Scootaloo stood at the edge of the town, watching the entrance to the Everfree. She stood on the wooden bridge, eyes solely concentrated on the entrance. She narrowed her gaze, as if willing the trees to part to reveal the pony the town searched for.
For a few minutes she said nothing, focusing only on staring. Finally, though, her patience wore out, and she fell to her hind quarters with a groan. “Ugh… this is so boring!”
“Well, better get used to it,” Sweetie Belle said next to her. “We did volunteer to keep watch over this area.”
“Yeah, so why don’t we stop complainin’ and start watchin’?” Apple Bloom suggested, a bit testily.
“It’s just the forest, though!” Scootaloo protested. “Shouldn’t Fluttershy be here to watch?”
Sweetie shook her head. “Fluttershy is down by the Bogg, organizing the swamp animals there.”
The orange filly grumbled something incoherent and turned away, still slightly frustrated. Bloom sighed. “Yer right, though; this is pretty boring.”
Scootaloo snorted. “We’re staring out at the forest. What else could it be, other than boring?”
Sweetie shrugged. “Well, maybe something exciting will happen. You never know.”
“Like Prose showing up?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sweetie turned her gaze back to the forest. “It could happen.”
Scootaloo sighed, but did not question further. She and Apple Bloom resumed watching the forest.
Sweetie’s gaze turned downward, looking down at the river below. The rushing waters splashed against the dirt and rock, spraying foam onto the sides. A few fish swam down the river, beating their fins rapidly to speed their swim.
Suddenly, the fish stopped, and turned. They began swimming back upstream, as if fleeing from something. Sweetie looked up, and peered down the river to see what it was that scared them. Her eyes widened as she saw a large, serpentine creature swimming towards them.
“Girls? Girls!” she cried, getting their attention. “Are serpents a normal thing for Ponyville?”
“Calm down, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo said. “It’s just Steven Magnet. He’s a friendly sea serpent of the Everfree.”
The serpent seemed to be ferrying something on his back. He glanced around nervously, then back at the object on his back. Sweetie noticed that his eyes softened slightly.
He turned, and saw them on the bridge. Quickly he approached. “Steven? What’s wrong?” Apple Bloom asked.
In response, Steven twisted his body to show them what he carried. They gasped at what they saw: a broken and badly injured stallion on his back, taking shallow breaths. His eyes were closed, and had it not been for his breathing, would have seemed dead.
“Oh my gosh! What happened?” Sweetie asked.
Steven shook his head. “I don’t know. I found him like this in the forest.” He gazed at the fillies with sad eyes. “He needs medical attention, and quickly.” His voice was less flamboyant, assuming an unlikely commanding tone.
Sweetie nodded. “We’ll go get help.” She and the other Crusaders went off into town, yelling for the ponies to help them. A few moments later, they returned with Twilight and Mayor Mare, with a crowd following shortly after.
Twilight looked at the stallion in shock. “How is he still alive?”
Steven shook his head. “He said he had been running from Shadewolves and Timberwolves for the past week!”
“He came from the Hollow Shades?” Mayor Mare asked.
Twilight shook her head. “Nevermind that. We have to get him to a hospital!” A few ponies stepped forward with a wagon, and Twilight gently lifted the stallion with her magic and placed him in the cart. “Go; hurry!”
The ponies nodded, and galloped towards the hospital. Twilight and the CMC watched them go, still shocked at the stallion’s appearance.
“Twilight?” Sweetie asked. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I hope so, Sweetie Belle,” Twilight answered with a nervous frown.
Dusk Prosa awoke with a start.
His bright pink eyes, though intelligent, were rendered near useless as he glanced around. His vision blurred, most likely due to him not still fully recovered from his ordeal. Slowly, however, his vision settled, and he managed to get a clear view of where he was.
A set of white blankets covered his lower body, warming him and making him feel slightly sleepy. They smelled like fresh roses; he guessed that they had been cleaned recently. A pair of white, fluffy pillows rested behind his head, and he could practically feeling himself sink between the two. A set of tubes were attached to his arm, running up the side to an IV unit.
He looked up, seeing a small ceiling light hanging above him. It glowed dimly, not enough to hurt his eyes, but enough to make him squint. He glanced to his left, seeing a large, white machine with several lines appearing on its face. He guessed that they were supposed to be his vitals.
I have some rather decent vitals, he thought, nearly grinning sillily.
He shifted around, turning his head to his right. What he saw made his jovial attitude vanish completely.
A set of syringes, both white, rested on a metal tray. The sharp points made him panic, and his breathing increased. The machine with his vitals began to beep rapidly, as his heart rate accelerated to dangerous levels. It didn’t help that he saw a familiar, red liquid in each of the two foreign syringes.
The panic heightened as he realized that he had been stripped of his belongings. His bag, vest, and cloak had been placed somewhere else, perhaps out of reach. His eyes widened as a million worst-case scenarios raced through his mind. His belongings were his life, and without them, he would be a goner!
Somehow, his strength had not returned, and he could not find it in himself to shout in blind panic. However, the constant beeping and his erratic shuffling garnered the attention of the hospital staff.
“Doctor Irons!” a red-headed nurse shouted. “He’s awake!”
“Bloody brilliant!” the doctor shouted in a strange accent unfamiliar to Prosa. He quickly ran over to Prosa and tried to calm him down. “Easy, easy, mate. It’s going to be alright!”
It is most definitely not going to be alright! Prosa shuffled angrily, nearly throwing the doctor away. The nurse made a brief call, and several other hospital staff came in to restrain him. Prosa fought as hard as he could, even managing to throw off one of the doctors.
His struggle eventually subsided as one of the doctors forced a needle into his neck. At first, his eyes widened as he felt the needle pierce his skin, but then all thoughts were replaced with a soothing numbness. His heart rate fell back down to normal, and his breathing slowed.
Doctor Irons thanked the other staff for coming in to help. They nodded, though they seemed somewhat tired out from the ordeal. They left, leaving Irons and his nurse aide with Prosa.
“Feeling better now, mate?” Irons asked with a small smile.
Dusk grunted. He stared at Irons with his bright pink eyes. Irons noticed that, despite the patient being drugged, he somehow managed to retain a sense of ferocity in those orbs.
“Nurse Redheart, could you read me his vitals?” he asked.
Nurse Redheart nodded. “Yes, Doctor Irons. His heart rate has resumed adequate levels. Breathing is normal. Bladder control is… well, it needs work.”
Prosa looked down, and saw what appeared to be a slightly dark spot in the middle of his bed. He blushed in embarrassment.
Irons laughed at the stallion’s discomfort. “It’s alright, mate. You were unconscious; you had little control over your bodily functions when you arrived here.”
He stepped forward, laying a hoof on Dusk’s chest. Seeing the stallion wince, he grimaced. “Yep, that’s broken ribs for sure.” He stared at Dusk’s pink eyes. “Don’t worry; that’s the worst injury you have.”
Dusk grunted. “Thanks,” he barely managed to whisper. His voice came out hoarse, like it had been overused twice. His throat felt dry, and he instinctively licked his lips.
Irons reached over and brought over a pitcher of water and a glass cup. He poured the stallion a drink, giving it to him. Prosa downed the cup quickly, like it was a cup of ambrosia. He held the cup out, and Irons poured him more.
After downing several cups, Prosa’s throat finally felt open enough that he could speak more clearly. “What happened?”
“Steven Magnet ferried you in,” Irons explained. “Apparently you had been attacked by Shade and Timberwolves?” The doctor raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the question. Before Prosa could clarify, he continued: “Three fillies met him first. They ran and got Miss Twilight Sparkle, though not before attracting a large crowd. A few ponies carried you to the hospital, which brings us to here.”
Prosa nodded thoughtfully. “I see… how long was I out?”
“Oh, three days, give or take—”
The doctor didn’t get a chance to finish, as Prosa suddenly shot up, surprising both he and Nurse Redheart. “What?!” he yelled with surprising ferocity. “Three days?!”
Pain suddenly rocketed through him, and he quickly fell back down to resting his back against the pillows. He glared up at Irons. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?!”
Irons raised a confused eyebrow. “Are you kidding? Mate, you were injured and in need of dire rest. If we woke you up, you could have been hurt even more!”
Prosa snorted. “Better injured than late.” He made to move out of bed, despite the pain, but was held back by the doctor.
“Hey, buddy, calm down.” Irons fixed him with a steely glare. “Listen, three days to recover is better than only one.”
Dusk fixed him with his own, bright glare, and Irons felt himself quail under the intensity of the look. “While I appreciate your efforts, Doctor, I am not your buddy.” He glanced around. “My belongings. Where are they?”
“They’re going through disinfectant treatment right now. Getting cleaned, the usual,” Nurse Redheart answered.
Dusk’s eyes widened, and he breathed a low curse. “Of all the miserable luck,” he muttered. “Get me them.”
“But—”
“Now!” he nearly shouted, throwing Irons off of him. “Because if you don’t, we’re going to have a huge misunderstanding—”
“Doctor Irons?” Another hospital staff member poked his head in. “Could you come here for a second?”
“Certainly,” Irons answered. He looked at Prosa with confusion, before leaving to talk to the member.
Nurse Redheart looked at Prosa in slight amusement. “Well, seems like something’s gotten you in a frenzy.”
He glared at her coldly. “Let’s see; I’ve been attacked by two species of wolves, brought into a hospital for three days, have apparently wet the bed, and now have been notified that my belongings are being searched. Frenzy doesn’t begin to describe what I’ve gotten.”
Redheart chuckled. “Oh? And how would you describe what you’ve got?”
“Picture the most annoying thing. Then multiply it by about a trillion, then divide by infinity, and move the decimal over three times. Then raise that to the power of ten.” He smirked. “Then you’ll get the basics of what I’ve gotten.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, before blinking. “Was that… was that humor?”
“No,” he said sharply. “That was just me eliciting an unnecessary conversation.”
“Sarcasm. Great,” she said drily.
“Same to you,” he stated, leaning back and closing his eyes.
Though he feigned annoyance, that little banter had calmed him down tremendously. Surely, now that he was calm, he could talk his way out of this. Leave before any awkward questions ensued.
“What’s your name?” Redheart suddenly asked.
He opened an eye, glancing at her. A twinge of a smile appeared on his lips, mirrored by hers. “… Why should I tell you?”
She shrugged. “You don’t technically have to. But it would help both of us, wouldn’t it?”
He chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I guess it would.” He paused, staring at the nurse. She returned the stare with equally unblinking eyes.
“… Dusk Prosa,” he said, keeping his gaze steady.
She smiled slightly. “Funny. That sounds somewhat familiar to the guy that everypony’s been looking for.”
He was greatly perturbed by this, but tried to hide it. “I see… who was this guy?”
“You don’t know?” She sounded genuinely surprised at that. “It’s that famous Opacare Prose author!”
“Oh, him,” he replied, sounding indifferent. “Yeah. Um. Huh.”
She didn’t seem to catch his worried tone. She was about to say more, when Doctor Irons poked his head in.
“We need to talk,” he said sternly.
Prosa sighed, raising his hooves. “I can guess what about.”
Doctor Irons entered the room, followed closely by several technicians. They wheeled in a cart that held Dusk’s belongings. Irons placed each one at the base of the bed.
“First, the cloak,” Irons said. “It’s been torn to near pieces, and has several pints of blood absorbed into it. Your blood.”
Dusk shrugged. “So?”
“Pints, sir. By all logic, you should be dead.”
“I’m sturdier than most,” Dusk replied. “And call me Dusk Prosa. Sir sounds so… old.”
“Very well, Mr. Prosa.” Irons gestured to the blue vest. “This is yours as well, isn’t it? A dark-blue vest. I haven’t seen anypony wear these things in town, before. Only in Manehattan.” He looked pointedly at the stallion.
Prosa gritted his teeth, trying to think of something quick. “It’s… a gift from a friend.”
Irons seemed satisfied by that answer. “Both the vest and the cloak have been ripped by something sharp.” He sighed. “Looks like your story holds up.”
“Oh, yes, the wolves.” The pewter-grey stallion leaned back, almost casually. “Of course it holds up. What would I have to gain from lying?”
“Perhaps you hoped to hide these?” At this, Irons opened up Prosa’s brown bag, revealing the contents.
An ample amount of syringes lay inside, their tips retracted so that they wouldn’t poke holes in the fabric. Prosa looked away, still slightly disturbed at the sight. Nurse Redheart gaped in shock at the syringes, while Irons had a disappointed look on his face.
“Mr. Prosa,” he started, “do you know what these are?”
“Syringes,” he answered tiredly, as if he had been asked this question numerous times.
“What are you using them for?”
“… I can’t tell you.”
Irons and Redheart looked at him in shock. “Why not?” the nurse asked.
“… I just can’t. Personal stuff.” He looked at the two with a slight glare. “And, if memory serves, I don’t have to give away my personal information.”
“Hospital regulation dictates otherwise.”
“Then discharge me.” Prosa waved his hoof dismissively. “I don’t plan on staying any longer anyway. Besides, I’ve got places to be. And I’ve lost three days time.”
He quickly got out of bed, ignoring the confused looks that the doctors gave him. “Though, I’ll need some directions,” he continued as he grabbed his belongings hastily.
“C-certainly, Mr. Prosa,” Nurse Redheart stammered. “Where are you heading?”
“Ponyville. How far away is that from here?”
The two stared at him with somewhat wide-eyes. “… Mate,” Irons said, unable to resist cracking a smile, “you must have been hit pretty hard in the head!”
Dusk narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, Doctor?”
“Ponyville, Dusk?” Irons shook his head, actually chuckling. “You’re already there.”
Dusk stared at him for a few seconds, his mind reeling in shock. He suddenly slapped a hoof to his forehead. “Of course… the fact that I was fighting Timberwolves should have made that obvious. Everfree lies outside of Ponyville.” He sighed. “How stupid of me.”
“Not as stupid as you leaving before you fully recovered,” Irons snorted.
Surprisingly, Dusk smiled. It was a hard, cold smile, and seemed almost threatening. “So the iron doctor has a sense of humor. Will miracles ever cease?”
Irons was slightly unnerved by the smile, but didn’t show it. “We still have an issue with the syringes, you know.”
“Then drop the issue. Simple as that.”
Irons raised an eyebrow. “You are a rather mysterious stallion, you know that, Mr. Prosa?”
That same, sardonic grin returned. “You don’t say.”
“I do say,” Irons said, stepping forward, “and now I say that you’re staying until you make a full recovery. Whatever business you have in Ponyville can wait a day.”
Dusk frowned. “… And if I don’t agree to that?”
“Trust me, you will.”
There was a moment of silence as the two stallions stared at each other. The tension was enough to unconsciously make Nurse Redheart slouch over under the imaginary weight.
Then, Dusk grinned. But it was different. Instead of mocking, or cynical, it seemed to have smidge of warmth, like he had just finished a satisfying game. “Very well, Doctor Irons. I’ll stay until I am allowed to go.” His voice didn’t sound like a stallion who had lost an argument; no, it sounded more like a gamer who had lost the level but won the game.
Irons felt a bit of trepidation rise up in him. Somehow, despite the lack of coldness in that smile, it still unnerved him. He managed his own smile, though it was strained. “Good. Nurse Redheart and I will be checking on you routinely.”
Dusk nodded, returning to his bed, though still clutching his belongings. Redheart and Irons walked out, but not before Redheart cast Dusk a curious look. The stallion caught her eye, but said nothing, looking at her with that same intensity.
Once they were gone, Prosa let out a slow breath. That was close. Nearly gave myself away in all that. Good thing I’m a master at this game. He frowned. But, I fear that this game I play will be my last.
He looked out the window, seeing the town of Ponyville through the glass. There are things I need to do, and as soon as possible. But… perhaps they can wait a day.
He looked back down at his bag, where the syringes still lay. I can only hope that I make it long enough to explain everything…
He sighed, leaning back into the pillow, resigning himself to simply waiting for his release.
