8 – Just A Passing Phase
1st 3rd May, 1023.
2nd?
The new headquarters of the Equestrian Liberation Front was a flurry of activity. Everything had to be moved down underground, avoiding the bombs that threatened the city in the limited time they had. It wouldn’t be long before the changelings reared their ugly head and shifted their focus onto them. The news had only been good so far though, and that was something to hold onto. They’d been taken completely by surprise. Rail lines across Marechester and as far west as Acornage had been cut by resistance members heeding the call, and hegemon reinforcements from the east either found themselves bogged down fighting the griffons, or cut off by Manehattanite resistance cells.
The call to arms had been well received, all things considered. Apparently, much to his amusement, there’d been a lot of confusion in Manehattan when E.L.F. cells had realised it was Light calling the shots, and not the two unicorns primarily responsible for the building up of the eastern resistance. Good news to him.
This was just another gambit. Just another play, another turn. He’d stolen everything they’d built from right under their noses, and they couldn’t even claim he had – he had done everything they had told him to do, there was no decree that he couldn’t simply start it up for him.
But the relief of hearing about a few angry unicorns half-a-way’s across Equestria was short-lived. They’d found themselves terribly unprepared for the crafting of an actual state. This was no longer merely politics, posturing and putting pieces in the right place; this was actual statecraft now. Ponies all over were waiting for his word, and his alone. Whilst he did revel in it for a while, the joy had quickly vanished like it so often did with these kinds of things. Statecraft was supposed to be more… 'Great Leader'.
It most certainly was not supposed to be listening to complaints, going to meetings and writing actual legislation and policy for things he had no interest in.
He straightened his tie, finishing off another cigarette. That was the last in the pack. He had gone through it over the course of a few hours. It was as good a time as any to make his way out of his office and through the veritable maze of bureaucracy his new headquarters had turned into. He was rather impressed, given this was all something he had done, that he himself had caused, but it was all so very frantic. Everyone was so focused on the whole war, war, fighting, that he had started to feel almost a little bored. It sickened him to his stomach knowing this was how fickle his soon-to-be subjects were. He had gone from the glorious centre of attention, the glowing beacon of liberation everywhere, to what felt to him like a side-piece in his own nation.
But, he reasoned, the dissatisfaction would never cease until that glorious day did come where his moves had all been played, and the game was finally finished. This was only the set-up, the grand opening for his triumphant checkmate. Still, it was all so drab.
Doors opened, ponies stood by to salute their Commander and liberator, and Light silently made his way to the office of Proper Gander. He wore his face purposefully, a display of seriousness and pseudo-regality before his subordinates. He was a compassionate leader, but not a kind-hearted doormat open to all the inquiries of the concerned about how a damn war would affect their families. Stars, the answer was obvious: of course it wouldn’t be nice; this was just the reality of war, and through war there would be a better peace, better than one anypony with a horn on their head had ever guaranteed through a deceitful smile. He had begun to hold a sort of contempt for all these sobbing ponies, so anxious and cowardly. He’d sacrificed things, why shouldn’t they too?
The door opened without a knock, and in came Light. There was a clacking of hooves as its inhabitant stood up suddenly, clearly alarmed by the unexpected entrance.
“Relax, Gander. It’s me.”
His Leader of Communications smiled warmly, trotting giddily towards the door as if it was the only good thing that had come of the day. Light shut the door behind him, opening his forelegs for a brief embrace.
“It is business, I’m afraid,” he continued, before the pony could even utter a greeting. “How’s the effort been going? The thestrals, Gander, have they done anything yet? Please, please, don’t tell me all that campaigning with them lot meant nothing.”
Gander sighed, clearing his throat and backing away a couple of steps to look him in the eye. “It’s… it’s too early to tell, Light,” he mumbled apologetically. “We’re sure they’ll do something, but news from those parts isn’t… hasty.” He exhaled, hard, playing with a strand of hair at the back of his well-kept mane.
“Yes? And? It’s been a day. I sent a radio broadcast, I didn’t exactly ask a griff to mail my revolution by hand. What’s taking them so long? Chrysalis clearly heard it! Stars, I already have tanks up my flank, how haven’t they?”
“Well,” He shrugged, some powerless yet sorry look on his face. “You know…” his voice suddenly cracked.
“No! I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking you!” Light exclaimed. “I didn’t come here to be sappy, Gander, I own Equestria, I want to know why they’re betraying me!”
There was silence between the two, only a nervous look being offered. Gander shuffled a little further forward, offering his hoof out. “Light, dear, I think betrayal is a strong word, they might just be unprepared—“
Light groaned. “Don’t call me that.”
Gander deflated, his posture slumping in the slightest way. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought—“
Light held up a hoof, silencing him. His stare began to soften, a frown creeping across his face. For a second, the hurt look on his face almost made him take it back, rethink what he said. Almost.
“Not here. It’s strange. Don’t do it.”
He nodded back slowly, still looking unsure about the full meaning of what he had said, or if it had even meant anything. Regret was a little too harsh a word, but it certainly wasn’t appreciative. “Sorry, Light,” he corrected.
“Don’t worry about it. Just get the message to them, would you?”
“Of course, of course. I’m doing everything I can, I promise.”
It was the sort of placating voice someone adopted in trying to talk another down, when the only percieved alternative they saw was the other getting violent.
Light felt his stomach churn in an unfamiliar way, staring at the pony that had just seconds ago called him dear, now backing away from him like he was about to swing a hoof. He chewed at the air uneasily, averting his gaze to the floor. Was it shame? Guilt that this was what he thought of him?
It was… offensive.
He would never do that. Or at least, he supposed he wasn’t the sort of pony to be like that. No, not a violent pony at all. Well, not where it wasn’t justified anyway. Everything he did had reasoning. Lots of it, in fact. It was all planned. And surely, Gander knew that.
So why was he acting like this – acting like he was this kind of pony?
His brain steamed through the potential outcomes of this brief interaction, leaving him with nothing but more quiet dread, dread that this was all doomed, that he shouldn’t have done anything in the first place.
In his perspective, Gander was just a little stupid – emotionally charged, attention-seeking, somewhat of a yes man – but he did care about him.
Part of that sickened him, just a bit. Some deep, core part of him detested that, and was showing its twisted self yet again.
Of course he was acting like this, everypony always did. And every day, he felt himself succumb to those thoughts yet again, that nagging whisper in his ear that everypony had always done him wrong, and nothing he could do would ever change them.
He caught himself in his silence, looking up to meet Gander’s slightly fearful gaze.
“I’m… sorry,” he sputtered, unable to shake the feeling that he had to force the words out. It felt so foalish, so appeasing. Still, he coughed out more, “You’re trying. That’s all that matters, s’pose.”
Gander nodded, still looking quite ashamed of himself. The apology did draw the slightest, tired smile. “Thanks, Light. I am trying. You can trust in that.”
Gander drew in, giving him a warm embrace. A little more intimate, a little less awkward. He could hear Gander’s heartbeat against his own. It made him feel a little ill.
They were so close. But closeness was becoming such a chore. He’d done enough now, he’d said enough. He’d made his statement, felt bad and made up. It was over now, and he was free to walk away. But he couldn’t muster up the heart to break the hug. Gander was a good pony, he just had to remind himself of that sometimes. He was just so reliant, so needy.
Some part of him envied it, that he had the ability to ask for help. Another part hated the pony's inability to be fine on his own. Always in need of somepony. Was he just the latest in a series of ponies Gander had latched onto for some temporary reprise from the loneliness? There'd certainly been a pegasus before him, he knew that much.
Finally, Gander seemed content enough to break the hug, kicking one of his hind legs gleefully, pressing his head into his chest in some unfamiliar, slightly uncomfortable gesture. Gander began to laugh, something quickly shared by Light. Gander had that effect. Every now and then, he did make him feel genuinely content. He could make a room feel lighter, diffuse tension like nopony else.
But, he was realising, he was not like him.
He was not one to let himself feel content for too long. It was a fleeting glimpse, something at the end of the tunnel, one that would end as soon as the conversation ended.
But it was still a feeling. Still a good feeling. He could work with that.
His head was always a jumble, a puzzle that never seemed to click, only ever revealing small fragments of the big picture. But around him? It just clicked sometimes. Emotions not only became a little more tangible, but a little more validated.
So, as he turned his head, just as his hoof touched the door handle, he felt an actual smile creep along his face. It was so strange, so alien. A bittersweet, foal-like joy. For the brief moment it filled him, the world seemed so very hopeful.
“Gander?” He turned back, just at the door. He gave a slight grin. “Are you doing anything tonight?”
Always the one to plan, Gander seemed to brighten and let out a quiet giggle. It seemed to him like Light was finally opening up, like he’d finally warmed up to him, felt safe enough to take a little more initiative. He shook his head excitedly. “Oooh! No, no. Nothing going on tonight. Why? What are you suggesting? Ooh, is this a date?”
For Light, that was one too many questions, especially before he’d even gotten the chance to speak. “Well, I thought we could just spend some time together. I’ll cook something nice. We’ve just always been working recently, think it’d be nice to unwind.”
Gander smiled, getting back behind his office desk and striking the day in the calendar. “I think so too.”
Light tugged at his collar, fixing some unnoticeable twist in his necktie under it. “Great. I’ll come over to yours. Mine’s still a mess.”
“Good idea, honestly. If I were to be truthful, I think it’s best to stay over until it’s all clean. I’m usually a mess whenever I’m surrounded by one, you know? Maybe you’re the same. Just to be safe.”
Considering his options turned out to be more difficult than he thought. He could be right, and he did actually quite enjoy his company. That, and it was nice not waking up in an empty home. At the very least, it stopped him drinking so frequently, but it was also a big social investment, one he wasn’t sure he could follow through with. What if he got angry? What then? Where would he get his privacy? Commitments were just far too difficult.
“Sure. That’d be nice,” he spoke, warmly, before his thoughts had a chance to catch up with his words. There was an almost immediate pang of guilt, or annoyance, or some other emotion he wasn’t entirely sure of, that he’d gotten himself tied up in yet another thing he wouldn’t be sure he’d want to do in the future.
But Gander was smiling, and he did have a lovely smile. That was what mattered, right?
Selflessness, or at least his idea of selflessness, was so novel and exciting. He had to stop second guessing himself, he made his own choices. A good leader always had to make commitments, even if they weren’t necessarily in their favour.
That was a good enough justification.
“Alright, wonderful. I’ll see you tonight. Eight any good?”
“Eight would be wonderful, Light,” he trilled.
He gave a polite nod, trotting back out of the open door, closing it with a gentle creek of its hinges. In just a moment, he had gone from a room he felt quite comfortable in, to a dimly lit concrete corridor, one that smelled slightly of damp and without wallpaper in sight to make it feel any less like what it was – a bunker. His hooves rested against the hard floor, allowing himself just the tiniest of breaks before his ever-continuing dance of running around asking for everything from everypony.
Along came the moment he had dreaded the most. His hooves carried him down the corridor like a prisoner on his final walk to the gallows.
Walkie Talkie, Staff Chief of the recently-renamed Equestrian National Defenders, a now separate entity from the also recently-made Equestrian National Army. It was a planned move, a demotion in all ways but name. It had stripped a lot of power from the pony, placing him in a more substitute role before the army, headed by one of their former subordinates, Rocky Road, a pleasant enough pony, and the recently turned rebel Anthearea.
The notion of being ‘outranked’ by a changeling had certainly not sat well, according to the others. Roly Poly, always one to stir the pot, was one of the only ponies in the party in his good graces, and that meant she heard everything. The things he’d been saying about Gander alone was enough to make him want to get rid of him, but at the end of the day, Walkie was there when nopony else was. Sure, he had some of the more needlessly violent and disgustingly extreme views of the party, but he’d always been absolutely loyal to his ideals, he’d always done his job well. It was this, he supposed, that was probably the reason he’d taken it so hard. It seemed he had worked under the misapprehension that when this war did come about, he’d be some grand field marshal, decorated head to toe in ribbons.
It had not been this way.
The medals were easy enough to satisfy. Walkie was one of the most decorated ponies perhaps ever, and that was simply because he asked nicely. But he was certainly no field marshal.
He was a glorified chief of military police at this point, a purposeful strategy to shove him to the side. He’d not noticed all of it, but he had noticed the decreasing number of opportunities he had been given. He was a bad pony, but a great friend – an early supporter, somepony he simply couldn’t get rid of, despite pleas from the changeling. Anthearea and Walkie had a lot of animosity for each other, and he wasn’t particularly sure why, or that he wanted to get to the bottom of it. The reasoning that ‘Walkie had said some nasty things about changelings’ was decent enough. His absurd points that changelings were 'direct evolutionary descendants of unicorns and their hedonism' likely didn't help either.
Light sighed, grating his teeth as he reached the end of the corridor. Two mares and a lost looking stallion, all the bureaucratic fodder that this bunker now homed, had bumped into him on his way, and it had already shortened his nerve enough. He was not looking forward to any test Walkie might have in place.
The door opened, and closed.
Walkie was on the phone, holding a hoof up to ask for a moment, before arguing loudly. It was like he didn’t even care that Light, of all ponies, was in the room!
“What do you mean? What d'you mean?!” he shouted over the phone. “If the unicorns are giving you chat, general, I say get rid of them! They’re lucky Light,” He nodded to his guest, acknowledging his presence, “...hasn’t had them all shot yet. Hold for a second.” He placed the phone down, looking up at Light. He talked fast, with a lot of purpose and a refined but gravelly voice. “Perfect timing, Light. The unicorns down Library Street are resisting. I say we send them straight to the factories if they’re not willing to fight for Equestria. Make them fight in another way. They’re with us or they’re betraying us, am I right?” He pointed to Light with a smile, like Light would love this suggestion.
He spoke like he was trying to bombard Light verbally. It was a barrage of words sent as quickly as possible, like he was trying to get it through to him with the least possible amount of resistance – like he was able to call the shots.
“Let’s not be too hasty,” Light answered, curtly. “We don’t want the rest of the country to hate us. A lot of them are iffy about us. Let’s not give them that push to the other side yet.”
“What?” Talkie screwed his eyes, still resting his hoof on the phone’s hoofset impatiently. “What are you saying? They’re unicorns, Light. We don’t like them. You don’t like them! You’ve not gone soft, ‘ave ye?”
“Tone.”
“No, don’t give me all that, Light. I don’t know what Proper’s gone and drilled into your skull, or that damn changeling for that matter, yeah, but this is our chance now. You better not waste it.”
Light backed away at the sudden defiance, Walkie grinning at him slyly. Seeing no objection, he continued. “Listen, we’re all friends here. But you need to start making decisions that show you’re not a pushover. Start making them Marksists know that we won’t put up with their proto-unicorn ideologies anymore. Put it all to the flame.” He placed a handgun on the desk, leaning in, voice darkening. “They’re really gonna kill ‘ya, you know. That Trixie and her weird friend – they’re gonna kill ‘ya.” He slammed the desk with his hoof for effect.
He couldn’t find the right words to respond, as much as he needed to. He was shocked, angry. How dare he speak to him like this? Who did he think he was? He thought of stripping him of all his fancy medals right where he was.
“I am capable of protecting myself, Walkie. In fact, that’s your job, so I’d say get on that. I know you’re upset I haven’t been taking it far enough right now, but we’re just asserting ourselves. We can’t polarise everypony yet. Not in our resources, not in our favour.”
“Not in our resources?” Walkie laughed. “We’re in control of more and more of Equestria every day – and Equestria is a rich land. You wouldn’t even believe the sort of wealth it hides. The unicorns never even touched it, too focused on all that friendship. Fuckin’ kill ‘em, is what I say. Up against the wall.”
The last part was to be ignored. Light knew Walkie, knew his beliefs were amongst the more radical of the party. Still, it was quite shocking to hear that, somewhere in his mind, he truly believed that it was the right course of action. “And since when did you become a prospector, Staff Chief?”
He waved his hoof. “I’m a stallion of many talents. Keeping myself in the loop is my job. I can’t just react, I have to be faster. Not a prospector, ‘Hero Commander’, just an opportunist. When are you changing that title, by the way? It’s not great.”
“You know, Walkie, you have some lip,” he scolded. “What makes you think—”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“What?”
“I’m not. You’re just a pony, Light. I love your ideals, I’m loyal to it. But scared of you?” He swirled a spoon around his teacup. “Don’t get it confused.”
Light was feeling more and more uncomfortable. The handgun on the desk certainly wasn’t helping. It would take no time for him to grab it, and that could be it. That would be it.
“I’m not implementing what you’re asking me. I’ve made myself clear.” His voice wavered, but he was standing his ground.
Walkie nodded, looking over to the pistol. He clearly considered something, and he made that look clear. But, he instead grabbed the hoofset, giving Light a dirty look.
“Scratch what I said. Light’s given me a direct order. We’ve to be… kind to them.”
He nodded to the voice over the phone. Light tried his best to listen in to the chat, but the words were inaudible beyond an electronic mutter. Still, he knew exactly who it was. It was Guardian General Plot Twist, one of Walkie’s little appointed cronies. He’d never interacted with the general, outside of formal events, but he knew he was cut from the usual Equestrian Guard cloth. Thuggish, fiendishly loyal, and more than aching for a chance to stick it to the unicorn.
“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “I know, but it’s Light’s word. Says he doesn’t want us to anger anypony yet.” There was another nod, now ignoring Light, spinning around in his favourite chair. “Yes, he says we’ll have our time. We need more ponies on our side before we start asserting ourselves.”
There wasn’t a clear reaction to this. His first thought was to ask what he meant by all this, but this confusion soon turned to anger. This wasn’t just a disagreement, this was a taunt.
He was threatening him. He had a bucking gun out. This was about two steps from a coup.
“Of course, of course.” He smiled. “Good luck, general. Equestria is proud of you.” He hung up the phone, looking back at Light with a cocky smirk. “Whey. There, did what you asked me.”
Light had to suppress the urge to bare his teeth at him. He supposed now was a delicate time, words might be the preferable choice. Something inside him really wasn’t sitting right with that, though. He didn’t need this conflict, but he’d come so far, done so much. He wasn’t about to be treated like he was when he was a nopony.
He was important now. Walkie was replaceable.
He was not.
“...thank you, Walkie.” he spat, through a venomous stare.
“Don’t mention it.” He reclined, kicking his hooves back and letting himself relax, clearly quite pleased with himself.
Light was not feeling so nonchalant. This wasn’t an issue of statecraft, politics, or anything – no, this was a personal matter now. And at a point where the future of Equus as a whole was so very dependent on his word, now wasn’t the time he could just leave issues be.
Everypony had to be in their right place now. And Walkie most certainly wasn’t.
There was no way a pony with such a lack of any sort of self-control, or brain, for that matter, would barge him around. This was a matter of pride now, it was on the line. This couldn’t be allowed to slide, lest he become a laughing stock.
This would not be stolen from him at such a critical point. Walkie was not capable of even half of the things he could do.
“Listen, Light. No hard feelings, I just don’t think you’re taking this far enough. We’ve gone far, don’t reel it in. If we do, what’s it worth? What was it all for?”
He hated that he even considered the words, but in a strange sense, it was true. They had gone far. If he played on the side of moderation, what was it for?
“Look,” he continued, clearly happy to share his own doctrine. “When something is as wounded as Equestria is… it gets, mmm, infected. And when a wound gets gangrene," He shrugged indifferently. "You just have to cut your losses. You don’t try to nurse it back to health, because it can’t get back to health.”
“I… I understand what you’re saying. It’s just not helpful yet.”
“It’s not a matter of what’s helpful, Light, it’s about what is bucking necessary. Equestria bucking burnt; we didn’t light that fire, but we're responsible for picking shit up out those ashes. Soot isn’t going to help us.”
“Can you just quit it with the BUCKING metaphor?!”
“Don’t tell me you’re a bucking pragmatist too now,” he groaned. “What the buck has Gander done with you?”
The kettle boiled over. Walkie didn’t seem to realise.
“Light, I’ll be honest with you. The masses are too stupid for you. You can’t lead them like this, they don’t understand you like I do. You’re not some hornhead, they’ll really do you in.”
Light slammed his forelegs into the desk. The force made Walkie jump back, almost falling out the seat he was in. That earth pony magic was coming to life. There was a confused shout, but Light had already started clearing the desk, throwing the gun to the floor.
It was never loaded.
Too late to reconsider that now. A pang of humiliation ran through him, but this only fuelled the fury he had whipped himself into. He was already over the desk in a clumsy vault, grabbing the Staff Chief’s collar.
He was wiry, not the fighting type at first glance, but he’d been in his fair share of brawls. He knew what to do.
“Don’t fucking talk about him like that!” he shrieked. “You’re nothing! This party was good before you joined and it’ll be good when you’re gone too! Don’t you act like you have anything on me!”
He could taste blood in his mouth before he felt the blow. Walkie had swung right back at his muzzle, knocking him off and sending his jaw reeling into the air from the impact. Blood trickled down his nostril, little droplets spilling onto his favourite white shirt. He howled, crying out expletives, clutching onto his face in pain.
Another blind kick, another clatter of objects crashing as they were removed from their high place. Walkie’s chair had buckled and bent back more than it was supposed to, now in another corner of the room, safe but wounded from the fight.
“What the buck are you doing?!” Walkie cried out. “You’re bucking mad, you’ve always been mad!” He began backing away, distancing himself from the seemingly frenzied pony. His one traded blow had clearly been enough for him.
The pain stung and throbbed, a constant reminder from his body that his face had been bruised up badly. There was just a sniffle from him, lacking the composure to do anything else.
Walkie could have struck him then. He was pretty much open, a little dazed. No blow came. He wiped his bloodied nose with his hoof, staining his coat sleeve with a streak of red. But Walkie was already backed away like a frightened foal.
What was he doing? That washed over him like a wave at high tide, what was he actually doing here? He was utterly confused with his own logic, what did he gain with this? Why did he keep doing this?
Walkie clearly had no desire to keep on hitting him, stood in a defensive pose, seeming like he was ready for a tackle. The whole reasoning for everything he himself just did was so lost on Light. It felt like all the adrenaline and cortisol had just vanished into thin air.
“Sorry,” Light panted, holding onto the desk. “I just… you wound me up.”
Walkie nodded, the tension diffusing from his stance, spitting onto a patch of floor besides himself. “Good to see you’ll still stand up for yourself, ‘least.”
He laughed, trying to lift the desk back up. “I’m sorry about all your stuff.”
“Ehh, fuck it. Not moved in properly anyway. Might wanna patch your nose. I messed it up a bit.” He smiled confidently.
“Might wanna fix your… everything. Bird-brain pony.”
“Buck you,” Walkie laughed, “Bucking Tartarus, Light, you’ve got one hell of a kick, you sure you’re not Guard material?”
“Like I’d want to serve under you, asshole.” He pulled up a chair, collapsing into it. “I’ve got such better things to live up to.”
“Fair, fair. Just a proposal if you ever get bored of leading the glorious revolution,” He smirked, still holding onto his gut and letting out a pained exhale, letting himself sit down. “So, did you come here to beat me half to death, or did you have something to say?”
Light let out a long ‘uuuf’, letting himself gather his breath and the few thoughts that remained after the adrenaline cleared all he had previously. “You know, I can’t remember. Give me a second.”
“Idiot.” Walkie joked.
“This idiot’ll tell you to jump off a cliff and you’ll damn well listen. Buck off.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Go on, think about it. Need some time myself.”
“Right, I think I was going to ask something,” he said. “Tartarus, you really did buck up my nose. Thanks a lot. I’m going on a date later.”
“With Gander?” Walkie inquired, genuinely curious. The details on the private life of the Commander were rare, after all.
“No, with Celestia, of course. Obviously it’s Gander!” He threw up his hooves. “Who else would it be?”
“Get on topic, Light,” he groaned.
He nodded, still sniffling through the bubbles of blood. “Right. I need to know your plans for cutting through to the east. Lot of land we have to cover in a very short amount of time.”
“Oooooh.” Walkie smiled, clearly happy he had been entrusted with this. Any responsibility given to him was a responsibility Anthearea wasn’t getting. “There’s more of Equestria rising up every moment. Recruitment has actually become a problem purely ‘cause there are just so many ponies signing up, we don’t have enough guns. Regardless, we’ll probably get enough in that whole resource zone that we can pretty quickly bridge it and cut off whatever jaegers the Queen of Bugs has set up there. It’s good stuff. We have a good chance at all this, Light. A very good chance.”
Light flashed a genuine grin, clapping his front hooves together. “That is good news. That is damn good news.”
“Oh, you’d love it. Training is, of course, necessary. We’re finding it easier, though. Most our recruits are ex-military. That whole army that ‘ling is running for you? From what I’ve heard, it’s a mad dash to get guns in their hooves. No matter how many ponies they have, they can’t just send them against tanks and be done with it. It’s gonna be bloody, Light. I can promise you that. This’ll be like the Great War all over—”
“No it won’t,” Light cut him off. “It’s gonna mean something this time.”
There was a hard stare cast over him. Not just a look of disapproval, a look of shame.
“I served in that army, Light. Ammo-bearer, three years. You do not disrespect my army like that. That was the only time in Equestria’s history it meant something.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know—”
“No, you clearly don’t. We lost because we were weak, we were shameful, and nopony was willing to fight for their own damn kind. That was the unicorns. They lost us that war. They were too stuck-up, too scared to fight with us. That’s the reason I joined you, Light. So we don’t have that again. So watch your mouth talking about that. I loved that army more than I’ll ever love anypony.”
“Right, I know. I know, Walkie. But that world is gone, the shit that lives on? Belongs to us now. So we’re making it matter, you know?”
Light had served too. Supposedly. Supposedly, the records of his service were lost after they all burnt when the changelings terror-bombed Equestria all those years ago. He’d served in the mountains, escaping prisoner of war treatment by hiding away until it was safe – or so he claimed.
Either way, he had the same wounds. Everypony did. The blemish on the grand nation’s history was a burden they all bore.
“I suppose that’s it?” Walkie inquired, trying to get some time alone to fix himself up.
“Yeah. I’ll be calling a meeting tomorrow. General staff. Everypony’s gonna be there, you included. We need to straighten things out before tanks roll out.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Now I know you have some ill opinions of Anthearea, but she’s got a list of what was taken from the changelings. It’s a lot of stuff, from what I’ve heard. Proper anti-tank weaponry and all.”
“Wonderful, wonderful,” He winced on hearing the changeling’s name. “Right, I’ll play nice for ya’. Just let me be for now. Get yourself cleaned up. Don’t have a spare shirt on me, but I would recommend it.”
The two existed in silence for a mere moment, reeling from the hurt they’d inflicted upon each other. Two seconds, but it felt much longer. Still, there was little hate that existed between the two of them. Mostly one-sided, and more bitterness than any sort of real hatred. Just a simmering annoyance at a lack of respect.
Light stood up, taking a sharp breath as the pain flared up in response to the sudden movement. No goodbyes were exchanged, just a silent nod of the head between the two. He could hear Walkie curse him out for breaking his best chair, but he was already past the door frame.
He was a mess, and he looked it, but he knew all this. At least this time it was a mess he had caused, a mess he controlled. At the end of the day, what were a few bruises? No bruise could compare to the scar of victory – that would be far more meaningful than any old wound.
It was the most important scar anypony could get. The only mark that meant anything, not like the stupid cutie mark he’d covered daily, but that wasn’t out of shame, of course. Just a subversion of destiny.
The clock struck eight.
Light grabbed a pair of pants that had been left on the floor from the night before, frantically trying to force his legs through as he quickly pulled them up. They weren’t going anywhere that required dressing, but it was always nice to look fancy, even if the fancy clothing in question had creases running all along it from being crumpled on the floor and discarded the night before. His best shirt was currently hanging on the clothesline outside, and whilst he wasn’t terribly picky about its condition, wearing a moist shirt was not an attractive idea.
The closet doors flung open, hangers dropping to the ground as he began his aimless search. A flurry of ‘no’s, ‘eugh’s and ‘hmm’s left his mouth, eventually settling on one of the countless black linen shirts that filled his wardrobe.
He got it onto his back, putting it on and quickly realising it was inside-out. Could a day get any worse? Time was still marching on despite his quarrel with inanimate objects, and Gander was likely already waiting. If only he hadn’t had to interact with so many up-and-coming party members in the office, then he might’ve had time. The twenty minute couch-slump also might not have helped either, but that was well-deserved, so he couldn’t beat himself up too much for it.
He grabbed a comb, doing his mane a little more as he continued his five minutes of getting ready. Eight o’ three.
Damn, he was good at rushing things.
He checked the mirror on his way out the door, grabbing the watch beside it and putting it on. He looked good. Good as far as he could tell, anyway. There were a few bruises on his face, a more than noticeable one under his left eye, but oh well, he supposed it wasn’t terrible. He’d gone out looking much worse for speeches.
He did also typically have a makeup team when he was doing speeches, and an hour to prepare, but what difference does it make?
The door slammed shut, the wind picking up and blowing around his ‘perfectly’ combed mane. Buck. A curse silently left his lips, he’d forgotten to put product into it, making him look like some bleeding heart. Oh well, Gander wouldn’t care.
It was strange outside. The atmosphere was so different. The usual hustle and bustle of the city was completely starved out by the blanket of fear the threat of changeling bombers had cast. People still walked the street, but they didn’t walk the same way. They hurried around, checking the side streets as they passed them. There were no evening strolls, there was no whistling. The city never stopped, but it already seemed so choked of joy.
But that wasn’t his fault. This was all an inevitability, one he had to force. The world spun on as usual.
Besides, he told himself he’d try to take a break from thinking about work – just for the few hours he’d spend over. Little events like this had to be rationed, the joy they brought savoured.
He got into his vehicle, feeling the engine hum as it set off on the cobbled road, now more thankful than ever that he bought the nicer model with the better suspension – a luxury he deserved, after all.
The journey over was uneventful. Other than a cart being pulled by a pegasus that he had some choice words for and a few military trucks, there wasn’t really anything else on the road on his whole trip there. Traffic was light out of the city and into the countryside. As he left his car and felt his hooves on solid ground again, he checked the time once more. Thirty minutes late.
It was unavoidable, really, or so he told himself. There was no way he could’ve gotten here any earlier. He was already thinking of excuses for his tardiness as he made his way to the door, he could complain about non-existent traffic, or say there was an emergency… the problem was that Gander was so in the loop that few of them would actually work.
Still, honesty was the last choice on the list.
Two knocks, so he knew it was him. The door opened almost immediate, the pony at the door immediately throwing his forelegs around him and hugging tight. “Light, you made it!”
“Yeah,” He hesitantly hugged him back. “Sorry, I just had to pick up a call. Lasted forever. It was Walkie.”
“Oh,” Gander grimaced, not the biggest fan of Walkie there was, “What was he saying?” He took a moment to place a book on the table by the door, before clasping his hooves around his face. “Oh my goodness, Light, what happened?!”
“What?” he responded, looking absolutely bewildered.
“Did someone try to kill you? Your eye! Oh dear me, come in, come in.”
“Oooooh…” He entered, putting his sunglasses down on the drawer beside the entrance. “No, no. Walkie and I just had a disagreement. It was nothing severe, don’t worry. He was just getting really lippy.”
“So he BEAT you? Light, are you kidding? What?!”
“Well, I kicked first, I suppose.”
“Sweet Celestia, why?!”
“Oh, don’t mention that fool around me. She is not a god, don’t treat her like one. Bucking false idols.”
Gander scowled at him, clearly taking this a little more seriously. “Are you going to tell me, or keep deflecting?”
“Tartarus, Gander, fine. You know all that stuff with the library? I’ve just not been impressed with it all. It doesn’t sit right. Him and his damned generals keep rallying all their troops ‘round it, and they seem more concerned with threatening the ponies that live there than actually doing their jobs,” he vented, entering the door and continuing as he hung his long coat up. “He keeps saying these… absolutely appalling things. Listen, I don’t like them either, but the shit he says? Send them all to the mines— kill them all? Gander, it makes me… it makes me feel like the bad guy, you know?” Frustration filled his voice, then changing to despair, before finally settling on an almost pleading tone. A tone that wanted to be reminded he wasn’t – that needed that reassurance.
“Light…” he comforted, “You’re not the bad guy. Everypony knows that.”
“I… I know, but this is everypony I associate with. They all have these views, I don’t! It’s… I don’t get why its attracted all this. I’m not killing them. I’m just… you know, we’ve suffered! It’s time to flip that, that’s all. Give the state back to those who built it, just…”
“You are a fascist, Light. And fascism encompasses these sorts of views.”
Light groaned. He wasn’t in the mood for this sort of discussion. It was tiring, it was the same sort of thing he did all day. It was a little comforting to be talking about it with someone who would blindly defend him, but still, it all felt the same. It was work – the exact thing he came to avoid.
He slid past Gander through the hallway. “Yeah, whatever. You have any cider?”
Gander frowned, nodding his head. “Wait until after dinner. Deary me—What about some wine? We could have some wine with our food, if you’d like.”
“Yeah, wine’s good. Anything with a buzz,” he murmured, continuing past Gander and into the living room. He parked his flank on the couch, staring at the TV. He almost instinctively picked up the Lazy Bones controller, but the wire was caught on something and he didn’t feel like untangling it. Whatever, there was nothing on anyway. It was a fair assumption to make that the Changelings weren’t too bothered about providing entertainment, however propagandised, to an infant rebel state.
Gander followed along, peeking his head through the doorway. “You want an apple?”
“We're rationing, Gander. I don’t want a snack.”
“I thought you said rationing doesn’t apply to us?” Gander stuck his head back through the door frame.
“Well, yeah. But it's the principle, you know?”
Gander shrugged, disappearing back into the hallway again. Light could hear a faint hum as he trotted around the house, quietening as he walked into the kitchen and picking back up as he left. Clearly some ponies were in higher spirits than others, but that was okay. Gander didn’t have quite the same responsibilities as the Hero Commander himself, so obviously he wouldn’t be as stressed.
He picked up the newspaper on the coffee table, folding it along its crease and reading the first page. Drivel. He wasn’t even sure why Gander had this here – it was his own damn paper. The headline read ‘REVOLUTION CALLED! ALL PONIES TO SERVE AS EQUESTRIA RETURNS’, the rest of it being the average patriotic propaganda spew that they fed to the masses.
In a strange way though, it was quite entertaining to read – mostly because he already knew everything going on in its entirety, not just the carefully procured published fact.
‘All Ponies Front’. Nonsense. Maybe for Anthearea and her army, but Walkie was more tied up in figuring out whether he should be shooting at Marksists or the Heer. Everything felt so much less grand than it should. It was nothing like the Great War, none of the colourful banners across Bales thanking their soldiers like in 1012. It was so very dull. Equestria had become so choked of any of the joy the Changelings hadn’t already bottled up and taken to Vesaliopolis that he was surprised there was any celebration at all. It all felt so very gladiatorial – just cheers for the sake of blood and revenge.
Where had the feeling gone?
He got about halfway down some column about recruitment stats before Gander returned, sitting down right next to him, budging up into his side and almost pressing his muzzle right into the paper.
“What’re ‘ya reading?” Gander looked over at him, inserting himself into Light's view.
“Oh, some boring rubbish,” he joked, looking over at its writer with a tired smile. “Who even wrote this stuff?”
His response was a weak punch in his foreleg and a roll of his eyes. “Quiet, you. I’ll slander you in my next piece if you’re not careful.”
“Ooh, lovers drama. That’ll get sales.” He chuckled, before noticing something. Gander's eyes were grey. Only now, this close, had he actually noticed anything about his eyes. He couldn't even remember what he thought it was before, but certainly not this silver-y colour. He relaxed a little, still keeping a fairly strong gaze. He really wasn't sure how to feel in this sort of situation. Part of him felt as if he should feel love for the pony, another felt guilty that he wasn't.
Gander broke eye contact, likely getting nervous under his now intense stare. “Believe you me it will,” Gander giggled. “Been a while since we had royal drama. Sure somepony will go wild for it.”
‘Royal’? What was that even supposed to mean?
The inference that he was just like the Princesses did not bring the sort of amusement Gander was looking for, ignoring the comment and continuing to read the column until he folded the paper crosswise, placing it back on the table.
He kicked his hindlegs up, resting them on the coffee table, getting a scathing look from Gander that forced him to sit properly.
“Take off your shoes too, whilst you’re at it. I don’t even know why you wear them. You always look so formal, I can’t imagine it’s very comfy,” Gander giggled, poking one of the cufflinks. “It’s only my company, Light, you’re alright.”
He shrugged. “I like dressing well.”
The truth couldn’t be further from it. Of course, Gander was right; he didn’t have to look so formal all the time, especially when all this ‘date’ entailed was a visit to Gander’s home. The material always itched, too, especially around his collar.
“Besides,” he continued, getting a little defensive after that guilty feeling, “What’s the problem? Am I not allowed to look nice?”
The pony next to him gave him a confused look, shaking his head quickly. “Noo! You look dashing, it's just not required, that’s all. I don’t mind. You've impressed me enough, mister.”
“Well, that’s great to hear, Gander. Unfortunately, I do mind, so why don’t you mind your own business?”
Gander sighed, leaning back against Light with the back of his head pushing into his shoulder. “Whateverrrr. Oh, you should see the new kitchen I got installed! It looks grand, honest, the ponies you sent did such a good job with it. I mean, the thing’s massive, it’s bigger than my old apartment!”
Light shrugged, still rubbing at his own collar. Truthfully, he only really needed to wear pants out of some strange mental requirement that nopony was allowed to see his cutie mark. The shirt was only really there because wearing just pants seemed silly.
Still, he was quite proud of himself that despite the minor disagreement that, admittedly, he had caused, he hadn’t lashed out much yet – something that surprised him, especially on a bad day like this. That wasn’t his usual modus operandi.
Feeling like a saint, he stood up, Gander grabbing his front hoof and near enough dragging him across the carpet into his new kitchen.
He had to admit, it did look good. It was state of the art stuff, he’d ensured no costs were spared. It did feel just a little aristocratic, and he did feel a pang of guilt staring at the all new kitchen appliances that’d likely see four or five uses in their product lifetime – especially considering he’d already thrown the continent into a revolution of his own design – but the look on Gander’s face was priceless. He was as giddy as a colt in a candy shop, and that was worth it, maybe.
He walked along the new tiling, eying some strange looking mixer-of-sorts. “What’s this do?”
“I’d have to read the manual. I don’t know, but it looks incredible!” Gander beamed, physically unable to smile any wider than he already was.
“Huh. Interesting,” He paced about, starting to notice more and more where that two-hundred-thousand bit hole in the treasury that had disappeared under the guise of ‘employee bonuses’ had really gone.
“Cost a pretty penny, but it's so worth it. I even have a wine cellar now! It just makes me feel so fancy, I love it!” Gander was practically jumping up and down, pointing to the door to the cellar. “Wanna take a look?”
“Fancy’s certainly a word for it, yeah.” He opened the door, sticking his head through and peering down the dark wood staircase at the racks of wine bottles neatly stacked. “You know, the fact those are all angled down isn’t gonna help when they inevitably start bombing us.”
“It’s champone, Light. It has to be angled like that if you wanna keep it a while, otherwise it’ll blow up, no bombs required.”
He rolled his eyes again, finding that just a little too upper class for his own taste. What had he done? He’d just picked out the next set of elites. It seemed no matter what he did, some element of it would always be working to do the exact opposite of whatever he tried.
Whatever. At least he’d picked the new aristocracy out by hoof. At the very worst, it would still be better than how it was, and any improvement made his life better, and by extension everypony else’s.
Something ate at him. That peculiar sense of procrastination, that you should be doing something, and you’re shooting yourself in the foot putting it off; a lack of productivity. His reeling mind had been so locked on overdrive, constantly stressing about what to do next, constantly stimulated from all the lights, coffee, ‘crucial’ meetings, reports, situation updates…
And now he had stopped. And like it never even happened at all, he had to act so very normal. Looking at the newly renovated kitchen, smiling and giving hugs, kicking his hooves up and watching a nice television. Like slamming on the brakes.
What was going on? In, out, in, out. Two different ponies, and he always had to balance it. He almost felt mocked in his mind; was something amiss? Was this not what he signed up for? Questions that he knew the answer to, but felt so very annoyed at himself for feeling.
Beautiful house, nice coltfriend, television with seven channels.
Tank manufacturing requirements, the management of a genocidal political army, three sets of wildly different powers and factions vying to take all power from his movement.
It was hard to say that either was a persona anymore. They were both intrinsically him, tied to him, belonging to him, parts of his personality he played up in the hopes different ponies would appreciate them more. Sometimes it just felt like he needed to collapse. How many circuses was he performing in? Like Equestria’s little clown, right up next, performing after the Sun Deity.
Of course he wasn’t well received! He wasn’t a bucking god! He didn’t manipulate the world to his will, but why was that a sin? For leadership, must it be required a pony must be the lord of some outlandish mystical concept?
And here he was, acting again. Or maybe it was how he usually was, but he was so damn stressed all the time that it hardly made a difference. His actual, at home self has been so dulled and discarded by years of working, putting on his show, coming home and drinking to the point of sleep. Here, on the top stair of some ridiculous wine cellar, the exhaustion finally seemed to catch up with him, in one incorporeal kick in the side.
His voice came as a spit first. He was allowed to be angry. He needed to be. He worked his flank off, he took the heavy mantle of leadership off of a goddess, and nopony ever showed their appreciation. All the progress he ever saw was all monetary, all wasted away in expensive pursuits of joy. There was never any more smiling, never any feeling that he could have saved his younger self from everything he went through if only he had been in charge at the time.
Just protest. Protest because he dared take over after the princesses abandoned them.
What a sick joke.
It was jealousy. But he had a right to be jealous. He had a right, after all this, to really enjoy some appreciation after everything he had done for everypony.
And Gander. That frivolous, new-money—
It still felt wrong to badmouth him, even in his mind. But so many emotions ran through, it was hard to catch all of them. He was just so easy to blame for his troubles. He was linked to so many of the issues.
But it was irrational, and he knew it was. He so easily went to blame Gander when he felt upset, but usually as soon as they talked for a little, he seemed to feel all content with it, like all the issues had been put to bed. He did care a lot about him, after all. He respected him a lot more than most.
His eyes darted across the room. The argument-to-be sat on his tongue, and was swallowed down like a bad meal.
“Lovely, Gander,” he faintly croaked. “This all looks great.”
“I know, doesn’t it just? Oh, it’s wonderful. Really never thought I’d ever be living like this.”
There was a war going on. Soon enough, thousands of ponies would be sentenced to charge before the gun, but here they were, in a wine cellar. Hundreds of bits worth of merchant-bought wine.
It wasn’t a cold sweat, or a blank look. He just zoned out as Gander brought him down the stairs and started to explain the bottles he had procured from party funding. He didn’t really listen, the words were little more than disjointed sounds in his mind.
Imposter syndrome was an inevitable product of this sort of responsibility being put before you, but this was different. He was actually seeing what he was starting.
Was he sending ponies to their death for this? What future was he bringing? Gander had always been the most, dare he say, Marksist of the group – never felt comfortable around the aristocracy that Roly mingled with, never comfortable around whatever semblance of the admiralty that remained that Walkie hung around with.
But with one faint modicum of tangible power, this had been the first change observed. As much as he hated to blame Gander, if he of all ponies turned to this, what would the rest of them be like? Did they just not understand the world like him? Alone, cursed to consider things so much more deeply than everypony else.
He was still rattling on about something, and Light kept up with a few nods and one or two mumbles of agreement which seemed to satisfy Gander enough for him to continue. His mind wandered back to all those empty seats at pubs he used to frequent. Ponies once filled them. Just empty spaces now.
Before he could get another thought in, Gander linked hooves with him, dragging him along to look at something new. It was strangely pleasant, a warm feeling of appreciation at last, just his general presence being wanted. It pushed aside some of the more horrible thoughts, letting a small smile form on his lips.
“You know, it’s so nice you came over. I’ve been stressing out so much over work, it’s not been great. There’s so much to do and so little time. Guessing you feel the same?”
Light nodded, looking up at him with his weary eyes. “Yeah. Yeah. I just can’t explain it. It’s been relentless.”
“It looks it,” Gander said, “I mean, you’re already getting into brawls over it. Goodness me, Light, you haven’t done that for years.”
“You remember?” He perked up a little.
“Of course I do, idiot. How could I forget the time my dashing knight saved me from that unic—”
“Enough of that!” Light laughed, rolling his eyes. “You know he was just cruising for a bruising. Wasn’t cause of you.”
“Mhm.” Gander smiled, looking purposefully unconvinced. “Whatever you say. You did swoop in like some big hero though, can’t deny that.”
Light waved a hoof in the air, groaning. “You’re making me gag.”
Gander started giggling again, like some hidden joke had been made. “Uh huh. Now, come on, I need to show you the upstairs. Honestly, it’s just magical, I cannot believe how lovely it all looks.”
It was funny to think just a moment ago he felt so very dreadful. It was a strange, cyclical pattern of emotion. He’d get upset over something, he’d calm down, he’d get upset over the fact he was upset by it. It made every morning a gamble over whether he’d have a nice day or not.
Being held onto did provide some temporary relief, either way; though it was certainly easier to kiss the lover than to become one.
Just a little later, as the two sat down with meals on their plates, he felt that familiar pang of isolation crack through the barrier of his mind. It was silent, for the most part. The obvious pleasantries were exchanged, thank yous, some workplace gossip from Gander that Roly had told him about. It was the slightest bit disconcerting hearing about it, mostly in learning just how much the unofficial party spymaster knew of just about everypony. It was interesting, though – one day he might just offer an expansion of her responsibilities.
He was happy, but that discomforted him. He took a last bite of his food, looking up at Gander and mumbling an ‘mmm’. He wasn’t hungry. He had so many things to do, ponies to telephone, deals to make. Like a big exam coming up, it just felt like he wasn’t doing enough. He was here, when he should be elsewhere – that dulled his appetite just a touch.
“Gander?” He wiped the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief, not a typical habit, but one he adopted in Gander’s presence. “Do you think we have a chance?”
Gander tilted his head, still chewing on his food and hurriedly swallowing it down. “What do you mean? As in the—“
“The war. Do you think we might be alright?”
“I reckon so. There’s enough ponies out there, and it’s not like the changelings have been ironclad in their rule. The cracks have already shown.” He took a sip of his wine, lips curling into a frown as he pushed his plate away. “You said you wouldn’t bring this up. What’s on your mind?”
“I know, I know, but it’s a big thing. It’s stressing me out.” He stood up, taking both their plates into the kitchen.
Gander took their glasses of wine with him, following along. “I know. I can see that, to be honest. You carry a lot of tension.”
Light had no idea what that even meant, but he rolled with it. “Yeah,” he dumped the plates in the sink, fine with dealing with it all later. “Can we go upstairs? I do need to talk about it.”
Gander nodded, messing with a strand of his hair with his free hoof. “As long as I can take the wine with me.”
“Am I that boring?” He smiled weakly.
“Yeah. Terribly. I actually only stick around you for the money.” He got onto his hind legs, leaning back against the marble counter and sipping straight from the bottle, sticking his tongue out playfully.
Light snatched the bottle from his hooves, taking a long swig of it himself. “Yeah, and I’m only sticking around for your body.” he said in the dryest, most casual tone he could muster.
He got a roll of his eyes in response. Gander was looking away, but he could see he was smiling. He passed the wine bottle back. “But seriously, I do wanna talk.”
“Of course,” Gander shielded his eyes from him dramatically, looking over to him with a hoof over his mouth in pretend shock from the earlier comment. He snickered, trotting off amicably with another hum.
The bedroom too was certainly an improvement from the slightly dingy apartment Gander had once lived in. It was probably bigger than the original’s entire living area. Gander sat himself down on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs with the bottle of wine in his lap, obviously needing to be readily accessible.
This sort of luxury was still new to the fascist leader. He’d not had an uncomfortable life for a long time; even under the changelings, life as a collaborator was never a struggle for necessities. But now? They had been catapulted head-first into a life of incredible luxury. Gander had already adjusted well, just taking from the treasury at will because, simply put, who was going to stop him? Light had been much more moderate, but being a despot certainly had perks. The plush lounger he was sitting on was just one of them.
“So,” Gander uncorked the second bottle. “What’s on your mind?”
Light looked around, taking in the incredible excess that surrounded him. They were outside the city, fairly safe in isolation, but the black smog of industry that rose from the city was so clearly visible. Guns, bullets, explosives, all churned from those lines, ready to fuel a war he had called and be held by ponies he never even knew.
There was power in that – a lot of power. In an unexpected way, it sickened him to his stomach.
He’d never really thought about why he had done all this. It was always just a plan, just a need to get revenge, to carry out some sort of justice, but that had become so muddled over the eight years he had done this for. He hardly even remembered what the revenge was for sometimes.
“I just don’t know how to do this, Gander,” he admitted, taking a shaky breath. Opening up was not his strong suit. “I’m young. Or at least, relatively speaking I am—I mean, the leader before me was a deity. How am I supposed to be accepted after that? How am I supposed to be loved?”
Gander grimaced. “Celestia abandoned us. She’s no deity – with time, she’ll just be a memory.”
“A thousand years of rule won’t just turn into a memory,” he said. “She’ll always be that symbol. I’ll come and go – she won’t.”
Gander passed over the wine bottle, finally. There was a pause as he considered his words. “I don’t think so. She left us, Light. She literally abandoned us as soon as it got tough – in our darkest hour. For ten years, Light. This place hasn’t known her rule for a decade now. Ponies have grown up in that time. You’re young, true, but that means you have time too. And I’ll be damned if I don’t try and spin the best picture of you I can for them.”
Light held the bottle, already feeling a little tipsy. “You mean that?”
“Of course I do.” Gander took his hoof.
He smiled a dejected smile, lips quickly downturning as his thoughts caught up with him. For once, he felt like he wasn't enough for a pony. “I wish I could be better,” Light added. “I mean, for your sake, more than anything.”
“Why? What do you mean by that?” Gander leaned in, frowning.
“I know I’m not a very good pony. I know I’m just waiting for a bad day to ruin this all. And part of me wants that—Part of me likes that, in a weird sort of way. It’s… stable. I know, if I ruin things, I’m in control at least… you know?”
Gander took a deep breath, studying the pony in front of him like it’d uncover some sort of hidden secret. His exhale was laboured, tired, half expecting of this. “You know, I’ll always be there to help. We can work on this. I’ll help you as best I can, promise.”
“I keep cutting myself off from help, you know that! I try my hardest, but nothing works—I-I’m scared, Gander, I can’t mess up anymore. I have to be strong all the time now, and… I’m not sure I am.”
He half needed Gander just to tell him to drop out of all this, despite everything. They’d made money, they could just disappear completely. If he’d asked him to leave the show, he would...
Gander took a deep breath, studying the pony in front of him like it’d uncover some sort of hidden secret. His exhale was laboured, tired, half expecting of this. “You know, I’ll always be there to help. We can work on this. I’ll help you as best I can, promise.” You’re the best leader Equestria’s ever had, we can’t stop now.”
...but he didn’t, and he never would.
“But I’m not sure I can!” he shouted, breaking the quiet of the room. He held his head in his hooves, his mane hanging dishevelled over his face. “How am I supposed to lead this hellhole?! It’s un-bucking-salvageable! I loved it, but that world is gone now!” He spoke through choked cries, desperate for a genuine answer.
Not some blind ego-boost about his abilities. Actual help.
Gander backed away a little. That guilt returned. He took the bottle of wine back, finishing an almost impressive third of the bottle in a few long swigs from the bottle.
“They have no love for me, Gander.” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. Gander shifted slowly, getting to his hooves and sitting next to him.
They shared a moment of silence, one only broken by a quiet embrace. It was his head on Gander’s shoulder this time.
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How?
11819707
mainly just the concept and some of the symbolism :D i really enjoyed the wall as an exploration of a character and how misery and self pity made them let themselves become a pretty horrible person, i wanted to do something similar, run like hell is one of the songs that inspired me to write this though :)
Goooooooood, they are SO toxic. I love it <3
Nooooooooooo, just be nice you stupid egotist. He loooooves you, the least you could do is show some affection in return.
LETS F****** GOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Good. Toning down that racial supremacy s*** will only serve you better in he long run. Also, f*** Walkie Talky.
Werethere any earth pony leaders besides the elements? I honestly can't remember.
Oof. Dude is huffing copium HARD.
B A S E D
I wish this were true. I wish these two total messes could be happy together, but this probably ends with them and a few rope neckties. ;_;
This is not gonna look good in the postwar
warcrimes tribunalreview. XDHe's SO CLOSE to realizing it. God, if he could just get over himself and step up, he could actually be a good leader. And drop the fascism stuff too, obviously.
He knows he's f******. Deep down, he knows that what he's doing is wrong, but he's such a massive egomaniac he won't stop. He loves the power, just like Gander and the rest.
I like how Stop Light just usurped the ELF by rising up before them XD. I KNOW Light is a terrible person, but the shipper in me just wants a happy ending, and that can't happen unless Light makes some major changes to how he is doing things.