An Artist Among Animals

by Bandy

20: Nothing I'd Rather Be Doing

Twilight saw flames in the wood grain of the conference room desk.

“I suppose that’s everything,” she said as she leaned across the table. Caramel yawned and pushed a notebook across the table. “Did you have any questions? I know we kind rushed through the guard detail.”

“I’m good,” Caramel replied. His voice was sunk low in his throat. “For all the work we’re doing, we better get this right.”

She chuckled. “Now you’re thinking like a scholar.” Her horn touched the table. Condensation from her breath rolled over the lacquer and evaporated. Beneath it, the flames remained.

Decades of life created fuel for this fire. The patterns coalesced into tongues of fire and fell apart into ash. Though the grain stayed the same, the pictures she saw in them changed. Embers became eyelashes, pillars of fire became churning clouds whipped high above the earth by atmospheric winds. They took on new shapes the longer she looked. Fire to clouds to eyelashes to shapes that made no sense.

She paused and looked around the conference room. The walls were clean. The carpet had been soaked and steamed free of soot. Caramel sat on the other side of the room, his legs resting on the chair in front of him. One of Spike’s painting easels held a large diagram of the mayor’s office and four big slides of transparent plastic at the head of the table. Each layer was dotted with guard configurations and escape routes. They caught the light in broad crescent shapes.

“I heard a song about a place called Isfahan once,” Caramel said. A slow smile creeped onto his face. “It was beautiful. Right in the center of Saddle Arabia. Maybe I’ll move there for a few years. They got no laws like we do here. All you need to do is be good to your neighbor and nopony’ll touch you.”

Twilight recalled studying Saddle Arabian law during the war in preparation for diplomatic visits. “I would have guessed Manehatten. Someplace with a lot of nightlife.”

“You woulda!” His laugh sounded hollow in the small room. “I’ll bet Isfahan’s got nightlife. Without any electric lights, the stars must be beautiful.” He bobbed side to side, watching the reflections of light come off the plastic slides. “I’ll bet the whole city comes out at night and just watches them.”

“I’ll bet.”

Caramel sat back in his chair and drawled, “Isfahan.”

Twilight leaned on the other side of the table, where the wood was cooler. “What’ll you do there? Years are long.”

“That they are. Maybe I’ll take up a trade. Maybe I’ll steal more.” He shook his head in delight. “Maybe I can steal the stars, bottle them up and bring them back to Equestria. I’ll sell them off a cart just like Applejack sells her apples.”

Twilight made a face. “I thought you’d move there to get away from the crime.”

“Come on, Twilight. There’s crime everywhere. There’s crime in Manehatten and there’s crime in Canterlot and there’s crime in your backyard--and there’s definitely crime in Isfahan. And if there’s not, then when I get there, by the Gods above, there will be.”

“Saddle Arabians are pretty strict about crime.”

“There are less criminals over there, too. If you want something stolen in Isfahan, you gotta want it pretty bad.” He stroked his face thoughtfully, feeling the creases of skin where soft fur met scar tissue. “There’s more of an untapped market for me to fill. If the whole city is full up with bad guys already, then what’s the point? But if I’m the only bad guy in the city--” he clapped his hooves on the table with a start, “that’s the ticket.” Nodding to Twilight, he added, “Bad guys need good guys to hide behind.”

Twilight watched his head move from side to side, his half-lidded eyes transfixed on the map. “We should pack up our stuff.”

He blinked, and the spell was over. “Right. Won’t need too much anyway.”

Everything they would need had already been brought downstairs hours before. Sitting next to a pair of empty glass cider bottles were two cardboard boxes. One was full of rope and bullets. The other just had a folded service jacket, wrapped tightly in laundromat plastic wrap, and two pairs of dusty black boots.

As they packed, Twilight chanced another question. “What about your family?” she asked. “Applejack will miss the extra help on the farm.”

“Yeah, the farm might hurt a bit,” he agreed as he stuffed the length of rope into his saddle bag. “Not really my prerogative, though. Applejack owns the farm. Big Macintosh owns the farm. The Appleoosian clan owns the farm.” He shrugged. “I don’t own any farms.”

“Did you like working on the Acres?”

“I suppose. I never liked honest living. It’s slow, and ponies live short lives. You don't have to worry about that though,” he chuckled.

“Yeah.” Twilight felt compelled to smile even though she wasn’t happy. It was a pure gut reaction. Unwrapping her jacket and filling her saddlebag with maps lit a fire in her heart. She loved teaching. She loved it when a plan came together. She loved making maps and timetables. She loved the strategy of creating order out of chaos, the calm before the storm. She wondered if she had interpreted her cutie mark incorrectly somewhere along the way. Maybe she was meant to be a really good secretary.

Caramel spoke up again. “Seems like all the Apples I ever knew died on farms. I don’t wanna die on a farm.” The word came out soft and slow, like the rush of sand across a faraway desert floor. “I’ll be the first Apple to live in Saddle Arabia.”

Twilight turned one of her boots over to inspect the heel. “I think there have already been Apples in Saddle Arabia.”

“Have there?”

Another boot. “Applejack showed me a few family photo albums some time back. A few Apples from the Fillydelphia clan went there on vacation and loved it so much they stayed.” Another boot. “This must have been fifty years ago, before they restricted travel from Equestria. The pictures made the whole country look so green--”

Twilight flipped over her last boot and yelped with surprise as a dozen shiny war medals poured out. Ribbon bars clattered on the table and fell to the floor. Her honorary Zebrican Service Medal crumpled in a colorful heap. Pocket-sized service manuals for weapons she never used took flight like terrified doves.

Spike poked his head around the basement door and called down, “Is everypony okay down there?”

“Yes Spike,” Twilight said as she swept the medals back into her boot. “Please shut the door.”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“Twilight, I’m worried about you.”

“Spike!”

The door slammed shut.

Caramel stared intently at the desk as Twilight fumbled with the boots. One by one they went back into the box.

“I didn’t wear my boots before,” she chuckled nervously. “I’ll be fine without them.”

“Is he listening to us?” Carmel asked.

Twilight had already returned to the table. Ten new thoughts occupied her hooves and horn. Distraction took its toll. Eventually she just floated her boots back into the box and closed it.

“I feel like we’ve been doing this longer than we actually have,” she said to no one in particular.

“Time sure flies when you’re having fun,” he chuckled. “Sorry.”

Twilight tried to remember the last time she had been in this room without Caramel. She eyed the door, gauging its width. Could she move the desk out of here in one piece, or would she have to break it up into sections? Could she just teleport it without breaking it? How many outlets were in the room? One for a computer, one for a refrigerator. The lights were already wired, so she didn’t need a lamp. Maybe something dim for when she wanted to read, though. A bad, too. Twin bed. Economical. Space-saving. Weld the doors shut--both doors and collapse the stairwell. The more Twilight thought about it, the more she realized how easy it would be to spend the rest of her immortal life in this single conference room.

One plastic buckle on the strap of Twilight’s saddlebag in particular wouldn’t snap for some reason. On the sixth try and let out a sigh and tried magically bending it back into place, only to snap one of the teeth.

She cursed and dropped the broken piece on the table. Caramel gave her a bemused look. “You alright?”

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she muttered bitterly.

Caramel put his bag down and walked over to Twilight. “Look, how about I finish up for you and you hit the hay?. I’ll fix your strap.”

“I want to do it myself.”

“I can do it.”

She picked up her saddlebag again, eager to hold something, feel something between her hooves. “I’ve passed tests more important than this on less sleep. I pulled all-nighters all the time. I did it in grade school. My all-nighters lasted for days!”

Caramel put his hoof on her shoulder. “Please get some sleep. Go relax for a few hours. Get yourself in the right mind. You’re so concerned about tomorrow, but we both have to be sharp behind the ears if we want this to go well. A clear head is just as important as a--functional saddlebag strap.”

“I’m not tired,” she contested.

“Look, Twilight, we both need this to go right. If you freak out about something as small as the backpack strap during the job, and I’m not saying it’ll be broken, I’m gonna fix it right now, but if you lose your cool over something small like that it could hurt us. Okay?” He shook her. “You need to stay cool.”

The walls were cool and inviting. Why leave? Where was the fire beneath the lacquer? Pressed by machines and glossed over--but it still burned in the back of Twilight’s head. “Sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine. This isn’t a test, is all. Did you ever wear a magicproof vest to an exam?”

“I don’t need a magicproof vest.” Making extra certain to avoid eye contact, she took a reluctant step away from the table. She saw the vest from the corner of her eye. The way they sat on the table betrayed their bulk. “I’m gonna double-check my gear in the morning after I’ve triple-checked it, anyway. Can you please stick to the itemized list this time?”

“Crystal clear.”

“No vests.”

“You’re gonna wear the vest, Twilight.”

Twilight sighed. Her head felt swimmy, like she had just stepped away from a marathon study session. Remembering was the hardest part about studying. Any kid with a book could read, but remembering took a lot more than eyes. Little details clotted together. She was tired--yes. She had to wake up early tomorrow--yes. For what?--who knew?

“Has it been a month yet?” she slurred.

“Little under a month.”

“Little under a month,” she intoned as she walked out of the conference room. “I don’t think I’m doing this for Rarity anymore.”

Caramel laughed. It shook the walls and busted the blast doors clean off their hinges. “You never were.”

She paused at the threshold and leaned against the second blast door’s handle. “Hey, Caramel--look at me?”

“Yeah?”

Slim crescents of light hid the fire in her eyes. “I am a magicproof vest.”

She plodded up the stairs, past a pacing Spike. He moved his mouth a bit and pointed at her like he was trying to say something, but Twilight knew better. She finally noticed her ears were ringing. The hum snuck up on her. Her wings beat Spike away, a slow check pattern of rushing and contracting air, up and down, in and out. An exposed set of living lungs.

Without really realizing it, she fell into her bed. Lights flashed behind her eyelids, the strobing pulse of a digitized nuclear clock counting down to zero. Five, four, three, two one--

Twilight drifted off to sleep just as the castle exploded.

The blast rocked the rigid crystal frame of the castle. Dissonant wails filled the halls. Twilight threw herself out of bed and felt the underside of her nightstand for her bag of defence charms. She slung it over her shoulder and darted out the door, head on a swivel, covering her angles and checking her corners.

Progress was slow at first. There were so many doors to open, so many rooms to scan, and so many scans to choose from. Changelings? Discord? Domestic terrorists? “Spike?” she called over the wail of the fire alarms. “Spike?”

A chunk of crystal cracked loose from the ceiling and hit her on the head. She went down hard and hit her shoulder. The adrenaline cushioned the blow. Maybe the griffons had bombed Ponyville. Maybe they firebombed it as revenge. Maybe they had just begun to firebomb it.

Security alarms went off. E, G-sharp, B. The basement had been breached. Combined with the E-flat of the smoke alarms, they formed a barbaric polytonal chord and stomped on the back of her head eight to the bar.

“Spike?” she tried to shout over the madness. Thick black smoke tinted with pockets of sick purple and green and beautiful gold pooled on the main floor. Horns screamed in her ears. The rite had begun! The holocaust was complete, the castle in shambles. The war had well and truly begun! The alarms got louder as she approached them. They phased like the brightness of the moon.

A picture frame containing a captured moment of Twilight and her friends at the beach fell from the wall with a crash. She pointed her hoof at the noise, and the whole portion of the wall burst into flames.

She realized then the smoke had a single point of origin. It poured from the entrance to the basement. A tunnel attack, maybe? Spike had just been down here a moment ago. So had she.

A quick fanning spell blew the smoke to the corners but left the crystal floors and rugs stained black. Leaning against one of the interior columns a few yards down the long hall lay the unmoving body of Spike the dragon.

She fell to his side, driving up a great cloud of clinging blackness in the process. “Spike,” she tried to say, but the alarms washed out her voice completely. Who knew if she was actually talking?

He looked fine, aside from being covered in soot. His chest moved up and down. He hadn’t broken anything. No lacerations. No obstructed airways. She laid him on his side and turned to face the basement door, where smoke once again pooled on the floor.

Another fan spell and the stairs were clear. She tossed two crystals into the cavernous hole, one to temporarily suspend all dangerous chemical reactions from taking place and turning the air into poison, and the other, which was linked to her heartbeat and set to trigger a small detonation should it cease, so no enemy of Equestria could hold up more than a couple scraps of dead princess as a trophy.

More alarms! All the safety precautions built into the walls over the years. All the notes she hadn’t been able to copy. All the work. All the love. E, G-sharp, B. E-flat. She stumbled down the stairs, deeper and deeper into the hole in the earth, into the smoke, into her nightmare.

The stairs led down to a hellish forest. Trees popped and burned and screamed as flames licked their topmost branches. Their cries swallowed the alarms’ buzzing for moments at a time, phasing in and out of prominence. Patches of lingering winter snow turned the dirt to black mud. Glowing shapes like burning leaves took flight, twisted, screamed, popped, fell back to earth.

She saw caramel leaning against a tree, holding his saddlebag. Half of him was streaked with blast marks as black as the smoke. The other half was disturbingly clean, like it had forgotten to dress appropriately.

She called out to him. He turned.

The blast had ripped him apart. Blood poured from a gash in his neck, from his ears. Skin melted like plastic. The alarms faded into the ever-present ringing in Twilight’s ears, then resurfaced with more fury and violence than before.

“It was the same bag,” he said. The section of his jaw that was still connected to his face dangled oddly. Fire scorched his hooves, but he made no notice of it. “You retaped it to the damn desk,” he said again, calmly. The left side of his skull gleamed in the fire light. She watched his exposed facial muscles flex and contract as he spoke, transfixed in horror. “This could have been you.”

Horns! Screaming! Alarms! Atonal madness! A dozen musical interpretations of hell played over each other set to spring madness, the god of war--Twilight Sparkle--who looked on in horror at her creation. E! G-sharp! B! E-flat!

“This could have been you!” he wailed, throwing his voice like a wild animal in pain. “This could have been you!”

The radios in Twilight’s ears exploded into action. Morse code? A warning? Percussion?

“This could have been you,” he repeated. “You could have prevented this. I was so handsome.” He reached out to her with his arm, but it fell off his body into the fire at his hooves. It hissed like burning wood as it decayed. From the stump grew a tremendous tree, taller than all the rest. It forced him to his knees. Its roots pushed his face into the fire. He screamed in agony as the expanding root system crushed him flat. The tree burned like a funeral pyre. Morse code chattering in her ear, beeping, beeping, beeping.

Twilight's alarm clock hit the wall and came apart. The time was 2:05 AM, and everything was quiet.