Cold Wind Blowing

by Rambling Writer

2 - Oh, the Weather Outside is Frightful

After spending a few minutes in the inn, Mistral was impressed: the inside really was warm, and not just warm compared to the outside. Even with the wind howling and sleet battering the outside (that blizzard had borne down on them fast), she couldn’t feel the slightest draft. She’d shrugged off her coat, laid it out next to the fire to dry it off, and was lounging in one of the chairs. It was the really smooshy kind, the kind it seemed a shame to waste by just sitting in; she was more stretched across it, like it was a weirdly-shaped bed, and it felt spectacular.

Griselda was warming her (what was the term? Claws? Talons? Paws? Feet?) front feet at the fire, flexing her claws to get the blood flowing. Probably. Mistral didn’t really get what was up with griffon claws in any way. Her bags, bow, and quiver lay on the floor beside her. “You look comfy,” Griselda observed.

Mistral grinned and nodded. “Mmhmmmmmmm.”

“You sure it’s okay to do that?”

“If it’s not, Clarity’ll say so.”

Griselda chuckled. “Can’t say I don’t treat my own furniture that way.”

“You have furniture? I kinda pictured treasure hunters as being, I don’t know, nomadic or something. Vagrant?” Mistral wiggled into a slightly more upright position. “Because you’re always moving from one place to another in the Quest for More Shinies.”

“I’ve got a home. I need a place to keep the shinies, ‘cause otherwise, what’s the point in getting them? You’re like a kid constantly picking up and discarding toys. I don’t spend much time there — the Quest for More Shinies calls a lot — but it’s got homey stuff like chairs.” Griselda stretched out her back next to the fire and started, of all things, purring. But then, being half-lion did mean she was half-cat. “Mmm. Note to self,” Griselda murmured happily, “use shinies to get bigger fireplace.”

“What’s your home like?”

“Walls and a roof, really. Display case for shinies. It doesn’t really need anything more. I-”

Thistledown popped between the two from nowhere and cleared her throat. “Hey, uh, Griselda?” Her mane was unkempt, like she’d been constantly running her hoof through it. “Quick question, uh, what’s a treasure hunter like you doing all the way out here?”

Griselda propped herself up on her… knees, for lack of a better term. “Just heard about some ruins up here that I thought I’d check out. Nothing real substantial, but…” She shrugged. “If it’s substantial, somebody’s been there already. They may or may not be there. I’ve hit more dead ends than paydirt chasing rumors, but I’ve still hit paydirt.”

“Do…” Thistledown swallowed. “Do you remember how you first heard about it?”

Griselda opened her beak and held up a declarative claw, but didn’t say anything. She frowned and her claw went limp. She looked down, scratching her head, tapping her foot. “Errng… dunno,” she admitted eventually. “Grapevine, I guess.”

Thistledown turned to Mistral. “And what’re you doing out here? Shouldn’t you have mail or so-”

“I made a delivery to the Crystal Empire a day ago,” said Mistral, “and decided to take the scenic route back. I’ll catch a tradewind back to Canterlot from Toreinto.”

“Hnng.” Thistledown scuffed the floor and flicked her tail. “Isn’t that still a day or two away from here?”

“It’s not called the scenic route for nothing.”

“And why’d you decide to, to come out this way? Why not go to Vanhoover? It’s just as pretty but easier to get to.”

Mistral shrugged as best she could in her position. “Dunno. Just wanted to, I guess. What’re you getting at?”

“It’s…” Thistledown bit her lip. “We’re off the edge of the map by at least fifteen miles. The weather’s lousy and uncontrollable. We’re nowhere near anything else. No one comes up here without a damn good reason.” She looked over the common room again and lowered her voice. “So what are the odds that six travelers, none of them related to each other, all end up here at the same time minutes before a blizzard hits?”

“Low, but so what?”

“I, I was thinking about the flower I came up here to study, and I just realized I didn’t know where I’d heard about it,” Thistledown said, ruffling her mane even more. “And that’s odd, because botany isn’t exactly a fast-paced job. I ought to remember who told me. And not only that, but you’re also here-” She pointed at Griselda. “-because of some fact you heard about somewhere, and you’re here-” At Mistral. “-because of some arbitrary reason that came into your head at the right time.” She looked between the two. “None of us really knows the cause of why we decided to come out here. And we all just happen to show up at the same time. That’s…” She drummed the floor, clicked her teeth, and fell silent.

“Oh, come on,” snorted Griselda. “Do you honestly think there’s some reason we’re here? That’s crazy.”

“More like paranoid,” added Mistral.

“Well, I, I-” Thistledown stared at the floor and ran a hoof through her mane again. “I am paranoid, kinda. But it’s only paranoia if you’re wrong, isn’t it? This is the Frozen North. Things are weird up here. Uncontrollable weather, windigoes, strange magic, huge swathes of uncharted territory holding Celestia-knows-what…” She looked at the bar and frowned. “What’re they doing here?” Without another word, she got up and headed over.

“Think she’s got a point?” Griselda asked, looking after her.

“No,” said Mistral. She rubbed her hooves together and held them up to the fire. “She’s just experiencing paranoia and confirmation bias.”

“Con-what?”

Mistral sighed and rubbed her forehead. This was pretty basic stuff, why didn’t more people know about it? “Confirmation bias. You see evidence that may or may not confirm a theory of yours, you assume it does. Sure, a bunch of random travelers being here all at once is coincidental, but from the information she has, it could also be interpreted as us all working together to kill her.”

“…Well, that’s extreme.”

“Exactly! But, technically, it could still fit. She’s picking up on random facts and acting like they mean something.”

Griselda made a vague noncommittal noise and wiggled her wings a little.

Rolling her eyes and sighing, Mistral went limp over the chair. Of all the things to pick up on… That? Really? Something was up just because a bunch of people happened to arrive here all at the same time? No way. Thistledown was being crazy. There was nothing wrong here. Coincidences happened.

But when Mistral looked at the six other people in the common room, after not seeing another person for hours, she had to admit that it was a pretty big coincidence.

---

“Some place, huh?” said Cassandra.

“Yep,” Facet said in a low voice. She hunched over her book even more. “Bug off.” The table was in the corner of the common room and would’ve been perfect for reading if Cassandra hadn’t decided to magnetize herself to Facet.

“Where to?”

“Over there.” Facet pointed at the fireplace.

“You must be great at parties.”

“I don’t agree with them and they don’t agree with me. Not a ponies pony, remember? Bug off.”

“You’re sure you just haven’t gone to enough?”

Desmoda walked up to the table with a steaming mug of something. Facet sniffed. Hot chocolate, maybe. “Some ponies don’t like parties,” Desmoda said. “They’re filled with, say, annoying ponies who make it their goal in life to stuff their nose into other ponies’ business. Now, do the mare a favor and bug off.”

With a snort, Cassandra locked eyes with Desmoda. Facet looked up briefly; Desmoda was glaring at Cassandra with a blazing intensity, but Cassandra was giving as good as she got. “And if I don’t?” Cassandra asked.

“I have here a mug of very hot liquid,” Desmoda said, lifting her cup, “and a dislike of you for getting in my face earlier.” Her grin was fangy, borderline predatory. “Do you really want to push me?”

Cassandra put up her hooves in a “hey, now” gesture. “Alright, alright, geez,” she muttered. She left her chair and slouched towards the fireplace. “You don’t need to threaten me, I…” Her words slid together into incoherence.

“Thanks,” Facet said to Desmoda. It felt obligatory.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Desmoda responded. She took a long chug from her cup. “Anything to get back at that stot.”

Facet twitched at the epithet — even she thought that was a bit strong — but whatever. Cassandra was gone. Desmoda didn’t look conversational, and Facet didn’t feel the need to start plying her with questions. Well, except for one thing she’d always wondered about batponies. “If you’re a batpony, aren’t your eyes adjusted for darkness?” she asked, not looking up.

“Yeah,” said Desmoda. “But I’ve gotten used to normal light, even if it is still a bit bright.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Desmoda didn’t elaborate. Facet didn’t press the issue. They sat in silence, and that was a-okay by Facet.

“Hey, um, mind if I ask you two a few questions?” Thistledown asked as she slid into a chair.

…Frig. “If you must,” Facet said with a sigh.

“Why?” asked Desmoda.

“Bad weather outside,” said Thistledown. “Us in here. Nowhere to go. I ought to get to know you, right?”

Clarity came up to the table balancing a tray with several steaming cups on her head. In an incredibly deft move Facet knew she’d never be able to replicate, Clarity set the tray on the table. “W-we’re going to know each other anyways,” she said. She swapped Desmoda’s empty cup with a full. “A-all things considered, it’s only natural that we get that train g-going soon. I’ve lived up here a while, and it’s easy t-to tell that that storm-” She nodded at a nearby window, matte white from the snow pounding against it. “-won’t d-die down quickly. Cocoa?” She nudged a cup each towards Facet and Thistledown.

“Sure, thanks,” Thistledown said, taking a cup.

Facet wordlessly took her own cup and sipped. The cocoa was rich and just the right temperature (maybe a little bit hot). “Thank you,” she said.

“I’m here to serve,” Clarity said with a bow. She left, taking the tray with her.

Thistledown took a swallow of cocoa and coughed. “Woo. Strong,” she muttered. “So. Facet. If you don’t mind, what’re you doing out here?”

“Historian,” said Facet. She didn’t look up. “A millennium of time displacement means a lot of missed history, and I’m traveling between towns, interviewing the ponies there, seeing how the communities reacted to the years I didn’t see.” It was actually turning out quite fruitfully. Less so for large-scale history, but some of the small-town history and anecdotes she’d heard were simply fascinating. She was thinking of writing a book about them; Northern Histories of Small-Town Equestria was her bland, overly-descriptive working title.

“Huh.” Thistledown nodded. “Okay, cool.” Another sip. “So what’re you doing out here, this far away from… anything?”

Facet almost answered automatically, but for some reason, the only answer that came up was, “it seemed like a good idea at the time”; the route had seemed shorter back then. Maybe it was the isolation. The distance pretty much guaranteed she wouldn’t meet anypony else. (At least, it was supposed to; perhaps her good luck in towns was responsible for her bad luck out here, to balance the scales somehow.) “Don’t know,” she said. She shrugged. “‘Cause, I guess. Traveling from one town to another at the moment, and there isn’t a good way to get from Isolated Small Village #24 to Isolated Small Village #25. This just seemed like the least-bad way.”

“Hmm. Uh, okay.” Thistledown nodded, but from the way she was looking off into the distance, Facet suspected she was thinking a lot. “And… Desmoda, was it?”

Desmoda grunted in affirmation.

“Right, uh… Are you a royal guard?” Thistledown asked.

Desmoda’s head snapped up so quickly it made Facet and Thistledown jump. “Why?” she asked quietly.

“Well, it’s, I, I,” stammered Thistledown, “you, uh, don’t really see batponies much outside the Lunar Regiment, and you, uh, don’t look like you, you have anything guard-y, so I’m, uh, wondering.” She grinned awkwardly.

“Oh.” Desmoda looked back down at her drink.

Silence. Thistledown cleared her throat. “So, uh, are you?”

Desmoda bared her fangs and got in Thistledown’s face. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing!” squeaked Thistledown. “I was just-” Her chair fell over backwards as she tried to shuffle away. “I was just asking!” she said from the floor, shielding her face.

“Whatever,” Desmoda grunted. “No, I’m not a guard anymore. I didn’t like it and I quit. Now I just want some peace and quiet. Away from it all.”

“You’ll definitely find that up here,” said Facet. She smiled a little and nodded. Don’t bug Desmoda, and she wouldn’t bug her. Why couldn’t more ponies be like that? Even if she was being a tool otherwise.

Thistledown was shaking slightly as she got to her hooves and set her chair back up. As she settled in, she said, “And, and you came here for that? Why here? Why not tr-”

“Because,” Desmoda snapped, “this is the most isolated- place- in Equestria-” She punctuated her words with forceful jabs to Thistledown’s muzzle; the latter recoiled and tried to bat the former away. “-and so the best place to get away from it all. Satisfied, Ms. Snoopy?”

“You didn’t need to- do- all that!” Thistledown said, slapping at the air between her and Desmoda, even putting up a shield with her magic. “Just say you don’t want to talk or something!”

“Uh-huh,” said Desmoda. “And that definitely would’ve made you stop asking.”

“W-well, yeah!” said Thistledown. She lowered her shield, but she pushed her chair a few inches away from Desmoda. “I’m not constantly nosy or anything, I just- There’s a lot of ponies in the middle of nowhere at the same time, and I-”

“If you’re not constantly nosy, are you done now?”

“Yes, I am,” said Thistledown. “Good. Day.” She pushed away from the table, and… She was probably supposed to be flouncing off, but to Facet, it looked like a lot of very ineffectual stomping.

“Sweet Luna,” mumbled Desmoda. “What’s her deal?”

You, Facet didn’t say. She eyed Desmoda for a moment. She wa-

“What’re you looking at?” said Desmoda.

“Nothing,” said Facet quickly. She returned her attention to her book.

Desmoda snorted. “Good.”

---

“So…” Mistral said, her stomach churning even more, “you… eat the flesh… with the blood still inside?” She barely managed to disguise her heave. Meat in general disgusted her, but this…

“I said not always,” said Griselda. “I prefer medium to rare-”

“Medium what-”

“-but sometimes that’s not an option-”

“-to rare what?”

“-so I have to make do with-”

“A word to the wise,” Cassandra said as she walked up. “Don’t try talking to Facet.” She down on the opposite side of the fireplace as Griselda and rubbed her hooves together. “I swear, I act perfectly polite to her, and she treats me like I’m dried vomit.”

Mistral glanced at the table she’d come from. The crystal pony and batpony — Facet and Desmoda, if she recalled correctly — were already there and Thistledown had just taken a seat. Facet didn’t seem all that bad. Introverted and snappish, maybe, but leave her alone and she’d leave you alone. At the very least, she and Thistledown were talking and Thistledown — fearful, paranoid Thistledown — looked like she was taking it alright. Mistral guessed Facet’s problem lay between Cassandra’s ears.

“It’s not like I attacked her or anything,” mumbled Cassandra, “so why-”

“Oh, shut up,” said Griselda. “She doesn’t like you. She said something mean to you. So frigging what?”

“We’re stuck in this tiny room,” said Cassandra. “Until the storm ends, I’m never going to be more than fifty feet from her.”

“So frigging what?” repeated Griselda. “Nobody’s forcing you to talk to her. Ignore her.”

“I can’t-”

Griselda flared her wings. “Ain’t you ever been on a long train ride and not talked to the pony next to you? It’s like that, but we’re not going anywhere.”

“This-”

“Celestiaaaaa,” groaned Mistral. “Is it really that important? If you really can’t ignore her, just try to talk to somepony else. Like us.”

“Fine,” huffed Cassandra. She shuffled a few inches closer to the fire. Griselda and Mistral looked at each other. Griselda rolled her eyes, shook her head, and turned back to the fire. Mistral nodded. There ought to be a term for depending too much on others’ approval, she thought.

Something caught Mistral’s ears and she turned to look back at the table. Desmoda was jabbing Thistledown in the face. She must’ve hit a nerve somewhere. Talking about why Desmoda was out here, probably.

And if that hit a nerve…

An idea bubbled into Mistral’s mind. It was, she admitted to herself, probably a stupid idea. But it’d only take a minute, and maybe, just maybe, Thistledown was on to something. “So, Cassandra,” she said, “what’re you doing up here?”

“Oh, y’know,” Cassandra said with a shrug, “just kinda rambling around. I’m a bit of a roamer. I don’t really have a permanent home.”

Mistral twitched and Griselda gave her a weird look. “What’re you doing up here?” Mistral asked.

Cassandra blinked and coughed. “I don’t know, it’s where I ended up,” she said. “I don’t need a reason to travel, do I?”

“‘Course not,” said Mistral quickly. “Just asking.”

“She doesn’t need a reason to ask, does she?” Griselda asked with a smirk.

“No,” said Cassandra, “but a question that specific seems really personal, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think. I think being out here at all is a bit strange for anybody.”

“Including you?”

Mistral groaned quietly. They were just going to keep sniping at each other, weren’t they? But the chair was so comfy. She subtly wiggled a little to fold her ears down against the chair back. It might be enough to block them out.

“Totally. What am I doing out here? Going north to check out some ruins, by the by.”

“‘Check out’ some ruins.” Cassandra eyed Griselda’s medallion. “You mean ‘plunder’?”

“If you wanna demonize it, sure.” Griselda didn’t sound the least bit put out. “Everyone who owned it is dead, what’re they gonna do with it? Decay on it? It’s not like I’m hurting anyone.”

“That doesn’t mean you can-”

Nope. It wasn’t enough. Mistral hopped off the chair and slouched over to the bar, where Clarity was grinding some beans for (Mistral sniffed; it wasn’t coffee, but she did smell-) hot chocolate. “Excuse me,” she asked, “what’re the rooms like?” She tried to keep her voice neutral, hoping Clarity wouldn’t take offense at such a direct question.

Clarity laughed. “Oh, d-don’t worry. They’re just as warm as down here. I s-stay in some of them every now and then to be sure that travelers are comfortable when they’re sleeping h-here.”

“Thanks,” Mistral said with a nod. She shivered a little as she turned away; stupid stutter. After a quick swing by the hearth to pick up her stuff (Griselda and Cassandra were still arguing), Mistral trudged up the stairs to find a room.

---

Facet stayed hunched over her book, Desmoda stayed hunched over her cocoa. Just as Desmoda wasn’t drinking, Facet wasn’t reading.

She was thinking. Partially about Thistledown, but also about Desmoda. She didn’t want to hold anything against ponies who were frank and spoke their minds, but what was the point in “being yourself” if that meant being a jerk? Especially in this environment. If you couldn’t get away from somepony like Desmoda, any feelings you had towards her would rapidly turn to disgust and/or hatred, even if you only saw how she treated others and she never hurt you.

The thing was, Facet suspected trying to call Desmoda out on it would only bring contempt as an answer. Somepony that open about treating others like crap obviously wouldn’t like it if one of those others tried to stop it. It was a power thing, a grownup version of bullies on the playground. Facet suspected that if she tried it, she’d wind up with a black eye and a missing tooth or two.

Still, it was probably worth a shot. Facet coughed. “For how great I am at parties,” she said, “you must be positively sublime at them.”

“Oh, what,” said Desmoda, folding her ears back, “you’re gonna start whining about that? She shouldn’t be so nosy.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to practically assault her. We’ve got five ponies and a griffon stuck in a tiny inn with a bad blizzard going that’ll last Celestia-knows-how-long,” Facet pointed out. “Do you really want a reputation among us all of being an absolute jerk?”

“Isn’t getting too caught up in what other ponies think a Bad Thing?” Desmoda asked slowly, in the vein of explaining to somepony that water was wet. “I got over that a long time ago.”

Facet slammed her book shut. “Context matters,” she said, looking Desmoda in the eye. “You can’t keep mouthing off to people and not expect them to react.” Even Facet, with her loathing of company, knew that you had to treat certain ponies politely. In situations like this, nearly everyone was a certain pony. Desmoda especially so, it appeared.

“So what?” Desmoda said with a shrug. “What if I’m fine with them reacting?”

Then you’re a sunblasted idiot, Facet didn’t say, because cabin fever means their tempers will be high, and they’ll do something violent. She took a deep breath, doing her best to hide it. “She’s a unicorn, remember. She could use magic to hurt you badly, if not worse.”

“Really.” Desmoda raised an eyebrow. “Her? Get real.”

“‘Put the army in the face of death where there is no escape,’” recited Facet, “‘and they will not flee or be afraid — there is nothing they cannot achieve.’ Sun Zhì.” That quote had been around even before the Crystal Empire had vanished, and it’d always struck a chord with her for some reason. “There’s no escape here; push her too hard and she will push back. What if, while you’re here and she’s there, she rips open the door with magic, throws you out, and seals it shu-”

She was cut off when Desmoda burst out laughing. “Oh, come on! You- you can’t be-” She shook and coughed as she forced the laughs back down. “Look,” she said seriously. “I know her type. She doesn’t have a fight-or-flight instinct — it’s all flight. The others might do something. She definitely won’t.”

Facet groaned inwardly. There was no way she was getting to Desmoda normally. On the off chance magic would help, Facet sent out a sense of calm and lethargy, trying to get her to just not care enough to be snappy. “Just don’t try anything,” Facet said. “It’ll be easier on you.”

After a moment, Desmoda blinked. Her pupils dilated and contracted just out of sync with each other, then she rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” She looked down at her cocoa.

Facet waited a few moments with baited breath. When Desmoda didn’t do anything else, Facet let that breath out and went back to her book. Apparently, Desmoda wasn’t so aggressive that she couldn’t be calmed temporarily. It wouldn’t solve the whole problem, but it would do for now.

Problem was, it was only a matter of time before that artificial emotion wore off.

Comments

[JeremyStorm]

I really don't understand the decision to make so much of the cast completely unlikable. I know the intention, according to the description and the tropes I see so far being played, that they are supposed to be getting under each other's skin to amp up drama and tension. But starting each of them off on such a bad note? Am I supposed to hope that a bunch of assholes survive whatever is about to happen? Or am I supposed to hope they all get what they deserve?

I know that's the typical horror/thriller setup, everyone has to be thoroughly unpleasant for no reason, but I'm just really confused what I'm supposed to be getting from this so far.

[StubobNumbers]

I wonder if the entire cast being female has relevance to the plot. I have no issue with it, but I'm curious.

[FOXTrot2]

11406465
I've read three Rambling Writers stories now, none of them with so much as an ounce of testosterone in them.

On another note, I'm thinking Thistle might definitely be onto something. Something... Or someone... Drew them out there, and then trapped them. I know it's the obvious thing, but that doesn't eliminate it as a possibility: Clarity.