The Olden World

by Czar_Yoshi

Another Bar

With two swooshes and three thuds, Gerardo, Maple and Howe landed on a low roof bordering the outskirts of Copsewood.

The town was low enough to still be in the flood zone, yet close enough to the western base of the mountains to be not entirely flat. It was like the Stone District in miniature, buildings rising above each other in a sloping hillside... only gently, instead of the sheer terraces and precipices that formed farther up. No roads formed over building roofs, and the town probably rose less than twenty meters before it gave up trying to climb the mountain.

Everything was covered in a dark-brown jungle aesthetic, a mix of faults between creeping ivy and the heavy use of bricks in the architecture. Buildings were squat, looking like they rarely supported more than one floor, and roofs were frequently slanted with the mountain incline.

Howe rubbed his goatee. "This place strikes me as... flood-proof. I wonder, why don't they just move the citizens further up the mountain? Surely the waters couldn't reach that high."

"True..." Gerardo mused, every feather on his body wilting from the heat. "Their concerns here could be based in something else entirely. Perhaps the town was built with an unstable foundation, and could be taken out by a landslide should the base be washed away? I notice the lack of tall buildings..."

Maple stepped forward, staring down a nearby main street where throngs of ponies were exiting to the north, beginning their pilgrimage to Karma Industries. "Either way, we should hurry. Where's the cable we're looking for, Howe?"

Howe opened his muzzle to reply, but Gerardo cut him off. "Actually..." the parched griffon wheezed, raising a talon. "Have you any water? I'm afraid after that last flight I'm not entirely feeling up to anything right now. And by that I mean I'm about to collapse."

"I... I don't..." Maple hung her head, feeling the dryness of her own throat. "I had a little, but we used it while pulling the cart to Grand Acorn. Maybe I should switch to carrying water instead of rocks or metal for ballast..."

Gerardo drooped in disappointment.

"Well, if you ask me," Howe swaggered, either not thirsty or doing the best job at hiding it, "a town full of Sosans is liable to be absolutely swimming in bars! In fact, my pegasus intuitions detect there may be one right..." He pointed a hoof, squinting down the length of his leg. "There!"

"A bar?" Gerardo blinked. "So long as we'd be able to procure regular water. I don't believe this is the most optimal day to impair ourselves sampling local brews, as interesting as they may be..."

Maple fixed Howe with a look. "The last time I went into an Ironridge bar, it wound up giving me a side goal that distracted me from my main job. How do I know that won't happen here?"

The pegasus shrugged. "Well, perhaps it would! Bars are known for attracting interesting characters, after all. But you could always say no."

Gerardo smirked. "Technically, you could run into a needy lookalike for Amber..."

"No." Maple stomped. "Let's... If you need it, let's go. But let's hurry. We already have someone important who's counting on us to help them, and don't need any distractions."

"Excellent!" Gerardo spread his wings and hopped to the ground.

Maple followed, using a dumpster as a stepping-stone as she jumped down from the building, praying its lid wouldn't collapse under her weight. Howe followed along by air, soaring above the streets as Maple and Gerardo paced through the crowd.

The traffic flow wasn't as heavy as it had looked from above, Maple noticed as she wove around a stallion. She had expected it to seem the other way, due to being in close proximity with so many ponies instead of simply observing them. Pondering, she realized it was due to the lack of carts and heavy bundles. Were ponies not taking their things? Had the Sosan organizers learned from the rush in Gnarlbough, or sent all their cart resources there? Perhaps it was later in the day, and the carts that were available had all been taken. Or perhaps it was just a town where ponies had less, or were more willing to part with what they had.

Almost every single pony was working-age, she observed, and most were stallions... with an emphasis on unicorns, or robust ponies with broad shoulders good for lifting heavy things. Some traveled alone, while others kept mares close at their sides, some even sporting children. But in the entire crowd, there was only one mare that appeared to be single... and that was her.

The knowledge prickled uncomfortably like an invisible plant brushing her shoulder, but before she could think and unpack it, she was at the door to the tavern Howe had indicated. The pegasus was already there, casually propping it open for her with a wing.

Nodding, she stepped inside... and was immediately hit by the same scent of haze and fermenting she recalled from the bar in Blueleaf. Inside, she had fully expected to find at least some ponies trying to make the best of their lives before leaving for who-knew-how-long, but the sheer density of the crowd of ponies was even greater than that at Blueleaf, and those ponies had turned up to hear Neon Nova. This time, she didn't even have Valey to scare ponies away.

"Attempting to drown their sorrows before they leave, I imagine," Gerardo said, shaking his head. "That will be a sight. I can't imagine a host of drunk ponies will be remotely what the refugee centers want to deal with. I doubt we'll find something any less crowded by pressing on."

"...What do we do, then?" Maple swallowed, deciding she would be better able to keep going without refreshment in the heat than press her body through the noisy, ever-shifting mass of reeking equines in the tavern. "I don't want to be in here."

"What we do..." Gerardo winked, and shrugged such that his sheathed sword became all the more prominent. "Is hope none of these ponies are foolish enough to pick a fight with the griffon who possesses a magic blade. Wait here. I'll be right back."

Bravely, he puffed out his feathers and strode into the soup of ponies.

---

Once Gerardo was gone, Maple sighed, drinking in the tavern's bitter air and regretting it.

"This place certainly is interesting," Howe remarked, sidling up to her. "What is it you're thinking about?"

"Oh, I'm..." Maple's ears folded. "Just not used to being around so many stallions at once. It's a little bit overwhelming."

"Hmm, yes..." Howe grinned, leaning back against the wall. "If my door swung that way, I'd be overwhelmed here as well! But if it makes you feel better, most of them are probably either married, drunk, or both. Probably better to search for romantic pickings in a better part of town."

Maple glared at him. "I did not mean like that."

Wisely, Howe shut up.

That left Maple more alone with her thoughts... even if she wasn't entirely sure what her thoughts were. For every day of her life, she had lived and grown up in Riverfall, where stallions had been an occasional oddity and everything had been for mares, by mares, and about mares. That might have explained her lingering unease with Copsewood and its predominantly Sosan population, the important workers and their resident families. The town might as well have been part of the Steel District, except for its geographical location. But she had been around mixed-gender crowds before, especially on the first day in the Stone and Sky Districts, and felt nothing but awe and wonder... so that couldn't be it. Could it?

She singled out a stallion to observe, taking care to stand where he and those he was conversing with couldn't see her watching. His frame was respectable, not as large as Arambai but still capable of heavy work... but the coat atop it was a patchy gray, sporting telltale signs of muscles gone to seed and looking as if the unshaven stubble on his chin had somehow ingrained it into the rest of himself as a dirty hue. He shook when he laughed, full and hearty, but it had a slightly pained quality as if the volume was there to help him feel it. He also lacked a cutie mark.

He had once been proud, Maple decided. He still thought he was, but didn't feel it, as if the world had told him over and over that he wasn't and he had yelled back to drown it out. Were these the kind of ponies Shinespark felt for when she vowed over and over to meet the nebulous goal of saving Sosa at all costs? Was that the kind of pony that made Shinespark say it wasn't Sosa's economy that needed healing, but its soul? Would that pony watch his home be destroyed, turn around and blame the first plausible, easily-loathsome target he was presented with, like Valey? Was a pony like that who Faron had been, back in those dying days before he had abandoned his family and chosen to start a new life, only to seek out a mare who looked so much like what he had lost?

Was that the kind of pony her own husband had been?

Maple gritted her teeth, barely stopping herself from whimpering as a wave of tension washed across her heart. She was in Copsewood, a whole city of ponies who for twenty years had endured dream-ending calamity, a devastating political war, economic takeover by foreign countries and the march of technology, and then left to languish, watching everyone above them and wondering when they had stopped doing good enough. She could see it so clearly, and that was what was wrong with the place. It stank of despair.

She perked her ears, trying and failing to glance over the heads of the much-taller bar patrons. Suddenly, she wished Gerardo and his sword would return.

"Say... Maple?" Howe nudged her.

"Hmm?"

"I don't mean to be a killjoy, or anything..." he whispered conspiratorially. "But I think some ponies in this room are staring at me, and it's starting to weird the Howenator out."

"Really?" Maple deadpanned. "You don't make a very big effort to blend in, Howe."

"Yeah, but..." Howe bit his lip. "I dunno. This just feels... weird."

Great. So she wasn't the only one getting a bad vibe from that place. Maple danced closer to the door, staying as alert as possible for a returning griffon or any signs of trouble.

"...Is this the same sister you caught with a piece of moon glass?"

Maple instantly zeroed in on the conversation behind her. It was the stallion she had been watching who spoke, and apparently he - or one of his companions - had something much more interesting to say than she had given them credit for.

"Shuddup, Trawley," a smaller, brown stallion demanded. Maple instantly cringed, feeling sorry for anyone with a name like that. "It is, but that was ages ago. Besides, this was her son I'm talking about, not her."

The third stallion, an off-gold earth pony with a hat, sighed into his drink. "It wasn't that long ago. And the both of you are lucky we're such good friends, because I'd probably have arrested her for it. Along with you, countless times."

"Thanks, Constable," the brown stallion said, slouching. "We love you too."

"You know," Trawley pointed out, "she'd get in a lot less trouble if you could just convince her to settle down with someone instead of being a wheelbarrow all the time. I'm sure someone would want her."

"Would you just-" The brown stallion banged his head against the table. "This story isn't about my sister!"

"Embarrassing family situations happen to everyone," the constable said. "Don't let it get to you. What did you hear from her colt, Ricks?"

The brown stallion, Ricks, perked back up. "So, this is total heresay, but he said he was hanging around with a stallion who occasionally runs with the Spirit, and that guy told him that at one of the meetings, one of the other Spirit ponies said-"

Trawley cut him off with a deep, barrel-chested laugh. "I think you mean she said, little dude? I've got a pretty good idea of what circumstances someone would brag about stories from their very tangential connections to the Spirit of Sosa. It's when you're trying to impress someone who has a reputation for being very easy to impress."

"Do you mind?" Ricks growled. "This isn't about my sister! It's about what she... I mean he heard!"

"Whatever you say, little dude." Trawley shrugged and turned back to his drink, the constable giving him the stinkeye.

"Anyway..." Ricks tipped more of his drink into his already-red face. "She told me they've got this rumor about some pony actually crossing the mountains. The south ones. From the... hic! Plains of Harmony. And I have it on good faith that-"

Maple froze, eyes wide.

"Aww, seriously, little dude?" Trawley interrupted yet again. "Come on, my stallions. Every pony from here to the Seventh District has heard of the Mountain Crosser. Pegasus, crazy mane that looks like something from a really questionable novel that no sane pony would ever look like? You watch; in three days someone's going to publish a bad adventure book with that as the protagonist or maybe villain and it'll turn out to have been a publicity stunt. You have to choose your rumors wisely, little dude. It's super easy to spread stuff like wildfire here."

"Excuse me..." A stallion with a funny accent leaned over from the next table. "Are you all talking about Dommordimo, the Mountain Crosser?"

"Hah hah..." Trawley slapped his flank. "Well, my dude Ricks here wanted to, but I just got done telling him I had already heard that. Hey, though, no hard feelings, Ricks."

"Actually..." The intruding stallion ruffled his mustache. "Myself and my friends were just talking about that for ourselves, and you might want to look over there, by the door. Especially you, Constable Coldstone."

Howe blinked as three new pairs of eyes fixed themselves on him. "Uhhh... why are you all looking at me like that?"

Constable Coldstone got up, sizing Howe up. "Well, that's interesting."

Maple pressed against the wall amid the sudden attention, wishing she could melt into the shadows and hide like Valey.

"Eh heh heh..." Howe rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey there, Constable. I'm Howe. As I like to say... heh... Howe do you do?"

Trawley burst out laughing at the pun, but Constable Coldstone stood his ground. "Interesting. This crazy story's out for two days, and already there are ponies dressing up like the pegasus that supposedly flew their way north from the Plains of Harmony. How much did you have to pay a stylist to look like that, kid?"

"Uhhh..." Howe glanced to the door, clearly considering bolting.

At that, Coldstone's horn glowed warningly. "I don't know what you're up to, stranger, but listen here. We're in the middle of a major civil crisis, here, and a pegasus showing up in the most attention-grabbing gear possible just reeks of something. You know how ponies around here are feeling about pegasi right now, right?"

Howe sweated even harder than he had outside.

"What's going on here?" Gerardo Guillaume's voice asked, the griffon pushing his way through the crowd at last with a set of filled canteens. Maple sagged in relief.

Coldstone raised an eyebrow. "Sir griffon, you know this pegasus any better than the rest of us?"

Gerardo nodded. "You could very well say I do. Is there a problem?"

"No, but I smell one brewing." Coldstone's eyes narrowed. "There's always a problem around here somewhere or other. And in times like these... I think I'd like to take mister Dommordimo here down to the station, just in case."

"The station?" Gerardo's eyes widened. "As in a jail? Sir, surely you couldn't intend to incarcerate ponies in a town that is in the process of being evacuated."

Howe was backing closer to the door, and Coldstone froze him with a look. "Not fully. Just until the bulk of the crowds are gone, and just to talk to him. He's probably a harmless prankster, but even that can slow things down. The last thing an orderly evacuation needs is chaos or troublemakers, and you try telling me a pony wears a mane like that to look fashionable."

From the corner where she hid, Maple frantically shook her head at Gerardo, hoping he remembered just how fast things could go from bad to worse when antagonizing pushy guards in Ironridge. Fortunately, Gerardo's memory wasn't lacking, and he bowed, taking a step back. "Of course. He and I are traveling together, though, and I'm unaware of the precise location of your local constabulary, so might I accompany you? I assure you I'll stay out of your mane."

"...Hmmph. Very well." Constable Coldstone obliged, bowing in return. "Just keep that sword where it belongs, and don't start any trouble. The last thing this town needs is a street brawl, and there are a lot of mighty-strong citizens in these streets who know it... if you catch my drift."

"Of course." Gerardo bowed again. "I assure you, we mean no trouble."

He followed Coldstone and Howe out the door, leaving Maple reeling. A tiny part of her mind drifted back to a distant conversation with Arambai, concerning Starlight and her birthplace... or had it been Gerardo? This felt like the kind of rumor he would spread to protect her from prying eyes, and make her story seem like a copycat rather than a dangerous secret. But that thought was drowned out by the much bigger, more violent memory of Selma floating her helplessly above the entrance to the Defense Force, their talks having broken down from cordial to unlawful arrest in a matter of seconds. This case wasn't nearly as bad, of course, and she herself was free. But it was a painful reminder that no matter how much she knew, or how important her cause, in Ironridge, anything could happen.

Slinking along the wall, unnoticed and uncared for, Maple stepped out into the heat of day, nearly tripping on a lone canteen Gerardo had dropped for her. That was thoughtful. She picked it up, fixing her eyes on the direction they had gone in and beginning to follow.

Comments

[Quinch]

I guess Gunga never got around to that better name thing Arambai told him to do.

Also, why do I wonder if Maple is going to have to pretend to be Howe's wife in order to get him out of the station?

[sploopy slooder]

what the fuck is even going on? NOTHING has happened for like 5 chapters now. just talking about irrelevant stuff and walking mostly.