Author's Note

Note: The first scene happens before the one with Axiom and Honey Lake in the previous chapter, right after Chillburn left her house.

"Whores know no love."

The sun is slowly starting its descent from the zenith, and Ponyville’s marketplace bustles with life. Frolicking colts and fillies crisscross in the hooves of their elders; cheery shouts and courteous nods fill the air as the ponies of the small village engage in their social activities. Everypony knows each other, nopony is left alone. Nopony except a dark-orange mare with autumn curls. Chillburn walks among the small crowd, striving to blend in only to find herself separating again when the flow of the tide shifts. Every now and again, a few smiles from strangers make her respond likewise, but otherwise she keeps her eyes vigilant, her ears alert. Come on. Show yourself. I know you’re watching me. Her gaze darts towards a glimpse of a light-brown coat, but the face doesn't fit the image in her mind. Or are you afraid to confront me in public? Suddenly, Chillburn slips into an alleyway, moving away from the whirlpool of social reality.

The first alley changes into a second, the second into a third. Soon the mare find herself almost in the outskirts of the village where the tumult is much less severe. There is practically nopony else around. The mare studies her surroundings with her back against a house wall, her ears turning sharply from side to side. I’m ready, you wretch. Face me, face me now. I’m ready for anything you can throw at m–

“Surprise!” shouts a shrill voice above Chillburn.

She lets out a short, piercing scream. She looks up quickly. It’s right about when her own voice reached her ears that she can see an upside down, grinning face staring straight back at her. The sight makes her spring away from the wall as if it was in the process of collapsing over her. “Hey, wait!” shouts the voice, a bit less shrill now.

Chillburn does indeed halt her short sprint, but only because the thought of exposing her back to the creature behind inspires primal terror in her. As she whirls around, she sees a pink mare with a slightly darker pink mane hanging upside down by her tail from the roof of the house against which Chillburn was just leaning. The orange pony’s mouth drops open. “What the hay…are you?” she manages after a while.

The pink mare grins again, and her tail lets go of the roof. For a fraction of a second it looks like she is about to fall on her nose, but at the last moment she gets her hooves under her, landing neatly in a puff of dust. Chillburn instinctively takes another step away from the figure. “Oh, don’t go!” whines the pink one, her eyebrows melting together in an expression of genuine sincerity. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Chillburn can't help but blink at the sight. “Right… I’m going to go now, okay? Please don’t try to follow me, or I have to scream louder this time.” She takes yet another step away from the strange creature.

“Okay okay I confess! I maybe kinda tried to scare you a bit, okay?” The pink one scrapes the ground awkwardly with her front hooves. “It was my special Scare-you-when-you-expect-to-be-scared –scare…”

In the way of gravity, the sheer weight of nonsense emanating from the mare seizes Chillburn. “What?” she says.

The pink pony rolls her eyes. “Well, the name kind of gives away the joke, but what the S.Y.W.Y.E.T.B.S. –scare is really about, is the–”

“Okay, shut up,” interrupts Chillburn, her terror fading in the face of sudden annoyance. “Just shut the hay up. Who are you?”

“Oh, right, we haven’t even been introduced yet! I’m Pinkie Pie!” Pinkie’s smile stretches the limits of reality. “What’s your name?”

Chillburn ignores her questioning look. “Why did you scare me like that? What do you want from me?”

“To make you laugh, silly! That’s what I do around here! You looked so serious back there, in the marketplace.” A ponderous thought captures her expression. “Oh, and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” repeats Chillburn. “What for? And why would you like to make a complete stranger laugh?”

Light dies from the world. Abyss follows, a pit so dark it resembles more of a hole into nothingness than a mere shadow. And from the abyss, from the depths of the brightest void, Pinkie Pie’s face, now a mask of inverted revelation of bliss, stares back at Chillburn. The pink pony’s voice echoes the hollowness of her expression. “That is the strangest question I have ever heard.” And just like that, the wild shining bursts through the black frost, lighting Pinkie’s face with its usual glee. “And I’m sorry ‘cause I bumped into you in the party yesterday. I figured you didn’t get my apology back then.”

A hazy glint of recollection travels past Chillburn’s carmine eyes. Oh, right… Now I remember you. “It’s…quite alright, really. You shouldn't have bothered coming to me over that.” Now how the hay am I going to forget you?

“Oh, it’s easy; I forget myself all the time,” says Pinkie, smiling like the sun above.

Chillburn’s eyes flinch, her mouth moving as if a sentence tried to be born there. “The buck was that?!” She blurts quickly, her tone rising an octave.

“What was what?” asks Pinkie cheerily, tilting her head a healthy 90 degrees.

I have a feeling I don’t want to know, after all… “O-kay,” says Chillburn slowly. “I got your apology. It was nice to meet you, Pinkie, but you see, I’m looking for somepony, and I think he is looking for me, so…I think I’ll go look for him now.” She flashes a short smile at Pinkie. “Good bye.” Chillburn turns around, praying that she won't find the pink creature right in front of her. She doesn’t.

Instead, she finds herself face to face with Reg Syllable. His eyes drill into hers, forcing a gasp of surprise past her lips.

“Um, looks like you found him!” cheers Pinkie somewhere behind Chillburn, who is only faintly aware of the noise, who is only faintly aware of anything except the stallion in front of her. The seconds drag on like hours for a while.

“I see that you’ve already starting to settle in this town,” says Reg, the levelness of his voice immune to interpretations. Like severing a chain made of steel, he tears his eyes off Chillburn and glances at the smiling pink pony behind her. “New friends just keep on piling on top you.”

“And old ones dig their way up from the rubble, I find,” remarks the mare, her gaze fixed on him. “I’ve been looking for you the whole morning.”

He looks back at her. The stallion has about four inches to her, so at this distance, his gaze travels downhill. “I know. I needed to…prepare myself first.” He blinks his hazel eyes.

“Could I get you guys anything?!” calls Pinkie Pie again. “A drink? A cupcake? A rail on a big iron boat’s bow so that you can hold her front hooves when standing on your hind legs behind her, just before the iceberg crashes into you?”

“I know this cafe we can talk in,” says Chillburn after having stifled an urge to scream at the mare behind her. “Let’s go. Now.”

The tiniest of smiles graces his lips. “Should we invite your new friend along? Seems like she knows how to keep her spirits up.”

Joking, are we now? Some balls you have… “You presume that I want to feel cheery. Also, don’t underestimate my sense of humor.”

The ghost of a smile cracks and fades like smoke. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know your idea of a joke well enough.”

The clash of their eyes is almost accompanied by sparks. Simultaneously, they avert their gazes and begin walking back towards the village center, never once glancing at each other. Pinkie Pie watches them go and disappear into an alleyway, her smile never failing. It’s only when she is alone that her figure relaxes a bit, that her smile turns into a mere habit. “I’m going to have my hooves full with those two, I just know it,” she mumbles to herself. “And they didn’t even tell me their names.”

She pulls herself up with her tail, and disappears among the rooftops.

***

After Chillburn and Reg settle themselves on a quiet table indoors and they ordered something to send the waiter away, Chillburn dares finally lay her eyes on him properly. Without hurry, shame, nor regret, she examines the face that, despite the fading bruises, still reminds her of one special night sixt months past. He says not a word, but likewise, lets his eyes rest on her. Neither smiles, although Reg thanks the waiter quietly as she brings them their steaming cups of honeyed silver tea.

“Is there a symbolical meaning hidden in here somewhere?” he asks finally. “Or is the tea here really that good that you bring all your coltfriends into this cafe?”

It was Thunderlane who picked the place. “So you admit having followed us that night?” she snaps.

“I thought it was obvious…” He averts his eyes, sweeping the small and empty cafe with an indifferent look. “At least it’s quiet here at this time of the day.”

“An audience is something this mess doesn’t need,” she says, keeping her tone chilly. “I have no interest in playing games with you.”

“And still I feel that I’m the loser in this affair,” he says calmly.

Hate the game, not the player. “What do you want from me, then? A rematch? Compensation? What, reg?” She leans over the table, and whispers the final sentence. “Choose your words very carefully.”

He lowers the cup steadily, drawing the steam into his lungs. He taps the table twice with a hoof, and just when it’s about to hit the wood the third time, he freezes the motion, and bends closer to her. “This tea actually is very good,” he says with the most serious tone he can muster.

She throws her own drink at his face.

The move takes Reg by complete surprise, and sends him tumbling off his chair, his face twisted into a grimace as the scalding liquid burns his nose and closed eyes. Chillburn only sneers at him, her eyes glinting with mild satisfaction. “A bit hot for me,” she says, spitting the words at him.

As Reg manages to wipe the rest of the tea off his face, his eyes open slowly, filled with tacit rage. He fends away the waitress who rushes at his aid, muttering something about his own clumsiness as an explanation. The waitress, an earth pony mare with wheat yellow coat and mane, looks at him suspiciously, but says nothing. Chillburn only smiles back at her when the waiter turns to look at the dark-orange mare.

“Would you like to order some more tea?” asks the waiter, keeping her voice level as she looks alternately at the two clients of the cafe.

“Something cold would be welcomed,” says Reg, glaring at Chillburn.

“Two apple ciders?” continues the yellow mare. “The cellar keeps them cool enough.”

“I won’t be needing anything, thank you,” says Chillburn, taking in his eyes without a flinch. “I don’t think I'll be staying for long.”

“One cider it is,” says the waiter, and leaves.

Reg picks a napkin from a nearby tray and wipes the rest of the silvery drink off his brow, chin, and eyelids. “Was there a point you wanted to make with that little show?” he asks.

“No. I just felt like hurting you.”

He squishes the wet napkin into a ball with his horn. “You seem to fancy that,” he answers. The damp tissue, spotted with little hearts, drops on the table between them. “You want to know what I want from you?” continues Reg, the annoyance polishing the edge in his voice. “Join the club. For six months I fought with myself, with my instincts, my memories… I did everything I could to forget you. I even tried a homemade amnesia spell; while I lost my own name, yours was something I couldn’t tear from my mind.” His eyes stare at the ruin of a napkin. “For a day, I even pondered suicide.”

Her mocking smirk has gone, yet the phantom of it still haunts her face. Why can’t I tell if he is being serious or not? He can’t be… It’s another trick, another desperate attempt to stir my sympathies. “And here you are, harassing me for all that’s worth,” she says. “We can’t go on like this.”

The hazel eyes rise from the napkin. “Why don’t you love me?” he asks quietly. “Why didn’t you even try?”

She blinks under his gaze, and looks through the window at the street beyond. From the reflection, she can see his profile. “ I don’t know, Reg…it just...didn’t feel right.”

“You can lie better than that, I’m sure,” he says.

Her eyes dart back to him. “And I would if I wanted to. I told you already; I don’t want to play games with you.” Chillburn’s eyes soften a bit. “You can’t imagine what I was feeling that night… you have no idea how much I had wanted that one thing, that one simple thing that most mares take for granted. And just like that, it was granted for me on a plate. All I needed to do was extend my hoof and take it.” Yet again she has to bow before his eyes. “It just happened that you were the plate…and nothing more.”

Reg closes his eyes for a minute. When they open again, a pair of tears glistens on them. His hoof hurries to wipe them off, but one manages to escape and drop next to the crushed napkin, leaving the tiniest stain to mark its grave. “That’s…” He tries to say, but the words fall into oblivion like the tear did. He bends over the table, burying his head on his hooves.

The sight wakes up a mixed expression of confusion and disgust in Chillburn, who can’t take her eyes off of his sobbing form for the life of her. If I leave now, will he try to stop me? If I touch him, will he explode? “Reg…for Celestia’s sake, get a grip.” Did I just say that?

To her horror, he begins to chuckle. Step by step, the noise gets fierces, louder, wilder; soon the unicorn is cackling like a lunatic. His shoulders twitch a bit as he raises from the table. “Hahhahh… In a way, I should thank you,” he manages to say after a while. “For all the pain you've caused me, for all the sleepless nights you gave me… I now know that Axiom was right.” Through the red and moist eyes, past the lips twisted in loathing grin, Reg Syllable looks at the mare in front of him as if he saw her for the last time. “Whores know no love.”

But I know failure, adds Reg in his mind as he stands up, and leaves the cafe without another word. Through the window, Chillburn watches him disappear into the town. She jumps a bit when somepony taps her on the shoulder.

“You want to have this?” asks the waiter, offering her a green glass bottle with an ornamental apple on the side.

Chillburn watches the thing for a few seconds, her face blank. The cold glass caresses her hoof when she finally accepts it, raises it to her lips, and empties half a bottle in one go.

The waiter cringes a bit at the sight. “This really isn’t that kind of a cafe, miss…” she says. “And even if it were, the cider isn’t really that strong to get drunk quickly.”

The bottle hits the table with a thud. Chillburn stifles a burp, and wipes the spills from her lips. The look she gives at the waiter is more dreamy than her voice. “I know that. But the gesture felt appropriate nonetheless.” She smiles an intricate smile. “Where I come from, the animal called victory needs to be put down with a drink.”

***

At the same time, in a half empty railroad car, Willow Fall reads a tiny leaflet with detached interest. The rattle of the train and the quiet talk, which had composed the background tune for his travel ever since they left Canterlot, had already become part of his consciousness. In a way, the medley was calming. A couple of playing fillies on the back of the wagon disrupt the harmony of the din with a sudden shriek, pulling Fall’s eyes upon them. The two quiet down immediately when they see him watching them. When the stallion’s gaze returns to the small, green-white leaflet again, they start whispering to each other. He pays them no more attention, but continues reading from where he stopped.

…and as of recently, Ponyville has been blessed with the presence of none other than Princess Twilight Sparkle herself. The talented, gracious, yet modest former personal student of Princess Celestia still lives in the Ponyville library, helping book hungry ponies to their daily dose literature whenever she isn’t saving Equestria.

Fall keeps on reading the article for a few more pages, yet finally can’t help himself and checks how many pages there are left. Dear Celestia… Is this new Princess everything Ponyville can boast having, in addition to the “particularly excellent” apple cider? Fall notices that almost half of the booklet called “Ponyville in a nutshell” revolves around its honorary citizen. And the pictures are almost all about her, too. It’s a miracle she isn’t holding a bottle of cider in half of them. The unicorn abruptly skips the article he was reading, and finds a stylised map of Ponyville appearing before him. He studies it carefully for a while.

Where would Chillburn settle in such a simple environment? Closer to the river, or to the centre? A big, quiet house near the fields, or a comfy flat just next to the marketplace? His brow furrows as he tries to imagine the dark-orange mare in his mind, buying carrots, doing dishes, swaying her tail. He quickly shakes his head to smoke the last picture out of there. A gradual sigh escapes him after he studies the map for a few more minutes. I don’t know enough about you to say where you’d prefer living. I must hope that the Town Hall archives have records of recently rented or bought estates and apartments. And that I’m allowed to see them. And that she hasn’t used another fake name to sign the papers. He grinds his teeth, his imagination piling up a problem after another for him. I may need to search the town house by house, pony by pony. Even in a village of this seize, the task would take days; days of which might not take me any closer to finding Chillburn. He blinks his eyes as a nasty feeling crosses his thoughts. No. I’m searching for Reg. Chillburn is only the way for that end. I’m searching for Reg.

The stallion looks at the clock above the wagon door; it’s nearing two. A few more hours. If the luck is with me, I can make it to the Town Hall before it closes. And if I’m really lucky, it won’t rain tonight. He turns the page of the booklet, and reads the rest of it just in case the contents might prove to be useful. Alas, in addition to a few more pictures of awkwardly smiling Princess Twilight Sparkle, the pages only tell about the grand and small events of the summer and autumn to come, some tips about finding friends in a new town, and finally, on the very last page, a few choice words from the new Princess herself:

Ponyville is not merely a few buildings on a countryside, nor a name on a map. It is a community, an experience, a state of mind. Most important of all, it is my home (but let me be clear about this; by that statement I don’t mean it’s my home as Princess Twilight Sparkle, but as just Twilight Sparkle). For those of you who are planning a visit here: Be welcomed! For those of you already on a train, or on a wagon, or in the air: Be welcomed again!

–Princess Twilight Sparkle

Fall eyes the words for a few minutes, and then sets the leaflet back onto the rack with the rest of its kind. With a slow yawn, he leans against the window, closing his eyes and letting the vibration of the train gently spread into his jawbone. He closes his eyes, and the lets darkness envelope him. From within, he can see a pair of carmine eyes winking at him, can hear a soft voice whispering:

No bargaining, no regrets. Tonight knows only pleasure. But only if you play along like a good gentlecolt.

***

A cloud explodes and evaporates into the thin air, leaving nought but few wisps of white steam lingering on the sky. A dark-grey pegasus smiles, and attacks against another member of the cumulus race, annihilating this one with the stark beats of his wings. Three more lambs of the blue meet their demise in his capable hooves before Thunderlane returns to the small group of pegasi waiting on the ground. His smirk touches the worse side arrogance, yet the other ponies cheer for him nonetheless; a cyan mare with a rainbow mane is the first one to express her awe.

“Not half bad, ‘Lane!” she says, raising her navy blue cap for him. She turns for the other pegasi, her expression changing from genuine excitement into stoic discipline in an instant. “You all could take a page or two out of Thunderlane’s book here! Today’s drill was good, but while I’m around, that’s only half a compliment!“ Her magenta eyes sweep the faces before her. “So…who’s up for an extra round?”

A series of approving shouts, accompanied by a mixed composition of raised hooves and wings, make a wide grin appear on the cyan mare’s lips. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! A break of ten and we’re on air!” She turns her gaze to a grey mare with short, light-yellow mane and mismatched eyes. “Derpy!” says the rainbow pegasus. “Your turn to gather some clouds for us; chop chop!”

The grey mare salutes with her left hoof, smiles, and flies away before Rainbow Dash has time to point out the error in her gesture. Dash sighs, and looks at the rest of the small group with whom she has been practicing ever since the morning. Many enjoy the break by laying on the grass while others chat with one another. A few are sipping water from the nearby pond. Then her eyes notice Thunderlane, who has gone stretching his wings and limbs a bit farther away from the rest. With a few beats of her wings, Dash makes it to the dark-grey pegasus.

“Not into idling around, eh?” she asks while floating just above him.

The stallion glances at her, and cracks a confident smile. “You know me, Dash; always in it to win it.”

The cyan mare chuckles, and circles him in the air. “I do know that…I could even say I taught you that…but there’s something more to it this time, isn’t there?” Her eyes, sharp and dexterous, keep on burning him from different directions. “I’ve never seen you fly that good before.”

Thunderlane doesn’t stop his exercising, but keeps his eyes at the mare. “Well…I did start eating those energy bars you’ve been pushing for us the past month.”

Her eyes only narrow down more. “What you said you were late for, again?” she asks pointedly.

“Uhm, slept late?”

“Nopony sleeps late on a cloud, ‘Lane. No curtains, dummy.” With a thud, Dash lands right in front of him. “Spit it out!”

He stops his stretching, throwing a slightly annoyed look at her. “Hey, give me some slack, Dash. Private is private.”

“Oh, come on; I’m your coach! You can tell me anything.” Suddenly, she sniffs her tiny nose. “Wait a minute…are you using perfume?”

Thunderlane blinks a few times, and averts her gaze for a second. His wings tense just slightly. “Uuh…I was in Pinkie’s party the other night. Must’ve stuck from there.”

She looks at him meaningfully under her brows. “And you’re saying you haven’t showered after that?”

He is beginning to sweat under her mischievously gleaming eyes.

“Lane… do you have a marefriend I don’t know about?”

“I-I don’t need to tell you about that stuff!”

“Oh we’ll see ‘bout that!” says Dash playfully, raising a few feet into the air again. “You just wait the next team’s night out, coltanova! I say, you’re going to tell us everything then…” She accidentally looks at the watch on her wrist, and yelps. “Ten minutes and forty seconds! Hay no, not on my watch!” Using the tip of her wing, Dash pulls the whistle hanging on her neck to her mouth and lets out a long, shrill noise. “Everypony, up up up!” She speeds to the other pegasi, shouting orders as she goes. Thunderlane is about to follow her when a rough voice from behind addresses him.

“Thunderlane… How does one come by a name like that? Did you get hit by a lightning bolt when you were young?”

Thunderlane turns his head, and sees a light-brown unicorn smirking at him some ten feet away. Where the hay did you come from? he thinks. “Uhh, hello… Reg, was it?”

“Call me whatever you want, ‘Lane’. Is that what she calls you, too?”

The pegasus raises an eyebrow. “Yeah…she does that. Too many syllables in a name can be a real pain, you know.” He grins at the unicorn.

Reg laughs shortly, almost barks. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? For a bird, that is.”

Thunderlane’s smile dies away, and he turns completely towards the other stallion. “What did you call me?”

Reg’s smirk only gets wider. “What’s the matter, bird? You don’t seem to mind the name in her mouth, do you?”

Thunderlane’s eyes narrow down, and he paws the ground with a hoof. “How do you know that? Did you meet Chillburn today?”

A disturbance, like an echo of an agony, makes Reg’s expression ripple, stir, and crack. “You think she might love you, don’t you? No doubt you’re in love with her, or at least you’re stupid enough to believe that to be the case.” He chuckles dryly. “After playing with you a bit, she’ll throw you away like an old rug.”

The pegasus snorts. “I don’t know what’s up with you and Chillburn, but don’t take it out on me. Nor on her, for that matter.” He spreads his wings, readying himself for a liftoff. “I’m going to go now. Bye.”

Pure malice breaks Reg’s mocking expression. “She used to be a whore. I loath gossiping, but I figure it’s only fair to let you know where you’re sticking your cock into.”

The pegasus lunges at the unicorn, soaring through the air with a few fervent beats of his powerful wings. Reg, despite his fast instincts, has just barely time to block the blow that would’ve otherwise hit him straight to the muzzle. The momentum of the pegasus brings them both to the ground, tangling them into a mix of flailing hooves and wings. They struggle for a few seconds, but then Reg manages to get his hind legs under his chest and violently kick the pegasus off himself. Thunderlane grunts as the air flees his lungs, but before he has time to recoup, Reg is on him. A sharp blow from the side sends the pegasus’s ears ringing, and he collapses on two knees.

Reg kicks again, this time aiming for his ribs. His hoof misses as the pegasus manages to move a bit, so the hit lands on the base of his right wing instead, inciting a painful cry from the pegasus. His eyes ignite as he lunges at the unicorn again, trying to bring him down. Reg takes his charge head on, digging his hind hooves into the grass. He is about to drill into the stem of his wing again, but the headbut of the pegasus lands nicely in the middle of his eyes, and stars greet the unicorn as he staggers backwards, shaking his head. Thunderlane tries to press on with his attack, but flaring agony blooms from his right wing, making him stagger.

Reg blinks a few times, trying to stop his vision from shaking, but a trickle of blood stains his eyelids and he has no choice but to close them as he wipes the gore off with a hoof. When he can see again, he notices that the panting pegasus has trouble moving. Reg’s eyes glint in the sunlight, and for one moment, he forgets the pain, the rules, the blood dripping along his face.

The unicorn’s horn starts to shimmer.

But before anything else has time to happen, a sky-blue mare with the most colourful mane Reg has ever seen lands in between him and Thunderlane, her face a mask of flaming rage. “Don’t you bucking even think about it, you scum!” she shouts, her voice almost breaking before her fury. “Back off! Back the hay off this instant!”

The unicorn blinks, but his horn dims only when the other pegasi arrive at the scene, aligning themselves on the cyan mare’s side or by Thunderlane, who still has trouble standing. Reg glares at him for a second, trying to make an eye contact, but the dark-grey pegasus doesn’t seem to acknowledge his presence anymore.

“Look at me, you bucker.” The mare’s voice practically boils. “You got two seconds time to explain this.”

Reg looks at the mare indifferently, the blood gleaming on his brow and jaw. Then he simply turns and begins to walk away. Two whole seconds later, he finds the cyan mare floating in front of him, blocking his path. From the corner of his eye, Reg can see a couple more pegasi, mostly stallions, closing in behind him.

“Time’s up,” states the cyan mare, her voice drilling into him like an icicle. “Better start singing now. Or a hundred feet off the ground. Your choice.”

Reg spits a thick lump of blood and saliva on the spot below the mare, never once turning his eyes from her. He can hear the pegasi behind growling at him. “You birds don’t have anything better to do than flocking around me?” he asks dryly. The angry noises around him double both in count and in intensity in seconds.

The mare flapping before him only glares at him with contempt. “I see you’re not from around here. That’s cool. Gives us a chance of showing off some famous Ponyville hospitality.” A scornful smile spreads on her lips. “It’s in the tourist brochure and all.”

“You’re all welcome to try, pigeons. We’ll see how many of you it takes to–”

“Hey Biceps!” calls out the mare, aiming her words somewhere behind Reg. “Mind escorting our guest to the Town Hall? The Mayor can decide how we deal with him there.”

Reg starts laughing hysterically. “Biceps? Really? Oh, don’t say; he must be a pelican or something…” The unicorn turns around slowly, cackling as he does. Behind him, the small crowd has moved to give room for a snow white pegasus who looks like the dictionary definition of “muscle”.

Oh, buck, thinks Reg as he sees Biceps grinning at him.

***

Even though the afternoon is slowly transitioning into evening, the Ponyville marketplace still has a few more stands open, with a few more clients hunting for a late bargain. In the middle of the town square, the round two-storeyed building that makes Fall think of a circus tent, stands above the other rooftops with all the authority of a town hall. The unicorn eyes the drawn curtains and growing shadows that creep alongside the base of the building that reach a bit higher with every passing minute. To his surprise, the door creaks open when he tries to knock on it.

“Hello?” he calls as he enters into a hall of sorts. Old fashioned oils lamps decorate the yellow tapestry, unlit. Beside a few chairs and a rack full of tourist leaflets, the large desk standing on side of the room is the only thing that gives the impression that this really is an official building and not somepony’s living room.

A speckled head peeks behind the wooden desk at Fall. “Oh, hello,” it says with a friendly voice. “I was just packing it in for the day. How may I help you?” A pair of shoulders emerge to accompany the head.

Are crescent glasses the latest fashion in the clerk business nowadays or what? thinks Fall idly as he walks over to the desk. “I’m sorry that I come in such a late hour, but I just arrived to the town,” he says. “I was wondering if you have archives of recently made deals, concerning the exchange of estate ownership or rental contract in the town’s jurisdiction?”

The clerk, an earth pony stallion with short light-grey mane and teal eyes, looks at Fall as if he had just asked if the village owned a spaceship. “Uhm…no, we don’t have such records. We only have the usual tax register here, and then a bunch of some less official lists…”
Countryside bureaucracy…I should’ve guessed. Fall sighs, and continues: “Do you have the addresses of the taxpayers registered in this village?”

The clerk smiles with half a mouth. “Weeell… The thing is, quite some time ago we found out that we don’t really need to keep records of that. If we need to know somepony’s address around here, we just ask it from them, or from somepony who knows them. Saves a lot of paperwork, that does.” Without warning, the clerks eyes go wide and his asymmetrical smile expires. “Wait, are you an inspector?That wasn’t an official statement I just gave you!”

“I’m not here for that,” hurries Reg to say. “I’m looking for a certain mare that moved here some months ago. Goes by the name ‘Chillburn’. Or Sugar Blossom. Mean anything to you?”

The clerk relaxes a bit, but not completely. He purses his thin lips as he ponders for a while. “Nope, sorry. Could you describe her for me?”

“An earth pony. A dark-orange coat, auburn mane and tail, carmine eyes. A red rose, burning blue, as her cutie mark.”

Before the clerk can answer, the front door opens and a pegasus stallion peeks in. “Good, you’re still here,” he says to the clerk. “Just thought to mention that we locked the troublemaker into the old mill and put some guards on him.”

The clerk leans a bit to his left to looks at the pegasus behind Fall. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll tell the Mayor about the situation tomorrow when she returns from her trip.”

The pegasus nods at him, and the door closes with a thud behind him.

Fall, who followed the little scene without saying a word, looks questioningly at the clerk. “You often lock criminals into old mills here?”

The earth pony shrugs. “We don’t often lock anypony anywhere. But it’s not important. Now that you depicted the mare to me… Yes, I think I’ve seen her around the town a couple of times.”

Fall leans closer to the other stallion. “Do you know where she lives?”

The clerk blinks under his gaze. “Well, uhh…no. And I don’t think I should be telling you if I did know, anyway.” His eyes narrow down a bit. “If you’re not an inspector, what exactly is your business in Ponyville?”

Fall leans back again, his eyes looking nowhere. “I’m searching for a friend, and that mare is my only lead to find him. Unless…” He looks sharply at the clerk again. ”Does the name Reg Syllable mean anything to you? An unicorn, a gothic ‘A’ cutie mark, light-brown coat? Relatively fresh bruises on his face?” In a second, Fall can see the affirmative reaction on the clerk’s face.

“Sounds like an exact description of the aforementioned troublemaker. His bruises were quite new, though.”

“Take me to him,” says Fall immediately. “Take me to him now.”

The earth pony looks at him suspiciously, letting a few heartbeats pass in silence. “Why? He is supposed to be under lock and key until the Mayor comes back from her visit to the neighboring village tomorrow afternoon.”

Fall snorts, and glares at the other stallion. “I have no intention of freeing him; a talk with him is all I ask for.” His expression softens a bit. “Please. We have known each other for years. I must see him.”

The two stare at each other, neither willing to avert their gaze. But Fall’s dark eyes finally take their toll on the clerk. “As you will, then. I can lead you to the mill so that you can exchange a few words.”

“That’s all I need. Thank you.”

The clerk ordains some papers into a saddleback which he puts on, and steps out behind the desk. Fall follows him to the door, the reality of the situation finally landing on him.

Reg…what the hay have you done?

***

In Canterlot, in the School of History and Linguistics, in his solitary office, Professor Axiom studies the train schedules for tomorrow. With academic care, he picks a pencil from his table and circles the number 07.25, the earliest train that leaves for Ponyville. A pale smiles describes his feelings as accurately as a photograph of an orchestra might describe the song its playing. The sun looks over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of what his shadowed expression hides behind itself, but the celestial light can do little to illuminate a face that has long since turned away from its glow.

Axiom flinches as he feels a familiar stare looking at him again. He looks to his left, and sees the stern look of his great-grandfather drilling into him through the painting. As if talking to another pony, Axiom strives to explain himself.

“I know I crossed the line with Honey Lake, no need to remind me of that! It was necessity that forced my hoof – well, my horn to be more exact – but the principle stands; I had to rough her up a bit!”

The bright green eyes, hard as emeralds, do not sway.

“It was not like that! I asked nicely first, I certainly did…nopony can say I didn’t try the polite way first…” Axiom’s hind leg taps the carpet steadily. “She’ll be fine…the young will always be fine…”

A cloud covers the sun, and the dim paints the canvas with sinister shades.

Axiom shudders, and looks down at his desk. “Have it your way, then…although you said nothing when I pushed Chillburn around a bit…”

The shadows don’t stir.

Axiom’s pays a sideway glance at the picture of his ancestor. “Oh, who’s being rough now? A whore’s a whore, but that kind of talk is unnecessary, I would say…”

Silence ensues; the heavy door muffles both the voice trying to get in and trying to get out of the office.

“We shall see if Reg’s gone over the line when I get there,” continues the stallion grey as ash. “I suppose he has. Would be just like him, that… Sometimes it feels that I know him better than I know myself.”

The painting gives him a meaningful look.

“Hah! In your dreams, colonel!” He leans back on his chair, the wooden front legs rising from the floor with a creak. “Mark my words, though: He is going to learn it the hard way. The young always learn through the hard way…”

The painting’s remark stirs a short laugh out of the Professor.

“Indeed. Nopony knows that better than the old.” The chair lands abruptly on all fours. “I swear, after I retire, I will write that letter to her. Enough years have passed, and with all the leisure time I shall have I can finally put enough work on my words.” He looks the painting hopefully into the eyes. “Right?”

The paint remains mute.

“You’re wrong. She couldn’t have found another one. Whores never settle down. How I’m going to find her? Just like I found Chillburn; with willpower and logic. What? No, she can’t be dead, somepony would’ve told me… Besides, it’s only been, what, 30 years?” Carefree chuckling fills the room.

It never stops, but rather, shrivels into nothingness.

Reg… I will show you… I will make you see… whores know no love…

Not for their life.