• Published 26th Jan 2014
  • 48,014 Views, 6,080 Comments

Bad Mondays - Handyman



A particularly stubborn human is lost in Equestria and is trying his damnedest to find a way out, while surviving the surprisingly difficult rigours of life in a land filled with cute talking animals. Hilarity ensues.

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Chapter 45 - A Load of Bull

The train was especially rocky the first time he regained consciousness from being shook from side to side. The room was dark with the barest hint of moonlight sneaking in through the closed window blinds. He scarcely noticed that he faced the ceiling before the bleariness at the edge of his vision, the cold sweat that clung to his skin like a film of ice, and the burning in his head compelled him once more to delve into oblivion. He just barely registered that there was something wet and heavy on his forehead before all went dark.

The second time he came around, he was on his side, his vision completely blurred, his hearing warped. Everything sounded as if he were underwater. Faint light filtered into the room, so he figured it was daytime. The train was not moving, everything still and quiet except for his raspy breathing. He knew he said something, or made some kind of noise at least. Perhaps it was a cough. He didn't have time to linger on the thought, for he drifted off again.

He came to twice more, again when the train was moving. It was twilight, the uncovered window allowing him a glimpse outside, and he could see the first flakes of snow that evening. He had drifted back to sleep after that. The second time it was night, but the light in the cabin was on again. His mouth felt parched, his head still burned, but not as bad. His temporary escape from the dreamless void was rescinded, and the darkness claimed him prisoner once again.

When he finally regained full consciousness, he could think clearly again. The train was lying still and unmoving, though he could hear shouting from outside. The window blinds were closed, but sunlight could still be seen creeping into the cabin. They must have stopped at a station. He lay there for a while, trying to get his senses back, entertaining the dancing phantasms in the periphery of his sight that simply had to be the result of the fever fucking with the information his eyes were sending his brain. You know, the sort of delirious nonsense you saw when you were just too sick to get out of bed.

He noticed several things in order. Firstly, his auspex (Handy having finally decided to call the power something for the sake of convenience) was taking longer than usual to start up. One, then two… five… fifteen people in the near vicinity, most of them outside the train car. It didn't spread as far as it usually did and hurt slightly more as each new tug on his mind came into focus. He blamed it on the fever.

The next thing he noticed was that he was lying on his back, and that he was covered in a blanket. Funnily enough, the terrifying implication of that fact was not the next thing he noticed. Instead, that honour belonged to the fact that his throat was very, very dry. He would have loved nothing more than to find a lake and promptly drown himself in it long enough to quench his thirst.

Speaking of thirst, he must have been out for several more days, because that little annoyance of his was back again. It could go fuck itself until Handy was good and ready to get on his feet and take care of it. He still had another week before it got really bad.

Then Handy noticed he was wearing a blanket. Comprehension dawned, and his panic began to rise. Then and only then did Handy try to say something intelligent, and spring into action to do something about the fact that somebody had entered the cabin while he was asleep.

"Ablubleh!"

And he promptly flopped off the seat and onto the floor. Turned out trying to spring into action after being floored by a bad fever for a few days was pretty fucking stupid. The aches and pains from his little adventure in Manehatten still remained, though they were replaced in urgency by the awful cramps from lying in one position for too long. His shoulder blades, the joints in his arms, wrists, ankles, knees — everything seemed to pop and crack with each movement as he pushed himself up. He felt so stiff, but by God did he need that rest. Fever or no, he did feel marginally better. At least he was warm. He stifled a small cough.

Good news: he was still in his armour. Bad news: the bits of his armour he had managed to take off were nowhere to be seen. Furthermore, his packs were placed on the other seat in the cabin where they had been opened. He lurched across and grabbed the packs, rummaging through them. His sack of old magic pages was there, as were the amulet, the strange drawing Chrysalis wanted that had gotten him into this mess, and… a chisel?

When the hell did he get a chisel?

It didn't matter. There was also the strange crunched remains of a dried leaf he didn't remember stuffing into his pack. Must have been from that time in the forest or something. He also found his little grooming kit, a book, along with the few bits and bobs he had purchased at the festival from that old shyster posing as a retired court mage. Nothing seemed to be missing that he didn't already lose in the Greenwoods, and nothing seemed to be added… except that chisel. He tossed that away, just in case it was cursed or something.

Don't look at Handy like that. By this point, you would have done the same.

He tossed his packs back onto his seat and looked around for where his helmet had gone, finding it stored in a shelf above the seat where he had lain. The shelf above this other seat, however, was filled with a stranger's possessions. He looked at the door, noting that the catch was unlocked. Fear shot through him. Had he been captured? Had the guards found him out? Had they chased the train and now kept him locked in here for safe keeping? Was he trapped? He knew he was being tracked somehow, but he thought he could have bought himself enough time on the train to— The fever. He had been out for days. Oh fuck, they had had plenty of time to catch up to him. The hell was he going to do, the—

The door to the cabin slid open, and a slightly delirious Handy turned to stare into the face of a slate grey pony. The mare looked up at him with a bored, half-lidded expression before blinking, a slow and deliberate action.

A light purple, neatly trimmed mane framed her face, a straight line from one ear to the other demarcating where her fringe ended and her face began. Her eyelashes had so much mascara that it was as though her eyelids were defined by one long, elegant pen stroke each, while the eyelids themselves had a soft purple eyeshadow that matched her mane. Her eyes, however, were dull as a rock, which was odd for a pony. No bright colours, just a very light sea green, the colour of the ocean tide as it clung to the shoreline as the water receded. Also odd for a pony, she was fully clothed in a blue frock from neck to haunch, with a hole for her tail. Handy just sort of blinked at her.

Nothing, nada, not a blip. He could sense her, she was there, but her emotions were… Well, it was frankly weird to feel. Everything was steady, even, ordered, not so much as a tremor or flicker. If she had been surprised to see him walking about, there was literally no way of knowing.

"Oh. You're awake," she monotoned. No inflection, nothing. Handy contemplated slowly reaching for his hammer. "Are you better now?"

"…What?" Handy croaked. She blinked slowly.

"I asked if you are you better now?"

"I… yeah. A little," he said, not quite sure what to make of the pony.

"Good, the train will be leaving in another hour." Blink. "Can you let me in?"

"Why?" Handy asked, noticing he was, in fact, standing in her way.

"Because it is my cabin," she replied evenly as she hoofed into an opening in her frock and pulled out what looked to be a ticket. The number 29B matched that on the door. He wasn't sure whether it was his fever-addled mind, or the blasé way in which the pony reacted to him, but Handy did step aside. The mare walked in, closed the door behind her, flipped the latch, and climbed up onto her seat. She pulled a small book out of the space between the seat and the cabin wall, and placed it on the seat next to her as she sat on her haunches, idly reading it.

Handy just stood there, waiting for the other shoe to drop. However, the mare continued to quietly read her book, flicking a page over and not minding Handy one bit. There had to be something he was missing. He looked around. The door was locked, the blinds drawn. He wasn't restrained, still had his weapon and armour, and most importantly, nothing was missing from his bags. What the hell was this? Who was this pony?

He reached out with his auspex, the effort straining him in his condition and forcing him to sit down. No, nobody was in the air above them. If there were pegasi, none of them happened to be flying. The train car was mostly empty. Was every single one of those signatures a guard? He couldn't tell from here; he had to see. He shimmied over to the window, causing the mare across from him to glance up once at the movement before turning back to her book. He gently lifted the blinds by a sliver to spy on some of the ponies outside. No, none of them looked like soldiers. One or two had conductor uniforms, and at least one was covered in soot and dirt, likely a guy who worked on the engine. The rest were just normal-looking ponies. There was even what appeared to be a family with several kids. He released the blinds, caught up in this bizarre reality. There was no way he had gotten away scot free after being conked out for three days. What happened?

"I—" he croaked before he coughed into his fist to clear his throat. "What did you…? I mean, when did… How did you get in?"

"I unlocked the door." She didn’t bother to look up from her book. Well, ask a stupid question...

"H-How I… from the inside?"

"Train cabins are assigned keys," she said, producing a key from somewhere, holding it in her upturned hoof. It was small and made of iron. "You are given a key when you produce your ticket for the assigned seats, so nopony can enter your cabin and access your belongings when you are out of the cabin whenever the train stops. The security is solid, like a rock."

Handy could not say he cared much for the monotone, but at least it didn't sound grating or condescending. Hell, if anything, it was a plus. He wasn't sure how he'd handle people shouting or screaming or panicking. Really, this was actually a refreshing change of pace.

"Are… Are you a guard?" A very slow blink.

"No. Are you a criminal?" It took him a moment to decide how he wanted to answer that.

"No. But I'm… I mean… You know who I am, right?"

"No." A long, awkward pause. "Why would I?"

"Why would you— Where have you been the past year? Living under a rock?"

"Yes."

"Oh… I… Why?" Handy asked before going into a small coughing fit.

"Because it's my job," she explained, holding aloft her book about mineralogy. "I inspect mines. I prospect veins. I advise on quarry safety." She paused after explaining what she did with her life. It was a long pause. Another long, slow blink. "It's very exciting."

"I… can imagine," Handy conceded, squinting at the mare, unsure of what to make of her as she turned back to her book. They sat there in awkward silence for some time. Awkward for Handy at any rate. She wasn't a guard, didn't know who or what he was, and didn't as much as blink when she first saw him. Even more bizarre was she didn't seem to care either. It was at least a few minutes before they heard the squeal of the engine as the train shuddered to life once more and chugged along the rail lines.

Handy had so many questions, but right now he was still processing everything. As he was in no condition for sudden movements or antagonising anyone, he decided to focus on the facts. He wasn't currently arrested, the mare before him wasn't making his life difficult by shouting his presence hither and yon, and he was still making good distance away from Manehatten. So, y'know, progress.

"Crynthium," she said suddenly, rocking Handy from his thoughts.

"W-What?" His voice sounded marginally better, but by God could he use some more water. He coughed lightly.

"The pendant in your bag." She gestured with a hoof. That’s right, she had been looking through his stuff. A rising sense of indignation crept up from within but was subdued beneath the suffering of his fever. God, he was probably not going to be feeling one hundred percent for weeks now. "It fell out. The gem is worked crynthium. Crynthium is a metastable allotrope of carbon, like diamonds. Very rare. I’ve never seen one outside of the Rockology museum of Whinnypeg." She blinked. "It’s a very nice rock."

"I… thank… you?"

"It is also enchanted. Very hard to do."

"H-How can you tell?" Handy asked, suddenly VERY alarmed. He hoped to God Chrysalis hadn’t tried yapping at the strange mare handling the pendant while he was out cold. Oh God, please don't let her be that stupid.

"The corruption in the lattice work. It’s very subtle, but crynthium should be red in hue. This one is clear, with a hint of blue. It has been enchanted." Oh. Well then.

"That’s… right," Handy admitted, trying and failing to think up a way out of this particular line of conversation. "But you shouldn't go rummaging through people’s… things like that."

"I'm very sorry," she said in that same, dull voice. There was a pause, and then she went right back to her book, leaving the human sitting there wondering what that was all about. The train rocketed along the track and the train car rocked gently as it went. Eventually Handy had to ask.

"Why… What did you…?" he managed, pointing to the discarded blanket and the folded-up, slightly damp towel lying on the ground. The mare looked up.

"You were sick.” For some reason, her even tone kept Handy feeling like he was being spoken to as though he was a young child. "My sister was sick once. I had to take care of her. Mineral salts."

"…What?"

"Mineral salts. Dissolved in water." She pointed to the folded cloth on the ground. "Good for fevers, seeps into the skin over time. Cools inflammations, helps clear sinuses, eases headaches, and helps cool the body temperature."

"A… fever is a bit more than a head cold."

"I know. Baths are better, but it helps quicken the recovery."

"What kind of… minerals are these?" Handy asked suspiciously. Yes, the vampire addicted to a healing substance that was applied to the skin, and who drank blood to recover from wounds, questioned the rock pony's home remedy to treat fevers. Have patience with Handy — he was slightly delirious right now after all, and thought it was reasonable to instantly question these kinds of things as if they were inherently ridiculous. He'd get better.

"The best kind," the mare said simply, looking at Handy evenly. She didn't say anything further which, if anything, just raised Handy's suspicions even further. His eyes were drawn to her baggage on the rack above her head, and he briefly wondered what secrets this mare was hiding. That brought up another question.

"You… didn't tell anyone I was here?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You mean you're not supposed to be here?" Handy's mouth opened and then snapped shut. Fuck. They sat in silence yet again. She blinked one of her slow blinks and turned back to the book again, the matter apparently dropped.

More confused than worried, and with the train ride continuing unabated, Handy decided he was in no condition to contest his circumstances. He wasn't in danger, she wasn't giving him trouble, and had ceased bothering him about his condition and circumstances when he ceased prying about hers. Frankly, all things considered, he was perfectly fine with that. Briefly he ruminated on something she had said before finally relenting and asking for some water. She produced a rather large canteen from her sacks above her head. The water was like liquid comfort pouring down his ravaged throat, and he had to keep himself from coughing it up.

His head still swam and he coughed periodically, but otherwise the time passed. Slowly at first, then when it became apparent nothing was going to happen after a while, the mare put the book down. She slowly took out a sheaf of rolled parchment and a quill that she somehow held in her mouth, feather be damned, before taking out what looked like an ink bottle wrapped in thick linens. Handy watched curiously as she held the rolled sheaf of parchment across the seat and scribbled some incomprehensible notes and drew vague shapes of what looked like squiggly balls, which he assumed were rocks, upon its surface. The most he could make out were some numbers. Measurements perhaps? Curiosity got the better of him.

"You… know a lot about rocks? Diamonds and gems as well, I take it?" he asked. She looked up at him, quill in mouth, face expressionless. God, this woman would be deadly at poker. She nodded once, very slowly. "I have been wondering something. See, I'm not from around… here." He gestured vaguely. She didn't respond.

"Well back home, when we dig up… gems and the like, they are not normally pre-cut and shining straight out of the rock. I uh… worked for a while in a mine once when I first arrived here. Every one we dug up was already cleaned and shaped as if they were buried into solid rock. How is that?"

"They were grown." At Handy's blank stare, she continued. "Basic thaumageology. Some gems act like crystals and expand under pressure over time. Rubies, for example, are particularly common crop at rock farms."

"Rubies. Crop." Handy tried to marry those two concepts together in his brain. He failed. "H-How does that work?"

"That is what my family specialised in back home on the farm."

"…The rock… farm?"

"Yes. Do you not have rock farms back where you come from?"

"Humour me."

And she did. Well, she did to an extent. Surprisingly, he got a lot of what she was saying, specifically when she detailed how geodes, diamonds, gems, and ores all seemed to form, which, if you had even a rudimentary grasp of geography and geology, you would be able to understand. Heat plus pressure plus time equalled shiny things far beneath your feet. Volcanoes also helped for when the planet was feeling particularly impatient that eon. She didn't use those exact terms, but he got the gist of it. The fuckery began when she compared these naturally forming geodes, crystal, and gems as Handy knew them to the ones that were 'grown.'

As was typical any time he asked about anything remotely related to magic, he got terms and words thrown his way he didn't understand, and had to politely ask the mare to explain things to him in 'lay terms'. One of these days, he was just going to grab Crimson, sit her down in a room with him, point at a magic book, and yell 'EDUCATE ME!'. Long story short, whatever effect magic had in this world didn't stop where the ground began. What was possible through immense geological formation over phenomenal scales of time was also possible through magical incubation in certain rock types.

What was bizarre and an acknowledged mystery of 'modern' geology was how these 'grown' gems were identical to their naturally occurring brethren. The same also apparently applied to crystals, which resonated strongly with magic. That was a misuse of the term ‘natural’, considering the world he was in, but Handy wasn't sure of calling one kind igneous and the other agrarian as the mare did. He was no geologist, but that sounded like those would be incorrect terms, but he'd leave the intellectual slap fighting to the people with the rock boners and not challenge the matter.

"So, effectively, what's the difference between the two?" Handy asked at last.

"Resonance," the mare explained, now muzzle-deep in another book. This one was titled Rock Watching – The Professionals Guide. Handy could only assume it was a work of immense academic significance in some regard.

"Agrarian gems do not resonate nor store magic as well as igneous. They will run out and often shatter after use. While physically in attributes there is no true discernible difference between the two, their interaction with magic changes their individual values immensely."

Blink. She licked a hoof, turned a page, then continued.

"Agrarian gems are collected and usually used as a cheap source of decoration, or ponies trade them as a kind of hard currency, particularly by merchants traveling across borders. Diamond dogs horde them, as do dragons, who also eat them as food."

"Wait, dragons eat gems?" Finally, a reaction. Her right eyebrow rose questioningly. Sure, it was only by, like, five millimetres, but it was still a reaction. Handy opened his mouth to continue the question but decided to close it before he made himself look even more foolish. Weird, he remembered Felix, or Ferix, or whatever his name was — the dragon from the tournament. He had seen him eat meat. Sure, why not? Giant fire- breathing lizard – went with the territory – but gems too? He didn't see anything like that. Also, the dragon back in changeling town didn't count. It was too dead to eat anything, though not for a lack of trying.

"Igneous gems are invaluable by comparison. They hold their enchantments, even after the initial magic used to forge them has run out. This disparity of versatility has inflated the disparity of value of two otherwise identical gems considerably." Pause, hoof lick, page turn. "And considering igneous are naturally rarer and harder to find and to process, the value is inflated even more."

Handy's mind was brought back to one merchant he saw in Blackport and the two baskets of gems he had on his stall. One piled high and cheap, the other almost empty, and each individual gem worth more than the entire basket sat next to it. He had to ask...

"So if I had one… ruby. Let’s say…" He paused for a cough. His head still ached but this was genuinely interesting to him now. "…the size of my fist that was agrarian in nature. I could maybe buy myself a room and meal for a few nights? With a bit of change on the side?"

She nodded.

"Yet if I had a tiny sliver of a ruby, say, half the length of one finger." He pointed an index finger to the roof to give her an idea of scale. "But since it was igneous, I could probably just buy a house."

"More or less," she confirmed. Huh. Well hot damn. He patted his pack.

"So my pendant, what did you say it was?"

"Crynthium. Igneous. Very good."

"How much would it be worth? Even when it’s already been enchanted?" There was a long, telling pause where she didn't break eye contact once.

"Lots," she said at long last, turning back to her book. "I advise you don't wear it in public."

Haha, boy, she had no idea. Still, he double-checked to make sure the pendant was still in his pack one more time before putting the thing aside.

"You said they grew like crystals."

"Similar to crystals," she corrected without emphasis. "They seem to act like crystals in that manner, but they are not crystals."

"Right right, but how does it all work? I mean… with magic and all? And what is it with magic and crystals? Why do they operate in the same way? Some forming naturally and others just… grown?"

"I could not say. It is not my field," the mare responded. "You would need to consult a student of the arcane who specialises in such things. I am more concerned with their physical properties."

Handy left the topic at that, more surprised at himself than anything. He should be more alarmed at this scenario than he was but… Well, nothing had gone wrong yet. Without the conversation pertaining to geology, rocks, and other such rot, the mare quietly kept to herself and left Handy to his own affairs for the most part. Their only other interaction for the rest of their journey together culminated in a request for water on his part, which she granted.

After that, it was quiet. No interruptions, no questions, nothing. Handy's fever still made him miserable, but the water had done absolute wonders for making the few coughs he had bearable. The night came as the evening went, and as the train still moved, a question came to mind.

"Wh-Where is this train heading for?" he asked.

"Bridleburgh," she answered, as if Handy was supposed to know where that was. But hey, it wasn't Canterlot, and it wasn't anywhere where he and any unfortunate magical explosions had been recently, so it was immediately the better option. The question answered, he allowed himself to relax, the fever still kicking his ass even if it was receding. He suppressed his auspex, the pain and effort that caused preferable to the pain suffered by letting it run loose while his body was being ravaged. The carriage remained comfortably quiet after that, and at some point he drifted off without meaning to.

She was there in the morning, having woken up before him, wordlessly preparing her gear to leave. She said a brief farewell before hefting the bag of, apparently, rocks onto her back and leaving the cabin. He locked the door behind her, but not before double-checking on his pendant. She was no thief, did not give one damn about him or his reputation, or where he had come from, which was a refreshing change of pace, and had kept mostly silent and to herself, keeping things short and to the point otherwise.

That frankly made her the best conversation partner he had encountered in years. He probably should have asked her name, but then he'd only have to give his in return.

And that'd be no end of trouble.

--=--

It was an unicorn this time, if you must know. That was besides the matter; don't worry about it. He left her where she'd wake up, safe and sound, and only took what blood he needed. Although the surprising taste of peppermint was… No, no, don't worry about it. It was fine. As soon as he could get away with it, he'd go right back to animal blood again. She was already asleep and shouldn't remember a thing, a nightmare at most. It’d be fine. He swore that the next time he found a farm that reared pigs, he'd try his luck with one. Honest.

He had left the train behind not long after that mare had left him alone in that cabin. Bridleburgh was not his destination, the Badlands were, and the train wasn't going anywhere near there. He had taken his opportunity by removing his armour. All of it. He had packed it up, opened the window at the first stop with plentiful cover, and had made a run for it. He had pushed his auspex to its furthest extent, fever be damned, so he could make the short distance to the treeline without tripping across some random pony.

From there on, he had slogged it on foot in a rough westerly direction, or at least he had planned to until he found convenient transport. Somehow the Equestrians still hadn't found him, and as much as he didn't want to let his guard down, he simply had to allow himself the occasional rest every now and again. He had followed the roads, but only when there was tree cover nearby, diving out of sight as soon as he got a whiff of someone drawing near, on land or overhead. He got especially wary on days with prominent cloud cover. Those were times he definitely walked off the road, just in case some pegasus had been hiding behind the damn things.

He had found the whistle stop close to the end of the second day and had figured that was as good a time as any to sate his bloodlust before it got troublesome. He had only noticed the cloaked mare entering the inn beside what seemed to be an ill-maintained crossroads by chance. He had been raiding the clothesline of one of the locals that night, taking what appeared to be good material, to salvage it of course. Bed linens, table cloth, whichever, planning on using it to patch his tattered mess of clothes and fix his cloak so he wouldn't be running around like a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. Didn't know a damn thing about darning or sewing but he'd learn, damn it.

God he hated winter.

He had hesitated. She was an unknown, and as far as he knew, she was innocent. Did she really 'deserve' to be bitten? Still, she had been too good to pass up, and he knew no one had entered that inn apart from the owners that day. An unattached blow-in from afar, tired from a long journey, and staying at an inn in the middle of nowhere? Handy had had to be crazy to pass up that opportunity.

Waiting in the cold for all the lights to go out had been agonizing enough, but climbing his way up the shoddily constructed building to the first floor had been a pain in the arse. The window had been easy to open, and the mare snored like the eponymous Pokémon. Apparently she slept in her traveling gear. Weird. He had snuck in and had been especially careful about walking on the floor making sure to kick the over sized hat out of his way, keeping close to the wall. He had gotten what he came for, and had gotten out. No fucking around.

Two things had been learned that day: if his bite woke people up, it put them right the fuck back under again too. The second thing? Blood highs, for all their healing properties, did fuck all for his fever. Like zilch, nothing. Fuck you, Handy, you were stuck with your illness for its duration. It was getting better, yeah, but damn it all, getting rid of it would have been nice. He had exited the inn and sprinted away into the night, keen to put some distance between him and the small hamlet.

A full week since then and he was still traveling. His little experiments darning his clothes had nearly ended in disaster for his tunic, which was now more tablecloth than it was the original fabric. But live and learn. At least his clothes were now patched up, even if a hobo wouldn't be caught dead in them.

Carrying his armour was a pain. Hell, wearing it all the time was a pain, but it was easier over the long haul. He needed to be quick more than he needed to be safe, so it remained off for now. He avoided major settlements and got disturbingly good at stealing food, more so from peoples' store sheds in passing sharecroppers than actually breaking in somewhere and raiding the pantry. That was not to say he didn't break into places. They were usually storehouses and tool sheds and other kinds of outbuildings, mostly just to find a place to get a few hours’ sleep away from the chill and elements outside. That led to more than a few occasions where he had to skedaddle from ill-gotten bed rests in the wee hours of the morning before somebody caught him. He left more than a few country ponies thinking their homes weren't safe from winter bound critters looking for a free meal.

He needed to find a train, or hell, be able to just use the main road without having to ditch dive every other hour since he had a lot of ground to cover. Sure, he was still making some manner of headway between a week on foot and nearly four days’ worth of train travel west. Nevertheless, he was still avoiding any settlement larger than five houses and had to outright spend hours just hiding when the road got too busy. Not to mention the detours he had to take going through some wild brush. He'd be making far better progress if he didn't have to worry about any of this nonsense.

Oh and there was that one time he blundered into a frosted-over marsh with half-frozen water and nearly ran head first into a horrible thing that resembled a bulldog made out of scales, with a maw as wide as Handy was tall. It had a body the size of a large pony with six legs and had far too many teeth. That had not been a fun afternoon. Thankfully, whatever the fuck it was got grabbed by something bigger and tentacled and was dragged deeper into the marsh, squealing and yelping.

Handy… Handy stayed close to the road for the rest of that day.

To make things worse, Chrysalis was being silent. No attempt at communication was met with a response, not so much as a blip from the amulet. He would have thought that mare on the train had switched out his pendant with a fake one were it not for an obvious identifying mark just under the left side of the pendant's jewel, where it was inset.

If it was his pendant, and Chrysalis wasn't talking, how in the hell was he supposed to actually find her again even if he got to the Badlands? Thorax was back in the Enclave last he saw! Fuck fuck fuck.

And it was cold now. He had a system worked out most nights. First, he dug a pit. Like a literal pit, half a foot deep at least, then filled it with leaves, twigs, flammable material, and work up the nerve to light something on fire on top of his hammer, carefully lift it over and dump it into the pit, let it to catch light, take a few steps away, and wait for his heart to stop pounding. Then he’d pile on the heavier stuff for fire fuel once it had time to breathe. Handy used a stolen bedsheet for a makeshift shelter above him to keep the heat from escaping straight up, making sure it always had to pass by a shivering and unhappy Handy before it escaped into the night air.

Of course, this meant there were a number of families left howling about stolen linens they had cleaned and a suspicious number of strange pits set at the base of trees surrounded by a circle of stones all along the way, but fuck it, safety first. Handy needed fire to prevent hypothermia, so he made do as best he could given his conditions, even if it meant he had to constantly keep it maintained some nights. One night, he lit his torch and willed it to point him in the direction of Lepidopolis, just to double check he was still in the right direction. Ohhhh, west, not as if he hadn't been going that direction anyway.

It flickered, stuttered, and then suddenly pointed north. Handy's brow furrowed, and he willed it to show him the way to Lepidopolis.

It kept pointing north of his position.

He looked around the tree he was staying behind. It was on a hill behind a copse, separating it from the road by about a dozen metres. What in the hell? North wasn't anywhere near where he wanted to go. He looked back at the torch curiously and willed it to take him to the Badlands. The flickering blue flame turned west, ignoring any influence from the light breeze rolling around his makeshift camp. He then willed it to take him to Chrysalis. It pointed north. He willed it to take him to the Badlands, near where Lepidopolis was. It bent west. He willed it to take it to Lepidopolis. It bent north. He willed it to take him where he would be physically nearest to Chrysalis. It bent west again.

What the fucking fuck.

Okay, what the hell? Something was drawing its attention north whenever he actually wanted to get to Lepidopolis. It had never acted like this any other night. Was he near something that could change the torch's decision? Curious in spite of himself, he kicked some dirt into his fire pit. He had slept plenty last night and hadn't made much progress today, having had to hide from the busy road. He wasn't comfortable anyway, so he decided to do another slog before turning in for the night.

Gathering up his gear, still slightly winded and not fully recovered, he carried his stuff and forged ahead. His blue flame led the way into the night. He followed the road until it came to an intersection, a spur leading off to the northwest. He followed its bends until he came to a small valley with little tree coverage. That made him wary.

Surprisingly, the flame was bent towards the east of the valley now, towards a small town. The place had three large windmills sitting prominently on three hills surrounding the town itself. A good number of houses clustered around the main townhouse were in turn surrounded by farm fields, the harvest long since collected and the fallow fields covered in white snow. If the witch torch was telling the truth, then this place was directly north of where he had been planning on camping that night. How in the hell was this place supposed to get him to Lepidopolis?

He looked over the valley again. It was bordered on three sides by woodlands and he could make out the main road snaking its way along the valley, disappearing as it approached the north-western lip and dissolving into the woods again. Beyond the town, he could make out rolling hills and the barely distinct black blobs indicating far-off settlements. Only by the grace of the moonlight could he distinguish them from the winter night's sky at all.

It all looked normal, yet the torch was pointing towards the town. Somehow, there was something there that it knew would take him to Lepidopolis.

So much for getting any sleep tonight.

--=--

He hummed to himself as he rolled the map open across the table, quill grasped in muzzle as he placed weights at the corners. The hiss of running water could be heard from the water closet behind him, and steam teased out from the space beneath the door.

"Having fun in there?" he called out teasingly, letting a false hint of agitation enter his voice, as if indignant she'd be spending so long under the running water. He got no response of course. In truth, they had been on the road for over two weeks now, practically combing the land from Manehatten to the Badlands looking for their quarry, and this was the first rented accommodation they came across in a while that had hot and cold running water.

So of course they ruthlessly abused this luxury.

He eyed his sword on the table beside him, grateful at its recovery but sorrowful at the harsh reality it represented.

No more going back home for him, even if he had found him and brought him back. His life was basically over now that he was seen as more of a liability than an asset. He had left the Enclave with an escort or two, and now he had none and nopony would be going back to inform. Just him, his sword, and some very pleasant company. He had no choice but to find refuge in the North. Or with the changelings. That, put simply, was as good as suicidal.

He slipped up and had let that pang of guilt and fear leak out. He promptly heard the squeal of the shower handle turn off and the rushing water stop, so he simply sat there studying the map as he waited for her to dry off.

Sure enough, he didn't have to wait long before he heard the clip clop of hooves drawing nearer from behind. He felt smooth dermis and slightly damp mane hair brush up against him as she laid her chin on his shoulder, a hoof wrapped around his side and the light weight of her body weighing down upon his back.

"What’s wrong?" she mumbled tiredly, looking at him sideways, strands of her growing mane drifting across the front of her face. He smiled at her.

"Nothing, just thinking."

"Ohhh, dangerous."

"Hmhm, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, chere?"

"Maybe I do," she replied, nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck, sighing contently.

"Comfy?" She just mumbled in response. He snorted in amusement and turned back to the map before him, illuminated by the flickering light of the oil lantern. A thought had been eating away at him for a while now, and he wanted to raise it with her. Nevertheless, he didn't want to spoil the moment, so he sat there in silence for a few moments longer, allowing them both to enjoy each other's warmth.

"We're going to have to double back," she said at last, eyes closed and evidently tired. He looked at her in surprise, giving voice to his thoughts. He smiled wryly.

"We have been turning up nothing recently, haven't we?"

"Mmm," she agreed, shifting to maintain comfort. "We must have passed him by now. There is no other way."

"None of your 'friends' hear anything?" he probed. Her ear twitched and her brow furrowed momentarily in annoyance. He smiled at that. It was as good as an answer. "It's adorable you think I don't notice you trying to distract me with something so you can sneak off to cavort with local ne’er-do-wells."

"I said nothing," she said with the merest hint of a harrumph, swatting his side with her tail.

"So I take it they haven't seen nor heard anything either?" he asked.

"No. Yours?"

"I know which towns and cities have branches, but I run short on contacts the further from the coast I get."

"You should work on that."

"Perhaps." He sighed, rolling the map over and shifting his weight, eliciting a grunt of disappointment from his companion in the process. His horn lit up and he turned the oil lantern off. "But perhaps we should worry about all of that in the morning, hmm?"

"Yeah," she relented, with a tired yawn, "no sense fretting now. It’s not as if he's just going to—"

There were few things that can truly, honestly, scare the shit out of a changeling, but being blindsided, truly and utterly blindsided, was one of them. Even in the darkest of caves, with the direst of assassins on their tails, a changeling would always have some forewarning, even if it was only a second prior to being stabbed. They were never truly and utterly taken by surprise.

Thorax had absolutely no forewarning that there was anything on the other side of their shack door before it got kicked in and a great big, shambling, malformed thing stumbled through the doorway, shouting muffled nonsense.

Thorax reacted immediately, lighting up her horn and firing bolt after bolt of magic at the thing’s centre of mass. Silver moonlight streaming through the doorway silhouetted the thing, and the flickering from the strange blue light it swung only served to exaggerate its hulking form. Bright flashes of green magic impacted its chest and blew off chunks of whatever it had for fur, casting nightmarish shapes and shadows about the dark room. When she paused, a waft of acrid smoke drifting off her horn, Jacques struck, leaping at the thing with the lantern clasped in his magic. His sword had fallen off the table in the confusion, leaving him with no time to fumble about looking for it.

He collided bodily with the thing, and both forms fell back into the corridor beyond. The thing dropped its light as Jacques went at it with hooves and blows of the iron cast lantern. A tremendous blow to his side from something made of steel winded him, but he pressed on as the flailing thing beneath him continued to struggle.

While that was going on, Thorax couldn't get a clear shot, so failing the ability to blast the thing insensate with magic, she sought to do the next best thing:

Murder!

Her horn lit up, and she went for the drawers beside the bed, opening one and withdrawing the stiletto she kept there and turning, ready to—

Wait.

She blinked as she spied the blue light on the floor. It was a torch, one that wasn't burning the carpet it was touching. She… She had seen that before. She looked over at the dark fighting forms again, hesitating for just a moment longer.

No. No it couldn't be. The world did not work that way. Not after all this time spent in the mud and the dirt in the backside of Equestria did something like this bucking happen.

She lifted the torch in her magic and tentatively approached the fighting pair, her blade held behind her head.

"Handy?" she asked as she approached. "Jacques! Jacques, stop!"

"What!?" he shouted back, before getting clipped over the head and dropping the lantern.

"Stop, I think that’s Handy!" Sure enough, Jacques stopped his struggling, as did the thing beneath him. The torch was passed over, and the blue light revealed the prone form of the human, swaddled as he was in a monstrous mishmash of fabrics tied and held together for warmth, smoking and slightly charred from Thorax's earlier blasts. His form had been distorted underneath them, giving him a hulking, monstrous shape. His face was almost entirely covered, and a pair of very familiar eyes, one of which was now bruised, glared up at Jacques.

"Oh," Jacques squawked in surprise, his face adopting a stupid expression before smiling awkwardly. “Handy, hi!"

And so it was that Handy's fist crashed into the unicorn's jaw with all the force of a furious Irishman.

--=--

"The entire time!?" Handy had moved on from the violent greetings and straight to the angry Q&A portion of his unexpected visit. That was what friends did, right? Right.

Thorax had to put on a show when the concerned landlord who had rented out the shack to the lovely pair of ponies earlier that very evening came out to investigate the disturbances he heard. He had been reassured it had only been a case of some rabid wombats that had made a nest in the shack. She even showed him the claw marks they made on her flank!

With a hasty out-of-sight assembly of sticks and junk to vaguely resemble something that might have once been a nest, Thorax had managed to convince the landlord. What immediately followed were several hurried apologies and an offer of free room and board.

"Calm down," Jacques said wearily, lying diagonally on the shack's only bed. The good thing about winter? Plenty of ice. He held a cloth pack to his face to ease the pain and swelling.

"How could you just… just pass by Manehatten like that!?"

"Oh I'm sorry, what exactly is it about your behaviour up ‘til now that would lead us to believe you'd stick around in a city bursting at the seams with Equestria's finest?" Thorax pitched in from across the room, studying the amulet. He had tossed it at her cryptically, stating, “find out why it’s not talking”, before sitting down and getting inquisitorial on Jacques.

"I barely got away in Blackport. Speaking of, where in the hell did you two go?"

"Oh, I got picked up by my lovely friends with the viceroyalty," Jacques said, waving a hoof lazily in the air. "Fun times, but you wouldn't want to hear abou—"

"He got threatened to go find you and bring you back to the Enclave so they could ship you off to the Black Isles," Thorax filled in, almost bored, flipping the amulet over in her hooves. "Pretty serious about it too; sent him off with a pair of blackguards."

Handy gave Jacques a look that could sink ships.

"Well obviously I didn't go through with it!" Jacques protested. Handy wanted to say something but just gritted his teeth and shook a fist impotently before relaxing with an exasperated sigh.

"So, where are they now?" he asked, leaning back in his too-close-to-the-ground chair and rubbing his face. Thoughts of yet more angry ponies on his tail drifted across his mind. "The two blackguards, I mean."

"You're talking to one," Thorax replied, still not turning to look at the pair. Handy rolled his eyes.

"Okay, so that’s where you went, slipping away. What happened to the other one?" he asked. There was an almost imperceptible pause before he was answered.

"Oh, we kindly helped him home," Jacques responded.

"You sent him back to the Black Isles?" Handy asked. Jacques' visible eye glanced at the drawer next to the bed briefly.

"Sure."

"Right, fine, so you guys got dropped off in Manehatten incognito. Then what?"

"Well, like we said, ami, we left. Figured there was no way in Tartarus you'd stay there with all that commotion so—"

"We spent the last two weeks digging through every hole and ditch between Manehatten and the Badlands," Thorax interrupted. "Then oh would you look at that, the very pony we're looking for happily kicks in our door and starts a fight!"

"In my defence, I wasn't expecting you guys to be there."

"Why? Weren't you looking for us?"

"…Sure," Handy lied. In truth, he had felt foggy and his auspex had been giving him weird information. Sure, there could have been two suspiciously grey and dull blink-and-you'll-miss-it ponies in there, or it might have been sacks of flour. His fever had let up enough that he was functional but the trade-off left him still in something of a mess. "Okay hang on, does that mean that… this entire time, you've both technically been ahead of me?"

Thorax and Jacques looked at each other for a moment before Handy let out a groan of realization and Jacques started to laugh. He calmed down enough to wipe away some of the meltwater from his ice pack to return to the conversation.

"So, Handy, I take it by the mess you left in Manehatten that you found what you were looking for?"

"Huh? Oh, oh yeah right, I found the thing I was looking for," he said. "Bloody nightmare it was too. There was all this old magic being thrown about by someone, tore up the place. Had to hide as the Equestrians shut the island down."

"Well, you still need to tell me what all this old magic business is about," Jacques pressed.

"Don't bother, he doesn't tell anypony," Thorax added, throwing the amulet aside for the moment.

"Focus. I got what Chrysalis wanted and that’s what matters." Both Jacques and Thorax looked at Handy dumbfounded for a moment. Handy looked between them, confused. "What?"

"Aha!" Jacques shouted triumphantly, pointing an accusatory hoof at Thorax, who proceeded to groan in that curious bi-tonal voice changelings seemed to have, rubbing her face with her hooves.

"You mean you didn't tell him?" Handy asked incredulously. "Oh, go on and tell the foreign gypsy spy you're secretly an emotion sucking fae-horse, get cosy while you're at it, no big deal! Help him get away from a pissed off colonial authority, that’s nothing. But shock and horror, dare to tell him you're in the service of one particular changeling overlord or another? Oh no, that's beyond the pale."

"That’s not the point, Handy…" Thorax growled. Jacques was laughing in the meanwhile.

"Well, what is the point then?" Thorax looked away.

"I'll tell you later, bon comarade. Let's just say you won a bet for me," Jacques said in between laughs.

"Sounds like a stupid bet. If you're tagging along with us, you were going to find out anyway." Handy paused. "I am assuming that’s what’s going on here, right? I mean, you don't seem to be planning on going back to Blackport."

"Hmm, I should think not," Jacques said with an easy smile, though there was a hint of pain in his voice. "I shall work something out in the long run."

"I just… I can't believe this." Handy lifted up his now extinguished torch and glared at it accusingly. "Of all the things… Well, you know what? Not even going to complain. I'm going to crash in that other room tonight. Any questions? No? Okay."

"What, have you been planning on sleeping outside?" Thorax snarked.

"Yes," Handy shot back, tugging on the abomination that he had the gall to call winter gear, torn and scorched as it was from Thorax's delightful welcome, bits of it coming off as he did so. "I've had to improvise in order to stay out of sight this whole time. Because, you know, this is Equestria, and I lack the appropriate papers. Oh, and I may have been involved in an explosion in a major Equestrian city. Little worries like that."

"You can't keep that up," Thorax protested.


"Well, what do you suggest I do? I can't very well just walk about Equestria right now and not expect to cause a bit of a panic."


"I believe I have a novel solution!" Jacques said, his hoof rising to the air.

--=--

"Get in the box."

"What?"

"Get in the box, Handy."

"No."

"We don't have time for this, Handy. Get in the box."

"I am not getting in the box."

"Why not?"

"It’s humiliating."

"It’s a very nice box."

"I don't care. I am not going through the indignity of being ferried about like packaged goods again. Besides, it looks like it’s too small for me."

"Yes, right, that's very nice and all, mon ami, but get in the box."

And that was what Thorax awoke to the following morning. It had been a very nice morning until she wandered outside to find out what the noise was all about. Indeed, it had been a very nice evening: a nice warm bed, a nice warm body beside her, and it turned out her mission was very nearly complete. Things were looking up!

Then she found Handy, now stripped of his abominable winter clothes and adorned with garish mishmash tunic, pants, and a patched cloak for decency, arguing with Jacques. The latter held upright a box that looked like it was barely big enough to fit the unicorn.

She did what any sensible person would’ve done: turned right the fuck back around, went back inside, made a sandwich out of stale bread and lettuce, boiled some tea, relaxed with a cup, and THEN and ONLY THEN did she decide to go and see what madness she had to deal with for the day.

“I must object.”

“Mmhm.”

“Really, this accomplishes nothing.”

“I’m sure.”

“I mean, I was only trying to help.”

“That you were.”

“OH LET ME OUT ALREADY, YOU DÉCHETS CALOMNIEUX MOCHE DE CHAIR!”

So of course when she came out again, steaming cup of tea in her magical grip, Jacques was buried up to his neck in snow. His horn had Handy’s chainmail glove wrapped around it, held with twine and occasionally flashing whenever the unicorn tried to do something. Handy, meanwhile, was currently stacking disassembled boards of the previously seen box on top of a tree stump.

Thorax went back to lie down in bed for a while. She was there for all of half an hour before she decided it had gotten a touch too quiet for her liking and decided to go see what was up.

Jacques and Handy were crouched around the tree stump, playing cards.

“So in this game, having a three of hearts is a winning hand?” the human asked.

“Non, non, non, in the Saddleshire Shuffle, a four of hearts is a winning hoof.”

“Making progress I see,” Thorax remarked, looking around. The boys were out the back of the shack, facing the forest, and they were far enough away from town that no one was likely to notice them this early. She herself was in her Charity Bell disguise. If it worked, it worked.

“Not really,” Handy grumbled while Jacques smirked. “Decided to blow off steam learning card games.”

“Didn’t you say the guards could track you last night?” Thorax asked, coming over to observe their game.

“They certainly seemed to in Manehatten… Ever since then, I’ve been wondering. Haven’t seen any sign of them whatsoever. I think I may have actually lost them.”

“Still, it doesn’t pay to be careless.”

“Thanks, mom.” Handy snorted, shuffling the cards again and drawing out a hand, frowning at what he received. He looked at Jacques’ cards and threw his hands up in the air. ‘How in the hell does he keep doing that time after time? He doesn’t even have any sleeves!’

“So, what are we going to do about you?” she asked.

“Well, he didn’t like getting back in a box,” Jacques teased, scratching his head, missing his hat.

“I am not getting into another box like that unless it’s my actual coffin, with nice red lining and plush interior with one of those little head pillow things.”

“Oh whine whine whine, je ne comprenais pas l'appel d'enterrer vos morts dans une boîte en bois de fantaisie de toute façon, pourquoi ne pas vous brûler eux juste comme tout le monde?”

Handy promptly ignored the pony as soon as he went into French mode and turned to the changeling.

“I don’t suppose you have a better suggestion?”

“Have you tried that thing we discussed before everything went to Tartarus in Blackport?”

“No,” Handy lied, not particularly caring to get into that little imponderable headache just right then.

“Then we’ll need to improvise.” Thorax seemed to squint her eyes and study Handy intently.

“What? What is it?” he asked.

“How fond are you of your helmet?”

“Very, why?”

“Well, if you’d rather not ruin it, how do you feel about wearing something heavy on your head?”

“What are you getting at, Thorax?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe…” She looked around. There were several logs piled up against the back of the shack for fire fuel. There was an axe nearby, and if she could just find some wood working tools… “Wait here.”

“Where are you going?” Jacques asked.

“Here and there, don’t worry about it,” Thorax said as she trotted off. Jacques and Handy just looked at each other.

--=--

Whittling away at wood can be fun… for some. Doing so for hours and hours, over and over again, failing and breaking the thing you had been working on again and again could be a right pain in the arse. So it was that Handy, with a little help from Jacques, worked away at Handy’s little disguise. It was ingenious, simple, and utterly, completely and absolutely insulting to the human that he didn’t think of it sooner. Meanwhile, Thorax, who actually knew half a damn about how to sew, worked the more workable portions of Handy’s improvised winter coat as an addition to his patchwork deer-cloak.


By that evening they had done it. Two relatively short horns, carved from wooden logs, sat in a pile of sawdust and wood chippings, as did two strange boots that looked like they attached to the legs just north of the shins. Said wooden constructions were rubbed raw with a cloth that had been impregnated with ground stone and oil to sand away at the horns to smooth them out. Then their lengths were scoured by blades to make the wooden patterns less obvious, and to make it look like they had naturally grown into their shapes before they were painted black.

“I feel ridiculous,” Handy confessed, standing in the middle of the room with his new disguise. Gone was Handy the Human. Before them, cloaked from head to hoof, head obscured by a hood that allowed for his horns and face to lay hidden behind a veil, stood a minotaur. “This is never going to work.”

“Well, why not? Nopony can see your legs, and we already accounted for your hoofprints with those boots—”

“I feel ridiculously Dutch wearing these clogs…”

“And we even fixed your face!” Handy just glared at him. “Well fine, go about waving your image in ponies’ faces. See where that gets you.”

“Smart arse,” Handy admonished. He lifted a leg up, pulling back his closed cloak. It looked ridiculous. Anyone who got a good look at his legs beneath the cloak would see these boots for the fakes they were. They were basically just a cover designed to hug Handy’s real shoes. He’d place it over his shoe like a wooden slipper, slanted from the toes up to his shin. The back portion would then be slipped on, and he’d tie them together with thick string through several small holes dug out of both just to keep them on.

The bottoms of each boot were carved to make a vaguely hoof-shaped indention on the ground whenever he walked. A bit extravagant but necessary in winter given how distinctive a human’s footprint was. He had wasted a silly amount of time previously covering his tracks in the snow up until now. It wasn’t detailed, and it wasn’t pretty, but it worked. Still, by God that bottom-heavy feeling on his legs was going to take some getting used to. The horns were held to his head by a strap around his crown and another over his scalp to keep them from falling down.

It was ridiculous, but it was cover. He was, after all, a sick minotaur in a foreign land in winter. Of course he’d wrap up well! He still had his doubts about the plan, but if it worked well… then it worked. It’d certainly solve a lot of problems. He flexed his gloved hands. It also meant he could use these out in the open without a single issue arriving from it. Why the hell didn’t he think of this before?

“Alright, I’m going to… test this out,” Handy said, a little unsure of himself. Jacques gave him a reassuring smile while Thorax just rolled her eyes.

Handy flexed his hands and eyed his bundled armour in a sack stored the next room over through the doorway. He could really use that sense of security right now, but people would get suspicious if the sickly minotaur blundered around with armour under his voluminous robes… made out of bedsheet linens.

God Handy needed new clothes. Or hell, his regular clothes he had all the way back in Gethrenia with all of his other nice things. But waste not want not, even if these sheets had been wanted before Handy decided to waste them. He left the shack.

First things first: make sure the landlord wouldn’t get suspicious of his two current occupants having a stranger over to visit. That would take some further improvisation. Sure, he sorta looked like a minotaur from a distance, but the only minotaur he ever saw was a big bastard. Handy’s legs were also shaped wrong. Sure, they were hidden from sight, and he could fool people by disguising his footprints, but he couldn’t fake a tauric walking gait. He’d need to think of something.

He left the shack, took a left turn down the hill until he came upon a road, only notable as such thanks to a fence demarcating where it met a farmer’s field and the wet slush that had furrowed into the snow from the passing of a wagon earlier that morning. He went to the landlord’s house the next hill over. On a whim, he picked up a rather long and gnarled-looking tree branch off of the ground, tore away the twigs and smaller branches attached, and made it into a walking staff.

He paused before the door and checked himself, patting down his ‘robes’ made from linens, his cloak, his hood, his veil, and his gloves. His horns were still in place. He was forgetting something… Oh right, the gait. He stooped over and leaned on his staff and forced a few coughs out, forcing his voice to go hoarse. He’d probably not pass for a minotaur in the prime of his life, but an old taur? Maybe he could get away with that. He knocked on the door.

The landlord was a chestnut brown earth pony who seemed surprised at Handy’s presence. He stood there, looking up at Handy with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Handy immediately felt like he had made a terrible, horrible, awful mistake.

“Well bless my stars, been a long time since I seen a ‘taur about this country! What can I do you for, sir?”

Handy blinked. Well that’s… one way to greet a complete stranger.

“I… ahem… I have just come about, looking for a pair of friends of mine,” Handy blathered, slightly taken aback by the pony’s joviality. Time to roll with it. “They told me in their letter they’d be staying in this town for a few days. Could you do a sickly old minotaur a favour and let me know if you’ve seen anyo—pony like them?” he asked, his tone gravely, his accent hidden beneath a hoarse voice. He added a cough for emphasis.

“Aw well, I’d be happy to help! What did they look like?” What immediately followed was a brief description by Handy along with a couple of names, a surprised reaction from the landlord, and the ‘darnedest thing’ about him renting a shack to folks fitting that description just the other day! “You look cold, mister. Why don’t you come on in for a spell?”

“Uh, n-no. Thank you, you’re too kind.”

“Nonsense! You must be tired from the road. Look at you, you’re clinging to your walking stick for dear life! Honey? Put on the kettle!”

“Really, thank you! I’d just like to go visit my friends, if you’d allow me.”

“Oh, of course, of course! Sorry, it’s just been so long since we had a minotaur visit our little corner of Equestria. You look cold; are you sure you wouldn’t mind warming yourself inside? There’s a fire going.”

“...I’m sure,” Handy said. He noticed the pony looking a bit closer at his face, and he suddenly realised he had no way of mimicking a minotaur’s muzzle. He coughed pointedly, clenching a fist before his veil. The pony looked sympathetic.

“Well, if you change your mind, we’d love to have ya over for a bit. My kids never got to see a minotaur before ,and they love stories.

“Thank you, I’ll… I’ll consider it.” He bade his farewell and made his way down the hill, waiting for the landlord to close the door. When he did, he looked back. That… That had worked out far better than he had expected.

He thought about returning to the others when a thought struck him. He looked back at the town that was still rousing in the morning light, and walked towards it.

--=--

The ponies of Brightshowers were an energetic bunch, wildly curious, and fond of exploring the woods around them. Why shouldn’t they? These were the safest woodlands in Eastern Equestria, comparatively speaking of course. It was an agrarian town known for its woodsmanship, carpentry, and archery.

Handy had to do a double take when he discovered that last one.

While yes, it was true archery was pretty ubiquitous —the griffons absolutely adored the bow from what he could tell— the crossbow always made more sense for a pony ranged weapon. At least it was one that you could adjust for hooves, provided you worked the trigger guard and handle right. Ponies used the bow as well, though it seemed mostly pegasi and unicorns did so. Unicorn children did frighteningly well at the little ranges he saw in the town. One would think they’d use their magic to just chuck things, but it turned out that was a ridiculous waste of energy for magic users.

Or at least that was what was explained to him when he stopped to ask the earth pony instructor at the local school as he passed by on the street. His thoughts were drawn back to his fight with Blueblood in the tournament and how he had used those six light blades in the duel. How he grasped the handles rather than the whole blade, conserving his magic and concentrating it where it was needed. And he was a weak magic user from what Handy surmised.

A unicorn would just hold the bow aloft, focusing the magical energy to grasp one point, lift the arrow into place, draw the bowstring back, and release. The pony only had to maintain control of the bow and let physics do the rest of the work for them.

The implications were frightening when even a weak magic user could be a deadly, skilled archer this way. It required much more mental acuity and stress than raw muscle power, but still. Pegasi could do the same but usually from the air, with different bows that their hooves could clasp and bowstrings that allowed an easy grasp for the interior hoof through that infuriatingly mysterious way ponies could grab things. A lot of the bows came with this odd strap that helped the hoof hold it into place. Handy guessed whatever way they could grab things still wasn’t as good as a hand full of fingers for preventing the bow flying out of your grasp after you released the string.

It did mean they could worry less about the size of the bow, however, but they could never have the same draw strength of a unicorn due to the sheer physical limitations. That didn’t seem to stop the pegasi colts and fillies he saw having an utter blast perforating their targets with disturbing accuracy.

Earth pony children fared much poorer and had a far less range of abilities, having to learn to balance on two hooves, spread wide like he had seen Jacques do before. It was so weird to see ponies standing like that, but apart from a bit of wobbling shenanigans now and then, they seemed to manage surprisingly well. The older ones could balance themselves completely to the point of moving about on two hooves temporarily to reposition themselves.

Their bows were usually short and compact, and they got a surprising amount of draw power out of them. The youngest failed adorably with their tiny bows, the power behind them often knocking them off their hooves with each shot. The older, more experienced boys were… kind of terrifying. A thought struck him.

Ponies did not hunt. These woods had little to no monsters apart from that one swamp he had wandered into. That meant he was likely looking at the latest crop of ponies eager to sign up to the local militias as archers come wartime when they were not at home farming.

He quickly moved on from that thought.

It was a surreal experience, very strange. He felt wary and foolish, tramping about in his tauric disguise, but for all the worry and concern he felt, it seemed to be working. It was now past midday, and the town was alive with activity. Much to Handy’s bewilderment, the ponies did not react to him in any way he had been prepared for. The typical reaction was for a pony to turn, their eyes to gaze up, see his horns, smile, and go about their day.

It seemed the strange and the unusual didn’t trigger the same xenophobic reactions he was accustomed to. So long as a pony could correlate it with something it was familiar with, that was. Either that or Brightshowers was an unusually accepting and open-minded community.

Handy’s money was on benevolent racism, because that at least made sense.

The dirt roads that made up much of the town’s streets were slick with melted snow and frost from the townsfolk’s activities, leaving most of it muddy. More than once Handy had to carefully pull his ‘foot’ out of the ground after it sunk particularly deeply. He was suddenly very grateful for the foresight in making the boots, even if it did feel like he had dead weights tied to his lower legs.

He did, however, appreciate the courtesy he received. Turned out the ‘old man haunch’ was universal, and several of the ponies immediately assumed he was some elderly ‘taur. Several even offered him their seats on the few benches and public chairs he passed. He’d have to remember that. Still, it was only when he had come to a brief stop at an eatery that the bizarreness of it all came to the fore. He met a bright-faced and annoyingly cheerful waitress with a ridiculously dirty apron at odds with her otherwise neat appearance. After guiding him to a seat and delivering him the cup of tea he ordered, it really struck him.

‘This is like Spurbay all over again,’ he noted. He got looks, but it was different. There was no hostility there; there wasn’t even any fear. It was curiosity. He was the unusual sight that made an otherwise boring and samey morning for the inhabitants different. There was no whispering, or at least none of the kind pertaining to him. There was no cautious, fearful silence at his presence, no one had crossed to the other side of the street to get out of his way as he passed. It was mundane, it was normal, and it was utterly incongruous with how he was used to people to acting around him. He didn’t know how to feel about it.

He didn’t linger long after that, and had done his level best to avoid any and all conversation with the ponies whenever possible, which proved difficult precisely because his disguise fooled them into thinking he was some itinerant, old minotaur. Turned out the townsfolk found that concept fascinating. Something about some other traveling minotaur really livening things up a few years ago, whatever that was about.

It was roughly when he was halfway up the small incline to the shack that he first started to notice the shouting.

"Alors qu'est-ce? Je ne suis pas assez bien pour toi? Est qu'il !?"

"Cela ne veut pas du tout et vous le savez!"

Lots and lots of French shouting.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est alors!?"

"Cela ne peut pas durer, vous savez cela, et je ne veux pas de jeter avec vous, à cause de cela. Il ne serait pas juste, ni à droite."

“Voilà exactement pourquoi je veux faire ça! Je ne veux pas aller—” Handy opened the door, and the bickering ponies stopped. He just barely caught a flash of green out of the corner of his eye as Thorax had turned back to her disguise in an instant. The room was a mess. The sawdust which had been tidied up in the corner now lay strewn about, and several things looked like they had been thrown across the room. Thorax was at one end, the farthest from the door, with Jacques by the bed. Handy looked from one to the other.

“... Am I interrupting something here?”

“...No, no, we, ah, just had a little disagreement,” Jacques clarified, dusting off some sawdust from his withers. Handy noted that even despite her disguise, Thorax’s hair looked frazzled. She was focusing a little too intently on the amulet, the sort of concentration one only got when one really needed to ignore how angry they were.

“...Alright then.” He closed the door and set about awkwardly trying to take down his hood. He couldn’t, so he just sighed, reached up under the hood, undid the strap, and let the hood, veil, and horns fall away and hang loosely from his neck. “Good news, Thorax’s mad little plan worked.”

“Hmph,” Thorax managed. This genuinely made Handy raise an eyebrow before looking at Jacques questioningly. He only rolled his eyes and looked away.

“...Right, anyway. The disguise works, for now. I guess that means that’s sorted so, uh… is this going to be a problem?” Handy asked, gesturing between the two. They were both quiet for half a second too long before both answering simultaneously.

“No.” Handy blinked.

“Good to know,” he said, placing the new walking stick against the wall. Jacques seemed about to question it, though not before Handy began nudging him towards the door.

“He-Hey! Ce que l'enfer!?”

“You need to go get lost for a bit while I discuss some things with Thorax.”

“Why do I need to leave for that!?”

“Because reasons. Now fuck off. There’s this nice place in town which serves good tea. It has pretty waitresses, so you’ll be right at home there. See you in an hour or so.”

“Now wait just a min—!” And the door was closed on his face. Handy turned to a bemused Thorax, whose face looked like a mixture of irritation and confusion.

“You. I need to test something,” he said after a moment, hearing Jacques’ hooves crunch away in the snow.

“What?” she managed. He looked at her levelly.

“Go into the next room,” he said, calmly and evenly.

“Why?” she asked, looking through the door into the next room.

“I want you to go into the next room,” he said in that same measured tone, never once breaking his stare. She was about to respond, but her voice caught in her throat along with her objection. Her brow furrowed and her eyes tried to search his face, but she found she couldn’t look away from his eyes.

“What… What are you…?”

“Go into the next room, Thorax,” he repeated. She didn’t move, nor look away. Handy’s gaze seemed more intent now, more focused. “I want you to go into the next room. Now.”

She slowly got up from her seated position and was about to take her first step towards the room, but hesitated, looking down at her hooves in confusion, ears lowered. They sprang back up, and she looked up when Handy continued speaking.

“Go on. Go into the next room. Now.”

Her hoof was about to touch the floorboards when her eyes widened, and she scrambled back against the corner with a yelp, shaking her head from side to side. She stared up at Handy with wide, alarmed eyes.

“What was that!?” she demanded, “What did you just do!?”

Handy just looked at her impassively and with a hint of disappointment, although she could not tell exactly what he was feeling nor why. He looked at the amulet on the table and sighed.

“Something happened in Manehatten,” he began, walking over to the bed and sitting down. He took over his new walking stick and laid it across his knees, picking away at it. “Remember what you told me in Blackport? About how my image, or how the perception of my image can change? Like it did for you in the Greenwoods?”

Thorax didn’t answer. She stayed right where she was and let the human speak.

“I think you didn’t tell me everything about the powers changeling blood gave me. I didn’t know, for instance, that I also had the ability to compel people to do what I wanted. That poor girl... I wanted to know, to be absolutely sure, that someone could break it. That it was suggestion and not… something else instead,” he said, looking up at her pointedly. “A bit of forewarning would have been appreciated on that front.”

“...What happened in Manehatten?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her, though caution still ruled her. She was looking anywhere on his face other than at his eyes.

“A pony mistaking me for another pony for one thing. Let’s start there. Then you’re going to need to leave.”

“What?” she shot up. “Leave? Why!?”

“Because I am going to take a shower.”

“...Oh.”

“It’s been so long since I had the chance to have a proper one, and I am not putting up with yours nor Jacques’ bul—” He caught himself, considering he was now effectively cosplaying as a bull man, “lovers’ spats while I’m enjoying one of the only genuinely good things to be had around here. Go into town, grab a bite to eat, sort your shit out far away from me for all I care. But for right now, we need to talk.”

“Fine,” Thorax said tersely, looking at the amulet. “We still need to fix that.”

“Agreed. Now, I’m going to need you to be very clear,” he said, laying the stick aside. “From start to finish, leaving nothing out, tell me what you saw in the forest, and how it’s different from when you shapeshift, from your own perspective.”

--=--

“But he’s right there!”

“Calm down, private,” the sergeant said. The day guard had his helmet removed and was looking over reports at a low table in the command tent. The encampment was small, largely because they needed to be on the move at any moment. The earth pony and unicorn complements were held back. Mobility would be key in case of an emergency.

And everypony in the camp knew exactly what such an emergency could entail.

“Sir, he is in a town right now. Innocent civilians are in the way. If anything were to happen—”

“I know, private,” Cloud Skipper said tersely, looking up at the young thestral, his eyes like flint. “We have every contingency in place should anything happen. Right now, you have the same orders from the Princesses that everypony else does.”

“Sir, with all due respect, this is stupid!”

“Congratulations, you just volunteered for latrine duty,” Cloud said impassively as he turned back to his reports. “That will be all, private.”

Stellar stood to attention and saluted before leaving the tent, trying her best not to grind her teeth to dust. She flinched in the glare of the sunlight, and her breath frosted on the cold air as she melted back into the organized chaos of the small royal guard camp.

They had him. She had been too late to catch him before he left Manehatten, but her quick thinking had helped the guard mobilize much faster than it otherwise would have done. Then they had found out about the train and had given chase.

And then they had received their new orders from Celestia, no more than a few miles out from a scheduled rest stop for the train where they knew he was hiding out. She had been aghast when she found out. There he was, right in their hooves, and they were told to stand down? To back off and remain vigilant? To not provoke another incident!? The human had been in the middle of the biggest disaster Manehatten had suffered since the Kraken migration fifteen years ago! He was involved in something that, if his word could even be remotely trusted, threatened several kingdoms! He was at the heart of the furore between the griffons and the reason why border tensions were so high! And now they were just expected to sit pretty and do nothing?

Stellar would be lying if she said she had not been tempted, so very tempted, to pretend to have ‘not received the new orders in time’. Why, it’d be a shame if the orders were no longer relevant if she already captured him, wouldn’t it?

But no, she bit her tongue and held position, unhappily let the train get away again. Ever since then, she and the guards had been moving camps to follow the human’s progress. Thankfully, he had since left the train, so these little moves didn’t have to be so tediously common, allowing some ponies the chance for an honest day’s sleep that was welcome.

Of the entire trip from Manehatten, there were four teams of fifteen ponies, each no more than five miles away from the human in four directions at any one time. There was only three now: Sergeant Midnight’s detail had been redirected to relieve a southern mining town that was under siege by an unusually large band of brigands, mostly ponies with dog mercenaries. Shouldn’t take them too long.

Honestly, she didn’t know what the princesses were trying to achieve with this approach. What, were they just supposed to escort him by proxy out of the country until he was somepony else’s problem? And then just sit on their plots and pretend nothing happened? Was that it? She didn’t know, she didn’t particularly care, but orders were orders, and she had drawn more than enough attention to herself as it was. She played her part like a good little soldier.

She awaited for her private orders from Luna, whenever they came. As the first nihensha of the Queen of Starlight in a thousand years, and the first to become so out of necessity and not out of merit, she could ill-afford to make her people look bad by being ill-disciplined. At least no worse than she already had.

“Private Eclipse?”

“Huh?” She was ripped from her thoughts by the address. She was looking at a dull, grey-coated pony with a metal helm. The pins on his coat indicated him as a member of the commissionate corps.

“Mail,” the pony said simply and promptly hoofed over a small, flat package before taking to the air without another word. Stellar blinked at the retreating pony and then looked down at the package she had instinctively grabbed with her mouth. She had to try very hard to resist the urge to sweat bullets.

Commissionate corps were in charge of special communications, especially between commanders in the field during wartime, as well as the delivery of privileged and confidential communiques in other matters. They were not used for mail call. That one had shown up, strutted past the camp’s security, found her out specifically, gave her a small package, and left without another word, without even having met with the officer in charge, was cause for no small amount of trepidation and concern. She looked around. The few of her comrades who had been eyeing her quickly averted their eyes and went back to their previous activities.

She tentatively grabbed it with a hoof and gently, so very gently, tore open the envelope. Inside was a sheet of parchment, a letter no less. It was a summons.

It also had a very familiar solar mark on the seal near the bottom.

“...Well, I guess this means I’m off of latrine duty.”

Author's Note:

Bit of a twofer for you guys today. Here's the link to a little tidbit about the Witchtorch that Novgo managed to tease out of me. As well as some news.

Now, as for you people who dont feel like reading a blog about that, here's a question I've been asking my editors: If you, as you are now in life, where to be warped to any location so far in the world of Bad Mondays, where would it be? Assume for the sake of argument you know nothing about it before hand and don't know about Handy, basically where would be your start location?

Those who answer get a reply from me detailing the most likely way for them to die and how quick and/or slow it would be. Here's two from my editors.

Usurper - Chooses to start in the Ocean because of some foreknowledge his editor priviliges grants him. Most likely to immediately die drowning because he's basically starting off in the ocean completely unprepared. There IS a chance for him to not immediately die but I had to roll a die to decide it. That fucker be mad drowned yo.

JBL - The Crystal Empire, not out of foreknowledge like Usurper, he's just gambling on Cadence and Shining Armour to be a bit tad more down to Earth and reasonable in terms of powerful ponies, maximising his survival and acclimation. Most likely to die of hypothermia, but assuming he gets out of the cold and helped by ponies fast enough he could survive the initial dangers.

The only restrictions are you are not allowed to pick Ponyville nor Canterlot. Because then you'll die in a fire because I say so.

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