I scrambled out of my seat and raised my hooves to the air in an act of surrender. Alistair stood a few paces away, the hissing red aura around him encasing his figure around the edges. Pointing an accusatory finger in my direction, still clutching the mystery object in his right hand, he began towards me at a prowler's pace.
"You have a lot to answer for," he declared in a twisted voice that wasn't quite his own. "I let my guard down. I thought I could trust you. And this is how you repay me?"
My blood had already frozen in place the moment he'd entered my office but I was surprised to find that my muscles still functioned to a point. I instinctively stepped back with each step he took, hoping that he wouldn't do anything brash until I could calm him down. To my dismay, my jaw wasn't as working as well as my hooves.
I stammered helplessly in attempt to form a coherent sentence. This only seemed to enrage him more as evidenced by the red aura become more prominent and darker.
"Speak," he demanded. "Or I’ll tear the words from you myself.”
With a gulp of some much needed air I could finally feel words begin to form. "I...I d-don't know what you mean..."
His eyes flared up in outrage. "Don't know what I mean? Here, let me jog your memory."
My body tensed up in preparation of him hurting me but he only unfurled his hand and tossed the object onto my desk. I couldn't quite make it out from how gruffly he'd thrown it but it appeared to be a clothing item of some sort. It was white and ornate, with frilly lining around the seams. Formal wear from at least two centuries ago. It was wrinkled and dusty in appearance with a peculiar shape designed for...oh dear...
Alistair sensed my realization and spoke to me in mocking sarcasm. "So, Professor Paraprax, based on your fantastic amount of knowledge on this subject, and with your swelling interest in matters that aren't any of your business, care to explain to me just what this might be?"
I didn't want to play into his game but I clearly didn't have a choice. Without a second thought he might murder me right where I stand and not be the least bit concerned. I'd never been this afraid in my entire life. Swallowing nervously, I answered. "It's...it's a glove."
His eyes widened in feigned surprise. "A glove? Really? But how could that be? Ponies can't wear gloves, only griffons. And I don't think any griffons have ever lived in Sunset Grove, Neuro, especially not in this old house." He clenched his fists and took a few more steps toward me, I took a few steps back toward the wall.
"Which means that it more than likely belonged to someone else. Tailors have of course made these pieces before, but typically for extraordinary clientele if you get what I'm implying." He took another step forward, I tried to step back but found I was now hopelessly up against the wall.
He smiled at my being trapped. "Care to explain?"
"Skip Stop," I said with my eyes shamefully pointed toward the floor. "She...she lived here, in this house, before she...you know, all those years ago. I bought the house from the old owner, this ancient colt from in town who I don't think was very fond of me doing so. From there, I moved in, set up shop, and this became my Spring, soon to be Summer house."
Alistair's eyes narrowed in query and he stopped coming towards me. "And you knew she lived here? Is that why you chose this place, is that why you let me stay?"
I sighed. My motives had never been put into question when I'd done the transaction, just my mere presence disapproved of. Nobody knew me as Alistair did, who'd had the unfortunate situation of becoming first acquainted with my dark side instead of my positive one (if I even had one at this point).
There was betrayal mixed in with his fiery rage that was starting to subside. Alistair knew how interested I was in his people and how far I was willing to go to uncover more about the mysterious race. Perhaps he'd assumed I would have abandoned this pursuit of knowledge in shame which had probably been some kind of solstice to him. But now?
Alistair said he'd forgiven for everything that had happened two years prior between us, but this reopening of old wounds might just make him retract that compassion.
I violently shook my head. "No, no! Nothing like that. It was just...a coincidence. It was a nice feature, an interesting accessory to the place. I came here looking for a comfortable place to stay awhile, that's all. And once I knew the history...how could I resist?"
The honesty took him off balance a bit and may have even lessened the energy simmering off him (which was now almost entirely gone). Still, with growing exasperation, he brought his hands to his head and shouted.
"What is wrong with!? For goodness sakes, what is wrong with you!? Do you even have a memory? Don't you even have shame? I'd thought you'd be over this obsession of yours. You sounded so regretful in your letter and when we first talked, and now, just a week later, you're acting like it all never happened! Where you lying, where you always lying?!"
"I wasn't!" I shouted back. "I was just...reminded of it when you came. I swear I only went up there a few times. Just to look at the clothes, never to touch them. It was history right in front of my eyes so I of course wanted to look upon it. There was no malicious intent behind it. But when you came here in no way did I want to give you that impression. So I locked the door and hoped you wouldn't check what was behind. But evidently, I was wrong."
He shook his head dismally while a new aura of red energy formed in the palm of his left hand. "You're one messed up pony, Neuro. One really sick colt. I'm not sure if you've gotten a few screws loosened in that big brain of yours but I think you really don't care about who or what you step over in these little games of yours. It's about time that changes." He began at a stride towards me, the energy growing in intensity.
I wasn't sure if he meant to intimidate me or actually intended to harm, but one's wish for self-preservation always holds priority. I had no way to defend myself through conventional means, leaving me to resort to a lower set of tactics.
"You'd do that even after all the ponies you've hurt?" I said suddenly.
----------
I took a step back in surprise, something dropping into the pit of my stomach. "W-What?"
Neuro now began approaching me with an expression of maliciousness and accusation that I held just a minute ago. "I know where you really where during the attacks. I know of your involvement with that group. And I know the real reason why you came here in the first place. So if you want to talk about lies between us, go ahead. The ones you hold are much more distressing."
The color drained from my face. How did know? How did he find out? It was all supposed to be a secret and he definitely wasn't a pony with priority in knowing the truth. He must have figured it out himself, deciphered the miniscule clues that slipped under the radar. He always was a crafty snake but he really was taking me off guard.
I felt like I was about to keel over from what he'd just said. My head was dizzy, more blood was turning ice cold. He hadn't said it outright, didn't bring up any examples, but I would argue that the indirectness actually made it worse.
The energy of rage and passion left me in an instant. I was cut off from my protective emotional barrier. I was at his mercy of whatever he said, with no way to shield myself from the indescribable pain.
"Do you know how many ponies died? Most were civilians you know, not even half of your casualties were Sun Guards. They were innocent ponies going about their business until giant warships were slaughtering them by the dozens for no reason other than you wanted to make some kind of twisted statement."
"Not even that, some ponies still don't have a home, some ponies are still mourning someone who was killed in Canterlot or in the surrounding villages. You can still see the scorch marks on buildings or craters left in the streets. I've been there. I was there just after your coward friends disappeared into oblivion and you threw yourself into the Royal pardon you knew you'd get."
"So if you want to paint me as the villain, go ahead. Maybe I do have my own faults to atone to, but I've never murdered another soul, never. And you certainly can't say the same you monster."
The world seemed to faze out from my perspective, the ridges around my vision turning into a black tunnel that became darker and darker. It was like I was walking awake in a dream. I felt so numb, so lifeless in my own body. Neuro's words had cut deep and the wounds were only starting to form.
I didn't want to look at him, or this room, or even this damn house any longer. I was done with it all. Once again I'd stuck myself out on the line, leaving myself vulnerable in attempt to heal my fragile state and I was only treated to deeper scarring open my glass emotions. It was so pointless and useless, but I was repeating it all the same.
I reached for the door and stumbled out into the hallway like a dazed drunkard. I knew were my room was on the first floor and I knew were my things were packed. It would only take a moment to prepare myself for one more departure. I was leaving this vile realm once and for all.