Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part IV – Chapter IV – Nasty Anecdotes

It was the subsequent night, and Airglow had gone out a bit late to meet up with Pyre, in order to walk with him to Golden Oak. When she left only Maxim and her father were present, starting small talk, surveying the food and drink with anticipation. Soon there came knocks on the door.

Airglow was out for much longer than necessary, having waited for Pyre for nearly thirty minutes, but eventually he showed up. They exchanged a few words, but he avoided eye contact, and the two walked back with an awkward air hanging between them. He still carried the same saddlebag, but one thing she noticed, irrelevant as it may have seemed, was that it looked very awkwardly bloated, like he had stuck in it some object of unnatural proportions. But he said nothing of it, so she did the same.

Upon their arrival, when the party had officially kicked off, as it were, and as they approached the brightly lit library, Airglow noticed with some astonishment that not only a noisy and numerous society had gathered there, but that there were a few ponies she did not expect: Dr. Tubercuhoofis was there, and so was, strangely enough, Snappo, although he was likely hanging about in a unofficial manner, and did not cause enough of a disturbance to have warranted any expulsion. The merry company was laughing, almost shouting; it seemed they were even arguing loudly; one would have suspected that they were having quite a joyful time of it. And indeed, going into the library, she saw that they were all drinking, and drinking champagne, and it seemed they had started drinking right away at the first opportunity, so that many of the ponies had managed to become quite pleasantly animated.

"Somepony must have informed them all that they would be stood with champagne," muttered Pyre, following Airglow inside. "You can just whistle to them," he added with spite, for some reason.

"I see you have concluded to participate in such an event," Snappo was the first to greet her, smiling cooly. He had paper and pen in hoof (or mouth?), and was taking notes of the event. "Eh, but now who is your acquaintance?"

Pyre almost scowled at Snappo, but just like before, that is, without eye contact and with a bowed head, he made his way to the foyer.

"He's a... friend," said Airglow, but with clear hesitation in her voice. She, too, walked past Snappo.

Maxim, Bronze, and the councillor from the auction were bunched together at the table, near the kitchen. They were evidently engaged in some lively and amusing conversation, of which Bronze was the primary focus, that is, he was the one speaking and laughing the loudest.

"But it was my own doing, my own!" Bronze babbled and tittered. "At my own expense, to glorify and celebrate the freedom to conduct business. The woodlot was like a gust of wind—it swept right by, and I got the sweet end. Ha, ha! Oh, Maxim is in the highest degree unimpressed, are you, good sir? Just unwilling to sleep, or something! He had just a sip of champagne, a sip, nothing harmful, but he has no reaction to my happy wit!"

"You expect anypony to believe a story like that?" reproached Maxim, who with a cocked eyebrow poured himself another drink.

"Quite original," the councillor chimed in. "And very cartoonish."

"Well, well, don't you ponies read the ballets of unsung heroes?" said Bronze, unhurriedly making his way back to the foyer as the two followed him.

"That phrase makes no sense," said Maxim dubiously. "If they're unsung heroes, how can there be ballets?"

Bronze simply waved him off, and tossed off another glass.

Airglow saw Olva, who had rushed into the kitchen, preparing the snacks and bringing them to the table. And the moment she could tear herself away from her work, she would go into the crowd and listen as hard as she could to the heated arguments constantly going on among the tipsy guests about things that were most abstract and strange to her.

In the other corner, but not too far away, was a fuller company: there was Dr. Tubercuhoofis conversing with three other stallions—the eccentric fellow Feelgreed, the wealthy merchant Gold Leg, and Spender Spent—and the two ladies, Soft Trace and Bright Glint.

"But you didn't bring any drinks of your own?" asked Gold Leg dryly, who evidently disliked Feelgreed already.

"No, sir, not at all, sir, I was appointed yesterday," he rapped out.

"Come on, Cold," interjected Bright Glint, "spare the poor guy."

"Ooh, talk about how you received your last promotion, back when you were a guard," said Soft Trace with animation.

"Last time I had the honour of explaining it to the company in detail," said Cold Leg, smirking. "I'll repeat once more: kindly note that not everypony is witty, and wit wins the day."

"You're running off your mouth again?" laughed Maxim, who had joined the ponies alongside Bronze and the councillor.

"What's that to you?" Bronze picked up. He was counting on getting some reactions. "Don't worry, Your Excellency, I know my place: we are like two different pieces from a fable! There is the buffoon and the king. And I'm the buffoon."

"With that last bit I agree," Maxim impudently let slip.

"I would like to talk in that good spirit," said Feelgreed, becoming extremely satisfied with himself. "Everypony here is a personality unto themselves which affects all other personalities. This is how we behave, in a sense."

"In that case," said Gold Leg, "I intend to become the last of my kind."

"Heh, heh, heh! The last of his kind! Heh, heh!" giggled Feelgreed.

"But imagine, it was all said without thinking!" cried Bronze.

"Ah, my friend, I heard you've managed your woodlot deal," said Spent. "It was even better than you expected, yes? Tell me about it."

"I let everypony know," replied Bronze readily. "Imagine, there I am, on the train, and it's galloping to destiny, and I get that grumpy sod arrested."

And Bronze decidely began to relay the whole string of events which we have read about; not with the fullest accuracy of the facts, and he churned it out with his own spin, naturally, but all in all he stuck to the necessary points.

"Dr. Tubercuhoofis, I require your most generous... in a sense it's urgent"— Olva suddenly came up to the good doctor and dragged him away, exclaiming, "Twinkie is upstairs, sleeping quite soundly, and this is the perfect opportunity to check up on a few... how do you say? Necessities?" All the while Dr. Tubercuhoofis was automatically replying with firm nods and grumbled yes's and the like.

"It's astonishing how much money status alone can bring," Spent commented for everypony to hear. "I am going to host a second auction, and with the numbers reviewed—the rates speak for themselves!"

"The rates speak all too much for themselves," said Gold Leg. "I've been observing the stock spikes in your company so far, uninterrupted, and it's on the verge of a rebound, that being a positive."

"I could go for a walk down memory lane if that damn auction is being brought up," said Maxim with an ironic smile.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Bright Glint asked Maxim, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Gentlecolts, gentlecolts, enough business talk!" put in Bronze suddenly. "What are we, a couple of money-grubbing hooligans? Look, my daughter Airglow Sky is here, and look again, she brought a friend!"

"Hey there, everypony," said Airglow, amiably enough.

"Greetings and salutations!" they all said scatteredly. She exchanged several hoof-shakes.

"What a cutie!" giggled the sprightly Bright Glint, coming up to Airglow and booping her on the nose.

Airglow chuckled timidly, looking down for a second. "Yeah, yeah, thanks," she said.

"Give it a rest, dear," said Gold Leg. "She just got here."

Airglow excused herself, hoping to get a drink; but venturing into the kitchen, she was disappointed to see that there was nothing but alcohol for the night.

Where's the fruit punch? she thought, slightly irritated.

Pyre, for his part, looked gloomy, pensive, and unamiable—who for the most part was keeping silent. He had rested on the couch and was observing the whole scene.

Spender Spent and the councillor had detached from the rest, going into their own little conversation. The same thing happened with Bronze and Feelgreed, who were both laughing and drinking more. In particular, Feelgreed had brought his three children. There was Penni, his ten-year-old daughter and oldest child, who was very shy but terribly responsible when the situation called for it; then came Remedy, a proud little eight-year-old colt; and finally Spark Whip, five years old, and very shy like his sister. Airglow had noticed them on the side when she had come in. The sister and smallest brother were walking side by side, hoof in hoof, exploring the library together, while Remedy was pretending to be an airplane, making blowing noises with his mouth, and running around, but only in relatively small circles near his siblings.

When asked about this, Feelgreed assured that it was all okay, that they were used to adult ponies, and that he loved them very much. Of course he would love them, all the more so ever since their mother had passed away not even two years ago.

There is a surprising amount of history to be given on this unfortunate and almost poverty-stricken family, even of the sentimental sort, but let us wait to speak of such things when the time calls for it. For now, let us wander about this jumbled yet comical party.

Some of them approached Pyre while the rest stayed nearby talking.

"So-o-o, you're from... where?" Gold Leg asked Pyre, attempting to treat the sickly pony benignly and, so to speak, to encourage him.

From a lack of habit, Pyre became at once irritated with an unnatural rapidity.

"From around," he replied, staring down.

"But which career? I mean, which..."

"Trade, something like that."

And... you find it profitable?" Cold Leg pressed on. "Tell me, ple-e-ease, what wa-a-as it that made you wind up here?"

"It wa-a-a-a-as to meet somepony," Pyre drawled almost three times as long, now seriously starting to hate everypony who stared at him.

Soft Trace snorted. Cold Leg looked at him ironically; Maxim was studying Pyre with some special curiosity. He came with that filly, Airglow was it? he thought.

Pyre winced, but did not add anything.

"We-e-ell, and how's your stipend?" asked Cold Leg.

"What 'stipend'?"

"Your salary, I mean."

"Aren't you an examiner!" Pyre huffed. However, he told straight-out how much money he had left, and began to blush.

"Not a fortune," observed Soft Trace pompously.

"Can't even go dining," Cold Leg added impudently.

"In my opinion, it's downright poor," observed Maxim with a serious air.

"Oh, come on, stop embarrassing him," exclaimed Bright Glint, tittering.

"I'll have you know that I'm not embarrassed," Pyre finally exploded, "do you hear! Because I came to this party because I was invited, and I'm here on my own expense."

Wh-at? Who here doesn't do things on their own expense?" Cold Leg fastened on.

"Well," replied Pyre, turning away, feeling that he had gone too far, "I guess we should occupy ourselves with more intelligent conversation."

Before any replies could be uttered, they heard Bronze's dolty remarks, crying out, "Lookie here, everypony! He's chugging the whole bottle!"

Indeed, Feelgreed was leaning on the table, one elbow pressed against the edge and facing sideways, head back, draining a champagne bottle into his snout. A second later he drooped back down, nearly falling over, and the glass bottle clanged on the floor.

"You could manage the same, sir," he managed to get out. "Ve-ry exquisite, sir."

"Goodness, is this company for me?" threw in Dr. Tubercuhoofis after having returned, smiling good-naturedly at them all.

Three or four of them shared a laugh at such a remark, precisely because they did not expect it.

"Enough, enough," Cold Leg shouted, joining the rest and leaving Pyre. "Stop it, this won't do. Instead let me tell everypony about how I almost got married two days ago..."

And there followed some lampoon about how the wealthy merchant almost got married two days before. There was, however, not a word in it about marriage, but finances, trade, and even court dignitaries kept flitting through the story, with Cold Leg among them and all but at their head. Approving laughter began once more.

"How are things?" asked Airglow, in the midst of it all, coming up to Pyre from behind.

"Where's Cluster Tale?" he asked.

"No sign of him yet... I'm sorry, but he might not show." When Pyre gave her an angry look, she was quick to add, "But you're here now, right? Don't worry, everypony here will leave eventually, but you can stay."

Of course, this didn't satisfy Pyre in the least. In any case, he wanted to make some impression, to say anything than stay quiet, and even to drink, but he could not risk getting drunk. He had written something rather indecent yet of capital importance, and this was his last night to share it—to anypony at all.

A few more minutes went by. Airglow bumped into the kids who were wandering about. Spark Whip was leaning flat against the wall, looking up with something on his mind. Penni was looking around for Remedy, asked Airglow about it, got no positive response, and was on her way once more.

All the other ponies came together back in the middle of the foyer, at the table, just across from the couch. Pyre was still not trying to look at any of them; even Olva had not noticed him. He assumed the most independent attitudes and waited impatiently for them to say something to him. But, alas, this did not come to pass.

The drinks were all eventually transferred to the table, alongside the food. More minutes swept by. They were going on and on about what true passions meant, some about gambling, others playing little tricks with the bottles. Feelgreed kept making these ridiculous little bows to everypony, and they all laughed at him; Bright Glint was leaning in on Maxim, getting his opinion on whatever the topic happened to be; the councillor, Spent, and Bronze were arguing over something.

Eventually Soft Trace said, "It would be nice to play a little game."

"I know an excellent and new little game," Cold Leg picked up, "at least one that happened only once in all of Equestria, and even then it didn't succeed."

"What is it?" the sprightly Bright Glint asked.

"A group of us ponies got together once, and we drank a lot, admittedly, with tequilas but no salt or lemons! And suddenly somepony suggested that each of us, without leaving the table, tell something about themselves, but something that they consider the worst action they've ever done in the course of their whole life. And, above all, this should be frank, but no lying!"

"A strange notion, my friend," remarked Spender Spent.

"Strange as it could be," laughed Cold Leg, "but that's the fun in it."

"What an inane idea," said Maxim, "but... it's understandable. We get to boast in our own peculiar way."

"Maybe that's just what everypony wants," put in Bronze, looking suspiciously around the room.

"One is more likely to cry than laugh at such a game," observed Bright Glint.

"An utterly impossible and absurd thing," echoed Soft Trace, swiping her elegant mane back.

"And was it a success?" asked the councillor.

"The fact that it wasn't," replied Cold Leg, "it turned out badly; ponies actually told all sorts of things, and many even enjoyed telling the truth. But they all felt ashamed, they couldn't stand it. On the whole, though—it was very amusing."

"Know what? Fine," said Maxim, suddenly very animated. "Really, why don't we try it? If each of us agrees to tell something, it would be fair... because it's wholly voluntary, right?"

"A brilliant idea," Bronze suddenly picked up. "It's settled then, eh? Let's start passing around our nastiest anecdotes."

"The ladies are excluded," said Cold Leg. "We'll arrange it by drawing lots, as we did then. If anypony is reluctant, don't worry, you needn't say anything. Unless, of course, somepony would like to volunteer to go first...?"

Hardly anypony liked the idea. Some frowned, others smiled slyly. Some objected, but not very much—Olva, for example, who did not want to contradict either Maxim or Cold Leg and saw how they were carried away by such a strange notion. Snappo came out of the blue, declaring that he would be part of this game, and, imagine, they accepted him at once.

"This is my chance to learn about such incredulous facets of the lives of our ponies," he remarked, impressed with himself.

"But I don't know what 'worst' thing I've done," said Bright Glint.

"The ladies are exempt from the obligation of telling anything," repeated Cold Leg, "and the stallions, if they're very reluctant, are also exempt."

"How can it be proved we are not lying?" asked the councillor. "And if I lie, the whole notion of the game is lost."

"And everypony is bound to lie," added Maxim.

"But that's what's so enticing. How do we know who's lying? That's part of the fun. Besides," Gold Leg suddenly exclaimed in some sort of inspiration, "just think how we'll all be looking at each other at the end of this party. Ha, ha!"

"But can this even be possible, Cold?" asked Soft Trace. "You just said it's failed before."

"Pah! Let's just play," cried Bronze. "See here, I'll go first, how's that?"

"This should be good," muttered Maxim, crossing his arms.

The others were listening attentively yet caustically.

"It seems to me," began Bronze, "that there are more thieves than non-thieves in Equestria, and that there doesn't exist an honest pony that hasn't stolen at least once in their lives. That is my thought, from which I sometimes like to draw a terrible conclusion to myself."

"That's stupid," said Maxim, "it can't be that everypony has stolen something. I've never stolen anything."

"You've never stolen anything, my dearest Maxim, but why are you blushing?" cried Bronze, rudely sticking his hoof across the table.

"Y-you're exaggerating!" shot back Maxim, who was indeed blushing for some reason.

"And have you stolen anything, Bronze?" asked Spent.

"This is ridiculous!" Maxim interrupted.

"So you want the truth?" Bronze carried on, as before. "As far as I'm concerned, my story is very simple, stupid, and nasty. But I tell you, I'm no thief; I stole who knows how. It took place at a dinner party with my first wife... eh, what was her name? Eh, forget it, not important. After dinner the ponies stayed at the table over their wine. It struck me to ask the daughter of the house to play something on the piano; so I passed through the corner room to join the ladies. In that room, on my wife's writing table, I observed a fifty-bit coin. She must have taken it out for some purpose, and left it lying there. There was nopony about. I took up the coin and put it in my saddlebag; why, I can’t say. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but it was done, and I went quickly back to the dining room and reseated myself at the dinner table. I sat and waited there in a great state of excitement. I talked hard, and told lots of stories, and laughed like mad; then I joined the ladies.

"In half an hour or so the loss was discovered, and the servants were being put under examination. Sugar Drop, the housemaid, was suspected. I exhibited the greatest interest and sympathy, and I remember that poor Sugar Drop quite lost her head, and that I began assuring her, before everypony, that I would guarantee her forgiveness on the part of her mistress, if she would confess her guilt. They all stared at the mare, and I remember a wonderful attraction in the reflection that here was I sermonizing away, with the money in my own saddlebag all the while. I went and spent the fifty bits that very evening at a restaurant. I went in and asked for an expensive bottle of cognac, and drank it up; I wanted to be rid of the money.

"What trifles! I didn't feel much remorse either then or afterwards; but I would not repeat the performance—believe it or not as you please. There—that's it, that's all."

"Only that's not even close to your worst action," said Maxim with evident distaste on his face.

"It's a psychological case, not a deed," observed the councillor.

"And the maid?" asked Dr. Tubercuhoofis calmly, without the least air of judgement on his part.

"The maid was dismissed the next day, of course. It's a very strict household there. What else did you expect?"

"And you allowed it?" asked Soft Trace.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" cried Bronze angrily and mockingly, taken aback by the disagreeable impression which his story had made on all parties. "Should I have gone and denounced myself?"

"You're terrible!" cried Maxim.

"Agreed!" cried Bright Glint alongside him.

"Pah! You want to hear a pony's dirtiest deeds and expect it to come out all goody-goody? The dirtiest deeds are always terrible. All is not gold that glitters, you know. Goodness, that's mares for you: all uptightness and no rationality!"

In a word, Bronze was very angry and rapidly forgetting himself; his whole face was drawn with passion. Strange as it may appear, he had expected much better success for his story. These little errors of taste on his part occurred very frequently. Soft Trace was evidently upset and looked fixedly at him, whereupon he relapsed into alarmed reserve. He realized that he had gone a little too far.

"Oh, well, uh..." Bronze hastened to say. "I didn't mean that; I love mares. Anyway who's next? Hey, Feelgreed, you rascal, why not you go next, eh?"

"Oh, if you say so," Feelgreed cried warmly. "I'm ready to tell my whole life; but I confess, while you were talking I've prepared my own story."

"And just by his look," said Cold Leg with sardonic pleasure, "you can see that he's polished his little anecdote with a special literacy."

Soft Trace glanced fleetingly at Feelgreed and smiled to herself. The councillor and Spent smiled, too. It was obvious that some anguish was growing in the air.

"It has happened to me, mares and gentlecolts, to only do acts of kindness in my life," Feelgreed began, in a partially slurred voice, "but the strangest thing is, I consider this anecdote I'm about to tell you the nastiest thing in my whole life, mares and gentlecolts. And because what faciliates me most of all is that I'm duty-bound to tell nothing other than the worst thing I've done, there can be no hesitation: conscience and the heart's memory straightaway prompt one with what must be told.

"I confess with bitterness, mares and gentlecolts, that numbered among all the numberless, flighty, and... light-minded deeds of my life, there is one the impression of which weighs all too heavily on my memory. It happened about twenty years ago; it was just when the new railway line was opened, and I, seeing to some extremely important matters to do with handing over my job, bought myself a first-class ticket: I got in, sat down, and began smoking. That is, I went on smoking, because I had lit up earlier. I was alone in the compartment. Smoking was not prohibited, but it wasn't permitted either; sort of half permitted, as usual; well, depending on this or that. The windows open. Suddenly, just before the whistle, two ladies with a poodle place themselves just opposite of me; one is most magnificently dressed, in Canterlotian fashion; the other more modestly, in black. They were not bad-looking, but were haughty. I, mares and gentlecolts, just sit there smoking. I go on smoking out the window.

"The poodle reposes in the dress of the first lady, small little thing, with a silver collar. I just sit there. Only I notice that the ladies seem angry with me, about the cigar, of course. One glares at me. Again, I just sit there: because they don't say anything! Not a word, mares and gentlecolts, nothing at all! If they spoke, warned, asked—there is such a thing as speech, after all. But they're silent... suddenly—without any warning, I tell you—the one in the Canterlot dress snatches my cigar from my mouth and throws it out the window. The train flies on, I stare like a halfwit. A wild lady; a wild lady, as if totally wild, mares and gentlecolts; a hefty one, though, and her eyes were flashing at me. Without saying a word, with extraordinary politeness, with the most perfect politeness, with the most, so to speak, refined politeness, I reach out for the poodle, snatch it by the collar with my teeth, and whisk it out the window in the wake of my cigar! It let out a little squeak. The train goes flying on, mares and gentlecolts..."

Bronze Pocket erupted into the most unconfined and crooked laughter. He laughed so much he began banging his hoof on the table to calm himself. Several of the empty bottles jumped and fell to the floor.

"You're a monster!" cried Soft Trade, laughing and clapping her hooves like a little filly, having already forgotten her recent disdain for Bronze.

"Bravo, bravo!" shouted Bronze. Gold Leg, for whom Feelgreed's appearance was extremely disagreeable, smiled as well; Maxim smirked but did not laugh.

"And I'm right, I'm right, ten times right!" the triumphant Feelgreed went on heatedly, as if in a stupor. "Because if cigars are prohibited on trains, dogs are all the more so."

"I would likely have done the same thing," said Spent, in his turn to sound comical yet also relatable.

"And what about the lady?" Soft Trade questioned him impatiently.

"Her? Well, there's where the whole unpleasantness lies," continued Feelgreed, frowning. "Without saying a word and without the slightest warning, she whacked me on the cheek! A wild lady, in a totally wild state!"

"And you?"

Feelgreed lowered his eyes, raised his eyebrows, raised his shoulders, pressed his lips together, spread his arms, paused, and suddenly said, "I got carried away!"

"How bad was it?" asked Bright Glint, biting her lip.

"Not too bad, goodness, not at all! There was a scandal, but it wasn't painful. I only waved my arms once, like this, mares and gentlecolts, merely in order to wave her away. But here's the twist: it turned out she was the daughter of rich landowners, which was just my luck! Well, of course, I went with my repentance, asked forgiveness, wrote a letter, was not received—neither me nor the letter—then quarrels and quarrels, then banishment, mares and gentlecolts!"

Feelgreed, at last, fell silent with the same dignified air with which he had embarked on his story. It was noticed that Soft Trace's eyes flashed somehow peculiarly and her lips even twitched when Feelgreed finished. Bronze was just getting finished wiping the last of his tears away, still under the slight influence of giggles.

"So I suppose we are interested in continuing this game?" asked Spent.

"It's my turn, but I'm pleading exemption," said Maxim.

"You don't want to oblige us?" asked Soft Trace. "Oh, that's a shame."

"I really can't. I was on board initially, but at this point I don't understand how any pony can play this game."

"It's your turn then," said Soft Trade to Cold Leg, "and if you refuse, the whole game will fall through. I don't wanna be disappointed. Before I give my own story, I need the support of your example," she added, smiling.

All eyes turned to Cold Leg. He sighed and stood up straight, because indeed every pony was waiting on his word with tremendous curiosity.

"Alright, fine, fine," he assured, but with the air of a pony who was confident in his ability to attract attention and did not feel the need to embellish himself any further. "It wasn't that long ago, about three or so years. Almost four now. I was travelling with a friend of mine and we had to stay at a little town just a few kilometres east of Ponyville, merchant business and the like, with a hard-to-reach employer; due to circumstances beyond my control, we were stationed to live with an old widow for a few days. She lived in a small house, alone; she was very poor. Her relations had all died off—husband dead and buried twenty years since; niece, who used to live with her, was dead too; so overall she was quite alone.

"I was real mean with her, since she was so childish that I couldn't get anything out of her. I think she even stole a badge of mine, though it's really a mystery to this day. Who else could it have been though? Not long after and we really couldn't stand being anywhere near her. Eventually I asked my employer at that time to be stationed somewhere else, to the house of a different merchant with a large family. My friend and I were happy to go, but the old crone was not pleased at our departure.

"A day or two afterward, when I returned from a deal, my friend said to me, 'We shouldn't have left the tureen with the old lady, got nothing to serve the soup in.' And I'm just like, 'Come on, really?'

"I asked how the tureen had been left. My friend explained that the old lady refused to give it up, because, apparently, we had broken her bowl, and so she took the tureen as a replacement. She said I had to arrange the matter myself. Fine, whatever.

"I arrived at the old lady's place completely ticked off. She was sitting alone in the corner, face in hooves. I fell on her like a hammer. 'Hey, you senile old witch! Remember me?' I yelled and all that sort of thing, really upset. When I was telling her off, something real strange happened. I looked at her, and she looked back with her eyes starting out of her head, but she was quiet. She was swaying back and forth, looking at me in the strangest way, as if she didn't catch a word of my curses. I soon stopped swearing and looked closer at her, asked her a question, but nothing. Flies were buzzing around. The sun was setting outside. I didn't know what to make of it, so I left with the tureen, didn't make much of it.

"When I got to the new place we were staying at, my friend met me. 'Have you heard? The old lady is dead,' he told me. I wondered, 'Dead? When?' He told me since some hours ago. That made no difference than when I was pouncing on her and verbally abusing her.

"This whole thing really affected me. I used to dream of the poor old mare at nights. I'm not really superstitious, but two days after, I went to her funeral, and as time went on I thought more and more about her. I said to myself, ‘This lady, this pony, lived to a great age. She had children, a husband and family, friends and relations; her household was busy and cheerful; she was surrounded by smiling faces; and then suddenly they're gone, and she's left alone like a solitary fly... like a fly, cursed with the burden of her age. At sunset, on a lovely summer’s evening, she passes away—instead of tears and farewells to start her on her last journey, she has insults and jeers from a young merchant, who stands before her like he owns the world, making a terrible rant about a damn soup tureen.

"Of course I was to blame, and even now that I have time to look back at it calmly, I pity the poor old thing no less. I think to myself, for after all I wasn't really responsible. Why did she take it into her head to die at that moment? But the more I thought of it, the more I felt the weight of it upon my mind; and I never got quite rid of the impression until I put a couple of old mares into an almshouse and kept them there at my own expense, as a kind of redemption. In any case, I can't help but always look back upon this as the worst action I've ever perpetrated."

"Wow. And instead of a bad action, he details his noblest one," said Bronze.

"I don't think you know what 'worst' means," deadpanned Soft Trace.

"Ahh, what can I say?" Cold Leg shrugged. "I atone for my mistakes."

"I guess you were right, Maxim," said Soft Trace. "How can anypony play a game like this when it can be so dull and boring?"

"Ha, ha—what's that supposed to mean?" Cold Leg rebutted with a half-ironic wheeze.

The rest all looked at them with curiosity.

"I'm sorry to say this," Maxim took measures to impose on them all, "but this 'little game' so far has gotten tiring. It's not for this that I want my thirtieth birthday to be remembered. Besides, I can't think of my worst deed, so there's that."

"Re-ally?" enunciated Cold Leg with a cold, ironic tone. "I would have warmly approved another nasty anecdote or two."

"We'll just move on to cards," said the councillor, "and we can place bets, too."

"See?" said Maxim. "Bets are much more fun than these little campfire tales. But in a minute. First"— he rose from his seat —"I'm going to get another drink."

"And I have to go to the bathroom anyway," said Bright Glint, getting up as well.

"I'll get up, too; I need to stretch," put in the councillor.

"I'll go get the cards!" suggested Bronze.

"In that case..." carried on Dr. Tubercuhoofis, lightly slapping the table.

The group dispersed.