted as if he was fighting his own tongue. “I did it. Fuck!” Gilda just sighed. “Well, then darling. I’m afraid you know the punishment for such a transgression,” Rarity declared, withdrawing the long silver knife from the table. “If you don't fight back I’ll make it as clean as I can.” “I told you the girl was off limits. But did you listen?” Gilda muttered. “What? You can't be serious Gilda. We’re the fucking predators and you’re just handing me over like that? Come on if we fight her together we-” Fern tried to say. In a surge of motion, Gilda leaped up and struck him in the breadbasket with enough force to knock the kirin to his knees. Wheezing, and gasping for breath, he grabbed at his midsection, gulping for air that would not come. “Yes, we are the predators but that means that we respect strength, and the brotherhood is strong. Thus we respect them,” Gilda explained, kneeling down in front of the kirin. “We may stalk the prey of this world, but we are not alone out there. We give a wide berth to the others who feed upon the weak.” Gilda rose back into a stand. “And now they will feed on you, as is their right as the strong,” Gilda concluded, turning away from the still gasping kirin. “You have my apologies mediator Rarity. I did not believe even he was foolish enough to defy me.” “Perhaps you should keep your men on shorter leashes,” Rarity offered with a chuckle. “Hmm, perhaps we should,” Gilda muttered before walking away. Rarity strode forward, and knelt down, pressing a hand against the Kirin’s shoulder. “Shhh now darling. Go softly, go with dignity,” Rarity whispered. The man tried to swing a wild haymaker aimed at the suit-wearing woman, but Rarity simply weaved around it like she were water. In a flash of steel, the glimmering dagger plunged into his throat, disappearing inside the kirin all the way to the hilt. As fast as it thrust forward, it was pulled back and away, sending the crimson vitae of its victim across the floor. Now clean, the blade was folded in half and slipped back beneath Rarity’s suit, tucked securely into some unseen pocket. Fern gurgled and scrambled for a few more seconds before falling still, his eyes became distant, unseeing. “Satisfied?” Asked Rarity, turning to the unseen pony. “Y…” the unseen pony gulped audibly. “Yes.” “Excellent,” Rarity proclaimed. “Take the week off. Return to your family.” “I can still work, I can-” “That was not a request,” Rarity interrupted, her stern expression melting into a soft smile. “Worry not darling. I have already smoothed things over with your superior.” “But I won't make any money,” murmured the pony. “Oh, darling. I would not order you from work if it wasn't paid,” Rarity declared. “The next time you collect your earnings you will find that you will find a small bonus for assisting me in taking out the trash.” “Oh… thank you mediator Rarity,” murmured the unseen girl. “No thanks needed darling. Now then. Let us leave this place quickly. I feel like I’m about to get tetanus just sitting here,” Rarity murmured in disgust. “Yes mediator Rarity,” agreed the other female. I watched the pair go before laying there, in silent awe of what had just been revealed to me. What did this mean for the story of friendship of magic? What did this mean to the eventual redemption of Luna? What implications could this have for the elements of harmony? There were so many possibilities, so many concerns, and so many variables that I had never thought had even been in play to begin with. I just assumed that although this world was different, that who the elements of harmony chose would remain the same. Yet obviously that couldn't be true, as Rarity sure didn't seem like the generous type. Okay, so she was still generous in one way but definitely not in another. “Augh. This is making my head hurt,” I murmured, clawed hands gripping either side of my skull. “Go home. Rest first. Worry later.”