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Fealty

Well, I'm here to be a show for all you pony folks at home, right? Prove your precious poofy princess is looking out for you? Might as well be a good one, then, even if I'm not here of my own volition.

Yeah, I believed in the law. Note the past tense. Believed. I joined the police because I believed. I fought a man to the ground and took his gun out of his hands, cuffed him and almost saved his wife's life because I believed. I watched him walk free, watched that man stride away from the courthouse like it was going out of style, thumbing his nose at me and daring me to say a word, and I didn't put a bullet through him, didn't beat him down to the raw concrete because I believed.

They say that your past self is always an idiot, and they're right. I was an idiot, then. I didn't get it. I wasn't seeing the long con, the trick of centuries, the joke told by some heaven-sent poker dealer who smiles all the time and just dealt you and you alone a pair of twos and everyone else full house. Who put the sociopaths, the people who wanted power, those who would do the worst to achieve it. The assholes.

What I remember is coming out of the courthouse, where I had come to watch the trial, and staring into the statue of Justice and her scales. Didn't really ever look at her before that; I just did my job. Just like everybody does. But I was freewheeling, I needed a symbol of something to latch on to. Something to stabilize me. I could have gone for my badge, or my gun, or my hat, or a thousand different symbols, and maybe if I had I wouldn't be here today- ragged with betrayal magic, trapped inside this rune cage, in police custody against some anorak alert girl who nevertheless hit like a mule. I could have stayed an officer with the badge, or become a vigilante with the gun, or even decided to go into law- the courthouse itself was a pretty damn potent image. But I fixed on Justice.

God, that was a stupid image of justice, as some kind of arbitrator, not arbitrary. Like there was something right in the world and our laws were designed to reflect it. All I saw in Justice was blankness; I recognize that now- she wasn't any real force, nothing that could stop a criminal, keep an honest man out of jail and a violent one inside. She just looked like she had some grand plan for the world, something you couldn't see under that blindfold. But I knew there wasn't anything there. Just unmarred stone.

I almost quit, then, but I figured I could help things shape up. Until I got fired. I actually got goddamned fired, by a man who had never pounded the streets. I had decided to stay on, to fix the world, and guess what: I got removed from the job where I could make that happen. I got pulled off of my old routes, had my little penny-worth of metal taken out of my hands and put somewhere where I couldn't do any harm to the criminals, because they might have been slaughtering, controlling monsters who would sell their own mothers for the sheer malevolent joy of it, but that was no reason to be rude, was it?

I tried a few things after that. A few other police departments, though they wouldn't take me. They said psych instability, or if they didn't say it they implied it. A few recommended counselors, but they were soft, muddle-headed Psych degrees who hadn't slept in the station, shared a coffee and a bun and watched and waited against the night, been the thin blue line of fire. Couldn't get jobs in anything close, either, because when you're pale and frazzle-haired and you know what a face with a hole in it looks like already then they don't want you as a bodyguard since you'll make Hollywood McTonedthighs look ugly by being nearby, and in the army I wouldn't be stopping criminals, I'd be shooting them. Hell, I couldn't even join the neighborhood watch association.

So I stayed out'a the game. Drank a little, slept a little. Never anything illegal. God, I still hold onto that, don't I? Even though I know it's bullshit, I still hold on to that image. The thin line of fire between us and the dark. Our boys in blue. Hah. What a load, eh? And I was the one they dumped it on. I'd laugh if it weren't so goddamned stupid.

Then it happened. You know the drill, the million names- Schism, Fracture, Readjust, whatever you want to call it. This place- the world you live in, horsetopia, magical land of Equestria- got connected to the mundanical land of Faileddreamsandhorseshittica, aka the world of humans. And we loved you. For years we had waxed philosophical about the idea that high-blown perfect societies could not exist, and suddenly the sky cracked and the impossible world literally fell out in a swarm of pegasi. It was as if the universe had pulled you out of its metaphorical ass and stuck you in the sky like an A+ paper from its kid on the refrigerator of the cosmos.

I thought I'd visit, even though I'd lost most of what I cared for; this place might need me, right? So I came in, I made myself at home, I survived off the vegetarian diet and the tiny cost of living in the land where inhabitants literally pick food off of the ground and eat it constantly. I tried to sign up for a job, searched a while for something to do. And I got nothing. Neither world wanted me. The perfect land had next-to-zero crime and so it didn't have use for a policewoman, and the shithole land didn't want me because it thought you had to tiptoe around criminals to avoid hurting their widdle feelings. So I got the Illness, I got the Symptoms, I made Contact and I got turned into a Witch.

Does that answer your question, you goddamn horse?

----

"That didn't answer any of my questions, actually." replied the horse, whose name happened to be Twilight Sparkle. "You had a few intriguing terms at the end, but I have no idea what they mean, and therefore they provide no insight into the whole phenomenon of thaumic rebellion."

"Witchcraft."

"Thaumic rebellion is the proper term for the process of a human undergoing magical transformation, hallmarked by loosened inhibitions, a relaxation of morality and an enmity expressed toward a group or groups. Witchcraft is a myth."

"S' still witchcraft. You can call it whatever you want, science pony, but the name is witchcraft, spelled double-you ay tee see-"

"I know how witchcraft is spelled." Twilight shook her head irritably before taking a sip of a black-as-Tartarus coffee and shuddering pleasurably at the bitter focus it afforded. "What I want to know is: what is Illness? What are Symptoms? Contact with what? I notice that there's a disease theme in this terminology; do you think of this as some kind of magically contracted problem unique to humans?"

"Slow down, Sparky. And b'fore you get all outraged at that, this is me being polite, since me being rude got me punched into a wall earlier. I'm even holding back my accent, just for yer delicate sensibilities." Nikki Eastes rummaged in her ripped, ancient denim jacket and removed a lighter and cigarette, gazing briefly at the little flame in the dark room before lighting up and taking in smoke. "You don't mind if I smoke."

"Actually, cigarettes and secondhand smoke are-"

"It wassa statement." She dragged in a lungful and blew a thin, straight line like the trajectory of a blowdart, gusting against the bars of the cage. "I'm good at statements." Twilight sighed, and the witch felt thin sensation of weightlessness surround them before a gust of air blew out the end of the coffin nail. "So are you going to tell me about these terms you've been using, or are you going to keep being obstinate and not helping your own case?"

"Former, probably." Another light, another drag, and another wind came in short order. "I'm not exactly chomping at the mystic bit, in case you hadn't noticed, hon. Witch associations ain't too hot even at the best of times, except with maybe grinspells. And they're just nutters." Eastes tossed the lighter back in her pocket, lightly, and leaned back against the pushing sensation of the bars, enjoying the feeling of intense desert breezes. "Hell, I can name some names if that's whatcher lookin' for. Just don't expect anything helpful."

"Anything is helpful, but I'd much prefer it if you informed us as to organization of witches, the leaders of their groups, the way that they're formed, and so on. I realize that this is a hard thing to ask of anyone, to betray their former friends, but--"

"I'd do that if it would actually help me out, hon. Ain't the loyal type. Nobody is whennit all comes down to the wire. I should know- they booted me out when I wasn't useful anymore and bam, 'vital lifeblood of preventing crime in our faaaaair ciiiity,'" the last two words held, rolled and imitating a strange high-blown accent, "becomes a sack a' nothing living on Cheerios and condensed milk." She spat, pfeh, dislodging ancient tar and ash. "I'll give you what you want if it don't interfere with my personal plans. Understand, honey?"

"…I disagree, but I suppose we can use the information. Please proceed."

"Alrighty then. First a' all…"

----

A Witch's stilla human. Just more. Enhanced perceptions, I guess; they see stuff humans n' poonies don't. (Poonies?) Shaddap. Anyway, they see the real side'a shit, the actual meanings behind it; a Witch can see light that's not even onna spectrum, or feel cosmic radiation or vibrations in the deep'a the Earth. Taste an' smell without eating, feel sans feelin', hear a voice from miles away. And it ain't just the regular super-senses either, otherwise we'd be like Superman or summat.

I knew a girl who could hear the voices a' the dead. And a guy who could touch yer personality, mold bits'a it to be different, or just pull it out and letcher body run on autopilot. Was a creep, that guy. There were all sorts'a these people- guy who always knew where yer lousy posh jag princess was, how far away she was, how she was feelin', that kinda thing. (Princess Celestia is neither lousy, nor posh, nor jag, whatever the last one is.) Shaddap. Everyone had senses that were a little beyond- feel jokes 'r hate 'r poppyseed 'r whatever tickled their fancies.

There's all kinds a' witches. But there's also organizations, I guess. Covens r' whatever name yer callin' them to fit int'a the whole witchcraft theme. Six've em. (And these… covens… what goals do they fulfill?) Different f'r everyone. Ain't telling you everything, but this is basically it: The Curse Removal Society wants't stop being witches but they don't trust horsedocs. The Pathway Children are new-age loonies or something who think'a witchcraft as the hills 'r Mother Earth hugging' their brains 'r some shit. Rotas Ignis Group... is sorta just dedicated to the maintenance of Witching without being persecuted 'r found out. The Illustrious and Decorated Order of Cads is all grinspells. D'luded nutjobs with spooky mystic powers r'sumthin, wh't the bleedin' hell's with them anyway... (I'm sorry, could you please tone down your odd inflections and contractions? I'm having trouble understanding you.) She sells seashells by the seashore. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy brown dog. Better? (Yes, thank you.) You'd be welcome if I weren't in a cage.

Anyway, there's two more'a them but I'm not telling you who they are because screw you guys, seriously. (What? But we're offering-) Nope! Screw you guys. I'm being imprisoned 'cause I got magic and I'm a human. Admit it! (That's just… so far from logic that-) ADMIT YER LIES.

(…this session is over. I hope we'll see you later, once you can be more helpful and once you can actually see reason, and admit your crimes.) Hey--

----

"--I may be a Witch but I ain't a lawbreaker. I just got my damn Symptoms, I Contacted, now I'm a witch. No fault of mine, here. And besides, if there's a law 'gainst turning into a Witch then it's an idiot's law."

Twilight sighed and wordlessly stepped down from her chair, walking away without listening to the voice of she who could not see reason. Nikki did not take this well; her pitch heightened, and her slouch became less casual, a more pronounced and stiffer stance becoming apparent. "Hey! You think I wanna be like this? You think I wanna be trapped in a cage wit a god-dam pony condescendin' at me? It's not my fault! They betrayed me! They all betrayed me! They didn't want me back home and they don't want me over here, and NOW I'm trapped in a cage all day and all I can do is--"

----

Though it was not said:
Stare at the wall and think of Lady Justice, her scales poised perfectly straight, shackles at her feet and a blindfold around her face, trapping whatever eyes she might have had- something to say, something to see, something that perfectly harnessed might finally bring real Justice, not law but the Justice she had sought for herself. The justice that hadn't been there for that woman, slipping through her fingers, smiling blankly as everything she was dripped out through a hole in her chest. The justice that would never let that man go free, grinning, celebrating his freedom that was not the same thing as righteousness, celebrating that they had deemed him mad at the time and therefore perfectly normal, not a threat, safe to go, sir, let us take your coat-

They'd betrayed me. They'd betrayed me and everything I stood for, taken that golden benevolence in the sky, that judge of good and evil and right and wrong and trapped her inside those scales, inside the blinded eyes of their statue, inside that courthouse that let evil run rampant and good die in its hole, because the former had better PR.

And I had come to that voice in the woods, which understood its nature: that cops and robbers were beyond me, that they had been sealed in the statue of that marble woman, stare behind the blindfold so attentive and meaning nothing. It had many possible mouths, many potential eyes, and it held me in the arms that it could not have, sang improbable melodies for me, soothed me. It told me a story.

A story that I could bring to life. A story of a righteous world, a world that needed me, where the man who stalked the streets for the villains in shadow had absolute authority. A way that I could rule, and create only righteous policemen, to crush the statue of Law and free Justice, release her from the confines of the law and be needed again, loved again, sentinel of a true perfect kingdom. They would love me. They would never betray me.

And to create a perfect world, said that voice of infinite nonexistence, it would only require a few small tasks of me…

And now I had failed.

----

"…is…" and as Eastes trailed off, lost in her instant thought, Twilight left her behind, nudging past a young assistant of the company who said a polite "excuse me" and muttered something that Twilight didn't hear before bringing the prisoner her food. And…

The assistant strode, now, familiar and full of purpose. The Witch looked up and backed up in surprise and fear, sure she'd be struck again with that fist that stank of iron- until the food was slid past the bars and a smile and whisper came to her. "Try the cake first. Runes aren't too tough to enchanted files."

"Somebody out there must like me," said Nikki Eastes, who had been shown loyalty, and though she was smiling, she meant it.

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