• Published 31st Jul 2015
  • 8,852 Views, 364 Comments

Monsters - JawJoe



Luna's betrayal plunged Equestria into chaos. In a bid to restore harmony, Celestia calls upon the very ponies who once served the Nightmare to drag the world from the ashes – and find the monsters who would threaten our future. I am one such pony.

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Straight Mare, Funny Mare

Princess Luna

It was late at night, and the stars were blocked by dark clouds. Even the Moon didn't shine through. I was in complete darkness. I was in complete silence.

But I was not alone.

I could tell. I felt her eyes on me. She was standing at the foot of the bed. I knew she couldn't be there. If I had turned my head, I'd have found that there's nothing there. But I was too afraid to turn my head.

When I slept, she peered into my dreams.

I was out on the hill again, but the Moon was silent. She wasn't in the Moon; she was right behind me. When I turned to look, she hid in the grass so that I couldn't see her.

When I took a step, I could hear her moving too.

I was eating my dinner, locked alone in the cellar in hopes that I would not be disturbed. She hid behind a long shelf, and when I looked, she hopped behind another one so that I couldn't find her.

When I lifted a bite to my mouth, she asked if I would share.

I stood in a field of flowers, under the shining Sun, hoping that its light would drive her away. She took refuge in the shadow of a tree, hiding behind the trunk when I looked her way.

When my head was turned, I could hear her sing to me.

The thunder of her hooves crushed my dreams into nightmares and ground my hopes into sorrow. I felt the warmth of her breath on my neck and I heard the chattering of her teeth at my ears. She was behind every door I opened and outside every window I looked. She was in my home and in my room and in my mind.

I've gone mad.


New Page

I brought a candle from home so I wouldn't have to mess around with the tinderbox at Papa's grave. One by one, I touched the candle's flame to the wick of each tealight.

Oh, Papa...

So you couldn't protect us after all.

A few rows of graves above, that grumpy old stallion sat before the same grave where I'd seen him last time. I wouldn't bother him now.

I turned my attention instead to the weeds growing on and all around the grave. Stubborn little things. I'd just pulled them out the other day. I dug them up again, chewing on a few in boredom and frustration, and even lighting a particularly long stalk on fire from a tealight. Gave me something to watch, that.

Sitting in front of the grave, I put my forehead against the headstone and closed my eyes. It was an odd feeling, convening with this dead stallion across the decades.

If you'd have protected Mama... I would not be here.

My wing still hurt; I'd woken up with a bunch of feathers in my bed. Though I hadn't noticed it at the time, but that tiny spark of dragonfire had burned right through my plumage and quite deep into my flesh. Cauterised the wound, too, so I barely bled.

I rubbed my forehead against the headstone, feeling its rough surface brush my coat away and rub against my skin. I had my answer. I knew why the Mare in the Moon had always been so special to me, and why she visited my dreams. Or rather, why I visited her in my sleep, if what Winters said was indeed true.

Was it true? I had no reason to believe him. All of those papers might as well have been fake. It would've been easier to believe that he lied, or that he was merely crazy. Yet I knew, deep down inside, that he was right.

I had the dream again last night. The mare in chains smiled at me as she always did, but somehow differently. It was a sly smirk – a snide, knowing look. In my dreams, I'd never been scared of her. Not until now.

She terrified me. I didn't like the Mare in the Moon any more.

Wings fluttered above – and somepony landed behind me. “Excuse me,” said a deep voice.

I quickly straightened myself, rubbing my forehead and brushing my mane back before turning. “Y-yes?”

It was the stallion from before, with the grey coat and greyer mane and a scar on his cheek.

“I...” he began, but stopped. His eyes danced towards the grave, and he bit his lip; he lingered there for a moment before looking back to me. “I would like to apologise.”


Swift Sweep

New Page took me to the Pristine Pillars: some run-down tavern in the poor part of the city which had clearly seen better days. Open all hours of every day, the tavern welcomed the guests after – or in place of – a day of hard work, offering a place to rest tired bones that nopony cared about and drown the knowledge of their pointless existence in the cheapest alcohol bits could buy.

Where the faded tapestry wasn't torn outright, it hung slack; whatever glue that once held it to the wall had long since given out to the sweaty vapours of the tavern. Vines and flowers carved in stone encircled the pillars that held a similarly decorated ceiling, though anything that would have protruded would have been long broken off, the exquisite decoration vandalised and scraped away by bored patrons or the marring touch of time itself.

Black patches of mould grew around an obvious crack in the ceiling; the place must have been fun in the rain. Chafings furrowed the table on my side: the marks of a nervous guest playing with their knife once upon a time, perhaps.

The tavern resonated with an aura of serenity, maybe even superiority in a way: come and behold as this wonder of a building dilapidates into a meeting place for the lowest of the low. Misery loves company after all, and by the look of it, if the Pristine Pillars had been a pony, he would have liked very much to visit the Pristine Pillars.

Through the reflection of an empty glass, I watched the door swing open as a swaying stallion barged in, bellowing a bittersweet song and crashing into the bar. He mumbled something to the barkeep about a son taken away and pain in his heart, and the barkeep pushed him off the bar with a weary sigh and the eyes of somepony who had seen this scene too many times before.

“Are you okay?” New Page asked.

I looked up from my glass, at the concerned mare on the other side of the table. “I am.”

“Are you always this fidgety?”

“Fidgety?”

The barkeep came over and lifted the empty glass from our table. “So, what'll it be?”

New Page turned to him with a beaming smile, clopping her front hooves together. “Say, have you got any more of that lovely Zebrican tea?”

He nodded. “I'll brew a kettle for you.” He turned to me. “And you, friend?”

Back down in HQ, provisions were handled by a separate team dedicated to ensuring we never had to interact with the general public, or even come to the surface. Let's just say I wasn't used to ordering food. By the look the barkeep gave me, I took a moment too long to respond.

“Uh, I'll have what she is.”

“It'll be a few minutes.”

Stepping over the drunk who still hadn't scooped himself together, the barkeep walked behind the bar and disappeared through a door to the back.

Though it was just us in the tavern, I still felt inclined to whisper. “Zebrican tea sounds a tad expensive for a place like this. How much do they water it down?”

New Page rolled her eyes. “A lot. And I'm fairly sure it's from Germaneigh.”

“You're humouring their horrible business with your bits. In fact, you're spending your scholarship on this. That's Celestia's money you're wasting.”

“Is it waste if I like it?” She shrugged. “You didn't answer my question, er, Swift Sweep, was it?”

“What question?”

“Are you always like this? You're shaking.”

Am I? I did my best to stop. The last time I'd been to a bar of any kind, I smashed my mug over the bartender's head and took off with his bit chest. Now here I sat with... her. It was a lot to take in.

There was no law against an old dog coming to the surface and talking to ponies. And if I thought I might further Project Bookworm by getting to know my mark, I had all the right to do as I wished; Celestia did not care for the details of our work as long as we got it done. She doesn't ask, so she doesn't know. Technically I was supposed to ask Lullaby, with she being the project's leader.

Ah, but I was sure she wouldn't mind.

New Page waved a hoof in front of me. “Anypony home?”

“Not... always,” I blurted. “I'm sorry. I'm going through a... difficult time. That's why I was so rude with you when we first... met.” I did not like those pauses. The more I looked into her eyes, the less my words flowed. “It's been eating away at me. You came off as a nice enough sort.”

She grinned. “I'll book that as one of the strangest yet most sincere compliments I've ever received. And I understand, I really do. I think I've told you I study history.”

“You have.”

“So I know...” She put a hoof to her mouth, shook her head, then went on. “I mean, I don't know-know, but I have an idea of what you must have gone through. I imagine the Summer Sun Celebration is a grim reminder.”

You know nothing! screamed my mind as I took a deep, calming breath.

“But...” she went on, looking away for a second. “If you don't want to talk about those days, I perfectly understand. Truth is, I insisted we come here because I'm also going through a rough time, and you came up to me, and I don't really have anypony to talk to, and now I'm just babbling like an idiot and I apologise.”

With how open and sincere New Page was, I wondered how she kept her secrets as long as she had. Putting 'working with the Children of the Night' as 'a rough time', too... an odd duck, the mare.

I had no doubts that she was involved in the break-in at the Archives. The mountainside reportedly collapsed after severe structural damage by dragonfire – and New Page had done a bad job of hiding the obvious burn on her wing.

“What trouble could you possibly be in, kid?” I asked, making my best impression of an ignorant old fool. “Broke up with your boyfriend?”

She scoffed. “I wish that was my biggest problem in life.”

The barkeep returned with the handle of a steaming kettle between his teeth. He put it down on our table – all bare, no cloth or tray – then turned to pick off a pair of cups for us from the bar. Though they were dripping wet from their last wash, on the bottom of mine I noticed dry flakes of whatever used to be in it.

He poured us each a cupful. “Ther' y' go,” he mumbled around the handle in his mouth.

“Thank you,” New Page said, sending him a wide smile for emphasis. I realised, now, how fake it was.

I nodded my thanks to the barkeep, and he went to mop up the crumpled, crying drunk on the floor.

New Page took her cup with both hooves and looked into the dark tea. “I lost an old friend, actually. Among other things.”

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

She looked up, giving an apologetic look. “I mean, it's not like she's dead or something. I just... cut ties. We've been through a lot, she and I, but I... I realised it was better to stay away from her.” She looked back into her tea. “It feels like I've betrayed her.”

I wanted to know more about this friend of hers, though I already had an idea of who she was talking about. I figured it would be better to first loosen her tongue by earning her trust, though.

That's what I told myself: I was there to find out more, nothing else. I refused to admit that I wanted to get to know her, to really know her.

“You told me you were interested in the Longest Night,” I said, to which New Page looked up. “I saw a Night Guard do something. Something terrible.” I licked my lips. My heart pounded away at my chest – I couldn't believe I was saying any of this, even if none of it was true. “I did not stop him. I could have, but I chose not to. I became a monster that night.”

I sniffled, feeling tears begin to swell in my eyes. That was not on purpose. I blinked the resurging memories away.

New Page reached towards me, putting her hoof onto the table. “It's not your fault. There would have been no use playing hero.”

She looked into my eyes with such honesty – such an innocent sincerity – that I almost began to believe her myself. It wasn't my fault, was it? It was Nightmare Moon's.

There I went, shifting the blame again. Denying what I did. No good had ever come of that.

“I lost a friend,” I continued. “In fact, he was more like a father to me. He's gone, and it's my fault.”

“Gone, as in—”

“You've seen his grave.”

“Swift, I'm sorry.”

She reached further with her hoof, putting it on mine.

I jerked away as though touched by hot iron, leaning back. Slowly, she retracted her hoof.

“Don't be sorry. I moved on.” I was used to stacking lies upon lies. I was not used to caring. “I don't know what your friend did to make you hate her, but you can always move on.”

She looked behind her shoulder – there was nopony there – then perked her ear towards the barkeep and the drunk. They were off in a far corner, the drunk's muzzle buried in an overturned, frothy mug. The barkeep listened eagerly to his next order.

New Page leaned closer. “She has actually...” She sighed, pulling back. “I don't know. I don't even like thinking about it. The point is she asked me to do bad things. Things Celestia wouldn't approve of.”

I smirked. “But you've declined time and time again, I take it.”

She slammed a hoof on the table. “Of course I have!” Her voice rang with a desperation – a faux-indignation – I'd learned to recognise from all the ponies I'd interrogated. Seeing my grin, though, her expression also softened, and a little smile appeared. “Were you expecting a different answer?”

You could already be rotting in the mines, if you weren't you, and I weren't I. “Not at all.”

She lifted her cup, ears still turned towards me. The tea was nearly black, and it stained her already dark coat around her mouth as she drank. She had to lick her lips clean after every other sip. A few hairs of her mane dangled over her eyes, eyes just like those of her mother that I'd seen beg and plead for mercy.

I felt the weight of the baby in my hooves again – how it was barely there at all. Nightmare Moon's laughter overpowered the screams of Veiled Quill. I dragged her onto the bed, and I—

“What?” she asked, putting her cup down.

I cast my gaze down at my own cup.

She was the only good thing I'd ever given Equestria.

As I thought about that, a feeling of sickness washed over me. I did not 'give' anything; I'd merely forced her unto the world. Who was I to sit there with her? That I dared ever show my face to her was a testament to my own depravity.

I thought I'd managed to block out the guilt, yet now it burned inside of me as it did at the Breaking of Dawn. I sought to douse the flames for twenty years, and for twenty years I'd failed time and time again.

Let me throw oil into the fire now. Let it burn.

I rubbed my eyes. I hadn't cried since that dawn, and I wasn't going to start now. Not in front of her, anyway.

“I'd like to be young again,” I said. “I'd do things differently. Look at me.”

I turned my hooves up. They were worn from rigorous training and many nights spent on them, cracked from brawls and arrests. They were old pony hooves, fitting for somepony decades my elder. Usually, I preoccupied myself by judging other ponies; I'd learned to delight in tormenting the monsters. I'd never considered what I might look like in their eyes.

It's easy to think yourself above the rest when you never look in a mirror.

I put my hooves down with a weary sigh. “I hate what I've become.”

She reached forward again, but this time, she didn't touch my hoof. “If you ever want to talk, I'm here to listen.”

I snorted. “You have no idea who I am, lady.”

“Maybe that's for the best,” she replied. “I can't judge you that way.”

I looked into my cup again. After a minute of silence, I took a sip.

“So you want to be young again?” she asked. “Whatever you did, you did because you didn't know what was to come. And you know that great, great unknown? That's still ahead of me.

She downed the last gulp of her tea. “I might just be a kid to you, but it's important to be 'just a kid' at some point. I'm discovering who I am.” She leaned to the side a little and looked under the table. “For better or worse, at least you've already got that figured out. Or at least you're a heck of a lot closer to it than I am. How did you get it?”

“Get what?” It took me a second to realise she was eyeing my cutie mark.

I needed to take a look at my flank myself to remember what my mark was. A grey paintbrush, the tip dipped in red. I barely remembered how I got it, it'd been so long.

I made a picture for my mother with a brush borrowed from the kid next door and improvised dye made from squashed berries from a bush down the path.

As I looked at my mark, that rush of excitement surged inside me, the same rush I'd felt when it first appeared. But of course, Mother was just angry that I wasted paper, because paper wasn't cheap. Father needed it for his work... whatever it was. That was the last time I painted anything. In my time as a juvenile delinquent and hooligan, what stolen paintings I couldn't sell, I tore up with immense glee.

I'd all but forgotten about it when I was turned into a Night Guard; Luna's magic transformed not just our bodies and souls, but our marks as well. Mine became a rusty iron cage with a broken side, and I recalled being proud of that. I broke free from my old life. Or that's how I interpreted it, anyway.

When my mark returned after Celestia 'cleansed' us, I only missed the cage.

“I... discovered my talent quite late,” I said. “No big story there. I woke up one day and realised that was what I wanted to do. My mother always told me that I had a knack for capturing what others couldn't.”

New Page rested her chin on her hooves, ears turning eagerly forward. “So you're a painter?”

“Was. I hadn't painted since the Longest Night. Lost the spark.” Loathed myself as I may have, lying had never been difficult. Maybe that should've become my cutie mark.

She cocked her head. “So what do you do, if I may ask?”

“I'm a janitor.” I smirked. “I'm good at sweeping.”

Raising a hoof to hide her eyes, she looked down and shook her head. She couldn't suppress her giggling. And it felt good, having made her laugh. I stole a peek at her cutie mark: a half-filled parchment with a waxing Moon behind it.

“So what about you?” I asked. “I hope you don't think less of me because I looked there.”

“Nature's a funny beast.” She looked at her flank briefly before turning back to me. “You know that friend I mentioned, the one I cut ties with? I got lost in the woods with her once. Her granny told her about this wonderful pool somewhere in Equestria, and she was convinced it'd be nearby. Guess if it was.”

“I'd wager not.”

“Ding! We were gone days, not sure how many. But we managed to get back home. She was too scared to talk, so of course I had to explain it. And I weaved this story about, gosh...” She rubbed her reddening cheek, looking up. “Something about how I went off on a journey to go to the Moon, and how she tried to turn me back. The point is that I took responsibility. Next thing I know, this here appeared.” She slapped her flank. “Apparently I'm a great storyteller.”

There's a cutie mark for lying, then. “And you study history?”

She nodded, a smile overtaking her face. “I think it's fascinating. You can't begin to imagine how glad I am for this chance to talk, by the way. It's very difficult to find anypony who honestly talks about the past. It feels like everypony just wants it gone.”

“Is it any wonder, given what lies there?”

Her smile faltered and turned into a frown. “We can't let what happened destroy our future. Princess Luna betrayed us. The Longest Night happened. We can't stick our heads in the sand here.” An angry pout appeared on her lips as she leaned back, gaze dancing the other way. She crossed her hooves. “It just... it makes me so angry. Like, even Celestia won't talk about it. Are we just going to pretend it didn't happen, or try to learn from it?”

I looked back. The drunk had apparently left, and by the uninterested look on the barkeep's face, he was used to these sorts of outburst. Nopony else inside.

“If you'd have said that somewhere else, you might be in trouble.”

Her legs tensed, and she crossed her hooves tighter over her chest. “It shouldn't be illegal to talk about the past.” She sent me a piercing stare. “I study it, remember? On Celestia's money, no less.” Letting her hooves fall, she sighed. “I study what she lets me study.”

“You kids don't grasp what it was like.”

She jumped from her seat, throwing her front hooves onto the table. “So help me grasp it. Talk to me about it. I want to know.”

A youthful fire burned behind her eyes; a rebellious flame, its torch held high by a mare who knew she was being lied to. There had been a time when I had such passion – though I'd directed that energy towards things far different from studying.

“So you want to know about the Longest Night?”

“Yes!” she burst.

“Why?”

She threw herself back into her chair. “Bad things happened, I know. But I want to know why. Why did Luna betray us? Why did the Night Guards turn on us? Why won't Celestia talk about it? Anything you can tell me... anything you feel allowed to tell me.”

I shook my head. “What makes you think I know any more than you do?”

She smirked. “Well, you can't know any less, can you?”

“There's nothing I can tell you.”

She hung her head, letting a groan seep out between her gritted teeth. She banged her hoof on the table a few times, then looked up, nodding. “Fine. I get it. Big damn secret. Nopony knows anything, especially not those who were there, least of all Celestia. Guess we'll never find out why it happened.” She looked out the window, squinting into the Sun. “Looks like it's time for me to go, too. Got classes to attend.”

She got up to leave, throwing a pouch of bits onto the table. As she walked beside me, I put out a hoof to stop her.

“It might surprise you, but I didn't know Princess Luna personally. That's why I have nothing to tell you. That's why nopony has anything to tell you. But I was one of the ponies who didn't flee the Old City. I was there the entire two weeks.”

I lowered my hoof; New Page didn't go anywhere. I got up, coming level with her.

“Maybe we can piece something together, provided we meet again.”

She grinned. “I'm at the Archives all evening.”

“I'd prefer to meet here,” I replied, looking towards the barkeep. In turn, he rolled his eyes and pinned his ears back in a gesture of goodwill. “There are fewer listening ears here. What do you say, New Page?”

“Page,” she said. “Please, just Page.” She turned the other way, prodding a hoof towards the door. “But I really have to go.”

“One last thing, Page.” With a wing, I brushed her pouch of bits off the table and into my hoof, giving it over to her. “You don't think I'm going to let you pay, do you?”


I thought I knew why I was doing it. Earn her trust, get close to her, find out more. The truth was – even if I refused to admit it – I'd already made up my mind that she was innocent. I wanted her to be innocent, even though I knew she was far from it.

For days, we would meet and talk. About the Longest Night, at first, then the conversation would always and inevitably wander elsewhere. Though she knew to keep her mouth shut about her involvement with the Children of the Night, I got the feeling she didn't really know who they were, and that she had done her best to cut ties with them after the break-in at the Star Swirl the Bearded Wing.

At nightfall, I'd retreat to that unfurnished hole above her apartment – making sure that she didn't see – and listen to Lullaby's scolding. She was far too kind to turn me in, but far too proud to let this go on without a word. We had all the evidence we needed; we could have turned New Page in any minute of the day.

The thought of the EBSS getting its vile hooves on her terrified me. I knew what my organisation did to those affiliated with the Children of the Night, having ordered – and done – horrible things myself. First the interrogation, endless and unrelenting. In our interrogation rooms, hours quickly become days and weeks; sooner or later, the interviewees' mental faculties fail.

Hoof vices, wing sprainers, hanging by the tail, solitary confinement, potions that numb the mind and loosen the tongue – I'd come to learn that everypony breaks under torture. I wondered how long it would take for New Page to start talking. How long would I need to watch?

I have seen it happen countless times, and I enjoyed it. I never did stop being a monster.

Page was different from the others.

She had to be, else I would have had her arrested. That's how I justified it.

I shuddered to think what Celestia might do to me if she ever found out. But as long as Page kept away from the Children of the Night, and Lullaby kept my secret, I was safe. Page was safe. To her, I was not Swift Sweep the Monster. I was Swift Sweep, painter on extended break. Indeed, I'd created an entirely separate pony, a guise to wear, a mask behind which to cower. And it was comfortable. I wished it was the real me.

“Hey,” said Page, putting down her teacup. “You're smiling.”

I raised my brows. “I smile all the time.”

“No. You smirk,” she said, making faces to accompany her words, “and you grin. You make those weird crooked smiles that old stallions do. Haven't never seen you smile like a normal pony.”

“Well, first times for everything.” I emptied my cup. “Is your wing alright, by the way?”

On a patch of her right wing, feathers hung broken and scrubbed away, revealing blistery, discoloured skin. It had been getting worse these past days, and now it seemed bad enough that I decided to mention it. I was still convinced it was the mark of dragonfire, but then, I didn't know dragonfire to cause such lasting injuries. I wasn't a doctor, but that didn't look like an ordinary burn. Not any more.

“It's fine, it's fine,” she replied, waving her hooves. “I just slipped on the mountainside up there and got a nasty rash. It'll heal.”

It may have been her special talent, but she didn't do too well at lying.

“Anyway,” she blurted, “what was that about Luna being depressed?”

“Oh, that was just hearsay, really.” That, and us Night Guards could sense the shift in her mental state. None of us could foresee what was about to happen, however. “From servants at the Old Castle. Luna was supposedly behaving strangely for years, and it started becoming apparent to everypony around her in the months leading up to the Longest Night. I was friends with a chef, actually. He told me he'd found Luna curled up in the corner of some cellar sobbing violently when he went down to get some ingredients.”

And that wasn't even a lie.

“Apparently some sort of panic attack,” I finished.

“Wow,” said Page, eyes going wide. “Celestia had to know about this.”

“She definitely did.” I leaned closer, going on in a conspiratorial whisper. Page leaned in as well and perked her ears. “You know how she's going back and forth on curfew laws. And why do you think she has two thrones? Because she feels guilty. She could have stopped the Longest Night from happening, if only she had been a better sister.”

My chest pounded and my lips wavered as I finished that sentence. That was the first time since I first became a Night Guard that I said anything bad about Celestia out loud. Not that I hadn't had the thoughts – but I always dismissed them. Celestia offered us redemption through service in the EBSS; for many of us, she became atonement personified, a perfect being that could do no wrong and might lead us to redemption.

I'd always known, rationally, that was not the case. Yet it was Celestia who gave me a new life, and it had been she who pulled Equestria to her hooves after the Longest Night. I respected her goals because they were noble; I ignored her means because I could not live with myself any other way.

With Page sitting in front of me, I didn't feel like I needed her.

“In any case,” I said, leaning back, “there were a few similar stories about Luna. The Senate attacked her relentlessly for 'forgiving criminals'. You know, the Night Guards?” Page nodded. “The common ponies were afraid of her and her night whilst Celestia basked in glory.”

Page gave a sombre nod. “So she cracked.”

“Maybe she decided she'd give everypony a reason to fear her.”

Resting her cheek on a hoof, she looked out the window at Canterlot's spires. “To think that might be it. The immortal Princess of the Night, and she was still just like you and me. Insecure, frail, weak. It's terrifying.”

I looked outside too, up at Celestia's tower. “They're not like us, the alicorns. At least I don't think they are.”

She pushed her chair out. “Well, there's a discussion for next time. Seems like it's getting late. I need to be at the university by noon.”

“I'll be here.” Turning, I started rummaging in my bag, looking for my bit pouch.

“Oh, no,” said Page. “You've been paying all these times. I'm going to do it now.” She raised her hoof to catch the barkeep's eyes, holding up a linen poutch filled with coins.

“Look, I can't have you—”

“Yes,” she cut in. “Yes, you can. Look. We're friends. It's not like you're trying to woo me, right? Let me pay.” The barkeep walked over and took the pouch, opening it to start counting. Page leaned towards me. “Hey, it's Celestia's money, remember?”

As if my pay wasn't. “Suit yourself.”

She turned to the barkeep. “Is there enough in there?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, hefting the pouch.

He walked back behind the counter and emptied the appropriate amount – or perhaps a little more – into a chest. Then he put the pouch onto the counter for Page to grab as we left.

She convinced me to walk her to her apartment. 'You need to get out of that stuffy pub', she told me.

As much as I liked spending time with her, I did not like being seen in public in her company. I knew well enough that the EBSS watched everything.

We climbed the steep incline along the mountain, passing by several doors just like hers. The path snaked and branched and forked, taking sudden turns and twists; evidently not much planning had gone to designing this place. I always wondered how long it would be before they get rid of these apartments entirely. Couldn't have them hurting the city's image, after all.

I knew exactly where her door was, of course. I feigned surprise when we arrived. As Page buried her muzzle in her saddlebag looking for her key, I took a moment to look around and enjoy the view.

I heard her before I saw her: high-pitched, a little wheezy, and a touch too loud for her own good.

“Does she live here?” the mare asked loudly. She stood some ten-fifteen paces away, sticking her head into a barely-open doorway. On her back, a sizeable traveller's bag. “Look, Miss...” She pulled her head back, reading the name on the door. “Mrs Pinegreens, aren't you her neighbour? What do you mean you don't know anything?”

Page's head emerged from her bag, a thick metal key between her lips. As she looked at the older mare nearby, the key slipped and fell right back into the saddlebag.

“Mama?” she asked. “Mama!”

The mare turned, and Mrs Pinegreens' door slammed shut. Page ran to greet her, skipping and laughing along the path.

“Page!” The mare braced herself – in a second, Page leapt at her and embraced her tightly, brushing her cheek against Veiled Quill's.

“I thought you wouldn't be here for days.

“Train came early.”

Page stepped to the side and began undoing the latches on Veiled Quill's large bag. “By the stars and the Moon, you carried all this?”

She elbowed her chest. “Nothing this old gal can't handle.”

“Mama, you can can barely even fly any more.”

As Page took off her bag and threw it over her own – her legs visibly shook under the weight – her mother fluttered her wings and paced in place for a moment.

“My legs are still fine,” Veiled Quill said. “Plus, a nice stud hauled my cart all the way to Nachthengst so I could get on the train.”

“One day, Mama,” Page chortled. “They're gonna finish the train line. Then you can get on right at Horsmouth, no need to travel halfway across Equestria for it.”

She groaned. “Hah, maybe in a thousand years. Anyway, which door is—” She paused and flinched as if in fright, eyes going wide. “What's happened to your wing?”

“It's nothing, Mama. I tripped because I wasn't watching my step.” She took her hoof. “This way, Mama.” The pair turned and began walking back towards Page's door.

Towards me. And I just stood there, staring like a bumbling fool. When Veiled Quill reached me and looked at me with eyes full of judgement, it was like a sledgehammer slamming into my chest. My mind froze, and my hooves sprouted roots. I did my best to keep breathing, at the very least – and not look like an idiot in the meanwhile.

“So...” Veiled Quill said, looking me over. “Is he at least rich?”

Page covered her face, but she couldn't hide the redness. “Mama, no.”

“What?” She brushed the tip of her wing up Page's back. “I've been telling you to get a nice stallion for yourself. How are things with that guy, what's his name, Storming Descent?”

“Falls, Mama. Storming Falls. And I don't... I mean I'm not...” With a groan, she stuck her face into her own bag again, fishing out her key. “Le'ss juss' drop it, a'ight?” she mumbled around the key as she put it in the lock.

She kicked the door open and spat the key back in her bag. “I'm sorry about the mess.” She turned to me, lowering her voice. “And I'm sorry about Mama. She's lovely, but she's, well... she's Mama.” She sent Veiled Quill an apologetic smile, then turned back to me. “I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I'm sure you've got stuff to do.”

“Y-yes,” I said. “Yeah. I do. I should really go. Do stuff.”

Veiled Quill stepped up to me. She had to get on the tips of her hooves to be able to wrap a leg around my shoulder. Then she wrangled me down to her level. “Nah, your friend can stay. I'd love to get to know him.” She knocked my chest with her other hoof and gave me the smile of a murderer who had found her next victim.

“Mama, I've only known him for a few days, and he's just helping me study, it's nothing like that.”

She let me go, but even afterwards I could feel her touch burn my skin.

“So there shouldn't be anything wrong with having a little talk with him,” Veiled Quill said.

Page sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Swift?”

“I...” I gulped. “Guess not.”

“Lovely!” Veiled Quill said, walking inside. “Wow, it really is a mess in here.”

“Yep,” Page said, turning inside as well.

Though every part of my body begged me to flee, I stood my ground. I wouldn't run any more.

And I knew Lullaby was getting a kick out of all this just above.