Masks

by -Jules

3. Film

Film Reel sighed. No matter what she did she couldn’t find a way to make a picture of the bustling crowds interesting. One of the reporters had asked her to get a few “interesting shots of the crowds” for an article about fashion standards changing. Or something like that, Film didn’t like to listen to Ink Blot, she was boring.

Oh well. She wouldn’t know an interesting shot if it came with a sign, Film thought as she placed the lens cap back on her camera and admired the view. She was currently perched on the balcony of the penthouse room belonging to one of the many five-star hotels located in Manehattan’s busiest district.

This was one of her favorite places to come when she had free time, she could wave her press badge at the concierge, an old friend of hers, and get VIP treatment for a few hours at the Ritz. The roof and balconies had wonderful views of the bustling downtown crowds to the south, the Manehattan University’s taller buildings climbing above the skyline in the west, and the incredible expanse of green that was Central Park to the hotel’s north and east. As long as she was taking pictures of the sights no one would bother her. She was a photographer after all, and they had no way of knowing whether the shots were for an article or just for fun.

Film Reel leaned on the railing and blew a strand of her orange mane out of her eyes, turning to admire the park. The three square miles of lush gardens, forests, and small lakes in the heart of such a large and bustling city always made her smile. Film simply stood and stared at the park and its border of towering skyscrapers while thinking about the rest of her day. Well, I have to find some pictures of those gargoyles in Windsoar for Fountain Pen, and I still need to get down to the University to get a picture of that one graffiti artist’s latest piece. Maybe seeing it in person will help explain what all the fuss over this “Batsy” guy is.

Film stood still on the balcony while telling herself she should start working on the errands. Well, she thought, I can probably walk through the park to get to Windsoar, and then just double back to get to the University. She smiled as she turned back towards the hotel’s interior. Any day got better if she could find an excuse to walk through the park.

---

An hour and a half later Film Reel found herself looking over the park’s lake for the second time. Sweet Celestia, this park wastes my time like nothing else. Now I remember why I avoid it while I have errands. Film sighed as she looked at her watch, only slightly surprised to find she had just spent twenty minutes watching two swans and half a dozen ducks.

She turned to the path leading north again. No more distractions. Not even that nice mare with the churro cart. She walked down the path and marvelled at the city around her. The crisp borders of skyscrapers against the sky were looming in front of her above the verdant trees. Back to Manehattan. Back to reality, Film thought to herself with a slight frown.

Film stepped through the wrought iron gates of the park and back out onto the street, and turned east. Film liked Windsoar, but she suspected she’d like it more if she’d been born a pegasus. The entire neighborhood had been built based on griffon architecture, which unfortunately favored the flying. The griffons had started with architecture similar to the pegasi, but had quickly found that fortresses made of clouds don’t hold up against a siege. griffon architecture retained many traits of their ancient cirrus cities, including a feeling of weightlessness to even the largest of buildings.

Film Reel admired one of the nearby buildings, a towering monolith containing office spaces and shopping centers. The entire facade had marble columns carved with a spiraling design around the edges, even on the upper floors where they appeared to be only an aesthetic feature. The lower floors were mostly open courts with elegant marble railings and light granite tiles forming large mosaics. As the building climbed higher, granite became more common and floors became less open to the elements. The subtle transition from white and light gray spiraled columns to dark gray bricks was striking against the red and brown brickwork of the surrounding buildings.

Film decided she’d need to get up on the roof one day for a panorama of the boundary formed between griffon and pony architecture. With a little shake of her head, she kept walking down the street. Now, where did Fountain say those gargoyles were?

Film racked her brain trying to remember what the journalist had told her. He’d said they were big, and that they were the only representations of some kind of feathery serpent god from old griffon myths in the entire district. She sighed and set off down the street with no real idea of where she was going. Well, it can’t possibly be that hard to find some huge statues of a god, can it?

After thirty minutes Film already regretted not paying more attention to Fountain Pen’s directions. She’d been wandering from street to street with her neck craned back staring at the rooflines of the griffon buildings. Tilting her head forward again and rubbing the back of her neck she decided it would be a good idea to ask someone for help. Film looked back and forth, finally deciding that the fast food restaurant down the street would probably be able to help. If they advertised delivery they had to at least know the neighborhood.

Film was reaching for the door when it burst open. A wall of gray and black came flying from inside before barreling right into her. Falling to the ground and panicking she shoved the mass off of her body and trying to scramble away. Looking at what she’d just thrown off she found an amused and upside-down chiropteran. The batpony’s yellow serpentine eyes looked up at her with a mischievous sparkle.

Shouting came from the restaurants door, “Last warning, leatherback. Stay out!” The colt rolled back onto his hooves, stretching his dark, leathery wings and calling back, “Fine! Your blini aren’t even all that good!” The stallion dodged a small dish flung from the owner of the store, an impish grin on his face.

The door slammed and he turned to film. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to run into you there, but I was in a bit of a hurry to get out.” The pony still looked as if he was only a second from laughing at the whole situation. “I’m Onyx Wings, but most people just call me Onyx.” Onyx held out his hoof to help her up.

“I’m Film Reel,” she replied, slightly stunned by the whole ordeal. “Are you alright?” He hauled her to her hooves.

Onyx snorted. “He was always a little racist, but maybe I shouldn’t have made a pass at his daughter in front of him.” He started to laugh.

His energetic and carefree demeanor was infectious, and Film started to laugh along. After a few moments Onyx gathered himself together and asked, “So, Film Reel, what brings you to this fine neighborhood?”

Film Reel blinked, Oh right, getting things done. “I’m here to find some statues and take a few pictures. I’m a photographer, and a writer needed a few pictures for a piece he’s working on.”

Onyx winced and looked over his shoulder at the restaurant he’d just been thrown out of. “I hope you weren’t planning on asking friendly in there for directions. If he saw you laughing with me he probably won’t be in a helpful mood. Maybe I can help, I know the area pretty well.”

“Umm... alright. They’re supposed to be kind of big. A feathery serpent from some old stories. I don’t actually know what building it’s supposed to be on.”

Onyx was smiling again. “S’alright, I know what you’re talking about. Zmeya, big angry looking snake with a bunch of feathers. C’mon, I’ll show you.” He started to trot off, with Film close behind.

Onyx eventually led her to a towering building, constructed of dark slate and granite. Film marvelled at the architecture, completely taken by the variety of griffon work. Whereas the first building she’d stopped to admire had been built to mimic clouds and appear weightless or delicate, this building had been constructed to look like a fortress. The wider lower floors topped with a barren balcony gave the impression of defensibility, and the sharp angles, straight-cut lines, and high, narrow windows made it look forbidding. Film could just see the silhouettes of menacing statues set in alcoves and on pedestals at the corners of the balconies, glaring down at the ponies below.

“Your statues are up on the roof. Should be able to get right through to the elevator as long as we explain to the doorman what we’re here for.” Onyx stated grinning at Film’s awestruck expression. “Quite the architects, these griffons, eh?”

“It’s wonderful. All the variety. You don’t see this in pony buildings. At least not to this degree.”

“I’ll have to take you by the bat neighborhood one day, you’d love it.”

She looked toward the high double doors, and then looked back at her new friend. “Wait, would the doorman normally be a problem? Isn’t this just a mixed office building?”

“Well, not really. Most of the building is owned by some long-range import and export business. They’re very security conscious, and kind of scary. They worry some other company will try to muscle in on their business or some criminals will steal their goods or something like that. All I know is that if you get off on the wrong floor, security does not mess around.”

There’s got to be a funny story in there somewhere, but now really isn’t the time. I’m behind schedule enough as it is. She pushed open the doors and walked into the lobby. Film’s eyes wandered across the interior, surprised once again by griffon architecture. The interior was mostly dark granite, with accents of gold and white marble on the columns, furnitures, and ledges. The inside looks more like a palace than a fortress. Ponies could really take a lesson from griffons.

“Can I help you?” the griffon behind the front desk asked through a thick accent.

“Yes, I’m Film Reel, a photographer for the Manehattan Times, and I was hoping to get up on the roof to get a few pictures of the statues of Zmeya. Is that alright?”

The griffon looked over her with a bored gaze before examining Onyx. “Do you have press badge?”

“Um.. yes.” Film quickly opened her windbreaker and stuck her snout into the inner pocket. After a moment she turned back to the griffon with the badge gripped triumphantly in her teeth.

He silently reached out and took it from her with a talon. He stared intently at both sides before handing it back to her. “And him?” he asked, gesturing towards Onyx.

“He’s um.. with me. He doesn’t have a badge of his own, but I’ll vouch for him.”

The griffon blinked slowly before shrugging. He pulled a clipboard out from under the desk and placed it before them. “Sign here, and I’ll get you two visitor passes. Sign again on the way out and drop them off.”

Film signed quickly, feeling increasingly awkward in the silent lobby. When Onyx had signed, the griffon placed the clipboard back under the desk and handed them two plastic badges. “Wear these whole time. Security will not be happy if they find you without them. Go directly to roof, and directly back.” He pulled a small radio out from beneath the desk and spoke into it, “Two press visitors for roof. They shouldn’t need an escort.”

Film thanked the griffon and hurried to the elevator. Onyx slipped in behind her, touched the button for the roof and then pressed his hoof into the “door close” button.

He whistled and looked over at her. “Should have warned you about that guy. Kind of creepy isn’t he? What with the accent and the deadpan voice. At least he didn’t seem to remember me.”

“Remember you?” Film asked with a sideways glance.

Onyx looked up at the display showing the floor number as the elevator began to move. “Well, remember that comment about getting off on the wrong floor? That story ends with something like four black eyes, one broken wing, two smashed windows, and a broken desk. Followed by a brief stint in a holding cell here, and another at the Manehattan Police Department.”

Film’s jaw dropped. “You caused all that mayhem by yourself?”

He shrugged. “Me and another guy. To be fair, the security staff helped a lot.”

She stifled a giggle. “What were you doing here last time?”

“I used to do some work for a courier company on floor twelve. One day we hit thirteen by accident and didn’t even notice until the first guard came barreling down the hallway.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said they were security conscious.”

“And he’s not joking when he says that the guards won’t be happy if we get off on any other floor.”

After a few more moments the elevator stopped with a ding, and the two stepped out into a small room. Looking out through the windows in the wall, Film saw that they were indeed on the roof, and that the statues were very large.

With a look of wonder on her face she pushed open a nearby door and stepped out onto the windy roof. The roof was in the shape of a large hexagon, with raised platforms running from every corner to the center. In the intersection of all these lines a single six-sided obelisk rose up. Along each of the platforms the image of Zmeya was sculpted from black marble. Each of the statues was in a different writhing position, but all glared over the edge and down on the city with ferocious snarls. Tracing the nearest serpent with her eyes, Film realized that each of the tails curled around the obelisk, tapering to points along its edges near its midpoint.

Film stared for a moment longer at the statues towering above the city. Its head is nearly twice as large as I am, she marvelled as she approached one made to show lips curling back, exposing a mouth full of sharp fangs. She looked to the one on her other side, and saw its mouth opened as if it were about to strike at some unseen foe. And that one’s even bigger.

Film brought her camera up, popping the lens cap off. Onyx stepped behind her while she took her pictures. A few dozen snapshots later she finally put the lens cap back on, satisfied that she’d gotten each of the statues in the best possible ways.

She walked back to the outbuilding that contained the elevator. After walking in she realized Onyx was no longer behind her. Looking back she saw him standing several feet away, staring out past the statues and down on the city.

“Hey, you coming?” she called out.

He sighed and turned towards her, before jogging across the roof. “Sorry,” Onyx muttered as he pressed the elevator call button.

The doors opened almost immediately and the duo stepped inside. “What were you looking at back there?” Film asked as the elevator began to descend.

Onyx shrugged. “I was just thinking how much more interesting this place could be with some color, or at least something other than bricks and columns.”

“You didn’t seem like the art type when I met you.”

He grinned. “Well I didn’t make a very positive first impression at all, now did I?”

Film was about to reply when the elevator suddenly stopped. She glanced at the floor display and saw they were still twelve floors above the lobby. Remembering the ominous hints about the company in charge of the building, she tensed up, waiting for the door to open.

When it did, Film relaxed only slightly to see a large, muscular, and frustrated griffon talking hurriedly on his cell phone. He stepped in between the two ponies, giving them an apologetic look as his wings furled tight against his back.

Film examined him through the corner of her eye. He had an impressive coat, a stunning white with accents of steel gray. She admired his magnificent wings with feathers fading from white to gray before seeing his dark gray talons, which were covered in a sprawling mass of criss-crossing scars. She looked at Onyx and found him closely examining at the griffon as well. Trying not to look as if she were staring at the new arrival, she ran her gaze quickly over his face before looking forward again. The griffon had silver eyes, a dark beak, and even more scars around his throat, eyes, and beak.

He was not joking when he said these griffons were scary people.

The griffon reached out and pressed the button for one of the basement floors.

“No, you listen to me.” The griffon was saying. Film was surprised to find that the accent present in the receptionist was not apparent in this griffon’s speech. Is that a slight Hoofington accent? That’s pretty far from usual griffon haunts. “I don’t care what gets in the way. You find him, or we lose him. And we can barely afford to lose him, but they made it clear that they can’t. So if we lose him we lose the twins. And if we- no, the second him. Yes, him. Dammit, just find him.”

The griffon snapped his phone shut and sighed. He looked at the two ponies in the elevator. “Sorry about that,” he said, addressing them now. “One of my business partners disappeared a few days ago, and the man I sent out to look around is proving to be… incompetent.”

“I hope your partner is alright.” Onyx said.

“Oh he’s done this before. Usually he’ll drop off the grid for a few days and turn up hungover in the back seat of his car a few blocks from his house. What are you two doing here though? I don’t remember seeing any scheduled visitors.”

“I’m a photographer for the Manehattan Times, one of the writers wanted some pictures of the statues of Zmeya on the roof.” Film replied.

“Ah, yes. What did you think of the old snake? Magnificent statues aren’t they?”

“They really are. As is the architecture on this building. Truly wonderful.” Film said dreamily.

“Well, it’s been nice talking, but I think this is your stop?” The griffon said as the doors opened into the lobby.

Film nodded and said goodbye to the griffon. The two ponies walked to the desk and returned their badges before heading back out into the street.

“So, Film, after capturing some angry gods, what’s next for the adventuring photographer?”

“I’m heading down towards Manehattan University. That graffiti artist, ‘Batsy’ apparently struck again. You seem to like art, want to tag along?”

Onyx grinned. “Sounds like fun.”

---

The subway ride to the university was tedious, as always. Film hated the subways. Unless she was passing through Royal Central Station it was all just boring tunnel and close-pressed crowds in metal tubes.

Luckily for her it was only a single line change to the university’s dedicated station. They pushed through the crowd of college students and commuters to reach the stairs and emerged on a corner of the campus’ large central courtyard.

“So where do you think the piece is?” Film asked Onyx.

He chuckled at her. “For someone so fascinated with her surroundings you don’t pay much attention to specifics.”

“Stop messing around, Onyx.” Film fought back a grin. “I’m no good at remembering what I’m told. Get me a map or get me there once, and I’ll be able to get you there forever. Directions are boring, places aren’t.”

He laughed at her some more. “It’s... I think it’s right over there, on the backside of the library, where the big blank wall is.”

“The big blank wall? What?” Film gave him a quizzical look as he began to trot across the courtyard.

“The entire library’s back wall is just white stone, it’s probably as boring as directions.”

“Hey!” Film caught up to him. “How’d you even know about the wall?”

“I went here. Just graduated two years back.”

“I – Woah.”

Film’s jaw dropped as she surveyed the scene in front of her. Formed behind the library there was a crowd of dozens of students, faculty members, and sightseers staring up at the back of the library which had indeed been a large blank wall, but “Batsy” had turned it into a canvas. Sprawling across the wall was a massive painting of Discord. Film fought through the surprising crowd of students to get a better vantage point and admired the unique style the artist had employed, using only black paint they had drawn outlines and shadows, creating a highly contrasting effect. Tracing the twists of the Draconequus’s contorted, serpentine body as she removed her camera’s lens cap she spotted a detail she had missed. Under his mischievous grin Discord’s hands were raised and holding strings as if for marionettes, strings that were attached to three silhouetted ponies in suits.

Film took photographs from as many angles as she could, before wading back through the crowd to where she’d left Onyx. He was simply smiling up at the wall.

“You get your pictures?” he asked without looking towards her.

“I got a lot, but I can’t get a good one of the whole thing, it’s just too big.”

He frowned and looked around the small plaza behind the library. “Well that’s not good, let’s see if we can find you a better view.” He searched the nearby buildings before he settled on a small dorm building on the other side of the square. “There,” he said pointing, “That balcony up on the fourth floor. If I remember right, it’s just a little coffee shop, so you won’t even bother anyone.”

Five minutes later the two of them were stepping out of the stairwell and into the dining area of the shop. Film walked straight through the room to the balcony they had seen from outside.

She raised her camera and moved to set up the shot before stopping and smiling.

“What?” Onyx asked, seeing her lower the camera.

“It seems ‘Batsy’ knew this would be the best place for a picture,” she replied, gesturing towards the railing in between her and the painting.

Onyx leaned in for a look as she raised the camera once more for the picture, and found a signature hastily scrawled in black spraypaint on the inside of the railing. He chuckled as he looked at the stylized letters spelling out “Batsy.”

Film snapped a few pictures of the entire piece, being sure to capture the signature Batsy had left for them and the crowd gathering to admire his work. Placing the cap back on her camera she looked at her watch and sighed when she realized she’d already spent most of the day on just two errands.

Oh well, she thought, it’s not like I wasn’t productive. Besides, it just goes to show she looked at Onyx beaming down on the crowd, this city is hiding something around every corner.

Author's Note:

Sorry about the delays. Have two-ish chapters as an apology.
Once again, thanks to the wonderful Aurora Borealis, without whom this would be nearly unreadable.