//------------------------------// // Act 3- Chapter 9: Over Easy // Story: Icon: Remnants of the North // by Vixavior //------------------------------// Over Easy Proofread by TehSporkBandit The paper had been laid out on the table by the time you woke up, without any indication of how it got there. It was probably Applejack, or maybe a restless Rainbow Dash, so it wasn’t some great mystery. Now you just stare at the headlines and sigh as you place a hand on your brow. The top story: the collapse of the Lion's Gate bridge. Deep lines of consternation etch wrinkles on your forehead and your eyes even felt puffy. “Absolutely fantastic." The whole fiasco was officially blamed on inclement weather. Apparently, a freak winter lightning storm produced a stray bolt that sheared off pier three’s support spar and caused a massive structural failure. Of course, why not? What would they know? After all, who else would suspect otherwise? There had been no other spectators out there at that time of night. But that wasn’t the reason why you browsed that morning’s newspaper in stony silence. The rest was talking about the usual subjects but in even more deep-seated rhetoric: an appearance by the Unicorn Slasher at Riverview, a deadly Pegasi conspiracy in aiding him, the silence of the Princesses, the deadly winter, and who was to blame. Interviews from the weather teams, name-calling, hoof-waving, and a hefty dose of impossible promises to fix everything were printed on page after page of the Vanhoover Globe Trotter. Something’s wrong. Iblis was going through our packs back at the Castle of Two Sisters and he took Rarity’s business card. If he was scouting around for Unicorns, then why did they take Rarity? Her business card’s a dead giveaway. Hopefully he’s too stupid to figure it out. Sadly, something inside tells you that the malicious, bright-eyed grin was anything but unintelligent. Still, there is a chance he doesn’t know and Rarity will be safe. At least for the time being. You’d never expected that she’d actually get out of your sight, let alone abducted. That complicated matters tremendously. “Rightly!" A chipper voice breaks your rumination. “Hmm, Pinkie?" She had kept her cheerful demeanour but even then you were certain it was a façade. The night before Pinkie had been cold, and not just physically. She hadn't spoken with any enthusiasm at all. It was like she was defleted, limp, ashen; everything seemed to 'drop' at the end of every sentence and it couldn't be picked back up. “Maybe pancakes, ‘cause they have to go up when you flip them. Hmm, what else, expectations are up and so am I, and you to! So, whaddaya feel like eating for breakfast? Wanna' help?" The bouncing mare skids to a stop in the middle of the kitchen. Ok, it’s probably a facade. “I guess oatmeal is fine.” You reply with an irritable sigh and heave yourself up from that lazy slouch in the short, uncomfortable chair. “We can add in some slivered fruit, hmm, nuts, then some toast, eggs, tea." It is a quick mental run through of some stereotypical breakfast as you make your way towards the primitive fridge, but it was too early to think creatively. “Well, Rainbow doesn't like eggs a whole lot, but the rest is fine. OoOoo, how about an oatmeal omelet? Double breakfast." Her springing step brings her close enough to peer under your arm at the ice box fridge as if you've already said 'yes'. The thought of a runny chartreuse mass studded with a slurry of grey and black mush topped with burnt toast was anything but appealing. “I… don't think that it's going to work, Pinkie.” “It's just food, it can't work. Don't worry, it means your job won't be taken by a plate of pasta with noodly whatsits. See, tooootally safe.” I'm not sure how to respond to that. “Huh?" Well that will have to do. “Oatmeal omelets, keep up! You'll need to beat the eggs, I'll get the salt. You know, special occasion and all." She taps the side of the ice box with her hooves in a clear imitation of a snap, the 'angry' or at least mock frown of disapproval crosses her muzzle. Her curly mane is a give-away though, and that gives you a bit of motivation. The bright blue spark of life circling within those almost mystic orbs coaxes an unsolicited smile onto your lips. Pinkie seems sure, so that’s something. “Pinkie,” you ask calmly while she fetches a carton of eggs, “where are AJ, Dash, and Fluttershy?" It is fairly early, but there is no sound from the stairwell or the upstairs walkway. Even so, you can hear a quiet tap of hooves when you strain your ears. “Upstairs." She pops open a bottle of milk and carefully cracks a few eggs. “Sleeping?" You quirk a brow and keep your eye on the mare, though slowly you press your foot on the bellows, keeping the wood-fired stove alive. The cinders crackle and burst back to their warm lambent glow as the question hangs in the air. “Nuh-uh." You oblivious, tight-lipped, scruffy looking nerfherder! “Doing what?" You tap your foot and lean on the counter while waiting for an answer. “Plotting." Even for Pinkie that might be a touch forward. Pinkie blithely goes about pouring the eggs into a mixing bowl, adding milk, and fetching various vegetables from the pack left next to the ice box, “Ever noticed how-” “Plotting how to get Rarity and Twilight back while we’re down here?" You cut her off, knowing she'll just prattle on endlessly unless you do. “Yep. Hey, you're pretty good at guessing games. See, they said they had an idea, and then they sent me down here for breakfast. Anyway, what do you think my favour-” “And they told you to help and keep me busy?!" It’s their scheme that failed last time, it’s their fault that they ran off and left you to do nothing. You had no control over them taking Rarity and now they are actively excluding you from decisions? You indignantly clutch the pan and slam the metal skillet down on the stovetop, much to Pinkie’s evident surprise. She blinks in wide-eyed confusion, “No. They just sent me down here and I wanted somepony to talk to too. That’s all." Her hair seems to deflate thanks to her slumped shoulders and downcast stare. You let your hand ease from the skillet and sigh in resignation while gently massaging your brow. Why can't it be easy to get indignant around them? After a few moment’s of thought spent watching the sullen Pinkie Pie, you grab some butter to grease the pans and sidle up next to her. “Biscuits would be nice, too, Granny Smith taught me how to make really good plain buttermilk ones." The apologetic smile and gentle pat of Pinkie's curly mane is returned via a bright grin and a little nuzzle under your arm. It is still irritating that they didn't send for you, but if Pinkie actually wanted or needed something then you are hardly in a position to refuse. Those three mares generally knew what they were doing, despite the previous disaster, and you were left hoping they'd keep you in the loop when it mattered. “You know,” you carefully begin while watching Pinkie scrape and stir the unappetizing mixture, “we will get them back. I'm sure that the others have thought up a perfect plan. Just a matter of getting back outside, on the road, and finding a new trap. We'll have Twilight and Rarity back before you know it. And when they're back, you'll have to invent a new game to celebrate the occasion, along with all the right party bits, bobs, and play Sit a Boot." A smirk pulls itself over your lips with a less than subtle twist in its corners. She hums and happily asks, “What's ‘Sit a boot’?” “Why it's a-boot fun, of course." You smirk as she mentally turns it over. She giggles, snorts, and really seems to have no consideration for the 'stately' manners of others. Not that she could care less about that and not like you could either for that matter. It takes nigh on fifteen seconds for her to steady herself as the mirthful trilling laughter rings to the rafters. “That was either really great… or really terrible." She mops an imaginary tear from her eye with the back of her hoof. “Thanks, you know, despite the fact you have aaaaalmost no expression with that sour, pinchy face and all-” “A ‘pinchy face’?" You scrunch up your nose at the remark. Her head bobs up and down like it will fall off, “Oh, yes, veeery pinchy. Like a crab. It just kinda all sits there, small and close together." She purses her lips severely, wrinkles her nose and closes her eyes to faint slits. Is that how I look to them!? “It takes a maaaasterful eye like mine,” she stares at you through one eye, craning her face right up against yours, “to spot the differences in mood and attitude." Pinkie beams again and goes back to stirring the awful looking mix with a trailing lilt of a song. “Huh." You get a distinct impression that you look like the caricature to a pony. Coming from anypony else that might well be an insult, but the patented Pinkie-Punch variety of honesty is usually harmless. “Hey, Rightly?" Pinkie chirps again. “Yeah?” “We're friends, right?" You stop to look at her after that one. A pair of bright sapphire eyes stare right back at you. “Yes?" It feels like a trick, a very dirty trick. It was the kind of trick that Pinkie would think up, or Rarity for that matter. “Oh, good!" She taps the wooden spoon on the edge of the bowl as she pours the mixture to fill the bottom of the two metal skillets. There's no further explanation or forthcoming continuance. “Whyyyy?" The unease is still settling in the pit of your stomach. That was a mistake, I was in the clear! “Well, I just wanted to know. We say it a fair bit to you and you say 'yes' or things like that, but you've never actually said it back." That has to be a faux-pas. With a sigh you nod, remembering to do that. “Alright, Pinkie, for you, I'll try to say it more often." You resolve that much which certainly helps. “You are my friend, Pinkie, thanks a lot for everything you do and everything you are.” It’s hard to tell if she's satisfied by that. “Oh, well, I know, I asked. After all, I have an eye for that sort of stuff and everypony’s my friend." She smiles and probably misses it, “I just want to make sure everypony else knows. Hey, ya’ mind tending these omelets while I mix up some more?” “Then I will tell them, and yeah, sure I will." The sizzling scent of melted butter and cooking eggs fills your nostrils, “Alright, where’s the spatula?" You mutter to yourself and set about staring at the rather abhorrent looking mixture. “Oh, you won't need it. Just flip it up like a pancake!” “Is that even an omelet? Won't that be, you know, messy?" She just bats her eyelashes and smiles before cracking open a few more eggs. Why did she seem totally fine with not answering? “Hey, Rightly?" She seems to counter without an actual answer. You sigh again at her verbal barrage, “Yes, Pinkie?" “Do you like Applejack?" The skillet handle momentarily slips from your fingers as you rapidly flutter your eyelashes and try to comprehend what in Equestria she means. “Do you want to, you know, clarify that?" Oh, please don't say or ask anything weird. I got enough of that from Rarity. “Hmm, I guess I could.” She cracks another egg, seemingly in thought, shifting the contents between two shells, before pouring it in a cup. It is a full twenty seconds before she pipes up, “Hmm, there, clarified. Anyway, do you like Applejack? If you haven't said anything to her then maybe you should. She does appreciate honesty.” The clacking sound of a spoon beating egg whites continues. You just stare, now more hopelessly bewildered than before. I’m being backed into the corner by Pinkie Pie?! How does that work, even Rarity was more covert than this! You take that question back, Pinkie Pie, right now! Oh, god, am I being obvious about something, did AJ get the wrong idea? Was I actually blushing when Rarity asked that one time or not?! “I, uhh, hadn't really thought much on that." You lie through your teeth and stare at the edge of the pan as a single water droplet fizzles out of existence. “Dont'cha think you better? I think Applejack needs to hear she has friends right now." She was happy, adamant, how is she calm when you are practically sweating at something aside from the stove temperature. A sudden spark of understanding hits you. “Wait-wait-wait… are you asking me if I like AJ as a friend because she needs reassurance after Rarity and Twilight were taken away. So you just want to ask me if I would tell AJ that she was my friend, all so she recognizes she hasn’t lost everyone else here… because I haven’t said it and that might shake her up or something?” “Everypony else, but yep.” Whether deadpan or theatrical, Pinkie didn't look at the question any differently. I’m not sure if I hate you right now or not. That is a faux-pas Pinkie, not that you’d care. Do me a favour and never ever ask me a question like that again. Please? Pinkie hums and continues, “Hey, Rightly?” “What?!” You grind your teeth as you smell something starting to burn. “Don't you think you better turn the omelets?” ... That’s it, I hate you. ♣ Six omelettes, twelve slices of toast, one pot of tea and four bowls of musli later, you find yourself trudging up the stairs to the unofficial meeting room. It just so happens that the unofficial meeting room is also Rarity’s old quarters, which gives you a moment’s pause. With your hands full carrying the large tray, all you can think to do is tap the door with your foot. “Breakfast’s ready.” A light scramble and a few mumbled voices greet the proclamation before the heavy oak door swings open. The room is in a sorry state of disarray; tattered scrolls and aged maps are scattered to and fro with the once tidy rows of artistic pastel pencils strewn about like discarded matchsticks. Several makeshift paperweight tomes hold down the curling edges of parchments and larger maps that aren’t tacked on the wooden wall with cutlery. That's all disregarding the empty tankards laying on their side, the crumpled notes and crumb filled sachets of parchment paper somepony had smuggled in under your nose. A lantern swings overhead while wax drips down from candelabras onto yellowed maps marked 'Equestrian Weather Survey'. The dilapidated room almost matches the trio of ponies within it. Fluttershy tries to flash you a smile, “T-thank you. You shouldn’t have…” she trails off and downturns her red rimmed eyes before pulling the pink veil-like mane in front of her face. A weighty pall of discomfort hovers over the room like a thundercloud and nopony wants to talk about it. Rainbow Dash looks frazzled and worn; her mane is a rat’s nest of unruly strands, dark blotches hang under her eyes, and her head hangs low. But the worst of the three is Applejack. She looks out the window into the darkness, sitting on the far side of the room with her back to the door and her hat resting beside her. “Yeah, it’s a bit different, but Pinkie said it should be good. Um.” You look around for some place to put the large wooden tray, but almost every conceivable surface is cluttered with bags, maps, books, or bundles. “Yeah, just bring it in and set it down." Rainbow absently waggles her hoof near the bedside table that is covered with Applejack’s personal effects: a framed photo, ribbons, a dog whistle, and a small velveteen pouch. Besides, it is butted against the wall and only half the size of the tray which says Rainbow hasn’t even paid you the courtesy of a glance. You make do with sweeping a spot clean on the bed. It knocks several bags clear and strips off some of the tangled sheets, but it’s still a small space. “AJ?” The farmpony flicks an ear and nothing more. You gingerly sit and settle an arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you okay’ is both callous and obvious, so you make do with, “How worried should I be for you right now?” She inclines her head for the first time, looking up at the ceiling instead of at the floor. Her verdant eyes sparkle with a glossy sheen as they hold back tears. Her muzzle twitches and quivers as she bites her lower lip, holding back the surging tide of despair. “Ah’ll be fine.” Her shaking voice holds back a terseness that doesn’t suit her. “You sure?” “Yup.” She swallows and keeps her gaze focused on the rafters. “Hey,” you conjure up Pinkie’s advice and give her a gentle squeeze, “it’s okay to say whatever’s on your mind, AJ. You’re my friend, I’m yours. So It’s only natural to look out for each other. Stuff’ll go wrong but I know I can count on you no matter what happens. Things’ll turn out okay. You’ll see, you’ll see.” That confidence isn’t shared immediately, but a yellow hoof settles on Applejack’s shoulder in addition to your own. Fluttershy remains quiet but the pat and just her presence is enveloping like a blanket despite whatever happened before you entered that room. Applejack sniffs and clears her throat after a few long moments. “Things’ll turn out okay, huh?” Her lackluster and nonconfident voice says it all. “Reminds me of something Mah said a long, long time ago.” For a moment, it sounds like she is going to say something, but nothing comes out. “Do you want to talk about it?” You prompt her. She shakes her head, “Nope. Something just fer me, Apple Bloom, and Big Mac. Just… ah just need a bit’a time ta’ think, that's all.” She still doesn’t sound certain, but looking up into your eyes, it’s plain to see the worst was over. Sshe purses her lips and nods to say ‘it’s okay’. Or at least, it will be in time. There is still something swirling inside those bright radiant pools, but for the life of you, you can’t be certain what it is. A maelstrom remains beneath the becalmed surface. “So…” you try to start, but found nothing to say. “Whatcha’ got there?” Applejack queries, shifting to benal small talk. She stands and hops down from the bed, parting from your and Fluttershy's loose embrace to pad over to Rainbow. “Yeah, like I said ten minutes ago,” Dash states bluntly as if nothing had happened, “there’s maaaybe something here. I can’t be sure until I check it out, but it looks pretty solid.” “Wait, so you think you know where Ulf is?” With breakfast forgotten, you stride over to the table and poke your head over Rainbow Dash’s shoulder. The cocksure mare smirks and tosses her hair back as if asking for compliments, “Yeah, well, I said I’d find it. Really, it’s totally obvious when you think about it.” She crosses her hooves and nonchalantly leans on the table. That incorrigible smirk slowly crosses her muzzle, “Look, it's cold. Ponies are blaming the Pegasi for that, right?” “Right." You affirm, the newspaper had been fairly clear about that. “And the weather teams are saying they can't control it. It's simply getting too cold for most of them to work. That's why they're losing control. So, something else is controlling it or causing it." She pauses only for a second, ostensibly to make sure you are following, but she keeps glancing around as if looking for something. Plucking up a scarf in her teeth, she wraps the prismatic cloth band around her neck. “Cloud gremlins, get it?” It makes sense so far, but nothing seems new about it. “The Gremlins are to blame for the weather? Directly?” “Nah, they can't beat Pegasi. They just sorta, you know, influence things. Oh, sure, they can punch a bolt of lightning or two from a cloud, but they aren't weather ponies. They're just jerks. I’ve dealt with them before." She keeps wrapping everything up as you look over to the others to confirm the 'I' part of that statement. Fluttershy nods sagely and Applejack affirms it with a bob. “So-” “Which mean's that they stirring up trouble, anger, hatred, misery, you know, all their kind of stuff.” Rainbow is quick and unconcerned about cutting you off. Applejack mumbles, “They take to it like hogs to rotten apples.” You return to the tray to retrieve the warm tankard of hot honey laced tea and the strange pseudo-quiche before plodding over to serve the cowpony first. “You’re telling me that these things are like Changelings, just different." Twilight's lessons on the insidious shape-shifters and the dozens of signs and what-to-do procedures regarding them still hum in your brain. “Yes." Fluttershy nods and points her hoof back at Rainbow Dash, “Rainbow looked over the local weather reports and charts of the areas near Vanhoover and Tall Tale-” Rainbow picks up from Fluttershy, “Then I compared them to what it should be. Get it? We just find the centers of any cold-core weather systems that shouldn’t be there. You know, the places they find comfortable and ponies don’t.” “I don't get the connect-” “When ponies are sad, weather gets bad. Common sense." Rainbow's husky drone cuts you off for the second time. Though, you aren't sure 'common sense' can be applied to that situation. “Sure enough. I found one that's cold, really cold. It's the biggest spot I've found and the most out of place. And now that I know what I’m looking for, it’sgonna be a breeze to track." The sound of hoof-steps glibly skipping up the stairs reaches your ears. “It's like SAD." You mutter and nod. “How is it sad?! It's the best lead we've had so far! We know it's south, probably near Tall Tale!" Rainbow practically chokes as you wave your hand. Pinkie bounds in the doorway, taking an audible breath as if winding up. “No, I mean it's like SAD: seasonal affective disorder. Just it’s in reverse.” Pinkie just blinks and blurts out, “So, disorder affective seasonal?” “No, but I'm sure that's right in Prançais." You chirp with a smug grin that isn't reflected anywhere else in the room. “I mean the weather affects pon-people’s moods, here it's pony's moods affect the weather?" There is a slew of jokes that could apply, but at the same time if that is true then it’s slightly frightening. “Right,” chime the four ponies in harmony. “Alright. Then what are we waiting for?" Your question bounces around the room. “I'm looking through local wildlife books to make sure I know exactly what to look for and what to avoid in case there's danger." Fluttershy's voice seems eerily confident as she smiles and looks over full colour illustrations. “The lists are pretty much done. Ah'll make up a batch a’ easy-freezy pancakes. We can reheat 'em easy, get enough carbs in ya' ta keep ya goin’." The cowpony's reply isn't all that surprising. The declaration gets a joyful bounce from Pinkie, “Oh, oh, I'll help! We’ll eat a lot on the road, traveling to far-off exotic locals in the freezy-breezy north.” She seems far more like her old self after that little talk in the kitchen repaired the emotional chink in her armour. I'm still mad at you for putting those thoughts in my head. Pinkie trails off after Applejack, her retreating hoof-steps sounding like a typewriter. Rainbow looks the most antsy of the group as she bundles up in her plethora of scarves and cold-weather vestments. “I'm gonna' head out and see if the train's working. We can't have you freezing solid. Then I'm gonna' scope out the station." Her dastardly sneer and low mirthless chuckle couldn't have looked more sordid if she had a Snidely Whiplash moustache and was wringing her hooves together. “We’re sneaking aboard to avoid detection?" It is the logical reason, thus you have to be sure when it comes to Rainbow. “Yeah, duh. We can't have us all just waiting at the platform. So I'll take off." She dips her head to the plate once to take a mouthful of quiche before mumbling “‘Ater," through the mouthful of food. In moments all that's left is the guttering flame in a swinging lantern and the rustle of looseleaf parchment fluttering in every direction. “Rainbow…" Applejack's snort of irritation rolls from the stairwell with an accompanying growl. I hope she doesn't expect me to clean that up. "Rightly!" Damn