Epilogues and Portents
It was late at night, technically in the morning, when the door to Wild Mane’s shared apartment opened. Her heart froze, and her body went rigid in fear, hoping against all reason and sense that whoever had opened the door wouldn’t see her in the bed. She stayed like that until the door closed, and then she heard the strangest thing, a grown stallion sobbing.
Something about it seemed familiar, so she shot up and looked to see an overly muscled unicorn collapsed on the floor.
“Mackie!” she cried out worriedly, rushing to his side and wrapping her forehooves around his neck.
“He’s dead,” Mac sobbed. “He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead . . .”
Wild Mane just held her coltfriend tighter as he repeated the same words over and over again, readjusting her position only to make them both more comfortable.
“What happened?” she asked when there was a gap in the mad chanting.
“My best friend is dead! Just as planned!” Mac declared dramatically.
Wild Mane’s eyes darted side to side for a moment as her mind processed that. “Firebrand?”
“That wasn’t his name, but it’s the name he chose for himself. The fool! The damn dirty fool!” Mac cried.
“He’s dead. How?” the mare asked, gently stroking the stallion’s mane as she did so.
“The ambush went bad. There was a fight, we lost half our people, then, at the end, he tries to pull something, and the Printer colt shoots him dead! Good head on Brisk’s soldiers, that one. He’ll go far; I know it.”
“You sound happy for him.”
“I am, but . . . damnit! Why does it hurt so much? I lost him years ago, I’ve known that. I lost him the moment he got chased out of boot camp to join the Red Plague. Heck, I thought I killed him once before. So why does it hurt so much? Why does it hurt now?” Mac pleaded.
“Because he was your friend once, and on some level, you thought he could still be saved. Because you’re a good person, Mackie,” Wild Mane reasoned.
“But I . . .”
“Shh. It’s okay. There’s no-one here but me. Let it all out,” she comforted.
So Mac did, crying long into the night during a mental breakdown that seemed like it was without end. Then the morning came, and he walked out of that room as stern faced as he ever had been. The world had no use for tears.
Keytone Printer tried not to wince while washing dishes as she listened to her younger siblings discuss homework, and . . . other things.
“Capitão Falcão is the greatest!” Benday declared.
“No, Puto Perdiz is the sidekick. That is why is he is the greatest,” his brother Dot explained.
“. . . What?”
“Brothers! Please! I am trying to do my history homework, and you keep distracting me!” Shadow complained, the pegasus filly flipping through a green and black book.
“Why do you care? This stuff is easy for us. Just have to use the right words,” Dot pointed out, gesticulating with his hoof like a cad to emphasize the point.
“I’ll have you know that this history is interesting,” Shadow said haughtily, before refocusing and sighing dreamily. “Oh, Mussolini, surrounded by enemies on all sides. If only you had listened to that dreamboat Balbo.”
Benday just made a gagging motion with his hoof in reply.
Keytone finished cleaning the dishes and wiped her hands off a nearby rag before turning to face her siblings. “You know, the books aren’t mentioning that he was pretty gung ho about the alliance with the National Socialists,” the black-haired young woman said as she cantered over to the table. “And just like most people who advocate for conquest, he himself ended up a victim of conquest.”
“Wasn’t he killed by a bunch of socialists?” Dot asked incredulously.
“Who were only allowed to run wild because of the chaos brought on by the conquest of Northern Italy by the Germans and the conquest of Southern Italy by the Allies. If Mussolini had just stayed neutral instead of trying to conquer Africa and the Balkans, the conditions that allowed partisans from every side to roam the country freely never would have arisen. But he couldn’t do that, his ideology wouldn’t allow him to do that, and so, the inevitable happened,” Keytone lectured, glancing around to her siblings like a schoolmarm.
The foals glanced at each other nervously until Benday raised his hoof. “Is this why we have harmony and friendship?”
“Yes, among other reasons,” Keytone said with a sigh. “Just remember to not repeat that to anypony. Friendship and harmony seems to be two things that ponies forget easily these days.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We all know how to keep our muzzles shut,” Dot said cheerily, with Shadow and Benday making noises and gestures of acknowledgement.
“Wonderful,” Keytone said with false cheer. As important as it was, she still found her siblings’ declarations disturbing. When I was their age, I never had to watch what I said like they do. “I’ll just finish up cleaning then. Benday, Dot, do your homework. If it’s so easy, then it should be easy to do.”
There was no argument from them, but there was a question from Shadow as Keytone started walking away.
“Does this mean that Brisk is a bad person?”
Keytone paused, mulling over the answer over in her head. “He’s not bad, just lost. Very lost.”
She walked away, and chose to ignore what sounded like one of them calling their brother a jerk. As much as she hated to admit it, sometimes, she thought the same thing. He did make their mother cry, after all.
The black-haired woman went about the business of vacuuming the carpet of their apartment as promised, eventually coming to her parents’ room. She opened the door to the room and found . . . a pile of clean clothes. Perfectly cleaned clothes, just piled on the bed.
Keytone let out an exasperated sigh and shut the vacuum off, sparing but a moment to prop up the machine that was older than she was. “They don’t own that many clothes; the least they could do is put them away,” she muttered under her breath, nevertheless moving to fold them.
Once that was done, she moved about putting them away. As she was putting her mother’s unmentionables in their appropriate drawer, though, her hand felt something hard. Curiosity struck, and so, she pulled aside the fabric items to reveal something that made her heart leap into her throat.
It was an icon, an Orthodox Christian cross to be precise; she recognized it from her studies years ago when she had a flight of fancy about finding out more about the land she was adopted from. Under that was a small Bible, and again, she recognized it from her studies. She froze, her mouth going dry, her senses far too acutely aware of the world around her. She stood like that for what must have been a full minute, then quickly covered the icon up like she had found it and piled in her mother’s clothing like nothing had happened.
That done, she shut the drawer and then collapsed onto the floor. Keytone didn’t know what her mother was getting wrapped up in, but she prayed to the princesses that she would be okay and that she herself would forget what she had seen. Her mother had gotten into some unique positions with the city government beautification plans, but with the nation at war and Goldshirts policing the streets . . . if somepony else knew about that, then the family could find themselves denounced, thrown into poverty, or worse.
The family’s place so close to the center of power for the EFP might make some think they were invulnerable, but Keytone knew that only made them more vulnerable. Anypony looking to move closer to Uncle Mac and his cult of insanity would think to dispose of them first to get rid of the competition, and anyone looking to destroy the EFP would know to attack them to hurt “The Boss.” So she knew very well that if it was found out that Ardent Printer, famous artist, was dabbling in foreign religions, then the consequences could be fatal.
So she got up, buried what she had seen deep inside, and then went back to work. Her family needed her. That hadn’t changed. They just needed her a little bit more than usual.
“How much longer is this going to take?” Just News asked conversationally in accented German, standing upright and leaning back against the concrete wall of the border crossing as he watched two Austrian border guards comb over his vehicle as it sat on a small lift.
“As long as it needs to confirm that you’re not an alien spy stealing vital secrets from Österreich!” came back the loud reply from under his car, a rather nice Mercedes sedan barely four years old.
“I’m sorry about this, sir,” the border guard who was rifling through the top of his car said in a embarrassed tone.
“Hey, I get it, youse guys have a tough job to do, and things are bad these days,” Just said sympathetically.
“Yeah, with that horrible suicide bombing down in Vienna, everyone's on edge. Worrying if the bad times from thirty years ago might be back,” the border guard reasoned, her voice hitching at the mention of recent events. “And all those reporters gawking at the carnage. They’re just the worst of people. Absolutely disgusting parasites! . . Eh, no offense?”
Just glanced at her to see the human woman grinning awkwardly and blushing furiously as she stood next to an open door of the vehicle. The pegasus just raised his left eyebrow in reply before pushing out from the wall and giving the approximation of a shrug with his wings. The woman found it odd and laughed nervously.
“I think Reinna is rubbing on me,” the guard admitted, rubbing the back of her neck.
“FPO member?” he asked knowingly.
“Yes! How did you know?” the guard asked curiously.
“Certain cues, also the dartboard in the shape of Italy in her booth.”
“Sudtirol is Austrian!” came a reflexive shout from underneath the car. “And as soon the vaunted Americans and their NATO are out of the picture, it shall finally be reclaimed.”
Upon seeing another blush forming on the human woman’s face he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I have no great feelings on the matter one way or the other.”
“Heh, how wonderfully Swiss of you,” the woman replied.
“Ja. Small and neutral, just the way we like it,” the pegasus agreed.
After that exchange, Just glanced around again, focusing in particular on the three cars that had pulled up behind them in a queue. His eyes widened when he saw the middle car sporting a pair of distinctive white sunned flags. That was unexpected, but he could use it to his advantage.
“Ma’am, are you stuck?” Just asked suddenly of the woman underneath his car.
“. . . No.”
“Just checking, because while, as a Switzerlander, I am very appreciative of tight border security, I would just like to point out that it appears that the Chinese ambassador to your nation -- you know, Kuan-lin von Falkenhausen -- has pulled up to the line,” Just reasoned loudly.
A moment later, there was the was the sound of a scuffle from underneath the car. Then, with surprising quickness, an overweight cream-furred earth pony mare crawled out from under the Mercedes. She brushed some dust off of her border patrol uniform with a forehoof and looked at Just News with a composed and neutral glare.
“Very well, sir, you do not appear to be carrying any bombs onboard your car,” she admitted as the sedan was lowered back onto the ground. “Please, enjoy your visit to our fair land.”
“Thank you, ma’am, and good luck with the baron,” Just said cheerily before getting into the car.
As he drove away from the border crossing and the mountain nation that was his home, Just let out a stressed and regretful whiny. “I shouldn’t have done that. Any more incidents like that, and I’ll end up just like Mac, a manipulative bastard.
“What’s this world coming to anyways? Cities destroyed in Equestria? War with the changelings? Suicide bombings in Vienna? Another war for Tyrol just as soon as the Americans turn their backs?
“No, don’t go down that route, Just. Just focus on the job at hand, and then hightail it back to Schaffhauser with time to spare.”
He put a hoof up to his head and ran it through his mane. I hate to admit it, but Mac might have been right about some parts of this world.
“. . . No,” he echoed after a while. “He might have had some points, but then he got changed by the world in a bad way, and then he changed the world for the worse with his words. But two can play at that game. I can use my words to make people believe in freedom and democracy again, instead of this stupid fight between communists and fascists.
“Huh, my psychologist was right. Talking out loud really does help think things through.”
“This is unacceptable!” the unicorn mare at the center of the room thundered, stomping one myomer-enhanced hoof into the floor with enough strength to make the whole room shake.
“Calm yourself, Comrade Red Justicar,” the leader of the Racial Communist faction of the Purehooves commanded from behind his desk.
“My apologies, Comrade Pure Union. It is just infuriating to hear about the destruction of one of our infiltration convoys,” Red grumbled, her bionic body shifting uncomfortably.
“Well, it wasn't completely destroyed,” the earth pony mare standing behind her offered helpfully.
“I refuse to acknowledge any survivors,” Red growled back at the helpless functionary.
“You will have to,” Pure ordered her, much to the other ponies’ discomfort. “We can not allow any sign of weakness at this critical juncture, not when our masterstroke is so close. The last thing we need is any of fellow Purehooves, or worse yet the central government, catching wind of this. If they find out about the convoys . . .”
“So, what about the Fascists?” Red asked after a moment of silence.
Pure pursed his lips in concentration, thinking hard about it. “That will be a more complicated problem now, but when the country falls into chaos, everything will be up for grabs. Just as long as we can keep the Americans from using that chaos to take over everything.”
A mechanical and feminine voice from the desk interrupted them in a tone that sounded dead inside. “Comrade Master, there is a call for you on Line 1 from the General Secretary in Canterlot.”
“Ugh, speaking of the central government,” Pure protested. “Tell her I’ll be on in thirty seconds.”
“By your command, Comrade Master,” the AI replied.
“What happened to BUTTERCUP’s voice?” Red asked worriedly.
“Ah, the poor deer expressed some capitalist opinion, can’t even remember what it was, so I had to send her in for reeducation,” Pure explained. “Now run along now, both of you.”
His subordinates rushed to comply, and he was left for a brief moment with only his thoughts.
Well, at least today can’t get any worse. Tomorrow on the other hoof . . .
. . . Tomorrow has got to be better than this.
Brisk was grumbling internally as he strode through the underground lair of the Manehattan EFP, sporting the black and gold uniform of the Praetorian Guard towards a place that, thanks to the marvels of modern technology, few people actually went to. That place was, of course, the mail room.
“Hello, Doris, how are you today?” Brisk asked conversationally as he walked up to the barred window that separated those inside the mailroom from the rest of the world.
“Oh, fairly good, how about . . .” the old jenny trailed off as she looked up from her electronic magazine to see who she was talking to in full. “Oh, Brisk! You old charmer, you! You got promoted! You’re part of the Praetorian Guard protecting The Boss now!” she cheered.
“Yes, ma’am, it happened just recently,” Brisk confirmed with a smile.
“Well, you certainly lucked out there. I hear the Guard get all sorts of benefits,” Doris said chipperly.
“Sure as Tartarus doesn’t feel like luck,” Brisk said morosely.
“What do you . . . Oh! Oh Brisk, I’m so sorry. I heard that Decanus Snow Serpent and that Praetorian Guard unit had died, but I didn’t think that those events would be related to your promotion,” the donkey apologized profusely.
“It’s okay, Doris,” Brisk told her apologetically. “If you don’t mind, though, I just want to see this letter that he left me.”
“Yes, of course. Let me just get it,” Doris said, getting up from her office chair to go to the back of the room. “Now where did Junko leave it before she went to lunch? . . . Ah! Here we go.”
Doris walked back and stood up to hoof Brisk the letter through the mailslot.
“Thank you, Doris,” Brisk said before turning his head to the side to address the woman behind the corner. “So, what does it say?”
“It’s not my place to say,” Junko Arashikage said, her lithe kitsune forme sliding out from behind the corner.
“It literally is,” Brisk deadpanned, referencing the Frumentarii’s job of screening everyone’s mail.
“I’ll just let you know that you’ll want to go somewhere private for reading it,” Junko informed him.
“Gee, thanks,” Brisk scowled, walking away. “Have a good day, Doris.”
“Have a good day, Brisk!” Doris replied. “Such a sweet young man.”
Brisk found a free bathroom and walked into one of the stalls. Standing behind the door, he began to read.
Dear Brisk Printer,
If you’re reading this, then I’m dead, and I haven’t worked up the courage to say what needed to be said. If by chance I did, then I apologize if this letter seems like a waste of a last message. I never was good at keeping track of things already set in motion. (Yes, I know I always say to never apologize, but I’m breaking that rule just this once.)
What I have to say concerns that horrible day in 2045, the day your best friend was killed and your sister was so brutally wounded. The truth is that it was I who called emergency services to the scene. I had been on patrol, and I saw the Purehooves gathering to attack. I should have called it in right there, should have let the cops handle it, should have attacked them myself, should have done anything really. Instead, I waited to see what would happen. I saw what happened all right, both then and every night since then.
I’m sorry, Brisk. I know you blame yourself and your parents for what happened, but in reality, it’s all my fault. I’m the one who let it happen. I’m the one who killed Gabriel Graystone. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.
I can never say that enough. Nothing will bring him back, I knew that. So instead, I’m trying to make it so no-one would ever be put in my position ever again. I clearly failed. (If I didn’t and died in the post-war celebration or something, I want to apologize for that too.)
If you’re still in the fight, then just make sure to finish it. I can’t stop you from hating me too, and if I was alive, I wouldn’t want to stop you. I just want to make sure you direct it against the Purehooves, the royalists, and the liberals instead of against an old worn corpse.
You’re a better stallion than I could have hoped to be, Brisk Printer, better writer and artist too, and I hope you’ll lead our forces to victory.
Signed,
Snow Serpent
Brisk’s hands shook as he read over the message again and again, flipping the page around as he did so. In his shock, the only thing that came into his head was that his old decanus was right; he really wasn’t that good a writer and had used up most of both sides of the page getting that out. Eventually, though, he calmed down enough to fold the letter back up and put it back in its envelope before tucking the whole thing into his tunic pocket.
He walked out of the bathroom and returned to his route. He still had tasks he needed to perform that day; figuring out those emotions would have to wait. If nothing else, he knew it was what was proper.
I'm for the poor people — all poor people, human, pony, and every other creature out there, they all gotta have a chance. They gotta have a home, a job, and a decent education for their children. Those who have followed my work over the years know I mean what I say when I write those words.
Now we are at war, though, both from within and from without, and while my domestic stances have not changed, the implementation has become murky. The enemies from without, I do not fear. They shall be banished by plucky heroes or ground to paste beneath the treads of the vaunted American war machine as they always are. The problem that keeps me up at night are those traitors in the dark: the Purehooves.
Many of you have heard the rumblings of late, of how they speak of revolution. Recent events have pushed them over the edge, and instead of holding fast to their common ground with their brothers and sisters in this great nation against the foreign foe, they have opted to turn on those very same fellows. They content themselves with rhetoric, but I assure you, that will not last through to the end of the year.
United peoples of Equestria, proud and noble fascists, I call to you with this plea. Arm yourselves with whatever means you have, group together with those of like mind, and steel yourselves to face the Red Scourge. This may be the longest winter since the founding of our great land of Equestria, but together, we not only must win, we will win!
Peace and stability wait, my beloved fascists, and you will secure it for yourselves and your foals.
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- Deverer · 16k words · 13 4 · 462 views
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Sounds like they confuse harmony and order.
Hmm, well it's certainly loyal to its tragedy tag because damn this story was a downer. Not what I expected out of an AAG story, which tends to still leave in happy moments to counter the bad and a note of hope ringing in the end. Not sure whether I like that change. I mean, it obviously gripped me since I'm here at the last chapter, but I just feel so... down after reading this.
Then again, tragedy was never my thing.
8908022
8912267
They do make good points about the problems, but as Namar astutely pointed out they're completely wrong about the solutions. That is a signature of fascist movements throughout history which has even been lampshaded by many of their leaders, there is a revolutionary force that promises change in a country and then they touch are an emotional nerve for the populace and then a counter revolutionary force arises which promises to fight the first force and be completely different while at the same time advocating for functionally the same things only with one big difference. In this case of the EFP/Purehooves conflict it's one of race, but otherwise their grounding for both in the Weather Underground seen in the Rarity prequel story means that they actually agree on a lot outside of that.
8909586
Hopefully their childhood will get more light in stories written by other authors.
Heh. Heh. Yeeeeeeeeeah.
8913621
Thank you for the comment, sir. I'm sorry it's not to your tastes, but I'm pleased to hear it got an emotional response from you. The tale of most of these characters' lives is probably not going to end well in the future, but it's entirely possible for at least some of them to survive. Though it would be assuredly be at great cost.
8922821
The major problem with fascists is that many of their solutions involve hurting the ‘other’ and not helping ‘their kind/proper folk/etc.’
8923209
In short, yes. Fascism brutally attacks its out-group while failing to provide for its in-group, which makes it a bad governmental system. The only places that have been able to maintain it for more than a generation are the non-expansionist Iberian nations, and they aren't exactly fascist today either.
8923412
Your version of fascism is still so much preferable than the Purehooves.
And I loved your story and hope Shin makes the EFP a canon element to the universe. While our still happens to be a reformist pressure group with no compulsions against violence, they are pro - integration rather than racists. And last but not least : their leadership actually believes what they preach, rather than using the group as a convenient excuse to get into power.
8927818
Well, the EFP preaches that they're the ones who should be put in charge because they're the only ones that can save Equestria, so being power hungry and sincere aren't mutually exclusive for them.
Also, this story was designed from the ground up to be canon, so you can rest easy there.
8963149
Awesome. The Purehooves have far too much power in canon.