15th of Second Ember
15th of Second Ember
“What can I get for you?” The clerk behind the counter asks me with a smile upon his face. I can already tell today’s going to be a bad day.
“I’ll have a...” I stop and look at all the baked goods on display. I don’t even know the name of half of these pastries and cakes, and of the rest I can only pronounce maybe five of them. My gaze darts from the sweet cupcakes, muffins, eclairs, strudels, ‘vol-au-vents’ and whatever else to the salty simple breads, croissants, pretzels, bage—“blueberry. I’ll have a blueberry muffin.”
“Here you go!” He says, places the pastry inside a brown paper bag and lets it rest on top of the counter. “That’ll be two—” I toss him four bits and snatch the bag from the counter, quickly walking outside. I’m sure that by doing so I’ve earned a few stares, but I honestly couldn’t care less. It’s still seven in the morning and I’m already sick of having to—
“Buckshot!” I hear Mully call my name and I wince; not even five steps away from the bakery and my boss yells at me. Yeah, today’s not going to be a good day.
“You have an assignment today.”
“And a good morning to you too, Mully.” I sigh and wonder if he gets off of making my life miserable. Why else would he approach me when I haven’t even stepped into the PD yet? "Well get on with it. What's the job?”
“That mare you and Shining Badge saved yesterday has been identified—” My ears lower at the mention of my partner’s name. “—as one Ms. Sunset Snow. Amateur painter, apparently. I want you to go to the hospital and question her about what happened.”
This makes me stop and look at him in genuine confusion. “Is she ready to get visits already?” I ask, slightly confused. She had been almost dead not even 24 hours earlier and now she’s suddenly fine?
“The hospital staff gave me the all clear when I went there this morning. She had a visitor already when I stopped by, but I didn’t want to disturb them.” I instantly roll my eyes. This is just like Mully, alright. Leaving all the hard duty to me. “The doctors said that she’s... stable.”
“Stable?”
“Beats me, Buckshot. I don’t understand all that medical talk. Physically, she’s fine, yes. Now, just go over and have a talk with the mare. See if she remembers something. Anything is better than nothing. Just don’t stress her too much, you hear?”
“Yeah, yeah...” I pick up the paper bag with my muffin and turn around, walking towards Ponyville General.
“Oh, and Buckshot?”
“What?” I turn around, frowning at him.
“You did good yesterday.” I stop for a moment, and my face softens before giving him a short nod. He understands it and just walks away. There’s nothing else to be said. One thing I like about Mully is how he doesn’t pepper you with praise unless it really is deserved.
After briefing the nurse on the counter about who I am and the reason I’m there, she tells me the room Sunset Snow is in. A quick ‘thank you’ and I am on my way, walking amidst the maze-like corridors of the hospital trying to find her room. The monotonous and repetitive green walls make me sick to just look at, and this place is supposed to make ponies healthy?
The minutes pass as I find myself lost in this greenish maze. I had already been passed by two nurses, and had got directions from them. But no matter how rigorously I follow them, I end up in rooms I shouldn’t be in, getting chewed out by doctors. Finally, I grow the balls to ask a nurse to escort me to Sunset’s room, something she happily does.
I slowly open the door, trying my best not to disturb her, and see some fancy-dressed stallion talking to her. He is gesticulating wildly with its forehooves. She, however, doesn’t seem to even acknowledge his presence. Her eyes are riveted on the wall in front of her.
“Hello? Miss?” I ask as softly as I manage, slowly walking inside. “Can I have a few words with you?”
“...okay,” she says, still staring at the wall. Her voice makes me cringe; it’s like she’s been smoking one too many packs of Mareboro Golds for twenty years or more. Just as she’s finished speaking her face contorts slightly in a pained expression. I wince inwardly. Was I too rough when resuscitating her?
The other pony ceases his jabbering and stares at me curiously. I too ignore his presence and quietly close the door behind me.
As I walk towards the bed I notice the multitude of canvas scattered around the room. Most of them look as if someone threw multiple balloons of paint from different colors on them. Beside them lies a palette that’s been thoroughly covered with paint, yet almost completely drained of color. It’s only at the edges that true color remains, the rest a wash of a reddish-brown hue reminding me only of blood.
“My name is Buckshot, miss. I’m a police officer from PPD.” I pause to try and come up with the best approach to take with her. It’s probably for the best if I take it slow. “I know this will sound strange, but do you know who you are?”
“She’s a genius! That’s what she is!” the other pony in the room interrupts. I choose ignore him and keep watching her, awaiting a reply. She slowly turns her head and looks at me, smiling with a warmth that I’ve only seen and felt once.
“My name is Sunset Snow.” No matter how warmly she says it, that voice is something I will not get accustomed to. The smile is pleasant, and her eyes show no signs of malice. But her voice...
“Ms. Snow, do you know where you are right now?”
“I’m at the Ponyville General hospital.” She smiles again.
“So, you like painting?” I smile at her and her expression changes. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. The smile remains, but I can see her cheeks twitch down slightly.
“These are some pretty colors.”
“She sure does! Like painting, that is.” That other pony speaks again, answering for her; I dislike him already. “Name’s Arty Eyes. I’m her agent. Pleased to meet you, Mr...?” he asks me and extends a hoof, which I just look at before returning my eyes to Sunset.
“Buckshot,” I reply coldly, trying as hard as I can to perfectly convey my displeasure at his presence. “So, Ms. Snow, what exactly do you like to paint?”
“I...I think these are some pretty colors.”
I turn around and once more scan the canvas adorning the room. There was a hint of desperation in how the hues clashed against each other, like she wanted each to shine as brightly as possible until each pigment gave up and blended together into one homogenous mass of rust and decay.
“Yes, they are indeed.” I try to make my answer seem earnest, but truth be told, I don’t care much about modern art. I could paint better than some of this stuff, and I barely know which end of a pencil you’re supposed to use.
“She’s so very talented! I met her before becoming her agent, you know? Just yesterday, in fact! I once thought her paintings to be rather crude and pedestrian, but now... now she’s a genius!” I shoot him a dark look and try my best to ignore his comments.
“Why is your palette all brown?” I ask. Her smile is falters, before quirking up in a rather harsh slant.
“I think these are some pretty colors.” She keeps her eyes glued to mine and I notice that they look as if she’s pleading me to go away. I know that my next question will be an uncomfortable one and sigh.
“Ms. Snow. Sunset,” I say, placing a hoof over her shoulder. “Do you remember what happened to you?” I ask her as sympathetically as I manage. Her eyes shift, now focusing on her own forehooves. She opens her mouth and mumbles something unintelligible. I see Arty shifting uncomfortably in the corner of my eyes; her distress is clearly making him annoyed.
“Do you know what happened?” It’s the first time I address him properly. He doesn’t seem too comfortable with my tone and pumps his chest forward rather pompously.
“All I know is that she’s now a master in the field of arts! I mean, look at that palette! That technique! Look at how smoothly she moves the brush onto the canvas. With how much skill she obviously contains, she’s certain to be famous! Not to mention the media attention.... Well, with my help she’ll be the new Pablo Pizzicato! No one, and I mean no one is going to—”
“Sunset is a victim!” I say harshly, while a small crack appears in my patience. “She almost died! I didn’t save her life just to have you treating her as some sort of curiosity!”
“The colors...”
“She’s a survivor,” he says, looking at her almost fatherly. “She conquered death and from that achieved mastery in art. She doesn’t need ponies like you that treat her like she’s somepony everypony should feel nothing but pity for!”
And that’s when my patience fails. The dam bursts and the asshole held back by its restraints is set loose. My hoof moves as if it has a mind of its own and clocks Arty in the jaw. His eyes widen in disbelief as he rubs the area where my horseshoe connected.
“You... slapped me?” he asked with a voice that had all its air drained out of it.
“Sunset should not be treated like a commodity to be bought and—”
“THE COLORS!” We both stop, shocked at Sunset’s scream. Arty is quick to grab a blank canvas with his magic and levitates it to her. “THE COLORS!” Her screams intensifies in pitch and panic, and she begins pounding the the bed. I watch in disgust as he places the palette below her hooves and, after they are stained with ink up to her joints, he quickly replaces it with the blank canvas.
“YOU HAVE SUCH PRETTY, PRETTY COLORS!” she yells and I cannot believe my eyes as I see Arty's manic smile, completely disregarding her distress.
“ALL THE COLORS! PRETTY COLORS!” Her screams send waves of anguish cascading through the room as she continues splattering ink all over the canvas. Only when she’s almost tearing a hole in it Arty removes it from her grasp and replaces it with another blank one.
“You motherf—”
“NO!” Her shout cuts me off. Still hellbent on destroying this asshole’s pretty face I look down at Sunset. All my anger evaporates as I notice the panic etched in her face. She isn’t talking to me. She was talking to her. She’s clutching her head with one forehoof and her stomach with another. I instantly let go of Arty and rush to her side.
“Sunset! SUNSET!” I shake her hard, but it apparently has no effect on the mare.
“NO! NOT ME! PLEASE, I’LL DO BETTER! I’LL PAINT ALL THE COLORS! ALL THE PRETTY COLORS!”
“Sunset, snap out of it!” I command and slap her face. It does nothing to stop her thrashing. She almost pushes me to the floor when a nurse followed by a stallion twice my size open the door and rush beside her. I immediately back away, granting them passage. Both the nurse and the stallion give me the dirtiest look I’ve ever received. He holds Sunset down as the nurse pricks her shoulder with a needle.
“NOT ME! PLEASE, ANYPONY BUT ME!” She keeps struggling against the stallion’s grip, but all of us are able to see her resolve faltering. It takes two minutes for her to fall back on her pillow like a lifeless doll. The nurse looks at me and then nods to the muscular stallion. He is instantly by my side, placing one forehoof on my shoulder and forcing it down slightly.
“I think it’d better if you left, sir. Right now.” My only protest is a weary sigh. Unwilling to bother Sunset further, I turn around and begin walking towards the door.
“You too.” I hear the nurse saying, most likely addressing Arty Eyes. I was so frantic at trying to help Sunset that I completely forgot his existence.
“Could I just say my goodbyes to her?” I hear his voice. His tone is completely different from the one he addressed me with. He is making it look like he’s the victim here, not her. “Once you’re famous we’ll write your biography! Yes! Yes! I can picture it already! Sunset Snow was falling...” is the last thing that reaches my ears as the door closes behind me.
The stallion doesn’t leave my side until I’m about one hundred hooves away from the hospital. Great! Just fucking perfect! Mully will have my ass for this, I’m sure! I didn’t even get to ask how Shining Badge is doing! I sigh and try to collect myself. I look to the sky, trying to gauge how much daylight is left, but the thick blanket of clouds blocks my view.
I hate winter. I hate being bathed in snowflakes only for them to melt whenever I’m indoors. I don’t understand why we do this to ourselves. We could have summer all year long if we wanted to, yet Cloudsdale insists on covering the world with this frozen white sheet for five months every year. Why?
Arty's smug, self-satisfied smirk lingering in my mind is just the icing on the cake. I force it out of my mind. As much as I hate to admit it, however, he's not the one to blame here. At least, not any more than the bed bugs are to blame because your sheet is unwashed. Somehow, we let the fabric of society become dirty. Only now, instead of cleaning it up, it's a fight over who has to sleep in it. We've made the job of psychos like Pinkamena almost laughably easy. It's like she's daring us to catch her and she laughs as we stumble all over ourselves.
I sigh and gather my resolve before pushing the doors of the station. Once inside, I walk straight to my room, giving only curt nods to those who bother to watch me go by. Mully hasn’t come to talk to me, meaning that he’s probably doing something elsewhere. Good. Nopony needs to know about this.
As I close the door behind me, I let my mask fall. My day had been one bad circumstance after another, and I feel like bucking through the wall in irritation. My mind goes to the taffy wrapper with Pinkie’s instructions in my desk drawer.
“Two can play this game, you little bitch,” I mutter before biting down on a pencil and pushing its tip against a blank piece of paper. I hear the graphite grinding against it as I write my name and some vague, random letters after it. Once I’m done, I spit the pencil away and look at it. Before I am home today I’ll stop by the post office and send this to the Lonely Hearts column of the Ponyville Gazette.
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Maybe I'm missing something that will be explained in a further chapter, but... what? I get that the experience drove the victim mad, but who was that guy?
2530765
Arty? He's the guy from the prologue, he's the curator of the gallery she tried to apply to before.
2530801 Oh... why is he nuts now?
2530806
He was never intended to come across as nuts, just very slimey. If he reads as being insane, then we fucked up his characterization.
What he is, is an enabler, he's egging her on because her insanity makes her a curisoity in the art world, and no matter what she's putting out, it's gonna sell.
2530822 Yeah, he came across as insane. Now that you mentioned what you were going for it makes a little more sense, but he still comes across as just about as nuts as she is.
Got to agree with BronyWriter here, I couldn't tell who was more messed up in the noggin. I did understand what he was going for but it definitely didn't go off as you intended.
~Cosmic
2530806>>2530999 He sounds fine to me.
Is there more of this story out anywhere? I'm really into this and I would be sad if the "train" stopped going.
2552177
Yes, as a matter of fact there is.
It's planned to eleven chapters, not counting bonus chapters, and we've written 7½ so far.
Your fears that the story might be off to a promising start and then just stop is warranted, I'm sorry to say. I got a bad habit of abandoning projects and my last collaboration with Luce, sky matron crashed and burned when we realized we had bitten off more than we could chew.
That's the main reason why we chose to wait until most of the story was already written before uploading it. We're at the point where the whole story is drafted, so unless both of us drop dead, (knock on wood) there's no way that we won't be able to finish the story.
2552760 You sir (or ma'am) are a very amazing person. I applaud you greatly.
Keep typing stories and making us fellow bronies happy.
I got so tired tha I dropped my iPod on my face, but .I still keep rezAding.
Buckshot is way too enthusiastic with his slapping
That said, maybe he should have slapped Arty once or twice more...