//------------------------------// // two // Story: Ugly freedom and the pair from stallion-grad // by waste //------------------------------// It’d be better if she would lie sometimes. But she doesn't. She’s a pathological truth teller. The pair trot among the pavement and the truth is dribbling out Alice’s mouth. She froths it and spits it. Watch ignores the speckles of it on him. “The internationals only need to take one hundred yards after the sixth parallel and we’d be fine.” She was talking about the war obviously. Behind them the day filtered through Staliongrad favellas. It all came out as handfuls of scrubbed light. “And then what?” “Well the diamond dogs can’t get to their last diamond supply. We hold that position and screen all of our defenses because we have the numbers. They surrender and BAM! (She moved her hooves when said this) We control the diamond standard and its trade value” “And we would've killed most of the diamond dogs” The statement slapped her rant to the ground. But it didn't stop her. “Oh, that’s another good thing. Sweet” Damn her. Damn her truth. But she was right. A lot of dead diamond dogs are on the whole, a good thing for Equestria and her holdings. Many had doubted that the Liberated provinces would have a credible land based expeditionary force. This almost unshakable train of thought results from the inheritance of the previous equestrian military, a force that over relied on an obsolete air force and paid little attention to any ground assets. He wasn't sure how, Alice knows more about the endlessly ugly details, but he remembered the words harmony reforms, dead night conversations and rumors of a massive military purge disguised as a trial. Whatever happened it had worked. Diamond dogs from the west have had their rugs pulled out under them and everyone keeps staring worryingly at the chunk of land between equestrian controlled land and changeling contested land. With the majority of diamond dogs from the western hills subdued the politicians in Canterlot were one step closer to delivering their ostentatious promise of reducing the changeling capital to a “smoldering blackened ruin”. Even when he said that in his head he couldn't stop rolling his eyes at the broken gaudiness of that phrase. Apart from Alice. Rascal that she is. To her and the other youth in her generation the broken gaudiness was held as the words of a messiah. Like most of the well taught youth she expresses a sort of impulsive, dangerous, glee in following the unity party. Traits Watch could never emulate or understand (A particular one being the joy she gains from hearing that a bunch of strangers from far away had died). “You’re messed up in the head kid” He bites out the words while she stops to roll smoke weed in rice paper. Caked in indifference and taking a drag she clumped together a comeback and hurled it at him. “At least I’m not a balding, aging, furious drunk pony” “I’m not balding” “Uh huh” Her face was the beginning of a smile. A rumor of smoke whispered its way out of her cigarette. His face was a journey. A face that travels and wonders and reveals nothing. He worries her. “And I’m not aging you know?” “Yes” “I’m kind of hip” “You’re the hippest pony I know sir” She didn't mean it, but it took another of her smiles and she punched him with a memory. Watch remembers her. Alice had joined the ranks of troubled individuals when she cut through the night and queues and rain with that horrifying glorious smile. The teeth are white, her fur is white but there is something very dark and very alive in her head. The ESA signed her in straight away. Watch remembered how young she was. How she was going to die. Because they never lasted long. It was a bad thing to think. That this smiling grinning mare would die in a pokey alley with a string of red being pulled out her stab wound. He remembered her dead in that made up alley. As with all his poisonous daydreams it only existed because of his excessive thinking. He never wanted her to work in the ESA. Selfishly (and with a lot of affection that hes reluctant to claim) he wanted Alice to be a nurse, or a secretary, or an engineer. He wanted her to flash that smile when she was helping someone, making something. Not working with the ESA. Not dragging in a naked changeling on the first day and sending the poor bastard north to Celestia knows where. Not starting that terrible habit of smoking. “You got a stallion yet?” “No sir” “Okay a mare then? I’m pretty hip so I’m cool with that” The loose silence suggested a secret that didn't want to be told. For a few more seconds she smelt less of smoke and more of denial. He had always guessed. “No sir - I don’t have a fillyfriend” “A cat”' “No” “Kid I bet on my balding head that you need somepony in your life” “I got my job. I got you sir” “Yeah. You really lucked out on both of those” He said the last words timidly and they seemed to empty out of his mouth in a slightly alcoholic fog. Watch wished it a lot. It can’t change anything. He wished that Alice had a nice house, somepony special waiting for her and that Equestria wasn't how it is. Living in Equestria now was different. Something nameless has been spread around far too thin. It meant a lot of the bad and a lot of the good started appearing. It usually meant strange sharply dressed ponies, sometimes even minotaurs, coming around at night with a piece of paper and tightly wrung lips. Cold blooded things that move like cut-out shadows. When they came, others frequently leave or disappear. Often, although not always two suckers from the ESA had to be sent to clean up their bizarre messes (mainly convoluted suicides or ponies spontaneously turning into changelings without any tests). The two suckers continue to patrol down the streets. The ponies he passes are mostly young. Sharp looking creatures with the weight of discipline on them. Some of them hold unity party badges on their clothes, and carry sheets of paper bound in card. Most of them are conscripts on patrol, ready for the next mixed unit brigade. Most of them are the same feather as Alice. Impulsive, indoctrinated and loyal. The sticky smell of ignorance and nationalism comes off them. An officer from the greater internal security administration ticked and toked her way past the two. Alice gives the officer a proud straight edged salute, proud and honest. Watch forces his limbs together into a semblance of respect, a block of wood in the shape of a salute. Although different they speak of the same thing. Submission. Eventually the stream of young and severe ponies trickled out. Replaced by clumps of engineers and scientists. Busy, arrogant words spat out from them. Efficient, pale ideas released from their lips. If you could understand it, their ideas, their words, their thoughts formed a cage that kept some things in and other things out. The unity party had done their work on the crowd, a multi colored assortment of Pegasus, Earth ponies, unicorns, donkeys, goats, cows and a Minotaur. There were no changelings among them. Not that you could tell. Yet the entirety of Staliongrad was pointing to towards it. The absence of changelings that was. The signs painted in BOLD CAPITALS and violent red, with a changeling drawing crossed out then perched in the middle. The political officers holding blood testers, red books and the lazy racism that leaks off them. The stifling crowds that densely slid through each other avoiding the others eyes. A great big finger which pointed to an almost aching absence of changelings. Unknown to both the worrying absence of changelings was going to end.