Jericho

by Crushric

Chapter 4 — Cards

Water.

The lake water was no pretty sight. Bits of flotsam and debris lined the shore, the boats all lazily rising and falling with the weak current, the water too murky to see into. It smelt like swamp, sweat, and rotten wood. To top it all off, if you listened carefully, you could hear a strange bubbling noise not unlike the sound of a stallion trying to gurgle acid while fighting a pack of racially insensitive bears. I was looking out across the lake and into the swamp the water devolved into, then my focus shifted to the docks themselves.

Aside from me, the docks were a ghost town. It was as if everypony in the town had been at the meeting, which, even for a small town, was highly implausible. There was always that one schmuck who had better things to do than worry about the safety of everything he held dear.

My eyes drifted to the large pier, at the end of which was a large house standing above the water. Its sign identified it as the “Acolapissa Swamp’s Cabinet of Curiosities”, but the doors and windows were boarded up. A hanging banner advertised “Come see the legends of the swamp!” Bits of green algae stuck to the sides where the water constantly washed up against the building’s supports.

An ear perked itself up as I heard hoofsteps from behind me. I turned back towards the town and saw two ponies walking down the empty streets, trying their absolute best to pretend like they didn’t notice me. But as I looked at them, they dropped the act and stared at me.

One was a young mare, almost half my size in every way, with white fur and a black-with-red-stripes mane. Most of her body was obscured by a black longcoat, which looked rather odd because she was clearly wearing it over lightly armored barding, probably to make herself look bigger, but all it did was make it look like she was wearing an oversized trenchcoat. Her red eyes glanced between me and her companion.

The other pony was a tall mauve earther wearing sunglasses and a coat like hers, but none of the armor beneath it. He was trying to hold a sword in his teeth; it looked more like he was carrying it just to prove he could, rather than because he should—he was holding it like it were a two-week-dead lark. The stallion was larger than me bulk-wise, but height-wise I had him beaten.

“Why, hello there, fellow agent,” the mare said, her voice a tad shaky.

I cocked a brow. “Howdy. What brings you here?”

They exchanged glances. The stallion tried to speak, but all the came out was a mangled garble, so the mare spoke for him. “Oh, just roughing up peasants and making sure nopony speaks—you know, the daily grind.”

“Right,” I said. This close to them, I could see they weren’t wearing any proper clothing under their longcoats. Something about that unsettled me. “I’m Special Agent Jericho. And you?”

“I’m Agent Card. Normal agent, that is.” She chuckled. “Nothing fancy about my job. My associate here is—” her eyes darted to the left “—Agent Glasses.” The stallion nodded, the mare offering me a curt smile.

I turned around and pointed to the cabinet of curiosities. “What do you know about that place?”

The pair stiffened up. “That’s the old museum dedicated to the swamp. It was, uh, left to rot soon after the incident when the old couple went into the Acolapissa and vanished.”

I gave them a hard stare, and the two didn’t move so much as an eye muscle. “Very interesting, my fellow agents.” With an over the shoulder gesture I said, “Come on, let’s up and go inside.” They didn’t protest as I walked up the pier and to the front door, they followed wordlessly. “Now,” I said to myself, “a crowbar is just what we need.” Accordingly, I pulled out a steel crowbar from my bag. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

The first wooden board came off easily enough, as did the rest of them. Soon they were all off, and I tested the doorknob. Locked. It figured; whoever had boarded the place up really didn’t want people getting in. Then, like a foal wondering why the baseball was getting bigger, it hit me.

“Who boarded this place up?” I asked.

“Uh...” the mare stammered, “the sheriff. Sheriff Strong, that is. He was convinced all the little knickknacks the old couple who ran the place had put in it had cursed the place. Well, he never expressly said that, but anypony who actually knew him knew that was his reason.”

Pulling out my dagger and lockpick, I set to work on the door, mumbling to myself as I went. This door, unlike the doctor’s, was a more complicated lock, probably top of the line, the real expensive stuff made for the real paranoid ponies. And, thinking about their disappearance, perhaps they were properly paranoid after all. Of course, I was incoherently mumbling these thoughts when Cards piped up.

“Um, why do you keep talking to yourself?” she asked.

“I merely have a penchant for intelligent conversation,” I said, and went back to picking the lock. A little voice encouraged me to check and see if this place had a back door, and to check if it was unlocked; but I was already too far into this lock. Giving up now would have hurt my pride and made me look stupid.

“Meaning that we’re dumb,” Cards deadpanned.

I stopped picking and agitatedly turned my head to the mare. “Well, I was trying to express that delicately,” I snapped, “but if you insist on saying it that way, I won’t contradict you.” That shut her up, and I went back to work. With just a bit more prodding the lock clicked and the door opened. Peering into the musky darkness inside, I gestured into it. “You first.”

They exchanged glances, and hesitantly ambled inside. Once inside, they darted up to the first little exhibit, putting a short distance between them and me. Said exhibit was a strange necklace with a small likeness of a pony attached it to, the exhibit’s label reading “Acolapissa Dark Magic Charm”. I slipped in behind them and shut the door behind me.

“H-hey,” Cards protested, “now it’s too dark in here.” They both turned to me.

“Now,” I said, voice calm but edging below freezing as I brandished the knife, “you’re going to tell me who you are, what’s going on, and whatever else I want to know, and you’re most certainly not going to lie to me—or, to put it mildly, your remaining existences will be nasty, brutish, and short.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Cards exclaimed. “We’re fellow agents, like we said!”

I tossed the knife, letting it clatter to the ground at their hooves. “Here’s a knife. Kill yourself.”

“What?!” she gasped, her eyes as wide as tarantulas.

“You lied to me, and I’m a very honest stallion. So I’ll give you a chance to end it yourself before I let my sick mind wander.”

“Hey, hey now,” she tried, “let’s all calm things down and talk, okay?”

“You want to talk?” I chuckled. “Fine. Talk. And remember, I gave you the knife for two reasons. One is so you have the option of killing yourself instead of letting me do it. The other is because I’ve so much faith in myself that I know giving you my weapon won’t help you worth a damn.”

Cards blinked. “Wait. Now we’re the ones with the weapons? ...Glasses, if you would.” The stallion took a step in front of the mare, and I rolled my eyes.

“Where’d you buy the paint?” I asked. The stallion tried to answer, but in that moment I wrenched the sword from his jaw with my magic. Levitating it over to me, I said, “The paint you used here. I must say, from a distance, this wooden sword almost looked metallic.” With a quick motion I broke the shoddy blade in half over an elbow.

“Dear Celestia!” the stallion gasped. “He just broke it over his knee!”

I furrowed my brow. “Two things—what’s with the apparent need to state the plainly obvious? And second, it was my elbow, not my knee.”

He looked puzzled. “No, that was your knee.”

Raising my arm to him, I said, “This is my arm, it has elbows.” I pointed to my leg. “That is a leg, its main joints are knees.”

The stallion tilted his head. “That’s your foreleg, it has knees. The other thing is your hindleg, it’s also got knees.”

I facehoofed. “Shut up! We can discuss why your language is wrong later. As for now, back to business.”

Her horn glowed white as the mare picked up the knife. “We’ve, we’ve still got you outmatched, government boy.” As she pointed the knife at me, the stallion pulled out a nightstick from a coat pocket. “S-so just give up quietly, and there won’t be no mess. Got any problems with?”

“You just ended a sentence with a preposition,” I said. “Bastard.”

A real fight can ordinarily last only a matter of seconds, because that’s all the time it takes to kill a person, or knock him out, or disable him to the point where he can’t fight back. So when the stallion charged me, I didn’t think twice about jumping out of the way; and when he charged again, I dodged right with hardly a thought, all just instinct. That’s exactly when I didn’t realize the little mare had stuck a hoof out, around the time I tripped and hit the floor, landing on my back. A last drop of instinct held my arms over my face as blunt blows rained down on me.

“Sorry! But! You! Had! This! Coming!” she yelled, bringing down a baton with every word. My ribs and arms exploded with pain, and I was now quite sure that if I hadn’t fractured my shoulder fighting that guard, I was pretty sure it was now. “And this is for you-know-who!” Cards snarled, and kicked me in the groin with enough force to give me grandkids a concussion... and she promptly gasped in pain.

Using the moment to my advantage, I rolled away and jumped to my hooves, ignoring the agonizing shoulder and the searing pain in the area outlining my groin. “Ha! Codpiece, you violent wench!”

Spewing forth a tirade of swears and insults, the mare furiously rubbed her hoof. “I am not a wench!”

“Well, not a good one,” I countered. “You’ve got about as much sex appeal as a road accident.”

“How charming,” she hissed. “So charming I almost wish I had a daughter so I could forbid her from marrying you.” The stallion charged me again as she finished.

“I don’t have time for this,” I groaned. With a quick flash of motion I pulled an object from under my coat. A quick horizontal slash at about neck-level and his limp body tumbled past me. His head hit the reception desk that was apparently behind me, knocking a small scattering of unseen objects to the ground.

The mare gasped with horror, her baton and knife clattering to the floor. The light of her horn died away, but the aura from mine substituted well enough. Her face had gone green, lips quivered, knees and elbows shook, and her eyes were moist.

With a terrible retching sound she lost her lunch on the floor, spitting out bits of bile and plant matter mixed with stomach acids and unidentifiable juices. It soaked her baton and forehooves, and soon it mixed with the thick fluid dripping lazily from my sword. She stood there, hunched over, spitting the taste out of her mouth. Cards retched again, made a vomiting noise, but nothing came out.

She stumbled sideways as she retched again, nothing coming out for the second time. “Oh, Celestia!” she cried. “Make it stop!” Another retch. “Please, no more! Stop it!” Her leg twisted and she collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

I stepped around the slowly spreading pool and walked over to her. Standing above her, I magically picked the knife out of the vomit. I flipped it around and offered it to her. “One last chance. Kill yourself.”

“You... you killed him...!” she whimpered.

“Yeah, and?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“On my Celestia, how could you... could anyone... oh my—”

I kicked her in the stomach. “Remind me when I care.”

Cards doubled over in pain, gasping for air. “I can’t breathe,” she choked.

My eyes checked up on the stallion, and I snickered. “Hey, it’s kind of funny, really. Here I am, just a random passerby with a fetish for wearing sexy outfits, now embroidered in some sort of dark conspiracy.” I chuckled. “And yes, I guess the angel’s prophecy came true.”

A drop of her friend’s blood dripped off my sword and onto her face. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. When she did, the mare let out a bloodcurdling shriek of pure, animalistic terror. She flailed backwards, only to bash her head against a display.

I took out a white cloth and rubbed the blood from my sword. Sheathing the sword and tossing the blood-soaked cloth into the vomit, I held the knife out to her. “Now,” I said in a voice radiating kindness and mercy, “you’re going to tell me what I want to know, or I’ll cut your other ear off .”

A bile-covered hoof furiously patted over her head. “B-but I’m not missing any...” Cards fell silent as she caught the look in my eye.

“Oh, I know. The first ear’s non-negotiable—shows you I mean business.”

In a desperate, fleeting attempt to get away, the mare scrambled to her hooves, slipping and sliding on them, and tried to run towards the rear of the building. Of course, all that did was allow me to grab a hoofful of her tail and jerk her back. Cards yelped as I threw her to the ground before me.

The mare stared directly up to me, tears streaming down her face, a dribble of snot in her nose. “I don’t wanna die...” she whispered. Something in the air smelled foul, like ammonia—it was either from the stallion’s body or the mare before me. Probably the mare, but it was too dark to tell.

“Well, you should have picked a nicer job,” I scolded. Leaning over, I grabbed her by the mane and shoved her head against the wall. The knife came up to her ear as I flashed her the kind of smile that would get most people locked in a room with soft walls.

“But I’m a good pony, I help ponies—I don’t deserve this!”

I paused, the knife hovering inches from her left ear. “Run that by me again.”

Her eyes managed to somehow widen even further. She quickly began sputtering a mix of gibberish with what almost could have been words.

Letting go of her mane, I hovered my hoof before her mouth. Still sputtering, she looked at it. Then, with a quick jerking motion, I smacked her across the cheek, knocking her to the ground. She gasped for breath as I said calmly, “Now, speak slowly, Ma’am, and take it from the top.”

The mare brushed the tears out of her eyes. “M-m-my name is Cards, special talent is... well, what do you think? I work for Sheriff Strong of Sleepy Oaks, and, and so... so did Glasses.” She whimpered. “Sheriff Strong’s my dad, and Glasses was my only friend.” Cards buried her face in her filthy forehooves.

I pulled out a box of saltine crackers from my bag. They were possibly stale and God-only-knew how old, but they still tasted good. Taking noisy bites, I listened to her story, nodding as she went.

“I just wanted to try to make Daddy proud of me—I’ve been the town’s screw-up since... since that happened, okay? So I... I convinced Glasses to help me dress up as one of the agents and try to convince you we too were with them.” She sniffled, the tears streaming again. “But now he’s dead a-and I’m gonna die and my body’s never gonna be identified ’cause you’re gonna cut me up—oh sweet Celestia, I’m so sorry! I don’t wanna die a virgin—I don’t wanna die at all!”

To my annoyance, I ran out of the crackers. Brushing the crumbs from my collar, I put the box back in my bag, to be disposed of later. “That it?” I asked through mouthful of food.

She dared peek at me from behind her hooves. “W-what?”

“You and Glasses were just trying to infiltrate the shadowy government agency that’s been causing you all so much grief?”

“Y-yes...?”

I gave her a smile. “You’ve got a little something on your cheek—something other than your best friend.”

“Wha’?”

My hoof smacked her clean across the jaw. “Some stupid.” I grabbed her by the arm and heaved her towards me. Shoving my face into her, she gave me a pathetic whimper. “Do you want to know a little secret, ma chère?”

Cards muttered something that passed for an affirmative.

I smiled. “You and I are on the same side.”

She blinked hard at me. “What?”

“Yeah. You’re a good guy, I’m a good guy—we’re on the same side, fighting the same enemy.”

“But you killed Glasses!” She quickly put her hooves over her mouth.

I chuckled warmly. “I told you that if you lied to me, your remaining existences would be nasty, brutish, and short. You lied to me, and I’m a stallion of my word.”

“You... you... you...”

“See, I’m a rather honest pony.” I moved away from her and bowed. “A very bad habit, but one I find quite hard to break.”

She just stared back at me with uncomprehending eyes. “But... you’re a murderer.”

“Perhaps, but I’m also the only pony who gives a damn about helping your town.” I glanced to Glasses. “You say you were always a screw-up?”

Cards bit her lip. “I’ve always been my family’s fuck-up.” She sniffed, her eyes going wet again. “And now, because of me, my only friend is dead... G-glasses was the only one who was really nice to me. Granted, he-he wasn’t really into mares, but he was the only one—I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do without him.” She curled up into a little ball, muttering what almost sounded like prayers.

Hello, pity party; table for one, please!

I rose myself up to my full height and looked down at her. With my magic I took her coat off and used it to clean the vomit from her hooves. She didn’t resist any of it. Oddly, she was wearing a light bit of armored barding under her coat, just like I’d thought she was. Other than that armor, which only covered a part of her chest, she was entirely naked. The armor didn’t look very impressive, being mostly of cloth, but it was probably better than nothing. From where I stood, I must have looked like a complete giant to her—she, a little ball of white fur with a black-with-red-streaks mane, and I, the tall pony in the leather duster towering above.

“Do you know a lot about this area?”

She perked an ear up, daring a look at me. “Yes. When nopony ever wants to talk to you, you gotta find ways to occupy your time, ya know?”

“Hmm... and how would you like to save your town, defeat these evil ponies, and earn your father’s respect?”

Cards swallowed a lump. “More than anything.” I offered her a hoof, but she only looked at it. “What is it?”

The mental image of Lyra came into my mind and refused to leave. “Well, it’s a hoof, and I’m offering it to you, and you look so sad and pathetic on the ground. You do the math, Miss.”

She continued to stare at hoof like it was some trick, which, given the circumstances, was understandable. I smiled down at her, but to little effect, I felt. Eventually, with the timid slowness of a fawn trying to stand for the first time, she lifted a hoof to me. Quickly I took her hoof in my own and helped her to her hooves. Looking down, I confirmed that the smell of ammonia had come from her loins.

“What about him?” she asked, pointing a shaky hoof in Glasses’ direction.

I shrugged. “To the living we owe respect; to the dead we owe the truth.”

Cards seemed to accept that. She turned her reddened, tear-soaked eyes on me. “And what about me?”

Taking a step towards her, she flinched backwards, yelping as she fell towards the puddle of urine. I caught her before it was too late, yanking her away from the mess. I told her, “Why, no one could kill you. And you know why?”

“Wh-why?” As I held her up, I could see her shaking hard, like she was having some sort of attack.

I patted her on the cheek. “Because you are much, much too pretty. God’d have such a shame if He lost you.”

She wrinkled her nose, furrowing her brow. “God? Who’s He?”

“Literal translation into Equestrian for the word Gott.” I shook my head. “Never mind that. See, we are, both of us, much too pretty to die.”

Cards gave me a horrified stare. “You murdered my best friend... were about to cut my ear off... and now you’re telling jokes? What kind of monster are you?”

I smiled wide and toothy, and she gasped through her nose, reeling her head back. “I’m the monster who wants to save this world of ours. Now, tell me: did Glasses have any family? Was he popular and did he have a lot of friends?”

“No family, and I was his only friend, too,” she admitted, then bit her lip.

“Good. Nopony to miss to him.” I drew out another white cloth and wiped the vomit off my knife with it, then sheathed the dagger. As an afterthought, I picked up her baton and rubbed it down, too, cleaning it well. I held the weapon out to her. “For such a little mare, you’re remarkably tenacious. That’s a valuable trait in the right hooves. Take your nightstick and follow me.”

She wordlessly tilted her head.

“Here’s how it’s gonna work, Miss Cards: if you wish to live, then follow me. I’m the only one right now with the knowhow to save your town, and the only one who cares enough to do it. You know the area much better than me, and so would be infinitely useful. Come with me and I guarantee your safety. Stay behind and let them eventually kill you. Sure, they might not kill you today, maybe not tomorrow or next week, maybe not even this year—but do you really want to live in that shadow of fear, the thought that maybe today they’ll come and take everything away from you? You’re the Sheriff’s daughter, likely already a prime target. So, again, if you wish to live, then follow me.”

Cards stood there for a moment. Judging by the direction her eyes had gone—down and to my right—she was locked in internal dialog. I gave the baton a little shake, and she snapped out of her thoughts. Her horn glowed white as she grabbed the baton. “You’re a complete monster, you bastard,” she whispered. Then, in a voice so soft that I wasn’t really sure she was still speaking to me: “But what choice do I have?”

I patted her on the head, and she glared at me. “That a girl, Miss Cards. If it helps, think of me as your new and only friend, yeah? And if you backstab me, I’ll tear out your fallopian tubes and strangle you with them.” Her eyes widened as she stared at me; I wasn’t lying or joking in the slightest, and my tone said as much. Pulling out a blue bottle, I offered it to her.

“What is this?”

“It’s mouthwash. Trust me, you need it. Your breath is as fetid as all hells—I should know, judging by how it smelled when I was in your face.” I took out an ugly purple towel and held it out to her. “And this is to clean yourself of piss.”

Her cheeks went bright red.

“Do you know any magic?” I asked as I stared at the cabinet of curiosities’ door. I hadn’t seen it before, but above the door, written in white chalk, were the words Vous Vois. At least, I assumed I hadn’t seen it before; a paranoid feeling inside me worried that it had been drawn while I was inside. But, judging from how weathered it looked, it’d been there awhile.

“Telekinesis,” Cards said.

I put a hoof to my jaw. “Anything else?”

“Levitation.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

“And oh! Did I mention telekinesis?” She glared at me.

Was she trying for a joke? It was so precious. “Glad to see you’re getting a sense of humor back,” I chuckled, and she continued to glare daggers at me. “I thought all Equestrian unicorns were supposed know a small collection of spells.”

Cards looked up at me, cocking a brow. She was holding Glasses’ shades, cradling them against her breast. “Just because you can be so blasé about murder doesn’t mean you have to mock me.”

I turned to face her. “I wasn’t mocking you, I was being serious.” I took a step towards her, and she visibility struggled not to flinch. “Whence I come, if a unicorn colt or filly shows too much magical aptitude, the government takes them away.”

She blinked at me. “They’re doing that to your hometown? I, I didn’t know they were doing that.”

I kicked away one of the boards I’d torn off earlier. It went sliding across the house’s deck and into the water. “No, the guys doing evil around here are in no way connected to the government whence I come. In the land whence I come, the government does that for the child’s own good, and we all know it.”

“What?”

“Yes,” I said with a nod. “The use of magic is considered an incredibly dangerous thing whence I come, not to mention a heresy. Using more than telekinesis can attract the wrong sort of attention from the wrong sort of monsters, so the government takes the child away and trains them how to properly use magic without endangering themselves to those forces that would harm them. It’s the only sane option, really. Well, to be exact, we don’t ‘train them to use magic’, as that would be a heresy. We train them to use ‘psychic powers’, which is somehow totally different. But, if you called them magi, folks would generally understand what you meant, even if it is insulting, so I’ll call them that for your convenience, since your people don’t distinguish between magic and psychic powers, I don’t think. Psionic powers are A-okay. Magic would only bring about, again, forces that would harm them.”

“Forces that would harm? What do you mean?”

“Like demons,” I replied.

She shifted her weight, the wooden dock below her creaking. “What’s a demon?”

I paused. Of course Equestrians probably never dealt with demons. If they had, Cards would have doubtlessly understood just how monumentally stupid of a question that was, akin to asking, “Oh dear, you appear to have forgotten what gravity is and plummeted thirty feet straight up into the ceiling, are you alright?”

“If you described a demon as inequine and sadistic, it would probably commend you on your keen observations, and then demonstrate that your mortal definition of sadism was laughably inadequate.” I looked directly at her. “I can see it in your eyes, your apprehension of me. But let me tell you now that the worst fate you could possibly imagine is peanuts compared to what they’d do to you. You don’t want to ever be found by one.”

“What... what would happen then?” Cards asked, cradling the sunglasses tighter against her chest.

“Well, if they found you, they’d rape you to death, eat your flesh, and sew your skin into their clothing—and if you’re very, very lucky, they’d do it in that order.” I smiled at her, but she only returned me a dark, distant expression.

“Where are you from?”

I let the question hang in the air. “Das Reich Teutschland. Sometimes referred to simply as the Reich. It’s a nation halfway across the world, really. It is the most tolerant, most free, most democratic, and most feared nation in the history of the world, in fact.”

“You’re not an Equestrian?” she asked, rubbing her shoulder.

I half-scoffed, half-laughed. “Not in the least bit. I’m a Teutscher. We’re the good guys, I promise you. At the very least, you can always count on Teutsche doing the right thing—after they’ve tried everything else first, of course.”

“I think I’ll put my questions about that somewhere in the forties or fifties on my growing ‘What the fuck’ list...” She swallowed hard. “Can I—can I ask you a question?”

A part of me wanted to give her a smart-ass answer, but the more reasonable part of me prevailed. “Go ahead.”

Cards titled her head to the side and pointed the cabinet of curiosities. “C-c-can’t we at least bury Glasses?”

“And who’d bury him? You?”

She nodded. “There’s an old cemetery out a little ways east. When I was a little filly, I would sometimes go there and... just sorta read the headstones. That was before my mother taught me what a cemetery was and what the headstones—” Cards swallowed.

I shook my head. “There’s no time.”

“But you can’t just leave him there to...” She choked over her words. “Can’t just leave him there.”

“And I suppose you’ll want to buy some flowers and put them on his grave too, right? You just want to let everyone know what’s gone on here, and let them jump to rash conclusions, huh? Because if we do that, they will all see, and they will not take kindly. If we leave him here, there’s a chance his death will go unnoticed, and we can carry on with our business unhindered.”

She crossed her legs, looking at the ground. “I... he was my friend.”

I took a hard step towards her, and she visibly flinched. “I am very fond of truth, but not at all of martyrdom. But this is your Weltschmerz, little lady. And we must deal with that.”

“Velt-shmairts?” Cards asked.

Shaking my head, I facehoofed. “It’s a teutsches word which has no real Equestrian translation. Basically, it means ‘the sorrow that one feels and accepts as one’s necessary portion in life’. But now is not the time to dwell about that. We need to move forwards, to make sure nopony else is hurt by these government thugs.”

Cards looked about ready to cry when I finished. A part of me thought I was crossing some sort of line, not only murdering her only friend but refusing to bury him, instead leaving him to rot in a possibly haunted house. Another part of me reminded me that I really didn’t have time to hold a funeral for somepony that no one but this one little mare cared about.

“Oh... okay,” she whimpered, her ears falling limp.

I continued, “Getting what you want is a rare this in this world of ours. All too often we don’t get to sit around and have pity parties for our mistakes. Fact is, we just have to keep going. The alternative is death.”

She sniffled. “Without Glasses, that’s what...”

With a forceful motion, I grabbed her chin and shoved my face into hers. I could smell the fresh mint on her breath as her pupils dilated. “What? Were you about to say that you wanted to die without him? Is that what you really want, Cards?” I scoffed. “If I’d known you’d be this pathetic and weak...”

Tears in her eyes closed, she shouted, “But Glasses is dead! You killed him—and I killed him because of my stupid idea!”

“Yeah,” I said, utterly calm in tone, “you did, you stupid girl. I told you to be honest, and you talked him into doing what he did, forcing my hoof. But he’s dead, Cards, and unless you wallowing in pity or dying would somehow make the universe go ‘Oh, whoops, Cards is sad or dead; better bring her friend back to life’, then you’re nothing more than a selfish bitch indulging in her own selfish wishes. In fact, if your death brought ponies back to life, that’d mean you were my religion’s chosen one or something, which would mean I’d have to worship you, which is not an idea I’m at all comfortable with.”

With an agonizing slowness Cards opened her eyes, staring into mine. “I hate you,” she whispered softly, and I didn’t doubt her. “But Glasses... oh Celestia, I’m so, so sorry.”

Letting go of her chin, I grunted. “Then prove it, girl.”

“How?”

“By living, Cards, and by learning never to screw up like that ever again. Learn to think, learn from this. Trust me, girl, yours was just a minor screw up compared to those I’ve made in my life. You’ll make more, girl, for that’s just a part of life, making mistakes. But in the grand scheme of things, yours was only a minor mistake.”

She gritted her teeth. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“What kind of mistakes did you make? Did they… did they…”

A pregnant pause.

“Cards, I must live every second of every day knowing that I’ve had many friends over the years,” I said, looking her in the eye, “and so too must I live in the knowledge that I have never had a friend whom I have murdered, either by accident, by negligence, or because I… Because of that, I am only too happy to suffer pain. Pain means that I’m doing good. Pain keeps me on the path of penance. I know I will never be forgiven, but this is as close as a monster like me may ever come.” I paused, letting that sink in. “And do you know what? When I drew my sword today, I made one more mistake, just like you.” I knelt down, placing a hoof over my heart. “I beg forgiveness from thee, for I have forgotten the face of my father.”

She only stared at me. “Your… father?”

“Yes,” I said coldly, “my father, both in the literal and metaphorical, ancestor-worshiping way; for the father is greatly important to the religion of my people. As is said in the land whence I come, ‘For the sake of the mothers who bore you and the fathers who smiled upon you, make every swing of the sword count! Stay focused, else you have forgotten the face of your father!’ To forget the face of one’s father is a grievous sin; if you cannot remember the face of your father, you will make mistakes, you will err, you will perform badly, and you will inevitably fail and die. To remember the face of your father is the first and most important part of being a warrior and hero.” I looked up at Cards. “And on this day, I have forgotten the face of my father; and for this reason, I failed and ended up murdering your friend. Can you ever forgive me?”

She sniffled, gritting her teeth. “Never,” Cards said quietly, voice dripping venom. It was kind of adorable, actually. “I will never forgive you for what you did, I can never forgive you.” She swallowed. “A-and to tell you the truth, I don’t think you’re sorry at all. I think that if you could go back, you’d kill him again just out of spite.”

“So be it; I accept your lack of forgiveness, and will take it upon my soul as a black stain, yet another one to add to the black mural that once was my mortal soul.” I stood up tall, looking almost directly down at the little mare. “But therein lies difference between you and I—and the reason I can sleep at night, if only just—is because I know how to move on.”

“Move on?” she half-chuckled, half-sobbed. “How can you move on from this? Why would I even want to?”

“Because if you can’t,” I said in a firm but stern voice, “it will eat you up. It will consume you. The memory and guilt will drive you on a quest for redemption. You will fight to cleanse your unclean soul for years; you, a monster in your own eyes, will become a monster trying to prove in you there is no such beast; and in the utter end, there you will stand, knowing that you’ve only gotten worse.” I closed my eyes and, in a soft voice: “In the end, you will stand there, and you will realize that you are me.”

“You?” she asked.

I took a step forwards, and she flinched back. “Yes, me. Cards, you are seeing the start of the road whereupon I have walked for what has felt like thousands of years. And when you are so far down that road that you have become old and can no longer even remember the road’s beginning, you may as well be caught in the ever-spinning Wheel of Time. The Wheel of Time is the darkest, deepest, most sadistic level of the afterlife, young Cards—therein, everything is the same as the real world, only you keep making those same mistakes and errors, never learning, and only digging your grave deeper and deeper. It is not the fate you should be damned to; for me, it is the deserved price of my sins. When you’re in my place, you learn how to move on because… because it’s the only thing you can do, but I learned too late in life. The Road of the Wheel can only end one way: thy flesh consumed.”

Cards was quiet for a long time. And then, weakly, she asked, “H-how does one move on?”

“You put a smile on your face, you tell a joke, and you try not to think too hard about it. You find amusement and happiness in the little things as you continue fighting on, knowing full well that you can never truly forget what you did, that some ounce of guilt will always be there. You offer up your very flesh to be consumed in the hopes of trying to make it right, knowing you never can. You devote yourself to trying to make life better for the rest of the world, all with a smile on your face because, deep down, you know you’re a monster.”

I took a breath. “It is, I guess, inspired by the third Säule des Konfessionismus, one of the five pillars central to the religion of my people. This pillar is known as Self-Sacrifice. As the Prophet—the Mare Laurentia—said millennia ago: Flesh must be savaged and blood spilt in the acts of true penance: he who sacrifices and gives of the flesh openly unto others is truly worthy of forgiveness. He who has forgotten this truth has forgotten the face of his Father.” I looked her in the adorable red eyes she had, which the mare herself was rubbing.

“Is that why you’re in Equestria? Trying to make life better?”

“Huh?”

“Are you here, so far from home, because you made a mistake? The kind of mistake you couldn’t make right at home?”

I blinked, and suddenly I was staring into the eyes of Mr. Welch, even if one of his eyes was cut, bulging, and resting partially on his cheek. His white fedora was sitting off kilter on his head, his body riddled with cuts, gashes, burns, and various other bleeding wounds. I knew that my body was too. And yet he smiled at me. “I’m the last of my kind, Jericho—changeling, a free thinker, and a good guy, probably the only one of my kind to ever raise a hoof in defense of a being not of my ilk. I know that only one of us is getting out of here alive, and I’m damn sure I could kick your ass in a fight. The contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Still, given the choice between me and you... it should be you that lives. I’ve lived me a long enough life, done everything one of my breed can do. But you? Well, there’s still a lot you could still do, a lot you’re gonna do, you clever colt.” Welch embraced me in a tight hug. “And remember, brother, I love ya.”

I smiled at him. “No homo.”

Mr. Welch grinned, shaking a hoof at me. “Goddammit, all the homo!” We both laughed hard, but I could see tears in his eyes. A horrifying, gut-wrenching howl erupted from behind him. “Run, Jericho! Run, you clever colt!”

His eyes evaporated into the red eyes of the little mare in front of me. My heart was beating faster, unevenly, as I rubbed the side of my head and swallowed. “Not at first.”

She hesitated. “What do you mean?”

I gave her a hard look. “Back in the Reich there was something that belonged to me, something I’d been gifted from birth with. ‘A strong pony stands up for himself,’ they say; ‘a stronger pony stands up for others.’ And unless I could be that stronger pony, this gift would kill me and everything I once held dear.

“Maybe it’s hard for you to see because your culture is unfamiliar with this. I’m a Teutscher; that’s practically our philosophy, defend to the death the weak and helpless. I’m sorry for what happened to Glasses, just like you are. And to prove that, I’m going to hunt down those behind this conspiracy, skin them alive, string them upside down from some high place, and let the sun slowly finish the job for me.

“But whatever my past and history, I wouldn’t dare whine or angst over it. All that matters is that I’m doing what’s right because it’s the right thing to do. And if you ever want to have any hope of sleeping comfortably at night ever again, then you’ll join me, help me stop these ponies that’ve been causing you, your people, and your town so much grief.”

About how much of that overly idealistic crap do you actually believe?

So long as she buys it, it doesn’t matter.

Cards swallowed hard. The whites of her eyes were so red that, combined with her naturally red irises, it looked as if somepony had gouged her eyes out and replaced them with nasty, fleshy red orbs, and then drilled pupils into them. I was struck with the strange mental image of a Cards on an operating table, a surgeon suspiciously resembling me standing above her, asking, “So, would like red eyes or blue ones today? Or maybe green? That color’s far more in season.” It took her a matter of minutes to get a grip on herself, to rub the tears away.

I took a step away from her, putting too much weight on my injured shoulder. Grunting loudly, I swung my weight to the other arm. “Verdammt noch mal!” I hissed.

Cards hesitated. “Are you... are you okay?”

I let slip a throaty chuckle. “I must hand it to you, Cards, you hit quite hard.” As I steadied myself, the mare began gnawing on her hoof. I didn’t imagine it tasted very good. “I’m pretty sure you fractured my shoulder.”

“R-really?” Judging by the look on her face, Cards wasn’t sure whether to be proud or ashamed. She settled for looking concerned.

With adroit speed I pulled out a red, pear-shaped bottle from my bag. I looked at it, contemplated popping the cork and chugging it, but instead asked Cards a question. “Do you know anywhere I can get a bite to eat?”

“Huh?” she stammered.

“Unless you want me to be utterly useless, you’ll point me in the direction of a place where I can eat.” I glanced around the docks. “And maybe somewhere to get a drink.”

Cards, without looking, pointed off in the distance. “There’s a little bar out that way. It serves some good food, drinks, and the bartender is absolutely amazing at pretending to care about your problems.”

I paused. “Wait. Isn’t everypony but you at the town meeting?”

She hesitated. “The meetings we hold are never long, mostly so that those government types never get too wise to our actions. Between Glasses and I tracking you down and what went on in there... I’m pretty sure things are getting back to normal. The guy running the bar’ll be there, at least. B-but why do you suddenly want to get plastered?”

“I don’t care to get drunk. In fact, I’ve never been drunk a day in my life,” I said.

“Makes one of us,” she said beneath her breath.

Was that before or after you brought shame to your family? Walking towards her, I said, “Doesn’t matter. Take me to this bar. Now.”

The sign above the wooden building read “The Watering Whole”. No, not “Watering Hole”, “Watering Whole”. With a big old W and everything. That meant that I now knew two things about the bar’s owner: that he was great at feigning interest in ponies, and that he had absolutely no regard for the Equestrian language. I’ll admit, the written Equestrian language was a complete nightmare. How did they spell the word “enough”? Clearly, there needed to be a G and H somewhere in there.

I shook my head. “You’re sure this is the place?”

Cards nodded. “If not, I don’t know where I’ve been sinking my spare Bits all these years.” She scratched her mane. “Do I have to go in?”

With an over-the-shoulder glance I said, “What’s the matter?” Behind her, lake waves brushed up against the shore. There were wooden docks here, just a fenced-off incline dipping down into the water. Still, I could hear splashes from the water, and water was nice.

The mare gave her tail a sad twitch. “Whenever I had a bad day—more often than I’d like to admit—I’d come here and get wasted. Whenever that happened, Glasses would come find me a-a-and help me home.” She choked up.

Rubbing my shoulder and looking away, I rolled my eyes. “If I go in there without you, can I count on you to stay put?”

“Where would I go?”

“Home? Your father?” I suggested.

“Oh, sure,” she scoffed. “ ‘Hey, dad! Guess what I did today? Got my best friend killed because I’m stupid, stupid, stupid, and not a smart pony! So, how’s mom?’ ” Cards gritted her teeth, staring hard at the ground.

Taking a step away from her, I eyed her. God, if she was going to keep whining, it’d be easier to just drown her in the lake right now. “O–kay. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

She brought her red eyes back up to me. “I’d appreciate a bottle of Bucking Bronco—to help me wallow in pity.”

“Alright, Miss Cards. I’ll be back in... who knows.” I touched the red bottle I had in a coat pocket. The door didn’t have a handle, so I braced my good shoulder against it and entered that way, the door closing behind me. The interior reminded me a lot of Ponyville’s Inn & Tavern, wood, lighting, the booths and tables, bar with its tender at the far side.

What didn’t remind me of my dreadful experience in Ponyville were the two ponies facing off in the middle of the floor, both their sides facing me. “Oh, so ya think you can just scare me off, hmm?” the opal-coated pegasus mare sneered, brushing her two-hued amber mane with a hoof.

The other pony, a young stallion wearing a brown stetson, shook his head. “Lookie here, girl, I’m tellin’ you ya need t’get outta here. Your Nightmare-Moon-may-care attitude’s attractin’ too much damn attention, what with that new gov’ment boy runnin’ about. So get outta town. Now.”

“That government boy? You mean that stallion who got attacked earlier today in town square?” she asked.

Yay. Ponies were talking about me.

He sputtered for an answer. “None of your damn business! Just get outta here!”

The mare stamped a hoof at him. “Well, you can’t just bring something like that up and then not explain it—that’s rude! And what’s with this problem you’re having with the government I heard about?”

Hey, wait. Isn’t that the depressed-looking mare who was drinking that smoothie earlier? Wow. She sure perked up.

“Look, girl, if you don’t get out right now, I cannot be held responsible for what might happen t’ya.” He shook at hoof at her for emphasis.

Snickering, she took off her backpack with only the dexterity of her wings. My eyes looked over the little outfit she was wearing, if you could call it that: a tan little thing that resembled a cross between light armor and a miniskirt. It covered her flanks and probably her other things just enough so that, standing still and upright as she was, the mare looked almost decently dressed. She still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and I highly doubted any panties, but, for an Equestrian, it was an admirable start.

“So, you think you could take me on?” she taunted, then stuck her tongue out. “Come at me, buck!”

Buck? Did she just call him a “buck”? Doesn’t that refer to a male deer? I shrugged; it was probably slang that I’d have to look up. Maybe it’s an insult. It’d fit her tone.

The so-called buck scoffed. “Look, girl, I ain’t gon’ fight ya—”

“Then screw off,” she declared, cocking a brow. “I’m not gonna just mozy on outta this town, oh no. What are ya gonna do to me anyways, huh? Huh?”

I removed my hat and scratched my head. Ignoring the two ponies, I maneuvered my way around them, keeping as much weight off my injured arm as I could without limping. The idea of eating seemed rather appealing to me; I struggled to recall if I’d eaten anything but those three saltine crackers during these last few days. I was probably starving. Brilliant.

“Look, missie, if ya wanna go at it, I’d be happy to oblige ya.”

She laughed. “Oh, so what’s with the sudden change in attitude?”

My mind wandered back to Cards. Had I made the right choice with her? Well, other than the murdering her only friend part, that was. And while I didn’t know her too well, a part of me knew she was going to be an emotionally unstable, naïve liability. It didn’t help that she hated my guts. Yet, she was my local guide, an asset I likely needed should I ever try to do what I was doing. And as for her ideals, what could I say? Her heart was in the right place, and that was a better start than many. Plus, I realized, her mane was black with red stripes, and that reminded me very much of a playing card. Playing cards. Cards. It was like she was color-coded for my convenience!

“Well, girl,” the buck went on, “I really don’t like your attitude or your tone. So maybe, jus’ this once, I won’t be needin’ to act me like a gentlecolt.”

“Oh, so that’s what you call ‘being a gentlecolt’, huh?” she scoffed. “Well, I’d hate to see what your definition of a jerk was.”

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “I’m lookin’ at my definition of a bitch.”

“Oh, I know you did not just say that!” the mare snarled.

“What?” he chuckled. “Bitch?” With a grin on his face, he repeated the word to her several times. “Just a flank spankin’ hussy of a she-dog,” the buck spat. As I walked behind the girl and made my way to the bar counter, I glanced at him. Our eyes met, and his expression went dark.

At just that moment, the mare let out a roar and smashed his cheek in: “You do NOT call me a bitch!” The buck gasped as he tumbled to the floor, the mare now hovering above him. “Do it again! I dare you! I double dare you, pig!” she barked. “Get back up so I can kick your ass again, buck!”

Meanwhile, I paused to watch the show. But with her in the air, her odd skirt-thing no longer covered her so well. My eye flicked to the bartender, who caught my glance and shrugged. I should probably help end this fight.

Why? a thought asked.

Because I’d rather not have some mare shouting while I eat, thank you very much. Plus, shouting might prompt somepony to go get the Sheriff, and I’d rather not explain to him how I brutally and emotionally scarred his precious daughter. Fathers tend to be very protective of their little girls, and I think one innocent murdered fills my quota plenty for the month. With a sigh I walked to the mare as she landed on the ground.

 “Come on, buck!” she demanded, kicking him in the gut. “You think you’re tough?! Scary?!”

I extended a hoof and tapped her on the shoulder. “Ma’am—”

Her body twisted around as she threw a hoof at my face. I shifted sideways, and her eyes widened as her punch sailed past me. With a quick motion I grabbed her arm and threw the mare onto the ground, pinning her beneath me. The action made my shoulder howl in silent agony, but I kept a straight face. Her eyes looked up at me, scanned over my body, and widened to their extremes.

“Bu–how–who–what–where–government boy!?” she sputtered, a droplet of her spit landing on my cheek. The mare panted for breath as she stared up at me.

“That’s nice, Ma’am, but I was hoping to—”

“You–know–you’re–kinda–cute–up–close,” she blurted out, cheeks going red. The mare sucked in her lips, scrunching her face up.

I cocked a brow. “That’s nice, Ma’am. But if you want to go down that road, the least you could do is wear a corset and stockings.”

She silently stared up at me, her wings spread out from when she’d hit the ground. Next to us, moaning and still dazed, was the buck. As her eyes continually scanned over me, the mare still blushing, I glanced over her body. Toned, flat stomach, lovely wings—the kind of body a girl could be proud of, even if she was one of those girls with enough insecurities to fill a house.

I stood up from her, and she immediately turned her flanks to the side, as if modesty were now a thing. I offered a hoof to her, getting a second flashback to Lyra. “Care to stand, Ma’am?” As her eye settled on my offered hoof, she swallowed hard and grabbed it. I pulled her up; soon she was standing before me and looking up at my face, her wings still erect.

“Hi,” she offered in a weak tone.

I bowed my head slightly. “You can fold your wings back up, Ma’am.”

She blinked hard, her wings snapping back to her body. “R-right.” The mare opened and closed her mouth, contemplative look in her eyes. She took a deep, hard breath. “My name is Lightning Dust, reporter for the Cloudsdale Post.”

“That so?”

The mare smiled. “That’s right. Ace Reporter Lightning Dust, at your service! But, uh, you can just call me Dust, ’kay?”

“‘Ace reporter’?”

She gave a nervous laugh, taking a step back. “Well, I mean, not yet.” Her voice dropped to a mumble. “It was pretty much the only job I could get after she happened.” She picked up again. “B-but if there’s something fishy going on here—and I know there is—then I’m sure I can make headlines...” The mare trailed off as she looked at me again. She swore under her breath.

I glanced at the buck on the floor. “Well, my name is—”

“That government boy,” she said coldly.

Shifting my weight to keep pressure of my injured shoulder. I sighed. There was no point in trying to dissuade everyone of that name, was there? Might as well roll with it. “You might very well think that, Ma’am; I couldn’t possibly comment.”

Dust took a step back, swallowing hard. “Uh, does that mean that...?”

I flashed her a reassuring smirk. “Relax, Ma’am. I’m not from that government; I’m a good guy. But, in any case, would you mind not fighting so loudly? The police in this town don’t seem to want to make the distinction between good guys and bad guys.” I turned and walked towards the bar, but I heard her following me.

“Wait! You know what’s going on here?” she asked.

Taking a seat at the bar, I said to the bartender, “Howdy, sir. Don’t suppose you’re serving food at this hour?”

He shrugged. “Am. But you don’t look like you know what you want.”

I shrugged. “Correct. What do you recommend?” I like how he’s not actively hating me right now. He actually seems rather mellow.

“Cheese chips, meal-sized order.”

The hell are those? “I’d take an order of that.” Then, remembering the other thing I wanted, I added, “And a bottle of Bucking Bronco.”

The stallion cocked a brow. “Well, if you insist, gov’ment boy. Gimme a few, aight?”

I nodded. “Thanks.” Shoulder. Shoulder! Hey, stop hurting! It’s getting annoying.

“Stop ignoring me!” Lightning Dust protested, stamping a hoof.

Pulling out the red potion from my coat, I looked at the mare. “Is there a problem?” I asked, and put the bottle on the counter. A thought occurred to me, and I looked at the bartender. “Hey, do you accept raw precious metals as currency?”

“What kinda metals we talkin’ here?” he asked, poking his head up from the cabinet he was searching.

I took out a solid gold coin and put it on the counter. “The expensive kind.”

The bartender’s eye lit up. “Why, I do think we can work with this. Pretty much covers the cost of whatcha ordered plus extras.”

“Hey, Ma’am. Do you want a drink?” I asked.

Dust paused and smiled. “Yes! Yes, I could do with one.” She took a quick seat next to me.

“Bartender, a drink for the lady—”

“Hard apple cider,” Dust finished.

“And a glass of water, please,” I added, and both ponies gave me an odd look. I shrugged. “What? I like water, it’s nice.”

Behind me, somepony was staggering up to us, breathing heavy. Dust looked over her shoulder and sighed heavily. With a grunt she catapulted herself towards the staggering buck. Her hoof made nice with his jaw, promptly knocking him flat on the ground again. “Oh, what’s the matter?! Ain’t had enough yet, huh?!” The bartender and I looked over at her, and she returned the look. Dust shrugged in an ‘are you guys crazy?’ manner and said, “He’s an asshole!”

“Yeah,” the bartender said, frying up something, “but he’s also a deputy.”

Dust muttered something that combined ‘Nightmare Moon’ and ‘fuck me sideways’ in the same breath. “Does that mean I’m technically a criminal now?” she asked, and he and I shrugged. The mare put a hoof to her chin, thinking.

“Here ya go, buddy,” the bartender said, putting a glass of water and a strange bottle on the counter before me and Dust’s drink by where she’d been sitting. The bottle was stout and brown, a label on it reading ‘Bucking Bronco—151-proof!’ but that wasn’t what got my attention, no. What I was focused on happened to be what was at the end of the bottle’s neck; the bottle ended in the vertical head of some stallion, his teeth bared, and looking like he was charging some foe.

I thanked him and took a sip of water, still eying the Bucking Bronco. Whatever it is, I doubt it’s cheap stuff. My shoulder refused to let me forget its plight, and my bruised ribs decided that now would be a good time to toss their hats into the ring of agony, too. Gritting my teeth, I did what I could to look fine and dandy. Turning over the bottle, I noticed that the liquid inside was apparently highly flammable, according to one obscured bit on the back label. And then I saw that it had a jaw-dropping seventy-five-point-five percent alcohol content. Holy Sovereign, was Cards trying to kill herself?

“This is legal?” I asked, pointing to the bottle.

The bartender look over at me and furrowed his brow. “Why would it be illegal?”

I stated the alcohol content. “That’s a bit high, no?”

“You ordered it,” he dismissed, going back to preparing the food.

Dust took a seat next to me, quickly taking a sip of her drink. She turned to me and batted her lashes. “So, you’re that government boy, hmm?” When I didn’t reply, she continued, “Say, if I got in any legal trouble, don’t suppose you’d mind helping a girl out, hmm?”

I took a drink of water. “Allow me to assist.” Turning around I got out of my chair and went to the buck, who was rubbing his face and still lying on the floor. “Howdy, mate,” I greeted, and he groaned. Lyra, Lyra, Lyra, I thought as I held out a hoof to him. “Need you a hoof?”

Groaning, he grabbed my hoof, and I helped him up. “I, uh, thanks,” he sputtered, his face sporting two huge eyesoring bruises. Then his eyes widened. “Oh shit—you’re that government boy!” The buck tried to get away from me, but I still held fast his hoof. Instead, I pulled him towards me, shoving my face into his.

“Now, was that any way to behave around such a delicate lady?” I asked, indicating Dust, who was watching with interest.

“Wha’-wha’?” he stuttered.

“Oh, indeed. What would your friends think if you, a big, tough stallion, got beaten by such a little girl, huh? Why, I’m sure you’d never hear the end of it, how a girl beat you.”

He licked his lips, glancing between Dust and me. “I...”

“So here’s what I’ll do, brother—you just walk away and forget about this all. In turn, I won’t tell a soul about how you were so pathetically beaten without being able to put up a fight against one little girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, I... I’ll...” As I let him go, he stumbled backwards. He was silent for a moment. “And you won’t tell nopony?”

“Not a soul,” I said with an honest smile.

He nodded and turned around. I watched him slink out of the bar, and thought I heard him gasp “Cards?” in surprise, but the door closed before I could catch anything else. As I returned to the bar, Dust just stared slack-jawed at me.

With a breath, the mare closed her mouth and grabbed her shot glass of cider. Another moment later and the glass was empty. Dust looked at her glass for a moment, frowning. “Y’know, I’d like to take a bite out of you,” she said, fluttering her lashes at me.

“Yeah, I can tell. I’m like a cookie full of arsenic,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “But if you wanted another drink, just ask and I’ll get you another; there’s no need to feign a physical interest in me.”

She crossed her arms and made a scoffing gesture. But before she could say anything, the bartender poured her another glass. “Technically,” he said, “I still owe him several more drinks, what with how much that one coin was worth.”

Dust cocked a brow at me. “And just what is it that you did, again, government boy?”

“Oh, a little of this, a touch of that. Swordplay might be involved. Lots of danger. Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll, chips, dips, chains, whips. Performing generally heroics feats.” I winked at her. “Who knows?” Dust just stared up at me, and I went back to enjoying my water. “So what’s with that little thing you’re wearing around your haunches?” I asked after finishing the glass

“Well, if I wear it anywhere else, it chafes,” she replied with a shrug, a wing brushing up against me. “But no, seriously, I’m just wearing it because it frees up space in my bag.” Dust gestured a hoof at the bag she had put under her chair. “I know it looks stupid.”

“I like it,” I offered, holding back the urge to laboriously explain my reasons to her. It struck me how odd it was that I admired it precisely because it covered up her body, particularly when a major goal in any male’s life was to get a girl as naked as possible. Maybe Equestria was starting to get to me.

“Then you, my friend, must have poor taste in fashion,” she chuckled. Without warning, she inched towards me, her hoof fiddling with the miniskirt.

My eyes followed her work. Then, quick as could be and with an air of utter nonchalance, she just ripped the miniskirt off. Quick as I could, I darted my eyes forwards, trying not to catch a glimpse of her soul. Flicking a glance sideways, I saw her leaning towards me, the skirt held up in a hoof, and a cocked brow aimed in my direction.

“See, it helps me to... Hey, you okay there, government boy?” Dust asked. “Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She nudged one of my legs with her own. “Hey.” She whistled. “Big guy, down here.”

After taking a breath, I looked towards her, doing my best to keep solid eye contact. “I’d prefer it greatly if you put your miniskirt back on and covered up your haunches.” It occurred to me how strange it was that my current problem was how the pretty girl had just stripped in front of me, and how my reaction was precisely the opposite reaction to how that was supposed to go. Equestria was definitely getting to me.

“Miniskirt?” she muttered. “I wouldn’t call it a miniskirt. It’s more of a utility—” Dust blinked. “Hey, wait a minute! Are you saying my flank ain’t nice?!” She slapped a hoof over her mark. “I’ll have you know this is grade-A stuff right here, you jerk!”

“That is not the problem,” I groaned, fighting the urge to glance to where I might see something of hers.

“Then what, huh?! ’Cause I don't care how cute you are, I am not gonna get insulted by some creep wearing such a stupid outfit—”

This is going to be a recurring problem, isn’t it? Alright, new resolution. Since this isn’t your home culture, don’t make a fuss about it, or you’ll keep having problem. As they say back home: other country, other rules.

“Ave Laurentia,” I interjected. “I think you are a rather hot lady!”

“You really think so?” she asked in a suddenly friendly tone, sitting back down properly in the seat.

“Yes! The point was never about how your physical body appeared to me, nor how you conformed rather nicely to my standard of beauty,” I quickly replied. “Look, if you want to keep it off, do so. It’s just that I’m from a... a weird place, alright? My apologies. I can handle it, I can handle it.” I sighed hard.

Dust gave me a long, hard look. “Okay,” she said in a suspicious tone, narrowing an eye.

The bartender, clearly sensing it was his time to shine, set down a plate of food before me. The meal itself consisted of little batons of deep-fried potatoes covered with melted cheeses. I realized I recognized the food, not as chips but as Pommes frites, a beloved part of the diet back home. Shoulder aching, I grabbed a hoofful of fries and consumed them. I paid Dust no attention. They tasted divine.

Halfway through the meal, I grabbed the red potion and chugged it. The liquid washed down my throat, igniting with the food in my gut. Sitting there, I felt the ignition move into my bloodstream, warming my shoulder and the rest of my bruised body. The heat, I knew, was actually just a number of localized fevers—my body working beyond its natural ability to heal, and doing it well. I sighed as the pain died down, replaced by the slowly dulling heat.

Dust poked my good shoulder. “Hey, uh, what was that?”

“Hmm?” I hummed, smiling at my good health.

“That thing you just drank.”

I looked at her. “Healing potion.”

She furrowed her brow. “What?”

“In lieu of a doctor, they’re a godsend. Though it really helps to have food in your gut when taking one, or they could very well end your life. Made from the extract of this really strange insect that likes to feed off wounds and diseases, excreting this strange, healing substance that repairs flesh and even bones. It and the Balsam von Gilead are miracle healers. Let it never be said that the Teutsche are not innovative.”

“Wait. What’s a Teutsche?” she asked.

Ignoring her, I went back to eating my meal. Well, wolfing it down with reckless abandon, but details, details. Salty, cheesy, potato-y goodness filled my belly as I ate, occasionally cooled down by sips of water. When I finished it all, I sighed in pleasure. “My compliments to the chef.” I grabbed the bottle of Bucking Bronco stood to leave. “That coin covered the costs, right?”

The bartender laughed. “Boy, do you have any idea what the value of money even is?”

“Not Equestrian, sir,” I replied, walking out. He didn’t stop me, which must’ve meant it was more than sufficient coinage.

“Hey, hey,” Dust called out. “You didn’t tell me anything! What’s a Teutsche? Who are these government guys everypony’s so scared of? Hey, stop walkin’ away from me!”

I glanced back at her, flashing a smirk before I went on my way.

“Celestiadammit!” Dust snarled as I neared the front door. “You can’t just knock a girl to the ground, buy her a drink, and then just walk off! Hey! Hey!” Just as I opened the door, I heard a much quieter, softer voice: “Please, please don’t just leave me here without telling me something.”

Sighing, I looked back at her. She was standing there, her wings sagging, ears drooping. “Trust me, you don’t want to know,” I said, closing the door behind me.

Cards was slumped against the nearby fence, her eyes closed. As I approached her, I could hear snoring, and I couldn’t blame the girl. I sighed and brushed my magic along her mane. “Wha’?” she stammered, an eye opening.

“Here,” I offered, holding out the bottle to her.

She took a moment to respond. When she did, it was to bury her face in her hooves. I gave her a moment to collect herself, and when she did, it was just to grab the bottle from me. Gritting her teeth and grunting, she tore the stallion’s head off the bottle. I wondered if somehow she was imagining me as that stallion. Cards tilted her head back and took a deep swig.

I grabbed the bottle from her and capped it, eliciting protests from the mare. “Hey, hey, hey—take it easy, girl. Are you trying to drink yourself to death?”

Cards ran a hoof through her mane and sighed. “Do you really want me to answer that?” She sniffed the air. Scrunching up her nose, she looked down at herself. “And can we go back to my place? I really need a shower. Please.”

Yes, you do. “Sure,” I said, gesturing down the street. “Lead the way, Cards.”