Heartwood
I can't do this any more.
She plummets into the darkness, and it is not what she fears. She knows exactly what lurks at the core of it. Sun's light. The dulled light from one particular voyage of Sun, where the orb was just about fully occluded by dark grey clouds which never quite managed to break. Not in either aspect, not where they dispersed or -- simply shed their load. They never did. Perhaps they carry that weight still, as she carries hers.
After everything which has happened, all which she expects is yet to come... there is only one place for a falling mind to arrive when it crashes into the nightscape. Some small part of her is aware of what's coming, and it is that which screams all the way down.
The darkness ends where the overshadow begins.
I don't know why I'm still
the mindless clacking
it was an accident
WHY
mindless
but
there's a way to
she could...
...if it doesn't work...
she'll know.
One way or the other, she would know.
The filly is thinking, and every thought is pain.
Who is this even for now? Why am I still writing in a journal which nopony will ever read? Tonight guaranteed that. I know who I wanted to see the words. The little stories about what it's like to be in a settled zone that's just getting started.
Maybe they would have thought running a mill was boring. Tell us something else. Anything else.
Now I can.
I came straight to this journal, when I finally got back home. I kept starting and stopping, over and over. Wasting paper. But I'm writing now, and maybe I understand why. Even when I feel like I don't understand anything else. It's a habit. Something happens in my life, I go to the journal. Some habits are hard to break.
The writing is quieter than screaming. Or it's a different kind of screaming.
It's over.
Everything.
I need to get this out of my head.
I'll never
I thought I was going to surprise her. I did.
I told the journal about the trips she's made into Canterlot. So many of them. Overnight stays, because who wants to try taking the road when it's that deep under Moon?
There was this little note in the bedroom. It got tangled up in some of her clothes. I saw it because I try to do the laundry sometimes. I got used to doing my own when I was single, and then I had to do it again when I got here. Sometimes you need to wear clothing to protect yourself from the wood shavings. It doesn't all get ground down to the finest powder. There's little spikes, and you don't want them working into your fur until they find the skin. Some slivers are too hard to find in the blood. You might never get them all out.
So there's laundry. And I washed some of hers, because it was something I could do when I was home. At least it made her clothing smell like a different kind of soap.
The note was directions to a restaurant in Canterlot, and a time. I guessed she'd made a reservation and she hadn't eaten there before, so she had to write down the way to reach it.
I've been trying to spend more hours with her. But she's in the capital. Whenever she can be. And she doesn't like the food around here. I guessed I could see her point there, at least for the local restaurants. The town isn't far enough along to have much more than slam food: you slam it into your mouth, it crashes into your stomach, and then you go pound out six more hours of work. But she wouldn't even go to the cookout at Mrs. Smith's with me.
I thought I'd surprise her. Just show up at the restaurant after she did. Tell the reservation gate that my spouse is over there and if they're a decent sort of pony, they'll push up an extra bench. We'd have a nice meal together, like we did when we were dating. See what came after.
It wasn't easy. The following part. There isn't enough work right now to keep me from freeing up the time.
I got on the road about half an hour after she did, because I never wanted to get in range where she could look back and see me. Keep the gap constant between us. And I had to slow down over and over, because I got a lot of exercise in the last couple of years and I'm faster than I used to be.
Faster on hoof.
I don't think fast enough, when it isn't about wood. I don't think of the right things.
I got to the restaurant. Stopped at the gate, because it's the capital and I didn't have a reservation. Couldn't see that much of the inside. Just lots of lights and glitter and some fish swimming inside a middle hollow glass layer which got put in the walls because that's new. Going around and around, over and over. Swimming forever and getting nowhere.
I told the pony that my spouse was already in there and I just wanted to catch up.
He just looked at me. I wonder how many ponies got that look. It must have been a lot, to make it feel like he was so tired and sad.
He told that when she turned up, the stallion who was already at the table came out to meet her. And the first thing I thought was that she's got friends in the capital. Ponies she goes back to see. It's not that much of a surprise, that she'd be eating with one.
I said that. Maybe I said it a little too loud.
So he told me how they said hello to each other. There's a nuzzle for friends.
That wasn't it.
This is my fau
He took me aside. Had to prod me a little, because I wasn't moving. I couldn't feel where my legs were. He said he could take me to where I could sort of look through the glass and fish at their table. But he didn't want me to go inside. It isn't good for the restaurant if there's a fight. So after he showed me, he could give me a place to wait. Where nopony could see me. And then he'd pull a cord which rang a little bell in the waiting room when they left. I could try to catch them outside after that, if I wanted to. Or I could go home.
He got me to the right place. I didn't know the stallion. Looked taller than me, and heavier. I couldn't make out much more than that on him. It was hard to really see past the regal tangs. But I could see her. She was laughing.
She was so happy.
Then I was in the room. I can't really remember how I got there. There was a plush bench, and some fabric hanging from a brace bar on the wall. You're supposed to wipe your face on that. And there was a table with calling cards on it. Addresses of ponies you're supposed to talk to after. I found the bell fast.
How much does this happen, that they've got a room with a bell?
Somepony brought me in some soup. Free. I guess it was good. It wasn't bad enough to bring it back up again.
The bell rang.
I'd been thinking about whether I wanted to talk in the street or at the house.
About how long they'd been
It was too late to keep them from slee
It was the street.
Just came out of the side alley exit and they were making the turn out of the door. She was just looking the right way. And as soon as she saw me, she started screaming, right there. The stallion ran and she kept screaming at me. Ponies were stopping to look.
She said I shouldn't have been following her. I didn't have any trust, so that was part of why this had happened. I was trying to tell her that I just wanted to catch up with her. I've been trying to catch up for moons.
Then she told me it wasn't cheating because I'd already left her. That's why it was all my fault.
I think a lot of ponies stopped when she said that. I couldn't see much besides her. But it was like there was pressure from all of the eyes on my fur. It's like being trapped in a dense shadow.
She said I left her when I went to Ponyville. I was gone for a long time. I left her behind. There was all that time when I wasn't there, and I could have come back to check on her more often. I could have not gone at all. And that's why it's my fault, because she was alone the whole time and my letters weren't enough. She wanted another body in the bed, and if it wasn't me because I wouldn't have gone there if I cared about her at all, it had to be somepony else. It couldn't be me any more. I'd left her first.
Then she nipped a saddlebag open and head-tossed something at my forehooves.
I looked down. I looked up again.
She was gone.
It's my
It took a few seconds before she fully realized that she was coming back to herself, and it was time which was filled with a lesser kind of pain. Awareness of her own body seemed to return in stages, each limb and joint requiring an individual check-in. Some of them took more time to report their status than others. There was a lot to complain about. And her head felt strangely heavy, but she knew what that was.
I hear... air moving. In a tight space. Swirling.
It sounds like...
If there was any consolation, it came from having escaped the dreams for a time. But they lurked, waiting for her to weaken...
She kept her eyes closed for a little longer. The former escort knew she had been imprisoned: multiple senses were telling her just about nothing else, although the entire tactile array seemed to be a little too obsessed with the injuries. But there were ways in which waking up in the cell struck Fleur as something of a disappointment, and the first came from having woken up.
Border backlash, was the first truly coherent thought, and the oversaturation of emotion quickly found it dripping frustration. Hit while I was going down from the double corona, into the single. And that was instinct.
Her right foreleg kicked out a little, aimed at nothing in particular. It didn't accomplish much, although it verified that the leg was capable of aching movement: a short burst of pain then punished her for stopping. The cool weight of the circlet failed to shift.
She was supposed to be more than her instincts. Yes, if somepony was closing in on you, about to make sharp, hard contact with a lit horn, then the normal move was to drop your field, as fast as you could. And since simply winking out from anything more intense than a full single layer could have its own consequences, that was usually a drop. Shedding effort, cutting off the flow of power at a rate where the abrupt narrowing of the channel didn't create any damage.
Hit on the border. A Stage One backlash from a single-layered corona would usually produce some minor injuries: Stage Two, requiring the double, would make the pain go deeper. A strong Stage Two had the chance to tear muscles and sunder bone. From what Fleur could tell about her body, the damage hadn't gone that far. She was hurt, but it was on a level which had allowed her to be dumped into a cell.
But if she'd been thinking...
...if she'd been thinking, she would have opened the floodgates. Committed every resource, calorie, and thaum she possessed. Surged to the triple corona in an instant, something which would have put the core of her horn's glow at a hot blazing white. Her entire body would have reprioritized for a single effort: no matter what happens, keep casting until you either succeed or collapse. And then not only would she have had her best chance to finish it, but the police chief got to take custody of an interesting dilemma. Because when you induced backlash on a unicorn whose corona was partial, during the most minor workings or everyday manipulation, the effect simply stopped. Stages One and Two would hurt.
Backlashing Fleur at Stage Three would have killed her. Instantly. Spectacularly.
The possibility of doing that might have held the other mare back for just long enough. And if it hadn't... well, not only might the increased use of power have gotten it done, but Fleur wouldn't have had to deal with the consequences of waking up in a cell. A corpse didn't have to worry about what was coming next.
Then again, neither did Fleur. She wasn't going to rest among the debris of her shattered life and try to find a way forward for the third time, because that action was pointless. You couldn't do anything about a future which was fixed.
I don't even know if I managed to --
-- well, that would be settled soon enough: the police chief would be good for that much. But if she hadn't...
...nothing.
I did it for nothing --
-- I had to try.
I had to --
The world's last, falsely-best joke on her. For all Fleur knew, she'd done little more than clear up all of his chiropractic issues in one go.
It wasn't a thought she wanted to have in the dark, and Fleur opened her eyes.
The cell didn't impress her. It was dull grey stone, except for where it was dull brown. The front was composed of thick iron bars: they started about a body length in front of her current position, went up into the ceiling, and mostly served to distinguish the cell from the portion of unreachable freedom known as 'the hallway'. There was another, unoccupied cell on the opposite side of the aisle, and she managed to turn her pained neck just enough to make out some of the rest.
(There was an odd delay to her body's response time, as if she was issuing the orders from a great distance.)
Nopony appeared to be providing her with mandatory company for the night -- if Moon was even still up. There were no windows anywhere, because that could help to defeat the purpose. A certain weight to the air suggested that she was underground.
There was a drinking fountain mounted to one wall, and a little more turning let her find the toilet trench. Both were clean enough, as was the thin mattress which had been partially embedded into the floor. That was where she had been placed, belly and barrel flat against minimal support, and she irritably noted the lack of blanket, added that to the faint chill --
-- no, there was a grey blanket: it was in a heap near the right edge of the cell. A mattress, not a nest, and so she'd kicked it off. But there was no clock, and that was probably seen as another part of the punishment.
Her forelegs were outstretched before her. It let her examine the bandages -- no, elastic wraps. Supporting strained muscles. She'd pulled something or, given the sensations from the rest of her body, pulled everything. But there were no bloodstains seeping through the wrappings, although part of the edges had become discolored from compressed powders. Other sections were pristine, because any physician would have cleaned the directly-treated areas and so a great deal of her cosmetics were gone.
And her head was heavy. That was the part she fully understood, because she was a unicorn in a jail cell and no matter how many enchantments might have been on the prison itself, you couldn't give the incarcerated a chance at breaking them. So her horn would be covered with a perfectly-interlocking jigsaw cone of thick metal: something which had probably been assembled on the spot from available parts because hers was a non-standard length and they might not have had her size in stock. There would be reinforcements at the seams, there would be some embedded jewels of a much different quality from those used by the bitch, and the customized restraint would completely block any attempt she made to use her field.
She distantly wondered if the jewels complemented her natural hues.
But her limbs weren't chained down. That usually would have been for an earth pony, and a pegasus would have been immobilized: no movement, no magic. With a unicorn, restraining the horn was often considered sufficient.
It took a moment before she spotted the small holes in the left wall, and Fleur needed the renewed audio cue to locate them at all. Identification, however, was instant.
Speaking tubes. Or rather, that was the term which law enforcement preferred to use: sit in an office, talk to whoever was in the cell. They were also good for eavesdropping, and she was convinced that was their central use. But Fleur wasn't particularly impressed by this set. They seemed to have been improperly cut, because she could hear air swirling within the system. Twisting, with the flow warping against the sides. And at some point, the miniature passageway had probably come right up against, and partially into, the plumbing. The audible results resembled short, heaving gasps of breath, added to the occasional suggestion of falling droplets.
There was no mirror.
They cleaned some of the makeup off my body.
My face. Did they --
...it didn't matter. Prisoners were presumably offered the standard joke sheet of rights: food, water, air. There probably wasn't any legislated duress-based access to cosmetics.
don't look at
Not that there was anyone to look. None whose opinion she cared about.
She was hurting: if she'd been given anything for pain, it had worn off. But it also felt like the injuries were almost a part of somepony else. As if she was lightly tethered to her own body.
There was nothing she could do except wait. Let the vacant minutes flow across her, on the first day when time would cease to have all meaning. Time existed as a medium in which to work, the space occupied by truly existing in the world, and... she could do neither. Seconds were simply the slow drip of water against the stone of her contained life, wearing it away.
Her looks would go first, of course. No maintenance of the fur. Very little access to Sun. No... reason to be attractive, in an environment where that only drew attention. But perhaps the short remaining period of attractiveness would aid her. Draw in the right pony, then another, and another, and... was it possible to dominate a prison?
...no. They would use her. And given enough time, they would use her up.
Wait for the useless mare to question her, so she could get the one piece of information she wanted. Wait for the trial. A shorter wait for sentencing, and then a variable one for death.
Fleur, with nothing left to do, all true time expired and the falsehood stretching out until she did the same, began to wait.
I've been carrying the packet with me. The one she flung at my hooves that night. It's been rubbing around inside my saddlebags for a while. That's taking part of the print off. But I can still read what it says. The same thing it always does.
It says Foal Prevention Herb-Blend Tea. Goes around the wrapper twice.
I'd told her it was time. We'd wanted a family, and that takes money. The money is why I went to Ponyville. The opportunity. But the money's been bitten into so many times that the tooth marks are just about all that's left. And she's gone.
She still hasn't come back. Sent somepony else to pick up her things. Turned out she thought her things meant just about everything. The lawyer she had give me the note didn't have the strength to haul the house, but if he'd been an earth pony, he might have given it a go.
I get to keep the packet. She probably forgot to have anypony write that down.
It took a while before I really started thinking about all of the stuff I should have before that. She must have been drinking this stuff for moons. Started fuc being with somepony else while I was in Ponyville without her, and it wasn't like she could just turn up pregnant. And once we were in the same house again, she kept drinking it because she didn't want to have a foal with me any more.
That was our dream. But then it was just mine, and she didn't tell me.
Why did she even come to Ponyville, when I said it was finally safe for her? Why didn't she just leave then?
I asked Balance to look at the bank account again. Her spending. She was using more bits than I'd thought, but most of that was just Canterlot. He didn't think it looked like she was trying to skim off me. So she wasn't staying for that. Maybe she was afraid to make the final break. Or she was waiting to get caught, so she could blame me and then leave.
It's my
Balance knows about what happened. Sometimes it feels like just about everypony knows. I had to tell a few, and her lawyer makes a lot of noise. Enough ponies sure heard him when he came up to the mill and tried to claim that too.
I talked to Balance about it. He says it could go a couple of ways. The legal code is a little weird there. As long as the mill is an active business, it's more of an asset. Legally, it gets treated as a family enterprise something we sort of share. But if the mill shut down, then it might just be something I had built. She wasn't any part of that.
Mill keeps running and she could try to take something from it, or get the whole thing. Everything goes dark and the shadows belong to me.
It's barely running now.
Brass keeps coming by. He wants to make sure I'm eating. Then he says he wants me to eat more. I haven't been able to make it inside a restaurant without getting sick. I'm starting to hate bells.
He asked me to move in with him. He'll keep an eye on me from close up. Shouldn't be in an empty house all by myself. A few of them asked me that. Mrs. Smith said that if it comes down to a bottom line, she's still got a barn and most of the old smell cleared out by now. And I think a few of them are trying to kick work at me, because the mill keeps getting orders for small things. I recognize the names, and I can spot when the problem is so minor that you don't need a mark to solve it: you need hoof-hammer shoes and maybe up to five minutes if the first nail placements are bad.
I see that about once a week because I'm barely at the mill now.
Brass said everypony keeps waiting for me to show up at a worksite. Do what I'm best at. He thinks that once I'm in the core of my mark again, I'll start feeling better. But the crew can go without me. What's left of them.
The core of my mark. The heart. My mark is for the mill and construction, but it's also about wood. So that's heartwood. A core of heartwood, somewhere in me.
Heartwood's pretty. The color's always a little different. It can have a nice smell, depending on the tree. It's denser, more resistant. And the tree grows around it, surrounding the core with the more normal wood. It has to.
Because what most ponies don't think about is that heartwood's dead.
The speaking tubes kept making strange sounds. False half-gasps, droplets falling, and -- little gulps, like air half-catching at the back of a throat. It didn't give Fleur much she could really listen to, especially since every attempt found her nearly convincing herself that the noises were something else.
Nothing to do. No work. No plans. Just... waiting.
At one point, she found herself wondering exactly how specific the circlet's beacon was. How much detail went into each notification? Was the true baseline 'She's in Ponyville'? Was it capable of working down to 'She's in the bathroom' or in this case, 'She's in a cell'?
Perhaps it kept track not just of her body's position, but the positions her body was in. 'She's probably masturbating.'
Bucking Joyous.
And even that thought seemed detached --
-- a door opened, at the far end of the corridor. A quartet of hooves cleared the new gap. The entrance was carefully closed, resealed, and then the approach began. But the words reached Fleur before the mare did, and she knew they had been meant to slice. They were cold, the edges had been sharpened, and once they found her ears, they simply fell away to impact equally uncaring stone.
"I'm taking the 'soul' part back."
Miranda Rights slowly came into sight. Turned to face Fleur directly, staring down at the unicorn who'd gone back to the thin mattress.
"Anything to say?" the police chief asked.
Calmly, with what felt like an odd touch of internal echo, "What are we talking about?"
The lack of true answer was expressed as "Can you stand up?"
You heard me use the drinking fountain. Getting up had hurt, but it had been manageable. She just didn't feel like hurting on the mare's cue, and so Fleur shrugged. Even that ached.
The dark mare slowly bent her legs in turn. Resting on the cold hallway floor. The illusion of equality or in this case, the delusion.
"It's a good thing ponies saw you leave," Miranda softly told her. "You made sure of that. It shocked them. And three of them found me, at the same time. They were asking me to --" Grey-green eyes briefly closed, and the mare took a slow breath. "-- never mind that."
I knew you were there. I thought I saw you a few times, outside. The deeper patch of darkness within the lighter shadows.
But she hadn't truly thought about it. Not at the end. She'd been aware that the mare was present, and she'd... displaced it.
"Let's just say," Miranda evenly continued, "they wanted to know what was happening. And I'm not exactly bad at staying out of sight on a dark night."
I had my talent shut down...
"I'm even better at breaking up fights," the officer added. "But... if I got the two of you physically apart, it might not have disrupted the spell. I didn't know what your range was, not with an unknown working. And with the way you were concentrating... you might have maintained the casting. So it had to be backlash. But trying to sneak around on top of all that stone..."
She slowly shook her head.
"Let's just say the party broke up after that," the dark mare finished. "Since I'm in the mood for drastic understatements, we'll go with that one. The party broke up. In a lot of different directions. Just about nopony who was there knows what happened behind the cottage, and I'm trying to keep it that way until I get more information. But enough of them saw you carried out --"
"What about Fluttershy?"
The dark mare's eyes briefly widened, quickly narrowed. The speaking tubes backfilled with a gulp of air.
"I don't think you get to ask for details on that yet," Miranda softly stated. "Let's just say she's certainly aware that something happened. Maybe I'll expand on that particular subject later. If you cooperate."
And we begin.
It was a strangely calm thought.
"Do you want an attorney?" Miranda asked. Waited, as the dark fur rustled in the light underground current.
Fleur shook her head.
"Are you planning to represent yourself?"
That was just barely worth a shrug.
The litany reached "Will you answer questions?"
Immediately, "Will you?"
It triggered an exceptionally sharp inhale. Fleur decided to treat it as first blood.
"I held off on contacting the palace for as long as I could," the police chief finally redirected the oxygen. "I wanted to have a clearer picture before I sent them anything. But you were out cold for hours." With a small twitch of the short-cut tail, "Still night. But we're not that far away from Sun-raising. I waited, and I finally sent for a postal courier. Just to give them the basics, with an express packet. That was about an hour ago. But I went outside for a minute before I came down here, and I spotted her flapping around. Half-loops, looking confused. But her courier pouch was empty, and I know she can't get to Canterlot and back in that little time. But maybe she transferred it to somepony faster." With what Fleur was certain had been a faked sigh, "Or maybe it shouldn't have been her."
Of course you'd attack the messenger.
"But I haven't received any reply," Miranda continued. "Those can be -- extremely quick." Another twitch. "I may try another method later, or go for a courier again. I'm just a little reluctant to involve the library right now. Not before I have facts."
Fleur darkly reflected on the intelligence of a mare who needed to look up the postal code for Canterlot.
"So for now, let's pretend it's just you and me," the dark mare said. "Let's talk --"
Take control.
"-- is he dead?"
Almost toneless. A simple question, and Miranda stared at her.
"I suppose that gives me intent," the police chief finally countered.
"Which saves you the trouble," Fleur calmly stated, "of inventing it. I'm allowed to know what kind of charges are being brought against me. Assault would be the minimum. I want to know how far up we're going, and the top is attached to a corpse." She painfully shifted forward, just enough to put a little of her torso off the mattress. Inclined her head to the right, and felt the restraint's dragging weight. "Is he dead?"
Another, much slower breath. It was possible to watch individual strands of the blended fur as they shifted positions. No cosmetics at all.
"Not for your lack of trying."
no
I didn't even manage to
he'll
I have to
"I had him moved to Canterlot. Intensive care. He's stable." She was watching Fleur's eyes. "But there's extensive damage. Cracked hooves, broken teeth, multiple fractures. It'll take him moons to recover just from that, and he may need surgery. The bone-glow screen suggested some of the muscles had lost their attachment points and you're smiling." The mare's forelegs compulsively pushed out, nearly kicked the bars. "Do you even know you're smiling, Fleur? What kind of smile is that, with the lips pulled back to let me see just about all of your teeth, your perfect teeth after you cost him half of his?"
I hurt him.
Good.
But if he makes a recovery --
"Why, Fleur?" A projected hiss, as the police chief's forehooves planted and pushed. Got her half-upright: hind legs still folded, staring down. "You'll have to make one Tartarus of a case on self-defense. Normally, even with you, I might somehow still believe somepony's interest had gone too far and you were fighting them off. After a lot of talking on your part, and a lot more witnesses than you had because the primary one is me. I got close enough to hear most of it, and then I got to see it. Because you made sure ponies saw you go, leading him out, and they asked me to go see what was going on. You made your intentions very clear, so clear that about a fifth of the room was still half-swooned when I left --"
"-- only a fifth?" Fleur irritably pushed out half a puff of breath. "I knew I was out of practice --"
"-- and that means everypony there knows he didn't initiate. You did." A hind leg kicked out. "I'm not sure it's possible to have a definition of 'too far' after you basically gave him permission to mount you in the middle of Fluttershy's sitting room! And I saw you attack. While the two of you were physically separated, while he was actively trying to turn you down! Is that what happens when somepony rejects you, Fleur? You can't take anything approaching a no because they're turning down perfection, so they have to die? Would he have been your first kill, or is there a trail of bodies stretching across the horizon? Can we save some time here --"
Why? Because you still have yours?
"-- and just give me the count? How many times have you --"
"-- are we counting animals?" She added a little gesture of the left foreleg to that one: pushing part of the concept away. "Because if we are, then Fluttershy's ahead of me. But we had a wounded groundhog at the cottage --"
"-- what was that spell?"
Basic tactic. Change the topic quickly, try to catch me off guard. Believing I'll just speak without thinking about it.
"-- my personal trick." She managed a shrug. "Did you expect anything different?"
"According to Fluttershy," Miranda softly countered, "your trick is a massage spell."
I knew you would have questioned her.
How much 'I never knew' did you get? Or '...I never knew...'
How much does she hate --
"Which works by precision vibration," Fleur shot back. "And if you can set up vibrations, then you can set up more vibrations. You just have to think about it. Most ponies just never explore what they can really --"
"You took a trick which exists for comfort and healing." It was almost a whisper. "And you found a way to kill with it. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, I'll hardly fault your creativity, especially after seeing the results -- stop smiling!" Fully standing now, and the short-cut tail whipped at the air. "What's the excuse, Fleur? You seized a stallion, an innocent stallion whose only crime was not pushing you away in front of a crowd, and you were trying to kill him: I think you've made that fully clear. WHY --"
"-- he's a pedophile."
Even words. Toneless. They came with nothing more than a simple look at the dark mare's face, and so she got to see words evaporate in the unicorn's throat.
The tail stopped moving. Slowly, all four legs bent again. Descending into the cold.
"...what?" Miranda pushed out. "...what did you --"
"-- oh, I'm sorry," Fleur calmly lied. "Is there a better term? Fillyfooler: that has some traction, doesn't it? Foal-fiddler? Is there a word you'd prefer me to use here? One which somehow makes it socially acceptable, where it sounds so cute that you can almost overlook the fact that we're using it to describe somepony who rapes children?"
It was a whisper now, so low as to make the ears of a mare who'd learned to set herself for Base Fluttershy strain forward. "And you just know that."
She nodded. The restraint fought her on the upslope.
"How -- how can you --"
Almost politely, "I thought you were briefed."
(She had to stay calm. She had to keep control. But they were talking about --)
"The palace told me what you are," Miranda finally said. "But --"
Fleur's eyes closed.
(She hadn't told them to --)
(Maybe she was just trying to look inside herself.)
(Searching for words.)
Softly, "You... said something to me. The first day. I don't think I can quote it exactly. But it was something like that being so close to me, knowing what I was... made you really want to do your job. Which, in this context, presumably means arrest. Close enough?"
She felt the nod. The little shift of displaced air ruffling across her fur.
"I want you to imagine something," she quietly requested. "It's going to be hard, especially with your profession. But... imagine you were me. You were told about me. You have to be told on just about everything, I think. The way I'm trying to tell you now. Imagine you were me, and you just -- knew."
Her tail was swaying. A little to the left, then the right. A twitch accompanying each pause.
"Think about that, Miranda. Imagine that you always knew. And if you always knew... then how could you exist unless you did something?"
She managed to get her eyes open, and found nothing more to compensate her for the effort than a view of a jaw which badly needed a little subtle shading.
"He's a pedophile." Not quite a statement of fact.
Fleur nodded. "Active. Not recently. My best estimate is that his last rape was about five moons ago. There's some fading of satisfaction there, because the memory isn't enough any more. Or the trophy, because he may be keeping a few. But there was also a rising aspect of frustration: he couldn't wait much longer. He couldn't keep the urges down, and he wasn't even trying. He's been on the hunt --"
"Your talent," came the now-hollow voice, "is that specific. I'm having more than a little trouble believing this, Fleur. You could have attacked him for any reason, and now you're just giving me the one excuse which you think is going to work --"
"-- once you're fully comfortable with a partner, you like to do it in the dark."
The too-square jaw dropped.
"Turn everything mysterious. Like the very night is pleasuring them. But you haven't had sex in -- nearly two years?" That was worth a slight incline of her head. "I admit to guessing a little there: different sex drives can have the glow of satisfaction fade at equally different rates. The five moons on him is an estimate. But for you, two years sounds about right. I can see active interests, Miranda. I can pick up on faded ones, and I know which are being repressed." Bucking Joyous. "Or even fought against. But satisfaction is easy. A falling urge, a rising one. It all comes together one way or another. And a restraint doesn't stop my talent." Curiously, "When you were younger, did you ever wind up at a party with Caramel? In a closet? Because if you did, you left an impression. I'm guessing on an eyelid --"
Miranda took a breath.
"Pedophile."
She still doesn't fully believe --
"YES."
"How long had you known?" The volume was increasing. "Because if you always know --"
Fleur's eyes closed again.
"Just a few minutes."
It was possible to hear the blink.
"Explain," the dark mare demanded. "Because there's a contradiction there. If you're making this your lie, Fleur, your excuse, then you'd better make a detailed one."
She won't do anything. Of course she won't. She's already decided --
Far too softly, "Why should I keep talking to somepony who thinks I'm lying? Who's already made the choice to not believe me?"
"Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to hear this," Miranda stated. "Tell me, Fleur. All of it."
First her. Then the judge. Celestia will get involved at some point.
And none of it will matter.
Her eyes remained closed, so that she could only see what had been.
"I only used my talent on Fluttershy once," Fleur softly began. "I'm -- I was supposed to be finding a match for her. I needed to know what she wanted. And after that, I -- kept my talent shut down when I was around her. Constantly, if she was close by."
Immediately, "Why?"
"That should be private."
A little water dripped from the fountain's spray nozzle.
"Fleur, if you want me to believe any of this --" and then the horror flowed in "-- if you're hiding something --"
"-- Fluttershy -- doesn't have anything in her which you need to worry about," the former escort quietly stated. "She doesn't have anything. She's never let herself want. Never desired. Never fantasized. Because she didn't think there would ever be any response that wasn't rejection. I interpret what I sense as puzzles, officer: all of the little fractured pieces which come because when desires and wants build up over a lifetime -- they create fracture. You can hardly ever match everything you want in a partner, can you? So you assemble as much as possible. I solve the whole thing, and there's always some disjointing to the image. Like pieces from a dozen boxes were mixed. And with Fluttershy... it's whole. Because there's nothing there. A. Blank. White. Slate."
Air twisted in the speaking tubes, seemed to half-whistle a false gasp. It almost obscured the sound of Miranda's jaw dropping again.
"...I'm... not exactly happy about telling you that," Fleur admitted. "I'm hoping you'll at least do her the dignity of keeping it to yourself." And you won't. "But it's discomforting. And when you kick in all the animals around the cottage, and the fact that Discord could potentially drop by at any moment..." That was worth a false, dark laugh. "I don't want to know. I'm not sure anypony does. So I kept my talent shut down around her. And whenever I saw him --"
"-- Mister Sweet," Miranda said, probably just to have had something to say.
Fleur snorted. "Pony names." The words were closer to being spat. "Mister Sweet. Sweetbark. Sweetie Belle. I could almost believe there's a pattern. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if that isn't his real name. It may fit a candy seller, but he's targeted Sweetie for a while. If he told himself that a similar name would create a connection --"
"-- get back to it, Fleur," emerged with edges. Not quite sharp enough to cut the iron bars: more than enough to rasp fur. "I'm not convinced yet."
"Fine. Other than last night, whenever I saw him, Fluttershy was nearby. I couldn't sense his puzzle. But when I think about it..."
She slowly shook her head. Briefly longed for the jointing which would have allowed her to kick herself, briefly considered that the lyre-player could manage it, and realized the court would manage that part anyway.
"...it was right there, Miranda: right there. From the very start. All of the clues, everything I should have seen --"
"-- such as?"
I was just dumped into her backyard...
"The first one was before I saw him -- but it's only obvious in retrospect. I spotted where the new candy shop would be going in. What's Ponyville's population, Miranda? I feel like the number might be high enough to support two shops. But he went directly across from the old one. That's predatory. And it lets him watch the children going in and out of theirs. Every day, while he's getting ready, in a shop where all the colors are too bright. Even Caramel thought he was going for a younger customer base, with a sign that said it was for the next generation. Thinking about which one he might want to start with."
I'm at a party. There's a welcoming party being held for me, because she holds one for everypony.
Everypony...
"But I didn't see him until Pinkie's first party." Her head slowly dipped: the weight of the restraint, and too much more. "Where he was talking to Fluttershy. Or she spoke to him, because it's a topic where she'll take a chance. A new pony in town, with no known animal companion? She wanted to match him with a pet, and there were kittens at the cottage. But he said... he'd had a kitten once. Who turned into a cat. And if Fluttershy could find him a kitten where that didn't happen --"
There was a frantic note beginning to rise in the dark mare's voice "-- Fleur, none of this is evidence, not for a court --"
"-- and he went up to Sweetie at that party. One of the only adults who talked to her at all." Her right forehoof angrily flicked at the stone. "I think he did pick her early: that's why I wouldn't be surprised by a name change. She's a beautiful child, isn't she? Kind and caring, I think. She loves her father. And you can see hints of the mare she might become. But she's a little shy. I'm guessing she doesn't open up easily."
"The most reserved of the three," Miranda managed to get out. "She can have her flares of temper, especially when she's frustrated. But they're rare."
"Shy," Fleur repeated. "You go more slowly, when there's shyness. Because it's so easy to push them away."
She has to hate me.
"He uses makeup, too. Most stallions don't. It's... like he's trying to make himself look like a child's plaything. Something soft and glittery. Non-threatening. Weak. That's what he wants you to see, until the mask comes off. And then --"
The costume has to be balanced, but the elastics are rubbing at my fur.
"-- he went further. Nightmare Night. Everypony as a monster, and he's out there as candy." And felt her volume drop, at the same moment as her heart. "Because the real monster needs to disguise itself as something else. Cotton candy. Something for the young." Pure sugar, where too much of it makes you sick and it might only take a few bites --
Fleur sharply inhaled, and the cold of the cell air burned her lungs.
"-- I just realized! Applejack tried to get a sample from him, and he showed her that the hoof cone was too small a diameter for her to put it on! Who rolled the cone? He was screening out the adults! And it wasn't for the last time, Miranda, because he was running that promotion for the opening of his shop! Did you see that sign?"
She heard the officer swallow. "I've trotted past it. Something about -- having the winner get a lesson --"
"-- create your own batch, under instruction. What are the odds that it's just him and the winner in the back of the shop, out of sight, behind locked doors? It's not that hard to rig a contest draw if you're holding the whole thing with no supervision, so he can target whoever he likes as long as he can get them to enter. And if you didn't notice, there's a maximum age limit --"
the right moment could potentially lead to a
"-- Fleur?"
to a
Something thin, light, and faintly tingling settled across her back.
"There," Miranda softly decided as the released blanket sagged. "That should help with the shivering." Followed by a sharp breath. "Fleur, it still isn't evidence. I can't go into a courtroom with circumstantial stacked up to Moon --"
"-- then you're seeing it?" Which was when she realized she was begging: this was followed immediately by the realization that she didn't care. "If you believe me --"
"-- and saying 'This pony has a unique talent which isn't recorded anywhere: you're just going to have to trust her!' The Princess told me there was nothing like you in the Archives, Fleur! There's no previous basis --"
"-- I can demonstrate, I did with you, it's easy --"
"-- and none of that changes the fact that you're a known blackmailer!" The sound of forehooves slamming into iron added a little extra to the punctuation. "Something which is very much going to come out in court! A blackmailer, an extortionist, and that's just what I know about! You aren't credible! We can prove your talent: what we can't prove is that you aren't a liar!"
...I...
no
"And you didn't even tell me!" the officer angrily pushed on. "Once you knew, you could have --"
"And you would have believed me? I can't even be sure you believe me now, not if you're trying for something and police can always lie, you've effectively said I'm not giving you enough --"
"-- you could have gone to anypony! To Fluttershy, to the Bearers --"
"-- and what do they do, if they believe me?" If I had to tell them I'm a "Lurk around his house?" Her tail was starting to thrash, the styling was coming apart... "Threaten him into going to another town, where he just starts all over again? You can't watch him for the rest of his life, and you said there's nothing which could be brought into court! What's your next idea, Miranda? Did you want me to wind him up? Invite him into one of the schools, surround him with children and just wait until he tried something in front of witnesses? Move his hospital bed into the pediatrics ward? Follow him everywhere and hope nothing happens that makes me a few seconds too late? I saw his puzzle! He was talking to Sweetie, and every urge was rising! I'm sure she came to the party alone, and he'd offer to take her home! I was going to take her home! I thought she needed an escort for the road --"
"-- oh, good," came out as a little too dry. Dark, with all actual humor extracted: perfect for the profession. "So now there's a third layer to that old joke."
"-- but he was trying to get there first! And once he had her out of sight, isolated --"
The shout cut her off. "-- so you decided to put your own solution into play! Now, what was that -- oh, right: it was murder!"
Decibels filled the cells. Echoed from the walls, eventually drained through the speaking tubes.
It's not working.
She won't do anything.
He'll get out of the hospital, he'll move somewhere else, and
I'm so tired.
My time is up.
My time ran out years ago and I'm still here when she
"It was going to be that night." A hiss to counter the shout, the snake looking for a place to plant the poison. "I know it."
"You said you were going to take her home," Miranda deflected. "That buys time --"
"-- and leaves him with frustrated urges, potentially lashing out because the mask never stays on forever, when I can't watch everypony every minute, not with the way the cottage has been --"
Flatly, nearly all of the volume dropping out at once. "So you decided to kill him."
It was an obvious trap.
It would have been easy to ignore.
It doesn't matter.
"He had to die."
This blink was louder. It echoed in the tubes.
"You're... just telling me that," Miranda half-whispered. "You're telling me that you just immediately made the decision to take a life --"
"-- I decided to kill a monster," Fleur evenly clarified. "Yes."
"You knew what the circlet does. You couldn't have run --"
There was a way in which the next words almost could have been a joke. "I didn't say I was planning to get away with it."
She heard the dark mare stand, and then wondered if the entire building could hear the scream.
"What ARE you, FLEUR? Even if he's everything you said, EVERYTHING, there had to be another way! Name me any pony who has their first solution as MURDER! What kind of Equestrian --"
εκκαθάριση
winding you up
It had been days. Weeks. Moons.
A lifetime.
A death.
Something broke.
-- and her eyes were open and she was on her hooves right at the front of the cell and she'd stopped the charge just short of the bars, the officer had pulled back from a restrained horn, the blanket had fallen away, her body was screaming in pain from the sudden movement and she didn't care any more she didn't care about anything because her time was supposed to be up, his time should have run out and nothing she'd done mattered --
"STOP IT!"
Miranda's buttocks were pressed against the bars of the opposite cell. Fleur liked that. It wasn't much of a rear anyway.
"I'm tired of listening to you! Too naive to live, too afraid to do the only thing which should ever be done when somepony's planning to rape a child, has already done so over and over before he came here to start the hunt again! Tired of everything, Miranda! I'm going to be put on trial for attempted murder, and there's no way out? Let me go to prison for the one I actually committed! And if you don't understand, if you want the lies to stop, then let's go to the one you just told! Told without knowing it, and maybe that's a crime --"
I just sent the last of them out of the mill.
They were surprised to see me show up. More surprised when I started passing out the packets. I think they've been waiting to be let go for a while, but the severance pay didn't figure into their plans. I don't mind. Once it's pressed between their forehooves, she can't get at it.
I'm back in my office, for the couple of minutes where it's still an office at all. Filling in the last few pages, because that's one way to get rid of a habit. You do it until you're sick of the whole thing, and then you've used it up.
I know how to make myself feel sick.
It's my fault. Everything was my fault.
I told myself I was trying to protect her. She didn't have to be out there in a new settled zone, a place which was still too wild for her. Didn't matter how many mares were part of the effort. She shouldn't go. She could stay home, and then I'd know she was safe.
She was safe. She also wasn't in my bed, or the barn, or anywhere else. Gave her a lot of time to think.
What if I'd treated her like an equal? Trusted her to look out for herself in those times when I wasn't there to guard her? If she'd been here from the start, would that have helped?
She could have shared the adventure. And when I think about that, picture her next to me the whole way until I start smelling that soup again, it feels like we might still be together. There's pressure in a new settled zone, when you're trying to make it safe. Pressure pushes things closer.
I thought she liked comfort too much. She didn't have to be out there with me. She could have controlled weather and nice shops until the time was right.
I left her behind.
Only need a few days to take the mill apart, even by myself. I know just where to kick it. Over and over. But it's closed now, and it'll stay closed because that makes it mine. I'm the one who built my own folly, so let it stand.
I was never a real Founder. I got here too late. The connections aren't the same. I know I've got friends here, but they don't understand what happened. Not the way it really is. That it was Ponyville, and my coming here, that did everything. They think if I stay, they can sort of rebuild me. But there isn't enough foundation, and the heartwood's dead.
I can't tell them tha
If I told them, they might try to make me st
Got here too late. I guess there's some who'd say I'm leaving too early, but they won't get the chance to say it to my snout. I know how long it takes to reach town from here. How much time I've got to finish these pages before anypony shows up at a closed mill door. I wrote out the note to put on it in advance.
This journal stays behind, hidden in a locked office. All this is now is using up the habit. The ponies I wanted to read it will never be born. The way I wrote the note means no one's ever coming in. They don't have the right.
Let the mill stand. Let it rot. I don't get a space on the Founders' plaque. But there's still going to be something around, until it finally falls in on itself. And I could burn the journal, but that's the epitaph and collapse report. Put them together and it's the grave marker for a dead dream.
Once the office is sealed and the note's up, I'm leaving. Everything I'm taking with me is in the saddlebags. I don't need much. Just about anything I could take reminds me of her. Of how stupid I was. Can't take the house, and I don't care about what's left in it. I've got the money that was left, and some paperwork. It'll be enough to start over.
A new foundation. I think that's the best I can hope for now. Give up on this one. Get away from everything which makes me think about her.
Ponyville makes me think about her. Canterlot.
Equestria.
What if I really started over? I've got all the paperwork. I could leave everything behind. Cross and never look back. Everypony Everyone needs stuff built. It's just a matter of finding the right place.
Maybe I could even find another mare. Not make the same mistakes. And if I got that lucky, nopony ever has to know this part of my life ever happened. It's dead. It rots with the mill.
I heard there's a decent pony population in
-- and the unicorn's face changed.
The lips parted slightly, then went rigid. Nostrils froze. Almost all expression moved into the eyes, which blazed rage and hate and pain and doubled failure and the death which should have been hers. And as she spoke, her teeth clacked together on key syllables. Met and parted, like the edges of a beak.
"-- what kind of Equestrian? None, because ponies don't understand how to do what has to be done! But my people would, and we act! To save the very last link, so it has a chance to become the first! I'm from Protocera!"
Stats
Page generated in 0.031 seconds
Total duration
1,128 users online
1,680,457 hits today, 1,822,946 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
What does that mean? She from protocera. What does that have to do with her talent being used to protect a child. If you are supposed to do what your cutie mark says then knowing sex and everything about it is her talent and she is doing the right thing. And sweetie bell family should keep a sharp eye on her.
10880028
The evidence does seem to point toward Fleur de Lis being able to tell not only what a Pony's desires are, but to what extent those desires are being met. Her observations on Mr. Cake having "Found lasting fulfillment" give a bit of weight in that direction. So I am perfectly willing to accept that Fleur was acting on the absolute certainty that Mr. Sweet is a Paedophile who has assaulted foals in the past. That's not my problem, my problem comes from three points that follow on from that:
For what it's worth? I actually do believe that Fleur de Lis was acting in good faith, and I have absolutely zero sympathy for Mr. Sweet. But literally any competent lawyer for the prosecution could ask any one of those questions, let alone all three of them, and see Fleur de Lis thrown in prison for the rest of her natural life.
In a fight between a serial killer and a paedophile, I'm cheering for the serial killer. But that doesn't mean I approve of the serial killer's choices and actions up to that point, or going forward. And it doesn't mean that killing the paedophile is okay.
10880052
If it were the right thing, the pedophile wouldn't be on the road to getting off scot-free. If he's stopped now then it won't be because Fluer tried to kill him.
I buy her decision, she didn't have respect for the law before, but let's not try to pretend like this made anything better when we can clearly point to how everything has been made worse.
Yo!! It finally comes out! Awesome! Yell it loudly.
This was amazing. Finally get to see some things come to light. Thank you very much for the update. I will leave a better longer comment after work later.
10879775
Before you paint everyone who disagrees with you with a vile brush, please consider why they might hold that position.
There is no point in this story where we have been shown this guy's intentions. We don't even know for certain what Fleur saw in his puzzle, although I have no problem with the idea that he's a pedophile. And he was not, whatever you might think, 'caught in the act'; there is nothing necessarily evil or immoral about what he has been shown to have done before Fleur intervened. Estee was (probably deliberately) very sparse on this subject, and until we get more information, it is impossible to levy judgement in this case.
I understand that this is a very personal issue for you, and I cannot ever know how your experience affected you, nor would I want to. I have absolutely no intention of minimizing that. But actions are more important than desires, and at this point we simply cannot know whether or not what Fleur did was justified, and neither can you.
(EDIT: And now there's a new chapter. Let's have a look...)
10879597
I think the box just had the sleeping potion thing in it.
"She from protocera. What does that have to do with her talent being used to protect a child."
In Triptych mainverse canon (which this is at least parallel to), Protocera is the Griffin nation (or capital, not sure which).
In Triptych mainverse canon, Griffin's are super protective of children, so much so that even when they were at war with Equestria, they never killed foals. Actually, they adopted these foals and took them home to Protocera to be raised safely - this is how you get ponies with talents in cooking meat, for example.
Estee has explained this in a few different places and I wish I could pull one up for an example but I'm sure another reader will have me covered.
Basically the meaning here is that Fluer doesn't have the same set of morals and principles as other Equestrians, because she's not Equestrian. She looks like one from the outside, but on the inside, she's got feathers and claws. This important bit of context has been hinted at a few times but we never knew until now if it was griffin, or some other sentient race.
For Fleur to be raised amongst Griffins means almost certainly she got there through a traumatic past - her parents might have been killed, or potentially, she is the descendant of ponies raised by Griffins. Her talent isn't to protect children; protecting children is her heritage/culture, in the same way that all Griffins are.
10880052
In the Esteeverse, Protocera is the home nation of Griffons.
Protocerans (especially the griffons) are known to be absolute in their ideals (or at least their adherence to hierarchy), have a lethal and strict sense of justice, and have a culture which holds the protection and nurturing of children as a central and highly elevated core of their society.
I wouldn't say that there are no pedophiles in Protocera, but I would say that none of them live long after their predations are discovered.
Welp, and here I thought she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between active puzzle pieces and recently acted on. I'm curious though, just what acted on means here. And what does it mean that she can see repressed pieces? Is a repressed piece acknowledged by the pony but not acted on? Or is a repressed piece a subconscious piece they don't know they have? Do acted on pieces include fantasies? Does it include things like masturbation? Whether or not her motivation is justified, it does feel like she puts far too much faith in her talent.
10880078
Maybe it wasn't the best way but she said he was planning to offer to help sweetie home what are the odds that she wouldn't get home without something happening. Maybe more grooming or he goes for it. I wouldn't want to take that chance with a child at stake. She probably got her mark from being a child victim and she isn't about to allow anyone to hurt a child that way. If you were in her shoes what would you do to prevent a child Predator from touching a child.
10880101
Again: We are not justifying Mr. Sweet's actions here. You need to stop making that assumption.
We are questioning the justification of Fleur de Lis' actions. We are suggesting that committing an act of cold-blooded murder is the sort of thing you should only do when absolutely certain, which Fleur de Lis could not have been.
Disapproving of the murder of a paedophile is not the same thing as approving of paedophilia. Please stop making that leap, because it's genuinely offensive to imply that anyone here is defending child molestation.
10880061
I'm like 90% sure that Fluttershy and potentially other Important Witnesses are on the other side of the holes that are conspicuously mentioned making sounds like gasps and breathing.
10880096
Personally I wouldn't complain about that. In this world I don't think the police should involve in teens sexual lives but a little kid who is doing that with an adult should be saved and the adult burned at the stake.
“To save the very last link, so it has a chance to become the first”
That’s a nice turn of phrase; I’ll remember it.
10880108
Actually, if you'd read the following chapter, then you know that floor was in fact the Fluer De Lis was certain and had every reason to be served. The actual problem was that her actions enabled the pedophile to go free and potentially harm another victim.
And there we go. Exactly what we wanted to see, as terrible as it may be.
How can this story continue to be called a romantic comedy? It it has little if any romance and after this no amount of jokes are going to lighten the mood. At least for me.
10880062
And that is the rub. It's a no-win situation here, but I do think there's a lot more Fleur could be doing other than just murder and assault. Her mark perhaps makes her the most suited individual to help ponies with immoral puzzles--to prevent them from succumbing by nudging them just so. That's the irony of the situation, and perhaps exactly why she needs Fluttershy. As Fleur so often says, Fluttershy would have succeeded where she didn't, but with this new chapter, I'm inclined to think of that line in a brand new light that highlights the difference between Equestria and Protocera. Fluttershy may have no qualms killing as an act of mercy when it needs to be done, but she's also the one who literally promised not to use her Element of Harmony on Discord in good faith he would reform.
Fluttershy see's that there can be good in even the most foul and irredeemable beings, and if she thinks she has a chance of reaching it, she doesn't back down and does whatever she can to help it grow. Willing to kill when it's the only option, yet willing to go so far to bring out the good in others with kindness--there's more than one way she'd succeed where Fleur failed.
10880108
On this - and partially to Circs here I guess - this is a clash of cultures.
In Western society, we don't typically condone death as an appropriate punishment for a crime, and most countries have either eliminated the death penalty or are actively trying to remove it.
In other cultures, specifically those nations that see women as property rather than humans, death is not only the most appropriate punishment but the whole town often gets in on it for what Westerner's would consider as trivial or non-existent crimes such as blasphemy, adultery, or not being a virgin.
In Fluer's case, she's coming from a background where it is just and proper to kill pedophiles when they are discovered, only it's not called 'murder', it's probably called 'preventative justice' or 'civic duty'. But in Equestria there's no death penalty; there are other cruel and barbaric punishments like 'exiled to the moon for a thousand years' or 'turned into a lawn ornament for an indefinite time period'. In Equestria, which somewhat mirrors Western society, Sweets should be investigated and the appropriate punishment meted out if he was found guilty. In Protocera, bits of him might be sold at a shop.
Did Fleur do the right thing? That depends on your own personal context. But from the context of Equestrian law, which is appropriate because the characters live and take place in an Equestrian world defined by Estee, she absolutely broke the law and there will be consequences. Those consequences are 'sentencing'. 'Sentencing' often takes the context that the crime took place in when being measured out - that's why you have laws such as 'Well if you killed in self defence, it's not murder'.
If Fluer had made any effort to conceal her crime then it probably would have turned out a lot worse for her. But in this context she not only made no effort, she actively tried to get attention while doing so. She was perfectly willing to trade her own life for Sweetie Belle's here, not because of any specific altruistic factor, but because that's what any griffin would have done. And the 'what any griffin would have done' is the only thing that is going to get her out of this.
10880133
It says it right there in the title, 'Romantic cringe comedy'.
10880091
Heh. And while we discuss, the story updates. I didn't even notice at first. 😛
First thought: I'm sorry, Estee. You must hate me for being one of those reviewers who predicts upcoming plot points before they happen. I need to stop doing that, and I'm sorry for any facepalming I've caused on your behalf.
That said, this is a fantastic addition. Miranda Rights brings up every single major question and doubt I had, and Fleur de Lis addresses each and every one properly to justify her actions, without shooting down the ultimate problem that murder is still bad. And then sets the story up to take us to the next point.
This is genuinely edge-of-the-seat stuff, Estee. Keep it up, I'm loving it.
A pony-shaped griffon. The paradigm makes far more sense in this context, no?
10880121
I'm confused as to why you think I hadn't read the following chapter. I promise, I've read them all, and I'm only arguing this point in the comments. Not agreeing with the statements being made does not mean that I don't understand them.
10880135
Honestly, that's a pretty fair point! The only answer I have is that while you're absolutely correct, Equestria is clearly a society that's based on similar values to Western society. And the simple fact is that "It's Not A Crime Back Home" doesn't make it alright to do it in a different place. We don't carry our own personal law with us.
I don't defend Mr. Sweet or his actions, and honestly I don't really condemn Fleur de Lis for hers. Paedophilia, especially in a serial case with an offender who clearly intends to do it again, is the sort of thing where I absolutely agree that no punishment is too harsh. But my moral stance is not the same as the state's legal one, and I don't have the right to make an absolute judgement for a life-and-death matter based on my own personal values. And, importantly, neither does Fleur de Lis.
10880135
While I agree that in Protocera that Fleur's actions wouldn't be considered a crime (or at least not a terribly serious one considering the general griffon cultural touchstone of "protect the young"), I think we're all forgetting that Celestia and Luna are both very likely willing to override certain judicial limitations to bring true monsters to justice.
Twilight herself remarked that she's seen Celestia truly, ferociously angry only in cases of foal abuse (in mark suppression cases, mind you). (Somewhere in Triptych, I think.) We've even seen Celestia be pragmatically brutal in manipulating events to get a charge to stick (see A Mark of Appeal) after going an extrajudicial route in "arresting" a number of minotaurs on their own soil. As for Luna, again in Twilight's own words, Luna's resonance of raising Moon included a statement along the lines of "defending ponies from the monsters that wear pony skins." (Twilight vs. The Equestrian Cutie Mark Constellation Registry, though technically talking about Celestia)
And, as for Diarchy participation in Bearer family-related cases, they've shown significant willingness to bend the laws to keep the sextet intact and in Ponyville (even Miranda comments on that to Snowflake in A Duet For Land And Sky).
10880168
You're absolutely right. I now am genuinely curious to see if the Diarchy will be involved, and if so, how.
10880152
Speaking of absolute judgements, I'm pretty sure we know who Discord was looking to set up now. He has been shown to show a vengeful soft spot for those he considers his, and the Crusader's may not be his in the same way Fluttershy or Pinkie is, but they are incredibly chaotic rascals in addition to being the ones to originally free him.
10880152
Because the comment I linked to indicated that you hadn't read through the current chapter.
10880101
I'd honestly be interested in seeing this research, because I cannot imagine how it could possibly be verified. How was it determined that someone with pedophilic urges could not possibly have good intentions? How do you distinguish between a regular person and a pedophile who has managed to suppress those urges? Are you saying that all pedophiles inevitably become pederasts? How did you determine that?
Payoff on two different fronts. Excellent.
I really expected all the way til the end that the Miller was going to hang himself , it’s quite shocking to me that he picked up and left. Heck, wouldn’t it be neat if the journal got to his foals just like he wanted? Perhaps a bit too coincidental, but it’s a fun thought.
I honestly didn’t expect her to be so forthcoming but she lays out the reasons and we get more information on just how precise her talent is. It validates, at least for us omniscient readers, that she did know what Mr Sweet was for a fact. I still think Rarity will be fully in her camp and with ||it being pretty clear Fluttershy was listening in||, I can imaging her having strong support from the rest of the militant arm of harmony.
It’s quite possible with, as Miranda said, no one knowing what happened other than that something did, that it could all be covered up. I still think it’s very likely that they find proof of past identities and past victims that will help exonerate her.
We also find out what’s in the box, or at least have a very good idea. Can’t wait for more!
Also, this quote:
‘To save the very last link, so it has a chance to become the first!’
Damn, that might make griffons my new favorite. I think I’ll go back and reread the immigration story again. Need more Estee griffons.
10880171
Ummm... the chapter literally came out as we were discussing in comments. I would be surprised if they had read the chapter based on when I noticed the new one was up.
One thing I think we might be overlooking is that Fluttershy was absolutely listening to that conversation via the pipes...
10880171
I'm standing by it. Fleur de Lis was convinced to her own satisfaction. Fine. I accept that. But she can only estimate the last time she thinks Mr. Sweet acted on his urges, and observe that those urges were getting stronger. And she's still predicting a scenario where he's able to convince Sweetie Belle to go off alone with him long enough to overpower and rape her.
Again, I'm willing to believe Fleur was right. But she couldn't be absolutely certain, not enough to justify murder. She could not possibly have known the future, or been able to guarantee she wasn't mistaken, but she still went ahead and attempted to use lethal force. That's the point I'm trying to make. She couldn't be sure and this is a case where she needed to be.
Interesting conversation about Griffons and Ponies and stuff, but Xeno-stuff, I've got it figured out enough, so I don't feel like contributing, since I've got nothing to add, or that I want to.
The end bits are so awesomely cliffhanger-y!
Like, Fleur was an Protoceran pony orphan, apparently... And Mill Guy well, went to Protocera...? Oh, wait, It's been a few generations? So Mill Guy isn't likely her dad, I think.
...
Ooh, Fluttershy's puzzle was blank, but now, well, Fleur hasn't checked again... Hmm... And if Fluttershy was briefed about Fleur's talent, before now, then she must be real frustrated on how Fleur's not picking up on her signals! Oof!
When Mr. Flankington arrived some time later, it was more a case of six hours of recovery. At minimum.
The thing about eavesdropping through a speaking tube is that it can go both ways. But you have to recognize that there's someone to listen to. And when you're dealing with a world-level Hush player...
Oh. Hadn't considered that possibility. And here I thought it was a purely symbolic connection...
But yes, I'd put together Fleur's origins long ago. Still, good to see them confirmed, if in a far more dramatic fashion than I'd expected. We have one heck of a culture clash. Unfortunately, this kind of ethical conundrum can't stay nice and theoretical. Fleur's confessed to attempted murder, and it's not like she can claim diplomatic immunity. This is going to be extremely messy.
(As for the discussion of whether she was justified, she certainly she thinks she was. I'm not saying it was right, only that Fleur saw it as the necessary choice. Of course, if there's one thing this setting has taught us, it's that claiming you were doing the needful isn't an excuse.)
10880101
Look, I'll be frank, I can't fully understand what you went through or what it's like, but you aren't the only one who deals with fears and insecurities. My childhood was pretty good all things considered, but I grew up sheltered, and I knew it, so I had and still have trust issues with just about any stranger I meet. I can't go for a walk in my childhood neighborhood without casually glancing at passersby and wondering if they might have a reason to hurt me. It's incredibly illogical and stupid of me. If anything, I'm the creepy-looking. balding, quiet guy out of place in the happy family cul-de-sac, and it's a shock I haven't got the cops called on me, but if I acted on every fear and suspicious thing I thought I saw like Fleur did here, I'd either be in the asylum or prison for mass-murder of innocents. That's why the law requires hard proof for stuff like this, and it freaking sucks that that means there has to actually be a victim, but the other option is complete and utter anarchy. There are stories out there of Dad's going out to spend the day with their kids and other people calling the cops on them just because they saw a guy with kids and assumed the father was a creep. And I may not be able to fully relate to what you went through, but I can easily relate to that just with how out of place I feel at home sometimes. I can feel the shame and embarrassment those dad's must go through, and I dread it happening to me when I have a family. This is what Tipper and I are trying to convey here. We're considering what it means if Fleur is wrong in her assessment.
Technically speaking, she might still be wrong about Mister Sweets even with this chapter. As Miranda said, it's her word against his, and all she has is the instinctual knowledge granted from her talent. Idk if you know the difference between an algorithm and a heuristic, but that's what it comes down to here. Fleur thinks her talent is an algorithm--that once the puzzle is solved the answer is guaranteed to be right. The thing is, algorithms are defined by the fact they take time to work. In order to guarantee the answer an algorithm has to be ready to waste time going through every wrong answer until it reaches the right answer. If you're lucky an algorithm solves a problem fast, but it's never guaranteed, and the more complex the problem, the more time an algorithm takes.
Heuristics, conversely, are quick and dirty. They tend to be fairly accurate or we wouldn't use them as humans when we problem solve, but unlike algorithms they are liable to error. They cut corners and save time by using assumptions we think are safe to use rather than checking every possible answer like an algorithm.
All Fleur got of Mister Sweets puzzle before deciding to murder him was a glance. Even if her talent can act like an algorithm--which it might, given how she saw Celestia's puzzle in the beginning of the story--a single glance here heavily implies her talent is heuristical and thus has a chance of erring.
The story is from Fleurs perspective, however, and so the voice is infused with her convictions and certainty here, but Estee is famous for how they withold info and use the narrative voice to twist reader perception. I'm still only about 80% sure that Fleur was correct.
10880192
Sorry if I'm pinging your comments a bit too much, but I figured you might like the algorithm versus heuristic point I make in the second half of this comment.
10880192
You know, with my last comment about the heavily pregnant mare from the last chapter being Mr Sweet’s partner? Now I’m sure of it. Things a pregnant women close to giving birth should not do include sex, particularly rough sex. Mr Sweet hasn’t been getting any from his previous victim so he started looking for a new one. Four to five moons of no satisfaction probably is driving him bonkers. Now add recovery time when he is in Canterlot and there is a good chance he will out himself and his “interests” long before Fleur’s trial. We the readers know what he is, it is just a matter of whether or not the pony police figure it out before trial.
I still stand by my comment that Miranda is more in danger of losing her job than Fleur is of going to jail.
10880230
One other possibility is a closer look at Sweet's background, especially with the Diarchy having been summoned. Celestia has apparently sussed out at least the broad details of Fleur's talent, so she'll be more willing to accept the specifics as Miranda relays them. She probably won't like it, but there are foals involved; I could see her starting an investigation.
DAAAAAAAAMN!!! this was everything i wanted out of this chapter. i dont know where its going from here but its a masterwork as is. cant wait to see how this ends
10880230
Why would Miranda lose her job? She's doing it, to the best of her abilities and understanding, precisely as local standards expect her to.
10880192
Well, then you're just ignoring the direct explanation for how her powers work provided by the text. It's not legally admissible but it's objectively true
10880245
It’s not ignoring anything, they’re acknowledging that even a master craftsmen can slip on occasion and do something wrong. Fleur is beyond biased here based on all the foreshadowing of her backstory, and being Protoceran, she’s gonna act first think later in these situations. She’s calling Mister Sweets a predator, but she herself is a griffon in pony clothes. She perceived a threat and aggressively responded, but we have ample evidence how paranoid she is, and we know paranoid people jump at shadows. Estee often treats magic as another form of sensory input, so I could easily imagine Fleur’s paranoia making her talent see threats where none exist.
10880245
Again: I'm not ignoring. I'm not misunderstanding. I'm disagreeing. And it is possible that I both disagree with you and am not wrong. I still might be, but try to accept what I'm saying: Fleur might not have been correct. The possibility exists that she might have made an error. And even if she was correct, she's talking about hypothetical actions based on future predictions based on personal observations and none of that is certain. It can't be. But she decided she was sure enough to commit an act of cold-blooded murder, and I'm saying that is not a good thing, and I sincerely don't understand what point it is you think I'm missing. I understand what you're saying. I just don't think it's right.
10880229
Oh, I'm not upset about pinging comments if they're relevant to what you're talking about. It's a good way to do conversations in these comments with so many people talking at once. Go ahead!
That rather paints a picture of Rainbow Dash barging into the Lunar Court.
10880278
"And even if she was correct, she's talking about hypothetical actions based on future predictions based on personal observations and none of that is certain. It can't be."
Basically this, is the whole premise of the Tom Cruise movie, Minority Report. It's evil to punish people for future actions that they could potentially commit, because until they've actually done it...they haven't done it. The Catch-22 then is well, if you stopped them from performing said terrible thing, should they actually be punished as if the crime had been committed? (EG if I tried to kill somebody, but the future police stopped me from finishing the murder, should I be charged with attempted murder, or murder?)
But all Miranda needs to do here is zoom in on that 'five moons ago' comment. Acting on a hypothetical future crime? Dangerous territory. Investigating if a crime actually happened in the past? If it actually happened, and Fleur is as accurate as she thinks she is, then this is a lead that can be followed up and corroborated. If it turns out there's hard evidence Fleur's version of events is valid then it falls out of the domain of her-word-vs-his and into a case that can be brought against him.
"That rather paints a picture of Rainbow Dash barging into the Lunar Court."
Buuuuut if Luna is the one to hear this, she might just arrive, bust Fleur out with a snort and say "Don't worry, I finished what you started."
All of this talk about not going to a figure of authority has gotten me thinking. Who did Fleur off? She basically burned her bridges before coming to Equestria, and as some commentators have said, murdering this type of criminal shouldn’t have been a crime where she came from. Also, Fleur’s stated reason for trying to blackmail the Princess is that she needed to. Did she kill some high ranking noble? Police chief? Is going to authority what caused her griffin mentor to have that “accident”? It almost sounds like Fleur needs the power or clout to smash a criminal ring, not just for protection from one individual’s family. That might be why she doesn’t just trust the system to work.
Fleur being good at blackmail and extortion kind of adds another layer of facepalm to her insisting there was no option but to immediately execute him. Suddenly now lack of proper legal recourse is a problem for her? But I guess it's intended that she was not thinking very clearly, given the mistakes she makes.
Miranda was pretty spot on: you could see her frustration that Fleur couldn't offer anything actionable besides inadmissable divination powers.
Fleur's final outburst makes sense from the character's perspective but for the reader it's been so obvious for so long it's like announcing Spike's crush on Rarity.
I'm finally starting to put together something that it feels like I should have long ago: No one ever told Fleur no.
She arrived in Equestria looking for a place in society that the Equestrian herd didn't provide her, so she started acting out to try to discover it. However, her appearance and her Mark let her get away with pretty much anything, far more than any griffon normally would have. She went for years without any significant kind of negative feedback, which only led to her getting more arrogant and ambitious as her culture-imbued instincts told her that she must be superior to the increasingly powerful ponies who didn't stand up to her.
As much as she thinks that she had a life in Canterlot that she lost, she never did. She had plenty of money, but spent almost none of it on herself. She had a ton of associates, but no friends. She was defined almost entirely by an meaningless and unfulfilling struggle for dominance, with no end goal for actually using that power.
10880052
Being from Protocera means that Fleur was raised as and among Gryphons. In this setting, as described in prior chapters, and in snippets of other works of the Triptych Continuum, Gryphons consider harming children to be a crime of the highest order and are somewhat keen on what we would call frontier justice.
Fleur's talent gives her a unique and, from her perspective, irrefutable glimpse into an aspect of someone's psyche that, in this case, provided damning and incontrovertible evidence of specific intent to do harm.
So, being Protoceran, Fleur Dis Lee acted, as her people do. It may not have been the best course of action, from the Equestrian point of view, but to her, it was the only way to guarantee that the stallion would do no further harm. I suspect the only ponies who might have the necessary experience and perspective to understand hers are those who, like her, are Protoceran, and the oldest ones in the world.
We shall see what we shall see.
10880192
Don't disregard Word of God (being the trope name for the principle that what the author says is true, is true).
Fleur's evidence comes from Mark Magic. Her talent doesn't lie. If it tells her there's a pony whose puzzle-piece desires add up to Definitely A Pedophile in front of her, then there's a pedophile in front of her... insofar as she is interpreting her talent correctly. Given her practice (and her occupation), the chance that she is misinterpreting is decidedly less than completely negligible.
She was certain. She didn't have admissible evidence, which is the big problem here, but she was, herself, certain.
Also, again, Protoceran. You may think her actions abhorrent, as most of us civilized people do, but Protocera is... just a bit less concerned about trial by jury than your average Equestrian.