Entry 022 - A Change Will Do You Good (Part Two)

“No.” It was the first thing I said to Gypsy as she tailed me. The moment after Elmwood suggested I do a tally of the changelings to ponies ratio was when I turned and walked out of the cavern, and the sewers, to escape back to the sanity of the upper half of the Stable. “No, no, no, no, and might I add, buck no.”

“Crow, stop and hear me out,” she ordered, “don’t make me freeze you again, because I swear on Luna’s silky wet underwear that I will.” I paused, then spun around to face her, and not just because she got me thinking about soil regal lingerie.

“I’ve been listening, hen, and what I hear is that you’re asking me to help insects who deceive ponies and wear disguises.”

“They are not hurting anypony here-”

“Are you certain about that, lassie?” I pushed out my chest, raising my head over her eye line, “they could be anypony at any time anywhere. Och, you could be one. Mole could be one! Buck, it makes my feathers itch thinking about it…” I scratched my wing uncomfortably. Gypsy waited patiently for me to stop.

“I’m not one. You want proof?” She sighed and sat down gazing into my eyes, “I remember the day I first met you. The Helping Hoofians brought you into the medical tent because they’d heard Elmwood crying out at the riverside for help. He then disappeared so I was lumbered with looking after your sorry, broken ass.” She smirked and I sighed, unable to avoid smiling too.

“Nopony asked you to.”

“Sure, I was gonna let a sexy piece of flank like you become worm food…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Molly isn’t a changeling either. I checked with the Tunnels, they’re one-hundred and ten percent certain.” It wasn’t much reassurance but it was enough. I lowered my eyes to the floor.

“I’m not just refusing to help your plight because I don’t like what those-” I took a moment to remember that we’d just walked into a crowded place, and had to force a smile to the pale yellow and pink maned mare who greeted us blithely, before carrying on with her journey. “...What those other things are. Even if I wanted to help them, which I don’t, I still have Crusty watchin’ me like a hawk. I cannae go sneaking around under his dry, cantankerous beak.”

“That’s why you are perfect for this task,” she hissed back to me, “if anything, you can say it’s part of your investigations for Mr. Nasty. It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything he hasn’t already.” I stood looking, or what I felt was an impression of being, determined not to give in to her bossing me about. She probably sensed that too, as she released the mean spirit that was turning my friend into a militant pimp, and let a rueful serenity come over her. “Crow, I’m sorry for blaming you for the foal. I’m wrong, it’s not entirely your fault, I came along of my own volition. Am I a little jealous of Molly? Yeah, a little…”

She waited for me to say something, and I really tried, as the pair of us took seats on the ironwork floor. Yet, the more I gazed at her and the harder I tried to find some words that would tell her how sorry I was for the loss of her unborn, or that I forgave her envy of my mate, or even scolding her for thinking of leaving Elmwood for me, the fewer things came to my head that I could actually offer her as a response. In the end, I went with the easy option.

“What do you want me to do, Gypsy? I cannae promise I’ll do it, but I can promise I’ll try.”

“I need you to find out what Poxy and our gang is doing, and why,” she answered, “since we got in here, Elm and I expected more fight from her, but she’s given us no clues on what the Raiders will do next, even when I’ve asked. It worries me that she’s being so secretive with us.” She patted my shoulder slowly, showing me the seriousness of her scarlet eyes. ”Elm told me you discovered something weird went on with her and that Sticks guy, and we could all do with knowing what made him go gung-ho in the museum. I want to know why she hasn’t caused more chaos since then, too.” She saw the face I was pulling and lowered her ears. “I’m not asking you to seduce her-”

“But you know that’s the only way I’ll get those answers, Gyps,” I finished for her, giving a long, low grouse. I considered my options and clicked my talons on the metal in thought. From somewhere in town that I’d still not found, a bell chimed to announce a new hour, and I witnessed the Stable begin its transition from night to day before me. The ‘sun’ positioned on the metal sky started to click downwards, as the moon rose up from behind the building on the opposite end. I looked around at the shops in the districted we’d sat amongst, where ponies were turning the placards in their door windows, stepping out, locking up and offering each other a pleasant night. It was a twisting ball of calming versus unnerving energies inside me, to know that the lives of the Stable Dwellers continued as usual up above the creatures that fed on their joys and passions. The untold truth was that anypony here could be a changeling, a thought I hurriedly dismissed as too frightening for conscious thought.

“I’ll do what I can,” I eventually decided, “but I won’t cheat on Molasses Candy.”

“That’s all I ask,” Gypsy said, with a smile. After a small hesitation, she pulled me into her and hugged me close, pressing her face into my Stable suit. Without a qualm, I wrapped my legs around her and held her for minutes, stroking her mane and accepting her earlier apologies silently. It was only when she drew back that I realized her eyes had leaked, but my attempts to address them were brushed off.

“I’m glad you found Molasses. I think-”

“She could be good for me?” I offered, grinning, “aye, so do I”

“No,” she said as she got back to her hooves, “I think you’ll be good for her.” My stunned mug received a small nuzzle before my friend bid me a good night and took her leave. Regardless of my new relationship status, I still admired that shapely back end.

“You’re still a pervert, then?” she called back to me jovially, causing me to squawk and flap.

“I was-wasn’t-”

“Haha! Goodnight, Flaps!” she offered one last wave before disappearing away to the same direction we’d come from. I pondered on whether to get a head start on my new mission, or whether to try completing the Seven-Day task, but in the end, I knew what I wanted more than anything. I started up the messages on my PipBuck to drop a note in Mole’s inbox.

Bucky poked his green luminescent head onto my screen. I was briefly relieved to see that Elmwood had not removed him entirely, that as until the avatar’s excitable young voice emitted from a speaker on my cuff.

“Hi, there! It looks like you’re about to arrange a buck sesh with your lady-friend. Need some help?” I squawked and covered the speaker, looking around to see a couple of ponies walking past and looking at me with surprise and confusion at the odd phrase that left my device. The stallion, in particular, looked horrified.

“Heh, och, sorry about that,” awkwardly laughing, I knocked on my PipBuck, “blasted thing’s broken again. Technology, aye? Nay built to last…” The mare feigned a chuckle, swiftly glancing at my newly demonic machine and urging her partner to keep walking as quickly as they could. I hissed a curse to Elmwood and lifted my chunky watch to my beak.

“Nay, no help. What’s he done to ye, Bucky?” The sprite just blinked at me as innocent as a lamb. I hit several buttons and knobs until I found the one to dismiss him and continued muttering what I’d do the Bucky’s defiler as I wrote my message.

“Crowella MacRural:
Wnt 2 meet up, Fuzbut?”

I didn’t need to wait long for the reply.

“Molasses Candy:
Oh, golly gosh yes! Come to the Sweet Elite! I got you a surprise…Winking face smiling face heart heart heart!”

That was all the convincing I needed. Ten minutes later, I had Mole excitedly showing me the candles she’d set up around the shop, the meal (which she called ‘noodle surprise!’) she’d been out to get us, and a rolled out, pumped up bed with a duvet behind her counter that she’d managed to collect for us.

“OH! And I have to tell you,” she began eagerly as I discovered new sights at every turn, “I finished my song and the judges were really kind, and I GOT A~Mmmpf!” I didn’t find out what she got as I shut her up that moment with my beak. What had earned the long, tongue-dancing kiss was the bottle of whiskey she’d bought just for me (while several bottles of Sunrise Sarsaparilla were set aside for her). I think I smooched the words right out of her mouth.

We dined that night like a pair of Princesses, drank like a pair of old friends and made love like reckless teenagers. We didn’t try anything we hadn’t done in the bath-house as I was still building Mole’s confidence but love still beat a steady drum between us. Compared to the beds in the warehouse it was rough sleeping and yet for me with my belle in my warm grasp, it was the best night’s sleep I’d ever had in my whole life.

A memorial. That was a new one for me.

Not that my merry band of Raiders hadn’t celebrated the lives of dead friends and family before, but such festivities had previously consisted of one of the deceased’s closest allies yelling the name at the top of their voice over a drunken pack of their mates. The announcement would lead to every pony quaffing booze until nopony can walk. I remember one such occasion, a stallion named Short Cut got too close to a Mirelurk, got himself wholly severed into two pieces. He was an absolute legend, so we made a big thing about his passing with a bonfire, dancing, the works. Woke up in bed with his sister, so it really wasn’t that bad a memory…

Stable T-Thirty ceremonies were more respectful affairs compared to those. Even the entrance to the Gardens, where the gathering was to be held, was dressed in white cloth and pink and peach flowers. Mole and I got up early to make ourselves more respectful for the affair, and as Mole agreed on details with Gizmo on her PipBuck, I watched the pretend moon drop once more, and the sun-light lift from her shop window. We got moving shortly after, soon meeting him on this elegant pathway into the underground meadow, where he greeted us both with a big friendly hug. We could tell he was already wrought with nerves, so I let him have my wing over his back for comfort, while my filly stood by him on his other side, trying her best not to get teary too.

Several chaperones on the door welcomed us in, passing us flyers covering the itinerary of the funeral and telling us to come to them if we needed anything else. I took a look at the glossy leaflet in my claw, which had been printed to include the faces of all the ponies who’d died in the last few days. Not all had photos and those that did not have a grey StableTec logo in their place with their names and ‘Stable Fifty-Four’ printed in their place. Of the others; some posed smiling, some held important and serious expressions, but all reminded me that none of them believed their lives would be cut short. They’d never ascend, not the way they’d believe they were going to at least.

My gut lurched. I’d killed plenty of fools for plenty of reasons and most of them deserved it, but there were always consequences to taking someone off of the earth-plane, and I had a clawful of dead souls on my conscience.

Were their eyes judging me? Even the grinning ones were now frowning, livid that I should be able to walk free as they ended their days in a furnace.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Mole,” Gizmo was saying distantly, “you did well…”

“How can you live with yourself, knowing what you did,” each face snarled at me, their eyes obscured in glowing embers, their features shrinking, changing into foal-like creatures full of hate.

“It was an accident,” I whispered painfully, crystals chugging through my blood, cutting me with cold precision. The corners of the pictures bubbled, the corners of the children’s faces licked with the tongues of flames. The furs and skins blackened, the cheeks blistered and bloody, the fire spreading quickly through each mane. They opened their mouths to scream murderously as their throats and sockets melted liquid puss-

“NO!”

“Crow!” My body was encased in a warm, tight jacket, pinning my front legs to my sides. Breathing hurt and the lights flared across my returning sentience. “Come back, Crow, come back, it’s okay, it’s safe, you’re safe, Captain!”

“Come back, Molasses, that’s only making her worse,” Gizmo gathered the bundle of love with good intentions off into his legs and heaved her to a place she could still be near without crowding me. I gave a dazed cluck at her, my world slowly finding normality amongst the chaos my regrets and karma brought me. The blazing lights became manageable, and the explosions in my head left a hollow, numb feeling. I lowered my eyes to the pamphlet, which my claws had skewered during my fit. The faces that were visible were regular once more, not a scorch mark in sight.

“I’m fine, really,” I got to my feet quicker than I should have done and staggered into Gizmo as he bent down to examine me. He caught me like he was catching a buckball.

“You sure,“ he asked with a tone of concern, “just sit down a moment longer.” I did as I was told, since my body weight took a bit of getting used to once more, and looked to Mole’s worried image with a sigh.

“I am fine,” I reiterated, my breathing finding the proper manner of exertion, a gulp or two between slow breaths better than hyperventilating.

“But you were screaming,” Moley told me softly, “you looked at the pictures first, and then you stopped, and then you started screaming really, really loudly! Why’d you started screaming, what scared you?” Her voice rose from the shy worry to a loud panic, Giz calming her down with a hug. He did look to me for answers, however, and when I saw the revelers and the guard who had stopped and observed around me, I could see they all wanted the same.

“Spider.” I told them all, “got a wee phobia of them, and one big, nasty black one was on my page. False alarm, sorry, folks.” I answered drolly, to chuckles, head shakes and a return to regularity.

“Sounded more like a cry of guilt to me,” rolled a snotty voice into my previously unjudging circle of friends. I shifted to see behind me, where I found an imposing pink stallion with thick, tall, curled locks. “Better you know now, Bird. Not everyone here thinks it’s a good thing you or your friends are here.” He kept his head high, moving between my colleagues and me with one eye fixed on me, demanding I justify my existence to this (rhymes with) runt. “Is it just a coincidence you happen to be at every horrific event our Stable has seen?”

“And you are? Apart from a puffed up windbag?” I asked. Mole wasn’t waiting for his answer, pushing between us and giving him a furious stare.

“Get lost, Bubble Candy!” she snapped, her voice frying with anger and hooves stamping into the floor, “or I’ll tell Hardy you’re being mean to my friends!”

“You’ll tell Hard?” The second Candy sibling to grace me with his presence since I’d joined Stable T-Thirty sneered at his little sister, “we’re not foals anymore, Sugar-Breath, and you need to grow up fast.” He pointed sharply at me, “you’re hanging out with a killer, she’s no Stable Dweller like us.”

“No, she’s not!” Mole looked back to me, completely certain of her assumptions regarding me, “she’s a hero and a good griffon, and she’s my friend!” She turned to him. “You’re just a… a…. A poop head!” He laughed, and this only proved to incense her more. In a squeal of rage, she was on him with her hooves buffering off of his chest. Her blows didn’t have the strength to land but the intention of her fighting for my honor still had me puff up in pride. I was about to step in as he pushed her when a deeper voice broke them up.

“ENOUGH! Both of you, back up, one yard!” A rhubarb and cream colored stallion with his mane slickened back stepped into the fight and had them apart with barely any forcefulness at all. His eyes matched Mole’s, but barely had any of her warmth. I quickly recognized the mare beside him as the New Maud, Mole’s sister, and had to guess that the mediator was her oldest brother, Hard. That penetrating stare even had Bubbles flinching.

“Hard, Bubble called my friend a-”

“I heard, Molasses,” Hard advised her, snorting her into silence and thumping the floor with a hoof. Rather than address the situation, or apologize to me, he dismissed the immediate event and walked forward again, head held high. “Bubble, come along. You too, Molasses, you’ll sit with your family for once.

“But I-” she began.

“Molasses Candy, “ even I sat upright at his commanding tone, the energy behind his voice ordering respect. Mole’s cheerful ears became sad and despondent. He kept walking, as did his brother and nearest-in-age sister, while Mole trailed at the back long enough to give me a sorry glance.

“Bye, Crow,” came her reprimanded farewell, “I’ll see you soon, I’ll-”

“Molasses Candy,” her brother growled again. She scampered away with them, but not before managing to hop around on one leg to point out the PipBuck on her right leg, blowing me a dorky kiss too. I nodded with a rueful smile, blowing a kiss back to her. I giggled a little too fondly, and it roused Gizmo’s suspicion enough to prompt a question.

“You and her. Not filly-fooling, are ya?” he asked. I lifted an eyebrow, feeling invincible when I should have been apprehensive. I made a small mistake.

“What if we were? There are no laws against it.”

“Actually, Crow, there is,” he warned me, to a sharp squark from me. I looked to him to see if he was joking, but his face was deadly serious. “It ain’t the wishes of Celestia; all thems who wish to ascend must be pure in love. ‘Male must love a Female, and she must love him in return. Should he or she take love without permission, or love his or her peer, which means the same gender, by mistake, then punishment must be sought if they are to ever ascend after.’ That’s Celestia’s second decree for the rules of ascensions,” he rolled off, what sounded like a legal clause in a document, from memory, and had me gazing at him in horror.

“So,” he finished, giving me a serious but kind nod, “I hope you and her ain’t filly-fooling.”

“I… she… we…. Shit, I … No-No, we’re not.” I muttered, feeling my heart self-destruct. So this was why Mole had been so reluctant to accept her feelings for me. This was why it had been a matter of secrecy. For all this time, I thought it was just her siblings who were against our love, or that the Stable had been in the ground so long that they’d not known how far Equestria had come in it’s wounded state. The bottom of my world had just dropped out, and I was at a loss as to what I could possibly do next.

Gizmo patted me on the shoulder as if that was to convince me not to worry about it, or him, or anything. He moved on to the other matter I had been accused of, with, “most here know you was there to save them ponies,” he blundered through the sentence to explain that very few felt the same way as that bastard Bubble. I nodded limply, wanting nothing more than to return to my bunk and curl up.

“You gonna be okay, Crow?”

“Aye,” I watched the Candy clan find their place in the congregation. We moved to find a space of our own, which allowed me to take in the beauty of the grand expanse the Stable called a Garden. Pre-war photos and paintings of the old gardens looked about as fantastical as comics when compared to their current day counterparts, but this was the closest I’d seen to anything matching them. I nearly sat down in shock once more.

It started before us as short plateaus, a stairway to actual heaven. Each platform up wore lush carpets of emerald spikes, painted with splashes of a sleeping rainbow that swept long, perfect lines of color along the walls and beneath shrubs. Just like in Maud’s memory, walls and flowerbeds had been dressed with gems as well as actual plants and herbs, all in amazingly good health. And then, there were the trees.

Ah, aye, the trees. Not skeletons of warriors lost to time and the fires of the apocalypse, but intense, mightily built soldiers, proudly wearing their leafy tunics, their trucks of brown, clean armor keeping them steadfast on their tall and unchallenged bodies.

From the most Southern side, a waterfall fell over the exposed rocks from within the cavern wall, which somepony had built a fetching archway of gleaming gems around. The falls spilled into a shaking blue road which twisted and wound under quaint pale bridges and snoozing, dangling willows. It swirled away into the gap on the other side of the garden, into a space that looked curiously filled with stars of every shade of a paint set. Unfortunately, we were not headed there, much to my disappointment.

Beside the river, on the most extended, flattest field, was a large stage which appeared to be a permanent fixture, nearly puncturing the fake blue sky painted and partly flaking on the steel panels. It’s lights focused on the center stage, where five ponies sat in a lane facing their audience. I could make out Procrustean, to my loathing, and watched the eldest Candy sister climb up the side steps of the stage to join on the sixth chair as well. In the central seat sat Overlook, his side turned to us as he greeted Maud Jr. The other ponies up there were a mystery to me.

Encompassing the stage in serene reverence, the crowd of ponies from all backgrounds of the Stable stood to wait for the service to begin. We walked in to join the back of the group, not wanting to push through and cause a scene. That was what Gizmo told me, anyway, and I didn’t question his metal any further than that.

“Hello, Crow,” I recognized Poxy’s smoky tone anywhere and it struck me under my diaphragm uncomfortably, as I turned my head slowly to face the speaker. I forgot to answer immediately, in my surprise to find her here after her potential part in the murder of the guards in the museum, if Garden’s holotape was to be believed.

It took me a step further into disbelief at the new look Poxy was sporting, her tear tattoos covered by make-up, her mane style and tail given a lift, with more color to its appearance too, and her eyes looking less tired in this light. Elm would have been proud of her in some small way. Then again, after the sights the day before, I wasn’t so sure this was her.

“Poxy, that is you, aye?”

“Well, that’s... one way to greet a girl, I guess,” she responded, a little put out by my question. “It’s me. Do I really look so different?”

“Sorry... After the week I’ve had, I’m having a problem recognizing faces…” It did enough to cover the confusion the head Raider was feeling. Beside her stood Whiskey Jack, still as a gravestone, an angel unaware he’d sided with the devil. However, I couldn’t tell him that, nor could I start probing her for information on Brittle Sticks and the museum raid here. It just wasn’t the right time or place.

Any thought to tactics was lost, unfortunately, as I saw Overlook step forth, silence the crowd and took the microphone from its stand. I thought back to what the Tunnel Bugs had told me; he knew about the changelings. He probably knew a whole lot more, too. Yet, he could stand here as smug as shit giving a eulogy for ponies he may have had a hoof in the killing. I felt rage bubble quietly in my gut.

“What’s he wearing?” I asked, trying to hide my anger with curiosity.

“Excuse me?” asked Gizmo, while trying to listen to the Overstallion’s beginning speech and help me at the same time. Thankfully, Poxy picked up on what I meant a lot quicker.

“She means the cape,” indeed, Overlook was in his usual blue attire, but now had a red cape cross his back that flowed up to his tail and down over one shoulder, ending just before it could drag on the floor while hiding one foreleg. “I was just thinking the same thing. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been walking around dressed just like one of us. Is it some ceremonial thing?”

“Oh, that,” Whiskey nodded carefully, “yeah, it’s a mark of the Overstallion or Overmare’s respect. He wears it as recognition of an important event, like a cutiesena or a wedding. They take it with them when they ascend, and a new one is made for the next Overpony by the top fashionista. It always has to be red, though.”

“How long has Overlook been Overstallion, again?” I murmured. I knew Bones and PJ had mentioned it to me the other day, but I couldn’t recall an actual figure.

“Nine years,” Whiskey Jack whispered. “After everypony lost confidence in Shepherd Pie, the previous Overmare. Overlook came up fairly quickly as a surprise contender in the elections, but he said the right things and made the right promises; no more blackouts, more ascensions, and more singing. He stuck by his pledges, too. Guess you can say that much about the stallion.” His voice dropped, having no finesse or spirit to his tone. He had an air of loss, and although he faced forward I could see that a dash of red surrounded his bluebell eyes. I looked to Poxy for an answer, but she too was now listening to what the Overstallion had to say. Choosing to bring it up later, I focused as well.

“... As a Stable, we are one family,” he told us through his speech, “and today that family is smaller. But, as I look out at all of you, I see that those souls did not live lonely lives, as they each touched us in some way great or small. They were loved, they were cherished, and among all things, their memories will not go forgotten…”

As he gestured to a stone plinth that was covered in the names of the lost, being revealed from under a white cloth by Maud Jr., something struck me. I wanted to defend myself, but then realized that I was not being attacked, instead, the great, muddy-ginger form of Gizmo leaned on me as a post to bawl on. I looked to Poxy again, to find she was comforting a sad but not sobbing Whiskey. There was something in the expression she wore, some kind of regret, and yet I didn’t figure it out straight away.

The chaperone ponies walked the lines amongst us, passing out lit candles to those who could hold them. Mostly, these were collected by the unicorns, who could clasp them with their telekinesis, but as Gizmo was without a horn on his head to take one, he forlornly refused. That broke the bitch in me, I couldn’t let Garden Path’s true love be unable to hold the last light for her. I just couldn’t.

“Hey, lassie, can we have one of those...? Aye. Thank ye,” I grasped the candle in my left claw and tucked my right foreleg around his closest front leg.

“There. Now we both hold it for her, aye lad?” I told him, like a parent covering for a foal. He sniffled snottily and cradled me as close as he could while the service rolled on. Words like “valor,” “bravery,” and “greatness of heart,” were used like notes in a thesis that had to be addressed to please some wizened old professor. They didn’t do justice to Garden’s real character. I gave Giz a nudge and moved my beak to his ear.

“The first time I met Garden Path, she was saving my life. The last time I met her, she was saving the life of my ma-my friend. If it wasn’t for her selflessness, I wouldnae be here to hold this candle with you. I think she’d want you to get busy living, loving, and lookin’ after yerself. Aye?”

The blues came to town, and I thought I had done the wrong thing as I watched him fracture and break down, dropping flat to the floor and covering his face with crossed legs to cry. I leaned down to him and gave a startled flap as he brought me down to be nuzzled with sodden cheeks and thanked gratefully. By the time I was back on my feet, Overlook was completing his eulogy.

“Thank you, Princess Celestia, for the gift of life. Thank you, Princess Luna, for showing us how to respect the end of our days. What over all of your beloved children, on this plane and above. As we are all in your tender care.” He raised his candle above him, a gesture for all others with a flame to lift theirs too. With Gizmo’s leg on mine, our droplet of fire flickered safely above us, showing the way home for our strayed friend.

The Stable was moved by our sign, as its lights dimmed sooner than was previously scheduled. At first, I feared another blackout, as did the concerned murmurs of many others.

“We bid goodnight to our sleeping family and friends,” announced the Overstallion, and I realized this was planned. The beaming light in the ceiling mimicked the sunsets of old with rose and orange hues, and then the paler, beryl light in a crescent shape took its place in the metal sky. Twilight fell over the whole sky, including the twinkle of potential stars for that real touch of nostalgia.

Upon the call of the night, the swaying orange tears above the ponies were soon not alone, as a trail of forest fireflies through the garden entrance from the Stable to join up along the top of the river. Groups of them split up and unsurprisingly formed the ghoulish algae-colored bodies of the Minstrels once more. I shuddered at the sight and dug my claws into the soft earth, remembering the scare that one had given Gypsy and me before Private had shown up. Reminded of that, I then felt ashamed that I’d treated him that way after he’d come to our rescue days before. Each changeling had been good to me, and I’d reacted in a bigoted, unnecessary manner. It was the kind of attitude I expected and probably inherited, from my mother.

Trepidation made me keep one eye on the false ponies, expected them to launch a fresh onslaught on this innocent crowd.

“Not the nice singers these Stable ponies paint them as, are they?” I heard Poxy say. Once again, I had no chance for me to answer, as Overlook began reading out the names of the victims that had passed in their rotten week.

I listened without listening, the names floating off past the hundred heads of the assembly, where they rose and bumped along the iron casing like lost balloons. We were the foals who were feeling the regret and sadness of letting go when we should have held on tight. Each name was read out aloud by Overlook, and while many were lost on me, there then came the ones I’d heard of.

“Teatime Dunker,” Ah, yes, I recalled the stallion Garden had disliked. I wasn’t sure whether to feel sorry for them. Gizmo gurgled grievously as, “Garden Path,” joined the ethereal crowd. He fell into my feathers and I patted him comfortingly.

“Party Ring,” was next, and just when I thought I’d heard all of the names I’d recognize, one more shocked me.

“Whiskey Tango.” Whiskey? I lifted my lead head and moved my gaze to the stallion by Poxy’s side. His eyes were big and hot as he held a secret stare at the Overstallion. This was no coincidence. I knew at that moment that whomever Whiskey Tango had been, they had been related to Whiskey Jack.

Poxy caught my eye. I could tell from the fearful scrutiny she gave me that she knew she’d shot herself in the hoof. In some ways, she seemed as guilty as sin, while in others she appeared to still have a fiercely righteous trust that there was something fair in the mistake she had made. She was a cornered, injured hellhound that was not prepared to lie down and die.

Despite wanting the stick to my assignment for Gypsy and keep my attention on this mare, I noted the movement to my side as the Stable Prayer was re-recited. Hot Shot, that smarmy talent critic I’d only had the displeasure of meeting once so far, appeared in my candlelight beside Gizmo, chillingly cheerful regardless of the mournful observance.

We closed the last verse, and begun an entirely new song, to my utter dread.

“We will be singing one of the new songs brought to us by the ponies of Stable Fifty-Four,” the other mare from the collection of six head ponies on the stage, whom I then recognized as Midnight’s sister, told us. “The words are on page five… ‘I Understand Love now,’ by Stardust.” She gestured, and Maud Jr. levitated a spinning orb from her lap with her pale carnation horn. It lit up brightly, and a tune I knew reasonably well began to play. Stardust was a famous singer on the Wasteland radio stations, he’d been around for years.

Hot Shot, despite being an insufferable prick, was also one of the most influential judges in the Stable, as far as most ponies here were concerned. He was about to hear me do my best impression of a singing voice, and I knew I was going to come across as a drunken idiot. I cringed, glancing to the Minstrels, now wishing they’d give me a free pass or kill me on the spot.

It wasn’t that I wanted to ascend, especially after hearing the point of view from the Tunnel Bugs on the situation. This was just stage fright, pure and simple. I rose my head to the ceiling, pulled my wings in tight, and cawed.

I sweated, panicked, peeping around at everypony as my voice croaked and squeaked in all the wrong places. Miraculously, no pony was watching or listening to me, too busy singing the song on their own. No pony, except for Hot Shot. As I stared at him in horror, he merely smiled at me.

Why was he smiling? Was he deaf? Did he think I could sing? All of these thoughts and more hopped through my head as I stumbled over the song, confused and uncertain as to his interest in me. Was he laughing at me? Resisting the urge to get angry and flip him the bird, I kept going, lifting my head back up.

As the song came to a close, there was no joyful applause for one another, none of the glee of the first day the minstrels sang with us. Just a mutual air of appreciation for such a pretty song, and the profound loss and respect for the memorialized dead.

“May Celestia and Luna watch over you all,” finished Overlook, and with that, the obituaries were over.

“Lady Griffon!” I’d tried to get away from him as quickly as I could, but Hot Shot proved quicker and closed off my escape. Even so, I attempted to perform the same trick I’d pulled on Private Joke the day before.

“Hey Poxy, how are y-”

“I was hoping!” Hot Shot interrupted me as I was interrupting him, “You and I could have a little chat.” I looked to Poxy over his shoulder who shrugged at me unhelpfully beside Gizmo and Whiskey.

“Um,” I replied indifferently, and with nothing intelligent to follow the utterance I started to go again.

“You cannot sing,” Shot said ruthlessly.

“Wow,” I was lost for words at his sheer heartless criticism.

“That was an understatement. A drowning clown with its vocal cords slashed would be a more harmonious sound than what you just screamed during that last song.”

“Okay, aye, I get yer point. Now if you can kindly let me take my bagpipes elsewhere-” I gritted my beak, sorely tempted to sock him in the face which would have happened if it had been less of a somber occasion. I was annoyed that his words hurt me more than I was letting on. Surprisingly, this didn’t convince him to leave me alone.

“Bagpipes? My dear even bagpipes sound sweeter than your horrid deathly cries-”

“Right, you!” I rolled up my sleeve, “I’m giving you to the count of three-”

“But I can change that!” He whispered as he shot his snout straight to the side of my head, his fragrance smelling earthy, citrus-y and frustratingly good. He pulled back with a grin at me, then thrust forward like some terrifyingly intimate mating dance. “After all, you are a celebrity in this Stable now, although I could have predicted that from the off. A griffon, the first in one hundred years to step into this Stable, if not longer than that? That is fascinating, and I want to be with you on the rest of your journey through your life and career here…”

“Career?” I grunted, feeling my eyebrow go up of its own accord. “Listen, that’s all well and good, pal, but I was just going to help my wee friend with her candy store…”

“A confectionary shop?” He went still for a second, then broke into raucous laughter, “that’s a joke? The famous Trottish wit I’ve heard so much about? Good one! Oh, we are going to get along famously.” He patted my shoulder and pulled me in, insisting on speaking softly into my ear once again, “you’re the Guardian Griffon now, you’ve got a reputation to uphold. We cannot have you working like some lowly dweller, nor singing like a broken Minstrel.”

“I-”

“Crow!” I turned towards the welcome interruption. Midnight Dreamer was pushing her way through the moving crowd towards me, trying to wave a hoof. I gave her a grin and a salute, then shuddered as Hot Shot had one last private word with me.

“Think this over. If you decide to make the right choice, come to my studios. I may not be there, but my associates will make you more than comfortable.” He tapped at his PipBuck in front of me, and a new message appeared on mine.

I was given directions, and a note advising of my free pass into the stallion’s headquarters. I was still reading it as Midnight reached me, but as I looked up I could see she was treating Hot Shot like sour milk.

“Mr. Shot?” She asked him coldly, “do we have a mutual friend?”

“We shall see, DJ,” he answered, equally as frostily. “I have actual work to do now, I cannot be seen with a ‘play-along reporter.’ Think about the offer, Guardian Griffon.” He gave me a grin and a wink, although I still felt itchy maggots crawling in my feathers from the greasy impression the horse left me with as he trotted away. I shook them off and gave Midnight a cheerful smile, to be met with her continued displeasure.

“Tell me you didn’t accept anything from him?” she questioned. I shrugged candidly.

“I didn’t get a wee chance to, hen. Guess you aren’t on his Hearth’s Warming card list?”

“And all the happier for it!” She smirked at me, before getting serious again. “Whatever he offers you, don’t take it. He isn’t a traditionalist…” She trailed off, looking to me to see if I understood her drift. I lifted my shoulders again and shook my head.

“Not sure I follow?”

“He uses MVAs! ‘Magical Voice Augmentations’,” she exclaimed hotly, bringing a hoof down, “it changes your voice so that you sound better, but it isn’t you singing.”

“Och, really? You can sound like a real wee singer?” I gasped, much to Dreamer’s growing annoyance. She gaped at me for a moment before giving a disbelieving laugh.

“No, Crow, that’s not a good thing! It’s destroying the music industry. The ponies who deserve a chance and sing well based on talent are pushed aside for ponies who have a magical voice pretending to be good. It’s unfair and it’s causing contemptible ponies to ascend faster. If you don’t believe me, go over and see for yourself. You only have to take one look at the stallion there by the name of Black Cherry to get what I mean,” she growled his name, snorting steam.

“Black Cherry?”

“A stallion here, was an amazing singer and guitarist before Mr. Shot got his claws in him,” she clicked her tongue before glancing at my talons and rethinking her response, “no .” I contemplated her approach to this and then gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” I explained to her, sitting and feeling myself visibly shrink, “I ...cannae sing. Something that might make me sing better? Och, it sounds like a wee dream to me, but if you say it’s a bad thing then I’ll listen to ye, Dreamy. I’ll stay away from him and swing by your hall at some point instead, so long as ye promise me I willnae get laughed off of the stage.” I earned myself a beam from her for that and the mare pressed herself against me for a slow hug.

“That’s all I ask- Oh. Hey there!” I felt the presence beside me of who she was talking to and glanced to my left at Poxy as the mares stretched out hooves to be shaken. “Midnight. You’re a friend of Crow’s, right?”

“You could say that. Epoxy, nice to know you, Midnight.” The ankles hooked and the legs waved together in the air, “Whiskey, Gizmo and I are going to be having our small wake at Hopscotch Brewery. Do either of you want to come?”

“I’ll pass.” Dreamer lifted her hoof back and gave a regrettable motion, “it’s not just my Radio show that’s Tee-Total.” She offered me a grinning wink, and I rather artlessly gave one back, seeing her off with a cuddle. She was warm and smelled of peaches. I liked peached. Epoxy dismissed her with a roll of the eyes and waited for my answer.

I think we both expected me to say no. I was poised to refuse, and it was on the tip of my tongue when I realized to my disdain that this was going to be the perfect opportunity to get Poxy in a vulnerable place. After a few drinks, she’d be a bit more pliable, and then I could convince her to give me a little more information that would help Gypsy’s task. I had my answer.

“Ye ever known me to say no to a wee dram, Poxy?”

Cards slapped on the table to the sound of raucous laughter. We’d encouraged Oaky and Smokey Hopscotch to join us in toasting the dead, which evolved into a game of One-O and more whiskey. Time had passed since the sorrow of the morning, food had been consumed and with Gizmo cheered considerably too, we were each buzzing with drunken frivolity.

“Smokey and I have been thinking,” started Oaky, laying down his play in the game, “how would you like to be a sponsorship deal with us, Crow?”

“I’ve already got a sponsor,” I smiled lopsidedly, “Mol-asses-us is my sponsor, and she has the cutest wee Mole ahs-”

“Oh, that’s not the kind of sponsorship we mean,” advised Smokey, seemingly oblivious to the confession I was about to make. “No, we mean to officially announce you as our stakeholder, support you financially and productively in return for your face on our future advertising and your co-operation as our spokes-pony.” I squinted at her, shutting one eye completely.

“Ye want me to say I like this wee whiskey store, and then you’ll pay me?” I burst into a laugh so clumsy that I fell off of my chair, “och, that’s easy!” I peeped over the table, “I already do that!”

Oaky clopped her hooves together and left the table, amidst complaints that it was her turn to bet. When the bronze mare hurried back, she already had the legal documents prepared for me to sign.

“Sweet titty-buckin’ Tia, you don’t mess about,” I muttered, to a snort of disbelief at my colorful language from Gizmo. I was reaching for the sheets when they were pinched from my talons by a pair of lips.

“As a representative of my client, I gotta look over this first and check it is within Crow’s best interests,” Poxy murmured, leafing through the papers with an authoritative hum as the game around her continued. As Oaky took her turn, I leaned over to try and look at my contract for the Hopscotch Distillery as well.

“My representative?” I slurred while pondering whether the short pony made of thin sticks could even read some of the jargon, especially as there were some words on the paper that I didn’t even know.

“I am still your leader, kid,” Poxy told me factually, “Besides, somepony has to look out for you. Can’t let you go skipping after all the fluffy tails in this place and getting yourself in trouble.” She waved at me to be silent before I could argue with her and mumbled something about needing to do the maths, starting to fiddle with her PipBuck.

“Crow,” Whiskey tapped on the oak veneer.

“Hullo, Jack?”

“Your turn,” He pointed out that Gizmo had gone and now I needed to play my cards. I grinned a little too hastily as I flicked through my claw and tossed one on the deck.

“Pick up three, Poxy,” I sang, potentially better in my drunken state.

“Pick up six, Whiskey-Boy,” belted Poxy with a far better voice, slapping a card down a boosting card to my previous one. As the grey and white stallion with the black mane scooped up six cards, Gizmo slammed his down in front of him.

“You’re cheatin’, the pair on yer,” he yelled, pointing to my friend and I.”You’re working together!”

“I don’t -hic- ken what ye mean, lad,” my PipBuck bleeped. I raised my leg as Poxy lowered hers. Ironically, the message was not from her, despite groans and huffs from the ponies around the table who assumed that their suspicions had been confirmed.

“Molasses Candy:
Hi Captain! Finally escaped my icky, groooooss brothers. Wanna meet at Glad Rags? I have cakes!
Message me quickly quick!
Love, your Rolly Moley Woley!”

I sighed happily and moved my claw to begin responding, only for the thought to occur to me that I still hadn’t achieved my goals here. I needed to know what my ‘leader’s’ plans were before I could go skipping away to swallow treats with my sweet Candy girl. With a less pleased exhale, I replied.

“Crowella MacRural:
Sry Mol
Ranchck? I do stiff.
Lub u :(
Cro”

“Aye, that’ll do,” I told myself, as I sent the illiterate message.

“Alright, that’s it,” snapped Gizmo crabbily, getting up from the table, “if you ain’t playin’ fair, then I ain’t playin’.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, we’re playing perfectly fair,” argued Poxy, as Smokey put down a golden seven. “Come on, sit back down, the game’s nearly over anyway, Big Daddy.” He grumbled and sat, rechecking his cards and placing his turn down, followed by me with a knock on the wood to tell the group I was on my last card. My neighbor muttered louder, but then Poxy mouthed “just watch,” and placed down a reversing card. Leering at me, she revealed three more cards of the suit beneath and nodded to the fatter pile of rejected cards. “Pick up nine, Crow!”

“You sneaky little scunner,” I squawked, picking up my many stiff paper rectangles as the others applauded and laughed. It had the desired effect. Gizmo settled back into his seat, and the game ran its course, with Oaky eventually winning the round.

“I’m in!” I called as I poured myself a new glass of the good stuff, while the business owner collected her winnings and the cards were reset.

“No, you’re not,” explained Poxy as she tapped my bare pot, “not unless the Hopscotchs are willing to give you your earnings early,” she was still pawing at the yet-to-be-signed agreement.

“We haven’t been to the bank to collect the bits as we were waiting to see if the offer would be taken first,” said Smokey apologetically, “and even if we had, we would be extremely irresponsible to give them to you while you are extremely drunk!” I tried to nicker at that, a sure sign that I was as rat-arsed as the mare was telling me. I always tried to mimic my bronies and pegasisters after a heavy skin-full.

“I’m not funk, pal, I am perfectly drine,” I gurgled, sipping my fresh bourbon daintily. My PipBuck vibrated again, but this time it went ignored.

“You might be ‘drine,’ darling,” Poxy mused, “but you’re still bit-less.” I gazed at my empty offering and gave a humpf, fluffing my feathers as I tried to rake through my dizzy brains for an alternative method of payment.

“Well, then, I bet something else, laddies and lassies,” I insisted, claws on my hips.

“Oh really, and what would that be?”

“I bet…” I stalled as I examined each of the faces. What could each of them possibly want that I could provide? It came like a shot in the dark, hitting a target with miraculous power. “...ME! I bet me, winner... gets... me.” I pointed to myself, sloshing whiskey across my sky Stable jacket. The others looked dubious about accepting the player on their table as a prize.

“No,” Smokey said, deadpan.

“No, no, no!” I flapped one wing, stretched out another and accidentally clouted Gizmo with it as I leaned across the table. “Just-Just-Just, shhh…. Just think about it-”

“No!”

“Hey! Hey now, just plum think about it for a second,” I clicked my glass of bourbon on the table as Oaky shook her head and got up. “Hoppies, if ye win me, I sign the wee contract with no additional wee clauses such as free whiskey, aye?” the curly-maned mare’s ears pricked, her back to me. “Ye could have me flying about, calling, ‘come to Hopscotchs, they do you whiskey at a good wee price!’ by morning!” I turned to Gizmo, booping my beak on his.

“You, Mister, need a hug. I could be huggin’ you all night, every night…” He gulped and nodded without certainty. I turned to Whiskey, frowning, and tried to figure out what he’d particular want as he eyeballed me restlessly. I decided to skip him and go to Poxy, as I knew what she’d want…

“Poxy, I’ll be a better wee friend, I’ll stop sayin’ ‘nay’ to ye so often,” I offered her. I leaned in and whispered a few extra things into her ears that made her eyes widen and the skin around her hoof go white as she pushed it on the table. My PipBuck rumbled again, but I was drunk and foolish, and thoughtless.

“Lastly, Whiskey, for you, I-”

“Winner gets Crow,” he proclaimed before I had the chance to finish. We all stared at him dumbfounded, even I, as he dished out the cards and pushed in his full kitty. “What? Maybe she’ll win?”

“If Whiskey’s down, then so am I. Winner gets the Guardian,” snorted Gizmo, pushing his payment in too. Poxy, Smokey, and Oaky all followed this tact and picked up their cards.

“Aye!” I grinned, pouring myself another scotch, “now this is what I call a wake!”

FOOTNOTE: Quest Begun: A Pox On You And I
Quest Begun: A Star Is Born

Level Up!
New Perk: Say It Again, Griffon - 1+ to Charisma

Author's Notes:

Want to discuss the story? Follow me to the Scoundrel’s Settlement on Discord...

Song for this chapter; Dreambreaker by Alvin Stardust I wanted to pay tribute to a local legend and fantastic singer, plus I love this song.

As said in the previous chapter, this chapter and the subsequent one too all came about from what I had drafted for chapter fourteen. However, these three chapters felt that they had better flow and care for the characters this way.

Oh, did you want changelings? Because, that's how you get changelings. Thank you to Blazie, for some of the edits in his free time. Aannnnd not forgetting Doomande, thanks for picking the nits <3.

If this is when you stop reading, goodbye and safe travels.

If you're still strapped in for the ride, see you in the next chapter.

All good things,
Duskhoof