//------------------------------// // 07 - Connecting The Dots // Story: Outsider's Game: Night King // by Bluecho //------------------------------// Ch. 7 - Connecting The Dots Present “It's time, Dempsey.” Dougal looked up from his latest book – Equestrian Trade Law – and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?” He clapped the book closed. Luna nodded from the door. “This way, please.” The vampire rose from the bed, setting the library book on a pile. He placed his hands in his pockets, joining the Princess and the entourage of guards. He bore a smile on his unblemished face. Ascending the steps, the party exited the dungeon and took to the halls. Dougal squinted in the much brighter areas. He had almost forgotten how intense the light could be. “Where are we headed, Princess?” “This way,” Luna responded, leading the way. “We have a room set up for the...conversation.” Dougal looked to the wall, noting by the intense pressure emanating from it the position of the dread solar diarch. If he didn't know better, he would call anyone who dictated the path of a heavenly body to be a god. Good thing he knew better. “Her excellency Princess Celestia won't be present herself, will she? I admit I'm still ignorant as to how this 'meeting' will be conducted.” A thought occurred: were they simply going to hold him down and allow Celestia to approach, burning him alive? Was this all an elaborate ruse? And if worst came to worst, would he be able to effect an escape this time? The urgings of the Beast notwithstanding, did he even want to? “We're almost there,” Luna said. She reached a turn, and led the party around it. The vampire could feel the heat drawing closer with every step. They were heading roughly in its direction. Dougal gulped – calling upon that all-too-human reflex – and clutched at his collar. Finally, Luna stopped, motioning with a hoof to a room along the side of the hallway. “We're here. After you.” “...as you wish,” Dougal said, smiling nervously. As he approached the door, however, his eyes wandered to the floor. A thick rubber cable ran out from under the door, and led away into the distance. Dougal blinked, then opened the door. He peered inside. In a lavishly decorated waiting room, there were two chairs facing a coffee table. Atop the table was a large, ramshackle device. A microphone was attached to the front, and a gramophone-style horn speaker sprouted from the top, aimed towards the chairs. Dougal walked forward. “This is...” “Take a seat, Dempsey,” Luna said, motioning to the far chair. She seated herself in the one closest to the door. With mounting curiosity, Dougal took his allotted place. The guards stood behind them, with one watching the door. He looked to them: they took only passing interest in him. They too were more visibly interested in the strange device. A short unicorn stallion in an oil-stained apron walked into the room, heading for the device. Flaring up his horn, the unicorn enveloped a switch on the device with a pale green aura, and flipped it. The machine began to hum. The unicorn leaned towards the microphone. “The machine is now activated, your highness. Are you receiving?” “...yes, I am hearing you now,” said a voice, pouring from the machine's speaker. While the sound cracked and warbled in quality, the voice was soft and warm. Dougal remembered. Remembered the sound of the older Bell devices of his youth. He almost forgot how much the technology of his own world had progressed in the time he'd existed. “We hear you clearly, sister,” Luna said, speaking at the machine. She had an unsure expression, and leaned forward a little. “Can you hear us?” “Yes I can, Luna,” said the voice. It was a very feminine voice, and it followed with a giggle. “What a wonder. Is our guest there?” “He is here,” Luna said, motioning to the vampire, as if it would help identify him to a disembodied voice. Dougal's mouth, thus far opened slightly in dawning comprehension, now curled into a smile. “Hello, your highness. I am Dougal Dempsey.” “And I am Princess Celestia,” said the voice, taking up a regal tone. “How are your injuries? I'm afraid I did quite a lot of damage, if Luna is to be believed.” “Thanks to time and your generous ration of blood,” said Dougal, “I have made a full recovery.” The voice paused, then said, “...I am glad, and also apologetic. I never meant to do you unnecessary harm. I hope you can forgive me.” “It is quite alright, your highness,” Dougal said, steppling his fingers. He cocked his head to the side. “...this device. May I ask...?” “Oh, this old thing? It was a gift I received, some three hundred years ago. Given to me by an aspiring inventor. He considered it a curiosity, and sent to me with his regards. He called it...oh, what was it?” A rustling followed on the other end of the line. “Ah yes, it's a 'Voice Throwing Thingamagig'. I doubt he had any other proper name for it. He was eccentric, but gifted.” “It's a telephone.” “Hmm?” said the voice. “Uh...?” said Luna, looking over to the vampire. Dougal continued, “Sorry, but that's what it is. Or at least,” he said, adjusting his jacket, “it's what we call it in my world.” “You have such wonders in your world, Mister Dempsey?” said Celestia. “They are as ubiquitous in my world. Nearly every building had one. We've had devices for speaking over long distances for quite some time.” Dougal felt that pressure, in the distance behind him. Felt it through the walls. “Your presence is strong enough that I can feel it throughout the castle. I feel it now, and you are not too far away. Which means that this device probably has a short range.” “For now,” chimed in the engineer unicorn. He turned nervously away when Dougal looked towards him. “I-I mean...once we make longer cables, and figure out how to stop the signal from degrading.” “Oh, that's something we solved years ago,” Dougal said. He turned back to the device, ignoring the brightening eyes of the engineer. “The cables that connect phone to phone criss-cross my world, so that anyone may speak to anyone. Next door or across continents, it matters little.” He stroked the chair's arm. “Ours are smaller, too.” “Fascinating,” said Celestia. “But I fear we may be getting off topic. I'd like to talk about Nightmare Night.” Dougal sighed. “Yes, of course. I apologize for that...and for assaulting some of your men...and for dominating one of them...” “May I have an explanation from your own words, Mister Dempsey? I have heard Luna relate what she learned, but I'd like your take.” “Certainly.” The Cainite crossed a leg. “I awoke on Nightmare Night in a cave at the foot of a mountain. I have no knowledge of how I got there from my own world, or indeed of how I lost consciousness in the first place.” “The Equestrian Guard found this cave, as you described earlier,” said Luna. “We have no reason to believe he was lying on this front.” “I awoke starving, your highness,” Dougal continued, “and wandered looking for sustenance and an escape from the wilderness that is, in my world, unkind to vampires. I did not have the strength nor speed to chase down a wild animal, and so set my sights on the town of Trottleville. It was there I discovered my...displacement.” Dougal ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back. “Overcome with hunger, I set about...hunting...I apologize for my troublesome turn of phrase, your highness.” “I understand,” said Celestia. “It...troubles me greatly, to know that someone would be preying on my little ponies. But I can also understand when a creature – any creature – needs to feed in order to survive. It saddens me, when these two facts come into conflict with each other.” There was a pause. “Was it absolutely necessary to feed from the townsponies?” “In lieu of any other source of blood, it could not be helped,” Dougal said. “A starving Cainite – that is, a vampire – must feed. The Beast inside requires it. And it will always have its way, even if it must assume control to get it. There is a saying amongst the Camarilla: a beast I am, lest a beast I become.” “I see. It is unfortunate. Mister Dempsey, I will inform you that the two mares you assaulted and fed from were released a few days ago. They are in good health.” “I am glad to hear this.” “Trottleville, naturally, asked for your destruction,” Celestia continued. “I went there personally to hear their accounts and to talk to their council. In the interests of fairness – and to avert an angry mob – I talked them down.” “Thank you, your highness.” “You are, of course, banned from ever setting foot in Trottleville again.” “...of course. I expect nothing less.” Dougal smiled nervously. A single drop of crimson sweat rolled down his cheek. He wiped it up with his fingers and licked it clean. “Am I to be executed for my crimes?” “Hmm...” The voice on the other head paused for a moment, then said, “I'm not sure. Do you want to be?” “What makes you think I do, your highness?” “You surrendered, allowing yourself to be carted off to almost certain death,” said Celestia. She sounded concerned. “Luna also tells me you described yourself as 'tired'. And you've shown no desire to effect escape, and a cavalier attitude towards being punished...do you want to die?” It took a very long time for Dougal to formulate an answer. He rubbed his hands together. Finally, he said, “Perhaps...it is better to say I have no...particular aversion to dying. Or, contrarily, no particular attachment to my unlife. I have...seen and done enough as a vampire that...death doesn't scare me. In truth, I was coasting up until now...I had no concrete goals. If I died now, would it be so bad?” Celestia was silent at that. The sound of weight shifting on a seat could be heard. Then silence. Eventually, she said, “...what...would you say if I told you we wouldn't be executing you? That, in fact, we planned to pardon you your crimes?” Dougal blinked. His head turned sideways, looking towards Princess Luna. Luna looked at him solemnly. She said nothing. He tilted his head to the side, then tilted it harder. He could feel his dead neck muscles stretch. “...I...really?” Luna nodded, though she wore an unhappy expression. Dougal turned to the machine. “Really?” “Do you want to die?” said Celestia, though her voice sounded concerned. “...I think I would rather not, no,” said Dougal. He laced his fingers together. “Am I pardoned?” “I have...reviewed the testimonies of the ponies of Trottleville,” said Celestia, “as well as talked to the guards, and to my sister of course. And now, hearing from you, I am sure of my impression. “You are an intelligent creature, fully capable of reason and even a concern for innocent bystanders. Your...grisly diet aside, your greatest crime was obeying your physical needs in a time of considerable hunger, and in an unknown land. It is my belief that, properly sated by blood drawn for the cause, you are perfectly capable of behaving yourself in Equestria. “Of course, then we must consider your ability to control the minds of others.” Dougal leaned back. He looked sidelong at Princess Luna, who returned it with a glare. “Given this ability, I cannot allow you to wander around unsupervised. I have no idea – no way of knowing – how much havoc you could do by influencing the minds of my little ponies. In any case, I must insist on a promise not to use this ability, bare minimum.” “I promise not to dominate the minds of your citizens, Princess,” Dougal said, raising a hand up in salute. “Scout's honor.” “...right...still, I must insist on guards – at least two – at all times. They will be guards specially trained to resist mental intrusion, as now.” “Of course,” said Dougal. “Other than that, I can see no use in keeping you locked in the dungeons,” Celestia said. “Until such time as we discover a way to return you to your world, you are free to live in Equestria...on strict probation. You will be permitted to house where you may within Canterlot, under guard...” “Princess,” said Dougal, raising a hand out, “if I may.” “Hmm?” “I have a request,” he said. “I very much doubt you are in any position to make demands, Dougal Dempsey,” said Luna, frowning at him. “My sister has already convinced me to allow you to move about, instead of remaining in the dungeons where we can keep an eye on you.” “And I am grateful for your mercy, Princesses,” said Dougal dipping his head. He looked to the machine. “However, there are some pressing matters I wish to talk about. The first is her highness, Princess Celestia, herself.” “...me?” said Celestia, sounding confused. “Her?” said Luna. Then her ears perked up, and she looked away. “Oh...” “Princess Celestia,” said Dougal, “though I harbor no ill-will towards your person, and can obviously tell you are a kind, merciful, understanding ruler that Equestria is blessed to have on the throne...I find my continued placement anywhere near your presence to be intolerable.” “Oh...” said Celestia, “How so?” “Perhaps it is because you share a singular sympathetic bond to this world's sun,” Dougal said, “but as we've seen I cannot be in your presence without being burned. This effect is lessened but not eliminated by being separated from you by the mere length of the castle. It feels like the sword of Damocles hanging over my head, and as a creature of the night I cannot abide it.” “...I am sorry if my presence makes you uncomfortable, Mister Dempsey,” said Celestia, a sorrowful note in her voice. “I think that Luna...may...have mentioned this before, but I...I didn't think it was as horrible as you make it sound. What would you have done about it?” “I would like out,” said Dougal. “Specifically, I would like to spend my probation in another Equestrian city. Fully within the borders of your domain, but moved far enough that I no longer feel your presence. I was thinking...coastal Baltimare. I've had an eye on the ocean for some time.” “...hmm...I...suppose Baltimare is...acceptable,” said Celestia. “Luna, what do you think?” Luna frowned. “I do not like the idea...he is far from Canterlot, so I will not be able to immediately intervene if he tries something.” “This is true, to one degree or another, of all of Equestria, though.” Dougal looked sidelong at Luna. He smiled. “Besides, you say that as if you don't trust the Equestrian Guard to handle me. Give them some credit, your highness.” “Mmrrrr...” Luna growled. She looked at the ground. “Come now, Luna,” said the voice from the machine. “We can trust the Baltimare city police and the guard to handle it from there. And if he's stressed by my presence, he's more likely to snap and go wild, isn't he?” Celestia giggled. “Besides, the ocean will do him good...and you, since I know you will want to check up on him frequently.” “...fine...” Luna said, pouting. “Then it is settled,” Celestia said, “Mister Dempsey may make his home in Baltimare. Is there...anything else you would like to discuss?” “There is, actually,” Dougal said. He held up his hand, gesticulating with his fingers. “What am I to do?” “To do?” “Yes.” Dougal grinned. “We have discussed my probation, but not my purpose. I am here until or unless I can be returned to my home, but that could be forever. It might never happen, meaning I'm stuck here. And I am immortal; all the more time to be bored. I cannot sit around reading books and papers and doing nothing. Moreover, the ponies of Equestria will not abide happily a parasite on the state; they will abide far less a shiftless parasite with no night-job. It is not in my nature, either, to be a layabout; I have lived that life once, and I hated every minute of it.” “Then what would you propose be done about this, Mister Dempsey?” asked Celestia. Dougal crossed his leg and planted both palms down on the knee. The vampire smiled. “Princess, let's talk business.” February 1955 “Where the hell have you been, Dougal?” Dougal Dempsey pushed the door closed, clutching a large suitcase in his arms. Shifting the weight to one arm, he brushed back his long, sweat-drenched hair. “Sorry, Tony...” “Work started two hours ago, Dougal,” said the mobster, adjusting his tie. “Had to come down here because they said you hadn't...what's with the suitcase?” Dougal carried his bag to the table. He spotted some soot on his arm and brushed at it. “My damn house burned down. I didn't have time to call.” “...holy shit, man, that's crazy.” Tony scratched his head. “What happened?” “Had to get the cops involved – don't worry, I don't keep anything incriminating at home,” Dougal said, brushing more violently at his jacket sleeve. In frustration he threw his arms down, then began rubbing his forehead. “Had to stay back with them. They think it might be arson...Tony, it was my parents' old house.” “Damn,” Tony said. “Arson, huh? Might be someone out against us. Well don't you worry, Dougal, we're going to find the son of a bitch and pay him back.” He smacked his fist into an open palm, for effect. “Yeah...” Dougal scratched his head. “...Tony, it feels like someone is out to get me.” “No shit, man.” “Not like that, I mean. I feels like the world is conspiring against me, since way before I joined. Remember when I told you I lost my job because of a frame job, and I couldn't get another one because every business – reputable business that is – decided to get really patriotic at the worst time?” “Vaguely...” Dougal crossed the other side of the room, running a hand over the office file cabinet. “My work getting stolen, being evicted from my apartment...that bullshit call Rebecca got...” “Rebecca?” “Doesn't matter,” Dougal said, waving his hand dismissively. “It's like...it's like the last five years of my life have been one lousy turn after another. I don't want to sound paranoid, but...why does it feel like someone out there is trying to ruin my damn life?” “So long as you don't think your mother's cancer was orchestrated,” Tony said. “No way someone planned that. Come on, you're just seeing ghosts where there are none.” He stepped over, placing a hand on Dougal's shoulder. “Now, burning your house down? No way we let that go. I'm going to have some of the boys I know look into that shit.” “...thanks, Tony,” Dougal said. “Now, you got a place to stay?” “I'll crash on the couch here, for now.” Dougal walked to the table and patted his suitcase. “Only stuff I have left, that I could save from the house.” He sighed. “What are the guys doing? We still on schedule?” He began adjusting his shirt. “Yeah, they're in the work room. Sure you're up to work?” “I sick of letting bad shit keep me down, Tony. Let's work.” Dougal exited the office, Tony in tow. He marched through the hallway and found the work room. All around, burly men were busy stacking and loading boxes. They looked up as the two men entered. A few nodded or grunted in acknowledgment. “Everything in working order, men?” Dougal asked. “Yes boss, the shipment arrived on time,” said one of the workers. “We did a count, and everything's here.” “Good, good.” Dougal approached one of the boxes that was open. Inside, cushioned on a nest of shredded paper, was a clean, black rifle. He took out a pencil and jabbed at it once or twice. Eyes wandered over the table, spotting another open box, this one with shells. He sighed. On the one hand, he liked working. On the other, he hated the illicit nature of it, and that he was working up from smuggling shipments of cigars and restricted foreign products to guns and ammo. Oh well, at least it wasn't drugs...yet. “When is the truck arriving?” Tony looked at his watch. “Funny, should have been here five minutes ago.” “Someone go out and check the streets,” Dougal said. “And watch out for co-” Bang. Crash. One of the men by the window fell over, his head bursting out like a crimson flower. Glass rained down over his corpse. “Jesus, shit!” Tony said. “Get down!” Bang. Crash. Another man, too slow on the draw. A shower of blood splattered over the man next to him, who jumped back against the wall, clutching a shelf. “Eric! Eric got shot! Eric, no!” the man said, sinking to the floor. “Everybody do-” Crash. No bang. “Aaaagh!” The group of men, ducking their heads and scrambling for weapons, looked into the center of the room. They gasped, or stared on eyes bugged out. A figure crouched in the middle of the room, glass that glittered in the light falling like rain from its back. The figure slowly rose to full upright position. It was a man – or some vague suggestion of a man – standing six feet tall. One of the workers was clutched by the neck in the figure's enormous jaws. Blood dribbled down, painting the man-thing's pale, bald, pot-marked skin a bright scarlet. Its head was misshapen, and criss-crossed with prominent black veins beneath thin, waxy skin. The figure did not seem to labor under the weight of the full-grown man in his mouth. The victim, in this case, twitched and gurgled, eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. Blood flowed from his mouth, joining the flood from his neck, dripping to the floor. Dougal – rooted to the spot – stared gaping at the figure's face. “...ack...haaaah...” Dougal chanced a glance at Tony. Tony's eyes were bugged out, sweat rolling down his face. Then he scowled. “K-kill it! Shoot the damn thing and make it DIE!” One of the men pulled out a machine gun and started firing. “EEEEEEEEERRRRRRIIIIIIC!” he screamed, bracing as the muzzle flashed. Hot lead smacked into the creature's flesh. Its jaws opened wide – wider than should be physically possible. Its victim fell to the ground, limp like a discarded rag doll. Blood pooled at the figure's feet. The figure turned to the one firing, great holes developing by the second. Clothes – old and worn already – were torn to ribbons, along with their wearer's skin. Finally, the trembling gunman stopped firing. Sweat and tears ran down his face, his teeth clenched in horror, rage, sadness. “g-g-g...gah!” he sobbed, the machine gun shaking his his hands. His finger continued depressing the trigger, but only clicks emanated from the weapon. The figure looked upon the man. “Oooooh...G-g-god-d...!” The figure rushed the gunman. A bony, gnarled arm pulled back, then swung horizontally across. It created a loud smacking sound when it hit. Dougal's eyes followed the man's head as it flew across the room. They turned back just in time to watch the gunman's headless body slump to the floor, machine gun clattering loudly to the ground. Crash. “Rrrraaagh!” shouted a small, furry creature as it landed on the floor, crunching glass beneath its leathery feet. A toothy, slavering mouth whipped around, beady little eyes – slitted like a snake's – seeking out a target. It leaped towards the closest man. “Sssragh!” “Fuck! Fu-” The man's face sprayed blood in a wide arc, four long, jagged cuts bathing it crimson. The creature pounced on the man, slashing again and again with four-inch long talons. Cloth and denim and skin came away in shreds all the same. “Aaaah!” said a worker, pulling out a hand gun and unloading at the dwarfish animal's back. He gaped in horror when, after firing his entire clip, the creature wasn't even slowed down. One bullet visibly bounced off the creature's back. “W-what the fuck are...?” “Get out of there!” Tony shouted, drawing his own pistol. The creature looked over its hunched shoulder, smiling wickedly with sharp, gator teeth. “Rah!” it roared, attacking the man. “Ah! Ah! AAAAAAH!” A door burst in nearby, a leather-clad man stepping through. He raised a machine gun – one handed – and fired bursts into the air. “Ah ha ha ha ha!” he laughed , bearing huge fangs. Behind him, a lithe, gangly creature stepped lightly around the other man. It had no shirt on, instead exposing a mass of faces across its chest and shoulders. Or perhaps they were only the impressions of faces, with no eyeballs, protruding noses, or teeth and tongues. The fingers on its hands were long and spindly. Its head was topped with four large ridges, running left to right, and it jerked as it looked around. It opened its mouth, four enormous insectoid appendages folding out from the orifice. Each was ended with a sharp spike. “...k-k-kill them...sssss...” The many mouths that adorned its flesh mimed speaking in time with its words. Dougal Dempsey looked on, heart racing, face pulled tight in fear. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow. His hands her clutched defensively over his mouth. He ran.