There were few things in the world that had made Septimus more upset than he was now. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this upset with a pony, at least not in this manner. He'd been angry of course, and recently. His boss was the perfect example for that truth. But how he felt now?
How do I feel right now?
Atop the rooftop he had been upon before. In fact, it was one of his favourite starting points to parkour. It was a tall building in the merchant's district, close to the markets. A day had passed since he'd broken his arm, and the night was cool. That said, the refreshing, calm air that normally kept him so sane didn't seem to be there. It just felt cold. Cold and uninviting. His arm was of no use to him at all, bound in a cast from upper to forearm, so parkour was out of the question.
Strange... that something so simple would dominate so much of my life.
And it was true. Almost every night, he'd run through the streets of the great city of Canterlot. He couldn't remember the last time he spent a night without his nightly run. Routine. It was Routine that had kept him sane at his job, in his life. And now, it'd been turned upside down. No job, broken arm, soon to have no place to stay. It's not like he had anywhere to go, and he'd be damned if he went back to his parents. No, he left to get away from that, and them. No way was he going back.
"The stars hold no comfort anymore," he muttered quietly, standing up laboriously. It'd been his right arm broken, which was his dominant arm. Already things had seemed more difficult. His ability to even write his own name had been affected, and that pissed him off enough. The looks he'd received from his flatmates made it even worse. The next thing he'd found that hadn't made him feel any better about himself was the difficulty he now had simply dressing himself. As a result, he'd ended up leaving without putting a shirt on. It simply hurt him too much.
That's not to say he went out without cover. As he stood, he picked up a blanket he'd brought with him and wrapped it around his shoulders gingerly. it was a simple plain black affair made of synthesised vole fur. A curious item he'd obtained from his parents years ago. The only thing he'd gotten from them that was useful, now that he thought about it.He hadn't brought his bag as he normally would, so he left without it, and now he missed the feeling of its weight on his back.
Seven months he'd been visiting Luna. At least twice a week she'd had him up at the castle with her. His sleep schedule wasn't really bothered though. He only slept for a few hours at a time anyway. And now? Now she just threw him away.
Commoner she'd called him. He supposed he deserved that remark. He hadn't exactly taken it easy on her either.
Know your place
Unhand your princess!
All of that hit hard. From Commoner to knowing his place. But as he remembered that night, he remembered the look in her eyes as she'd thrown him across the room and reminded him of what he was, of who he was, the look in her eye as he'd stood back up. The lack of empathy, sympathy.
The lack of concern.
I know my place. My place is in the slums. My place is in a house without a roof, floors or a fuckin' walls to keep away the wind.
His face was like thunder as he passed the sleeping receptionist, reclined with his legs up on the desk, and it vaguely occurred to Septimus he should wake him up, but it vanished as fast as it appeared.
I'm nobody! A depressed freak with a girly coat and unfulfilled dreams, a failure!
He tasted blood as, when he clenched his jaw, he accidentally bit his tongue too hard.
Worse still, those who live off unemployment schemes until their stupid music career that'll never kick off gets started.
By this time, there was crescent shaped cuts on his palm from his nails slicing into his palm.
You took what was wrong and beat it into submission
Another reason to hate himself, he supposed. Now he was a criminal. No doubt Luna wouldn't simply let him go without having the last word. If there was one thing he'd learned about her, it was she loved winning, and if she can't win, to have the last anything. The last frag in HALO, last kill in Call of Duty, Last win in Guitar Hero, even the last shot off in virtually any driving game they'd ever played. The only pony he'd never seen her insist on the last word upon was her sister, and to that he largely couldn't blame her.
"There he is! Arc, get your ass over here!"
Septimus' ears perked up and he turned his head towards the new noise. Watching him from across the way was a pegasus mare, her hand on the haft on some sort of weapon holstered on her back. He froze, hand still holding the blanket around his torso. She was clad in golden armour. Unusual, but not impossible in the night watch. Stumbling out of the darkness a moment later was a thin guard, no wings on his back, and no weapon sheathed or holstered anywhere.
Probably a unicorn then Sep reasoned to himself.
"Hey, you!" The female called out, "Are you Septimus? Worked at a small time club for an asshole?"
The unicorn, Arc, stretched his back out and sighed. At least, Sep thought he sighed, it was difficult to tell.
"Septimus," Arc's voice called, "By the order of Princess Celestia, Princess of Equestria and Mistress of the Sun, you're under arrest for public disturbances."
Septimus didn't reply, but his eyes did narrow. Now he knew that Celestia was looking for him, and to arrest him no less. Was there no justice in life? No fairness?
"I suppose it doesn't matter now," he grumbled to himself. He considered his broken arm for a moment. Then his narrowed eyes morphed into a dark frown.
"He's gunna run," He heard the mare say quietly, a note of what was certainly eagerness prevalent. The other guard said something, but Septimus didn't bother listening.
I'm going to regret leaving this behind.
He dropped the blanket and was at a dead run before it hit the ground. He heard the sound of spreading wings behind him, but didn't look behind him. With a quick prayer to whatever gods were stupid enough to watch over him, he vaulted over a trash can that was a little too close to the middle of the sidewalk. He didn't hear the sound of anypony else jumping, which told him he was definitely being pursued by the mare.
And she was probably gaining.
Alright then... lets bring her down to my level.
With a sharp turn, Septimus fled down a narrow alley, much too narrow for the wide wings of a pegasus. He heard a muffled curse from behind him and almost smiled. He jumped a bag of trash, looking ahead, and his heart fell. There was a sheer wall at the end of the alley. He could hear her metal boots echoing off the pavement.
And something whistling.
On sudden impulse, he dropped into a roll just in time to avoid a rather large and lethal projectile. When he hit his feet again, his eyes widened and he almost faltered, but regained his footing quickly. Sticking out of the wall at the rapidly approaching end of the alley was a giant, broad bladed battle scythe.
"I'm coming for you pinky!" He heard from behind him, "Nowhere you can go now!"
"We'll see about that," he grumbled as an idea occurred to him. He didn't have much time. He jumped left, kicking off the wall to jump to the next, then kicking off that again to gain a bit more height. He looked forward and, in the microseconds it takes for the brain to comprehend it's position, the world seemed to slow down. He felt the harsh bricks under his fingers, the wind that had hit his face as he'd jumped. He could hear the clapping steps of metal on cement, and he could see the broad blade of the scythe sticking out of the stone wall. Dimly, he heard her shouting something, but he made the jump. His knee lashed out, kicking him off the wall and forward, headed straight for the wall. His arms extended for balance, his legs forward too, bracing for the next impact.
And with an unholy screech, he landed on the blunt end of the blade of the only weapon sticking out of the wall, and used it to vault over the wall. He landed lightly upon his feet on the other side with an explosive exhale and, for a moment, he felt triumphant. Then the sweat on his body was hit by a smack of night air and he was reminded very rudely that he didn't have a shirt on, and he just vaulted over a wall using a scythe that was hurled at him.
He heard someone being scolded behind the wall, and the tip of the blade was pulled from the wall, but he was already walking away.
He needed to find somewhere to stay, and somehow to stay warm.
This is not going to be a good night.