Case Three, Chapter Seven: Responsibility
More than an hour after the first gunshots had been fired, the scent of cordite and blood hung heavy in the air around Miranda and Sons, refusing to retreat beneath the onslaught of rain that poured down from the dark gray sky. The street outside was clogged by cruisers and ambulances, their red and blue lights spinning wildly. Officers in heavy rainjackets kept back the murmuring crowd of civilians that fought and jostled to get a better look at the remnants of the carnage and endured the constant barrage of questions and commentary from reporters in stoic silence. The two crashed cruisers stood where they were, still tangled together around the clock. Smoke rose from the wreckage, hissing angrily at the rain. Two firefighters in turnout gear carefully sawed at the bullet-ridden door, trying to get to the bodies within.
Trace and Red stood in the middle of the street, staring at the wrecked cruisers, not even acknowledging the rain.
“Officer Bull Dozer,” Trace said. “Officer Twisted Ivy. Sergeant Aurora. And Officer Oak Wilson. Four good, hardworking, honest ponies with families. Four more names to put up on the wall.”
“They’re fucking dead,” Red growled, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through his nostrils. “These shitholes are fucking dead.”
“Save the anger for when you need it, partner,” Trace said quietly, laying a hoof on Red’s shoulder. Red took a slow, shaky breath and nodded grimly. The two of them turned and walked into the firm itself, pushing through the frames of the revolving door. The broken glass crunched beneath their hooves as they proceeded into the lobby.
“Careful, detectives!” Twilight Sparkle called to them as they entered, carefully marking bullet casings scattered on the floor with small, floating bubbles of purple magic. “Watch where you step, please.”
Red and Trace both exchanged a look, then began to slowly maneuver their way into the center of the lobby. Officers stood around the perimeter of the room, some simply staring in silence, some conversing with each other in quiet tones, passing around information, scuttlebutt, and theories.
Captain Cold Case was standing in the middle of the corpses. Four security guards lay where they’d fallen, their blood already fully coagulated into dark brown stains on the floor. Miranda Right was sprawled a few feet away. Cold Case regarded the pink and red stain that his head had been reduced to, spread out over roughly a foot wide diameter, her face impassive.
“I checked with the surveillance center,” she told the two detectives without looking up. “The guard who was on duty, Jimmy Eye, is gone, and he took the memory crystal—the crystal that stores all the images and playbacks.”
“He can’t be that bright if he gave himself away like that,” Trace commented. “He shouldn’t be that hard to find.”
“He’d better not be,” Cold growled, glaring at her two charges. “I want a lead on these cop-killers by this evening. Not tomorrow, not before I go to bed. This. Evening.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Red and Trace both nodded before moving on. As one, their eyes traveled up towards the balcony that overlooked the lobby. The head of a stallion in a gray trilby was just visible over the gate.
Phillip stared silently down at the burned corpse on the floor in front of him, watching as Doctor Mortis scanned the crackled, dark red flesh. His eyes, sunken into his skull and surrounded by dark shadows, went to the shattered remnants of the beer bottle that lay scattered on the floor around the body.
“Well, I don’t think I need an autopsy to figure out the COD,” Doctor Mortis commented, gently manipulating the corpse’s neck with her magic to tilt his face up towards her. She studied the burn marks that adorned half of his face with curiosity. “Interesting, isn’t it, the varying patterns of the burns? In any case, it looks like he was about to throw a Dragon's Breath cocktail at our officers, but something broke the bottle and he got hit with it instead.” She looked up, sticking her lower lip out in thought. “So the only question is, what broke the bottle?”
“Uh...Phil?” a voice asked plaintively. Phillip looked up to see Flash Sentry approaching him. The younger stallion glanced around to make sure that nopony was too close, then stepped up to whisper to Phillip.
“When we first came in...I saw Daring up here. On the balcony,” he said, nodding to the spot where Phillip was standing. “She ran away when I saw her, but...she looked scared.”
“Where’d she go?” Phillip asked quietly.
“This way,” Flash said, pointing. “She was long gone by the time we got up here.” Flash glanced around again, then turned back to Phil. “I didn’t want to say anything to the other officers ‘cause...well...I heard Cold talking before. She wants to bring Daring in. And when Cold says bring someone in, she means…”
“Sentry!” Prowl barked from the lower floor. “Get back down here. We need your help cataloging this evidence.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Flash called down. Giving Phillip a final regretful look, he bounded over the banister and flew down to the ground floor.
Phillip was only aware of a painful throbbing in his chest right next to his heart, a pain that he couldn’t just chalk up to exhaustion. He slowly turned and walked down the hallway, following the trail that Flash had pointed out. Following the exit signs, he eventually found his way to the back exit. Pushing through the door, he exited out into the back alleyway. The rain hammered down on his back, soaking his mane and his vest again; the cold wind embraced him like a long-lost lover.
Phillip glanced down at the cobbled ground in front of him. Between his front hooves was a pegasus feather, a pale gold in color, having fallen when its owner took off. He picked it up and studied it; the throbbing in his chest grew worse.
“Where are you, Daring?” he whispered.
Captain Cold Case exited the firm, turning up the collar of her coat against the rain. As soon as she exited, the reporters fired another volley of questions at her, demanding answers to motives, identities, and prospects of the future. She stoically ignored all of them, walking over to the wreckage of the cruisers. She watched in silence as the firefighters finally peeled the door off and set it down on the floor, allowing them to access the bullet-ridden corpses inside. Bull Dozer was slumped against Aurora, nearly smothering her with his bright yellow bulk, his eyes half-closed. The bullet holes that had ripped through both of their bodies were surrounded by blackened tissue; dried blood covered the formerly pristine blue uniforms. Aurora’s white and red mane shielded her face.
Cold Case closed her eyes for a moment and reached for the clay pipe in her pocket, but her reverie was broken by a shout of “Captain! Ma’am!”
Cold turned to see Wheellock rushing up to her. Wheellock skidded to a halt a few feet from her, splashing her forelegs with rainwater.
“Callbox, ma’am,” Wheellock panted, pointing to a nearby telephone pole. “It’s the Chief.”
Sighing, Cold Case walked over to the pole and approached a blue box with a blinking blue light on it that was attached to the pole. Opening up the box, she reached inside and extracted a telephone hoofset. “Sir?” she asked into the phone.
“Four of our own dead, Captain,” Chilled Tumbler’s voice spoke through the hiss of static in her ear. “And an upstanding member of our community.”
“I’m fully aware of that, sir,” Cold Case replied icily.
“Was Finder there?” Tumbler asked.
“Yes,” Cold Case confirmed. “He’d been watching the firm for hours when we arrived.”
“And Do?”
“Negative,” Cold said. “But Finder looked worried and upset. Should I bring him in for questioning?”
There was silence on the line (save for the hissing, grumbling static) for several seconds, then Tumbler answered, “No. We can still use him. Keep a close eye on him. And if it turns out that he or Daring is associated with these cop-killers, bring them both in. Dead or alive.”
“Understood, sir,” Cold Case nodded and hung up the phone. Closing the callbox door, she turned and walked back into the firm, her eyes focusing on Red Herring and Trace Evidence.
Daring clung to the cloud that she had alighted upon, shaking and panting. Tears ran freely from her eyes, mixing with the rain that was falling from the cloud.
“Sparks…” Daring whimpered. “Why?”
The images from the heist flashed before her mind like a slideshow, repeating over and over. The BARs emerging from the golf bag. Sparks opening fire at Trace and Phil. Boltstrike grinning as he fired his magically-enhanced bullets at the cruisers, which exploded into flame. Miranda Right’s head exploding into pink goo. Leaf Dance writhing and screaming as flames enveloped his body, the scent of burning meat filling her nostrils.
Daring’s body trembled and she pitched forward, vomiting. The contents of her stomach spilled through the cloud beneath, and for a split second, she hoped that they wouldn’t land on some unsuspecting pony’s head. She retched and heaved until her stomach was empty, then heaved a few more times; she wept until her eyes were aching and puffy and dry, then sobbed dryly until her throat was sore. She barely noticed the fact that the curse mark was burning up her entire foreleg, making the limb numb and heavy.
She curled up into a ball on the cloud, shivering. What was she going to do now? She couldn’t go back to the hideout...and even if she could, she had no idea where it was, Sparks having teleported the group to the firm that morning. And she couldn’t go back to 221 Honeybee Bakery. Phillip would never trust her again after this.
“It wasn’t my fault!” she protested, shouting at herself. “I didn’t know they were...I didn’t…”
She hugged herself, tightening her forelegs around her torso. As she did so, she felt something dig against her chest. With a quiet grunt of confusion, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. It was faded and the ink was running slightly, but the message was still legible:
Gentle Guide: 244 Siren Boulevard
Gentle Guide. He might have been a corrections officer, in charge of her discipline while she was at Frostback, but he was also kind and fair. And he had said that she could look him up if she needed help.
Pocketing the card again, she spread her wings and swooped through the cloud layers, taking flight through the rain. With every beat of her wings, she prayed to the Holy Mother, if She was listening, that Guide’s promise was still valid.
Gentle Guide lived in a two-story red cottage with a white tiled roof on a dead-end street in the Industrial District. It, like most of the other houses on the street, showed signs of serious wear and tear, with fading and peeling paint on the walls and the boards on the porch sagging in the middle as though in fatigue. But unlike most of the other houses that surrounded it, 244 Siren Boulevard showed definite signs of life; the windows were clean, the lawn was well-trimmed, and there were beds of flowers strategically planted over the lawn. A small oak tree stood in the backyard, the brown leaves just beginning to outnumber the green. Rainwater slicked off the leaves and onto the grass. The lights in the windows were on.
Flying overhead, Daring scanned the street beneath her. The rain had chased the ponies into the comfort of their homes, but she spotted a silver pole with two surveillance crystals standing atop it at the head of the street. One of the telescope-like tubes was aimed up the street. She frowned, then banked around again. Swooping almost to the low cloud cover, she dived straight down and landed in the oak tree, the leaves rustling as she entered their cover. Peeking out through the leaves, she checked one more time to make absolutely sure that it was clear, then slipped out and landed on the ground with catlike silence. The crystalline blue eye was not facing her.
Stealing up to the back door, she knocked three times and stepped back. A few moments later, the curtains in the door window shifted, then there was the sound of a latch unlocking and the door opened, revealing a thestral with a dark purple coat, a snow white mane, and sea blue eyes. It took a moment for Daring to recognize her old CO: she was used to seeing him wearing the black uniform of Frostback Prison, so seeing him wearing a bright purple hooded sweatshirt with “Ponyville Manticores” emblazoned across it in gold lettering with the face of a manticore glaring back at her was a bit of a shock.
“Daring?” Gentle Guide asked, looking her up and down in astonishment. “You look terrible.”
“I feel worse,” Daring said, trying to keep her branded hoof off the ground to lessen the burning pain. “Can I come in?”
Gentle Guide hesitated for a moment, then stepped back and held the door open for her. She stepped inside, dripping all over the hardwood floor, and followed him into the living room.
The little room had bright red carpeting on the floor and was warmly lit by a pair of standing lamps. A pair of well-worn but still slightly squishy sofas, one dark red and the other lime green, stood on either side of a short coffee table, upon which sat a fruit bowl loaded with fresh bananas, plums, oranges, apples, peaches, and more. A television set stood in the corner, next to a small bookshelf.
There was the sound of hoofsteps and Daring looked up to see a thestral climbing down a set of stairs in the hallway. The thestral had a light yellow coat and red hair that was so dark it was almost black. He rubbed one pale green eye sleepily. His cutie mark was a beehive and a glass jar of honey.
“Honey? Whazzgoinon?” the stallion said through a yawn.
“We’ve got a guest for a while, Sweet Nectar,” Gentle Guide said, guiding Daring to sit down on the green sofa. Sweet Nectar blinked at Daring a couple of times, then sighed quietly and walked into the kitchen. The sound of clattering and water being poured soon came from around the corner.
Gentle Guide climbed onto the red sofa and sat straight-backed upon it. He fixed her with an emotionless, steady gaze. “All right,” he said. “Tell me everything.”
Daring took in a deep breath, and the entire story soon spilled out of her. Silvertongue’s baiting them into the case, their investigation, the discovery that Bright Sparks was the leader of the thieves, Silent Step’s death, her argument with Phillip, leaving to go with Sparks, the raid on the firm. When she reached the details of the murders, her voice began to shake slightly and fresh tears stung at her eyes.
Nectar came back in the room while she was wrapping up and handed her a green mug filled with warm tea. Accepting it with a nod, she took a long sip. The bitterness of the tea was mixed with the heavy, syrupy sweetness of a healthy dose of honey, and it went a long way towards calming her down (though she still thought it could’ve used a splash or two of whiskey).
“So why did you come here?” Gentle Guide asked when she was finished with her story.
Daring stared into her mug, sniffing at the honey-scented steam. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she murmured.
Guide pondered this for a moment, then stood up and walked over to stand next to her. He bent down a bit so that he could look her in the eyes from her level.
“Tell me the truth,” he said quietly, his tone and expression still devoid of emotion. “Did you know that they were planning a hit?”
“No,” Daring replied. “And I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I had.”
“Not even for Sparks?” Guide asked.
Daring shook her head firmly. “Not even for my sister.”
Guide did not answer for several seconds. He glanced up towards Nectar, who had been standing in the doorway, watching their conversation in silence. Nectar blinked at Guide, then shrugged in a noncommittal way.
“Guide, you have to believe me,” Daring said softly, trying to keep the pleading tone out of her voice.
“I do,” Guide replied, nodding.
Daring shivered and clutched the teacup like it was a lifeline. “I don’t want to go back to prison…” she half-whimpered.
“I’m sorry, Daring,” Guide said sympathetically. “But it’s not up to me. What is up to you is how you handle this. And right now, you have two choices. You can keep running, or you can make this right.”
Daring looked up at Guide and saw compassion in his eyes, but also wisdom; it was like looking at still ocean waters, untouched by waves and wind. She took in a deep breath and started to stand up.
“I need to go back home,” she said.
“And do what?” Guide asked in a hypothetical tone.
“Make it right with Phil,” she said, trying to ignore her stomach clenching and twisting inside her as she spoke.
“Good,” Guide nodded.
Daring hesitated, then looked down at the floor and asked, “Will you...will you come with me?”
Gentle Guide did not answer for a moment, then smiled and patted her shoulder. “Yes.” He paused for a beat, then leaned in. “At least finish your tea first,” he whispered. “Nectar prides himself on it, and his feelings are a little sensitive.”
Daring looked over at Nectar, who was still standing at the doorway. He raised an eyebrow at her. She managed to smile faintly at him and drank the rest of the tea. It was warm and sweet, and by far the best tea that Daring had ever had. The refreshing liquid helped her stomach unclench a bit.
“Thanks,” she said as she set the empty mug down. Nectar beamed and nodded.
“Ready?” Guide asked.
Daring nodded. The two of them proceeded out of the back door, back into the rain and winds, and took off, heading westwards towards the center of town.
The blue cottage was still standing right where it was supposed to be, as though it had always been there and always would. The lights for the lower floors were on, like glowing eyes in the growing darkness.The two alighted on the front porch, sheltering beneath the small roof.
Gentle Guide knocked at the door and stepped back. They waited for several long seconds of silence, then Daring faintly heard a grunt from inside. Glancing at Guide, she pushed the door open and they entered.
The green fishing vest and gray trilby were hanging up on the coat rack next to the door, dripping onto the floor. Daring’s heart thudded heavily against her ribcage as she proceeded down the hallway into the living room.
The record player in the corner was playing a blues record; the low bellowing of a solo trumpet was mixed with pops and scratches that told of the record’s age. Phillip was sitting on the sofa, knees to his chest, staring at a half-empty bottle of Kanga-Rum on the coffee table. His mane was in even worse disarray than normal; his coat, only recently dried, was as spiky as a hedgehog’s, and a dark shadow was growing beneath his jaw. He looked up at their approach. His gray eyes focused on Daring, and her stomach shriveled when nothing, not a single sign of emotion, was betrayed by his eyes or his face.
Daring stopped at the threshold of the room as suddenly as though she’d walked into a glass door. They stared at one another from across the room, neither daring to blink, like two gunslingers waiting for the other to make a move first.
“You look like shit,” Daring finally said softly.
Phillip’s reply was to blink a few times. Daring thought she saw something shining in his eyes for a brief moment.
“I’ll take this,” Gentle Guide said, snatching the bottle off of the table and walking into the kitchen. “You both need some coffee. You have a lot to talk about.”
He disappeared out of sight. Daring slowly entered the room, keeping her eyes on Phillip, and sat down on the couch opposite him.
“Where were you?” Phillip croaked, his voice soft and feeble.
Daring reached over and shut off the record player, bringing the music to an abrupt halt. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak, the entire story spilling out of her. She told Phillip of how Bright Sparks had invited her to the church, her being brought to the hideout, the plans for the heist, and her role in it. She watched and listened to herself speaking as if she had suddenly become an outside viewer; her body seemed to fold in on itself as she spoke, and she stared at the floor instead of looking at Phillip. Her voice came out in a flat, dead tone, as though she sought to separate herself from her emotions. When she came to the part where Sparks and Boltstrike had opened fire, her speech slowed and was punctuated by swallows that made her shoulders heave.
She had just gotten to the part where she had flown away when motion caught her eye. Phillip had raised a hoof to stop her and was glaring down at her imperiously.
“Daring, look me in the eyes,” he commanded, and she found that she had to obey. She locked her gaze onto the two stormcloud gray irises.
“Did you know that they were planning a hit?” he asked. There was no anger in his voice, but every syllable rolled like thunder.
Daring shook her head. “No. I swear I didn’t!”
Phillip’s expression didn’t change; he continued to glare at her with his cold gray eyes. She trembled, unable to look away.
“You can not believe me if you want to,” she said, her entire body shaking as though she’d been dropped into a freezing ice bath. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You can call the police if you w-want...and I won’t blame you because...I...I…”
Phillip’s expression softened slightly and he started to lean forward. “Daring…”
The moment was interrupted by a knocking at the door, causing the two to look up in shock.
“Finder!” a familiar voice barked from behind the door. “Open up. We need to talk.”
“Red and Trace,” Phillip hissed. “Go upstairs and hide. Now.”
Nodding, Daring took off and flew up the stairs, silently floating into her old bedroom, which was still the same as she had left it. She crouched down behind the bed, her breathing quiet. From downstairs, she heard the front door open and close, followed by two sets of hoofsteps and voices.
Gentle Guide walked into the room after her and stood in front of her, shaking his head. “I thought we were going to make this right,” he stated.
“Gonna be hard to do that from inside a cell at Frostback,” Daring pointed out.
“Daring, you turned yourself and the others in a year and a half ago because you were willing to take responsibility for your actions,” Guide admonished her. “Did you suddenly turn into a coward?”
Daring glared at him. From downstairs, she could hear Phil, Trace and Red’s voices.
“You keep running and hiding, eventually all this is gonna catch up with you,” Guide continued, undeterred by the glare. “You have to face it sooner or later.”
Daring softened her glare, unable to argue with him.
Suddenly, the voices from downstairs became raised, prompting Daring to pause.
“Sent her undercover? You think we’re dumb enough to believe that shit?” Red shouted.
“That’s the truth,” Phillip replied in a harsh voice. “She—”
“She and her friends fucking murdered four cops and a bunch of other ponies!” Red snapped. Daring flinched as though she’d punched in the face. “So we’re bringing her in, and that is final!”
“Phillip, don’t make this worse than it already is,” Trace said firmly.
“She’s not here,” Phillip said.
Red snorted. “Yeah. Sure.” There was a beat. “Trace, I say we take him in. He’s getting himself in enough shit already.”
Daring felt her heart leap up into her throat, then slowly settle back into its proper position. Standing up, she pushed past Guide and proceeded down the stairs into the living room. Trace Evidence and Red Herring, both of them wearing rain-soaked trenchcoats, were facing Phillip; the detectives had their backs to her as she descended. Phillip was staring at them both, his eyes darting desperately from one to another.
“She’s just a thief,” Red said, spitting white hot anger with every syllable. “And you’re protecting her!”
“She is not just a thief!” Phillip shouted back. “She—”
“I’m here,” Daring announced. The stallions all turned around and saw her, their eyes widening.
In an instant, Red Herring drew his Filly M1912 and pressed the muzzle against the middle of Daring’s forehead. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” he snarled, his shoulders heaving as he breathed.
“Red, no!” Phillip shouted, drawing his baton with a snap of his wrist.
Trace reacted immediately, firing a stunning spell into Phillip’s face. Phillip staggered, shaking his head, and Trace followed up by grabbing his foreleg in both hooves, taking control of his upper arm and wrist, and quickly twisting to bring Phillip facedown to the floor.
“You can’t take her in!” Phillip shouted, struggling desperately to escape. “She—!”
“Phillip. Stop,” Trace said firmly, pressing down on the armlock and lighting up his horn. Phillip ceased struggling, staring up at Daring in panic.
“If you want to, if you think it’ll make you feel better, you can shoot me,” Daring said, looking Red in the eyes. Her voice did not waver, her gaze did not once flicker from his eyes. “I probably deserve it, to be honest. But please, hear me out.”
Red didn’t move or react in the slightest, but he also didn’t shoot her, which she took as a good sign.
“I swear on the Holy Mother, if She’s listening, as my witness: I did not know that they were planning a hit. I thought it was just a heist. We were going to go in, get what we were looking for, and get out.”
“What were they looking for?” Red asked quietly, as though struggling to control himself.
“A scroll,” Daring explained. “The second half of the scroll that they stole from Monopoly’s safe box at the bank. It’s some kind of spell.”
“Why do they want it?” Red asked.
“I don’t know,” Daring stated. “To keep it out of Monopoly’s hooves, primarily.”
“Who are these ponies? Why did you go work with them?!” Red shouted, the gun in his hoof shaking. Phillip let out an incoherent cry of fear.
Daring closed her eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the fresh pains that shot up her foreleg, like acid had been injected into her veins. “Because the leader of the thieves, Bright Sparks, was my friend. I thought that...I thought that she was a good pony. A trustworthy pony.” She looked down at Phillip. “Phillip disagreed...and he was right. I shouldn’t have trusted her. I shouldn’t have gone with her. I shouldn’t have turned my back on my real friend.”
Phillip seemed to tremble a little. Daring turned back to face Red, who was still aiming his gun at her face.
“I made a stupid mistake. And I deserve to be punished for it. But I swear, I didn’t kill those ponies, and I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I knew that’s what they were planning.” She blinked, her eyes burning, her hind legs starting to shake a little like willow trees in the wind. “But that doesn’t matter, so all I can say is...I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
The tears began to fall again, a couple of them sliding down her face and dripping onto the floor. She blinked, but never wavered her gaze from Red’s face.
He growled and pressed the gun harder against her skin. Daring’s knees almost gave out, but she still stood and stared back at him.
"Red, she saved your life!" Phillip protested, his voice high-pitched with desperation.
But Red did not fire, nor make any other move. Slowly, he turned and faced his partner. “Do we trust her?” he asked Trace.
Trace looked down at Phillip, raising an eyebrow. Phillip looked at Daring, then up at Trace. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I trust her.”
Trace looked up at Red and nodded. Red looked at Daring, then closed his eyes. “Gah...dammit,” he grumbled, holstering his weapon. Daring let out a slow sigh, finally allowing herself to relax; her hind legs felt like they’d been turned into rubber, and she had to fight to stay on her hooves.
“So what do we do now?” Red asked.
“We don’t tell Cold, for starters,” Trace said, getting off of Phillip.
“Not worried about her,” Phillip said, rubbing his foreleg as he got up. He looked at Daring. “Can you lead us to their hideout?”
“I don’t know,” Daring admitted. “I have no idea where it is.”
“Any detail you can give us can help,” Phillip said.
Daring thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Well, I damn well am going to do whatever I can,” she said.
Trace and Red both looked at each other, then at Daring and Phillip. “You’d better come up with something, and fast,” Red grunted. “Or we’re all in deep shit.” With a grunt, he gestured for Trace to follow him out.
“Good luck,” Trace said, exiting with his partner. The door opened and shut, then there was the sound of a car engine starting up and driving away, rainwater hissing beneath the tires.
Daring staggered over to the couch and collapsed upon it, panting and shaking. Her body felt as though she’d been carrying a boulder on her back and had just managed to throw it off. Phillip walked over to the couch and climbed up next to her. He wrapped a foreleg around her shoulders and gently squeezed her to him. She pressed up against his side, waiting until her trembling and breathing came back under control.
“You okay?” Phillip asked.
“I’m fine,” Daring nodded.
Gentle Guide, who had watched the entire scene from the threshold, yawned. “I need to get back home. Nectar will be getting worried, and I volunteered to work a shift and a half tomorrow. Good night.” He started to walk towards the door to the back porch.
“Guide,” Phillip called. The thestral paused at the door.
“Thank you,” Phillip said. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
Guide smiled and winked. Opening the door, he stepped out into the night and flew away, shutting the door behind him.
Daring sighed, suddenly realizing just how tired she was. “We should go to bed,” she sighed, laboriously climbing up off the couch.
“No,” Phillip said, looking at the floor. “Daring, you were right before. If we’re going to trust each other, there can’t be any secrets between us.”
He swallowed, licked his lips, then looked up and faced her. “It’s time I told you about Lucky Dice.”
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Oh Phil... You may not realize it yet, but you like her, more than a friend I'm willing to bet.
The phrase "Oh crap" doesn't even begin to sum that up... Phil just escaped that one narrowly.
Swallows Oh boy... Good chapter, touched every emotion, and had me on the edge of my seat if you will throughout the entire thing.
The ship can survive if made out of fireproof titanium.
Goat Scream
Holy throne, the feels!