//------------------------------// // Chapter Twelve // Story: Clipped Wings // by Desrium //------------------------------// Chapter Twelve Only through trials and tribulation does one truly find out who they are, even if the revelation is not pleasant. The ground pounding gallop of earth pony Olympians was drowned out by the beast of metal and wood they carried behind them, the train snaking out behind them as they started the turn on the railway. The red cars behind the coal black locomotive canted gently along the way. Falcon Wing and Alana boarded at Ponyville. The train had just gone through the Canterlot tunnel. Falcon Wing was idly gazing out of the window and at the landscape rolling past them, laying on his bench and resting his chin on crossed forelegs, which in turn were rested on the small windowsill, thinking. The grassy countryside was broken by sparsely spaced trees. Far off in the distance there was a river cutting across the land and a bridge was erected where said river crossed paths with the rails quite a long way ahead. Beyond the river was an expansive stretch of huge green trees, which grew at the base of a massive mountain with frozen peaks. The mountain continued along the train tracks a large distance after they diverged past the bridge, the northern rail to Fillydelphia and the southern one to Baltimare. To the Shadow Sweep. The booth he and Alana rode in was not in as good condition as the one they stayed in during their time in Junction Town, but at least the boxcar was actually on the rails. Win some, lose some as they say. She was laying on her back upon her bench, flipping through a pre-war magazine of sorts, pages discolored and pictures faded. Falcon Wing didn't know where --or when, for that matter-- she got it. "It's been bugging me," Alana said absentmindedly. "this train has an engine... why do ponies need to pull it?" Falcon Wing looked back at her, a small smile on his face. He had read a few books on the subject. That was not to say he understood it too well either. "It's... complicated. You need coal for the locomotive to run but the ponies are what give it its pulling power," he replied. "You need coal for the engine but the engine isn't what gives the train its power?" Alana asked after lowering her magazine, her features contorted in confusion. "And Equestria doesn't have coal, before the megaspells the zebras traded it for gems..." Falcon Wing continued, which served to perplex that caramel mare further. "We had machines running on resources we didn't even have?" Falcon Wing shrugged. "It's best you don't linger on it. I'm sure there were a few key details missing from the Enclave archives about the subject." He was especially careful about mentioning the Enclave, wary of other ponies who shared his affinity for hearing things better left to the intended listener. The train thundered over the bridge that was a cobblestone arch. In its prime it would have been a work of art and a beauty to look at. Now it was a cobblestone arch given the Wasteland touch, struts and plating of aged metal used to keep it from falling apart. From there, the train swung around another, smaller mountain, though this one bore the scars of war, some part of it craggy and jagged where chunks of its rock face had been blown out ages ago. Opposite it was another patch of forest and another stream extended out from behind the trees, running into Horseshoe Bay. The city of Baltimare was at the end of the track. The train pulled into the station with a screech of metal and a slight lurch at the late noon hour. The doors slid open and ponies walked down the short stairs down to the platform. The station had a large triangular roof of shallow angles overhead. Large beams of metal stretched out above the platform. The roof was covered in what appeared to be light orange shingles, though there were some holes in the ceiling. Small rays of light shone down through them. The platform edge were lined with pillars of a similar color as the roof, each having dim lamps attached to them. The light levels were low -- much lower than outside where the sun shone uncontested -- but it was not too dark. Falcon Wing and Alana walked among the crowd of ponies, blending in fine with the others surprisingly well. Cloaks and armored barding were not so uncommon after all. Alana squinted her eyes stepping outside through the large gateway, Falcon Wing pulled his hood further out to shield his own. When they had adjusted in their own ways to their surroundings, they were amazed. Baltimare was surprisingly well preserved... or restored. Whichever of the two, the buildings looked amazing in comparison to the concrete and steel shells that had come to define the urban Wasteland. Windows were intact, the walls were clean and of bright colors. Even the roads were in great condition, chariots and wagons rolling smoothly over red bricks. The only gray in the city it seemed was the sidewalk, slightly marred by cracks and breaks but still quite above the Wasteland standard. This was the city with a foal murderer... and probably many other unsavory things that had yet to garner equal attention. "The DJ was right. We really can't have nice things," Falcon thought with a slight frown. He felt Alana wrap a foreleg around him, the mare apparently reading his mind through his expression. "We should get ourselves a place to stay while we're here. Then we see what we can do about the Sweep," she said. Falcon Wing nodded. "If we can't, we can always poke around the dumpsters to see what we can find," he said. "... What?" Alana deadpanned. "Life lesson I learned from Klaxon and Steiner," Falcon Wing replied. "but I'd rather have an actual room to stay in..." he added. "You are a strange little colt, mister hero," Alana said with a chuckle, letting the wingless pegasus go and then proceeding down the red road. Falcon Wing trotted after her, taking in the Baltimare architecture. Buildings with columns and extravagant buttresses, each being engraved with eye pleasing designs -- Falcon Wing felt as if he were living in the age he read so much about within the city. The two ponies came to a large plaza several blocks into the city, various merchant stalls established. Crowds of ponies did their business there, the air filled with salesponies advertising their wares. Around the stalls were the large luxury buildings, one of which had a large, dark green oval sign hanging from an overhang. In golden script the words "Hotel Hayweather" were visible. Falcon Wing looked around the lobby as Alana made the arrangements for the room. Other ponies adorned in fine attire stood around talking amongst themselves, chortling and giggling occasionally. It really was like looking at another time. It was a well maintained place, the dominating color of the walls and tiled floor was the same dark green as the sign outside, but light blues and black found their place in the decor and a few paintings. Paintings that were beginning to lose their colors but still offered something to the place. Falcon Wing noted there wasn't enough art in the Wasteland. Just posters advertising the commodities of the past... and the war time climate. Most of which were defiled by raiders in many... many ways, as if the act in itself was art. But the art of hanging bodies and slathering blood was an art better left forgotten to the halls of time. There was also chandelier hanging over the lobby, shedding a dim yellow light over the floor. "Steiner should have hung the lamp. Would've added a dash of class to the cellar," he thought with a smirk. Minutes later Alana appeared beside him. "Any luck?" he inquired. She nodded. "It's cost us a fair amount of caps but we have a room on the second floor for two weeks." "Two weeks, huh?" Falcon replied with a hoof on his chin. "Do you think we'd be able to get at Sweepy in two weeks?" he asked, again being cautious when mentioning the sensitive subject. "Nope," Alana said honestly. "Which is why I got a job here, so we have a steady flow of caps to buy food and keep the room a bit longer if we have to. Should be fun being a receptionist, meeting new ponies every day!" "Should I get a job too?" the red colt asked. Alana stifled a fit of laughter -- he didn't quite appreciate that -- and replied "I think you'd be better off heading over to City Hall and informing the mayor, sheriff or whoever else is in charge about what you plan on contributing to the Sweepy business. We didn't come to Baltimare to become vigilantes, did we?" "I suppose not... and we could get a better grip on the situation with information right from the city's guards... but would they really take a pony like me seriously?" Falcon Wing responded. "Who was the pony who said you're going alone?" Alana said with a smile. "I find that when you do that, things don't usually end well."