//------------------------------// // 4th of Last Ember // Story: Dysphoria // by Owlor //------------------------------// 4th of Last Ember Sometimes I’m glad I moved to Ponyville. A small town like this, everyone knows everyone else—you can imagine what an advantage this is to the police force. There’s no need for me to ask around for the address written on the card. Everypony in town knows Rarity, national hero and former Element of Generosity. I never thought, however, that she would know all that much about geology. I pick up my pace as the chilly wind blows past me. Carousel Boutique is just a couple of blocks away and there is plenty daylight yet. I just hope Rarity will be able to provide me with some information about the stone. When I arrive at the Boutique I notice to my dismay that the shop appears closed. There’s a light by the window, but it glows faintly and the mist on the glass makes it hard to determine the source. I don’t want to turn back now and walk through the piercing cold, so I stick around, hoping for any sign of life to come from the building. The light flicker for a bit and I can hear Rarity’ voice coming from inside the shop. She’s muttering some sort of rhythmic mantra over and over, but too softly to distinguish the words. Curiosity taking the best of me, I walk near a window, taking care not to be seen, and place my ear on the wall just beneath it. I have to repress a shudder as the cold wood touches my ear, but nevertheless I remain still. “I know you said it won’t matter, but I want to say it again!” Rarity’s voice sounded, somewhat distorted and weakened by the glass. “It’s okay, I know I deserve it, but... I’m still sorry. For this. For everything.” Her voice fades out until all that remains is a weary sigh. I linger a moment longer, trying to determine if she’s talking to anypony besides herself. The seconds tick, but nothing further is spoken inside. Well, at least I know she’s home. In any other season, I would’ve quietly slipped away to return at a more appropriate time. But the bone-chilling wind lashing against my hide makes me desperate to get indoors. It’s better to get this over with now rather than later anyhow. I ring on the front door after yet another unwelcome trek trough the snow. Then I wait, trying my best to stop the shivers and hoping that she will invite me in just so I can get away from this infuriating cold. Seconds pass and I hear her muttering to herself once more. Too focused on a dress to acknowledge the bell, apparently. “Ms. Rarity?” I shout after ringing the bell once more. “This is police officer Buckshot. I’d like to speak a few words with you.” I wait for a reply, but all the reaches my ears are the hasty sounds of hooves scrambling and something heavy being dragged on the floor. “Ms. Rarity, open up! I just wanna talk to you!” I ring the bell and bang on the door, but I’m greeted with nothing but dead silence from the other side. The bell sounds a third time, an angry buzz that mirrors my own frustration. Still, no sounds coming from inside. Okay, this is just too strange. I reach for the doorknob, but before I can turn it, the door nearly slams open into my face. And there she stands before me, the Element of Generosity herself—well, former Element of Generosity. She looks stunning in spite of the harsh weather. Alone of all ponies she seems to have resisted the toll of this season. Her mane, so carefully maintained, is something known around town to stir the jealousy of all the ponies, mares and stallions alike. Nothing more than whispers, I’ll bet, but everywhere Rarity walks by I’m sure that ponies can’t help but comment on it. I heard once a particular mare say that she’d kill to have her locks. I honestly doubt that she was joking. Rarity is quite powerful. Not only as a former Bearer, but her appearance screams prestige. Ponyville, as a quiet down, does a magnificent job at protecting her from everyday vices. Intrigue would fester. Couples would divorce. Lovers would be driven to murder. Friends would become backstabbers. All if it meant they could get a single instant under the light from her ever-watching sapphires. I believe she’d love it. There they are again; her eyes, looking at me. Wondering, piercing, attentious. It almost makes me forget about the outburst I heard earlier. “Good evening, Mr. Buckshot.” Though her words ring sincere, I am sure that the prospect of having a chat with me wasn’t in the list of things she’d like to end the day with. “Welcome to Carousel Boutique. We’re closing now, I’m afraid. But I’m going to venture a guess that you are not here to look for a suit?” She measures me, not judging; asserting. The slight hint of sarcasm in her voice does not escape me either. “Uhm... no, not really, I’m from the Ponyville Police Deparment and—” I shift a little in place, trying to dance away the cold. The cozy heat from inside the boutique trickles out and teases me with its presence. “Could we talk inside? It’s very cold out here,” I plead to her. “Oh, how uncouth of me. Please, do come in, Mr. Buckshot.” She flashes me a wide grin that tugs a little too hard on her cheeks as she stands aside, inviting me in. I instantly understand why the shop was closed; her boutique is in complete disarray. Many dresses lay strewn across the floor, thrown about without a care. There is also a large amount of boxes scattered around, filled with various assorted items. On a particularly clean corner—where every furniture seems to shine and the linoleum floor is perfectly polished—lies an assortment of cleaning materials; turtle wax polisher, House Clean’s disinfectant, many kinds of different scrubbing items and a white silk blanket, laid perfectly without any folds. Rarity cleans her throat, bringing my attention back to her. “So, Mr. Buckshot, what prompted you to come by my humble abode?” she asks, dragging the sentence as if it’s too tiring to ask. I guess that I caught her in a bad time; she is clearly in the middle of a little spring cleaning. Or, more accurately, a big winter cleaning. “Please, call me Buckshot, Ms. Ra—” “Just Rarity, then,” she fires with stunning precision. “Right... Rarity.” I blush a bit, being reminded once more of just how quick she can be. “I came in here because I wanted to make a few questions.” I instantly notice her shoulders shifting slightly. The gesture is minimal, but it sure tell me just how uncomfortable she is right now. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing official,” I add, wanting to make her more at ease, “won’t take long, I promise.” She looks behind her back for a second, biting her lips. Eventually, she returns to face me, shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s not like I have much else to do today except... well, no matter.” She sighs. I nod, thankful, before retrieving the stone from my pocket. Her eyes instantly focus on the gem, but she remains silent. “I just wanted to know what can you tell me about this.” Rarity brushes a hoof on her mane and purses her lips before looking at the floor. “Oh, but would you look at that. This simply won’t do.” She says and grips my trenchcoat with her azure aura. “I know you must be freezing, Buckshot, but you shouldn’t wear coats indoors. It’s most impolite.” I roll my eyes and tug at my coat, breaking her telekinetic grasp. She keeps looking at me with pleading eyes until I sigh and walk toward the coat hanger by the door. I take it off and hang it there—trying my best to leave it as neatly as my host would’ve desired—before returning to face her. “Ah, yes, that’s,” she gulps, “much better.” I catch her nervous stance and the subtle movement in her neck, as she darts her eyes around the room. If this profession gave me anything, it’s an eye for detail. “Ms.—Rarity, please don’t worry. I’m not here to take you to questioning at the police department.” I say, trying to ease her worries once again. “I just wanna know what you can tell me about this particular gemstone.” Once more, I hold up the item which is quickly enveloped in her light-blue veil as it gently levitates towards her. “This is potch,” she says in an annoyed tone before scrunching her muzzle. “Potch?” “Yes, a low-quality gemstone that’s used to mount precious opal on, making the gem look more exclusive than it is.” She sounds more insulted than mad now. Her eyes glisten with the faintest trace of extra moisture, but I can’t for the life of me pin why. “Haven’t you noticed anything about it? Anything else?” “I’m sorry, darling, but this is all I know about it. I apologize I couldn’t be of further assistance.” I sigh as she levitates the stone back to me. “Well, thank you for your time, Ms. Rarity.” I turn around and walk towards the door. “I’m sorry.” I hear her faint, dragged voice. Her eyes cast down and she sighs forlornly. I give her a sympathetic glance, one that fails to console her from whatever it is that is dragging her down, and walk out the door. Well, back to square one, I guess. I was so sure that Rarity would be able to tell me more about the gem than the jewel appraiser did. But I guess her talent is finding them, not cataloging them. The thick, cold blanket still hangs from the sky as I step outside. I had completely forgotten just how damn cold it was outside, but I have no idea how; I barely stayed a minute inside talking to Rarity. I’m not sure if I asked all the questions I wanted, but seeing just how uncomfortable she was, I guess she really wanted some privacy. A gulf of wind makes the skin beneath my fur crawl, sending tingles up my spine. It is only now that I’m aware I forgot my trenchcoat at Rarity’s. Turning around, I quicken my pace, trying to escape the piercing wind as much as possible. I halt by her front door and lift a hoof to ring the doorbell but stop myself as I remember how occupied she seemed. She would most likely not hear it anyway, so instead I chose to knock a few times on the door before walking in. “Rarity? I’m sorry to trouble you, it’s just that I’ve... forgotten... someth—” The words die in my mouth as my eyes register the scene before me. Rarity is lying on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. I am instantly by her side, checking for a pulse. I plead for the faintest movement to manifest while some of her blood trickles down my front hooves. It is all for naught, however. Her neck is slit from side to side and the blood is slowly staining her immaculate white coat. I curse under my breath and hit the floor next to me in frustration. Blood splashes everywhere, coating everything around me with the liquid. I look at Rarity and instantly freeze when I notice it. Her face. Even though she has a wound bigger than a whole hoof on her neck, he expression seems as peaceful as Celestia’s. Her closed, serene eyes and the half-smile adorning her face make her look like she was just taking a pleasant nap after finishing her all-nighter sewing marathon. I hear a creaking noise as the doorknob behind me turns and I immediately retrieve the nightstick from my belt. “I’m sorry I accidentally ruined the winter clothes you made for me, Rarity. Promise you won’t be mad?” a weak voice says from the doorframe. I look around just in time to see a small filly, Rarity’s rambunctious sister, dressed up in what had once been a really dapper winter outfit. Even though the garments had been shredded to pieces, I could see that Rarity had intended to awoke some kind of butterfly in its design; a pair of antennas bowed sorrowfully from her cap and behind her she dragged the remains of a torn felt wing. She suddenly stops, not even five hoofsteps into the room and stares at the body laid before her with a look of primal terror stamped on her eyes. She stays by the door, paralyzed as we exchange looks. My eyes are fixed to her entire being, encompassing her small hooves to the strange gown on her. Hers dart frantically from Rarity’s body to me, stabbing my heart with a mix between confusion and accusation. “Mu—murderer...” she whimpers. I bite my lip as the accusation is muttered. Can’t fault the filly, though; a stallion with bloodied hooves standing next to the corpse of her dead sister—who wouldn’t come to such a conclusion? I inch my body towards the filly, but the act just manages to make the air get caught in her throat. She quickly turns around and starts fumbling with the doorknob, muttering frantic pleas as the dread shakes her whole. I sigh at the sight and slowly walk towards the filly. She thrashes inside her coat-slash-butterfly costume, trying to get the door open. Eventually, she gives up and presses herself against the wooden surface, trying to shrink away from me. “No! St—stay away from me!” I feel something inside of me dying as her desperate shouts escape her lips. “Please! Don’t kill m—” Her words trail off as the panic overcomes her completely, winning over her faculties. She drops unceremoniously to the floor and curls into a ball, crying openly. I approach the filly, but stop myself from doing anything. The only thing I’m certain of right now is that any and every movement from me is a potential threat. She dares a peek from behind her hooves and scooches away from me, leaving behind a sparse trail of tears. My instinct finally kicks in and I suddenly find myself hugging the filly, trying my best to shield her. “Shhhh. I’m not gonna hurt you.” I say, trying to stop her protests. I run my hoof through her mane slowly, desperately trying to calm her down. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” I repeat. She fought against my grip with everything her frail little form allowed her to. In the end, however, she gives up and her entire body goes limp. For a moment, I fear that she might’ve fainted. “Why?” Came the choked-out words in-between sobs. “Why did you kill my sister?” That question hurt me much more than it should. I slowly move my forehoof from her mane to my belt. She flinches, prompting me to slow down my movements. “I didn’t.” I allow some space between the two of us and handle her my badge. “I’m a police officer.” She remains still for a moment before carefully taking the item into her grasp. She turns it around, trying to make out a meaning in her malström of thoughts. She looks up at me with eyes begging for guidance. “I’ve got to call for reinforcements,” I say. She nods to me, very slowly. When I move back away from the filly, her head starts moving towards her dead sister’s corpse once more. I stop her, placing my hoof under her chin and slowly pushing her face away from the gruesome view. The filly nods once more and her eyes mist up to the point where she can no longer bear to look me in the eye. A trickling stream of tears appear from under her curly bangs. “A-are you going to-to leave?” she sobs out. “Only for a little while,” I explain, and then start unfastening something from my utility belt. “I am just going to go outside and release this,” I say, showing her the item I produced, “this is a signal flare. It will make a bit of a noise, but don’t worry. As soon as the other officers see it, they will be right here.” The filly nods with a bit of insecurity. I lower myself in order to look her in the eyes. “Hey, nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. If you need me, I’ll be just outside the door. I’ll protect you.” She remains silent, but seems a little more at ease now. To reassure her a bit more, I pick my trenchcoat from the coat hanger and place it over the filly. She accepts the gift, wrapping herself tightly with it. I pause on my way out, but don’t dare risk another heart-stabbing moment by looking at how sullen she looks. Instead, I sigh and slowly walk outside. The first gust of wind makes me regret lending my coat out, but I endure. As the wind’s frosty bites dig into the skin beneath my coat I bite the protective plastic around the device and aim it towards the sky with a forehoof. With my free one, I twist the bottom cap. An orange arrow of flame quickly ascends before blowing up and scattering its embers across the sky, leaving a sickly-orange trail that keeps coming from inside the flare’s tube behind. Even in daylight, the bright orange flare colors the sky under the grey cloud-cover. The sound makes my ears fold instinctively. The sonic crack is loud enough be heard from a very wide radius, and the lingering smoke will no doubt guide them to my location. The clouds briefly take on a yellow tint as the flare explodes. I put the flare down in the snow as a signpost before I walk inside. The trencoat lies flat on the floor—abandoned—and I scan the room quickly before noticing that she’s now standing near her deceased sister. Her entire body is shaking in time with her whimpers, sullen and desperate, resonating from the back of her throat. I deliberately make my hoofsteps as quiet as possible as I approach, trying not to startle the filly any more than she already was. I pause by her side, but her attention is completely drawn towards Rarity. The filly’s eyes glisten with the fresh tears and her gaze silently begs her dead sister to do the impossible. “Come,” I say, trying to get her away from the view, “help is on its way.” She keeps her eyes riveted on her sister. I place my hoof over her shoulder, finally drawing a verbal response. “Who’s going to help her?” I stay like that, paralyzed and silent for what feels like minutes. My mind is swarmed by different approaches I should take, but neither one of them brings a satisfactory result. I sigh once more, choosing to drop the subject. “Come, let’s wait for them outside,” I urge her again. “Can I—” She looks at me with pleading, tear-stained eyes. “Can I say my goodbyes to her?” “I—I don’t think that’s a good—” She looks up at me, midway through my sentence, and what was left of me instantly crumbles. “I’ll just wait out there. If you see or hear anything, just tell me, okay?” She doesn’t reply, but I know that she perfectly understood it. It is with some hesitation that I walk back out in the cold again. I ntoice everything seems more peaceful now, like time itself slowed down. As I walk outside I can already hear the crowd of ponies that gathered and, thankfully, the officers telling them all to back off. Through the crowd, coming forth unimpeded by the ponies on his way, walked Mully. “Well, well, well... if it isn’t mother-“I have the Pony Pox”-fucking Buckshot?” I automatically cringe and turn away from Mully as he approaches, undaunted by the number of ponies watching the scene unfold. “How are you, you lying piece of sack of shit?!” “Hold on, Mu—” He throws something at me and I manage to catch it with my hooves. A taffy wrapper. I needn’t unfold it to know it is the same one Pinkie sent me. I’ve seen him annoyed. Mad, even. But I cannot even begin describing Mully’s expression right now. My mouth moves feebly, trying to choke out a reply that ought to get me out of this one, but nothing comes forth. “You see, Pinkamena thought tha—” “It sounds to me that you’ve been willingly withholding vital information—” “No, it wasn’t like—” “—from the police headquarters. You lied to your colleagues and to your superior—” “But sir, if you would just let—” “—and, to top it off, you’ve been keeping contact with the criminal! Is that what you just told me!?” “I didn’t think it would be like this!” “I don’t give two shits about what you think, Buckshot! Do you think this is some kindergarten, where you play cat and mice on recess?! Do you think you can dick around and nopony will get hurt!?” As much as his words make angry, I can’t help but feel paralyzed by the accusation. He is, after all, correct. “Well, I’m sorry!” “Sorry? You’re sorry!? Well, Buckshot, you can take your apologies and shove them right into—” Mully’s verbal machinegun ceases as a puffy-eyed Sweetie Belle exits the boutique. She looks at him inquisitively and then towards me. When I turn back to look at my him, Mully looks in a mix between confusion and annoyance. “Wha—who is she?” “She is Rarity’s sister,” I say, feeling much more guilty about not remembering the filly’s name. “She walked in on me just as I had discovered the body.” “Yo—you let a kid? In there?! You let this little filly look at that horrible scene and you did nothing!?” “Well, I—” my words are cut off as Mully headlocks me with one of his forehooves and starts dragging me away from any prying eyes or ears. I do my best to keep up with his pace, but he’s almost trotting now, forcing my hooves to practically drag themselves onto the floor. He takes a turn around the building, unaware that the filly unicorn is also following us. My vision is assaulted by a whiteness that quickly dissipates, leaving my vision blurred as Mully practically throws me at a wall. “Why the fuck did you let a kid in there?!” he asks, a bunch of saliva being flung toward me in the process. “She wanted to say her goodbyes... to her sister...” I mumble, blinking rapidly as I try to clean my vision. “Do you have any idea of how much she could be damaged?!” He asks, fuming from his nostrils. My eyes grow wide as I see his mane slowly changing shape, becoming puffier and puffier. He keeps staring at me, waiting for an answer, but the sudden change in his mane’s color steals all the words from my brain. “Well?!” “This isn’t about you, Mully!” I blurt in a moment of rage. I already regret it. “Why, you son of a bitch!” he screams in my ear and chokes me with one forehoof. In my daze, I can see his other forehoof getting ready to punch my teeth down my throat. I do nothing but close my eyes and wait for the inevitable punch. I feel his muscles tensing up and his body shifting his weight. The blow never came, however, and only when I dared open my eyes, I saw the little filly clinging to me, sobbing on my hind leg. Mully backs away a few paces and just looks at me in disgust. He motions for an officer who also has been following us, new recruit, didn’t quite get his name, to take the filly away and lead her to an ambulance for a triage. I fear the Mully will beat me to unconsciousness after she’s gone. To my surprise, he just stares at me. Now, with his eyes drilling into my being, I feel like a beating would be better. I know that look; I’ve seen him giving it to many officers in the past. I shuffle around my coat and locate my badge inside one of the inner pockets. I hold my hoof on it for a few seconds, as if a soldier telling his family he’s off to war only to never come back. Yeah, it feels like a lie. Not just about me and the badge. This whole fucking country is a big cesspool of lies, and they’re so afraid of what the truth will say that they waddle around their filth, reveling like pigs. And, just like that, the badge seems alien to me. I take it from my coat and practically throw it at Mully. Any second longer and its filth would’ve probably infected me too. I wait until he’s returned to the other ponies in the squad before hurrying to my home. I slam the door behind me and pay no attention to the tortoise who looks at me quizzically. I only stop when my eyes see something lazily sitting on top of my table. Waiting for me is another envelope. Judging by how it’s not stained with blood, I, for a brief second, hope that it isn’t from her. I know, however, that this is not the case. I pick up and tear the whole envelope in two. I inhale sharply, trying to calm my frantic thoughts as I unite the two pieces of the letter and proceed reading. That was fast, I hope you’re not woozy Tell me, was it really a doozy? You’ll just have to do better when you get my next letter Or somepony else will get snoozy “Oh,” you might think, if you play that card “She’s unhinged, loose from hospital ward, It’s just a scratch in her mind without a lead here to find!” As if my clues were simply too hard They were all clear, just your mind hazy Or perhaps, in this case, you’re lazy? The game has not ended yet. Keep feeding flies to my net Until you’re aware of what truly means to be crazy! “You’ve taken everything from me.” I crumple the letter with both forehooves and throw it on the wall, wishing that the small paper ball could, somehow, tear the whole structure down. “YOU HEAR ME?! EVERYTHING!” I grasp at my wooden table and flip it over. The cacophony of shattering glass and porcelain doesn’t stop me. I pick each chair, lift them above my head and hurl them towards the floor. The splinters and shards dig deep into my hooves as I walk over them, but I don’t stop smashing the furniture against the wall. The blood doesn’t have time to gather and pool, as I gallop towards the kitchen smashing everything that is left out in the open. From my peripheral vision, I see Tank hide inside his shell, not even his eyes are seen from the inside. The tortoise’s fear is able to make me stop my rampage. The stifling air makes it hard to breathe. As my vision blurs, I can’t help but collapse, completely exhausted on the floor. I hug my hind legs close, trying to find some sort of solace from the moisture that trickle down my eyes. “I don’t give two shits about what you think, Buckshot! Do you think this is some fucking game?! Do you think you can dick around and nopony will get hurt!?” Mully’s voice, spoken by myself, whispers from somewhere around me. I hold myself tighter as my heart starts pumping faster than ever before. “Fuck you, Pinkie!” I scream, nearly emptying my lungs, “I’m done playing your sick game!”