The Armour of Atlas
The Armour of Atlas
“…Military officials were swift to downplay the significance of the grimm incursion in Mantle.”
There were bars over the screen projected on the wall in the middle of the street; probably it was to stop people throwing things and damaging the screen, but it did make General Ironwood look kind of like he was broadcasting from prison as he appeared on the TV.
“While it is true that a small force of grimm was able to enter the city, this was due to a localised and short-term failure of the defensive grid that was swiftly found and corrected. Moreover, thanks to the presence of Atlesian huntsmen on the ground, the grimm were defeated without any civilian casualties. My message to the people of Mantle, to the people of our entire kingdom, is a simple one: you are under our protection, and while that remains true, you have nothing to fear.”
“However,” the newsreader said, their voice echoing out across the street. “Some community leaders in Mantle saw things differently.”
“Oh, come on,” Rainbow groaned. “Don’t tell me they’re going to put-“
Robyn Hill appeared on the screen, and on every screen up and down the street, wearing that stupid hobo-chic outfit that had Rarity in fits every time she had to look at it. “Our leaders may wish to characterise this as a localised failure,” she said. “They may wish to point out that nobody died – this time.”
“Because they didn’t,” Rainbow growled.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that thanks to the negligence of our so-called leaders, grimm were able to enter the midst of our city,” Robyn Hill declared. “And the truth is that this is considered acceptable because it’s our city, not theirs. Can you imagine this state of affairs being allowed to continue in Atlas? The truth is that General Ironwood sits in the clouds with the rest of the elite. And they prefer to direct their resources to solve the problems of far away people in a far away land than to look down at the difficulties that we face everyday here in Mantle. The truth is that until we have a voice in their councils, we will continue to be disposable in their eyes.”
Rainbow rolled her eyes.
“Why do so many people think like this?” Blake asked, her voice soft and touched by a little melancholy. “Why do so many people think that it has to be either or between helping Menagerie and anything else? Why are so many people acting as though my parents have stolen the lien out of their wallets?”
“Because they want something to be mad about,” Rainbow replied. “Robyn Hill especially wants something to be mad about, or else she’d have nothing to say, and they’d stop sticking a camera in her face every time something bad happens.”
“Robyn Hill?” Blake repeated. “Isn’t she the one you mentioned before?”
“Yeah, I think I might have brought her up.”
“You said she was a crook.”
“She is!” Rainbow declared. And a traitor to boot.
“Then why is she being interviewed as a community leader?” Blake asked, confusion in her voice.
“Because nothing ever sticks to her,” Rainbow growled like an angry dog resisting the urge to bite something. “They – let me tell you something about the Happy Huntresses, okay? Don’t believe the hype, none of those clowns could cut it in the military so they hang around Mantle and claim they’re protecting the city, but I didn’t see them around when the grimm showed up, did you?”
“No,” Blake acknowledged. “But it was a surprise.”
“They wouldn’t have been there if they’d been given a week's notice,” Rainbow replied contemptuously. “Everyone knows that they steal from military bases, everyone knows that they hijack convoys, just like everyone knows that they run from anything scarier than an AK-200; only problem is that nobody can prove it. And in the meantime, every chance she gets, Robyn Hill is on TV trying to make General Ironwood look bad. It makes me sick.”
Blake wrapped one arm around herself, holding on to her elbow. “Why do you hate them so much?”
Rainbow ran one hand through the fringe of her multi-coloured hair. “You think I’m exaggerating.”
“I think you sound pretty mad about this for someone you don’t know and don’t have much to do with,” Blake said, her voice soft, curious without being accusatory. “I’ve never seen you get this worked up about the White Fang and yet these people...I suppose I’d just like to understand.”
The White Fang never betrayed the uniform, Rainbow thought to herself, but didn’t say because she wasn’t sure how to explain it to Blake, or even if she wanted to explain it to Blake. Could she explain that Robyn Hill had been the top student at Atlas Academy when Rainbow was starting out in Combat School, how she had been the talk of the whole academy system? Rainbow sighed from between gritted teeth. “I bet…I bet you were always going to be something great, weren’t you? Your parents were the leaders of the White Fang, and then…I bet Sienna Khan was teaching you how to lead so that you could be the big boss one day, wasn’t she?”
Blake shuffled uncomfortably in place. “Yes, that’s…unfortunately true.”
“I’m not trying to pick a fight or upset you or anything, it’s just how it is,” Rainbow said. “Some people are just born special: people like you, people like Pyrrha, nobody’s going to let you grow up to be some mediocre nobody that no one knows or remembers. You were born with big dreams riding on you.”
“Uh, I suppose,” Blake said, uncertainty in her voice. “What does this have to do with the Happy Huntresses?”
The point is that Robyn Hill is one of those people; she was like what Pyrrha is to Mistral, that’s what Robyn Hill was to all of us studying to get into Atlas and train to become huntsmen and huntresses. To Rainbow Dash especially. She didn’t know a lot of huntsmen outside of her connection through Twilight; General Ironwood - and even Shining Armour to an extent - was too far away to be an example to strive towards, but Robyn Hill? Even if everybody said she was a surefire bet to succeed the general as commander in chief one day she wasn’t there. She was still someone that a person like Rainbow Dash could reach for...until she walked away from it all, and spat on everything that Rainbow aspired to reach and on everyone who had admired her besides. Rainbow couldn’t forgive that...but she was a little afraid that if she put it like that to Blake it would seem really petty, so she took a different tack with what she actually told her fellow huntress. “I wasn’t born with anyone’s dreams,” Rainbow said. “Me and Gilda, growing up in Low Town, we…I’m sure you can guess what we were like.”
“I can guess what you’re implying,” Blake answered. “But I’m having a hard time picturing you as some kind of delinquent.”
Rainbow grinned. “Yeah, well…that’s the point, isn’t it? I got the chance to be something more, to make something more of myself, because of Twilight and especially because of General Ironwood. He saw that I could be somebody and so he helped me along the way because he cares. Because he cares about this kingdom and everyone else in it more than anyone else I know, and I hate seeing people like Robyn Hill talk about him like he’s some kind of heartless automaton when I guarantee that he cares a whole lot more than she does, and I hate the way that people like her look down on people like me because we wanted a little more than…this!” she waved her arms to encompass the dingy Mantle street on which they stood. She sighed. “Or perhaps I’m just mad at everyone else because I’m mad at myself. Take your pick. Either way, we should get going.” She turned away from the television screen on the wall and continued on her way down the street, thrusting her hands into her pockets as she walked, leaving Blake to catch up with her.
“In other news,” the voice of the newscaster followed them away from the television. “Councillor Bradley resigned today on the grounds of his continued ill-health, which he has said made it impossible for him to continue to perform his duties to the kingdom. The councillor, who has served on the Atlas Council for thirty-eight years, suffered a series of strokes beginning a month ago and has been in and out of hospital since. Though as yet unconfirmed, a special election to fill the vacant seat on the council seems likely. Councillor Cadenza paid tribute-“
“Great, more Robyn Hill,” Rainbow muttered. “She’ll run for that council seat and never be off the news.”
“How do you know she’ll run?” Blake asked.
“Because you just heard her,” Rainbow said. “Talking about a voice for Mantle on the council. She’s talking about her.”
Blake nodded. “Will she win?”
“I hope not,” Rainbow said. The very prospect was enough to make her shudder. Surely people were smarter than that.
“Hmm,” Blake mused. “Maybe…have you ever considered that…while she’s clearly wrong about General Ironwood, does that have to mean that she doesn’t have a point?”
Rainbow stopped dead in her tracks. “Whose side are you on?”
“The side that can see that this city is awful?” Blake suggested. “Look at Atlas, and then look here, it’s like night and day. No wonder Ilia’s parents wanted to get her out of Mantle and into Atlas, no wonder Rarity left Mantle for Atlas; don’t you think there’s something a little unbalanced about the fact that one city should be so prosperous and the other should be so poor?”
“I…maybe?” Rainbow admitted. “But it’s always been like this.”
“People saying that are the reason things don’t change,” Blake pointed out. “I’m sorry, I just…I don’t want my parents and Menagerie to be blamed for the state of Mantle.”
“You know that has nothing to do with the reason Mantle is the way it is, right?”
“I know,” Blake replied. “But does everyone else?”
Rainbow winced a little. “I guess I see what you mean. I don’t see what’s going to change it, though.”
“Neither do I,” Blake admitted. “Not yet, at least. How much longer till we reach your friends’ place?”
“I think it’s just up ahead,” Rainbow said, and once more she led the way through the streets of Mantle.
Yeah, Rainbow had to admit that Blake had kind of a point about the state of this city, and if Robyn Hill had been more willing to phrase it the way Blake did instead of sounding like anyone who didn’t like it here was the scum of Remnant or that General Ironwood ought to be down here collecting the garbage, then maybe Rainbow would have listened to her too, because…okay, it wasn’t a particularly nice place, what with the graffiti and the smog and the stains on the pavement like someone had thrown up there, but just because you could look at something and see that it wasn’t great didn’t mean that you could change it, or even see how it needed to be changed.
She wasn’t here to think about ways to save Mantle, she was here to answer for someone that she’d left behind.
Rainbow led Blake around a corner, to a narrow street occupied by businesses that were small in every sense; half of the fronts here were shuttered up, and covered in graffiti in lurid greens and reds, while the remaining places were narrow, as if they were being squeezed out by the city tightening around them: a record store, a hobby shop with painted miniature grimm in the window, an antique booksellers; and an art gallery-cum-studio, owned – or rented, maybe – by Rainbow’s old team-mate, Spearhead.
Rainbow stopped, and glanced at Blake. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“It’s no trouble,” Blake replied. “Although I’m a little surprised that you want me here.”
“I might need someone to push me through the doorway,” Rainbow said, not entirely jokingly. “I…I haven’t actually seen this guy since he retired. I’m not sure how happy he’ll be to see me.”
“You’ve been busy,” Blake pointed out.
“Yeah, too busy for a friend,” Rainbow muttered. She snorted. “Come on, let’s go.”
Blake nodded, and the two of them crossed the deserted street to Spearhead Studio, the name painted in red letters on the slightly dirty board above the door. Rainbow pushed the door open – it creaked a little – and led the way inside.
It was about as small as it looked from the outside, which meant that there was just about room for the two of them to stand side by side, hemmed in by the bare brick walls and by the sculptures that jutted out on either side of them.
Rainbow’s eyes were drawn to one of those sculptures, the nearest one to the door. She stared at it, turning her head this way and that as she tried to get a handle on what it was. It looked as though Spearhead had taken a lot of guns – mostly they were standard issue AR-30s, but Rainbow could also see a couple of gun arms stripped from AK-190s in there too – and melted them together in a kind of weird, twisty pattern that rose up off the plinth and then kind of went all over the place. Spent cartridges painted green stuck out of the rifle barrels at odd points, scattered all over the top levels of the sculpture.
“Is this art?” Rainbow murmured. “Or a mistake?”
“It’s a tree,” Blake replied, a slight smile upon her face.
Rainbow looked from Blake to the misshapen sculpture and back again. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Blake said. “See, those robot arms form the trunk rising upwards, then the rifles are the branches spreading outwards, all those green cartridges are the leaves.”
Rainbow looked at the sculpture again. Her eyes narrowed. “I…guess?”
“I like it,” Blake said. “The way that these weapons of destruction have been used to create something beautiful.”
“Always a pleasure to meet a fellow art lover!” the deep, jovial voice of Spearhead boomed out across the little gallery as he emerged from out of the back room. Spearhead was a bear of a man with a two-toned blue mane in waves of alternating paleness, mostly combed out of his forehead but with a few rogue strands falling down over his left eye. He was plainly dressed, in the kind of drab clothes that a lot of folks in Mantle favoured, except for the red and pale pink bandana tied around his neck. His right arm was a prosthetic, visible by the metallic hand emerging from out of his sleeve. “Especially when she’s a friend of my old buddy Rainbow Dash!” He strode rapidly across the distance separating the two of them, holding out his metal hand curled into a fist. “Long time no see. Give me some skin!”
Rainbow smiled awkwardly. “Hey, Spearhead,” she said, as she curled up her own hand and thrust it out for a fist-bump.
Spearhead’s prosthetic hand slammed into Rainbow’s hand like a truck. Rainbow gasped, her eyes watering just a little, but she didn’t have time to say anything before Spearhead pulled her into a bear-hug.
“It is so good to see you, dude!” Spearhead cried, squeezing Dash a little tighter still before she let her go. “And – I’m sorry, where are my manners. Ash Spearhead, at your service.”
“Blake Belladonna,” Blake said. “It’s a pleasure to meet an old friend of Rainbow Dash.”
Spearhead’s eyes widened. “Blake Belladonna? The Blake Belladonna? The Warrior Princess of Menagerie?”
“Please don’t call me that,” Blake murmured, looking away in embarrassment. “I didn’t ask for anyone to give me that nickname.”
“Right, right, I’m sorry,” Spearhead said quickly. “Believe me, I know how much of a struggle it can be to escape the expectations placed on you by your appearance. You have no idea how hard it is for some people to accept that someone like me could be an artist.”
“I suppose it wasn’t so hard for anyone to accept that you were a huntsman in training,” Blake suggested.
“No,” Spearhead agreed. “But after I lost my arm it was a wake-up call that this life wasn’t for me. Don’t get me wrong, massive respect to Dashie here, and you and all those other dudes out there putting their lives on the line for us, but personally, I’d rather make art than war, you know?”
Blake nodded. “I’ve come to think of it like: if everyone was a huntsman, there wouldn’t be anything worth protecting.”
Spearhead nodded. “Exactly. Speaking of protecting, I hear that a couple of huntresses were right there when some grimm busted out into the city. Wouldn’t happen to be you two, would it?”
“How could you possibly know that?” Rainbow demanded.
“'Cause I know you, dude, you always got to be in the thick of the action,” Spearhead said, ruffling Rainbow’s hair with one hand. “Thanks for keeping us safe, Rainbow Dash.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Rainbow said, retreating out of Spearhead’s reach. “Not when I came here to apologise to you.”
Spearhead’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Dash, come on; what could you possibly have to apologise to me for?”
“You know what, dude, come on, you don’t have to pretend,” Rainbow said. “You were my team-mate and I should have kept in touch after you dropped out but…I didn’t, and that was a jerk move and I’m sorry for it.”
Spearhead stared down at her for a moment. “So what happened?”
Rainbow blinked in surprise. “Huh?”
“I mean what changed?” Spearhead said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s absolutely great to see you, but you didn’t come around before and you’re mentioning it specifically, so…what?”
Rainbow thrust her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She scuffed her foot back and forth across the floor. “I…I messed up. I messed up big time and that…it’s kind of making me think of all the other ways that I messed up before, and the people that I messed up with. Like I said, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m trying to- wait, what?”
Spearhead grinned. “What, did you think I was going to hold a grudge? I’ve missed you too much for that, dude; and besides, I don’t want to be one of your problems, not when you got others going on too. And besides, I still owe you for saving my life, right?”
“You saved his life?” Blake asked.
“Dude! You never told her the story?” Spearhead demanded.
Blake folded her arms. “No, she never did.”
“It’s not that much of the story,” Rainbow said. “We were on a mission, there were more grimm than we thought there’d be, Spearhead was wounded, I carried him back to the Skygrasper, the end.”
“The end?” Spearhead said. “No way is that the end of the story. I got wounded, and then Dash carried me back to the Skygrasper, sure; but then she went back for Maud and Applejack and got both of them out too and made sure they weren’t wounded. And she did all of that in spite of the fact that she’d been ordered to cut her losses and pull out. You’re in good hands with this one, Blake; Rainbow Dash won’t ever leave a team-mate behind.”
Blake smiled. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ve seen that for myself.”
“Normally I don’t mind being told how great I am, but that’s not what I came here for so will you knock it off,” Rainbow said. “I…this isn’t how I thought this was going to go.”
“But isn’t it better?” Spearhead asked.
Rainbow hesitated. “Yeah, yeah it is,” she admitted. “How have you been, Spearhead?”
“Like I said, I’ve found my true calling,” Spearhead declared. “That’s another reason why I can’t stay mad at you: this place is a temple to Art, and art is supposed to provoke thought and understanding, not make you feel worse coming out than you did coming in.” He looked at Blake. “So, you like the Tree of Peace, huh?”
Blake looked again at the weapon-made sculpture. “I really do,” she said.
“Would you like to have it?” Spearhead asked. “On the house to a friend of Rainbow Dash.”
“I couldn’t just take something you’ve worked on without paying for it.”
“Please,” Spearhead said. “Art should be for everyone to appreciate, not just those who can afford it.”
“Is that why you’re stuck here instead of having a bigger space?” Rainbow asked.
“I have room to create, and room to hang,” Spearhead said. “What more could I want?”
More of both? Rainbow thought.
“Would you like the tree?” Spearhead repeated. “You’d be honouring me if you took it with you. Think of it as a belated ‘Welcome to Atlas’ gift.”
Blake looked the sculpture up and down, sizing it up. “There’s room for this in our room, right?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Rainbow said. “I mean, it isn’t exactly standard, but I think we’ll get away with it.”
“Thank you,” Blake said. “It really is a very nice piece.”
“I consider it one of my journeyman works,” Spearhead said. “This is my latest piece,” he added, directing their attention towards a broad canvas painted almost entirely black, but spotted with little red dots as though he’d gotten a red paintbrush and flicked it over the canvas. “I call it: the Watch of the Huntsman.”
“Nice,” Rainbow said, thinking that she wished she’d noticed it sooner and asked for that instead of the tree made out of guns.
“It’s a little…dark,” Blake observed.
“That’s the point,” Rainbow said. “Its darkness filled with grimm staring out at us from the night. It’s a perfect representation of what we’re fighting against!”
“The beauty of art is the way that it speaks to different people in different ways,” Spearhead said. “Unfortunately I can’t let you walk out with my whole gallery.”
Rainbow sniggered. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking for another freebie.”
“Thanks, dude. Art should be free, but I need something to live on, you know,” Spearhead said. “Say, Blake, how would you like to be a part of my ongoing masterpiece?”
“Uh, ongoing masterpiece?” Blake repeated.
“Just give me a second,” Spearhead said, as he pulled out his scroll. “I don’t usually go in for virtual art, but in this particular case, I can’t think of a better medium for it. Now, hold it right there.”
Blake was currently slightly side on to him, facing the Watch of the Huntsman, her head turned to face Spearhead. “Is this okay?”
“It’s perfect,” Spearhead said, as he took the picture. “That’s great.”
“How come I’m not in your ongoing masterpiece?” Rainbow asked.
“You are,” Spearhead replied. “Come through, both of you, and you can take a look at it.” He turned away, and headed into the back room. “I’m not sure that I’ll ever finish this, but it sure is something cool to work on.”
Rainbow and Blake followed him into the back room, where various pieces were in various stages of completion: a beowolf head made out of various pieces of scrap metal, something that looked like a lot of footprints on a canvas, and in the centre of the room, being projected out of a holo-emitter on the floor, the image of General Ironwood, presented as a giant looming over Atlas floating in the foreground, with his ships on either side of him, flying diagonally upwards and away from him.
Except, as Rainbow got closer, she could see that it wasn’t really a picture of the general at all. Or, rather, it had General Ironwood’s face, it was his head, but his body wasn’t really a picture of his body, although it was the right shape; rather, the body was made up hundreds, maybe thousands of little images, some of them bigger than others, some of them changing size and position as she watched. As she bent down and leaned forwards, Rainbow realised that she could see herself in the immense collage, and Applejack too, and Maud; their pictures scattered across the general’s body; she spotted Twilight too, wearing a lab coat, and Rainbow remembered that when Twi had come down to do some work on their weapons as a favour, Spearhead had taken a picture of her; she could see Trixie, and Starlight and Sunburst, too. And there were others, lots of others, huntsmen and huntresses looking out at her from hundreds of tiny images that, if you stopped looking so closely and stepped back, all seemed to blend together to form the body of General Ironwood: the defenders of Atlas all coming together and combining into a single object, mightier than all of them.
“Every huntsman or huntress that I ever meet gets their picture on here,” Spearhead said, as he pushed a few buttons on his scroll to add Blake’s photo to the collage, the whole work moving and shifting a little to accommodate her. “I call it the Armour of Atlas, and you’re all a part of it.”
“Yes,” Blake said. “Yes, I am.” She smiled. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The Armour of Atlas.
Rainbow was reminded of Spearhead’s work as she stood before the These Are My Jewels statue back in Atlas, looking at all photos that people had stuck on the memorial, beneath the lady and the statues of the soldier and the specialists and all the rest who surrounded her just like they guarded Atlas.
It was raining over Atlas, and the raindrops fell thick and fast, the rain flattening her hair down over her forehead, and trickling down Rainbow’s face, but she didn’t flinch from them. She let them fall upon her, and as they fell she looked up at the monument to the sacrifice of Atlas that loomed above her.
She looked at all the pictures stuck upon the plinth of tall dark stone. She could see Flynt Coal and Neon Katt, the latter standing out with her vibrant hair, grinning out of the same photograph together. They were just two amongst a sea of faces; it was safe to say that there were a lot more pictures on this monument after the Battle of Vale than there had been before, and it hadn’t exactly been barren then.
But now there were so many it was getting to the point there wasn’t room for any more.
It was a tradition that you didn’t keep the pictures on the plinth; no matter how much you continued to feel the loss, no matter how evergreen your grief continued to grow, you put the picture up and then you let it be blown away by the wind, turned to mush by the rain, fall off and get trampled underfoot; you didn’t keep refreshing the picture of the one you’d lost, you accepted that Atlas would move on even if you couldn’t, and there would be more recent sacrifices that also deserved to be remembered.
But there had been so many sacrifices so quickly, in such a short space of time, that they had all ended up here at once. So many jewels of Atlas that had ceased to shine.
And it’s my fault. It’s all very well for Blake to tell me that I just have to move forward and do better, but how am I supposed to move forward when this is what I’m leaving behind me?
“What troubles you, young soldier of Atlas?”
Rainbow looked around, startled by the sudden intrusion into her thoughts. A woman stood beside her, middle aged maybe although it was hard to tell because she had a kind of ageless quality about her; her skin was so smooth it was like a baby, but at the same time her eyes were so old it kind of reminded Rainbow of Beacon’s Professor Ozpin. Her hair was dark, and tied up into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in a dark blue suit, with a white shirt underneath. She held a black umbrella above her head, to protect herself from the rain that pattered down upon them both, while in her other arm she held a bouquet of blue flowers, the blue deepening the closer to the edge of the petal it got.
“Ma’am?” Rainbow asked.
The woman glanced at the statue, her eyes travelling down from the ancient lady atop the plinth, to the words, to the photographs beneath. “Sits one of your friends upon this place?”
Rainbow frowned. “No,” she said. “Some of them were my classmates, a lot of them were my comrades, but…I couldn’t honestly call them my friends.”
“Then what troubles your heart so?”
Rainbow looked away from her. “I’d rather not say, ma’am.”
“I see,” she said. She knelt down, and placed the bouquet at the base of the statue. “These flowers,” she said, “are the hardiest of all blooms in the world; able to endure the cold and the lack of sunlight as no other flowers are. Not only in greenhouses or arboretums do they grow, but they can be found blooming even in the midst of the frozen tundra where nothing else grows; and so they are called the Flower of the North.”
“I see,” Rainbow murmured. So that’s what Ciel means.
The woman took a step back. “You were not their friend, but you were not so distant from them that the feeling of responsibility for their deaths does not affect you.”
Rainbow felt her spine turn to ice. Her eyes widened as she slowly turned her head to look at the woman standing beside her. “How do you-“
“I know much,” the woman said. “But fear not, soldier of Atlas, I am not here to judge. I leave that to other powers.”
Rainbow was silent for a moment. The rain trickled down her face like teardrops. “I killed them,” she whispered.
“Is that so? Was it your hand that held the blade? Or fired the weapon?”
“It was my tongue that was tied,” Rainbow answered. “If I had said something sooner then maybe…maybe things would have been different…somehow.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, somehow!” Rainbow snapped.
The woman’s face was impassive. Her voice remained as smooth as silk, and as gentle as the flowing of a shallow stream. “Your silence was your error, and you rightly bear the shame of it, but to presume that the course of history lies upon your one fault? To claim for yourself the heavy mantle of so many deaths? That is rank presumption, to dismiss out of hand all choices made by others, all deeds performed by other hands, all words spoken by other tongues. Not even the prophets and the kings of old were so vain of their own import. The power of choice is not accorded merely to the chosen few, but to all men be they ever so low or ever so exalted. Many choices led to the battle in which these brave flowers ceased to bloom; some even more important than your own. Many choices marked the way that ended with the falling of these most honoured sons and daughters of the north, not least of which their choice to stand and fight in the face of terror rather than flee before its coming.”
“What are you trying to say, ma’am?” Rainbow asked. “That it didn’t matter what I said or didn’t say?”
The woman was silent for a moment. “Do you know the origin of the words upon this statue: these are my jewels?”
“No, ma’am.”
“They are the words of a queen who ruled this land in ancient times,” the woman said. “Wealthy and powerful, one day an ambassador from a foreign land asked her why she wore no jewellery about her; in reply she called for her sons, embraced them both about the shoulders and spoke those words: these are my jewels. But when I read those words, I am also reminded of another tale, a much older one, almost a myth from the very early days of Mantle, of how one day a great chasm appeared in the centre of the city. At a loss, the elders of Mantle consulted a wise old man, who told them the chasm would not be closed unless they gave unto the earth the greatest treasure of these northern lands. Into the chasm the people threw gold, jewels, dust dug from the mines, all to no avail; until one day, a young girl claimed to have the answer: the greatest treasure of the north was not its dust or wealth, but its fighters of surpassing courage and so, armed for battle and dressed in all her armour, she threw herself down into the pit…and the chasm closed above her.
“The wealth of these lands is greater now than it was then, but the courage of its warriors remains the greatest treasure of the kingdom. Honour the valour of those who fell, honour them by showing that same courage as you continue the fight in which they made the ultimate sacrifice, but do not insult them by claiming even to yourself to be the architect of their fall. They deserve better than that, and you…you are better than that.”
“Am I?” Rainbow asked. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I see your heart, Rainbow Dash, soldier of Atlas,” she said. “Just as I see that Atlas has not run out of need for you yet. On your feet, daughter of the north, your battles are not yet concluded, and you will need all your steadfastness and resolve for those which lie ahead.”
Rainbow stared at her. “Who are you?” she asked.
The lady smiled at her. “One who watches,” she said. “one who listens; and one who speaks, upon occasion.”
Rainbow looked away, her gaze once more upon the photographs of the fallen, travelling upwards to the white lady sat atop the plinth. She came to attention, and saluted all her fallen comrades.
“I won’t let you down again,” she declared. She looked to the woman, to thank her, to ask again how she knew all that she had known but…she was gone. She was nowhere to be seen, not there, not walking away, not anywhere that Rainbow looked for her. She had vanished, completely, as though she had never been.
“What the…” Rainbow muttered. Had she imagined the whole thing? No, the flowers were still there. But then, where she did go so quickly? And how had she known Rainbow’s secret?
What had just happened to her?
What just happened is that I made a promise. A promise to everyone who gave their lives. A promise to Atlas. A promise to myself.
General Ironwood picked me because I saved the lives of Applejack and Maud, because I chose to save their lives rather than fall back.
But there has to be a line, and I crossed it at Mountain Glenn and then I lied about it afterwards.
I won’t let Atlas down again.
She turned and walked away, her footsteps squelching a little as she moved down the rainy street, leaving the dead to keep their watch behind her.
She was soaking wet by the time that she arrived at Sugarcube Corner, which led to her standing in the doorway after she walked in, dripping on the step for a bit because she didn’t want to trail water any further inside.
Mrs Cake was standing behind the counter. She looked up and saw Rainbow standing there. “Oh, hello dear. It’s been a long time.”
“Well…yeah, I guess it has, Mrs C,” Rainbow said. She hadn’t felt like coming around her much after she’d…decided to stop seeing her friends. It was hard to avoid them in this place, and it felt like a space that she should cede to the rest of them.
I was a real idiot, wasn’t I?
“Well, never mind, it's good to see you again,” Mrs Cake said genially. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just a coffee, thanks.”
“Of course,” Mrs Cake said. “And in the meantime, you know where everyone is.”
Rainbow did, indeed, know where everyone was. Not just because they were sitting around the same table they always sat at, but because they’d all been staring at her since she walked through the door.
They were looking at her like she was an ursa; which was ironic because a part of Rainbow Dash would have rather faced five ursai with only her bare hands than done this right now.
But Blake was right, this was something that she had to do.
And so, while Mrs Cake made her coffee, Rainbow – now not dripping quite so much water on the floor – made her way over to them. Her steps were slow, as if she’d been walking in cement not sewage earlier in the day that it had all solidified around her shoes. She kept looking away, or down at the floor she was dripping water on.
She still had trouble meeting their eyes, Pinkie’s especially.
They didn’t have any problem staring at her, but that was part of the problem: they looked nervous of her, wary of her, and it…it made her ashamed of herself. She couldn’t believe that she had actually gotten to the point where her own friends were worried about what she might say to them.
I’ve really messed everything up lately, haven’t I? I’m such an idiot.
Rainbow stopped, looking down at all them. When she could bring herself to look at them at all. “Hey, girls,” she said.
“Hey, Rainbow Dash,” Twilight murmured.
Rainbow looked away, as she reached up and scratched the back of her head with one hand. “I came here to say…I came here to say I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, about everything, but especially about how I acted to you, Pinkie. I was a complete jerk and I was way out of line and there’s no excuse for what I did. There’s no excuse for anything that I did.”
“Then why’d ya do it?” Applejack asked.
“Because I was angry at myself, and so I got angry at you,” Rainbow admitted. “I know that I’ve been a complete…but I can’t imagine my life without the five of you in it, or at least I don’t want to, so, I guess what I’m asking is, can I join you?”
Twilight got up from off the arm of the sofa on which she’d been sitting. She smiled. “Welcome back, Rainbow Dash,” she said, as she pulled Rainbow into a hug.
Rainbow stood there for a moment, feeling Twilight’s arms around her, feeling how light Twi felt even when she was leaning with her whole weight on Rainbow Dash. Gently, she put her arms round Twilight Sparkle in turn. “I’ve missed you, Twi.”
They were joined first by Fluttershy, arms reaching out to encompass both of them, and then Rarity. Applejack was the next to rise to her feet.
“You can be as stubborn as a mule sometimes, and about as smart as one too,” she said. She grinned. “But we all knew that when we became your friends, and you ought to know by now that we care about you anyway. Welcome home, sugarcube.”
“Thanks, Applejack,” Rainbow said. She craned her neck a little to look at the last member of their group, the one who hadn’t said or done anything yet. “Pinkie Pie?”
Pinkie wasn’t looking at Rainbow, or any of them; she was turned away, her face hidden behind her mass of poofy hair. When she turned back again, her eyes were filled with tears. “Rainbow Dash…I…oh, come here!”
The others had just enough time to gasp as she flew through the air towards them, tackling them all and bringing them down in a heap on the floor. They lay there for a moment, a tangle of arms and legs; and then, as one, they started to laugh.
I’ll never let you go again, Rainbow thought, as the sounds of their laughter filled Sugarcube Corner.
Blake wasn’t entirely sure why General Ironwood had asked her to report to him in his home instead of at his office, but nevertheless, that lack of understanding had not prevented her from presenting herself at his door. She had been a little surprised to find out that he didn’t live on campus at Atlas Academy, but she supposed that there was no actual need for him to do so, and in any case, he still lived very close by; the shadow of Atlas loomed high in the sky overhead as Blake arrived at the General’s modest house.
The house itself looked almost as though someone had started building a tower block, and then got bored after the second floor and decided to stop there. The building was square, and built of hard grey stone, with the lines of a concrete superstructure jutting out of the walls in a brutalist style.
Blake folded up her umbrella as she stepped into the shelter of the porch, and flapped it once or twice to shake the water droplets off. She pushed the button on the intercom beside the door.
There was no picture on the screen, but the voice of General Ironwood issued forth. “Who is it?”
“Specialist Belladonna reporting as ordered, sir,” Blake said.
“Of course. Come in, Belladonna,” General Ironwood said. There was a buzzing sound, and the door swung open just a fraction.
Blake pushed it open the rest of the way as she walked inside, wiping her wet feet on the grey mat and sticking her umbrella in a gleaming metallic stand placed conveniently by the doorway. The walls were a soft grey, while the carpet underneath her feet was a pale blue. A three-tier shoe rack sat not far from the door, but only one tier was being occupied, by a pair of boots that Blake took to be the General’s. The door to a minimalist living room was open, of which the most notable thing was a pair of empty sword-stands above the mantelpiece, surprising Blake because she hadn’t thought General Ironwood was the type to collect ceremonial swords. The hallway stretched out in front of her, while a set of stairs just to her right led upwards.
“Come on up, Belladonna,” General Ironwood called down to her from upstairs.
“Yes, sir,” Blake replied, as she began to climb the stairs. She arrived on the landing, to see General Ironwood standing in the washroom, presenting his profile to her as he shaved. He didn’t acknowledge her presence.
Blake looked around. There were three hooks for keys upon the wall, but only one of them actually held a set of keys. There were three bedroom doors, all of them shut. On the wall was hung a picture of the general himself, and a young girl with long dark hair standing beside him, holding his hand.
Blake couldn’t help but stare at the picture, as the only human touch in an otherwise austere home it naturally drew the eye; the general was a grown man in it – even if he looked a little younger than he was now – which meant that girl couldn’t be his sister, so-
“That’s my daughter, Aska,” General Ironwood said as he emerged from the washroom, wiping the last of the shaving foam from off his face. He was wearing a black shirt, but with no sign yet of his jacket or tie. “That was taken on her birthday when she was eight years old.”
Blake straightened to attention. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t apologise. I can’t invite you into my home and then complain that you have eyes.”
“Yes, sir,” Blake said. “I…I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
General Ironwood frowned for a moment. “Aska and I are…not as close as I would like.”
The feeling of sympathy that Blake felt for her commander in that moment was swiftly followed by a far stronger feeling of guilt as she thought about her own father, far away in Menagerie. Despite all the travelling back and forth that her mother and Councillor Cadenza had been doing lately, she hadn’t written her father a letter in spite of all the times that mom had asked her to. She hadn’t been able to decide what she wanted to say. Did he tell visitors into his palace that they weren’t as close as he would like?
I’ve been away for so long that any pictures of me will be the only proof he has a daughter.
When the tower goes up, I’ll call him.
If I can think of what I ought to say to him by then.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Blake repeated. “And about your wife, as well.”
“What? Oh, no,” General Ironwood replied. “There was…Aska is adopted. I never…quite found the time.” He cleared his throat, and in so doing drew a line under that part of the conversation; at least that was how Blake took it anyway. “I’m sorry to bring you down here for this, instead of doing it at the office,” he said. “I have a dinner engagement, and not much time.”
“Business or pleasure, sir?” Blake asked, as Ironwood opened the door into one of the other rooms and disappeared inside.
“Definitely business,” General Ironwood said from inside the room. “I have to lobby Councillor Sleet over this year’s appropriations bill.” He reappeared, wearing his jacket unbuttoned and doing up his tie. “I wanted to repeat that you did good work in Mantle today.”
“I wasn’t alone down there, sir,” Blake said.
General Ironwood gave a grunt that might have been an acknowledgement of that fact. “This was your first time in Mantle, wasn’t it?” he asked, as he began to fasten his jacket.
“Yes sir.”
“Thoughts?”
“Uh, permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted.”
“Why has one of Atlas’ own cities been allowed to become so…degraded?” Blake asked, after searching for a word that didn’t sound too condemnatory. But the truth was...a part of her almost wanted to condemn. She had seen the state of Low Town, but she had told herself that it was allowed to exist because it was home only to faunus; that didn’t make it right but it meant that Blake could hope that, as the condition of the faunus in Atlas improved, so the existence of a place like Low Town would become intolerable. Mantle threatened that cosy belief, suggesting that there were some in Atlas who were perfectly content to abandon the poor whether they were human or faunus. If Mantle was allowed to exist, would Low Town ever change? “Atlas is supposed to be a shining beacon to the world, but Mantle at the moment seems like a stain on Atlas.”
“I know what you mean,” General Ironwood replied. “The situation is far from ideal, but as commander of the military, all I can do is defend Mantle, I can’t solve all its problems.”
“What about your seats on the council, sir?”
General Ironwood finished fastening his jacket. “I’m afraid that even the council can’t solve all of Mantle’s problems,” he said. “Although that doesn’t stop certain people from talking as though the council, or even me personally, could fix everything if we wished to do so.”
“Robyn Hill,” Blake murmured.
“You know of her?”
“Rainbow Dash has…given me the benefit of her views,” Blake said, settling for what she hoped was a neutral way of phrasing it.
General Ironwood seemed amused. “You’ll find that Robyn Hill and her followers aren’t too popular with a lot of people in the military. Did Dash tell you that she used to be one of us?”
“I…” Blake hesitated. She recalled what Rainbow had said about the Happy Huntresses not being able to cut it in the military. “She might have hinted at it.”
“Hill was one of my most gifted students, an exemplar to all aspiring huntsmen in Atlas and at the combat schools,” Ironwood said. “But after graduation, she decided to devote her life to the service of Mantle instead of the good of Atlas and mankind. Someone who walks away from an organisation or a cause often isn’t very well liked amongst those who stay behind. Especially amongst those who looked up to them.”
“I know the feeling, sir,” Blake reminded him, thinking of Strongheart and Ilia.
General Ironwood hesitated for a moment. “Of course,” he said, “I can’t say that I’m immune to those feelings myself. I am…very disappointed by the choices that Hill has made since leaving the military.”
“Speaking for those who walk away, I’m sure that she’s doing what she thinks is right,” Blake said. “Even if it isn’t obvious to those she left behind.”
“I’m sure she does, but you’ll forgive me if I have a hard time overlooking theft of my equipment,” General Ironwood replied.
“Of course not, sir,” Blake said quickly. “I just meant that-”
“That Mantle could use all the help it can get?” General Ironwood suggested. “That doesn’t excuse breaking the law.”
“I understand that, sir.”
“Mantle does have a lot of problems,” General Ironwood acknowledged. “Some of them could be solved if the SDC paid its workers more; some of them, I fear, are insoluble; the Mantle mines have been slowly running dry since Nicholas Schnee’s day. Once the last mine is tapped out, then the city will die.”
“Unless it can find some other way to support itself,” Blake said.
“Easy to say, harder to find,” General Ironwood replied.
“With all due respect, sir, did you really call me up here to talk about Mantle?”
“I called you here in part because I wanted to see how you’d reacted to Mantle,” General Ironwood said.
“I see, sir,” Blake said softly. “And, if I may ask?”
“As conscientious as I expected,” General Ironwood declared. “I also called you here to warn you.”
Blake frowned. “Warn me, sir?”
“The defences in Mantle shouldn’t have failed that way,” General Ironwood said. “A pride of sabrys and a lagarto shouldn’t have been able to destroy those guns without being killed in the process. Preliminary evidence suggests they were sabotaged.”
Blake’s eyes widened. “Sabotaged? By who?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I have my suspicions,” General Ironwood said. He got out his scroll, and ran his fingers over it until it was displaying a photograph of a middle-aged man, tall and slender, with sallow skin and a walrus moustache covering his upper lip. “This is Doctor Arthur Watts.”
“Watts,” Blake repeated. “As in-“
“The very same,” General Ironwood said. “It’s been clear ever since the aborted attack on the Vale CCT that Salem has an agent of extraordinary technical skill, and Watts is exactly the kind of man who would be willing to work for her.”
“I understand, sir, but why would he come back to Mantle?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not willing to wait to find out,” General Ironwood said.
Blake nodded. “That’s where I come in, sir.”
“You’re the best huntress I have whom I can also trust completely,” General Ironwood said. “And whom I can move without raising questions. I want you to go back to Mantle, find Watts, and bring him in: dead or alive.”
Blake stood to attention. “Yes, sir.”
Abacus Cinch walked through the streets of Atlas, holding an umbrella over her head to keep the rain that had been falling all day off her head.
Her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles as she heard the following footsteps of someone behind her. She stopped, and so did they.
Cinch inhaled through her nostrils, and resumed walking. So did her shadow.
She stopped again, and reached into the pocket of her jacket for Final Marker; her hand closed around the seemingly innocuous pen as she turned to face her pursuer.
“Good evening, my dear Brigadier General; a lot of weather we seem to be having at the moment. Or should that be Principal now?”
Cinch’s eyes widened. “Arthur?”
Doctor Arthur Watts placed one hand upon his chest as he bowed. “At your service.”
“What in the name of all dust are you doing here?” Cinch demanded.
“I’m here for the pleasure of your company, my dear, of course.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m in no mood for games, Arthur. What are you really doing here?”
Watts's smile peeked out from beneath his moustache, like a knife partly drawn from its sheath. “I’m afraid I need some information, my dear Abacus, information that I’m hoping you might be able to give me.”
“Is that so?” Cinch asked. “And what makes you think that I won’t simply kill you, or break your aura and drag you to the nearest cell?”
“Yes, that is what a good servant of Atlas would do, isn’t it?” Watts observed, his voice casual and unafraid.
“I am a good servant of Atlas,” Cinch declared.
Watts chuckled. “Oh, come now, my dear Abacus. We both know that your loyalty to Atlas has always come second to your loyalty to yourself. How much did it hurt to watch James get promoted over your head?”
“As much as it hurt you to watch Polendina’s project get the green light instead of yours, I imagine,” Cinch replied acerbically. “The difference is that, unlike you, I didn’t desert my post and run away into the wilds.”
“No, you’ve simply been brooding on it, haven’t you?” Watts replied.
“What do you want, Arthur?”
“To help you,” Watts said. “And, perhaps, even to help you help Atlas, as a good servant to this great kingdom.”
“I thought you said you wanted information.”
“Yes, but I’m not expecting you to give it away for nothing,” Watts replied. “What kind of a gentleman do you take me for?”
Cinch stared at him for a moment. “A gentleman would have offered to walk me home instead of following me like a common brigand.”
“Indeed, a tragic lapse from one who has spent too long in the shadows. Let me correct it now: shall we?”
Cinch watched him advance towards her, only to draw alongside her and began to walk with her as she too resumed her journey.
“This business with the grimm in Mantle,” Cinch observed. “Your work, I presume?”
“I don’t control the grimm, if that’s what you think I’ve been doing since my departure. But I did disable the defences, yes,” Watts said. “And I left my handiwork reasonably obvious at the scene of the crime, as it were. James isn’t completely stupid, but he is predictable. I’m sure he has his agents scouring Mantle for me even as we speak.”
“And while his eye is turned on Mantle, here you are in Atlas,” Cinch concluded. “You have grown no less devious in exile, Arthur.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Watts said. They walked a little further, the edges of their umbrellas touching slightly as they walked. “Do I hear correctly,” he said. “Atlas is getting into bed with the faunus on Menagerie?”
Cinch snorted. “You do hear right, unfortunately. A pet project of James and Councillor Cadenza. Another young pup elevated too high, too young.”
“Yes, it’s terrible, isn’t it?” Watts murmured. “That we, with all our gifts, must learn to accept second place while the second rate rise high on the basis of their connections, their popularity, their so-called charm.”
“And watch powerless as they steer the ship of state onto the rocks,” Cinch finished.
“Perhaps not,” Watts said. “Perhaps this is the moment when the second-rate overreach, and the hour when men and women of real ability ride to the rescue of our stumbling kingdom.”
Cinch glanced at him. “What are you saying, Arthur?”
“I’m asking you if you want to spend the rest of your career commanding a combat school, teaching infants how to hold a weapon without hurting themselves,” Watts said. “I remember when you had grander ambitions than that.”
“Ambitions die of old age swifter than men.”
“I don’t think so, they simply grow dormant,” Watts replied. “This treaty with Menagerie is not universally popular with the people.”
Cinch snorted. “It isn’t universally popular in the administration. Neighsay likes it no better than I do, and I think Silver Sentry is on the fence about it to say the least, but did you come all the way to Atlas to suggest that I go into politics, Arthur? You know I don’t have what it takes to get elected to the council. I’m not what the uneducated masses look for in a leader.”
“What the masses look for is a figurehead, they’re blind to who really carries out the hard work of ruling,” Watts replied. “I take it that you still keep in touch with the best of your students from Crystal Prep.”
“There are those who remain grateful to me for my mentoring them in the first stage of their careers, but I know you’re not such a fool as to suggest a coup.”
“I suggest you might be wise to have your own trusted followers to guard against a coup, because you can be certain that James has men under him who are loyal to him first, and Atlas second.” He fell silent for a moment as the two of them walked down the street. “I’ve always thought Jacques Schnee would make an excellent councillor.”
“Jacques Schnee?” Cinch repeated in disbelief. She stared at Watts as though he had lost his mind. Then she thought about it a little more. Yes, Jacques Schnee was a vain peacock of a man, but upon reflection, such a man might just be the leader their cause required. “Jacques Schnee,” she repeated, and with more approval in her voice. “Once again, Arthur, you excel yourself.”
“A pleasure to be of service.”
“I don’t suppose you’d consider staying,” Cinch said. “In a new Atlas, there might be an opportunity for your past crimes to be forgiven and forgotten.”
Watts chuckled. “As much as I do feel homesick sometimes, I’m afraid I can’t delay. I have places to go, people to see, you know how it is.”
“Very well,” Cinch said. “Now what can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a certain prisoner; I need to know where she’s being held and what kind of security is keeping her there.”
“And then help getting them out, I suppose?”
“No,” Watts said. “I think I shall be able to manage that just fine on my own.”
“Your reliance on those rings of yours will be the death of you, or else it will be your incorrigible taste for the dramatic,” Cinch observed.
“They are flaws baked in me, true,” Watts said airily. “But that’s why I also carry a gun. All I need, Abacus, is to know where they’re holding now and how securely. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“That would be ideal,” Cinch said. “What’s her name, this prisoner you want so badly?”
“Chrysalis.”
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Uh-oh...
10198999
She is probably no Queen of the changelings here.
10199026
That doesn't mean she isn't evil.
That artwork, the Armor of Atlas, that melted my heart. And then Rainbow Dash makes up with the rest of the Mane 6. This is a marvelous chapter, balancing wholesome and heartwarming moments with several very foreboding ones at the end.
We saw how much of the puzzle Ironwood was able to fit into place once he knew that Watts was alive. And here, with Cinder's information, he's been alerted early. This will be interesting. However, now we know that this is exactly what both Watts and Salem want. They know that Cinder has likely named most of the members of Salem's circle, so now that anonymity is out the window, they're using Ironwood's knowledge of their existence to their advantage.
10198999
I was just about to say that. You beat me to it. I was wondering if Chrysalis would make another appearance, now that Salem is letting the other major MLP villains out of the gates.
Salem is a master of deception, psychological warfare and divide-and-conquer. And now with the Crown of Choice, she's an expert strategist. The things she could accomplish with a shapeshifter... it's rather terrifying. Yes. I'm a little rattled at the moment with the potential implications of what's to come.
Hah Chrysalis, thas nice.
heh, beats having Tanya Von Deguracheff as a Daughter...
10199055
Yes but she is most likely just a White Fang agent.
Now all we need is cosy Glow
Ah, so Watts didn't fake his death in this and is using that to his advantage instead. Interesting.
Chrysalis. Undoubtedly MLP greatest strategist and has semblance to shapeshift. Yes she will be a absolutely powerful evil ally. And Jacque Schnee in political power... were screwed. Also him being in political power would actually explain Atlas going down hill better then in volume seven.
10199149
She wasn't just a white fang agent, she lead a white fang attack that could have crippled Atlas, taking out both ironwood and likely many other heads of state in one go and nearly succeeded. that is the kind of thing the head of the Atlas branch would do, this women was clearly a leader (and likely was gunning to replace Sienna as head of the whole organization, and honestly had her plan worked she would have). this implies to me both an incredibly dangerous mind, but some one ambitious enough to continue this fight even after the treaty (with the justification that with the fall of the SDC and Atlas they wont need to care about a treaty, THEY will be incharge now.)
what's more the more militant members of the WF will be backing her, the same people that in cannon backed Adam's Coupe would certainly back the women who almost took down the WF greatest enemy, and plans to finish what she started.
now as for what Watt's gets out of this, well he certainly wants her to do her best, i mean in truth all he really wants is the artifact and the chaos Chrysilis will make certainly helps that, although i could even buy her gladly going along with the plan to bring the shining city crashing to the ground if she is anything like her canon counterpart. but win or lose he still succeeds, if she wins then he doesn't need to care about the rest of the plan, but if she fails then there was still a major attack by the WF during this treaty, one that makes Ironwood and his supporters look bad, while allowing those like MR. Schnee to rise in popularity by calling out about the ungratefulness of those animals and the weakness of the current leadership to allow this.
10200559
I agree. Just take a look at what one of the experts has to say about Chrysalis. That there may be more cunning to her plans than most bronies give her credit for.
Was that a yes minister reference you snuck in talking about Jacques Schnee?
10252647
Yes, it was.
Ahh, Cinch, despicable as always.
Is it really that bad that Robyn decided not to join the military? It's not mandatory.
Now she sounds like the old Sunset.
Now this is a good point.
That could be attributed to the whole country. Most of the North economy comes from mining Dust. Without it, well always thought they would end up like Vacuo.
Chrysalis!