//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 — Dice // Story: Jericho // by Crushric //------------------------------// Chapter Five: Dice “So... got any problems, troubles, conundrums, or any other sort of issues, major or minor, that I as a good friend could help you solve?” Cards. The mare slid her key into the door, heaving a sigh as she opened it up. She turned her head, bringing her sad, empty eyes to bear. Note to self: she reacts poorly to me murdering her friends. “Well, this is the house of Cards,” she deadpanned. “I’m guessing everyone must say that about your place,” I said, looking up at a second story window. She grunted as she stepped inside, and I followed her in. The house wasn’t anything too impressive or noteworthy, especially before she turned the light on. Even then, the front hallway was neat enough, little rooms branching off to the sides, as seemed to be the customary house design in this region. And then I peeked into what I assumed was some sort of living room. I assumed because it looked as if there’d been an explosion in a public library, not a place where ponies lived. There were papers and a few books scattered around, piles of unidentifiable junk, trash; the coffee table had stains because she had apparently never heard of a coaster before, and the pillows on the couch were sitting sideways—to name the first few things that were wrong. Gritting my teeth, I fixed the pillows and grabbed as much trash as I could from the room. Trash being carried, I wandered into the kitchen, where Cards was, and threw it all in the garbage, which, by no coincidence, was the cleanest part of the house. I also took the moment to get rid of my empty box of saltine crackers. Cards grabbed a glass out of the sink, frowned at it, and washed it out with tap water. Above the sink was a wooden sign that read, ‘Bienvenue à ma Maison Descartes’; I knew what it was trying to mean, but the writer had failed something awful. What was with these ponies and that language? Cards drank half the glass of tap water before dumping it back in the sink. I looked down by the trash and saw a dog bowl. “You have a dog?” She looked at me, frowning. “No.” “Then why do you have a dog bowl?” Cards fidgeted with a piece of her long mane. “Yes, um, well... it turns out you’re supposed to feed those.” “Oh.” “Yeah.” A pause. “Are you going to take that shower now?” I prodded. She nodded, turning around and walking out of the kitchen. I just sort of stood there for a moment, then went after her. Cards was climbing up the stairs when I reached her. She glanced back at me but said nothing. “Hey,” I prodded. “Hey, Cards.” The mare reached the top of the stairs. “What?” she grunted, looking back at me. “Why’s your place such a mess?” “Well, you try cleaning up your house between working overtime for your father and being exhausted,” she muttered. “Now, would you please give me a moment to myself? I really need to wash. I smell like the unfortunate aftermath of a minibar spending the night in bed with an unflushed toilet.” Cards turned and trotted into her bedroom, and I followed. Her bedroom had that unmistakable scent of mare to it, different from each individual female, yet easily identifiable enough. A lonely looking queen-sized bed with purple sheets, a heavily curtained window, a closet, and an open door leading to a bathroom. On her night table was a candle and a rather dented alarm clock. Cards slipped off her raggedy chest-barding, tossing it aside into a laundry hamper. Well, she just stripped before you and thought nothing of it. The best you could you do is not think about it, either. “Do you own this place, or...?” I asked. She looked down at the ground. “Why the hell are you in my room? And why the hell why do you keep asking so many damn questions?” I shrugged. “A very bad habit, but one I find hard to break.” Card gritted her teeth, her muscles tensing up. She held out a hoof to me. “Give it to me.” “Give you what?” “The bottle of Bucking Bronco,” she said in a terse voice. “I’d like to have it with when I go in.” I glanced past her, looking at the bathroom shower. “You really want a bottle of alcohol in the shower?” She nodded. “That so?” I growled, taking a step towards her. Cards inhaled sharply, backing up into the bathroom. “Because excuse me for thinking here, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” As I crossed the bathroom’s threshold myself, the mare swallowed hard, eyes wide. I took out my knife and slammed it onto the sink. “Wha’-wha’?” she gasped as I grabbed her arm. With my hoof I traced a line up along her arm’s vein. “Here’s a tip—cut vertically along the vein. Horizontal cuts are a beginner’s mistake,” I hissed in a venomous tone. I left the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I stood there for a moment, an ear perked in the door’s direction, listening to Cards whimper. A minute ticked by. Two. Three. Then I heard the shower come on, and her whimpers quickly mutated into bawling. “Oh, Celestia, why!?” she howled. A bang of something hard against the wall came once, twice, as she screamed. “You stupid girl!” The sound of the knife scraping off the sink arrested my attention. Cards gasped for breath between her cries. Then she threw something hard at the door, likely the knife, screaming, “No!” I heard her body fall backwards. The sound of water running over her body came next, barely audible over her cries. She was going to be in there while, I figured. Satisfied by the turn of events, I turned my attention back to the room. A part of me knew I still didn’t really know the mare crying her soul out in a bathroom shower, but that same part knew her room was the best place to start learning. I started with, of all places, her laundry basket, because personal space and privacy be damned. Her old barding smelt of piss and vomit. I couldn’t quite tell what the blue parts were made of, ditto for the black bumps on it which seemed to be some kind of armored padding. It didn’t take a genius to know the armor was worthless in a real swordfight. Poking around the barding’s sides, I found a set of pockets. Without sparing a second to contemplate the possible ramifications of what I was doing, I opened and searched through her pockets. There was a badge stating that she did indeed work for the local sheriff, a housekey, seven Bits scattered about, but, to my disappointment, no deck of cards to be found anywhere. Closing her pockets, I slid her baton from a little holster on the side of the—and I use this word loosely—armor. I got a feel for the wooden thing’s weight with my magic. It would have been much more useful were it made of metal, but if wood was what they had, it would have to do. I put the gear in the hamper and set about the floor. The black carpet itself was fairly clean, but the things on it weren’t. By the bedside was a number of identical uniforms, just like the barding she’d been wearing. Yet for all the vests, there was not a shirt, skirt, or pair of unreasonably skimpy panties among them. I picked one vest up and, on a hunch, sniffed at it. Yep. Smelled unwashed and sweaty. Did she not have a laundry room? But as I dropped the gear back on the floor I saw something poking out from under her bed. Pushing the clothing to the side, I laid down and looked under the bed. I pulled out a magazine from under the bed. “Wingboner Magazine” it declared itself to be, a pegasus mare on the cover giving me a seductive look. “Well, glad to see some things are universal,” I muttered. Quickly I put it back under the bed, not even looking through it. Okay, maybe a little. What? Cards’ interests piqued my own. Was she bisexual? Secretly into mares? Just confused? And, for that matter, were any of those things particularly shameful in Equestria? That was something I had to look into, Equestrian social taboos... Probably shouldn’t ask Cards—last thing she needed was another reason to hang herself. “So, I found your poorly hidden dirty magazine,” I imagined myself telling her. “Pretty classy.” In any case, it gave me something to ponder as I walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Humming a song to myself, I rummaged through the room. I paused as I looked at the calendar hanging by the doorway, its date at least two months off. The calendar’s monthly image, however, simply read in big, friendly letters, “Don’t Panic”. Shrugging, I looked over to the sink and the cabinets around it. It appeared that Cards had been forgetting to do the dishes. More importantly, I saw as I got up close, there was a rather fresh-looking envelope on the marble counter. I picked it up and slid the letter out. Cards, Hey there! How’s my favorite granddaughter doing? (What? Your cousins are all brats. It’s true!) I just finished spending a year dead for tax purposes, and so next weekend I’ll be in the area. Not in town, of course—that college town a few hours out. I got business in the area, and I was hoping maybe, if you weren’t too busy at your job as a big, tough deputy pony in small town Equestria, you’d have time to see your poor old grandpa. What do you say, Cards? —You Know Who The letter was dated a few days ago, I noted, putting it back where I found it. Glad to see somepony didn’t treat Cards like an outcast. Or, more likely, Cards had just been being overdramatic about everypony’s opinion regarding her. Whatever. I found two address books in one ground-level cabinet. Nothing interesting. From there, I moved over and opened up her icebox. Inside was a helter-skelter menagerie of all sorts of things, a good portion of which, I was sure, didn’t belong in the icebox. Most of the food looked cheap, the stuff a young bachelorette would reasonably have. Other things included a slab of graham cracker, a bag of sugar, cottage cheese, and a large mixing bowl. My eyes shifted to Cards’ oven, then to the icebox, then to the oven again. I set her oven to three hundred and fifty degrees, then grabbed out a specific amount of ingredients (and oddly placed cooking implements) from the icebox, cleaning most of the box out. I wasted no time mixing it all up. Because, after all, I had time. |— ☩ —| Cards stood there in the kitchen doorway. I could see her chest heaving as she glared at me, her horn alight. To her right she held up my knife, on her left she held a tuft of her still-wet mane. A lone bead of water dripped from her forehead and onto the kitchen tile. “Take your fucking knife,” she spat, tossing me the weapon. It clattered across the floor, landing at my hooves. I look up at her now much shorter mane. It was no longer as long and feminine as it had been, but still easily a mare’s haircut. Rather tomboyish, if you asked me. “What happened to your mane?” I asked, picking up and sheathing the knife. “Cut it,” she said evenly. “I can see that. Why?” “Because,” she said, and that’s all she said. Cards dropped the tuft of hair to the floor. What, did she think cutting her hair would somehow solve all her problems? I looked down at the hair, then arched a brow. “Good job. You just gave yourself a haircut. Because, I don’t know, symbolism. Does it symbolize the start of your new life without Glasses?” She gritted her teeth. “Government boy—” “I have a name, Cards. Told it to you once, even.” She sauntered off to a lone chair in the corner and sat down. Her petite body was still a bit wet but far from soaked; she seemed to have given up on using a towel three-fourths of the way through drying herself, maybe because the towel somehow reminded her of me. “I don’t want to know your name, not that I even remember you telling me it. You’ll always be the buck who murdered Glasses to me, always just be that government boy.” Even as she mentioned Glasses, she held her cool. Buck? There’s that word again. I am not a deer. Shaking my head, I sighed. “Fine, you do that. It’s no wonder you didn’t have any friends but him.” Cards’ hard expression fumbled as she sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?” “Oh, that?” I asked, cocking a brow. “Just a little nothing.” “No, really. What is it? Smells—” she sniffed the air “—good.” With a casual shrug and a sideways glance, I opened up her icebox and pulled out my lovely production; it’d been in there to help it cool off. “You were in there for over an hour, constantly crying, so I occupied myself,” I said, and her eyes went wide. “Is... is that a cheesecake?” she gasped. “Yep. Made it just like they do back home,” I replied, cutting out a slice. Floating the freed slice onto a plate I’d rescued from the sink, I offered it to her. “Care to try?” “Where the hell did you get a cheesecake from?” she inquired, warily narrowing an eye. “Weren’t you listening? I made it while you were in the shower—you were crying like an emotionally unstable teen on her period in there—and from what I found on hand.” I walked over to her and offered it to her. “Try some.” She looked at it as if she thought it were poisoned. “I, uh...” “Oh, come on,” I scoffed, grabbing a fork. A second later and I was chewing a delicious bite of my creation. “See,” I said through a mouthful of cake, “if it were poisoned, I’d be dead. Want a slice now?” “Um...” Setting my plate off on a little two-pony table, I grabbed another plate and fork. In another second I was offering her a piece of sugary goodness. With a faint amount of hesitance, Cards accepted the plate and fork. Trying to hold back a smirk, I leaned against the wall and watched her. She put the first bite in her mouth, her eyes going wide. “Oh my Celestia,” she mumbled through her full mouth, “this is delicious!” Cards swallowed. “I actually just had the ingredients lying around?” Wonder if I’m finally getting her to stop hating me... Probably not. Still, food’s a good start to any healthy, stemming-from-mental-abuse-and-murdering-your-best-friend relationship. “Yes indeed, Ma’am.” “Mmm...” she purred as she sank into yet more bits. Catching my look, Cards crossed her arms and declared, “I still hate you.” I grabbed her chair and dragged it up to her table. She protested but didn’t stop me. Pulling up my own chair, I took a seat across from her. “May I ask you a question?” She looked up at me from her cake. “Why?” the mare asked, turning her shoulder to me as if protecting her cake. “Because I’m curious.” Cards gave a hesitant nod. “When you were cowering before me, you stated your name and then mentioned a ‘special talent’, but refused to explain that. What’s a special talent?” The unicorn froze. “Excuse me?” “What’s a special talent?” She didn’t reply for the longest time, just sat there. After nearly a minute, she worked her mouth up. “Well, it’s what you’re best at, ya know? That ‘special talent’ is that little thing you’re especially good at, or else especially love. It’s a part of each pony’s destiny.” “And this is an incredibly important concept to Equestrians?” “To Equestrians? The hell...? No, it’s a universal pony thing. Says so in all the books. Hell, if you’re a lucky sonofabitch, you might even get a job where you’re doing that exact thing, but with the economy as it is...” She let out a wistful sigh. “Too bad there aren’t many jobs ’round here that have much use for girls skilled with cards, ya know? It’s kinda the definitive point of your childhood; it’s when you finally know who you are and what you’re meant to be.” I snorted. “Are you saying that... das Zeichen, the, uh, mark is the focus point of one’s life?” “The mark? Well, cutie mark, but yes—” “Cutie mark,” I deadpanned. “I always hated that term. Feels so... emasculating. Why doesn’t everypony just make it gender neutral and call it ‘the mark’?” She shrugged. “Well, that’s what it called in this part of the country. I mean, call it ‘the mark’ and nopony’s gonna raise an eye, really, or go around the nation and hear whatever the local slang terms are, but...” I rose a hoof to silence her. “We can talk about how the term ‘cutie mark’ will kill my ability to produce testosterone later. Right now I’m more curious about the significance your culture places on the... er, cutie mark itself. Mostly because I entirely disagree with your point of view, but still want to hear it out.” “Well, what do you know about them? I mean, I don’t want to sound condescending about the things you might already know.” Rolling my eyes, I sighed. “Das Zeichen, as we call it, is the mystical, poorly-understood mark that appears on both sides of a young colt or filly’s flank, a mark which persists throughout one’s entire life. Unique only to ponies, its time of appearance is somewhat random, usually while one is still very young, and we think it’s caused by some sort of... action the child performs but we don’t know how that triggers its appearance. The mark is usually some sort of symbolic depiction. Strangely, as scientists have noticed, these symbols are unique to each culture: for example, in one culture the symbol for an apple is an apple tree, in another it’s the apple itself. I always thought was so cool how a mark could mean the exact same thing, sorta, and yet be represented in radically different ways, depending on the culture in question.” I leaned back. “From a less scientific perspective and looking at it from the point of view of my country’s religion, das Zeichen is the mark of our sins, among other things. See, thousands of years ago, the first pony conceived via sexual reproduction was born, and his name was Kain. Soon, the second pony was born, Kain’s brother, and was named Yulakh. Later on in life, Kain become jealous that Yulakh’s offerings were earning more favor from Adonai—that’s, uh, that’s sort of the nickname of my religion’s sole and supreme deity, but He’s more commonly known only as ‘God’, and most people don’t even know He has any names other than God. But back to the story, Kain became so jealous, so very jealous, but he was a smart, reasonable stallion, and so let the hate fester deep within. That is, until he met the Queen of Graves.” “The Queen of Graves?” Cards asked hesitantly. “Yes, the Grave Queen, die Königin des Grabes,” I replied in a dark voice. “One, she was the favorite and powerful angel of the Allfather, of Adonai, but she had forsaken the perfection of Heaven, believing that God was a wicked tyrant. It was she who convinced Dhälenin, the first mare, to eat of the sacred fruit forbidden by the Allfather; and because the first stallion, Melikow, loved Dhälenin so much, he willingly ate of the fruit in order to be with her forever afterwards, willingly forgot the face of the Father, even though even though Maelikov, as Equestrians might say his name, knew well how it would damn him from Paradise. That is why, no matter how hard we want to or try, no living pony will ever be able to remember or even look upon the face of the Father.” “And Kain? What about him?” I gave her a little smile, and she actually seemed to recoil from it slightly. “Ah, yes. Back to the story, shall we?” I grunted. “When Kain met the Queen of Graves, the dark lady spoke clear and seductive: ‘The Allfather has thee abandoned; it is thy brother whom He loves more.’ She spoke well and soft of how Adonai was a cruel and wicked king, unfit to rule Heaven and Earth, and Kain listened to her. Oh, did he listen to her. At the end of it all, the Queen of Graves kissed him and left. “She left Kain to think about what she’d said, to let him make his own choice. She had merely provided him one side of a story, as she’d said, and would never stop him from seeking and hearing out the other side of that story. She said she was honorable and good like that, for God would never let you hear the other side of the stories He tells. But Kain did not seek out God’s side of the story, no. Instead, Kain did the unthinkable: he forgot the face of his father, and murdered his own brother.” I shook my head sadly. It was for effect, really, not because I had any real angst over an old myth. “When He found out, God was furious at Kain, so He rent Kain’s soul asunder in a fit of rage, but it did not kill Kain.” Cards tilted her head. “And then what happened?” “Well,” I went on, “because of this, a piece of Kain’s soul was forever laid bare on his naked haunches for all to see, that all would know of Kain’s greatest sin, that all could see into Kain’s very being. We call this das Kainsmal or das Kainszeichen. Kain, now forever cursed with the mark of the deed, was cast out of his homeland, made to forever walk the earth. In Teutschland, you can call your mark Kainsmal or Kainszeichen just as you could say either mark or cutie mark here, if what you’re telling me is accurate. They’re rather interchangeable in a way.”  I shrugged and took another bite to my cake. “While that story does go on for quite a while longer, and is actually a really good story to listen to, read, and analyze, watching Kain’s character develop into the dark hero of early ponykind, the point is that that’s how our religion explains away the mark.” I ate a piece of my cake. “Now, I’m not saying that that’s the absolute truth and that I’ll kill you if you say otherwise, no; it’s just what my religion says happened. If Equestrian mythology explains it differently, I won’t argue; I was taught that no deity or faith is any better than any other; that we Teutsche must be tolerant and accepting of all beliefs. I’ll still put faith into my story because, as my father used to say, ‘God likes to see an atheist. It gives Him something to aim at’.” She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment somepony knocked at the door. Cards shot me a look. “Um, you might want to hide yourself.” The knocking came again. “Just a minute! I’m getting outta the shower.” I stood up and made my way to the hallway. Trotting as silently as I could, I made my way into her bedroom and closed the door. A positively dumb idea struck me as I looked at her bed and noticed just how much room there really was under it. Putting my hat and duster in her closet to give me more room to maneuver, I crawled under her bed. “Wait. Why am I here?” I asked the stuffy interior as I brushed up against the bits of junk Cards had swept under here. My eyes fell open four tube-like items and all my other thoughts died. I picked them up and brought them close. Two pairs of socks, that’s what they were. They were black-with-red-stripes, exactly like Cards’ mane. I looked around but failed to find any boots they would go with, and I couldn’t recall having seen any such boots anywhere in her house. So, why did Cards have the socks? And why were they colored like her mane? And then I remembered Cards’ dirty magazine as I saw it lying there. On a hunch that no reasonable pony should have ever had, I pulled up the magazine and flipped to the first mare past the cover. Indeed, there she was, a pegasus wearing socks. My head began to make connections that I really didn’t want to make. I suddenly had an odd feeling of being like a stallion in the act of adultery who is surprised when the mare’s husband walks in, changes his trousers, passes a few idle remarks on the weather, and leaves again. I closed the magazine and pushed it and the socks as far away from as possible. As I put my ear to the floor and tried not to think very hard about however kinky Equestrians seemed to think the common sock was, I heard voices from downstairs. “Dad!” Cards exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Oh no. “There’s been a problem, Cards,” Sheriff Strong, I assumed, said. “Have you seen Glasses today?” Well, that’s what I get for being in a hurry. “I...” “Because Deputy Lockstock was passing by the old cabinet of curiosities when he... he... Oh Celestia, you knew, didn’t you? How come—whoa, whoa, whoa, sweetie! Don’t cry, don’t cry.” Ooh, I am so going to die. He is going to come up here and kill me. Cards sobbed. “I’m so sorry, daddy! I, I saw it happen and, and I ran! I don’t know how, but I ended up here, and, and thought that maybe it was a bad dream, and—” Her voice broke into unintelligible whimpers. “Hey now, Cards. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said in a soothing, fatherly voice. “Don’t cry. You’ve gotta be strong, if not for me then for Glasses... Wait. Did you cut your hair? And... is that fresh cheesecake? And... are those two plates? Cards, who was eating with you?” “Glasses. He, he was here earlier but had to go out.” She sniffled. “Hey, hey, hey, sweetie—stiff upper lip, remember? We need to stay strong during these dark days.” He sighed hard. “It was that government boy, I’m sure. He strolls into town, beats up the Doc, assaults the Baron, and now he’s murdered Glasses and made my little girl cry!” Sheriff Strong let out a growl. “I tell you what, Cards. I’m gonna round up the deputies and find this bastard. And when we do...” Great. They’re going to lynch me. I heard wings somewhere off in the distance as Cards said, “But what about me? Sh-should I go get my things a-and meet up with you?” “I...” Sheriff Strong sighed. “No, Cards. You’re clearly still in shock. You should probably go lay down or something. Just... just don’t worry about it, okay? Daddy’s got it all covered, alright, sweetie?” “Alright,” she sniffled. In a few moments the door opened and closed. I heard Cards coming up the stairs, and quickly scrambled out from under her bed. An eyeblink later and I was putting my cap and duster back on, which was precisely the moment Cards walked into the room. Her face lacked any tone when she said, “I just lied to my own father in order to protect the pony who murdered my best and only friend.” She looked me in the eye. “I could have told him you were up here, holding me captive or something, anything really. Instead, I lied to him. I faked tears to get him to leave.” I tried to put a calming hoof on her shoulder, but she smacked it away, snarling, “Don’t touch me!” “You made the right call, Cards,” I said. “If he had come up here and attacked me, well, that’d’ve been that. I would’ve tried to not hurt him, at least.” I glanced at her laundry hamper. “Do you have any bits of your police armor that might cover the rest of your body?” “Why do you ask?” “Because the armor you were wearing is woefully insufficient,” I said. “Were we to get into a scrape, your lovely little haunches would just become an easy target. You’ve got no armor on.” Her brow furrowed. “But you aren’t wearing any real armor, either.” I shook my head and removed my duster. Adjusting my brown shirt and blue pants, I put the duster on her bed. “Pick it up.” “Wha’?” “I said, pick it up. Pick up my duster and put it on.” Cards shook her head. “But it’s too big to fit me!” I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Try it.” She hesitantly reached out with her magic and grabbed my duster. “Whoa! It’s heavier than it looks.” Cards grunted as she lifted it over her shoulder. “Ah, well. Still heavy, but I guess it’s something. Why’s it so heavy?” “Probably because I compulsively hoard things in its pockets, for one reason,” I said in a casual tone. “Huh. And the other?” I put a hoof to my chin. “Well, that’s a state secret. Suffice it to say that it affords me the maximum amount of protect I can possibly expect without compromising mobility. Plus, it looks really good on me!” I shot her a smile, but Cards just stared at me. “In any case, is there any more body-protecting armor like the vests scattered all over your floor?” Cards hesitated. “I think, but not here.” “Where and what is it?” “Well, a few years back, just before the brief return of Nightmare Moon, we received a shipment of this... really strange kind of armor. All we knew at the time was that the shipment was addressed to my father and had the seal of the Royal Canterlot University. Plus a little note that basically said, ‘Pray you never need it’.” I nodded. “What’d it look like?” “Er, kind of like a strange—” she made a few gesture with a hoof “—cloth thing. It was kinda thick and was just sorta strange, but it covered the whole body, even came with boots. Reminded me on a suit of armor, but wasn’t like any suit of armor I’d ever seen before.” “You have the most elegant choice in words,” I said, then paused. “When you think of armor, what do you picture?” “Uh, big, heavy steel armor. I mean, it’s really all there is. Why?” Thought so. Point goes to the Reich. “And where was this suit of strange armor?” She scratched her mane. “Back of the local Sheriff’s office. I have a key ’cause I’d often hung there to avoid having to do anything.” “Hmm... Cards, would you ever so kindly run your police vests through the wash? I have a feeling we’ll need them later. After that, we’re going to have to pay the Sheriff’s office a kindly visit.” “Oh, do I have to wash ’em?” she whined. “Would you like some cheese?” She blinked. “What?” “For that whine. Would you like some cheese?” “I... what?” I heard a distant flapping again. “Do you have lice?” “What? No! And what’s with all these random question—” Cards went silent as I put my hat on her head. Wearing my duster and hat seemed to make her look twice as small. “There. Now you’ve got armor. And until we get that tantalizing bit of armor, I’d feel much better if you had that on. Plus, it smells much better than any of your gear, somehow.” I reached into her hamper and pulled the things from the armor’s pockets, including her wooden baton. Turning around, I offered them to her. “There’s a number of pockets in that coat. Be careful if you open one. There’s literally no telling what I’ve put into them over the years.” I reached into one pocket and pulled out a small bottle of painkillers, replacing it with Cards’ things. “But it’s too big for me!” “I’m sorry, Miss, but I don’t actually have any cheese.” She inclined her head. “Huh?” “Explaining that would ruin the joke and clue you in that I’m making fun of you.” I smiled at the bewildered mare. “Now, come on! Lead me to where this armor is.” |— ☩ —| Cards had insisted on leading me solely through the town’s various back alleys. With the sun still high and ponies going about their usual business, I supposed that was for the best. “Not much further,” she was saying. “We’ll just sneak in through the back, take it, and be gone, right? Right? ’Cause, no offense, I really don’t want to be seen with you.” “I know you don’t want to be seen with me. That’s the fourth time you’ve said it this walk,” I groaned, feeling ever so naked without my duster. So I kept staring at Cards; an outsider observing would have seen me leering at her haunches, but I knew I was leering at the duster. Cards glanced over her shoulder, and I darted my eyes to her face, hoping she wouldn’t become that outside observer. “So, I’m curious. Can I ask a question.” “Go ahead.” “What are those pants you’re wearing all about?” I paused, and Cards stopped walking too. “Ever heard of Denîmes?” “Denîmes?” She shook her head. “No, can’t say that I have.” “Er, it comes from a phrase meaning ‘from Nîmes’, a town in Teutschland, specifically from the federal state of Louisiane, whose residence are collectively referred to as Louisianais.” Cards gave me a blank look. “Uh... I was asking about why you were wearing them. They look kinda silly, you know?” “Ah, did not realize that,” I panned, ears flopping. “Um... I wear them because where I’m from, it’s considered indecent not to wear them.” “Oh, okay.” She shrugged. “Wait. That’s it? You’re not going to ask any further questions?” I tilted my head to the side. “Not even a few?” “Well, no. Why bother? I’ll just add it to my ‘What the fuck’ list and, if I remember, ask later. But I probably won’t.” She pawed at the ground. “Why? Do you want me to ask you questions?” I frowned. “What’s the point of being an exotic foreigner if ponies all just say, ‘Oh, that’s neat,’ whenever I tell them about my strange foreign things? Ruins all the fun, you know?” I looked over my shoulder, peering down one of the side alleys. “And would you stop following us?!” One of the garbage cans in the alley squeaked out a gasp. Cards just looked at me and asked, “We’re being followed?” “Yeah, at least since a block away from your house,” I said, then looked back at the alley. “You’re not fooling anypony except for maybe Cards here, but she’s not exactly the most observant pony, so she doesn’t count!” “Hey!” Cards hissed, stomping a hoof. “I’m right here.” A familiar opal head popped out from its hiding place behind the trash can. “Um, hello there, government boy and his, uh, vague associate,” she called out. I waved her over. “Get on over here, please.” “No, thanks. I’m fine here.” I sighed. “Um Gottes willen! I’m not going to hurt you, Lightning Dust.” I pointed a hoof at Cards. “As for the lady, though, I can’t speak for; she’s kind of crazy.” “Right! Here!” Cards protested, gesturing at hoof at herself for emphasis. Then she blinked. “Wait. You know this mare?” she asked, pointing at the pegasus. “How do you know her?” Lightning Dust took a hesitant step out from cover. “Uh, I wasn’t following you.” “Nonsense. You’re so awful at it that I thought you were playing some kind of joke. Now, come on, I don’t bite. Well, not unless it’s one of those safe, sane, and consensual sorts of romps where things get a bit odd, but that’s not the case here, so...” Cards shot me a bemused look. “Are you... are you trying to be funny? Because it sucks. Stop it.” I shot Cards a venomous glare, and she took a step back from me. A hard look on my face, I nodded at her. Shifting to a much friendlier look, I called out to Dust, “Come here. I want to talk to you.” Dust blinked at me. “R-really?” “Yeah,” I said with a nod, smiling. “You know how to fight, right?” The pegasus took a hesitant step towards me. “Well, I suppose I can.” I trotted up to her. Dust looked like she might bolt up into the sky, but the mare held her ground. “Well, then I’d like to ask you to join me.” She inclined her head, pointing at herself. “Me?” “Or your evil twin. Either way, really. I could use a companion that can fight.” “I can still hear you!” Cards called out. “And I had to spend a few months training before I was allowed to become a deputy!” I nodded. “Like I said, somepony who can fight.” “Why me?” Dust asked, shifting her weight from side to side. “Well, you look tough and have proved it, plus I like the way you look.” I shrugged, and Dust rubbed the back of her neck, looking down at the ground. “See, I happen to think a reporter like you needs herself a big scoop, and how better to get the scoop than with the pony who’s going to literally be making the scoop?” Her ears perked up. “You’ve got a point...” And you’re easily manipulated, it seems. But we’ll not mention that. “So, how game are you with helping me and this young lady here break into the Sheriff’s office, steal some armor, and then go bust this government conspiracy wide open, eh?” Her whole body, wings included, perked up. “Wait. Government conspiracy?” “Oh, did I mention that?” I asked, suddenly acting like I was tactfully trying to tell her all about Cards’ dirty magazines. “Well, I’ve probably said too much.” I turned around and walked back to Cards, saying, “See, I can’t say anything to a reporter. It’s the rule, you see. But were we on a team, well, then you’re no longer so much a reporter as you are an ally.” “You utter bastard,” she laughed. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing here.” I peered over my shoulder at her. “But of course. I’m blatantly manipulating your desire for that big story for my own personal gain. Truth is, I could really use the help of a pegasus; they can get places we unicorns cannot. And in exchange, I’ll get you that story, whether we find it or I have to hack, slash, kick, scratch, and bite my way into making it.” Turning around, I checked out my hoof. “So, are you game, pegasus girl?” Cards shook her head at Dust, mouthing words I couldn’t see. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was trying to do, to discourage Dust. The pegasus, however, wasn’t looking at her. “Well, at least you’re being upfront. That’s more than I can get from most of the colts in my life.” Great. She has colt issues. I mean, am I trying to create the most angsty band of adventurers ever—plus me? “I think you’ll find I’m not like most colts in Equestria,” I said. “So I’ve started to figure,” Dust replied, trotting up to me. Her eyes fell upon Cards. “So, who’s the earth pony?” “Earth pony!” Cards bellowed. “I’m a unicorn!” Dust furrowed her brows. “Well, where’s your horn?” Cards telekinetically tore the hat from her head, pointing at her horn. “See?!” “Wow. It’s small,” Dust observed, and I just stood back and watched. Cards put a hoof over her mouth and screamed into it. I put a hoof on Dust’s shoulder and pushed her away from Cards. “I’d appreciate it if you two ladies didn’t kill each other.” “It’s not small!” Card protested. Dust frowned. “I’m sorry. I meant to say ‘bite-sized’, not small.” Well, it’s good to know that nopony will be murdering each other while I’m asleep... Cards stamped a hoof in the dirt. “Fuck you, it’s ‘bite-sized’!” “Would you prefer the term ‘dwarven’?” “That’s even worse!” Dust shrugged. “Well, then bite-sized it is.” I grabbed my hat and put it back on Cards’ head. “Be quiet, girl!” Cards flinched backwards as I turned to Lightning Dust. “And you! Did I ever tell you that really interesting thing about that one thing?” Dust paused. “Say again?” “Good. You’ve calmed down, both of you.” I poked Cards’ shoulder, and again she flinched back. “Cards, lead us. Come on, we don’t have all day.” “No, no, no—what?” Dust insisted. “GB, what’d you say?” I glanced over at Dust. “‘GB’?” A gust of wind knocked down a nearby trashcan as Dust said, “Uh, GB: Government Boy.” I stared down at her. “Well, I guess there are worse names to have.” I shook my head. “Anyways, Miss Dust, this here feisty thing is Miss Cards, daughter of the local Sheriff, the same Sheriff now after my head.” Dust inclined her head. “Wait, why’s she working with you, then?” Because she has no choice and is too terrified of me to say no. Before I could make something up, Cards spoke for me. “Because, like it or not, that government boy’s the only one trying to save this town.” Her eyes went dark as she said that, as if resigning herself to it. To be honest, it was better said than I could have done. “So,” Dust said, “what are we doing now? Breaking into the Sheriff’s office, right?” “And you don’t have any problem with that?” Cards asked, and the pegasus shrugged. “Hey, you’ve got to step on some hooves if you want the truth. If I gotta step on local hooves to put food on my table, it’s fine by me.” Dust blinked at me. “Speaking of which, what’s this about a government conspiracy?” I shrugged and gave her an outline of what little I know. She listened intently, as if I were telling her some interesting, possibly erotic (that is, everypony wearing socks) adventure story. When it was over, Dust sat down hard and stared at me, her jaw opened as if to catch flies. She was silent for the longest time as she just sat there, her jaw slowly opening and closing. “I... I...” Dust tried, looking directly at me. “I thought that maybe it was a tax issue, that Duke Elkington had surreptitiously raised taxes to help pay for an upcoming celebration or something.” She rubbed the side of her head. “But, but a dark conspiracy that’s been ruining lives and homes, beating up and doing... worse to ponies? I...” “Who is Duke Elkington?” I asked. Dust and Cards both looked at me; both tried to reply. After a bout of them speaking over each other, Dust silently allowed Cards to take this bull by the horns. “Duke Elkington is, well, he’s the local duke. Specifically, he’s the Duke of Marcia.” Marcia. Why does sound so much like “mare, see ya”? I nodded. “Figures you’d blame him. Can’t trust landed aristocracy.” Both mares exchanged looks before coming to stare at me. They each asked something that could be summed up as, “What?” I shrugged. “‘What’ yourselves. You can’t trust aristocrats, and that’s a fact. They’re an untrustworthy, lying bunch only out for themselves.” “But if it weren’t for the nobility, who’d lead us?” Dust countered, seeming sure of herself. “They’ve helped Celestia rule for over a thousand years!” “The people can lead themselves. It’s called ‘democracy’. You know, everyone casting a vote for the candidate whom they think will best serve the community, or state, or whatever municipal level you’re voting on.” “That’s sounds needlessly complicated,” Dust said, and Cards agreed. I sighed, rubbing the side of my face. “Look, a big thing they taught me in Equitologie class was that there was no such thing as an inherently ‘better’ system, whether religious, political, or whatever. What matters is whether or not it works. If it works, it’s fine for them. If it doesn’t work, then it’ll change. I personally think my system is better, but I’m not here to spread a revolution, especially not if the aristocracy works for you. But in my experience, aristocracies never work out.” Rubbing my eyes, I said, “Look, we can discuss this at a later time, okay? As it stands, now is neither the time nor place to discuss politics.” I offered Dust a hoof and helped her to her hooves. Dust looked very contemplated as she just stood there. Then, ears perking up, she smiled. “This. Is. The. Story. Of. A. Life!” She pranced around in place, giggling to herself. “I can see it now—me, my article getting headlined across the nation. Oh, there’ll be interviews about how I broke the story in, how I defied law and risked life and limb to bring ponies the truth!” Her eyes filled with tiny stars. “Paper interviews, fame, renown, meeting all the most famous ponies, show up the Rainbow Dash bitch, a place in the history books! Even an ice cream flavor named after me!” Cards and I exchanged glances, her look saying flatly, “This is your problem, not mine.” “Alright, Cards,” I said. “If you’d be so kind as to lead us to the Sheriff’s office, I’d be most appreciative.” |— ☩ —| “Starting to have second thoughts about this,” Cards said as she eyed the back door to the Sheriff’s office, a three-story concrete building that looked like some sort of incredibly depressed warehouse. The alley around us was empty; my local guide seemed to know her way around, how to avoid the townsfolk. “I mean, do we really need to go in there?” I looked over at Dust, who smiled back at me. “Miss Dust—” “Please, just call me Dust,” the pegasus interjected. “Alright then, Dust, would you mind doing a flyby and seeing if there are any ponies outside the building?” She saluted and took off into the air. I watched her tear through the air at record speeds. Before I could so much as think of a witty remark, she landed before me. “Alright, GB, there’s nopony. Not a mare, colt, filly, zebra, griffon, or stallion in sight.” “Thank you. Now, Cards, please open the door. I’m sure we won’t get any nasty surprises from outside.” Cards frowned. “What about any ponies already inside?” “Well, you must be familiar with the duty roster. Should there be anyone in the building?” She sighed. “No, no, I don’t think so; that’s usually me. My patrol often has me in this part of town, which is why I could sometimes get away with taking naps in the storage room. It’s nice and cool in there. Plus, on slow weekends, the boys and I would sometimes play poker.” Cards adjusted her hat as she took out a key. A moment later and the door was opened. “Alright, let’s get this trainwreck on the way.” “I get off the train,” I replied, expression utterly straight. “What?” “I said, I get off the train. If I know it’s going to wreck, I’m going to get off it.” Cards furrowed her brows at me. “That’s an expression, government boy.” I blinked at her. “I knew that.” Expression blank as both mares gave me a strange look, I cooly opened the door and cooly slipped in. Well, that’s what I tried to do, anyhow. In reality, I missed the door complete and rammed my shoulder into the doorframe, which was rather the opposite of opening the door and cooly slipping in. A grunt of pain slipped through as my arm took its third pounding today. “Ah! Damn doorways—one of my many one weaknesses!” At this rate, I was almost certainly going to lose that arm by the end of the week. “Uh, how can you have more than one ‘one weaknesses’?” Dust asked, tilting her head. “Who’s Princess Celestia’s gynecologist?” I snapped, and Dust fell silent. “That’s what I thought,” I muttered, slinking in through the door, and actually aiming correctly this time. The room was dark but cool. Much of the room’s space was consumed by large wooden storage crates and, in one corner, a proper table. The first set of boxes I saw had strange grooves carved into them that, to me, looked like the footprints of a spider that had had one too many of whatever it is that spiders have on a night out. As Dust closed the door behind her, the light went out. A moment later and Cards lit the lamp above the poker table. With a soft fondness in her eyes, she brushed a hoof over the dusty table, letting go a wistful sigh. “So, where’s the box?” I asked. “Er, gimme a moment to find it,” Cards said, already looking over the crates. “Oh hey, look!” she muttered. “A metal baton. Didn’t know we had any of these. That’s a keeper.” A minute or so passed by as Dust and I leered creepily at Cards. My ear twitched as I heard the distant, almost silent sound of running water. “Anypony else hear that? That watery sound?” Cards looked over her shoulder at me. She was standing on her hinds, her forehooves pressed against one of the crates to give her more height. “The pipes around here are really, really loud. It’s probably nothing.” Is anything in this town not falling apart? “Hmm... all the same... Lightning Dust, stay here and help out Cards if she needs any, and holler if there’s trouble. I’m going to go further into the building.” “Sure thing, GB,” Dust chirped, smiling at me. I followed the little hallway made of boxes until I reached a door. Careful not to slam any other body parts into any more malevolently inanimate objects today, I crept through the door. The hallway beyond was short, more of a large storage closet than a proper. Inside there was a door to my left and another to my right, with the watery sound coming from the rightmost one. Wasting no time, I snaked through the doorway... and got a faceful of steam for my trouble. This room was hot, sweaty, humid, and filled with steam. Oh, and it was very bright. I rubbed my eyes as I tried to adjust, then noticed the other pony in the room with me. I looked into the pink eyes of the middle-aged mare with a red-with-blonde-stripes mane who looked better than many mares half her age. From above her, hot and steamy water rained down, soaking both her and the bottle of soap by her hooves. Oh, I didn’t just walk in on what I think this is, did I? She opened her mouth, and I responded by forcefully clamping a hoof over her muzzle. Yes, I totally did. “Don’t. Scream,” I whispered, my arm getting soaked by the shower. Down the rest of the tiled room were two other showerheads, a large open doorway leading out into a series of lockers. I glanced down at her wet, naked, vanilla-colored coat. The naked mare’s eyes narrowed and became what were known in the Hurting and Killing People trade as “cold slits”, the idea presumably being to give your opponent the impression you’ve just lost your glasses or are having difficulty keeping awake. Why this is frightening is, as of yet, an unresolved problem. They were nothing like the terrified, pissing-oneself eyes that Cards had given me when my hooves struck her. These were the eyes of a mare who would and could fight me. I reacted even before she managed to lift her hoof an inch. With a single twist and a slippery push, I found myself atop the mare. She tried to scream as her head bounced off the shower drain, but my hoof muffled her shouts, even as I saw blood leak from the back of her head and leak down the drain. So there I was, fully clothed, pinning a naked, middle-aged mare beneath me, the shower soaking both of us with hot, steamy water. “Why isn’t anypony ever pleased to see me?” I asked. “I mean, you brutally traumatize one little mare, and suddenly you’re public enemy number one, you know?” That’s when Cards walked in. “Hey, government boy, so I found the box and... did you turn on the... shower...?” The mare and I looked up at Cards, though the mare’s head was upside down and bleeding. “Oh, hey there, Cards,” I greeted, and Cards just gaped. Her eyes swiveled between the mare and me. “Oh my Celestia!” she cried out, charging me. “Mom!” “Mom?” I asked as Cards rammed me in the chest. “Whoa!” I gasped as the little unicorn knocked me off kilter, and I fell to the ground. Just as quickly I rolled up to my hooves, flinging off droplets of water. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?!” Cards demanded, kneeling down by the mare. “I’m... I’m fine, Deputy Cards...” she grunted out, holding her bleeding head. I blinked at Cards. “Hey!” I protested. “Get out of the shower; you’re getting my duster all wet.” I walked up and turned the shower off. “Seriously, do you not ever think of other ponies?” Dust slid out from the hallway and into the room. “I heard something happen and I forgot to holler!” she said, looking at all of us. “Uh, what’d I miss?” The mare staggered to her hooves, still holding one to her bleeding head. “Deputy Cards,” she hissed, “what is the meaning of this?” Cards swallowed and saluted the mare. “Chief Blackout, Ma’am! I’m, um, sort of, uh... with this, er, gentlecolt. He’s that government boy—” “What!?” Chief Blackout coughed, the blood pouring through her hoof. “Mom, please...” Cards tried. “That’s ‘Chief Blackout’ to you when I’m on duty, Deputy Cards!” She staggered forwards, and I offered her a side-neck chop. She collapsed to a ground, the blood from the back of her head slowly clotting. Cards let out a shrill series of frantic questions as she dropped herself to the ground and grabbed the mare in her arms. “Mom! Mom!” she finally settled on when Blackout didn’t reply. The unicorn’s shouts mixed with sobbing gurgles as she looked up at me, her lap (but more importantly, my duster) covered with blood. “What did you do to her?!” she cried. I rubbed my chin. “Well, I either killed her from cardiac arrest, or I knocked her out cold.” My gaze fell upon Dust, who met my gaze and promptly slipped away into the storeroom. I put a hoof to Blackout’s jugular. “Huh. I appear to have killed her. Cool.” The little unicorn sputtered something, but I cut her off with a laugh. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. She’s just unconscious. You can tell from the way she’s bleeding; corpses, even fresh ones, don’t quite bleed like that.” I smiled at her. “Your mom’ll be fine, Cards. The real problem here is, who the hell built a storage room that can only be accessed through the showers?” Blackout stirred and groaned. “See?” I said. “If she’d been unconscious any longer, it would have indicated serious brain damage. Was almost worried there.” Tears streaming down her face, Cards looked up into my smile. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she whimpered. “You’re making fun of me... Why? Does my pain somehow bring you some sick, sick sense of joy and accomplishment?” “Well, no.” “Then why?!” I sighed. “Because it’s much healthier to laugh over things than whine or angst. Really, you should try to laugh more; you’re too serious.” I shifted my head. “So, that mare’s really your mom? She’s got a neat name, Blackout.” Cards rubbed her eyes. “It’s a card game.” “Huh?” “Blackout, it’s the name of a card game.” I blinked at her. “Your mother’s name is the name of a card game. And your name is... Cards?” “Uh... Cards,” Blackout groaned. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She reached out her bloody hoof, putting it on Cards’ cheek. “Yeah,” Cards sniffled. “Yeah, Mom, it’s me.” “Do you think we could convince her to help us?” I asked. “I mean, even after I killed Glasses, possibly gave her a concussion when I walked in on her in the locker room shower, and traumatized her baby girl?” “I... I don’t know,” Cards admitted. I nodded my head and pulled out a series of cloth bandages. “Then we’ll have to restrain her so she can’t find your father and help lynch me. Plus, if she really took a concussion, she won’t be fun to talk with.” I knelt down and wrapped the bandages around her head, the white linens quickly soaking up with both blood and the water in her mane. When I was done dressing her wound, Blackout looked up at me. “You... you’re the one who murdered Glasses?” “I suppose that I am, Ma’am,” I said with a shrug. “But in my defense, he attacked me first, just like that orphanage I burned down. Self defense, you see. So that’s not technically murder, but it is a killing.” I looked to Cards. “Do you have any hoofcuffs? I need to keep my set for the kinky stuff.” The little unicorn looked over at the lockers and nodded. “The one nearest the door has a pair in it.” She hesitated, then pulled out a key. “Here. It’s to my locker.” I took the key and trotted over to the lockers. There weren’t many of them, really. A part of me wondered if they’d built the ladies’ lockers as an afterthought, which might help explain why there was a door leading into the showers. Seriously, whose idea was that? Whatever the case, I found the iron hoofcuffs and made my way back to the showers. I groaned, “I need to change into a less wet outfit,” as I slid up to Cards and her mom. Ignoring Cards’ protests, I hefted her mother over my shoulder and carried her over to a metal bench that’d been welded to the floor. Cards followed behind me the whole time. In another moment Blackout was cuffed to the bench. “There—all better,” I chirped. “Cards...” Blackout croaked. “Why are you working with that... that government boy?” “I... Mom, please listen to me—there’s a good reason,” Cards choked. “He... he followed me home.” “Oh, yes indeed,” I added. “I’m actually part dog on my father’s side.” Before anypony could say anything, I dropped to a more serious tone. “I’ll give you two a moment. If you can convince your mom that I’m the good guy, we’ll unlock her,” I said. “I’ve got to deal with Lightning Dust.” I found the pegasus standing in the dingy hallway, leaning against the wall and taking deep breaths. She was facing away from me, muttering things. I caught a few words, like “cute”, “colt”, and “psychopony”, but most of it was unintelligible. She didn’t notice me standing behind her at first, so I cleared my throat. Dust jumped, spinning to face me. “Oh hey, GB!” she stammered. “See something you didn’t like?” I asked. She darted her eyes away. “I... I... yeah, I did.” I nodded. “The blood?” Dust let out a mirthless chuckle. “I’ve probably seen more blood in my life than most, I’ll bet. But that’s what happens when you’re a little filly who’s bad at landings, that and a month in the hospital for a broken leg. Did not know I had that much blood in me back then.” She shook a hindleg. “Actually got me a lot of cuts, scrapes, and bruises as a filly. Guess I still do, huh? Never did know when to stop.” She paused, and I didn’t break her silence. “But back there? To that mare? That wasn’t an... an accidental sports injury. That was...” If I have to deal with this problem EVERY time I have to harm a pony here, I’m going to slit my wrists. And then make sure to splash my blood all over Dust and Cards, because screw them. “A combat injury?” I suggested, and she hesitated. “...deliberate,” she finally said. Her words hung in the air for a moment, collecting dust. Then I decided to break out my metaphorical feather duster and speak to Dust. “What do you know of the world outside Equestria?” Dust shrugged, using her wings for emphasis. “Not much, really. There’s an ocean one direction, ice and crystal to the north; and the west’s the uncolonized rest of the Equestrian continent, wherever that ends. Always wanted to be a settler out in the Wild West; it’d be awesome, don’t you think?” I frowned. “So, I take it Equestrian schools don’t care much about the rest of the world?” Again, she shrugged. “Ever heard of a country called Teutschland?” Dust shook her head. “Do you know anything, anything at all, about the nations across the sea?” “What is this, twenty questions?” she scoffed. “’Cause I suck at that game. Hard.” I couldn’t help but sigh. “A part of me isn’t surprised, the other part of me is indignant.” “Why?” “Because apart from Teutschland, this world is a hell that wants to kill and rape you,” I said, and Dust just stared at me. “In these distant parts of the world, I’ve heard stallions bragging about their rapes, mares doing it to guys, boys to other boys, even fillies to other girls. I’m still a bit disbelieving that a female can commit such an act, but I guess the world works under the law of the jungle, you know? You’d almost think rape wasn’t wrong, the way those barbarians talk of it. Some of these ponies, zebras, griffons, and whatever will gladly murder you for coin just as easily. I’ve seen lands where everyone’s eating each other, raping and murdering each other, and often doing all three together. “I mean, they talk about it like it were all some kind of trading card game: ‘Hey, dude, did you totally force yourself on that one girl over there? ‘Aw, bro, I don’t have that one yet. I’ll trade you two of those colts over there for that one.’ ‘Well, throw in your mom’s leg and we’ll call it a deal; I’m a mite bit peckish, you see.’ ‘Deal! ...Sucker.’ Meanwhile, I’m sitting over here, and I’m thinking, ‘Hello, a decent, good pony over here!’ And, of course, I need to go over and show them the meaning of justice with my sword and—” I fell silent as I saw Dust’s jaw unhinge and fall to the floor. “I... that can’t be true... That’s too horrible to be true,” she whispered. “Sadly, it is far too true,” I sighed. “But there is hope, for above this world of horror stands a beacon of hope, strength, and freedom.” I smiled, then spat, “Where Equestria and Princesses Celestia are content to live in splendid isolationism from the rest of the world, letting horrors exist and never lifting a hoof to help, and even seeming to willingly forget the rest of the world even exists”— my tone softened —“there are those who would stand up and shout, ‘No! I refuse to let these horrors stand!’ ” “How... what?” “Together,” I went on, “they come together and say, ‘Mein Name ist Legion, denn wir sind viele’. And to the forces of evil, those people are Legion, we are Legion, I am Legion.” “Ley-gee-ohn?” she asked, tilting her head. “Your language butchers the word and pronounces it ‘lee-jun’. Legion. Ergo, I am Legion.” “Wait, ‘I’?” You’re making it sound way too idealistic. But, hey, she seems to be buying it. I proudly pounded a hoof over my breast. “I am one of those people, for I am a Teutscher, like my heroic forefathers before me. Simply put, it is not a road without bloodshed.” “Bloodshed?” “What is this, twenty questions?” I asked, poorly mimicking her voice. “I do not sound like that!” she scoffed, and I smiled. “That mare, Blackout, attacked me first, and I simply reacted. I just pushed her down and she banged her head. But I’m going to warn you right here, Miss Lightning Dust, that there will be worse things than that, more blood than hers. Much like one does not make an omelet without first breaking a few eggs, so too does one not save the day without breaking a few necks—so to speak. Because it’s dangerous to be right when your government is wrong, isn’t it, Ma’am? “And so I ask you, Lightning Dust, if you are willing to accompany me that extra mile. If you are willing to see such things if it helps save countless innocent lives. If you can handle fighting in this gray area. If you are willing to stand up alongside me, ein teutscher Mann, a stallion from Teutschland, and fight against this dark conspiracy. If you’re willing to defend yourself to their deaths.” “I...” she started, but said nothing more. “We have a saying where I’m from: Anfangen ist leicht, beharren eine Kunst. To begin is easy, to persist is art. You’ve already begun by coming this far, so shall you persist? Tell me, Lightning Dust, will you persist, or will you wither away, and never help your countrymen, never get your story?” She didn’t reply, just stood there, mulling everything over. Lightning Dust was so still that if anypony had walked by and seen her, they’d have probably thought that Dust had just had a massive stroke. And then Cards stumbled through the doorway. “Chief Blackout didn’t want to talk,” she murmured, scratching her mane. Cards slithered by me and Dust, muttering, “I think she thinks I’ve betrayed everypony.” Gott! This is why I should travel alone. Stupid Equestrians... Why won’t any of them listen to reason? Oh, I see. What a strange use of the word “reason”. “Hi, I’m that government boy that murdered that one guy, left his body to rot, traumatized the daughter of the Chief and the Sheriff, beat up that doctor even though he attacked me first, but it’s all good because I’m the good guy, I promise.” And you wonder why she has trouble thinking you’re anything but a liar. I jerked my head to the side, whispering harshly, “Shut up!” “Huh?” Dust mumbled. I opened the door behind Dust and slid past her, ending up in the male locker room. A quick change and a fresh towel later I was back in dry threads. In another moment I was standing in the hallway with Dust again. “Just think about it; you don’t have to answer now,” I said, and followed after Cards. “Actions speak louder than words, after all.” The dark storage room seemed darker than ever, even with the lamp. It was not dark for the light but because of the mare sitting beneath the light. There was Cards, sitting at the far end of the poker table, her head in her hooves as she quietly sobbed, the light above her casting exaggerating shadows all over her body. Sighing, I pulled up a chair across from her. I don’t want to comfort another shaken mare! Leave that to ponies who actually care. “How are you doing, Cards?” She looked up at her, my wet hat on her head dripping. “You’re going to hurt my father, aren’t you?” “What?” “I’m running out of friends and family for your to hurt and bully!” she shouted. “And my father is actually out to get you, so... I dunno.” Cards sniffled, rubbing her eyes. “I just don’t want to see any other ponies hurt, government boy. I don’t!” I saw Dust creep into the room, but she kept her distance from me. A thought made the arduous journey across my cold emptiness of my mind. “So, Cards. Strange name to have, no?” “Huh?” the mare asked, holding up her head. “Your mother has a card-related name, huh? Well, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that your grandmother had a card-related name too, right?” She nodded. “Desmoche, that was her name. The, uh, the mares in my family are named after some sort of card-related term. It’s something of a tradition. And then my name is Cards, because creativity was never my mother’s strongpoint.” I pulled out a deck of cards from my pocket, and the mare eyed me. “When I was a colt, my friends introduced me to cards. They showed me the game Einundzwanzig, the game whose Equestrian name is Blackjack.” I pulled the well-used cards out and shuffled them. When I was finished, I held the deck of cards out to her. “And can you guess what the first card the dealer dealt me was?” “No.” “The ace of spades.” I set a face-down card down in front of her. “I thought, ‘Wow, I must be lucky. The ace of the spades, the death card!’ Then the dealer gave me my second card.” I nodded at her, and she drew a card. The mare looked at her card, keeping it away from me. “The second card I was ever dealt was the black jack card itself.” Cards stared down at her hand of cards, eyes wide. “And then what?” “I won, hooves down. The next hand I got was also a blackjack, though with different ace plus a ten. One of my friend, a young mare, jokingly yelled at me, ‘What are you?!’” I laughed. “Later on in life, she was one of the players in the games of strip blackjack my friends somehow talked me into. If you lost a hand, you had to lose some clothings... Which was odd, being that most of my friends were girls. Er, nothing ever really came of it, I swear, just kids doing dumb, sexy things because our hormones were on the utter fritz.” “Sounds like fun,” Cards muttered as I shuffled the deck again. I still couldn’t see what cards she’d drawn, and I didn’t ask for them back. “I never had any risqué fun when I was a filly.” She blinked and bit her lip. “N-not that I really wanted to. I mean, that’d just be improper for, uh, uh, a lady.” Huh. So despite everypony being naked and with eveyone’s gentials just hanging out, there’s still a negative social stigma attached to girls actually doing sexual stuff? Wow. That’s just like Mr. Welch said. I shrugged. “Back home, there was a saying: ‘The dice of God are always loaded.’ But I don’t think God plays dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of his own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players, to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.” “What does that mean?” she asked, and I smiled. “It means there’s no sense giving up now. It means that right now we’re sitting at this table, playing His game, Cards. If we cash in and leave now, the world falls out of our control, however lackluster and pathetic that control may be. If you stay with me and keep playing, we can change things for the good of all of us. I know your people don’t share my religion or beliefs, and so what I’m saying might not make too much sense, but the metaphor stands. And after all, it wouldn’t be worth doing something unless someone, somewhere, would much rather you weren’t doing it.” “Neat little story time we’re having here,” Dust chimed, taking a seat at the table. “But look, I hate to rush, but what are we doing now?” “Mmm...” I hummed. “Cards, where’s the suit of armor you mentioned?” The unicorn pointed to a large trunk to her right. “There. Problem is, it’s locked really tight, and I don’t know how to get in.” I took out my knife and lockpick as I sauntered over to the trunk. Kneeling down at the trunk’s foot, I paused to look about it. Above the lock was the outline of mare with wings and a horn, a vague image of the sun rising behind her. ‘Royal Canterlot University’ was printed below it. Well, the Princess sure has an ego, I thought, examining the symbol. Then I froze. The lock itself was unlike anything I’d ever seen before; it was just a hole that quickly grew narrowing the further it went in, no clearly visible means of opening it in sight. I prodded around in it with my knife and lockpick, but nothing came of that. “Cards, what kind of lock is this? It’s strange, new, and it therefore frightens me,” I asked, putting my tools away. “A really, really expensive kind of magical lock,” Cards offered. “Only a unicorn can open it. They have to stick their horn in, then just use any bit of magic while thinking a very specific thought.” “A lock only a unicorn can open?” I scoffed. “That’s racist. Also, a lock that needs magic? That’s heretical.” I hope whoever invented this gets the tip of their penis bitten off by a snapping turtle. Not because of the lock, but because they were trying to fornicate a snapping turtle, and sickos who do that deserve to be punished. “Wait, you’ve got one of those locks here?” Dust asked. “I’ve heard of those, but I also heard that only a few were made. Too many complaints about them being unreliable, prone to never working, pegasi or earth ponies couldn’t use ’em. Oh, and there was that one poor buck who tried to use one and got his horn blown off by magical backlash.” I suddenly had a new appreciation for the lock. An appreciation that said, “See that thing down there? If you have to stick a horn into it, get Cards to do it.” Cards shrugged. “Maybe, I dunno. All I know is, the key isn’t physical, it’s a thought of some kind that you have to be thinking when you’re opening it, and that I have no idea where the key’d be. And no, I guarantee you it’s not anywhere in this building. I’ve... I’ve had to do maintenance duty here a few times for, uh, neglecting duty, and if the key were here, I’d’ve found it.” Dust groaned. “Great. So we came here for nothing, hmm?” She threw her arms up, flaring her wings for effect. “What now?” “I was so right! Those meanie guys are totally in my house! But it’s okay, ’cause I snuck into my house last night and got my diary and Mrs. Cuddles back!” a thought echoed. “We’re going to the former residence and clinic of Doctor Dome,” I said. “I assume you know where that is, then, Cards?” I asked, and the unicorn nodded. “Good. Good.” I picked up my deck of cards. The unicorn stood up too. She trudged over to me, staring down at her two cards. A distant look on her face, she held up her cards to me. With a quick flip she showed me what I’d dealt her, and I had to force down the gleam in my eye. One card was the ace of the spades. The other was the black jack.