Amidst Deception

Bartlett Pear woke with a start alone in his bed. He had not strayed from his side, as if his wife still existed on the other side of the bed. The stallion was a victim of the quandary, he knew his wife was gone, long buried, but he also knew that there was a presence beside him in the bed. He took a mental picture of the photo of Patience before cracking the glass with his tensed hooves.

There came a knocking upon his bedroom door, he looked at the time and then at the empty bed and answered swiftly.

Standing at the door was Constance; she had a tray of cereal and orange juice rested on her hooves. Her father nearly cracked a smile at the gesture. He took the tray and kissed his daughter gently on her pearlescent forelock.

There was not a word exchanged, just more loathsome silence and pile after pile of regret. But born from the tragedy was a strengthened bond between father and daughter. Bartlett retraced the steps he had taken to the door and settled back down on the throws of his bed.

He spooned a mouthful of generic cereal mulch and swallowed it down forcibly before breaking into tears again.

He kept his lament as quiet as he could lest his daughter mother him. A brand new day had blessed the two, for this they had to be glad, but only they remained of the family, the daughter and the dad.

In similarity, Constance silently wept into the pillowed corner she had made. Bitter tears were a commodity in the household as they lubricated the gears and ensured everything ran smoothly. The sobbing of the two kept them from blaming each other, the father who had taken the gun, and the young mare who had thought the rapscallion of a stallion Braeburn had changed.

Both knew at heart they were wrong, that they played a part in the travesty, but neither would admit it. Constance rolled off of her cushiony fortress thanks both to the incline and her rounded figure. She had heard a faint, sharp, abrupt noise coming from the centre of town.

Bartlett let himself into his daughter’s room. He helped Constance to her feet and threw open the window. “We used to have order in this town, this used to be a prime location where ponies from miles around would visit. This town becomes more deserted after each passing day; it’s about time some pony takes up the slack. Jeremiah was the law but he has left us now.”

Constance dwelled in her father’s shadow; she teased her luxurious mane locks and joined her father at the window sill.

 Bartlett smartened himself up as if preparing to address the royal sisters or a squadron of Magisterial Wonderbolts.

He swallowed down an unpleasant feeling and continued “I think some pony has to take the reins. It is only right that that pony is me.” Constance cradled her father’s grey-tinged hoof in her own and held him tight. “It aint no sane decision to uphold the law here, something weird has been going on.”

Bartlett accepted the truth, for that is what it most certainly was. He was once a commander of respect and adoration but his mundane, pedestrian lifestyle had transformed him into a spineless cur of the stallion he once was.

But the stallion also understood the guilt that burned his every hour of sleep, he leaned his front half off of the window ledge and whispered. “These ponies need a new sheriff and I guess I’ll have to do.” His modest promise sang through the breeze.

Constance leaked at the eye at the promise; she didn’t want to lose her father to some hornswoggling bandits. She made herself an anchor and haltered her father from making for the door with the intent of making a difference, she forced him to choose between a just and fulfilling career as a law-enforcer and a sublimely quiet existence as a pencil-pushing editor’s assistant.

He was hard strung for a choice, he didn’t want to make his sweet Constance cry and be afraid but he also wanted to atone for his past mistakes.

Bartlett crouched down to his daughter and placed a caring hoof on her cheek. “The choices we make, Constance, they shape who we are or in your case, who we become. I don’t want you to live with the thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘if only’, you make your choice and you stick to it. That’s the Pear way.”

He returned aloft and descended the stairs, the door slammed behind him as he left, alone at last.

All about the town, ponies vacated their hides and braved the outside. Many had heard the deafening blow of the hoof-cannon, and fear still instilled in their very beings, but needs must and their needs to return to work and keep the cogs rolling were a must.

The sanded paths flooded with the Appaloosa populous, each headed toward a different cardinal point, each had far too much to do and precious few hours in the day to achieve it.

The Mayor of Appaloosa was a tall lecherous creature, she had teeth different to the rest, her skin lacked fur and her eyes were an enchanting green. She coiled throughout the office, she had a musical shaker at her tail, and her colour was a menagerie of dull greens and blacks and greys.

The most curious feature of Mayor Delilah Caiman was that she was a snake. She was not a garden snake; she was not even a Python, no. She was a creature nearly of mythical size. Her very teeth were like anvil weights on her poisoned jaw, she assibilated as a pony dared enter her lair.

“What’s all this businesss?” The mighty serpent demanded of the intruder.

Bartlett cleared his throat and confidently approached Caiman. “I’m Bartlett Pear; I heard there was a job going for the town.”

 The snake slithered and encircled Bartlett with feeding intent. “You’re in luck long-face; a position for town sheriff has just arrived.”

Bartlett found courage deep under his accumulated cowardice. He rested a hoof on the slippery surface of the smooth operating snake and let it drag across her. “I’m a fan of rules, I’m a parent after all, just give me a day and the jail cells will be full with the undesirables of this here town.”

The jailing snake of a Mayor released her hold on the stallion and rewound herself back behind her impractically small desk. She hanged her tongue out and vibrated it between her scaly lips. “That remains to be seen Misster Pear, you have my ear. What makes you sssso ssspecial?!”

Bartlett scoured his blank mind; however, his reminder was imprinted on his flank. For years the name ‘Pear’ was succinctly revered for its potency, many a life had this pony crushed, and his mark reflected this. Upon his flank was a blood-drenched pear slice in the shape of a heart.

Bartlett grinned and squared up to the Mayor. “I’ve been the other side of the law, done things you wouldn’t believe and I have never paid for them. I wish to put things right, look good in my only daughter’s eyes, perhaps even make her proud. I know the ways of the criminal underworld coz I used to run this town, now give me that badge and let me show you what I am capable of.”

Bartlett felt empty after spilling his aching soul; he stumbled and nearly fainted before his weight was supported by the snake Mayor’s head. She countered his drunkard like stupor and propped him up on the chair. “You raise a compelling argument misssssster Pear. But how can I trussst you?”

The stallion, tiny in comparison, spat a clod of tobacco into the corner of the room “Coz iffin’ I break your trust, I will salt myself, roll myself up in a floury tortilla roll and gladly let you suck out my insides. Is that fair Miss Caiman?”

The serpent’s tail whipped over Bartlett’s head and obtained something which had shimmered high up on an out-of-reach shelf. She tagged the chest of Bartlett with the sign of honour, a five pronged crest of varnished steel. And on this badge was an inscription.

‘Sheriff Jeremiah Thicket’

‘The Fair Town of Appaloosa’

Bartlett turned back to the smooth scaly form of Caiman and held the badge in front of him. “Can’t you put my name on it?”

The Mayor corkscrewed herself into a fiendish knot; she spat a sum of venom at the ground before thrusting her head forward “we can’t make the etchings that quickly! Your insatiable wife took the poor crone’s life only yesterday! Now accept the sheriff-hood and clean up this Goddamn town!”

The Pear Household<

The new sheriff’s daughter lazed in her bed; she had a hoof precariously poised over the gaping gap between her thighs. She plunged the hovering hoof downwards, caressing the still alien structure below. Constance breathed shallowly at first. She sped up her pleasuring hoof movement and nearly tossed herself out of the bed.

Shallow breathing became intense panting as the hoof was a blur in the crotch of the mare. She was closing into the climax and sweat billowed from her brow.

She was about to ruin her freshly made spread when a tune angelic distracted her. The tune was a gift in itself but the talent of the musician was simply mind-blowing. Each note carried a message, an emotion, they all had meaning.

Each stroke of the bow conjured mixed feelings from the mare astounded at the window’s edge. She stared anxiously down to brimming streets of ponies. There she saw a single standout mare, her eyes were closed in concentration and her fans were transfixed by it all.

However, though she had forgotten her lustful chore her body had not, she came all the same only at least it was on the floor. Towards the assembly marched a stallion, he wore a cutie mark which Constance had seen before, and the badge of the sheriff. He entered the sea of adulation and silenced the musical procession with a hoof upon the cello.

Octavia scowled at the troglodyte of a stallion who spoiled her fun. “Do you have quarrel with my playing Mr---Thicket?”

Bartlett stared angrily at the misleading tag and eyed up the beauty of the musical mare. “Nope, the music was lovely, this is however not permitted.”

The mare looked to her public and back to the sheriff. She fiddled with her bowtie nervously and repositioned the cello. “Since when were there laws pertaining to the free expression of art? Is busking illegal in your town? And why do you wear his badge?! How did you find that?”

Bartlett was utterly unfazed by the assault of questions; he adjusted one of his cuff-links. “This to me looks like a staged affair. Busking involves moving from time to time, so at this time I will be giving you a verbal waning.”

Octavia snorted anarchically at the protests of the sheriff. She set her cello aside and dropped down from the stage. She cut holes in the stallion eyes with her evil stare. “I understand the law, I’ll stop. What I want to know is why you have Jeremiah Thicket’s badge? Didn’t they have another one? Perhaps one inscribed with the phrase ‘imposter’.”

Bartlett laughed so much he erupted in a coughing fit, he began to walk away. “Oh, just before I forget, your name, if you don’t mind?”

Octavia shook off the sand that dusted her coat “Octavia Woodwind.”

The ball dropped, Bartlett pulled at his shirt collar, he apologised profusely “Miss Woodwind, my sincerest apologies. You are the one in the orchestra right? You’re the one playing at the anniversary ball?”

The collective sneer that shared on the faces of every member of Octavia’s ensemble lowered at the revelation, they still chatted amongst themselves and a few choice insults were shouted louder than the rest. He was accused of being ‘the man’ he was accused of hating music, he was accused of having a carnal relationship with King Sombra, but it was all water off of a duck’s back. He revelled at the ensuing attention.

 Octavia reinserted herself on the stage. “Why, yes that’s me, not that it’s any of your concern. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to practice.” She proclaimed whilst bringing the cello back betwixt her thighs and resting the fingerboard against her neck.

Overlooking Appaloosa<

Far, far away, atop the proud buffalo plateau, limped a wounded bull. He had upon his face smeared war paint and a look of anguish. Chief Thundering Hooves was informed of the return and rushed outside to greet his victorious progeny.

Their reality was far from the dream the chieftain possessed, his worthiest bull had returned empty hoofed and brought shame upon the clan.

Delusional chants were heard behind the looming form of the chieftain who slowly walked towards Raging-Wanderer.

Thundering didn’t grace Raging’s with a solitary hello; he got straight down to scolding him. “What is this you bring me, empty air? I sent you onto the Sodom to bring back my daughter, your sister, not fall to the level of those who dwell there.”

Raging felt his pride plunge further into disrepair as he fried like an ant under a magnifying glass under his father’s glare. He looked towards his brothers; they were giving thanks to the great eagle and the peace it bestowed with every beat of its wings.

He then returned to fix his gaze to that of his father’s, he stomped a hoof in frustration “I could not find her, I am sorry father.”

“Shame, utter shame you have wrought this day. Why could you not find the littlest heart? She would have sought solace in the hooves of the crone we had seen her talking with. I would have found him, what is the matter boy? You have been nothing but a disappointment lately” Thundering raved, his hooves smashed down to emphasise certain utterances.

Thundering was an unusual chief; he used to be the Shaman and still held dear the beliefs of times long since passed. But soften did his scowl into a pleasant smile, he embraced his favourite not caring who would have seen, and the two of them relaxed for a while.

In the Appaloosa square>

Octavia had only just finished her interlude of musical entertainment, she packed away her cello into its specially made case and waved goodbye to the last loyal fans. She wheeled the oddly shaped case away back to the bed and breakfast type arrangement she had gleaned.

She travelled through the revolving doors and shared the empty emotionless hello with the desk clerk before finally reaching her room.

She set the odd case down again and undid the latches that lashed it together around the sides, she lovingly lifted the instrument out and propped it against a stool. From inside the case she produced a file filled with sheets and sheets of music. She snatched the cello bow up and scratched her brow with the end before she selected a particular melody from the scrawled scales.

She opened the two page spread that made up the song and unclipped a photo which had been placed there for inspiration. The photo was the very same she had been shown by Wallace. She looked teary-eyed into the depths of the photo and reminisced about the faithful eve.

It was the night, the curtain call and not a pony was applauding in the hall. The band that played so frequent there had lost a member to the others’ despair. But there she was a mare new, she made herself known in the old spittoon of a saloon.

She played an instrument unfamiliar to most, but the melodic symphony the mixture created was something of which to boast. Roses were thrown and fantasies once dreamed came true. Octavia achieved her cutie mark in the wake of the adulating crowd, her path was clear and her heart did bloom.

It was five long years ago when kindled the fires of love between Jeremiah and Octavia. It was a love frowned heavily upon, he was far older than her, and she had barely passed the legal age. But is love not blind, can it not transcend time?

She shared the stage with the mature and talented stallion and it gave her wings to pursue her own career. She dreaded to imagine her life’s unfolding story in the parallel reality where she did not light her passion on the stage with the 4 strings of paradise.

After the show Octavia stayed on the stage to collect the fallen blooms. Jeremiah snuck up behind her and tickled her playfully just behind her forelegs. He blissfully plucked a few roses and clamped them between his teeth. He winked a soulful eye. “Why are you collecting theses tattered old things?”

Octavia stood in silence and truly thought of an explanation, she drew a blank and dropped a couple of the collected roses in her panicked state. Jeremiah picked the fallen bloom up and returned them to their rightful place.

The recently realised mare focused on a single bloom with the emptying salon in the background, she closed her eyes and said “I collect the flowers because this might be my only chance to.”

Jeremiah’s eyes floated over the delicate curves and undulations on the mare’s body, he brought a hoof forward and straightened her pink bowtie. “Don’t speak such nonsense, this is the first of many performances, I bet you’ll be in the Royal Canterlot Symphony before I get to Las Pegasus with this tired old act.”

They spent the rest of the evening on the stage. Octavia shared her insecurities and Jeremiah talked her through them. The night was going as smoothly as it were possible in the mortal coil, Octavia pecked the much older stallion on the cheek and hid her resultant giggle with a hoof, He blushed a little too, though not new to the sensual arts he had never received attention from one so young and fresh as her.

A moment passed as the two tried to change the subject but the moment swam solely in silent waters, their lips locked across the apron of the stage and two hearts merged as one.

Octavia put the photo, now laminated with her tears, to the side and read through the song sheet. It was a special song, something she had derived from the faithful night where she and Jeremiah kissed. The piece was entitled:

‘Love in full bloom’

It was named to commemorate the passionate night of kissing and the significance of the roses and the part they played in making things go as they did. It was also in homage to the wedding of Mi Amorae and Shining armour, a touching derivation of the song the now Princess Twilight sang. She picked her bow up properly and plonked her supple rump down on the stall. She gripped the cello between her legs and gently touched bow to string.

It was the song he had hummed all his waking hours; it was the tune that replayed in his head when the buckshot penetrated his heart. Jeremiah was her love and he was gone. When she had found the house empty, no stallion swayed on the chair, her heart withered and died in her chest. It was close to noon, there was still much time to perfect the piece.