• Published 21st Apr 2013
  • 3,881 Views, 131 Comments

Dysphoria - Owlor



Pinkamena Diane Pie escaped from the Canterlot Prison for the Mentally Unbalanced, shaking the very foundations of Equestria, but what happens now?

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24th of Second Ember, part 2.

24th of Second Ember, part 2.

“Bucky, ye auld trunk donkey!” Crescent Moon exclaims from the door as I approach her. “Ah hae nae seen ye in ages, whit ur ye daein' haur? Ur ye still slavin' awa' for th' gov’mnt, or hae ye finally seen th' lecht?”

Crescent greets me from the door, trailed by a grey puppy, as I approach her little shack.

Her eyes twinkle with recognition behind those thin half-moon shaped glasses. Before I know it, she’s insulted both me and my job in the most affectionate tone possible. And more is surely on its way already; she reminds me very much of a snowball rolling down a hill in that once she gets going, she’s very hard to stop. I try my best to get a word in edgewise between her torrents of Coltish.

“Listen Crescent, I—”

“Ah gotta make some herbal tea fer us, Ah jist found it a new recipe,” she continues undeterred. “Och, we hae so much tae catch up on—”

Her dog runs at me and begin sniffing my forehooves. The puppy, having had enough of my scent, looks up at me and begins to bark playfully. It’s a high-pitched bark, no doubt calling me to play with him. I instinctively flinch back, but it only seems to make the dog more eager. Between the barks and Crescents rambling monologue, it’s next to impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“Miss Moon!” I finally manage to blurt out. This gets her attention, she always hated to be called a ‘Miss’.

Crescent turns around and smiles at me when she notices my trouble with the dog

“Oh, shew! Shew, Tammy, yer disturb'n Buckshot e'yer,” she says, wiggling her old forehooves. The dog stops barking at me, turns to her and tilts his head.

“Ach, you learn fast,” she says and magically produces a treat for him from somewhere in her kitchen. She throws it over a small bed on the corner of the room and the pup follows. He lies down and focuses on chewing his treat.

“Crescent?” Once again, I try to get her attention. “I have reason to suspect that somepony is trying to kill you.”

She turns around and stares at me a while as if to try and determine if I am joking, but when I show no sign of irony or jest, she unexpectedly starts grinning.

“Och, Ah ken 'at,” she replies, leaving me with an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“You knew already, how?”

“Aye! Ah hae gart many a big corparations radge in mah days. Ah am sure somepony woulds be glad if they could erase me from th' planet.” I roll my eyes. Typical Crescent Moon chat.

“But dinnae fash yersel,” she continues. “Ah ken how tae handle m’self.” She winks at me, trying to look brave, but all I see is a frail old mare. Stronger than she once was, sure, but still with her prime years behind her.

“Well, Ms. Moon, I—”

“'Main 'en noo, Buckshot. I’d loch tae think 'at I’m talkin' wi' a mukker haur.” She giggles. “Maybe mair than jist a mukker, hm?” She rolls the words over her tongue, trying to come off as sultry. It’s no use, however, Nightmare Moon would sooner reign over us than Crescent learns how to properly flirt.

“Yeah... It’s not that I doubt your—”

“Capoeira.”

“Yeah, that. Look, it’s not that I doubt your capoeira skills, but I’d rather stick around, just for safety.”

“Braw that. Havin' a hunky, oodilin' stallion followin' me around isn’t somethin' I’ll greit abit,” she says and adds a bounce to her step as she walks into the kitchen.

I can’t say that the gesture didn’t grasp my attention. Even though her hair has aged-silver locks, she acts as if she’s young and full of life. It’s a pleasure seeing her this thoroughly rejuvenated. There isn’t the slight bitterness that permeated the personality of my ex wife, even during the days when we were together. As Crescent turns around, she notices my stare and lets out a giggle.

This is going to be an interesting day indeed.


We’re walking through a winter landscape, shielded from the unyielding snowfall only by our coats. My civilian trenchcoat really wasn’t made for harsh Ponyville winters and I shudder as I pull the collar up. Crescent Moon however, thrived in this environment like a fish in a pond. Compared to the highlands of Coltland, this was practically autumn.

“Where are we going?” I ask her casually. She eyes me for a moment, wary, but then, as if she remembered something, she flashes a smile.

“We're gonnae somewhaur fun. We're pure close, actually.” I can already tell that I won’t like it. Fun with Crescent Moon usually borders minor offenses. “Don’t be loch 'at, Buckshot. Ah tryst you'll loove it!” She singsongs.

She leads us to what at first looks like an abandoned building before I see the dim light coming from inside. There is only one thing about this structure that is unmarred by decay; a sign on the front with the words “Hookin’ Hookah” written on it in a swirly font. I do not like where this is going...

Suddenly, a slit in the door opens to let a pair of suspicious eyes peer out at us.

“Quem é esse aí com você, Crescent?” the pony on the other side of the door asks, his wary eyes evidently aimed at me. Even though I have no idea of what he said, I can’t help but feel my presence being unwanted, judging by his tone.

“Relaxa, ‘Tero, ele só tá aqui pra me proteger,” Crescent replies, turns her head and winks at me.

I hear a snort and then the slit loudly closes. We wait for a few seconds as I hear the sounds of chains and keys moving on the other side. The door opens and Crescent doesn’t hesitate to walk inside. She purposefully swings her tail beneath this ‘Tero character’s chin, who just grunts. I try to hide my smirk at this display and follow her in.

We walk through a small, narrow hallway and cross another door. I’m hit by a smell that instantly dissipates any doubts I might have about the nature of this establishment. Clove, I recognize that obnoxiously sweet smell anywhere. I involuntary move my hooves to my waist, looking for a pair of hoofcuffs, but they are on my belt back at the station. I sigh; Crescent hasn’t lost her touch when it comes to finding subtle ways of driving me insane at least.

I notice the place was only half-heartedly renovated. The wallpaper was torn in some places, revealing an older, dust-coated wallpaper behind it. The only source of light, a soon-to-be-dead lightbulb dangling precariously from its chords, gives of a somber, almost gloomy look. And still, the ponies grouped around a suspicious looking apparatus seem not to mind this, sharing in drug-induced laughter, while throwing caution, and their lives, to the wind.

Crescent plows deep into the den and leads me to a table made out of planks and cinder blocks. Next to it is a lumpy couch partially covered by a sticky patina of some kind. She leaves me to be seated and heads over to the bar, or what passes for it.

While she talks with the mule behind the counter, I eye the crowd wearily. I find it interesting that nopony seems to even care about my presence. Either they’re too high to notice that I’m a cop or they don’t know me. This suits me just fine, really. I’m not looking for trouble today.

It doesn’t take long before Crescent Moon makes her way back to the table, carrying a bag of clove between her teeth. I watch with disapproval as she removes a exquisitely carved jade pipe from her saddlebag. Such a nice piece of craftsmanship did not belong in a dingy place like this. And I could say the same thing about her...

Crescent stuffs her pipe with the clove, oblivious to my glare until I make my displeasure known with a forced cough. She looks up, but not before igniting the leaves with her horn, and shoots me a wide grin.

“Dinna fash yersel! Now Ah got a prescripti’n fer it!” As a response to my skeptical look, she produces a neatly folded paper from her saddlebag. “Ah keep this wi' me in case th' coppers come,” she adds and the slight hint of irony in her voice does not escape me.

“No way! Let me see that!” I pick up the paper from her midnight-blue aura and quickly scan through it. Sure enough, it’s a prescription for medicinal syzygium, issued for Crescent Moon, and it seems real. The doctor’s signature, however, makes me snort.

“Hasty Diagnosis?”

“He’s a brammer doctur. Ah don’t ken wa he gits sae much bad press abit his practice. Th' pony’s a genius! Who’d guess 'at water has memory?”

I refrain from questioning the scientific validity of this and gestures towards the rest of the crowd. “And all these ponies, do they have a presciption too?”

“Ay course!” She flashes me a sunny smile. “No gonnae-no bein' a downer an' lit me enjoy m’self.” I roll my eyes an I let this slide.

She takes a puff from her jade pipe, let’s the smoke out in a thick milky cloud and inhales it through her nostrils. I knew she had experience with this, but I didn’t know she was this good. She doesn’t offer me a drag. Out of respect or self interest, I have no idea. I can’t help but shift uncomfortably in my seat at how effortlessly she works it. She turns to me and smiles, trying to hold back some laughs.

“Somethin' wrang?” she asks, with a stray puff of smoke still trickling from her snout.

“I thought you had quit.” This remark completely dissolves her smile and she slumps down in the couch.

“Ah hae. Mostly. I've tossed awa' mah needles, an' Ah don’t e'en bevvy anymair, but sometimes Ah sill git it...” she focus her eyes at some middle distance and sighs. “'at boss feelin'.”

She turns her attention to the swirling wisps of smoke and I let the silence hang over us. For a second, it feels like I’m back in Manehattan again until a cold gust of wind from the door snaps me back to reality. Somepony just left early, to spend Hearth’s Warming with their family, perhaps? I wonder idly if they’ll notice the slightly glazed eyes, and if so, if they’d care. As for the rest, they evidently didn’t have any better place to go this evening.

“You moved away from it all to a quiet little cabin where you could be close to nature, ”I remind her to break the silence. “And yet you still manage to find ways to get in trouble with the law, you never cease to amaze me.”

“'Spikin’ ay which,” she says and leans closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I’m surprised ye hae nae huckled anypony yet.”

“I’m not on duty, and besides, it’s Hearth’s Warming Eve! I figured I ought to give these poor unfortunate souls a chance to run before tossing them in the slammer, It’s good exercise for the both of us!” I say before letting out a hearty chuckle which she answers with one of her own.


At the end of the night, we’re let out into the cold winter dark. Almost immediately, Crescent threatens to wander off, giggling to herself. I sigh as I lead her back on the path home. Our trek home is a slow one, since I have to accommodate my gait to Crescent’s slow, high-in-the-cloud steps. She’s acts more like a child than a pony her age. She walks in circles, laughing and dancing to the tunes of the night.

“Can ye sin' me a sang?” she asks me and it take me no more than a second to reply.

“No.”

“Aw, 'en i'll hae tae sin' a sang m’self!” she proclaims and launches into an impromptu number:

“A unicorn's horn starts puny an' wee
loch a bump on the noggin’ so small ye can’t see
but as he touches his horn, it grow at th' end...”

It’s around this time that I realize that this song isn’t really about unicorn and start to blush. This is the sort of thing I would sing after having a pint or three of sweet apple cider, not the sort of thing that should come from a little old lady!

“Th' ridges turn stiff an' it's startin' tae mend
magic is surgin', it turns stiff an' hard
ain when he shoots his load, flies at least fifteen yards!”

Okay, I admit, that ending got me. I let out a hearty chuckle, which sets off another giggle attack from Crescent. We’re nearing Ponyville’s Town Square now. The rows of houses and shops are widening into a large circle surrounding the Town Hall. Most doors have a wreath made out of evergreens and every ledge or pillar was lined with a tinsel that almost glistened as well as the snow. At the epicenter of these lavish decorations was he Sun Statue, which was adorned with multiple red flags and banners.

Crescent suddenly stopped dead in her track to take the festive environment in.

“It is sae beautiful!” she says and I can see the gleam in her eyes. She points the Sun Statue in the middle of the town center. Ice crystals were forming on the rough surface, giving it a shine not unlike if the statue had been covered with glitter. Surrounding it are multiple banners, the only aspect of the scenery that’s untouched by snow.

I don’t comment of this, I just turn my collar up and wish I was in bed already. The cold wind picks up until even Crescent Moon had to shiver. I approach her and sweep one side of my coat over her. She gives me a bashful look, enhanced by her ice-stung cheeks. I smile back, she has no problem flirting with stallions young enough to be her colt, but a small friendly gesture still catches her off-guard.

I hear the soft creak of a hoofstep in the snow. That is the only warning I get before somepony launches out from behind the banners. I catch a glimpse of a pony in a black suit, not unlike those worn by newly wedded grooms and businessponies. In other words, a costume that stands for nothing but trouble. His face is obscured by the red flags and my eyes drift downwards where I see a gleam at the end of their hoof.

“Crescent, look out, he has a hoofblade!” I manage to blurt out.

Crescent wastes no time in deploying a high, sweeping kick that only succeeds in knocking down one of the flagposts. This forces the suit out of hiding and he quickly gallop behind the next banner before the first one hits the ground. He extend his foreleg and the image of the hoof-blade from before flashes through my mind. Crescent Moon grunts as he passes and a few near-black droplets of blood leaks down on the ground.

“Crescent! Crescent! Are you alright?!” Her muzzle is scrunched up, but she manages to open her eyes and nod at me. “Let me see it,” I knee beside her and take her hind leg in my hooves. The cut is shallow and there is not much blood flowing from it. I breathe a relieved sigh. “Can you walk?”

“Aye.” I help her to her four legs and pause, looking towards where the fleeing pony went. She follows my gaze and urges me through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be okay. This auld mare can tak' a lot mair than 'at. Noo gang git th' dobber!”

“Promise me that you will go to the hospital!”

“Och aye, now go!” I spare no second and turn around, following the trail of hoofsteps left behind by the assailant.

I keep my trenchcoat open as I quicken my phase into a gallop. The heat from from my muscles and my rage keeps me warm in spite of the winds icy sting. Rows of snow-covered houses blur past until one house towering appears, towering over the others. The Silver Mansion, this guy has some chutzpah wandering this close to i with blood on their hooves.

The tracks lead me over snowdrifts and around bushes until I see that suited bastard wandering about like nothing ever happened. I waste no time in tackling him. He clocks me over the jaw and tries to get the upper hoof. He’s good, I’ll give him that, but getting pounded into the snow mellows him out some.

I can finally get a good look at the asshole who went after Crescent. His snout had the slightly off-kilter angle of somepony who’s taken a few horseshoes to the face in their days, and judging by how he fought, he seemed to consist of nothing but long, lean muscles. This was a thug in a fancy suit, no more, no less.

“Did Pinkie Pie set you up for this? Where is she?!” I belt out, forming the words into a roar.

“I don’t fucking know...” he manages to stutter out. I slap him across the jaw and put my hoof over his throat, ready to block his air supply should he try any sudden move.

“I’ll ask you just once more, where is Pinkie Pie? And this time, I want a straight answer, or else...”

“What the fuck is your problem?” The stallion gathers some resolve in spite of being overpowered. “I saw that pink fuck skulking just outside the gates of the Silver mansion, and when I set out to investigate I get jumped from out of fucking nowhere by you! The fuck is going on, asshole?” The gears are clicking in my head, and as I finally manage to put two and two together, I feel just about ready to curse myself.

“You’re... a member of the security staff?”

“That’s right, you fucker. Now get the fuck off me!” He stares at me like he’s trying to stab me with his gaze, and he pretty much succeeds. My demeanor softens considerably and I speak with a forcibly calm voice.

“Alright, now listen carefully. My friend was just attacked by a pony in a black suit that matches yours to an inch. I believe this was either Pinkie Pie, or an accomplice.” I speak slowly to let the words sink in. “Tell me, the Silver couple, they have a daughter, right? What’s her name?”

“There’s no way in tartarus I’m telling you that, you fucking cre—” His words are cut out as I shift my weight, pressing my hoof down slightly as a warning.

“I could still kill you, y’know?” His eyes widen instantly as he gasps for air. “Now tell me!”

“Sil—Silver Sp—Spoon.” he blurts out between gasps. And that was the cue for the last gear to click into place and my brain to start racing like a screaming locomotive. I got curse words on the tip of my tongue I bet even this stallion would hesitate to put in his mouth.

“Listen to me closely,” I demand, allowing him to breathe once more. “If I’m right, Pinkie is heading straight for the Silver Mansion. You need to protect Silver Spoon.” I soften my grip around his throat further, somewhat as a peace offering. “I am going to let you go now,” I inform him. “And I trust that you’ll head straight for the mansion and not buck me in the head like I probably deserve, okay?”

The stallion nods silently at this. As I roll off him, I scrunch my muzzle and prepare for the moment of truth. But all he does after he picks himself up from the ground is to give me a quick impatient look.

“Are you coming with me or what? Like hay am I facing that crazy bitch alone.” I’m dumbfounded at this statement, prompting him to snort displeasingly. “You’re a cop, right? I could tell by the way you fight.” I reply with nothing but stony silence.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” he continues. “Nevermind then, four pairs of hooves are better than two in any case. I’m Drydock by the way. Now are you coming with me or not?”

I remain silent, choosing to follow Drydock’s gallop. Truth can’t be hidden in snow for long, and soon enough, we pick up the trail again, heading straight for the mansion as we suspected. I must admit, I’ve never seen their house up close before. Normally, I don’t even go near the rich ponies’ avenue. But I get the impression that this house has been standing there for at least a century, it practically smells of old money.

“Here’s how we’re gonna do this,” Drydock informs me. “I’ll search the rooms, and you’ll follow right behind me. If you run off on your own or cause any trouble, I’ll bash your fucking skull in, capisce?”

“Alright, Drydock. Let’s do this!” And with that we rush in.

Author's Note:

Owlor: I’d loch tae apologize tae th' fowk ay scootlund fur badly manglin' yer leid. If it helps, hink ay loch a “what if Applejack was ‘scottish’ insteid ay ‘soothern’” kin' ay accent. The Portugese, by contrast, should be fine, cus Luce handled that part.

I'd also like to apologize to everyone for having to sit trough Crescents incomprehensible accent, it seemed like a good idea at the time...

I’m a little dissapointed we never managed to shoehorn in a swedish character so I could show of my language skills as well. Så jag kanske borde skriva resten av mina anteckningar på svenska så inte en jävel kommer förstå vad jag säger, såvida de inte också är svenskar. Du gamla du fria du smälllfeta ko... allright, that’s enough of that.

This chapter took longer than it should have to upload, cus Luce is studying for a test and I had trouble finding motivation with a google docs a wasteland. Next chapter should hopefully not take as long to upload.

“But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!”
--To a Mouse (Robert Burns)

Lucefudu: Engraçado como tudo fica... estranhamente diferente, quando você introduz uma língua diferente na história. Mesmo assim, eu pessoalmente acho que combinou bem.
Also: Homeopathy is placebo.

Mikhail: One must first walk before they can run. Any attempts to do otherwise end up looking like this.