//------------------------------// // 16 - Degradation // Story: Outsider's Game: Turning Wheel // by Bluecho //------------------------------// Ch. 16 - Degradation “Lunch is served, darling!” The fashionista levitated a steamy plate of roasted vegetables to the table. Sitting at the table was a still bound human, who ogled her meal with a mixture of hungry anticipation and weariness. Rarity smiled. “Now you may be wondering why I bothered to haul – or had Spike haul – that table all the way down here, since you cannot eat by yourself,” she said. She ambled forward, standing to the side. “To torment me?” Painwheel droned, slowly turning her head to look at the unicorn. Rarity shook her head. “Oh goodness no, Painwheel,” she said, beautifully groomed mane whipping with the motion. “Quite the opposite. I knew you were just dying, trussed up like you are. So I had Twilight teach me how to cast the binding spell. And not just the binding part...” Her horn shone resplendently, the glowing aura wrapping it. She bent her head down, touching the leftmost manacle holding Painwheel's arm down. A brilliant flash, and the ethereal chains surrounding the manacles shattered. Painwheel gasped, raising her arm tentatively. She shook it, wincing as her flesh quivered and her joints popped. Despite the visible discomfort, Painwheel stared in wonder at her own appendage. “...I can also do the unbinding!” Rarity boasted gleefully. She clapped her forehooves. “Enough of having others feed you. Nothing does better for one's sense of self-worth like being able to do things for oneself.” She proceeded to unbind the chains on Painwheel's other wrist, and on the metal collar around her neck. The fashionista proudly watched as the human girl bent and stretched. The unicorn wiped her brow. Casting such complex, powerful enchantments was hard work. No envy possessed she for those who did thus for a living. “Now then, we'll get to-” Painwheel hissed. “Uggh!” She doubled over, hugging her sides. “Painwheel!” Rarity exclaimed, raising a hoof. Nonetheless, she was hesitant to reach out and touch the poor thing. Just because the girl knew not to purposefully stab black parasitic needles from her skin didn't mean she wouldn't still do it accidentally. The image of Rainbow Dash receiving one, left whimpering and bloody, remained fresh in Rarity's mind. “Painwheel, are you alright?” “Ugh...I'm...I'm f-fine,” Painwheel stammered, forcing herself back into an upright sitting position. The unicorn hadn't noticed before, but black bags ran under the human's eyes. Rarity hadn't noticed because Painwheel already had prominent black sclera framing her red eyes. Was she getting enough sleep? Was she like that the last time they met? “...if you say so...” Rarity breathed, turning her attention back to the food. “Well, it's not going to get any warmer.” A warm smile was in order, along with a dramatic gesture towards the plate. “As they say, dig in!” Painwheel hesitated, staring at the plate. Slowly, she raised her hands, hovering them over the silver utensils. Fingers shook. Rarity could only wonder whether all human hands were so unsteady. Painwheel's face contorted, uncertain. Finally, she picked at the knife and fork. The knife came to her easily enough, but she seemed not to squeeze her digits correctly around the fork, and it only rose slightly before slipping out. The fork clattered on the table. “Ah!” Painwheel said, surprised. Shakily, she tried again, gaining only slightly more purchase. But again, the rebellious fork fell from her fingers. The unicorn looked at them; their tips had the lightest sheen. A definite disadvantage of owning hands: they were fine manipulators that sometimes became too slick with perspiration. “Kch,” Painwheel grunted, frowning. With perhaps more force than intended, the human slammed her hand, palm down, over the stem of the fork. Her face twitched, one eye shutting. Still too resolute, Painwheel wrapped her entire fist around the utensil, lifting it triumphantly. Success, of a sort. Rarity had a bad feeling about this. If merely grasping her tools proved so challenging, Painwheel saw similar trouble wielding them. The silver gleamed in the light. It created the effect of an active motor made from polished chrome in the human's shaky grip. Setting sights on a particular carrot, Painwheel brought fork prongs down at the plate. The fork missed entirely. “Hrmm...” Painwheel mumbled, raising the fork again. A second attempt had the prongs brush up against the root, rolling it away instead of piercing its bright orange flesh. “Hrmm!” Painwheel stabbed down three or four times, rolling the vegetable around the plate before finally spearing it. Painwheel exhaled proudly, bringing the knife down to slice the root into pieces. The whine of metal slicing over china sent the unicorn's ears twitching. “Careful dear,” Rarity said. “Do try to preserve Twilight's-” “I know what I'm doing!” Painwheel said, not taking her eyes off the plate. She raised a piece of carrot to her mouth, a line of saliva connecting her upper and lower jaw. She rotated her wrist to direct the food in...and cringed as her lips rapped around it. “Mrrr!” Painwheel grunted, contorting in pain. She grimaced, pausing before removing the prongs of the fork and chewing, swallowing. “Gah!” she gasped, looking peevishly at the plate, then to her wrist. “...if it's causing you this much discomfort,” Rarity said, sheepishly, “I can always-” “No,” Painwheel said, shaking her head. “I can do it.” “But...but it seems so alien to you.” Painwheel's eyes opened with amazement. Then she scowled. “Well it's not, okay?” Painwheel shot back, turning to look Rarity in the eyes. Furrowed brows belied a willful irritation. “I'm not some savage, Rarity! I can do it myself!” She looked back at the plate and began cutting anew. Rarity watched the human eat. Watched her struggle with trembling hands, imprecisely spearing veggies and hacking them into manageable bites. Each bite larger, more malformed than the last. Each grunt louder, each knife stroke more intense. And all the while, the movements hinted at a familiar, yet unpracticed, understanding. Every so often, Painwheel would find herself leaning too far over the plate, and she'd right herself. It was during one of these that she decided to tackle the peas. She slide the fork under the pile, carefully lifting straight up. Keeping it as level, as steady, as she could. More than a few peas fell back to the plate, but Painwheel seemed unconcerned. In fact, she wobbled the utensil, forcing a few more peas off either side. Culling the precarious chaff from the stable wheat, as it were. Painwheel gulped, frowning. She pulled back, but did so too quickly. Her unsteady arm tilted the fork too much, and she watched in horror as a cascade of peas fell to her lap. “Ah!” she exclaimed, witnessing them drop. “Shit. Shit!” An eyebrow trembled. “It's okay, dear! It's just a few peas!” Rarity cooed, trying to sooth her charge. She breathed in and out, putting on a smile. “Now just try again, and you'll-” “Shut up!” Painwheel snapped at the pony. She gripped her silverware hard. With a fist so balled, she pounded the table, causing the entire assemblage to clatter and Rarity to jump. “I can do this! Stop...” She paused, shutting her eyes and pursing her lips, searching for the words. “...backseat...eating!” She paused again, angrily ogling the pony, mouth opening a fraction. If she'd intended to say anything more, she abandoned the task and turned back to her plate. With effort – and a steadily rising fury – Painwheel stabbed and sliced her way through the food. In time, she opted to just stab through the peas three or four at a time. This seemed serviceable enough, but grew too time consuming. With a huff, Painwheel abandoned that preoccupation entirely, focusing her attacks on the larger vegetables. Two or three attempts to spear a single carrot stymied the human, making her scowl. Browning teeth appeared behind parted lips. With one desperate motion, Painwheel slammed her knife sideways across the root, holding it down as she impaled it on her fork. Rarity almost thought Painwheel looked satisfied as she cast aside the knife and simply lifted almost a whole carrot into her waiting maw. Her cheeks bulged wildly, leaving her to happily chew the root into smaller pieces. Eventually, she swallowed hard, exhaling when she was done. It was a hard-fought battle, Rarity supposed. Carrots were notorious opponents, cylindrical at their worst. The unicorn abstained from hoof-clapping, if only not to come off as condescending. She was still happy for the human, though. The human seemed happy with herself, beads of sweat rolling down her face. She wiped some away with the back of her hand, the skin brushing over her scars. Smacking her lips together, Painwheel extended her free hand towards the nearby glass of water. Her aim was off, and her thrust too strong besides. Instead of grasping the glass, Painwheel knocked her right wrist manacle into it. The force overcame the object's resting inertia, toppling it. Water spilled all over the table, soaking the linen tablecloth, and over the plate which still had choice bits of vegetable on it. Rarity flinched away, feeling a rogue drop of water hit her face. She stared at the mess a second, then looked to Painwheel. The human gaped in shock, mouth hung open. Her left hand lost purchase of the utensil, and it fell to the table with a loud clatter. This seemed like the breaking point, Painwheel's astounded bearing morphing into one of rage. “AAAAAHHH!!!” she screamed, bringing her arm across and sweeping everything off the table. Silver, glass, and fine china crashed explosively to the ground, the plate obviously, audibly shattering on impact. “AAAAAHHH!!!” Rarity fearfully stepped back, mind trying to process the outburst. It was too slow, with the distraught Painwheel bending low over the table, slamming her hands and face against the surface. She clenched the linen in her hands, pressing herself down as hard as she could. “Aaah! Aaaahhh!” she wailed, her back arching painfully, unable to rest because the base of her spine was held in place by a thick coil of magical chains around the back of her chair. If she was in enormous pain – likely enough Rarity guessed – Painwheel seemed intent on riding the wave, screaming and sobbing into the soaked cloth and wood, body trembling violently. “...P-P...Painwheel...sweetie...” Rarity stammered, second guessing whether to step over and touch the human. Odds were the living weapon would lash out, and for all her occasional bouts of bravery Rarity simply couldn't bring herself to approach. “...Painwheel?” “I COULD DO IT!” Rarity jumped back. “...d-do it? Painwheel, calm down. Everything's going to be fine.” “NO IT'S NOT!” Painwheel screeched, her voice popping. Her grip on the linen strengthened, drawing it closer around her. “No it's not! It's not going to be fine!” Her eyes were shut hard, moisture forming at their edges. The white unicorn frowned. Was there really nothing she could do? Strands of brown hair fell around Painwheel's face. Hands released the cloth, instead wrapping around her head as she shook it wildly. “I could do it!” she sobbed, a stream of salty tears running down her face. “I used to be able to do it! I was a proper lady and everything! I could do it!” She wept, settling into a pattern of harsh head shakes and sobs. Finally, Rarity's fear ceded to her concern. Gingerly, the pony walked over and placed her hooves on the human's back, mindful of the metal connector trailing off behind the chair. To her relief, the knots in the girl's back loosened. Did not release deadly spikes. So she just stood there, patting her charge. “Shoosh...I'm here...I'm right here, dearie...” “...I...I-I could d-do it...” Painwheel choked, clutching her hands over her face. Another sob, another full-body tremble. “...I could do it...” Twilight Sparkle stared into the grave. The hole was empty, with no sign there was ever a body or coffin inside. Just the hole, and a proportionate mound of dirt beside it. “You're sure you didn't hear anything the other night?” she said, cocking an eyebrow. “Sure as sure, Princess,” said the groundskeeper, an aged, gruff earth pony with an amazing beard. “I was sleeping about a quarter mile over yonder, in my little shack, and I say I didn't hear a thing. It's what I done told the police when they came in.” “And no hoofprints? Or a trail made by the wheels of a cart or from the coffins being dragged away?” “Nope, nothing like that. It's as you see here. Bunch of graves, dug up, coffins missing.” The groundskeeper scratched behind his ear, supporting himself on a shovel planted in the ground. Twilight eyed that shovel. “...I hate to ask, but...” “I couldn't have dug up all these graves myself in one night, if that's what you're on about,” said the groundskeeper, seemingly not offended. “One grave, sure. I could dig up one grave in a night, cart off a coffin. Two if I weren't trying to be discreet. But a dozen or so? Naw, that ain't me. My cutie mark might be for digging graves...” He gestured to his flank, adorned by a mound of dirt, a spade stuck in it, and a poppy* flower growing out of it. “...but even I'm not that good...maybe as a younger stallion, I could do more, but not this much, and definitely not now.” “...I see,” Twilight said, looking back at the open grave. Her gaze drifted around her, with similar mounds of grave soil standing vigil over gaping holes and their stone monuments. “I think it's safe to rule out a group of graverobbers. Sufficient numbers might be able to do the work, and carry away the coffins. But while they wouldn't leave dragging or cart trails, the ground would be riddled with obvious hoofprints. Moreover, one doesn't get that many ponies together and not attract a lot of attention.” The Princess of Friendship sighed. “What's your opinion?” “Mine?” asked the groundskeeper, surprised. He rested his chin on the butt end of the shovel, humming in contemplation. A hoof stroked his impressive facial hair. “...hmm...well, I'm just a digger. Don't have experience with magic or fantastic beasties or whatever like you do, your highness. But if I were to guess...I'd say it was someone or something really, really powerful. Capable of treading on the earth without bearing down upon it. Able to move it with ease, and quickly. Were I a bettin' stallion, I'd put my bits on it being a Koldun...or maybe that Discord fella.” “...maybe,” Twilight said, pondering it. “Thanks for your help, sir.” She shook hooves with the groundskeeper, then went on her way. If Discord was responsible, it could simply mean he was planning some elaborate, morbid prank. Either way, she would need to ask him the next time they met. If not...then Twilight almost hoped it WAS just a Koldun. One simply pony spoiling the earth or causing mischief was bad, but it could be worse. It could very well be a Skullgirl. “So Ah heard from Fluttershy you like flowers.” Applejack trotted over, stopping beside the human. She had a saddlebag, which she rifled through. Evidently the farmer found what she was looking for, pulling a trio of pink flowers out. They sat in her mouth, and she found a small vase, which she filled with water. It was a little work, but the pony managed to plant them in the vase, setting it on a table nearby where the human could see. “So,” said Applejack, “do you like them?” “...um...sure, I guess,” Painwheel said, heavy bags under her eyes. Her voice was fairly weak. She stared at the flowers. “They're beautiful enough but...” “But what?” Applejack asked. “They're Geraniums.” “Ah'll take your word for it, darlin',” Applejack said. She observed the flowers, the gears in her head slowly turning. “Wait, did Ah mess up? Ah didn't jus' propose marriage or anythin', did Ah?” “No, you didn't,” Painwheel said, blinking rapidly. Tired as she was, her vision was at times blurry. She could use some coffee. Something to pep her up. Honestly, anything to make her feel better would be nice. “You'd need a Spider Flower for that.” “So what the hay does a Geranium mean?” “It means folly,” Painwheel said simply. “In essence, you just called me stupid.” “D'oh!” Applejack exclaimed, hitting herself in the head. “Ah'm sorry, Painwheel. You know Ah didn't mean it like that. Ah'm not too bright when it comes to girly things.” She sat down on her haunches, eyes downcast. “Ah mean, Ah'm just a apple-buckin' farmer, Ah don't know this stuff.” She looked up at the human. “Where'd you learn all about what flowers mean?” “...my...mother...taught me,” Painwheel said, sadly. “Oh, that explains it,” Applejack said, smiling. “Me? My mama and pop died when Ah was real little, just after Applebloom was born. Accident on the farm.” “I'm sorry,” Painwheel said. “Nah, it's alright,” Applejack said. “It were years an' years ago, now. But since they weren't around, my brother, Big Macintosh, and Granny Smith had to raise me and Applebloom. And the thing about my Granny is she's right knowledgeable about apples – she's from a long line of Apple family buckers – but she's not what you might call all that feminine. Plus, she's old now, and couldn't proper tell ya stuff about romance or fashion or flowers, 'cause she can't rightly remember. It was the vital stuff she drilled inta us kids – buckin' apples and runnin' the farm.” After a moment of silence, Painwheel realized the farmpony wanted her to reciprocate. Applejack sat there, smiling expectantly. Painwheel sighed. “Back home, my mom had this great big garden. She was always out there, planting and tending to her flowers. Some of my earliest memories as a kid were of her plopping me on the grass, between her legs. And she would point to all the flowers, and teach me their names.” The human imagined the scene, hazy as it was, and likely a collection of several similar memories. She smiled. “And when I got older, I started planting with her. She taught me all about the flowers then, in the garden, or in the flower shops, or when we'd visit the botanical garden in the summer. She taught me what they were, when they would grow, and what they all meant. And I wanted to make her proud, so I would listen really hard, and look the things up if I forgot them. “She even taught me about the flowers that had double meanings, and how they could be used as weapons...” “Weapons?” Applejack said, surprised. “You can use little petal-ly things to fight? Shoot, the most Ah've done is eat 'em.” Painwheel chuckled softly. “Not weapons like that,” she said. “I mean social weapons. Because some flowers mean one thing that's positive, and another that's not so much.” She looked over at the vase. “I remember when I was in middle school, I got bullied by some other kids. My mother told me to give them a Geranium, because it meant stupidity. So I did, and my bullies were all confused and backed off because they thought I was weird. When I got home, I told my mother about it, and we had a great laugh.” Painwheel grinned wide. Pretty wide, actually. Often was she told her mouth was wider than normal people. In fact, it was one of the reasons other kids bullied her. “Ha ha!” Applejack laughed, slapping her knee. “Oh gosh, Ah gotta try that on Rainbow Dash! It'll be so funny!” She laughed for several seconds, finally wiping a tear from her eyes. “...he he...so...ha...what's a 'botanical garden', anyway?” “Oh, it's this wonderful place,” Painwheel said. “It's a huge garden with thousands of plant species. My mother and father and I would visit every year, in the early summer when all the flowers were in full bloom.” She kept on grinning. “We'd spend the entire day there, just looking at the plants. All the flowers, and mom would quiz me on their names and meanings. And dad would stand in front of the little signs in front of them so I couldn't cheat. “And we'd eat lunch at this great little cafe they had, run by this nice Canine-Man couple.” Painwheel swallowed. “We'd watch the sunset from this wonderful landing, overlooking a small pond. And when it was over, dad would carry me on his shoulders as we left...” She sniffed, her chest trembling. “...and...and by the time...by the time I got home I was already asleep, and dad would tuck me into bed...gasp...and I'd wake up with a vase full of fresh flowers we'd picked up the day before...and it was always the ones I said I l-liked when we were there...” “Painwheel...” Applejack said, ears sagging. “...and then my mom and I...we would spend the morning planting all the stuff she picked out...and dad would come out and we'd show off all the work we'd done...and I...and I...” Tears rolled down the human's face. “And I just...I just...” She started weeping. “I just miss them so much!” she bawled, shutting her eyes and tilting her head up towards the ceiling. “Why?!” Applejack walked over, gingerly placing a hoof on the poor girl's shoulder. “Painwheel...Painwheel Ah'm sorry.” She shook the girl until she looked the farmer in the eyes. “Ah didn't mean...if Ah done dredged up your sorrow, Ah'm sorry...but...you mind telling me what happened to 'em?” “...sniff...hmm?” Painwheel said, tears still running down her face. “What?” “Did...did you lose 'em?” Applejack asked, the most profound expression of empathy the human had ever seen. She understood, or thought she did. Painwheel shook her head. “No. No, they didn't die.” “Then things ain't so bad!” Applejack said, trying to smile for the girl. “Your mama and papa are still around...jus' not around here...” Applejack winced, regretting her poor choice of words. “Anyway, don't you worry. If anypony could find a way to send you back home to your folks, it's Twilight...Ah know you don't like her much, sugarcube, but she's working for you.” She tilted her chin up, confident like a honey badger. “Ah'm sure they miss you as much as you miss them. Hear me?” “But...but they don't miss me!” Painwheel exclaimed, new tears coming out. “They don't want me back!” “Hogwash!” Applejack said. “How could any pair of loving parents like yours not want their daughter back?” “Because I already saw them right before I came here!” Painwheel sobbed, shaking her head. “When I got out of the lab...when I finally became free...I-I went home. And they were there.” Painwheel gulped loudly. “But they didn't see me! They didn't see their little girl! All they saw...all they saw was...a monster!” She couldn't see anymore through the tears, but she almost felt the farmer's horrified reaction. The pressure on her shoulder intensified. “They didn't see Carol! They saw Painwheel, the monster! And they were afraid, and told me to leave!” Painwheel cried out, feeling the farmpony's forelegs wrap around her in an embrace. “They yelled at me to go...that I was a monster...and...and I...I want my mommy and daddy! Aaaahhh!” Painwheel cried. Painwheel cried for what felt like hours, inside the embrace of a farmer who at least could say her parents never stopped loving her. Painwheel wept. Wept and cried out for her parents.