The Bad Apple Chronicles

by Gabriel LaVedier


Perfect

The caramel stallion trotted through the central area of Equestria with a spring in his step. It had been many a year on the rivers, on the seas, on the land. And it was wearing on him, being so nomadic. He had heard of a nice little picture-postcard-perfect town in the middle of the most somewhere of nowhere. It wasn't very big as far as those sorts of things went, and it wasn't very well known. But he had heard a lot about the attempt to drum up tourist business. It had been ages since he had been to a country town of actual beauty, not since he had been forced to leave Pericarp and never return. If it worked out well, he could abandon his plans to keep traveling, and settle down in a place he could nostaligize to recapture his past. He could even leave off his plans to sneak his way into the Grand Galloping Gala.
As he approached the town from the river-side he started to pass unobtrusive but unmistakable commercial signs painted in cheery colors with beautiful lettering. Cherrywood Acres. A little slice of perfection. For all your vacation needs. The only destination you need. He chuckled softly and shook his head. It reeked of amateurish desperation, new management trying to turn things around on the strength of clean restrooms, inspection-passed restaurants and parks with new benches and old cantering trails. But it spoke well of the place. They were great, and wanted everypony to know it. At last, someplace worth a look, without ulterior motives.
The town came into view with a sudden, grand sweep. It looked… perfect. Clean cement sidewalks stood beside smooth, clean asphalt roads, all of them straight and well-planned. The small village was laid out in a clear grid, one large main street running north-south, a slightly narrower cross-street running east-west, and inside the village core, smaller, single-direction cross streets creating clean blocks of buildings. Streetlights were spaced at proper intervals, and street signs were at every intersection. Around the village, plenty of park space, including a large grove of cherry trees, to keep the name appropriate.
It was so rigidly designed and perfectly created it was almost ridiculous. But that was part of the appeal of the place. It was so clean, clear and easy to navigate that it looked the part of a village designed to be navigated by new arrivals. With all the flowers and trees planted around it was an ideal spot for walking and talking, savoring the beauty of the place. It was amazing how quickly such an ideal place had been created on top of an existing shell. With enough heavy equipment and dedication anything was possible.
There were a few local citizens out of doors and chatting peacefully, who gave friendly waves and nods to the new arrival. The stallion nodded pleasantly in return and gave a sweep of his pomade-shined mane, making sure his ruffled shirt was properly displayed under his black waistcoat and open black jacket. His flank was clear enough, showing off the red apple with a cut out wedge, revealing a sickly green interior. Good so far.
He trotted his way into the center of the town through the intuitive down design. As in most towns the center was a water feature. It was a fairly impressive fountain, understated but still looking nice, spewing water all around into a moat-like area. Atop the spewing column was the figure of a pony, looking faintly like Trotlas of Hipposian lore, except, he was standing tall, contra traditional depictions, almost seeming to be glaring down arrogantly upon the populace.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” While he was looking up at the statue, another stallion came up behind him, smiling broadly. He was a white unicorn stallion with parted golden mane, swept back in accordance with the modern fashion. On his flank was a river crossed by railroad tracks. He was dressed in a sharp charcoal-gray suit and was flashing a huge smile. “Hi there. Streamford Grade, Mayor of this fine, FINE little town. We’re always glad to have a new face around here. What’s your name, sir?”
“Bataud Carp, socialite dandy and professional traveler. I just LOVE finding new places that are lovely and telling ponies about them. And this place… this place looks perfect.”
Streamford’s eyes lit up on hearing the occupation of the new arrival, and he closed in with a huge grin. “Is that so? Well! Please sir, allow me to extol the properties and amenities of this wonderful town. Come with me sir, come with me!”
“My word! Is it always so friendly in this place?” Bataud followed along with the mayor as he led the new arrival along the streets of the clean and beautiful town, a mixture of loving spaces, hotels and businesses.
“Of course! Oh my good sir, you can tell all of your socialite friends that this place is the friendliest place on the face of Equestria. And as you can see, the cleanest, best-planned and most modern that has been created ever.”
“I see, I see. I know all sorts of ponies. They have many, many needs. For example, are there any gaming establishments in this place? Or at least places of entertainment like saloons and taverns and cabarets? Hopefully with late hours.”
“Entertainment? We have that! Plenty of it, in fact. We just finished up a local festival, and there’s a wonderful semi-formal ball coming soon. We DO have places of entertainment such as cabarets and gaming halls. Now, I recently lifted a curfew but I had to shut down the gambling wheel because it needed more magic-proofing to prevent cheaters.”
“So long as such things exist, I can assure you folk will be glad to hear that. I like the sound of this place already.” Bataud looked at a couple of old ponies sitting on a bench, who smiled quickly to the mayor and his charge. “You don’t happen to know of a good place to stay? Someplace middle-of-the-road, so I can assess the quality of the middling place to get some concept of what the upper and lower might be like.”
“Of course, mister Carp! We have a large number of affordable boarding places. Here, the Streamford Down. A little bit of honor for making this place nice.” Streamford smiled broadly and indicated a bland hotel front, looking fairly plain and regular. “Please, sir, seek me out if you need anything of me during your stay. I am always willing to help such an important fellow as yourself.”
“I will certainly remember that. Thank you much, mister mayor.” Bataud slid into the hotel and looked around. Nothing exciting. The floors were wood, the walls as well, bland water colors of fruit, knick-knack shelves, plain furniture. But for all its blandness, it was clean and well-tended. The mare behind the counter was a Pegasus, a light blue with a leafy green mane and a small collection of greenery and flowers on her flank. “Hello, sir. Welcome to the Streamford Down. Will you be staying?”
“Most certainly. I have been assured this is a wonderful place. Can you direct me to the gaming hall? I have some things to take care of.”
“Of course. It hasn’t been the same since they stopped the wheel but the card tables are open. It’s right across the way, under the sign of the Butterfly. I’ll sign out a room for you, mister..?”
“Bataud Carp. B-A-T-A-U-D C-A-R-P. Thank you very much miss..?”
"Rosemary. Rosemary Savor. I should have this set up and a key ready by the time you get back. May I take your pack?”
“No, thank you. I like to keep it close at hoof. Until then, miss Savor…”
“Rosemary.”
“Rosemary. Until then, I will be off.” With a nod of his head, Bataud trotted out of the hotel and across the well-tended street to the Butterfly.
The sign above was marked with a golden butterfly, while the door resembled a frontier design, after a fashion. Within, the place looked suspiciously like a saloon as might be found in Appleoosa: Dark-ish, wooden, everything low and slightly rough. But there was jaunty music coming from the player piano and nopony looked distressed.
Some of the tables were occupied by groups of ponies idly dealing out cards and passing bits around as they won and lost their games. Bataud simply sat down at a table containing another stallion and smiled. “Afternoon, friend. Can I interest you in a game?”
“Why of course, sir! I take it you are a visitor to our fair town.” The other stallion, a sable earth pony with a light cocoa mane, shuffled a deck and placed a bit pouch on the table.
"I am. For now. But soon? Who knows. I may choose to make this place a regular vacation destination." The caramel stallion sat down and took out his own bit pouch.
"An excellent choice, sir! A very excellent choice! We can always use new regulars, being that we're so new and want to grow." The other stallion distributed the cards and dropped a bit in the middle of the table.
Bataud laid out his ante and checked on his cards. A fine suite of varied garbage. He laid out another bit and nodded as his tablemate matched him. “I’ll have two. So, what do you think of the place, honestly? It does me no good to tell all my friends about the place if I can’t get the skinny from the folks here all the time.”
“Well sir, what can I say about the place that has not previously been said? We’re a very well-planned community, the streets are clean and safe, and the folks around here are perfectly friendly. It’s the ideal little Equestrian town.” The stallion slipped himself three cards and tossed two bits to the center of the table.
Bataud looked over his cards. A pair of threes. He tossed three bits into the center of the table. “Raise. Sounds lovely.”
His opponent was almost too eager to throw his cards down. “Fold. I’m not willing to take that risk.
A jittery player. No confidence, easily spooked. Not exactly the most entertaining player but easy to work on, good for bleeding out a few bits. “How fortunate for me, eh? Well, it cannot continue, of course.”
But it did continue. Through weak hands and strong hands, the winning was always on his side. He had minor setbacks, but only when he chose, when he folded with the advantage on his opponent, or bluffed a strong hand when he had nothing, but did not pull back at the last moment. He could not help but win.
“Well, sir! You’ve cleaned me! That was a good show. You must be an old hoof at this kind of thing.” The trounced stallion was all smiles, looking to Bataud with a kind of thoughtless joy, even in the midst of losing.
“I’ve play a game or three. But I must say, I have never felt so competent. Thank you for the entertainment.” Bataud rose, jangling pouch at his side, an insincere smile on his face. He left the Butterfly with a shake of his head, impacting rather heavily into another pony. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
“Hey! Watch out where you’re… oh. Sorry about that, sir. Uhh… entirely my fault. Should have been a bit more careful about where I was going.” The pony in question was a unicorn, an older gentlecolt with a gray body and white mane, a thin moustache on his lip. His cutie mark was a pair of interconnected gears. He was dressed in a black vest with a gold star attached to it, marked with the word “Chief.” His face had initially been one of annoyance, as could be expected from a stricken individual, but on seeing the identity of the one who had run into him he quickly changed to an expression of obsequiousness.
“No, no, entirely MY fault, Chief. Nothing for you to say about it. I really should learn to keep my eyes on the streets.” Bataud bowed to the stallion and looked around. “I must say, you do fine work, Chief…”
“Grind. Steady Grind. And I can’t take credit for this wonderful calm. No, this town is just… that is, this town is so perfect, so well-planned and so perfectly made that is just exudes perfection and keeps things in line. Why would they even need somepony like me? No, I’m just here to look nice with the rest of my cops…”
“Mister Grind…” From out of nowhere there appeared a very tall pony, wearing a sharp black suit coat and sunglasses, a earpiece in his right ear. He was a pure white Pegasus stallion, like the sort that would be right at home in the Royal Guard corps. “Are you bothering this fine visitor to our town with trivialities when you could be back at the station organizing some sort of team activity?”
“Ahh, no, no, he just complimented me about the peace and quiet of town.” The older stallion looked quite intimidated by the figure.
“Yes, thank you sir. Our constables exude quite the aura of protective influence. I’m sure you will enjoy your stay here, and I’m certain you will tell your friends about this place.” With a nod, and a subtle motion to Steady he walked away, Grind following in his wake, almost seeming to do a perp walk behind the Pegasus.
“Well now… Spooks in a vacation town? They can’t be after me. I never broke laws that high in the chain. Seen them around doing this and that. But why care about a nothing resort? This place is going to be quite interesting to be sure.”

- - -

Bataud spent the rest of his day wandering around the town, looking in on the knickknack shops and various restaurants. All manner of food from all corners of Equestria. He even had a light lunch of shahi paneer at a Ghora restaurant, which also served some of the most delicious chapattis he could ever remember eating. He not only remembered to say so, but left a generous tip. On leaving the restaurant he looked back to see another sharp-dressed stallion, this one an earth pony. Suit, sunglasses, earpiece.
It continued as he went. Every place he examined or entered got a visit from some Spook in a dark suit, all white fur and creepy ubiquity. None of the met ponies looked happy to see the figures. In point of fact they seemed genuinely terrified, or at least concerned by their presence.
It was late evening by the time he reached Streamford Down, the shadows stretching over the streets, every electric and gas light popping on with an almost-disturbing unity. The true terror was the sudden lighting of every building in synch with the external lights. There was not a single moment of hesitation. All on one signal, there was light.
“Good evening, mister Carp. May I show you to your room?” Rosemary was still behind the front desk, as though she had been frozen since his parting that morning.
“That would be lovely, I think I need to rest. It was kind of a big day.” He looked around the room, as though seeking another dark-suited stranger.
“Yes, our town is quite large and varied, isn’t it. Will you be ordering dinner in your room, sir, or will you be at the dining room?” The mare led him up the stairs beside the front desk and up the landing to the second floor with the actual rooms.
“I had a rather large lunch and I’m trying to watch my figure. It’s the ‘in’ thing for classy ponies now, after all. So, no dinner. I’ll just turn in early.”
“Oh…” The sound was almost disappointed, Rosemary’s face falling just slightly before it pulled back to the default happy position. “Well then, that will save the kitchen staff a bit of effort. Here is your room, number 101. Here is a key, if you need anything there is a speaking tube connected to the front desk. Just inform me and I will do what I can.” She handed over an ornate brass key with a tighter pull of her smile.
“Yes, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Bataud took the key then reached into his pouch. “Here you are. Thanks for the good work.” After passing along a few bits he opened up the door and slipped inside.
The inside of the room was standard for a middle-of-the-road hotel. The walls were plain but painted in two tones, some molding along the middle of the walls creating a stark dividing line. The room came equipped with a large armoire, a lower bureau with a large swiveling mirror over it, two large chairs and a bed. It was of a modest size with white sheets that seemed clean and fresh. There was also a closet in evidence and an attached bathroom. Very modern and welcoming.
The first thing he did was to casually stroll around, like any curious rube looking at all the lovely amenities he got. His practiced eye picked out every little scrape and scuffle, signs of moved furniture and shifted equipment. He even found a pinhole hidden in the ceiling, a glass coating showing the presence of a lens which could allow for either wide viewing of the room or specific focus if it was mobile. It would be trivial to guess the rest of the rooms were similarly equipped. It wasn’t paranoia if somepony was out to do something.
He got into bed fully dressed, with his pack held against his body, trying to make the curious action look as natural as possible. He did not look around like a dime-store shifty hood; he just slowly closed his eyes, looking around before the lids completely shut, when it would be harder to notice the action. Nopony was in his room, yet. But at any moment, they could well be watching.

- - -

Bataud awoke just before sunrise, in the same position in which he had fallen asleep. He could see some faint pulling on the sheets near the bottom of the bed, as though somepony had leaned on it. They had been there, looking in on him.
After a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up and re-pomade his mane he traipsed downstairs to find Rosemary back at her post, looking slightly tired but otherwise cheerful. “Good morning. Is there an a la carte breakfast or do I get a set meal?”
“Unfortunately, sir, we only offer a la carte for dinner. There is a set breakfast of granola, a croissant, cherry juice and toast with cherry jam. I hope that is acceptable.”
“Food is food. I’ll take it.”
After a swift breakfast, watched over by a smiling Rosemary, Bataud was off into town again, still with his pack. Before he left the hotel he turned to Rosemary and inquired, “Excuse me, can you tell me about the ponies in suits?”
“Suits, sir? I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. If you mean the shopkeepers they like to maintain a very respectable attire. It increases the level of formality and makes it a better experience for all concerned.”
Bataud nodded, a sincere-looking smile on his face. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure sure. Please ask if you need to know anything else.”
“I will indeed.” After the door closed behind him he muttered, “For all the good it will do me…”
He was right back in the Butterfly after leaving Streamford Down, looking for the stallion against whom he had played the other day. He was not there, his position at the table replaced by a grinning Pegasus with a powder blue coat and bright white mane. “Hello, sir. Care for a game?”
“Where…” Bataud started to ask about the stallion he recalled, but he saw the briefest flash of a white hide in the back room behind the bar. “…should I sit to get this started?”
“Anywhere you like, sir. It’s all about your comfort and preference.”
“Of course it is.” Bataud sat and the game began. This time he made every effort to lose, intentionally bluffing badly, leading with huge antes, throwing away good cards and in general giving every opportunity for his own failure, like a raw rookie. And no matter what he did, in the long game, he still won. He more than broke even, he started cutting into what the stallion had with him. Past a certain point it just felt entirely wrong. At that point the rose form the table.
“S-sir? Sir! Are you finished?” The Pegasus looked a little panicked by the sudden departure. “Did I do something wrong?”
Another flash of white, and the low mutter as a voice into an earpiece‘s speaker. “What? No! It was a great game! But I’m going to go stretch my legs. Exercise is good, right?”
The stallion sighed and smiled. “Of course, sir.”
Bataud strode out of the Butterfly and wended his way through the straight, clean streets of the town, waving mechanically to the ponies in their homes and stores who waved to him. He trotted calmly, evenly through the town, to the police station, which looked just as clean and perfect as the rest of the place. Inside he found a single mare, a bored-looking gray and white earth pony wearing an olive drab button-up shirt with a gold star clipped to it. As soon as she saw the arrival was a visitor she placed a huge smile on her face and chirped, “How may I be of assistance, sir? Do you require a map or have you misplaced an item?”
The caramel stallion glanced around the station, noting how clean and new everything looked. He had never seen a constable station so clean. No chips or divots, no broken edges or scuffed floors. Just the desk at the front, to the left, and an open room filled with desks that were completely empty. “I wish to report an incident. I believe I’m being unlawfully stalked.”
“Unlawfully stalked, you say? Impossible. Things like that just don’t happen in this town. We’re a peaceful, friendly community with no crime at all. There are no criminals in this town to do such a thing.”
Quis custodiet ipso custodes?” Bataud muttered to himself, fixing the officer with a hard stare. “How do you know there are no criminals in this town? They even have criminals of some stripe in Canterlot, of all places. So how could you say that this cheery little resort town is empty of criminals?”
“Because I said it is. What kind of perfect town would have criminals in it? You’re mistaken about whatever it is you think you saw out there.” Steady Grind stepped slowly from a back room, smiling as pleasantly as he could when the slight twitch in his face indicated he wanted to frown. “Constable Fine Grind, please take a break for coffee and donuts.”
“Yes daddy… I mean, chief…” Fine nodded pleasantly, her face unchanged from the artificial cheer, as she left her position and went to the back from where her father had come.
“Now sir…” The sweetness in Steady’s voice was saccharine, syrupy, an entirely artificial construct that did not belong in the older stallion’s vocal cords. “I realize that you are new in town, that you do not know how things work here, but I can assure you, there are no criminals in this town. I give you my word as an honest constable of great skill and experience. It’s why I was brought here.”
Bataud passed all comment, taking a different tack after a moment of consideration. “There was a stallion in the Butterfly yesterday. Nice colt. Black coat, cocoa mane. We played a game of cards and I won rather easily. He’s gone today. Replaced without a word. Where’d he go? What’s his name?”
Steady shifted, eyes flicking briefly to a space on the wall. Just the right kind of hidden spot for observation or a microphone. “I’m not sure what you mean. It’s not like the folks that play games at the Butterfly work there. They play games, come and go as they please. Just ordinary pony folks going about their regular business.”
“What’s his name?”
“What?”
“His name. He has to have a name. Everypony has a name.”
“I don’t know. How can you expect me to know the name of every pony in this town?”
“It’s a friendly town. Clean, crime-free, peaceful. Surely you at least know what they look like, are aware of what they do. You or your fellow constables. Maybe I can ask them. File a missing pony report and register my complaint about unlawful stalking.”
“No.” The reply was shockingly curt, dropping easily from the insincerely-smiling lips.
“Excuse me?”
“No… sir.” Disdain dripped from the cloying sweetness of the chief’s voice, his eyes showing the true emotion behind the friendly shell he placed on his body. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“Is that so? May I inquire as to why?”
“Because I can assure you there is no need. I don’t know what became of the stallion in question but I can assure you it was… nothing untoward. As for you being stalked well… have you considered it was an optical illusion?”
Bataud lifted his head, looking seriously at Steady. “What about the pony I saw you with yesterday? The suit. Did I imagine that too?”
Steady flinched, teeth grinding for a moment behind his perpetual smile. “Just a member of the Civic Pride Committee. They walk around town sprucing flowers and checking on shops to make sure we’re all upholding the high standards of this town.”
“Really? Well, that explains a lot. I guess I’ll just be on my way, then.” Bataud bowed politely, stepping out of the station and giving a long, slow stretch. While he was paused, he quickly glanced through one of the closing doors and saw a white coat and dark suit. Of course.
Though there seemed to be little point in wandering the town, he did it anyway. He had more of an idea of what was happening in town, but had nothing concrete. His hoof steps took him past a tourist map, which he studied with some interest. Stores were listed, as were hotels, restaurants, points of interest, and such things. What really stood out was what was missing. The police station was not listed. There was no mention of a hospital. And most striking of all, there didn’t appear to be a cemetery. No crime. No sickness. No death. That wasn’t perfect. That was impossible.
While wending his way around some of the less-promoted areas, he scented the distinct odor of hot washing water and bleach, along with the sudden rise in temperature and humidity, as though there was some industrial laundry around. The buildings all looked as bland and ordinary as they did in the rest of town, now seeming disturbingly ordinary, as though intending to be a kind of disarming camouflage.
The caramel stallion trotted along casually, looking around with a charmed smile on his face, while looking through the lowest windows and subtly sniffing the air to find the highest concentration of scent and humidity. He finally found it by a low bungalow, that appeared to be just another nicely-painted home. A look through the window into the basement showed a great deal of steam, several indeterminate machines and a few ponies trudging around. He even though he caught a glimpse of a very dark coat…
“Pardon me, sir, pardon. Are you lost?” A white unicorn strolled casually up along the sidewalk, dressed in a dark suit and sunglasses, with an earpiece very firmly placed in his ear.
“A little bit lost a little bit… curious. I’ve said how nice this place is, and it REALLY is. But I may even consider buying property here, making a second home of it. I was just checking around for likely spots off the beaten path, as it were.”
The suited stallion smiled, a practiced motion designed for photo ops with a curt nod of his head. “Very generous and admirable of you, sir. Permanent or semi-permanent residents of great class and style are always wanted. You ought to speak with the mayor about that.”
“You know, I think I just might. Where can I find him around this time?”
“City hall, sir. Please, allow me to direct you.” The inflection showed that it was not a suggestion, but a demand that was not open to refusal.
“That would be most kind and convenient. Thank you kindly. I still don’t know my way around.” A lie. The map was very informative. He could get anywhere. But to be proper, he fell into step behind the suited stallion.
The trip was silent, a farcical mummer show. There was no cheer in the two-pony-parade and both wore iron-hard masks of feigned ignorance, neither knowing if the other was aware of the counterfeit nature of the gentility expressed. It all ended in further silence before the doors of city hall, with a nod from the unicorn who departed into parts unknown.
The structure was grand and overly-embellished, certainly not keeping with the aesthetic of the town, though seemingly more in keeping with the aesthetic of the statue in the town center. It was a large marble building in Hipposian or Equusian style; it was hard to tell the difference, as Equusian tended to be Hipposian with the names changed and the serial numbers filed off. Useless columns stretched to “support” the architrave and it’s topping frieze, which depicted various, powerful equine figures performing feats of strength and science, some of whom seemed vaguely familiar, like characters from a book.
Inside the building the needless grandiosity continued, every modern touch and design convention was followed to the letter, from the shining chrome to deco touches to the wildly imaginative furniture designed. It made Bataud itch, giving him a most uncomfortable sense of déjà vu.
Even so, he still went to the mare behind the desk, giving what he could see a once-over. She was a unicorn, white-coated and black-maned, wearing small glasses, coiffed in a decades-old style that was still more modern than his own, and in attire just barely more forward-thought than his. She looked up and gave the same plastic smile that everypony else gave. “Welcome to city hall, sir. How may I help you?”
“Hello there, yes, I was just wondering if Mayor Grade is available for consultation. I have a very important business matter to discuss with him and I’d like to see him as soon as possible.”
The secretary shook her head firmly and responded, “I’m very, VERY sorry, sir, but Mayor Grade is often very busy and required appointments be made several-”
“Oh, miss Toothy, no need for such formality.” Mayor Grade appeared at the door to his office, beaming a beatific smile. “Mister Carp, please, come in. I am always happy to discuss matters of business.”
“It is quite kind of you to meet me like this, Mayor Grade, on such short notice and with no real idea of what I want.” Inside the office of the mayor the aggressively modern, deco design continued and flared to an almost-absurd level of individualistic aesthetic sensibilities. Very few things were conventional or recognizable, save for a few imported pieces from various near lands and large paintings of what looked like a mountainous region near Stalliongrad.
Mayor Grade waved a hoof as he sat down behind his grand desk, adjusting a small, decorative mounting plate at the center. “Never mistake my canny business sense for anything as base as altruism. I have very few personal rules for interaction, but I will not be mistaken for a giver.”
The uncomfortably familiar itch returned, and a kind of cold nausea worked through Bataud’s barrel. “Indeed, mister mayor. I understand completely. Reminds me of something I read in a book once.”
The mayor pointed across at a bookshelf filled with thick tomes, indicating several particularly oversized volumes near the middle. “I think I read the same one. Several times, in fact. It’s how I got where I am today. The self-made stallion who is concerned for his own will and mental effort.”
The cold sickness became a writhing blizzard, a chill that reached the heart and called forth memories of bodyguards and silver canes and thoughtlessly over-designed architecture. While Bataud’s body seethed with the emotional turmoil of the memories, his poker face remained unchanged. “I have similarly studied several works. Its situations and characters have been most informative and instructed me, giving me a model of behavior derived from following an antithesis of what was written.”
“Ahh yes, truly one of the underappreciated functions of the antagonist.”
“Yes, the antagonists… Mayor, as you know, business is a fast stallion’s game, and I am a VERY fast stallion. I have been here only two days and I can already tell this is my kind of place. I know it intimately.”
“Is that so, mister Carp? Well then, how may I be of assistance? What do you intend to do with this feeling of appreciation for my town?”
“Well, it is as I said to a stallion out there, I wish to purchase property in this town, a vacation home, something to use during the leisure seasons between working hard and developing the new world-moving systems.”
“A home! Purchasing a home for vacation purposes! Splendid!” The white stallion was up and around his desk in a flash, greed in his eyes and a broad smile on his lips. “You can see the wonderful bounty of our town and report it to all your friends!”
“My very intention. I am more dedicated than ever to the idea of telling everypony I can about this place.”
“Most splendid, sir!”
“I still have to make the decision, I have to spend longer than a few days. Maybe attend the ball you mentioned. But I can assure you, they will only move my appreciation forward and make me more eager to reside here.”
“Understandable, understandable. Men like us, we must think and consider carefully. We must be rational and wholly intellectual. But I will begin drawing up the essential paperwork, so they will be ready for you when you return again.”
“And believe me, mayor, I will be back soon.” Before he left, Bataud looked at the strange metal plate on the desk. “What is that?”
“Hmmm? Oh, this plate. One of my little innovations. The life of important ponies can be a fairly turbulent thing if the lower, uncreative creatures get agitated. This is the mounting-point for a personal defense firearm that uses gas power to launch a very particularly-designed projectile that can devastate an opponent. It’s only one at a time so far, but it works very well.”
Bataud nodded slowly and walked out of the room. “Very informative, mister mayor…” He spoke mostly to himself, slowly strolling past the front desk.
“Sir…” Miss Toothy waved a touch to get his attention. “Sir, have you chosen a place? The southern section of town is off the beaten track, as maps will show. I suggest you look down there for houses.” Her face twitched just a touch, an indication of something.
Bataud nodded, a smile and slight raise of his eyebrows answering the motion from Toothy. “I looked around down there. I saw something… promising. I would have looked closer but a member of the Civic Pride Community led me here to see about the proper process.”
“Well please, allow me to give you this card. You’ll know what you ought to do.” She passed along a card with the mayor’s information on the face. He could feel something exceptionally heavy behind it, in the shape of a cone with a very pointed tip.
“I know exactly what to do. Thank you, miss.” He tucked the card and cargo away with a smile, and trotted out of the building.

- - -

Back at Streamford Down, things were the same as ever. Rosemary was behind the counter, smiling brightly, while the lobby and dining areas sat empty and unused. “Good evening mister Carp. Will you be having dinner?”
“Indeed I will. I am quite famished. Please get me a menu.”
“Right away!” As Bataud took a seat at a table in the small dining area he was brought a small, cloth-bound menu by Rosemary. “I recommend the seven grain roast with the Hipposian yogurt-based sauce and dandelion side salad.”
After giving the menu a quick once-over he gave a nod and passed it over. “Sounds perfect. I’ll take it. And just a glass of apple juice.”
Rosemary dashed off swiftly into the kitchen, the door held open for just a moment. The inside was immaculate, occupied by three hungry-looking ponies in chef’s whites. They looked almost… tragically hopeful when the door opened. Should he trust a thin chef?
The meal came with amazing rapidity, decoratively shaped into seven small, separate shapes depicting each of the grains used in the making of the dish. The side salad was dressed with a hint of vinegar and oil, and tossed with petals. Even the juice was lightly carbonated, a very nice touch. He took up a knife to cut into the roast, when he saw a reflection in the polished silver, the smallest sliver of the front desk. Rosemary, speaking with a white-snouted individual. A small twist of the knife showed a trailing earpiece and dark glasses. It was almost enough to kill the appetite.
After the meal was finished, Bataud lightly patted his stomach, a smile on his face. “Quite delicious. A good choice on your part.”
“Thank you, mister carp. I like to think I have fair taste.” Rosemary motioned towards the front desk. “Will you be retiring for the evening?”
“I think so. I need to prepare myself for the ball that’s coming up. It’s tomorrow, if I recall correctly.”
“Indeed it is, sir. Please, allow me to accompany you to your room.”
“That’s not strictly necessary but it would be very gauche to refuse.” Bataud walked slowly away from the table, casting his gaze around for the suited pony. “So I’ve considered moving here part time.”
“That’s… excellent, mister Carp. Your own property. I assume you’ve seen the mayor.”
“Of course. I’m doing this right. But I still need to find a good location.”
“May I suggest the southern part of town?”
“I already looked in at it. The mayor’s secretary suggested it as well. But I had already seen property there that looked promising as far as such things went.”
Rosemary just nodded as they arrived at the room. “Here we are.” She hesitated a moment. “So… just so you are aware, this is a full-service residence facility. There are certain additional amenities you can have, for a modest fee. If you just ask for them.” She stepped out a front leg, and turned a bit to show some flank.
Bataud gave a slow nod, looking Rosemary up and down. “Just to know, how much would this additional service cost, in generic terms?”
She hesitated a moment before responding, “One hundred bits. Less for some things.”
He paused a moment. “And how much to NOT do that? Can I pay you to go quietly away and pretend it never happened?”
“Sir?”
“If anything were to go on, I’d prefer it be the result of a long string of activity, not just because of a business transaction.”
“Sir… The mayor believes very strongly that superior ponies enjoy… certain activities and will always seek to perform those activities at every opportunity to demonstrate superiority.”
“And I am guessing there are means by which the mayor could discover if one has or has not been engaging in such. Well, here…” He took out a few bits and passed them over to Rosemary. “Here’s a down payment. If I decide to stay I will finish payment and then use the funded services. Until then, good night.” With that, he closed the door to his hotel room, leaving Rosemary looking nervously around the landing.
Bataud was up bright and early the next day, groomed and pressed and ready for a formal occasion. Though his attire had not changed it looked fresh, clean and bright, dark as most of it was. Even his mane looked especially shiny. He was ready to question Rosemary but she was not at the front desk. A complete stranger was there, a young earth stallion with a pale blue coat and light turquoise mane and tail. “Wait a moment. Something seems different.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir. Nothing has changed, nothing of which I am aware.” The new desk clerk was all smiles, a slightly vacant look in his eyes.
“There just seems to be something different… It must be my imagination. I guess I’m excited by the prospect of a ball, and of moving here.”
“That must be it indeed, sir. Will you be having the set meal this morning?”
“Indeed I will. I want strength in my limbs for dancing and other forms of merrymaking at this little hootenanny that will be transpiring tonight.”
“Very good, sir. Please come along and you will be served.”
As Bataud followed the new clerk to the dining area he cast his eyes about. Just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there. They had had their fun. But that evening, it was his turn.

- - -

The to-do was being held in a large hall, one of the entertainment establishments that had been cleared, cleaned and decorated. The dance floor was occupied with residents dancing and stomping their hooves, while the bar and refreshment areas were similarly populated. The band was a collection of local citizens playing very lovely dancing tunes that moved between folk melodies, classical pieces and newer, experimental pieces. All were met with dancing hooves in equal fervor.
Bataud strolled into the dance and was met by a cheer from the assembled. He flashed his toothiest smile, nodding to whatever new ponies made eye contact. He still looked smashing, not the least reason being his boutonnière, which was a cunningly crafted silk flower, a blue bulb with blue stamen and blue leaves. It looked almost unnatural, yet was clearly based on a real plant, and could hardly be distinguished from a living thing despite being nothing but fabric and glue.
“Very bold and original, mister Carp! Tell me, is this something of your own creation? I applaud your modern sensibilities.” The mayor approached, all smiles, looking fine in a white tuxedo.
“No, no. I am ashamed to say I do not know anything about this flower, other than that such a thing exists. Not even its name. However, this silk representation was sent to me by a relative, because it makes quite an eye-catching accessory. I was skeptical at first, but now I see it is true. Most excellent.”
“I should say so. How do you find this little soiree so far? Quite a thing, is it not? Just imagine it when it is filled with these friends of yours that have been attracted to your new part-time home. That will be quite a sight, eh?”
“Yes yes! But, I have another matter to discuss, one that I have been meaning to broach for a short while.”
“Please, do continue. What is it?” Streamford leaned in curiously, ears turned fully forward.
“I was wondering if, before I make a more formal declaration, I be allowed to meet the Civic Pride Committee. After all, I have much civic pride. Or will, once this becomes a place which holds significant significance to me. And they DO keep everything looking nice. As I understand it they spruce flowers, clean smudges and in general tidy up loose threads.”
Streamford looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and motioning with his head. “Certainly. They’re all here, enjoying a bit of rest after all the work they do keeping the place spit and polish.”
The mayor led Bataud from the main area into a semi-secluded back room with dim lighting and a long table set with an opulent feast. Arranged around the table were twenty near-identical stallions. Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns, all pure white, wearing dark suits and sunglasses, though all lacked earpieces. They turned as one to look on the arrivals, their low, muttering conversation dying away to nothing.
On seeing the assembled, Bataud’s face grew into a huge smile. He immediately rushed up and started to shake hooves, pressing in close and occasionally tossing his silk flower about, only now and then touching the ponies at the table. “This is a great pleasure and an honor. You do such fine work. I have never seen a cleaner, better-tended or more beautiful community! I really think I have made the right choice in moving here.”
The ponies all looked nonplussed, unsure about what to think of the overly-friendly stallion. A quick glance at the mayor, and his scowl of disapproval at their lack of reciprocation, told them exactly what to do. They began to return the glad-hoofing and close contact, one of them even contacting, “You know, it’s wonderful to find a pony who appreciates what we do for the town.”
“Believe me, I know how hard you have to work to keep this place going. By the way…” Bataud took a sniff from his silk flower and then leaned in. “Have a smell. My relative treated it with the scent of the actual flower and it has a good persistence. I still don’t recall what it’s called, but it smells just lovely.”
Dutifully, all the stallions sniffed at the flower, nodding thoughtfully at its scent, a few sneezing afterwards. “Certainly is unique…” Was the only comment out of any of them.
“In any case, I didn’t mean to interrupt your private function. Enjoy your evening.” Still smiling, Bataud made his way back to the ball proper, leaving the stallions waving and nodding their heads. “Mister mayor, if I may take my leave, I should return to the ball.”
“Of course, mister Carp. And enjoy yourself!” Mayor Streamford remained in the back area with the members of the Civic Pride Committee. He never noticed that after mingling back in with the crowd, Bataud worked his way, via dancing and slow steps, out the door and into the night.”

- - -

The next morning Bataud awoke naked in his bathtub. The warm water from the night before had assumed room temperature, and made his body a bit pruney. But a quick dip of his head and an examination of his body met with his approval. He pulled his form out of the water and worked himself over thoroughly with several towels, two of them just to get his mane fully dry.
Those matters taken care of, he took the clothes from the previous night and threw them in the tub along with the silk flower. He then slid a hoof-full of pomade through his hair to set his style just as he liked it. Dry, coiffed and unfortunately nude, he made his way down the stairs with his pack on his back. That morning, no one was at the front desk, as he expected. He did not expect anypony to be at the hotel.
Just outside the door he encountered one of the white stallions, a unicorn, his attire ruffled and barely-on. His horn was swollen out to an uncomfortable level, red and faintly throbbing, every breeze seeming to make him wince. “What did you do to me? What is this?”
“Just a joke. I’d say I’m sorry for this next part, but we both know the truth.” That said, Bataud viciously slapped the unicorn across his swollen horn, tearing an unimaginably agonized scream from his throat, as the caramel stallion casually trotted on.
His gait was easy and even. No urgency in any part of his bearing. His good memory took him down the streets, along the streets to the police station. On his way there he found more white stallions, one of each type. The Pegasus’ wings had become shrunken into uselessness, flapping ineffectually at his sides; the earth pony was just barely able to move, his muscles so grossly oversized that he could hardly flex an inch without straining; and the unicorn was hardly able to lift his oversized head, his cranium inflated in size and leaving him almost ready to fall forward with each unsteady wobble. “How?” The Pegasus spoke for the three, anger and disbelief in his voice.
“Can’t take a joke, can you? Well, it’s hardly surprising. Prison guards have notoriously bad senses of humor.” Bataud broke into a quick run, calling on his earth pony genes to propel him suddenly into the Pegasus. He impacted the pony with a grunt and sent him tumbling down the street.
The stricken pony lay on the ground silently for a long moment, his fellows attempting to assist but attacking his attacker. But the earth pony could barely move fast enough to attempt an attack, while the unicorn toppled and wobbled with each attempt at activating his horn. The Pegasus at last made a sound, a pained laugh. “’Prison guards’? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No, you’re right.” Bataud passed the fallen pony, who did not bother trying to get up; without his wings he was just another Cloudsdale-standard fragile speedster, no match for an earth pony on the ground. “You’re slave overseers; a prison without walls, and slaves without chains. Except the monetary ones. Stay down. It should be easy. You slime should know how to heel for your Boss.” The last word was spit sharply, and actually made the scowling pony cringe.
He trotted on to the station, where there was a bit of a fracas, with loud screams and lots of thumping. Bursting through the door revealed the source of the commotion. Another of the white ponies, apparently an earth pony was frothing at the mouth, throwing his head around and fighting against the ropes binding him. When he turned, he revealed he was, in fact a unicorn. His horn had been repositioned on his body, and was emerging from his hindquarters. It was lit with a magical aura, but the force produced was randomly striking, completely uncontrolled.
“What in Celestia’s name is going on here? What happened?” The Chief, who had been in charge of the officers holding the raging stallion, turned quickly on Bataud. “I know this was your doing somehow!”
“Yes. So, are you going to thank me?”
“Thank you? THANK YOU?”
“You’re welcome.”
“This is…”
“I got them all. All twenty of them. They might not all be completely neutralized but everything they prided in themselves have been twisted around to make them weak and ineffectual. They’re not a threat anymore.”
Steady stopped in shock, looking at the raging stallion with a thoughtful expression. “Did you plan on this?”
“I planned something. The effects of Poison Joke are random, but always at least modestly discombobulating if not seriously debilitating, though not deadly. I though if I got them all, you could do something.”
“What? Me?”
“You and your constables. Now’s your chance.”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking of, mister. But I am a bare barrow; I’ve been put to pasture out here. It’s why Grade hired me. I was a month from retirement in Fillydelphia when I got the message. He wanted to hire me to play chief with pretend cops. They’re all legitimate, but we were never meant to do anything. It was always Grade’s design. We let the Civic Pride ponies do anything they wanted, they observed us and we played nice. In exchange we were supposed to put on a nice show for tourists and occasionally do team-building exercises and public service. And never ask questions about where ponies went.”
“South end of town, at least some of them. Industrial laundry facility. He might be importing from other places. I think I figured out how it works. No work, no pay. If a hotel customer doesn’t order dinner, the cooks don’t get paid. A player at any of the halls is wagering his own money, and HAS to lose. Anything for the customer. And absent money, the only thing to do is slave away for pittance in the laundry until he can go back. A vicious circle.”
Steady nodded his head slowly. “So what do you expect me to do about it?”
“Your job. I’ve been pinched by enough constables to know that no matter how grizzled and tired you get, you’re always a constable. Pastured or not, feeling neutered or not, you said it yourself. You’re all REAL constables. Now act like it. Throw him in a cell, working or not, jam it closed and at least let the folks out of the facility. And if you feel like locking up the rest of the Civic Pride idiots, that’s your business.”
Chief Steady tapped his hoof on the ground a few times before he turned sharply on his constables. “Get that bucking idiot into a cell and seal it up tight; I don’t need him blasting his way through. Constable Fine, get the equipment, dust it off and get everypony ready to bring the law.”
“Right daddy! … Chief. Chief.” Fine Grind saluted and dashed off, the other constables in the room drawing the struggling stallion along.
“I’ll lead you to the place if you don’t know where it’s at.
“The mayor was good about keeping us out of the look. And I was damn good at not caring. Kept my head down and my snout clean. Still got harassed by those Civic Pride jokers for my trouble.”
“Bullies are bullies. Just say when.”
It took a few minutes, but the small pack of constables returned in dusty but proper gear, including helmets and back-mounted rams with attached electric prods. “Lead on. We’ll… discuss things later.”
The streets were still clear, nopony daring to leave their homes or businesses, if there was any difference between the two. The Poison-Joke-stricken members of the Civic Pride Committee were either in hiding or too debilitated by the effects to stop the small cadre of constables, ten in number.
They made their way down into the southern part of town, into the neighborhoods that were perfectly made but empty shells. Bataud was going to mention the specific house that was the location of the forced labor facility of which he was aware, but the small ring of white ponies on the lawn was indication enough. They were a sad mix, including a Pegasus whose wings drooped like they were made of putty, a unicorn with their horn seemingly inverted, leaving a gaping but cornuted divot in his head, and an earth pony shriveled up to almost nothing, sticks and skin and barely more. “I think you can tell, but that’s the place.”
“I think we can handle this. Got anything else to do?”
“Head for city hall after you’re done here. I’ll either need medical aid or the mayor will need to be arrested. It seems like a good day to end this.”
“Right. Good luck. Alright, constables. These are the ones that made you a mockery of what you should have been. If you’ve got any shame left turn it into a drop of anger and apply just a dash of constabulary excessive force.” He tossed a helmet onto his head, slid down the facemask and took up a large truncheon in the grip of his magic. He charged the gathering of disadvantaged white stallions, who clearly were fighting as a last resort; exposed to justice they could rightly be afraid of harsh judgments and even the risky proposition of facing the citizens they had bullied and disadvantaged.
Assured the constables would triumph Bataud took to his hooves, galloping loudly down the street towards the overblown city hall, stopping only to spit on the statue at the center of town. The front doors, though closed, were unlocked as he found when he gave them a push.
Behind the door he found the secretary miss Toothy, apparently hiding from potential invaders behind her desk beside two white earth ponies, one of whom was trying not to show pain inflicted by incredibly-swollen eyeballs, while the other stood stiffly, his legs rigidly set. “I thought you locked that thing! You said you locked the door!”
“I-I was so flustered I must have forgotten! Go get him!” Toothy hunched down lower, her horn glowing lightly.
“You think this is funny, you bastard? My whole body is insufferably stiff. My WHOLE body. I’m gonna teach you- UGH!” The stiffened stallion got only that far before he was viciously smashed on the back of the head with a metal decoration, just enough to knock him out. The same happened to his big-eyed compatriot, leaving them both down for the time being.
“Hope I didn’t alarm you.” Toothy got up from behind the desk and walked towards Bataud, who was searching through his pack. “He locked his office but I have the key. You’ve got one chance to get to him, and maybe not even that.”
“Oh no, I’ve got more than one chance. Unlock the door.” He hid something in his hoof and set himself before the imposing double doors to the mayor’s office. The key levitated slowly into the hole, quietly, as to give no indication that it was being inserted. All of a sudden it turned, the lock clicking and the doors shoving inward.
The doors opening revealed a scene of chaos. The decorations had been toppled and arranged into what looked to be makeshift barriers between the door and the desk. Streamford was behind the desk, fumbling with something beneath. He popped his head up with a look of obvious shock, which changed to narrow-eyed anger. “You! What have you done? My town! My perfect town.” He brought up a complicated device of pipes and tubes, with a large gas cylinder attached to a blocky section. The device in view, he swiftly locked it do the plate on his desk.
“Did you think I did this without a plan!” Bataud showed off what was in his hoof. A conically-tipped piece of lead, with a long body that flared slightly at the base. And he ran as he showed, hampered by using only three legs but powering forward in any case.
“What?!” Using his horn Streamford lifted two hooks and opened the side of the blocky portion of the device. There, he saw an identical object, properly placed and ready for use. “You second-hoof…”
The delay had been sufficient. Bataud tossed the projectile, striking Streamford in the eye with the blunt end and following through with a vicious shove from his front right hoof, his rear hooves bucking out to crash into the machine. It flew off the anchoring plate in a shower of metal fragments and a cloudy hiss of escaping gas from the ruptured connecting tubes. “Just stay down and shut up for once.”
“My eye! Second-hoofing parasite! Altruist! Giver! Asexualist!” Streamford held a hoof over his eye, which had a thin trickle of blood running from it. He was writhing on the ground beneath the body of his attacker, horn wavering in its glow, unable to get a focused power burst thanks to the distraction of pain and the attempts at physical escape.
“You only wish those were insults to me. Now shut up. It’s over. As I did in Cereal Acres, I’m doing here.”
Streamford stopped, completely. Not even a little wiggle came from him as his good eye stared disbelievingly at the caramel stallion with the gleaming hair. “Bardacelsius Pomacious. The nanny-stater, the second-hoofer, the giver, the altruist. The true monster of all true objective businessponies. You destroyed the beauty that had been Grain Gulch. Dry Gulch became a bitless wretch because of you, all his assets stolen by the state. All thanks to you.”
Bataud brought his head in close, staring with an unwavering gaze into that one good eye. “And don’t think you will get away one bit better…”

- - -

“Just like you said, the water in your bathtub cleared up the Civic Pride ponies.” Hours later, following much confusion and chaos, things were settling down. Steady grind was having a conversation with Bataud, who was drying his clothing over a fire. “We’ve got them in manacles and horn-caps. We’re just waiting on the pegasi we sent out to the nearest community to send some higher-end constables for transport to a bigger prison.”
“And what about the mayor?” Bataud touched the jacket, nodding slowly. Nearly done.
“The FORMER mayor is manacled, capped, blindfolded and restrained in a cell. We’re sending him to a royal tribunal for all the serious violations around here. Turns out you were right. He was importing laundry and manufacturing projects from other areas and using poor ponies to do it. He paid them what HE said their work was worth, and docked pay for essentials. They needed the money and employment and were always “strongly encouraged” to never leave. Even when they made enough to get out of that place, they only made money as employees of Grade when they were working, timed down to the very minute, with punishments for intentional delays. No work, no pay. And if you didn’t project the aura of a happy town citizen…”
“A prison without bars, and slaves without chains.” Bataud slipped his clothing off the drying bar one piece at a time, getting each piece fully on and closed before putting on the next layer. “Seems like everything is fine here. Oh! Did you happen to find miss Rosemary out there?”
“Broke her out of the laundry facility. She was apparently put in there for failure to properly perform her duties, though she didn’t say much more than that. Says that she is rather interested in seeing you, to thank you.”
Bataud shouldered his pack and gave a long stretch. “Please extend my apologies. Tell her that our business is concluded. She can keep what was given, but I have opted not to stay.”
The chief nodded slowly, not understanding at all but determined to pass the word along. “So, just going to head off?”
“I have places to go. I actually made a detour I thought would be permanent. That was not the case.”
“It was a pleasure having you here. If you ever feel the need for a vacation, Cherrywood Acres is always here for you.” Chief Grind nodded politely and turned back towards the town.
Bataud extinguished the fire and directed his hooves in another direction entirely. With an even pace and a few long stops along the way he’d make it to Canterlot just in time for the Grand Galloping Gala. If he was very fortunate he might even be able to sneak into the thing. It could just be his lucky night.

The End