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                  Mare-Do-Well: Half Moon                  
               -by Mark Garg von Herbalist-                
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                        Unforgiven                         
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Unforgiven
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.”

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                 Mistakes and Consequences                 
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Mistakes and Consequences
Dodge City, Equestria
Ten Year Later...
“Gentlecolts, what's it going to be? Will you turn down a beautiful piece like this, or will you take a chance?” says a starved mare in her early thirties wearing a cheaply sewn burlap cloak with a unicorn friendly snow cap. Her voice is confident and has a pleasant edge to it that once gave her the ability to draw great numbers to her, and even though her once pristine coat and silky mane are covered with dirt and grease, she does not let this effect her tone.
There are three stallions in the rundown pawnshop, but the stallion she is focusing on is in his sixties, fat with a brown coat and a graying mane tied back to a ponytail. He is sitting behind a glass display counter that is poorly organized, but his front hooves are pressed together and his scrutinizing eyes have yet to break away from the gold chained, ruby decorated necklace the unicorn mare is dangling in front of his face.
The old stallion, Bronze Standard, looks at the other two stallions, both of which are in their thirties and have heavy builds with identical Royal Guard style mane-cuts. One has a green coat with a yellow mane and the other has a white coat with a black mane, and the mare's skin crawls when the two stallions look at each other, then back at her. However, despite the growing tension, she still keeps her charade up with a confident voice and smile.
“Well, what's it going to be?” says the mare, adding in a cocky smile and raised brow for flare of the show. She knows he wants it, now all she has to do is convince him to buy it from her for her multi-hundred bits price.
As he watches the necklace dangle, Bronze Standard furrows his brow and says: “It is a beautiful necklace, and I really do want it, but I'm not going to pay anything for it.”
The mare frowns, but her eyebrow still remains raised, more out of question than taunting, though.
“Why not?” she asks snidely.
“Because its mine,” answers Bronze Standard immediately.
The mare's confidence is destroyed with that simple sentence, and she swallows a rock hard lump in her throat when the two stallions behind her step forward. She switches her gaze from the two stallions to Bronze Standard when he walks out from behind his counter without breaking eye contact with her.
“And since you keep calling yourself 'Trixie' I'm going to guess that that is your name,” continues Bronze Standard, “and I'm also going to take a wild guess and say that it was you who broke into my house yesterday and stole this along with the one hundred bits and all my mint gum.”
At the conclusion of his sentence, Bronze Standard is standing in front of the former Great and Powerful Trixie Lulamoon, who is now having difficulty keeping herself from shaking or sweating, or her heart from beating rapidly.
“That thief was you, wasn't it?” asks Bronze Standard, now barely a couple of feet away.
Trixie fails at her innocent smile. “Trixie doesn't-”
“That thief was you, wasn't it, Trixie?”
Trixie sighs in defeat and looks down, nodding, and Bronze Standard smiles thinly and waves at the two stallions behind her.
“Buzz Cut, Fox Trot, why don't you two teach our little thief here a lesson,” he says as the two stallions approach Trixie.
The green stallion snickers and Bronze Standard grabs the necklace with his mouth while Trixie keeps her head down. She is really cursing herself for being so stupid as to steal and sell something in the same area. She remembers how when she broke in that house she told herself to take the bits and run. Then she saw the gum and decided to take some of that, after that came the necklace. Seeing that thing of beauty, she figured she could pawn it to get enough money to buy a one way ticket to the Crystal Kingdom, Prance, or, Higher Powers forbid, Neighico. But alas, her choices and sheer dumb luck have brought her face to face with the very person she robbed.
Thoughts aside, Trixie refuses to go down like a chump, and when the green stallion, Buzz Cut, puts his hoof on her shoulder, she whirls around and socks him square on the jaw. He swears and stumbles away, clutching his jaw, and Trixie shoots Fox Trot in the chest with a telekinetic blast that sends him crashing against the gated door. He falls to the ground, groaning, and Trixie gallops out of the pawn shop and pushes aside some pedestrians making their way down the wet sidewalk.
“Get her!” shouts Bronze Standard.
Trixie looks over her shoulder just in time to see Bronze Standard's henchponies run out. It takes them a second to find her, but when they do, they run full speed after her. She looks back ahead when Fox Trot breaks away, and she uses her magic to throw what she is hoping to be an overloaded fruit stand in Buzz Cut's way. As it turns out, someone just did a fantastic job on painting a piece of plywood, but because of the unexpected lightness of its weight, Trixie's magic overcompensates and she hits Buzz Cut in the face with it.
Trixie chuckles victoriously to herself, stealing one last look to watch Buzz Cut groan and shift under the splintered wood before she runs into the alley. She reaches the end and turns right into Fox Trot's hoof, leading to a perfect close-line and a brutal headache after her skull smacks the ground with a loud crack.
Trixie's eyes spin and she swears she sees stars as she lies on her back with a fresh bruise forming on her collar. With her being on her back, Trixie can see the gray clouds looming overhead for another round of rain, and her attempts to move are compromised when Fox Trot steps on her barrel, holding her down effectively. When Buzz Cut rounds the corner, maw wet from his bleeding nose, Trixie blinds Fox Trot with a flash of light then kicks him in the gonads. He swears through gritted teeth and falls off, and when Trixie rolls to her hooves, she is tackled into the brick wall by Buzz Cut. She seethes with pain, but it quickly turns into a snarl and she punches Buzz Cut in the eye. He doesn't pull back enough for her to escape, and when he punches her back, it is hard enough to send her crashing to the dirty pavement. Trixie is then kicked in the side, sending her gasping as a burst of pain goes through her ribs, and before she can fully charge her horn for another defense, Buzz Cut stomps on her head and she blacks out.
~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie's eyes flutter open after an unknown amount of time has passed. With every blink, the garage she is in becomes clearer, as do the three stallions from the pawn shop. She sees them talking amongst themselves next to a long, blocky vehicle that has a wooden frame with metal trim and a boiler engine on the side with pipes running along the side. Its wheels are thick and it has curtains over its windows as well as electric lights in lantern shaped containers attached to the corners. Another thing Trixie realizes is that her hooves are tied, front to front and back to back, with old rope, her mouth is gagged and she has a horn cuff on.
Currently Trixie is too dazed to feel anything other than sluggish, but even then, she still looks at the stallions when their voices become clear enough to understand.
“I think Boss will really like her. She's a feisty one,” says Buzz Cut, his voice sounding funny because of the wads of bloody tissue he has stuffed up his nostrils.
Bronze Standard nods. “I think he will, too. When you get there, tell that ugly bastard the price for her is seven hundred, no less.”
“You seriously think he's going to pay that much for her?” asks Fox Trot.
“If he doesn't want her, bring her back and she'll be our little toy,” says Bronze Standard carelessly.
“Your little toy. I'm still married,” says Fox Trot with narrowed eyes.
Buzz Cut snorts a laugh. “Well, shoot, now I'm hoping he'll say no to her.”
Trixie groans and weakly raises her tied hooves to touch the throbbing spot on her head. The scratching of rope against concrete and her voice catches their attention, and the last thing she sees before getting knocked out again is Bronze Standard's hoof to her face.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hours later, Trixie's eyes open once again, this time because of a bump in the road that tosses her what feels like a few feet in the air and has her land funky near a window. Trixie blinks and looks around while one of her captors makes a lighthearted comment about the bump. She can feel the ropes and gag still on her, and she also hears the end of a song playing on the radio. When the guitar fades, a very energetic mare starts speaking in such a way that she sounds naturally carefree.
“Now was that a good song or was that a great song?” says the cheerful mare. “Anything less and I'll call it heresy against music. And speaking of music, 'Project Musicure' by the bands Chain Link Park, 3 Barns Up and TwoRepublics met record ticket sales when they played at the Ponyville Hoofball Field, and might I add that Sweetie Belle made a very heart warming first impression. I wouldn't be surprised if her album in works wins some awards. Anyway, peeps, after these messages you'll get another two hours of nonstop music, followed by another story revolving around the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well, her copycat, Missy, and their adventures in Ponyville County. This DJ-Pon3 signing off!”
After DJ-Pon3 announces her break, upbeat music and cheers come on over the radio with sounds of coins falling and cards shuffling in the background.
“Wanna win big? Then head on over to the Card Casino on Canterlot's famous Magic Boulevard!” says an obnoxious mare trying way too hard to sound young and hip.
“Why do you listen to that FM junk?” asks Fox Trot moodily over the advertisement.
“Because its better than the boring AM garbage you listen to,” says Buzz Cut.
“AM is nothing but sports, news and talk shows while FM is filled with songs about sex, drugs, or how it's okay to cheat on your loved ones. I think I know where all the garbage is.”
“You're joking, right? I mean look at us, and you don't... Wow. I worry about you sometimes.”
“Don't even get started.”
“I won't. But for the record, Lips of an Alicorn is a great song.”
“You just said that you wouldn't get started!”
Buzz Cut laughs while Fox Trot shakes his head and looks out the window. Trixie wishes she could see what they see, but all she gets is a wooden roof and closed curtains with flowers and leaves decorating them. From what little she can see from the windshield, though, she determines that they are on a long stretch of boring road, miles from civilization, and the weather has yet to improve from its rainy state.
The vehicle then slows down and starts to turn into a place that Trixie cannot see.
“What are you doing?” says Fox Trot sharply.
“We need to restock the water and coal, and get better power gems,” says Buzz Cut.
There is a pause, and when Fox Trot shifts to have a look at the gauges on the dashboard, Trixie closes her eyes and pretends to be sleeping.
“Dammit,” sighs Fox Trot, audibly slumping back in his seat. “I told you to get the premium coal at the last station.”
“And I did! Which means that there is something wrong with the power gems,” says Buzz Cut.
Fox Trot sighs loudly. “Alright, but I'm going to be the one who's going to get it.”
“You think I'm too dumb to get the right stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
The vehicle slows to a stop at the edge of the parking lot, and when it makes an odd clunk and jerks before coming to a complete stop, Fox Trot turns to Buzz Cut and points at him as he keeps one of his hooves on the door.
“You stay here and make sure she doesn't get out,” orders Fox Trot. “We'll get the refills when I get the gems properly installed.”
“Why are you sounding paranoid. She ain't getting out. She's out cold!” says Buzz Cut.
“She stopped snoring, so she must be awake, listening to us speak, and it will be your cutie mark on the burner, not mine, if she gets out, alright?”
There is a few more seconds of silence before Buzz Cut murmurs his acknowledgment, and Fox Trot pushes open the door and slams it shut. After the door is closed Trixie opens her eyes again she sees that she is alone with Buzz Cut.
The green stallion huffs and watches Fox Trot for a few more seconds before he looks at Trixie. This time she doesn't close her eyes since she figures that Fox Trot already knows so there is no point in hiding it. Though, that goes without saying that a part of her she wishes she pretended to sleep because Buzz Cut's smile is unnerving.
“Well, now that he is out of the way... You almost broke my nose, you know that?” says Buzz Cut.
Trixie snorts, wanting so badly to say something sarcastic just to tick him off, but, alas, with the gag in her mouth, all she can do is grunt and collect spit. However, her defiant stare disappears when Buzz Cut climbs over his seat and starts going towards her, nearly drooling with his perverted smile.
“And that means you owe me a quicky!” says the predator.
Trixie's screams are muffled and with her hooves bound her flailing is pitiful at best. Buzz Cut clambers on top of Trixie and presses his hoof down on her face so her head is squished between him and the carpet of dirt on the floor. She wiggles sporadically and voices her protests with angry, muffled whines, but all that accomplishes is a tighter press that makes her groan in pain.
“Stop it or I'll smack your face off!” barks Buzz Cut, adding: “I'm going to take the gag off and we're going to have a little fun for only five minutes. Scream, and I'll shove the gag back in and take the fun somewhere lower, got it?”
Trixie looks up at him, eyes watering and breathing ragged, but still she nods a couple of seconds later. This makes Buzz Cut beam, making the lust in him shine like the sun.
“Good choice!” he says, and as he pulls the gag off he adds: “This is going to be-”
He ends his sentence with a very loud, agonizing scream as Trixie snaps at him and sinks her teeth into his hoof. Just the taste alone tells Trixie that the stallion hasn't bathed in a while, but she doesn't care about the taste of dirt, sweat and blood mixing on her tongue. And she certainly doesn't care about the tears pooling in Buzz Cut's eyes as he waggles his hoof to get her off of him.
Trixie only releases Buzz Cut when h punches her in the gut, pushing all of the air out of her lungs way too fast, causing her to keel over, coughing and gasping for air as she curls on the ground. She looks up at him with a bloody smile, though, when he snarls at her, clutching his hoof that is now dripping blood.
“You whorse!” cries Buzz Cut.
Buzz Cut leaps on top of Trixie and she clamps her mouth shut, forcing herself not to scream from the fear and pain of his brutality as he tries to put the gag back on.
“I warned you, you little shit!” growls Buzz Cut.
Trixie wiggles herself so that she is on her back and sends her bound hind legs to kick Buzz Cut in the gonads as hard as she can. The tearful yelp and curses coming from the pervert's mouth is more than enough poof that her stunt has worked miracles, and when he rolls off of her, clutching his pride, she awkwardly worms away from him. But, in the long run, her crawling is not that far since the back of the mini-train is not big enough for two ponies to be wrestling in, and she screams and awkwardly kicks at Buzz Cut when he tries to grab her again.
“I am going to fuck you up, you damn whorse!” shouts Buzz Cut furiously.
The green stallion once again gets on top of Trixie and presses one hoof against her neck while the other rises for a strike. Not wanting to get punched again, Trixie moves her head out of the way in time for him to slam his hoof against the floor, leaving a crack on the wood. He growls and tries again, but Trixie slams her bound front hooves against his head. He jerks to the side and howls in pain when his face breaks through the back window, leaving bloody, jagged edges and  cuts on the his face. When Buzz Cut makes another attempt to grab Trixie, she snarls and in a confusing mess of movement she ends up on top of him with her ropes pulling against his neck.
Buzz Cut gags and falls on top of Trixie, squishing her between his back and the floor. Pain erupts through her body, but she bites back the tears and keeps the stallion held on top of her, despite his pulls and crazy hoof motions.
“A whorse, huh!” yells Trixie furiously, grunting when she pulls tighter on him, eliciting a crunching noise and raspy wheeze from him. “Call me a whorse again, asshole! I dare you!”
She pulls harder and he jerks, hoof now stretched out towards the ceiling and eyes widening from the agony of his voice box being crushed while the other tries feebly to get the rope off of him.
Trixie keeps a hold on him, grunting and straining her weak muscles to near snapping point, and then he goes limp. Every noise, every raspy breath falls silent and his whole body feels like a two hundred pound package of wet noodles.
Trixie stares at the wooden ceiling, sweating and breathing heavily, and when some of his blood drips on her face, she spits and sputters and pushes him off. He lands with a thump and Trixie almost jumps out of her skin when she sees his chest barely rise and fall.
She watches him for a few more seconds, waiting to see if he'll try pouncing on her again, but when it becomes clear that he won't be getting up for some time, she crawls to the broken glass and starts sawing at the rope. It takes her a few minutes, but with that time and a few cuts, she is free  and is able to get the other rope off using a creative combination of hoof and mouth-work. After that is said and done, she slides over to the front of the vehicle, being sure to stay as low as possible.
Once Trixie is upfront, she opens up the compartment box and squeals for joy seeing the horn cuff key tucked safely inside. She is quick to grab it and uses the door mirror to clumsily guide the key to the lock. She really hates using her hooves for pretty much anything but walking, and using the key is the prime example.
It takes Trixie way longer than a few seconds to get the cuff off of her head, and every time she drops the key, she looks to see if Buzz Cut is still out or if Fox Trot is returning with new gems. Luckily for her, both stallions are unable to get her, and when she pops the cuff off with a satisfying click, she quietly cheers and hops out of the vehicle.
After jumping out, Trixie quickly realizes that she is at the very edge of the parking lot in a place that is planted smack dab in the middle of a prairie with nothing to see for miles on end. Trixie swears and brushes her mane away, wincing quietly from the burning feeling of the cuts she accumulated in her escape, and spots a line of mini-trains carrying large trailers. She smiles with relief and starts running towards them, hoping she can find someone to take her far, far away so she can get out of this mess, and as she runs, she looks at the stop shop.
Trixie barely sees Fox Trot skimming the power gems in the overstocked store with his back to the window, and she grins from the excitement racing through her veins and puttin gher heart in overdrive. She will make it! She is sure of it!
Trixie turns the corner to the trucks and hides behind a mini-train carrying a large trailer that has Sweet Apple Acres Cider written in pseudo-cursive writing with red letters. Panting and shaking from adrenaline, Trixie peeks her head around the corner to see if Fox Trot has left the store yet. Thankfully he hasn't, which makes Trixie all the more hopeful that she will get out. In fact, the only thing she really sees is a stubby wagon with an elongated back, and she continues watching it until it disappears behind the station.
Once the vehicle is out of view Trixie hides herself again, racking her brain for ideas of how to escape. She thinks about asking one of the drivers, but she can't walk into the store and ask, and if Fox Trot comes out before any driver then he will go looking for her, and more than likely want to beat her to a pulp.
As the minutes tick by, Trixie becomes more anxious. She knows that she can't stay very much longer and venturing into the prairie without supplies is suicide. Not knowing what else to do but check to see if Fox Trot is out yet, Trixie peeks around the large vehicle and spots a unicorn with a brown coat and black mane trotting coolly towards the wagon Buzz Cut is in. From the looks of it, the mare has just appeared out of the blue, and she also looks to be very young and slender, and sipping a smoothie innocently nonetheless. She will be an easy target for the likes of Buzz Cut and Fox Trot if they make a move against her. Or, more likely Fox Trot because Trixie already knocked him out after beating him up twice, so she knows that pervert is anything but good at his job.
Trixie extends her hoof and is about to shout to the young mare, but pauses when she sees the newcomer's horn glow and a chunk of the asphalt break apart from the stones coming out from underneath it. Then to Trixie's surprise, the summoned stones turn into a semi-liquid state that soon molds into a sleek blade. That kind of magic is not normal, that much Trixie knows, and her pupils shrink and the worst comes to mind when she sees the twisted smile cross the mare's lips.
When the mare is by the vehicle, she taps on the window a couple of times, peers inside, then shrugs, opens it up and casually plunges her crude knife into Buzz Cut's neck.
Trixie puts her hoof to her mouth, short of breath and whole body trembling as she watches the mare twist the knife and tilt Buzz Cut's head down. When the dead pony's head is as far as it can go, the killer pats his cheek, closes the door and starts a thorough inspection of the vehicle.
Trixie watches with morbid fascination as the mare searches Buzz Cut's mini-train, and as the killer searches with great speed, she wonders what the brown unicorn is looking for while simultaneously being glad she left when she did. However, when the killer looks like she is going to turn in her direction, Trixie slams herself against the truck, as much out of sight as she can possibly be with her teeth gripping her hoof an tears in her eyes.
“Oh goddess. Oh goddess. Oh goddess,” whimpers Trixie.
She jumps with a yelp when a hoof taps her shoulder, and the stallion that touched her also jumps back. He is an orange earth pony with a rough brown mane, chunky and dressed in flannel with a large ball-cap for Sweet Apple Acres Cider.
“Hey, you okay?” asks the stallion with a rural accent.
Trixie tilts her head past the truck. “Do you see anypony out there?”
The stallion leans over, and after a few seconds of scanning he shakes his head and looks back at Trixie. “No. Is there somepony giving you crap? Because if that's the case then I can round up some of my buddies and teach them a thing or two.”
Trixie shakes her head quickly, partially relieved that the murderous mare is out of sight, but also cautious about the stallion.
“Ma'am?” says the stallion as he carefully walks steps towards her.
Trixie looks back at the mini-train where Buzz Cut currently lies, then looks back at the stallion. She needs to get out and before Fox Trot finds out, or worse, the psycho-mare finds out she saw what she did and goes after her.
Swallowing her fear, Trixie grabs the stallion's shoulders and looks him square in the eyes.
“Get me out of here as fast as you can!” orders Trixie, her voice still shaking from the terror gripping her.
The stallion blinks. “Uh...”
“NOW!”
“Okay! Okay! Just hop in and-”
Trixie doesn't wait for him to finish or unlock the passenger door. As soon as he unlocks the driver side door and opens up, she climbs inside, trying to stay as low as possible and shrinks further in the seat when the driver closes the door. Without sitting up, she bangs on the dashboard as hard and fast as she can.
“Drive! Drive! Drive! And don't look back, got it!”
The driver nods with dinner plate sized eyes and puts the throttle to full as he speeds out of the parking lot as fast as his behemoth of a vehicle can go, emitting a loud squeal and a trail of burnt rubber with white smoke in his wake. When he turns in the road Trixie's body hits the door, and she grunts from the uncomfortable feeling, and yelps when the driver straightens out, causing her to fall on his lap.
Trixie spews out an incoherent sentence that sounds vaguely like an apology as she sloppily pushes herself up, pressing her hoof against his legs and groin and sitting up straight as can be while the driver leans forward, biting back a groan and tears. However, Trixie doesn't see the pain she caused since she is too busy looking out the window to see if they are being followed.
“Crazy mares,” grunts the driver to himself as he rubs his lower body. Then he looks at Trixie, trying to contain his annoyance from the spooked mare. “Where to, miss?”
“Anywhere but here,” says Trixie hastily. “And make it quick, too.”
The driver sighs and increases the speed, and Trixie slumps in her seat and rubs her eyes as she groans in disbelief of how bad her luck has been.
“I hate my life,” she says to herself.
=====0=====
Unnecessarily loud Arabic type music plays in the rest stop store as Fox Trot waits in the slow line with a box of fresh power gems in front of him. To make the wait worse, it seems like every customer wants a pack of cigarettes, a dozen lottery tickets or both on top of the coal the are purchasing, and the incompetence of the Saddle Arabian's skill with the register added in makes this experience well below the pleasant mark. With the loud music and equally loud cashier thanking his customers, Fox Trot can barely hear himself think, much less hear the door bell dingle.
Not really curious, but more out of giving his eyes something to do, Fox Trot turns his head and notices a gorgeous unicorn mare who has got to be at least eighteen strolling in and sipping a smoothie that she is holding in her magic aura. She has a black mane that shines beautifully in the light and it is combed flat to cover her left eye slightly. There are black spots around her eyes and muzzle that share the same color as her mane, and her brown coat is no doubt well groomed. As she walks towards the end of the line, Fox Trot notices that on her toned flank is a cutie mark in the shape of a rock.
He pities her for her horrible fate, but he doesn't realize that the mare has stopped and the he has been staring at her flank for a long period of time until she clears her throat. Fox Trot blinks and looks up to see the very unimpressed frown the mare is giving him, still slurping on her smoothie nonetheless. Fox Trot is quick to offer an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to stare,” says Fox Trot.
The mare's glare softens to sadness, and she pulls away from her smoothie and looks at the tile.
“That's okay. You were probably looking at my cutie mark and thinking about how stupid it is. Everypony does it,” she says.
“No no! I don't it's stupid. It's special and you should be proud of it. Besides, I should not have been looking there in the first place because if my wife walked in and saw me looking at your flank she would skin me alive,” says Fox Trot.
Fox Trot chuckles uneasily and rubs the back of his neck as he awkwardly moves up with the line. The young mare laughs lightly with him and uses her magic to grab some kerosine oil from a shelf, and when Fox Trot gives her a questionable look, she smiles sweetly.
“Kerosine is a great starter in case gems don't work,” says the mare.
“Really?” asks Fox Trot, surprised by this.
The mare nods. “Yeah, but it is only temporary. If you need a quick fix then kerosine works, but you need gems in the long run.”
Fox Trot nods and looks out the window to try to see Buzz Cut and the vehicle. He can't see much, but from what little he can see it looks like Buzz Cut is resting his head against the window. More than likely resting his eyes to get some energy for the long trip and to alleviate some of his boredom.
“My name is Terra Shock. What's yours?” says the mare.
Fox Trot looks at her for a second before stepping forward in line. “Fox Trot.”
Terra nods and takes a sip of her smoothie. The sound of air and straw scraping against the bottom for the remnants of her drink is like nails on a chalkboard for Fox Trot, but he doesn't want to be rude so he averts his eyes to the cashier to hide his grimace and wishing that the immigrant would drop the conversation he is having with another Saddle Arabian. They are both obnoxious and he has no idea what they are saying since they are using their national language.
“Royal Guard?”
“Ten years in the Navy,” says Fox Trot quickly.
Silence comes between them and the conversation between the two Saddle Arabians ends with a farewell wave. Fox Trot sighs with relief and is about to approach the counter when-
“Do you think I'm pretty?” asks Terra suddenly.
“What?” Fox Trot looks back at the mare, frozen and now getting uncomfortable, and when she asks again, he hums, not really sure if he should answer that. After a quick scan, he looks back at the mare and shrugs. “Yeah, you're pretty, but I'm married so I'm not interested in courting you.”
“Oh. How about ponynapping me, then?”
Fox Trot's heart stops and the last thing he sees before getting knocked out cold is a hoof to his face.
oooOOOooo
Terra exhales and brushes her mane out of her eye, only for it to fall back in place and when she looks up, she is greeted with half a dozen shocked looks. Including the dropped jaw from the clerk. She looks around, hums to herself and coolly pulls out a Royal Guard badge from her saddle.
“It's okay, ladies and gentlecolts. Royal Guard business. Go about your daily lives and pretend you didn't see any of this,” says Terra as she holds up the badge for all to see. She uses her magic to levitate the now limp Fox Trot and her kerosine behind her and to open the door, and as she backs out her eyes narrow and she points at the clerk and the few patrons. “Or else.”
The group nods quickly and murmurs their acknowledgments, and Terra smiles and backs away with Fox Trot and the kerosine still in her magical grip. Once outside she kicks the door shut and carries the unconscious stallion towards the side of the building facing away from the roads. She walks towards a mini-train that is parked a dozen yards away and when she is a few paces from it, the back opens up to reveal a brown earth pony stallion in his late fifties or early sixties that holds a strong resemblance to Terra. His mane was once black like hers, but is now fading to gray, just like his long tail, and he has spots of black around his eyes and muzzle. The older stallion is also wearing a fedora and a dark suit underneath his brown overcoat.
“This guy was too easy, Uncle Muffin!” says Terra lightly.
Uncle Muffin, a.k.a. Gray Muffin, barely gives Terra a glance before he puts his focus on the knocked out pony.
“That's one,” he says.
“And the last,” says Terra as she heaves Fox Trot in the back, carelessly using her magic to slide him across the floor and throw her kerosine on top of him like the garbage she knows he is. Though when she realizes that her uncle is giving her a questionable look, she adds with a smile: “The other guy is dead.”
“Dead?”
Terra nods. “Yeah, somepony knocked him out, but I still stabbed him in the neck since I didn't want to carry him across the parking lot.”
Gray Muffin stares at Terra, and when she shrugs nonchalantly he looks at the mini-train the two criminals arrived in. He can barely see Buzz Cut slumped over, but after squinting his wrinkly eyes, he can see the red staining his chest. With that visual he frowns and looks at Terra again.
“There was supposed to be a mare with them. Where is she?” says Gray Muffin.
“She probably got away since there was broken rope and a horn cuff on the floor,” says Terra, her voice as careless as her demeanor, and when Gray Muffin lets out a very loud, annoyed sigh, she scowls. “What?”
“We're going to need to have a talk with your father later.”
“Why!” whines Terra.
“You know why, now get in your seat. We still have a lot of work to do.”
Terra huffs and clambers on inside, grumbling: “Stupid old coot.”
Gray Muffin rolls his eyes and slams his door shut.
=====0=====
It has been a few hours since they left the rest station, and Trixie is fidgeting and constantly looking at the mirror to see if she is being trailed by any suspicious vehicles, but so far all that has passed is a few blocky, wooden vehicle with chubby boiler engines and a mile long classic train hauling coal and gems to whatever its destination is. The road trip with the storm clouds would actually make a relaxing combination if she didn't nearly escape a slave trade with her life and witness the murder of one of her kidnappers.
“Look, I know I sound like a broken record, but you are clearly spooked about something and if you let me take you to Ponyville then my boss might be able to help you with whatever mess you're in. She's got a nice list of contacts and is one of the sweetest mares I know. Very dependable, too, so I know she can help you,” says the driver.
Trixie shakes her head. The last thing she wants to do is go back to the place that destroyed her life and see Twilight with all her fame and glory. It makes her sick just thinking about Celestia's star pupil, but rather than wasting energy about it, she pushes it aside to think about a place where no one will recognize her in case the murdering unicorn goes after her.
“Just take me to the next truck stop,” says Trixie, her voice tired and shaken. She sniffles and wipes her eyes and nose of tears and snot as she looks out the mirror, glad to see the rest stop is out of sight. “I'll find my own way from there.”
The driver sighs and nods. “Okay. But if you ever find yourself in Ponyville, come find me. The name is Wheelie Tirehub and I work at the Sweet Apple Acres warehouse.”
Trixie nods, quietly saying: “Okay.”
“I didn't catch your name.”
Trixie glances at Wheelie out of the corner of her eye, hesitant to give him her name, but when he asks again she sighs and keeps her eyes on the passing flatland. “My name is Trixie Lulamoon. Maybe you've heard of me?”
Wheelie thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “Nope, can't say that I have. Are you some kind of celebrity or something?”
Trixie blinks tears out of her eyes and rests her head against the window. “No. I never was anypony special. Just forget I asked.”
Wheelie sounds like he wants to say something, but goes back on it and puts his focus on the barren road, and Trixie closes her eyes, wondering what Hell will follow her now.