Week Three
“She’s not there today.”
Fine glanced up from his hot chocolate to observe the waiter standing over him. The pony stared across the street at the monument. There wasn’t a filly in sight.
“Nope, she’s gone.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
Fine smiled and blew the steam from his to-go cup. The first flakes of winter drifted into his chocolate, and he smiled. “I’m sure she’s all right.”
With a shake of his head, the waiter said, “You haven’t been watching her all these months. What if she’s been hurt or…” His voice faltered as he continued to stare.
“Hmm…” Fine glanced around the café. More than a few ponies were glancing towards the monument. “She became a real regular, didn’t she?”
“Something like that.”
Fine sipped his chocolate, a smile worming its way onto his lips as the warm taste danced on his tongue. “I wonder why nopony around here chose to help her, then?”
“I dunno.” The waiter shrugged, accepted Fine’s ill-gotten bits and started to turn away.
“Why didn’t you?”
The question was loud enough to be heard all over the café. The waiter paused, but didn’t look back. Fine waited for an answer. He came to realize that none would come. When he turned his eyes to the other nearby ponies they all averted their gazes.
He turned to the street, cup floating before him. “Good chocolate.”
He left them to their silence and made his way uptown, his ears flicking as the gentle snow touched them. He strode in the open, unhurried, taking in the sights of the big buildings and watching as they grew shorter and shorter. He glanced up to see the New Clusterdam weather pegasi pushing more and more clouds into place, though they had yet to cover the sun. Fine paused to watch, a fresh wave of relief filling him at the sight of it.
Though a few ponies gave him funny looks, he raised his leg and waved to the sun as it was at last covered by the dark clouds. Fine knew he might not see it for a while, after all. He moved on at a trot, sipping his hot chocolate with a warm smile.
For he was warm. Though the world was cold and snow fell around him, he nonetheless felt as good as he would in the summer. Had he any friends, they might have asked why he was so uncharacteristically happy.
“Because I just am,” he whispered to himself smugly.
Half an hour later, Fine was back in the familiar Songbird neighborhood. Neatly cut yards, perfectly trimmed hedges, tall privacy fences and row after row of well-tended homes made up the street he strolled along. The snow hadn’t quite begun to coat the ground, but the rate of snowfall had increased in the short time since he’d left the city proper.
He passed through the local park, pausing only to stare at the spot where Sunflower used to perform her tricks and sell her flowers. The memory made him smile, more for the knowledge that she’d be there no more than for the reminder itself. He remained there, alone and contemplating the last two weeks, until his hot chocolate mysteriously disappeared and he was forced to discard the empty cup in a garbage can.
As warm as ever, Fine trotted out into the streets once more. His walk wasn’t a short one. It required him to take numerous little side roads, traversing the kind of maze only suburbia could create. Even so, he never once doubted his directions, for he’d made this walk many times in the past week.
This would be the last time.
The sky had turned orange by the time Fine reached the house he was after. It was a single story home, modest by the standards of the neighborhood yet still nice for a family of three. Fine had never dreamed of having his own home, and the one place that held the title – a place he doubted he’d ever see again – was worth many times what this little lot demanded. Even so, the sight of it reinforced that delightful warmth coursing through his soul.
Fine used his peripheral vision to determine that no ponies were around to watch him, then abruptly changed directions. With the ease of practice, he picked up speed to a canter and, using his front hooves for leverage, vaulted the short wooden fence. Now keeping low, he eased along the side of the house, ears perked for any sound. He found it: a gentle chatter from the kitchen. He paused beneath the appropriate window and took in the voices. One… two…
Laughter made three. Grinning, Fine made his way to the back door, finding it unlocked. A simple spell on the hinges made his entry silent.
As Fine knew, the back door led into a bedroom, newly furnished with a bed for one, a couple bookshelves and a toy chest. Visible in the open closet were two baby carriages, never used and folded in a corner. They were all that remained of plans long lost, yet the room was alive with signs of fresh life: scattered dolls at the side of the bed, a row of freshly potted plants sitting on the windowsill, the small table in the corner covered in assorted items for magic tricks. A whiteboard hung low on the wall by the door, where a neat and steady alphabet had been drawn over another that was clumsy and uneven.
Fine smiled at the whiteboard, delighted at the initiative the new parents were taking. He glanced over to the other side of the board, where evidence of practice writing could be found. Most were simple sentences with questionable grammar. They amused him, and he took the red marker in his magic and wrote down a few corrections. Old habits – even those not practiced in ages – were hard to break.
The marker stopped. The last sentence, near the bottom of the board, burned into his vision.
I want to see the shadow pony. I want to thank him. Are you watching, shadow pony?
Fine’s vision blurred. His throat constricted. He dropped the marker and rubbed at his eyes, but didn’t bother to fight the grin forming on his lips. He glanced at the words again. He’d never felt so full. All week, it had been as though a hole in his heart was being stitched back together. It wasn’t a perfect repair, merely a patch job, but still… it felt so good.
With a shaky, calming breath, Fine left the room. He didn’t go far, just out into the hallway. He perked his ears in the direction of the kitchen and caught the sound of silverware clinking against plates.
“You’re much better at that,” Sweet Treat said.
“Well, I have a horn.”
Fine chest swelled upon hearing such ease in Sunflower’s tone.
“What’s it like, trying to use forks without magic?”
The father-to-be chuckled. “Not easy. She was still stuffing her head in her bowl when we met.”
“She doesn’t need to hear that!”
Laughter filled the room and tickled Fine’s ears. He basked in the sound, drawing sustenance from its melody.
“So,” Sweet Treat said once the laughter died down, “have you been practicing your writing?”
“Uh-huh.”
The stallion spoke up. “Good! Y’know, I spoke to the headmaster at the school. You can’t start classes until next year, so it’s up to us to get you caught up. Are you okay with that?”
Hesitation dominated Sunflower’s tone. “I guess… but… do I have to go to school?”
“Yes, you do. Don’t worry, school’s fun. I know you’re nervous, but I promise that once you start you’ll love it.”
There was a lengthy pause, and then Sweet Treat spoke. “It’s okay, Sunflower. All little fillies need their education. Besides, if you don’t go we can’t…”
Another pregnant pause.
“Can’t what?”
“Well… uh…”
Fine glanced at the door, a spark of hope rising within him. If his guess was right, then this was what he’d been waiting around all week hoping to hear.
The husband came to the rescue. “Sunflower… do you like it here?”
“Oh, yes! I like it a lot.”
“Well, if you want to stay here we have to take certain steps. The government requires it. Part of that is making sure you go to school.”
“You mean… if I don’t go… I’ll have to live out there again? Be hungry all the time and… and…”
“No!” Hooves clattered on the tiled floor. “No, sweetie, that’s not what will happen. They just won’t let you... stay here. They’ll send you to an orphanage.”
A sob pierced the air, making Fine wince.
“I don’t wanna go back! It was scary there, and ponies hurt me! I wanna stay here with you. Please say it’s okay.”
Sweet Treat shushed her. “It’s okay. You’re not going anywhere.”
“P-promise?”
“I promise.”
Fine listened intently to the sound of the filly’s crying. Though he knew it was probably a mistake, he couldn’t resist slipping forward and glancing around the doorway.
Sweet Treat held Sunflower close, the filly quietly crying into her chest. The mare had her own tears, but she kept her attention upon the child nestled against her and whispered soothing sounds. Her husband held them both, his face stoic and determined. None of them noticed as Fine slipped back into the hallway.
His work was done. Judging by what he’d just seen, Fine was confident enough now to let the filly go. He drifted back into Sunflower’s new bedroom, content in his actions, yet he stopped as he approached the door. The words on the whiteboard echoed in his mind, and he turned to look once more upon Sunflower’s question.
Smiling, he erased her alphabet, took the black marker and wrote.
I was, but no more. Goodbye, little flower, and remember to smile for me.
Your friend,
Shadow Pony
He took a moment to examine his words. Satisfied, he returned the marker and left the house, determined to never see it again.
The snow was coming down hard in the night. Fine adjusted his not-quite-big-enough attendant’s uniform as he stood on the train platform. A glance at the station clock showed that the last train of the evening would arrive shortly. Fine scanned the area, but the platform was largely empty save for one or two ponies waiting like him. He didn’t see the one he wanted, though.
He could feel it itching inside. Three weeks were up; a vision would hit sometime soon. Fine felt at the horn hidden in his vest and smiled; for the first time ever, he was actually looking forward to what was coming.
Just as the train churned into the station, a new customer hurried onto the platform. Fine turned to focus on the train, a smile already on his lips as Baba Groot dragged a large suitcase behind him, scowling and grumbling beneath his breath.
“Where’s Walker?”
Fine turned his attention to the attendant who stepped out of the train. “Called in sick. I’m his replacement.”
“Don’t recognize ya,” the mare mumbled through her yawn. “Ya know what ta do?”
Fine nodded and turned to the platform. “Last train of the night, folks! 87B West, bound for Coltcago. Have your tickets ready as you approach the train entry.”
“Whelp, ya look like ya know what yer doin.’” The mare slapped him on the back, which made Fine flinch and glare, albeit only for a second. “Good luck, it’s a long ride.”
Despite his momentary discomfort, Fine couldn’t help grinning. “I’m counting on it.” He turned to check the passenger tickets of each pony that wanted on. He actually did the job properly too, checking each ticket under a flashlight and examining the potential guest. He was relieved that everypony wanted to carry their baggage into the train itself.
Baba Groot was the last one. Fine offered the zebra a smile, especially upon noting the bandage still over his eye.
“What the buck are you smiling at, ya prick?”
Fine didn’t lose his smile as the zebra entered the train. Glancing around to make sure there were no more guests, he gave the call for all aboard and stepped onto the train. He promptly glanced down the aisle and saw Baba Groot going into a private compartment.
That curious tingling ran up Fine’s spine as the train rocked forward. Excitement built within him as he walked the aisles, but the car was empty; all the other passengers were either in their own private compartments or had moved to a different car. Fine stopped before the zebra’s door.
He stared at it, sucking in a few sharp breaths. Would it come as soon as he entered? Would it take a few minutes? Either way, Fine was ready. He pulled the horn from his vest and set the necklace down around his neck. The horn swayed to the rhythmic motions of the train, comforting in its weight.
Lips pulled back in a toothy grin, Fine reached for the door handle. This was a golden opportunity. After all…
He’d never seen what the inside of a zebra looked like.
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Great job, this OC is very well developed. I'll have to read those others at some point.
Also, people here apparently like murder more than implied rape. Weird.
A thoroughly enjoyable story in all regards. Fast paced and well written.
With one sentence you jerk at my heartstrings, and with another, you remind me of the warm coppery scent of the freshly dead.
Given the choice between a monstrous hero, or a heroic monster, I believe I will always choose the latter.
King Lear-Act 1, scene 2, page five:
" when we are sick in fortune—often the surfeit of our own behavior—we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars, as if we were villains by necessity,"
I would suggest that Fine Crime is guilty of the opposite, as he looked around for a reason or an excuse for him to do right by poor Sunflower. Even if it is by our own compulsion, there are times that we all must needs be heroes by necessity.
On another note, was the zebra intended to be a ponifed Baba Yaga when Trixie was slated to be the filly? Just curious.
Talk about savage
8285468
Thank you! I'd given up hope that anyone would ever comment on that little scene.
... and the good ending just got better~
8285502
Honestly, I had the same reaction
Pretty sure even Winter won't soothe that burn
After reading Lightning's Bolt, this ending had me crying even more as I thought of that ending.
Honestly I had an underlying feeling things were going to go to shit. I knew they wouldn't. But LB had me wondering how sad or how long you intended to make this, even as I already knew the word count.
This story is brilliant; I made the mistake of reading the first chapter without context to Fine's character, which left me... Deeply disturbed, that is, until I stopped, went back in time and read all 4 No Heroes in sequence.
That made this ending all the more delightful, because I too am curious as to how a zebra looks like on the inside.
That pathetic international smuggler deserved what was coming to him.
It was also poetic how you began the story with a murder and ended with another.
I swear, aside from Maybe No Heroes 1 (the first half and a few things you could have done better later on) and 2 (I'll say but I still liked it, I feel like it needs some love and second chances), I feel safe to say you'll be hard pressed to find me not liking a story of yours, though I will comment when something is bugging me, you have my full attention. In fact I am terrified of tragedy because it's just not my color; even so I caught myself wanting to read Twilight's inferno, because I like your writing that much.
That's it I'm done spoiling you. My current headache is probably making me repeat myself as well. I hope the praise I give you know - for all of it is true - will translate into your will to write. See it as an incentive.
P.S.: it delights me to say that Fine Crime was Archon material way before he was recruited. You did that really well.
Now on to the Prologue! Or whatever those 800 words are supposed to be, I just hope it doesn't make me cry more