//------------------------------// // Under the Bat's Wing // Story: Trotham Knight // by Elitist Scum //------------------------------// "Master Mane, you're home! Will you be staying in Trotham long enough to unpack your bags?" the aged unicorn asked the light cyan earth pony nonchalantly. "Yes Alfalfa, my travels are done for now." Bruce said to his faithful pony-servant. "Excellent master Bruce. A package came in the mail for you yesterday from London." Bruce wheeled around, spying the box sitting nest to his father's old study. As Bruce pushed the doors open he carried the box in with him, and opened it up with all the glee and excitement one would expect from a young foal on Hearths Warming day. Pulling the first book out of the now open box, Bruce trotted to the chair and coffee table pair in the middle of the study, in front of a gargantuan window overlooking Trotham city, sat in the chair and looked at the book he had grabbed. "A Treatise on the Criminal MInd" By Sir Maxwell Floppy" he read the title off aloud. "Alfalfa, listen to this, 'Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot-" Bruce started, "Yes sir. Poetry worthy of Edgar Alan Pony himself. As soon as my heart stops exploding, I will prepare dinner. Is there anything in particular you desire?" The butler asked with the enthusiasm of a dead corpse. "Something light Alfalfa. Tonight is the night." "And what pray-tell is tonight?" the unicorn returned "Tonight is the night Trotham takes a step into the light." Bruce replied with a determined look in his eyes. "Oh... yes, I'd hoped you'd given up on that venture years ago." The butler said with a hint of worry lingering on the last few syllables. "Alfalfa Ponysworth, you have taken care of me ever since my parents died. You don't need to worry anymore. I'll be fine." "Master Mane. I have raised you since your parents were taken from you. You have spent nearly your whole life preparing for this moment, and I ask of you, I beg of you, be careful." the unicorn pleaded. "Alfalfa, I will." "I hope so." Alfalfa half whispered. ----------- Alfalfa had sat within earshot of the news for the past two hours that master Bruce had been gone for, hoping that there would be no news of him, worrying that there might not be any news. "In this case, any news at all might be bad..." He worried to himself. Whilst washing the dishes from the dinner he had prepared for himself after master Mane's departure, the silence that had filled Mane Manor for nearly 18 years was abruptly shattered into billions of pieces with a loud THUNK, and a loud crashing noise emanating from the entrance way. As Alfalfa hurried from the kitchen to hallway, he could feel a slight draft against his coat as he approached the door, which was wide open and the scattered porcelain shards from the vase that used to rest on a table next to the door. The next thing that caught his attention was the trail of blood leading to the study. Alfalfa picked his way silently to the door that sat slightly ajar, and peered in, seeing the obviously failed night of crime fighting laying slumped in the study chair. Alfalfa broke his reverie and ran off to get the first aid box and some other advanced medical supplies. ----------- He'd failed. He had failed in the one pursuit that mattered. He'd failed. As Bruce sat there feeling his blood slowly trickle out of his body. He'd heard Alfalfa. He didn't care. He didn't care if he lived or died. He'd failed. He'd done more damage to himself and others in two hours than any street criminal could hope to accomplish in a night. He'd decked a pimp on his home territory, been stabbed by several vicious hookers, he had been shot by an officer, and to top it all off he'd assaulted another officer. Bruce looked at the book he'd read aloud from only a short time ago, and repeated himself; "Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot." Bruce thought back to when he'd gotten his cutie mark, it had been a mere week before his parents had been ripped away from him... He'd been playing chess with his father, a board game they both liked because of the strategy and thinking involved to win. He'd specifically asked "Don't go easy on me dad. Or I'll never forgive you." "Oh really?" His father had replied whilst bearing an amused grin on his face. "Yes really." Bruce had retorted. "Fine by me, Neighpolean." After 20 minutes of playing, Bruce had been pushed in a corner by his father's superior age and experience, having lost most of his pieces, managing to only take five of his father's. He'd somehow managed to turn the losing game around, and when he'd put his father in checkmate, he'd caught a brief flash in his peripherals, had felt a sudden rush of something that could only be described as pure joy coursing through his body, as though someone had filled him with enough liquid happiness to feed the hungry of the world. He'd never actually figured out what his set of three, five point stars cutie mark meant. He had largely given up, consigning it one of the hundreds of unsolved mysteries in this world. Bruce looked up at the family portrait sitting in the study over the mantle place, at his father, at his calm, loving eyes,and started to speak to the long dead ghost of his beloved father, "The don't fear me. To them, I'm just another police officer. Not even that. Tonight I was a vigilante. I'm just a pony, nothing more to them. I need to be something they will fear. But I am not something they will fear." Bruce was broken from his blood loss induced daydreaming by the faint sound of fluttering coming from behind him. As he looked around the room for the source of the intrusive noise, all he saw was wall; solid, impassable brick and mortar. Then a blur caught his eye. Something was in the old Grandfather clock in the study. As Bruce pulled himself out of the chair that now contained a nice pool of his blood, he made his way to the clock and pulled open the door to the swinging pendulum, only to be assaulted by bitterly cold air and a large bat that proceeded to crash through the window overlooking Trotham. Bruce stumbled over to the chair he'd been content to die in minutes earlier and read aloud again from the book; "Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot." Bruce looked up at the skyline over Trotham, where the rose fingers of Celestia's dawn were reaching out to take hold of the world, and uttered only five words, "I will become a bat." ----------- "A bat? Sir, are you sure you were not hit on the head during your little outing last night?" Alfalfa inquired with a concerned look on his face. "I'm fine. I want to work on something, a special suit, do you think you can help?" Bruce asked in between bites of his hay toast. "I think I can. Sewing runs quite prominently in my family. What kind of material did you have in mind?" "Arcanianite armor-mesh weave." Bruce replied while perusing the copy of Equestria Daily in his hooves. "And what prey tell is this 'Arcan-kite weave' that you speak of?" Alfred said, his voice dripping in disinterest comparable to that of a foal in school. "It's the lightest, most advanced armor to come out of Gryphon War Forges Interntional." Bruce explained to his faithful pony servant. "I've already had a large bulk order shipped this morning." He said as he peered over his newspaper at Alfalfa. "I take it this has something to do with your little bat fixation." the unicorn replied. "It does." Bruce smiled at his stoic butler. ------------ One Week Later The great and powerful Trixie had only come to Trotham to find work, but once again, bad luck had found it's way into her hooves. As she desperately searched about the alleyway she had fled down to escape her pursuers, she realized that there was no escape. The great and powerful Trixie had already tried to ward them off with her magic, but that had not panned out in her favor. They'd managed to stab and punch her once or twice, but that was the extent of her injuries. So far. As the four stallions closed in on her, Trixie heard the sound of hooves meeting concrete and assumed another assailant had joined her four attackers. Letting go of all hope, she shut her eyes, resigning herself to her fate. Then, almost as soon as she had shut her eyes, she heard a gruff voice, as though somepony's voice had been turned into sandpaper that was now grating on her ears, and that voice growled with fury the likes she had never heard, "You have two choices. Either get on your bellies and crawl like the worms you are and beg that mare for forgiveness, and I let you leave with the ability to speak coherently." "Or I hurt you." In the space of ten seconds, Trixie heard the symphony of five gunshots, the sickening sound of a shattered jaw, the primal yell of pain as something important broke, and the scream as a pony choked on his own teeth. Then, silence. As Trixie opened her eyes, she beheld a truly nightmarish sight. Somepony, or rather, something, was violently choking the last assailant, holding him a meter off the ground against a wall of the alleyway, speaking in that same sandpaper voice, "Tell them. Tell them ALL! Tell the mob bosses, the pimps, the dealers, the muscle ponies, the leg breakers, the hit men, TELL THEM ALL, that the streets belong to me. The night is mine. The night belongs to the Batpony." The great and powerful Trixie watched the thing drop the last assailant, who stumbled off into the darkness. Then it turned towards Trixie herself. "Please don't hurt me! Take what you want!" Trixie shouted, curling up in a ball. "Are you all right?" the demon replied "Just take my saddleba- what?" Trixie opened her eyes in disbelief, staring into the shadows where the voice emanated from, but meeting only two slits of white staring back at her. "Are you all right?" the eyes asked again. "Uhh, yes." Trixie said, as she began to stand up. "Thank y-" But the eyes had disappeared. As the great and powerful Trixie looked about, she saw only the pinprick of the shadow of something jumping away. ----------- Update. please tell me what you think. I'm still getting used to the format of FiMfiction, so I may go back and edit things later on. Please alert me to any errors you find, and give advice, tell me what needs work, what's ok, etc.