Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part V – Chapter I – In and Out

PART V

THE FLYING RIFT EXPRESS

* * *

Fillydelphia was roads upon roads; dirty roads, clean roads, twisted and interlocked at the feet of a dense mass of buildings on the outskirts of a dull blue ocean. The streets were crowded with movement of all sorts of purposes, a cacophony of heavy hoof-steps creating the scattered harmony of the metropolis. They went every which way without regard for form; there was no system to it, no predictability. Carriages and barouches curiously flashed every now and then along the streets with noises and whistles commanding their destinations. Up above was no more relaxing, with swooshes and swaths of pegasi darting within the absorptive pull of the area. At a time like this everypony was tired, with heavy eyes after the night, with most faces carrying the semblance of the yellow city fog.

Mind the flowery description, dear reader; we will be continuing our story here, though not without reason.

In the far reaches of Fillydelphia, within a tall and gloomy building, sat a pegasus stallion in his office. The room was large, appropriate for a large pony like him, with his large, puffy cheeks and bushy eyesbrows, which could have almost covered up his leaden and unfocused eyes. This stallion in question was utterly vexed by the barely insignificant stings of a headache, and it would invariably worsen whenever he looked at the lamp by the door. Every few seconds he would huff, loudly, satisfied by the fact that nopony could hear him. He was reading a document, taken from the piles of papers on the desk; his forehead was incredibly wrinkled with the signs of having just learned some stressful news.

Suddenly the door opened and another pegasus stallion walked in. He was tall, muscular, and composed himself with confidence; he wore a clean ivory suit which contrasted with the drab environment. Behind him entered a little crew of ponies, mares and stallions alike in ivory suits. They were all smirking, putting on insidious airs, but none compared to the first one, whose carnivorous eyes gave off a most horrific and unfeeling impression.

The stallion at the office gave him a quick, agitated glance. He immediately ceased whatever he was doing.

"First class, eh?" said the first stallion in the ivory suit, striding right up to the office desk like he owned it. "I wonder what sort of ponies we'll see boarding the train. How nice of you to get me a spot, uncle."

"Don't patronize me, Knob," grumbled the uncle with evident hatred. He only made eye contact for a second, then shifted in his seat and looked disdainfully at the others in the room. They were all waiting around, surveying the room with sneers and scoffs. "What's your group called again? The... To... Tah... Tougher..."

"Oho, dear uncle!" laughed Knob, swerving in place and pointing to his crew. "I'm leading the new and ready Tough Furs, the fiercest gang in the city." He turned back, grinning with unbound arrogance. "You amuse me so much, uncle, giving me that hoity-toity look. Can't you give your nephew a proper farewell?"

"What do you want, Knob?"

"Uncle, dear uncle, if I'm going to pull this off then I need all the information I can get. That sort of knowledge is very accentuating, isn't it? Do you know who else will be on board? Anypony important?"

"A few officials, aristocrats, rich families... the Hemlocks are sure to be there... But," he suddenly remarked with severity, "why are you wearing such a ridiculous thing? It's blinding just to look at it, like you're heading off to some party."

"Oh, this?" Knob raised his eyebrows, gazing mockingly at his uncle. "Does it impress you, uncle?"

"Not a bit, damn it!"

Knob's crew laughed in approval to Knob's taunts.

"Make no mistake," said Knob, "these pretty white attires are being worn for a totally special purpose. When we kill ponies, their blood will look so lovely on us. Whoever is the most red by the end will win a two hundred bit bonus! Ha, ha! Isn't that right, you cruel little slingers!"

More approving remarks and malignant laughter erupted from the treacherous little crew. Some even took out knives and starting waving them around, as if to show what was to come.

"You're a freak; homicidal lunatics would call you a nutcase!" exploded the uncle in extreme indignation. Cold sweat had formed on his fat face. "Get your clownish posse out of my office!"

"Oh, are those your riveting encouragements?" said Knob, pursing his lips. He slowly inched his way closer and closer to his uncle, so that eventually he was leaning over the desk. The uncle's eyebrows twitched. "Is that really what you want to say to Fillydelphia's greatest assassin?"

"Killing the right ponies is the only thing you're good for," the uncle croaked out, gnashing his teeth. "Kill as many ponies as you want, just get the job done, that's why you and your psycho friends were hired."

"Psycho? Us!" Knob shot back, sounding genuinely offended, slapping the desk with his hoof. "Dear uncle, you have such a way with words! But listen," he suddenly said more seriously, "the transcontinental leaves Fillydelphia's southern station tomorrow at noon, twelve exactly, goes all the way to the north of Equestria and back; it's called the Flying Rift Express or something; but because it never stops, it's perfect for our hijacking. Anyway, you know all that.

"What you don't know is my idea: what if I took the train and crashed it straight into the heart of Manehattan?" He stopped for a second, staring calmly yet insolently at his vexed uncle. "It's a great bluff, isn't it? And if they don't stop that, I can start killing ponies, maybe just half the passengers, or even two-thirds, but certainly not all. Eventually we'll reach a pony who knows where the elixir is being hid, but we have to act fast, or else we'll lose it. It's a great solution: our employer gets the prize he's looking for, you and the crew get paid, as well as a piece of the prize as promised by our employer, and I get to kill ponies. Ain't that a swell idea, dear uncle? My friends here think it's a good idea!"

"Secure the elixir however you want," said the uncle in a drawn-out, exhausted voice, but still holding on to the remnants of his anger. His eyes lazily skipped around the room.

"You know, there's one type of pony I love killing more than any other. It doesn't matter if they're weak or strong, poor or rich. The ponies that I love to kill the most, the ones that really get me jazzed... are the ones who never see it coming. Dying is the furthest thing from their mind. Most ponies are probably thinking what they'll be having for breakfast tomorrow morning, ain't that right?"

"Get out!" cried the uncle in a sort of rush, stamping his legs. "Do what you want on the Flying Rift, spill all the blood you want—just leave my office."

"Ahh!" Knob heaved a sigh and skipped back to his crew. "Don't you worry, dear uncle," he called back like a chatterbox, with his hideous smile. "We're sure to pinpoint the elixir, we'll go in and out, just like that. In and out. It's only a matter of time. Ha, ha!"

And he left, his unconfined laughter filling the hallways of the building.

* * *

It had been two-and-a-half weeks since Maxim's birthday, and, sure enough, Pyre died in terrible anxiety, slightly later than expected. He had spent the rest of his life in Ponyville's hospital, not uttering a single word, almost completely unresponsive to anypony speaking to him, and rejecting all visitors. He had even rejected Airglow. When he died his burial was prepared and accomplished in a small cemetery. Because he did not have any family relations, at least not any apparent ones, and no money, he was claimed as "indigent," having died on property. There was no funeral, no service, no memorial of any kind.

As for Airglow at the present, she had travelled to Fillydelphia to meet with Nova, having exchanged letters just a few days prior. The house he had rented was left vacant, papers returned and all, so that it was put up for sale once more. Nova had written that there were only two circumstances that had to be met for him to return to Ponyville: that he have the full ten thousand in his possession, and that Misty was still living there and had not gone back to Canterlot.

Olva, thinking that Airglow's departure to a luxury train in first-class was a good thing, that is, a vital necessity in the mental development of teenagers, paid for Airglow's trip and provided with her some extra bits, on top of the latter's own money. Luckily, Airglow managed to speak on friendly grounds with Misty once more, since the last scene with Bouquet had erupted in the lady's heart an ill-thought and passionate disposition. She even apologized to Airglow for having thrown her out, and pointed out that the gold ticket was still all hers to keep.

One more thing to note, a most curious and fascinating one, is that there begun to appear all around Equestria—from Ponyville to Canterlot to Fillydelphia and all—awfully controversial flyers and tracts advertising some upcoming soirée being held in Canterlot. Apparently some new and famous investor had appeared from out of nowhere, deriving from a rich yet unknown family; but of this investor, absolutely nothing was known, not even their race or gender. While the flyers advertised a soirée, the tracts were of a political purpose, and in them contained the real controversy. It contained arguments, anecdotes, brief explanations all of sorts, and even artistic imageries, all expounding the "benefit," as it were, of replacing Princess Celestia with a democracy, with the vague yet ambitious goal of launching Equestria into a brighter future. Naturally this was painted over with the most extraordinary controversy. Many ponies were outraged, some even confused, others terribly interested yet dubious. This had started off small at first, until new groups began gathering—in libraries, shops, and so on—passing these tracts on to one another, either to proselytize or debunk them, but the majority was in the latter camp. It was said that this upcoming soirée would be used, in proper and grandiose fashion, to reveal the investor to whom all this commotion was connected.

Nopony knew for sure where this had all started, only that they "heard from somepony else about it." It was all reduced to word-of-mouth in explanation. What had been known with more clarity, however, is that the soirée would be held during the Annual Autumn Festival—a boisterous and colourful event filled with songs, dances, and foreign-themed merchandise on display. It was all set right in the heart of Canterlot; and a large mansion, which encircled a sturdy, brick-layered tower by its outbuildings, was going to be rented out. There were even rumours that several other buildings were being constructed in key locations around Equestria, all organized to overlap and be made use of with multiple events and holidays, all for the same political purposes as these tracts.

General commentary was as such:

"What is this, trying to start a revolution?"

"Obviously not, that would be impossible."

"Sounds like an elaborate prank."

"That is impossible."

"The Princess must be having a laugh right now!"

"It seems to me that most ponies reading these little pamphlets don't agree with a single word of it; they're just going along for the ride."

"Ridiculous!"

"Interesting but pointless."

"Who even wrote these dissertations?"

"And this new and eccentric investor? Are they from Equestria?"

"Nopony knows, only that the mansion in which this upcoming soirée will be held is being decorated right now, in unison with the Annual Autumn Festival. It's very extravagant and very expensive."

"Ah, true, I saw a dozen construction ponies this morning flying over my house; it's all the talk these days."

"And that cumbersome tower in the middle?"

"I think there's more than one tower; maybe a row of them; I don't know..."

"If so, they're not for any practical reason, but for aesthetics."

"That's very strange."

And so on.

Princess Celestia, when asked at a public hearing for her opinion on all of this controversy, simply chuckled the notion away, saying, "I encourage everypony with differing opinions to speak their mind. Isn't that what freedom of expression is for?" After all, these tracts were terribly unpopular, so there was nothing to worry about in the sense of some new movement rising out of it. I personally would be very interested to get Cluster's thoughts on this recent development, but unfortunately he was nowhere to be seen.

Author's Note:

It's been 11 months, but the story can finally continue. Also, no philosophical commentary from the narrator for once.