> The Schemes of the Heart > by LucidTech > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Chapter One: Falling For You > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Canterlot was a city divided. Not in the literal ‘giant wall that cuts the city in half’ kind of way, rather in the uptown downtown, oil on water kind of way. Well almost like that, there were still ponies who would trek into the other side, and one of those was Intriguing Schemes. Intriguing Schemes was a stallion whose mind always whirred a mile a minute. Even now, on a jog through the absolute silence of uptown Canterlot at midnight, he was running through his plan for the most important day of his life. Tomorrow. ‘First,’ He thought to himself. ‘I shall prepare to take my train in the morning, of course, but I must not arrive too early. To seem eager would mark me apart. But I must not be on time, that would leave me exposed at the back of the crowd. I shall arrive, instead, five minutes prior to boarding. I shall pretend I was rushed to get there and double check my luggage. Then, moments before the train departs I will run off quickly to collect something. I shall retrieve my written schemes from the trash can where they are stashed even now and then I shall return just on time, some kind pony having saved my spot in line, and I will depart. It will be so easy.’ For the upteenth time that night he retrieved a train ticket from the pocket of his jogging coat to double check and make sure it was there, then he ran through the plan once again. Or would have, had the silhouette not caught his attention. His train of thought and thought of trains both ground to a halt as he stared at the pegasus that stood upon the Wall of Canterlot. The Wall of Canterlot, while extremely dramatic sounding, was in reality simply a two pony high wall made from solid masonry that prevented any accidental falls. Intentional falls however... well a pony would always find a way. Schemes looked to the wings of the pegasus and saw the tight cord that prevented them from opening, just as he expected he might. Schemes had heard, through the rumor mill of uptown Canterlot of course, that if a pegasi wanted to commit suicide by falling they had to bind their own wings or else they would flick open at the last moment and save them from collision. This, some of the gossipers had said, was proof that nopony actually wanted to commit suicide. Schemes thought it pretty obviously proved that they desperately did, they simply couldn’t overcome the primal desire to live. The buzzing of Schemes’ thoughts died away slowly as he looked at the pony on the wall. It was a figure set apart from the whole world, outlined by starlight. He was… beautiful in the half light of the waning moon. Schemes watched as the coat and mane of the pegasus lightly waved in the chilly midnight breezes of Mt. Canter. He felt those same breezes carry the scent of the pegasus upwind to him, where he could make out the scent of absolute terror and hesitation that you would expect to find in anypony at the end of their rope. He felt… connected to the stallion on the wall. He felt like, for some reason, if he died than Schemes would as well. Neither of them had moved a step from the moment when Schemes had spotted him on the stonework, but Schemes could see the draw and release of breath in the barrel of the pegasus, he could feel his own inhales and exhales. He wondered what the delay was. Had the pegasus heard him jog up? Was he waiting for his spectator to leave so he could jump without anyone watching? Then, like a starting gun had gone off, the pegasus started a dash over the edge. “Wait.” Schemes said, his voice was barely more than a whisper, but in the absolute silence of the night it roared. Schemes shocked himself silent, not having planned to say anything at all, but it was nothing compared to how the pegasus himself reacted. The would-be jumper flailed in shock, hooves scrambling for purchase as some instinct forced him to turn and look at Schemes. His wings fought to regain balance but bound as they were they only set the Pegasus more off kilter. Then, without much aplomb, the pegasus did fall off the wall. In the wrong direction. Or right, depending on your point of view. Schemes heard the heavy thud and watched as the head of the stallion connected with the stones near his feet. Then, for a moment, waited in the returning silence until a spark of action ignited in his mind. The tinder that had kept his earlier mental processes running still had plenty more to burn and was now being repurposed for a plan to help the stallion. ‘Why?’ asked some part of his mind. ‘He was going to kill himself, why save him? Isn’t it his decision?’ Schemes was ready for this part of his mind, he disliked it immensely. Schemes was reminded of the trolley problem. It went like this: You can pull a lever to save three ponies and kill one. Or you can be a coward and kill three ponies through inaction. Well, that’s how Schemes remembered it anyway. The philosophy professor insisted there was more to it, but Schemes was too busy failing his way through a history class to care too much about it. The point was that, in his mind, if he left the stallion to die it wasn’t suicide anymore, it was murder through inaction. Schemes was still too busy riding the thrill of seeing a handsome stallion who had actually turned to look at him when he spoke that he didn't delay a moment longer. Acting quickly, Schemes hoisted the pegasus onto his back as gently as he could and found it all too easy to do. A sickening feeling dropped into his gut and worry flooded his mind anew. The pegasus was terrifyingly light. Schemes knew that even an earth pony like himself shouldn’t feel like he was lifting a box of feathers when carrying a pegasus. Sure, they had light bones so they could fly but they still had flesh. They still had fat and muscle and tissue. This pegasus felt like little weight more than a starving sparrow. Schemes knew where to go next, the hospital was nearby, the E.R. could be a bit pricy but it was the only option. As he ran to the building he began to plot out the costs. Now assuming that the stallion had insurance it would probably be decently cheap and if he didn’t than all that Schemes would need to do was lie and claim him under “Family”. Surely it wouldn’t be too expensive, and he had a small fortune in bits that he had saved up over the past couple of years. True he had been planning on using the funds to establish himself after his train ride but what did a few more months of work mean really? A new train ticket would be required, of course, and there was little chance of selling his current one so close to the departure. All he would have to do was lay low for a couple more months, collect a few more payments and THEN head to Ponyville. He heard a stirring by his shoulder and dared a glance to the head of the stallion by his side as figures of potential losses and long-term income swam in his head. The pegasus seemed to be slowly swimming his way up through his own pool of delirium, eyes foggy with the effort of it. “Where…?” Came the soft lost voice. The pegasus watched the buildings that passed by in a blur and Schemes wondered how much of what the pegasus was seeing was actually being processed by his brain. Schemes kept an easy, but urgent, jog. He’d been exercising every night for the past couple years, maybe he couldn’t grow a plant worth a damn but at least he had good ol’ earth pony fortitude. “I’m taking you to the hospital, you took a nasty fall and-” The pupils of the pegasus contracted to pinpricks, the fog that had lain heavy over them disintegrating in the intensity of the stare that he leveled at Schemes. “No you mustn't! No! please!” The pegasus began to meekly try and force himself off of Schemes back, but Schemes had the ingrained stability for this sort of thing and the pegasus seemed to have all the physical aptitude of a malnourished rat. Still, it did make running difficult and the look in his eyes… “Alright. I won’t take you to the hospital.” Schemes said suddenly, his decision already swayed. His trot swung immediately onto a nearby road and started to pick up the pace as he began heading for his own house. Some part of his brain made a vague note about the pegasus stopping his struggle but it was drowned out by the roar of thoughts that screamed to the surface. A new plan had sparked and was burning the old plan for fuel. At home he still had the leftover medical equipment from his ill-advised attempt at university learning. Schemes was out of practice in his medical training, of course, but he could still diagnose the severity of a concussion surely. It wasn’t too difficult from all that he could recall. Best to use the book anyway. Schemes continued to talk, not realizing the relief of not going to the hospital had comforted the pegasus back to troublesome sleep. “I’ll run some checks and if you aren’t about to die then I’ll let you sleep it off at my house.” Schemes explained to the unconscious stallion on his back. “But if you are about to die than I’m taking you back to the hospital and they’ll take care of you and then, when you’re feeling better, you can go back to jumping to your death, just like the old days.” When Schemes spoke it was as if the words were being squeezed out of his mouth as more words fought their way into his head, making room for themselves. One corner of his mind was exploring the memory of his house, finding where his discarded book on pony anatomy had ended up. Another composed a frantic schedule about reclaiming his stashed plans given that he would not be able to leave Canterlot on his train the next morning. Another was pointing out that he could leave on the train, he would just have to leave the handsome stallion on a park bench somewhere. This part of the brain was shushed very suddenly by all the other parts. Schemes still hadn’t forgiven it for earlier. His hoofbeats ran staccato over the roadways of Canterlot. He’d made it to mainstreet as early as he could in the uptown where it wouldn’t be crowded but now as he approached his housing in downtown the late night party goers were beginning to flood out onto the streets. Drinking their way from bar to rave to club and back again. The part of his brain that had told him he could just leave the stallion somewhere realized it had some debt to make up to the rest of the brain and began to set out courses through the crowd. Schemes followed the paths, his hooves dancing through traffic in the mad cacophony. There were a few close calls as his hooves scrambled for purchase on surprisingly slick stones, but he never fell. The sound of the clubs and ponies was deafening, but had nowhere near the volume of the shouting of his own mind as it corrected his hoof placements mid-stride. He checked his back multiple times as he ran, the pegasus was so light that Schemes wasn’t sure he would’ve noticed him going missing in the crowd. But each time he was still there. A small trickle of blood had stained his dark blue muzzle, but the wound had already scabbed over and dried blood was not the hardest of things to clean out of a coat. He turned abruptly down a side row, leaving the pushing crowds of main street behind, even as the roiling wave of audio cloyed at his ears. It was only short steps now to his house, nondescript when compared to the neighbor’s houses. His hooves covered the remaining roadway in easy steps and then he cleared the stairway to the door in one leap, already pulling his keys from his saddlebags. Schemes sailed easily over the distance and felt the wings of the pegasus struggling against the cord still binding them. Some ancient instinct in the pegasus trying to catch the air that was rushing past. Planting his forehooves on the cement in front of his door, Schemes halted all his momentum and ran the key into the lock, clicking it easily. Than, with almost as much ease, did the same to the three other keys and locks he’d installed on the door. The last lock popped open with a click and Schemes was pushing his way into the small front room of his house while he was still struggling to get the keys put away. Absentmindedly, Schemes kicked the door shut behind himself and maneuvered his way past the three blackboards that were resting between the door and the couch. Schemes carefully turned and used his tail to sweep the collection of trash off the couch before laying the stallion down onto the cushions. Immediately Schemes set to work on the next two steps of his current goal. First, reacquire discarded medical textbooks for reference on a matter of most dire importance. Second, acquire food and drink for the pony who felt light enough that they could have been a figment of his imagination. Schemes had been filling a glass with water when this thought struck him and he paused for a moment, not beginning to move until the water was pouring all over the table. Cursing, Schemes righted the water jug and placed it back on the floor, closing the lid with one hoof while he tossed a dirty rag onto the table to soak up the puddle. Then, glancing to the stallion on the couch, he moved into the restroom. Carefully, Schemes opened up the dual purpose mirror cupboard and retrieved an orange bottle from the shelf inside. Schemes flicked his hoof to unscrew the lid and shook out two tablets from the bottle. He ingested one, washing it down with a little bit of the water and then tossed the second down the drain. Schemes inhaled slowly. He leaned against the door and started his breathing exercises. He’d had hallucinations before of course, usually after several days of forgetting to sleep, and he’d been given medication to help wind him down. But he’d never talked with one before. Surely he hadn’t slipped that far. He stared at himself in the mirror as he counted out a full minute of time. He looked into his eyes and focused. He held the staring contest for as long as he could, focusing the disparate parts of his thought processes. He breathed. Then, hesitantly, returned to the front room of his house. The stallion was still there. Schemes’ mind rocketed back up to full speed. He grabbed his textbook from the trashcan by the couch and pulled a tinfoil packet from the fridge, opening it to reveal half a sandwich inside. He’d made it just the day before for his lunch but hadn’t had much of an appetite, now he took his collection of items to the stallion on the couch. He laid the sandwich down next to his head and began to prod him with one hoof absentmindedly while beginning to flip through the book. It wasn’t until the fifth ‘ow’ that Schemes realized he’d succeeded in awakening the pegasus. Reading from the book, Schemes began his examination. Quickly obtaining a flashlight from its spot on the floor he pointed it into the pegasus’s eyes and flicked it away, noting the dilation of the eyes and how they tracked the flashlight. “What’s your name?” Schemes asked, checking memory. “Anthelion.” Answered the pegasus immediately, then paused and said “Wait.” Schemes spared a worried glance away from his book. Changing your mind about your name probably wasn’t a good thing. “Well that’s my real name. What was the fake name I was using it was uh…” Schemes noticed the delirium was still hanging around as Anthelion tried to remember his alias. “Ah I can’t remember.” Confessed the pegasus. “My name is Anthelion, but don’t let anyone know. I’m not supposed to be here.” Schemes nodded, technically the answer to ‘do they remember their name’ was a yes, he supposed. “I won’t tell Celestia on you don’t worry.” Schemes said idly then saw a grateful but still somewhat confused look come over Anthelion’s face. “Your name,” Scheme said, ignoring the book for the moment. “It means 'opposite the sun'. So you see… because she’s the princess of the… you know what forget it. How old are you?” “Twenty two in pony years about I think.” Answered Anthelion immediately. “Couple years behind me then.” Schemes said factually. “You look miles better than me though.” “I like your mane, though.” Said Anthelion, his vision wandering. Schemes flicked the light again and the eyes refocused on it. “It’s a nice color.” “It’s… black.” Schemes said, with a frown. “I like black. It’s a handsome color.” Anthelion announced, sounding righteously indignant about it. Schemes glanced through the rest of the list. Technically thinking black was a nice color wasn’t evidence of a concussion it seemed, only bad taste. So then memory was fine, eyes dilated fine, words weren’t being slurred, attention could be maintained for an extended period of time. It seemed that everything was… alright? Schemes looked to Anthelion again and saw him drinking the water and ignoring the sandwich. “You can have the sandwich too.” Schemes offered casually as he double checked the book. He still remembered how light Anthelion had felt on his back and was surprised he hadn’t tried to devour it whole. “Oh. I don’t eat.” Anthelion said in a guilty tone. “Then you must be starving.” “I am.” “Then you should eat.” “No one has any food for me.” “There’s a sandwich right there.” “Oh, I don’t eat.” Anthelion squinted as he said it then continued. “I don’t eat… normal food.” Schemes waited for further explanation, but didn’t get any. “Can I have more water?” Schemes nodded and returned to the water jug, refilling the cup and giving the dirty towel a half hearted push to try and sop up the spilled water before returning to the stallion, who had fallen asleep again. Schemes prodded him awake again and gave him the cup. It seemed likely that it was at worst a minor concussion, but it was probably best to avoid unnecessary bouts of unconsciousness for the time being. All the while as Schemes treated the pegasus, another part of his brain was spinning up, trying to piece together facts and what they added up to. First, didn’t eat ‘normal food’. Second, was starving but didn’t look like it. In fact Anthelion looked like one of the healthiest stallions he’d ever seen. Third, was very light even for a starving pegasus. Fourth, didn’t want to go to the hospital after being perhaps lethally wounded. Fifth, was somewhat interested in Schemes. Schemes thought about adding 'uses multiple names' to the list but decided against it, who didn't hide behind an alias once in a while. Still, there was something going on. Eventually, it was the fifth fact, compounded by Schemes’ own crippling self-loathing, that led him to the truth. Why would a healthy handsome stallion be interested in the psycho planner who lived like a raccoon? Because, it wasn’t a healthy handsome stallion, it was someone or something pretending to be a healthy handsome stallion, stood to reason. So then, who or what would do something like that? A smile crept onto Schemes’ face as he untwined the threads in the back of his mind. Anthelion fell silent at the look of strange happiness that slowly spread over the face of the stallion. “Hey Anthelion? Want to help me with a diagram?” Asked Schemes suddenly, launching himself to one of the nearby blackboards and spinning it from a clutter of lines and arrows to the blank side opposite it, but not before Anthelion caught a glimpse of what might have been Celestia's cutiemark in the upper right hand corner. “I guess?” Anthelion answered, his mind still swimming in confusion. Schemes retrieved a stub of chalk from a nearby table and smiled. “Excellent.” > Chapter Two: Rude Awakenings > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was the feeling of constant insufferable hunger that first alerted Anthelion that he had not, by some miracle or curse, ended his life the previous night. It was not as strong a feeling of starvation as it had been the previous couple mornings but this revelation failed to improve his mood, managing instead only to stir feelings of guilt and worry to the surface. He had gone as long as he could, suffering through eternal starvation as long as he could manage, and was prepared to end his life to avoid taking advantage of another pony but… something had happened. Despite his best efforts Anthelion couldn’t remember what it was and was beginning to grow worried that he’d lost control of his inner nature in a moment of desperation. He felt like he’d fed on someone recently, a realization that sent a shiver down his spine. The only consolation to that was how little his hunger had ebbed. Perhaps he had lost control but it seemed, at least, that it hadn’t been too serious. Anthelion opened his eyes for the briefest of moments and, upon not recognizing the ceiling that filled his vision, closed them again almost immediately. He let the muscles that had suddenly tensed go lax again, feigning as if he were still asleep and hoping no one had seen his brief moment of panic. Anthelion may have failed to kill himself the night previous, but seeing that he was occupying somepony’s house that he did not recognize made him ready to give it another shot right then. There was only one possibility that came to mind for the changeling, and that was that he’d managed to lie his way into a pony’s house in a starvation induced fog without them being aware of what he was. Reluctantly he thought back to his time in the hive to remember the old training that had been drilled into him for moments like this. Find an escape, do not let on what you are, escape quickly and silently, change disguises as soon as possible. The majority of those steps were easy enough to follow but the latter-most gave Anthelion a moment of pause. He did not like changing disguises. This was a major failing for a member of a race whose sole evolutionary advantage over anything was their ability to change their appearance. He couldn’t help it though could he? No, surely he could keep his disguise. He liked being ‘Pinwheel Pinion’, he’d grown attached to being that. No, he would simply ignore the lattermost step, he would escape and then pretend that he didn’t know the pony he’d fed off of. So, plan fully in mind, Anthelion moved to action. This was when Anthelion realized that there was something worse than waking up in a house where the owner didn’t know you were a changeling, it was waking up in a house where they did. Anthelion’s intent died suddenly, overtaken by the surprise of what was waiting for him. Very quickly his mind backpedaled on the list of assembled possibilities, clearly he hadn’t lied his way in anywhere. On a blackboard not too far away from the couch that he rested on was a surprisingly well drawn and even more surprisingly well detailed diagram depicting a changeling not unlike his true self and, next to it, a smaller drawing of his current disguise with both figures in the same pose. Lines were drawn tying paragraphs of smooth mouthwriting to parts of the changeling anatomy, including details that Anthelion hadn’t expected many ponies to know. It had in-depth explanations about how their disguises worked linked to the carapace, gave a basic description of how they managed to convert love into energy connected to the muzzle and mouth area. There was even an addendum that had been squeezed tightly against the edge of the blackboard with notes detailing water ingestion. Lastly were the paragraphs on the basics of changeling magic were linked to the, very deadly-looking, horn. And that was the other thing, why was it the old sort of changeling rather than the reformed clan led by Thorax? Most of the changelings in the area were there when the Great Change (as they had taken to calling it) occured. So, logically, it should have depicted the new form of the changelings because even if he had been found out as a changeling there was no way to tell the two apart while they retained a disguise. Unless… the one who had drawn it was told or shown that their subject was the old kind. Anthelion’s mind began to run in useless circles. Had he been discovered for what he was and caught? Had he been enchanted and made to deliver answers? Was that why he could only remember the night in flashes? But if that was the case than why did he feel like he’d been feeding, something he wouldn’t have been able to do if he’d been imprisoned? And also, why was he left on the couch of a very simple room if he was being detained? Questions swarmed his mind in an unparsable cloud and Anthelion began to look around the room, hoping that some answer to some question would make itself apparent if only to give him some truth to latch onto. It was then that he locked his gaze on the unconscious stallion who was curled into a ball at the foot of the blackboard. He was surrounded on all sides by piles of garbage and combined with his black mane he was all but invisible until Anthelion’s eyes caught the movements of his breathing. Despite the storm of whirring panic, some part of Anthelion realized the stallion must be freezing, completely devoid of any blanket and laying on the floor as he was, and demanded something be done about it. These demands only grew more insistent as the swishing tail tried to subconsciously draw the discarded garbage closer in a crude approximation of a blanket. What bothered Anthelion the most was that he felt like he knew him from somewhere. He remembered snippets of conversation and the blinding light of a flashlight and a lot of water. Anthelion sat up to get a better look at the stallion, hoping to stir more memories from his mind, and felt something heavy fall away from his barrel. Looking down he saw a well-worn, yet still useful coat that he hadn't seen before. Getting fully off the couch Anthelion, for a reason he couldn’t fully explain, took the coat in his muzzle and rested it across the back of the still sleeping stallion while his own thoughts continued to swim in confusion. His mind summoned memories of being carried, he remembered laying like saddlebags on a pony’s back while blood dripped down his forehead and muzzle. He remembered saying he didn’t want to go to a hospital, he remembered the stallion immediately accepting that desire with no reason to do so. He remembered the blur of buildings as his hunger ebbed ever so slightly. He remembered slipping in and out of consciousness as he was taken care of, he remembered helping with the diagram of a changeling. What he didn’t remember was how any of it had started, he didn’t remember how he had ended up on the stallion’s back. He remembered the stallion’s name. Intriguing Schemes. “Oh hey, you’re awake.” Anthelion wheeled in terror to face the sound of a mare’s voice behind him. Standing idly in the small kitchenette Anthelion saw a cream colored earth pony, her mane a two-tone mix of pink and blue. She watched him with careful attention, her hooves moving through some papers that rested on one of the oven’s burners. Then, with what seemed to Anthelion to be calculated purpose, she smiled a greeting. “Sorry about that, Calendar said I could fetch my stuff from his place this morning because he’d be gone on a train ride. Looks like he stuck around though.” She lied through her teeth here, but Anthelion let it slide as his mind focused on something else instead. “Calendar?” Anthelion asked, wondering if perhaps the house was shared by Schemes. “Oh? Did he not tell you his name?” She asked with a poorly hidden leading tone, nodding towards Schemes’ sleeping form. Now, Anthelion knew that the name of the pony unconscious in a pile of garbage was, in fact, Intriguing Schemes. He knew this in the same way that an architect knew a building was structurally unsound or the way a librarian knew the sorting system of their library. He also knew that if his own name had been “Intriguing Schemes” in a pony town he would’ve given any alias he could to avoid it becoming common knowledge. It didn’t set you up to gain the confidence of your neighbors. So, knowing these things, Anthelion lied. He did it much better than the mare did too. She had simply been trained in how to hide your tells and how to avoid giving yourself away, though certainly she was much better at it than the other ponies Anthelion had met. Meanwhile, Anthelion had not only learned how to lie from the best, he had been forced to use that knowledge to survive his whole life. It had been his job. Well... until recently anyway, and he thrived on it. The panic and anxiety died away as Anthelion began to construct a falsehood. Focusing on the finer details of what he remembered of the previous night that he could build a convincing narrative from. “Ah, of course. You’ll have to pardon me it was a busy night last night, hardly remember much of it.” Anthelion smiled a charming smile, but erred on the side of friendly rather than romantic, “Calendar and I spent a long time comparing notes on changeling biology. He seemed interested in the prospect.” This was almost a lie and Anthelion knew that she would no doubt see through it, Anthelion didn’t have enough knowledge on the situation to come up with anything terribly believable. That, however, was the point. Tucked behind his obvious front was a second less obvious one. He blushed slightly as he spoke, he glanced at the stallion multiple times, he stuttered. He set up a fake truth for the mare to find, for what stallion would admit to loving a stallion he had only just met? Who wouldn’t lie in that scenario? It had been easy to fake as well, because it wasn’t entirely untrue. So spot it she did, Anthelion knew because he could see the suppressed smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. No doubt she felt very clever about seeing through his lie so easily. “Ah I see.” She said, glancing to the board. “The old sort of changeling though? Why not the newer variety that Thorax is in charge of?” “Ah- well- Truth be told ma’am I’m not entirely sure. It was simply the kind he requested to know about.” “Oh? Did he tell you this before or after you came to his house?” “Before, naturally.” “And why is there a drawing of you on the board?” “He wanted a pose to reference.” The trick about lying, as all changelings learned early on, was not some ultimate rule about grand lies to hoodwink an entire nation, in fact the larger the group you were trying to convince of a lie the easier it was. Neither was the trick about getting your small lies in order. No, the trick to lying was answering questions with as little delay as possible without contradicting yourself and without stuttering. As the saying went, hesitation was the sand foundation upon which all lies would fall. Taking her eyes off Anthelion for a moment she retrieved a stack of papers from the counter then turned a measuring glance to her verbal opponent. He merely looked at her, raising an eyebrow in fake confusion. “Well it’s been nice talking to you Mr…” “Pinion. Pinwheel Pinion.” Said Anthelion with practiced ease. “It’s been nice talking to you Mr. Pinion. But I have to get going, I have someone waiting for me back in Ponyville, and I’d hate to delay our reunion any longer than necessary.” With that, at last, the discerning eye stopped its piercing gaze. “Until we meet again.” “Until then Mrs…” “Bon Bon. Ms. Bon Bon.” “Until then Ms. Bon Bon.” Anthelion kept his gaze on the mare for the majority but, importantly, not the entirety of her exit. Then, after she left, he counted to five. Then, at last, he exhaled. Panic had only just began to flood back when it was interrupted by an unexpected voice. “You lied for me.” Anthelion looked to the source, seeing the half-opened eye of Intriguing Schemes gazing back to him, even now the stallion looking like he was still asleep.  Anthelion felt his breath catch as he tried to come up with a new lie to cover his old lie, only to find himself completely uninterested in doing so. Then, faster than a bolt of lightning, the expression of Intriguing Schemes changed from confusion to happiness. “Thanks.”