Truth Is Smooth

The roar of Manehattan Express’s steam engine carried wide across the country, its nearest obstacle being Canterlot Mountain with the thousand-spired city, the destination of all the passengers still seated in the coaches. The scenery of the heavy-rain-drenched autumn Equestria darting past the windows threatened to inflict severe melancholia into the minds of the travellers, despite the amount of gold, yellow and red hues it offered.

But neither the sounds, nor the sights were of any importance to Profitable Deal at that time. He didn’t even notice the stewardess with cart of refreshments passing by, so deep in his thoughts he dwelled.

The CEO, an insufferable businesspony Profitable had to dine and deal with, had scheduled a tour of his company’s factory and another presentation for that morning and Profitable had to attend, otherwise he would offend the important business partner . Needless to say, he enjoyed it about as much as the Manehattanian employees forced to work on Sunday did. During this ordeal he tried his hardest to keep his mind away from the events that had probably transpired at his home during the previous evening and he did rather good job at that, but his will wasn’t strong enough to continue doing so throughout the several hours long journey to Canterlot

I can’t wait to see the results! Comb will finally get what she deserves and that bastard will fare no better! he mused excitedly. And the look on her face will be the cherry on top! Then with a start he realized just what he was looking forward to with such glee. His suspicions would turn into facts, the status quo would shatter like a glass thrown against a wall. He was looking forward to get a proof of his disgrace, the proof that his wife found him worthless.

His mood turned sour from his epiphany, and only the vision of vengeance kept him from regretting the actions that brought him into this position. The two views of his situation bothered him constantly as he disembarked in Canterlot station and slowly made way to his house, his family life’s cradle once, now turned into its coffin.

The rain thankfully stopped, but the low hanging rainclouds caused that when he arrived at the front door of the apartment building, it was almost midnight-style dark. He took a quick look up at the windows of his flat and was surprised there was no light on. Maybe she ran away. Or maybe she didn’t do anything wrong and just went out with her friends, he pondered. Please Celestia, be it the latter! he hoped for a moment before his pride took over control and he opened the entrance door and ascended two flights of stairs leading to his apartment.

He tried the doorknob and found it was locked. He opted to use his keys instead of knocking or ringing, the possibility of Comb absent or asleep being only part of the reason. As of lately, they always open the door for themselves, diminishing the contact with the other one to the unavoidable occasions.

The moment he entered the dark hallway, he caught the sound of quiet sobbing. It ceased the moment he rather loudly closed the door, but rustling of bedsheets resounded instead which assured him that he didn’t imagine the sobs. The sounds were coming from the bedroom, the door leading there slightly ajar.

Without hesitation, but without hurry as well, he made his way there. When he stepped into the room, he didn’t see a thing, so he reached for a switch and being sure that Comb wasn’t asleep turned the magic chandelier on.

A small hill covered in duvet lay on the bed. Few seconds after the light flooded the room, the hill started moving and Comb’s head emerged out of it. The fur on her cheeks was matted and the white of her eyes reddened from long crying. White towel was wrapped around Comb’s head so tightly that not a single strand of her mane was visible.

“Good evening… darling. Y-you are here,” she stammered and rubbed her eyes.

“That I am, Comb. How have you been these two days? And why are you in bed so early?” Profitable asked and sat down on the bed leaving only small distance between him and Comb. The greeting he received counted to the strangest ones he had ever heard, and the only possible explanation he could think of was that the hope in Comb’s innocence died.

“I-I’ve got a flu. Yes. I went for a walk yesterday and caught a horrible flu, so I wanted to get some sleep. But you woke me up by turning on the light!” she accused.

“Yesterday? When the weather was so lovely sunny?” he questioned raising eyebrow.

“I fell into a pond!” she blurted out and winced. Even to her that excuse sounded eternally stupid.

How far will she go with this lying? She is terrible at it! But let’s have some fun, she can squirm a bit more, Profitable decided and played along.

“Poor little dear! I’m so sorry, I heard some noises when I came home, so I thought you were up!” he said in an overly concerned voice and pointed a hoof at the towel, “But tell me, you haven’t done your mane while having a flu, did you?”

Comb started shaking. “N-no! Of course not! That would be silly. Heh. I got a headache. From the flu. So I made myself a cold compress,” Comb stuttered and moved her left foreleg to her nape.

“But it looks dry now. Pass it to me, I will take care of that for you.” He extended a hoof to her and smiled. She leaned back a little.

“No need to worry about that! The pain is gone now!” she almost shouted.

“I’m glad to hear you are better, but it could come back. We can’t let that happen. I insist,” he said emphatically and reached to grab the item in question. Comb tried to move away but she reacted too slowly. He grabbed the tip of the towel and pulled.

What he saw next definitely surprised him. He expected the poison joke to mess with Comb’s mane somehow, her being a stylist was a big giveaway in that regard, and the expectations turned into certainty the moment he noticed the towel, but this change surpassed his imagination by a mile. There wasn’t a single hair on Comb’s head. Her preciously kept mane simply disappeared without a trace.

Comb gasped, her hooves shot up to the bald skin on her head and the streams of her tears resumed their flow. From her point of view the game was over. From his point it wasn’t.

“But Comb, you said you didn’t do your mane! What an interesting new style!” he exclaimed mockingly. Comb focused her watery eyes on him and noticed that his smile turned into an evil smirk. Suddenly everything clicked.

“You!” she shouted and jumped from under the duvet. “What did you do to me?!” she continued and started to hyperventilate.

“Me? How could I have done anything? I was gone for two days, remember?” he stated, the smirk slowly fading. “No, it’s what you did. You were whoring around, weren’t you?” His voice was venomous like cockatrice now.

“What?! How dare you accuse me-” Comb yelled but was interrupted.

“You were! Or are you telling me you have always had blue dots down there? I think I would notice!” Profitable demanded, raising his voice with every word till he was almost shouting too.

Only now did Comb realize that she uncovered herself. Her nether lips were unnaturally engorged and in the full view, and small blue spots adored every inch of them. She grabbed the duvet she threw aside before and pulled it up to her chin. Profitable continued his tirade.

“I can’t believe that you did this to me! Such disrespect. Such disgrace!” he fumed. “What will the ponies say? What will they think of me once they find out that my wife sleeps around?!” However resigned Comb was, the last two statements stirred her own anger.

“What they will think and what they will say! That’s all you care about! You even married me just to look good. You only have me for representation, to show how successful you are. I¨m nothing but a piece of furniture to you! But he? He loves me. He cares about how I feel, not like you!” she scolded him hysterically, releasing the long pent-up frustration and hatred. Spent from her emotional strain she hugged herself and quietly sobbed.

He only glared her down. “What is his name?” he asked coldly

She lifted her eyes. “It’s me who can’t believe you did this to me,” she whispered.

He pulled a small ampule from his saddlebag and held it in front of Comb. She could make out the word antidote written on it.

“You want this, don’t you? Tell me his name and it is yours.” He was right. At that moment Comb deeply wished to get her hooves at the ampule. But despite the white rage she could see rising in his eyes, a promise of other persuading methods about to come, she managed to control herself and instead of saying anything or trying to seize the antidote she defiantly returned the stare.

“What! Is! His! Name!” he shouted, stressing each word, and held out his hoof to strike her across the face.

Comb prepared for the pain, but it never came. In the last second he snapped out of his enraged state, realizing what he almost did, and laid the hoof back on the bed. However, apologizing wasn’t a plausible course of action for him, so he hid his shame.

“I will find out soon enough. A freak who lost his special talent can’t hide in Canterlot for long,” he said calmly as he put the antidote back into his saddlebag and tossed her the towel he still held in his left forehoof.

“We are getting divorced, that’s beyond discussion. Not tomorrow, the office is closed on Mondays, but on Tuesday,” Profitable informed her icily and started walking to the front door.

“Where are you going?” Comb demanded, little bit of her self-confidence or maybe fear taking rule of her when the danger passed, and stood up on the bed.

He stopped on the threshold of the apartment. “To the hotel. I refuse to sleep in the same flat with a freak and a slut. Goodnight, Finesse. Comb isn’t something you would use now.”

“Will I stay like this forever?” she asked emotionlessly, too tired to continue the fight.

He weighed it for a second before he answered, “No. No, I won’t be cruel. I will give you the antidote, but only when the divorce is finished. See it as my insurance that you cooperate.” And with that he was out of the apartment and the door slammed loudly.

Her legs gave up and she slided down on the bed. She was utterly defeated and felt broken. It’s no difference. I’m done with or without my mane. What only will happen with me now? Canterlot will reject me. And what about Stormy? He is in trouble because of me. she thought and allowed herself to cry in earnest.

Although Profitable made his way to a hotel just like he said to Comb, sleeping wasn’t the highest ranking task on his list of priorities that evening. Clearing his head and defeating the shame brought by being cheated on and his own actions, however, held this position firmly, and so instead of entering his hired room he went directly to the hotel bar.

On regular Sunday evening he wouldn’t drink at all, not even in stressful situations, because he needed to be fresh for work. But an unwritten rule developed during the last few months, saying that he wasn’t required to show up until noon the day after the return from business trips. It was very convenient because the events of that day really made him want to be hangover the next morning.

His wish was granted and the throbbing in his head still accompanied him as he walked through the midday Canterlot. The grey clouds from previous evening still covered the sky and mercifully provided shield against the sun rays.He probably wouldn’t be able to make his way to work otherwise, even though he wisely chose a hotel close to the seat of his employer.

He was looking forward to getting into the five-storeys-high building which was the headquarters of the company he worked in. The mostly monotonous job and hectic conditions promised an escape from the thoughts of divorce, so when he saw the familiar sign on the white facade, a norm in Canterlot proper, he quickened his pace eagerly.

Upon entering he was immediately assaulted by a turmoil of ponies running from office to office, papers, shannons and cups of coffee flying in unicorns’ magic auras, and shouted orders and demands from all sides. This alone wouldn’t strike him as strange, Mondays were, after all, always busy days, but a certain desperation was noticeable in the mess surrounding him that day..

Not being able to uncover the reason for this feeling on his own, he made his way to the fifth floor where the office of his boss was located. It was only natural that Stormy Voice wanted to be informed about the events of Profitable’s journeys, so after the first instance when Stormy actually had to call Profitable into his office, the latter adopted the policy of giving the reports from his own initiative.

As he entered the anteroom of his boss’s office, he sighed in relieve. The noise of the chaos from downstairs couldn’t reach this place. The grey earth pony mare with black rimmed glasses on her muzzle and magenta mane in a bun sat behind the table as she always did. He smiled at the stable point in the everchanging environment and spoke:

“Good afternoon, Sharp Pen. How are you today? What’s with that chaos downstairs?” She raised her head from the paper she was filling and smiled in Profitable’s direction.

“Hi, Deal,” she chirped. She was the only pony who called him that. She simply couldn’t get used to his name change and he forbid her to call him Quickie. Several times, actually, before she finally gave it up. “You wouldn’t believe what happened. It’s really horrible! Everypony is trying to salvage what they can!” she exclaimed mincingly and started to fan herself with a hoof.

“Well? What so horrible happened?” asked Profitable impatiently. He knew how theatral could Sharp Pen sometimes get, and expected this to be another such occasion.

“I was getting there!” she retorted. “You know how today we were supposed to sell the Fillydelphia branch to those griffons?” Profitable nodded, cold sweat breaking on his forehead. This couldn’t be good. “Well, it failed. Completely. They left and ceased all business contact.”

It took him few seconds to find his voice again. Selling Fillydelphia branch was one of the most important endeavors of last few years. Failure meant serious trouble.

“Fail? How? That’s impossible! It was perfectly prepared, all that was left were the signatures!” he rumbled as he paced panically from one side of the anteroom to the other and back.

“Easily. For some idiotic reason Stormy Voice just told them everything! That while it isn’t in loss yet, it is still a dead end. And that we are vehemently trying to get rid of it while we still can,” Sharp Pen lamented, and Profitable had to admit that her tone was completely appropriate for the situation from the beginning.

“Wait a minute. You want to tell me that Stormy Voice, the impeccable speaker and one of the most skilled speculators, simply marched into the conference room and told his business associates that he was trying to swindle them?” he inquired incredulously.

“Yes. Well, not exactly like that, they asked him some questions and this is the result,” Sharp Pen explained.

“This doesn’t make sense at all! He was always a perfect negotiator, it is his special talent, for Celestia’s… sake…” he trailed off as the realization hit him. Suspicion made its way into his thoughts, but he needed more.

“Say, Sharp, haven’t you noticed anything else strange on him today?” Profitable questioning in a tone as natural as he could muster in such situation. Alerting Sharp Pen would do him little good.

“Hmm, anything strange,” Sharp Pen grumbled to herself, “now that you ask, he came fully clothed today. I haven’t seen him in clothes in like… ever,” she said slowly.

“‘Was he wearing loose-fitting clothes?” he demanded eagerly, leaning slightly forward.

“Yes. Rather loose-fitting. Why do you ask?” Sharp Pen asked in confusion and tilted her head.

“No reason!” he blurted, now seeing how straightforward his questions in fact were. Now he needed to end this conversation as soon as possible. Not that he minded, he wouldn’t want to let his vengeance wait any longer.

“Is he in his office?”

“Yes, but do you think this is the best time to report? Maybe you should come back later, his world just broke down. I even made sure there aren’t any means to commit suicide in his office before he got there,” she suggested with concern. She had always been very loyal to the company, but more so to its boss, and the same could be said vice versa too. It bordered with protectionism from time to time.

“Don’t worry, he will want to hear what I have to say. I’m sure of that,” Profitable assured her as he walked to the office door. But he most definitely won’t like it.

Stormy’s office was decorated with style but modesty. Plain wooden furniture complemented the oak paneling, and small crystal chandelier gently took care of what the insufficient light from outside couldn’t, but the attention of every newcomer would be drawn to the wall-side bookcase behind the writing desk. Profitable suspected that some of the books were hollow, containing bottles of various beverages not suitable for foals. A half-empty bottle of whiskey standing on the table served as evidence for this theory.

Stormy Voice was sitting behind his desk, one hoof on a glass of golden liquid, the other supporting his head. He was wearing a loosely fitting grey suit. When he noticed Profitable entering, he sat a bit straighter.

“Hello, Profitable. I know you have a report for me, but it will have to wait. I can’t concentrate on that now.”

“I’m not here to give you the report,” Profitable answered, keeping strictly neutral tone.

“So you heard what happened. Okey then. Why don’t you take a seat, when you already invited yourself in,” sighed Stormy and limply pointed to the chair in front of the desk . Profitable accepted and made himself comfortable. “Whiskey?”

“No, thank you.” Although the rule of “what hurt you will mend you” might have worked for him and rid him of his horrible headache, Profitable wanted to stay sober for what was about to come.

“As you please. So what do you think about this mess? Everypony else already told me their opinion, whether I wanted to hear it or not, so you can too,” Stormy encouraged with a huge dose of irritation. He rarely let his emotions show in his voice, doing so in such a blatant manner meant something was very wrong with him that day.

“Well, boss,” Profitable started, “I think you should go home. You are clearly sick.” In more than one sense, he added for himself.

Stormy chuckled. “Sick? That’s new. And what kind of disease would make me spill it to those griffons?” he asked. After being pitied many times that morning, he adopted self-loathing as an automatic reaction to any possible excuse of his failure.

Profitable feigned being in deep thought and then victoriously raised his hoof.

“Oh, now I remember. It could be caused by blue-dotted-cockyathus!” he exclaimed.

The room went dead silent. Profitable was content to watch how his boss winced and how a bewildered look spread across his face. However, the show didn’t last long. Stormy managed to regain a semblance of self-control and tried to mask his slip the best he could.

“I don’t think this is the right moment for joking. I could fire you for such profanity!” he sternly stared at Profitable. The recipient just waved his hoof nonchalantly.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to stay here much longer.” This clearly confused Stormy, but Profitable didn’t care. “You see, blue-dotted-cockyathus is a rare disease, the main symptoms of which are swollen genitalia covered in sky blue spots and the loss of the special talent,” Profitable went on, ignoring Stormy’s paling face. “It befalls primarily mares who cheated on me, and those who fucked my wife when I was being sent on pointless business trips!” he shouted in the end, the rage from the previous evening returning. Alas, he regretted his actions the next moment because his hangover didn’t take kindly to such loud noises.

It took a moment for Stormy to comprehend the full implications of what he was just shouted at, but once he did, his emotions mimicked almost perfectly Profable’s from few second ago.

He jumped up and shouted, “You poisoned us?! How dare you! I’ll call guards on you!” He pondered whether to actually attack Profitable or not, but the dilemma was solved by the stallion in question himself.

“You do that. Go on,” he pointed at the door with mocking bow, “and you will stay like this, and the whole of Canterlot will know what you did. You will suffer just as much as me.”

This took all the wind from Stormy’s sails. He sat down heavily and poured himself another glass of whiskey.

“What do you want? Isn’t it enough you ruined my work and endangered the company?” he asked hatefully, his voice low, almost whispering.

“To maim you, castrate you and throw your mangled body down from the Canterlot Mountain. But life rarely gives us what we want,” he smiled. “No. I will leave this company. You will terminate my employment because my position will no longer exist. You will give me excellent recommendation and severance pay of 5 of my normal salaries. When it is done, you will get the cure for your disease,” he finished listing his demands. Unlike with Comb, dealing with Stormy was supposed to bring profit.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” It was more of a rhetorical question, so Stormy didn’t even wait for the answer. “Okay then. The papers will be ready by tomorrow. But don’t you dare to show up again after that. I won’t let anypony to leach on me,” he threatened but it was an empty gesture.

“I didn’t know that you think about me so low. Well, it is of little consequence. I won’t show up, don’t worry,” said Profitable and started walking to the door. In that moment Stormy broke from his defeated state and remembered something more important to him than his self-preservation..

“I hope you didn’t do anything to Comb, for your own good. What will happen to her now?” he shouted after retreating stallion who winced once again at the loud noise.

Profitable didn’t know why he bothered to answer, but something told him it would be a good idea. “Apart from the poisoning, she is alright. Physically. And we will get divorced tomorrow, of course,” he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in Equestria, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

“I will raise the severance to ten monthly salaries, if the divorce is mutual,” Stormy offered, but made sure not to show how important this was to him. Mutual divorce would save Comb’s reputation, and reputation meant more than money in Canterlot.

“This isn’t about money, Stormy Voice. She betrayed me and will pay for it,” Profitable said seemingly determined to follow through with his original plan, but inside he decided to get as much as possible from the situation.

“Twelve salaries then,” Stormy haggled, losing his composure slightly. He saw it as his duty to get Comb out of this misfortune.

“I said it -”

“Fifteen!” exclaimed now desperate Stormy.

“You wouldn’t be able to justify such severance in front of the board

“I’ll pay it from my own funds,” he explained, not dropping the volume of his voice a single bit. Then he turned his eyes to the ground and waited for Profitable’s verdict.

“Would you please stop shouting? My head is killing me!” wailed Profitable, but then a pleased smirk found its way on his muzzle. “You really love her, don’t you?” Stormy just nodded, withholding a biting answer for sake of making this arrangement. “Well then, it is a deal then. Meet us at the chancellor’s office tomorrow at ten. We will leave the documents at a notary, so we can both be sure the other one keeps his word.” He got another nod and resumed the walking, but there was one more strike for him to make.

“You know, this is why I changed my name. Not all of the deals I make are quick, but they are always profitable,” and with that he closed the door.