My Final Confession: Relapse

Cozy’s face fills the frame. Her soft features are strained with focus and the tip of her pale, pink tongue pokes from the corner of her mouth. The view shakes as a bag of flour is laid across the camera, pressing it down into another expired sack. Cozy is hiding the camera. She steps back, casts a look behind her and grins. Her wings flutter rapidly and she zips up the basement stairs. The sickly light of the ancient bulbs snaps out as Cozy exits the frame.

For a long while nothing occurs and we can peruse the new features of Sugar Cube Corner’s basement. The camera’s gain setting has been automated and the formless blobs of ink in the darkness slowly take distinguishable forms. The rickety, dry-rotted stairs are in the corner of the frame and a shallow light spills down from the open door. Just off center of the room is a makeshift table, constructed from broken hunks of wooden pallets. Nails jut out at awkward angles from either being pried apart or a complete lack of skill in hammering. On the table are a number of provisional instruments: kitchen knives, the ill-used hammer, pliers, and various other tools a handypony would have in a toolbox. From this angle, they appear weathered and well-used but not miskept or dirty. Probably stolen, the tools are used but loved.

In the center of the room, occupying the most space with the table nearby is the door to Pinkamena’s bedroom turned on its axis and balanced on a sawhorse. The edges of brackets that normally connect a door to the frame have been repurposed to attach the once-colorful chunk of wood to the sawhorse. A garden hose is drilled and tied into the top of the door and stretched up and over the supporting rafter beams of the basement. The hose loops over the supports and angles back down to its home in a mounted garden-hose crank. The contraption is a rough and ready devised raising and lowering device. Leather belts have been screwed into the door in a two-one-two pattern proffering the meaning of the apparatus obvious: it is a crude recreation of the torture table found once before in this basement.

Voices come indistinctly to the microphone, mere babblings of sound indistinguishable and running together. Presently, they begin to take edge and definition.

“I just want to help!” Cozy complains.

“I told you already, no! I don’t want you here for this!” Pinkamena answers angrily and with strain between deep breaths.

“I’ve already seen you murder a pony. I … I’m not a baby! I could … I CAN stomach it.”

“Shut up!” The lights flip on, drowning the world in a blinding white until the gain adjusts automatically. Pinkamena labors down the stairs, a large, still burlap sack following her. Something inside bounces off each step with a hollow thump until it reaches the bottom. She pauses to catch her breath and Cozy appears at the top of the steps and buzzes down them on fluttering wings.

“I can handle it. Last time I … I just …”

“No! Now get upstairs and get ready. We both have our parts to play and we don’t have time to waste. Be ready to leave when I’m done.” Cozy storms up the stairs, the violence of each step threatening to dismantle the worn, old staircase. “And shut the door!”

The door slams and dust falls from the rafters. Pinkamena shakes her head and rolls her eyes. A moment later, she resumes dragging the sack to the table. She unwraps the twine at the top and slides the itchy fabric down and away from the contents: a sleeping unicorn mare. She smiles softly. “Still as pretty as ever, my old friend. I can’t say I’m surprised, looks were always your thing but I bet I could peel your whole face off before I touched any actual skin with the amount of make-up you’re wearing.” Pinkamena presses a hoof into her bad hip and seethes as she rubs small circles into the muscle. “Come on, body. Hold together. We’re almost done. Just a little more work to do.”

Pinkamena’s hip wobbles as she loads the unconscious body of the grayish mare onto the table and sets to work securing her hooves and waist with the leather belts. The mare’s mane is fancy and styled professionally in high, soft loops that curl off to one side. Her tail is similarly done and each has a wide stripe of gray enduring between the vibrant purple; a mark of age, but one of refinement and careful self-preservation, embracing the beauty inherent in living a long life.

Pinkamena absently rubs at her hip again and checks the straps, one in particular as she smiles. She takes a moment, looking her former friend over. ‘Rarity, I’m sorry for what is going to happen. You’ll never understand but maybe we can be friends again one day, in a better place.” A frown appears on Pinkamena and she sighs to herself. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Time to do your thing…”

The pink mare’s head jerks to the side and shudders. The frown neutralizes and turns up, a grin spreading from ear to ear replaces it. “Oh goody! It’s time to harvest.” Tilting her head, eyes widening so that the reflective blue surfaces can sparkle as she prods the sleeping unicorn’s cutie mark. “I always did love your cutie mark.”

Turning away, Pinkamena produces a bucket from off-screen and chuckles. “You are no good to me asleep, Rari-baby!” The bucket swings and brown-tinged water covers the mare and she wakes with a gasp.

“COLD! What in the hay is going on here.” Rarity’s lips tremble and she shrinks as much as the restraints allow. Somehow her mane stays in perfect shape. A smear of caramel color across her muzzle indicates Pinkamena knocked her out with the sleeping powder in order to bag and bring her to this dungeon. She struggles, head twisting to make sense of the situation. “What?”

“Hi, Rarity! Long time no see.” Pinkamena flashes a sadistically gleeful smile to the struggling unicorn. Rarity bolts up straight like an iron bar has substituted her spine. The wrestling with the restraints pause as her eyes go wide in terror. She gasps long and loudly.

“P … Puh … Pinkie Pie! I thought you were dead!”

Pinkamena’s eyes narrow and she shakes her head. “That’s an awfully weird way to say hello to one of your best friends after such a long time. Oh well, I’m not dead yet and I’m back in Ponyville.”

Rarity laughs distressingly and makes a smile, the falsity of the expression is obvious but she realizes the need to placate Pinkamena. “Oh, how rude of me. It was simply … the shock of seeing you. My, Pinkie, how well you’ve aged. I would guess you were a mare still in your twenties with your … umm … horribly mutilated cutie marks.”

Pinkie smiles playfully, seeming to embrace the compliment earnestly. She turns and shows the wrecked flanks off in all their grisly glory. “Thanks! I did it myself! But, let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you and the rest of Ponyville. I hope you missed me as much as I’ve missed you. It does my heart good to see you. I can barely contain my excitement.”

Rarity struggles lightly against the straps and she continues the stilted conversation. ‘Oh, Darling, had we but known you would be coming home. We could have planned such a wonderful party for you. You … still love parties, don’t you?”

“Parties? Oh, I love them. I’d have them everyday, all day, if I could but there’s so few ponies where I’ve been that I was restricted to one or two a year. But that’s okay. Now that I’m back …” Pinkamena chuckles horridly and her head shakes like a kettle about to blow, “ we can have lots of parties. Lots and lots! We’ll make up for all the lost time. But, since my return was a surprise, I thought we'd have a ‘Welcome Back Surprise’ Party!”

“Oh my, Pinkie … that does sound magnificent. Perhaps you could untie me? I could go get all of our friends.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to share it with my best friend. Do you know who that is?” She draws close to Rarity’s cheek, pressing right up against it.

“I … I would … hazard to guess, me?” The table traps her and Pinkamena’s fangs embrace the soft flesh of her neck and cheek.

Planting a sudden kiss on Rarity's cheek, Pinkamena pulls away and begins inspecting the instruments on the rudimentary table. “Oh, good guess. It would have been Rainbow Dash but … something really bad happened to her. She was a bad party guest and was not invited back. I hope you will be much better than her.”

Sweat breaks out across Rarity’s forehead and runs into one of her blue eyes, causing the eyelid to spasm from the stinging sensation. “Oh, my dear, you know I love parties and would not dream of … of being a bad guest. Shouldn't I have dressed up for such an occasion? I could just run home quickly and be back before you finish cleaning your … your, umm, tools.”

“A GOOD guest wouldn’t want to leave so early. I mean, it doesn’t matter to me if you aren't dressed up. We’d just ruin those pretty clothes anyway.” The kitchen knife is a poor substitute for the medical grade tools she once used and it fails to shine in the light but it draws a happy sigh from the mare.

Rarity fights to control the steady rising and falling of her chest as it begins to pump more quickly. “Of … of course. How foolish of me. Oh my that looks sharp!”

“This?” Pinkamena holds the old knife up before Rarity and gives a judging, condescending expression. “This is trash but it’s all I have to work with. It rips more than cuts.”

Rarity stumbles over her words but managed to continue her play, “Oh, I need my glasses, Pinkie. That’s the problem with getting older, isn’t it?”

“That won’t be a problem for much longer, Rarity. Getting older, I mean.” Pinkamena presses the knife to Rarity’s cheek and giggles. "Or needing glasses, either."

“Pinkie … Pinkie, please. Let’s talk about this.” Rarity’s voice cracks as the dull knife scrapes across her cheek and down to one lip. She squeals loudly and kicks to no avail as Pinkamena brings the blade up before her eyes, a long clump of cosmetics piled on the metal.

“Look at this!” The blade comes down quickly to the pink coat of Pinkamena’s other foreleg and leaves a thick line of white make-up. “I can barely cut through your maquillage. I bet the face underneath this one is so very pretty. That’s the one I want.”

Rarity let’s slip a loud 'eep' and she turns her head away, hiding the blemish in her foundation. “You’d hate that one, Pinkie. It’s all leathery now. Why, I’m sure there are younger … not-quite-as-attractive faces as mine for you to have. I’ll help you find a nice one … or even introduce you to my beautician … just … just PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!” The unicorn bursts into tears, her precious mascara runs like spilled ink as she wails.

Pinkamena chuckles and hugs her former friend’s head to her chest. “There, there. It’s okay. There she is. There’s my Rarity. It’s so rude to pretend to be happy to see me. Do you really think I can’t tell the difference?”

“Pinkie, darling, please. I’m … I know it’s shameful to say things to save your own skin but I’m still too young to die!”

“I expected as much and I know you’re scared, Rarity. How about this? We will both stop the charade.” Pinkie winds her hoof in an expression of ‘move along’. “At one time the begging and crying was a real turn-on for me but it’s so … what’s the word? Overdone? Just isn't the same as it used to be.”

“Oh, thank heavens, you’ll let me go then? I promise I won’t tell another soul about this, Pinkie.” Rarity feebly smiles, the gouge of removed cosmetics marring one side of her face and revealing far less appealing skin beneath.

“Okay, first off, don’t call me Pinkie. I can’t stand it. And, of course you’d tell someone--probably the guards. And, while I did want to see you again, I’m afraid our visit is less than cordial. I am going to kill you but we can make it facile.” Pinkamena stands before Rarity and grasps the thick plastic hose. Rarity begins bawling with dramatically overdrawn sobs. Pinkamena begins to crank the lever and the hose retracts into the reel, lifting the door and the unicorn to an upright position.

Rarity is a mess of hysterics and only quietens when Pinkamena slaps her hard across the face with her hoof. “Rarity! For once in your life, be brave. Your end has come. Let’s make it simple and fun.”

“I … I’m not ready, Pinkie. I still have so much to … AGH!” At the mention of her name, Pinkamena slaps the unicorn once more, hard enough that a few drops of blood spill form her left nostril. “What! What?”

“Listen, already! Every time you call me Pinkie”, she spits at the name, “I’m going to take things a step higher on the unforgiving ladder. There’s only three steps and it goes from ‘relatively painless’ to ‘beg me to kill you over a week’. Calling me … that name … or lying to me is a step. Because we are friends, I’ll forgive you for the last one but that’s your only warning, comprende?”

Rarity, shivering and weeping nods silently to sobs. blood dribbles from her muzzle and darkens her bright coat one drop at a time.

“Good. I’d hate to have to mess up that pretty face anymore but you know what they say, true beauty is on the inside.” Pinkamena presses up against the soft belly of the unicorn. Her ear cupped against the tummy flesh, Pinkamena makes a series of gentle soothing and satisfied hums. “Oh, I think you will be the most beautiful pony on the inside. I can just hear those pretty organs working.” Her jaw seems to unhinge and she bites into Rarity’s ponch just hard enough to draw blood. Rarity shrieks and convulses, her legs shaking in the restraints, the flesh around the leather straps bruising a deep purple almost the same color as her mane.

A ring of red-running holes are left when Pinkamena pulls away, shallow and superficial the wound looks bad but has done no real damage to the unicorn. “Oh, Rari-baby, I can't wait to get in here. But, let’s catch up a bit first. Your shop seems to be doing well. I saw all kinds of new things there. I also noticed you designed this year’s filly-scouts outfits.”

Rarity tries to see her stomach, stretching her neck to view the tiny dots. “Please Pinki ...” The name draws a flair of ire and a warning flash of blue flame from Pinkamena’s gaze. “ ... aaamena!”

Pinkamena sighs and shakes her head, eye rolling. ‘You are acting like a filly, Rarity. I’m trying to catch up here. Despite what you think, I still like you. I probably still love you. You are, after all, the first pony I chose to party with since I came back. You are going to die, but let’s try and have a nice, friendly chat first. Just accept your fate. And answer my questions or," she pulls a hacksaw up from the table. “We’ll just CUT to the chase.” She giggles playfully to herself as Rarity clenches her eyes and capitulates.

“Carousel Boutique struggled for a while but I’ve made many friends in upscale cities throughout Equestria. I’ve actually had to hire help to keep up with the orders. And, it was nice to give those poor young fillies in the scouts something nicer to wear than those dreadful green uniforms. I did it free of charge.” Her eyes follow the saw as if they were glued to it’s serrated edge. “They were very fine. It’s good to give back to the community. Especially this one that has gone through such a distasteful past.”

“Oh it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it tasted pretty good” Pinkamena giggles playfully and lays the saw back in place. “I’m happy you’ve led a fulfilling life. What about our other friends? Fluttershy? Applejack? I know where Twilight is, and Rainbow Dash too, for that matter.”

Rarity grimaces at the names of her friends but acquiesces. “Fluttershy is still doing her animal things in the forest just outside of Ponyville. And… " She pauses momentarily and the dark wells of fear soften a bit, "Oh, of course you couldn’t know. Applejack died last year.”

“What? She’s dead?” This seems to genuinely bother Pinkamena. Her mouth hangs open and she ceases to play with the various tools, turning her full attention to Rarity. “What … what happened?”

“Oh, dear, she had a heart attack. If I told her once, I must have told her a million times that she shouldn’t work so hard ALL the time. Her heart seized mid-kick in last year’s apple bucking season. Apple Bloom turned out okay, though. She runs Sweet Apple Acres with her husband.” For a moment, Rarity seems to forget her situation. Pinkamena slumps visibly and Rarity responds as a friend, albeit a friend tied to a piece of wood. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s alright. She may have been too hard to wrestle down at this age and with my bad hip. She got away clean …” a hoof wipes at her eyes and she turns back to Rarity. “Fluttershy’s doing okay?”

“I suppose. She sort of shut down for a long time. Spent time in a mental health institute for a few months after you … uh, left. Now her knees give her trouble. Pegasi should really spend most of their time on clouds, not earth. Years of ground-life have caused her a lot of arthritis and it flares up pretty often.”

“My hip does that sometimes. Can’t get out of bed some winter mornings.” Pinkamena stands with a tiny smile replacing the dagger-toothed grin. “Ginger and turmeric tea help quite a bit. At least enough to function.”

“Oh, I couldn’t live without my cat’s claw. I have it imported from Haywaii. Don’t tell a soul, Pinkie Pie, but I hate being old. My shoulders and neck ache all the time.” The pair sound like old biddies sharing pains and wisdom.

“I wake up so early now, way before the sun comes up. I just can’t stay asleep. There’s things that need to get done and I’d just toss and turn until sunrise anyway.”

“Same here, Darling. Coffee is the only way I don’t feel miserable all day long.”

They both go silent, the situation resettling around them. Pinkamena begins to wipe at a pair of pliers. Rarity looks at her shackles, she pauses and looks again at the one holding her right foreleg and her horn emits a soft blue glow. The band begins to move but the magic silences when Pinkamena returns her gaze.

“You know, Pinkie. I did miss you. The old you, I mean. I don’t know what you’ve become, darling, but somewhere inside I think my friend still lives.”

“Rarity … stop. That pony died a long time ago. I’m all that’s left and I’m not the same one you remember.” Laying both forelegs on the table, Pinkamena shakes her head silently to herself. “And … if there was anything left, she’s buried below the deeds she has committed.”

The magic titters to life, dimly glowing while Rarity watches Pinkamena for any sign of motion. The strap begins moving once more, loosening a tiny bit every second.

“Twilight has a search for you ongoing. We all thought you had died a long time ago. Maybe if you turn yourself in. Get some help. Maybe you could be released in a few years. I’d come visit you while you were there. Bring you some cat’s claw tea. It has to be better than your ghastly homebrew stuff. I … I’m glad you’re still alive, Pinkie.”

There’s another moment of silence between the two. Rarity secretly unbuckling the restraint on one leg while Pinkamena stands and surveys the assorted items on the table.

“That’s three, Rarity.” Pinkamena says.

“What? Three what, darling?” She pulls with her foreleg but the cuff is still too tight.

A giant smile rips across Pinkamena’s face. “That’s three times you called me ‘Pinkie’. I hope you packed a lunch because things are going to take a while and they are going to be very … very bad.” She takes up the dull knife and sweeps around, bringing it in an arc toward the unicorn. Rarity shrieks and the strap on her foreleg comes free, her hoof coming down quickly and catching Pinkamena behind the ear. The knife bites into the wood of the door and sticks as Pinkamena flails and staggers back, tripping over the table of tools and flipping onto her back. She pops to a sitting position but her body swims in circular motions and she falls back as she attempts to stand again.

Rarity’s magic flares to life and she frees another appendage almost instantly. With two free, the remaining bands come off just as Pinkamena gets her hooves under her again.

“I’ll cut you apart, Rarity! I won’t need to tan your hide, it’s practically leather already!” Pinkamena still seems unable to hold her balance and her attempt at grappling the unicorn terminates with Rarity dodging the lunge and dashing for the stairs as Pinkamena crashes onto the table. The hose reel releases and the table flattens, sending the mare toppling over the other side.

Rarity makes the first floor and her screams are clearly heard getting further and further away. Cozy suddenly flies down the stairs wearing a fancy, frilled filly scout uniform. She looks from Pinkamena to the basement door and back.

“She’s escaped! We have to catch her!”

“No, we don’t. I let her go. I told you we needed a distraction.” Pinkamena stands without a sign of vestibular dysfunction. She chuckles to herself and grins at the filly.

“But she’ll tell everybody and the Royal… Oh.” Cozy begins to nod to herself, curling her lip into a tiny purse. “Yeah, she’s the perfect distraction. It’ll take an hour to get the story from her between fainting spells and all the attention she’ll lavish. Wish I had thought of that.”

“Get your stuff. We need to get out of here now. We have miles to put behind us.” Pinkamena saunters over to the camera, pulling it from the hiding place. “I’ll get this. Really, Cozy?”

Cozy chuckles and offers only a shrug behind the mare. “Did you have fun hurting her?”

“I always wanted to slap her when I was young so it was nice to finally get that out but … it was actually nice to see her.”

Pinkamena turns the camera off.