The Equestrian Files & Associated Material

by hollowsbest

1 - An Alley Mare Awakens

It was a bright, sunny day in Manehattan. Not a cloud in the sky to hide the shining brilliance of the sun's rays, causing cascading shadows along the various skyrises of dwellings and stores alike. The alleyways between cast into a deep darkness, or so it appeared when standing in the light. As with all things, it was simply a matter of perspective.

Sandwiched between a glitzy three-floor boutique and an upscale apartment block, was one such alley. Its contents a set of dumpsters, a backdoor or two from the neighbouring buildings, and a pony- A unicorn in fact, lying unmoving on the cobblestones. She lies there, slumped on her side with tightly tucked hooves. Her eyes closed as if she's simply sleeping. Though- There's something not quite right with her. Her coat, a shiny black marred with old scars, with a ruby-red underbelly, seems less like a well-groomed coat and more like… Scales. Glinting in the little light filtering in from the street.

The mare lets out a low groan, slowly raising her head from the ground as she opens her eyes. A brilliant gold, the slitted pupils expanding quickly in the alley's shadow. She doesn't move quite yet, her gaze flitting all about the alleyway, eyebrows furrowed as she takes in what little sights there are to see. She finally shifts, pulling out her forehooves from beneath herself. They, much like her eyes, are a glittering gold. Scaled still, but layered over the rest. Looking as if she had simply dipped the pair into a vat of the molten metal. Her hind legs lack such a shine, though the hooves still hold a dimmer, but still golden glint.

This now, this she stares at. Sitting on her hind legs, examining her forelimbs. Twisting her hoof every which way, watching how it bends and moves. She quickly moves onto the rest of her body- Bringing to light her tail, not hair but flesh, a long coiling thing tipped in a rounded arrowhead. This however, seems to not bring her the same alarm as the rest of her. It brings into question: is she even a pony?

~*~

In all of her (few) years working for the Weathervane Bureau (formally the Weathervane Journal) Jasper Heaton had never had a case (or experience) like this. Waking up in a dark alleyway with no memory of how she arrived (perhaps once or twice in her youth), and finding her belongings (once) and form to be missing.

For the limb that she stares at should be her right hand, not her right hoof. It resembles what was once her hand, clad in the golden shine of her past mistakes, but still stubbornly refuses to be her hand. Much like the rest of her, the correct sort of flesh, arranged in entirely the wrong manner. It makes her skin- scales- crawl. Not only is she something else (again), she is somewhere else (also again, though never both at the same time). An alley that is strangely clean of litter, in a city that sounds strange, and smells crisp and fresh- Unlike the smog of London.

She runs a careful set of hooves over her face, grimacing as she feels its new shape. A muzzle, a pair of ears that twist and turn at every noise, and a single horn. She pauses, hoof feeling along the bottom to the tip, brows furrowing further. Right at the edge of her vision she can see it, framed by her curly hair (lacking its usual bun), its tip marbled with red. Like the pair of spiralling ram's horns she should have instead. Her brain, unending in its solving of puzzles and mysteries, tells her what she doesn't want to believe. Forcing her into a quick acceptance, despite her want to drag her feet and give herself the briefest of breakdowns.

Yet still, Jasper’s thoughts linger. How had she arrived here? No matter the amount of forcible acceptance or at least, apathy towards her current form, the question remains. Snaking through her thoughts as she stares at her newly-found hooves. Her memories are hazy, but becoming clearer as she sits and ponders. Dragging her previous moments of existence to light before she was here. Wherever here even was.

She remembers a room- No, a roof. The Weathervane Journal’s roof. Covered in arcane circles and runic symbols, drawn by her own hand in chalk. All intersecting. Layers upon layers of work, research, and hard-found material all combined into one, single ritual. One she hadn’t even thought would work. An attempt, one much like many others of its kind, to remake a line of communication with Hell.

JD and Rory, Milo too- They’d been there too. JD to help with the ritual itself, an anchor of Hell. Maybe, potentially. She still wasn’t sure. But better a child of a Prince who was Earthborn, than bother any actual demon with their shenanigans. (Especially since it had been precisely their fault the connection broke in the first place.) With Rory and Milo for moral support, and note keeping. With how strange this has gone- Why hadn't Milo foreseen it? He was usually such a good beacon for danger...

The symbology… Had Jasper gotten it wrong? The last thing- The last thing she truly remembers, was… Pain. A great deal of pain, and a glaring flash of light- Did it explode? Was this the result of backlash? Had all her failsafes for such an event failed?

Had she managed to transport herself somewhere else? Entirely separate to Hell? (And transport, not even a link for communication. A complete failure, in both respects.) To get home she’d… Have to replicate it. Somehow. But she could barely remember what she’d even drawn, let alone all its complex interweaving. She- She couldn’t get distracted about such an impossibility.

As always, Jasper has a job to do. A mystery to solve, a problem to fix. And, if things turn out well, an article to write- But for now, she needs to learn how to walk.

She finds her legs are strong but uncertain, starting forward with an unfamiliar gait. Leading to an entangled sprawl onto the cobblestones, muzzle aching from the fall. But Jasper gets up, again and again and again. No matter the amount of failures, the unwieldy limbs, the strange way her hooves feel when landing hard on the stones below. What use will she be otherwise, when she finds the others? (If she finds them, her mind traitorously whispers.)

By the time Jasper feels comfortable in walking, running, and the solidness and power her hind legs can put into a jump; the alley’s shadows have rescinded at the behest of the sun. Yet she still hasn’t found herself comfortable in translating her experience into solid combative movement. A punch leaves her unbalanced and tripping over her own feet as she attempts to throw a second. A kick that has much to be desired, the uncertainty of being unable to see what she’s doing leading to an uncertainty in her strikes. Something that could be worked on in time- But not now. She’s spent enough time in this alleyway already, tormenting the bins. It’s a wonder no-one’s come over to inspect the noise, though the hubbub of the street may have drowned it out completely.

The cacophony becomes clearer once Jasper cautiously approaches the mouth of the alleyway, keeping to whatever shadow there was left. The sight of a busy street awaits her, filled with colourful ponies of every size, shape, and colour. All rushing too and fro, all with some distant destination (or not-so distant) location in mind. Clad in suits, dresses, novelty t-shirts. Toting all sorts of accessories, with belongings in saddlebags or floating in a glittering aura of colour. It’s no wonder she went unnoticed, the sounds of the horse drawn… Cabs? Overtaking much of the crowd’s already loud babble.

Jasper simply stands there, taking it all in. Eyes critically running over every inch of highrise, pavement, and cobblestone that she can see. Most made of a sheer glass and metal, brick and stone, or solid concrete. A mix you’d find in the middle of any city. Though the foot traffic, and the vehicles on the road were not.

The clearest of differences she noted between her and what must be the common equine, was what differentiated her from the common human. But the biggest difference of all. Her size. She stood a full head taller, maybe more, than the rest of the ponies hurrying by on the street.

This meant something quite simple, that she was an anomaly to the ‘default’. An unsafe thing to be in situations like this- If only she wasn’t lacking everything she owned. If she’d been left with her glamour, or even her cloak of the unseen, this wouldn’t be a problem. Though, Jasper supposed, that was likely the point.

She tries not to think about the similarities between the colours, the hip-marks, the mix of regular, unicorn, and pegasus horse types, and the dimly-remembered pony show of her childhood. That had looked nothing like this, though again, perhaps that was the point. The not-quite familiar, and a home she’ll never find again. (Or she’s remembering it wrong, it has been over thirty years since then.)

It brings Jasper’s thoughts to the image emblazoned on her own hip, the one she’s been pointedly ignoring since she saw it. Another monument to her own hubris- Were the golden arms and hands not enough? She had to see that fucking chalice again, stamped on her hip for all to see? Its taunting open, hungry mouths and lolling tongues etched into a dingy once-bright gold. Artfully carved. A horrendous reminder. Just her fucking luck. (At least it was rendered… Somewhat stylistically. Lacking much of its true detail.)

A sigh that sounds uncomfortably close to a nicker leaves her lips as she shifts on her hooves. She’s seen enough, a glimpse of a world that she had no doubt would tear her to shreds if she let her guard drop at the seemingly cute and cuddly appearance of the beings around her. She needed to find the others.

Jasper turns, trotting back down the alleyway. Deeper into the metropolitan maze. If she was lucky, they’d all be in the same city block. (But she was never lucky.)

~*~

A crisp breeze blows through the empty, darkened streets. Bringing a heightened chill, causing ponies who were still out at this late hour to clutch whatever warm scrap of clothing close and pick up their pace. The moon shines brightly, just above the rooftops in the glory of her full size. A watchful eye over the whole of the night.

Jasper creeps through the lamplight, as she has for the past few nights, combing the streets for her coworkers. Friends. Family. The sureness she’d held on the first day of their nearness fading into apathetic acceptance. Stalking the streets of this city, the name of which she still hasn’t learnt despite all her eavesdropping. Waiting under open windows for a scrap of something useful, only to hear inane shit about the pony’s personal life- She’s at least figured out they’re called ponies, though she’s still not sure what that makes her. Some sort of demon pony, she suspects.

A tiring thing it was, surviving on the scraps of the city. A near-constant fear she’ll be discovered during her daily naps, tucked deeply away in the depths of the alleys, where no-one tends to tread. Made more so by her lack of progress, lack of knowing- All the time she’s spent here, searching, and what has she accomplished? She can’t keep searching fruitlessly for JD, Milo, and Rory, if they’re here, they’ll have to hunt her down themselves.

If she’s alone, truly alone… Well, it’s not the first time Jasper’s had to take on a case by herself. (Neither is it the first that she’s caused.)

The soft clip-clop of her hooves comes to a halt as she stops in-between one lamplight and the next. Mind made up. It was time she took this situation into her own hands, starting with remaking the glamour. If, if her magic worked here. It was clear these ponies had it, but despite all her attempts before and after resting she still hadn’t managed a single spark from her supposed ‘unicorn’ horn. Perhaps she just lacks their natural magic, with her focus on runic circles… Nevertheless, she’d need materials to test it. It might as well be an attempt at artificing the glamour, it is a full moon every night- Why not take advantage?

The amount of times Jasper has performed the task of crafting a glamour has burned the requirements into her brain. An article of jewellery- ideally small and made of a pure metal, a gemstone soaked in the moon’s light- both before and during the casting, a piece of who it’ll be tied to (easy, hair will do), and something emblematic of illusion- she usually uses makeup (a dollar store eyeliner usually does it), but do ponies have makeup? It may be best to find a mirror instead… And of course, chalk to draw the circle.

All of which she had no way of obtaining legally, but in her wanderings had a solid idea of where to steal them from instead. Once a thief, always a thief. No matter how long it’s been since she broke and entered, she can’t help but case whatever building she finds herself near. Highrises aren’t the best to steal from, but the various shops on the other hand… Seem quite lacking in the security department. They surely have something, but it can't be worse than a mummified corpse that consumes energy. (She wishes she didn’t remember that.) Though how is she going to pick anything up? She’s seen the regular ponies use their hooves to grab small objects, but how is she to replicate that?

Jasper starts moving again at a quick trot, her goal now set. She can certainly nab one of the items tonight, with the moon still high in the sky. She's got time.

~*~

The storefront of Ruby’s Jewellery was dark behind its large glass window displays, holding gemstone-studded necklaces, earrings, and most importantly, rings. Little placards litter the various tables, proclaiming a ‘25% off sale’. Past the window displays are the true prizes, clean silver ring bands tucked away in their own little display case.

There’s no visible alarm system, or even a warning sign of one. The glass feels… Glassy for lack of a better word, as Jasper taps on it gently with a hoof. Ideally she’d go through a back door, but she has neither lockpicks nor the dexterity to use them right now. Therefore: brute force it was.

CRASH

Jasper considers her hoof, now punched through the glass. The lack of alarms blaring leads to her punching out the rest, hauling herself in through the window. Scattering the carefully-made displays across the floor. The glass shatters harmlessly against her scales, but she can’t stop the automatic shake once she’s got all four hooves on the floor, sending glass clinking to the floor. She feels a little bad for the mess, but pragmatism wins out. Eyes on the prize, Jasper.

She approaches the case, a burnished wood holding inset glass panelling. Little placards claim the silver’s purity- A nice, simple band. Perfect for her needs. She taps her hoof against the glass, making a soft hum at the thickness. Unlikely to stop her, unless it’s got something else going on.

CRACK

Her first strike doesn’t make it all the way through, spiderwebbing cracks lining the top panel of glass. Her second goes clean through, scattering glass amongst the silver rings. It’s now she has the simple thought, how am I going to pick this up?

She stops. She stares. The barely-visible glass and accursed silver glints at her, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” Jasper curses with venom, lifting herself up with her front hooves to balance on her hind legs. Leaning on a foreleg, she paws in vain at the mess in the case. Desperately trying to grasp a single ring in her hoof. How the hell did those ponies do it?! All she manages is to slide it all around, her expression quickly turning into a snarl of bared teeth.

The soft tinkling of glass and silver permeates the store, drowning out all else. It quickly gets grating, to the point Jasper tries to spear a ring with her horn. The horn she has barely any spacial awareness of. The feeling of it hitting the floor of the display rattles her teeth, but she’s getting closer. On her third jousting attempt, she hears something over the glass. An ear flicking back behind her as she raises her head. The sound of sirens.

Jasper ducks her head back down immediately, her motions getting more and more sloppy, more desperate. The wailing sirens growing closer and closer. Her attempts getting no closer than before, and in fact is slipping further from success. Her horn aches, her hooves ache, she is soon to be caught red-handed by the cops. One option left, one potential.

She bites the bullet, and bites a ring. Immediate, instant success. Glass sticks to her lips as she draws her head from the display, dropping the ring into her waiting hoof. She tries to be delicate in getting the glass off, but with the sirens getting far too close for comfort- She brushes it off against her foreleg, rough and coarse. Glass and scale alike cut her lips. Superficial. She’s had worse. She shoves the ring back between her tongue and teeth, pushing off the display and galloping back out the window. She clears it with a jump. Out clean.

The sirens are so much louder now Jasper stands on the street again, so much closer than she’d thought. A red and blue flashing light shines from down the street. It rapidly grows closer, as does the siren. She bolts.

Something Jasper doesn’t care to listen to is shouted, inaudible over the siren. Something sparks behind her. She doesn’t look back, taking the first alleyway she comes across. A light shines upon her for the briefest of moments. Then a clattering of hooves hit the cobblestones, right as she hits the first corner to go deeper. To disappear. She gets the barest of glimpses of a pony silhouetted by the light, stock-still, before she’s gone. Deep into the twists and the turns of the metropolis’ alleyways. So deep that no-one could find her.

Author's Note:

don't expect a consistent schedule, those never work well for me, but I'll try to post it weekly either way! hope you enjoyed <3

note: so long as you're nice about it, you can note down spelling mistakes & such in the comments if you notice. I'd like to think I'm pretty good at editing it myself though