Breakdown

by McPoodle


Chapter 10: La Donna e mobile

Breakdown

Chapter 10: La Donna è mobile


Day 12: Threesday, 8:00 PM EST. Indianapolis, IN.


I led Gilda into the backstage part of the theater. Meanwhile it sounded like Pinkie Pie was performing the opera Rigoletto for those members of the audience who had decided to wait out the storm. And by “performing”, I mean she was singing all of the parts—and possibly performing all of the orchestral parts as well, for all I knew. Right now she was singing the duet between the title jester (a baritone part) and his daughter (a soprano part), a daughter who just happened to be named Gilda. I was hearing two voices at the same time coming from Pinkie’s throat, and one of them had all of the vocal mannerisms of the griffon next to me, but in Italian.

Thinking too much about Pinkie Pie will drive you mad.

There was only one dressing room big enough for the two of us, and that belonged to Jason Tavener (remember him?). He was initially reluctant to swap his warm comfy room for one of the others, but one of Gilda’s smiles was quick to persuade him.

Pinkie’s singing reminded me that I was in a living, breathing cartoon, or at the very least a sitcom, and everybody knows what happens when you enter a dry room with a wet creature in a cartoon or sitcom. I therefore retreated outside the room while Gilda shook herself dry. Only once that was done did I bother to dry myself off and get comfortable.

“So, you wanna hear my complaint?”

“Go for it,” I said. “Doctor-client confidentiality applies, as does the age-old motivation of self-preservation.”

Gilda laughed out loud. “Well, it’s this pony-person fusing business. You ever get involved in any of that?”

“Yeah,” I said, dropping the comedy act. “And if you’d like to take a bit of advice from a qualified expert: Don’t. Just...don’t.”

Not that I had seen any sign of it. This Gilda before me was a thinking animal, a huntress. Every move she made revealed that. And her smell—you know, I’m almost positive that this is the first Equestrian I’ve encountered with a noticeable smell. You would think they’d have that nice smell that a well-groomed horse has, but none of them smelled like anything. Or, rather, they all smelled like humans, and being an urban human myself, I’ve learned to tune those smells out of my conscious perceptions. There was this way she would look uncertainly around her whenever she entered a room, focusing on the ceilings. I’m not sure what she was expecting, though—I imagine that pony roofs must be lower than human ones. Having no exposure to griffon architecture in the show, I didn’t know if she’d be more comfortable with a ceiling made of straw (that you could easily burst through if you ever found the need to fly to safety), or the stone ceilings and walls of a cave, where one wall was always made of the open air. What I’m saying is that I was talking to Gilda, 100 % Gilda. So where was Gilda’s human?

“...Why he isn’t talking to me that much anymore,” I caught Gilda saying, answering my question. Gilda had been speaking throughout my introspection, but I hadn’t been paying attention. “I think he’s depressed or something. Don’t blame him. I’ve been shot at, mocked, derided. Had the worst memories of my life used to sell god-damned toys to children...”

Oh great, she does know about that. Hopefully she doesn’t see me as fair game for revenge by proxy, being the same species as DHX executives and all.

I attempted to make her feel better with humor. It failed utterly. I don’t see why you need to know what the joke was. “When was the last time you heard from your human?” I then asked.

“Day before Halloween, I think,” Gilda replied. “So you won’t tell anyone anything I say here, ah? Anything at all?

I gave her the fish eye. “If you dare to utter the phrase ‘I swear he was dead and half-eaten when I got there’, then this session is over. Short of that...mum’s the word.”

This crack did manage to get a snicker out of her. “I ain’t dumb enough to murder anybody, Doc,” she told me. “Although I came pretty near doing so when I first got here. I got shot at by some of Cale’s friends. Took me a while to not get over it.”

Well, that told me the name of Gilda’s human. A different gender than the Equestrian—I wonder how often that happened.

“And then some...thing named Discord came and patched me up in exchange for slowing down the Mane Six.”

Aw, did you have to say his name out loud?

I looked around nervously. The lighting in the room subtly changed before my eyes, causing shadows to spring up in every corner and crevice. There was no doubt that he was now monitoring this conversation.

It occurred to me that Gilda had not been stuck with the same “vow of silence” that I was stuck with. Nevertheless, she was now revealed as a fellow agent, or else as a test, to see if I would remain loyal.

She said that she had been sent to slow down the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony. A lot more direct than “prevent ponies from merging with their hosts” as far as evil plans go.

So, as one evil minion to another, I decided to talk shop. “And did you?” I asked in a neutral tone.

Gilda looked around, perhaps to see if her feeling of being watched was accompanied by an actual pair of eyes. “Well, she’s here, isn’t she?” the griffon replied. “The only problem is...is that...” She tried to compose herself, to engage in a calm conversation with a sympathetic listener, but her seething rage just couldn’t be denied. “They knew. They knew the second I showed up.” The tip of her tail hit a nearby chair, sounding exactly like a whip. “So they had a little pow-wow, and decided to ‘adopt’ me.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“I know!” she exclaimed. “They think I’ve ‘turned over a new leaf’, that I’ve forgiven them for torturing me!”

Well, this wasn’t a good sign. I mean, it’s one thing to acknowledge that you’ve been outsmarted by a manipulative little pink pony, but to phrase what she went through as “torture”?

I put on my figurative counselor hat, which in this case meant discarding my personal opinion in order to sympathize with my client. “What a load of horseshit!” I exclaimed. (Hey, I might never again get a chance to get away with that pun!) “Why should you ‘turn over a new leaf’ if they did nothing to earn your forgiveness?” And now the direct question to sell my sympathy: “Did they do anything?”

“Besides getting me killed by some pink alicorn thing? Nothing.”

My mind raced. “Alicorn” was the term reserved for Equestria’s rulers, Celestia and Luna. Luna had so far not been reported as being seen on Earth, as far as I knew. And Celestia was missing. She wasn’t supposed to be pink, but I was aware of some fanart that speculated that she might become pink if depowered. Twilight being in a hospital was bad enough, but Celestia depowered? Did Discord even need either of our services at this point? I mean, he’s pretty much won already. Unless there’s some new pink alicorn that exists but hasn’t shown up in the show as of early November of 2011, but that’s just crazy.

Wait, hold on, I think Gilda said something important while I was thinking. “What was that?” I asked.

“Fluttershy. She offered up her usual condolences and hugs, but she’ll give those to rabid wolves after blowing out their brains with a double-barreled shotgun, just like she’s gunna do to you when she catches you, you God forsaken piece of lying...

I shook my head to clear it. That was George’s voice at the end, not Gilda’s.

“I haven’t talked to Cale since I joined up with the group,” the griffon concluded.

“Back when you were talking with him, did he sound glum all of the time? Did he try to avoid talking with you?”

Gilda shrugged. “Yeah, a little, I guess.”

The signs pointed to depression, and withdrawal from society. At least it was a start.

“Alright,” I told her, putting on my thinking pose. “Let’s come up with a list of reasons why he should at least listen to you, instead of spending the rest of eternity hiding from existence. Number one: you’re not a phony.” Yeah, I know, I just told you guys that she was a phony last chapter. Rule Number One: The Doctor always lies. (Heh.)

“You got that right!” Gilda exclaimed. “Same goes for Cale. He was no phony. Uh, is. Is no phony.”

“That’s one of the main complaints that my depressed patients have with the world: that they are not treated honestly. Now, let’s see...Number Two…”

“And that’s exactly my problem with those ponies: none of them will tell me the damn truth!” Gilda said, going off on a tangent. “P. thinks that she knows everything and can do everything.” (Well, I thought, both of those are sort of true. Which is what is so terrifying about her.) “But she can’t change the way I think, can’t make me forgive her for what she’s done. ‘Shy? Ha! She’s...she’s different now.” Sadness and a hint of fear replaced her outrage. “After she fused, she became like half a pony. I don’t want to end up like that.” She shook off her funk with a forced laugh.

“Now see, that is the sort of thing I’m trying to avoid,” I said, looking at the corner Discord was most likely hiding in at that moment. “There was probably a decent human being in Fluttershy’s head once. What’s there now?”

Damn it, I’m still convinced that I’m right. Whether because a part of Discord is actively working against the rest, like Luna inside Nightmare Moon, or because as an avatar of chaos, he’s forced to be something other than absolutely evil, I’m certain that he’s supporting in me a cause that is fundamentally just. The ponies are not staying on Earth, and a merge cannot be reversed, so that would make it not only immoral, but probably illegal as well. I mean, when the ponies returned to Equestria, wouldn’t that count as kidnapping if there’s not enough of the human mind left to make a rational decision about moving to another planet for the rest of their lives?

“What’s inside ‘Shy’s head?” Gilda asked. “Hell if I know. She goes by ‘Ericashy’ now.” (Well, that gives me the name of Fluttershy’s other half, as well as telling me that this one is female. Although the name sounded so awkward that I suspected that Gilda might not have heard it correctly.) “I bet Flutters got stuck with some submissive do-gooder who only wanted to help. Kinda makes me sick thinking about it.”

Actually, if Pinkie Pie is any guide, “Erica” was probably some psychotic who steam-rolled everyone around her into doing whatever she wanted. And then the merge came, and Fluttershy steam-rolled her into submission. Never question the power of The Stare, I guess. Not sure who I pitied more under the circumstances. I’d go in and fix her, but much like Pinkie Pie, I very much doubt that she’d ask me.

But that’s enough speculation about possible future clients, when I have somebody in need right in front of me. “I think we were on item number two on that list,” I addressed Gilda.

“Number two?” Gilda asked. Her eyes were unfocussed, and she appeared to be thinking intently on something.

“Yeah, number two on the list of ways to get through to Cale.”

She blinked slowly. “...Go in and fix her?” she asked me.

Crap. I was speaking my thoughts out loud again, wasn’t I?

“Yup, you were,” Gilda said with a smile.

Damnit!

“Come on, what kind of secret are you hiding from me?”

You know, the chance that a predator is going to allow a hairless monkey like me poke around in her head is basically zero. “It’s just some...thing,” I hedged. “Human psychology thing. Completely consensual.” Although of course phrasing it like that makes it sound really dirty.

Gilda puffed herself out in that incredibly adorable way that birds do when they think they’re being insulted. “Riiiight,” she said with an “I’m so clever” smile. “Come on, Doc, are you lying to your client? Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Look,” I told her quickly, “I wasn’t going to tell you about something you’d never be interested in, as it would be a waste of your time. The fact is...” There is no non-creepy way to put this, is there? “I can kinda go into other people’s heads. Consensually.” (Nope, still sounds dirty.) “I want to make that perfectly clear. I’m not some kind of pervert or something.”

I can no longer sit back and allow Communist infiltration, Communist indoctrination, Communist subversion, and the international Communist conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids!” That’s what I probably sounded like to her, like General Ripper in Doctor Strangelove. I wouldn’t blame her in the least if she started using the excuse of losing the “string in her legs” to get as far away from me as possible.

...Or she could completely reject what I was saying by busting out laughing. “Oh, that’s rich!” she said through a grin. “What makes you think that you wouldn’t get torn to pieces, anyway?”

Oh wait, she actually believed me? “Where, in Ericashy’s head?” I asked.

“No, in mine.”

She isn’t...? “Wait,” I asked in confusion, “assuming you invited me in, why...” I suddenly had a vision of griffon mating practices, inspired by some of the more grisly habits of wasps biting each other’s heads off. “I...well...that was a hypothetical,” I sputtered. “Right? Right?

She grinned, her odd avian tongue darting over her beak. “Well...if you can get in, I suppose I can trust you to carry a message, not pry around with a crowbar, yeah?”

I broke out in a cold sweat. “Yeah!” I assured her, in a suddenly high-pitched voice. “So, are you asking me?” I wanted to be really sure before I started this.

“To go into my mind?” Gilda asked. She cocked her head to look at the ceiling, as birds do when they are concentrating, and I had to fight against all instincts to release all this stress I was feeling by laughing out loud. “I don’t really see why not,” she finally concluded. “Can’t be any worse for you than going back out on that stage.”

La donna è mobile,” sang Pinkie Pie from that stage, in the most famous aria from Rigoletto. “Qual piuma al vento, muta d’accento e di pensiero.” “The woman is wayward,” she was telling me, “like a feather floating down in the wind. Neither in voice nor in thought can she be trusted.

She must have seen the doubt on my face. “It’ll be simple!” she assured me. “You go in, look around, make sure he’s not a corpse, then deliver what I want you to say. Understand?”

“I understand,” I said with a nod. “What do you want me to tell him?”

She looked nervous, for the first time since we met. “Patient confidentiality, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Tell the jerk that I miss him.”