Utopia

Ambrosia sat, helplessly, staring at the wall. After Gild's shattering revelation, she'd visited Bubbles, cried some, and ever since then had sat, motionless, staring at the featureless wall. Bubbles had tried to speak to her, to reason with her, to shake her out of it, she'd even slapped her twice. But no, nothing, No response, no anger, nothing. It was starting to scare poor Bubbles who, out of desperation, had just sat a large plate in front of Ambrosia with a selection of little foods that she'd manage to scrounge up from her kitchen.

But whilst Bubbles worried, Ambrosia's stunned mind never stopped her subconscious, reliving random memories from her past.

A bright field, filled with golden wheat. She remembered she had been told never to play in it. She was told she'd be lost because she was too short to see over the top. She'd laughed. She remembered laughing and telling her daddy that he was too short too. She couldn't remember what he said... Back then, the white area on her underside reaching to her throat had only been a patch of white fur on her chest. She remembered. She remembered cutting herself on one of her daddy's tools. A big, sharp blade. A scythe.

A clean, tidy house. A big table. Her mama and daddy seated either side of her. Another family was there. They were eating turnip and walnut soup. She remembered. She remembered her mama had spent all day making it just right. She remembered because she'd been there the whole time, learning. She still remembered the recipe, if she thought about it hard enough. It was an interesting flavour. Mama had once told her it was a staple meal. She didn't know what that was at the time.

A School room, filled with desks. Fillies and colts around her, being silly. Fifth grade. She remembered. She remembered because that was the year she got her cutie mark. She remembered. She remembered because that was the year she was hit on. She remembered because she'd spoken the colt down. She remembered sending him away, crying like a little baby. She remembered that because she didn't get in trouble. A silky white glove engulfed in a cracked Halo had marked her rump ever since.

Untidy room. Pizza boxes everywhere. College, all girls school. She remembered. She remembered this room well. She'd had her first homosexual experience there. She remembered. She remembered because the young mare was really, really sweet. She remembered because she basked in the other girls' envy. Her side of the room was clean. Remnants of parental influence. She remembered. She remembered because her parents made sure to remind her.

The road. She remembered. Dusty, dirty, and without mercy. She remembered. She remembered the way it tore her hooves up. She remembered the rocks in her hooves. She remembered the rough goings of the ground as she tried to sleep. She remembered. She remembered learning about illusions and simple tricks by watching a stage magician perform. She remembered her name was Trixie. She remembered because the mare wouldn't stop shouting her name.

Canterlot. Dark, hard cobblestones. The scent of the city, the sounds of clopping hooves. She remembered. She remembered because that was the night she'd met Bubbles. There she was now, sitting in the alley. she remembered. She remembered because she'd felt sad too, felt lonely too.

The Star. She remembered it well. Her room, with fourposter bed and lovely wallpaper. Her velvet covers. Her girls, looking at her each day happily, glad she gave them a home.

Gild. Gild's face. The memory darkened.

Zirqon, meeting in the dark. She remembered. She remembered because he'd had a marefriend. She remembered that because he never committed. She remembered. She remembered his caring look to the mare. She remembered his smile. Such trivial sounding matters...

"Yer an honest mare for the most part Amby, an' Ah respect that 'bout ya, and yer cute t' boot. If there was somethin' Ah could do t' help, ya know Ah would. But really, there isn't. So, instead, Ah'm goin' t' say this. Sometimes ya got to walk ye own path. Some ponies'll hate ya for it, some'll love ya. Ye just got t' go for what ya want, no matter what."

Her mind stopped, latching onto that. That one piece of a memory. A fragment really. But it latched onto it all the same.

Sometimes ya got to walk ye own path.

The words resounded in Ambrosia's head.

Some ponies'll love ya. Some Ponies'll hate ya for it.

Again, it repeated itself. Ever so slowly, her eyes moved, the dark fog lifted. The room was pitch black, and there was the sound of quiet snoring from the direction of the couch three feet from her. Her eyes alighted down upon the barely visible white plate, and the collection of goodies upon it.

Ever so slowly, she reached over, picked up a piece of fruitcake, and, regarding it for a moment, took a bite.

When Bubbles woke up the next morning, Ambrosia was gone. In her place, where the plate had once sat filled with various snacks, was a plate of steaming hot scrambled eggs and a note. Two pieces of toast held on a toast rack also caught Bubbles' attention.

Dear Bubbles.

I am not going to lie. Gild's blatant reschedule of our appointment took my by surprise. No, more like it put me in shock. I knew Gild had it out for me, for us, but I didn't realise he was so desperate. This is why I'm not here.

Gild is going to keep doing this. Every single time the appointment draws near, he'll postpone it, reschedule it, and eventually outright cancel it. You know it, I know it, and I think Caress knows it too. She's not here to see me how I was, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. My emotional state as of last night is now our secret. You can't tell anypony. Not Caress, not Thread, not Oil, hell, not even your pet cat three times removed on her mother's side. It's our secret, and it will stay that way. I've gone to search for an answer, and muster up enough knowledge and force if necessary to take down Gild.

He took away our home. If he doesn't reconsider, and soon, I'll take away everything he has left.

Make sure you eat well dear~

Ambrosia

Bubbles smiled wryly and looked at the food. It looked delicious. With a roll of her eyes, she sat down and began to tuck into the food Ambrosia had made for her.

There were a lot of bad sorts in Canterlot City. You just had to know where to look. Rumours of cut throats and gangs littered the streets, only to fall silent around the guards. Canterlot was not a perfect city, and everypony knew it. But moving away from the common thug and pickpocket, there were also sounds concerning ponies that were specialists in their field. There were rumours about a thief so good, he'd stolen away a set of Celestia's golden shoes and hidden them away. Rumour had it he was still looking for the right buyer. Another could swear he knew of an assassin so good, he made the kills look natural, even around other ponies.

And then there were bounty hunters, hunters, mages, shamans, black magic purveyors, fortune tellers...

Ambrosia hated fortune tellers. She hated the idea of being incapable of controlling her future, her life. So she avoided them. She knew there were a few that had the gift of sight. There had to be, in a place as magical as Equestria. So she avoided them. Bounty Hunters were cold and dangerous, even to their employers, and Hunters were paranoid.

But all of that was irrelevant, paling in comparison to who she was looking for. She'd come all the way to the shabbier parts of town to find him. That is to say, the parts of town not shown on the brochure. In a dingy tavern called 'Ragged Flagon', she sat silently at the bar whilst the other patrons ogled her, especially the ones beside her, who were trying unsuccessfully to chat her up. She watched a lone Zebra in the corner of the room. He appeared to be sewing. Her eyes narrowed as she felt a pinch on her rump and she turned to face the perpetrator, a drunken stallion who didn't even seem to know where he was, and knocked him flat. He was asleep before he hit the floor. The barkeep looked at the now unconscious stallion, looked up at Ambrosia, and wordlessly (However with a wide smile,) He poured her a drink that, apparently, was from his own private reserve. She thanked him after he insisted it on the house, and made her way through the room to the clear space around the zebra.

"You are brave, to come dis close to me," The Zebra said as Ambrosia approached, not looking up from his work as his lilting voice rolled over her ears, "Many here do not. Dey insist I'm dangerous, and rightly so."

His eyes flicked up to look at her and she felt a momentary shiver down her spine. He had no colour to them. Aside from the dark pupils, his eyes were utterly white.

"So why is it," He continued, staring at her as she sat down cautiously across the table from him, "Dat a pretty mare like yourself would sit here, wit da cursed medicine man?"

Ambrosia swallowed, sipping her strong drink before screwing up her courage and flicking her mane out of her eyes, deliberately making the movement provocative.

"I heard that you offered your services," She said simply, smiling at him, "And thought I'd make an offer."

"Ah," He replied, setting his bone needle down gently, "I see. You wish to make a deal wit de devil, and hope you come out alive."

"No," She said sweetly, "I wish to make a deal with you, and make it good."

He looked back down at his work, nodding sagely.

"Then I am all ears," He said, sounding a little amused, "I always have time to listen to business."

"And I have always got time to speak business," She said back to him, "I hear you offer your unique services to the highest bidder. A mercenary, if you will."

"I like to think of myself as a opportunist," He said, going back to working on his... whatever it was.

"Of course. Well, I'm offering you a once in a lifetime opportunity to work for me."

The zebra nodded sagely, still looking at his project.

"I want you to come and work for me. In return for your services, I offer you protection from your enemies, and sanctuary once I have achieved my goal."

"Do tell," He replied calmly.

"I'm getting my home back," She replied darkly, "No matter what it takes."

He paused for a long time before sighing and looking up, his hooves never stopping their work.

"You know, I was once a respectable shaman in my tribe. As shaman, I studied da healing arts of my kind. Eventually, when ya do da same thing over and over again, you decide da best way to keep doing it, is to practice or dabble in something else. I chose Voodoo."

Finally, he held up his project. A small, miniaturized version of Ambrosia looked back at her, a long piece of her mane sewed into the top part of her neck. Ambrosia frowned.

"Is that..?" She asked slowly.

"Yes," He replied, "It is a voodoo doll of you. I was not sure if you were meaning me harm."

A look of dread fell over Amber's face and he smiled, and began to laugh.

"Do not worry," He said coolly, "There is no enchantment on it yet. You are not bound to dis doll. It is merely decorative at dis time."

He looked at the doll, then back at her seriously.

"I will tell you what," He said calmly, "You cannot guarantee my safety, and you cannot tell me how long it will be until you have finished dis campaign of yours. So, I will make you a counter offer."

"Shoot," She replied.

"I will keep dis doll," He replied, "For the time spent in your service. I will not use de power contained within it unless I believe you are going to betray me. At the time I believe you complete your mission, I shall give you de doll, and you may do wit it what you will."

He held up a hoof, silencing her before she could speak.

"I also expect payment in some form."

"My home is the Golden Star Brothel," She replied quickly, "When we get it back, you can have free reign of the house, my girls and free food and drinks so long as the meal is under twenty bits."

He considered this for a while before smiling.

"I find dis acceptable. I agree to your offer. I trust you have a contract?"

"Not yet," She replied, "I wanted to be sure you'd agree."

He smirked and stored the doll in a bag under his chair.

"Then let us go. We have a few things to do."