//------------------------------//
// (7) O' Death, Spare me another Year 
// Story: Rorschach in Equestria 
// by Ex-Nihilos 
//------------------------------//

(Editor's Note: Apparently the author is really bad at rhyming. I'm gonna go ahead and take full credit for Zecora's dialogue. Problem, Out of Nothing?)

(Response to Editor’s Note!: Lies and slander! Lies and slander I say! So what if it’s true! I deny it anyway! AnonyMouse you cheeky bloke….)





Rorschach in Equestria: Chapter 7

O’ Death, Spare me another Year







I calm my breathing. Slow my motions to provide more delicate precision. I do not disturb the brush that conceals my form. My hand grips the iron tipped spear tightly. In the clearing the hog does not stir. It sifts through the dirt in search of grub. Its coarse black mane gleamed in the sun, muscles rippling under its sweaty hide. The snout drooled mucus and water, sniffing at the ground.

I breathe out slowly, careful not to disturb the branches just inches from my face. Carefully I raise the spear, moving the brush out of the way. The iron edge of the point shined in a beam of light, begging to be coated in the blood of a fresh kill. My body tenses as I pull back. I imagine my trajectory. Saw the spear pass through the pig’s flesh and fat in my mind. One of its ears twitch but it does not know my presence.

I prepare to throw.

“Hi Rorschach!” A voice shouts into my left ear.

My heart skips a beat at the sudden intrusion into my hunter’s stance and in my crouched position I stumbled. The bush rocked back and forth like a bell to signal where I was. The shocked hog looked up and saw the moving bush. It wasted no time in kicking its dirty hooves to the ground and sprinting away from the commotion.

I regain my footing and rush out of the bush to try and give chase. Already too late. The hog was gone. I grumble and turn to the source of my ire. Hopping out of the bush the pink pony appeared, smiling happily back at me.

If only she could see the pure malice that was stamped on my face.

“Oops? Did I startle you? Sorry!” she says in a bubbly attitude, “I just came by to… hey where you goin’?!”

Already I was climbing through the bushes back to my shelter and away from this tormenting pink pony. To my despair she follows behind, still hopping along the forest floor like a rabbit on amphetamines. She barely seemed to touch the ground with each of her eccentric hops. I'm reminded by the impossibility of how she followed me that day in town. I rush ahead through the trees to get away from her, even for just a mere second.

Crashing through the thicket into my rocky cove home I take a moment to enjoy the tranquility of the morning. I breathe in the crisp air, enjoy the sound of birds singing. Then it was all gone as the pink pony jumped next to me.

“Hi again! Got stuck in a bush back there but I’m here now!” she exclaims with her eyes closed. When she opened them again she found me walking to the cave. Violently I fling the spear into the pile of other scavenged spears I had taken from the so called ‘Diamond Dogs.’

She finally seems to take notice of my abrasion as she says, “Awwww are you upset that I startled you back there?”

“Let my meal get away,” I growl, trying my best to make my venom for her obvious.

“Oh my gosh! Did that hog steal your breakfast? Oh maybe we could go find him and ask for it back?” she pleasantly says back, ignorant of or ignoring my biting tone. She smiles that happy grin that she seemed to always have. I thought about correcting her that it was the hog that was my meal but thought better of it. What logic was there in giving this pony more chance to talk.

“You know my name,” I state instead. I already had a feeling I knew why but confirmation would ease my mind.

“Oh Applejack mentioned it to me! I’m her friend you know, she speaks really really highly of you! Well she at least said you were nice! Okay she said you were nice enough,” She says.

“Doubt it,” I reply. More likely she is boasting that I taught her how to fight or that she managed to get my name from me. Entering my cave, I grab a spool of string to use for fishing the stream. I turn away from the pony to unwind the spool around my arm. Will need to replace the river lines for the day, hopefully will catch something that wasn't mud and debris. “Name?” I roughly ask her.

“Silly me, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Pinkie Pie!”

“Should have guessed,” I say flatly. Reaching to my side I grab the dull knife I had taken from one of the dog leaders and cut the line at the length I wanted. Without waiting for the pony I start heading to the river. Pinkie Pie followed close behind.

“So what do I call you?” she asked, walking close next to me. Too close for my comfort.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“Well 'Rorschach' is kinda boring. I was thinking I could give you a nickname and you could just call me Pinkie! I was thinking maybe… Shach! No that’s no good… oh I know I’ll call you Rory! It’s perfect!”

I frown hard but don’t say anything. All I could wonder is why she refused to leave me be. We reach the edge of the river where I had made my enclave of needs. Crafted poles leaned just above the water, the current tugging the strings connected to them. Not the most effective way to fish but better than sitting there and waiting for one. So far moderately successful; would need to make plans in the future for a fish trap. Trial and error will have to suffice in learning how to make one. Nearby are my makeshift water filters with fresh water ready to drink. Will need to replace charcoal later. I crouch down at the river bank to look at the poles and their stringed lines.

I ask her, “So what do you want?”

She took a quick intake of breathe and I regret asking her.

She breaks into a horrid song:


“This is your singing telegram, I hope it finds you well!
You're invited to a party ‘cause we think you're really swell!
Everypony loves to party, so come help us celebrate!
The cake will be delicious, the festivities first-rate!
There will be games and dancing, Bob for apples, cut-a-rug!
And when the party's over we'll gather 'round for a group hug!
No need to bring a gift, being there will be enough!
Parties mean having fun with friends, not getting lots of stuff!
It won't be the same without you so we hope that you say yes!”


For a while I just stare at her as she quickly regained the air in her inexhaustible lungs. The babbling brook dominated my sense as I watch her in mix fascination, anguish, and anger.

After a while trying to decrypt my passive face she asks, “So?”

“No.”

Those two letters caused her exuberantly poofy hair to deflate. Her lower lip quivered from rejection as she attempted to stare into my soul with puppy dog eyes. Safe to say I felt very little sway. I look back to the river. “I don’t do parties.” The last thing I attended that could be remotely considered a party was Captain Metropolis’ attempt at forming The Crimebusters as a successor to the Minutemen. Ended with Comedian setting a map on fire and gave Dr.Manhattan the idea to commit adultery. Fun night.

Suddenly Pinkie Pie smiles at me and her mane re-inflates. “Well Applejack said you might say that so she said to give you this note! I didn’t want to resort to it but you leave me with no choice!” From thin air she produces a folded note and offers it up to me.

Despite my better instincts I take the note and unfold it. The note read,

Dear Rorschach,
Pinkie Pie might come off as a bit eccentric but it would mean a lot to her for you to at least show up to her party. To make it a little more secluded I made sure she’d have it in my barn at Sweet Apple Acres and keep the list down to as few ponies as possible.
You do owe me for the apple pie, remember?

Sincerely,
Applejack

I crush the note in my fist. Should have known better than to talk to ponies, let alone accept so called gifts. Gifts aren’t given without expecting something in return. A favor demanded. Leverage against the conscientious.

“Hurm,” I mutter and shoved the note deep into my pocket. The pink pony was still smiling, expecting my answer. Half hoped the glare I gave her would send her away. She was too busy staring at my mask. Seemed to have strange effect on ponies. Hypnotizing to them.

Strange, part of me wanted to relent. Would be easy to reach relatively unseen. Secluded. Few… ponies. Did owe orange pony for food. Still no.

“Maybe,” I found myself saying instead. She seemed to take this answer as her hair remained as it was.

She hopped twice and spoke, “Yay! You’re coming to my party then!” Moved to correct her, thought better of it. Let her think what she wants. She goes on to talk about ‘all the fun’ they were going to have at the party. To my amazement she simply kept talking as I drew my lines in and replaced them. Her lungs still hadn't given out when we walked back to the cave; she was on the topic of making cupcakes now. Never liked cupcakes.

I sat down in my usual spot before the dead fire and prepared to gather the charcoal made in a ring of loose rocks. I stop when I notice she’s kicking at the spool of spears that lay across from me. Before I can warn her away she speaks, “Hey you know now that I look at these they sort of look like the stuff those Diamond Dogs had the other day!”

Here I thought her skills of perception were minimal at best. “Your friend told me about them yesterday.”

“Oh maybe you guys shop at the same spear store?!” She said.

“Not my first guess.” I said. The obvious thought didn’t seem to be occurring to her. She didn’t bother to question my vague answer.

“Oh well, maybe the next time you go to the store you’ll see them! I mean they did try and kidnap my friend Rarity but they weren’t so bad. They were just twenty eight silly dogs who really liked digging for shiny things.”

Not the impression I received when the pony told me her story….. Wait.

“Did you say twenty eight?” I ask, turning to face her.

She nodded excitedly, “Mhm, I counted them at least twice when we were there rescuing Rarity!” She leaned in and whispered to me as if we were being watched, “That way when I tell the story again I could exaggerate even more!”

Twenty eight. Only got rid of twenty six bodies down in mine shaft. Perhaps the pony made a mistake in counting? Gut instinct said she was sure; she seemed to have a confusing but infallible intuition. Did see signs of more dogs. Thought little of it. A detour was in order to investigate.

I stand up and Pinkie Pie moves back to give me space to leave the cave. Her smile never falters, “Well you should go after that hog and see if you can get your breakfast back! I better get going to prepare for the party. Oh! It starts at six o’ clock sharp! See you there Rory!”

In a blur of pink motion she was gone. I could still hear her humming through the forest thicket as it slowly faded into the distance. Hyperactive with attention deficit. Her presence leaves me feeling exhausted.

I shove my hands into my pockets and take several stops forward. I stop when my hand brushes up against the crumpled up note from before. I take it out and look at the ball of creased and discarded paper. For a while I look at this little piece of paper.

I carefully unraveled and smoothed it out again. Gently folding it into a small square, I placed it back and resumed walking  with my hands thrust into my pockets.





I crouch down near the open hole’s entrance. I can see nothing but darkness staring back at me. The sound of ambient wind assaults my ears from the entrance to the catacombs below me.

My fingers trace in the hardened clay the outlines of dog’s prints. Fresher than the rest of the trampled ground. I can still see the lines of their calluses in the dried out mud.  Two sets, running on all fours fled the caverns. Still crouched I follow the tracks out farther. Soon they followed one behind the other, heading south. Following the tracks farther I see other tracks start. Carts, hooveprints. Dog path followed in the center of these tracks. Heading in direction of Ponyville. Perhaps revenge seekers? Was sure I let none escape last night. Must have left before I arrived. Or sent out. I stand up and follow the tracks closely.

The dog’s path becomes less clear once it reached the forest. Some reason they chose to stray from the clear path, took to the forest. Perhaps to avoid detection? Didn’t give dogs enough credit to be that smart. Would be harder to follow the tracks. Glad already knew their destination. How far they were was another mattered. Could already have been in town, yet Pinkie Pie did not mention anything about dogs in town. So, where were they now?

I further walk into the deep forest, looking for signs of the dogs. Fur caught on tree trunk, prints in shallow puddles. Anything to go on that could tell me whether vermin hid in forest or not. By now I know this forest well. Even in the short time I have been here (six days now, feels like an eternity) I had made sure to memorize my surroundings. Came natural to me, Dan once said it was paranoia. I prefer to think of it as being prepared. It did help when was hunting the timber wolves. Will need to make time to find the rest of them. For now more important prey to hunt.

Time passed before I reached any sign of civilization. A spot I had not been before. A hut. Another inhabitant of the forest. Round and made of thatch and wood. Reminded me of pictures on television asking for help. Liberal assertion that Africa more important to save than America. Signs of dogs led in this direction. I step through the thicket towards the hut. I can hear a voice inside.

“Ugh, dogs think they can just ruin my home? They come back again and I’ll have them running back to their holes!” she said in a strange rhyming voice. I go around the hut to stand near the doorway. Inside what was once clean home looked ransacked. Spilled, shattered bottles upon the floor laying pools of strange colored liquids. Tipped over cauldron in center. I look around the rafters of this primitive hut. Masks of different expressions line walls, looked to be of African origins. Herbs and various dried plants hung from the ceiling and jars of such lined the shelves. In the center of this a zebra was sweeping at the shattered remains of pottery with a straw broom. She hadn’t noticed my shadow in the doorway.

I cough to get her attention.

She glances up and sees me standing there. Her heart seems to skip a beat as she jumps. By now I'm used to the reaction. Didn’t bother mincing words; gruffly I asked, “Dogs pass through here?”

She seems to be taken aback by my ability to speak. She is quick to recover like most other ponies, “Yes they did. In a manner most rude, they ransacked my home to steal all my food.”

Fools didn't think to pack food. “How long ago?” I ask, stepping carefully to avoid shattered glass. Mirror image of break-ins back in my world, broken belongings and melancholy moods from owners upon discovery.

She seems unnerved by my presence, nods absently as she answers, “Not long ago, mid-morning I think. I had gone to the river to fetch water to drink.” She moves back as I kneel down to get a better look at a broken jar. Spilled leaves looked half chewed on, then spat out. Animals, stuck things in their mouths to see if could be eaten. Like blind rats searching through trash for something to eat. "What manner of creature are you, o two-legged thing? No resemblance to ponies, more like a dog it would seem?" She leans in to look at what I'm observing. A broken jar to her, evidence to me.

“Human. Primate. Not dog. Why break into your home? Who are you?” I ask, going through the role that came as natural as breathing.

She blinked, likely not understanding my short phrases but she seems to understand enough to answer with what I needed, “My name is Zecora, a pleasure to meet you. It seems they had smelled my bubbling brew. When I returned from the river I gave a great shout, and chased those troublesome Diamond Dogs out. ”

I look around at the shelves of jars and herbs. Witch doctor perhaps? Not likely a drug runner; I'm familiar with their setups. “Why make your home in the forest? Not a very safe place.”

“It is safe enough for those who know its ways, and filled with wonders bound to amaze.” She replied, no doubt becoming agitated by my questions without giving answers. Understandable, she was upset. Home in disarray. Strange creature walks in after dogs. I will have to explain later, wouldn’t want to be a bad neighbor.

Standing up I nod to her and ask, “Which way were they headed?”

"They spoke of raiding a boutique at their master's will, and left in the direction of Ponyville,” she promptly replied. Hopefully she understood my need for haste now. I turned and walked out, leaving her home and the mess it was in. Made a thought to come back and help her. For now I had business to finish.

Ponyville was busy this time of day, made getting to Carousel Boutique difficult. Broad daylight. Crowds. Little time spent hiding self. Know for certain I was seen on occasion but was best to get there before dogs did. Found their trail again outside of town, they were circling around to the boutique. Tracks were fresh, still smelled of wet dog.

Hopefully Rarity wasn't at home to face the dogs again.



 

“So where do you want to have lunch, Bon-bon?” the mint colored pony asked her roommate. The pair walked down the road with little direction, letting their stomachs lead the way.

Bon-bon shrugged and replied, “Well, I was thinking there’s that deli down the road. They have this dandelion sandwich that is just superb! Oh, Lyra, you still have that concert this evening, right? What time does it start again?”

Lyra put a hoof to her chin. “Sometime around seven I think. Good thing too because Pinkie Pie came by this morning telling me I had to be at a party she was having today.”

Bon-bon shook her head. “Another one? I recall she said the same thing just a few days ago at the last party she had.”

“Can you blame her? She does put on the best parties! This time, though, she said I’d get to talk about my favorite subject!” Lyra squealed at the thought of getting her sketches and notes out for the evening.

“Oh please Lyra, not this ‘human’ deal again. How many times do I have to tell you there’s no such thing as-“

Suddenly a large form jumped down from the building they were just passing. It landed in a quick roll as it struck the ground. Standing back up again on its two feet it looked down at the pair of ponies, their mouths agape. The black blots that formed its face shifted; to the two ponies it looked like a goatee with no face to go with it. It tipped its hat at them with one of its blunt digits and spoke hoarsely. “Ladies.”

Starting off again it rushed down the alleyway across the street. It deftly stepped up the wall at the alley’s end. Grabbing the ledge, it pulled itself over the wall and disappeared over the other side.

The two ponies watched the spot where the thing had been only moments ago before Lyre broke the silence by giving a high pitch squeal and excitedly jumping up and down next to the horribly dumbstruck Bon-bon.

“I knew it!” Lyra shouted in delight.





The pair of dogs sniffed the air and looked around their surroundings. Huddled against the wall they finally stared intently towards their target, Carousel Boutique. Taking one final check to make sure no ponies were around, they rushed on all fours to the store’s doors.

The first one to arrive at the door adjusted his iron helmet to read the sign with his primitive understanding of reading. Gone to lunch, be back in an hour. The dog gave a short bark to his companion and gestured to the sign. The other dog simply scratched absently at what was gibberish to him but nodded in blind agreement. The first dog growled at the second and shoved his shoulder against the boutique’s door. The dog met no resistance; the door had been left ajar. Tumbling through the open door he landed head over stifle on the boutique’s floor. His fellow dog followed behind, laughing gruffly over his friend’s cartwheel. A prompt kick from the fallen dog silenced his mirth.

The second dog shook his dazed head while the first walked around him and kicked the open door closed again. Barking, he pointed into the boutique and the two began to search. The two sniffed at the boutique’s displayed dresses and gowns but none carried any gems that they could see. The second gestured upstairs. If no gems were to be found downstairs then obviously up the stairs was the only place they could be.

The first dog was the first to enter by smashing his shoulder into the door, nearly breaking it off its hinges. His eyes twinkled with greed when he saw the chests filled with gems on the other side of the room, beside the pony mannequins and rolls of fabrics. The second followed in and started panting at the sight of the gems.

The two stepped in to the workshop, their eyes fixed upon the gems. The dogs stopped abruptly when they sniffed the air. A foreign, musty smell not their own was in the room. They were not alone. They growled and looked around for its source. A sound behind them caught their attention.

The two fools turned to see a monster with black blots for a face look back.

It tilted its head at the two growling dogs and muttered.

"Stupid dogs."





For what seemed like only a few brief moments the boutique became a scene of chaos that it likely had never seen before. The dogs were just that, dogs. Their ideas of fighting were primitive at best. Almost felt bored, but the old thirst for justice kept my focus.

First dog charged with reckless abandonment, clumsy compared to the timber wolves. I don’t even bother to take my hands out of my pockets, I have only to move out of its path and place my foot forward. My foot strikes the dog’s ribs and sends it tumbling against the workshop door. Jutting my hands out of my pockets I grab the dog’s hide and throw him away from the door towards his companion. The two collide in a heap of limbs. My knuckles crack in anticipation.

The bigger dog is the first to recover. Kicking away his still struggling companion he lashes out against me with his claws. Quick to grab its forearm, bringing the beast down onto its chest with its arm as my leverage. I feel satisfaction when the foreleg’s joint rolls out of place from the motion. More satisfaction when I snap its shoulder joint. It howls in agony and withers upon the floor with his useless foreleg.

Haven’t forgotten about the second dog.

He had recovered yet was hesitant to strike at me after seeing what I did to his friend. The bulldog rushed forward despite this and tried to bite down upon my arm. Wasn’t smart to leave the neck exposed. The dog’s maw caught only air. Had barely a second to register what happened before my hands were on his jaw and the back of his head. Bone was fragile to begin with, dog was in poor health. Ended its suffering quickly this way. Resounding snap as I broke its neck.

Barely have enough time to drop the limp dog and move out of the way of the first dog’s attack. Had forgotten these dogs can stand on two legs. Foaming at the mouth it looked as if it had gone mad. Mad dogs deserve to be put down. It leers down upon me, slightly taller than me but that mattered little. I held back its mashing jaws, spittle dripping down upon my sleeved arm. Disgusting. With my arm still out I adjusted myself to the dog’s side, giving me the chance to bring it down. I step down onto the dog’s stifle and hear its ankle break. Heart skips a beat from resulting howl.

The dog knelt down on its good knee. Moving back in front of the dog it only had time to look up at me with its maddened eyes before my knee smashed into his chin. He fell back on its back and was on him.

Hands pressed down on the familiar spots. Trachea behind the throat. I can practically feel the ribbed organ that kept this savage vermin alive. Exhilaration. Dog gasped for vital breath but found none. What I wouldn’t give for this to be Adrian Veidt. For a split moment I truly believed the dog had given me that smug smile I saw in my dreams. Only spurred me to throttle the life out of the filth. Dog stops moving, I don’t relent on my grip. Can feel its pulse begin to fade away. Heart slows down. Lungs give up the fight. Body shuts down. Brain dies from lack of blood flow. Pulse fades to little more than a low throb.

The sound of the door downstairs opening stops me from finishing the job. I look up and listen carefully. “I’m so glad you could join me for lunch Applejack, I positively despise eating by myself,” a voice said. Sounded civilized, like a well-spoken aristocrat. The second voice was all too familiar to me, “my pleasure Rarity, I’m just glad I got the chance to speak to ya about tonight’s party. Now you promise you ain’t gonna freak out if Rorschach comes around?”

I’m already in motion as Rarity replies, “Yes, yes. I suppose he might not be all that well dressed but that can easily be fixed. Now tell me again about this mask of his…”

Can feel the beginnings of panic as I get up off the dog. I look around for a hiding spot. Chance came when noticed one chest of hers was empty and open. Grabbing the dog I drag him over to the chest. He stirs clumsily in his unconscious stupor. Angry he is still alive. No time to deal with it.

“One moment Applejack, did you hear something?”

“Yeah, sounded like it was comin’ from your workshop….”

True panic sets in. Quickly go back and drag the second dog to the chest. Didn’t look like it would be able to fit both, no choice but to make them fit. Roughly I toss the dead dog into the bottom of the chest. Hefted the second unconscious one upon the dead one. Tried to close the chest’s lid but the two bodies refused to let it close. I can hear hooves climbing stairs. Shoving the lid back open I savagely stomped upon the bodies. Unconscious dog beginning to stir further. Had grip upon chest’s edge with paw. Accidently broke digits when tried to close the lid again, left blood stain on edge.

Just managed to close the lid and kick the chest against the wall again when I saw from the corner of my eyes pastel colors. Shoving hands into pockets I whip around to face them. Applejack was the first one up the stairs.

She blinked when she saw me, “Ror-Rorschach? What in tarnation are you doing here?”

I move to keep her line of sight between the chest and her obscured. I luckily did not need to think of an answer to give her. A white pony appeared next to her. Mane curled and extensively fashioned. Her mark was of three diamonds. First thought was posh. Assumed this was Rarity that Applejack spoke of. Worse than I imagined.

She looks over Applejack and sees me standing there. Expected terror or nervousness. She took an extensive gasp, her eyes locked in my direction. Chest was beginning to fidget, something fiddling with lock. “Oh. My. Goodness!” she exclaims. I feel the urge to move again to keep the chest out of sight.

She darts across the room with an amazing speed and I stumble back. Overtaken by the suddenness of movement, seemed Pinkie Pie was not the only one with strange ability to move quickly. She stares directly into my face, watching as the thermochromic ink of my face moved to form a new shape out of my surprised expression.

“Your mask is simply amazing! How did you ever make it! Why the black and white don't mix at all together and the motion is so fluid and beautiful!” she says excitedly.  

I breathe a mental sigh of relief that she did not notice the chest. Need to keep her distracted.  “My face. Made from special ink, black and white, between two fabrics.” She was close to my face now. Amazement in her eyes watching the ink move as I speak.

“Fascinating…. Oh I wish I could make this. Why I can only begin to imagine the fashions I could create with something like this!” She said.

“Uh sorry to butt in ‘ere,” Applejack said, walking over to join us, “But why are you in Rarity’s boutique? Don’t seem like your type of place.”

Rarity answers for me, “Oh I know the reason why AJ, obviously he wanted to get a change of attire for the party. Why right now he’s dressed like he is preparing for winter. And that coat with those pants? Absolutely clashes!”

I look down at myself, not exactly sure what she means. Worked as a fabric and clothes maker before but never could understand the point of fashion. Job was to fabricate, not design. Wasn’t about to correct eccentric pony despite abhorrence to changing attire, better reason than anything I could give. Chest behind me has gone still again. I clear my throat and speak, “Suppose cleaner clothes would be better.”

Applejack smirked, “Even though the party is in a barn house ‘nyhow?”

I frown and Rarity comes again to my aid. With a wave of her hoof she replies, “Oh Applejack there’s never a time where you can’t be fashionable. Oh this is so exciting! I’ve never made an outfit for someone who was bipedal before! Now where did I leave my measuring tape…. Oh dear I left it down stair somewhere I remember. Applejack would you be a dear and help me look?”

The white aristocratic pony trotted back down the stairs, giving Applejack barely any time to nod, “Sure thing Rarity.” Looking over to me with suspicion, she smiles and points a hoof at me. “Now don’t go doing anything mischievous, mister.”

I have to speak loudly to cover the guttural whine coming from the chest. “Of course. Go help your friend, I'll be right here.” She regards me with some suspicion but trots down the stairs where Rarity was talking to herself.

I turn around and kick open the chest. The dog weakly reaches for me with bloodshot eyes and sickly complexion. I grab a pair of scissors from a nearby table and viciously finish the job. Scissors were kept sharp, clean, pristine. Rarity took care of them well. Made it easy to puncture sinew and muscle. I give a sigh when the deed is done and turn towards the stairs. They were still looking for the measuring tape, good.

Opening the workshop window I look down to see a set of trashcans and refuse. Will work for now. Grabbing the chest I drag it to the window. Taking the first dog I toss the limp body out the window, I do the same for the second so both lay in filth down below. Hopefully hidden from curious passerbys.





Down below a very traumatized dirty stallion hid in his garbage can from the two bodies that had fallen on top of him.





I manage to close the window in time to turn around and see the two reappear. Rarity had found the tape and was levitating just inches in front of her. Will not get used to this concept of magic any time soon. With my hands shoved in my pockets I simply stand there as she goes on and on about potential fashion choices. She breaks into French at certain points to describe what I assume to be foreign fashions.  She takes the usual measurements of my legs and shoulder width. Grudgingly obliged her to raise arms out so she can take their measurements to. All the while Applejack sat there with barely contained mirth over my predicament.

My hands fall back down to my side and she turns around to write down the measurements, “Alright now if you’ll just take that dusty old coat off we can see what fits you.” I hesitate but think best to play along. I give a harsh sigh and start to unbutton my coat. Applejack is paying close attention now to me, no doubt fascinated to see what lay under the thick layers of clothes I wore.

I take off my coat and toss it on the table, looked dustier than I remembered it being this morning. Placed my hat upon the coat but wasn’t about to take off my face for them. Raising my arms I pulled my sweater over my head and heard the shocked expressions from them. Had a long career as hero, wasn’t always good at what I did. Trial and error taught me, my scars remind me of my mistakes. Made many mistakes.

Tossing the sweater upon my hat I look at the two of them. Rarity, if possible, seemed to turn paler and Applejack had a sour look upon her face looking upon the discolored and grey scars and fresh red cuts. All they saw were my shoulders, arms, and neck even. Torso was the worst, not going to have that shown to them. I shrug and look to Rarity, “Now what?”

“Hrm… now I think we should just cover you back up with something.” She whispered.

“My thoughts too,” I return.



 

Next hour was hell to me. Even put a cape on me, was reminded of the death of Dollar Bill, cape stuck in a revolving door and gunned down. Wasn't about to have same thing happen to me. No capes, no bright colors. Tried to put purple jacket on me to match pants, wasn’t going to dress up as a lowly street pimp. Told her so, but somehow she didn’t understand the term. In the end she luckily gave up with on the few garments that fit me but promised to make something according to my style. Made a deal with her that I would show her how to make similar concept of my face into useable fabric for her to use if she did not. She took the offer excitedly, doubt she will keep her end as she continued to talk concepts of jackets and pants and even shoes.

Clock read five by the time we were done. Couldn’t leave though, Rarity demanded she clean the sweater and coat before I left. Refused.

Applejack and I sat down on the stairs to the workshop, simply talking. Anything was better than having to deal with that posh pony again.

“So you really are comin’ to Pinkie’s party?” She asked me.

“Told her 'maybe'. Suppose now you caught me I will be.”

“I don’t plan to force you to go you know, but it’d be real nice if you could. It’d put my friend’s minds at ease that there ain’t no monster in the forest there to eat them all.”

“They think that?” I ask. Was that worry in my voice?

“No no, course they don’t. Just sayin’ you’re still a mystery to them; and me for that matter, though I don’t mind so much.”

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Cause I know you’re a good soul.” She said with a smile.

I feel a piece of me break. I think back to the note in my jacket pocket, folded with care. I stare down at the wooden steps before me. “Not a good person, not in the sense you think,” I flatly state. As if talking about weather. I was an avenger of justice, a moral beacon in an otherwise moral-less world that festered like an infected cyst. Safeguarded the helpless and protected the innocent, but wasn’t innocent myself. Broke many commandments.

She frowned sadly and opened her mouth to speak. A voice at the top of the stairs speaks before her, “Alright Mr. Rorschach, I’m all done!”

I stand and walk up the stairs, leaving a saddened Applejack sitting there.

She’s still there when I come back down dressed again in my scarf and coat. Took comfort in it, felt too exposed without them. Smelled of soap instead of musk now. Applejack stands up and follows me to the foot of the steps. Upstairs Rarity was talking to herself about new designs. The orange pony doesn’t bring up what I said earlier but instead asks, “So, you ready to come over to Sweet Apple Acres?”

I think for a moment then reply, “I'll go with you to know best way there, but I have something to take care of before the party.”

“More business? For a hermit you sure got a lot to do,” Applejack laughs.

"More work to be done for a hermit that has nothing. Won’t take long. Will need to borrow a shovel though.”







[I just want everyone to know that if you spent this Valentine's alone or without that special somepony. Just know that you're my special valentine. As a gift, I made the chapter's title a hint for events to come and not just to describe the violence in this chapter

Yours truly,
'Out of Nothing']