Interim 4.2
Which brings us back to the present.
Two weeks have passed since the event several underground journalists have dubbed “Moonfall”. Due to her madness overcharging her powers (or something), the moon disappeared the moment Luna died. Turned out to be an easy enough fix for Celestia, as only a week of moonless nights and screwy tides went by before a replacement was put together (doesn’t shine as brightly as the old one). The dark presence in the castle had also disappeared, and all the possessed ponies were returned to normal as well, which unfortunately meant them discovering the ones cut down by me. Really not the kind of thing you’d want to see after waking up from having your body used like a demonic puppet.
The population at large was told that a sudden and fatal illness had taken Luna, explaining why the moon had been screwing up their afternoon sky. Godly death thralls, that sort of thing. My true involvement in the matter became need-to-know, with my injuries explained away as being the result of my participation in the palace evacuation. Very neat, no questions.
A grand cremation was held two days after, attended by thousands, the two remaining princesses included. I managed to be there, beat up as I was, and so was Discord, who behaved himself during the proceedings. Though it went smoothly enough, an uncomfortable air seemed to hang over those gathered as the pyre burned. As to why, I can't really say.
I suffered no permanent damage from the fight on the plains, but Twilight had placed me under mandatory bed rest for a couple of days, the funeral being the exception. Afterwards I just had to put my arm in a sling, and now it’s just down to bandages. Might wind up with a scar, but it shouldn’t be too noticeable.
My recovery-slash-break allowed for some time with Sweetie Belle whenever she came by for visits. Some snacks, some music, hugs and kisses for the road (she’s really sappy when she’s concerned for my health, even if it’s just a cold). The break wasn’t long, though, and I found myself put back to work. Simple stuff at first: small errands and retrievals from non-violent citizens. Once the sling was off, I got back to jobs that required full use of my sword (mainly involving non-violent but very desperate citizens).
Shockingly, there were no repercussions for my actions, neither from Twilight nor Celestia, even. It was agreed that, though tragic, there was little else I could’ve done at the time. If allowed to flee, Luna could have spread her craze-fueled horrors in surrounding towns, or possibly made the moon fall on us. The two also accepted unspokenly that Luna was too far gone for any other option. Save imprisonment, which might’ve been worst depending on how you viewed it.
While it’s well and good for ponykind at large, the past month has left my mind restless. Boulderstorm, the Changeling, memories of Chrysalis, and now Luna’s death has further rustled my mental jimmies. Things suddenly feel uncertain, like everything is building up to something unknown. A nagging that something worse will go down, if it hasn’t already. In times like this I need to refrain, clear my head and ease tension. Find my center, give in to the ebb and flow of creation, let my agitated mind have time just to take a load off.
“I say that did the trick,” I address the blue-maned head rising up from between my legs.
“You did wonderful, Master Spike,” she replies, wiping her mouth delicately.
“Being formal, Aloe.”
“Oh, my apologies, Spike.” She giggles softly. “Care for another session?”
“No thanks. I think this’ll do for now.”
“Very well.” She gets up and backs away to allow me out of my seat. A quick trip to the changing room and I’m cleaned up and back in my suit (had kept the shades on throughout. Never gets in the way of their work). I head back to the waiting room, my masseuse waiting by the register, and I place a good ten bits on the counter.
“Excellent service as always. Give my regards to Lotus when you see her.”
She bows. “Your continued patronage is deeply appreciated. Be sure to come back soon.”
“Sure thing.” I wave back as I make for the door of Ponyville spa. Nothing loosens the body and mind quite like time spent in the sauna, a full body massage, and a good old-fashion Happy Ending. I’ve come to this place during particularly tense moments ever since Pinkie introduced me to the extra secret VIP treatment as a birthday present, one of the few things I’m grateful to her for. Happy Fifteenth, indeed.
Stepping outside, I take in the day's warmth and draw a breath of satisfaction (guess I really needed that). The first thing my gaze falls on among the few street-goers is a familiar stylized mane that led down to a coat of flawless white made more radiant by the sun above, and made the three gems of her cutie mark more prominent on that flawless flank. Three shopping bags hovered in place in that baby blue magic of hers as she trots down the street. Opportunity a-callin’, I decide to follow after (really good mood now).
I step up behind, slightly to the left, and snatch one of the bags. She looks back at my grinning face after noticing the lightened load.
“Mind if I help?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s you.” She looks forward. “If you wish. But shouldn’t you be heading to work?”
“Day off. Felt like walking about town, the weather being so nice and all.” I take a gander into my carry-on. “Fabric shopping, I see.”
“It’s not polite to rummage through a lady’s belongings, Spike. But yes, I received an order that's due this weekend and I was running low on the necessary materials.”
“Uh-huh, that’s nice. Good to hear your dress-making is going well.” She gives me a sharp look.
“What’s that supposed to imply?”
“Nothing. It’s just that you always make the best dresses, and you still do.”
She snaps her head back and focuses on looking straight again, and after a brief pause she asks, “Why are you bothering me?”
“Just wanted to catch up with a good friend, is that so wrong? It should be perfectly fine by you, being daytime and all.”
“I know exactly where this will go: inquire about my availability, followed by an invitation to ‘hang out’. It’s always the same ‘chat’, every time. A chat that became old ages ago.”
“You forgot to mention that I always say it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot as well.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see you walk out of the spa. I know exactly what you want.”
“That’s just for stress relief. It’s not like I go there all the time, more like every couple of months. Certainly not a nighttime enterprise of mine.”
“I beg your pardon?” That raised eyebrow, sharp enough to open a can. Gotta smooth it down, smart-Alec.
“Only saying that you’re a bit judgmental, all things considered. I always tell you I’m fine with how you run your business. Why can’t you be the same with mine?”
A dainty huff and back to sticking her nose up away from me. “As I always tell you, your profession, though respectable by the graces of the kingdom, is unbecoming for a lady like myself.”
“Rarity, wait up!” That voice with the pleasant ring of optimism and youth precedes the arrival of Sweetie Belle, who trots up to the spot between me and Rare. Still in that rebellious outfit; guess this kills it for this chance (perhaps mercifully). “Oh, Spike, hey there!” She hops up and peck-nuzzles my cheek. “How’s your day been going? Talking to sis, I see.”
“Yeah, and helping out too.” I hold up the bag.
“Ohh, so sweet of you.” Practically swoons in saying that, though her older sister gives an indignant “Hmph!”, to which Sweetie gives a modest chuckle. I think I told her about my spa trips, but even if I hadn’t, it’s a subject never brought up by her. Quite frankly, I say it’s something she’s okay with. Clingy though she may be, she knows that hard workers need time alone, to unwind however they please, without any questions. It certainly saves me from considerable drama and complications.
“I’ve been thinking that I cook some dinner for us tonight,” she continues, eyes fixated on me. “Some simple salad, charred turquoise, things like that. Ooh! You should come over to the boutique tonight, that way I can cook for Rarity too. Dinner for the three of us!” The way she blinks she might as well have been shouting “yay” throughout. I'm pretty sure Flutters gives cute lessons on the side (would explain how she keeps the cottage).
“I don’t think that would work too well for me, Sweetie Belle,” the elder sister says in a non-so-subtle warning tone.
“Why not? You have the boutique closed down for tonight so it’s just that dress you’re working on, and I know you’ll have it done in a snap. So it’ll just be us, like I said.”
“Sweetie Belle...”
“Boutique’s closed tonight?” I ask with raised interest, ignoring the half-hiss that Rarity made. “That’s news to me. When did this happen?”
Rarity sighs, defeated, but recomposes herself like the pro she is. “Just something of a respite for myself. Since I’ve been working hard for some time, I felt a break was in order. And the clientele of recent... have been a tad vexing.”
“She’s talking about Blueblood. He came over the other night.”
“Sweetie, please don’t—”
“Get out! Really?” I interrupt, switching to gossip mode (the things Ponyville Spa can do to a dragon).
“Yeah! He came in with what he claimed to be ‘hard-earned bits’, but Rarity just threw him out without saying another word. Closed the place up right then and there and told everypony to scram.”
“Sweetie, sharing that information with others is rather inconsiderate to my personal privacy,” Rarity pleas, doing a bad job hiding her shame and growing anger.
“Well you shouldn’t have told me about it, sis. Besides, you also said that you wouldn’t be putting up with that if all those years ago you didn’t give in to him that one—”
“Sweetie Belle!!”
The screech is punctuated by the sound of a hindleg slamming full-force into the side of my face (shades and bag flying off) as my feet give way and I’m launched sideways into the side of a house.
“What the hell ya doin’ harassing the public, dickless!”
“Yo, Pinkie,” I say to override the soreness on my head and shoulders. I extricate myself from the dent I’ve made, and look to the startled and confused green head looking through one of the bigger cracks. “Deepest apologies. Carpenters will be sent, fully paid.” That blow sobered most of my good mood, but not entirely. I walk casually over to the group (now with one fuming pink poofy addition).
“He wasn’t harassing us, Pinkie. We were just talking,” Sweetie says in my defense as I bend down to pick up my unscratched shades. Bag of fabric seemed to have made a perfect landing, I think as I pick it back up.
“Yeah, what she said.” Back on they go. “Rarity can attest.”
“They’re both right, though it’s been rather intrusive.”
“Which by my book means harassment, so quit hiding behind your fillyfriend and own up, lizard boy.” Further haranguing from Pinkie is thwarted by the arrival of two giddy sets of galloping hooves. Correction: one set of galloping hooves and a pair of flapping wings, both equally giddy.
“Whoa, did you see how much distance he got?”
“It wasn’t much, Pumpkin.”
“And how would you know?” Hooves touching down.
“Because I could actually see it.” A stick of the tongue, a swing and miss of a sisterly hoof. More sibling squabbles for our troupe.
“Hey little guys.” Instantly they drop their spat and switch focus on me. I really have that effect on kids (in case you didn’t know already).
“Hey Spike!” Pound says with coltish, mildly timid enthusiasm. His sister, more brazen and ribboned than him, really isn’t so timid.
“Why do you keep letting Pinkie Pie pick on you?” Oi, right to the gut.
“She’s not picking on me. It’s just little scraps that adults get into, like the kind between you and your brother.”
She tilts her head, ribbons bobbing everywhere. “You don’t seem to fight back much, though.”
“That’s cuz I got him pegged like a little bitch, WA-HA!” Pinkie throws herself into a two-hoof stand for optimal goading. Manages to catch a gleam off her eye-patch in the process (somehow).
“You’re not supposed to talk like that around us, Pinkie,” says Pound as his sister turns to face down the pink fiend.
“Yeah, and don’t go picking on Spike when he’s not doing anything!”
“Or what, are you gonna fight for him like his squeeze?” Pinkie gets back onto all fours, casting a steely one-eyed glare at her two charges. “I won’t hesitate in knocking both of you into the dirt. I saw you come into this world, and I sure as sugar can bust you right out of it! Heh, how’s that for watching my language?”
“So what have you been up to?” Sweetie steps in, seemingly oblivious to the potential child abuse that’s underway (or I’m just over-thinking things).
“Watching the squirts as you can see,” Pinkie switches to Sweetie, doing a one-eighty with her demeanor (somewhat). Scary how she still pulls it off so fast. “Parents are gone for the week, so I have to keep ‘em from destroying the bakery.”
“We wouldn’t destroy our own house, Pinkie!” Pumpkin complains. “It’s you who winds up breaking things when nothing’s happening!”
“Hey! What’d I tell you about the dirt, little sister? You’re starting to dig that hole.” The threat manages to silence the truant unicorn, but doesn’t prevent an I’m-totally-right-and-you-got-nothing huff.
“Oh, is it their wedding anniversary or something?” Sweetie asks further.
“A research trip, if ya can believe it. For the Summer Sun Celebration,” Pinkie replies. “Going out to get supplies and recipes from some of the more northern provinces, and decided to make a vacation out of it as well.”
“Without taking us...” Pumpkin glumly mutters. Oh the disappointments of youth. How the nostalgia won’t stop.
“Sorry to hear that, guys,” Sweetie coos sympathetically. Despite rebellious and naughty tendencies, she’s quite proactive around kids: gets down to their level, treating them like dolls that can talk and make your life a complete hell if handled improperly. Probably because she’s still young enough to relate to them (if that’s true, then I’m just about young enough to be that kiddy as well. Such scandal to my reputation were it so!). Sweetie brightens like a bulb before saying, “Say, want to hang out with us? Go to the park or something like that?”
“You mean with Spike?” Pound’s ears perk up, as do the wings (don’t you dare).
“As in hang out with Spike?” his sister joins, her unkempt mane perking up in unison.
“Definitely!” Heh, funny for her to answer so promptly. I don’t recall getting a say.
“Can we go Pinkie can we go?” the two Cakes bombard their guardian, faces pressed together in combined youthful anticipation and desperation. There’s no wait for the grizzled response.
“Fine by me, so long as Spikey the Emotionally Fragile Dragon doesn’t feel uncomfortable about it.” Well let’s see: good mood spa followed by run-in with Rarity, spoiled slightly by Sweetie Belle, and worsened by being around my deranged former master and the prospect of spending further time around her. But those looks of joy in the kids’ faces, I really have no proper reason to shatter them.
“Sure. Got nothing else going on,” I shrug out a response.
“Cool!” the twins cheer, face-pressed for combined glee. A sigh from the forgotten elder sister draws our attention.
“Sweetie Belle, it’s rude to get me entangled in some out-of-the-blue outing without asking beforehoof.”
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, sis. The boutique is on the way to the park, so you can get off there. Plus you’ll be getting some help out of it.” I hold up and flex my free digits at her cue.
“Got an extra claw.” A pause for baffled consideration, and in she gives.
“Well, I suppose there really is no choice.” Another hefty bag floats into my grasp. “Let’s hurry this along.” She kicks up her spotless hooves, and our odd group gets into motion. As do the mouths of the kids.
“Can you teach us some fight moves this time, Spike?”
“Will you tell us about bad guys you killed, in extra bloody detail?”
“At least very violent detail?”
“Ummm, hey, we could give the swings a go when we get to the park. That’s fun for all ages.”
“Except for fatties, hahahaha!”
“None of us are fat, Pinkie (except maybe Rarity).”
“Did somepony say my name?”
“Could you push me when we get there, Sweetie Belle?”
“No she gets to push me first!”
“I asked first.”
“You don’t need anypony to push you: you have wings!”
“I still asked first.”
“H-hey, guys, don’t fight. I’ll push the both of you, and even Spike can help.”
“Uhhh...”
“Don’t hesitate to smack them if they’re being a bother. You have my permission.”
“I don’t think the Cakes would appreciate such action, Pinkie Pie.”
“Get kids of your own, Rare, and I’ll pay you more mind in the department of foal-rearing.”
“Wouldn’t foal-sitting me count?”
“No. And don’t you dare give me that look; I’m not your jello-spined boy toy over there.”
This is about the closest I can get to a having a “normal” life, at least according to the standards of the average Ponyville dweller. Closest to what my life had once been, long ago. It’s actually better than usual, in fact. Rarely do Sweetie and Rarity occupy the same street at any given time of day, so it’s something seeing them together getting under each others’ skins like normal sisters do. Then there’s the added company of my two youngest fans, and Pinkie keeping herself in check (somewhat). Almost too good to be true; a bit too perfect of a good day.
But amid the stress and hardship and uncertainties of a violent lifestyle, these moments help soften the sting, offers a place to get your footing within the chaos of life. Perhaps have the chance to see that what I do hasn’t really done that much harm to anyone else. That I may have done some good. That in some twisted way, I am doing the right thing, and this is my reward.
Meh, getting too melodramatic and over-analytical. Day is much too bright, and these ponies that actually want my company (for the most part) want to live it to the fullest. Brooding and reflections can hold until I’m back alone. For now, there’s a certain park that’s long overdue for a visit from the neighborhood Fetcher.
I might visit the spa sooner next time, after all.