The Hollow Kingdom of Octavia

Exhibit H

Octavia recalls a joke she heard once involving a stallion boasting about how he could make a fortune by opening a chain of restaurants in the spaces between buildings and calling that chain "Gaps." The joke hadn't really impressed her previously, and right now she didn't savor the fact that she was thinking of it.

Amused or otherwise, Octavia stands two blocks down from the Seventh House between the office building and the dry cleaner. To say there is nothing here wouldn't really be right. There is certainly space here. It doesn't exactly seem like living space, but there is trash and such that somepony without much else to their name might call home. The pony leaning heavy on her shoulder at least smells like he would fit in here.

"Is this where you live?" she asks, needing confirmation. She could take Claret at her word and just dump the pony down here, but that would leave a bad taste in her mouth. That isn't the right thing to do, and in light of recent events Octavia is feeling a bit more morally obligated than usual. "Can you hear me?"

She waits for an answer, but none comes. The stallion is too far gone, so the only response is her own voice echoing down the narrow alley. After that there is the noise of something shifting, a figure shuffling to stand out of a lump on the side of the wall. A stallion with a dismal kind of look in his eye fixes his gaze on her and his black stocking cap back to his head. He regards her and then her charge. Wordlessly, he approaches them.

"Uh, excuse me." Octavia tries to establish communication. "Do you know this fellow?" Not even this clearly conscious pony graces her question with a response. He just goes straight up to the pony propped up against her.

"Jitters, you feeling alright?" the stallion asks, the question clearly not directed at Octavia. She isn't even really sure why the question needed to be asked, considering how obvious the answer is. He gives the big stallion a few taps, causing him to stir a little. He twitches before suddenly collapsing on the ground, groaning and shivering silently. Octavia's heart jumps in fear for a second, but it subsides as the pony seems to settle again. "Jeez, Jitters."

"So, you do know him?" Octavia asks once again, this time actually catching the other stallion's attention.

"What's it to you?" he asks right back at her, taking a few retreating steps. "You're not the cops, are you?"

"No, no not at all." Octavia assumes she is in another sketchy situation, which she probably should have anticipated from the outset of this little journey. "But I think your friend needs help..."

"Yeah, he needs help alright, but you're not gonna go to the cops are you?"

"Why would I go to the cops?"

"Because I gave him help, ya know?"

"I don't follow." Octavia takes another look at Jitters, who is still looking peaceful enough. "Does he need medical attention?"

"Don't change the subject. You gotta swear you won't go to the cops."

Octavia has trouble swearing on something like that. She decides she would have to, even if she doesn't put much faith in swearing herself.

"If you're going to help him, then I'm not going to get you in trouble for it."

"..."

"... I swear."

"... Fair 'nuff. You seem like an honest filly." This odd stallion sounds convinced for the time being, but Octavia herself is still wary. She gave her word, but the market value of her word has recently dropped. The stallion stoops down next to Jitters and addresses his friend. "It's me, Cotton. I was wondering when you'd get back, bud. I've still got your share for you. I'm gonna give it to you, and then you're gonna tell me what you've been up to."

Jitters says nothing, as per usual.

"I'm holding you to that," Cotton says, levitating something out of his rags. It is clearly a syringe, clearly half empty. Octavia feels like asking what Cotton plans to do with it, but her first suspicions are confirmed as Cotton injects what remains of the syringe into Jitters. "C'mon bud, come back to us."

"What was tha-"

Jitters returns rather suddenly.

"Aaach! Dernit! My achin' 'ead!" The stallion cries, suddenly back onto his hooves. He is actually pretty tall when he isn't a slumped over mess. "Fuck! Cotton! Ah've been drinkin'!"

"Did you want an award?" Cotton asks. The two stallions continue to talk, or one continues to talk while the other shouts, despite Octavia's standing right next to them. "Everyone was asking about you, bud. What exactly happened at the club?"

It is painfully clear to Octavia what club Cotton must be referring to.

"Awgh, shiiiit! The club!" Jitters grabs his head with his hooves and rattles it around. "We gotta skip town! Fuck!" Little by little, Jitters speech becomes a little more fluent. Whatever Cotton injected him with seems to Octavia to be incredibly potent. She doubts it's legal.

"Yeah, feel free to explain yourself at any time, bud," Cotton says, but Jitters is off in his own little world. He can only grunt and turn back to Octavia. "Of all the junkies in Canterlot, I got this lug as my running mate. I dunno your story missy, but take my advice and stay away from idiots."

"Okay?" Octavia notices that Cotton was missing a couple of teeth. For what reason, she doesn't care to ask. She deems it fit to assume neither of these ponies is all there upstairs. "So, what did you give him?"

"Ambrosia."

Octavia doesn't know what that is, or at least not in this context; however, she is smart enough to put together that this Ambrosia is probably not medicine and surely not legal. Cotton's prior complaints suddenly make more sense.

"You gave him drugs?"

"He's a junkie," Cotton says, very plainly. "If we don't get our fix, we go down hard. You're clearly clean, so you wouldn't get it. Do yourself a favor and go home."

"Cotton, we gotta go!" Jitters shouts, finally paying those around him some heed. "We can't stay here!"

"We aren't uprooting, bud," Cotton says back to him, forgetting Octavia again. "Now what's got you so rattled? Out with it."

"I saw them kill him! He's dead man, dead!"

"Huh, who?" Cotton asks the question Octavia wants to ask herself, feeling herself slip even further down the rabbit hole.

"It was Grainy Mead! They killed him!"