Lateral Movement

by Alzrius

598 - Streak of Darkness

Equestria, Dark Streak had decided, was a predator’s paradise.

Its towns – whether sleepy little villages like Ponyville or bustling cities like Canterlot – completely lacked any sort of access controls. There were no walls, ditches, or fences to stop anyone from coming or going as they pleased. Nor were there wires strung between buildings in an attempt to discourage flyers from entering or leaving without going through a checkpoint. Not that there were any checkpoints; even Canterlot, whose mountaintop location provided a modicum of defense, had no city watch or other constabulary recording who came and went from its trainyard, let alone collecting entry tolls, searching incoming merchandise, or even patting down suspicious-looking individuals for weapons or contraband.

Magical means of preventing unauthorized entrance or egress were similarly lacking. While it wasn’t, as far as Dark Streak knew, possible to use spellwork to monitor an entire town – her understanding was that attempting to set up any sort of magical effect that covered a large enough area, lasted long enough to be worthwhile, and could provide useful information, very quickly ran into problems of expense, complexity, and numerous other issues – even the most basic levels of scrutiny had been entirely absent. For all of her surreptitious checking when she’d taken the train to Equestria’s capital, Dark Streak had found no one so much as looking for the presence of magic items on newcomers. It was insane.

The lack of safeguards had been so glaring that Dark Streak had taken extra precautions, unable to shake the feeling that she was being lulled into a false sense of security. She’d used her hat of disguise – one of the lesser magic items in her arsenal – to cloak herself in the illusion of a nondescript pegasus. She’d made sure to cast a nondetection spell on herself as well, suppressing all magical emanations on her person, rendering her spells invisible to detection and making her magic items look mundane. She’d even gone out of her way to conceal several quick-escape tools on herself, rather than storing them in her bags of holding – sacks which were enchanted to be larger on the inside than their outward appearance would indicate – where they’d take longer to retrieve. Everything from a potion of gaseous form, which when drunk would turn her and everything she was wearing into mist for up to ten minutes, making her almost impossible to capture, to a vial of foul-smelling mixture that, when splashed on her trail, would make it difficult for bloodhounds to track her.

All for naught. Canterlot, like Ponyville, had been as unguarded as it appeared. The worst thing Dark Streak had needed to deal with had been a clumsy unicorn not looking where she was going.

Now, having finished her business there – the magic shop having been able to supply her with almost everything she’d required – and done some supplementary research besides, she’d come back to Ponyville to pick up the down payment on her commission. Once she’d collected the money, she’d be able to head out and start making preparations for-

“LOOOOOOK OUUUT!!!”

Dark Streak flung herself straight upward before she’d even consciously registered the warning, wings flapping as she belatedly registered something rushing at her from her left. Pulling her legs up, she barely managed to get them clear before a blue blur passed under her, trailing fire as it rocketed by, before it collided with a nearby building with a tremendous crash.

Landing, she gave a grunt of satisfaction at having avoided whatever that was. Between Willow and that four-eyed unicorn, she’d been getting tired of being nearly run over by the people here. It wasn’t going to happen again.

“Oh no, my scooter!”

The voice – the same one that had called out a warning a second later – belonged to an orange-coated pegasus filly, currently covered in dust as she picked herself up and rushed toward the site of the crash. Ignoring the dent in the wall, she slumped as she looked at the broken pile of wood and wheels, lifting two pieces and vainly trying to fit them together. “Awww…”

“Scootaloo!”

“Are you alright?!”

Still on edge after nearly being mowed down, Dark Streak watched as two more fillies – one a yellow earth pony with a bow in her hair and the other being a light grey unicorn – ran toward their friend, checking her over for cuts and bruises. For her part, the pegasus filly, Scootaloo, nodded sadly. “I’m alright, but my scooter’s totaled.”

“And you didn’t get your cutie mark neither,” sighed the earth filly. “None of us did.”

“So much for getting cutie marks in rocket science,” sighed the unicorn filly.

“Yeah,” huffed Scootaloo, before suddenly grinning, her disappointment over what had happened to her scooter vanishing in an instant. “But you know what? I don’t mind that we didn’t get our cutie marks! I’m just glad all three of us got to do this together!” She punctuated that last statement by moving between her friends and throwing a hoof over each of them.

“I agree!” echoed the earth filly, giving her unicorn friend a toothy smile. “It’s really great havin’ you back on the team, Sweetie Belle! I mean, you were still a Crusader before and all, but I feel like this is how it’s supposed to be, y’know?”

“Aw, thanks Apple Bloom!” gushed the unicorn, Sweetie Belle. “And you did a great job making those chemical boosters too! If I’d known they were going to be that strong, I’d have tied our wagon to the back of the scooter a lot tighter! Then we would have gotten to go along for the whole ride instead of just part of it!”

“Well, maybe it’s better that you didn’t,” admitted Scootaloo, looking at the sizable impact mark her runaway ride had left on the side of the building. Curiously, only a few other passersby were stopping to look at the damage, with most simply glancing at the trip and then moving on, as though this were a common occurrence. For their part, the fillies seemed to be fairly unfazed by what had happened, instead moving to start gathering up the remains of the ruined ride. “I’m just glad this place is still closed for repairs,” sighed the filly.

“Did anypony ever figure out exactly what happened here?” asked Sweetie Belle. “This was Rarity’s favorite restaurant.”

“The way I heard it,” offered Apple Bloom, “some poor fella ended up getting’ stuck in some kinda crawlspace between the first floor and the basement. Got wedged in there real tight too, since nopony could pull him out. They eventually had to tear up the wall and part of the floor to get him loose.”

Deciding that she’d heard enough, Dark Streak was already walking away when Scootaloo suddenly trotted up to her. “Hey, um, miss?” she started. “I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry about almost crashing into you with my scooter.”

“We all are,” added Sweetie Belle. “I guess we kinda got carried away.”

“We were just so excited to have the old team back together,” chimed in Apple Bloom. “I suppose we weren’t exactly thinkin’ straight.”

Scootaloo nodded, a self-conscious grin on her face as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m just glad I saw you before my scooter crashed into you. I was so wrapped up in how it almost felt like flying to be going that fast that I almost didn’t.”

For her part, Dark Streak just wanted the conversation to be over, since it was keeping her from collecting her fee. But she knew she couldn’t draw any undue attention to herself; she’d changed the illusion that she’d worn in Canterlot out of an abundance of caution – now looking like a pegasus with a tan coat and black mane and tail, her brand of destiny (or “cutie mark,” as it was apparently called here) now looking like that thing she’d seen in the magic shop, a “cash register” – but she still wanted to draw as few parallels between her fake identities as possible. Which meant effecting a nicer attitude than she’d showed that clumsy unicorn in the capital.

Forcing herself to smile, Dark Streak nodded. “Well, child, perhaps the next time you want to feel what it’s like to fly, you can just flap your wings.”

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle cringed at that, and Scootaloo winced, her expression becoming pained. “Oh, um, I can’t.” Flapping her wings, the filly grunted as she rose barely an inch off the ground, hovering there for a few seconds before dropping back down, ceasing her efforts. “My wings don’t really work. They never have.” Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. “It’s no big deal. I’m still…um, are you okay?”

But Dark Streak only dimly registered the question, instead staring at the orange filly with wide eyes and her mouth open, feeling like she’d just been punched in the gut.

An alce.

The girl was an alce.

Dark Streak hadn’t been an assassin for very long, but she’d taken to the profession with a natural ease that had shocked and intimidated her peers. Even so, she’d taken several serious wounds in the course of completing her contracts, some of them quite painful. But those were nothing compared to how she felt at that moment, the sudden ache in her chest blotting out everything else, including her better judgment; that was the only way to explain what came out of her mouth next.

“Your wings don’t work…and your parents let you live?”

Scootaloo’s eyes widened, looking like she’d just been slapped across the face. “Wh-what?”

“Of course they did!” Apple Bloom moved to stand in front of her friend, scowling. “What kinda horrible question is that?!”

“Apologize!” demanded Sweetie Belle. “You apologize to her right now!”

Rattled to her core, Dark Streak shook her head, the fillies’ fury making her step back in a way that armored warriors and powerful wizards hadn’t been able to do. Dimly, she realized that other people were starting to take notice of the altercation, the girls’ anger capturing their attention in a way that the rocket-propelled scooter hadn’t been able to do. It was exactly the situation she’d been trying to avoid, and one she knew she needed to fix immediately, for which apologizing would be the quickest route.

But that was something – the one thing – which she couldn’t bring herself to do.

“I need to go,” she muttered, turning away from the fillies and setting off at a brisk pace.

“Hey! You come back here!” yelled Apple Bloom, the sound of hooves hitting the ground making it clear that she was following her.

“You tell Scootaloo you’re sorry for what you said!” added Sweetie Belle, sounding like she was also giving pursuit.

Dark Streak didn’t listen, picking up the pace before belatedly remembering that she’d disguised herself in an illusion that had wings, so it wouldn’t seem unusual if she flew. Availing herself of that option, she took off into the sky, leaving the incensed shrieks of the fillies behind as she pushed herself, flying faster and faster, away from the angry foals. Away from their judgmental eyes and outraged voices. Away from their flightless friend.

But not away from her memories.

On Everglow, griffons had a meritocratic culture, celebrating individual strengths and accomplishments. Who you were didn’t matter, only what you were able to do, whether warrior or scholar or simple tradesgriff. It was an egalitarian society where even the criminal elements, while no less illegal or disreputable, were still respected for their prowess.

That was the theory, at least.

In fact, griffon society was deeply prejudiced, divided into various strata based on the characteristics of its citizens. At the top of the hierarchy were the griffons with predatory aspects to them, those whose avian halves were hawks and falcons and ospreys and similar raptors, while their back halves were akin to those of the biggest cats: lions, tigers, leopards, and others of their ilk.

Below them were those griffons with less impressive traits. If your avian half was something like a robin, finch, parrot, or some other prey-type rather than predator, then griffons tended to assume you were less likely to possess noble traits like courage, determination, or assertiveness. Similar judgments were made about griffons whose feline aspects were lacking compared to their larger cousins, such as ocelots, lynxes, and bobcats. It was still possible to earn the respect of the predatory griffons above you, but that it had to be earned at all – rather than being freely granted under the assumption that you had surely already done something to earn it – was the differentiating factor.

Things were worse for those whose bird half was a scavenger. Vultures, terns, and crows like herself were deemed to be shifty, always looking for a way to get ahead without actually trying in an honorable way. Likewise, griffons with the feline traits of the smallest kinds of felines, such as sand cats, savannah cats, or worst of all, housecats, were reviled for their perceived inherent laziness. They occupied the bottom rung of griffon culture, always having their accomplishments scrutinized and doubted, having to work twice as hard for half as much recognition.

But the worst were the alces, the cripples who were born without wings.

While sages and chirurgeons had long since determined that there were medical reasons for why the occasional griffon hatched without wings, their pronouncements had made little dent in common prejudices. For most, the idea that a griffon could be born so mangled meant that something must have been wrong with the parents, not just in terms of physiology but also morally. One of the more common rumors was that alces were the result of eggs being brooded by their father, rather than their mother. That was ridiculous, of course, but the impression that there was some sort of perversion there – that the mother was too butch or the father too effeminate – was one that lingered.

Naturally, without their wings, an alce griffon was doomed to a life of pity at best, outright scorn at worst, no matter what their front or back halves were like. That, and the shame heaped on their parents, made them every expectant parent’s nightmare. If their community found out what they'd hatched, their reputation would never recover.

That was why, if some poor griffon did find an alce among their brood, difficult decisions had to be made.

Fluttering down in an alleyway, Dark Streak waited just long enough to confirm that no one was watching before she used the magic in her hat of disguise to change her appearance back to the disguise she’d worn in Canterlot. It wasn’t ideal, using the same illusion that she’d already worn, but at least it was different from the one she’d cloaked herself in when she’d inadvertently insulted those fillies.

Stalking out from between the two buildings, Dark Streak hurried toward Willow’s house, intent on collecting her money. The sooner she finished this job, the sooner she’d be able to set about establishing herself among this world’s griffons. If they were anything like their pony counterparts, it wouldn’t be difficult for her to carve out a place among them, one far loftier than anything she could have achieved back on her world.

And then she’d never have to set talon in Equestria, with its unbearable acceptance of the deformed members of its population, ever again.

Author's Note:

Finding her time in Equestria less and less pleasant, Dark Streak moves forward with her preparations!

Does Willow have the money ready? If so, how will the griffon assassin go about her mission?

Comments

[Not so New Brony]

Well that's certainly quite the culture shock for Dark Streak and unlike Willow or Grass Patch, it was not to the former's liking though if she ever makes it to Griffinstone, I'd be curious on what her take on it would be.

edit:Did Blueblood try to get back to the basement through the dumbwaiter?

[Spiritus Arcane]

Heh, Willow talks about Lex ruining Equestria, well her support of Dark Streak looks like it could be as equally damaging.

10824216
Depending on how ambitious she might be, she might very well decide to pull a Lex herself and take up rulership, though likely a lot less benevolent than Lex tries to be. At the very least she'll probably see them as easy prey to take advantage of.

[Booster Spice]

Dark is so very lucky that Pinkie is otherwise indisposed? otherwise those cupcakes will just keep appering.

[Not so New Brony]

10824252
While it would be interesting, I somehow doubt Dark Streak would consider doing that since it'd put her in a high-profile position, which would draw attention that an assassin wouldn't want since she probably took out a number of would-be despots (and maybe some well-meaning community leaders on behalf of the former) before as part of her job so she''ll likely avoid doing that at least for a few years. She'd likely choose something discreet if possible, like maybe a black market for ill-gotten goods and information where her identity can be protected.

Of course, she'd likely restrict her future activities to Griffinstone and other similar settlements so whatever she does should she reach that point won't affect Equestria too much so Willow has nothing to worry about.

[Alzrius]

10824216 Dark Streak does seem to be having trouble adapting to the nuances of Equestria, though to be fair she's only just arrived. Still, her reaction to Scootaloo seemed markedly pronounced. It's one thing to not pick up the lingo (i.e. "anybody" vs. "anypony") or be more surly than most ponies expect. It's another thing to be so utterly stupefied that she acts in a manner that draws attention to her, opposite of what she's trying to do; all the more so for how her depiction up until now has been that of a cautious, tactically-minded individual. It's really quite surprising, when you think about it.

As for "someone being stuck in a crawlspace," well, put the pieces together: Blueblood, near a dumbwaiter, tells Shining Armor that he'll give him money if he can marry his wife...

[Alzrius]

10824368 Heh, I wondered if someone would bring up the idea that Pinkie would immediately rush to hold a gathering for anyone new in town (even if Dark Streak's in disguise, she still looks like someone new). But I'm not sure that's really as universal as people seem to think. After all, while she threw parties for Twilight and Cranky, they were moving to Ponyville (in the case of Twilight, she didn't actually tell Pinkie she was moving there when she first met her, nor did she have any baggage, but I'm presuming Pinkie's Pinkie Sense would have let her know), not just passing through. We didn't see her throw a party when Photo Finish came to town, for instance (in Green Isn't Your Color, season one, episode twenty).

So the idea here is that Dark Streak isn't setting off the "throw a party for the new friend" part of Pinkie's Pinkie Sense.

[Alzrius]

10824252 Well, Dark Streak is playing her cards very close to the vest. At this point Willow suspects that Dark Streak isn't planning on returning to Everglow, but nothing else. So at this point she seems fine with getting rid of the proverbial devil she knows.