//------------------------------//
// Apple Bloom 
// Story: Daring Do 
// by GaPJaxie 
//------------------------------//





“Nuh-uh,” the green, athletic stallion in the aircrew says, leaning over to nuzzle his uh... friend. “I love you more.”

“Mmm. Nope,” the smaller red one says, pulling in until they’re cheek to cheek and wrapping his wings around his um, friend, until their primary feathers are laced together. “I mean, I’m feeling a lot of love here. But you’re still number two.”

“You gonna make me prove it?” the bigger, green one asks, taking advantage of how close they are to whisper in the smaller one’s ear. The red one starts, laughs, and swats the green one with his tail, blushing as he pulls away. I can’t believe they’re doing this in public. It’s indecent. There are foals around here. I wish they’d stop.

Or like, kiss already. It’s been over an hour!

I make myself look away, flicking my tail back and forth. Still no sign of Echo.

It’s not like he specified a time, and we don’t know how far away he was when he made the wire, so I’m not going to panic just yet—but it has been awhile. Berry and I arrived here nearly two hours ago, and that was after Berry took the time to wire Trixie and double-check the plan. Not that Berry did much talking. Blah blah, yes Trixie, no Trixie. I am a windup pony click bing. Since then, there’s been nothing to do but sit on the bench here and listen to the aircrew. There are three of them, all stallions. One is playing solitaire next to their skywagon, and the other two... well. Yes.

I sneak a glance their way. The red one has his muzzle buried in the green one’s ear, and I can’t tell if he’s whispering or um... nibbling. The green one looks pretty ah... amused. Either way. I mean they’re, well, yeah.

I check the clock. About an hour and fifty minutes now. She’s Always a Mare to Me is playing—one of those phonographs set up in public spaces. The record doesn’t have very much content, so this is like the sixth time I’ve heard it since we arrived, but it’s okay. I like that song.

There isn’t much to Davenport Tower, really. The architecture is as grand as I’ve come to expect from Vision—rows of artificial chasms twenty stories tall, their sides dotted with tiny hexagonal doors—but once you get past that, it’s only storage space. It’s a honeycomb of white stone that could dwarf half the buildings in Canterlot, made for bees the size of ponies, but it’s just a honeycomb. Each door has a little number on it, and a little handle, and sometimes you see pegasi going to get their stuff.

For everypony else, there’s what I’m pretty sure is a cargo crane overhead—it’s like a little tram of its own, running along the ceiling on rails with a platform dangling under it. The aircrew seems to serve the same purpose—three pegasi and a skywagon lounging under a sign that says, “Lift Crane: 10 Bits/Half-Hour. Moving Team: 50 Bits/Half-Hour.” That seems like a lot, but nopony has gone up to them since we arrived, so I guess they don’t get much work.

Nothing to do but play solitaire and... yup, that. Not looking that way. Listening to the music.

The music’s about to end though. The record is only twenty minutes long, so I’ve heard the whole thing by now. Advertisement for Dash-brand athletic tonic, cover of She’s Always a Mare to Me, public message from Fluttershy, advertisement for self-storage space, and then some pop-drivel called Better Than I Knew.

“And the most she will do is throw shadows at you, but she’s always a mare to me,” the singer concludes the song—a rather gifted stallion, though the recording doesn’t give his name. Then all that’s left is the humming at the end. Normally, I like humming along to this bit, but it’s not the time. I’m not that bored.

I check on Berry, but she’s sitting on the bench and staring straight ahead. I wonder if she daydreams. There’s certainly nothing around us for her to be looking at. The “square” is really just an empty spot in the middle of the honeycomb, with a little space for the aircrew and the crane overhead. And the phonograph and a big wall clock, I suppose.

The music ends with a quiet pop, exactly like it did last time. There’s silence for a little while, and I briefly pick up on the two stallions giggling, Berry breathing, the swish of my tail moving back and forth. There’s water dripping somewhere nearby. Water? I sniff the air for mold, but there’s nothing—perhaps a faint hint of lemon. A storage unit full of flowers? Cleaning stuff? Incense to cover up mildew smells? The floor is a little damp.

Then the next bit starts. “Um. Hello everypony,” it begins like it did last time. Her voice is soft, feminine, a little sad. “This is Fluttershy, and I’m here to confess something to all of you.” She doesn’t really have a leader’s voice, which is why the recording isn’t trying. She’s going for sweet, innocent, and lovable more than authoritative. To make herself seem approachable, I guess. It’s a pretty obvious trick. “I am hopelessly addicted to Poison Joke. I pour tonic in my cereal every morning, take medication every night, and I will keep doing that every day, for the rest of my life.”

She takes a little breath—you can actually hear it on the recording, so there’s no way that was unintentional. They wanted you to hear the hesitation, the little buildup that sells the shame in her tone when finishes. “I have five cutie marks.”

All of which you can now purchase from any of our convenient locations. That thought makes me smile a bit. Buy the complete Fluttershy package and we’ll even throw in a wig and a bottle of... whatever-color-her-coat-is dye. Free!

“I’m telling you this, because I know there are other ponies out there like me, who can’t admit it—who are ashamed, and afraid. Afraid of who they might become, or-or what they might do.” Inserting actual stammering into a pre-recorded message is about as blunt as it gets for manipulating your audience. She’s either really bad at public speaking, or she thinks her listeners are dumb as bricks. Since she could buy another cutie mark for oratory, I’m guessing it’s the latter.

“We’ve all made mistakes, but I’m here to tell you that your life isn’t over, and you aren’t alone.” Aww, how sweet. Gag. Even the other ponies are tuning her out, though I guess Berry and the aircrew have heard her a million times. “Angel’s Garden and New Apple Acres are always open to ponies in need. We’re all family here—one big Vision family. We care for each other, and when you have nopony else to turn to, we’ll care for you too.”

“Um,” she finishes. “Thank you.”

And pop goes the phonograph. Some sort of recording error there. It sounds like a disk scratch. Maybe it was intentional? Marking the transition between sections.

“Are you sick of leaks ruining everything you own?” The next segment starts—a young stallion’s upbeat voice. “Looking for a place to keep your sofas and/or quills without worrying about water damage?” Not really, but thanks for asking. I tune the recording out and glance over at Berry.

“So uh... those two stallions, yeah?” I try, pointing their way. The conversation has worked its way up to “sweetie bear” and other such nonsense, the two so close they can rest their heads on each other’s shoulders and gently rub their necks together. “They uh... I don’t know. Can you even check ponies out anymore?”

She looks their way, then looks back at me with her long, empty stare. “It’s not... relevant to anything, I guess. I’m just bored and... something to talk about.” Somehow, I suspect that trying to bond with Berry is a waste of time, but it’s better than listening to the recording again. She seems to be paying attention to me in any case, because she turns back to the stallions and considers them for some time.

“Um... so. Anything coming to mind?” I ask, after a while. “Any signals up there?”

“I think the red one is the top,” she finally says. Huh?

“‘Top’?” I ask. “You mean, he’s your favorite?”

She turns back to me and stares for a few seconds. “Yeah,” she finally says. “Sure.” Berry is weird.

“Well, uh. That’s good,” I say, after a moment’s pause to think. Better Than I Knew has started, and it serves as a pretty good excuse not to talk. Not that I need an excuse with Berry, but it makes things less awkward, sort of. I go back to looking at the storage units. Counting the numbers one by one.

I’m up to 122B when Berry taps the bench twice, loud enough to get my attention. My ears swivel first, and my head is quick to follow. There’s a shape at the end of one of the rows—a pony walking towards us. I can’t make out if it’s Echo, but I see white, black, and blue, so the colors are right. Berry seems to think it’s him in any case, and she gets up from the bench. I follow suit and rise as well. Alright! Here we go then. Time to make this happen.

“I will remain between you and Echo at all times. If there is any confrontation between us, you are to run to Neptune’s Bounty immediately,” Berry says, one ear tilting down towards me. “Is that understood?”

“He’s not going to do anything,” I reassure her. “He acts mad, but an act is all it is. I couldn't have talked him into this if it wasn’t something he already wanted to do.”

Berry turns to look at me. After a moment, she leans in closer.

“Um...” I manage. Is she going to say anything? Whisper? She’s just staring at me with that same slack expression. “It’s fine, Berry, I know what I’m doing.” No change. How long is she going to keep doing that? We’re practically muzzle to muzzle, and I know she has issues with being this close. “It’s uh... I mean. We’re in a public place, he,  uh...” Very slowly, she blinks, both eyes drifting shut and then open. “Okay,” I manage. “Okay, Berry. Uh... understood. You stand between Echo and me. Got it.”

“Understood,” I repeat, for emphasis. She turns away. Right. Right.

By now, Echo is close enough that I can make him out clearly—blue mane, black uniform, shiny pins and all. His pack is bulkier than I remember, and I think he’s carrying something on his back, which I take as a good sign. Breaking and entering tools, I guess? Or weapons? If Berry was right about him being here to kill me, he wouldn't have brought anything. His pace is good too. Steady. That’s a good sign.

“Hey officer,” the third stallion in the aircrew calls as Echo passes—the blue one playing solitaire. The other two pretty much ignore him, continuing on as they were. “Help you get your things?”

Echo comes to a stop when he hears the question, though he doesn’t answer it at first. He’s so close I think I can actually smell his cigarette, and I can see what he’s carrying a lot more clearly. He’s got an extra set of saddlebags, tossed over over his flanks and full of something that clinks, as well as a large, flat box balanced on his back. The box is all bound up with paper and string. Like a cake or something.

“No,” he says after a moment, taking another draw on the cigarette. As he blows the smoke out in a low breath, he turns to face the two stallions. “You two. No necking in the public spaces.” That’s odd. I guess he wants them to leave so we can talk privately?

“Aww, come on, officer,” the green one says, nuzzling up against his partner, the red one giggling a little. “Who cares about decency laws anymore? Besides, there’s nopony here.”

“I am a security officer. I have given you an order,” Echo replies, still calm and steady. Oh, I get it. He wants to assert himself a little before he speaks to us. Try to get things off on a good start by reminding us he’s an officer. Those two were the best chance he could get with nopony else here.

“Yeah, an order to stop making out.” The green one can’t keep his giggle suppressed, and his tone reflects it. It is kind of absurd. “What are we, teenagers? Who shoved a stick up your rear?” He and his friend seem to be having fun, but the blue one looks strained for some reason. He’s sliding away from his game. What’s up with him?

Echo watches the green one for a moment, then calmly leans his head down into his pack, and withdraws his nightstick.

“Whoa, whoa!” the green one shouts, pushing away from his partner and holding up a hoof to show compliance. It’s not enough though. Echo crosses the space between them in two quick steps, swinging the club with his teeth and neck as smoothly as any unicorn could with magic. I can hear a crunch when it connects with the stallion’s jaw—a sickening sound full of little pops and snaps, like a pony munching on popcorn.

The red one leaps to his hooves at once, swinging at Echo. “Get awa—” he shouts, but before he can finish, one of Echo’s forehooves catches him in the throat. He staggers, losing momentum and stumbling just in time for Echo’s wing to catch him on the back of the head. He goes back down to the floor beside his partner, Echo’s forehoof pinning him by his neck. I can’t see how much weight Echo is putting on him, but it’s... enough.

Enough for... I mean. I’m not sure he can breathe.

“My orders har not suggestions you little punk!” Echo shouts, his voice remarkably clear—barely distorted by the stick in his teeth. Then Echo is done shouting, and the club rises. And falls. A blow to the head. I can’t see clearly from here, but I think he caught the green one on the ear. The poor stallion suddenly spasms, his limbs thrashing for one awful moment.

“Hen a security officer tells you to stop, you stop!” Echo roars. The club rises and falls again. “Hen a security officer tells you to go, you go!” The club rises and falls again. “And you never, ever talk back! Am I understood!?”

It should be silent. There should be a shocked silence. But there isn’t. That stupid phonograph has started playing She’s Always a Mare to Me again. There’s music. And a cracking sound. Choking. The red one is trying to get up, but he’s on his side, and his legs can’t get any traction. They’re flailing now. He can’t turn himself over.

The green one moves, a little. “I did not hear you!” Echo snarls.

“Yes,” I hear his wheezing voice, his words slurred. “Yes. I understand.”

Echo steps back, and the red one gasps for breath. I can hear it clearly all the way over here—desperate spasms for air, hyperventilating and panicked. As Echo moves away, I can see the green one clearly again. His face is a bloody, blackened mass. There’s blood running out of his jaw, his left ear is folded back and won’t move right, and his left eye is clamped shut, hard. He doesn’t even get up like the red one does, just lying there.

I look to the left. The blue stallion—the third one. He never moved. Never even got up. He’s staring at the ground, not making eye contact with Echo. He sees me staring and shies away, his tail tucked up under him.

He’s... it’s disgusting. What sort of pony sits there and watches that?

Echo puts the club away after a moment, and I suppose he’s satisfied. Point made. Point made to them and to Berry and to me. Behind him, I can see the red one crawling over to his friend, trying to help him. He...

Berry blocks the view as she moves to stand between Echo and me. Right. Right. I need to focus on Echo now. He’s walking up to us, and now that he’s closer, I can see more. Or smell more. It’s not just cigarette smoke that hangs around him in a haze, but the pungent smell of sweat and cheap liquor, and something else I can’t identify. Something smokey. Ashes? I don’t think he’s bathed since we last met. And he’s... looking at me.

I need to say something. Anything.

“Nice little performance,” I say, my mouth running off without me. I have no idea what to do, but somehow I make it sound good. Very confident! That’s good. “Very intimidating. I’m practically shaking in my horseshoes. You’ve got a real future in street theatre.”

Was that the right thing to say? I’m not sure. He’s just staring at me. He’s drunk off his hooves, I know it. His walk and gaze are steady, but unless he bathes in gin, that smell is a giveaway. And his eyes. Narrowed a little, a little sharper than they were, jaw pulled back and tight. I guess he has enough... experience with booze to walk steady plastered? Is that even how it works? I don’t know alcohol. It might be though. Like he must have learned to shout clearly with a club in his teeth.

I wonder if that’s why he can talk clearly with a cigarette in his mouth. Practice. He doesn’t have a cigarette now though. He lost it when he went for the club. He’ll... probably pull out another one now. He uses that as a pause to think, and for emphasis. It’s intentional.

Yup. I was right. Spot on there. He even pats himself down for his lighter, before he remembers he threw it away. “So are we going to do this or not?” he asks sharply, his gaze sliding between Berry and me and then back.

“You’re the one who knows where we’re going,” I shoot back. “Feel free to get your flank in motion at any time.” That’s good. I’m answering a question with a put-down. Taking control of the conversation! Right. Okay. I can do this.

He turns, starting down one of the long corridors around us, storage units on either side. Berry is quick to follow—if only to keep herself between Echo and me at all times—but I linger for a moment. Turning my head to watch the aircrew, I can see the little red one supporting his friend’s head in his forehooves. They’re close enough to whisper, and I think they might be talking, but I don’t hear it. I just see how still the green one is, giving only the faintest motions, like he was exhausted. The red one is more animated, but his tail is tucked tight under him, his ears folded back.

The blue one is hovering nearby, but doesn’t dare approach them, looking this way and that.

I... I need to go.

I turn back to Echo and Berry, and briefly break into a trot to pick up the distance between us. I can’t get involved in that. It’s not my fault, and I have a more important mission to see to. Besides, they’ll be fine.

“What’s in the bags?” I ask, by way of reintroducing myself to the conversation. I nod my head to gesture at the heavy set of saddlebags over his flanks, but Echo doesn’t turn around.

“Tools,” he answers, and from my position behind him, I can see the edges of his mouth twisting down into a sneer. “For locked doors.”

“And the box?” I say. It doesn’t seem like tools or supplies—wrapped up with paper and string like that. It’s way too fragile to be anything heavy.

“Gifts,” he answers. This time, a snort escapes him as well—and a chuckle shortly thereafter. “For guarded doors.”

“Your plan relies on us bribing a door guard?” I ask. I want to pick up my pace so I can look him in the eye, but I know Berry will only move to keep between us. It’s hard to see him with her in the way and some distance between us. I can’t get a measure on what he’s feeling or... or what he’s going to do.

“Something like that,” he says without pause, still moving at a quick walk.

“No, Echo,” I snap. Good tone. Authoritative tone. I come to a sharp halt and point at the ground with a hoof, right where Berry is standing. “Berry, stop,” I order. Please stop, Berry. Please back me up here. Yes! She actually stops right where I pointed, coming to a halt.

Echo notices that he’s lost his escort, coming to a halt as well and turning to face us. All right. Good. I take a breath.

“I will accept a certain degree of attitude from you on the basis that you are a drunken idiot who doesn’t know any better,” I say, lashing my tail once for emphasis. Good little touch. “But until this job is over, you work for me, and when I ask you a question about what’s going on, you will answer it. Do you understand me!?” It’s a blunt instrument, but he respects authority and he respects anger. Besides, as inebriated and emotional as he is, I doubt he’d even notice something more subtle.

Echo stares for a second. He tries to take a draw off his cigarette, before he remembers it’s not lit. Then he laughs. He laughs? It’s not a cruel laugh like his so often is. He genuinely finds that funny.

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it, Ms. Song?” he asks. What? What the hoof does that mean? It’s best not to take stabs in the dark and risk looking foolish, so instead, I stare him down. It works, after a bit. “Yes,” he finally relents. “I understand you.”

“Good. Now give me that.” Without waiting, I rip the cigarette out of his mouth with my telekinesis, pulling it over to my horn. The snap of a spark lights it, and I pass it back to him. It’s always good to follow up a put-down with a kindness, however minor. It establishes me in his mind. “Tell me what the plan is then. Details. And walk while you do it.”

I start into motion, and Berry picks up right on cue, moving to stay between Echo and me. She’s only doing it to hold her relative position, but he doesn’t know that. All he knows is that Berry took my orders twice in a row. He’s walking soon too, the three of us moving down the hall at a good clip. Echo has picked up his pace a bit to look at me though. Something in his eyes.

“Once upon a time,” he begins, making an attempt at a light tone that isn’t entirely successful—too much bitterness breaks through. “A whole bunch of ponies who loved Rarity very much decided to throw a party in her honor. And they brought her many gifts—knives, spears, bombs, and a new length of solid rope, just for her.”

“You mean the civil war?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m sorry, which one of us is telling the story? Is it you?” Echo spits the words out, his wings ruffling sharply. I just ignore him, and after a second of giving me a spiteful glare out of the corners of his eyes, he continues.

“In any case, Rarity was so overwhelmed by how many friends she had that she just couldn't face them, and she ended up hiding inside for three whole days.” He makes an expansive gesture with a wing, as though to indicate a large area. “But her friends wanted to celebrate so much, they wouldn't leave. Eventually, Pinkie Pie had to come, and with Rainbow Dash’s help, they threw a party that was so much fun, all of Rarity’s friends celebrated until they fell over.”

“Heartwarming,” I say. “Going to get to the point anytime soon?”

“It was a very memorable experience for everypony involved, but particularly for dear Rarity,” he continues, like he hadn't heard me. “Having to hide from her supporters for so long was very tiring for her. So after the party was done, she had a tunnel dug right from her bedroom out into the city, in case she ever needed to run to her friends for emotional support.” He draws the last two words out, putting a heavy emphasis on the final “t”.

“You could have just said there’s a secret tunnel into the Pavilion,” I reply, dryly. Inside though, I’m relieved. I knew it! I knew there was a way in! This wasn’t all for nothing.

“I suppose I could have,” he agrees, taking another drag. “Though strictly speaking, it’s a secret tunnel out of the Pavilion.”

“Unless the wonders of Vision include the one-way tunnel, I don’t care.” Wait... do they? No. Unless... no. No way. “Where’s the tunnel come up then?”

“If you’d been listening, Ms. Song, you’d have heard me clearly say that the tunnel’s purpose was to allow Rarity to see her friends,” Echo snorts. “It has exits in New Apple Acres, Angel’s Garden, New Cloudsdale, and Hephaestus Station.”

“We are not near any of those locations,” Berry interjects, and I actually jump for a second. It’s really easy to forget she’s there. Even when she’s like... right there.

“My apologies, Ms. Punch. Which of the Elements of Harmony were you planning to persuade to betray their friend? Fluttershy? Pinkie Pie?” Echo asks, and this time, she’s the subject of his spite. She shows no reaction of course, which only makes him frown more, and he pauses the story a moment to take a hit off his flask. “We’ll be using the New Apple Acres entrance, but first we need to make some introductions. A few ponies have access to that door, and not all of them are as ah... faithful, as Applejack is.”

“Hence the bribe?” I ask, and he nods. “Who are we meeting then?”

“A fine young mare by the name of Apple Bloom,” Echo says, with a hiss of breath through his teeth. Something about that he finds irritating? “Applejack’s younger sister.” Her sister? I guess it never occurred to me that the Elements would have siblings.

“How is she doing these days?” Berry asks. That was an odd sort of question for her—and Echo and I both notice, turning to look at her at almost the same moment.

“Ah. How silly of me to forget that you’re an old Ponyville hoof, Ms. Punch. I suppose you knew her back in the day, did you?” he asks, with that cruel grin of his. “Didn’t bother to keep up?”

Berry says nothing, and Echo tsks, shaking his head. “So sad when neighbors fall out of contact. But don’t you worry about her, Ms. Punch. I hear she has some well-connected family members. I’m sure she’ll do fine.” Hmph. He’s wasting his time if he thinks he can get to her.

“I’m a little nervous about a plan that involves asking Applejack’s own sister to betray her,” I say, keeping my voice down in case somepony is nearby. I don’t see any though—the stacks give us a nice view of things, and they’re pretty empty. “That strikes me as the sort of plan that could go wrong very fast.”

“Well...” He shrugs. “Comes to it, we can always kill her, take her keys, and say she sent us to the house to pick some things up for her.” Another grin tugs at his face. He’s all over the board emotionally this conversation. I guess that’s the alcohol. “You prefer that idea, Ms. Song? That more your style? Maybe we’ll tastefully pose her after?”

And there’s his counterattack. Whatever—let him think he got in a solid hit. I ignore him, and that grin quickly turns to a scowl. He picks up his pace, and Berry and I do the same.

I don’t like this plan but... it’s good. It’s good. I did good. I got Echo on our side, and he has a way into the Pavilion. He takes me seriously as a leader, at least for now. I mean, yeah, he’s drunk and violent, but I want him to beat a mare to death, so maybe that’s the state I want him in. This is good. This is everything I needed, and it went off without a hitch.

Well... except those two earlier. But that wasn’t my fault.

I watch the wall for the rest of the way, counting the storage units. Echo and I are done talking.

Eventually, the tenor of the building starts to change. There are still storage spaces above us, but the ground-level doors start to turn into actual doors—with two or three windows beside them where the next few storage compartments should be. It takes me a bit to put it together, but when I see curtains behind one pane of glass, it’s easy enough to figure things out. It’s just like Green’s apartment—multiple storage units fused together into a room. Not high rent, I’m guessing. The floor here is a bit dirtier too, the white stained with black and brown. It’s seen some use.

I keep looking for the side tunnel Echo is going to pull us down, but it never comes. Instead, he starts angling towards the next set of storage units at the end of the row. Another one of those rooms is there—six storage units long—and the space between the windows is covered in posters.

They’re as garish as all the other posters in Vision, but it seems like they’ve been up there for a while, and time and water have taken their toll on the paper. “Poison Joke is POISON” one of them reads, the blood-red text running underneath an illustration of a pony lying on his back with a blue flower clutched to his barrel. A second shows a graphic illustration of a little sister vomiting marker blood into a collection bucket of some kind, with the caption “She Was Somepony’s Filly!” The last few are so muddled as to be almost illegible, but I catch hints of a few illustrations, and “SANITY not ALCHEMY” on one. It’s a little surprising.

Well, I guess being a despot’s little sister doesn’t automatically make you a bad pony. I mean, she’s standing up for what’s right. I’m sure she could live somewhere better than this if she wanted. Echo did imply she’s still on good terms with her sister—good enough to have the key to the fort anyway—so maybe she just doesn't like asking for favors. 

Then again, I don’t think security would let a regular pony get away with saying that sort of thing. Epiphany mentioned abstaintists, and she didn’t act like it was something you had to be hush-hush about, but they’re not big on dissent in general here.

My pace slows as we get close, and Berry does the same, but Echo keeps going, trotting right up to the door and giving it a firm knock with a hoof. It’s wooden and cheap, a narrow metal view-slit in the middle currently sealed off by a sliding piece. “Security!” he shouts, rough, sharp, and authoritative. “Open up!” He’s good at shouting, and it carries a lot of weight—a real open-the-door-or-I-break-it-down sort of shout. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to endear us to Apple Bloom, but for now, I let him take the lead.

We’re not long waiting for a response. Just like I thought, the little slit opens first and a set of golden eyes peers out at us, a few strands of red hair barely visible above them.

“Get bent, Echo,” she snaps from behind the door. She sounds mature—not at all unfeminine, but with a deep voice for a mare, a hint of an accent. “Ah already paid my protection this month.” Yeah, definitely with an accent. She sounds a lot like Green during her bad moments, though her accent isn’t nearly as strong.

“Oh, well good for you!” Echo spits out the words, snide and toxic. “Think that gives you a license to violate the law as you see fit? Think I’m too stupid to link you up with that trouble in the heights?” Is he extorting her? Is that it?

“Ah said buzz off,” Apple Bloom grumbles, but I’d have to be deaf not to hear the drop in her tone. “Ah didn’t do nuthin’.”

“Really? Because the way I heard it, you and one of your little pogroms beat a mare for giving her child tonic.” There’s no response from behind the door, Apple Bloom’s eyes lowering. Wow. I mean, I’m not in favor of mob justice, but it’s nice to know there are some ponies in the city who see how crazy this all is. Maybe she really isn’t so bad. “Well, Ms. Bloom? You gonna say something, or am I going to break the door down?”

“Ah didn’t beat her. Ah hit her, once. An’ the others might’ve thrown some things,” Apple Bloom says quietly. To a common pony, that drop in her voice would signal surrender, but I don’t think so. She’s got fight in her yet. “He was six, Echo. Six. That’s just wrong!” Her voice picks up as her eyes rise in the slit. It’s kind of nice. She’s genuinely outraged. “He’ll be dead by twenty the way she was mutilatin’ him. You know that.”

“I do, Ms. Bloom, but the law is the law,” he answers, two sharp raps on the door with his hoof making his point.

“Oh, you’re right, I’m sorry,” she shoots back, with a sudden bitter sarcasm. “Tell ya what—if we hurry, I think there’s still time to beat a confession out of her and say she was a traitor all along. That more your speed, Lieutenant?” Her tempo picks up as she shouts, the door faintly echoing with the sound. “We’ll even make it a two-fer. Her kid’s gonna go insane anyway. We might as well hang him now and save time! That is how the law works these days, right!?”

Echo doesn’t say anything, his ears folding back as he lowers his head. Apple Bloom doesn’t follow up either, watching him through the slit.

I think she actually got to him there. History between them? Or does she know his buttons? Her eyes are tilting down a little. Does she regret saying it?

“Ah’m sorry, Echo. That—”

“Quite alright, Ms. Bloom.” He lifts his head, a stiff and formal tone bringing her apology to an end. “Nonetheless, it was a bit of trouble for me to clear that matter up, so I’d appreciate it if you could do me a favor in return.” He makes a sharp gesture back to Berry and me. “My lovely pink companion needs a discreet entrance to New Apple Acres.”

The point draws Apple Bloom’s attention our way, and her eyes shift from behind the door. “Wow, uh... Berry, right? Is that you?” she asks, evidently surprised. Berry nods. “Ah... Ah always assumed you were still in Equestria. You uh... you don’t look that good.” Apple Bloom is obviously troubled—I guess for the same reason I was when I first saw Berry. Even by marker standards, she is kind of stamped with cutie marks head to hoof. Berry only shrugs though, and eventually, the golden eyes in the window shift to me. “Well. Why do you need that then?”

“It’s...” I let the pause hang. Maybe not ideal, but I need a second to think about how to play this. I don’t really know enough to guess the right play, so go vague. “It’s about a friend. And it’s important. I’m sorry to be here asking this way, but there’s a pony who needs my help. Please.” I go with the soft sell, quiet and gentle, and I’m rewarded with a hesitant glance back and forth.

“Mah keyring ain’t for sale,” she says, but I can read better than that in her tone. “No getting into New Apple Acres unless I’m satisfied why you need it. But... I’ll hear ya out. Come on in. You too, Echo.”

“Much appreciated, Ms. Bloom,” he says. The slit in the door shuts a few moments later, and there’s a clattering of locks from the far side. It’s seems a bit weird to have all those locks when there are glass windows not three paces away, but maybe there are bars or something. With the curtains drawn, I can’t really see inside anyway.

The door swings open, and I can dimly see Apple Bloom on the far side, gesturing us in. Echo goes first, then Berry, and then me last of all. “Cigarette, Echo. Outside,” Apple Bloom says, to my left, and a quick reshuffling of our marching order results. Echo moves to get back to the door and Berry moves to stay between us, forcing the two into a wide arc. I let Berry and Echo do the foxtrot—there’s no rush, and it distracts Apple Bloom for a moment, giving me time to take things in.

She’s kind of a stocky creature, with a classic earth pony build—tall, strong, broad in the shoulders and hips and wide in the hooves. “Solid,” I suppose. Her face sticks to the pattern, rounded and unthreatening. A face more given to smiles than any sort of serious expression. She’d look matronly, if she was older. A sandy coat and pastel-red mane complete the set, each left wild and uncombed. Three golden stars on her flank—the shade matches her eyes.

She hasn’t aged well. I’d put her at thirty, but she could pass for thirty-five or even forty at a glance. It’s the lines under her eyes, the slump in her shoulders as she watches Echo and Berry try to scoot around each other. Tired, I guess.

The room behind her looks tired too, such as a room can. It’s dusty, quiet, dark. Obviously not cared for. Most of the space here seems to be a big meeting hall, with standing room for perhaps two hundred ponies and a podium at the far end, a few tables leaned against the back wall. The floor is dirty and worn though, the podium damaged, and a few of the tables are visibly missing legs. More posters like the ones outside cover the wall opposite the windows, but I don’t bother reading them. There’s a door in that wall as well, which I assume leads to some kind of storage. Or maybe her bedroom, if she lives here.

Echo has finally reached the door by now, and he spits out his cigarette, pulling the door shut afterwards. “There we go then,” he says, turning back to Apple Bloom. “Happy?”

“Ah guess,” she says, but she leans over, sniffing at the air around Echo. “Land sakes. How much you had to drink today?”

“Why, I drink eight glasses of water every day, Ms. Bloom,” he replies, with a snort. “But thank you for your concern.”

“You...” She rolls her eyes a bit, and then shakes her head. “Fine. Drink yourself into an early grave then, see if I care. And get one of the tables set up while you’re at it, would you? I hate standin’ in an empty room.”

There’s only a brief delay before Echo obeys—confusion and alcohol more than disobedience I think—moving towards the table and then grabbing it with a wing and a hoof. I wonder if they’ve slept together. I certainly can’t imagine him interacting with a mare any other way. He shoves the table from its resting place back onto the ground, a sharp kick producing a groan from the wood and sending it sliding into the middle of the room. Apple Bloom takes her place beside it, settling her rear to the floor, and I do the same. Echo and Berry are more distant, hovering around nearby.

“Well?” Apple Bloom says, into the silence. “Out with it then.” I must be distracted, because it takes me a second to realize she’s talking to me.

I glance at Echo, but he’s already hitting on his flask again. Was this his ‘plan’? Just put me in a room with Apple Bloom and expect me to charm her into handing over her keys? Am I supposed to admit to her that we’re planning to kill Rarity? Or was he serious about us killing her for her keys? I don’t know if this is some subtle double-play, or if he’s too drunk to care.

Maybe I shouldn't have let an alcoholic plan the mission. Hindsight.

“I um...” I swallow. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “My name is Siren Song. A friend of mine is in the Pavilion. She’s in trouble, and I can’t get her out. We need to use the secret passage that runs from your sister’s house into Rarity’s quarters.”

“Yer barkin’ up the wrong tree then. I ain’t got the password for it,” Apple Bloom says, but I see a little hesitance in her eyes. That’s an excuse. Echo doesn’t look worried, in any case.

“I’m pretty sure we can get the door open anyway,” I say, with a nod to Echo’s packs. She follows my gaze and gets it, but after a moment, shakes her head.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She turns back to me as she speaks, tail flat on the ground. “That’s the sort of favor that sounds awfully easy to trace back to me. I got enough troubles as it is.”

“We could—”

“And”—she cuts me off with a wave of a hoof—“it’s a favor that's worth way, way more’n Echo’s usual bribe. Heck, worth more’n a trip to jail for assault. So I’m thinkin’ no.”

“I’ve got friends,” I try. Echo brought a bribe, and clearly isn’t panicking. Maybe this is her way of negotiating. “Trixie would be very appreciative if you could help me.”

“Oh, you work for Trixie?” Apple Bloom asks, one ear flicking back. “Well in that case, the answer’s still no, and you can tell her to shove her favors right up her own rear.”

You had to say something, Siren, and that was something, but... Oh, forget it.

I uh... I take a second to think. Glance at Berry and Echo again, but they’re no help.

“Yeah, look,” Apple Bloom continues when I don’t pick up the thread. “I’ve got a few friends in the Pavilion. If’n you like, I could ask about—”

“Do you know what goes on in there?” I say. Not snappish exactly, but quick. A lot of tension behind it. Emotion. Good. I can see her react, her ears picking up, her pose straightening. Alright, regaining some ground. “Do you know what happens to the ponies who go into the Pavilion and never come out? Or do you prefer to just cover your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening?”

“Look, Siren...” She takes a moment to think, but shakes her head again. “A lot of ponies get in trouble with mah sister or Rarity. Your not the first friends to come around askin’ for help. I can’t get everypony—”

“I don’t give a care about ‘everypony!’” I slam my hooves on the table right on cue, and Apple Bloom jumps. “I care about my friend, you get that? Do you understand what getting this far to help her has cost me? I’ve been threatened, beaten, burned, and to make my humiliation complete, I’ve got a cutie mark on my face. My face!” A sharp jab at my cheek with a hoof nails it, leaning in close to make my point.

“She was always there for me when I needed her.” I deliver the clincher perfectly, very strong, very passionate, “and now, she needs me. This is happening, you understand? Echo brought a bribe for you, or something. You can take it if you like, but I’m getting those keys if I have to beat them out of you.”

I wrap it all up with a tense, shaky breath, settling down behind the table again. Good. I really sold that. She’s buying it. Her face is tense, thoughtful.

“It’s a gift, not a bribe,” Echo says, into the silence. But his tone is meandering—a bit listless. “And I think you’d rather I gave it to you in private.”

“Ah really don’t care, Echo. You ain’t got any secrets of mine I’m embarrassed about. Show me,” Apple Bloom orders. After a moment’s delay, Echo shrugs the box off his back and onto the table. A quick snap of his teeth severs the twine knot, and he shoves the box her way.

Paper parts before her hooves, a cheap lid revealed beneath. As she pulls it away, I can see that the box is mostly straw—packing material for the fragile items inside. They’re flat, and square, and when Apple Bloom pulls one of them up, I can see what they are. They’re records, still in their cases, a little stack of them preserved in the straw. The one on top is in a white container, elegant black text on the front reading: “Sweetie Belle's Greatest Hits.”

The effect on Apple Bloom is immediate. Her ears fold back, her tail tucks in. Something personal? Who’s Sweetie Belle? “You think you can buy me with—”

“Shut your noise hole, Ms. Bloom,” Echo snarls, a flash of aggression coming out of nowhere. “I didn’t bring them up. They weren’t even for you.” They weren’t? Then who were they for? “You don’t want ‘em, you don’t have to take them! They can go right back into the incinerator with the rest if that’s what you like!”

His facade is cracking now, and I can’t help but notice he’s been hitting that flask of his pretty hard while we’ve been sitting around the table. Apple Bloom seems to notice too, and her eyes focus on him as he finishes shouting. His anger doesn’t last long, and as quickly as it came, he settles back down, muttering dark words under his breath.

“Come on, Echo,” Apple Bloom says, rising to her hooves. “Y’all can use the back room. Clean yourself up, take a nap.”

“I’ll pass,” he snorts.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did it sound like Ah was askin’?” Apple Bloom says, tightening her tone. “Yer stinkin’ up my house and making a fool of yourself with yer shouting. Besides, the soundproofing on the upstairs room isn’t that good, and you know it upsets her.” Upsets who?

There’s definitely something going on between these two I’m not privy to. Did they sleep together once? Did they date? Friends, maybe? I don’t think so, but there’s something. I can see it in the way Echo’s shoulders slump, the way he lets himself be pressured. “Fine,” he says, after a pause. He rises from the table with her, and after she mutters a few words to excuse herself, they vanish through the door into the back.

Oh, wow. I wonder if they had a foal. That might explain a lot. They’re definitely old enough.

“This is going well,” I aside to Berry. I lower my voice when I do it, and just to be extra safe, use a quick sound spell to make sure not so much as a whisper reaches Apple Bloom. “She’s getting sappy—that’ll impair her judgement. Quick, who’s Sweetie Belle?”

“Rarity’s little sister,” Berry says, moving around the table to examine the record.

“Wait, Rarity’s little sister?” She never mentioned having any siblings. That’s a pretty major omission to happen by accident. “As in, little sister or as in... oh.” Then it clicks. “Oh. So she’s... I mean, she’s...”

“Dead,” Berry says. “She died during the war. She and Apple Bloom were very close.”

“Alright... alright. Got it,” I say, nodding. That’s actually a pretty good play on Echo’s part. He must have come up with it during a lucid moment—I bet he’s been saving those records for when he needed a big favor. “Anything else I should know? Echo and Apple Bloom obviously have history. Do you know anything about that? Do you know who the ‘her’ they were referring to is?”

Berry shakes her head, but for once, that’s the succinct answer I need. I can’t think of any other questions, so I move into place and get ready to look wretched when Apple Bloom walks back through the door. She’ll go for that. I was angry over my friend, time to be afraid for her.

Berry seems to be taking her time looking at the records, which suits me just fine. She probably knew Sweetie Belle back in Ponyville. So, Apple Bloom will come back, I’ll talk more about how Green is important to me. I’m going to have to play it by ear a bit, but as long as I keep hitting that I-can’t-stand-the-thought-of-losing-her button and remind her of her own friend, I should be set. Berry staring at the records might even help, a reminder of—

“I am surprised you are so collected,” Berry says out of the blue. It’s not like her to make idle observations, so I turn to her at once, and she’s looking back at me. “Your speech to Apple Bloom seemed very passionate.”

“Berry, I was acting,” I remind her gently. “Remember? That thing I do sometimes?”

“It was my understanding that you actually did have strong feelings regarding Green and your new cutie mark.” She stares at me, with that dead tone and her dead eyes, not so much as a twitch showing on her face. “Is that not true?”

“Yes. No. I mean, of course it’s true,” I say quickly. Berry doesn’t get how acting works. “But that’s not what I was... I mean.” I glance at the door. Still shut, and my sound containment spell is in full effect. “I was spinning a sob story for Apple Bloom. You don’t have to actually feel it.”

“Do you?” she asks. Because naturally, when we’re in the middle of vital negotiations is the best time to bring this up.

“Yes! Just... not at the time!” I insist. “That’s how it works, okay, Berry? You have feelings, but they get in the way sometimes, so you turn them off when you don’t need them. And then you... you feel whatever you’re supposed to feel.”

Berry looks at me.

“Shut up, Berry,” I snap. After a moment, I shake out my mane to clear my head. “Shut your stupid, marked-up face. You’re probably half the reason she’s so upset. She thought you were in Ponyville, and now the real Berry’s corpse is staring at her from across the table. She’s disgusted, and if she knew who you worked for, she’d be ashamed. So shut up and let me do my job!”

That came out a bit hotter than I intended, but whatever. It’s not like I can hurt her feelings. She just goes back to staring at the table, which is fine.

It’s fine.

I take a breath and look around the room. It’s dirty, but the dust on the floor is recently disturbed, and I don’t see any spots where it’s built up. The room sees a lot of traffic then. I guess that means... something.

I’m very observant. That’s important. You need to know your audience.

In the back, I hear a loud thump and the sudden hiss of running water. A shower? If Echo is set up on his own, then Apple Bloom will be back soon. I dispel my enchantment, and then lower my ears and my tail, just... like I should. To seem sad. Soon enough, the door opens, and she returns.

“He’ll be fine,” she says, making her way back to the table. She has something with her—a little bundle of hay balanced on her back. “Too much gin and not enough food or sleep. He just needed somepony to talk him down.” She reaches the table in short order and slides the bale over towards Berry and me. “Thought y’all might need something too.”

It’s not until she offers that it occurs to me we haven’t eaten since this morning, other than that tea I had. I didn’t even notice. “Uh... thanks.” I reach out and take some of the hay in my teeth, chewing quietly. Berry does the same, and takes quite a bit more, so I guess she’s hungry too. It’s not very good, but it’s dry at least.

“So what’s Echo’s interest in all this then?” she asks, returning her rear to the ground as she watches Berry and me eat. “That’s not the most messed-up I’ve ever seen him, but it’s up there.”

“No direct interest. But I um... I persuaded him, you know?” I give a weak little shrug of my shoulders, and take another bite. “What’s with you two anyway? You’ve got history?”

“Kinda. We know each other from way back—whenever there was a big event, he’d show up with Rainbow Dash, and I’d show up with Applejack, so we got to know each other.” It looks like it’s not a fond memory for her, her gaze sliding to the table. “These days, we mostly meet when security sends him to tell me they’re losing their patience.”

“With all this?” I ask, gesturing around us. It’s perfectly obvious, but she nods. “It was uh... surprising to me, actually. I’ve heard of abstaintists, but you’re the first one I’ve met.”

“We’re a rare breed,” she replies coolly. Sore spot. I nod and take another bite, chewing slowly. It’s the sort of answer she expects. Gradually, her gaze drifts around the table, across the wood, to Berry, and then to me. “So why’d you do it?”

“The...?” I gesture at my cheek. She nods. “It’s uh... it’s Daring Do. For bravery. Breaking into the Pavilion is... well.” I’m having some trouble finding the words. Frightening? No. “Dangerous. And I’ll only get one chance. I didn’t think I could do it.”

“Any tonics?” she asks. I shake my head. “So just the one?” I nod. What’s she getting at? “You gonna let it wear off then? Need it for this one thing and that’s it?”

“Yup,” I reply. It’s obviously the answer she’s looking for. “Being brave is neat and all, but so is living to old age. And with Poison Joke, it’s really one or the other, right?”

“So it is,” she observes, her tone still moderate. Casual as she sounds, I know she’s watching me closely. “Sure you won’t need it though? Being brave has gotta have its uses.”

“No. No, I’ll be fine,” I say, with a bit of a laugh, waving her off. “These last few weeks have been... well. Stressful. But it’ll be good to get back to normal.”

“Sure, sure,” Apple Bloom agrees. “So what’s normal for you?”

“Oh, I’m an actor,” I say, casually. “Plays, not movies. I’m still kind of small time, but—”

“Where was the last theater you performed?” she asks quickly. Her eyes fix me to the spot, demanding an immediate answer. Oh crud. How did I never learn the name of any theaters in Vision? She’s noticed me pausing. Siren, say something!

“Uh...” Say something not that! “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

Smooth, Siren. Very smooth.

Apple Bloom pauses a moment, and then sits forward, leaning over the table. “You know, usually, when a mare says that she’s an ‘actor’ and that she works for Trixie, it means she’s a hitmare.” She considers me a moment longer, tapping the table with a hoof. “But I think a hired killer would have a better poker face than that.”

Green has a terrible poker face, actually. Not that I say that.

“You’re not the first pony to get in over her head, start to panic, and think she needs a little ‘outside help.’” Apple Bloom assures me, raising a hoof as though to calm me. “Whatever deal you’ve made with Trixie though, I can help you. You don’t have to destroy yourself to—”

“No, no. It’s not like that,” I insist. She’s not buying it though. I can see it all over her face. Horseapples! “My relationship with Trixie is... is different, okay? I don’t work for her, exactly. And I didn’t take Daring Do because she made me. It was just... something I needed. And yes, of course I’m going to quit later, but... it’s complicated.”

It’s complicated? Siren! Siren!

“Alright.” She shrugs. “So tell me about it.”

Way to go, Siren. Way to be a social butterfly!

“Um...” What do I do? What do I do? I just talked myself into a corner! Worse, I’ve gotten us into a talk about feelings where I’m the one doing the talking! There’s no way to make that go well. Anything I say could convince her I’m not what she’s looking for and blow the whole deal. Maybe there’s still time to back out. She’ll probably insist we talk about it, but she might not! “I’d really rather not.”

“Do ya want my help?” she asks. Horseapples! I nod, but I already know what answer is coming. “Then you really gotta.”

Of course I do.

“I mean it’s... it’s not that complicated, really,” I say. Maybe I can backtrack this. “I certainly don’t intend on taking another dose. And I know that one isn’t addictive. I’m just... that’s thirty days away, you know? Right now, next week might as well be a thousand years from now for how far into the future I’m thinking.”

“It’s alright. I can tell you’re tired,” she says, with a measured tone. Berry takes another bite of the hay because of course she’s no help. “But you know these things sneak up on you, right? You know that it’s not as simple as take-one-and-quit, no matter what the bottle says?” Right.

Right? I mean, of course I know that. This isn’t a complicated question. I don’t... I don’t believe Berry that this can just wear off and I’ll be fine. My spirit and body have been despoiled by dark alchemy, and I hardly think a thirty-day waiting period is going to fix that. But that’s no reason to take another dose. This is an easy question.

“Um.” I swallow. It’s not my fault. Berry knocked me off my game! I can’t think. “Yes. I mean, yes, I know. But I really don’t want these things to ruin my life. I know it’ll be hard, but after this one, I’m done.”

“That’s fair,” Apple Bloom says. “It would even be nice to hear, if you weren’t a terrible liar. Want to try that again?”

Sun and stars! Great, thanks, Berry. You’ve killed Green because you couldn't keep your stupid mouth shut. I was all over this before she piped up!

“Look, it’s... I know you must get a lot of addicts who will say anything. This is different. This is important to me, okay?” I say. “I’m... If I’d stood up for my friend in the first place, she wouldn’t be where she is. She protected me when nopony else would, and I didn’t have the courage to stand up for her when she needed me most.” I keep staring at the table. Hardwood. Oak. Worn. Heavy grain.

“It’s always important, Siren,” Apple Bloom says. “There’s always a reason. One dose may not be chemically addictive—you won’t puke up your guts and die—but thirty days is a long time to get used to something. Like being brave. Particularly when you’ve got nothing in your life but things that make you feel like a coward.” I don’t say anything. “Is that fair to say, Siren?”

“Green will die without me,” I say quickly. To the point. Don’t get drawn into a discussion. “She needs me, and to help her, I need this. I don’t have what it takes on my own.”

“You know, discoverin’ your talents doesn’t end with your cutie mark,” Apple Bloom says. I assume she’s watching me, but I’m looking at the table. “It’s a lifelong process. You might have real courage inside you, Siren, but you’ll never find it as long as you’re using alchemy as a crutch.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I say. I don’t know what else to say. I’m messing this up so badly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I can lead you to water, Siren, but if you don’t wanna drink...” I hear a rustle. Moving. Maybe a shrug, maybe a swish of her tail. Then a crunching. Berry. “Fine then. Tell me about this friend. What’s her name?”

“Her name is...” Green Apple, she’s your cousin. Should I say that? Knowing that Green is family might help, but Green didn’t have any love lost for the Apple family. What if they parted on bad terms? “Green. She’s a small-time messenger who works for Trixie.” It’s sort of true. She just only carries one, very specific sort of message.

“How’d y’all meet?” Apple Bloom asks. Somehow, in this case, I don’t think the truth would be a good idea.

“She was... doing a job, for Trixie. We ran into each other, and she saw I was in a bit of trouble.” This is coming across as so bland. Get a grip, Siren! I make myself tear up a bit. Just a bit, but that’ll help. “A-a lot of trouble, actually. She didn’t have to stop and help, but she did. And more than that, she... she took the time to care, you know? She didn’t just throw what I needed at me and call it a day.”

“She sounds nice,” Apple Bloom says, noncommittally. It’s a bad response. She’s not getting engaged. I should uh... right. I know what to do.

“Not really,” I mutter. “She’s actually kind of selfish, and nasty, and spiteful. But she’s got things she believes in. And she’s got a good side.”

“Marker?” Apple Bloom asks.

“Oh, yes. One of the earliest.” I nod weakly. “She’s marked up even more than Berry is, and she’s... she’s not doing well.” A tear is good here. That’s good. I quickly avert my face though, and rub it away like I was embarrassed. That’s good. “She’s going. You can see the edges of it.”

I sniffle, and lift my gaze to Apple Bloom again—nail her with a look right in the eyes. “But she’s not gone yet. There’s still...” My throat hurts, and I need a second to swallow. I uh... overdid it a bit there. “She’s still my friend.”

“And you don’t think a hospital is the best place for her to be riding that out?” Apple Bloom asks. “Rarity knows more about keeping markers intact than—”

“Rarity’s the one who did this to her in the first place!” I snarl, rising up onto the table with both forehooves. “Rarity thinks she gave Green everything she is in a bottle, but it’s not true! Everything Green has she got in spite of Rarity. Rarity is a useless, pretentious psychopath and-and even if Green dies of withdrawal, she dies on her own terms. Not in the Pavilion. Not there!”

Silence hangs in the room. Apple Bloom stares. The lights hum and buzz. I can hear a deep, fast wheezing. My own breath.

I didn’t... I didn’t realize how loud my voice was getting.

“Alright,” Apple Bloom says, tilting her head as she looks up at me. Not even fazed. I can’t be the first pony to scream at her over a thing like this though. “If that’s how you feel about it. I’m sorry I asked. Sit down, why don’t you.”

I do, settling back behind the table. “N-no. I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I shouldn't have let myself go like that.”

“It’s something you—” Before Apple Bloom can finish, the door to the back opens. Whoever is there doesn’t want to be seen, and the door only opens a crack, but I catch a faint trace of motion.

“Apple Bloom?” the voice asks. A mare, older, but she’s talking oddly. She pronounces every syllable independently. Ap-pull Bluh-oom. Apple Bloom is on her hooves at once, hurrying back to the door. “I heard shouting.” I her-dah shou-tah-ing.

“It’s okay, just somepony getting a little excited. Go back upstairs,” Apple Bloom says, lowering her voice. I can still hear her though. She obviously wants whoever it is gone, quickly, and from how she’s blocking the door with her body, she doesn’t want me seeing them. So this is the mysterious her. Not Apple Bloom’s kid then—the voice is too old. “Everything is fine,” Apple Bloom repeats, slowly.

“Echo is asleep on the couch.” Eh-kho is ah-sleep on the cou-cha. It’s very odd, but easy enough to understand I guess. “Will he be staying over again?”

“Ah don’t think so,” Apple Bloom says, shaking her head. Staying over again? The two of them were actually an item? I really didn’t get that vibe from her. And why is she so nervous? “Go back upstairs now.”

“Okay,” the voice behind the door says. “Did he bring me anything this time?”

“Actually,” I say, levitating the records out of the box and stepping up Apple Bloom’s way. “Yes, he did. He brought you these. They’re Sweetie Belle’s old records.” The wide-eyed glare Apple Bloom shoots me makes it clear my intervention is not welcome, but I’ve played the sympathy card already to little result. It’s time to change tactics. If you want to win somepony’s respect, you have to defy them. “Apple Bloom and I need to talk, but do you want to listen to these first?”

The figure behind the door pulls away a bit, and the door starts to shut with her, but I give her my best smile before Apple Bloom can intervene. “You know, I’m a singer too? It’s my special talent. Do you ever sing along to records?”

That works, and the figure stops retreating behind the door. “Yeah,” she says. Apple Bloom is already caught between us, put on the spot to make a decision. She looks at the door, back at me, and then relents with a sigh.

“Yeah... alright. Fine,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ll get you set up upstairs.” The figure behind the door nods, and then pushes it the rest of the way open.

“Hello,” she says, stepping up to greet me. Heh-loh. She’s standing in an odd way, her head turned sharply to the left. Like she wanted to see me in the corner of her vision.

She’s a pegasus of perhaps Apple Bloom’s age. They’ve aged very differently though. Apple Bloom is kind of round and tired. This mare looks like a million bits—athletic figure, bright smile, sparkling eyes, and large, graceful wings that sweep back very nearly to the base of her tail. A born racer. Orange coat, purple eyes, purple mane and a tail of a darker shade. She’s like a Wonderbolt. She’s gorgeous.

Then, nervously, she turns to look at me head on, and I see the rest of her face. I see the discolored lump on the left side of her head, and the left eye that won’t quite focus. 

Oh.

Now I get it.

“I’m Scootaloo,” she says, watching me warily. She’s ready to spring away, like an animal seeing something for the first time, her posture naturally low and shifty. She extends a hoof though, and I... take it with my own. “What’s your name?” Whuh-tis yuh-or nah-ame.

“I’m Siren Song,” I say, without a missing a beat. Smile. Act friendly. Not a moment of hesitation. “I’m a friend of Echo’s. You want to go listen to these?” I lift up the records to show her.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, turning to let me through the door. “My room is upstairs.” The door to the back leads me into a small hallway. There are two doors on the right, both of which are shut, and an open door on the left that seems to lead to a study or a living room or something. I can narrowly see Echo through the doorway, sprawled out on a couch. On my immediate left is a stairwell going up, and I take it without a second thought.

“This way then,” I chirp, all sing-song. She follows me, Apple Bloom stays close, and it’s not a long walk up the stairs. They end in a cheap wooden door that’s been left ajar, light spilling out into the slightly dimmer stairwell. I push it open, and on the other side is... well. A bedroom. I’m not sure what else I was expecting really. It has a bed in the back, and sheets, and posters on the walls, and a little window, and a shelf covered in toys.

Of course, the toys are a little chewed on. I don’t see any sharp objects. And the posters are mostly propaganda for City Central Security. Photos of pegasi in black being led by a mare with a rainbow mane and tail. There’s even a little plushie of her on the shelf. It looks like the only toy that’s undamaged.

Apple Bloom clears her throat, loudly, and I realize I’ve been staring. “Phonograph’s in the box at the foot of the bed.” She points. Right.

I open the trunk, and the phonograph is there, along with a few books that don’t seem like they get much use. Scootaloo is waiting in the corner, watching both of us with her good eye. I quickly levitate the phonograph out and then shut the chest, resting the record-player on top of it. “Okay!” I say, levitating the records up in front of me. “Let’s see what we have here: Hotel Equestria, Smells Like Pony Spirit, Cpt. Armor’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Sweet Filly o’ Mine, All Along the Watchtower—”

“Oh, that one!” Scootaloo points at the record. “I love that song.” Apple Bloom still doesn’t look happy, but she settles down next to... next to her friend, and I take that as confirmation. A few quick cranks wind up the player, and I set the record. It opens with a click.

“There must be some way out of here,” a voice emerges. Smooth, relaxed, feminine, mature. Pure. Even through the scratchy, low-quality recording, you can tell she’s got the sort of voice a pony can lose themselves in. “Said the joker to the thief. There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.” She’s good—very good—and I settle down next to Scootaloo, opposite Apple Bloom.

“Princesses they drink my wine, earth ponies plow my fields. None will level on the line, no hint of truth revealed.” It’s a good song, and her rendition is amazing, but my attention soon drifts back to Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. They’re both listening at least. Scootaloo is having fun, tapping her hooves along to the beat. Apple Bloom is staring at the floor though. Only the position of her ears lets me know she’s paying attention. One of those little things.

I should be... figuring out how I’m going to play this. Play her, when the song is over. I did a good job getting her this far, but I’m not there yet. I still need to seal the deal.

I don’t, though. I end up staring at the two of them, until the song is over. That was the last one on that particular record, so all we hear after is clicks.

“Another?” Scootaloo asks, but I can already tell Apple Bloom is going to say no. Her glance makes that clear—she indulged me, but this is a private space.

“I think that’s up to Apple Bloom,” I say. “But you want to hear something neat?” My horn shines as I cast one of my little spells. Sweetie Belle’s voice is deeper than mine, and smoother, but that’s nothing I can’t handle. It takes me a second, but soon, I look down at Scootaloo and smile.

“Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy head,” I sing in a perfect mirror of Sweetie Belle’s voice. I even improvise a little—jazz it up in this really soulful way. Scootaloo goes nuts at once, beaming ear to ear and clapping her hoof on the ground.

“You sound just like her! Say, ‘Oh, come on,’” she asks, and I beam down at her. Alright, sure.

“Oh, come on!” I shout, doing my best to put a frustrated spin on it. I guess I nailed it, because Scootaloo claps again, obviously having a lot of fun. “Why does life have to be so ironic?”

“Oh, wow. She does say that!” Scootaloo beams. Present tense. “Oh oh, say, ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders yay’.”

I take a deep breath to do the full shout. I’m about to start, one hoof in the air, when I catch Apple Bloom’s gaze. It’s sharp, and intense, and the rest of her body has gone stiff as well.

“Oh... I don’t think so,” I say, and the light on my horn goes out as my voice goes back to normal. “I think Apple Bloom wants to finish talking to me downstairs. Apple Bloom, is it okay if I set her up with some records and we leave her with them?”

“Yeah,” Apple Bloom says briefly. “That’ll be fine.” We get her taken care of. Start another record playing. Scootaloo thanks me and says she hopes I visit soon. Then we go back downstairs.

“Sorry about that,” I say, once we’re out of easy hearing and down into the back hall. “I thought she’d like impressions. I didn’t mean to—”

“Y’all got no shame?” Apple Bloom asks, and though her voice doesn’t rise, I hear it tremble. “Showing up with those records and a bag full of Sweetie’s quotes you just happened to know by heart.” What quotes? I didn’t quote anypony—I was riffing on her voice. Maybe she means the one Scootaloo gave me?

“How long did you spend diggin’ those up?” she continues. “Findin’ the things we only ever said to each other. You think I don’t know when I’m being manipulated? You laid it on a bit thick.” She spits the last word out, turning to glare at me head on.

So I look her right in the eye.

“You think you’re the only pony in the world with friends you miss?” I ask, holding my ground. Not missing a beat. A little tremor in my breath sets the tone, and I let the words come out hot without raising my voice a single decibel. “You think I want to be where you are right now? Yeah, Echo was probably sitting on those records until he wanted to ask you for a favor, but you know what? I’m not the one who offered him a space on your couch.” A snort conveys exactly what I think of that, my tempo picking up slightly.

“And me? I want to remind you what you’ll go through for an old friend? I want to remind you that other ponies hurt too? That’s my right.” I shake out my mane, my tail lashing this way and that. “So no, I don’t feel a bit of shame.”

“And who’s gonna take care of her after y’all get me arrested?” Apple Bloom demands. “Bein’ Applejack’s sister only goes so far, and what you’re asking is way past that line.”

“You think I want Rarity hunting us down?” I shoot right back. “We’ll be taking steps to make sure Rarity isn’t in any position to be following us. She won’t know which tunnel we took. It’ll never get back to you.” I can see she’s not persuaded, so I take a quick step forward. “And even if there is a risk, your friend might get in trouble. Mine is in trouble now.”

“That sounds like your problem,” Apple Bloom says, and that’s when I know I’ve got her.

“Horseapples. You’re the sister of one of the Elements of Harmony. You could be living it up if you wanted. You could be rich and powerful, and you decided to spend your life on a cause nopony gives a flying feather about, just because it was the right thing to do.” I pull back away from her and give her a quick glance, head to hoof.

“You actually care,” I finish. It’s an optimistic take on things, but a flattering one. “Sucks to be you, but it’s true. And now you’re going to help me.”

Apple Bloom fixes me with a long stare, trying to pin me to the wall with her eyes. It’s an angry expression, and tense. Her teeth set, her legs go stiff, and one of her hooves drags on the floor—like she was going to charge me. For a long second, that silence hangs between us.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice as hard as her expression. “I suppose that I am.”