Amidst Deception

It wasn’t until Bartlett closed his front door and sat upon the couch that he noticed the emptiness beside him. He picked up a copy of the news rag and flicked through the pages. There were nonsense stories about the secret lives the Alicorns lived, there were spurious accounts of ponies that had seen some big natural disaster, and there was an announcement of a rather queer celebration.

“Five years on…” Bartlett read, he fumbled the corner of the page in his hoof and looked longingly to the empty seat cushion.

“Five years, next week, marks the celebration of the ending of the changeling plague. Five years after deception, five years after the nearly spoiled royal wedding, and Five years on…”

He skipped over the waffle and wiped a hoof on his bruised snout. He was in quite good shape after the fight, the other stallion however, he was lucky he wasn’t pushing up roses. “Come to Canterlot, to share in the celebration with the five years happily married couple… There will be entertainment and music, to mark the occasion there will be a symphony conducted by… you are all invited to what hopes to be a wonderful evening.”

Bartlett ripped the paper in two just as the door swung open. Constance gingerly hoof-tipped past her father, she hid her grief well, and climbed up the betraying stairs.  One step creaked and this piqued an interest in Bartlett, he called from the foyer. “How are you holding up kiddo?”

His pandering attempts were dropped by the wayside; Constance continued up to her room and slammed the door behind her forthwith. The plump Pear found a corner in her boudoir and lined it with pillows and anything soft she could get her hooves on.

She huddled herself away into the corner and sobbed into her knees. Soon the crack of a hoof sounded at the door, from behind it came the muffled begging of her father. The pace of the knocking quickened, the stallion making the noise was just as destroyed by the occurrence as Constance was. His tone softened. “Constance? Why don’t we talk anymore? It is more for my benefit than yours, I’m lost Constance. I’m lost without her.”

The barriers of quilting and blankets subsided and Constance hurried to the door. She could sense his pain, how the strong-minded stallion unravelled. The door knob screwed clockwise to reunite the remainders of the Pear family, Bartlett’s face didn’t stretch with a smile, for his heart was cut in half. Constance greeted him with warm embrace and took in the smell of his cologne as she feared she might lose him as well.

The warming father returned the hug only gently, he tried to fight back his tears but it was a battle lost as soon as it had started. Bartlett put aside his macho guise and wept into the comforting shoulder of his daughter. They remained in each other’s embrace for as long as they cared to, the death of the mother had forced the two closer when before they were drifting apart.

The town square>

Braeburn stayed by the mutilated corpse in the town clearing. He was dumbstruck by the speed at which his bit-on-the-side had become the whole town’s sideshow. He was deflated by the loss of his sweet Constance; she would never understand his need for mare attention. Gillyflower approached from the dark gauze, in the sad tidings time had slipped by like greased lighting. Gilly planted a crutch firmly in the sandy soil and used the other to garner the attention of his son. “Brae buddy, you should come back home, let the undertakers take the body away.”

The Pear House>

Constance pushed away from her father and backed herself into the comfortable corner. She screwed up her face and smashed her hoof down against her bedpost. “You made this happen. Mum said you used to be feared, unpredictable. What’s changed dad? Has anything really changed?”

Bartlett checked about himself and remembered the gun, how he had set out to instil harm onto Gilly’s boy. Constance’s face warped further as her father stalled and didn’t honour her question with a response.

She marched up to her father and went to shut the door. “You brought the gun dad! You made this happen!” He sidestepped through the gap of the entrance just as the door was ajar. He looked uneasy; his eyes danced around and could not focus on a thing. “I know I did wrong Constance. I know.”

Constance repelled from her father once again, she slinked away into the darker recesses of her room. Just as her back met wall, Bartlett encroached, doing away with her semblance of personal space. He flung his hooves out and meant to hug her, she wormed between his guilt-ridden hooves. Bartlett corkscrewed around to make another attempt; his daughter was the negative pole to his positive, forever repelled away from him. Bartlett left a few items which had meaning to the late mother and left Constance to deal.

On the way to the Apple House<

Braeburn turned and was met with the frightful sight of his crippled father. Gilly took Brae under his crutch and led him back to the proud homestead.

As soon as the two stallions had left, a team of smartly dressed, identical looking, stallions and mares cleared the bodies away. He fiddled with a set of keys before unlocking the door and ushering Brae to continue. Bailey had long since had a midnight night cap and sent herself to bed, Gilly poured a half-a-hoof of scotch and passed it to his son. “Today’s been difficult, I understand.”

Braeburn refused the drink and gazed into his father’s stained-glass eyes and then scanned the scene through the lounge window “we should have taken in that young buffalo cow, she needed somewhere to stay.”

Gilly submitted to the wishes, despite his own predilections, and patted down the couch. “I hope you don’t mind sleeping down here son.” Outside precipitated a rainstorm; Brae gulped hard a lump in his throat and closed in on the lounge window. He was so close his breath laid smog on the glass pane; he saw the miniature buffalo and braved the storm.

Under the battering of raindrops, Braeburn had time to think about his womanising ways, he cantered through the torrential downpour towards where he had spotted the buffalo youth. In the wake of the rain the dry sandy surface became a thick soup, it was harder to progress through. The recently gallant stallion reached Desert Rose and yelled over the ruckus of cascading rain. “You don’t need to spend all night out here Desert Orchid.”

She averted her woeful gaze; a flash of lightning cascaded over the land and revealed the rows of headstones. In the mercy of the rain it was impossible to distinguish between the tears from her eyes and tears from the sorrowful skies. It was as if the skies wept for the losses, as if the cloud bound, benevolent force was showing its sympathetic side.

Braeburn removed his hat and shielded Desert Rose from heaven’s lament. He pulled her close to his front legs. “I was wondering if you wanted to get out of this rain, he’ll still be here in the morning.” Though the sentiment was delivered insensitively, it still did well to persuade Rose to follow Braeburn back into the warmth.

On return to the homestead, Braeburn directed Rose towards the roaring hearth of the fire, while he warmed and dried his own hooves. Gilly returned and scratched a hoof edge across his forelock. “You really sure we should be letting her sleep in your pigsty of a room?”

Gilly placed a bowl of leafy lettuce upon the coffee table before he joined his wife upstairs. Braeburn didn’t want the calf so juvenile to be scarred for life by his cum encrusted sheets, so he set about changing them, so to the linen cupboard he trotted. He firstly peeled the sheets of off his bed and held them as far from his nose as he could manage. They were putrid. He meant to roll them and they snapped, so riddled were they with his seed. He dispensed the two halves into the laundry basket, only just. He unfurled the new sheets as well as the duvet and arranged them on the spread.

With the task compete he ventured back down to the lounge where Rose was half asleep. She was drawling cutely into the woollen rug she had chosen to rest on. Brae propped her up over his back and carried her up to his bedroom. He set her down and tucked the blankets around her. “G’night Little-Strong-Heart, I’ll be seeing you in the morning.”

Overlooking Appaloosa>

A similar scene echoed high up on the mountainous ridge, buffalo brothers filtered in the assorted wigwams, the chieftain remained at the cliff’s edge. He stared dreamily into the stars; his mind was a swarm with all that could have been. He imagined how strong and intelligent the offspring of Raging-Wonderer and Little-Strong-Heart would be, he imagined the banishment of Singing-wind, and he contemplated delving into the Sodom below and retrieving his only daughter from its clutches.

His dreamy sky-world-journey was cut thin by the grunt of the strongest heir. Raging-Wonderer urged for the father to take a rest, he went so far as to promise “I will bring back your daughter, free-will or not.”

Thundering Hooves gleamed at the proposal, reared up and circled his fore-hooves to show his praise of the plan “then let it be done my son, drag her back from the burning coals of hell.”

Raging gestured his head heavenwards. “Not at this time father, it is far too dark and cold.”

Thundering was amused by the objection of his brawny son; he wrapped a hoof around his neck and ruffled his hair with his spare front hoof. “Then come tomorrow morning, you will have your mate.”

The Pear Household>

Bartlett Pear sat alone in his bed, there was a loathing silence. Heartbroken, he wept onto the adjacent pillow. He held tightly the pillow, compressing the duck down within, and shut his eyes forcefully and hoped he would wake up from the nightmare.

His daughter still clung to the corner she concealed herself in, she gazed out onto the planes of the town, and she was astounded by the beauty that she found. Upon the ridge high upon the cliff’s edge loomed a buffalo backlit by the moon’s luminescent glow. She did not break her connection with the moon, she felt it was like her, all alone and round. She tugged her duvet off from her bed and coiled herself inside, and then she succumbed to the natural order and closed her weary eyes. She slept, she sobbed and she felt she had been robbed, as she drenched her wooded floor with her tears.

The Apple Household>

On the other side of Appaloosa a sleepy Braeburn, pleased with his new found caring disposition, hoof tipped down the stairs. He weighed out his options, first he checked the smaller, plusher chair, and it was far too soft. He then examined the leather couch, it was far more practical, and it wasn’t too comfortable either. He plucked up an iron poll and poked out the fire. In the complete darkness Braeburn quickly became victim of his exhaustion and dropped his head down.

Something rustled out in the garden, against the inky black sky, nopony would have seen it. It acted like a puppet on a string, it’s every movement was concise and thoroughly thought out, as if something high up above was guiding it. Braeburn stirred at the tiny sounds which emitted from near the window. He yawned impulsively and lightly trotted over to the portal. Through the pane he saw no evil, no intruder, no creature, just darkness.

He took another deep yawn as he turned back to the moderately comfortable couch. He threw himself upon its mercy and stretched out before puckering his lips and going back to sleep.

Unbeknownst to Braeburn, the upstairs window flew open and something entered the house. If the dozing stallion were awake he would have heard the subsequent scuttles of hooves parading around the room above him. The window slammed shut and the night became calm again. Something disturbed the traitorous stairs; it made a creak with every step it took. Soon a pair of eyes shone around the apex of the door, they approached ever closer to Braeburn.

Again Brae was awakened by a noise, this time it was the roaring of the fire, the one he had extinguished. He drearily rose from his bedding and climbed down from the couch. In his dazed vision Braeburn could hardly make out the shape of the cow that looked up adoringly at him.

As focus returned to the stallion’s eyes he recognised the small orchid of the plains. “Desert Rose?” He murmured the name before falling backwards against the foot of the couch. Rose entered the light of the fire and stared up with big-wide puppy-dog eyes. She demurely yawned and smacked her lips before she settled upon the mat at the fire’s side.

Brae confusedly made his way to where she was coiled and patted her friendlily upon the shoulder “Umm did you not like my bed Rose?” She seemed more introverted than she had been when first the two met. Rose drifted further within herself until Brae placed himself beside her.

“Kinda like camping isn’t it?” She giggled, it wasn’t what Braeburn had expected to come from her lips, he relished the bonding nevertheless.

“So… What’s it like living out on the open dunes out in the desert? Is it a life you’ll miss?” Brae inquired.

Braeburn gazed up at the starry sky and turned with a look of fascination upon his face. “Is the sky you see the same as mine?”

Rose aroused to the question, the same one she had hoped to ask if chance came to be. She fumbled the feather tied about her pole and fought back a blushing which burned her cheeks so. She joined her fellow dreamer at the window and assumed her role as part of the audience of the night time theatre. “I was wondering the same thing.”

Brae was startled to hear her finally speak. He also felt humbled by the like-minded friend he had made. Brae thrust the lower window section skyward and poked his head out. The two of them admired the majesty and tranquillity of the calm scene outside. Rose put her chiselled hoof behind Brae’s neck and directed him to a point of interest “up there is where I came from, where my family, where my father, where my brothers sleep this night.”

She then lowered his controlled gaze to the very edge of the camp. “And that is where I watched…”

Braeburn promptly closed the window to, he settled back at the fire’s mouth just as the last few embers crumbled and the light died out. He felt a warm mass snuggle into him; he draped a hoof over the cuddly mass and drifted off.

Alabaster Station>

The last train pulled into the station and a few late arrivals piled off from it. Amongst the rabble was a splendidly kept mare, she had a coat of grey and a mane of black. Behind her she pulled not one but two wheeled cases, one was oddly shaped. She sweetly waved to the platform staff as she entered the great remote city of Appaloosa.

She was packed for a long stay, for she had a high-profile concert looming over the horizon and didn’t want the stresses of city life to derail her. She had visited this place once before, at the time of her big break, when she first broke into the Royal Canterlot Symphony Orchestra. She also remembered that when she had first visited she met a dashing stallion, she played alongside him and his string quartet, and it was a cherished memory of hers.

She headed down to the sleepy residence at the end of a sanded path, she was at a loss to neither see nor hear the rocking of Jeremiah on the porch. A voice pinched her attention from the discovery. “Ah, Miss Octavia Woodwind, a pleasure, Thank you for the letter about the lateness, it was awful considerate of you.”

Octavia threw a demur smile back and tweaked her pink bowtie. “So, you are providing the accommodation for my stay? May I ask your name?” The stallion doffed his hat and bowed flamboyantly as if trying to play up his class. “Name’s Wallace Thicket, I see you knew my dad.”

Octavia didn’t need long to suss out the meaning of his wording, the use of the past tense confirmed her worst fears. She glared at the untouched newspaper and the few stray milk bottles which carpeted the porch and sank down onto her rump. “When did he die? He must have just gone” Octavia wept as she allowed a single tear to roll off of her face.

The stallion before her was reminiscent of Jeremiah. He was taller with a stronger build; he also had a certain air of intrigue about him. Octavia swished the mane from her eyes. “I didn’t even know the old sheriff had an heir.”

Wallace smiled in understanding and pointed out the obvious. “It’s late, a mare as pretty as you shouldn’t be out here at night.” Octavia shook of the obvious questioning of her brawn then followed Wallace to where she would be staying during her visit. She pushed through the rotating doors on the establishment and ventured over to the desk. The clerk didn’t even offer a meagre glance at the mare; the clerk looked through an admissions book and thrust a set of keys to Octavia.

She took the keys and sarcastically thanked the clerk before heading down the hallway and twisting the key inside the door. She turned as she heard a laugh behind her, nopony was there, and it sounded like Wallace, where had he gone? She helped herself to the alcoholic contents of the cool box and relaxed on the end of the bed. She took a remorseful gulp of Brandy before wrapping her head in her sleep mask and closing her shadow painted eyes.