20. Cash in your Chips
Press adjusted his tie, his annoying smile unfaltering as he awaited a response from his loyal journalist Syntax. “Ah-” was all she could muster back to him.
“Ah~?” he asked in playful confusion and tilting his head towards her. “I can’t do much with ‘ah’. I need something from you, Syntax.”
“Ah, ah, I uh- I don’t think I- I... I don’t think I have anything for you, Press.” Syntax scratched at the fur on her neck, passing memories of Bats lips and tongue passing over it suddenly invading her subconscious causing even more anxious buzzing to resound through her head. “I uh, don’t.”
Press’s smile faded slowly, almost as if he was told a bad joke. He made an effort to hide his frustration, quickly taking an aside glance and looking back in her eyes. “Well... that’s a problem, Syntax.”
“How so?” She asked a question she already knew the answer to.
“Syntax, I have already given you two time extensions on what you had initially promised. Not only that, but you had asked for a much larger than average amount of time for your deadline. Now, you’ve been with the company for some time and have gotten a fantastic reputation for yourself, but there’s only so much seniority will buy you. I absolutely need something from you or I will have to take disciplinary measures.”
Disciplinary measures? What are you going to do, spank me? I’m not a child.
Syntax squinted and grabbed her temple, a sudden sharp pain flashing through her head. A combination of annoyance, stress, and a little bit of hangover were likely the cause. “Look, press. I don’t have anything. I’m sorry. I’ll take a paycut, or whatever you want, just-”
Suddenly, there was a loud bang upstairs causing both ponies to eye the staircase. Press looked intrigued. Syntax tried with every molecule of her body to not look terrified. FUCK! Bats is still here! This is bad.
“What was that?” Press made an effort to step inside Syntax’s home, but she quickly quelled that goal by placing her hoof on the frame.
“Nothing! Nothing! Just... I think I set something on the edge of my table upstairs, it uh, probably just fell off the table.” Syntax winced at her own terrible lie.
As if on cue to prove her wrong, a few more soft thuds were heard, the telltale signs of footsteps hitting the soft carpet of her bedroom. Shit.
“Are you quite certain? It sounds like there’s somepony up there.”
“I-” Syntax started, taking a few steps towards the staircase, terrified that Royal may start walking down the stairs. “No, there’s nopony here.”
“Syntax, are you okay? Are you in some sort of danger?”
Syntax nearly tripped over herself at that wild interpretation. “What? Danger? No!” Of course, thanks to her sudden and uncharacteristic onset of anxiety, maybe her being in danger wasn’t that outlandish of a consideration. “I’m just...”
Syntax wracked her brain trying to come up with some sort of excuse for the recent events, but, when she came up short, she decided to play into it. “I’m just scared!” she yelped, almost laughing at her own performance. “I don’t know what those sounds were, I-I-I’ll just go, go check, alright. Make sure everything’s on the up and up.”
“I- Syntax!” Press held her shoulder before she could leave. “Syntax, I can’t let you go up there by yourself. Let me come with you.” At some point, Press and Syntax had both stepped inside her house. She couldn’t let him go with her... she had to come up with something!
“No, no, no. You can’t go up there.”
Press raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated at Syntax’s continued fight against him. “Why not?” he asked, annoyed.
“Cause I have some personal stuff up there, okay?”
“Like what? What could there possibly be that I don’t already know about you?”
“Dildos,” she reflexively said. “Like, a lot.”
Press grunted in disgust, closing his eyes in embarrassment and shaking his head slowly. “Alright, alright. Fine. Go up there and yell for me if something is amiss. Just- it’s not gonna be my fault if you die a horrible death because of your stubbornness.”
Syntax wasted no time. She glided up the stairs, shouldering the half-open door ajar, and quickly, gently, latched the door behind her. Her sudden entrance gave Royal pause, who had just gotten out of bed with a cute ruffled mane, presumably heading to the same door Syntax had burst through.
“Bats!” she shouted as quietly as possible.
“What?” he responded at an annoyingly normal volume. Couldn’t he see what kind of situation they were both in?!
“There’s a stallion here!” Surely, that would explain everything!
Royal blinked a few times. “Do... do I need to kill him?”
“What?! No!” Syntax inhaled and exhaled quickly, earning a bit of lightheadedness that she admittedly needed to clear her mind, then spoke slowly. “No. My editor, Tim Press, is here. He’s hounding me for-” Syntax suddenly realized that disclosing this may be damaging to her relationship with Royal. Probably not, but... she didn’t want to take the chance. “...hounding me to go back to the office.” She looked away as she said it, which was normally bad form when lying, but thankfully Royal was as inept as always when it came to social cues. “I took a few too many days off,” she added, deciding a half-truth was better than lying to his face.
“Why is he in your house?”
“Yo, the fuck is this, twenty questions? You a cop or somethin’?” Syntax widened her own eyes at her own exaggerated boston accent that escaped her mouth. Why was she so nervous? She lies all the time. Why was it so hard now?
Royal appeared understandably confused. “Umm, okay? What... what do you want me to do?”
“Lea-” Syntax choked up, not wanting to finish saying ‘leave’. Every fiber of her being did not want him to leave in spite of the practical situation she found herself in this moment. It took her a while to decipher her feelings on this before shaking her head and stomping her hoof. “Leave. You need to leave.”
“Ah,” Royal ah’d.
“For now! For now.” Syntax shook her head violently this time. She trailed her hooves over his head onto either side of his neck. “I want you to come back, I just-”
“I know, Miss Syntax. I’m not a child. There’s more at stake here than us.” He leaned in close, holding her cheek and whispering in her ear. Her mane must have been tickling his snout at least a little. He brushed her hooves off of him as he stepped away. “I’ll be back.” He smiled and winked, a rare display of playfulness that Syntax had taken to treasuring in the short time she knew him. Taking his leave, Royal opened up the window, quickly scanned the surrounding area, and flew off.
Goddamn, did the room feel empty without him.
The only sound left in the room was Syntax’s own ragged breaths. “Okay,” she assured herself. “Okay.”
“Miss Syntax? Are you alright up there?”
Press’ unwelcome voice bounced its way up to Syntax’s bedroom, unpleasantly muffled by the door she now found herself leaning on. She felt an irritation in her eyes. They were dry along with her mouth. The stress was getting to her. The lies, the deceit, the meddling morons that wouldn’t leave her alone and just have this... it was all collapsing in on her.
“Just breathe, girl,” she steeled herself. “You can do this.”
She forced herself to move, her actions deliberate as a cause of her subconscious desire to just give up.
“It was nothing, Press. Must’ve been the vents or something.”
Syntax sluggishly trotted downstairs, her pace a far cry from her initial ascent.
“Ah. I see. Well I’m glad it was nothing.”
Finishing her descent, she made her way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing some tomato juice. She forwent grabbing a glass, and instead took a swig directly from the carton, solving her dry mouth problem and somewhat exacerbating her dry eye problem. After savoring the flavor for a few moments, she realized Press hadn’t spoken in a remarkable amount of time.
She made eye contact with him. He didn’t look away. “Syntax...” he breathed, making a show of his disappointment. “Are you sure you don’t have anything for me?”
“I’m sure.” Syntax was already past the point of hesitating.
“Positive?”
The incredulity Syntax felt for a brief moment showed itself on her face for an even briefer moment. “Yeah. Positive. I’m sorry, Press. I know you count on me.”
His gaze softened after hearing her words. “Well. As long as you are aware I suppose. I... guess I’ll make my leave for now.”
“That would be best, I believe.”
“We can talk about what we will do about this whole situation later. Until then... I hope you sort out whatever you’re going through.” Press turned away and walked towards the front door. He paused at the door, but exhaled and walked through without another word.
“I hope so too.”
All there was left without Royal and Press was an empty apartment, and Syntax.
It may as well have just been an empty apartment.
It should’ve been just a normal day. If at any point someone would have managed to say the right words, or do the right thing, maybe all of the hardships they would have to experience could be quelled in some way... but life had other plans.
Sketch was familiar with this darkness now. He sat on a boat out in the pitch black water. A sea so dark one couldn’t tell when the night sky met the water on the horizon. For a brief moment, Sketch wondered if she’d show. He didn’t have to wonder long, as the sign of her arrival revealed itself to him.
Holes in the vessel Sketch rode in materialized from nothing. And from those holes poured in an ethereal material, coalescing into a singular point onto the center of the deck. It spiraled into itself and rose from the floor, slowly taking shape in front of the adolescent stallion. The shape of a tall mare.
The Nightmare.
“You really don’t have to make your entrances so dramatic.” Sketch coyly teased as he leaned onto the railing of the ship. In all reality Sketch enjoyed the show, but he had an inkling of a feeling that she somehow knew that.
“I must travel in a way that seeds into your subconscious. Otherwise I’d just startle you awake,” she explained haughtily, nose in the air.
“So you admit you want to talk to me?” Sketch giggled, tapping his chin in faux thought.
“Do not misperceive my indulgence of your curiosity as anything short of entertainment to my benefit.”
“I’m... entertaining to you?”
“As a train wreck would be.”
Nightmare Moon’s composure was steadfast, a single crack did not show in her presentation. The only thing that may have betrayed her interest in the stallion, was her sudden and smooth approach to him.
“What do you think you have to gain from me, boy?”
“I dunno,” he honestly answered. “It’s just pleasant to talk to you.”
“It really shouldn’t be,” she challenged, looking out into the black as Sketch had been. She slowly shifted her weight towards Sketch in an effort to add emphasis to her next words. “You will accomplish nothing in your endeavors, you know. All except the damnation of all those around you.”
“How do you know?” Sketch asked, frowning.
“I was once in your shoes, Sketch. Damnation... it is all the darkness brings. It is consistent. There are no other outcomes. Ponies shun the darkness and they curse what they cannot understand. They destroy what they cannot see.”
“I mean... my parents don’t. Anthem and Haren don’t. If they can-”
“They pretend.” Nightmare Moon’s eyes narrowed as she turned towards Sketch. “They pretend to be your friend. Your ally. But all to scheme to pull you out. Yank you out of the darkness that embraces you. They wish to purge everything around you so they can... ‘get you back’. But they will never accept the darkness itself. It always has to be a compromise.”
As much as Sketch didn’t want to believe her... it tracked with his experiences. Even Trust had said something along those lines. That she could tell everyone was still afraid of her... even if they wore accepting smiles. Even still...
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”
The Nightmare didn’t respond for a while, content with looking out into the sea. But in the end she smiled a sore, incredulous smile. “And that’s supposed to make a difference? One outlier?”
“But you do admit I’m different.” Sketch smiled his boyish smile, desperate for any spark of connection to appear. But, frustratingly so, his success was vague and uncertain.
“I’d hardly see it as an accolade.” The Nightmare climbed on top of the railing suddenly, craning her neck to maintain eye contact with Sketch. Menacing as her appearance was, she was quite elegant and beautiful. “You will see what I mean, Sketch.”
It was strange to hear the Nightmare call him by name. He wasn’t even sure if he had told her at any point. It would have been more off-putting if showing up in his dreams like this wasn’t already a unique circumstance.
“The nightmare is beginning soon,” she continued. “All the ripples you have been causing are starting to take hold. You will begin feeling the consequences of your actions nearer in the future than you think. How will you react I wonder? I wonder if you will take the same path as I.” She stepped off the boat, and instead of falling, simply walked across the thin air. “Will you have regrets...?”
Sketch didn’t answer. He didn’t know if he had regrets now. But her prior words still occupied his mind. ‘Will you take the same path as I’? What did she mean by that? Literally, that was terrifying to think. Betraying everyone, plotting to force those around him to accept him. Or maybe she meant it figuratively, to ostracize himself and indulge in the rejection, to seethe in the dark. Or maybe... it was something else...
“I wish you luck in your quest, Sketch. Perhaps if you survive, you can become one of my subjects...” The Nightmare chuckled darkly as she walked into the abyss. The chuckle turned into a laugh, then a guffaw. The laughter of anticipation mixed with a bit of schadenfreude.
Sketch frowned, disappointed by the brevity of their meeting. He didn’t have time to think on it, however, as the darkness quickly flowed around him, consuming him from the hoof up. As it enveloped him, he softly spoke to the distance. “See you soon.”
Sketch woke up with a start. He involuntarily sat up in his bed, the sheets folding under him. While people usually woke up groggy or sluggish, today Sketch woke up with a clear mind and senses, which was in a way actually more disorienting. He shut his eyes as irritation made itself known, the light pounding at his retinas. It clawed at his eyelids, drawing tears from him.
“Dammit.” Sketch breathed to no one. Trust wasn’t here today, since even though the air was cleared last night his mother would never let a girl just sleep over in his room. That was going to be a new thing to figure out, what kind of boundaries he was going to have going forward. The special circumstances along with his age made the lines kind of fuzzy. Though maybe he was overthinking it. Going with his gut seemed to be going pretty positively recently, no reason to stop now.
Thinking about the events of the previous night was surreal. It almost felt like a dream. The feverish mixture of emotions was turbulent to say the least. It almost gave him a stomach ache. But at the end of the day, it was good. All the dirty laundry was out. As bad as things could have gone, Sketch decided to just cash his chips while he was still in the green.
As the harshness of the morning light dulled, Sketch had the opportunity to adjust his hearing to the day as well.
He noticed a commotion outside. Some murmuring and creaking of carriages. Normally it wouldn’t be that out of the ordinary in Canterlot, but it was a little too early. The light of the sun had graced the sky, but the sun itself hadn’t shown up quite yet. Probably four in the morning, or five. Sketch got up to see what the sounds were about, trudging slowly over to the window and glancing outside.
“Oh no.” Sketch’s blood froze as he looked over his front yard. It took a fraction of a second to identify what he was looking at, but it didn’t take long for him to feel the creeping dread of the situation. Canterlot Castle guards stood outside his door. There was a concerning amount, around six or so, littering the yard in various areas. Some stood at rapt attention, as if they were statues, while a couple others patrolled the yard and rotated their heads, with their expressions at a similar level of stoicism.
Sketch slowly backed away from his window, nearly tripping on some pages laying on the floor. He spun around, double taking his window as he trotted towards his door, throwing it open with his magic and continuing down the hall leading to the stairs.
“Mom, Dad?” he called as he descended. “What’s going-” He stopped mid-sentence halfway down the stairs. He almost couldn’t comprehend the entity before his very eyes.
His mother was grinning nervously, first at the mare sitting on his sofa then to him as he revealed himself from the stairs. His father was looking at the floor, his eyes dark.
And the mare on the sofa? A tall, regal, powerful looking mare, double the size of anyone else in the room. An absolute bastion of society, the alabaster princess herself.
Celestia.
Her flowing rainbow ethereal mane wrapped itself around the sofa and cushions and she was covered in pure gold accessories, from beautiful and complex horseshoes to a giant yoke-like necklace. She was smiling softly, a glass of tea to her lips, and her eyes were closed.
“Sketch, honey, uhh... this is Princess Celestia!” As if he needed an introduction.
“Arthur Sketch, I presume?” Celestia spoke, her soft yet commanding tone somehow several decibels higher than anyone else’s despite surface-level sounding quieter. She didn’t wait for him to answer before turning towards the adolescent stallion, lowering her teacup and opening her eyes. Her smile faded suddenly, making the whole room seem dimmer. She almost whispered what she said next, her tone ominous. “We need to have a little chat.”
She stared daggers into him.
The light was horrifying.
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Cat's out of the bag!
It lives!!!! Now to reread it to remember what's going on.
11276422
I sympathize that you have to reread the first four chapters they are so bad :L
Oh man, it’s good to see this update again. I’ll probably end up starting from the beginning again. So I probably won’t get to the new chapter for a while.
I found this a couple of days ago, al caught up now. Glad you came back to it. Fic definitely has some issues, but it's been a fun read none the less. Looking forward to the conclusion.
I'm glad you decided write this again. Just found this story a few days ago, and it was really entertaining to read. It would have been quite sad to not see this little gem completed, so it's good to see it's still alive.
Also, that cliffhanger! Things just started to get reeeaaal interesting.
I finally got around to me re-read. Oh man, things are getting interesting. I’ve been waiting for this meeting. Hopefully the next chapter won’t this long, especially with this cliffhanger.
This fic really held up. I was kinda worried that it wouldn’t because I’ve had that issue with some other authors. They came back recently and I just couldn’t get back into their work. Fortunately that wasn’t the case with you, it was a smooth and easy read from the get go. I really enjoy this fic (even though I’m not the biggest fan of bat ponies) and I’m glad your still working on it.
Syntax's editor is really pushy, and with all the time he had alone downstairs I think he might've found her article in the trash bin.
A foreboding visit from Nightmare Luna followed by an surprise visit from The Guard. Oh boy, that's bound to be rough time.
On a side note, i didn't notice this story had a new chapter until i was going through my tracked stories shelf. Stupid notifications not working...*grumbles*
I feel like I've forgotten so much so it's like reading a brand new story. Maybe I should go back through my favorites and reread...