//------------------------------// // Daring Do, Part 1 // Story: Daring Do // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// The potion spills into my mouth and rushes down my throat. It’s neither sweet nor acrid, but very slightly tangy, like lemon juice in water. After so long next to my body, it’s warm, and it flows smoothly. It takes two good gulps to get it down, and a good shake of the bottle to finish off the last few drops. I shut my eyes and let out a breath as I lower the bottle, the potion’s faint odor filling my nose. That’s... that’s it then. Time to die. It starts as a chill—like a breath of icy air passing over me, the hairs of my coat going stiff as my skin goes taut. I can feel it, unnatural alchemy churning in my gut, working its way out into my body. Oh, Celestia, what have I done? What am I doing? I could have left. I could have gone back to the Princess and become an actor and had a real life. I could have... No. This is... this is better. This is better. Siren Song won’t be around anymore, but Siren wasn’t a very good pony. She’ll be better. I’ll be better. Better. The muscles in my neck are going tense, my head jerking sharply to one side. Something in my spine pops, the sound echoing up into my ears. A whimper escapes me at that awful noise, that grinding snap. Something is building up inside me, this electric jolt, this tension. In my limbs. Behind my horn. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears running down my face. I’m so scared, but in a sick way, that’s comforting. Fear. Siren Song is afraid, but she won’t be. Maybe I should have written a letter to her instead? A reminder of what it was... like to be me? Would it even have mattered? Will she be like Green, with twisted and corrupted memories of what Siren was like? Or will she be like Berry, with no ability to comprehend her old self at all? Berry is just staring at me, with that dead, blank mask she has for a face. I don’t... I don’t want... “Ah! Ahhh...” The faintest gasp escapes me, my chest and barrel so tight I can barely breathe, air coming in shaky starts. My heart is racing, pounding in my ears, my limbs so tense they tremble. It doesn't hurt though. It doesn’t hurt. That’s good. It’s more like a... a tingling. A pressure. Like my body is full of energy that needs some, any release. Even my horn is starting to glow and spark all on its own. It’s overwhelming. Like slamming down ten cups of coffee, casting a spell and flirting with some cute stallion all at once! It’s actually... it’s actually not so bad. Sun and stars, am I getting turned on? I think I am. I mean, a little! It’s... tense. Really tense, but not like I’m having a spasm. It’s like I’ve been sitting still too long and my body’s ready to go. “This...” I stammer, my words slurred. I force myself off the bed, my jerky motions yanking the sheets and sending the bottle flying off the side. It shatters on the floor, in this awesome, dramatic way that feels so right for the moment—a thousand glittering pieces scattering in all directions. I’m still a little twitchy, still sparking, but I can stand, and I stretch out all my legs just to feel them stretch—to feel the joints pop. “This is...” My eyes roll up into my head involuntarily, and my head jerks back, but it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt, and I know my mane looks gorgeous spilled back like that. “Awesome.” “You are experiencing euphoric hyperactivity as a result of taking the mantle on an empty stomach,” Berry says as I let the feeling wind down. I regain control of my muscles first, all smooth and graceful. My horn needs a bit more time to spark but I’m happy to give it. I can feel a pressure inside my skull there. Not like a physical pressure but, like this... well of power. Of course, unicorns get spells from their cutie marks; I’ve probably got all kinds of action-hero stuff packed in there now. “It will last between five minutes and half an hour, after which you will experience nausea and disorientation.” “Oh, yeah,” I say, breathless, rolling the word out as the sparks on my horn wind down. They sound like a crackling fireplace, and I twist my head to try and nuzzle up against them before I remember they’re attached to my horn. Right. “That’s ah... that’s like Zephyr, right? She fixed everything in her dad’s shop and then threw up. Does that mean I’m extra super brave until this wears off?” I feel super brave. No, more than that. I feel wound up. Energized! I don’t know if it’s the potion giving me strength, or if I’ve been afraid for so long that the perspective shift... I mean, I feel like I can do anything. Anything. No, more than that. I feel like me again. “No. That is a common misconception,” Berry says, in that super-boring dry lecturer sort of way, but it’s okay because I’m not actually listening. I really want to take some time and experiment and see what I can do now. With my horn, yes, but not just that! I feel so... full of potential, and it’s not limited to my magic. “The hyperactivity and euphoria are caused by sudden exposure to the analeptic agents used to ensure quick uptake of the mantle. They are unrelated to your new cutie mark.” “My new cutie mark,” I laugh, my breath coming quickly as my heart pounds. My new cutie mark. Isn’t that just hilarious? I mean, in a cruel irony sort of way, yeah, but, come on. Vision may have a dark sense of humor, but it knows how to crack a good joke. “So, where is it?” I ask, grinning ear to ear as I look around. My back is bare, my sides are bare. “Is it on my neck or something?” “On your cheek,” Berry answers, and of course I don’t have a mirror. I look around for something shiny, but all the metal in this room is dull and grey, and I can’t see my reflection in any of it. I guess Berry figures out what I’m looking for, because she steps out of the doorway. “Bathroom at the end of the hall.” I move off at a quick trot, but stop after only a few paces, taking a second to appreciate the essence of it all—the little spring in my step, the bob of my tail, the feeling of splashing through the puddles on the floor. “Berry,” I say. “You don’t know how good it feels not to be paralyzed by fear. Oh.” I let out a breath and laugh again. “This is like a weight coming off my shoulders.” She doesn’t answer, so I head down the hall, pushing open the door and shoving inside. Tiles, fixtures, toilet, sink, mirror, me. There it is. On my left cheek. A green compass rose with four gold points to mark the cardinal directions. It doesn’t quite fit though. The north point runs up over my eyelid, visible only when I shut the eye, and the south runs under my chin. The east vanishes behind my ear—boring—while the west point runs along my muzzle, split in half by my mouth. It’s actually turned my lips gold, and the flesh on either side of them, terminating on the far side. I reach up to touch it—feeling the hard ridge on the edge of my hoof brush over the smooth hair. My hoof is wet and salty from running through the puddles, and it leaves a cool feeling in its wake. It’s... a map legend. It’s not the sort of compass rose you see on seals or icons or in an actual compass; it’s the sort they draw in the corner of a map. “Well, it doesn’t exactly blend with my natural color, does it?” I ask. It’s a negative sort of question, but my tone is upbeat and I make it sound good. I make it look pretty good too. I mean, I’m a freak, but I’m a pretty freak. That’s something, right? I tuck my tail in around my flank suggestively and grin at the mirror, quietly upgrading “pretty” to “hot.” My hooves clink and tap on the bathroom floor, and the sound carries cleanly around me. Good acoustics in here. I take a breath. “Stand back everypony, nothing here to see,” I sing, rolling out the notes in my absolutely dazzling mezzo-soprano, the notes so smooth and pure you wanna curl up against them. “Just imminent danger, in the middle of it, me.” It’s absurd of course, but it feels so good to sing again, to hear myself the way I should be. I have to laugh, giggle really, even as I look myself over in the glass, flank to fetlock. Brave, hot, smart, beautiful singing voice—this will do. “Hey, Berry? What do maps have to do with bravery?” I ask, flicking my tail back to normal and taking a second to clean up. I can see Berry standing in the doorway behind me. I’m filthy and ragged of course, bags under my eyes and such, but that’ll pass. I take a second to straighten my mane while Berry thinks it over. “It is a reference to the Daring Do series,” she says, in what is probably her least helpful answer to date, despite stiff competition in that field. Oh well, I can be patient. I need a brush. “So the mantle is named after a series of mantles?” I ask cheerfully, checking myself out in the mirror. Smile. Frown. Pout. Bedroom eyes. Oh yeah, that’s nice. Gold is an exotic color. It’s like I’m wearing makeup. “That’s a little redundant, isn’t it?” “Daring Do is a series of adventure books. They were very popular in Equestria,” Berry says as I twist my hindquarters around to inspect my lower body more thoroughly. Shoot—no physical changes there. It would have been perfect if I’d gotten that toned, action-hero physique to go along with it. I mean, it works the way it is now, but it could have worked even better. Is that what tonics are for? I think it’s mantles that do cutie marks and tonics that do physical transformations, but I never actually asked. When I turn back up, Berry is staring at me, her head tilted to one side. “Do they not have Daring Do in Equestria anymore?” she asks, when she finally finishes that thought. “Everypony read it when I was young.” “Berry, ‘when you were young’ was roughly a million years ago,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Please stop reminding me that you’re like, a seventy-year-old in an eighteen-year-old’s body.” “I’m forty-seven,” she says, and wow, that is creepy. She’s nearly fifty? I mean, she almost looks younger than I do. I could introduce her as my little sister, and nopony would think it was weird. Actually, yeah! I totally could. We’ve even both got the face cutie marks—her with her little flower and me with the compass rose. That’s neat. “Do they really not have Daring Do anymore?” “No, Berry,” I say. Okay, that's enough getting distracted, time to focus. Flick tail, shake head, stretch out, deep breath, feel that blood pump. “Right!” I proclaim, in my best decisive voice. Officer Rallies Troops #6 serves me well here: one leg up, tail slightly above neutral, neck elevated and head level. “There’s no easy way to say this, Berry, so I’m just going to spit it out—I’m not going back to Equestria. Green sacrificed herself to save me, and now I’m going to save her. I’m going to get her out of the Pavilion and buck Rarity right in the teeth!” I nail it so hard, Berry is actually shocked into silence. I mean, she’s usually silent, but this time, she’s also shocked. Her expression is flat as ever, but those gears are turning. Now she knows I’m serious and that I’ve got what it takes! “Yes,” she finally says. “That was the implication of our earlier conversation.” Earlier... oh right, my final letter. I forgot she was there for that. Well, that was a little silly of me, but whatever works! A tragedy to move even her cold, rusted heart. “Good!” I say, moving right along. “Well, let’s go then. We’re too late to catch Echo before he gets to security, but we can still find him wherever he falls asleep after work. He’ll never see it coming.” I trot up to the door to head back to the rail station. Berry is in my way. “Uh, Berry?” I ask, moving to the left. She moves with me, leaning over to block my path. “Berry. Berry, you’re in the way,” I say, weaving back and forth, only for her to move with me. “It is four in the morning,” Berry replies. Is it? Wow. I totally lost track of time. “You are tired, injured, and attempting to treat emotional trauma with drugs. Even if you could locate Echo, confronting him now would be unwise. You should wait until you have slept.” “No way. I’ve waited enough as it is!” I say firmly, stomping a hoof to emphasize how serious I am. “I’m through sitting around and waiting for other ponies to save me. It’s time I made it all right, and I won’t be talked out of it. If you think I can’t do it on my own, then help me.” “I am helping you by maximizing your odds of success,” Berry replies, in that stubborn way she has. Can’t she see what I’m trying to do here? She’s so thick at times. “If you rest, you will have possession of your full faculties, and I will speak to Trixie—” “Oh no you don’t!” I cut her off. I should have known! “I know you have your loyalties to Trixie, Berry, but this isn’t contingent on her approval. I am saving Green, no matter what Trixie has to say about it!” “There are several obvious reasons that is not practically feasible,” Berry replies, without so much as a blink. “You are experiencing impaired judgment.” “My judgment is fine—I’m experiencing your fat flank in my way!” I yell, taking a step forward. She scrambles back. That’s right. She doesn’t like to be touched. I take another step, and for all that she puts on airs of blocking my way, she backs down the hallway before I can brush her. “I’m sorry, Berry,” I snap, belting the words out. Oh yeah, that sounded good—very forceful and determined, even if it doesn't make me sound terribly sorry. “I do appreciate how much you’ve helped me, but I’m not letting my fate be decided by Trixie. If you want to help, help, but I’m doing this without you if I must.” I’m so dramatic. It’s great. “I’m going do the right thing! I’m going to save the day!” Berry looks at me. Just stares. The corridor around us is dead quiet, other than the beating lights, and my stomach growling for some reason. She thinks about it for a while, watching me in that empty place. Then she bows her head and steps aside, letting me through to the train station. I get about halfway there before I throw up. “Uuughhh...” The sound passes over my lips like a desert wind. So dry. I can feel all the dust in my mouth—a grainy, rough mass that tastes of vomit. My stomach is so empty it hurts, a yawning pit, while my bladder is full to bursting. I urgently need to drink something, pee, and eat. The problem being that I also need to keep lying here. The fog of sleep clears slowly, but that doesn’t help. My head is throbbing, every beat of the lights causing a dull pounding in my temples and a burning behind my eyes. I can feel the light ebb and flow, even with my eyes shut. My limbs feel so heavy, so weak. I want it to all go away so I can just lie here. I feel... sheets? A mattress. A pillow under my head. How did I even get here? I was on the train with Echo, then Neptune’s Bounty, the station, Berry and... oh. Ponyfeathers. A feeble groan slips out of me, and try as I might to pull it back, it seems like too much effort. It’s so hard to draw breath, to make my barrel rise and fall. My ears flick a bit. Scratching? No, scribbling. A pen on paper. Breathing. Ponies. “Who’s...” I manage, before the strength leaves me. There. Who’s there. I try to say it, but the second word just won’t come. I can’t get the air, can’t make my jaw move right. More scribbling. A loud thump, and the rattling of metal. A moment’s silence, then paper rustling. “I’ll need you to begin immediately.” Berry’s voice. Close. “Yes, ma’am.” A male voice, clean and formal. Ma’am? A security officer? I try to tilt my head up, straining my neck and forcing my eyes open. It’s so hard though—my head barely moves, and when I crack one eye open, all I can see is a blur. There’s a vague purple mass, and a splotchy point of black and green. “Do you need any help with her?” the black and green blob asks. “No. You may go,” Berry says. The blob vanishes, and I hear the heavy thump of a metal door. I think Berry is looking at me now, but I can’t tell, so I shut my eyes. It helps a little. I guess I fall asleep again, because when I next come to, I feel a bit better. Or a bit worse. It hurts a lot more—I can feel every discomfort, every pain, bruises up and down my side, and a dull throbbing in my temples. The aching in my muscles, stomach, and bladder all seem so much more urgent now, and the dull, dry feeling in my mouth has turned to the sharp sensation of cracked and bleeding lips. It’s far from pleasant, but I think it’s a good thing that I can feel all that now. There are other things too—I can hear dripping water, smell something in the air. A wafting aroma. Bread? “Berry?” I groan, the words emerging as a sickly rasp. “Berry, are you there?” “Yes,” she answers, right by my ear, so close I can feel the flow of her breath, smell that sickly sweet odor. She must be leaning over the bed. “Help me up,” I say, forcing one of my legs to move, to push the blanket back a little. It’s just a twitch, really. “I need to... bathroom. Don’t think I can get out of bed.” Berry doesn’t answer, of course, except with silence. I wasn’t expecting her to, though. It’s tempting to just drift off while I wait for her—to slip back into that haze of sleep—but I force myself to try and wake up. Even though it feels like more effort than my lungs can handle, I make myself take deep breaths, and twist my legs one at a time to push at the blankets. It’s the faintest of motions, but even that is enough to make my muscles strain. Eventually, I feel Berry tugging the blanket up. Is she trying to put me back to bed? No. No, I can feel her wrapping her forehooves around me, keeping the blanket between me and her. Oh, right. She’s serious about not being touched. “On the count of three,” Berry says, tightening her grip around me. “You will count.” “Alright, Siren. Time to get up,” I croak out, the words slurred by the bloated, dusty tangle my mouth has become. My ankles twitch a little, and I try to stretch my legs into place. “On three. One... two... three.” I twist at the same time Berry heaves, the motion rolling me off the side of the bed and onto my hooves. My knees buckle under my own weight at once, and I start to fall, but Berry catches me, the blanket and one foreleg shoved around and under me. All the blood rushes out of my head, bright spots of light dancing behind my closed eyes as a loud ringing sings through my ears. Instinctively, I flail out with a leg to catch my fall, but my legs feel bloated, useless. Useless. No. Why can’t I reach the floor? My heart is pounding in my ears, as loud as I’ve ever heard it. Like a drum. Oh. Berry already caught me. Right. I should pass out, I should fall, but somehow, I manage to stay awake, and Berry holds me up. I can feel her trembling with my weight. She’s not that strong. I need to stand. My legs are working a little now, and I push up myself up, letting the spots clear. Berry never lets go, but she steadies herself, and the pressure of her leg under me slowly fades until I’m standing on my own. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.” Opening my eyes still reveals only a blur, but it’s sharp enough I can make out the shape of things. The bed, the desk, the door. Berry is a fuzzy pony, instead of an indistinct mass of purple. My first step is a little shaky, and Berry tenses to catch me again, but I don’t fall. She opens the door, and soon, I’m making my way down the corridor with her by my side, towards the grey mass at the end I know is the bathroom door. I suppose dignity is the least of my concerns right now, but I can’t help but be a little embarrassed that Berry walks into the bathroom with me. She wraps the blanket around my shoulders so she can guide me there, and steadies me as I find a seat. It’s a good thing she does—something about relieving myself makes the spots in my vision return in force, and I start to slip forward towards the floor until she catches me. I squeak a little, but neither of us says anything. The spots clear up after a bit, and I’m able to clean myself up and make it to the sink. My vision is sharper now—still fuzzy at the edges, but that’s the worst of it. I can see the sink and the knobs. There’s no way I can concentrate enough to use magic right now, but my hooves work just fine. I twist the tap on and lean my head down. It’s such a comfort to feel the water rushing down my throat, and I drink until that dusty feeling is gone. Nevermind how undignified it is, or how much water is splashing over my muzzle and face. Right now, that dirty tap is the fountain of life. Eventually, I’ve had enough. I’m still thirsty, but if I drink until I’m not, I’ll make myself sick. I’m feeling much better anyway—I shut my eyes, take a deep breath, lift my head and stretch out all my muscles, feeling them crack and pop. It hurts, but not badly. I haven’t ripped or torn anything. That’s good. The mirror is in front of me. I look... wrong. I’m the wrong color. I should be pink. I’m used to that. But now there’s green, and gold, and a little teal, I think? No—greener than that. I can’t quite place the shade. For a while, I stare at it, turning my cheek to the mirror and trying to remember the name of that particular color. But it won’t come. I guess it doesn't matter now. The rest of my face is no better. Tired. Drawn. Bruised. My eyes are bloodshot, and the visible lines are across my cheeks are criss-crossed by the paths of droplets of water. Water all over—my muzzle and cheeks are splattered. If I saw a pony like that in a crowd, I’d think they were going to pass out at any moment. Then again, I suppose I nearly did. Letting out a breath helps. I shake my head. Right. “Why am I this sick?” I ask Berry, even if I am feeling a bit better now. I’m able to make my way to the door and push it open without help, though Berry shadows me anyway, leaving the blanket over my shoulders and holding station just to my left. “You are suffering from dehydration, exhaustion, hypotension, and moderate hypoglycemia,” Berry answers as the two of us walk down the hallway. “While the symptoms are collectively significant, self-treatment should still be fully effective.” We walk the rest of the way in silence as I mull that over. Berry moves to open the door for me, but I push it open before she can and step back into the little room. I can see now that there are things on the desk—pens, paper, a watch, a bottle of water, some pep bars, my belt. There’s even a tray with a covered plate and two thermoses. Definitely the source of the bready smell. “So,” I summarize, “I’m thirsty, tired, and hungry, but if I eat and drink something, I’ll feel fine?” Berry shrugs. “Sometimes, Berry, I think that you’re not really quiet,” I say, shrugging the blanket off and rubbing at my face, trying to work the tension out. “You just save up all your words so you can use them in bursts.” She doesn’t answer, of course, and I don’t wait for her to. “Is the tray for me?” Berry nods, turning it to the side of the desk, so I can sit in front of it while she’s in front of the papers and things. I still don’t feel totally up to using magic, but I’m able to nose the cover off the plate and shove it off onto the desk. Pancakes. A cloud of steam wafts out from under the cover and drifts out all around me. Fresh pancakes. Four of them. I smell butter, and syrup, and the thick aroma of the pancakes themselves. Somepony has slathered the syrup on them already, and they’ve been sitting long enough that it’s been absorbed, visible only as glistening lines in the fluffy brown stack. My stomach growls so hard it’s like my whole body trembles a little. It’s okay though. There’s a knife and fork on one side of the plate. Even if I can’t focus on magic right now, I can still... I mean. I should... a little wisp of steam tickles my nose. To heck with it. My head sinks to the tray, and I scarf the pancakes down. Oh stars, that’s wonderful—sweet and buttery and solid. I practically take the whole stack in my teeth for the first bite, tearing off a chunk and chewing as fast as I can. It’s barbaric, crumbs going everywhere and syrup getting all over my face, but I really, really don’t care. It’s not like I have any modesty with Berry anymore. She doesn’t say a word, and I’m halfway through the stack before I even lift my head. I’m splattered with syrup by that point of course—a sticky feeling all over my muzzle and cheeks—but she makes no sign of having noticed. She just watches me, silently, one ear tilted to the side a little, her gaze even and unblinking. That makes me freeze for a moment, like a foal caught in the cookie jar. But no. I’m hungry; she’s got no room to judge me. I lean down to take a bite, a little defiantly even, but she has no more reaction to that than she did to all the bites before it. “Fo hut haffened—” I start, pausing a moment to swallow. “So what happened last night?” While I wait through Berry’s usual silence, I reach out to touch each of the thermoses with a hoof: one of them is warm, the other cool. I pull over the cold one first and pop it open with my teeth. Orange juice. “It’s all really fuzzy,” I say, when her silence grows prolonged. “I remember most of us arguing in the bathroom. And then throwing up in the hallway. And then... something.” “You became nauseous and delirious, and in your determination to get back to the city, fell down the flight of stairs at the southwest end of the train station,” Berry says, plain and matter-of-fact, as I gulp down the orange juice. “A medic was called to help, and your injuries were determined to be superficial, requiring only bedrest. I have been watching you since then.” “I suppose I should thank you,” I say. It comes out more accusative than I’d thought. I’m not... I’m not really watching my body language or tone right now—I’m not collected enough for it—but somehow it comes out literal. I suppose I should thank you, but I’m not. “Taking care of me. Fresh pancakes in the morning.” Berry doesn’t even shrug this time; she just gives me that blank, empty stare. So I ignore her and eat another half a pancake, and take a sniff at the hot thermos. Coffee. I hate coffee. Still, I might need something to wake up later, so I slip it into one of my belt loops and cinch the belt back around my waist. “So are you taking care of me because I’ll need my strength to go find Echo? Or so the Princess will think I’m worth mint-condition price?” I finally ask, breaking the silence. We both knew it was coming. “Because if it’s the second one, you probably should have stopped me last night.” “A single mantle is not harmful, assuming you do not indulge the addiction,” Berry says, in that plain, academic way. “I think the Princess would still accept you, if you want to go back to Equestria.” “If I want to go back?” I ask, peering at her more closely. She gives away nothing, but it’s habit, even if I know I won’t find anything in those eyes. “And if I want to save Green?” “While Trixie does have the means to force you to leave, I believe she can be persuaded to see the value in allowing you to stay,” Berry answers. After a pause, she begins to put the things on the desk into her saddlebags—paper first, then pens, slipping them in one at a time. Giving me time to think, I suppose. “That’s... very kind of you,” I say, but she ignores me, still going through the rote mechanical motion, moving onto the pep bars now. “I asked you once why it is you worked for Trixie. You never answered.” Still, she doesn't interrupt what she’s doing. The watch gets put away last of all, clasped in her teeth and then slid down into the saddlebags. “Berry, why are you helping me?” I ask, more forcefully. “None of the others needed a reason,” she answers, shutting her saddlebags and latching them closed. I... I don’t... I finish my pancakes. And the orange juice. There’s no napkin or anything, but I’m feeling a lot better. Good enough to levitate a little bit of gauze out of all the first aid stuff in my belt, and to clean myself up. That’s good. “The others liked me,” I say, my voice trembling. Berry says nothing. “Alright then,” I say, swallowing to keep my voice steady, and tossing the syrup-stained gauze down onto the plate. “Alright then. Keep your secrets. I’m staying. I’m saving Green. Let’s... let’s go.” “Trixie will not be available for at least an hour,” Berry says. “There are several tasks I must see to in the meantime. You are free to remain here and rest if—” “I said let’s go,” I snap, a touch of naked hostility working its way into the words, my sides trembling as I draw a shaky breath. “I’ve slept enough.” Berry doesn’t so much as nod. She only rises, turns to the door, opens it, and leaves, letting me follow her. It’s not far down the hallway, then down the stairs and back to the train station. It’s a dingy, fetid sort of place, full of decaying wooden platforms nestled amongst a spaghetti pile of twisting train tracks, weaving amongst each other on the stone. The stone itself is so stained with oil it’s almost black, and what little of the station that is not rotting is rusting. Even the grand steel “Welcome to Neptune’s Bounty” sign hangs at a noticeable angle, and jagged patches of red cover its sides. The ceiling is low and dripping, giving it a cramped feel, and the whole thing smells like smoke and pee. It doesn't help that the low ceiling creates a constant din of noise—ponies talking, coughing, shouting, foals crying, clocks binging, lights humming and buzzing. When I arrived last night, this place was empty, but now, the clock atop the main station reads two, and the terminal is full of ponies as worn as the station is. Ragged herds, with dirty old saddlebags and unwashed manes and too many cutie marks. They cluster in little groups around wiredolls, wait at the edge of the platform like that would somehow make the train come faster, or just keep to themselves in the shadows, piled onto benches or nestled in dirty corners. Berry pays them no mind, and they don’t pay us much mind either. I do... I do take a second to look at them though. I don’t know if they’re like Epiphany, exactly, but... “What are they all doing here?” I ask as Berry leads us along. We’re not waiting for a train, just headed for a tunnel on the far side of the platform. There are a lot of tunnels here, and a lot of bridges, rail and hoof, headed up and down and in every direction. Obviously a major terminal of some kind. “Waiting,” Berry answers as we move around one of those statues of Sine Rider. I can’t see the quote at the base—there’s a mare with a crying foal who’s taken shelter under it, her child’s piercing shrieks drawing dirty looks from the ponies around her. She has him wrapped up in a blanket, cradled in her forelegs, trying to shush him without luck. It’s odd. He’s a unicorn—tan, with a wavy little mane of a slightly darker shade, but she’s a pegasus, bright and blue. He must take after his father. I know it’s rude to stare, but I watch them anyway, turning my head as we go past. She should be pretty—she has the face for it. But she’s thin from malnourishment, her golden mane is ragged, her coat is falling out in patches, and even if I couldn’t see the pony biting its own tail on her side, she doesn’t have young eyes. Tired, and worn, and bloodshot. Pleading for him to be quiet. Then she catches me staring, and wraps her wings up around him protectively. She acts like I might steal him, and glares at us until we walk away. “What are they waiting for?” I ask quietly. “Trains,” Berry answers. I guess that makes sense. Soon, we pass into the tunnel Berry selected, and out of sight of the station. It’s a hoof tunnel that quickly turns into a stairwell, taking us steadily upwards. Every once in a while, we run into a landing, or a side door, or a pair of wiredolls guarding the way, but we always pass without incident. Eventually, I can see a bright light in the distance, the top of the stairwell. It’s cleaner here, and dry. I guess... I guess this is the nice part. “Stop,” I say, and I do, coming to a halt on a landing one level below the top, between two of the unmoving metallic guards there, still on their stands. “S-stop. I mean it. What are they waiting for?” “Trains,” Berry repeats. “Because it is a train station.” “I know what a train station is for, Berry!” I snap, tail lashing as I twist my head around to glare at her. “And you know perfectly well what I mean. What are they all doing there? And don’t just shrug!” She stares at me for a while then, stopped on the landing. I stare right back. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “That’s a general-access station. They could be going anywhere in the city.” “Fine,” I say. “Fine. You’re just running errands or whatever, right? You don’t need me?” She doesn't reply, which I take as a yes. “Fine, you go ahead. Come and get me when Trixie’s ready to talk.” I turn and move back down the stairs without waiting to see if Berry replies. Every step I take produces three dull thumps and one metallic clank—Green’s hoofboot. Is Berry going to stop me? Or follow me? Or just ignore me? My ears twist back as I listen for her, but there’s nothing. I don’t hear anything but the lights, and my breathing, and that steady sound from my hooves. Thump, thump, thump, tink, over and over. Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I stop two landings down, twisting around to look at her. Nothing. Empty hallway. Did she leave... or...? I search around more, but there’s not really anywhere to hide in this hall. Smooth stone walls, no obstructions. She’s sneaky, but she’s not invisible. So I guess she left. Good. I suppose that’s... good. I reach up to slick my mane back. A bit sweaty. Right. The train station looks funny from the bottom of the stairs—just because it’s at a different angle, the platform buildings hiding and revealing tracks. Still, it’s disorienting. I can’t even pick out the statue of Sine, much less the mare beneath it. Taking my time helps, examining things more clearly. There are... overhangs, and benches. I guess at some point Trixie gave up on stopping the ceiling from dripping and just put shelters in. It actually makes it look a lot like an Equestrian train platform, other than how run down it is. If I ignore their filthy coats and ragged bags, I can picture the markers clustered under the shelters as Equestrian ponies, just trying to keep out of the rain. Some of the walls are even painted sky-blue. The paint is peeling and I can see the white stone underneath, but it probably looked nice once. That’s nice. I still can’t see the statue or the mare, so I step in, slowly making my way across the first platform as I try to orient myself. There are no cafes or stores or anything to use as a reference point, just some wiredoll booths that ponies are clustering around. A few of them are booths like I saw in Spitfire Station, but the rest are different. They’re out in the open, on a much more solid stand, and they’re not sexless and plain, but distinctly feminine, dressed up in a blue cape and a star-studded hat. Maybe it’s supposed to be somepony specific? “Hey! Watch it!” A stallion’s shout snaps me out of my reverie, and I jerk my head forward just in time for my right forehoof to plunge into empty space. I lurch forward with it, the world tilting as the rails rush up towards me—but then my tail goes taut, yanked so hard I feel like it’ll rip the hairs right out of my dock. The rails shoot back as I tumble to the platform, landing on my rear with painful thump. “Uh...” I stammer, blinking away the lights that have come back to my eyes. “I uh... I...” It’s only after my butt is solidly on the ground that my heart starts to race, like my body was only now realizing I almost fell. When I look around, there’s nopony behind me, but I spot a unicorn stallion nearby. Black coat, lime mane, kind of a weasely, twitchy manner. No extra cutie marks I can see, but he’s wearing pretty big saddlebags, so they might be there. “Hey,” he repeats, his voice confirming his identity. “You okay? You should watch where you’re going.” “Yeah...” I say after a moment, feeling suddenly breathless. Surprise? Or am I still sick? “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I get back up and shake out my tail a bit. My dock is still sore, but I didn’t hurt anything. This time, I stand still when I look around, and I can see the statue now. The mare is still taking shelter under it. I pause for a moment to glance back at the stallion who helped me, but he isn’t watching me anymore. Something else has caught his attention—two colts shouting and fighting with each other over by one of the benches. Well, that was weird. I watch him for a bit longer, just in case... I don’t know, something happens? But he just stands there and looks around, peering for the train in the distance. Well. Right. Anyway. I don’t know why she’s all on her own out there. The statue is nestled between two overhangs, where there are already groups of ponies taking shelter or clustering around those dolls in the hat and cape. I can hear them chatting, but they’re just talking about nothing. Scolding their kids, or complaining about the water, or wondering when the train is going to come. It’s like any other crowd really, but she’s apart from them, out under the statue and in the dripping water. Her foal has stopped crying at least. That’s good. I think it’s a pretty delicate peace though. She’s huddled in even closer to the statue, its rearing stone legs up above her. She’s lifted her wings above her head and forward, so that they form a little umbrella, and I can see water drops landing on them and running down off to the side. “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day,” she sings to him, holding him close as she sits on her haunches. It must be hard for her to hold her wings up like that for so long, and I can see that they’re beginning to shake. Her sides are patchy, hair falling out. She’s wearing saddlebags, but even around them, her ribs are visible. “Oh come now, dear pegasi, won’t you come and clear the sky? Make your rainclouds go away, and let the little ponies play.” I can see her original cutie mark now—a lightning bolt and three stars. She has two others as well, the pony biting its own tail on her shoulder, and three knives on her back. He seems to take the little rhyme well, making indistinct cooing sounds. Then she spots me staring. Her head jerks up sharply to glare at me, her wings pulling around him defensively. I take a quick step back. And then he starts to cry again. “No, no. Shhh. Quiet. Shhh. Quiet!” she whispers to him, trying to rock him back and forth. The motions turn quick and jumpy though, and only make him cry louder. “Quiet!” she snaps, her wings shaking more noticeably now, the feathers twitching. Her yelling is drawing attention, and that only makes her look around all the more widely, her head lashing back and forth to take in the crowds around her. I can see she’s breathing faster, eyes getting wider. Panic. “Hey! Hey,” I call out to her, careful to keep my tone gentle, my body language totally non-threatening. I don’t have a specific pose in mind really—I’m kind of rushed for that—but I think I play it by ear pretty well. She whirls her head on the spot, of course, backing away, just about plastering herself flat against the statue to keep as far from me as possible. “It’s okay, he—” “You stay away from me!” she bellows, ponies in the crowds on either side of her jumping at the sudden sound. They’re backing away from her now, a widening circle forming, the murmur of conversation changing its tenor. Dropping, lower and quieter. I back away, but it doesn't help—now the crowd is setting her off. “Call security,” somepony in the crowd says, loud enough to be heard, but they’re wasting their breath. I can already hear the whine of gears and cogs, metal hoofsteps on stone. “I said stay back!” she screams, rising to three legs, her foal tucked up under her. She’s spreading her wings, like she was going to fly away, but the ceiling is too low for that. There’s nowhere for her to go that the dolls can’t reach her, and they’re already around us—ponies without gender, without faces, with bright steel skin and empty glass eyes. “Stay back, you punks! Ya little clockwork thugs! You think you can bully me with your windup toys!?” The foal under her is crying at the top of his lungs now, wailing for all he’s worth. “Hey!” I shout, before the dolls can act. “Hey! Hey!” I scream as loud as it takes to get her to look at me, pointing right at her and pulling her gaze down. “Hey, look at me. Look at me.” I order, using my best authoritative voice. It’s... it’s commanding and it’s... it’s firm and it’s good! This is a good tone for this situation. And a good pose! Pointing. “Look at me!” Finally, she looks me in the eye. I hold that for a second, just getting a read on her. Just letting her get a feel for me. “I’m sorry I startled you. Nopony is going to take your foal away. Okay?” I say, not letting her break eye contact, forcing her to see, and listen, and understand. “You hear me? Everything’s fine.” A step towards one of the wiredolls emphasizes my point, and I put a leg in front of it to stop it, like it wouldn't crush me flat with a single step. “I’m sorry, Officer,” I say, making sure that she sees me look at the machine. The machine is looking at me, for its part, though its operator hasn’t spoken yet. “She’s having a really bad day... but she’s not crazy. Okay? She’s just having a really, really bad day, and... and that’s all. She’s fine. It’ll all be fine.” Silence hangs over the crowd. Real quiet. No chatter, no whispers. Without their chatter, you can hear everything: her foal wailing, and the dolls whining, and the lights beating, and my own heart pounding. Then, in the distance, a train whistle. “You a relative?” the doll nearest me asks with a masculine voice, distorted by the machine’s mechanical drone. “I’m a friend,” I say, glancing back at her. “And it’s my fault this happened. I upset her. It won’t happen again, Officer.” In the distance, the train whistle sounds again twice. “It best not. Your friend gets ‘upset’ like that again, the security officer on station may just decide she’s a section eight. You understand?” “Yes, Officer. Yes, I understand. Sorry.” I look back at her, just to check. She’s still tense, but it’s an immobile tension that leaves her frozen to the spot. Her only movement is to glance down briefly to make sure her foal is okay, and I’m sure she’s not going to start screaming or attacking anypony. “It’s okay. See?” I say, stepping up to her, careful to keep my eyes on hers, and hers on mine. She locks up as I reach for her, but I pause, touching her left wing and gently folding it back down, her right following suit. “There.” “Good,” the wiredoll says, the others moving away. Back to their stands, I guess. “Show’s over, everypony! Train’s coming in, keep clear of the tracks and board in an orderly fashion!” I don’t think they really care what the doll guard has to say, but the train is coming in, and that’s enough to snap most of them out of their fascination. They go to crowd the edge of the platform, the ground rumbling as the train draws close. I don’t look for it, keeping my eyes on her, my hoof on her shoulder. “Here,” I say, and I almost ask if I can hold him, but... no. No, that would be pushing it too far. “Can you hold him up?” She does, bringing a wing around to steady him. I wince every time he wobbles, held with only one leg in the crook of her elbow. But she doesn’t drop him, holding the squealing little bundle up to me, with his tan coat and stubby little horn. “Sleep now child, and peace attend thee, all through the night,” I sing quietly. At once, his cries quiet, and then vanish altogether, his little wispy mane bobbing as he twists around to look at me. “Midnight slumber, close surround thee, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, all through the night.” It’s a simple little song, but babies are easy—you just have to get the tone right, and the environment of course. No wonder he was crying—there are drops of salt water all over the blanket he’s wrapped in. I wish I were real wizard, so I could just magic it dry, but there’s not much I can do out here. “I, my loved one’s watch, am keeping,” I sing, pointing her towards one of the overhangs that’s been abandoned, now that the crowd is clustering around the train doors, “all through the night.” It takes a little nudging, but I manage to get her to move, and soon we’re under the overhang, and out of the water. Two of those funny wiredolls in the capes and hats are nearby, but they aren’t moving, so I just ignore them. “There,” I sigh, smiling down at the little unicorn. He’s not actually going to sleep, but he coos happily at least. “That better?” “Yeah, thanks,” the mare says, sitting on the stone and reaching up her other leg to steady him. “You’re really good at that.” “Thanks. Um...” For a second, I don’t know what to say. I’m just staring at her stupidly. “You uh... you want some food? I have some pep bars. And some coffee.” She glances at me when I say that, suspicion in her narrowed eyes. “I uh... I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for him.” That doesn't produce a reaction. Why doesn't it? “I’m sorry,” I repeat, lamely. “I’m sorry.” “It’s uh... it’s fine. Don’t go have a breakdown on me or anything,” she says, after a second. “I... Yeah, I could uh... I could go for a pep bar. Sure. You um...” I read her cue and gently levitate her foal out of her grasp, cradling him with both forelegs. That leaves my horn free to handle the thermos and the entire box worth of bars from Doctor Stable’s office. She tries not to fumble with the packaging too much. Tries to keep her dignity. She can’t manage it though, and soon she’s tearing at the wrapping with her teeth like an animal, spitting it out and then wolfing down the energy bar. She does that with two of them, and then gulps down most of the coffee all at once. I don’t interrupt, just rocking the little foal back and forth and glancing around. The platform is nearly empty, the herd reduced to maybe a dozen ponies total as everypony else crowds onto the train. “Do you need to get that?” I ask, but she shakes her head. “Fim hehhing ha who hirhy,” she mouths around the first half of another bar, swallowing it with a massive gulp. “The two-thirty,” she clarifies. “I’m a little early.” “Oh... sure,” I say. It’s not until she devours the third bar that it occurs to me: if she’s that thin, what about him? I tug the blanket a bit to the side, but no. There’s some yearling fat under his coat. Good. “What’s his name?” I ask, to cover for the odd little motion. “Lucky Break,” she says. She almost adds something else to that. I can see her jaw begin to move, but she clamps down on it fast, thinking better of it. “Uh, hoping it’ll work out for him, you know? You believe in prophetic naming?” “Yeah,” I nod. I don’t think it works that way though. I’ve met ponies with ironic names too. She’s hiding something, but I can’t tell what. Might be nothing, just paranoia setting in. “Lucky Break is a good name.” “Yeah,” she agrees blandly, pausing to take a suspicious glance over my shoulder. I don’t follow her gaze; it would only encourage her. Eventually, it passes, and she turns back to me. “So uh... you eat a lot of these things?” she asks, stuffing the half dozen bars left into her pack and finishing off the last of the coffee. She keeps the thermos too. “No. I was in a doctor’s office once, and I stole them from behind the counter,” I say with a little shake of my head. “Figured I’d need them if I ever got hungry. Should have stolen medical supplies instead. I’ve been roughed up a lot since then.” “Probably,” she says with a weak chuckle. “They’re handy though. Last forever. I once knew a unicorn who swore these things made his spells more powerful. Always had a few in his bags.” “Really?” I ask, my ears twitching a little. “There’s nothing in those things is there? Like Poison Joke or magic or—” “No. No.” She shakes her head. “That was uh... that was just the brain rot setting in,” she says, shrugging. “So you know, we humored him. Arguing just would have made him upset.” That kills the conversation pretty well. I look at the ground, tuck my tail in a bit. She does the same. For a while, neither of us says anything. “Stealing medical supplies probably isn’t a good idea though,” she adds. “If the Pavilion catches you, they’ll break all your legs.” “Pavilion catches me, I’ll be lucky if they just break my legs,” I say. That causes another lull in the conversation. Which is fair. “I didn’t think they had much sway here though? Trixie.” “Oh, they don’t. But if you’re stealing from a doctor, you’re doing it out in the city. Nopony steals from Trixie. Nopony.” She reaches back into her saddlebags then, pulling out a dirty glass baby bottle and a worn paper bag that’s leaking some white powder. “Pass me that bottle of water, would you?” I levitate the bottle of water out of my belt, and also hold the bottle for her as she carefully empties a few spoons’ worth of the powder inside. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I’m new here. Trixie’s that scary?” “It’s fine. I’m new here too,” she says, putting the powder away and filling the baby bottle with water, the mix producing an ugly white sludge at the bottom. Is that supposed to be milk? “And, I don’t know. Pavilion and security are scarier, I guess. But you can sometimes get away with things with them,” she continues, screwing the cap on with her teeth. I wait until she’s done, and then levitate it away from her, giving it a good shake to mix it up. It turns white, at least, but it still kind of looks like cement. “With Trixie, she always knows. Always. And she’ll get you for it one day.” “Do I just...” I point at him, and she nods. I levitate the bottle down, and he turns his head away from it, not that I could blame him. It takes a few tries to get him to suckle—I have to keep poking at him with the little nub on the bottle’s end. “Is that first-hoof?” “Yeah, but, that was years ago. I’ve paid my dues. Trixie’s over it,” she says with a little shrug. “Not that I’m her biggest fan or anything, but I’m here, aren’t I? You can always find a job in Neptune’s Bounty, and well, with him...” She gestures at Lucky Break with her nose. “Yeah, I understand,” I say. But of course, I don’t. There are always jobs in Neptune’s Bounty? Then why are there so many homeless ponies? Is it not that simple? Or is there some horrible catch, so that they’d all rather starve? “So you’ve got work?” “Yeah. I’m going to be a bricklayer.” She lifts up her saddlebags, revealing another cutie mark on her right side—a pile of bricks and a spade. “Making fireplaces for the ponies up in New Canterlot Heights. The rich toffs who like the traditional style.” “Oh, that’s... good,” I say, looking up at the wiredoll next to us, then down at Lucky Break. Anywhere but her. “What’s that pay?” “Room and board,” she says, with a stiff little shrug. “But that’s for him too. And I’ll get a ration ticket for my medication. So, with a little luck, he’ll be off and grown before I chew my own legs off.” She laughs, but it’s not funny. “So, there’s that. And I get a new cutie mark out of it! That’s nice.” “Yeah,” I say after a second, swallowing. “Mine’s new too.” “I know. Daring Do, right?” she asks. “I’ve heard about it. It’s pretty badflank.” “Oh, um... thanks. I’m not really sure how I feel about it yet,” I say, looking back down at Lucky Break. He’s sucking at the bottle now, pressing his little muzzle up against it. He’s still very young, actually. A few months, or less. But he seems healthy at least. I glance at her. Her sickly figure. “You kids are lucky that way,” she says with a little shake of her head. “You’ve grown up around this stuff. It’s normal to you. For me... I don’t think I’ve ever felt lower than after my first mantle. It was giving up. Admitting I didn’t have what it takes.” “Which...?” I ask, and she taps the three knives on her back. “Back in Equestria, I wanted to be a Wonderbolt. Was well on my way to.” She makes a vague, circling gesture with a hoof. “You don’t know Wonderbolts, but they were this flying group. Kind of a big deal. I thought that made me hot stuff.” She shrugs. “But being able to give it your all and push your limits isn’t the same as having the killer instinct. During the war, first big fight, I choked. Messed up bad. So they made me take it.” “You were a security officer?” I ask. She chuckles—a humorless laugh. “Nah.” She shakes her head. “No, I uh... I wanted to go back to Equestria.” Lucky Break isn’t really going for the rest of the bottle, but I think that’s because the powder is settling. I shake it up a bit, put it back, but he’s still not going for it. “I kind of want to go back home too,” I say. I shouldn't... I shouldn't be doing this, but my eyes are starting to burn, tears welling up there. “And... and I know Wonderbolts. I’m sorry I never saw you fly, but you must have been great.” “Hey, you okay?” she asks. I squeeze my eyes shut and nod, floating Lucky Break back over to her and rising to my hooves. “Yeah. I’m... I’m fine.” I say, my voice cracking as I try to shove the tears away. “Just... what happened to his parents?” She freezes, but I can’t tell if she’s surprised or offended. I can’t think. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-I have to ask.” For a moment, she doesn’t answer, just holding him closer to her chest. “I don’t know,” she says. “They left and didn’t come back. After a few days...” She shrugs. “I waited awhile, but no relatives came for him. You know.” “I... I know.” I have to force the words out, my sides shaking as my breath comes stiffly. “It’s—it’s good of you and... here.” I rip open the money pouch on my belt, tossing all of the bits to the floor in front of her. Gold and platinum and crystal ding and roll over the stone. “Here. I don’t need it.” “Woah, that’s like, two hundred bits,” she says, leaning back, turning to look up at me. “Are you—” She stops as Lucky Break starts to cry again. He must have heard me. “I’m... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say, turning and leaving. And trotting away. Galloping. Running back into the tunnel, up the stairs, hot tears streaming down my face. “Berry!” I yell as loud as I can, the sound echoing up the long corridor. A few of the wiredoll guards come to life and look at me, but none of them move to stop me. “Berry! I know you’re there! I know you’re just hiding! Come out! I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home!” I sprint to the next landing, then to the next, up to the top of the stairs, leaping out into the light. I feel the static hum of the forcefield a moment before impact. It’s like striking solid stone, without a bit of give, my whole body slamming hard against it before it hurls me back onto the steps. I land on my back and roll, tumbling down the flight, limbs twisting under me, stone slamming me with every turn, until I come to a stop on the next landing. My mouth tastes like blood, and every part of me hurts, but I don’t care! I push myself up, and even as the world spins, I force myself to stumble back up the steps. “Berry!” I scream, pounding on the forcefield with my hooves. I can see a vast space on the other side. Dry streets, and pristine buildings and signs that are bright and shiny. I can see vast skylights that look out into the sea, and behind them, through them, I can see ships. Vessels in the water, docked outside! The forcefield is nearly invisible, just a faint purple haze that flashes solid whenever my hooves hit it. “Berry!” I scream louder. She’ll hear me. She has to hear me! “Berry! Berry.” All my bruises are hurting now. I’m bleeding. From my nose and my sides and I think I bit my tongue. “Berry...” I say, my throat torn from the yelling. “Berry. I know you’re just hiding. Please just be hiding.” Nothing. I slump down to the steps, curl my tail around myself, tuck my head into my forelegs, and sob uncontrollably. It’s not fair! I can’t... the stupid potion didn’t work! I’m supposed to be brave. I’m supposed to be some badflank action hero, and I’m sitting on the steps crying like a foal! I’m not supposed to be afraid. I was supposed to be dead! I was supposed to choke on poison and die because I deserve it and Ms. Daring Do was supposed to go save Green! That was the deal. Except, of course, I am still around. I’m still around because I’m afraid, and weak, and useless, and because I get fresh pancakes in the morning when a Wonderbolt is starving to death. Even here, even at my lowest, even in this horrible place, I get spoiled because I’m the Princess’s student. Because... because I was the Princess’s student. I’m not anymore of course. I couldn't be, even if the Princess accepted me. It wouldn't be right. I’m not even really a pony now. I’m something else—something unclean. A perversion of the natural order. I certainly have no right to... to claim any relation to somepony as fair as her. No. Who am I trying to kid? Going home. It would be a farce. A cruelty, based on the idea that I’m somepony I’m not. I’m not her student anymore. I’m not Siren Song. I’m not even Daring Do. I’m... I don’t know. I look up, squeezing away the last of the tears. One of the security wiredolls is there—a solid, menacing thing on its stand, like the biggest earth pony you ever saw, all in steel. “Hey!” I shout at it, but it doesn't move. “Hey, I want to talk to Trixie!” Still, it ignores me. I give it a sharp jab, but all it does is tilt back and forth on its brace. I check its flank, but there’s already a crystal there—with a frame welded over it, so you can’t take it out. The steel side is polished, and I can see myself in its metal skin. After a moment, I lean that way, pushing in closer so my face comes into clear view. So I can see my new cutie mark. It’s green and gold—so ugly on a pink background. I pull my lips back for a second, trying to get a look. They’re gold all the way into my jaw, I think, and when I open my mouth to check, the mark... splits open in the most sickening way, like the flesh itself were ripping paper. It warps and flexes when I move my jaw, and when I purse my lips and puff out my cheeks, it bulges obscenely, like a multicolored boil. I let the air out, and watch it sag back, the flesh going taut when I pull my jaw in. When I shut my left eye and pull my mane back, I can see the complete point just above my eyebrow. How drugged must I have been last night to think that looked good? Just seeing it now makes me want to puke. I lean away from the doll. Stars, I’m hideous, aren’t I? The superficialities shouldn't matter, not with everything else that’s happened, but seeing the way it’s deformed my face reminds me of it all. I looked good before! Pink, granted, but that’s not the end of the world. It’s just a little... My jaw shuts. Opens. Shuts again. “Pink,” I say, looking down at my ankle—the one without the hoofboot. The flesh there is pale, waxy, free of hair, but the leg above it; that’s covered in a thick, smooth coat. Too bright to be red. I have to pause for a moment to swallow, a lump forming in my throat. “I’m...” I say, and it hurts to croak out the words. “I’m pink.” I’m pink. I... should that feel weird? Siren Song wasn’t pink. I mean, she was. I was. But I’d sooner go jump in a lake than admit it. I remember that. I remember stopping in the middle of a life-or-death situation to remind Green I was amaranth, not pink. And... and I remember why. Because pink actors don’t get taken seriously. I mean, I get it. I just don’t get it. Is that how it starts then? The little changes? First I stop hating pink, and then... what? Chew my legs off? Probably with some intermediate steps, I guess. How did Green deal with it? How did she stay sane? Am I just that weak? I didn’t want to do the right thing—I wanted to die and let other Siren do the right thing. Am I being punished? Or is this just Poison Joke’s cruel sense of humor? I wanted to be less afraid, so it made me more afraid than ever. Afraid that I’ll mutate and go mad and end up in a train station somewhere. I don’t know what to do. If the Princess were here, she’d give me a hug and tell me it’ll all be okay. If Green were here, she’d tell me to shut up and stop my incessant whining. I... I... right. Right. That’s good advice. I mean... I do whine a lot. I sit up and spit out some of the blood that’s been pooling in my mouth. My muzzle and jaw are really starting to hurt from the impact, but I don’t think I broke my nose. Or if I did, it’s not too bad. It’s clotting on its own anyway. I should... I should see to that. So I check myself over, and put those medical supplies in my belt to good use. I have some antiseptics for the cuts, and apply a bandage or two where I need it. Mostly bruises. That’s good. It’s my throat that hurts the most, really, from all that yelling and useless crying. “All our debts come due eventually,” I say with Green’s intonations. After that, taking a deep breath and letting it out helps me feel a bit more collected. “Ain’t no sense whining about it.” Saying it just the way she said it helps. Makes it feel right. “I had a good run. Got to live in a palace. That was fun.” That sounds good. I take another breath. “All our debts come due eventually. Ain’t no sense whining about it.” Good. I wait for Berry at the top of the stairs for a while, but she doesn’t come. Eventually, I head back down to the station. There’s nopony there—not even the mare from earlier. The clock reads quarter to three though, so I guess that’s not surprising. I just take a seat on one of the benches and wait. Berry shows up around three ten, coming down the steps. I guess there’s a way to open that forcefield at the top. She glances around a bit, then sees me, and she turns to come over my way. “You are injured,” she observes at once. “I picked a fight with gravity. I’ll be fine,” I say, rising from the bench. “Trixie ready to talk?” “She will be soon. We should go now,” Berry says, and when she turns, I follow her, marching up the stairs by her side. “Berry,” I say as we make our way back up the stairs. I have to draw a breath after that to continue, but I don’t let my worry show, keeping my tone even. “I don’t think my mantle is working. I had a bit of a panic attack while you were gone.” “Did you experience dramatically accelerated heart rate, shortness of breath, disorientation, fainting, chest pains, or irrational bouts of terror?” Berry asks, her usual dull inflections making her sound like a particularly bored medical student reading a list of symptoms. “No,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s not like I was in physical danger.” Berry says nothing, her hooves making a steady tap-tap on the steps. My throat gets tight as I watch her, eyes burning again. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to leap across the gap between us and sock her one right between her stupid eyes for ignoring me this way! She’s the one who gave me that potion and she’s acting like she can’t be bothered! I don’t cry though. I make myself not cry. I’ve cried too much already. “So that’s it, then?” I ask, my voice trembling a little, no matter how much I try to hide it. “Bravery is just... not hyperventilating and throwing up?” Berry shrugs. “Oh,” I say. I stare down at my hooves as we walk, just watching one step after the other go by. “What were you expecting?” she asks. “To not be afraid,” I say. We’re still a good two landings from the end when she stops. I go a step past her before I realize she’s not moving, and I have to turn around to see her. She’s reached back into her saddlebags, and with that funny teeth-only bite of hers, she pulls a bottle out of one of them. Gently, she lowers it to the floor, pushing it my way. It’s a small bottle, and plain, with a dark green liquid sloshing around inside. The label is worn, faded, and tearing at the edges, and I have to levitate the bottle up to my face to see it clearly. Two cups just like on Berry’s flank, one pouring into the other, and beneath them, writing in a flowing script: “Temperance.” I look from the bottle to her. Her dead eyes, her silent stare, her emotionless face. “Does it hurt?” “No,” she says, and... there’s nothing to read in her face. I mean, there never is, but just this once, there doesn't need to be. I know what she’s trying to say. “What’s it like?” I ask, swirling the bottle gently. Must be her dose for the week or something. The liquid beads up inside, jumping around the bottle as we both watch. “Easier,” she says, never breaking eye contact. Never showing the slightest expression. “It’s killed you, you know that? As much as if you’d died in the fall,” I say. There’s no hostility in my voice when I say it, just a trembling in my throat, and a dull sort of acceptance. “It’s turned you into a cruel parody of everything you used to be.” “From your goodbye to Celestia, I thought dying was the idea,” Berry says. I keep forgetting she was there for that. I keep forgetting she heard the whole thing. And she’s right, isn’t she? Wasn’t that the point? I look down at the bottle. “No,” I say, shoving it back to her. “No, I... no. Berry. Not like this.” She leans down, takes the bottle, and puts it back in her bag before resuming her course up the steps. I follow alongside, watching her as we go. “Berry?” I ask, “Were you actually going to let me drink that, or were you just making a point?” She doesn't answer me, and eventually we reach the top of the steps. She puts her hoof to the forcefield, its purple light shimmering around the point of contact. “Alicorn Amulet,” she says. Then the forcefield vanishes, and we walk into Neptune’s Bounty proper.