Follow the Worms

by argomiam

2 – Lit Cigarettes

March 19th, 1023.

---

“No, I prefer transparency,” spoke the stallion. Gander was sat beside him, typing away any slogans Light had put out for his next piece of party propaganda they’d surely plaster all over the streets of Bales. “I’m not one of those republican goons over in Griffonia, it’d be boring and unoriginal to say we support harmony, and a minimum wage, and kindness for all, and whatever other political slogans they regurgitate for followers. I want my members to know what they’re getting into, rather than setting up some excuse to call an emergency and declare myself the Marshal-Director of Equestria, or whatever. I need loyal subjects, not flip-floppy socialists that half-heartedly agree with my policies out of convenience.”

Gander nodded, considering all this. Light took another drag of his cigarette, adding to the stench of the already smoke-filled room. He wandered in and out of the balcony, taking more puffs inside than out, much to the frustration of his colleague.

They were on the fifth floor of the apartment building that since became the party headquarters. The changelings had sold it them for cheap, and since then they’d been working towards making it somewhat habitable.

Near ten years of abandonment following the Great War hadn’t done it any good. It smelled vaguely of mold, the wallpaper peeled at the tips, and they couldn’t get the boiler to turn off, leaving the building this consistent stuffy temperature that meant windows had to be left over and bills had to be obnoxiously high. Light had very little concern for the aesthetic of the room, nor the potential health consequences — his head swam with new plans, new speeches, new audiences to convert to the only truth.

“Transparency is the goal. I want to let them now that they’ll be cutting grass with scissors if the great leader decides it, and they’ll do it with a smile on their face, you know?” Light grinned, gesturing grandly at the ceiling and flicking the glowing cigarette butt onto the floor. “Besides, that factory owner will love that. Loyalty, and all that. Throw in a few words at dinner, or something.”

“Great leader? Ugly couple of words.” Gander sighed, keys still clacking at the typewriter. “Listen, Light, I love your work, but this is no way to get new supporters. We need to ease them in a bit more. Play to their fears. We want them to know we’re their only help against the communists that’ll, well… I don’t know, hang them in the streets, or the unicorns that’ll send them to the pits.”

“I am doing that, Gander.” He groaned, staring at the ceiling and already fumbling through his pockets for another cigarette, chasing that little buzz. He had long since gotten too high a tolerance to the stuff to get another nicotine rush.

“Light.” He pleaded. “I’m just trying to make you look better. Maybe when you’re ‘great leader’, we can start saying all these things, but we’re still consolidating power here-“

“Is that sarcasm, Gander?” He took his first lungful of smoke after fiddling with the lighter for some time, exhaling right in his face. The humour was lost on Gander.

“I’m asthmatic, Light.” He asserted, sternly.

“I’m strengthening your lungs, that’s all mental. Can’t be saying you have asthma next time you meet up with that damnable pegasus boy again.” He giggled at his own joke.

“Stop bringing that up. He was lovely, he was hard-working, and he was different. There’s just no need.” And with this, the two were silent. One continued their obnoxious smoke break, the other typed away at the keys.

With almost every passing day, it felt like Gander’s resolve was being tested, like Light was probing him for weakness. Sometimes he got into a panic thinking Light had noticed his doubts, but in the end, he was good enough at convincing himself that he trusted him with the world.

His thoughts strayed back to his ex. It was a rare topic in his mind these days, a lingering, back-of-the-mind thought that occasionally floated up from the depths, with great disappointment in himself for it. He loved that pegasus son-of-a-bitch, and it stood in his brain as a last bastion of doubt, a creeping regret for the supremacist ideology he had since so lovingly adopted. He slid the carriage of the typewriter back, staring at his work so far.

Absolute rubbish.

Drivel. Pure and simple. Bastardised slogans, conflicting policies. It was like a parody of Beakolini’s fascism. This was it. This was what he left his boyfriend for. This was what he left behind his life for. He looked up at Light, sat on the table next to him.

“…do you know what happens when unicorns and their cronies rule, Gander? The Dread League happens, that’s what. That’s unicorn rule. And it’ll only be years before Trixie and her weird friend starts that too.”

Gander squinted, almost in shock of the mention at the mention of the infamous state. He couldn’t help but laugh a little. The doubts subsided for now. The clacking of keys continued, that was a damn good talking point. He could most certainly use that.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Light smirked, quite impressed with his own ability to generate wildly racist statements, if he did say so himself. “The sound of hard work. This is why us ponies get so much more done than the unicorns, and the pegasi. No wonder they’ve always used us.”

Gander nodded in agreement, a smile creeping along his face. This was usable, this was very usable. There were more than enough scared ponies out there that needed a hand through these dark times. They were all too eager to fill those shoes, and a lot of ponies were just as eager to let them. Since their love harvest rallies, a stroke of his own genius, party membership had soared. They’d even gotten a good number of pegasi for Talkie’s forces. He was sure he’d even get a few unicorns too, had Light not gone to the effort of personally denying the membership requests of every single unicorn that mailed it in.

A thought came to him, somewhat randomly amidst his frenzied writing. “Light? Do you remember that rally we did in… oh, where was it… probably here, actually. With the-“

“I’ve done a lot of rallies in Bales,” Light interrupted, breathing out another puff of the grey smoke this room was so very familiar with. “Which one?”

“I can’t remember specifics. It was a few years back now? When we first started doing the love rallies. There was a unicorn in the audience.”

Something almost glistened in Light’s eye as the memory came back, and he started clapping.

“Oh hay! I do remember!” He burst out laughing. “Oh, oh dear, oh dear me…”

Gander couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Seeing Light laugh outside of being drunk to a stupor was increasingly uncommon. He couldn’t help but well with pride. “Yeah, and you went and pointed and screamed ‘WHO LET THIS HORNHEAD INTO THE ROOM?!’”

“Oh, oh dear! The look on their face when the guards came up to him! I think he tried to cast a spell or something!” Light had a surprisingly bright laugh, something belonging to a much happier time. He was wiping tears from his eyes, almost on the floor, slamming his fist against the table.

The memory was fond to him, despite how… ever-so-slightly malevolent as it would be to the average pony. This was just the new reality of the world, after all. Cruelty was just a pony showing a back bone these days.

Gander covered his mouth, grinning ear to ear in amusement. He had seen the whole situation go down from his seat, and it had been a glorious celebration of their violent inhospitality for the unicorns. Justice, in some strange, twisted sense. Though, he wasn’t sure of the fate of the unicorn afterwards. He had, unfortunately, seen very little of it from his cushioned box to the side of the rally. The unicorn had disappeared into a frenzy of flying hooves and hurled jeers.

Gander looked to Light, seemingly in sudden concentration. Words entered his mouth, but never left them. He looked back at the typewriter.

The time isn’t right. Not now, not yet.

But when would it be right? What even was right? He felt strange around Light. Vaguely uncomfortable, extremely belittled before him, but his admiration for his boss was overwhelming. He always had a strange look about him, the type Gander recognised as one of a pony needing to be saved. It took him longer than he would’ve liked to draw his eyes away, stowing that thought away into another tiny box in the vast compartments of his mind.

Suddenly, the work seemed much more bland. He just wanted to go out now. It had been... how long? Six hours of Light talking his ears off? Not that he cared much, but a pony still had to eat, and the longer this continued, the smaller and smaller that sandwich he had for lunch was feeling.

“I’d love for it to happen again. When’s our next rally?” Light giggled, tapping his hooves against the floor giddily.

“Uhm... wow, I don’t know for sure. Ask Roly. From what she’s told me, I’m pretty sure they ran into a lot of trouble getting new venues. I think she’s working on ratting out some owner of a stadium to the changelings because they wouldn’t let her in. Not sure, again, ask her.”

“Thought you two didn’t talk?” He perked his ears up. He was always one for drama.

“Damn it, Light, you don't have to kick your hooves like that." He rolled his eyes, taking the time to check his watch. He supposed he could waste a few more minutes.

"We don’t,” Gander affirmed. “I hate her guts. I just take work more seriously than any relations. Regardless of my… personal thoughts, she’s a very useful party member. I won’t go into it any further, I’m not one to talk behind a pony’s back.”

Nopony irritated Gander more than Roly Poly. She was a stuck up, obnoxious socialite that took the word ‘party’ more literally than figuratively, mingling with high society more than she did any of her actual jobs.

But, he had to admit, Roly was the only one like him in the party. She had been a catering planner before, planning little local events like weddings or street celebrations (often in celebration of the changelings, a fact she had only brought up to him in a drunken haze), and had found the new world of politics so fascinating and vicious. She fell into the drunken narratives of the Worm, and had left behind a modest life for it, a fact she remembers mostly in melancholic memories on long train journeys. Like him, she had her doubts, but that was not a topic of conversation to bond over. It was a no-go.

She did get work done when she needed to, he supposed. Her incessant need to present at every party had built her quite the network of high-profile individuals that had been quite a boon for the party. Collaborators, industrialists, general businessponies across Equestria. Much to his fury, her general being there at these high society events had likely secured the party more funds than any of the tireless campaigning and slogans Gander had generated. They all found it quite quaint that a fascist was present at their fancy events, and her face alone gave the party a much more refined nature to them.

And that was the way the world worked. Gander could work day and night to propose all the great things the party would do for their wealthy investors, lower labour costs, increase productivity, but at the end of the day, the fascists were still seen by them as the communists of the middle-class. By having a pony up with them, showing them just how fancy the party is, and all the good times it’ll bring... it simply worked better. The ice between them melted.

Maybe that was his next piece of work. Really suck up to the rich, draw them in.

Light cocked his head, giving a knowing, suspicious look -- the sort you gave a pony after asking if they’d taken the last cookie when their mouth is covered in crumbs. “Your job is to talk about ponies behind their back. But, fair enough, I suppose. I mean, I like her. She gets results, and she makes me look very good.” He smiled, fixing his mane in some glam way and offering a cigarette from his pack. "And I like looking good. Go on, have one."

Gander had to stop himself from almost asking how he thought of him. It made his blood boil to hear Light talk about Roly like that.

Who did she think she was? Probably trying her best to curry favour from him right now.

But the jealousy had to be managed. Regardless of Light’s opinions on Roly, he was sure he was higher up on the invaluableness scale. He certainly wasn’t a big smoker, but he supposed this was the best break he was going to get until Light either went to bed or got drunk. He took the protruding cigarette and held it in his hoof, finally getting out of his seat.

“Where are you going?” Light looked at him as if he had just professed his love for unicorns, completely baffled.

“Outside, Light. I’m going to the balcony. I don’t want to smoke next to my work.” He knew there were times when Light preferred his own way to common sense, but he was adamant. He wanted his damn break.

“Bah,” Light waved his hoof dismissively. “Nonsense. But I suppose I could join you, as a favour.” He cocked his head and grinned, standing up from the table he was perched on

“Ever so benevolent of you.” Gander nodded with a slight smile, trotting over to the door.

“Like usual. You shouldn’t be so surprised.” He followed, discarding another cigarette butt along his way, adding to the little trail he’d since painted across the floor in ashy tobacco, creating a surprisingly detailed mosaic of high-traffic areas across the derelict wood flooring.

Maybe, Gander thought, he’d even feel benevolent enough to go as far as to light his cigarette for him.

---

The stars sparkled dimly over the light-polluted city, the moon bathing the line of stone brick houses in a pale glow. Tobacco was not Gander’s favourite smell, but it was one he had gotten much more comfortable with, especially with the lit one in his hoof and the increasing amount of time he spent with Light. The faint nicotine buzz was actually fairly pleasant in the spring air, it wasn’t bringing the usual headache that came with smoking for him.

“You reckon Luna’s still out there?” Gander turned to his friend, who was sitting in a little deck chair. He, however, was far more content in leaning against the railing at the city below.

Bales was not a terrifyingly modern city with rising skyscrapers, like Manehattan. Nor was it deeply traditional, with pointy-spired castles like Canterlot. It was a quaint little industrial middle-ground. In most ways, the city was shaped by industry. Stone brick homes lined streets made for carriages. There was a grand train station that buzzed with activity even at the later hours, bringing changeling soldiers in and out where once it brought iron and textiles. If it weren’t for the electronic light and assorted marvels of a modern world, it would be safe to assume it was a tenth century city.

“Honestly? Couldn’t care less if her or her sister was out there.” Light shrugged, standing up and leaning on a bit of railing nearby. “They’re not returning after all this. Their world has ended. It’s our time now.”

Gander nodded, holding the cigarette dangling over the edge. He looked over to him, stood by his side. “I can agree with that. I can’t help but feel sorry for them sometimes.”

“You can’t help them being ignorant.” He took another quiet drag. “They’re a symbol for what was, and probably, what was meant to be. But it's not our fault for being realists, Gander. We can’t let ourselves be put down because we’re choosing to see from reality rather than the dreams of ponies fifteen years ago. The world changes.”

“That it does.” Gander took an inhale himself, feeling the smoke bite at his throat. He would’ve coughed if he kept it in any longer, but he couldn’t be doing that in front of Light. “But do you ever dream it would’ve been that way?”

“No.” Light answered bluntly. “And neither should you. It might’ve been nice for a while. But then the next war comes, and the same thing happens over and over again. We can’t pray for war to be over, because for as long as the griffons, or the changelings, or the unicorns, or anyone that doesn't pray with us, what's it worth? Once Equestria rules again, and rules absolutely, then we will never have…” He gestured grandly. “This. We will never have this again.”

“I suppose.” He sniffled, taking a few more drags. “But what about you, Light? I never get to ask about you. Are you happy with what we’ve done?”

This question clearly baffled him, his head lay on top of his hooves on the railing, looking to Gander. He thought about it, and Gander could tell he was seriously thinking about it. Not reciting a slogan, not drawing upon some wealth of supremacist campaigning – just thinking for himself.

“No, Gander. I’m not happy.”

Gander frowned, nodding his head. He understood, of course, but it was still a jolt to hear real honesty from someone so deeply out of touch with his own wellbeing. “How come?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m mad. And I will be until everything’s right. I don’t think I can be content. When I’m content, it’s all over, and it’s not over, not yet.”

“Oh, Light.” He shook his head, tossing his cigarette over the balcony. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be happy along the way. You need to let yourself have those moments. It’s the only thing we’re living for.”

Light responded by offering him a new one silently. He placed it between his lips, and Light shielded it from the wind with his hoof, bringing a flame to the end until it glowed a dim amber. There were no more words exchanged, just the quiet puffing of black smoke over the dark horizon. Gander allowed himself a suppressed smile.

Such a gentle gesture, from someone so vehemently reckless.