Of Course

by RavensDagger

Four Verses In The News

Truth is mighty and will prevail. There is nothing the matter with this, except that it ain't so.
-Mark Twain, Notebook, 1935

---

“Murderer,” Dreamer murmured in a quiet tone, standing before yet another doorway. This door was large: made of thin dirt-speckled glass.

He wasn’t quite certain why he said it, and that uncertainty was visible in the reflection of his face on the glass. The title was an uncommon one. Murder didn’t happen. There was no law in Equestria forbidding a pony from killing another. It just didn’t happen.

There were laws against theft and hurting others, so he reasoned that killing would fall under those two. Stealing a life, hurting both victim and family.

With a determined nod, the stallion pushed the thoughts away and gripped the handle. The door swung open and slammed against the wall with finality. He walked in.

A tattered reception desk stood a few meters from the doorway. Behind it was an old stallion, snoring lightly behind a few tall stacks of paper. The front of the desk had a decaled logo: The Canterlot Express: News when you need it, a stack of paper when you don’t.

The little reception area was bare, save for a single broken chair in one corner and a used carpet that had seen better days. Calmly, he trotted to the desk, and slid the first drawer open with his magic. Inside, amongst a pile of notes, candy wrappers, and ink-stained rags, was what he was looking for. A simple key, slightly bent and rusting on the edges.

With a swipe of his hoof, he grabbed it and headed back out. Just as he began turning, his peripheral vision caught sight of something that made his blood run cold. Father? Memories of a father who had raised him in his youth, who had stood over him, who had taught him, and who had died by the merciless hooves of self-pity, came crashing back.

He turned shakely and faced the creature on the beat-up office chair. It wasn’t his father. Not the stallion who had owed too much to the loan ponies, just an old fart who was sleeping on the job. For a moment there... Dreamer shook his head and turned around.

As he trotted out, he levitated the key and looked at its scoffed form. And now, I’m a thief as well. He closed the door and stepped unto the cobblestone roadway. I wonder what Father would think of this?

With a quick eye, Dreamer inspected the shady area of town labeled as light industrial. In reality, it was a hodge-podge of nearly bankrupt enterprises and businesses falling on hard times. In alleyways between the buildings, ponies were smoking and chatting between themselves, the conversation centred around mares and bits.

Dreamer walked around the front office of the press and to the dark alley between it and an old warehouse. Gingerly, he stepped over another sleeping pony, the only distinguishing mark on this one was his refuse-pile cutie mark. The city is failing, he thought. We are necessary to fix it.

The wracking cough of the homeless pony behind him reaffirmed his resolve, and he delved deeper into the stinking place between buildings. At the end of it, he took a sharp turn to the left and in between two carts waiting for the morning's newspaper. The ponies meant to pull said carts were sitting in their boxes, bleary eyed and tired.

Dreamer walked past them and to the very back of the building, where he found a door marked ‘Employees Only’ and pushed it open.

The unicorn took a step back as he was assaulted by the smell and sounds of the printing press. The air was thick with the musky smells of ink and sweat. Taking up the majority of the room was a massive machine being serviced by two pegasi, neither looking very excited about their work. Below them, a veritable army was stacking sheets and preparing the letters for the pony-powered machine to start churning out news.

Dreamer looked around the room and found what he needed: a nearby employee's lounge, its door firmly closed. In as nonchalant a fashion as he could muster, Dreamer walked over to the door and tested it. Locked.

With a slight glow of magic, the key he had stolen flew out of his vest’s inner pocket and twisted in the lock. It clicked open.

Walking in, he found the atypical locker room, with dozens of cubicles lining walls smeared with dirt and dried ink. In each one was a pile of almost clean cloths, some artifacts from home, lunches, and boxes. Walking slowly past each one, and inspecting them carefully, Dreamer found what he wanted and allowed himself a small smile.

Undressing quickly, the unicorn rid himself of his clean-pressed dress suit and put on a stained worker’s uniform, the press’ name emblazoned on its chest. He emptied his suit’s pockets, placing the objects found within into the newly acquired uniform. A small black box, a container of pills that held only one, the stolen key, a lock picking set, and a sharp blade.

Dreamer headed out, picking a hard hat at random from a rack and shoving it on his horned head on his way back into the busy room. “Now, where’s Ink Spot?” he asked aloud.

A pony passing by answered over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around. “Inkie’s at the letterpress.”

“Thanks,” Dreamer said as he followed the pony a ways. The deeper recesses of the room weren’t as brightly lit, and the unicorn found himself squinting at the ponies covered in black ink. Finally, he found his subject, a red unicorn leaning over two plates entirely covered in movable word-plates.

Dreamer found and climbed a short metallic ladder leading up to the working pony. “Are you Mister Ink Spot?” he asked.

The unicorn lost hold on one of his plates, dropping it on the pallet below as he lifted his head in surprise. “Um, yeah, I’m Ink Spots. You are?”

Dreamer nodded, everything was going according to plan. Now, for one of the complicated bits. “I’m just a pony who is very interested in what’s going to happen on page two.”

Ink Spots face blanched. “Well... I see. Sorry, the deal’s off.”

Dreamer blinked. There went the plan. “I have the bits.” He tapped the box in the uniform as proof.

“That’s not it, mate,” the pony said as he watched his comrades. None were listening in. “I just can’t do it. It’s crooked. You don’t want to be caught doing anything like that nowadays... There’re rumors, you see?”

Arching an eyebrow, Dreamer pressed on, “Rumors?”

“Bloody hell, mate, livin’ under a rock are you? They’re looking for bad moves, punishing those that’re corrupt and stuff.”

Is he talking about us? Dreamer wondered, unable to quell the fierce pride that welled up in

him. “And what happens if they catch you?”

Ink Spot blanched. “It’s over. I don’t want to mess with them. Wait for it to quell down or something. We can talk, then.” The pony tried to push past Dreamer.

His hoof struck out, clanging against the metal railing of the staircase. Leaning in closer, Dreamer brought his muzzle to the pony’s ear. “We are them.”

Ink Spot’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, before narrowing in suspicion. “Bul—”

Dreamer had had enough and, with a flash of his horn, his blade appeared, pressed against the other unicorn’s armpit, right where he could see it and others couldn’t. “Do not doubt my word, Mister Ink Spot.”

The unicorn trembled and Dreamer made another mental note. Canterlot may have become a pit, but these ponies could still be forced back on the right track. With another glow of his horn, the black box floated out of a pocket and hovered between them, clicking open. Inside were neat rows of perfectly stacked bits, more than Ink Spot made in a year. “We pay handsomely, both for your services, and your discretion, Mister Ink Spot.”

Ink Spot eyed the money greedily, yet fear still shone in the edges of his eyes. “What if I don’t want to?” The dagger pressed upwards. “Alright, alright, I’ll take it,” he squealed.

Dreamer clasped the box shut and tucked it in the unicorn’s pocket. In a single, fluid motion, he removed the knife and tucked it within the outfit, ready to be used again if the need arose. “Now, will you make the necessary changes?”

“Yeah, mate. Whatever you want. I don’t want to ever see you again after this, all right?”

The light blue unicorn smiled kindly. “You will not have to.”

Ink Spot moved back to his machine and twisted a small wheel a few times. Within it, plates moved up, each one labeled with a small number until a red ‘two’ flashed by. The plate that remained was covered in smaller plates, each one a word or number. “Alright, what do you want to change?”

“Remove everything. I’ll dictate the message you must write, as well as its placement.”

Ink Spots glanced between the plate and the unicorn beside him. “Everything?” he asked.

Dreamer began to give his instructions in clipped, clean tones, all easy to understand. It only took a minute for the dejected pony to comply and finish his work, after which Dreamer said his polite good-byes.

He stepped off the ramp, knowing that Ink Spot’s eyes were burrowing into his back. He didn’t care as his mission for that day was over. Once more, he stepped out of the building and into the bright daylight, smiling as he nodded at Celestia’s sun.

His mission had been accomplished. Newspapers tied in tight bundles were being carried out of the building and loaded into the waiting carts.

Soon, all of Canterlot will know, and they will fear.

---

That morning, in front of every house and within every shop, the newspaper arrived, just as it did every day of the year, all year round.

Avid readers snapped the paper open, eagerly looking for their favorite sections. The children found the cartoons and the business ponies found the section dedicated to their trade, but almost all of them stopped on the second page. A second page that didn’t deliver what it promised, but rather, was blank, save for a simple poem in the centre:

To Dream,
To Plan,
To Execute,
This is only our debut.

They Corrupt,
They Profit,
They Reep,
The bad ones will soon weep.

Across Canterlot, rich hooves began to tremble, and some intelligent ponies began making links, connections that would bring about a change.

Four ponies laughed.

---

Lame chapter, I know, I know. Next week’s should be better. I get to write some Vinyl!

Edited by:
-StapleCactus
-Your Antagonist
-Cpl Hooves
-Frederic the Saiyan

Comments

[Horsegirl123]

first!

[Horsegirl123]

gorgeous writing. i don't think i can wait another week :(

[RavensDagger]

1327992
Ah, another week? Given the amount of long-fics I'm working on.... Give me at least three weeks. This is my least popular fic too, but it's enjoyable to write.

[Horsegirl123]

1328004 Darn it! Well, I definitely now what you mean. I promised a sequel for a Fluttermac I wrote a few months ago, but I didn't like writing the story in the beginning, so I've been really lazy about continuing. And I still have to do a sequel for my other story too

[RavensDagger]

1328044
Unless you or your story is really, really popular, don't bother. Sequels don't work that well. Try writing something you enjoy instead.

[x3racer]

1328004 How... How is this not popular? Gah! These ponies don't make sense. Why don't the ponies like this more!?

Amazingly done. From what I've read, all of your work is.

[Cloudiest Nights]

So... Dreamer, Planner, Executor... And a fourth one...

[Soge]

Man, this is great. It kinda feels the kind of thing Quentin Tarantino would film if given free-reign of the MLP franchise - specially that second chapter. I will make sure to watch this fic's progress.

[DerpieDoo]

You have something damned good here, and I'm even more pleased to say you are doing the right thing with it too. Looking forward to more; I know it will be excellent! A little extra for my small list of favourites

[RavensDagger]

1416868
Thanks! I hope the next chapter will be as good!

Also, what is this thing that I'm doing right?

[DerpieDoo]

1419435 That thing as you call it is often known as 'je ne sais quoi' - that certain something that can't quite be named. In this particular case, I've felt that your story so far has got a good flow and delivery.

If we have a think about your story,we notice something. Imagine driving a nice car on a dead smooth multilane blacktop for 100kph through great scenery, nice, isn't it? Now imagine the same trip, except the road is now one of the typical goat track roads such as I have here in New Zealand, and every 2km we get pulled over by the police and hassled for no apparent reason, yet we also see that the scenery is nice enough to try and battle on, so we carry on our trip anyhow.

So many stories I see here are the second car trip - the idea (our scenery) is great, but the delivery (our car ride) is not so good. Stilted dialogue, improbable out of character behaviour, ah, it goes on and on. Well your story to me is the first car ride. The scenery/idea is great, and the trip/delivery is smooth, bump free and is easy to transition between events.

Anyhow the rambling point I want to make is that I am glad you have done a nice job on delivery. Even a boring story is made pleasant in the telling when done properly, but you have kindly used a fantastic plot which means the fun has been doubled!

Wow that was hard to write on this damned tablet, the cursor goes psychotic and letters go everywhere when commenting on fimfiction, I hope my comment is well received as it took me forever

[RavensDagger]

1422056
It is most certainly well received, and I appreciate the illustration, I'm working on a bumpy road story at this moment...