These City Walls

by KitsuneRisu

Wicked Stable Pt 4

These City Walls Chapter 1: Wicked Stable, Part 4

Even in the dead of night, ponies do not sleep. Ponies do not slumber, nor do they reserve. There is no rest for the wicked, but neither is there rest for those who pursue.

The night coroner, a disgruntled, elderly pony, with a lifetime of experience and wisdom behind his eyes, still hated this part. No matter how many times you see things like this, it was the apprehension that got to you. It was the thought that somewhere, sometime, somepony's just going to come and top that last scene you cleared, and make you lose even more faith in ponykind.

But that's what you're there for. To see to it that, despite the criminal intent of the underworld, there's always someone looking to put a stop to it. It was a kind of egotistical solace, and that just had to do.

"Wit' the quickness, doc!" yelled Quick Silver, who was pulling one of her precinct's two carts. This one was the express; which had, where wheels would find home, a layer of clouds reinforced to hold heavy weight. It was much the same technology they used to fly the Royal Chariots, or the sky taxis that were to be found en masse at their intended destination.

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled the coroner. "It's five in the morning, leave me alone."

He clambered on board the waiting vehicle, one-Pegasus engine putting away in neutral, and put on his safety saddle. The saddles, an idea from Sergeant Canary herself, was a simple and elegant solution to the problem of ponies always falling off when Silver was driving. She had simply tied a saddle to two lengths of leather strap, which attached firmly to the sides of the cart, and held its passenger in place while they flew.

And if the cart had two passengers?

Well... share.

It wasn't perfect.

"You all tucked in there, doc?" Silver shouted above the revving of her wings.

"Yeah! Go!"

Silver clicked her tongue to herself twice, a tricky smirk coming to her mouth.

"Off we go, 'en," she mumbled, pushing into full gear.

And off it rose, the express cart roaring toward the other end of Canterlot, where the edge met the sky.

---

"What's the forecast?" asked Canary, a little above her usual tone. She had to speak up to cover the sound of heavy running and trundling. She, and Rebby, were both hauling the station's other cart, the one which actually had the wheels and did the whole rolling thing.

It was a paddy wagon, with a covered back, barred windows and a very secure lock; but in this case it doubled as a pack-cart, with equipment and other such things stowed on the inside. They rarely used it as was intended; it had been quite a while when ponies hadn't come quietly. It also helped that Canary's special skill aided in the securing of perpetrators, and in the end they communally just found it quicker to use Silver's express cart to haul off felons.

Also, the cover helped to keep their stuff dry, which was a consideration that was on Canary's mind at the moment, as the two policeponies yanked the cart behind them through the morning traffic.

"All clear, Sarge," replied Rebby. "No rain for a couple of days."

She had her helmet on, and turned on, as instructed by Canary - the only time that Canary actually felt it had any use. As they scarred down the street at full gallop, the warning light made it quite clear that they were coming, and coming fast. Most ponies stepped out of the way. The ones who didn't were avoided by Canary and Rebby's driving cohesion.

"You know, I was thinking, Sarge?" Rebby shouted.

"Don't start now, Berry!"

"I never did tell you about my first assignment, did I?"

"No one needs to know, Berry!"

"It was also a doom drawer assignment, you know!"

"Fancy that, Berry!"

Hard left. The cart suddenly swerved, going up on one wheel for just a moment as they grazed past an early-morning jogger.

"You ever hear of the Everfree Forest, Sarge?"

"Yeah, 'course I have!"

"Well, they asked me to go in and scout," she paused to catch her breath. "for unlisted creatures, Sarge!"

"You got that assignment?"

"Yeah, Sarge!"

"How are you still alive?"

A quick turn and the cart changed roads, cutting down a small alleyway between the denser business district of the city. Shortcuts. Always good to know them.

"Well, Sarge, you see, I darn well nearly had my day! I was barely in there for half an hour, and I was already on my last legs!"

"You don't say. What happened? Manticore? Dragon?"

"Uh... ate a bad fruit, Sarge!"

The cart slowed down a bit, because Canary nearly tripped.

"Bad fruit? Isn't your special ability to know..."

"Yeah, to know when fruit are ripe, Sarge, but I can't tell if they're poison or not!"

"Why the hay did you even eat anything in there in the first place?!"

"Hungry, Sarge!"

Canary shook her head. Rebby didn't notice.

"Why'd you become a cop, Berry?" Canary asked rhetorically.

"Didn't want to be a farmer, Sarge!"

"You go against natural order, you know!"

"Yeah, I know, Sarge, Cutie Mark and all that!"

"No, I meant in general, Berry!"

Over the bridge. One of many. Why did Canterlot have so many rivulets anyway? The paddy wagon jumped as it lurched off the zenith.

"Anyway, so I was sick, and I kind of was dying, but you know there's this little house on the border of the Everfree where Ponyville is?"

"No!"

"Luckily, there was this really nice girl inside, really pleasant mare, dragged me back and patched me up and gave me soup!"

"That was fortunate!"

"It was, Sarge, it was! I think she was a doctor of some kind. Dunno about her pet bunny though, kept kicking me in the head!"

The sound of the wheels against the floor turned softer. This meant that they had reached the paved area of the city, the more modern part which was built in more recent years. At least now they didn't have to shout against the noise of the cart.

"Well," said Canary.

"And she contacted the precinct and I was shuttled back by Silver," explained Rebby. "You were out that day on patrol, but when I got back I was still a bit confused because of the fruit, and they were asking me, hey, 'rank and name', and I tried to say my name, but it came out backward."

"Really."

"Yeah, and that's why everyone calls me Rebby now, Sarge!" she said cheerfully. "Well, everyone 'cept you, Sarge. Always wondered why you never called me Rebby, Sarge!"

"Because that isn't your name," she stated.

Constable Berry went quiet in deep thought. She had many thoughts, but at the front of her mind now was how amazing, how utterly wholesome it felt to share stories with her mentor and senior, Sergeant Blue Canary. It felt like a warm hug to her, and that's great because hugs feel like snuggling under a blanket on a cold rainy night, and that felt even better.

She had funny ways of thinking.

She also found pleasure in the small things. So much so that Canary always pondered how she didn't go into epileptic fits after doing something really good, like solving a crime.

But Berry just saw things equally, and that was the fact of the matter. Even from the tiniest good to the greatest salvation, it was all the same, and something good was something good, and something bad was something bad. Everything was appreciated and despised in amounts that were above quantitative rates, and it was a simple way of thinking that kept Berry fresh of thought and always optimistic.

The cart came to a screeching stop; Canary applying the brakes with a bit of horn power, as they pulled up to the crime scene.

As expected, Silver was already there, the coroner was already working the body, and another officer was trying to cordon off the scene from nosy onlookers and bored taxi drivers.

The docks were on the outer-most edge of Canterlot, past the market square, and overlooked the fantastic view that it gave of the lands stretched out underneath it. In the distance you could see Ponyville, Cloudsdale up in the corner, and that dark foreboding place there was where Berry had an unfortunate fruit encounter.

The Pegasus ponies usually kept this area free of clouds so as not to interfere with traffic, so the vista was always crystal and breathtaking.

The docks themselves were fanciful things; ground down blue brick and marble floors shining with polish, benches and fountains and lovely things betraying its purpose as a communal spot, and of course the stands themselves, which stuck out and over the cliff.

From above, it looked as if someone had wedged a large giant gear into the side of the cliff, with each spoke being a staging point for the chariot pullers who lined up to fetch and drop off passengers.

Today, spoke number 2 was closed for reasons of corpse.

Canary and Rebby pushed past the small, murmuring crowd that was keeping its distance, but kept close enough to keep an eye on things, and stepped up to the officer who called in the body.

"Oh, hey Jade," Canary said, politely. "We'll take it from here. Thanks for the help."

"No problem, Sergeant. Figured this was yours from yesterday's find. Good luck. It's... something, alright."

"I had a feeling," replied Canary, as Officer Jade retired for the night, walking off and trying to wave away the curious bystanders as she went.

"Berry, wanna take it from here?" asked Canary.

,---(*< ~---,

'---------------'

"Alright, so do you understand now?"

"Yes, I do."

"And I'm not asking you if you can do it, just if you understand."

"I guess I do."

"So explain to me now," Blitz said slowly, "why you shouldn't go around finishing other pony's Sudoku books."

"Because the enjoyment that you derive from completing it yourself is as equal to the annoyance that I get from it, and I should not deprive you of that enjoyment."

"Yes, that's right," the cloud-like mane bobbled up and down. "It's called empathy."

"You... don't have to talk to me like I am a child," said Duriandal, frowning.

"Yes but you don't have any empathy, do you?"

"No, but it is not by choice, is it?"

"No, I suppose not. But something I'm curious about, Duri."

Duriandal gave a silent, quizzical look at Blitz.

"How is it that you can be a successful shopkeeper? I mean... usually you need some kind of social... understanding for that."

"Handling a shop is unlike handling personal relationships," explained Duriandal, frankly. "Through trial and observation, I have come to find that certain behavioural patterns edict a favourable response from a customer. This is because a customer has certain expectations from an encounter with one that they label a 'shopkeeper'."

"So... what you're saying is that... you have a script?"

"In a sense, yes. I am able to emulate the behaviours necessary to persuade a customer to make purchases. It is merely about action and response. However, I have found that in other social situations, the span of this is simply far too broad for me to be able to understand."

"That is to say... that since every single pony is different..."

"There is no context of reference that I can use to develop a system."

"It's... not a game, Duriandal," said Blitz. "It's not about patterns... I mean, sure, patterns do exist in many social contexts, but... I mean... ponies are ponies, you know? Don't you just have this sense that tells you what you should do in any situation?"

"Ah... no."

"Then what do you use when you need to talk to somepony outside of a business... oh, ok. Right now," Blitz tapped her hoof on the floor where they both lay facing each other. "Like this. How do you know how to respond to me?"

"Well... logically, when you ask a question, I respond with an answer."

"Yes but I mean, beyond that. Like... tone of voice, for example. Body language. Can you tell how I am feeling right now?"

Duriandal stared at Blitz for what felt like a good minute, with no reply and no movement. Duriandal's eyes wandered a while as she tried to make good process with the information present, but nothing solid could be formed. At least, until a low growling came from Blitz's stomach.

"You are hungry!" Duriandal said, almost instantly, not wasting the opportunity.

"That doesn't count!" Blitz threw her legs up in the air. "But you know, you're right. I am hungry. We'll pick this up later, alright? It's sunrise, neither of us has had a bite to eat all night, neither of us has had any sleep, and the streets outside are getting busy again. I think it's fairly safe to leave now."

As the night wore on, things did calm down. That incident that happened in the wee hours of yesterday's frame had left with traces of misgivings scraped off, but they held it together enough to return to an otherwise peaceful state of mind. Apparently when Duriandal wasn't in a heightened emotional calibration, or in the throes of extreme compulsion, she actually was a rather vocal and rather articulate pony, until the point where someone upset a beaker and she would start crying again.

"Would... you... like a sandwich?" asked Duriandal suddenly. The question was intoned strangely, as if the question was about the appropriateness of the situation rather than the offering of breakfast.

"You're offering me food?" asked Blitz back, eyelid raised.

"I believe... in the social context... it would be..." she struggled with the word, "polite of me to offer you food, given the circumstances. Is this not right?"

"Yes! I mean, yes, it's absolutely right!" Blitz nodded, quite enthused. "How did you... ah... come to the conclusion?"

"Well, you are in a state of hunger... and... if one were to satiate your cravings, you would be pleased with the one who proffered the food, yes?"

"You sure could satiate my cravings, I tell you what," Blitz complained about her hunger.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, go on."

"Well... I want you to be... pleased with me," Duriandal rubbed the back of her head, a bit uncomfortable. "I would like for you to... continue to be my friend."

Aw. Well. That's really so sweet, isn't it? Really weird, but kind of sweet. Still, awfully weird. But sweet.

"Your offer is very much accepted," Blitz said. "But you know, normally we don't go around saying things like that, though. It's a bit... odd."

"Noted. But I am glad that this interaction has had good results."

"Me too, Duri. You have no idea."

"I shall get you a sandwich that I have left over in the fridge."

Blitz thought back to that poor, barren wasteland of a sandwich that she saw earlier.

"Ah... actually on second thought..."

"You... decline my offer?" Duriandal suddenly looked crestfallen.

"No! No. Well, see, another thing friends do is go out together and do things together. Community brings ponies in oneness, I'm sure you've heard."

Duriandal nodded.

"So let us... com...munnize," she came to the conclusion. "And let me show you what a real sandwich is. Any cafes nearby?"

,---(*< ~---,

'---------------'

Oh joy oh glee oh beauteous day! It's my turn, it's my turn, it's my turn. Constable Berry hopped around the scene, at least in her head, scrutinizing every small tiny stone and every upset leaf. Now's the chance to show what I'm capable of! Maybe... maybe I'll even get that promotion! Nah, that's silly. But maybe not that silly, I've been Constable for a long time now, and usually it's that one big break that gets you up into Lance Corporal, right? Right?

Is this my big break? Is Canary judging me silently? Oh boy, I sure hope she is. I love it when people judge me. No wait, that sounds wrong. Well, let's see. Primaries. Primaries. Canary always said, take a quick look at everything...

Rebby's head shot up, surveying the scene, taking in all there was to take.

... and then make the most obvious assumption and work from there. Your first assumption will usually be wrong, but it will usually lead to the truth. That's what Canary says. It must be right. It must be, because she's the best.

So what is there to see? It's the skydocks, it's in the middle of the morning. The body was placed nicely in dock number 2, and from the looks of it, it's that Lavender pony that the other pony identified that day in the thing.

Oh my colt oh my colt I don't know I don't know ahhhhhhhhhhhh

"Berry!" Canary snapped her out of her mental deluge.

"Sarge?" asked Rebby, turning around.

"Thoughts?"

"None yet, Sarge," Rebby admitted. "I think I should look around a bit more before I say anything."

"Alright, go on. You're lead on this one, so you take us for a walk, ok?"

"Ok!"

She was so, so happy for this opportunity. She danced to the body, which lay in crumpled heap, twisted in so many ways that it didn't seem to look like a body any longer. A pool of drying blood was congealing around the dump spot. There wasn't much, but it did seem like a classic leakage. She suddenly didn't feel like dancing anymore.

The coroner was busying himself with examining the body, after all the crime scene photos were taken courtesy of Silver.

" 'nythin else I can do for ya?" she fluttered by, asking the group in general.

"Go ahead," prompted Canary.

"Mmm. Right!" Rebby's head shook up and down. "Uh... could you check out the side of the dock? Down there," she motioned to the edge of the cliff. "Just the normal cursory."

"Ya got it... boss," Silver smirked again, zooming off and over the edge.

"Hey, don't get too close to the end there," said Canary offhandedly. "One wrong step and it's the direct train to Ponyville. If you scream loud enough I dare say Silver has about a minute and a half at the most to catch you."

"I'll be careful, Sarge," Rebby said, looking back to the body.

"Hi, Mister Bowler," she said to the Coroner. "How are you doing?"

"I'm kneeling over a dead Pegasus with a thermometer stuck in her liver. How do you think I'm doing?"

Ah, as fine as ever, Mister Bowler was. He was such a nice guy, always witty with his remarks, but never as witty as Canary, of course.

"What's the time of death?" asked Rebby.

Mister Bowler turned to Canary. "Is she...?"

"Yeah, I'm listening too. Go on," Canary reassured.

He took in a deep breath. "Alright, then. Time of death was approximately four hours ago, judging by liver temp. However, from the blood pooling and skin colours, it seems that she lost a lot of blood before her death."

"Not sure you want to see this," Bowler continued, "It's a gruesome sight, but go around the other side to see how she lost all that blood."

Rebby was ready. She was always ready. She stood firm, and with stiff gait made her way to the other side and had a look.

Oh colt she was not ready. She was so not ready.

"Oh my..." she muttered. "That's terrible, Mister Bowler."

"Not the worst I've seen," he said. "Still pretty bad though."

The Pegasus was missing a wing. It seemed to have been forcefully removed, and not in a kind way either. Rebby didn't need the coroner to tell her that it was pulled off rather than cut, as indicated by certain obvious signs that they were trained to recognize.

Rebby looked skyward and took in a bit of fresh air, before walking back to the less churning angle of vision.

"That... wasn't the cause of death?" Rebby asked again, a bit softer this time.

"Nope. From what I can tell, it happened before she died. Cause of death is extreme blunt force trauma."

"You mean someone hit her with a heavy object?"

"No, I mean she hit the pavement."

The coroner lifted a leg, which was way too wobbly and quite unlike anything Rebby'd ever want to see. Little white fragments stuck out from it at odd angles, sharp and glinting in the rising sun.

"Multiple fractures. Burst like a balloon. Would say that either she was dropped from a great height, or her velocity was pretty high to have a result like this."

"Alright... thanks, Mister Bowler," Rebby said, returning to Canary, who was only a few steps away. But still, Rebby felt safer by her side.

"Why would anypony do such a thing?" asked Rebby, softly.

"Don't lose faith on me now, Berry," said Canary.

Rebby swallowed. Her innocent view of the world sometimes was shaken up by things like this. Sometimes, she found it hard to keep neutrality in a place where such things happened. And it wouldn't get easier from here. Now she had to think about it, muse over it, talk about it and what for?

Well, to get to the truth, that's what for.

Yeah, focus, Rebby. That's why you do this. What it's all about. Don't lose faith. That's right.

"Ok, Sarge," she said with renewed vigour. "Body was dropped. Meaning, it was either levitated or flown. There is a lack of a blood trail here as well, and no spatter on the floor, so that means it was flown in from over the edge. That says Pegasus."

"Nice assessment, Rebby," Canary mused, herself. Was she wrong originally about the perpetrator being a Unicorn?

" 'Ey boss," Silver came levitating in. "Blood on 'em walls back 'ere. Over the side, too. Not much, 'bout one 'a two drips, maybe?"

"That confirms it," said Canary. "Thanks, Silver."

"Thanks, Silver," Berry said at almost the same time.

"F'get it," she replied, flying off and landing outside the crime zone.

"Ok... so... someone kills a Pegasus across town, but flies it all the way here to dump it. Why?"

"Dunno, Sarge. Seems a bit silly to me."

"Does this place hold any significance?"

"Don't think so, Sarge. Much better places to leave a body. But I don't know, why bother with the move?"

"Keep going."

"I mean... you'd move a body to hide it, right? And she wasn't even dead until she hit... hit the ground," Rebby winced, trying not to think about it. "But if you're going to leave it out in the open, why bother moving it?"

"Well, let's keep that in mind. What else?"

"The wing, Sarge. It seems kind of weird to want to do that if you're just going to kill somepony anyway."

"I have some thoughts on that one."

"Yeah Sarge?"

"What do you write a message with?"

"A quill, Sarge?"

"So what do you write a really big message with?"

"A really big... oh."

"Wing's not important, anyway. It's not here with the body. Maybe it washed over the edge. Maybe it ended up somewhere else. I pity the pony who finds it," said Canary, "but it served a purpose and now the message is left with the body. But what are we meant to find?"

There was silence as the two of them thought over some facts, some assumptions, and all the things that they didn't yet know.

"Sarge, can I try something?"

"Depends on what you want to try."

"On Silver."

"Oh, then do what you want," said Canary, bluntly, calling the impedimental Pegasus over.

" 'sup Bosses?" she said, as she entered the scene.

"Hey, Silver? Could you... stand there, and stretch out your right wing?"

With a frump and a ruffle of feathers, her wing extended in its full glory.

"Like 'is?"

"Yeah. Just hold it there."

Suddenly, Berry's horn came to life, as an aura of magic surrounded the wing.

"Ey, ey! Wha'cha on about?" Silver complained.

"Sorry! Sorry! Just... uh... fight back!"

"Damn straigh' I'mm'a fight back!" she struggled, pulling the wing back easily.

Berry's gaze intensified, as her magic did as well, trying to pull the wing away from Silver as she folded it up.

"Ok, really, if you'd wanna wing-wrassle, you'd'a just say, eh?" Silver chuckled, as she stretched her wing muscles out.

"And as amusing as that was, what was that about, Berry?" asked Canary.

"It's not that easy to pull off a wing, Sarge."

"Ey, I could'a jus' toldja," said Silver.

"Yeah, but I wanted to try for myself," said Rebby, determinedly. "See, one thing that is just all up in the air now is just what sort of pony this is. From a lot of clues, he's really strong, he can fly, also knows magic... can't be everything in one, can it?"

"Well, Princess Celestia..."

"I dunno, Sarge. If there were others like Princess Celestia and her sister, everypony'd be talking about it."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm thinking... I'm thinking that if you were a Pegasus, or a Unicorn, or an Earth, you'd still have trouble pulling off a wing like this."

"Which means..."

"Maybe we're dealing with three ponies, Sarge. One of each."

Could be. Could be. It wasn't the first thing that Canary came to, but she couldn't discount the possibility.

"Also, they dragged the body at the first scene, right? But not here?"

"Good thought," she congratulated Berry, regardless. "It's up in the air, but let's keep it open, alright?"

Dragging the body at the first scene... but flown to the delivery point... why? Did it have to be delivered? Was there a reason why flight was not available at the first location? What did this mean?

"Alright Sarge. How'd I do?"

"How'd you do what?"

"With the investigating. Did I do ok?"

"I don't know, Berry," shrugged Canary.

"Why not?"

"Because we don't know if you're right or not, yet."

"Oh ziiiinnnng," said Silver, beating her wings.

"Hey, sorry to break up your little party," came the gruff old voice of Mister Bowler, the cantankerous coroner. "This right here... seems off."

"What did you find?" asked Canary, the three of them walking toward the body.

The coroner pointed toward one of the hooves of the deceased pony, which stretched out at an awkward angle. Being how she landed, it was possible that it was part of the random chance, but something else suggested that it wasn't.

Her hoof was placed flat upon the ground, around which was some kind of blood streaks that looked a bit more intentional than accidental.

"I didn't really notice it at first," said Mister Bowler. "Her leg was blocking it, but when I was checking for drops I noticed this."

He lifted the arm slowly with a bit of magic, revealing a clear hoof-print. A horseshoe shape, around which was a box, also traced out in blood, with a little triangle above it. It looked like how a child would draw a house, but this one had an upside-down hoof inside.

"What is that?" asked Canary.

"Beats me," shrugged the Coroner.

Berry just kept quiet.

" 's sign offa Wicked Stable, Sarge," said Silver.

"What?" Canary looked up. "The Wicked Stable? What's that?"

" 's old old pony lore," said Silver, trying to recall. "Eh... like'a sorta stuffa legendsn' all that."

"Come again now?"

" 's five bad pony 'iffins, Sarge, from thousan'sa years ago. What they'd believe back 'en."

"And you know this... how?"

"Eh... I like weird ol' licks," she shrugged. "Them iffins'r pre'gist, ip'crasy, tressin', have'ris, an' hoob'is."

"I see... well... that gives us something to go on. Silver, could you transport the body and the coroner back to the morgue once he's done here? We're going to head back first to chase a couple things."

"Aye, Sarge," nodded Silver.

Canary and Rebby both retreated, finally, passing by the press, who had finally caught wind of it and were taking notes. They both ignored the ones trying to get a quote, and walked to the paddy wagon.

"What leads are we gonna chase up on, Sarge?" asked Berry.

"This whole Wicked Stable thing. I want to know more about it."

"Oh, continuing off where Silver left us?"

"Nope. Starting from the beginning. I didn't catch one damn word she said," Canary rolled her eyes.

,---(*< ~---,

'---------------'

Now this was a sandwich, you betcha. Triple-decker honey oat B.L.T. - that's Birch, Lettuce and Tomato, obviously - with a side order of straw chips. And they weren't stingy with the tomato, either. And was that dipping sauce? Oh Colt, this might just be the best cafe in existence. It just might be.

On the other side of the table was a very lonely plate of young bamboo shoots. Plain.

Duriandal was lining them up on the plate like little toy soldiers, all standing in a row.

"Is that what you usually eat?" she just had to ask.

"What day is today?" Duriandal suddenly stopped arranging her food and asked.

"Uh... Tuesday."

"Then yes, it is what I usually eat," she continued shuffling stalks, happy with the confirmation.

A semi-frightening thought crossed Blitz's mind, as she scratched her shoulder distractedly. Her huge plate of delicious sandwich and accompaniments stood, tantalizingly, in front of her, at the cafe across and a little further up the street. Essentially, rather than hunting for a place, Blitz was just hungry enough to go for the first eatery she came across, which luckily, turned out to have a wide selection of choice.

It was a medium-sized place with indoor and outdoor tables. They chose to sit outdoors, where they could watch the crowd and be surrounded by ponies. Most of them were outdoors at this time, anyway; the early breakfast crowd preferred some fresh air.

Metalwork tables punctuated the area, with comfortable cushions distributed amongst them for the patrons to sit upon.

Blitz watched with deep consideration as she saw Duriandal pick up a tiny bamboo shoot with two hooves and nibble on it like a rabbit.

"Alright... this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me," Blitz said suddenly. "I hope."

"What?"

"Right, see. This thing of yours to be orderly and all that, it's not a bad thing as it is, but I think you rely on it too much," stated Blitz.

Duriandal paused in mid-nibble. "I don't see what you mean."

"Ok, like, for example, this dish that you have chosen. Do you want to eat it or do you have to eat it?" Blitz pointed an accusing hoof at the naked platter.

"I want to eat it," stated Duriandal.

"Why?"

"Because... it is Tuesday?"

"No, see, that falls under the 'have to' category. Like couldn't you eat something else? Like a delicious sandwich?" The more well-dressed plate inched closer to Duriandal's side of the table.

"No, I do not want a sandwich. Sandwiches are Thursday food."

"Why?"

"I do not know," the green pony shrugged. "It just makes me feel better to know what I am going to eat every day."

The Unicorn waiter was standing there in the corner, watching them tussle over the food, a pitcher of water ready to refill their glasses. He really shouldn't be watching, but he was a waiter and it was part of their job descriptions to offer water at the most inappropriate times during mealtime conversation.

"Well, look at it this way. You need to be able to be flexible. It's part of life. Real life," explained Blitz. "One thing about friendship is that you have to be able to handle the fact that other ponies, and plenty of other things, for that matter, aren't going to run like clockwork. Like what are you going to do if this cafe is closed on Tuesdays?"

"Find somewhere else that sells Bamboo."

"What if you couldn't? What if every Bamboo-selling cafe, restaurant or shop in the entirety of Equestria is closed on Tuesday?"

"That is a statistical impossibil..."

"What if, Duri?"

Duriandal made a little uncomfortable squeal as she shuddered a bit, legs up in front of her. That was answer enough for the stand-in psychotherapist.

"That bad, huh?"

Duriandal nodded, looking down at the half-eaten shoot she still held in her hooves.

"Well, how are you going to be able to deal with your... whaddaya call it, obsessive compulsive disease if you can't handle just this one thing?"

"Actually, the 'd' stands for 'disorder'," Duriandal mumbled.

"Yeah, ok, sure, but I mean, this is a pretty small thing, isn't it?"

"No. It is... large for me."

"I don't think that's the right word to use in this situation, Duri, but go on?"

"Well... we... latch onto things," Duriandal attempted to elaborate. "It is never clear what we feel uncomfortable about, but it is the general feeling of discomfort which... makes us as we are."

"I am sure you have heard of ponies who are unable to step on cracks in the sidewalk, or who throw away a bar of soap after just one use?" Duriandal asked.

"Yeah, they use those a lot in shows and books and stuff," nodded Blitz.

"It is... just one of many ways this affliction can manifest itself," worded Duriandal, carefully. "For me, I simply... feel better eating the same thing every given day of the week."

"You also like putting things in order, and you hate stains, don't you?"

"Yes. And I have a few other idiosyncrasies. But they do not mean that I cannot function in public. They just make it more difficult."

"So how is it that you can survive other things, like... I mean look," Blitz held up her napkin. "This is going to be stained. Eventually. How are you going to keep from going crazy?"

"Well," Duriandal said, crunching her shoot and swallowing daintily. "That is not mine, and it will be washed later, yes?"

"And that makes it better?"

"Yes."

"I'm not going to be able to understand this, am I?"

"Probably not, no. Not many ponies have bothered to try this far, however, and I cannot say for certain."

"Nopony has?"

"None. The usual reaction is a jocular insult and then a quick departure," she said it almost like observing behaviour of bacteria in a Petri dish.

"I'm not sure if they're all meant to be jocular, Duri," Blitz muttered sadly.

"I am unable to tell the difference."

Well, I can't blame you, Blitz took a sip of water, thinking about how to make a pony like this understand something simple like 'relationships'. She figured this would be the best way to start 'teaching' her about how to behave in social contexts.

"Are you going to be offended by what I have to say next?" she led-in.

"I... do not know. I have no idea what you are going to say next."

"Well usually when somepony says that, it means that they are going to say something offensive."

"I... see. But why then, state that rather than just simply saying the offending statement?"

"Because it lessens the blow."

"I... do not see how."

"Of course not. Well... in that case... what would you think if I told you... no, wait, that doesn't work either, does it?" Blitz's mind scrambled to rephrase it, but 'to heck with politeness' seemed to be the favourable path here. "Ok, forget all that. Let me just tell you straight."

She held up a hoof, pointed at Duriandal's chest.

"The only reason why I've stuck around so long is because I like puzzles," she said. "And you are the greatest puzzle of all. I should have left long ago, but I haven't, because I find you fascinating."

"I see..." said Duriandal, looking quizzical. "I... can understand why I would take offence at that."

"Don't you feel anything else?"

"Yes, of course, I feel saddened by your words."

"Ok but what if..." Blitz went on. "I said that I stuck around because you were a joy to be around, and I like you?"

"Well, as I understand, that would be a positive thing, and so I should feel happy, and content."

"Yes but you see, that's the thing. In real pony relationships, it's kind of like that. You can't just read what's on the surface. You have to know how ponies will react, how ponies think, and how ponies feel."

"I do not see."

"Well, alright. Let me explain it like this. How about if I told you that my two statements were both true?"

"I... do not see."

"Well, I like puzzles, right? And to me, you're a puzzle. But that gives me joy, and therefore leads me to enjoy your company."

Duriandal gave it some quick math. She froze in the same way she did when she was computing anything new in her head - with a slight tilt of the neck and mouth slightly open. Blitz was starting to recognize it.

"So... you are saying that all relationships are based on arbitrary feelings of enjoyment that ponies get from each other, based on qualities that the opposing party has?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"So... I have no friends because I do not have qualities that other ponies find appealing?"

"Unfortunately, also yes. But it's a double-edged sword, you see? You're the way you are because... well I don't know why, but I assume it has something to do with..."

"... biochemistry... " interrupted Duriandal.

"... biochemistry, thank you," continued Blitz, without stopping. "But you need practice and no one gives you practice because they're turned off from the start. So it's a little unfair to you."

"I think so too!" agreed Duriandal, with furrowed brow. "It is very very unfair!"

"Yes, yes, calm down," Blitz smiled embarrassedly. She was causing a scene.

"But you see, you have a quality that I find appealing, and so I get to know you, and the longer I know you, the more qualities that I find that I like, and we then become... friends," Blitz said. "And that's how it works. Basically."

"I... think I understand," said Duriandal. She had left her plate of bamboo untouched since the conversation heightened, almost like she forgot about it.

"Yeah, so... out of curiosity, what qualities did you see in me that made you want to be my friend?" Blitz should know better than to ask, but she did so anyway.

"You were willing to speak to me for more than ten minutes," said Duriandal, nodding.

"Fill your glasses, madames?" the waiter suddenly appeared tableside.

"No! Get... I mean, no thank you," Blitz said, smiling the waiter off. "Ok, I think... that's enough of that for the time being."

"Yes... I have a lot to consider," said Duriandal.

"Well, maybe you could answer one of my questions?" asked Blitz.

"Yes."

"Are you... able to live like this, the way you are? I'm just a bit astonished, because you do have a business, and you are able to take care of yourself, but yet, the way you think and talk..."

"If you are asking about my behaviour in comparison to my appearance..."

"Yes, I guess you could put it that way. I mean, obviously you are a very smart pony," she said.

"Yes. I am," Duriandal answered. There was absolutely no pride in that. It was just a statement of fact to her and nothing more.

"... and you can communicate fairly well, you know a lot of big words and stuff."

"Stuff. Yes," Duriandal confirmed again.

"And you have emotions."

"I have a full spectrum of emotional states, yes."

"So... what's wrong with you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Nopony has told me."

"What about your parents?"

Oh, it had to come up sometime.

"The earliest memory I have of my father was when I was seven years forty-one days old. He said, quote, 'The only difference between her and a sociopath is that she ain't killin' nopony'."

"That... that's horrible. Who was he saying it to?"

"Mrs. Margarine, the lady who ran the orphanage."

"Oh."

"It is alright. I am no longer affected by this memory," Duriandal said. It was clearly a lie, however. She looked extremely affected by it, but was holding an incredibly brave face.

"I'm... sorry," said Blitz, genuinely, although she had nothing else to add to that.

"There is nothing to be sorry about. It was not your fault, and you were not involved. Why are you sorry?"

"It's... just that empathy stuff again," she muttered. "Something you don't have to worry about."

"I see."

They both sank down into awkward stillness, Duriandal nibbling on her offerings and Blitz playing with her chips. They'd grown soggy.

"Blitz?" Duriandal asked suddenly.

"Yeah, Duri?"

"Could I... have some of your sandwich?" she asked, much to the surprise of the one across the table from her.

"Of... of course you may," she said, pushing the entire plate over. "I can have yours, no problem... but what made you change your mind?"

"I do not know," she said.

Duriandal sighed, unenthusiastically prodding the wet sandwich and the wilting chips.

"I guess today just feels like Thursday to me."

Comments

[Alexanderan]

and progress was made

[Martian]

Never could get the hang of Thursdays...