//------------------------------// // 4. Pressing on a Bruise // Story: Buggy and the Beast // by Georg //------------------------------// Buggy and the Beast Pressing On a Bruise “You don’t have to do this, Missus Spitonoikokýris. Beets is probably just getting out of the shower. You wouldn't want to catch him naked, would you?” There was a rattling of keys in his apartment door locks, bringing Beets out of his drowsy slumber and into a moderated panic. True, he could probably kill the old hen and hide the body, but unlikely as it seemed, somepony would probably miss her, and as much as the thought had crossed his mind several times since he had started renting the apartment, it really was not his style. Besides, Nectarine would be upset. “Apartment 2B complained they smelled something coming up through the floor last night,” snapped a sharp voice which could only be his landlady. “I had somepony come asking for a room yesterday, and I had to turn them away since 1C is still under renovations. If your ugly friend is cooking up drugs, I’m sending him out the door right now and getting an honest burro in here who won't stink up the place.” Beets looked in a panic at the bed, which was still occupied by the battered bug. Even through two coats of purple Rock Royalty hoof shellac, it was still quite obviously a bug, and in just a few minutes, it would also be Missus Spitonoikokýris’ excuse to not only kick him out of his room but probably hold back the damage deposit and last month’s rent. The changeling caught his panicked eye, and jerked its head in the direction of the bathroom. Obeying the pantomimed suggestion, Beets scooped her up in his magic and carried her over to the empty bathtub as the changeling seemed to want. It was a horrible place to hide a fractured fugitive, but it was the best he could think of before the front door popped open to the end of the security chain, which Beets was suddenly very glad he had latched for a change. “Beet Salad,” ordered the old griffoness through the resulting gap, “you open this door right now, or I'll get the cops! If I have to break it, I’ll take it out of your deposit!” “All right, all right!” he called out, making his hoofsteps from the bathroom as loud as possible. “I was taking a shit! What do you want?” “Apartment inspection,” she snapped. “You open up right now and let me in or you're in violation of your lease.” “Can I at least wipe my ass first?” he grumbled. “All right, all right,” he added as the door rattled again. “Don't lay an egg out there.” The elderly griffoness swept into the apartment beak-first and promptly began to sniff. “Smells like shit in here. Did you get a pet? You know pets aren't in your lease without a rider. Are those holes in the ceiling?” She flapped up next to the four sealed holes and squinted one eye at them. “Was like that when I moved in,” said Beets. “Likely story. What's this?” She swept through the living room over to the pull-down Murphy bed, still covered in the threadbare towels Beets had found at a second-hoof store. “Smells like lacquer. Still some spots of it here. Are you gay?” Beets stiffened his back and looked down his nose at her. “Lots of stallions paint their hooves without being gay. It helps me get in touch with my inner mare.” The derisive snort that followed came from both the griffon and the seemingly-relaxed nocturnal pegasus leaning against the front door. “Ah-HA! The bathroom door's closed. What are you hiding in here?” Before Beets could stop the old griffoness, she had swept past him and darted into the bathroom with a triumphant cry. There was a brief and somewhat weak green flash of light. A stunned moment of speechlessness on behalf of both stallions standing in the living room. An exchange of glances between them. And a long silence. Beets cautiously moved up to the bathroom doorway where Missus Spitonoikokýris was standing somewhat splay-legged, staring off into space. Her pupils were small pinpoints of darkness in her large blue eyes, and there was a certain swaying to her neck and head indicating she was listening to a particularly interesting musical tune which Beets could not hear. “Missus Spitonoikokýris?” Beets reached out with his magic and guided the stunned griffoness back out into the kitchen. “Are you feeling all right? Would you like a glass of water?” “No, thank you,” said the griffoness. “What was I doing again?” “You had just gotten done checking my apartment, and you were going to tell me how much those holes in the living room ceiling were going to cost.” “Twenty bits,” she responded as her normal sharp expression replaced the glazed eyes of a few moments ago. "Each." To his credit, Nectarine remained without comment until Beets had seen the griffoness out the front door with a promise to include the damages in the next rent check. Then he paused a little longer in order to allow Beets to speak first, which did not really matter, as the ugly unicorn had already vanished into the bathroom and emerged carrying the unconscious changeling in his magic. “I told you she was dangerous,” said Nectarine as his friend arranged the sleeping bug on the bed. “Would you rather be talking to a Royal Guard right now about how I'm harboring a changeling in my apartment?” whispered Beets in return. “Besides, I think that little trick is all she could do. She's out cold and needs to sleep.” Nectarine watched silently as Beets got a glass of water and several pills to set on the nightstand beside the bed, and even withheld comment when he tucked her under the blanket, but he could not help but add his opinion as the two of them strode off into the evening gloom to the docks. “I thought you were going to kiss her goodnight there for a minute,” groused Nectarine. “Buck, no,” admitted Beets. “I didn't want her to wake up screaming.” * ♣ * Work tonight sucked even worse than the worst suckage work had ever sucked before. Due to the changeling scare a few days ago, some bright genius up in Corporate decided a few unannounced drills were called for, but when Beet Salad came around the corner of his patrol route to find a young stallion using a crowbar on a shipping container… Needless to say, the ‘unannounced’ part of the security tests was not very popular with Beets or with the battered stallion from Corporate. If there were justice in Equestria, the same genius who thought up the plan would have been the one holding the crowbar, but due to a severe lack of cosmic karma, it had actually been one of the lower corporate drones who had originally opposed the measure. Still, he had been very apologetic for a pony in a neck brace being loaded into an ambulance and had given Beets a very high mark for preparedness on his report, or at least as much of the report as he could write while missing four teeth to hold the pen. The rest of the evening passed remarkably drill-free in all regards, and the rest of the night watch actually sprang for a cupcake as a thank-you gift for Beets. Of course it was a flavor he hated. Even Nectarine would not eat it on the way home. “You could give it to Buggy.” Beets eyed his friend. “Buggy?” “You've got to give your pet a name if you’re going to get a food and water dish for it,” said Nectarine. “I suppose you could always call it Sucker, or Tick.” “Oh, har de har, har.” Beets considered throwing the cupcake into the gutter on the way home but tucked it away just in case his odd houseguest had different tastes. The bill for his month’s rent was pinned to the door, with an additional eighty-five bits in damages tacked on even though Beets was positive the holes would not get permanently patched while he was renting the apartment, and only somewhat certain about afterwards. The only indication showing the changeling had moved from her nest under the bedcovers was a relative absence of the peculiar flowery urine smell and an empty glass of water on the nightstand. Two suspicious teal eyes watched Beets and Nectarine as they both pretended the changeling did not exist, trading a few end-of-shift pleasantries before Nectarine slipped out the door for a morning snack. Beets took a couple minutes in the kitchen to wash the few dishes he had, noticing with some satisfaction the addition of an oatmeal-stained bowl in the sink and a dirty plastic spoon in the trash. He was rummaging around in the icebox for some lettuce which had not gone all brown and slimy when the faint shuffle and pained whimpering of the changeling came around the corner. As she made her unsteady way forward, her eyes were drawn into thin slits and the empty glass hovered uncertainly to her side in a flickering green aura. Then she collapsed, and Beet Salad grabbed her with his magic just moments before she hit the floor. The empty plastic glass bounced and rolled under the kitchen table, ignored as he carried her back to the bed and settled her down, although he winced when a hiss of insectile agony burst from the changeling as he caught the blankets on something sticking out of her shellac-covered chitin. “Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to fluff up the pillow while the changeling glared at him. After a few pained breaths, the changeling hissed, “You took all my pills.” “I left you some pills on the nightstand,” said Beets, unruffled. “Unless you’re talking about the empty bottle in the bathroom. I really didn’t want to come back from work and find you dead on the floor from an overdose.” The changeling hissed again, a low sound much like a leaking teakettle as Beets picked up the glass, filled it, and counted out several pills onto the nightstand again. “Ball-less drone of a shell-less egg,” she snapped, batting the full glass of water off the nightstand and sending it tumbling across the thin carpet. “Turn me over to your police so that I may be killed instead of living through this torture.” “No,” said Beets. After putting several of the more threadbare towels on the damp carpet to soak up the spilled water, he pulled the last towels out of his closet and arranged them around the changeling’s legs in a futile attempt to make her more comfortable before speaking again. “I’m not. Turning you into the police, that is.” “What, do you plan on tying me to the bed and having your way with me?” She laughed, a low, grating noise through gritted teeth. “No,” continued Beets calmly. “Once you’re feeling well enough to leave, you can leave. I won’t stop you.” “They’ll kill me,” hissed the changeling. “I can feel their hatred from here.” “Your bug-princess did try to take over Equestria and assaulted Princess Celestia during Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s wedding,” said Beets. “You're just food,” growled the changeling, flashing a feral grin between bared teeth as Beets twitched in response. “What, does it bother you? Don't you think you'd be a little upset if an apple tree was strolling through town, eating ponies as it went? You're a coward. A craven coward. Go on, hit me. You know you want to. I can feel it.” “No,” muttered Beets through thin lips. “One bucking thing in this life that I try to save, and it’s determined to get me to pound it to death.” “Sounds like a safer route than being your friend,” snarled the changeling. “I heard what you two were talking about. Boo-hoo, all of Beet Salad’s friends and family have died on him. Makes you feel angry, doesn't it? Don't lie to me. I can feel it leaking through your skin. You're just a worthless little ball of angst and anger, trying to find one redeeming factor in your life. Well, I’m not it. Heal me up and send me out into the world, and everytime you see a newspaper article about some poor stallion being sucked dry of his love, you'll blame yourself.” Beets stood up abruptly and strode into the kitchen, returning with another fresh glass of water which he placed on the nightstand next to the pills. “I’m going to bed,” he said in a very calm and deliberate manner, picking up the alarm clock and striding towards the bathroom. “I’ll sleep in the tub.” “Screw you!” snapped the changeling. “Not likely,” said Beets. “I’m locking the bathroom door. Piss on the floor for all I care.”