//------------------------------// // There Are Angels In The Sounds // Story: The Mysterious Mare-Do-Well: Year One // by Brony_Fife //------------------------------// Prologue ~There Are Angels in the Sounds~ Good morning, Canterlot. This is KPON morning news. I'm Shooting Star. In the news today, Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard Shining Armor stepped down from his position to take the reigns of Police Commissioner Top Brass, who was killed three nights ago by a mysterious assailant. When asked for comment, he only had this to say: Shining Armor looked into the crowd of reporters, hiding his "camera-anxiety" like a pro. "As ordered by Her Majesty the Princess, it is my honor to lead the police in their crusade to protect the ponies of Canterlot. I served under Her Majesty for two years as Captain protecting her. Now the time has come I do the same for her children." He breathed deep. "I only hope I can be half the commissioner Top Brass was. His killer will be brought to justice." Shining Armor is the youngest Captain of the Royal Guards to date, and now that he has taken the place of Top Brass, it seems he's aiming to be the youngest Police Commissioner as well. The votes for his placement on the CPD were unanimous, with his loyalty to the ponies of Equestria taken into great consideration. In other news, strange sightings of a shadowy figure have terrorized citizens of Canterlot for the past three months. While no footage has been taken of this masked figure, there have been numerous photographs and local sightings. “I definitely think she’s real,” said one Canterlot citizen. He nervously scratched at his thinning mane. “I… just dunno what she’s doin’. Like… is what she’s doin’… safe? Or right? I ‘unno.” A local teen rolled her eyes. Light seemed to reflect off every piercing on her face. “So some attention [expletive deleted] is getting her jollies scarin’ the [expletive deleted] outta ponies. Big whoop.” She moved a long black forelock behind her ear. “Y’know there’s this big crime wave goin’ on right now? With all these real ponies getting hurt? Whaddaya doin’ makin’ a big deal outta some urban bigfoot? Go find some other dumb [expletive deleted] to go make a sensation out of.” “I saw her run by my apartment window,” said an elderly mare. “It was late at night, so I didn’t get the best view, but I could definitely make out the hat and cape. Her pale eyes seemed to just... glow in the dark.” The look in her eyes became somber for a few seconds, before she looked back up to the camera. “I’m not sure I know what it is she aims to do, and that, quite frankly, scares me.” While Canterlot’s opinions on her motives are divided, it seems this masked individual, this "Mysterious Mare-Do-Well", does indeed exist. Any further information, including motivation or identity, however, is unknown at this time. In the top news story of the hour, several dead bodies were found just outside of the home of Gyre Gimble on Wabe Avenue last night in what is already being called the worst killing this winter. Viewers are strongly cautioned, as the next images to be shown on this news program are very disturbing… Winter stopped by Canterlot around the end of October, the city welcoming her old friend. He embraced her with an arctic hug as they greeted, covering Canterlot with piles of snow on every roof and a chill in the air. The two sat down to converse over a dinner of building lights in darkness, but unfortunately, Canterlot had quite a bit of bad news to impart. Her crime rate had become worse since Winter had seen her last. Criminals were running up and down her streets like obnoxious head lice, and refused to behave themselves no matter who her seasonal guest was. It was particularly bad when poor Summer was here. At least when Autumn visited, a strange shadow descended and scared her criminal plague. She wept when she recounted the death of her faithful Police Commissioner. Winter dried her tears, and told her things were about to get better. Afterward, he took Canterlot to bed. In the streets of Canterlot, when the chilly night fell, criminals of every stripe haunted the alleys and warehouses. Plotting. Scheming. Hiding. Hurting. Always the hurting. There was no real way to avoid pain in Canterlot these days, no matter if you were a part of the rich elite or a pauper on the street. Crime was ruthless and did not discriminate: anypony was fair game. This chilly and unfortunate night, a young mare sat next to a lamppost, watching the snowflakes around her dance in the air as they descended slowly to the ground to join their fellows. The black duffel bag at her side housed her necessities. She sniffed back a strand of mucous that Winter seemed intent on drawing out of her. She shifted her weight from one side to the other and scratched at her electric-blue mane. Nervously, Vinyl Scratch adjusted her purple-tinted glasses again, for the fourth time in two minutes of standing there, waiting. Waiting for the Angels. Six murder victims line the sidewalk in front of Gyre Gimble’s house. Among the dead are stallions, mares... and two teenage foals. Several had their tongues removed and cast aside, not even a few feet away from their victims. All were severely beaten to death, with many showing multiple lacerations and open cut wounds. The witness further explains our story. There were Angels in the sounds. She always knew they were there, ever since she was a child. They would tell her secrets, like that Mom was cheating on Daddy with one of the neighbors or that Daddy was lying about quitting the bottle. The Angels never lied, so when they asked her to do something, she’d do it. The Angels always looked out for Vinyl Scratch, ever since she was small, so she would follow their advice. The first thing they’d asked her to do was make sure Daddy actually quit the bottle. The Angels led her around her house, finding stash after stash of bottles and liquor. Daddy found out. There were Angels in the sounds as his hoof pounded across her face again and again—Angels crying in heartfelt apology. As Daddy stormed off to the nearest bar, the Angel that was the ringing in her ears held her tight, telling her it wasn’t her fault. Her father was just a very, very bad pony. She wept in its arms that night, until it died, as all Angels do when their sound stops. When a sound stops, the Angels living in it dies. The Angels who were in the music Vinyl Scratch played died when the tape ran out. The Angels in the sound of Canterlot traffic lived all day long, but died when quiet nights like tonight rolled around. When a sound stops, the Angel living in it dies. They had very short lives, but all the Angels loved her, beginning to end. The Angels would later tell her more things, more secrets. They would ask her to do things, and she would never question them, even when it hurt, like with Daddy. They asked her to learn music, so that they could converse with her more eloquently. She loved the Angels in the music, and they loved her. The conversations they held were always thoughtful and insightful. Usually sweet. Always angry. That was the one thing Vinyl Scratch never quite understood about the Angels in the sounds. They would almost always be angry—never with her, though; they were always quick to mention that it was never her fault they were angry. It was Mom cheating on Daddy that made them angry. It was Daddy being a drunk that made them angry. It was her boyfriend having "secret meetings" with other stallions in town that made them angry. But it was never her. Never. She loved the Angels, and they loved her. They always looked out for her. Later, after the cheating mother’s face was shattered, after the drunkard father’s back was splintered, after the cheater was drowned, then the Angels would be happy instead of angry. She pleased them. But tonight? Tonight was the very angriest she had ever heard the Angels. As she played on her turn-table, they spat at her. She played her bass, and they howled. She kept time on her drums, and they cursed and yelled and threw such fits. So she asked what was wrong this time. Mr. Gimble, age fifty-two and looking nearly ten years younger, nervously looked at the camera. He took a quick breath before giving his side of the story. “Well,” he started, quickly wetting his lips, “it started when some carolers came by. They sang their little song, meant to lift the spirits of ponies who heard it. That’s the idea, anyway. But with crime as high as it’s ever been in Canterlot these days, y’know, even at the beginning, I wondered what the heck they were doing out there this late at night.” “It’s not you, Sexy,” they said. “It’s never you. It’s that top-hat wearing punk. She’s up to something. She wants you to do something for her instead of for us.” She sat down and thought this over. Her room had become quiet. She needed the quiet sometimes. When there were no Angels for her to converse with, Vinyl Scratch could think. Right now, she needed to think. Outside were more of the Angels. Cats fighting over food. The neighbors’ loud and obnoxious lovemaking. A car having trouble starting. All these Angels offered suggestions as to what Vinyl Scratch could do. They were very good suggestions. Except the one offered by the cat-fight, since it simply wouldn’t do to kill the screwy mare in the top hat. The top hat-wearing mare was certainly peculiar. Hard to ignore in a crowd. Spoke in riddles and wordplay a lot of the time. Vinyl Scratch was almost certain the Top Hat Mare was not aware of the Angels in the Sounds. Instead, her Angels lived in hats. She had many hats. Many hats, many Angels. She was the first friend Vinyl Scratch had ever made who was not an Angel. They often conversed over some tea with guests the Top Hat Mare invited from various parts of Canterlot. When the guests misbehaved, the Top Hat Mare would sic her pet on them. The Angels that lived in their final screams told Vinyl Scratch that they were not good ponies anyway. They deserved to be gobbled. But the Top Hat Mare and Vinyl Scratch became friends after several of these parties. So it came that the Top Hat Mare had asked Vinyl Scratch to do something for her. To get something for her: a sword. To fetch it and something-something-something, “come galumphing back.” Vinyl Scratch hit her head with her hooves as hard as she could, trying to jar some memory. It was so hard remembering words that Angels don’t speak! Vinyl Scratch came to a decision. She would meet with the Top-Hat Mare. She left her apartment with her necessities, which were very few. If she needed more musical instruments, she could always ask for the Top Hat Mare to help her find some. Across the street from her was a stray dog howling. The Angel in the howl told her that time is running short. Either she can go with her friend, or she can go with the Angels. One or the other. Not both. For the first time in a long time, Vinyl Scratch felt terrified. He was visibly shaking. The camera pony was almost tempted to just shut his camera off, but Gimble continued. “It was so bizarre. That’s the word I could use to describe it. At first, it felt so surreal. Like, ya can’t believe it’s happening. She shows up, and I don’t get a good look at her where I’m standing, but I hear her. It was too dark to make out too many features, but I saw her blue mane.” He shivered. “Her eyes were glowin’ purple in the moonlight.” Gimble looked up and caught a smirk from the reporter. “I know it sounds crazy, glowin’ eyes and all that, but with all these unicorns with their magic these days—” At this, Gimble looked to the camera pony, who happened to be a unicorn “—no offense, but with all this magic they’re learning these days, a little eye-glowing’s not all that weird. It was the lighting, I think, that made her look so scary.” “But I thought you loved me!” she said aloud to the Angel in the howl. The dog growled at her, and the Angel in the growl said, “Of course we do, Sexy! But only if you love us back! You cannot go with that Top-Hat Mare and still be with us! It is either us or her.” Again, Vinyl Scratch adjusted her tinted glasses. The Top Hat Mare told her to meet her at the usual spot if she wanted to fetch this sword for her. If she… If she REALLY wanted to be friends with her, that is. She was almost to that spot now. She had almost gone with the Top Hat Mare. “D-Don’t make this hard,” she stammered. She felt hot tears well up in her eyes. “Please don’t.” Nearby, a homeless stallion rummaged in a garbage can when he heard Vinyl Scratch sniffling, begging. He turned around, no longer interested in the contents of the can. He took in this curious scene: the mare talking to this stray dog as if it were her lover threatening to leave her. His aged boots scratched against the concrete as he adjusted his weight from one side to the other. The mare’s head snapped toward him so quickly, he cringed. She had heard the Angel in the scratch. It said, “Hard?! Sexy, this should be an easy choice! Don’t you love us anymore?!” Vinyl Scratch felt like screaming. She couldn’t hide the cracking in her voice as she shouted to the vagrant, “Of course I love you!” He raised an eyebrow at this sudden outburst. “Uh… Lady?” he asked. “Is… everything OK, or…?” The dog barked. The Angel in the bark snarled, “If you LOVED us, you wouldn’t even be here right now. Why do you want to go with that Top Hat Mare friend of yours?! You love her more than you love us! Even after all we’ve been through together!” That was when the homeless stallion held a gasp. The mare before him became a ghost. If it was one thing that made this surreal situation delve into terrifying territory, it was that she was fast. The dog didn’t have time to react before she was on top of it, slamming it with all the force she could muster, breaking its head under her hooves. “Anyway, she shows up, screamin’ about angels. I distinctly remember her yelling about angels. That was when the carolers, like any equine body would, just stopped and stared at her like she was an alien. Then she fell down and started crying." The reporter looked at him with a cocked head. "Hey, don’t lookit me like that, man, I told you this all started out weird.” The snow around them became red. The dog whimpered as the blows came down like a relentless torrent, slamming his skull again and again until finally he was quiet. The Angels in the whimpers cursed at her. They were never angry with her before, and now that they were, Vinyl Scratch was terrified she would lose them. She stopped. The rage she felt defused so suddenly, so instantly, that for a few seconds, it felt like it never really happened. The only evidence that existed was beneath her, reduced to a mess of meat. She inhaled deeply, wiping at her face, smearing it with the dog’s blood. She twitched like mad, unable to control these bizarre spasms. She blamed the cold. The hobo had seen enough. He slowly began to turn, attempting to sneak away. If he could just quietly make it to the chain-link fence there, he could climb over it and escape. Just had to hope that this madmare behind him, sitting over the dead dog like a predator after a fresh kill, bathing in its blood, wouldn’t turn her attention back to him. As the vagrant began his quiet escape, Vinyl Scratch kept her ears open. There were no Angels. No wind was picking up. Canterlot was so deeply asleep that her soft snores were too silent for the Angels to live in them. They… …They left. The Angels had abandoned her. Vinyl Scratch took off her purple-tinted glasses and wiped at her face more intensely, sniffling. She felt her cheeks and lips grow hot. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled in a thin, weak voice. “I’m so, so sorry. I just… Why can’t I have both of you?” Okay, thought the hobo. Made it to the fence. Just gotta climb it and I’m outta here. He lifted a hoof and put it forth, onto the fence, and began to climb. The chain links began to sing as he ascended. “You can’t have us both,” said the Angels in the chain links. “The Top Hat Mare wishes to use you as a pawn. We are your real friends. We always did what was best for you.” At this, Vinyl Scratch jumped off the dog. Red hoofprints got left in the snow as she stomped over to the chain-link fence. The hobo nearly screamed but continued his climb, doubling his pace, trying his damndest to just get the Tartarus away from this crazy mare. “What was best?!” she shouted. “Since when were your little favors you asked me ever in my best interest?!” She punched at the fence, eliciting both a gasp from the hobo and a shiver from the fence itself. “We were looking out for you!” rebutted the Angel in the shiver. The Angel in the gasp nodded its head in agreement. Again, Vinyl Scratch pounded at the fence. “We were trying to protect you from those who would hurt you!” said the Angel in the fence. “Oh yeah?! Well, I did what you told me to do, and you know what happened?! Daddy hit me! Mom hated me! I got ignored! Nothing you asked me to do ever improved my life!” She shook with rage as the hobo dropped on the other side of the fence, landing with a thud. “How is that OUR fault?!” sneered the Angel in the thud. The hobo ran for his life, his gallop slamming against cold pavement. “Maybe it was all because YOU kept screwing up!” barked the Angel in the gallop. “Oh SURE!” Vinyl Scratch said, throwing her hooves up in the air angrily. “Blame ME! Blame me like Daddy did! I drove him to drink! Or Mom! She never wanted me because having me around made her feel old!” The tears began again as she slunk down onto the ice-cold, trash-ridden cobblestone ground. The Angels said nothing else for a long time. Vinyl Scratch looked up at the dark night sky as the snow continued to fall. Everything was quiet. Quiet was good. It gave her a moment to think. Why did she need the guidance of the Angels anyway? All their directions ever did was end up hurting her. The Top Hat Mare was always there for her in ways the Angels couldn’t be. She loved the Angels, and the Angels loved her, so she thought they would understand. She didn’t ever question them until tonight, and all of a sudden, that love had broken so abruptly. Had the Angels truly abandoned her? “I-I’m sorry,” she moaned as she slogged across the pavement, past the dog, to the lamppost where her duffel bag still was. “I… I just wanted a friend.” She fell over on top of the duffel bag and buried her face in her hooves. “And this,” Gimble says. He swears he’s about to stutter, so he pauses, swallows, collects himself, then begins again. “This was when it all started getting really scary. The carolers, y’know, I guess they get curious. Anypony would. Some chick showed up yelling about angels and then started weeping like a baby. “So this one caroler, a guy, he walks over to her, I guess to make sure she’s all right. The moment she stands up?” Mr. Gimble breathed a terrified sigh and shook his head. “The moment she got up, man, I shot for the telephone. I knew right then and there somethin’… somethin’ really, really bad was about to happen.” [/hr] How much time had Vinyl Scratch sat there? It felt like hours crawled by. But eventually, there came another Angel, from another sound. It started out low, then started to grow. A few streets away, there was joyous singing of Hearth’s-Warming, celebrating the unity of the pony races. Joy. That was the word. The Angel in the singing was full of joy. Was this Angel different from the rest? Vinyl Scratch shot up and looked in the direction of the song. She smiled. She could feel its joy. She got up, picking up her duffel bag and running in the direction of the sound, once again stepping on the dog’s carcass as she ran. “Angel!” she cried. “Oh, Angel, please don't—I’m sorry, I—” But before she could finish whatever thought she attempted to make, she came close enough to the singing to hear the Angel in the song whisper lovingly to her. The Angel sounded like a patient mother who understood her daughter was having a very rough day. “It was wrong of us to judge you like that, Sexy,” the Angel said. “Of course you only wanted friends.” Vinyl Scratch rounded the corner, her hooves slamming against the snow-covered cobblestone. Another lamppost lit the ground, making the cobblestone look almost golden. In this light, Vinyl Scratch could make out the carolers, standing out in front of a house. "Angel!" she cried. "Thank you, Angel, I—" The carolers went silent. All eyes fell to her. When the carolers stopped singing, the Angel in the singing died. Vinyl Scratch’s heart plummeted. The only Angel willing to forgive her for her rebellion had died. Vinyl Scratch fell to the ground, and wept. One of the carolers, a slim Earth pony with an attractive reddish-brown pelt, took a step forward. The other carolers watched as he asked her, “Miss, um… is… is everything… OK?” Vinyl Scratch took off her purple-tinted glasses and wiped at her face. So much blood. Couldn’t get the tears away. So much blood, so much tears, so much, so much. She looked up, breathing hard, her lips pulling back into a snarl. The carolers saw all the blood that covered her and started backing away. The slim Earth pony gasped in terror at the sight. Under the lamp’s golden light, her eyes sparkled furiously, rimmed with red. She looked like a vengeful angel, the very image of the Pale Horse herself. She wiped at her face again. The tears gone, she could see the carolers. No. She saw the killers. They killed her Angel because they stopped singing. “You killed my Angel,” she growled.