//------------------------------// // Duality // Story: Tangential Writings // by Desrium //------------------------------// Duality Have you ever been in someone else's shoes? Have you walked to the same destination as them? A bright sunny morning devoid of clouds only made the building seem grimmer in the young pony’s eyes. It was a reclaimed building of dark red brick that stood tall above the street with barred windows and steel doors. A box to put all that was undesirable into, a dark shape that stood against golden skies. Falcon Wing frowned as he stood in its shadow, the early morning sun yet to rise above its flat roof. He read the banner of white canvas that was displayed over the main, arched door. In a red, admittedly regal, typography read: Ponyville Penitentiary. A correctional facility established in what used to be an infamous hub of raider activity. Falcon did not know whether or not to think it ironic… or oddly fitting. ”It’s better than the days where shooting someone on sight was the extent of the law, at least…” he thought. ”I wonder if Klaxon was thinking that when he was helping the NCR set this place up.” Falcon turned his head around and raised a foreleg to inspect one of the saddlebags strapped to one side of his body for the umpteenth time. After making sure it hadn’t opened up on the way over to the prison once more, he let out a soft sigh and contemplated giving the other one a onceover. He knew that it would be no different, but a reason to delay heading into the prison was something he would have welcomed wholeheartedly, even if he wouldn’t have expressed such sentiments outwardly. After all, who aside from the staff would want to enter a jailhouse? Falcon shook his head. There was no more delaying it. He figured he looked strange enough to the few ponies that were up and about at the early hours of the day standing around outside of the building, and even stranger to the hellhounds which called Ponyville their sanctuary. Though he was on the outskirts of town, there were quite a few busy characters moving along with their duties. Then again, he mused as he headed up the concrete steps to the black metal door, any robed pony with a hood over their face would look a tad bit strange regardless. Falcon tapped on the door a few times. The noise that ensued did not match his effort, a hollow thump after each contact resonating through the thick metal. He raised a brow questioningly and stepped back from it. Seconds later, there was a metallic rattling and a hiss as hidden motors activated and drew the door down into the threshold as individual pieces. “Not just your average old wasteland hut,” Falcon said to himself. “I can see where Klaxon leant his hoofwork already.” He walked forward into the jailhouse, stepping onto a pleasant wooden floor. He took a look around the room he was in as the door rose back up and assumed its regular form behind him, spotting a desk at the forefront of the room with a light brown unicorn in NCR barding sitting behind it. A row of windows on the sidelong wall let in streams of sunlight, the bars outside of them creating columns of shadow that ran across the spaces inside. The unicorn, a female, looked up from the papers scattered on her desk to the newcomer. She waved him over towards her. Falcon nodded and walked up to her desk, sitting on his haunches as he started to undo the straps of his saddlebags. “Morning. Klaxon sends his regards,” he said without looking up at the old mare. From what he’d seen on the way over, the wrinkles underneath her eyes and her seemingly tired disposition, he inferred she had been through a lot in her life. Things that probably made her suited for holding her position inside the prison. “Does he, now?” she replied with some form of dry humor evident in her tone. She sat back in her chair, her long tan and green coat bunching up at her neck and shoulders. “From what I’ve heard about him, he doesn’t seem to be the type to send his regards to many ponies.” Falcon tried to hide his puzzlement as he put his bags up onto the desk. “Well… I paraphrase,” he continued to say, “I’m sure if he were here right now he would at least say hello…” The NCR mare put a hoof to her mouth as she chuckled to herself, eyes closed. Like some sort of filly with a crush, Falcon observed. Yet another thing that did not seem to fit in a prison setting, he thought. “I assume this is all the paperwork for the NCR records?” she asked him, her tone changing to one more business oriented. Falcon Wing nodded. She smiled as she took the tall stack of papers from one bag, sweeping an area of her desk clear only to lay it down where the clutter used to be. “Don’t you just love bureaucracy?” she asked with a tone and smirk that only bordered on being cheeky. “Nuh uh. The only paperwork I’m used to doing is taking notes. And I use a terminal for that, so I guess I don’t deal with paper as often as I’d thought. Unless you count the paper in the books I read.” “Lucky boy,” the NCR mare said wistfully as she removed the second stack of papers from the other saddlebag, “As you can see, I’ve got a bit of a mess on my hooves.” Falcon frowned. “I wish I could help, but I don’t know how useful I’d be. I haven’t tried my hoof at filing things before…” The mare chuckled again and waved a hoof at him. “You’re sweet and all, child, but I wouldn’t ask a little old thing like you to help me with my work here!” ”Who the hell are you calling little? And a child? And how can a child be old!?” were the thoughts that ran through the young pony’s mind as he retrieved his empty bags and started to sling them over his sides. “Since I’m dealing with all this paper, I’d like to write a letter to Klaxon telling him about how he’s chosen such a nice, polite young lad to be his errand boy… among other things.” She mumbled the last bit under her breath. “It’s a shame that I just don’t have the time to spare for that right now, so why don’t you just tell him that Fudge Swirl ‘sends her regards’?” She winked. “Will do,” Falcon said while thinking, ”You really have no idea who you’re talking to, huh lady?” He turned to leave when out from the corner of his eye he caught sight of a line of cells. Out of the row of five tucked into the corner of the room, he saw a single occupant in one of the silver cages. The pony sat slumped forward with their head hanging in the darkness across from the windows. Falcon thought it curious that the holding cells would be behind those entering through the door. Was it a conscious decision to have them be unseen until someone was leaving the prison? Or was it because he was wearing his hood that he didn’t see them earlier? Falcon looked over his shoulder and said, “Hey, Fudge Swirl… what’s the story with that pony?” The brown mare looked over to the jail cell and scoffed. “Another dime-a-dozen wasteland murderer; honestly I’ve got no idea why he’s still alive. We have enough witnesses and evidence to warrant an execution ten times over for this scumbag.” Falcon winced at the harsh inflection Swirl’s voice had taken. Now that seemed more fitting for a prison setting. He had almost forgotten why he was so hesitant to enter the building in the first place. “Sounds like he’s pretty dangerous. Why isn’t there a guard pony on duty in case he tries to make a break for it?” Fudge Swirl’s eyes gleamed when she replied, “I am the guard pony.” With a sudden motion, she produced a rifle that she was storing underneath her desk. In a show of bravado she twirled it around in her hooves before locking it in her grip, the barrel resting on the desk, its killing end pointed at the criminal. One hoof was on a special slide on the side of the gun, what Falcon assumed to be the trigger. It wasn’t often that he got to see guns that weren’t strapped to battle saddles. “He knows better than to make a move. NCR law might be more forgiving than wasteland law… for the time being… but my gun is more than willing to send the judge, jury and executioner right through his skull.” The old mare’s expression hardened, her gaze keen looking down the rifle’s sights. ”And she seemed so nice, too…” Falcon thought, his face blank. “Oh, that’s enough of that, though. I’m sure he’s already got plenty of things to feel sorry about, now that he’s been caught.” Fudge pulled the rifle off of her desk, careful not to disturb the piles of paperwork and returned it to its place out of sight. “You think I could go talk to him?” Falcon inquired. Fudge shrugged. “I don’t see why you would want to, but I guess one last friendly face to look at before the end is what everypony would like.” “Fucking morbid…” Falcon murmured to himself as he made his way over to the shadowy cell. The pony behind the bars did not stir even as he grew closer. Falcon saw that the criminal was a fairly young cream-colored stallion in a dingy leather garb, the likes of which more outdoorsy types wore when traveling the countryside for long stretches of time. A wanderer, Falcon gleaned. He sat down in front of the cell and tried to think of a way to start a conversation. “Um… hi there,” he opened feebly with. “I’m Falcon Wing… what’s your name?” The detained stallion looked up at him with sad, tired eyes but said nothing. Falcon shuffled in place uncomfortably. After a moment or two of awkward silence, he sighed and said candidly, “Yeah, I could imagine that you wouldn’t want to talk too much right now. It’s one hell of a mess you’re in.” The stallion looked back down at the floor. He let out a breath and looked like he had deflated underneath his clothing. Falcon frowned deeply. Was this truly what an Equestrian monster was like? Of all of the faces bearing malicious intent he’d seen over his lifetime, Falcon never saw a face quite like this pony’s. Sadness and remorse. “At least you don’t deny what you did.” “Of all of my faults and vices, I could never do that,” the stallion croaked through his grief. Falcon Wing blinked a few times, taken aback by the honest response. ”Not just your average dime-a-dozen wasteland murderer, after all.” “Why are you here, boy? I can’t imagine that the old times spared you much innocence, but this shouldn’t be the place where you spend your colt days hanging around.” “I… you mean, why I’m here talking to you or why I…” Falcon trailed off, rubbing his chin. The stallion shook his head. “I… I can’t really explain it. I know next to nothing about you and yet you seem like somepony I’d try to help if I saw you like this out on the roads,” Falcon stated in a strained attempt to explain himself. “You don’t seem like someone who would be responsible for killing someone—“ “I’m not responsible for killing any single pony, boy,” the stallion spoke suddenly. “I’ve got a whole group’s blood on my hooves. Be it those I meant to kill… or those I’ve killed reluctantly.” Falcon was dumbstruck. It took an effort on his part to keep his jaw from hanging agape. He learned that his gut reactions to things like this tend to make them worse. “Just go away. I don’t need someone to feel sorry for me. I probably don’t deserve it anyhow.” “But… why? Why would you commit such a crime! You don’t seem like such a bad pony but—“ “I blew into a small town out west for a time. I got asked to help deal with some rowdy gang activity that was going on. Something about having some new blood in town acting like a role model to help the kids shape up. When I found them they didn’t take kindly to me trying to ‘change their style’. They got hostile. Attacked me. I did as any other sane pony would do and drew my gun… their tune changed around the time the first two gangers fell down with holes in them. Before long there weren’t too much of them left standing. Just the few that didn’t try attacking the traveling stranger packing heat.” “That’s… but that was self-defense! Sure they were kids but… I’ll tell you from experience that kids can be just as, if not more so, horrible as any full grown pony!” Falcon exclaimed, though he took care to not draw Fudge Swirl’s attention to the conversation. “That’s not all, boy.” “Oh please no,” Falcon pleaded mentally. “I made the decision while still wired off of gunning down a bunch of thugs that their more sensible friends needed to go down too, lest they tracked me down while I was heading out and tried to kill me again where nopony else would be able to lend a hoof. So I shot the ones that watched dead.” ”My gracious Luna, it just gets worse, doesn’t it?” “The town guards caught wind of it. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was… gunshots are pretty loud. As soon as I stepped out of that damned hole the gangers called their base, I had rifles trained on me. I wanted to explain, boy. I really did, but I knew as well as any other sorry son of a bitch on the wrong end of a gun that wasn’t going to happen. So I shot first, even though I didn’t want to. I killed ponies that had good enough hearts to try to protect their homes from dirt like me. One after the other. A few regular folk tried to step in too… I took them down as I was hauling my hide out of there. I knew I’d never be able to return to that place… but what I didn’t know was that the NCR would have been on my trail from there to here.” “That’s…” was all Falcon managed to say. His voice was devoid of emotion, though his eyes were wide with shock. Although the stallion’s tale of a terrible situation made worse by ponies too eager to use their weapons disturbed him, what shook Falcon the most was the ugly fact that he and Alana could have been in this pony’s place, criminals facing execution for their misadventure in Dodge City. Self-defense was only a stone’s throw away from incurring the wrath of bullet time justice. “Do you see now, boy? Would you still be so willing to help ponies like me you see on the roads, knowing they could be drowning in their guilt?” “I—I don’t…” Falcon stammered. “Just because I didn’t enjoy what I did doesn’t make me any less deserving of my fate in this building. If anything, boy, promise me that you will learn something from all of this. Don’t get caught up in the messes of others. Good intentions have a way of biting you in the ass like that.” “It should be the goal of everyone to be better than what they used to be…” Falcon retorted with sadness creeping into his voice. The stallion gave one, short, dry chuckle. “Heh, well in that case I’ve fucked up pretty majorly along the way. Started as a pony others wanted as a role model. Ended up as another ‘dime-a-dozen wasteland murderer’.” The young pony wiped a foreleg over his snout, catching the first of his tears just as they started to flow from his eyes. The stallion behind the bars groaned. “Yo, Falcon Wing. There’s a reason places like this aren’t for kids.” “Then I’d better get going then,” Falcon said, putting his hoof back on the floor. He blinked his eyes so that his vision wouldn’t be as cloudy as it was and sniffled. The criminal only nodded. The young pony stood up and faced the door. Before he started walking, Falcon looked over his shoulder and said, “You may be a murderer… but you’re no dime-a-dozen wasteland-whatever. I’m sorry that it had to end this way for you.” The detained pony’s eyes widened slightly as Falcon departed. He watched the door slide away and saw the pony in the black cloak disappear into the bright outdoors. When the light disappeared and shadow reclaimed his portion of the room, the stallion bowed his head. He shook as he shed his own tears, but he had a small smile on his face. “Thank you, Falcon Wing. That’s all I wanted to hear.” The road back to Hope from Ponyville was longer than it usually was. That’s what it seemed to Falcon, at the very least. He greeted the sentry at the top of the wall with a lackluster wave and walked through the gate into the town with his head low. The sun high in the sky and the crowds of ponies were a blur at the very edges of his peripherals as he meandered along the streets to the place where he and his friends called home. The garage door was closed, meaning Klaxon was probably hard at work inside with some manner of machine and Steiner was most likely in the lab down in the basement. Alana could have been anywhere else inside. Or outside, for that matter. Falcon walked up to the front door and knocked dispassionately. He wasn’t expecting anyone to open up too soon anyway if the others were busy with their own work. It was when the door glowed red and he heard the lock click that he was pulled from his gloom and reminded that Steiner did not have to be physically present to open doors. “Thanks, Steiner!” Falcon called out into the house as he entered. He bucked the door lightly with a rear hoof to close it again. He walked down the short hall that led into the lobby and set his saddle bags down against the wall near the end. The stairs were in front of him. He heard another door open off to his side. Stepping into the lobby proper he saw Klaxon emerge from his workshop. Klaxon was covered in grease and grime as he normally was after any considerable stretch of time in the garage. “I take it everything happened without a hitch?” the bronze stallion asked. “It was like you said. Stop by; drop off the paperwork and leave. Fudge Swirl sends her regards.” Klaxon raised a brow. “For what? Getting a few old doors working again and fixing the wiring in that old building?” “I guess?” Falcon Wing replied with a shrug. Klaxon cocked his head and turned to walk back into the garage. He mumbled something to himself. By time his tail had disappeared beyond the door, all Falcon heard was him scoffing, “Mares.” With that, Klaxon reached out and pulled the door shut once more. Falcon grunted to himself. Klaxon had his own eccentricities to deal with. Thinking no more of it, the young pony spread his metal wings and flew upstairs, swerving around the landing and gliding down the hallway a few yards. He passed two doors and touched down on his hooves in front of the third. He pressed an ear against it and said, “Alana?” He did not get a response, but heard the rhythmic breathing of a still-sleeping pony. Falcon then carefully opened the door and slipped into the room. There he saw Alana sleeping on the bed, sprawled out across it. The sheets were well unmade, wrapping around the sleeping pony in a few places where she had rolled over a few times. “Mares, indeed, Klax.” On light hooves, Falcon made his way over to the bedside and left a kiss on her forehead. Somehow she was able to save his unconscious hide from Dodge City without making a bad situation even worse, even after having to shoot one of the townsfolk. Falcon afforded himself a small smile, a small comfort after hearing the story of the jailed stallion. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Alana, in her sleeping state, mimicked him. She started smiling and then inhaled deeply, wrapping her forelegs around the red pony’s head and neck. Before he knew what happened he was face to face with her –though he was upside down relative to the caramel mare— being aggressively nuzzled. End