//------------------------------// // Golden Palm // Story: Siren Song // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// I know this song. I’ve heard it somewhere before. That’s not like me; I always remember music perfectly, but I don’t know where I heard this. It’s slow, full of violins so quiet they seem to whisper. One is louder than the rest, ready to steal the song, but all it does is mirror the others—repeating the wanderings of the instruments around it. Strings draw out long, pure notes, and the needle doesn't once scratch. They’re like a stone floor worn smooth by dozens of generations of hooves, until it seems to have grown into that perfect rippling shape. Every note is quieter than the one before it, shorter and weaker. I can see everything that led me here, but I can’t hear it. I watch myself knock on Celestia’s door, but I don’t hear my hoof strike the wood. My face tweaks with that nervous little moment when I wonder if I can lie to her, but when she opens it, I’m perfect. I have just that hint of nervous excitement, a foalish giddiness tempered by a desire for dignity. I can see my mouth moving as I assure her that I’m ready to study abroad, that griffon art is so fascinating, but I can’t hear a word. It’s like my mind is a silent picture with that music in the background. The lead violin is starting to waver, like the strength was leaving the musician. She can’t hold the bow steady, and the notes swerve up and down through the song. It’s a losing battle, but she refuses to give in, working every mistake into the wandering melody, making it sound intentional. The last thing I ever said to Princess Celestia was a lie. I willfully deceived her and half the art faculty so I could run away after something she told me was none of my business. She’ll be waiting for the first letter from me now. Dear Princess Celestia, today I learned about pre-classical sculpture in avian beings and blah blah blah. Then she won’t get it. She’ll write to the curator to ask if I’m well, and he won't know what she’s talking about. She’ll be so worried, send out the guards to search for me, but they’ll never find me. Eventually she’ll figure it out. I ran away. She gave me everything. She loved me when nopony else did, and I repaid her by running away. She’ll worry if I’m okay until she can’t sleep at night. She’ll wonder what she did wrong, to raise a pony who could deceive her own mentor. She’ll wonder if she did anything to make me want to leave so much. Then, she’ll accept it. She’ll hope that I’m okay wherever I am, and tell the guards to stop searching, and I’ll be one more weight piled up on her heart. Just another disappointment in her long life. I left to make her happy again, and I ended up being another student who didn’t love her. I’ll never get to tell her it’s not true, that I wish I’d never left. I’ll never see her again. I’m going to die down here and she’ll never know. The lead violin twitches, the faintest sound. Its bow draws back, pulling forth the highest and clearest note I’ve ever heard a violin produce. Then it’s silent, the others carrying on without it, sinking into silence one by one. Oh, Princess. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. The music stops abruptly, and a hoof shoves me away from the table. I was still crying, I guess. I can feel the tears on my face and my eyes are stinging. It’s Green, and she’s glaring at me. She’s not going to hit me again though—it’s not that kind of angry. It’s... I don’t know, I can’t think. She’s not angry at me though. “Hoof,” she barks. I don’t understand. “Give me your hoof!” she repeats, sharply pointing at my right forehoof. She yanks it up and forward when I extend it to her and shoves something around it. It’s jewelry, or an accessory—a hoof-boot, but with five slots arranged like a fan. There’s a little blue crystal in each one, like the wiredoll tokens. A holder, I guess. It’s held in place by a tight fit and little pins that go into my hoof and sting when she clamps it on. “Stop crying,” she snaps. I force my chest to go still, blinking the tears out of my eyes. It doesn't quite work though. I keep trembling for some stupid reason. “There. You want to beg for somepony to help you?” She almost spits the words, sharp and strong. “That’s two who are more likely to help than the one you were making a foal of yourself for. Now, it’s time to go. You’ve had an hour. If we wait any longer, we’ll miss the tram.” My stupid chest won’t stop shaking. I know... this. I know why she gave me something. I know what that look means. I know what to do. I just can’t think of any of it. “Can I...” I manage to nudge my head towards the bathroom. “Yes, fine,” she sighs. “Hurry.” A splash of cold water to the face helps a little. I make myself draw a deep breath and let it out, slowly counting down from ten like Celestia taught me. My chest stops shaking, and I clean the tears off my face. My eyes are all bloodshot, but that will fade. I wish I could talk to myself. It’s silly, maybe a little narcissistic, but I have such a wonderful voice. I’m commanding and authoritative and charismatic—it makes me feel like I could do anything. Green wouldn’t like that though. She would think I was wasting her time. I’ll just have to pull myself together without it. “Right.” Take stock. First, I examine the hoof-boot more closely, and I discover I was right. The crystals in it are wiredoll tokens: one of Trixie’s, one with Green’s original apple mark, and three with my cutie mark. So, she gave me a gift. More than that, she gave me something I don’t need, since she certainly doesn't intend to let me out of her sight. She was mad, but not at me, and she called herself and Trixie more likely to help me than Celestia. That’s good. I can work with that. When a pony makes an absurd statement with that much conviction, you know it’s because there’s some reason they need to believe it. It makes it easy to get a handle on what’s going on inside them. She’s... she’s mad at Celestia. That’s obvious, but it’s more complicated than that. She didn’t merely say that Celestia wouldn't help me—she asserted that she would. She needs to think she’s better than Celestia. It hits me all at once, and I can’t help but give a weak little laugh. Green with Envy. Somepony had perceptive critics. Good models know not to compare themselves to the Princess—it isn’t right—but there’s nothing good in that rotten shell of a pony. Fine, she can think she’s better than the Princess. I think she’s a pathetic, bitter washup clinging to her fifteen minutes of fame long after they’ve passed. Huh. That felt kind of good. “I can do this.” It feels good to hear too, even whispered. Very strong, with the right amount of emphasis on the “do” so that it hits hard, but “I” is still the word to note. It’s empowering. I’m going to get out of here, I’m going to see the Princess again, and I’m going to prove I’m the pony she thought I was when she found me. She made the right choice that day, and I’m going to tell her in person! Okay, now, what to do when I walk out? Not crying, that would be trying her patience. Sad is overplayed. Abashed, while staying a little too close to her side and looking at her for approval right after I speak. Like she slapped some sense into me and I got it together, but I still need her. She’s vain enough to believe she can replace the Princess as my mentor, helping me learn how to survive in this world. That’ll play her ego like a harp, and she’ll get me out of here just so she can spit in Celestia’s face and say she did. And then the Princess will let her rot in prison for the rest of her unnatural life. Okay, right. Game face. Draw a breath, little tremble in the chest that’s almost imperceptible. An intentionally bad Determined Resolution #9, complete with a hint of stiffness around the edges of my mouth. The bloodshot eyes will sell it perfectly. Straighten my mane a little, but not well, as though I was flustered and trying to look good for her. Straighten the back, stiffen the knees, and... showtime. I exit the bathroom at a tense walk, like I want to trot, or run, but the room isn’t big enough. I glance up at her, then back down at her hooves, and I nod. “I’m sorry.” I stiffen my spine a little when I say it, drawing in a trace of breath and making my ears perk up. “It won’t happen again.” I don’t put strength into my tone—that would be an affront. I brush it in, breathe into the words, and then as soon as I’m done, undercut it with a quick glance to her face, checking her expression to make sure she approves. “I just...” “I know, Sweetheart.” For a moment, she doesn't move and lets the conversation lapse into silence, but then she reaches out to take my shoulder and pulls me close. “You’d never touched a weapon in your life before, and you fought your way out of Serpent’s Wharf. That takes guts. You’ve got what it takes; you just need to break some bad habits. That’s all.” “I won’t get in your way again.” You degenerate, sick-minded freak. “I-I’ll be useful, and-and if I’m not, I’ll learn. I’ll make you glad you helped me. I promise I will.” Echoing her words from earlier is a good touch, particularly with the faintest hint of a tremor in my voice. She takes her medicine like a good pony, and I feel her hesitate, as her pose gets a hair looser. “I know you will, Sweetheart, and I promise, I won’t let anypony hurt you. You’ll be okay.” She lets a breath out, and I can sense the faintest stiffness in her face as she shuts her eyes. “I’m sorry I hit you, Siren. That was beneath me.” “It’s fine.” I say it a touch too quickly, pulling back and crossing my hooves. “I was making a foal of myself.” This time, I reverse the order: ears twitch down, glance at her face, and then quickly down at her hooves. It lands perfectly. I’m always good, but I couldn't have done it any better if I’d actually reached out and grabbed her black heart. She suddenly pauses, bites her lip, glances down a hair, and then back up at me. “It’s... fine. We need to go though. It’ll take time to get tickets.” She turns back to the door to start into the collection of locks, picking up her saddlebags on the way. She’s obviously not afraid of going outside, and given that she can hypnotize anypony into doing her bidding, it’s not hard to imagine why. Still, just because I know that, doesn't mean poor, frightened, traumatized Siren is that sharp. It’s the little touches that make a great performance great, and so I glance around the room like I was searching for something. “Shouldn't we be armed?” “I pay my protection, and the gangs around here know better than to mess with me. Stick close to my side, and you’ll be fine.” I’m hardly going to pass up that invitation, and two quick steps take me to her side at once. A pause, an embarrassed glance away, and a faint step to the side completes it, and I’m rewarded with another little hesitation on her part. Aww, I’m so sorry, Envy, did I derail your train of thought? She pulls the wedges out from under the door last, and once it swings open, we step outside together. She has to stop to lock the door behind us, which gives me a second to take stock of our surroundings. It’s about what I expected, given that Green’s “apartment” is made from an old communal bathroom and kitchen. We’re in a common space, full of rusting metal bunk beds and abandoned trunks of clothes and possessions. Everything here is long since ruined by water, and a drain in the floor is all that stops the dripping ceiling from filling the space. It’s abandoned, but it seems that a few of the apartments around it are still occupied. A number of the doors are fortified like Green’s is, covered in locks and reinforced by metal strips. There doesn't seem to be anypony around though. Green is taking awhile with the door, and so I trot ahead to the exit. This room is boring, cheap; it doesn't have any of the architectural grandeur the Wharf did. The space outside is a little better. It’s an atrium of white stone, a ramp circling around the outside to permit access to the different levels of apartments. It looks like there are six or so in total, and that we’re on the ground floor. Once, this was a garden, bathed in artificial sunlight from the glowing, pulsing strips above. The plants are all long dead though, choked out by the salt water. There are some other details too, but nothing really noteworthy—a statue here, a fading mural there. This room at least tries to impress, but in the end, it’s wanting. Even the graffiti is uninspired, little more than a collection of nonsense and vulgar trash. Still, the room reminds me that Green is not the only thing standing between me and freedom. Best to find out more about this place while I can. Right on cue, I can hear Green’s hooffalls behind me. “What happened to this place?” I keep my voice low, widening my eyes a tad as I turn back to look at Green head-on. She doesn't answer at first, turning to lead me up the ramp, her eyes cast downwards to watch where she’s going. “A lot of things happened, Siren. We had nopony to blame but ourselves. We built the city wrong, and it leaked. We used all our metal to build wiredolls and toys while vital infrastructure decayed. We discovered mantles, and got addicted. Life in Vision was never easy, but it didn’t get bad until the revolution.” Her teeth set as her tone hardens, and she firmly shakes her head. “Some ponies lost their nerve. They said we’d made a mistake when we left Equestria. They said ponies weren't meant to rule themselves, that we needed the Princess. They wanted to go back. That’s all we needed, a bunch of washups and losers running back to Celestia to whine their pathetic little hearts out about how hard life is without her, and how they need somepony to save them. We’re all struggling, but listening to them, you’d think they were the only ponies in the world with problems.” Her tone is picking up as her pace does. It’s a live nerve, and I know better than to interject. Best to let her rant herself out and play the timid wide-eyed card. “The council said no, and that should have been the end of it, but the parasites were willing to do anything to get out. They drummed up everypony with a grudge against the council: losers, beggars, failures, markers who needed a fix. They’d give those ponies a sandwich and a speech about freedom, and those ponies would hand over their lives! It all happened so fast. One day everything was normal, and then we were in the middle of a civil war.” She snorts, but takes a second to collect herself, reining in her tone. We turn around a bend in the ramp. Third floor and climbing now. “It was bad. Serpent’s Wharf got the worst of the fighting—ponies trying to get to the submarines. It never recovered. The rest of the city was badly damaged too. There used to be a tram station right outside that ground level door, but it hasn’t worked since then. We’ll have to walk to Spitfire Station. Don’t worry though—it’s not far.” She draws another breath and glances back at me. She’s thinking of what I might want to know, and what she should take the time to tell me. I don’t push it. “The council makes some exceptions though, for the right ponies. If anypony can get you a seat out of the city, Trixie can.” It’s a good opportunity to ask how she knows Trixie, but this is one chance I’m going to pass up. Green doesn't give any warning when you’re about to push one of her buttons—you push it and she explodes—and I don’t know if Trixie is a button. Best keep the subject general. “Trixie said she was from Equestria, and still knew ponies there from before. When did Sine found the city? It must have been over a decade ago.” It’s the right question to ask, but for some reason, she stops up short, turning and giving me the strangest, pitying glance. I come up short as well, and I don’t have to fake my worried, confused expression. “Celestia never told you anything, did she?” Green asks, but it’s not a question. “Do you even know about the riots? About what happened?” “I... um...” Nutbunnies, caught in an omission. I obviously have to admit it, but how I admit it matters. I stick to the plan, glancing down and repeating a faint, “I—” while my voice cracks. “Shh,” she reaches out a hoof to shush me, brushing my shoulder. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. Not your fault.” She shakes her head while I tilt my gaze back up. “Sine Rider didn’t found the city. He died. He died years before this all happened. Celestia killed him. The Elements of Harmony founded the city, when they realized what Celestia was: a tyrant.” It’s all I can do not to spit in her face and tell her just what I think of that pile of horseapples. The Princess couldn't hurt anypony. She’s not capable of it! Saying as much would start another fight though, and I’ve hidden worse moods on stage. Wounded Denial #1 serves well here, and a whispered: “She wouldn't do that.” “I know it feels that way, sweetie. I remember when I was a foal and all I wanted was to get to meet the Princess and see her raise the sun, but it’s true.” She glances at the ramp, and I can tell she’s trying to decide if we have time to stop and talk. Apparently we do. “You deserve to know the real story.” “Sine was a farmer in Ponyville and friends with the Elements of Harmony. About twenty years ago, there was a food shortage. A crop blight that was resistant to traditional methods or unicorn magic. For the good of Equestria, Celestia decreed what farmers had to grow and how much they could sell it for.” She glances down at the floor, her tone growing quiet as she stares into the past. “At the time, I agreed with her. It was hard, and the farm struggled, but nopony wanted a famine. Sine was different though—he wouldn't have it. He said that if Celestia wanted to work his farm, she could come down and pull the plow herself. A lot of farmers agreed with him, and they walked away. All of them.” “She tried to bribe him.” Green lets out a humorless laugh. “Offered him ten times what everypony else was allowed to sell for, if he’d go back to his farm and tell everypony to do the same.” Her laugh turns into a smirk, still humorless, but now dark. “So he burned his farm to the ground in front of her.” “She didn’t like that, and her pegasi dragged Sine off to the palace then and there. He never came out. And that’s it, really.” She turns back to me. “Not much of a story, I guess, but if you’d met him, you’d understand. His death changed things. It changed how we all saw Celestia, and we realized we had to leave.” She glances away, up at the ramp. “And now, you and I really do have to leave. C’mon, sweetie.” It’s obvious she’s lying about Celestia, but the story still leaves me at a bit of a loss. That’s the hero of the city? They could have made up anything they wanted, and that’s what they decided to go with? A pony who, in the middle of a famine, burned his farm down to spite Celestia. That’s their role model? No wonder this place fell apart. Green sets a faster pace now, too quick for conversation. We take the last two stories at a trot, ending at another one of those metal security doors with the crystal in the center. This time, there’s no guessing game—Green lets out a sharp: “Password: Picture Perfect Pony,” and the door slides open on those clicking mechanisms. The hallway outside is cramped and narrow, barely wide enough for the two of us to trot side by side. If there was a ground-level door with its own tram station, that was probably meant to be the main entrance and exit. This must be a side corridor or a back alley. It’s filthy too, reeking of urine and full of trash. We pass a few junctions before we meet anypony; I was starting to think that this part of the city was abandoned. The first pony we see is a filthy old unicorn stallion, rummaging through a trash can. He runs off as soon as he sees us, and I don’t get a good look. Only one cutie mark though, I think. The second is a pegasus, sleeping inside an old crate. He shies away from us and lets us pass, and I have to hide my disgust. He’s filthy, and flea bites are visible around the ragged blanket he’s wrapped in. His box smells cloyingly sweet, and his gums are cut and bleeding, obviously diseased. Every city has parts that are better than others, but the worst places in all of Equestria aren't a fraction as bad as this. It’s like they’re animals, left to fend for themselves. Of course, it doesn't even occur to Green to stop and help him. We pass more ponies like that, scavengers and squatters, and eventually I lose count. It’s a mare who stops us—a unicorn. It’s so quick, I don’t even have time to be properly frightened. She steps out from behind a pile of boxes, two long knives levitating beside her, and suddenly Green comes to a halt. Even her shout of, “Hand over the saddlebags, now!” doesn't faze me. I know what’s happening, but it’s like my mind hasn’t registered it yet. I feel numb, rooted to the spot, and I just stare at her dumbly. She used to be bright orange with a white mane, but she’s covered in so much filth that she’s almost brown, and her mane is starting to fall out in patches. Her coat is waxy, and the skin around her joints is starting to bulge out, making it hard for her to walk. She flinches as she takes another step towards us, brandishing the weapons. “I said hand them over!” Her magic is a pure white, like her mane. “Would you kindly relax?” Green asks, and abruptly, her posture softens. She turns away from me and towards Green, staring deeply into her eyes. A little jolt runs through me, but it’s okay, it’s over. Green can tell her to leave now. Green stares back, giving her a gentle nod. “Now would you kindly give me those knives?” The glow around the weapons changes from white to crimson as Green takes possession of them. That’s probably a good idea—stops her from mugging anypony else, and it couldn't hurt for us to be armed. The orange mare is gazing at her expectantly, and Green rewards her with a smile. “That was very good. Thank you.” It seems to light up her face, a stupid smile appearing there at the thought that she made Green happy. Then Green jams a knife into each of her ears, sharply yanking forward. There’s something warm on my coat. Little droplets. I lift up a hoof to look. It’s red. There’s blood on my coat. I’m covered in blood and bits of a pony’s face. Oh Celestia, I’m covered in blood and bits of a pony’s face! I have to get it off. I have to get it off! I try to summon my magic, but I can’t concentrate because I’m covered in bits of that mare and when I try to rub it off, it gets more into my coat and there’s blood pooling on the floor oh Celestia her face nearly fell off and it’s on my hooves! I can’t breathe and there’s blood everywhere and I can’t move! I stumble away, but I can’t fall. I can’t fall over or I’ll land in a pool of blood that’s probably full of Heart’s Desire and Poison Joke and who knows what else and I’ll go crazy and mutate and it’s on me already! I need to get it off. “Would you kindly stop screa—” I see her eyes, I feel that tug on my mind. “No!” A shock runs up my leg. I hit her. I hit her? A sharp blow to the face, sending her reeling, eye contact broken. What did I do? Oh Celestia, what did I do? I think I broke her jaw. I hit my only guide and she’ll hate me and hypnotize me and cut my face off! I had her and I ruined it, I ruined it! Oh Celestia, I need to get out of here. I need to go! I run. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where I’m going. She’s my only hope to get out of here, but I can’t go back there—she’ll kill me or worse and I think there’s blood in my mouth. There’s blood in my mouth that’s full of I don’t know what and I don’t want to turn into one of those awful things! I didn’t swallow, did I? I try to spit, but my mouth feels so dry, my stomach is churning, I have to keep going, I have to find a place to stop and get it off! I don’t know what to do! Impact. My chest comes to a stop instantly, but it takes my hind legs a second to realize it. My head flies forward, cracks into something, and my knees buckle under me as my torso twists with the strain. A pony. I hit a pony. Our forelegs lock together, and we go down to the floor in a pile. My head. My horn. There’s stabbing pain there, like my head was split open with an ice pick. I mustn't scream. If I scream, things will hear me, but it hurts so much. My breath is hissing through my teeth, and my eyes are clamped shut. I can feel the other pony getting up, but I can’t get up—it hurts too much to move my head. “Oh, ponyfeathers.” A stallion, breathless and alert. “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.” He’s breathing too fast, he’s panicking. He’s lying. I’m gonna die! “C’mon, let’s get you to a doctor. You need to walk. Get up.” He tries to pull me up, and that pick jams down into my forehead again. “I can’t!” My eyes are watering from the pain, my limbs locking up. I can’t feel anything from the knees down. Is that it? Am I concussed? Is my horn broken? Oh horsefeathers, I hit the stone floor wrong and my horn snapped off. I don’t want to be an earth pony! “You gotta, this isn’t a safe place. Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Come on!” He has a leg around me now, and I can hear him straining as he hauls me to my hooves. He’s shaking with the weight, but he helps me stand until my knees unlock. I can’t open my eyes. “Just hold your head steady and walk. One hoof forward at a time. I’ll lead you.” Every time I move my head, lightning runs between my ears, and the world spins. I need to puke, but I know if I do, I’ll pass out. I hold my breath and put one hoof forward. One hoof forward. One hoof forward. I don’t know how long that lasts. His leg is around me, guiding me left or right as I need to turn. I can hear things around us: other ponies, dripping water, the hum and pulse of the lights. I open my eyes once, and see a wide corridor with windows on each side—but the world spins and I almost fall over. I don’t open them again. Eventually, there are more sounds, more ponies, a crowd. A door in front of us opening. “Doctor!” His voice sounds funny now, more distant than it did when we started walking. I think my ears are ringing, and the sound has a metallic tinge. He starts to pull away, but if he lets go of me, I’ll fall. I pull close before he can get away, some other pony grabbing me. I don’t want them to touch me! “Shhh, it’s okay.” His voice echoes in my ear, like he was far away. “It’s the doctor. Give him time.” I can’t do that. If he lets go of me, I’ll fall. I’ll fall and I’ll die and mutate or worse. He keeps trying to pull away and leave me here! “No. Please.” I pull closer, my other three legs shaking as I put one around him. There’s muttering, talking I can’t make out. “Okay.” He stops trying to pull away from me. “I’m here. Lie down on the exam table. It’s right here to your left. You can feel it. All you need to do is lie down.” Something metal and straight presses against my left side, and I can feel ponies grabbing me. Lifting me up, turning me onto the table. The world spins, and I feel bile rising in my throat. “I know you did it!” Rock Solid shoves me in the shoulder, and I stumble a little. He’s angry, but I know he’s not that angry. He could have shoved me a lot harder than that if he wanted to, and he could have done it in public instead of in my room. I kind of wish I was older, so I could use magic to brush my mane while I talk, but for now, I turn back to the mirror and pretend it didn’t happen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist, trying to seem innocent as I check my face in the mirror. My mane is straight, clean, I’m all brushed and washed. I even got the matron to braid my tail, and it seems to be holding up. I check Rock Solid while I’m at it, glancing at his reflection. He obviously hasn’t used that brush I gave him. I don’t think he even washed up. Colts. Luckily, his coat and mane are such a rough tan that you can’t tell if he’s dirty or not. “You put something in everypony’s shampoo and now their hair is getting all tangled and falling out!” He wants to shove me again, but he just stamps his hoof on the tiles. He’s not stupid, exactly. I mean, he does better than me on our homework a lot of the time, but he doesn't think much. I know you’re mad, Rock—you don’t have to go smash up the floor. “That’s not true. Your mane seems fine to me.” I sigh a little, and roll my eyes. “It would be better if you’d brush it though. The Princess is visiting. You could at least try to look nice.” He reaches out to turn me around, sharper than I thought. I squeak a little, but only so he’ll think I’m surprised, which I definitely wasn’t. “This isn’t funny, Siren!” He leans in to glare. “It’s not supposed to be funny, stupid!” He’s way too close to my face, and I have to glare back. “Ugh. Do you want to be adopted or not?” Naturally, he doesn't get it, just giving me a dumb expression with his dumb face. “You know how it works. They always adopt the prettiest foal. That’s why everypony is trying super hard to look great today.” “So you sabotaged everypony else so you’d seem good? That’s messed up!” Rock is super nice, but there are times when he doesn't get it. “Rock, this is the Princess. Do you know what that means? It means if one of us got picked, we’d get to live in the palace. Do you get what a big deal that is?” I give him a little shove back in his stupid earth pony shoulder. “She’s just visiting!” He glares twice as hard, and I lean in until our muzzles are almost touching. “Nopony ever just visits. Now shut up and brush your stupid mane and try to be princely!” I really shouldn't raise my voice—somepony might hear—but they’re all downstairs, and yelling is the only way to get anything through Rock’s thick head. “No.” He snorts, leaning back. I don’t get it. “Huh?” He must be trying to make a point or something. He’s so stubborn. “No. I don’t want to get adopted because you made everypony else look terrible. Some of the fillies out there are crying, Siren.” He turns away,  heading back towards the door. “I’m not going to tell on you, but... that wasn’t okay. I’m going to go with everypony else. You can be the prettiest pony here. I don’t care.” “Ugh! Stop being thick. You’re going to pass up on a chance to be a prince because of some stupid crying fillies?” He doesn't answer me, and he opens the door to leave. “Rock!” I call after him, following him to the door. He doesn’t say a word though, and all I can see is his tail as he heads downstairs towards the others. “Fine! Be that way! If I get picked, I’m not coming back for you!” And I never did. “I’m sorry, Rock.” He doesn't answer me, which is so like him. Instead, all he does is shine a light in my eyes and say something about my reflexes. He always did babble about things that didn’t matter. He must have dyed his coat at some point. He’s green now, and a unicorn. That’s new. Hold on. I sit up, and all the blood rushes out of my head. Spots appear in my vision, and the world turns around me. I almost fall back to the table, but Rock—but the doctor catches me at the last second. There’s somepony else too, on the other side, two sets of hooves behind my back. “Careful now,” the doctor murmurs, rebuking me with his tone. “You had a horn fracture and a concussion. Don’t try to sit up too quickly.” It’s like all the blood has run out of my torso. I can feel my heart pounding, but nothing is moving. I reach up to my head, hooves running over my face, up to my forehead. Oh thank Celestia. “Yes, you’re fine. Despite your best efforts, from the shape of you.” The doctor waits until I’m sitting up under my own power and then lets go, but the other pony keeps holding on. My heart is still pounding in my barrel, but feeling is coming back to me now, and the spots in my vision are clearing. “Now, I have other patients to see to. I’ll give you a bit to recover, and then we’ll discharge you.” I don’t understand why he’s leaving right after I sat up. Shouldn't he be asking me questions or something? The other pony in the room speaks up though. “Thank you, Doctor.” It’s the stallion who helped me. I guess that would make sense. The doctor leaves. I try to get a good look at him, but my eyes won’t seem to focus. The room around us is white, but that’s all I can make out. The other stallion lowers me back to the table, and that makes me feel a bit better. My vision blacks out again for a second, but that numb feeling goes away. “Thanks,” I whisper. I’m not sure how long it takes me to recover. More than few minutes though; I think I fell asleep again. My head is pounding when I wake up, but it’s a good kind of pain, sharp and distinct. I’m alert, and when I open my eyes, I see a medical examination room carved out of the white rock instead of a blurry mass of white and silver. There’s a pony sitting next to the bed, and he’s not the doctor. A pegasus. He’s a pegasus. There’s something wrong with him. His wings are... atrophied. I can barely see his wing muscles, and it makes his torso appear compressed. He’s tan, with a dirty brown mane, and I can’t tell if it’s his natural color or if he’s truly filthy. His muzzle is square and short, his ears stubby and loose. Even if he weren't deformed, he’d be a fixer-upper. As is, he’s pitiable. His eyes are bright gold though. It’s a pretty color. I check his flank. Only one cutie mark. Crossed palm fronds. “Hey.” He noticed I opened my eyes. He’s looking right at me, but keeps his voice low. I guess he doesn't want to wake me up. “You feeling okay?” I don’t answer right away. I lost Green, and I’m in a strange place. I need somepony to help me—I’m not going to blow it by speaking impulsively. Shutting my eyes buys some time to think. I let a breath in and out. “That was a dumb question.” I smile faintly when I say it, wincing a little as I reach up to hold my head. I hear him chuckle. Nailed it. “Better, though. I have a headache—it doesn't feel like my skull is going to explode.” “That can’t actually happen, right?” he asks as he plants his flank on the floor so he can reach out with both forelegs, helping me roll over to a sitting position. “No. That doesn't actually happen.” I say, and this time, it’s my turn to laugh. He has a nice voice. I open my eyes again, glancing over at him as I wait for my head to clear. He’s staring at me with an attentive expression, and I look back with the same. I pick up a few details I didn’t before, like his saddlebags resting against the wall. I think that brown is his natural color, too. “Well, how was I supposed to know that? You’re the one with all the magic bones stuck into your head.” He’s not that funny, but right now, I need to laugh at something, and it doesn't hurt to make him feel good. His ears perk up a little when hears me giggle, and he smiles. “I’m Golden Palm. You?” “Siren Song.” I extend a hoof and tap it against his. “Do you prefer Golden or Palm?” “Golden Palm,” he replies. He’s got a good tone when he says it, cheerful and light. A lesser pony wouldn't even know it was one of his pet peeves. “You prefer Siren, I take it?” “If you don’t mind. I... um... I—” I shouldn't thank him too quickly, or it won’t seem as meaningful. A little blush, glance down like I’m embarrassed to be in anypony’s debt. That little hesitation, until he thinks I’m about to brush him off and not thank him at all. I bite my lip a little too; it’s a good touch. “If you hadn’t come along, I don’t—” “It wasn’t as bad as it seemed.” He waves me off before I can finish. “You gave me a bit of a scare—I thought all that blood you were covered in was yours. But the doctor said you probably would have recovered on your own. I mean, you only ran into me.” He glances down at the floor. “My skull isn’t that hard.” Oh, that poor thing. He’s actually blaming himself for running into me. For a second, I consider not letting him off the hook for it; guilt is a very effective motivational tool. But he seems so nice, and he already helped me. He doesn't deserve that. Plus, it feels kind of good to know that even bruised, battered, and shaved, I can still make a stallion blush with a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, Golden Palm.” He’s actually left speechless. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it’s still kind of sweet to watch. He’s not sure what to do with his hooves, folding and unfolding them as his gaze jumps between me and the floor. There’s no doubt I’m the prettiest mare to ever give him that kind of attention, and when I stop to think about it, I realize it’s possible I’m the only mare who's ever paid him any mind. He’s not much older than me, and cripples aren't exactly a great catch. “I’m sorry I scared you. There was a fight between two markers, and I got caught in the middle.” “Yeah, I um... I thought it might be something like that.” He manages to still his wandering gaze, fixing it on me. “We get section eight markers here all the time. It’s not exactly the good part of the city, you know?” More local slang, though I don’t see why he can’t just say “violent.” “Yeah. I was with somepony, but we got separated.” Right after I smashed her teeth in. It’s okay though; I’m okay. I’ll find a doll, wire Trixie, and she’ll get somepony to pick me up and take me the rest of the way. “Um... where am I?” “Steady Hoof’s Veterinary and Discount Medical.” I was treated by a vet? A vet? “It’s part of Spitfire Station. He was the only doctor nearby and I was sure you were bleeding out, I didn’t want to—” I press a hoof to his lips to silence him. “I seem to be in one piece.” No thanks to his idea of good medical care, but there’s no point in saying as much; he meant well. “Spitfire Station is the tram station, right? The one that still works?” I take a shot in the dark, and I get a nod in return. “Good. Is there a doll around here I could use? I can wire for a ride.” “Yeah, there’s one on the other side of the bazaar. I can show you after the doc discharges you.” And presumably gives me a doggie biscuit for being such a good patient. “Um... I’m sorry to ask, but if you have friends, is there a way they could help cover your doctor’s bill? I got it when you came in, but it was a little...” “Of course, Golden Palm.” Poor thing probably doesn't have a bit to his name. “How much was it?” “Five hundred bits.” What? “I mean... six hundred, since I had to pay in installments. I only had twenty on me, but I work in the station, so they can garnish my wages.” Five hundred? For a vet? “It’s only... I’m already in trouble for breaking some dishes, and this would add on top of that...” I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many bits in one place. If I filled up a good set of saddlebags I might be able to carry that many. “I just, I um...” Change the subject. Change the subject! “Dishes?” His head snaps up a little at the sound of my voice. “You’re a chef?” His hoof scrapes at the floor, and he breaks eye contact. “I’m a waiter.” It’s all I can do not to sigh and slump my shoulders when the doctor comes back in. “Well, hello there—” He glances down at the chart that’s floating alongside him. “Ms. Doe.” He’s a wiry, lanky unicorn, his green flank studded with three cutie marks: a dog and cat under a red cross, a silver caduceus, and a pile of bits underneath a rising arrow. Belatedly, I spot a fourth one across his chest—a blazing fire. “It’s Ms. Song. But I prefer Siren,” I rebuke him, letting a hint of outrage seep into my tone. “And what’s this about you charging six hundred bits? I can’t have been here more than few hours!” “Well, Ms.—” he takes a moment to correct the chart, muttering as he fills it in “—Siren... Song...” He taps the pen when he finishes. “You had a fractured horn, a concussion, and numerous contusions. There was also a possibility that your earlier wounds had been exacerbated by the impact. With the extra fee for immediate magical healing, that’s one hundred for the concussion, two hundred for the horn, fifty for the bruises, two hundred to check for internal bleeding, and fifty to repair the cosmetic damage to your horn. It’s all on the form your friend signed.” “Extra—! You’re a unicorn! What else were you going to do? And where do you get off charging two hundred bits for injuries I didn’t have? What are you going to do next, bill me for not removing my tonsils?” It’s good outrage. Indignant, but with a hint of fear, a tremble of worry that turns greed to guilt and melts ponies’ hearts. “Your friend agreed to pay before—” He tries to cut in, but I know that trick. I’ve done it before, and better than he does. “He’s a good stallion, and you told him I might die if he didn’t. He’d have agreed to part with his wings if you’d asked right.” Granted, his wings aren't exactly in mint condition, but it’s the principle of the thing. “In Equestria, the whole visit wouldn't cost me fifty bits, and I’d get a real doctor! I won’t stand for this.” He smiles, and it doesn't go up to his eyes. Oh horsefeathers. “I can see you’re from a family that keeps to the old ways, so let me remind you, Siren, that you are not in Equestria. You are in Vision, and we don’t coddle parasites here. We hang them.” Hang? As in... hang from the ceiling? “Your friend has already agreed to pay. If you want to reduce his burden, I suggest you help him cover it.” He sharply puts the chart away, dropping it into a slot in the wall. “You are discharged. Get out.” “Yes, Doctor. Thank you; I’m sorry about her.” Golden Palm cuts me off before I can object, reaching up to pull me off the bed and drag me towards the door. The doctor doesn't follow us, and we stumble out into a wide but short hallway, turning towards the open end. I start to object, but he shushes me, and I think better of it. It looks like this practice is only about a half-dozen rooms off this hall. At the end, there’s a small waiting area and a receptionist's desk, the most vapid pink pegasus sitting behind it, filing her hooves. A garish pink sign above the desk reads: “Steady Hoof’s Veterinary and Discount Medical, a Subsidiary of the Carousel Medical Pavilion.” It’s sickening; I hate that color. Luckily, we don’t have to endure it long. As soon as we push out through the lobby’s double doors, the noise level spikes: conversation, shouting, haggling, music. I should have realized it, of course—he told me there was a bazaar. It’s an impressive chamber. Two statues of pegasi rear up, one at each end, their heads bowed and wings swept forward so the tips touch and form the vaulted ceiling of the space. Tram rails run over their shoulders to a platform suspended from their wings over the center of the room. The floor itself is open to make room for additional stands and market stalls, and the edges are ringed by more permanent stores like the sort we just left. They’re all packed too, a real crowd. I suppose the room’s aesthetics don’t really matter, but I do find them comforting. This is a civilized space. “You can’t backtalk ponies like that,” Golden Palm murmurs, stepping up to my side as I take in the room. He sits next to me, letting me take my time as I look up at the suspended platform and down at the stores. “I can when they’re thieves calling themselves doctors. He can’t rip you off like that.” I use a good tone, encouraging and decisive, but when I turn to look at him, he shakes his head. “Yes, Siren, he can. Please... don’t make things any more difficult.” He stares down at his hooves, and his ears fold back. He gave up six hundred bits for somepony he’d never met and almost didn’t ask her if she could help cover it... but he’s asking me to keep quiet now. “Golden Palm...” For once in my life, I really, really hope I’m wrong. “Are you going to get in any trouble because I argued with that doctor?” He doesn't answer. “Just... just show me where the wiredolls are, please.” Every time I think I have a handle on this place, it gets worse and worse. He doesn't even nod—he only turns and starts walking through the bazaar, wings pressed to his side. I follow him, but I watch the crowd. He’s hard to look at. It’s not like the markets in Equestria. It appears that way from a distance, but up close, there are differences. There are more clothes than in Equestria, and everypony here has saddlebags, a belt, or something else to carry things in. A lot of them are carrying weapons. I see bits, but I also see the glint of platinum—a coin with five sides. I guess that makes sense, if things are so expensive you’d need bags of bits to pay for them. There’s a lot more advertising than there is in Equestria too. Sure, every store puts up signs and flyers and things, but here, it seems like every free surface has been plastered with posters. Store signs glow and hum, and music drifts out of every shop, the uncoordinated notes running over each other to form the most irritating din. I see posters for food, apartments, barbers and weapons. Glowing signs scream about the quality of the wares beneath them, and little jingles run from phonographs in every shop. I even see a window display made out of fire—they must have gotten a pony with a pyrokenesis mark to enchant it. Lines of flickering orange form a unicorn's head in three dimensions, and outline the blazing column of fire emerging from his horn. “UNICORNS!” the fiery text reads. “Don’t wait! INCINERATE!” Any one of them would have been attention-grabbing, but together, it’s so much I start to tune them out. One stands out to me though, and catches my notice as we pass. It’s a poster, showing a pegasus with atrophied, crippled wings. Plain white text across the top reads, “P.C.S.D Affects Over 45% of Pegasi,” while softer text at the bottom says, “There is a cure. Rainbow Brand Tonic.” It’s a good effect. Much more downplayed than all the glitz and noise, but far more effective. The pegasus in the poster seems so miserable you can’t help but stare at him. I glance back at Golden Palm. Oh horseapples, he saw me looking at the poster. “It’s not a real disease,” he speaks first. I... I guess he must be used to it. “They couldn't sell enough athletic tonic telling pegasi that they need to exercise more, so they started calling it Pegasus Confinement Stress Disorder and saying it was perfectly normal to feel depressed that you’re hideous.” “You... you aren’t...” I can’t say it. He’ll never believe me. “That’s all from not exercising? I thought you’d been injured.” “Nope. Just, you know, use it or lose it, and I never used it. I haven't flown once in my life, leaves the muscles a little underdeveloped.” He trots in silence for a moment as we maneuver between two stopped carts, making slow progress across the crowded market. “My parents spent a small fortune when I was little to send me and my sister to Cloud Chaser’s Flight Academy. You know, the one with the big dome and the lamps on tracks and all that?” I nod. “I hated it. The sun was too bright, I couldn't get the hang of walking on clouds, and the first time I tried to fly, my wings cramped and I threw up. I’m basically an earth pony.” “That’s not true.” I blurt it out before I think of what I’m going to follow it up with. The right line is the one that gets the audience in the heart, not necessarily the one that makes the most sense, and that’s the line that will get him. A firm stomp of my hoof emphasizes the words, and he stops to look back at me. Time to improvise. “Palm fronds.” I point at his flank. “You live underwater. You didn’t get that cutie mark because you love palm trees so much. You got them because palm fronds are a symbol of victory over adversity. They’re how pegasi generals showed their greatness.  You’re not an earth pony. You got that mark because you have the heart of a pegasus champion!” “Actually, I got it because I love stories about pegasus warriors. You know, folklore?” I blush on cue, and he smiles. “You’re kind of full of it, Siren.” Yeah, but I’m awesome at being full of it. I scuff my hooves and mumble something about him still not being an earth pony, and when he leads me on, his expression isn’t quite so sad. He’s probably forgotten about the doctor and the bits already. The wiredoll lounge is pretty much what I expected—a cheaper, tackier, smaller version of the one from Serpent’s Wharf. There’s an open archway instead of a door, unfinished stone instead of plush carpeting, and there’s a line for the half-dozen-odd booths inside. We step up to the end, and I glance at the sign above the arch. “Complimentary Wire Service Provided by Lulamoon Logistics.” It’s mildly more interesting than looking at the tail of the mare in front of me. “So, are you really from Equestria, or did you make that up too?” He knows? How does he know? What did I do? “The thing you said in the doctor's office, I mean.” Oh, right. “Oh, um... not really.” There’s no need for me to draw attention, but it is an awfully convenient way to explain my ignorance of basic facts of life here. “I mean, when I was young, I guess. Mostly it’s that my parents kind of kept me at home. It makes the city feel a little weird sometimes. You were born here?” “Yup. My dad was part of the storm crew back when they were building the city, and my mom’s an engineer. She’s a unicorn, but me and my sister both got dad’s wings.” That’s a pity. He could be an okay unicorn. “Wait, does that mean you’ve never seen the sun?” This is symbolic of something—I know it. Meanwhile, I keep my ears perked up for that little hint of surprise. “I’ve seen a bunch of yellow lights on a track. Does that count?” He’s teasing, but he’s a little embarrassed. That’s so sweet. I’ll have to make this up to him, but for now, that’s exactly the state of mind I want him in. “It does not,” I rebuke him, but I smile just enough to give him a little hit of approval. He probably doesn't get that a lot. “But... I guess you can’t miss something you’ve never seen?” “Pretty much. Ponies from the surface always seemed a little odd to me. You’re weirded out by the most normal things and ask after stuff I’ve never heard of.” It only occurs to him after he said it that he might have offended me, and he gives me a nervous glance. “Um... is it that different?” “Really different. The surface is... messy. It’s full of living things,  natural obstructions, dirt and dust. The buildings up there are different too. A pony can’t stick two pieces of wood together without painting a heart or a star or a pattern on them. It makes things seem jumbled and disorganized, but really friendly as well. Every building is special. Here...” It takes a second to distill my many insights regarding the city’s design into something more accessible. “Here, the buildings make you feel dirty. They’re so commanding, so geometrically perfect, you feel like you’re ruining them by standing in them, you know? It makes you feel small.” “Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel that way every time I look out the observation window.” In front of us, the mare steps away, and there’s an empty booth in her place. I hear something behind us, shouting, a scuffle, but when I glance back, Golden Palm shakes his head. “It’s only a shoplifter. Go ahead.” I nod. “Real quick, where do you work? What’s the name, I mean?” He gives me a confused stare, but there’s a line behind us, and he answers quickly. I shut the booth door behind me, and at once, the sounds of the marketplace fade. Good soundproofing. The wiredoll appears to be the same as the one from before, except that it’s a bit more polished and adorned with brass fittings. A sign above it warns me that complimentary sessions are limited to five minutes, but that’s not a problem. I want to keep this conversation short—the longer it goes, the more of a chance Trixie will have to gain the upper hoof. She needs me, she doesn't have me, getting me is going to cost her. Make it clear, and end the wire. “Right.” I take a breath. “You can do this, Siren. She got the better of you last time, but last time, you were afraid for your life. Once you got it together, you came out swinging. Green still doesn't know what hit her, and you’re going to hit Trixie just as hard. Whack! Pow!” Okay, I got this one. “Right. Let’s do this!” Muss my mane, slouch, eyes a little unfocused, hooves apart. True artists know they need to sacrifice for their performance, and much as it hurts, a sharp poke in my eye really sells it. I can see my reflection in the doll’s glass eyes, and I look awful. Fuchsia magic over the blue wire-token leaves it a muddled brown as I slot it into the doll’s flank. Like before, the doll twitches, its legs rising into a neutral position as some mechanism inside it starts to spin. This time though, I’m ready. “Um, Trixie?” It’s her, the doll is in the same position, but I pull back from it a little, giving it a wary scan with my good eye. “Siren. Good.” Her tone is curt and efficient, her body language formal with a hint of tense irritation in her hoof motions. It’s exactly how I would expect her to look if she was annoyed at Green for losing me, but wasn’t worried about me in the slightest. She’s good. “Trixie is glad to see you are unharmed. Where are you?” “I... um. I’m in a doctor’s office.” And your halfwit henchmare is afraid of doctors, so good luck getting her to confirm that. “There was a marker and I got covered in blood and I had to run and I got lost and I think I ran in the back door of a restaurant or something and I fell into a pile of dishes...” I reach up to hold the side of my face, by my bad eye. “A waiter helped me to a doctor, but now he says there’s an unpaid bill and...” I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s too much for one poor, frightened mare to deal with. “How much?” Trixie leans over to look at me more closely, the doll whirring as those glass eyes inspect my face for injuries. “Six hundred bits for Steady Hoof’s Veterinary and Discount Medical and another two hundred in damages for Golden Palm at the Spitfire Station Cafe.” I tremble a little, glancing up into the doll’s eyes. I can’t see Trixie’s expression, but I know what it is. Worry and a dash of fear, waiting to be encouraged. “One of the waiters offered to cover me, and the doctor helped because he said I had a horn fracture and might have had internal bleeding, but I don’t think he can actually pay the bill and he’s not supposed to let me go until I’ve paid him for all the dishes and the doctor sounded really mad and...” Time to use some of that local slang. “What does ‘hang’ mean?” From how she tenses up, it means she’s going to pay the bill. “Has he contacted security yet?” Her voice is tense, her posture stiff. I shake my head. “Does he know your full name?” I nod. It’s so perfect, I wish I’d planned it. “Very well. Siren, Trixie needs you to listen carefully. Trixie is going to send the money immediately. As soon as it arrives, head up to the observation deck and wait there for Green to find you. Whatever you do, do not antagonize the doctor in any way, and do not do anything that might get security’s attention. Do you understand?” “I understand, Trixie.” She’s good, but I’m better. “I... I won’t run off again. I’ll head right to the observation deck.” A little squeak. “Thank you.” She disconnects, the crystal popping out. I glance up. I wait a second to make sure the doll is fully limp. I smile. “Wham! Whack! Oh, mares and gentlecolts, I can’t bear to watch. It’s a knockout, and the match goes to Siren!” Nopony is watching, so it seems the perfect time for a little happy dance, and then the crystal goes back into its holder. I’m thinking a nice leisurely walk up to the observation deck, get lunch while we wait. I turn on a hoof, and trot back out to give Golden Palm the good news. He’s looking up at the ceiling, and so is the rest of the crowd. There’s something falling. Snap. Oh. Hang. “So, what’s the news?” I get it now. Hang from the ceiling. “Siren?” There are things up there, on the wings. They’re like wiredolls, but there’s no stand. One of them is holding the rope. “Siren?” No. Not a rope. A cable. A metal cable. A wire, even. Now I get where that name comes from. Wire-doll. It’s a descriptive name. What the label says it is. Like “hang.” It’s just what it’s called. “Siren!” Somepony is yelling at me. Golden Palm. He’s... worried. Worried about me? “Are you okay?” “Oh... yeah.” I probably still look terrible, that’s all. I reach up to stroke my mane straight again. “Sorry, I was... watching. That’s all.” “Yeah, you missed the fun part. We could stick around and watch the cleanup crew if you wanted, though.” The cleanup crew. Watch the cleanup crew. Because I missed the fun part. “Okay.” I don’t... I don’t know. What am I supposed to say to that? How can I say anything to that? “I got... I got the doctor’s bill paid for. You’ll be fine.” He says something. I think he’s thanking me. Then we find a bench, and sit down. It was a stallion. Two cutie marks on his flank, two on his underbelly. Golden Palm is looking at me. Of course he’s looking at me. He’s a colt, I’m the pretty mare who smiled at him, and now I’m unhappy and he doesn't know why. He’s worried. I don’t want to see him right now. There are other couples watching. They look kind of bored, or are watching each other more than the room. They all have saddlebags. Here shopping, I guess. They don’t look that excited, but... something to do. Hey honey, you want to watch the execution before we head home? Sure, I guess. It’s so much worse than Green or Trixie. They’re toxic, nasty, bitter creatures. They’re evil—you expect it of them. The ponies around me though, they’re like... caricatures. They go through the motions of ponies out shopping, but they don’t stop when something horrible happens. It’s like they can’t see it. They’re not rotten inside, there’s just... nothing there. Like you stretched flesh and hair over one of those mechanical dolls, but inside it’s still a windup toy. And one of them is touching me. “Are you okay?” Golden Palm nudges me, leaning around to examine my face. “You’ve looked really rattled ever since you finished the wire. Did it... go alright?” His hooves are cold. His coat is greasy. I can feel it leaving a trail along me, full of sweat and blood and who knows what else? “Whoa. You’re shivering.” “Yes. I’m... cold. It’s cold in here.” I guess if he’d had a blanket or something, that would have been smart. You had to do something, Siren, and that was something, but you probably shouldn't have done it. Now he has a leg over my shoulder and he’s pulled up against me and I can smell his awful breath. He smells like Green does—like too many flowers left to rot until the stink and sweetness run together. I can smell it every time his chest moves, and those disgusting wings touch me. “Thank you.” I lean against him. It’s what he expects. The floor trembles a little. Something big is coming. Above us, I hear a whine. A mechanical sound, like the dolls. Golden Palm looks up, and a second later, the body hits the floor. Even from so high, there’s no blood or anything. Just a muffled thump, like the sound of a bag of flour hitting a countertop. His legs are all bent up though. He landed on them, I think. His neck is all twisted around too. I don’t understand how there’s no blood. There’s something walking towards us. A pony in a diving suit. He’s the earth pony I saw before; he must be. He’s a giant all wrapped up in brass and thick cloth, and with the suit, he’s so heavy the floor pounds like a drum around him with every step. I can’t see his face at all. He’s wearing a big brass helmet studded with tiny glass windows, and all I can see behind them is a phosphorescent glow. He’s carrying things too. I can see a drill on the far side that’s almost as big as he is, hanging from him like saddlebags. Nearer to us though, there’s a basket. A basket with a filly inside. No. Not even a filly. A foal. A little unicorn with a sky-blue coat and eyes that are red through and through. I remember the filly who helped me, who gave me Trixie’s token, but it’s not her. Her coat isn’t right. She’s clothed in a little pink dress, covered in bloodstains that match the dull glow of her eyes. Her horn is the wrong color for the rest of her; it’s bleached white, as well as being far too long, and coming to a grooved point. “Here we go, big brother!” Her voice is high, squeaky, off-key. She leans out of her basket to point down at the corpse, her... brother, carrying her that way. The crowd’s backing away from the body, making a wide circle and letting the pony in the diving suit get close to the corpse. He falls to one knee so the basket is by the floor, and the little foal hops out. “We know these events, can seem strange, but please bear with us, through this change.” She hums an off-key little tune as she steps up to the body, pressing against it with a hoof until it rolls over, belly-up. “We gather that, which you require, Poison Joke, and Heart’s Desire!” She seems to be feeling his barrel with her hooves, like a doctor trying to feel a patient’s heart. She lowers her head. Oh, Celestia, please no. She’s only a foal. “Ow! Stupid ribs.” There’s a wet tearing sound when she pulls her horn out of him, like ripping cloth, and when she stabs it back down into him, I can hear bones crack. “There we go!” She gives a happy little clap of her hooves on the stone, and blood runs through the grooves in her horn. It’s like a straw at... with a glass and... when there’s not much left. “Siren? Are you okay?” I shut my eyes. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t think about it. Can’t draw attention. It’s worse with my eyes shut. I can hear her humming. Her brother breathing through that mask. “I’m supposed to go to the observation deck. I should go now.” I step off the bench. The floor is wet. I stare straight ahead. I can’t look down. As long as I’m not looking down, it’s water. Water. He’s saying something. I can’t hear him. I can smell something in the air every time she rips that horn out of his chest. A sudden burst of that sweet scent. Now I know what it is. “The observation deck. I should go.” He’s obviously confused, blankly staring at me for a second before he reacts, but he pulls me that way. There’s stairs and things. It’s dark up here, but I can still hear the lights hum. I forgot the windows aren't windows, but big holes with force fields. There’s nopony here, just a big, shadowy platform with benches facing the windows. I keep my eyes on the walls and on the floor. There’s rippling light there. It must come from outside. Something’s bumping the back of my rear legs. A bench, I guess. He’s saying something. “Thank you, Golden Palm.” I turn to stare at him. He seems so worried, with his golden eyes and stubby ears and those useless wings that are trying to shrug with him. “I’ll be fine from here. You can go.” He’s muttering something about me, and the call, and who’s going to pick me up. I cut him off with a kiss to the lips. He actually goes stiff with shock. His wings try to flare, but they can’t get more than a hoof from his body. It’s like his mouth is full of sludge. I thank him, and give him a strong shove away. He gets it. Then I’m alone. I guess I sit there for awhile before I finally raise my head and look out the window. I can see the city. I mean, of course I can, that’s the point of an observation room. It’s not like a city though—it’s like a forest. A forest of white stone. I can see the water; I can see the ocean floor and the teeming life upon it. The surface isn’t the start of the water; it’s the end of the sky—the vault over the city that marks the edge of the world. Towers of all kinds rise up out of the ground like trees, walkways and rail lines their branches. The buildings give me vertigo—impossibly tall and angled, casting pure light out into the ocean through every window. That’s where the white light here comes from. This room doesn't need any lights of its own; it drifts in that radiance. Canterlot could live in this city’s shadow. It’s more than size though. Canterlot has eye-catching buildings, but this place screams. Every structure is decorated with statues, images of ponies, brilliantly lit signs and banners. Every tower proclaims its greatness to the world, competing for attention with all the others. Taller works blot out and obscure lesser buildings, all trending upwards to the city center. My eyes refuse to see it as a building. Buildings can’t get that big. All the lights from its windows run together, until they form a glittering carpet of white. It reaches up from the stone of the ocean floor, all the way up to the surface. There are no banners, no statues, no decorations. This building doesn't need to tell us that it’s great—it simply is great. It bears only a single sign, written in purple light: “Sparkle Enchantments.” I reach out a hoof to the window. All the city lights are pulsing together, and the field crackles with them. Bright, dim, humm and buzz, flowing from the center outward. This city has a heartbeat. It’s alive, and it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s because I’m still in shock, but I just kind of... watch it for awhile. “Dear Princess Celestia.” The words are quiet. I can’t say them louder. “You asked me to write you every week when I was away. I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise when you’ll receive them. A lot has happened to me recently, but it made me think of you and being back home. When I was little, and I wanted to talk to you, you’d always insist on getting down on your knees so I could look you in the eye. I never thanked you for that. I’ve met another, you see, who reminds me of you. They’re also big, and beautiful and powerful and grand, but they don’t kneel down for anypony. I don’t think they like me very much. It makes me appreciate everything I left behind. I’ll—” My voice is cracking for some stupid reason. “I’ll try to be home soon. Your Faithful Student, Siren Song.” That’s it. Two of Celestia’s students, dead at the bottom of the ocean. One who hated her, the other who wasn’t good enough to get home. If I could... if I could hold it together, if I could do something, anything, I could get home, but I can’t. I’m a stupid, useless twit of a pony, crying on a bench. I just want this all to be over. I just want to wake up and be back in my own bed, my own life. I just... Green is there. How long has she been standing there? Her face looks awful. Not even her coat color can hide the massive, discolored bruise under one eye. “Green!” I need to say something. She’s killed ponies for trying to hurt her and I smashed up her face! I try to get up too fast, slip, and hit the floor. I need to get up, quick, but my stupid legs keep getting tangled! “I... uh. I-I—” Her horn glows. She’s picking me up. She’s strong enough to lift me off the ground! I’m running but I can’t get anywhere oh horseapples I can’t touch the ground. “Green, put me down. Green, I’m sorry I hit you. Please, don’t!” “Shhhh.” She presses a hoof to my lips. “I’m going to put you down now, and I need you not to panic. Can you do that?” She’s not... I hit her. She must be furious, but she doesn't look mad. She’s staring at me. I don’t understand. “Siren, if I put you down, can you stay calm?” I nod. She puts me down, gently, so my hooves have time to find the floor. Then the glow fades. I need a second to catch my breath. All that running in the air. “When I was your age, what I wanted more than anything else was to be from a unicorn family.” She reaches out to me, but stops before she touches me to see if I flinch away. I don’t, and she puts a leg around my shoulder. “That I’d turn out to be adopted or somepony else would take me, or I’d wake up one day and it would all be an awful dream. I’d curl up and mutter exactly the same way. I just wanted this one thing, just this one thing, and if I could have it, I’d never ask for anything again.” Her horn shines crimson for a moment, and she wipes my face. “Cried myself to sleep a few times, muttering that.” “A-and?” I look up to her, but she laughs and shakes her head. “Wantin’ something don’t make it so.” She gives me a little pat and moves her hoof back to the floor. “You’re here, and you ain't gonna wake up in Canterlot. For at least the next little while, you’re stuck with us. No sense in tearing yourself up wishin’ it weren't true.” “Your accent is slipping a bit.” I don’t know what else to say, but she only shakes her head again. “I haven't used those elocution lessons in years anyway. Come now. We missed the morning train, but the afternoon leaves in a bit. We should start getting down to the station.” She turns to go, and I grab her shoulder. I don’t know why. For a second, we just sort of stare at each other. “Everypony else has a belt or saddlebags or something. I can’t carry bits or weapons. It makes me feel useless. Can we... down at the bazaar, I mean...” I’m not sure why I think I can ask her for a gift. Then, she nods. “Yes, Sweetheart. We can get you a belt, and... here.” She opens her saddlebags, pulling out the mugger’s knives. They’re shiny and clean. “Something to protect yourself with.” For a second, I almost take them. Celestia wouldn't approve. “Well—” Green answers, putting them back in her bag. “A belt at least. Come now, we have time, but no sense in dawdling.” About half an hour later, the train comes.