Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part VI – Chapter V – Bouquet Rose

A certain boldness, a certain unexpected cheerfulness, flashed in Nova's face; it was quite a different look from the one he had when he entered the same room an hour earlier. He led the Germane ponies into the room at the right, not the big one where the chorus of girls was gathering and the table was being laid, but a bedroom, where there were trunks and two beds put together. A candle burned on a little wooden table in the corner.

They all sat down at this table, facing each other, while the giant Rookie stood to one side of them. The ponies looked stern, but were obviously curious.

"What can I do for you?" rattled Alabaster.

"Here's what, sir, I won't waste words: take this money," said Nova, pulling out the saddlebag he had brought with him, "if you want five thousand bits, take it and go wherever you like."

Alabaster acquired a keen look, he was all eyes, fixing his gaze on Nova's face.

"Five thousand?" he exchanged glances with Rookie.

"Listen, my good sir, I see you're a reasonable fellow. Take five thousand and go wherever, you hear? But now, this minute, and forever, do you understand, you'll walk out this door forever. I'll bring it to you. The carriage will be harnessed for you this very moment, and—goodbye, just like that! Eh?"

Nova waited confidently for an answer. He had no doubts. Something extremely resolute flashed in Alabaster's face.

"How will it be done?"

"We'll do it this way: I'll give you one thousand right now, for the coachpony and as a first installment, and four thousand will come tomorrow in town—I swear on my honour, I'll dig it up somewhere!" cried Nova.

The Germane ponies exchanged glances again. Alabaster's expression took a turn for the worse.

"Fifteen hundred, fifteen hundred, not one thousand, right now, this minute, in your hooves!" Nova upped his offer, sensing that things were not going well. "What's the matter, my good sirs? You don't believe me? I'm not going to give you all five thousand at once. I'd give it to you, and you'd go back to her tomorrow. And I don't have a whole five thousand with me, I have it at home," Nova babbled weakly, losing heart with each word. "I swear... I have it hidden..."

In an instant a look of extreme dignity shone on Alabaster's face.

"Is there anything else you'd like?" he asked ironically. "Who do you think we are?" He got up and spat. Rookie also spat.

"You spit, sir, because," Nova spoke as one in despair, realizing that all was over, "because you hope to get more from Bouquet. You're a couple of swine and nothing more!"

"And now you insult me!" Alabaster suddenly turned red as a lobster, and briskly, in terrible indignation, as though unwilling to listen any longer, walked out of the room. Rookie went trotting after him, and Nova, confused and at a loss, followed them out. He was afraid of Bouquet, anticipating that Alabaster would now make an uproar. And that, indeed, is what happened. The fat pony walked into the room and stood theatrically before Bouquet.

"Madame Bouquet Rose," he began pompously, "I came to forget the past and to forgive it, to forget what was happened till today..."

"Forgive? You came to forgive me?" Bouquet interrupted and jumped up from the sofa.

"Just so, dear, I am not faint-hearted, I am strong-hearted. But I was surprised when I saw your lover. Mr. Nova Steel, in the other room, offered me five thousand to depart. I spat in the sir's face."

"What? He offered you money for me?" said Bouquet. "Is that true, Nova? How dare you! I'm not for sale!"

"Wait, sir, wait," Nova cried out fretfully, "she's pure, she's a shining light, and I've never been her lover! It's a lie..."

"Don't you dare defend me before him," reproached Bouquet angrily, the features on her face twitching with some strange melancholy. "I'm not pure at all, and I'm not some 'light.' I've never been able to stand proudly before you, but..." She stopped for a second, as if catching her breath. "But did he really not take your money?"

"He was, he was taking it!" exclaimed Nova. "Only he wanted all five thousand at once, and I offered him just fifteen hundred down."

"My sweet Bouquet," cried Alabaster, "I am a knight, a noble knight, not a scoundrel. I arrived to take you for my wife, but I see a new mare, not as she was before, but completely shameless!"

"I can't believe this. Go back where you came from! I'll order them to throw you out right now, and they will!" cried Bouquet heatedly. "Oh, I was a fool, a fool to torment myself for so many years, to let you torment me. I was tormenting myself out of spite, because... because I felt like I deserved it. But Nova was different, he laughed, he sang songs to me... and I... I've been shedding tears all this time, and for nothing!"

She fell onto her armchair and covered her face with her hooves. At that moment the chorus of girls, finally assembled in the next room, suddenly burst into a rollicking dance song.

"This is an outrage!" Alabaster suddenly bellowed. "Innkeeper, throw these shameless ponies out!"

The innkeeper, who had been peeking curiously through the door for a long time already, hearing the shouts and seeing that his guests were quarreling, came into the room at once.

"What're you yelling about? Shut your trap!" he addressed Alabaster with incredible rudeness.

"Scoundrels, the lot of you!" roared Alabaster.

"Scoundrel, am I? And what sort of cards have you just been playing with? I gave you a deck and you hid it! You were playing with marked cards! I can pack you off to the dungeons for marked cards, do you know that, it's the same as bad money..." And going over to the sofa, he used his magic in between the cushion and the back and pulled out an unopened deck of cards.

"Here's my deck, unopened!" He held it up and showed it all around. "From there I saw him shove my deck behind the cushion and put his own in place of it—you're not a sir, you're a cheat!"

"I saw it, too," said Cold Leg spitefully.

"Ah, I can't believe this!" exclaimed Bouquet, pressing her hooves to her chest and genuinely blushing with shame. "Just look at what he's come to."

"And I thought so, too!" shouted Nova. But he had barely spoken when Alabaster, embarrassed and infuriated, turned to Bouquet and, shaking his hoof at her, shouted, "Irredeemable slut!"

But he had barely exclaimed it when Nova flew at him, seized him with both arms, hauled him on his back, and in an instant carried him out of the room into the bedroom on the right, the one where he had just taken the two Germane ponies.

"I left him there on the floor!" he announced, returning at once, breathless with excitement. "He's struggling, the rascal, but there's no chance he'll get out!"

He closed one half of the door, and holding the other wide open, he called out to Rookie, "Would you care to follow him? If you please!"

"Nova Steel, my dear," exclaimed Bore Hoof, "take back the money you lost to them! It's the same as if they'd stolen it from you."

"I don't want my four hundred!" exclaimed Nova. "Not for anything will I take it back, let him keep it as a consolation."

"Bravo, Nova! Well done!" cried Bouquet, and a terribly malicious note rang in her exclamation. Rookie, purple with fury, yet by no means losing his composure, started for the door, but stopped and suddenly said, addressing Bouquet, "If you want to come, come; if not—farewell."

And pompously, puffing with ambition and indignation, he went through the door. The stallion had character: after all that had taken place, he did not lose hope that Bouquet would follow after him. Nova slammed the door behind him.

"Lock it with a key," said Cold Leg. But the lock clicked from the other side; they had locked themselves in.

"Bravo!" said Bouquet again, mercilessly and maliciously. "Bravo! And good riddance!"

* * *

What began then was an enormous feast, one fit for the kings. Bouquet was the first to call for more wine, "I want to get drunk, I want to get really drunk, like before—remember, Nova, remember when we met?" Nova's head was in the clouds, unable to reply very coherently. Bouquet, incidentally, kept chasing him away from her all the while. "Go, enjoy yourself, tell them to dance, everypony should just enjoy themselves, like before," she kept exclaiming. She was terribly excited. And Nova would run to give orders.

The chorus gathered in the next room. The room they had been sitting in so far was small in any case; it was divided in two by a large curtain, behind which, again, there was a humongous bed with a plump mattress and a pile of the same sort of cotton pillows. Indeed, all was bustling in the highest order of ecstasy and disorderliness. Bouquet settled herself just by the door; Nova brought her an armchair: she had sat in the same place then, on the day of their initial spree, and from there had watched the chorus and the dancing.

The stallions were all roused up and enjoying the girls. Nova bustled about. Uninvited guests came to watch, peasant mares and stallions who had already gone to sleep but woke up sensing some unheard-of entertainment, like that of two months before. Nova greeted and embraced those he knew, recalled their faces; he uncorked bottles and poured for all who came. Champagne was popular mostly with the mares; the stallions preferred rum and liqueur, and especially the hot spiked punch. Nova ordered hot chocolate for all the girls, and three kettles to be kept boiling all night so that everypony who came could have punch: whoever wanted to could help themselves, that is.

While the whole scene could be described as absurd, Nova was in his natural element, as it were, and the more absurd it all became, the more his spirits rose. If anypony had asked him for money at that moment, he would start handing out bits left and right without counting. That is probably why, in order to protect Nova, the innkeeper Bore Hoof, who seemed to have given up on sleep that night, was almost always scurrying about, vigilantly looking out, in his own way, for Nova's interests. When necessary, he intervened in a friendly and servile manner, reasoning with him, not letting him spend too much too quickly. He was highly indignant that the girls were drinking his wine, but alas, he let that pass.

Cold Leg did not want to drink at first, and very much disliked the whole chorus, but after drinking two glasses of champagne, he became fairly happy, laughing and telling jokes. Rapière, all in a tipsy state, never left his side. Bouquet, who was also beginning to get drunk, kept pointing at Cold Leg and saying to Nova, "He's such a darling, isn't he? He's so confident!" And Nova would run up to Cold Leg in a state of rapture and hug him, only to me pushed away by the annoyed merchant.

She had not said anything to Nova yet, obviously putting off saying anything on purpose, and only glanced at him from time to time with caressing but ardent eyes. Finally she suddenly caught him fast by the arm and pulled him forcefully to herself. She was then sitting in the armchair by the door.

"I still can't believe how you walked in here... I was so scared! So you wanted to give me up to him, hmm? Did you really?"

"I didn't want to ruin your happiness!" prattled Nova blissfully. But she did not even need his answer.

"Now go—go enjoy yourself," she said, chasing him away. "And don't cry, I'll call you back."

He would run off, and she would begin listening to the songs and watching the dancing again, following him with her eyes wherever he went, but after ten minutes she would call him again, and he would again come running to her.

"Here, sit beside me now," she would say. "Tell me, how did you hear about me yesterday, that I had come here? Who told you?"

And Nova would start telling her everything, somewhat feverishly, about how he had a random chance encounter with her last maid, and how the coincidence on its own was worthy of an investigation; that he raced to Ponyville, managed to procure the five thousand, though he explained it very disconnectedly and incoherently. He spoke strangely, too, often suddenly frowning and breaking off.

"Why are you frowning?" she asked.

"It's nothing... I left a sick, old pony there. I'd give ten years of my life for him to recover, just to know he'd recover!"

"Well, if he's old, I wish him well! Were you really going to shoot yourself tomorrow? Gosh, you're such a silly stallion! But why? I love such stallions, reckless stallions, like you," she prattled to him with a heavy tongue. "So you're ready to do anything for me? Hmm? But were you really going to shoot yourself tomorrow, you idiot? No, wait now, tomorrow maybe I'll have something to tell you... not today, but tomorrow. Would you like it to be today? No, today I don't want to. Go now, go enjoy yourself."

Once, however, she called him over with a worried and perplexed look.

"Why are you sad? I can tell that you're sad. Is it because of me?" she added, looking down, then peering vaguely into his eyes. "I can see something, even though you're shouting and laughing I can still see it. No, enjoy yourself. I'm enjoying myself, you enjoy yourself, too. Oh, I love somepony here—guess who...? Ah, look, he fell asleep, he's had too much, the dear."

She was referring to Cold Leg: he had indeed had too much, and fell asleep for a moment sitting on the sofa. He fell asleep not only from drink; for some reason he suddenly felt detached, or "bored" as he put it. Towards the end he was also greatly disheartened by the girls' songs, which despite the drinking gradually became rather licentious. Even the dancing was starting to lose its charm.

"Well, let it all be," Bouquet kept saying sententiously, with a bright look on her face, "I mean, how often do they have fun like this, so why shouldn't ponies enjoy themselves?" Eventually Cold Leg had grown tired of the whole feast, of the tired songs. He was even starting to get angry. And, almost offended, he declared that he was bored, sat down on the sofa, and dozed off. His face, funnily enough, lost its arrogant and haughty countenance when resting, replaced by something more tranquil and pretty.

"Look how pretty he is," said Bouquet, drawing Nova over to him. "I was combing his mane earlier; it's very well kept..."

And, leaning over him fondly, she kissed him on the forehead. Cold Leg opened his eyes, looked at her, rose a little, and said dryly, "Sorry, hun, but I've got a girlfriend. By the way, where's Rapière?" He started looking around.

"That's who he wants," laughed Bouquet. "Do sit with me for a minute. Nova, run and fetch his Rapière."

Rapière, it turned out, now never left the girls, and only ran off from time to time to pour himself some liqueur, of which he had two glasses. His face was starting to turn red. He ran up to them and announced that he was going to dance to the tune.

The land is cloaked in the deepest blue,
The shadow of eagles across the moon—

"You see, I learned all these well-bred society dances, and the like..."

"Go with him," said Bouquet, "I'll watch from here."

Though no special admiration was produced. Cold Leg sat up, remained watching with arms crossed, yawning every once in a while, with a calculated gleam in his eyes. Some chocolate was asked for. It was pointed out that a whole pile of them was on the table for the taking. The track of time was lost amid all the noise.

Nova's head was burning. He walked out to the hallway and up to the upper wooden veranda, which ran part way around the inner side of the building, overlooking the courtyard. The cool night air revived him, almost sobering him up even. He stood alone in the darkness, in a corner, and suddenly ran a hoof over his head, down his face. His scattered thoughts suddenly came together, his sensations merged, and the result of it all was an awful illumination.

If I'm going to shoot myself, what better time than now? swept through his mind. Go and get that crossbow, bring it out here, and end everything here, right here, in this dark and dingy corner. For almost a minute he stood undecided. Everything laid in shame: the theft he had committed, the blood he shed—but everything else was finished, too.

Oh, what more can I say for Nova? All these tragedies rushed into a single point of inevitability, the tragedies invoked by realism! At least now one negative thing was out of the way: the "former one," that indisputable and fatal stallion, had vanished without a trace. In hindsight it all seemed so small and comical; it was carried to the bedroom and locked up. It would never return.

Now it was clear who Bouquet loved. So now all he had to do was live, but—but he could not live, not anymore. Nova wished to remove the shame of his remaining disgrace, to dig up the rest of the money to give back, but this he knew was an impossible dream.

If you would like my opinion on this matter, dear reader...

No, forget my opinion. I don't think it matters; besides, I gave that up some time ago.

At last Nova tore himself away from the darkness and rushed back inside. He intended to spend his final hour with her. He ran to the innkeeper, Bore Hoof. The latter looked gloomy and worried, and seemed to be coming to find him.

"What is it, Bore? Are you looking for me?"

"No, sir, not you," said Bore Hoof, suddenly taken aback. "Why should I be looking for you? Just that... where were you, sir?"

"Why do you look so glum? Did something happen? Wait a bit—you'll go to bed soon—but what time is it?"

"Close to two by now. Maybe even past two."

"We'll stop then."

"Don't mention it, it's nothing, sir. As long as you like, sir..."

What's with him? thought Nova fleetingly, and ran into the room where the girls were dancing. But she was not there. She was not in the back room either; only Cold Leg was dozing on the sofa. Nova peeked behind the curtain, and there she was. She was sitting in the corner, on her stomach, her head and arms leaning on the bed beside her, crying bitterly, trying hard to hold back and stifle her tears so that no pony would hear her. Seeing Nova, she beckoned to him, and when he ran over to her, she caught him firmly by the arm.

"What's the matter, dear?" asked Nova, frowning. "Did something... I mean, you know, we can end everything right now if you'd like."

"I'm such a fool," she began in a whisper. "I don't know what I'm even doing anymore. All these years... wasted for him, because of him. I can't even remember if I ever loved him to begin with. Now he's so awful. He may have saved me once, made promises on his behalf, but... but..." Her lips trembled, head downcast. "I didn't want this life. Everything you see here... everything you know about me... I didn't want it. I felt frozen back then, and it was as if he dumped a bucket of cold water on me. I've made so many bad decisions. I feel so stupid!" And again she dissolved in tears, yet without letting go of Nova's arm, holding on to it firmly.

"Nova, my dear, wait, please don't go, I wanna ask you something," she whispered, suddenly looking up at him. "Listen, do I deserve to be happy? Would you forgive me for all the torment I've brought on you? Do you... love me? Do you?" A smile brightened on her face, her eyes shone in the semidarkness.

Nova silently gazed into her eyes, at her face, her smile, and suddenly, embracing her firmly, began kissing her. She kissed him, too, her mind going almost blank as if it were a habit.

"Listen to me," she said, breaking away, "keep kissing me, kiss me harder!" They kissed passionately. "Let's make love, if we're going to anyway! I'll be your slave now, it's sweet to be a slave. Kiss me! Beat me, torment me, do something to me, I'm yours! Wait, stop, not now..." She suddenly pushed him away. "Go, Nova, I'll drink more wine, I'm going to get drunk, really drunk, as drunk as possible."

She broke away from him and went out through the curtain. Nova followed after her. Come whatever may, I'll give everything to be with her, for the rest of my short life, flashed through his head.

Bouquet indeed drank another glass of champagne in one gulp and suddenly became very tipsy. She sat in her former place, in the armchair; her cheeks were glowing, lips burning, bright eyes turned bleary. Nova felt a stab in his heart and went up to her.

"Did you like how I kissed you?" she babbled to him. "I'm drunk now, that's what... And you, why aren't you drinking? Drink more. I drank and you're not drinking..." She suddenly pouted.

"I'm drunk! Drunk anyway..." Nova assured. "Drunk with you, and now I'm going to get drunk with wine." He drank another glass and, he found it strange himself, only this last glass made his drunk for real, though until then he had been relatively sober. From then on everything began whirling around him. He walked, laughed, talked with everypony, all oblivious of himself, as it were. Only one fixed and burning feeling made itself known in him every moment, as he recalled afterwards.

He would go over to her, look at her, listen to her—and she became very talkative, kept calling everypony to her, would beckon to some of the girls from the chorus, and in another minute she'd be in tears. She was also very amused by Rapière's buffoonish dance moves.

"Give him something, Nova," said Bouquet, "give him a present, he's poor. Ah! Let them dance, don't interfere. Everypony in Equestria is good, but I'm bad. We may be bad, but the world is good. Both good and bad. No, wait, tell me, I'll ask you and you have to tell me: do you think I'm a good girl?" Thus Bouquet babbled on, getting more and more drunk, and finally declaring outright that she now wanted to dance herself. She got up from her armchair but staggered. Nova ran to her and helped her move; but she swayed and fell into his arms, laughing.

"I feel weak..." she said in an exhausted voice. "Sorry, I feel weak, I can't, I'm sorry..."

"Somepony sure had her fill," remarked Cold Leg half-sarcastically.

"She's had a drop, the pretty lady's had a drop," voices were heard saying.

Nova brought her back behind the curtain.

Well, now I think I really will leave, thought Cold Leg, and going out of the room, he closed both halves of the door behind him. But the feast in the main room thundered on. Nova laid Bouquet on the bed and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss.

"Don't touch me," she murmured to him in a pleading voice, "don't touch me, I'm not yours yet. I said I was yours, but don't touch me. We shouldn't do it with them here, in the next room."

"I wouldn't dream of it," muttered Nova. "You're right." And without letting her go of his embrace, he bent on the floor by the bed.

"I know there's still good in you," spoke Bouquet with difficulty. "We should do it honestly... from now on it'll be honest. Take me away, far away, do you hear? I don't wanna be here, I wanna be far away."

"Oh, yes, yes!" Nova pressed her in his arms. "I'll take you, we'll fly away. Oh, I'd give my whole life to be with you for only a year, if only I knew about that blood!"

"What blood?" Bouquet repeated in bewilderment.

"Nothing!" growled Nova. "Bouquet, you want it to be honest? I'm a thief. I stole money from Misty..."

"From Misty? You mean the young lady? No, you didn't steal anything. Give it back to her, take it from me. Come on, don't shout. Why do we care about money anyway? We'll just throw it away on a spree. It's bound to happen with ponies like us. Hey, do you hear a bell ringing...? Where's that little bell ringing? Are ponies driving? Now it's stopped..."

She closed her eyes helplessly, and suddenly seemed to fall asleep for a moment. A bell had indeed been ringing somewhere far away, and suddenly stopped ringing. Nova lowered his head onto her chest. He did not notice how the bell stopped ringing, nor did he notice how the singing suddenly stopped as well, and instead of songs and drunken racket, a dead silence suddenly fell, as it were, over the whole inn. Bouquet opened her eyes.

"Huh? Did I fall asleep?" she asked.

"I'm right here," murmured Nova, kissing her neck. And suddenly something strange struck him: he noticed that she was looking straight ahead, not at him, not into his eyes, but over his head, intently and fixedly. Surprise, almost fear, showed on her face.

"Nova, who's that looking at us?" she whispered suddenly.

Nova turned and saw that some new pony had indeed parted the curtains and was apparently trying to make them out. More than one new pony, it seemed. He jumped up and quickly went towards the intruder.

"Here, come out here, please," somepony's voice said to him, not loudly, but with firm insistence.

Nova stepped from behind the curtain and stood still. The whole room was full of ponies, not those who had been there before, but completely new ones. A shiver ran down his back. He recognized many of them instantly.

The middle-aged mare in the middle, the one wearing a coat and a service cap, was the district police commissioner, Ruby Spirit. And the stallion next to her, the one with a trim cut and roundabout gaze, was the deputy prosecutor. The other mare in spectacles, a unicorn, Nova could not remember her name, but she was a young attorney, recently arrived. And that one—the deputy commissioner, she was the one with badges. Cold Leg and Bore Hoof sat there in the doorway.

"Mares and gentlecolts... what is it?" Nova started, but in a hallow voice, as if he were not himself.

The young mare in spectacles suddenly came forward and, stepping up to Nova, began in a dignified manner, though a little hurriedly.

"Would you kindly come over here, to the sofa," she said. "It's of the utmost importance that we have a word with you."

"The old servant!" cried Nova at the top of his lungs, as if finally understanding something. "The old servant and his blood! I understand!" And as if cut down, he fell more than sat on a chair standing nearby.

"You understand? Well, would you look at that, he understands! Your old father's blood is on your hooves!" the district police commissioner suddenly roared, going up to Nova. She was almost beside herself.

"Wait a sec," said the young mare in spectacles, the attorney. "Something's weird. Why say 'servant'? I would never have expected such an episode from you."

"It's way too obvious!" the police commissioner kept exclaiming. "Look at him: in the middle of the night, celebrating, not a care in the world. The whole thing is just..."

"Calm down, Ruby," the deputy prosecutor whispered rapidly to her, "otherwise we'll complicate the process."

But the attorney stepped up, turning to Nova and firmly, gravely declaring, "Retired guard Nova Steel, sir, it is my duty to inform you that you are charged with the murder of your father, Bronze Pocket..."

Something else was said, but Nova did not hear it. His eyes went wide. He stared wildly at them all.