A Prose By Any Other Name

by Jarvy Jared

XXII: Confirming Doubts

Doctor Irons frowned as his mind went over his memories one more. Somehow, he found himself disbelieving that Dusk was capable of the accused charges; yet, the evidence presented painted a logical conclusion, one easily supported. He looked at the file on his clipboard, trying to study it, but found himself unable to do so. The words and statistics blurred together as his mind raced back to what had occurred only four hours ago.

He glanced up and over at the bed, seeing his patient lying there quietly. Dusk had not said a word since he had woken up. It at first reminded Irons of the first time he and Dusk met; but instead of the stallion wielding an aura of coldness, now all Irons could feel was a weighty sadness. Defeated was the word to describe Dusk. His eyes had dulled over, losing their intensity; he was obviously deep in thought, but Irons could not say he was thinking with the same brilliance he was known for.

The doctor glanced at the bandages on the patient. He hadn’t lost too much blood, thankfully, and the glass was easily removed in a surgery that lasted only two and a half hours. The scratches and scars would remain only for a little while. Irons was slightly impressed that Dusk hadn’t broken anything bone-related when he crashed through the window.

But then again, this is Dusk Prosa we are talking about.

He let out a sigh that went seemingly unnoticed by his patient. He supposed he could be thankful that it was confirmed that Dusk was, indeed, not a user; but that gratitude was easily replaced with confusion and wariness. Given the facts, Dusk being a user would not only have been less as severe, but also much more appreciated.

To the side of the bed was a little tray cart, carrying Dusk’s belongings. The cloak he had on had its hood severed, and the ash-grey mingled with dark, dry red. His vest was in a similar state of ruin, the collar shredded, navy-blue mixing into a faded purple. The only thing that was relatively unharmed was Dusk’s satchel.

Irons’s brows furrowed as he recalled the contents. Blood-filled syringes were only supposed to be found in hospitals, not in the possession of a mysterious stallion. It confounded him to no end as to their purpose. He at first guessed that they were for a morbid experiment—and, indeed, the labels seemed to suggest some sort of tracking method—but his hypothesis was ultimately abandoned once the accusations were presented.

Dusk Prosa… accused murderer of Opacare Prose, though no body has been found. Linked to the death of Raven Lock. Somehow, Irons gained a tired, wry grin. I always have had a reputation of having some strange patients.

Nurse Redheart trotted in, her pink mane slightly unkempt. She looked at Dusk, then back at the doctor, before letting out a huff. She began going over Dusk’s vitals, ignoring his presence. Irons heard her mutter words such as “stupid” and “idiotic.”

He probably would have begun spouting the same things, had Dusk not spoken up.

“Wise words, Nurse Redheart,” he said weakly. She stopped, turning to face him. An unamused expression was on her face, her eyes narrowed.

“Hello, Dusk Prosa,” she said coldly, glaring at him.

He didn’t smile, but his lips twitched. “Happy to see me?” There was a flicker of light behind his eyes, like amusement, but it quickly faded back into dullness.

Nurse Redheart said nothing, turning away to check his vitals.

Dusk turned to Irons. “Greetings, Doctor. When did you enter?”

“About an hour and a half ago.”

“You’ve been watching me the whole time?”

“I’ve been reading the report that Mayor Mare sent over.”

Dusk nodded, before turning away, looking up at the ceiling. “Give it to me straight, Doctor: am I going to die?” he asked dryly.

Even in his weakened state, he still had a dark sense of humor. Irons resisted the urge to chuckle. “No, Dusk, you aren’t. At least, not until a long time in the future.”

“Shame. Would be much better than what I’m about to go through.”

Irons thought Dusk tried to laugh, but it came out more as a cough. They fell silent, the only other sounds being the beeping of the machines, as well as the occasional pony walking by the room.

Redheart suddenly faced Dusk. He looked up, surprised. That surprise was quickly replaced with pained annoyance as Redheart jabbed a hoof into Dusk’s chest. “Do you at least care to explain what you were trying to do?”

Irons pulled Redheart away, giving Dusk space. The stallion looked at them tiredly, but Irons noticed a familiar gleam beginning to return.

“I was… trying to get away,” he answer after a moment. He didn’t seem bent on withholding the information this time.

“‘Get away?’” Redheart repeated. “Where did you plan to go?”

He hesitated for a moment, before answering, “Someplace south.” He looked away. “Someplace far away. Where…” His voice trailed off as he looked out the window. Ponyville lay beyond, somehow still as lively as when he first arrived.

Irons and Redheart shared a look. He wasn’t sure he wanted to push the issue any further, but Redheart looked like she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She made to turn away, but he held her, giving her a stern look. She returned an equally harsh glare. A silent conversation passed between them, ending with Redheart sighing. She gave one last look to Dusk—one that, Irons noticed, was filled with shame and sad sympathy—before walking out to tend to other patients.

Leaving Dusk alone with Irons.

The doctor lowered his clipboard onto the nearby table, before walking over and sitting on the side chair next to the bed. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say. It came as a great shock, all this newly revealed information and accusations. He was still having trouble understanding it.

Finally, though, he had to ask, “Is it true?”

Dusk looked at him. “Is what true?”

He made a vague gesture. “All of it. The blood, the accusations, the charges… is it all as they say?”

Dusk stared at him, his carnation eyes looking through and passed him. “They say a lot of things. Some true, some false. It is not my place to give validity; that is up to the interpretation of the individual.”

“But these things… they’re about you. You have a responsibility to determine whether they are right in saying such things.”

“Maybe so… but would it matter? What could I possibly say that would deter their inflamed accusations?”

“The truth, perhaps.”

“Once again, that is up to interpretation. And it is more likely that they would deny that truth, in favor of a false ideal.”

Irons couldn’t argue with that. It made sense, sadly. Dusk had nothing to say, nor was he willing to say anything. He had chosen the safest choice; one of silence, of omission, because he knew that saying something could end in disaster.

“Do you know what they are going to do to you?” Irons asked. “After you’re out of here?”

Dusk sighed. “It’s a stretch… but I imagine they would throw me in prison.”

“This is not a laughing matter, Dusk.”

“Who’s laughing?”

Irons frowned. “Regardless, I don’t think they’ll throw you in a simple prison.”

“Why is that?”

Irons sighed. “You’ve gotten yourself tangled in something bigger than just drugs, Dusk. The evidence that Rainbow found marks you as a national threat. Raven Lock’s death—” He stopped, seeing Dusk wince. He considered asking more about it, but decided against it, thinking that Dusk wouldn’t say anything. “—and Opacare Prose’s disappearance… you are linked to both events.”

“So they keep telling me.”

Irons continued, “Because these two are not local matters, and the latter is something that the Princesses themselves have delved into, this has become an issue on national levels. If I had to guess, they’ll send you to Canterlot after the initial trial in town.”

“They have a court?”

“It’s more likely they’ll do it in Town Hall.”

“… It’s nicer than a courthouse, I suppose.”

Irons smiled. “Still not taking this seriously, are you?”

“Or perhaps I’ve given up caring.”

Irons said nothing. There was a knock at the door. Irons got up and answered it, seeing another staff member standing there with a clipboard. Nodding his thanks, he closed the door, walking back over to the chair.

“I never asked what happened to the syringes,” Dusk suddenly said. Seeing Irons quizzical look, Dusk lifted a hoof and pointed at the satchel. “It isn’t full. You can tell by the lack of imprints from the inside. And, it has fell in on itself, meaning that it’s empty.”

Irons nodded.

“So… where are they?”

He took a deep breath. “We moved them.” Seeing Dusk flinch, he raised a hoof. “Well, I moved them. To someplace safe. Similar in condition to your freezer.”

Dusk let out a relieved breath. “I suppose I can thank you for that.”

“They mean a lot to you?”

“Not the syringes.”

“But the contents?”

He said nothing, which was all the answer Irons needed. He took his seat, reading through the papers on the clipboard.

“Of course,” he began, “we had to analyze the contents to make sure they weren’t anything dangerous.” Dusk stiffened, but he didn’t interrupt. “We ran a few tests with the blood. Don’t worry, we placed it back in the syringes once we were finished.”

Sensing a but in there, Dusk asked for the answer.

Irons took a deep breath. “What we found was… odd.” He glanced at Dusk, the stallion’s face carefully masked. He wasn’t sure if Dusk was feeling fear or curiosity. Nevertheless, he decided to trudge on.

“The cells are unlike anything we’ve ever seen.” He flipped to a picture, showing to Dusk. The stallion did not reveal whether or not he was interested. “The blood is cancerous, effectively killing its own cells with each passing moment.”

“Mmm.”

“But that’s not all.” He flipped to another page, pointing to another reading. “We noticed that the behavior was odd for cancer cells, so, after a bit of testing, we found this.” He pointed to a number. “This is the hemoglobin found in a normal blood cell.” He pointed to another number. “This is the amount found in the blood.”

The number was significantly less than the normal number.

“An abnormal amount,” Dusk whispered, as if in awe.

Irons nodded. “The abnormality results in improper oxygen transport and the destruction of red blood cells. In other words, thalassemia. Or, a variant of it.”

He flipped a page. “But, what struck us as the most intriguing, is that these blood cells all suffer from cancer and thalassemia. That means, the cancer cancels out the effects of thalassemia, and vice versa.”

“But not entirely.”

Irons looked up, surprised, but nodded. “Yes. The cancer is still slightly faster. We noticed that while there are cancerous red blood cells and cells suffering from thalassemia, there is a large amount of red blood cells that suffer from having both. It’s a mutation; and a dangerous one.” Irons shook his head. “Any ordinary pony suffering from this condition would have been dead in only a few year.”

“I’m detecting that even more oddities were found.”

“You catch on quick,” Irons said with a small grin. On another page was a reading on the condition of the white blood cells found in the blood. “Normally, in cancer patients, the cells replicate unstably and uncontrollably. What ends up happening is that these cancerous cells suffocate healthy cells so quickly, that the body cannot regulate the resulting overflow. White blood cells don’t detect them as threats, so we usually use drugs or special treatment to try and kill these malignant cells.

“However, as these are cancerous thalassemia-ridden cells, treatment is hard to come by. Though, I’ve been going over the records, and it appears that a good number of ponies suffer from the same condition.”

“What does this have to do with the white blood cells?”

“As you know, the WBCs are responsible for fighting off hostile germs and microbes. There are cases where the WBCs have gone rogue, attacking the body’s own red blood cells—RBCs. That seems to be the case here.” He pointed to a picture. “Here, we found a WBC attacking one of the cancerous-thalassemia RBC. Since it’s a cancer cell, that shouldn’t happen. But here we see just that!”

He pointed to another picture. “A close-up revealed that the WBC had a trail of antibodies that was aiding in killing the rogue RBC. We’ve determined that the antibodies are of a unique kind; in fact, they’re the only ones of their kind. It seems that they were specially made for fighting these C-TRBCs. They actively seek out these kinds of cells, and help eliminate them efficiently.”

“Of course, that doesn’t fix the problem with the hemoglobin.”

“No, but it keeps the owner alive.”

Dusk sensed something else. He narrowed his eyes at Irons. “That’s not all, is there?”

Irons cleared his throat, not liking what he was about to say. “Well… we were curious. Do you remember the first time you were in Ponyville hospital?”

“Yes…”

“We had to take a blood sample of yours. Just for identification purposes.”

Dusk visibly grew perturbed. “And?”

“Well… when we ran the test just now, we also did an analysis on your blood. What we found was… striking, to say the least.”

He flipped to the last page with the stallion’s readings. “Dusk… you have the same disease. You have cancerous-thalassemian red blood cells in your body.”

Dusk said nothing, knowing what came next.

“We… we found the same white blood cells in your blood as well. They were killing the RBCs.” He looked at Dusk. “Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Dusk nodded silently.

“This would explain how you’ve managed to stay alive with this condition for all your years. The most logical conclusion we could make was that you were making blood transfusion after blood transfusion, keeping yourself alive by finding ponies with this type of WBC.”

Irons sighed. “That, of course, led me to conclude one aspect of your connection to Opacare Prose.”

He grabbed the file on Dusk, looking at the photo of the syringes. “OP. That means Opacare Prose, doesn’t it?”

Dusk said nothing, but a flicker of emotion ran through his eyes, confirming his suspicions.

“Opacare Prose had this type of white blood cell. He suffered from a similar case of C-TRBCs.” Irons gulped. “At first, I thought that meant that you and he had been working together, trying to keep each other alive. But…”

“But when you were confronted with the accusation that I was involved in Opacare Prose’s disappearance, you realized there was a definite possibility that I took the deed too far.”

Irons slowly nodded.

There was silence as Irons placed the papers behind him. He and Dusk sat in silence as they thought over the exchange.

“I’ll have to tell Mayor Mare about my findings.”

“Yes.”

“She’ll have to tell Princess Celestia when you go to Canterlot.”

“Yes.”

“Dusk… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He sighed. “It was my choice, after all.”

“So it’s true?”

“Maybe.”

Irons grunted. “That’s all the uncertainty I need.”

Dusk glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“You never asked if I truly believed the charges presented against you.”

“Do you?”

“… Not at first.”

“And now?”

“Still not completely.” He looked at Dusk. “I’m a good judge of character, Dusk. And I don’t think you have done anything malicious. While I do think you are somehow involved in Opacare’s disappearance and Raven’s death… I don’t think you truly mean—or meant—any harm.”

Dusk stared at him in silence. Irons could tell he was surprised that the doctor still believed in him, despite all that was concluded. His head slowly turned away, facing forward. His eyes glazed over, and he was lost in contemplation.

Irons heard Dusk mutter, “Iustus amo tria illi…”

Just like those three…

Irons stood. “Of course, that’s just my take on things. We won’t fully know the truth until after your trials. Though, I hope that the truth won’t be so bad.”

He placed a gentle hoof on Dusk’s arm. “Rest well, my friend. Goddess knows you’ll need it for later.” He turned and walked away.

Before he left the room, he heard Dusk ask, “Friend?”

Irons turned and smiled at him. “Beats calling you a user, doesn’t it?”

And at that, Dusk managed a grin of his own, one that was just as vibrant and alive as the one he had at the party. “Friend…” he murmured.

Irons nodded, and then left, the door closing shut.

Dusk was given the rest of the day to recover from his injuries. He had a few visitors, among them was, surprisingly, Rainbow Dash. She, despite her misgivings, still apologized for launching Dusk through the window. Dusk had answered with a cold chuckle, and sent her on the way.

The other visitors were Pinkie Pie and Rarity. While the latter did her best to maintain a calm attitude, Pinkie was practically bawling over his bed.

You’d think I was dying, he thought as Pinkie continued sobbing dramatically. He frowned. Then again, I technically am.

“There, there, Pinkie,” Rarity comforted. “Dusk’s alright. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine, Miss Pie,” he said, voice cool and composed. “See you in court.”

That last comment was meant as a joke, but it only made Pinkie cry harder. Eventually, Rarity managed to pull her from the bed, leaving her and Dusk alone.

“So,” she began unsurely.

“So indeed.”

“Have you any idea what will happen tomorrow?”

“I can make an educated guess.”

She nodded. “And… just so you know… whatever happens tomorrow, it’s nothing personal.”

He managed to smile at her, though it was slightly strained. “It never is.”

An odd comment, but she accepted it without question. After a few more words, she left, leaving Dusk alone.

He was slightly disappointed that the Crusaders had not come to see him. But he supposed that they were busy. The thought didn’t do much to improve his depressing attitude.

He went to sleep, and though his dreams were not too dark, they still held an atmosphere of sadness in the images.

He woke up, and it was the next day. The day of his trial. Since his wounds were not too severe, he could leave the hospital. A nurse came in, and had him fill out paperwork. He did not bother trying to hide the light glow of his flank as he filled out the form, ignoring the nurse’s surprised look. He handed the papers back, and she nodded to him. Several other nurses came in, and they unplugged the various machine units from his body. She gestured to him to follow.

The ponies up front handed him his torn garments and other belongings. He noted that all that was in his satchel was his blue quill pen and black inkwell. With a nod from Doctor Irons, he confirmed that the syringes were still in the hospital. Irons left before Dusk, likely to prepare his statement as a witness. A few moments later, Dusk was ready to go as well.

“It’s likely not going to be a conventional type of court,” Redheart told him. “Since this is more of a national matter, this is more of a procedural trial.”

She hadn’t said this in a cold tone, and she even sounded worried. Dusk, noticing this, held her hoof in his own. “There is no need to be worried, Nurse. It is as it is.”

She was surprised at the gesture, but nodded her thanks. However, he was still slightly weak, so he turned to her to ask an awkward request.

“Would you mind helping me get to my trial?” he asked.

She smiled kindly, and in answer, stood by him as he walked out the doors.

Conversation was rather short as they walked to the Town Hall. She asked what he planned on saying; he said answers. She asked, what did he expect to be questioned on. He answered, that which needs to be answered.

In truth, she could tell that his terse answers were a result of him not fully knowing what to say. He hadn’t expected to get caught, that much was certain, so he could not have prepared an excuse of any kind.

Soon they reached the Hall. As they approached, Dusk could feel the questioning stares of the town’s locals. Based on the clamor coming from the inside, he guessed that most of the town had gathered to watch this temporary proceeding.

“I have to go back to the hospital,” Nurse Redheart said.

“Go do that.”

She hesitated, before grabbing his hoof and staring at him. “Be careful,” she whispered. Before he could respond, she trotted away.

He blinked, then sighed. He doubted he’d honor that order. He rolled his neck, cracking it, loosening up his body. He turned, facing down the doors to the Hall. Whereas on the night of the party they were welcoming, now they stood as stoic guards, glaring down at him. He fixed his own glare at them, determined not to falter. He confidently walked up, and pushed open the doors.

He was met with stunned silence as the Hall quieted. So many pairs of eyes trained on him that he could practically feel their questioning gazes shoot through him. He gulped, trying to remain undeterred, as he moved forward. Looking around, he noticed that the hall was filled with familiar faces. Ditzy, Time Turner, and Dinky sat up front, watching him with wide eyes. Twilight’s friends were next to Mayor Mare, on the stage. Filthy Rich and his daughter were on the other side of the Hall, glaring at him.

Still the Crusaders were nowhere to be found. His heart fell, but he kept his head held up high.

“Dusk Prosa,” Mayor Mare greeted, trying to appear amicable. “I trust you’ve recovered?”

He nodded. “Indeed I have. Let’s waste no time here.”

She nodded, and gestured him to move up front. A makeshift bailiff directed him to the side—the witness stand, he supposed—and he waited for Mayor to begin the “trial.”

She glanced all around the Hall. “Citizens of Ponyville, this is not your typical trial. We neither have nor need lawyers. As the issues presented are of national importance, Ponyville does not have the authority to properly deal with the ramifications.”

She was greeted with murmurs that, while confused, didn’t seem intentionally hostile. Seeing this, she continued, “That being said, I believe it is still our town’s responsibility to clear up any misgivings with our citizens.”

She faced Dusk with a frown. “The accused is Dusk Prosa. The charges are as follows.” Twilight handed her a list. “Unlawful possession of syringes; being linked to Raven Lock’s death; for withholding valuable information that could aid in finding Opacare Prose; as well as being charged with assisting in Opacare Prose’s disappearance. You are also now charged with assaulting a volunteer officer and property damage.”

“Hold it!” Rich cried, standing up. Only now did Dusk see that Rich had a slight black eye from when Dusk hit him. He smirked, somewhat satisfied. “What about the fact that those syringes were not for medical purposes?”

“I have been informed by Doctor Irons that Dusk has a unique condition that would require usage of the syringes,” she answered calmly. Seeing Dusk’s questioning gaze, she added, “Doctor Irons had to leave for Canterlot to prepare his statements to the Princesses.”

Prosa gulped, knowing he’d have to face the Royal Sisters after all of this.

She turned back to Dusk. “This will be a fast trial, as the real one shall be made in Canterlot. Is that satisfactory?”

“Would it matter if it wasn’t?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

She nodded. “Very well. Dusk Prosa, how do you plead to these charges?”

He thought for a moment, saying nothing at first. The tension in the hall rose. He could hear every breath being sucked in as they waited his response.

Finally, he spoke: “… Guilty to the last two.”

A few breaths were released, but most knew that wasn’t all of it. Mayor Mare nodded, turning to Twilight and her friends. “Jury members, what is your verdict?”

Applejack stepped forward. “Guilty to all charges.” She returned to her position.

Next was Rainbow, her face hidden, emotions masked behind a veil of coldness that matched his own. “Guilty to all charges.”

Rarity walked forward, frowning. “… Guilty to first three and last two.”

Fluttershy was next. She looked like she was about to cry, a stark contrast to her behavior yesterday. “G-guilty to f-first three, last two.”

Next was Twilight. She didn’t look at Dusk. He noticed that her lip appeared to be quivering. “Guilty to all charges.”

Finally, Pinkie stepped forward. Her mane had deflated, her sapphire eyes large and forlorn. She didn’t spare Dusk a glance, and her voice came out monotone and dark. He found himself flinching at the voice; it was completely unlike the Pinkie he had come to know.

“Guilty to all charges.”

He closed his eyes, releasing a sigh. He couldn’t say that this was completely unexpected; but a part of him had hoped that he could prolong the inevitable. He was surprised when frustrated tears appeared at the edge of his vision; blinking rapidly, he quickly removed them.

Mayor Mare nodded. “Four to two to one. Dusk Prosa, this court finds you guilty of all that is accused.” She sighed. “While we do not have a working jail for you at the moment, you shall be under house arrest while we make arrangements for you to go to Canterlot for the real trial.”

He nodded, jaw stiff.

“Very well. Bailiff, escort Dusk to his home. Court is adjourned.”

The Hall began clamoring as the ponies began to leave. Dusk was led out by the bailiff, his face downcast. If ponies could see his face, they would have witnessed restrained tears finally breaking free. They would be dried later, of course, but their stains would remain etched into his very soul.

And for the third time, Dusk dreamt of tears and cries, of a great wall of ignorance, and of his own hatred for himself. He dreamt of dark days, of distant futures, of what could have been. He dreamt, and he cried, and he despaired.

Author's Note:

A little on the short side. The next chapter will be quite long; I might post it later on today. I know that the court scene is somewhat unorthodox; it is not a usual court, however, and therefore does not function like our system does.

Comments

[ARTL]

I despise kangaroo courts. Theirs is emotional justice, not lawful.