//------------------------------// // 9 - Autumn Mornings // Story: Evening Flames // by Nicknack //------------------------------// Monday morning, two weeks after I’d asked my brother for a letter of recommendation, I started my new job. The Hoofington Guard’s Citadel was smaller than Farrington’s—and it was built out of wood—but they still had a lot of inter-guard correspondence. I spent most of my first day walking from wooden desk to wooden desk, picking up and dropping off envelopes. Whenever my mail rounds were finished, it was then my job to head out into the city and supply the high-ranking guards with the information they needed to keep things running smoothly.   All in all, it was easy work, and I never had to leave the city—I’d made sure to ask about that point during the interview process. The best part of my job, by far, was how nice everyone was. Yeah, I was new, but I hadn’t expected the guards to treat a secretary with as much politeness as they showed me. Four years in the service industry had clearly taken a toll on my expectations.   By Wednesday, I knew my entire day’s schedule by heart. It wasn’t the most mentally involved job ever, but I liked my routine. At four fifty-five—just like Tuesday—I finished up sorting the night shift’s mail before giving the mailroom one last round of organization. Once that was done, I headed out into the main area to find Sergeant Pepper, my boss, to let her know I was done for the day.   When I got outside the entrance to the Citadel, a gray stallion waved at me. He was a little on the shorter side, for a stallion, but I’d recognize his matted-down mane anywhere: Iron’s used to look exactly like that after a shift, before he gave up on actually having a mane.   Anyway, this guard was around my age, if maybe a little younger. I smiled back at him and asked, “What’s up?”   “Uh… Maxie, right?” I nodded. He rubbed his right hoof against his left foreleg, then he said, “I’m Silver Lance, and…” His face flushed. “I was wondering if you were busy Friday?” I raised an eyebrow, but before I could think about his question too hard, he shot me a sheepish grin and stammered, “B… but, if you’re busy, or don’t want to, that’s—” “I’d love to.” I smiled back at him. Even though it was weird for me, making plans with a stallion days in advance, he was too cute to say no to. Besides, it was just dinner; nothing had to happen unless we both wanted it to. If things clicked, I wouldn’t mind having a new friend—or more—in Hoofington. Maybe he could even show me around.   We made plans for dinner after our shift on Friday, at six o’clock; after that, we parted ways for the evening. I mused about Lance all the way home. His helmet mane reminded me about how I hadn’t sent Iron a thank-you letter. I’d asked for a letter of recommendation, but since the Farrington City Council was dumb enough to demote him, he’d come through with three: one from him, one from the new captain, and one from my old boss.   When I got back to my apartment’s blue carpet and white walls, I set my saddlebags on their hook in the hallway before heading into my living room. It was decorated how I wanted it—neat, but not sparse. I’d found a store that sold posters for some of my favorite graphic novels and a place that sold modern-looking furniture; the rest was just a simple process of making the apartment into a home.   After sitting down at my desk, I levitated out some paper. As I inked my quill, I chastised myself a little; I’d promised to keep in touch with Iron, but it’d almost been two weeks since I’d written to him. I told myself I’d have to start writing weekly letters; Iron and I hadn’t fixed our relationship just for me to throw it away by falling out of touch.   I smiled and put the quill to the paper.   September 13 Dear Iron Thanks for the letters of recommendation. Mr. McFeely’s was a nice touch, and Captain Horatio’s was… Well, what, is the city council drunk, or just stupid? I mean, at least you’re not Officer Bulwark again, but geez. You’d think they’d be better to the guy who’s done everything that you’ve done over the years. But whatever. Hoofington’s nice. My apartment’s newly refurbished, and the few neighbors I’ve met seemed cool enough. I know it’s super early to say anything, but between the ponies, the city, and my job… I dunno. I think I might do all right here for the long haul. The guard job’s awesome, by the way (and thank you again). Everyone’s polite to me instead of nagging about prices, or what “fragile” means, or using the addressing ink to write letters… Tell your girlfriend hi, I guess. Anyway, now that you’ve got Sundays free again, you should come visit sometime; I’ve gotten settled, so my couch is now open for crashing on. For you. If you bring a guest or something... I’ll buy you two a room. Sorry it took me so long to write back; I’m going to be better about writing stuff in the future. Until next time, take care of yourself. Love, Maxie   I folded Maxie’s letter back up and set it on my coffee table. On the couch next to me, Gilda asked, “So… how’s your sister doing?”   “Better,” I admitted. “No one’s flashed her yet, which she says is an added benefit to her new job.”   Gilda rolled her eyes and shook her head. “She didn’t say that.” Before I could stop her, she snatched up the letter, unfolded it, and read it. A few seconds later, she folded the letter back up and said, “Huh. She did talk about me.” After tossing it back onto the table, Gilda added, “Whatever.” I gave her a flat look before requesting, “Please don’t read my mail like that.” She raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were reading it. Like, an activity. Together.” “Well…” I trailed off, realizing she had a point. If I wanted to keep matters private, I should probably do them in private. After a shrug, I replied, “Fair enough. I’ll… remember that in the future.” She returned my shrug. “Speaking of future, what are we doing tonight?” I passed the shrug back. We’d eaten dinner right after our shifts, so we’d have to actually go somewhere if we went out. I didn’t mind that one bit; the more that Gilda saw of Farrington, the more she’d be able to enjoy the city itself. In fact, she’d already found one thing: Every Tuesday evening, she continued her volunteering at the hospital. Since tonight was Friday, and we had the potential of spending the entire night together, I offered a suggestion: “The trees in Reservoir Park are beginning to change color; we could go see that.” “Friday, at like…” Gilda looked at the clock. “Seven, by the time we get there?” She turned back to me. “I want to do something together, not with like a bazillion other ponies.” I nodded. “Okay then. What do you have in mind?” Her eyes darted to Maxie’s letter and back to me. “Well… uh, I guess... well, first, I wanted to talk to you about something. Remember how I was gonna move here?” My heart jumped up into my throat; I’d wanted Gilda to move to Farrington, not into my house with me. Between my sergeant’s workload that I brought home with me to let me patrol the streets and getting used to Maxie’s absence, I wasn’t ready to have a new roommate, let alone a live-in romantic partner. That must’ve shown on my face, because Gilda shook her head. “I mean… move in to Farrington, not your house. That’s… well…” She reeled back away from me with a wide-eyed, horrified expression. “That’s how I feel about it, too.” She leaned back next to me and asked, “But maybe, I spend the night tonight… then tomorrow, we look at apartments?” I wrapped a hoof around Gilda. It’d been two weeks since our date at the refinery, and this wasn’t her first time spending the night with me; still, I wanted her to be comfortable with her plans, so I tried not to give her sleeping arrangements any undue scrutiny. “That’s doable. And if we hurry, tonight, we can buy a newspaper, to look at listings.” She nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s go.” *              *              * The next morning, it was barely a quarter past nine when we got to the third apartment on our list. As soon as the landlord opened the door for us, Gilda stated, “This one.”   I turned to her and asked, “Are... Don’t you want to go inside first?” She shrugged “Fine. But this one has a balcony.” I didn’t want to crush her spirits by reminding her of Farrington’s no-flight rules; still, we were three stories off the ground, so perhaps she just wanted an elevated place to sit. “Okay then,” I agreed. “Let’s look around.” The landlord, a pale yellow mare, smiled at us before saying, “I’ll wait outside for you two.” Gilda and I went into her prospective apartment; despite my reservations of her abrupt commitment, it was a nice place. As we walked through the rooms, I took note: the carpeting looked new, there wasn’t any overt evidence of pests, and— “Look! A stove!” I chuckled at our running joke for the morning. My over-exuberance at being a supportive boyfriend had resulted in some rather inane comments at the first apartment—which wasn’t a bad place, but Gilda hadn’t liked that it was underground. “And a couch...” She walked a little closer to me and ducked into a hug. I held her there for a moment, in the pre-furnished living room, before she started out towards the balcony. I kept my foreleg around her while she figured out the latch on the sliding door; a few moments later, the two of us were seated on the balcony, which had a wide view of— “And a whole city.” This time, her voice was quiet. I nuzzled her cheek and asked, “Is this the one you want?” “Do you like it?” I moved my lips away from her ear and pulled her in tighter into a hug. I spoke neutrally, since I was with her in an advising role. “It’s within your budget, there’s nothing glaringly wrong with it, and you like the balcony—” “Uh, I’m a griffin, Iron.” “Well, then, I think you’ll like it here.” She gave a soft, snuggle-like nod. “Cool. Wanna help me sign all the stuff?”   “Of course.”   We stayed together on her balcony for a while longer; between the view and our embrace, it was quite comfortable. I’d meant it when I’d said that Gilda would like it there; more importantly, I felt it was a good home for her. It was the home I deserved. I scoffed, looking around at the concrete walls of my old basement apartment in Stalliongrad. It was, quite literally, a hole in the ground. Unsurprisingly, it looked the same as it did when I’d left it two decades ago. Despite the single, coverless light bulb in the center of the ceiling, the main chamber—I refused to call it a living room—was dark, cold, and barren. Back then, I’d been Serzhant Mest, operating on one single goal in mind: to tear down Stalliongrad’s organized crime structure. From the time I transferred out of Manehattan P.D. to Stalliongrad Politsiya, it’d taken me four years to achieve that goal. It’d taken me three weeks, after that, before I lost my righteousness and started working with the criminals. Now, thanks to Cold Front, I at least had some earthly possessions. I spat on the floor—not like it was clean, anyway—and headed over to the stack of boxes near my front door. They’d come with a price, or rather, a new goal that I had to set for myself. Cold Front wanted Farrington. He wanted me to help. And he’ll probably think I am, right until I pour hot steel down his throat. The image made me grin, even though it’d take several months’ preparation before I could strike. However, that was the new rule in Stalliongrad: Farrington was off-limits. If I had to single-hoofedly take control of Stalliongrad to ensure that... well, then so be it. Maybe that would let me sleep at night. There was one last thing I needed to do before I began my takeover of Stalliongrad; it began with rummaging through the boxes to find paper and a pen. I knew that I didn’t owe Iron a damn thing. Hell, from what I’d heard, he wanted me dead. It was… cute, almost, but he was making threats against someone who was miles outside his league. I felt it was only fair to warn him about the forces he was playing with: September 18 Sergeant Iron Bulwark: I suppose this is the part of everything where I’m supposed to tell you how sorry I am, and I regret that everything went in the direction it did. But even if I did regret anything, what would the point be of apologizing? You know what I did, I know what I did, and things can never go back to how they were. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t change a damn thing. I heard about your cute little “request” to the courts, with me and Red, by the way. I didn’t take much pleasure in burning off my last few Farrington connections to have you sacked, but... if that’s how you want to play things, then here’s the rules: 1) If you ever try to pull anything like that again, I will kill you. If you have a problem with what I did, you can come and do your own damn dirty work for once. Equestrian Guard knows better than to set hoof in Stalliongrad, and you should too. Which brings me to: 2) You, your friends, your family, and your known associates can consider yourselves banned from Stalliongrad. If you come here, I will find you. It won’t be personal. I won’t enjoy it. But it’ll be what happens. I’ll let you pass that warning along. So again, I’m sorry for how things turned out—especially with those conditions you brought upon yourself. But really, it’s only Stalliongrad (to you). Ask your girlfriend if it’s really so bad to be banned from a place that’s filled to the brim with vicious predators. This is goodbye, Iron. As long as you stay out of my city (and make no mistake, Stalliongrad IS my city, now), I wish you the best, happiest, and most fruitful life possible. Who knows. Maybe you even deserve it. I stood in Captain Horatio’s office on Thursday, September twenty-first, at a quarter after five. He’d requested that I stop by the Citadel after my sergeant’s patrol, but he’d waited until we were behind closed doors before he gave me Sherry’s letter.   Because I was used to being his superior, I was well-practiced in the art of concealing my emotions from him; that was the only way I managed to keep from trembling.   I re-read her letter and tried to fit it in with the Sherry I’d used to know. It did fit, though it fit in an almost twisted, dark manner. Everything about her—down to her hoofwriting—seemed sharper and clearer. It was a sobering lesson, to find out that I’d used to be close to a monster who raged with the fury of a natural disaster. Part of me missed those days, back when we were friends, but she said it best: Things couldn’t go back to how they were. Between Gilda, Starfall, and counseling, I had found ways to fill the void of Sherry’s death to me.   “Death” was how I liked to think about it, at any rate—especially since I was now, apparently, banned from entering Stalliongrad. The only alternative would be to lump her departure in with the fall of the Hooves Syndicate. The Sherry I knew wouldn’t have wanted that.   Red Hooves’ “cowardly” plea bargain had gone through according to his desires, and his sister was now a free mare who was banished from Farrington. Given the glare that Fast Hooves had given Horatio, Gilda, and me down in the prison, I doubted that she truly wanted to return.   I passed Sherry’s letter back to Horatio and said, “This is either evidence or fuel for the incinerator, sir.”   He nodded. “I understand.”   We traded salutes, I left for the day, and that was the end of that.   *              *              *   The next morning, before our shift, Gilda and I were eating our usual Friday breakfast together. We were making plans for the upcoming weekend when Starfall walked into the diner. The first thing that I noticed about him was that he carried himself in high spirits that morning; I chalked that up to the second thing I noticed: his right wing no longer bore a hot-pink cast.   I slid over in the booth to let Starfall have a seat; across the table from me, Gilda mirrored my movement. As Star sat down, he beamed a smile and commented on her plate: “You should get hash browns; it’s breakfast.”   She glared back: “It’s eight-fifteen; I shouldn’t have to deal with you for another hour.” Starfall cringed at that, complete with falling ears; Gilda looked down and muttered. “Sorry. I’m not a morning griffin.”   “It’s cool, ST.” Starfall turned to me, paused, thought better of whatever he had been about to say, and instead began with, “Sorry for interrupting your breakfast thing, but I just got good news!”   His hooves were jittering upon the table at that point, so I grinned back at him. “Is it your wing?”   Absently, he looked over his shoulder before turning back to me. “Oh. No. Well... Okay, I guess... Yeah, this morning, Comet and I both went to the hospital; my doctor said it looks like, if I do some physical therapy, I can probably fly again in like January.”   Starfall’s excitement was contagious. I shrugged and asked him, “So... what, then?” My smile grew as I connected the dots: “And why was Comet going to the hospital?”   There were tears in the corners of his eyes when he said, “Next August.”   I pulled him into a congratulatory hug; after two pats, he broke away and I turned to a thoroughly bewildered Gilda. “Comet’s... uh...”   “I’m going to have another kid!”   Gilda’s confused frown deepened; then, she raised one eyebrow, followed by the other. “Congrats. But... isn’t it… like… don’t mares, uh…”   Starfall waved a dismissive hoof. “Yeah, Comet’s always been a bit early like that; surprised the hell out of...” His eyes shot wide open and he glanced from her, to me, and back to her. “If either of you tells her I just said that...”   Across the table, Gilda made a motion like zipping her beak shut; I shrugged and changed the topic to something I’d just remembered: “Speaking of birthdays, isn’t yours coming up?”   “Yeah, next week.” He mock-frowned. “Nice of you to remember.”   I smiled back. “Maybe I’ll have Memo schedule me a reminder—”   He shook his head. “Oh no. Seven years, and she’s never figured that one out. Don’t you dare.”   Gilda’s eyebrow shot up again. “You... and the secretary?”   “Not... me. Her. I keep telling her to stop.”   “Oh...” She chuckled. “What happened to your usual tactical assholery?”   He shrugged. “She... she doesn’t deserve that.”   From there, conversation flowed into the other various parts of our lives that morning. Gilda mentioned that she was going to be moving into the city over the weekend, Starfall offered to help, and I sat back and grinned warmly. Despite their differences, or perhaps because of them, it was good to see Starfall and Gilda engaging in friendly conversation. When I thought more about it, the two of them had similar personalities—or at least, the two of them could be crass and brazen in the same manner. Either way, I was glad that they were able to actually speak with one another. Even as Gilda declined Starfall’s offer for help—she didn’t own many things—I felt glad that the three of us were able to begin and share lives together in Farrington. Life in Farrington, for me, started on the twenty-fifth of September—my apartment’s move-in day. Since that fell on a Monday, it needed some coordination between Iron and me. The plan was for me to wake up in my cave early on Sunday, pack up my stuff in the saddlebags that Iron had lent me, and spend the afternoon and night at his house. Then, on Monday evening, he’d help me get moved in and take me shopping to get the bare essentials to last me until the weekend. When I woke up on Sunday morning, I smiled and thought about how I really couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend. I was aware that some of my inner, happy warmth probably came from fertility hormones and stuff; however, even if I wasn’t right in the middle of the achy, yearning fun that came with every equinox, I’d have to admit that Iron was both good to me and for me.   I stood up and walked through my cave. Ever since Red Hooves’ attack, I’d mostly abandoned the place; still, I’d lived there for three years. Everything—the cracks in the walls, the general shape of the floor—had been a huge part of my life for the past three years. It had been my home.   Had been.   With a shrug, I started packing. My first decision was to just leave my blanket. Yeah, it was mine, but it’d been mine, outdoors, for three years without any sort of washing. It’d only cost thirty bits when I bought it, and I could probably earn that much being a guard in less time than it would take to clean it. Maybe some young drake or something would find it comfy, or maybe it’d just stay there forever until it rotted into nothing.   The rest of my belongings were pretty easy to pack up into Iron’s saddlebags: First, there were my loose bags of pay from the Guard. My personal coin sack was back at Iron’s house, but ever since mid-June, I’d always kept the bulk of my money off to the side to avoid stretching out my centuries-old, irreplaceable coin sack. Apparently, in Farrington, they had places that gave me money for keeping my wages safe with them, so I didn’t really have any objections to that; I’d just need to bring the bits with me to the city.   Next, there were my writing supplies I’d used to write Gildas Tagebuch. My next use for them was going to be planning out some new stories to tell the kids at the hospital; even with my additions, Sharfkral legends were starting to run dry, and they deserved top-notch entertainment. Plus, my therapist said I needed a creative outlet, so everyone won there.   I still had the diary itself, but I didn’t know whether or not to bring it with me—it wasn’t like anyone in Farrington could read my language, anyway. With a shrug, I packed it. Maybe it’d be useful in a few years, or maybe I could put in footnotes to show Doctor Sunshine, or maybe even Iron. Plus, I’d ended up sticking my letters to my sister and uncle in it; those, I wanted to keep.   Next, there was my stupid rabbit alarm clock. I chuckled; it was still far too cute for its own good, but it’d been reliable for the past few months. I’d need it for my apartment, anyway, so I put it in the saddlebag with my writing stuff, which was softer than the money in my other one. There was no need to break it mid-flight if I could help it. After my medical and anti-manticore supplies—which would probably mess things up in the Jägerwald if I left them behind—only two things remained: Iron’s cactus and my little traveler’s chest. I left the cactus over by the mouth of my cave; I’d have to carry that in my hands, not put it in a saddlebag.   That just left my traveler’s chest. With a sad grin, I sat down next to it and popped its two latches open. There used to be months when going through the three things inside had been my only form of entertainment. One of the items had been my coin sack, so now, there were only two things inside.   The first was a feather my mother had given me, the night before I’d left to go to Junior Speedsters’. She never really talked to me or any of her kids—Father frowned on that sort of warmth—but she found ways of showing it silently. I remembered how one night, in the middle of winter, she’d placed one of my fledgeling sisters on my back; that was as warm and fuzzy as things got in our cave. I closed my eyes and shrugged, slowly. That part of my life was over. The only thing I could do was remember my mother’s final words to me: “Whatever happens, I will always love you.” The second thing in my traveler’s chest was a time-worn photograph of me, Dash, and everyone else at Junior Speedsters’. Seeing her smiling face made me cringe for a moment; I’d been so busy with everything in Farrington, I’d forgotten that I was waiting for Starfall’s wing to heal before I wrote her. The last time we’d spoken was during her visit for my birthday—at the end of June.   I tried to shake the guilt out of my head, but this was the sort of thing that only action would fix. Dash was my friend, and I didn’t want to lose that by letting everything else in my life get in the way.   On that note, I put on Iron’s saddlebags, closed and picked up my traveler’s chest, and grabbed Iron’s cactus. I had some more stuff to do today, the least of which was a long-overdue errand.   *              *              *   Two hours later, at the Farrington post office, I wrote my apartment’s address on the outside of a scroll. Inside of it, I’d written a short, simple letter:   Hey Dash Sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote you; my summer’s been kind of crazy. I’d like to tell you all about it, in Ponyville. I know what that means. Let me know when’s a good day for you (it’ll probably have to be a weekend), and I’ll be there. ~G.