Mare-Do-Well: Half Moon

Inside an elegant cathedral with marble pillars and curved ceilings, a white pegasus mare with a free flowing gold mane wearing a robe similar to her color scheme approaches a confessional booth tucked next to a statue of Celestia. The Sun Goddess is sitting with her head down and her wings stretched out protectively, and the confession booth has one curtain with a moon and another as the sun. The pegasus, Mother Aurora Glory, enters through the sun side and sits down on a plush cushion.

Earlier, one of the altarcolts came to her office and told her about a stallion in distress who wanted advice. The fact that she holds the rank of “Mother” in the Church of Solaria means that she has to take the mantel of giving for anyone who requests penance or seeks advice, and it is a duty she carries on without complaint daily. Now, here she is, inside a confession booth, staring at a mesh wall that has the sun and moon interwoven into each other, and designed so that they can only see silhouettes of each other.

Mother Glory waits patiently for the stallion on the other side to speak. She knows how hard it is to do confessions or seek advice, especially for stallions, and she has learned that patience is the appropriate response this kind of ritual.

“Mother, I would like to ask you a question. It is something that has been on my mind for almost a year now,” says the stallion, his voice weighed down by guilt and fear.

Mother Glory glances at the woven wall between her and the stallion. She can hear his hooves nervously tap against the floor and feel the vibrations of his trembling body. She sees the silhouette of the pony bow his head and

“What is on your mind, my son?” asks Mother Glory.

“I have done many terrible things, and now I have lost friends and family because of it,” says the stallion in the booth. He swallows and his voice cracks when he continues. “I have tried to make up for what I have done, but my daughter... she still doesn’t want anything to do with me and I have followed the rites for forgiveness, but have not felt it. Is forgiveness for everypony?”

“Yes. Yes it is, my son. Through Celestia’s infinite grace all are able to repent and find a home in Paradise through Her.”

“Then why can’t I feel it?”

“We must learn to be able to forgive ourselves, and more often than not that is harder than forgiving somepony for wronging us.”

“...And what if somepony can’t forgive me for what I have done?”

Mother Glory hesitates. “It is a tough question, I will not lie, but the answer is that we are all flesh and blood and are born with free will. With free will comes the responsibility of following the Laws of the Higher Powers, but most do not follow such things nowadays. If this pony cannot forgive, then that is their choice, that is the path they chose to follow and we can only hope that they will see the light someday. That leaves it up to you to forgive yourself and others who have wronged you.”

The booth becomes silent. Mother Glory can see the stallion on the other end staring at the floor. His breathing has gotten heavier, and she leans closer when she hears him whimper and sniffle. Everyday she deals with someone who comes to the booth for confession and advice, and she does her best to give them the comfort that the hurting seek. However, there are times where she feels as though she only made the problem worse, and this is one of those occasions. To make up for this, she wants to say something, anything, to help him take the weight off of his shoulders, but her mind draws a blank. She can only watch the silhouette on the other side quiver, and after a near thirty seconds of terrible silence between them, the stallion takes a breath and looks at Mother Glory.

“I don’t think I deserve it,” he says.

And then he leaves the booth in a hurry. Mother Glory exits and watches him leave. She can’t make out his appearance since he is stating low and wearing a large cloak that hides his features, but when the door closes with a resonating bang, she exhales sadly and turns towards the altar. It is an excellent display of candles of ascending height leading up to a sun with a golden orb and bronze flames, and above it is a colorful stained glass mural of Princess Celestia watching over Equestria. On a normal, not so clouded day, the cathedral would be graced with the colors that shine from the light, but due to the gray weather, it is just another display of theological art.

Mother Glory carefully takes one of the candles and lights it using a small torch located at the end of it. She then sets the candle down, kneels in front of the alter with her eyes closed and recites a prayer.

“Mother Celestia, Princess of the Sun and Eternal Grace, be with the one to whom I spoke with. Tend to him with Your protection and Your love in his time of need. Help him see that You are forever graceful and are his shield from evil and despair. In Your name, I pray. Amen.”

Mother Glory blows out the candle and rotates it so that the thin smoke makes a circle around her before setting it down and leaving to tend to her other duties.

=====0=====

Hours after the visit to the cathedral, the sun is down and storm clouds darken the sky with the coming rain signalled by the blinding flashes of lightning and the thunder that follows. An azure unicorn stallion with a disheveled gray mane steps out of his loft with a sealed envelope in his magical grip. His eyes are red and baggy, and each step is heavy with despair. His name is Eclipse Lulamoon, and he was once one of the most feared ponies in Equestria, but now he has been reduced to a shell on the verge of breaking.

Eclipse approaches a silver box built into the wall that has an envelope with wings on it painted on and “OUTGOING MAIL” underneath. Eclipse looks at the envelope, trembling and whimpering as tears pool in his eyes, and then he takes a deep breath and slides it in. He puts his hoof against the slit, bows his head, and closes his eyes in a last ditch effort to think of something peaceful before his murderer comes to claim him.

However, he is met with failure because he feels a cold presence grip his very soul, and when he looks up he pales and backs up from the sight of stallion down the hall that was not there earlier and in way could have arrived without making some noise. The stranger is an abnormally tall, has a coat as black as oil and his mane is gray and frazzled, but the most terrifying of all is that his eyes are made out of a strange, gray swirling mist that bleeds out around the edges.

Eclipse takes a step back, expecting the stallion to approach him, but he does not and with each passing second he feels weaker and colder. Then the elevator near the stranger beeps and a toothless smirk crosses his face.

As much as Eclipse wants to, he cannot move, and his heart feels like it is about to explode from how hard and loud it is thumping. When the elevator passenger steps out, it is a stallion wearing a gray maintenance jumpsuit with a saddle full of tools and a bucket of black paint clipped to the outside. Then there is a flash of lightning, instantly followed by a power outage and rolling thunder. Through the darkness, Eclipse can see the worker look up at the ceiling, and then turn his head slowly and he starts walking directly towards him with the cover of darkness blocking all of his features.

Eclipse pales, runs to his loft and slams the door shut, using his magic to lock the door as much as possible.

He backs away as the steps get louder and more taunting, and when they stop by the door, Eclipse retreats until he is on his couch. The door shakes with a kick and Eclipse uses his magic to grab a framed photograph, and he holds it close to his chest, whimpering.

There is another kick and the door cracks open, and Eclipse bows his head, sobbing quietly and stroking the picture. The door is kicked again, and this time it flies off of its hinges in pieces, leaving the maintenance stallion standing in the doorway as a shadow.

“Forgive me,” whimpers Eclipse, tears now drenching his eyes and cheeks. The stallion marches forward and Eclipse bows his head and strokes the picture one last time, whispering: “Forgive me.”

oooOOOooo

Jet Set and Upper Crust hop out of a taxi, grimacing as they pop open their umbrellas to shield themselves from the torrential downpour. They try to stay close to the cab to avoid getting bumped into by more plebeian ponies trying to escape the rain, with some laughing along the way while others express the exact opposite emotion.

“My word, why must the pegasi make this much ruckus!” complains Jet Set in response to a tooth shaking roll of thunder that was created by a bolt of lightning that shut off the power to the building next to them. “And that’s going to make a pleasant walk up the stairs.”

“We really must file a complaint about this,” grumbles Upper Crust. “This dastardly weather really made the Blueblood Memorial all the less pleasant to attend.”

“Hey, I still gotta get paid!” says the earth pony stallion pulling the taxi.

He is wearing an umbrella saddle that is keeping him dry, and he is completely unfazed by the unfriendly stares he gets when Jet Set levitates a few bits to the coin box attached to his saddle.

“You really should get your taxi cleaned, it is filthy,” comments Upper Crust snidely.

“Whatever,” scoffs the taxi puller.

And then Eclipse’s body lands through the roof and sprays blood all over the three of them as the wheels snap off, causing the taxi to buckle and break apart on the pavement. The puller whinnies and unhooks himself while the two unicorns leap back, screaming. The three are speechless as a crowd gathers, with some shouting for guards and the rest watching the gruesome scene with morbid fascination.

Upper Crust buries her face in Jet Set’s chest as she sobs, the taxi driver swears under his breath, and Jet Set can’t shake the fact that Eclipse is looking at them with his eyes wide open. In a feeble attempt to get that horrible imagery out of his mind, Jet set closes his eyes and turns his head to comfort his wife, and a minute later, the Night Guards come running to the scene.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few fast hours have already passed at Eclipse Lulamoon’s wrecked loft, and it seems as though the crime scene investigators have barely put a dent in the gruesome site.

Leading the investigation is a grayish, purple unicorn stallion named Laveranues Roy Jerkins, or, as he prefers, L. Roy Jerkins. His long years of service in the Royal Night Guard have played hell with his age, making him seem as though he is going in his fifties when he is really in his early forties. And if it was not for the horrible weather outside, then he would not have a near crippling cold that makes him care little about his scraggly beard. Not that he cares much about his overgrown facial fur since the Night Guard is less stringent on certain things than the Royal Guard, and trimming is one of them.

Currently, Detective L. Roy Jerkins is inspecting the splintered wood on the railing surrounding the patio. L. Roy glances behind his shoulder at the destroyed patio door, noting how all the glass is shattered and the door is nearly off of its hinges, and he looks back at the railing. He is confident without a doubt that whoever murdered Eclipse was not only incredibly strong, but also violent. He adjusts his poncho with his magic to keep himself and his lavender armor as dry as possible while the pegasi work to clear the clouds as he peers over the edge. Thirty stories down, the CSIs look like little ants scurrying around a splattered droplet.

A camera flashes and L. Roy walks back inside, careful to avoid the broken glass, the large streak of blood leading to the patio, and the dozens of evidence markers dotting the floor awaiting their photograph. During his walk, L. Roy stops next to a CSI and watches him levitate a beige feather into a plastic bag, which is then carefully bagged, tagged and put inside a box labeled: EVIDENCE- LULAMOON, ECLIPSE MURDER- 26 DEC 3LR.

L. Roy carries on his walk, scanning the holes in the wall, the broken piece of furniture, the front door kicked off of its hinges, and he stops at a broken picture frame. It is marked and photoed, and L. Roy picks it up to examine it better. He sees Eclipse there, and with him is a mare with a light brown coat and a curly dark brown mane holding a baby Trixie Lulamoon.

L. Roy hands the picture to the waiting CSI and is about to move on to another part of the loft when he freezes. A strong pressure builds up in his nose and his face contorts into a hideous look as he yanks out a handkerchief, and he barely covers his nose in time to cover his explosive sneeze. The sneeze is strong enough to send a spark from his horn and almost send his butt crashing to the floor. Luckily he doesn’t, but it still doesn’t stop the Night Guards from stopping to look at him, and in turn his sickly state doesn’t stop him from silently ordering them back to work with the all powerful glare.

As soon as the CSIs resume their photography and marking, another Night Guard enters the loft and approaches L. Ro, who is now inspecting a smashed glass table that has a nice puddle of blood serving as the starting point for the trail.

“Detective Jerkins, we talked to the neighbors, the doorpony, and the maintenance guy trying to fix the power. They didn’t see anything,” says the Night Guard.

“Figures,” mutters L. Roy as he wipes leaking snot from his nose, “there never are any good witnesses.”

After wiping his nose, he grimaces at the mucus on his handkerchief and carefully folds up the piece of cloth and sticks it back in his pocket. He almost wants to whine about how much the cold sucks, but that won’t get him anywhere. Besides, he wants to keep the stoic attitude he’s known for. It makes it easier for him to ignore stupid things, like frivolous conversations and horrible jokes. However, while his attitude may keep him safe from those things, there is one pony that seems to be immune to him, and he is heading towards L. Roy right now with a big, proud and all around immature smile.

He is a noticeably younger earth pony stallion with a gray coat and a slicked back green mane, and unlike L. Roy, who’s cutie mark is an axe, this fellow’s special talent is marked by a smiling flower. This is Colt Kicker. L. Roy’s partner and the bane of his existence.

“Hey, L. Roy, I found something,” says Colt Kicker. His young and energetic voice makes L. Roy wonder if the stallion had gone through puberty yet, or if he had a very fast one.

L. Roy groans and hides his scowl by wiping his nose again. Not that it matters since Colt is immune to negativity, anyway.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me L. Roy when on duty?” sniffles L. Roy.

“More than I can count,” boasts Colt. L. Roy rolls his eyes and Colt continues in his usually bubbly for life in general tone. “Anyway, I found that the emergency exit has been forced open from the outside.”

All eyes turn on Colt and L. Roy has to look at them once again for them to remember that they have work to do. Right as they go back to work, L. Roy looks at his partner, silently pleased that he found something useful that the others have not, but he still has to make sure that Colt is accurate in his statement.

“Are you sure it was from the outside?” asks L. Roy.

Colt nods his head quickly. “Yep, I did all the stuff. I looked at the scene, studied the scene, looked at the door, asked about the door, looked at the door again, labeled the door and then told the nice lady up front how she reminds me of a lunar rose.”

L. Roy facehoofs. “Colt, I swear to the Celestial Sisters, you are hopeless.”

“Thanks. I try my best.”

“Definitely hopeless.”

Colt goes outside to peek over the balcony, completely oblivious to the detective’s statement, and makes a low, drawn out whistle as he looks at the mess dozens of stories down.

“Wow, somepony really had it out for this guy,” says Colt carelessly.

L. Roy walks next to him. “What did you expect? He was a crime lord. Crime lords have rivals. And this rival wiped out his entire criminal empire before giving him the window treatment.”

Colt’s ears droop slightly as he looks at the older unicorn. “You think a rival did this?”

“Possibly. I know Grizelda’s moving into town and she’s making room to make her little self nice and cozy in our town. We all know griffins are violent. Especially the bad eggs like her.”

“Where’s the ‘but’? There’s always a ‘but’.”

“But we’ll have to see what the evidence says before pointing hooves.”

Detective Jerkins walks back inside, followed by Colt a few seconds later.

“Hey, L. Roy, do you think this whole thing,” Colt waves his hoof around at the mess, “was supposed to be symbolic or something? I mean a crime lord was tossed out his window and splattered in front of a crowd.”

L. Roy looks at Colt. “Message or not, this whole thing should blow over quickly. Nopony is eager to figure out who murdered one of Equestria’s crime lords.” Then he walks towards the exit. “Besides, we should thank whoever did this. This was the last of the Eclipse Mob.”

“One less crime ring to deal with, then?”

“Exactly.” L. Roy sneezes explosively, causing some heads to turn, but once he looks at them they look away and go back to work again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with the apartment manager. Keep everypony here on their hooves and make sure you bag and tag everything.”

“Yes, sir, Detective L. Roy, sir!”

L. Roy is about to say something about that statement, but he just leaves it at a very annoyed groan and walks out of the apartment. There is no getting through that stallion, so trying is a hopeless cause.

Colt waves farewell to L. Roy and once his partner is out of sight he lowers his hoof and looks out the destroyed patio door at the ever growing, skeletal Canterlot skyline, shrouded by the dreary curtain of rain. Then he glances at a fallen oil painting of a dragon resting on a pile of gold with the moon in the background. After unenthusiastically studying the picture for a few seconds he walks over to a display case that is surprisingly untouched. He takes note of all the little figurines locked safely inside, all of which are some kind of dragon with a moon varying in poses and sizes.

“This is going to be a long night.” Colt looks around and scuffs his hoof on the floor to put his boredom at ease. It doesn’t work. He scans the area again before he he nudges a nearby guard. “Hey, I’m going to need a large coffee and four chocolate and sprinkled donuts from Donut Joe’s. Make sure the coffee is low fat, double shot of caffeine and I want all the sprinkles of the chocolate donuts on one side.”

The guard looks at Colt, his confusion clear as pure water. “Um... sir, I’m a CSI.”

Colt smiles and wraps his hoof around the guard’s neck for a buddy hug. “And I’m your superior. Coffee and donuts, please.”

The CSI nods his head quickly and Colt releases him, allowing for him to trot away and fetch the breakfast meant for kings.

“Good kid. Reminds me of me,” says Colt proudly to no one in particular.

“Excuse me, Detective Kicker, sir,” says a Night Guard behind him.

Colt turns around with a pleasant smile. “What can I do for you, buddy?”

The Night Guard takes a breath. “We heard the conversation you and Detective Jerkins had, and we were wondering if you think this whole thing is symbolic... or something?”

Colt’s smile fades, and the imagery of all the crime scene photos of the brutal deaths of the Eclipse mob go through his mind like a film reel. He remembers how they started out. A lieutenant of the Eclipse Mob had been found stabbed to death in a nightclub bathroom and another beaten to death in an alley, but then it got worse to where they were finding throats slit, and bodies burned, decapitated, shot dozens of times or crushed. Within a year, the Eclipse Mob had only Eclipse Lulamoon himself left, and now he’s a gorey pancake on a Canterlot sidewalk.

Colt knows that most think that Gilda is responsible for the murders in some way, and he knows L. Roy wants to believe it, too, but both know that she doesn’t play the game that way and is very careful about who she hires. And that is what terrifies Colt the most about the murders. They are all brutal, purely psychotic in nature, and they have no suspects. Then there is the fact that in every crime scene the killer painted “ABSOLUTION” in either blood or black paint. In the case of Eclipse’s murder, though, the killer left a proverb for them on the wall by the kitchen after throwing all the pictures to the ground.

THERE IS ONLY BLACK AND WHITE

NEVER GRAY

FOR JUSTICE IS ABSOLUTE

Colt looks at the message, shuddering from the gruesome way it is displayed with a mix of blood and black paint. Whoever the killer is, while a sociopath in Colt’s book also displays some intelligence since he left no obvious hoofprints out, leading the detective to believe that the killer had cleaned himself off before leaving.

“Sir?”

The guard’s voice interrupts Colt’s observation, not that he is complaining much since he finds the words on the wall the most disturbing part of the whole scene.

“I don’t know. Probably,” says Colt grimly in response to the guard’s question. “But whoever did this is somepony who enjoys killing, and I can guarantee you that whoever this is is far from done.”