//------------------------------// // Chapter Two // Story: The Shadow of the Bat // by Elitist Scum //------------------------------// Chapter Two: Dust "Ay me! how hard to speak of it – that rude And rough and stubborn forest! the mere breath Of memory stirs the old fear in the blood;" - Tronte's Inferno Streetwise looked about the room nervously. Well, he always looked about rooms nervously. He just looked about this one more nervously than usual. The room was enormous, located in a hidden location, and painted entirely in black, for a few reasons; it served to remind the assembled ponies where they were and who had called them there. It also served to hide the one way windows hidden sporadically throughout the room. In the middle of the room sat a huge white marble conference table rimmed with cherry wood, with gold trim around the edges, and platinum inlay in the marble itself. Seated at said table were a veritable bric-a-brac of ponies. On one side sat the Istalian mafia, clad in suits and fedoras, their leader, Full Deck sitting still as stone. He was bereft of a hat, and a red rose stood out against the black coat he wore. "Can you say cliche..." Streetwise muttered from his seat near the head of the table. The Rushian mob sat alongside them, their leader, Raffle Ticket locked in a staring contest with the head of the Bloodwings, Redclaw. To their right sat the leader of the Stripes, S'haruz the chief zebra gang in Equestria and beside them sat the Minotaur drug cartel, the Diabolos of Mexicolt. Even one of the local Diamond Dog gangs sat at the table. Each one was dressed differently, creating an odd collage of criminality. The Istalians all had a sense of style and dignity about them coming from their aforementioned suits, while the Rushians wore...well, whatever wasn't moving that cost a lot of money and they could slap on themselves. The Stripes all sported suits, with gold rings around their necks and forelegs, the Bloodwings wore leather jackets with tick marks cut into them, and the Diamond Dogs all wore vests inlaid with jewels. The Minotaurs wore nothing, save for a golden nose ring that each of them sported. Up and down the table sat every prominent crime boss within a hundred miles, each one with their own retinue of guards, each one daring the other to do something stupid. Thankfully, none of them were stupid, and understood messing with the Tempestas in their territory was suicide. "Fear of force rather than force itself." Streetwise rambled under his breath as he looked to the watch on his foreleg. Boss should be entering anytime now. As if on cue, the doors leading into the conference room opened up and in walked the massive black unicorn himself, flanked by two guards. All the assembled riffraff silently rose from their seats in a show of respect. They may consider Obsidian cowardly for not engaging in the same practices as them, but they still feared him. Ever heard of the High Flyers gang? Exactly. The massive black unicorn took his seat and all the assembled ponies followed suit. "The reason I've called you all here tonight," Obsidian eyed everyone in the room, "is I want to know who's responsible for the death of the Apples." "And what proof do you have it was any of us?" Full Deck said, running his hoof through his mane. "We do not touch your territory." All hell hadn't broken loose. Maybe this was going to go well. No one in the room was going to admit to the murder of the two most important ponies in all of Ponyville. Streetwise knew that as well as Obsidian. The only reason he'd called them here was... Streetwise didn't know. Nor did it matter. He was the boss. He knew what he was doing. "We have been too involved in our own gang wars in Stalliongrad pony. You should ask the animals sitting across from us." The Bloodwing leader interjected, the barbs of his words bouncing off a particularly gaudy purple coat the Rushian leader was wearing. "These feather brains always love kill ponies. It would surprise me not in least if they order hit!" The Raffle Ticket responded, his over sized green sunglasses falling off his snout. And that's when all hell broke loose. From there, the room devolved into a playground filled with foals insulting each other, and the Diamond Dogs pulling their ears down past their chins, looks of pain splayed across their faces --- Spike held the tray in his claws as he ascended the stairs up to the upper levels. Even though he had been living in Apple Manor since roughly around Apple Cider's birth, the stairs never got easier. They weren't hard to go up, there were just so many of them. Oh well, every job has its hazards. At least stairs couldn't have psychotic breakdowns. It had only been two weeks since Macintosh and Rarity had died. Cider had been taking it fairly well, if sitting in his room and only coming out use the bathroom and eat, then he was taking it extremely well. Spike gently knocked on the door, pausing, waiting to hear a sound of life from within. No such sound came. Pushing open the door, Spike entered into the room. Apple Manor had been built after a large fire consumed the old Apple family homestead. Using new found money from the success Apple Enterprises, Big Mac had built a new home, far grander than the old homestead, "Why are do ponies do bad things?" He asked, his eyes begging for an answer. In all honesty, Spike didn't know. He remembered reading a book that covered the subject once, but it was really confusing. And old. And smelled like dust and paper. But this colt needed some form of solace. "Well, I don't think it's a matter of them being bad...I think it's more an issue of that they don't know any better." The colt fixed him with a questioning gaze. "But how could somepony not know that killing ponies is bad?" "Well," Spike did his best to remember the book. He remembered the book had been as big as him at the time. Twilight had kept it in a special place, given that it was a first edition copy. The book had been the... the... the... Summa Theohorsica? No matter. "I once read that we all have something called a conscience, and our conscience is the sum of everything we've learned, and it tells us what's right by our own standard." The questioning look had left his eyes, only to be replaced curiosity. "But then why have laws and police officers?" "Because not everyone's conscience is formed enough to know properly, what is right and what is wrong. That's why." The dragon answered, gently stroking Cider's mane. His hair had the exact same feel as his father's, and he wore it the same way too. He said, "For example; a pony with a bad conscience might think stealing is good, but say he betters his conscience, and learns stealing is bad. Then he should make recompense for his past offense." "B-but the p-pony who..." His ears splayed back, his face turned an unpleasant shade of white, and he look as though he might collapse then and there. Something happens. His posture straightens, the color returns, and his ears move to the sides. "He looked afraid." "Well sometimes," Spike dove head first into his memories, "sometimes we lose hope, and become afraid that we'll lose what we love, and we do things we're ashamed of. Things that only hurt other ponies." "I'll never be afraid." Cider said, lifting his head a little bit higher. Not exactly what I meant... "You should be afraid. Just never so afraid that you lose hope and fall into despair." Spike answered. "I've seen it happen to the best of ponies..." Both parties sat there silently, the forgotten soup steadily losing heat. An idea finally struck Spike. "Hey Apple Cider, want to hear a story or two?" "What kind of story?" "A lot of them." The dragon smiled. --- Streetwise rubbed the swiftly darkening spot on his eye where he'd been decked by one of the Rushians. Not surprisingly, the meeting had gone over as well as someone trying to get away with a crime at a detective convention. Surprisingly, neither the Stripes nor the Istalians had done anything. The Minotaurs just shared a couple smokes with the other non-combatants. The Bloodwings and Rushians had been too busy trying to kill each other, and the D-dogs had tried to literally dig their way out of the conference room. It was rather unfortunate about what happened to the conference table...although, the noise that griffin made had been quite funny... It had been a custom made three million bit table, hoof crafted in Zebrabwe. Street remembered picking it up some years ago for the boss, right after he'd started working with the Tempestas. "So what was the point of that boss?" the grey unicorn asked as he did his best to keep up with the larger unicorns stride. "Seems ta me like all that that accomplished was proving how many ways a D-dog can squeal in pain." He added sarcastically. "Oh, and what a two hundred pound slab of marble sounds like when it breaks." The midnight unicorn snorted, "It was actually quite productive." Streetwise just looked at his boss, shook his head, and resumed his attempts at keeping up with the pony. "Lemme drive tonight boss. For you to think that was productive, you must be on somethin strong." He said the two ponies exited the building and into the rain. Instantaneously, two bodyguards stepped forward with open umbrellas, shielding both of the unicorns from the rain pelting the earth. It was a quick trot to the waiting steam car. Marvelous inventions really. An entrepreneur by the name of Fancy Pants had invented the first one some ten years ago, and they had caught on like wildfire. Street hopped into his seat, started up the vehicle, and in a minute they were off. "That really was a productive meeting." Obsidian said from the opposite seat. "Didn't you see the sleep deprivation in the Minotaur leader, Longhorn's eyes? They've been dealing with tightened pressure on their operations. And the Stripes. Several of them were injured. The Bloodwings as you saw, are aggressive. They even said that they've been fighting other gangs. Also," The unicorn said, a small smile forming on his lips, "the Istalians are going to try something." "Ok, so chaos is still reigning. This is new how?" "None of them are capable of ordering a hit on any big official. Except for the Istalians. But they would never kill any members of the Apple family." "Uh, why not boss?" The grey unicorn asked as the vehicle stopped at one of the many street corners. "They have 'Frequent hit pony cards,' for Celestia's sake!" "Because their leader is indebted to the Apples. How, I won't say. They just are. And don't bother asking about the dogs. The D-dogs have been scared to death of Rarity Apple for years, and there's no way they'd try anything as ballsy as that." Obsidian replied. "And since it can only be assumed that the city is slipping through our hooves, we're going to step up Tempestas activity throughout our territory." "But, uh, boss... won't that just provoke the Istalians even more? I mean, things have been peaceful...well, it's like the 'peaceful' you find at a family reunion. One person gets drunk, and the whole thing turns into the punchline of a bad joke. " "No matter. If the ponies who made Ponyville what it is can't walk with their son, then no one can. This city is corrupt, and it's up to us to instill order." "If'n you say so boss." --- "And the power of love defeated all of them?" Cider asked, his mind trying to understand. "Yup." Spike answered. "C-can you tell me the one about the Mare-Do-Well again?" --- It was raining. It had been raining almost non stop for two weeks. Some had said the sky was crying over the loss of the Apples. It didn't matter. The rain didn't matter. It didn't matter to the dragon crawling into his bed. It didn't matter that he could smell the colt standing just outside his doorway, wearing his raincoat, patiently waiting for the gentledrake to join the world of dreams. Spike knew exactly what he was up to. He'd feign sleep, and when Cider had reached the door, he would follow him. The colt needed to heal... but Spike knew he never would. Three ponies died in that alleyway. Not two. He sniffed the air once more. He'd taken the bait and was now gone. Slinking out from under his sheets, Spike padded his way towards the door, taking care to open it slowly, so as to keep it from making a horrible creaking noise. Slipping into the hallway, Spike snaked his way through the inky blackness of the home until he reached the dual front doors. They were unlocked and slightly ajar. Spike spied a small figure making its way towards the small cemetery kept on the property for the deceased members of the Apple family. He swiftly returned to his room. A few minute later, the sound of tiny hooves echoed through the house, the sound of silent tears following them. Three ponies died that night in the alleyway. Not two. Wrote this during finals week, so please excuse any issues in the chapter. Anyway, the action is about to begin, and I'm trying out a new writing style for the next few chapters. Enjoy.