Diprosopus

by WritingSpirit

Mutando Harenis

"What?!"

Fleur de Lis glanced up from the large, crimson expanse of her bed, rubbing her eyes tiredly at the sound of her husband's voice. She was used to waking up at his voice every time, seeing how he would wake up earlier every morning. Today, however, was slightly different, not to mention unexpected.

"What do you mean he's not in town?!" she could hear his muffled shout. She tried her best to brush her frazzled mane, her ears picking up his aimless stomping about the study, which was just down the hallway. No complaints exited her mouth so far, only words of worry.

The mare rose up from her bed, her sparkling night gown gliding across the floor as she strode towards the hallways. The smell of cologne was rich in the haven of their home, her husband no doubt finished his preparation for another small meetup at the Wonderbolts' Derby. Fleur was never a fan of gambling, and had demanded that her husband moderate his habit of doing so. Today was just one of those sojourning days.

"You know how many lives are at stake on this one pony?!" the shouts continued.

"You know the fate of Equestria! Yes, Equestria! Might be in the hooves of this pony?!"

It wasn't the usual him shouting, the calm and collected stallion. She had rarely seen him venting out so much anger, and when he actually did, it was just unlike himself. Reputation was in high regard, and so with that in mind, his tantrums were virtually nonexistent in public. At least, to the eyes of many.

But to her, she knew when enough was enough.

"I sent you to Saddle Arabia not to buck things up!! Find out where he is, and bring him back, or I swear, I'll see to it that you'll come back first. In some SHABBY, BLASTED COFFIN!!"

The slam that followed, with the ring of a bell, nearly made Fleur jump. She held her breath as she quietly slid into the study, watching the stallion she loved sighing in his chair, his hoof forcefully rubbing his forehead. Despite already donning a suit, he was anything but elegant, frustration rippling from his frayed mane to sweaty hooves.

Ignoring his condition, Fleur crept up to him as quietly as she could, catching him by surprise when she planted two hooves firmly on his shoulders, kneading them in a circular fashion.

"What's bothering you this time, Fancy?"

"Another useless client," Fancypants muttered quietly, closing his eyes and relishing the moment.

"They knew only to acquaint with me, and yet they expect to saunter around like the snobbish sloths they are. These ponies can go rot in Tartarus for all I bucking care."

"Language," Fleur hissed with the click of her tongue, to which he only rolled his eyes at.

"You know how I abhor such verbal vulgarity in this house, especially when it comes from my beloved. After all, you told our daughter that she mustn't ever curse yourself. Can't even listen to your own advice now, these days."

"It determines Equestria's - and our - lives."

The stallion placed his monocle to the side, sinking into his seat. Of course, his wife settled down next to him, watching him gripe with his hoof writhing out of his fizzing temper. She knew how he felt of Equestria being threatened, yet she remained quiet about it: Fancypants was always scarier when his mood was horrible.

"None of them would get my darn blessing. I placed the safety of Equestria in their hooves, and all they did is play kickball and lose it in the middle of the field. You know how the Princess would have my head if we find the professor's one in Saddle Arabia?"

"I know, I know... but I'm worried about other things."

"Like?"

"What of our daughter?" she asked, the smile she was wearing faded into naught.

"She's studying in Trottingham: the city that was just crumbled into pieces by a bomb! How would we know if she survived? How would we know if she was never part of it?"

"Frou would never do that, Fleur," Fancypants assured, placing all his faith that their daughter was safe. She was the sweetest little angel, Fantasia 'Frou-Frou' Praeclarus, and was never the type to get into trouble. She went to the University of Trottingham to study her degree in, much to his surprise, psychology, and she, being the saintly figure she was, never adored political upheavals such as this, and especially never had the heart to take part in them like her father would.

"She had an internship in Manehatten recently," the stallion continued with pride.

"Moved there just two days before the bombing. Her letter was in today's mail."

"Really, Francis?" the mare questioned skeptically.

"You know how I hate it when you lie to me."

"You can read the letter yourself if you want to."

Fancypants couldn't recall how long since the last time Fleur him called by his original name. Francis Praeclarus was his given name. His wife, Fleur Praeclarus de Lis, held the two names inducted in royalty high with dignity, and they hopefully wished that Frou would do the same as well.

That was the next thing he couldn't recall: his daughter's face. Visible from the photographs through time, she had grown considerably a lot, bearing the wisdom and intuition of her father and the beauty, grace and elegant appearance of her mother. Her mane and tail was a mix of both parents: striped pink and light azure. It was queer, really, seeing their daughter's choice of being a doctor compared to the celebrity life of her father and model resplendence of her mother, but they accept it all the same.

"Thank Celestia," Fleur gasped out suddenly having read the letter during his silent moment of thinking.

Fancypants placed a hoof on his wife's shoulder, her fine resilience crumbling out in a sigh of relief. He could see her hooves wobbling down to her knees, quietly thanking the goddess of the sun with a tremble in her voice. He would've done the same, a part of his inner self said. He would've done the same.

A hurried knock snapped them from the moment, and with a few more strokes down his wife's mane, the stallion stood up and excused himself, hurrying down the crescent flight of stairs and trotting towards the door.

Without hesitation, he turned the knob, the door swinging open wide to reveal a figure standing before him. Covered in tattered rags, with a cloak over his head and veiling his face was a brown colt, bruised and battered as the collared shirt he was wearing. He clutched his cloak forcefully, veins almost popping out of the skin as he glanced nervously around the street, panting from all the galloping he did from the gates of Canterlot.

Fancypants clenched his hooves, wanting to chase him off his porch, though the pony's voice stopped him in his tracks. His identity was affirmed when the colt slid the cloak off, revealing his frightened expression, his spectacles lopsided with one of its lens shattered.

"Sir Praeclarus..." the colt croaked giddily, trembling.

"Pl-please..."

"How... how did you... come in! Quickly!"

The stallion warily gazed through the busy Canterlotian streets, before helping the weary colt towards his couch, shutting the door as he did so. He hastily poured him a mug of water for his unexpected guest, watching as the colt chugged down every last drop, quenching his burning thirst underneath his throat.

The Wonderbolts' Derby can wait, Fancypants told himself, brushing the copious specks of sand off the colt's mane. The safety of Equestria is more important.

"The Princess would want to have a word with you," he said, reluctantly calling out his name with a grimace.

"Professor Page."

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"A hydra? Really?"

"Yep!" Twilight exclaimed, beaming at her nephew.

"You should've seen its four heads! They have the greenest of eyes and grimiest of teeth, always on the lookout for any unwary traveler that dared step into Froggy Bottom Bog! It crawled up to us and gave a loud roar, so loud that we started galloping as fast as we can!"

"Was it really big?" Radiance asked, quavering with excitement.

"As in, humongous? Gigantic? Colossal kind of big?"

"It was the largest!" the purple mare proclaimed eagerly, to which the colt laughed in gleeful excitement.

For a first encounter with her nephew, Twilight could say it was going perfectly well. She stumbled upon him in the library, scavenging through picture books probably for a good, literal adventure. It was only when she saw her brother's face, having seemingly underwent a reverse-aging spell that she recognized who it was.

Their hunt for the perfect book (which Twilight would easily find if not for Radiance's fastidiousness) wasn't satisfactory, so she resorted to telling Radiance of her adventures in her earlier years. She never saw herself as a storyteller, yet her sole audience was practically raving for her to continue. It might be a secret talent of hers, she thought to herself.

"And? Did you guys escape?"

"Well, I wouldn't be here if I didn't, would I?" Twilight replied, the colt laughing sheepishly at himself.

"Still, I'd rather not go through that again. It's pretty scary once you see a hydra in real life and not just read it from the books. The creatures you read might look magnificent in the stories, but in reality they can be pretty frightening."

"But what about dragons?" Radiance asked, spellbound.

"They're magnificent, aren't they, as in truly magnificent? Mommy told me about them dragons, how they fly through the air and soar through the sky, spit flame at their enemies with a glint of their eye! They say Princess Celestia was great friends with them once! Is it really true?"

"Not that I know of."

His conclusion was surprising: if anything, the relationship between Equestria and the Badlands, which was known to its reptilian inhabitants as Draconis, was admittedly horrible. The last dragon-pony war, which happened almost five thousand years ago, ended not in a peace treaty, but more of an armistice. She figured that if not for Spike, Jovern and Kane, there would be a total all-out battle between the two nations now; one that her mentor was certain they would lose.

"Dragons aren't really hospitable to ponies like us," she explained.

"If Princess Celestia and the dragons were friends once, that would be a long, long time ago."

"But you're her personal student, right?" the colt pressed on, to which she responded with a nod.

"Mommy and Daddy said that you were the only one back then who managed to hatch a dragon egg! You hatched Uncle Spike with magic, didn't you? He told me about it too!"

"And?"

"Well, the princess must've gotten the egg from somewhere, right?"

Twilight's breath halted at her nephew's deduction. However ludicrous it sounded, she couldn't help but feel that there's a strange sense of truth behind it. It was palpable that the princess must've gotten the egg from the dragons, but how she got it was more of a baffling enigma. She and Spike were never keen about his origins (let dead things remain dead, he sometimes said) and Rarity had mentioned to her as not being fond of it as well.

"Maybe I'll ask her about it next time!" she finally answered her nephew, retaining the question's innocence.

"Radiance~?"

Both heads turned at the sound of the familiar voice, the door creaking open as Cadance peered her head in. The colt happily waved at his mother, beckoning her in with a smile ever the more larger than both of his superiors'. Twilight watched warmly as he slid off his chair, scampering to the alicorn and giving her a hug.

"Well, aren't you a little bookworm," Cadance teased, nuzzling her son.

"What are you and Auntie Twilight doing?"

"We were supposed to be searching for books, but Radiance couldn't find a suitable one," Twilight answered.

"So I thought he might be interested in a few stories of mine."

"Yeah! And Auntie Twilight has the coolest stories!"

"Really?" Cadance replied with cheeky skepticism.

"The coolest? Better than the ones Daddy and I read you to sleep every night?"

"They were way better!"

Radiance was practically a hopping white bundle of energy, confident and proud of his declaration. The violet mare he was devoting about just let out a small laugh, unsure of how to respond to already having a fan of her primitive storytelling. His mother laughed as well, pulling him down before he could zip off and crash into a bookcase.

Then, he said something; something that made Twilight's breath, head and heart stop; something that added a flicker of warmth in her chest, a jolt up her ears and a spark in her pupils.

"She's the greatest aunt ever!!"

Now, Twilight was one used to compliments; she received it all the time from various ponies, be it Earth pony, pegasus, unicorn and even alicorn. Most were simple and motivating, yet pretty much what she had expected. The more elaborate ones, like those in Princess Celestia's letters, could mean anything, and it would take a while for the answer to surface, but to be complimented from the colt she just foalsitted...

"R-really...?" she asked, uncertain if it was some dirty trick. She wasn't used to foalsitting; a hundred books in the library seemed more of an easier baby to take care off, and to be praised as the greatest aunt ever by a colt she had just met almost an hour ago, it seemed a little off the chart.

Radiance turned back to her, and the scholarly unicorn held her breath in preparation for a blatant assault of mocking words; instead the colt gave a genuine smile and nodded, giving her the exact, one-worded answer:

"Really."

She suppressed what might be a humiliating squeak of delight. She always expected Rainbow Dash or Applejack to have that title instead of her, seeing how they're always active and outdoors all the time, but her? A bookworm that engrosses herself in thick dictionaries and musty tomes of magic? That's what Spike, who was in her care for a few decades already, would comment about her at most.

"Seems you don't make such a bad foalsitter yourself!" Cadance said suddenly.

"Thanks for taking care of him. Shining and I don't have time to spare for our own son these days."

"No problem, Cadance!" Twilight replied immediately.

"Anytime you need a foalsitter, lemme know! I'll be happy to take care of him again."

The colt practically had a skip in his step as he and his mother trotted out of the library, leaving Twilight to sigh at their departure, turning back to yet another book. Strange really, she thought to herself, to foalsit the child of your old foalsitter. She never thought she could pull it off; she had been searching for books, to no avail, on foal management back in Ponyville library, just in case somepony had a twisted sense of humor for placing a foal on her doorstep.

Gracia, the mare currently in charge of the orphanage who was one of the refugees from Pendant Lakes, did say that foalsitting isn't just a topic you can prescribe from those 'For Dummies' books. Fluttershy mentioned about it as well, and with two expeienced caretakers agreeing on the same thing, it was enough for her to not resort to books regarding the topic.

"T-Twilight...?"

With a sigh, the violet mare pried her eyes from the pages, trashing her annoyed look with one of surprise, which overwhelmed her when she saw the orange mare in front of her, wearing a woolen black hoodie and dark-purple studs in her ears. She swallowed quietly, the disgruntled expression on the other pony's face shining through, yet it seemed more fragile, on the verge of breaking from the inside.

"Hey Scootaloo," she croaked, trying to sound welcoming.

"What brings you here today?"

"I just... can we talk?"

Twilight blinked in surprise. She never remembered picking any four-leafed clovers in the morning, and yet today everything just went smoothly. Too smoothly, to be precise.

"S-sure," the unicorn stuttered, settling down a few books.

"What do you feel like talking about?"

Scootaloo's purple eyes flitted away almost immediately, and reluctantly the teenager pulled up a small chair, settling quietly beside the skeptically confused librarian. Silence came after the groaning of the chair against the floor, and before Twilight could let out words of assurance, she spoke:

"Do you think I'm... well..."

"A jerk?" Twilight finished her sentence, the teenage mare nodding meekly.

"If I were to be nice. you were a little rude."

"So I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"I didn't mean that," the violet mare reaffirmed. She wasn't an idiot, a part of her said. An idiot and a fiend are two different things, after all. Yet, however rude Scootaloo may be, she had been through a lot in life that most ponies would've already crumbled from in her age, and still she remained strong. That was something worth admiring despite her insolent behavior.

"It's just you reached an age where ponies are expecting to be independent," she continued.

"You're just frustrated that everypony's pushing you around, doing what they wanna do when, in turn, you want to do something else of your own. Even if it means isolating yourself from all of your friends."

Scootaloo said nothing, instead glancing down solemnly at the floor; a given hint that Twilight's words were right. Deducing the problem was always easy for her, but the solving part was one where she would never receive a passing grade for without proper analysis. She needs time to figure a solution out.

"If you're a little lonely, you can always come to me," the violet mare suggested.

"I'm always here to listen and help."

It wasn't the best way to buy time, but it seemed viable for the teenager, as she immediately perked up with surprise, her lips beginning to curl.

"You really think so? But you're so busy and all..."

"Everypony's free to listen to a friend's problems."

Of the countless friendship letters she sent back to Princess Celestia, Twilight remembered them entirely. They were lessons of friendship and, in turn, life, and she would cherish her possession of the knowledge it bestowed to her. And with that being said, Scootaloo released her smile, before trotting towards the door.

Twilight smiled, feeling a small load free from her back. She had settled a small disagreement with a little bit of 'advice' from the Masque. Heck, it's almost as the Masque wanted Scootaloo to come to her and talk things over-- her head stopped with realization.

"W-Wait!" the violet mare called out suddenly, halting Scootaloo in her tracks.

"D-Did..." she began with a stammer.

"Did somepony wanted you to talk to me? As in, a random stranger wearing a mask?"

She was met with a bewildered expression, yet there was an underlying veil of guilt beneath it. The teenager would've scurried off in fear from what might be an interrogation, but she remained still, mouth hanging agape.

"Y-You... you knew...?" she asked.

Twilight would've wanted to continue and, no doubt, Scootaloo as well. Both were eagerly curious on what the masked pony said to the other mare, but all thoughts of it were thrown out of their heads as the sonorous bells in Canterlot's clock tower struck four, striking the librarian back into reality.

"My research..." she muttered, cursing inaudibly at her tardiness.

"We'll talk about this later, alright?"

And, after such a long time, Scootaloo nodded in agreement.

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"Ready?"

Stellar tugged at the rope, glancing down into the bottom of the dark pit, illuminated only by the rays of sunlight slicing like razors through the darkness. Beds of broken granite were scattered at the bottom, with Caduceus standing on one of them, waiting for his friend to jump down into the bowels.

He gazed back up again at the wasteland of broken earth, his sights set upon a humongous structure jutting out from the earth that he missed last night perched at the foot of a blasted mountain. For it was the doctrinal bastion of Palgiot Palace, torn apart from its core and split open like a banana. It reminded him of Janus's extent of his power, and he hoped by Celestia's mane their enemy hasn't recovered what they were searching for in the depths of this desolate town.

Without hesitation, he flung his satchel around his waist, jumping down into the abyss and sliding down the rope, friction almost singeing his hooves by the time he reached the bottom, splashing into small puddles of water

Caduceus had just lit his lamp then, revealing a small chasm splitting the floor, bridged only by a fallen iron lamppost. Surprisingly, the bulb nestled within its core still flickered, giving them glimpses of the silhouette of some sort of crumbled structure waiting for them at the other side.

The dripping water trembled as a small quake shook the cavern, with Jovern slowly approaching the two colts. He breathed in deeply, scowling when, from the faintest corners of his head, he detected the same aura of passionate darkness willing to cling into the minds of any unlucky soul wandering here.

"Have to get used to the atmosphere again," the doctor warned.

Stellar nodded, feeling his senses starting to warp. Whatever it was, the 'pandemic' was still there, dubbed the Pendant Lakes Effect. Axel Palgiot coined the term when he noticed it emanating from the town, and did a little research on it. Among his notes, it was there even before the first Patriarch set hoof on the land, and its effects were anything but satisfactory.

From his research, the miasma supposedly enhances emotions. Happiness will become euphoria, sadness will be become depression, and anger would become wrath. There were reasons why Pendant Lakes had more suicides than most northern cities, and why it was one of the top romance destinations, but instead of quelling the darkness, the Palgiots invested in it, working on its inhabitants' fears and extorting them financially. It was only after Pendulum's ascension that they've decided to change their ways. Time passes, and now the three of them were here, in the dilapidated town of Pendant Lakes.

Yet, the darkness remained.

"Dastardly place to be in," Caduceus remarked, stepping up onto the lamp/bridge. A glance down leaves his breath hanging as all that met him was a shadowy black, and with a hefty sigh, he takes his first step.

Stellar soon followed once his friend was halfway there. With every step, the light flickered wildly, as if protesting at the burden it had to possess. The sudden groan it made, however, stopped both colts in their tracks, feeling the narrow, cylindrical stem kneading their hooves as it teetered underneath them, and for once, Jovern felt lucky he was a dragon.

A relieved gasp fluttered out of his mouth once the doctor stepped down onto the other side. He held his lamp high, his sights set onto the building that was standing in their way. It was one of the many houses of Pendant Lakes that outline the region, its slate roof caved in from the mound of earth filling its upper floors. Despite the fallen beams, it looked sturdy enough for a temporary shelter, and the absence of a wall on one of its sides produced a large enough space for Jovern to enter.

With a grunt and a thud, Stellar went after his friend, who was already scavenging through the desolate ruin. Jovern, ducking his head underneath an array of protruding stalactites, scrambled to the other side, the large chasm narrow as a tightrope compared to his giant claws.

"Where are we exactly?" Caduceus asked.

"This place is so ruined I can't recall where it once stood."

"We passed through the west gate..."

The former butler could imagine it: a serene landscape of cobblestone roads covered with autumn leaves, aisles of houses with stray ivy crawling up its brick walls, and the spirited and communal ponies, all talking and doing their daily things. His memory reignited the faint traces of a map, and as he clenched his eyes harder, the words became clearer and clearer in his pressured head.

"Farendale Avenue," he answered confidently, opening his eyes.

"We're in Farendale Avenue."

"Farendale... then turn right to Standard & Dale, then another left down Harbor Street..."

Caduceus intuitively marched forward, guiding them deeper into the subterranean ruin. Having being always a frequent visitor at Palgiot Palace, the doctor pushed himself to remember any and all alternative routes and shortcuts through the main streets of Pendant Lakes. It was like switching the rails on a train track, a part of him mused; when one way is blocked, you can divert to another.

He raised his lamp, squinting through the cavernous fog filling the underground street. All the tiles were either fractured or chiseled, with lampposts stripped from their roots due to the explosion. With each wary step forward, all three cautiously gazed around at the surroundings, the abandoned buildings looking on cynically with shattered eyes.

"Did you hear that?"

Caduceus and Jovern stopped in their tracks, their bewildered glances planted onto Stellar. The old colt was carefully scanning through the windows, his hoof already reaching for his revolver.

"Hear what?" his friend asked skeptically, albeit nervously.

"That... that sound..."

Stellar motioned a gesture of silence, and he was generously rewarded with it; the cavern plunged into a soundless domain, with only air gently hooting through the fissures in the caves. His ears twitched, trying to grasp on even the faintest hint of sound, yet none was saved for him. At least nothing foreign.

"I swore I... I heard something..."

"What is it you heard exactly?" Jovern asked.

"Some sort of... whisper. Almost like a quiet laugh..."

The trio held their breaths, their gazes jumping through all the windows, expecting to see some sort of soulless face staring back at them. A chill crept up their spine, accompanied by a draught of wind sifting through their hooves, slightly brushing the fog away.

"Is it me," Caduceus began muttering, loud enough for the rest to hear.

"Or does it feel like we're being watched?"

"If Janus was prepared for our arrival, then we have no choice but to do the same for ours as well."

Without hesitation, Stellar pulled out his revolver, cocking it threateningly as he glanced around once more. The lantern was swinging, the candle flame fluttering about from the small breeze that picked up suddenly, making only the atmosphere more unsettling.

It reminded him of the last time they were in this. The Pendant Lakes in his previous encounter was a neater of a ruin, and it wasn't unsettling as it was now (though it might be his age creeping up to him) nor was it this foreboding.

"One thing's for sure," he voiced his thoughts aloud, lowering his gun. For now.

"We're not the only ones down here."

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"Here, Professor."

Tattertale Page graciously accepted the warm brew of soup, hooves trembling violently as they reached for the bowl being bestowed by Fleur de Lis. It was the first fresh food since the stale sliced bread he was served during captivity in Saddle Arabia, and the thought of it running down and cleansing his parched throat already soothed his mind greatly.

Rain had postponed his hearing with the Princesses to the next day, despite his protests against it. There's no time to lose, and as they deeper unveil his discovery in Saddle Arabia, with each passing day the plans of his sinister client would come to fruition, and he would not want to see it happen.

"Tell me if you need any more," Fleur said with a smile, before heading back into the kitchen. Her grace and charm was what stuck with him, emanating a small sigh from his mouth.

He wasn't clear where Fleur come from. Some say her ancestry traces back to the ancient French Camargue horse breeds. Some claimed she was of Lipizzan descent, from Italy. Whatever the arguments state, she was clearly one of the leading models of Equestria, much like how Fancypants was the apex in his influence over the country.

Stories circulated on how they first met, but they were simply college mates. Now, Fancypants was a studious yet daft pony before his investment breakthrough in Florence, and his wife back then wasn't expected to love a bookworm like him, yet Fleur herself mentioned he was the only one that cared from all the other heartthrobs.

Their sudden relationship practically surprised everypony in the college, even their lecturers, who even dare say they wouldn't last a single week with each other. Seems they had the last laugh.

"How much is it?" he could hear Fancypants's voice from the corridors.

"Twenty-three."

The pair of voices droned out when he stuck a spoonful of soup into his mouth. Bliss circled his mouth and rippled down the walls his dry throat, quenching the growing thirst that had been feeding off him ever since his daring escape. It was heaven to taste something else other than the remnants of a sandstorm. There were some beetles he forced himself to feast, yet those were still better than sand. There was one more thing besides the luxuriously simple meal he had, however, that he required.

"Plumbing's fixed, so you can use the shower now," Fancypants said, trotting into the living room with a grin.

Music to my ears, a part of him chirped. The archaeologist rose from his seat, his fading grin blossoming once more at the gracious hospitality of the Praeclarus household, even after his betrayal. Despite pointing it out, Fancypants affirmed he had only done what he had to survive, and that alone proved the stallion's humble modesty.

"Thank you, Sir Praeclarus," he finally said after hours of hesitation.

"I wouldn't know what to do without you."

"The pleasure is mine," was the generous reply.

"Almost forgot!"

The professor reached for his satchel, handing to him a latched book, its leather cover dusty brown with some frayed corners of pages peering out from its interior. Its spine was decorated with lotus designs, with strewn ropes binding them together as extra support.

"I entrust you with this," he said, his voice suddenly grave.

"Everything about my archaeological finds are inside. You'll know how they might hunt me down, and I don't want this to be in their hooves."

Fancypants nodded somberly, and with that Tattertale Page gave him a confident smile, trotting up the winding staircase and grabbing a towel prepared solely for him.

Shutting the door behind him, the colt unbuttoned his sand-torn shirt, tossing it aside as he glanced at himself in the mirror. What met him was the pony he envisioned: dry, cracking skin, bruised lips and sand trapped in the hairs of his mane. Eyebags were already hanging down, the pupils themselves bloodshot red from fatigue. Every muscle and bone ached, even after a long, warm rest in the Praeclarus household.

"You're a wreck," he remarked coldly.

He glanced about the guest bathroom, the luxury of it making up for its size. Before him was the sink, completed with gleaming golden faucets and a plug. Beside it was the toilet, sterile and clean as the rest of the bathroom. Gazing to the left, the translucent door into the shower met him, currently open and revealing the spout jutting from the ceiling, triggered by the valve just below it, its center embedded with a cut sapphire.

Facing the mirror again, Tattertale frowned at his appearance, even more so of his actions. If it was some tycoon other than Fancypants, he was sure he would've lost his head. Luck was on his side today, no doubt; it might not be there tomorrow, however.

"It all comes down tomorrow," the colt reminded himself softly, closing his eyes to clear his head, his hoof reaching for the golden faucets of the sink.

"It's just you, Fancypants and the Pri--"

The moment he turned the valve, a loud pang abruptly snapped throughout the room. Something metallic struck the side of his face, rendering his vision to a blur. He fell sideways from the powerful force, his eyes catching glimpses of a geyser spraying from the tiled walls towards him from where the shower valve would be, before his body slammed onto the floor.

Needles of water formed puddles, rippling endlessly from the drizzle. His face soon felt damp, red merging into the transparency, forming cirrus trails in its wake. The valve that flew off was now in front of him, rolling to the side, its crystal absent from its core.

Tattertale felt something pierced his head, clenching as he tried to squeeze it out, though it only forced out more blood. His thoughts snapped short suddenly, his breath hurrying rapidly as he complied to the multitude urges of swallowing. His eyes were wide open as numbness took over his convulsing senses, and they remained that way.

He laid there, in a growing puddle of water with red slithering through the fluid, a shot of crystal stuck in his head and the bathroom warping like a kaleidoscope. It would be too late, he figured, when the crawling water finally leaked underneath the crack of the bathroom door to a bewildered Fleur outside the door, her scream at the first sight of blood garnering the dreaded attention of her husband. Until then, he waited agonizingly for the stinging pain to subside in his fractured, ringing head, and sure enough, it was soon whisked away.

Then again, death was always painless.

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[Fury of the Tempest]

Obligatory comment to replace the one lost