Once again, Blackbird had made friends, and Dim was mystified by her ability to do so under what seemed like any circumstance. He himself had made acquaintances, it could be said, or maybe future associates, but Blackbird had made friends. Perhaps it had something to do with her being a Pie, or in this case, a Coffyn. Though he would not admit it, he was a teensy-weensy bit annoyed by her success, but could not say why.

Bombay Sable was intriguing to say the very least. Armed with a pistol, a sword, a dagger, and a wand; Dim had her sized up as a credible threat, a triple threat of firepower, cold steel, and magic. While Bombay was interesting, to say the very least, Pâté au Poulet held Dim’s fascination in a vice-like grip. More than anything, Dim wanted to know more about the enigmatic earth pony, but the Bard—frail, wan, and fragile—appeared to be having trouble staying awake.

Within Dim’s breast there was a curious feeling of pity that he could not shake, and it left him unsettled. He puffed away at a new cannabis blend—a gift from the Merchant’s Guild—and found it to his liking. It had cloves in it (which soothed his fragile lungs, thus making it easier to breathe) but it also had a strange fruitiness about it, which he found appealing. It was the local flavour, and what a fantastical local flavour it was.

Though he was hesitant to admit to it, Dim had found a kindred spirit in the Bard.

The apartment that Bombay and the Bard shared could only be described as exotic. Books were scattered everywhere—an indication that these were creatures of higher learning—and there were a number of musical instruments, mostly stringed ones. The room was lit with candles stuffed into empty wine bottles, (Dim knew the evidence of romantic poets when he saw it) rose petals littered the floor, and what had to be hundreds of charcoal drawings festooned the walls, almost all of which were of the Bard in various poses.

“Home for now,” Bombay said as she made a gesture with her paw and her far-too-fluffy tail swished from side to side, tugging on her tattered, poofy pantaloons. “Make yourselves comfortable. Read a book if you’d like, we don’t mind.” Sashaying across the room, she went to the cluttered table, picked up a bottle of wine, uncorked it, and looked inside.

Upon finding that it was empty, she let out a heartbroken meow.

“Don’t even try to blame that on me,” the Bard muttered to his feline companion.

Frowning, maybe pouting, Bombay set the bottle back down upon the table, meowed once more, and then just stood there with her paw resting upon her sword pommel. “We should do something… pleasurable.”

Something about how she purred the word pleasurable was intriguing to Dim, and without him realising it, his eyebrow raised. Catching a sidelong glance at Blackbird, he saw that she was every bit as interested as he was. Also, Blackbird seemed a little tipsy, but Dim had a hard time telling how tipsy. It wasn’t even noon yet.

“Blackbird… why do you go on all fours?” Bombay asked while her claws tapped against the jeweled pommel of her sword. “Most of the griffons I know, they’ve adopted a bipedal stance… keeps the hands free. I mean, it can be hard to use a sword or gun when you’re down on all fours. It’s time to evolve, Blackbird.”

Blackbird seemed taken aback and Dim watched as she struggled to respond. Yes, some griffons had adopted a bipedal stance, but many continued to walk around on all fours. Now, Dim found himself curious about their reasons, as going bipedal would give them a considerable advantage in any number of situations.

“I like being down here with my fellow ponies,” Blackbird blurted out. “All my friends are down here. If I stood up, I’d be as tall as a minotaur or maybe taller and all my friends would be way down near the floor. How could I make new friends if I couldn’t see them?”

Reclining on a cushion, the Bard let out a low fatigued chuckle.

“Here, in Istanbull, you will find that almost all of the griffons walk on two legs.” Bombay sighed, her tail swishing, and she began to pick lint from her doublet with her free paw, the one not resting on her sword pommel. “We Abyssinians once walked on all fours, but then we stood up and became civilised. Kept our paws clean. Our society flourished.”

Dim, a habitual quadruped, found that it was disorientating to adopt a bipedal stance.

“Perhaps we should visit the baths,” Bombay suggested. “My poor little Pot Pie doesn’t look well. His malaise seems awful today.”

Pâté au Poulet closed his eyes, rested his head on his hooves, and replied, “A symptom of having part of your soul stolen. It has left me a pale shadow of myself.”

“And the soul thief is still at large.” Bombay inhaled—so much so that her girth seemed to expand to almost twice its size—and her copper eyes flashed like lightning strikes with intense hatred. “Killing her seems almost impossible, and if I did somehow find a way, she’d probably just turn into a lich and nobody wants that.”

“Battling that one lich with Eerie was awful and unpleasant.” The Bard’s eyes opened for only a moment, he shuddered, and then closed his eyes once more. “What was his name? Something something Lizardo… even though he was dead he kept doing that thing with his tongue. Repulsive.”

“So you’ve been at this adventuring thing for a while.” Blackbird sat down upon the floor and made herself comfortable. “I bet you have lots of stories to tell.”

“Yes, but I’ve lost my knack to tell them well,” the Bard replied.

“It’s funny… since having part of his soul stolen, he can’t seem to use his gifts, his splendid gifts, but he still has the means to inspire others… just not himself. It seems like a cruel fate.” Bombay turned her head to gaze at her companion, and Dim could see the worried wrinkles crinkling her face. “‘Tis a cruel fate indeed.”

“Pâté au Poulet… it feels crazy to even ask… but have you ever seen a paper pony?” Mid sentence, Dim saw the earth pony’s eyes flutter open and his ears struggled to rise. “She weeps tears of ink… I can hardly remember her, but I do remember her.”

“I’m not crazy…” The Bard fought to lift his head and he moved as if he was elderly, of some great advanced age. “You’ve seen her? She shows me sheet music… she said my life was written in sheet music. I’ve had such strange dreams about her. She told me that my real talent is bringing out what is beautiful in others and inspiring love with that beauty.”

Dim’s ears perked until the curved, pointed tips were touching one another and he stared at the chestnut earth pony laying on a cushion. Bombay seemed frozen in place, not even her tail was twitching, and Blackbird remained silent as time seemed to stand still. Dim thought of his strange dreams and how an empty vessel was still a worthy vessel. Suddenly, he had so much to say, but no idea where to start.

“The paper pony saved me… she saved me… because of her I had the courage to keep going. Even though I can do nothing for myself, I still have some faint glimmer to inspire others, and that sustains me. Bombay… she is capable of such beautiful music. For all of her talents, for all of her skills, for all of the things she is capable of doing, she is first and foremost a musician. After I rescued her, after I gave her the gift of her own freedom, I gave her the gift of music.”

Meowing, Bombay swiped at her eyes with one paw while hiding her face with the other.

Now looking at Bombay, Dim noticed for the first time the bare patches around her neck, her wrists, and near her hind paws. Yes, all of the signs were there, just like with Fancy Chancy. No doubt, there was a story here and Dim was actually curious to know it. A blow needed to be struck for freedom, but how? Eerie seemed to have a plan and Dim was determined to hear her out when the opportunity presented itself.

“We should visit the baths”—Bombay’s voice sounded strangled with each word she spoke—“because I think we could all use a good soak for what troubles us.”

The lilac-scented water was hot enough to sting, and Dim hissed as he yanked his hoof out to keep his tender frog from being boiled. His companions were doing much the same, each of them reacting as they dipped various limbs into the steaming water. There was only one way to get into a bath this hot and a sly sneer made Dim’s lip curl upwards in amusement. This was certain to shock his companions and Dim was fine with that, because he wanted them to be shocked.

With a burst of magic, Dim set himself ablaze and his whole body was consumed by fire. His grullo pelt went from being an indiscriminate brown-grey-black, to the vibrant colours of a burning log that was turning into embers and coals. His pitch black mane and tail became roaring, crackling curtains of fire that dazzled the eyes. Uncomfortable with being a source of painful light, Dim turned his talent upon himself, snuffing out the light from the flames, which all turned into spooky black whisps.

Ablaze with black flames, Dim appeared to be something that the Abyss had vomited out in disgust.

With a sizzling hiss, Dim threw himself into the water, which extinguished some of the dark flames that engulfed his body, but the protection of the heat continued to linger, and he reveled in his companions’ wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock. This was an old trick from foalhood that had even impressed his mother. Dim was thoroughly and completely fire aligned, so much so that it was a detriment when casting other spells.

“Dim…”—Blackbird breathed his name—“is this how you survived that battle with Snowbird and his army?”

Not wishing to reveal all of his secrets, Dim did not respond, but let out a smokey, crackling chuckle that sounded like a log being rolled in a fire. The weak, the feeble minded, the superstitious, there was only one thing that they feared more than the dark, and that was the fire that lit up the night. That fateful night, he had showed them the worst of both.

“I once knew a unicorn that could self-ignite,” the Bard remarked as he submerged his hoof once more into the water.

“Oh?” Blackbird too, dipped her talons into the steaming pool and she cringed as she did so. “What happened to him?”

Dim’s smirk vanished and his flaming mane flickered as the Bard replied, “He died, crushed by a blizzard and tons of ice.”

Biting her lip, Blackbird slipped into the steaming water in a lithe, feline manner, yowling only once, and then she settled in beside Dim, who was sitting in neck deep water. Once she was, she was fine, and her body adjusted to the hot water. Too curious for her own good, she poked at Dim’s flaming mane and then jerked back her talons with a hiss when she was burned by it.

With a splash, Bombay plopped into the water and immediately transformed as if by magic into a drowned rat. As it turned out, she was more fluff and fuzz than anything else, and being wet caused a radical change of appearance. Then, before Dim could react, the Bard fell into the pool with a startled cry. He went under and it was Blackbird that pulled him up, yanked him around, and put him down in a sitting position.

“You are now a hot Chicken Pot Pie,” Blackbird said as the Bard sat gasping to fill his lungs with air. “So, tell me, one of you, what sort of pony is Eerie? Is she on the level? Is she a good pony? She seems like a good pony, and I find myself wanting to like her, but then again, I find myself wanting to like Dim too, so my judgment might be faulty.”

In protest, Dim shouted, “Hey!”

“Eerie,” Bombay began, “is a good pony, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that she is a good pony. She is devoted to harmonic order… perhaps a little too much so for my tastes. Eerie will most certainly go to extremes to achieve her agenda. She can be rigid and inflexible at times. But hey, that’s what we’re for. Between the lot of us, we usually reach a consensus. Eerie is aware that she is an extremist. Modesto is the peacemaker and diplomat of our group. He tends to stay neutral but leans towards good. Mars, he’s like Eerie, in that he is rigid and inflexible, but like his brother, he leans in the direction of actual harmonious good. Mars and Eerie argue a lot about what is good, what is harmonious, and what is order. If they start bickering, don’t worry, they really do care about one another, and once the steam blows off, everything will be fine again.”

“Huh.” Blackbird blinked once and then was silent.

“Pot Pie and I sort of fall in line with Modesto… we try to do what is good, most of the time anyhow, and we leave the extremes for others with better heads,” Bombay continued as she pulled the Bard into a soggy, water-logged embrace. “Ah, this feels good. I’d better enjoy this while I can, because all of this easy living is about to go away.”

“Eerie is planning something.”

“Yes, Dim, she is. And I’d love to tell you, but I can’t. Not until we’re all one-hundred percent certain that you can be trusted.” Bombay seemed apologetic and she offered Dim a drenched smile.

“I don’t know if I should be trusted,” Dim replied with a wry smile in return, “or Blackbird for that matter, as we are both disharmonious creatures.”

“I try to do good,” Blackbird whined as she gave Dim a gentle shove. “But Dim here… he’s like a forest fire. You can trust a forest fire to burn down the forest and not much else.” After giving Dim a teasing smile, she leaned a little closer, put one foreleg around Dim’s neck, and pulled him to her. “That said, I trust Dim implicitly and without reservation. He came and he rescued me, and he didn’t have to do that. He could have just saved himself. I think it is safe to say that Dim can be trusted to look after those who matter to him.”

This close to Blackbird, Dim wanted nothing more than to lean in the rest of the way and kiss her, but he wasn’t sure if his advance would be accepted. Anxious without understanding why, all Dim could think about was the fact that he cared about what Blackbird thought of him, and he didn’t want to violate that fragile sprout of trust. After everything that had happened, everything that had brought him to this point, this trust was something of infinite, unfathomable value to him, something dear, something precious.

“Look, let me just lay this out… I’ll do anything… anything that gets me closer to my mother, Starling. If it means joining some army, I’ll do it. If it means having to prove I can be trusted, I’ll do that too. I just want my mom back, that’s all.” Blackbird, trembling, pulled Dim a little closer, then, without warning, she crushed him against her with so much force that she made him cry out and then she blew out his flaming mane like blowing out candles on a birthday cake.

“I knew your mother, Starling,” Bombay replied, “but I didn’t know her like Eerie knew her. We only a met a few times and we basically just knew one another’s names. Starling didn’t want to be patient, she didn’t want to wait, and against Eerie’s wishes, she flew off to pick a fight. I’ve never seen a creature so consumed by revenge. Don’t take this the wrong way, Blackbird, but your mother was consumed.”

“I know…” Blackbird’s voice was foalish and wounded. “I know… and I worry that I’ll get consumed too. It’s really, really hard to be patient and to wait.” Sighing, Blackbird squeezed Dim even harder, and she slumped over while almost suffocating him.

Unnerved, squirming, Dim demanded to know, “How did you extinguish my mane?”

“Easy,” she replied, “I just blew it out, silly.”

Author's Notes:

But putting drip candles in wine bottles is tres cool.