//------------------------------// // Let's Try Something New // Story: Auntie Adagio // by Rune Soldier Dan //------------------------------// A thousand years on Earth was a long time. Too long for the defeated sirens to keep what little loyalty once bound them together. Adagio had wandered alone for many decades and did not feel lessened for it, starting petty fights to sup the emotion then disappearing to a new bar, city, or country. Like those bats who drink blood from unwitting cows, a silent parasite in an oblivious throng. It wasn’t a comfortable existence. Rage and bitterness sustained her health, but she couldn’t put them in her gas tank. Her primary source of funds was seducing dupes into privacy and robbing them at knife-point, with their betrayed anger only sweetening the deed. A long stint in Seattle had begun to draw attention, and so some hours ago she decided it was time to move on. A stolen car, a CD burned with the few human songs she enjoyed, and a long, rainy drive to Canterlot. Adagio heard the crash before she saw it, above the piano music and the cascade upon her windshield. The desperate, futile screech of brakes on wet pavement, the explosive scream as steel wrapped around steel and flesh. She didn’t intend to stop. It was none of her concern. But the semi truck had teetered and tipped, sprawling across both lanes and into the poor sedan coming the other way. The road was blocked, and Adagio didn’t trust her clunker in the muddy swamp to each side. Her initial plan to grumble and wait fell away when she heard the screams and felt them upon her tongue. The despair of children – unformed, immature. Nourishing, but like an under-ripe banana the taste left much to be desired. Something else was mixed in, though. Fear of a more intense, mature variety. It was enough to lure her from the car. Trapped this far from anywhere, there was no telling when her next meal might come. Adagio held up an expensive umbrella and approached calmly. Two human brats wailed in the back seat, with one corner of the semi occupying most of where the front used to be. Adagio peered in and flinched. Ageless monster she might be, but she was a dainty one and gore churned her stomach. She looked past what used to be a man to the woman next to him. A pretty thing, at least from the chest-up. The rest was gone, and it was clear she was not long for this world. Brilliant blue-green eyes watered, her mouth unable to bring in more than little gasps as the strength to do any more fell away. She beheld Adagio, eyes wide and crying. Adagio looked back to her with cool indifference. The woman’s voice was shrill, pressed out by the last effort of ruined lungs. “Please look after my children.” It wasn’t safe in there. Adagio brought the brats to her car, airily promising that their parents would be fine. The boy gave her a look that showed he did not believe her, but for some reason he followed her lead. Though crying himself, he busied himself comforting the smaller girl. Adagio eyed them in the mirror. Both had more freckles than face, certainly adorable to those who cared. Sirens appeared through the rainy dark. Just as well, someone had to clear the road for her. Hopefully they wouldn’t check her license – a plan was forming in her mind that didn’t involve any dead policemen. She turned in the seat, feigning a kindly smile to the children. The girl stared past her with mouth half-open, so she looked to the boy. “What are your names?” His throat worked, and his glassy eyes trembled. A desperately brave face that only barely held in the scream. “Macintosh ‘n Applejack.” “What about your parents? The police will be asking.” The questions actually seemed to help, giving him a bit of distraction. “Pear Butter and Bright Mac. Lady, I–” “Shush, dearie.” Adagio reached back and stroked a hand along his cheek. “I’ll need your address in case your parents aren’t able to drive you home.” The boy bristled. “I know that they’re–” “Shush, shush.” Adagio tilted her head to Applejack, and that did the trick. The boy fell quiet. Slim pink arms reached over to wrap around his sister. “Two Applewood Lane.” “Thanks, sweetie. I’ll talk to the police, you two wait right here.” Adagio passed back the little snacks she pilfered at the gas station, a bag of gummies and a canned tea. Then she left and approached the sirens, this time leaving the umbrella in the car. A little running of the makeup would add to the effect nicely. The cops didn’t even look at her license. To them she was just a bystander, and a useful one. With a wavering voice she confirmed the identity of the couple in the sedan. She was a family friend and would take the young children to their home. Yes, she knew the address. No, she didn’t know the truck driver and didn’t care that he was dead. Maybe the police would have been more thorough if it wasn’t raining so bad. She fed them a little line about the children being traumatized and they agreed to leave them alone. A truck arrived during the chatter and pulled the semi off the road. Adagio returned to her car to find Macintosh feeding his sister gummies, one at a time. She stared forward throughout it all, only chewing when he told her to. “I’ll be taking you home,” Adagio said. Neither answered. The police gave her an escort. Maybe they weren’t as trusting as they seemed, but it was just as well. She loitered outside as they broke the news to the old granny with the baby in her arms. The wails carried to Adagio outside as she silently waited her turn. The grief was sharp and tangy on her tongue. A rare treat, much harder to engineer than other emotions. Even the grief of funerals was nine-tenths expended, but here here and now… well, the detour was already worth it. She brought in the kids – that was important, for the granny to see her bringing them in. The woman didn’t question her presence, embracing the children as they cried in each others’ arms while the police awkwardly stood in wait. Adagio slipped her introduction into that vulnerable moment – “A friend of Pear Butter, but don’t worry about me right now.” – and set herself to work. Fixing a snack for the kids and helping their tear-stained faces through the necks of pajamas. Diaper changes for the baby she caught was named Apple Bloom. By the time the police were gone and children were in bed, Adagio had thoroughly ingratiated herself to the woman, now formally introduced as Granny Smith. The old matriarch had recovered enough to be curious, but without suspicion of the stranger helping so willingly in her hour of need. Adagio fed the baby formula as she fed the woman lies. She was an old friend of Pear Butter, though alas not a close one. Pear was her rock, her calm voice at the end of the phone when Adagio’s life was falling apart. Adagio had finally hit rock bottom, and Pear invited her to stay at the house. She was on her way when she saw the accident. “This isn’t a coincidence,” Adagio said urgently. Humans loved to believe things weren’t coincidence. “I can help, Miss Smith. The kids, the farm, whatever you need me to. It’s all I can do for her now.” More tears. A warm embrace. Adagio’s cool gaze looked out past the hug, taking in the living room of her new home. A soft, lived-in kind of place, with furniture worn enough to be comfy and hand-sewn decorations. It would do nicely. A sound came from above their heads. The wailing of children. “I’d hoped they were tired enough to sleep.” Granny sighed and turned to the stairs. Adagio followed. “Let me help.” Granny was tired, herself. “Alright. You take Applejack, I’ll take Little Mac.” Adagio pressed open the door she pointed to. A clean little room, with toys returned neatly to a wooden box. Applejack pressed herself to the pillow, shaking and crying. Her six year-old brain was finally digesting the reality of what had happened. Adagio sat on her bed. With one hand, she began stroking the girl’s back. And she began to sing. The language was that of the sirens. Even with her magic waned low after a long thousand years, the words themselves had power. Bars and parks across the world had heard them whispered to the air, picking at the rough edges of hearts to spark brawls and break-ups. But these were different words. They balmed and soothed, filling the soul with contentment instead of anger. In the past Adagio used them to dodge trouble or access clubs; here, the light hypnosis calmed the young girl’s heart, and those of the two in the neighboring room. It did not erase the grieving love, but warmed and comforted it. The crying stopped, the sobs became still. Adagio watched Applejack’s sleeping face a moment longer. Adorable, even with her eyes red and puffy. Really, they were all cute in their own way, even the baby. Strictly optional, but it would make the coming years pass more pleasantly. She slipped downstairs. The granny had fallen asleep to her song, laying in bed with Macintosh. Adagio could explore the house for a guest room later. The couch would do well enough for tonight. Actually, it was wonderfully comfortable. Far more so than the cheap hotels she usually flopped down in. She stared at the ceiling, willing herself to stay awake long enough to review the day in her head. Then, finding it to have gone perfectly, she smiled. One day, some biologist might learn sirens and changelings held a common ancestor, though their evolutions took vastly different turns. Changelings adapted to life on the crowded land by becoming parasites for affection, while the unforgiving ocean turned sirens into predators who drank on fear, despair, and hate. Love was strange to the siren palate, and not in a good way. While changelings tasted negative emotions as uncomfortably sour, love to sirens was like reheated mashed potatoes and plain chicken. Yet negative emotions are short-lived, despite themselves. Even the deepest hate fades over time to a thing thought rather than felt. This transient nature mattered little in the darkness beneath the waves where all was transient, nor when the empowered sirens simply raised havoc wherever they pleased. Those days were gone. Feeding now took preparation and care. Adagio was tired of acrid, smokey bars and restaurants where even the anger tasted like grease. Crappy motels that devoured most of her income and left her pathetically going to hospitals to remove bedbugs. The endless cycle of resentment growing in city underbellies towards the woman who always seemed to start fights, leaving Adagio silently judging when would be safest to skip town, starving for a few days to set up somewhere new. She was ready for something more reliable, more comfortable. Love wasn’t tasty, but it was consistent. These dupes would sustain her for decades if she played her cards right, and so far she’d been perfect. So Adagio woke up first, beating the family’s farmer instincts to rouse them with smells of eggs and frying meat. The first little tastes of their budding love went down fine with her bacon. She listened softly as the family reminisced, distracted the children as Granny began calling family to spread word of the terrible news. It didn’t take long for Applejack to drop Adagio’s new nickname which the others quickly took up. More than a nickname – a symbol, a confirmation of her place in the family. She was theirs, now, or so they thought. They were hers. “Auntie Adagio.”