//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: The Trottingham Gutters // by meoaim //------------------------------// This entire affair was distasteful. A stallion of his pedigree, skulking about in the darkness. All because there was no one else he trusted to keep discretion in this matter but his own personage. His name was Hedford Figures. And if there was anything to know about the Figures family, it was that they always had plans for every conceivable setback. Even if said plans involved a small filly and less than pious intent. Still, he really wished this plan hadn’t brought him, in the middle of the night, into one of the filthier parts of the city. His short, measured pace soon brought him to his destination. The building ahead was plain, and if it wasn’t for the small sign in the window he could have missed it entirely. He checked to make sure that his tie was straight and then rapped sharply on the door. “Ooooooh!” said a bright, peppy voice from inside the building, “A customer! Just a minute!” Mr. Figures frowned. There was a commotion just behind the door akin to a miniature tornado working very hard to make things presentable. “Okay!” the voice chimed in again, “You can come in now!” He opened the door and stepped inside. Inside the room was a pair of chairs situated on opposite sides of a dented coffee table. The source of the voice he had just heard was nowhere to be seen. “Hello?” he said, walking further inside. When that did not seem to provoke further action, Mr. Figures snorted in irritation and turned to leave. If this mare was not strictly present then he would just take his business elsew- “Surprise!” There was suddenly a very pink pony at the threshold he had walked through only moments before. Mr. Figures nearly leapt out of his exquisitely brushed coat. He was certain the scream wasn’t his though; a gentleman never screamed. “Oh, whoops. Sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d be that jumpy!” His would-be assailant gave him a sheepish grin. The mare before him was entirely pink, from the tip of her mane all the way to her fetlocks. The fellows he had spoken to had said her name was "Pinkie Pie" but he had not expected the moniker to be so... apt. Adorned on her flanks was a cutie mark depicting a trio of balloons in flight. That sealed it, this was definitely the right mare. He took a moment to compose himself.  Pinkie Pie's outburst hadn't rattled him the slightest, of course; he had only been temporarily caught off-guard. "Miss Pie," he said, "I am here to request your services. I have a task that I need you to perform." "Of course you are, silly!" Pinkie Pie said, exuberance seeping into her every word. "Why else would you be in my office? It would be really weird to walk into here and then not ask me to do something. Unless you just wanted to chat, I guess. But why would you want to chat? We barely know each other! I mean sure, I know that when you were nine your mother threw away your stuffed iguana, that you're an accountant for the Trotswright Firm, that you take your coffee black, that you have a fear of sharp objects, that you can't whistle, – Pinkie Pie paused for a split second and took a deep breath – and that you never forgave your mom for the first thing I said! But just because  I know these things that doesn't mean we know each other. Although I guess we're getting to know each now, but how could you have known that was going to happen when you walked in here? Oh! That reminds me, I also know that you're really jumpy! I like to learn new things about ponies I know, even if they don’t know me! I guess that's why I'm so good at this job. Oh! That reminds me a second time. Take this!" Pinkie Pie paused the seemingly endless flow of words from her mouth and gave Mr. Figures a small card. It was pink and covered in glitter. Emblazoned in sparkling letters were the words: Pinkie Pie: Private/Party Investigator Ponies Found - Items Identified - Parties Planned "Don't find me, I'll find youuuuu!" The flipside of the card held a stylized image of a magnifying glass positioned over a cake. "One of my other clients told me I would get a lot more business if I gave these out to ponies! Only the ones she made were super boring so I made a bunch of better, sparklier-er ones! Oh, I just figured out something about you again! I can't believe you still don't have your-" "Miss Pie." The stallion said, cutting the manic mare off and pocketing the card. "I need you to locate a certain pony for me. Preferably as quickly as possible." "Well why didn't you say so?” Pinkie said. Her eyes narrowed conspiratorially, “I trust you know my rates for rush jobs?" Mr. Figures nodded. "Okie dokie lokie! Who's the perp?" "A pegasus filly, no more than eight or nine years of age. Orange coat, purple mane, bare hindquarters, flightless. She's crafty, though, and I would imagine she has been living on the streets for quite some time. I last lost sight of her in the more unseemly portion of this city." If Pinkie Pie thought it was an odd request, her face didn't show it. "You got it, Figgy! I'll find her for you so fast not even I'll be able to keep up with me! No stone will be left unturned, no pony unpoked, no candy uneaten, no–" "I can tell you will be more than up to the task." Mr. Figures said, "Once you have located her, please inform me of her whereabouts immediately." Pinkie Pie sped out of the door in a pink blur. Mr. Figures being the gentleman that he was, made sure to close the door as he made his way out. Mr. Figures had full faith in Miss Pie's abilities, despite her eccentricities. Though seeing her and her methods firsthoof had been a bit worrisome, her long list of pleased clients assured him that they were foolproof. He walked down the darkened streets back to the sanctuary of his home. After Miss Pie had located that brat of a filly he would finally be back in the clear. He and several of his associates would ensure that the filly would cooperate in returning his book. Willingly or otherwise. If he could have, Hedford Figures would have whistled as he walked. -------------------------------------------------- Elsewhere, in pitch blackness, a small bundle of orange fur was lying on the creaky wooden stage of the only place she could call home. She had been crying for awhile now. Her sister had always told her that big fillies weren't supposed to cry, but she couldn’t help herself. Everything had gone wrong. It had all gone wrong because she had been careless. By all rights, things should have been much, much worse. The thought that it hadn't been didn’t do much to make Scootaloo feel any better. The wood beneath her was now slick with tears. It had been for awhile. She didn't like the dampness on her face, or the reminder it brought. She inched across the floorboards with a solitary hoof until she found another dry spot. Scootaloo figured she must have looked pathetic. For once she was glad she was out of matches for her candle. She didn't want to look at any part of herself right now. She had made her way back home after the incident at the pawnshop. There had been only anger as she ran. It had felt like white-hot fire coursing through her veins. How could that stupid mare, Applejack, think that she could understand her? Applejack knew nothing about her. The burning fury of that statement had propelled her all the way to the front door of the art studio she called home. She had looked up then, rage still burning in her gut, and seen, for what was probably the hundredth time, the old mural painted on the building. The full light of the moon barely lit it, but Scootaloo could still see it clearly. Drawings of happy foals smiled down on her. Beside each one, in pairs or alone, were older ponies, all of them just as happy. Some were playing with the children. Others, the couples, leaned against one another in warm, mutual trust. Most of them just grinned, watching the foals around them, with pride shining in their eyes. She had stared at the faded images, unsure as to why now, of all times, they would transfix her so. Bit by bit, the heat under her skin faded away. The fire of her anger began to die to down. She was surprised to find how hollow she felt. Like an empty tin cup. It was then that she had made the mistake of thinking of her sister. It was only an idle thought – she wondered if maybe her sister had ever felt like this. But one thought was all it took for the tears to start flowing. Her barely choked-back sobs had followed her as she ran inside. Here, in the darkness, whatever meager comfort she had hoped this space would give to her was not present. Her thoughts cycled through every decision she had made. She had messed up, lost her payday, and every step she reviewed only further condemned her actions. Finally, her thoughts turned to the last thing Applejack had said to her. Please, let me help. Scootaloo had refused the offer. She had followed what she knew, what her sister had taught her. There weren't any ponies like Applejack, like what Applejack claimed she was. There weren't any ponies that would help you from the goodness of their hearts. She had saved herself a lot of trouble, she was certain. But if she was so certain of it, why did thinking about it make her feel so empty? The tears pouring down Scootaloo's face began to slow. She was exhausted, her body was sore, her throat gripped tightly against itself and her head ached with every beat of her heart. The darkness around her seemed inviting now, a journey away from her own thoughts and feelings. She would think about this later, in the morning. Suspended in the black void, she let her eyelids drop down. Sleep took her almost instantly. -------------------------------------------------- It was morning now. The sun shone high up above. The buildings around her jumbled about, hazy and indistinct. She saw herself walking alongside an emerald unicorn mare in a shabby leather coat. "Are you sure about this?" Scootaloo asked. "I'm certain, my sweet little thing; your sister told me she was waiting just over here." The unicorn mare ruffled Scootaloo's shortly cropped mane as she spoke. "But I last saw here over there!" Scootaloo motioned in the opposite direction of where they were walking. "Don't worry," she said. Her voice was sweet, like honey. "I remember seeing your sister standing just around the corner." Scootaloo eagerly walked with the unicorn. When she had gotten separated from her sister, the mare had spotted Scootaloo and offered a helping hoof. Scootaloo really appreciated the help even if the mare was acting a little strange. It was kind of weird the way she kept messing with her hair, but maybe that was just the way all unicorns acted. This was the first one she had ever met, after all. "What's your name?" the mare asked after only a couple of seconds of walking. "It's Scootaloo," she replied. "That's a lovely name. How old are you, Scootaloo?" The mare gave her a grin that seemed a little too lopsided to Scootaloo. "Um, six-and-a-half." Scootaloo said. The mare was now stroking the fur on Scootaloo's back. She and Scootaloo turned the corner. It sharply terminated into a brick wall. "Where is she?" Scootaloo asked, she couldn't see her sister anywhere. "Oh dear," the mare said, "she was just here a minute ago." Slowly, the mare's horn began to glow with a pale green shimmer. From beneath her jacket, something stirred. "I know what we can do. My house isn't too far from here, Scootaloo. How about we go and wait for your sister there?" Scootaloo, oblivious to what the glow from a unicorn's horn meant, frowned slightly. "Well, okay," she said, "but how's my sister going to find me when I'm in a building?" "I'll leave her a note," the mare said quickly, "to tell her where we are." "Alright!" Scootaloo said. The mare began to push her forward, urging Scootaloo to walk ahead of her. "Let's get going. There's a lot I need to do." Scootaloo nodded absently. She wondered what a unicorn's house would look like. It was probably way better than where she and her sister lived. They walked on for a little while longer. "There," the mare said at last, "This will do." She pointed out the door to a small apartment complex. On the doorway, painted in bright red letters was the word, "CONDEMNED". "This is your house?" Scootaloo asked. It really didn't look much nicer than where her and her sister lived, although the squiggles on the front door were pretty. "Yes, it is," the mare snapped, "Now get inside." Scootaloo ear's drooped. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to say your house was bad." She felt ashamed. This lady was letting her into her home and she was just making fun of it. "It's fine, my little sweetie," the mare said. She was entirely behind Scootaloo now, and the filly had to crane her neck backwards to look at her as she talked. "Just get your rump in there." The glow on the unicorn's horn intensified and there was the sound of wind chimes. The knob in front of Scootaloo was enveloped in the unicorn's green aura and the door swung open. "Wow..." Scootaloo said, taking her eyes off the coated mare and stepping up to the building's threshold. She had no idea unicorn magic could make things move like that. "In you go, sweetie." She felt a rather forceful shove from the mare's magic and found herself propelled unceremoniously beyond the door. The mare's house didn't look like a very good place to live. It looked very empty, with only dust and broken glass populating the rotting wooden floorboards. This was confusing – unicorn houses were obviously nothing like where she lived with her sister. Where was the bed of fluffy clothes? Where was the little heat lamp and the wash basin? Where was the Mr. Bearington who kept the mare company when her sister had to leave? It didn't make any sense at all. Scootaloo was about to turn and ask the mare where all her things were when  she heard the door slam shut. The entire room became shrouded in darkness. There weren't any windows, it seemed, in the unicorn’s house. The open door had been one of only two sources of light. The other was the soft pale green glow around the unicorn's horn. She was standing just in front of the door. At least Scootaloo thought she was, she couldn't make anything out beyond the faint aura that hovered just at pony-head height. "Miss Unicorn?" Scootaloo asked, "Why is it so dark in your house?" For some reason, the mare didn't say anything. Instead, Scootaloo heard the gentle creaking of floorboards and saw the green light shift and bob towards her direction. When the light was barely a pony's length from her, Scootaloo started to get nervous. "Miss Unicorn, your house is really nice and all, but-" Scootaloo began. "Quiet," The mare hissed. Gone was any sort of warmth from her voice. Her voice sounded like a sword now: hard as steel and straight to the point. Scootaloo did as she was told. The mare stepped closer. Scootaloo could make out the barest outline of her form. The coat that had been tightly wrapped around her was now open. Something glinted inside its folds. Scootaloo wasn't sure what was going on. She tried to back away, her hooves scrambled backwards in the darkness. "Stop," the mare said. Scootaloo skidded to a halt. Her eyes still locked on the dancing light in front of her. "Just do what I say," the mare said, "And you won't be hurt. Do you understand, Scootaloo?" What was happening? Why had this mare suddenly turned so mean? Scootaloo could feel the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but big fillies didn't cry. She pushed them back and instead gave a shaky nod towards the mare. "I, u-u-unde-, o-okay, Miss Unicorn." "Good." The mare said. With her magic, she raised the glinting metal object Scootaloo had seen previously into the air. Illuminated by her magic, Scootaloo could finally see it clearly. The filly screamed. At the same time, there was a sudden, precipitous drop in air pressure and the door exploded. Sharp splinters of wood flung themselves in all directions as a billowing funnel of air broke through the door. The now-fully illuminated unicorn turned just in time for her jaw to smash against a wind-propelled doorknob. The impact was so great that she spun slightly on her legs, dispersing the supplies held in her magic and coat, before crashing hard to the floor. Scootaloo shielded her eyes from the wood flying all around her. Hooves touched down right next to her and a light pink hoof grabbed her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Her sister. "Firefly!" Scootaloo shouted, returning the hug and looking up to her sister's face with a broad smile. The air around them still swirled, jostling Firefly's normally immaculate deep blue mane. Firefly didn't reply to her kid sister's exclamation. Instead her eyes flicked across the room, to the unconscious mare, to the wood still flitting about. Her gaze was level and calm, taking in the contours and dangers of the room around them. Her large wings folded themselves protectively around Scootaloo. Eventually the winds around them began to die down. Only then, when the air was still, did Firefly unfurl her wings from Scootaloo’s body. "Tell me what happened." Firefly said evenly. Scootaloo pushed herself closer into her sister's warmth and recounted what had happened. She told her how she had gotten separated from her in the twists and turns of the Stacks. How the nice unicorn said she had seen Firefly. How Scootaloo had gone with her and suddenly the unicorn had turned not-so-nice. Firefly listened as Scootaloo talked. The big sister of the pair wore the same muted expression she always wore around Scootaloo: eyes level and lips curved into a slight frown. Firefly had always been unreadable, nothing in her face ever gave away the barest hint of emotion. Finally Scootaloo finished her recounting. "You acted very foolishly today, Scootaloo." Firefly said. Scootaloo winced. Her sister always made sure to discipline Scootaloo when she messed up, but it was always her sister’s words that hurt the most. "I'm sorry, Firefly." Scootaloo said. "Saying, ‘sorry,’ will not change what happened here today. Why did you go off with this mare?" "I dunno," Scootaloo said, her eyes downcast. "She said she could help me." "And you believed her?" Scootaloo's hoof scuffed against the floorboards. "Yes?" she ventured. "I taught you better than that, Scootaloo. There is no such thing as a pony that will help you from the kindness of their heart. If they are offering you help, they want something from you." Firefly walked away from Scootaloo and picked up something in the corner. "This is what that mare wanted you for, Scootaloo." Two things clattered on the ground near Scootaloo's feet. A coiled length of rope and a kitchen knife speckled with dots of rust. At least, Scootaloo thought it looked like rust. "But," Scootaloo began, "S-she said that if I just did what she said she wouldn't hurt me!" "Ponies lie," Firefly said matter-of-factly, "If you want to survive, Scootaloo, then listen to what I'm about to say." Scootaloo tore her eyes away from the things on the ground and stared up into her sister's deep, purple eyes. "The only pony you can trust is yourself, Scootaloo. Anypony else is only trying to use you. They'll take what they want from you and leave your corpse to the griffons." Scootaloo nodded glumly. She turned the newly acquired lesson over in her head. "But I can still trust you, right?" Scootaloo said after a moment. Her big sister stared at her. "Right, Firefly? I can trust you, right?" Scootaloo said. For just the barest of moments Scootaloo saw something indecipherable flash across her sister's face. Firefly turned her head away from Scootaloo's gaze. "We're leaving," Firefly said, "Let's get moving." She turned around and walked out of the room. "Wait!" Scootaloo said, "Firefly! Wait for me!" Scootaloo ran after the only family she had. -------------------------------------------------- Light cracked through the filthy windows above. Scootaloo blinked her eyes and felt the slightly scratchy softness beneath. Somehow she had ended up lying on her bed, the remains of Mr. Bearington gripped tightly in her arms. The events of her dream had happened several years ago. She remembered what had happened when she and Firefly had made it back home. The stinging red marks on her flank afterwards had been a very physical reminder of Firefly's lesson. Maybe the most important one she had ever told Scootaloo. The only pony you can trust is yourself. Even in the bright light of morning Scootaloo knew she had made a lot of mistakes last night. But she couldn't afford to beat herself up about it any longer. She supposed she could take some small comfort that she had held firm to that lesson. She hadn't folded, she hadn't fallen for Applejack's trap. She had gambled on the kindness of a green unicorn once. She wasn't going to do the same for some orange earth pony. But even though she knew she had done right, she couldn't stop the dull ache she felt in her heart. It felt just as bad as it had last night, like there was something wrong inside of her. Scootaloo's stomach rumbled. Regardless of what she felt inside, she needed to get some food. She hadn't eaten anything yesterday, or the day before that, now that she thought about it. Well, at least she hadn't taken all the bits with her to the pawn shop. She could still get something to eat. Of course that mare Applejack would be there, probably. She would just steer clear of her. If she saw her again, she wouldn’t give her the chance to say anything, she would just run. The missteps of yesterday were behind her. She wouldn’t let anymore of Applejack’s words get to her. She would carry on. Alone. Anypony else was just trouble. She gathered up the rest of the bits and headed off the stage.