S.B.

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 5: And They Were All Terrified by His Power

Cranky’s prediction about the weather did come true. The night was far colder than it should have been, and when the sun finally did rise it was obscured by thick clouds. Even a small amount of snow fell, but it quickly gave way to rain before the clouds finally broke into partial sunniness.

This outcome was pleasing to Matilda. She tended to enjoy cool nights, both for the quality of sleep and because of how greatly she enjoyed snuggling closely to her beloved husband. The sunniness provided a further benefit because she had been intending to go into town, and if the sky was mildly overcast where her and Cranky’s house was it meant that the sky would no doubt be clear and warm in Ponyville proper.

Both she and Cranky had awoke early at the sunrise, even though it was not visible. Cranky immediately went to work checking his toupee collection to ensure that none of them had been replaced with skunks before going downstairs for coffee and dry white toast, the meal he had every morning.

Matilda, meanwhile, took a brief walk through her gardens and near the edge of the forest before returning into her home and preparing a list of the groceries that she was intending to buy later. By the time she had finished these tasks, the sun was already beginning to break through the clouds, and as Matilda affixed her white collar, an idea occurred to her.

She walked up the stairs to the small bedroom on the second floor and knocked.

“S.B.?” she asked. “Are you awake?”

When no answer came, she pushed open the door, finding that once again S.B. had not bothered to close it completely. Either that, or his luck with properly secured doors may have very well been equal to that of Twilight Sparkle herself.

When Matilda looked into the room, she was surprised to see that the bed was empty. Not only was it empty, but it had not been unmade. At first she wondered if S.B. had gotten up and left early without saying goodbye and remade the bed, but she quickly realized that it was exactly as she had left it. It had not even been slept in.

“S.B.?” she asked.

There was a small scuttling sound, and the colt suddenly lifted himself from the tiny space between the foot of the bed and the wall where he had apparently wedged himself. “Where am I?” he said, looking confused. In the somewhat dim light, his normally slit-like pupils were dilated to the point where they made his eyes seem massive, giving him a paradoxical combination of unsettlingness and adorableness.

“Between the wall and the bed, apparently,” said Matilda. “Did you spend the whole night there?”

“Well, no. I started over there.” He pointed to a slightly wider space between two dressers. “But it wasn’t tight enough, and I started to get scared. So I came over here.”

“And you didn’t sleep in the bed?”

The colt’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know I could!”

To Matilda, that was admittedly a strange response, but most things that ponies did seemed unusual to her. “Well, I was going to town. I was wondering if you wanted to come and help me with groceries?”

S.B. looked surprised and quickly turned to the window. “But the sun is coming up!”

“And are you going to melt if you get exposed to sunlight?”

“Well, no, but…” He sighed. “You’ll see…”

They did, in fact, see. The result of going into town with intense enough sunlight to be visible was exactly how S.B. had predicted. Ponies almost invariably reacted strongly to his presence. They usually just glared, or would cross to the other side of the street even when it was otherwise crowded. If children were present, their mothers pulled them away as though they would catch the Mary-Sueness from S.B.

To Matilda, though, this seemed almost inconceivably bizarre.

“I just don’t get it,” she said, once again sounding more amazed than especially angry, although there was a strong note of disappointment in her voice. “This isn’t like them at all! Usually everypony here is so welcoming to newcomers.”

“I told,” said S.B.

“Don’t be smug.” She paused, realizing that S.B. was not actually being smug; in fact, he looked terrified. He was quickly looking around at the street, seeming quite distressed, and contorting his body as though he were trying to hide inside himself despite walking in plain sight. It was an odd sight indeed.

“I shouldn’t be here,” said S.B., eyeing a narrow alleyway filled with trash.

“Nonsense. You’re fine.”

“But they don’t like me! I can see the way they look. I shouldn’t be here…” He looked up at her. “You understand, right? Why they hate me? Because if you do, please tell me, so I can change it.”

Matilda thought for a moment. “Well…it might be because you look different.”

“Really? Because I thought was bland characterization.” He paused. “But wait. Why do you not hate me, then?”

“Well,” said Matilda, “it might be because I can understand what it’s like a little better than a lot of them can.”

“But you’re so pretty! Not ugly like me.”

“You’re not ugly, just different. And I was different too.” She looked out at the crowds of angry ponies. “S.B., what do you notice about them?”

“The disapproving glares?”

“Aside from that. Look closer. They’re all ponies.”

“The town is called ‘Ponyville’.”

“Yes. It is. And I grew up here, even though I’m not a pony at all.”

“Is the difference really that great?”

“Yes, it is. I had a terrible time making friends, and a lot of ponies laughed and made fun of me. Actually, when I was your age, there was this one little colt. Chunky Milk. He would pull my hair every day, or steal my books, or pour ink on me…and he called me a blank-flank well into highschool.”

“But donkeys don’t have cutie marks.”

“I know. But they are very important in pony culture. Which is why I’m surprised you hide yours.”

S.B. looked back at his flank and the area where he had blacked out the mark with charcoal. “Because mom said I’m supposed to be special, and you can’t be special with a bad cutie mark.”

Matilda was about to ask what that meant, but was interrupted when S.B. was knocked almost entirely across the street by a sudden blow from a mushy, moldering cabbage.

“EEEEK!” he cried as the vegetable bowled him over.

“S.B.!” cried Matilda. She turned in the direction that the vegetable had come from. “What is wrong with you?!” She demanded, even though the perpetrator had vanished back into the crowd of other ponies- -although Matilda did notice that many of them had acquired a curious amount of decaying produce.

“Get out of our town, Mary Sue!” shouted a voice from the crowd.

“Yeah! Your character development is weak and your styling out of context!”

“And don’t even think about stealing our waifus! Not unless you want the POTATO!”

“Not the potato! Not the POTATO!!” squeaked S.B. as he struggled to overcome the weight of the cabbage that was holding him down by his red-and-black tail.

“Nobody is getting the potato,” said Matilda, both to the crowd and to S.B. She kicked the cabbage off of S.B.’s tail, and he promptly fell forward onto his face. “Come on. The market isn’t much farther.”

Indeed, the market was less than a block from where S.B. had been brutally but entirely legally assaulted with a cruciferous vegetable. As soon as they entered the wide, dirt plaza, S.B. gasped. He had never seen so many ponies in one place, nor had he ever seen so much produce that was not rotting. Both were astounding to him, although both also made him profoundly nervous.

“Now let’s see,” said Matilda, taking out her grocery list. “I was hoping to make some pie for Cranky’s poker night, and some fruitcake for my book-club meeting. So I need to get some cherries.”

Matilda led S.B. through the crowd. Due to his size, he had to be very careful not to be stepped on by the ponies milling about, and even managed to dodge several veiled kicks directed toward him. Eventually, though, they reached a stall where a surly looking earth-pony was selling cherries. His counter was entirely clear, save for just one rather bruised cherry that seemed to have been left behind accidentally.

“Hello,” said Matilda. “I would like some cherries, if you please.”

The cherry salespony looked at her, and then pointed at the cherry on the counter. “Seventeen bits,” he said.

“What?” said Matilda.

“You want a cherry? Seventeen bits.”

“Seventeen bits? For a single cherry? That’s absurd!”

The salsepony looked insulted by Matilda’s refusal to pay his price. “Look, lady, it’s a supply and demand thing. That’s just how much they cost.”

“But I can see your supply!” exclaimed Matilda, pointing toward the baskets upon baskets of cherries set up in the tent rear of the stall.

“Yeah. And each and every one of them costs seventeen bits. EACH. Unless you’d rather pay twenty.” He leaned forward and grinned. “Hey, that’s the way it goes. If you want to buy my cherry, that’s how much it costs!”

Matilda stammered for a moment, her face growing red. “But that’s illegal!”

“You’re accusing ME of being illegal? When YOU’RE the one walking your pet vermin through the market? You donkeys make me sick.”

Matilda glared at him, and then removed her grocery list from her saddlebag and passed it to S.B.

“S.B.,” she said. “Would you be a dear and go get some of the other things on the list? This poor fool, unfortunately, has never negotiated with a donkey before. And it might take me a while.”

“But I don’t know how to be a deer! I don’t have the cloven hooves, even!”

“Just be sure to check to make sure you only get the freshest.” She gave him some bits, and a small bag. “I’m sure you can manage it. I have faith in you.”

S.B. took the bag and the money. It was quite possibly the first money he had ever held, and he looked at it, admiring the image of Celestia’s head on the front and the sun on the back. He was scared, and he did not want to go out into the market alone, but he knew that Matilda was counting on him. She had been so nice to him and done so much for him that he could not bear the thought of refusing to at least try to return the tiniest fraction of those immense favors. He nodded, and then, as bravely as he could, walked off into the market.

The list was not easy to read. Matilda had relatively excellent writing, even if the style was oddly old-fashioned. S.B., however, was almost entirely illiterate. He had never learned to read Equestrian, largely because nopony had ever taught him to read, but also because of his deformed eyes.

He eventually managed to read the first line, though, and after several minutes came to a cart that was selling various types of onions. The smell was quite pungent, and S.B. hesitated. Onions were one of the worst things to get hit with, especially when one was sleeping. That had happened more than once.

After steeling his nerve, though, S.B. approached the cart. He looked around and found a box low enough for him to reach. He stood on his hind legs and carefully lifted out a large leek with his mouth. He gingerly transferred it to his hooves and inspected it, trying to make sure that Matilda got only the very best produce for whatever it was that she was making.

Almost immediately after removing the leek from the box, though, a child in the crowd cried out.

“Mommy! Mommy! That guy is taking a leek!”

“What?” said S.B., looking up. “No, I was just- -”

That was when the stall’s proprietor noticed him. Her eyes darted from him, to the leek he was holding, and she suddenly screamed.

“HELP! HELP! Somepony help me! Stop him! He’s taking a leek, right in front of my stall! Deviant! DEVIANT! Taking a leek, right there in public! Oh my!” She promptly fainted from the strain, falling face-first into a crate of shallots.

“He just attacked that mare with magic!” cried an onlooker.

“No!” squeaked S.B. “I didn’t! I can’t even use magic! I just- -”

“Get him!” cried a pony as several rushed him. S.B., now unequivocally terrified, dashed between their legs, the leek still in his mouth.

“Don’t hurt me!” he said through the leek. “I just wanted to buy some vegetables!”

He ran through the crowd, and several more ponies fainted from the sight of a Mary Sue taking a leek right there in front of them. It was simply too uncouth.

S.B. did not get far, though, before a group of ponies surrounded him. They were wearing small vests that seemed to indicate that they were members of the Ponyville militia. S.B. now completely panicked, dropping the leek and trying to escape, only to find that he was surrounded.

“That’s the last leek you’re ever going to take, Mary Sue!” said one unicorn, charging his horn.

“No! Please don’t- -”

It was too late. The unicorn fired a tasing spell, and S.B. immediately began to convulse in pain before he dropped to the ground, unable to move as every muscle in his body locked up.

Being tased left S.B. in a bleary, semi-conscious state. He was vaguely aware that he was being picked up and moved. Where they took him remained something of a mystery until he eventually awoke to find himself in a dark, damp room.

S.B. sat up, still in pain from having just been tased, as well as from having expended a great deal of his energy attempting to flee the milita. He looked around the room, and quickly realized that he had been placed in some kind of basement. The only light came from a high, square window against one of the walls that overlooked a hallway between two sets of rooms, the walls of which were made almost entirely of iron bars. S.B. realized that he had been thrown in jail.

He also realized that he was not alone. There were three other ponies in the stallion’s cell with him as well. One, the nearest, was completely passed out and reeked of cheap cider. Another blue colored stallion was sitting on a decrepit bench on the far side of the room, playing a harmonica. The third among them was a brownish earth-pony who seemed massive to S.B. He was glaring at the young colt, and S.B. felt very uncomfortable.

“Hey, kid,” he said, taking a step forward and causing S.B. to back into the bars. “You look a little weird, don’t you?”

“I- -I can’t help it! It’s a birth defect, I don’t- -”

“Kid, relax,” said the large pony. “If you’re in here, you’re one of us.”

“One of us?”

“Yeah. A bad pony. A very, very bad pony. Downright evil, even. I know I am.”

“But I’m not evil!”

“Then why are you in jail?” laughed the large pony. His laughter sounded like a repetitive wheeze. “What, did you pinch something?”

“Pinch? I don’t even have fingers- -”

“No, you know! ‘Pinch’! Like steal. You know, burgle.” He sat back, looking proud of himself. “That’s what I’m in for. I’m the most terrifying, brutal criminal in all of Ponyville history. The Khleb-tomaniac, they call me.”

“Khleb?”

“Yeah. I pinch loaves. Oh, Celestia’s butt, I’ve pinched loaves all over this town. In ponies’ houses, in bakeries, sometimes right in the middle of the street. Usually I can get away with it, but today I got caught pinching a loaf in the middle of Rarity’s kitchen. A pumpernickel loaf. Hard to believe a pony that sweet and suave was into the hard stuff, but hey, who am I to judge.”

“But I didn’t pinch a loaf! I didn’t pinch anything!”

“And that over there is Mouth Organ,” said the bread-thief, pointing at the stallion playing the harmonica. “I bet you can bet what he’s in here for.”

S.B. pressed himself into the corner of the room, shaking, terrified of what Mouth Organ’s crime might have been.

“You guessed it, little colt. Playing the harmonica at night and interrupting quiet-time! He’s a serial breaker of noise ordinances. No pony can keep Mouth Organ down!”

Mouth Organ gave a few defiant notes on his instrument.

“And what about him?” said S.B., pointing to the pony passed out on the floor.

“Oh, him? He’s not in for anything. He’s actually supposed to be our guard.”

“Oh.”

“So, come on, boy, what are you in for? Skating in a no-skate zone? Littering? Dissent? We’ve had a LOAD of dissenters since Twilight became god-ruler. I bet it was dissent.”

“I…I took a leek.”

The Khlebtomaniac’s gaze suddenly hardened, and his voice became much deeper. “Oh,” he said, shaking his head slowly. Mouth Organ started playing a very sad and ominous tune. “I’m sorry, then.”

“Wh- -what? Why are you sorry?”

“Don’t you know? Pinching vegetables is a class-A felony. There’s no way around it. You’re going to get the Chair for sure.”

S.B. froze. Even his frightened quivering stopped. “The…the Chair?”

“Yeah…there’s just no way around it. Even I don’t pinch vegetables. I’m sorry.”

“But wait! I didn’t even mean to do it! I wasn’t trying to pinch anything!”

“Motive doesn’t matter. You’re taking a ride on the Chair, guaranteed.”

“But I- -I’m too young! I never even kissed a filly! Not that any filly would want to kiss me, I mean, look at me- -I can’t! I won’t!”

“You don’t have a choice,” said the Khlebtomaniac, looking toward the stairs on the far side of the room as a shadow fell across the cells. The sound of hoofsteps grew louder, and a militia pony appeared.

“Get back from the door!” he barked as he ran a stick across the bars, making a loud clanking sound. He then pulled open the door outright; it was not locked. “Shadow Bloodfang?” he said.

“Shadow Bloodfang?” said Mouth Organ, momentarily removing his harmonica from his lips. “Wow, your parents must have hated you!”

“Where did you get another harmonica?” snapped the guard.

Mouth Organ smiled slyly. “Do you want to come try to compensate it, Stickpoker?”

Stickpoker shivered. “No. I’m just here for Bloodfang.”

“That…that’s me,” whispered S.B., stepping forward.

“You’re going to come with me,” he said.

“To- -to where?”

The Khlebotmaniac leaned in close to S.B.’s ear. “The Chaaaaaiiiiirrrr…”

S.B. immediately started whimpering in terror of his inevitable fate, but, being an obedient little colt, followed the guard out of the cell and allowed himself to be led up the stairs into the building above, suffering several sharp pokes into his rump from the stick that Stickpoker was wielding that were meant to keep him moving along.

The building above did not look like it had been intended as a permanent jail. In fact, it seemed to have only been recently occupied after a long time as a community center or some other building that had been left empty. A few ponies were busy attaching motivational posters onto the walls, and S.B. saw into several rooms where Ponyville’s makeshift police force was busy either attempting to solve pressing crimes or eating donuts, with a heavy bias toward the latter.

“Please!” pleaded S.B. “I didn’t mean to! Please don’t give me the Chair!” Stickpoker responded only with another jab with his stick. S.B. continued to try to make his case. “Don’t- -don’t I get a trial? Isn’t that in the Equestrian Constitution?”

“We don’t have a Constitution. We’re an unlimited monarchy,” said Stickpoker gruffly. “And besides, do you know how much it cost just to mustard a militia? How the hay are we supposed to afford a court, too?”

“I think you mean ‘muster’- -”

“What did you just call me?!” S.B. received another poke. He was beginning to get used to them.

S.B. was sure that he was being led to his doom, and had resigned himself to his fate- -but found that he was instead led to a large room with an all-yellow mare sitting at a desk and, much to S.B.’s surprise, talking to a very angry Matilda.

“- -and I simply can’t believe that you would allow this to happen!” shouted Matilda. “Of all the incompetency- -”

The yellow pony sighed and looked down at Matilda, exasperated. “Look,” she said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. We have at least twenty reliable witnesses who saw him taking a leek right there in the middle of the market. He’s a theif”

“Only because I asked him to buy onions for me! He wasn’t stealing anything!”

“Then how do you explain the money we found on him, hmmm?” The yellow pony lifted a bag with the money. “Why would he have money unless he stole it?”

“Because I GAVE it to him! To buy the LEEKS!”

“Matilda!” cried S.B. Since there was nothing stopping him, he ran to her and wrapped his hooves around one of her legs. He immediately started crying.

“Oh, stop,” said the yellow pony, rolling her eyes. “You’re not convincing anypony. No grown stallion cries like that.”

“He’s a little kid!” snapped Matilda. “He’s not even TEN!”

The yellow pony blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Well…you know how it is. Their kind all look like adults.” She turned to Stickpoker. “So…I guess that means we tased a child?”

“You TASED HIM?” cried Matilda, her voice growing even louder and increasing in octave. “Has- -has everypony in this town gone completely insane?!”

“I thought- -I thought I was going to get the Chair for sure!” wept S.B. “Matilda, I’m so happy to see you! I’m sorry I’m a bad pony! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Matilda gasped. “You threatened to use the Chair on him?”

“No, no,” said Stickpoker. “It was probably something one of the other inmates said to him.”

“You put him in a cell with the adult inmates?!”

“Well where else could we put him?”

“He did commit a class-A felony,” said the yellow pony. She sighed. “But since you’re vouching for him, I’m going to let him go with just a warning this time.” She leaned forward, glaring at S.B. “But if you try anything again, you’ll wish you got the Chair. The littlest thing, and you’re BANISHED. Forever. I don’t take kindly to criminals in my town, or ponies coddling colts who will clearly never be productive members of society.” She leaned back. “Just watch, Matilda. In two weeks, he’ll be a wild stallion stealing waifus left and right. That’s what THEY do, you know. Stealing waifus, I mean.”

“Thank you, Mustard,” said Matilda through gritted teeth. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“You do that.”

Matilda left with a harrumph, leading S.B. with her. Almost as soon as she left the central office, her air of anger immediately deflated, and she looked simultaneously tired and relieved.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t in my wildest dreams expect that to happen! If I had known- -’

“No, it’s okay,” said S.B., wiping the tears away from his eyes. “These things happen.”

“No they don’t! I just don’t understand! They’re usually kind and cheerful ponies!” She sighed. “But I should have listened to you better. You were supposed to be my responsibility, and I let this happen.”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” said S.B. “I deserved what I got.”

Matilda frowned. “You know,” she said, “I think Cranky is right. You really need to have more confidence in yourself. But I guess that’s hard when ponies keep acting like this around you.”

S.B. did not answer. He just hung his head in shame, metaphorically kicking himself for having ruined Matilda’s day with his antics. As they left, though, he looked up just long enough to see the Khlebtomaniac being led through the hallway, forced forward by two militia ponies on either side.

“No! Stop!” he cried, his eyes darting around in panic. “This isn’t fair!”

“Three strikes rule,” growled one of the guards, pushing him forward harshly. “You know what that means. You get…the Chair.”

“NO!” screamed the criminal, his eyes widening in abject mortal terror. “Not the Chair! NOT THE CHAIR!”

He struggled to escape, but the pair were stronger. S.B. watched as he was led into a small room off from the main hallway lit by a single dim light. Even as dim as it was, S.B. was able to see the room’s contents: a plane, wooden, horribly uncomfortable looking chair oriented to face the corner of one of the rooms. A pony in a black hood was already holding the pointed dunce-cap in preparation for the Khlebtomaniac’s punishment.

The Khlebtomaniac burst into tears when he saw the otherwise completely ordinary seat and the corner it faced. “No! Please!” he wept as the door was slammed behind him.

“Come on, S.B.,” said Matilda. “This isn’t a place for little children.”