Dead Weight

Sketchy's small body was pressed against the roof, bright blue eyes observing the guard below, carefully.

Peppermint Stroke looked about casually -never up-  and after a few moments of pacing went back around to wait in the yard. Sketchy shifted onto the other side of the triangular roof out of caution, but he didn't even try to look for her further. It was a surprisingly non-confrontational experience.

Sketchy grit her teeth.

Of course, her strategy was fairly obvious in two ways, even if he hadn't known her. One, her directive toward the house, her first mistake, meant her intentions were transparent. Two, pegasi were notorious for 'roosting', a simple tactic of waiting up-high until the coast was clear. She could either stay up on the roof until the detonation, unable to move, or she could fly down and get caught. Or, better yet, fly off and pretend nothing happened, which was Peppermint's strategy now, in walking form.

Peppermint had an image to keep with his new rank, so he wasn't going to outright tell his subordinates a goofy pegasus was on the roof if it would distract them from their mission. He also had an image to keep because somepony was visiting. It was probably somepony important if he was sitting in the grass in the hot sun, away from the group. And then she had seen his horn glowing, so he had probably called somepony over to get her, like he had threatened to.

So, technically, her plan was compromised. She could either sit around and be reprimanded, fly down and get reprimanded, fly away and make things up later, or do something stupid and die.

And probably, being reprimanded would involve prison. What fun.

Ugh, this had gone so much smoother in her head, Sketchy sighed. And her plan had involved going through the front door, not... This. Why did Peppermint have to have a wife? Why'd she have to get distracted? Lying was hard enough as it was.

Sketchy shifted, the rotten tiles sliding under the pressure of her hooves. Something inside the roof creaked. That didn't sound good. She moved slowly downwards, noticing then as shingles skittered away how there were odd soft spots in the roof. Hm.

To place a cloud-boom, or not.

How bad could she make this, Sketchy wondered? She was already screwed, since she wouldn't -couldn't- give up. If she didn't know now, she'd never get the chance again. The questions would just natter at her forever, 'Why didn't you find me?' and she'd probably go crazy. She considered the possibility before turning her thoughts on the ghoulish figure beside her.

Spookyface Mcsmiles watched her casually as it hovered in the empty space above the slanting roof. Could the figment make things worse? Legitimately haunt her, even? Well, it's presence certainly didn't answer anything except bring up more questions, so there was that.

"You know, I wish you could talk, it'd be a lot more convenient," Sketchy muttered. "Or, at least play charades. You got in my face earlier, so why can't you do something now?"

There was deadpan silence from the specter, but that spoke enough. Either way she was going to be haunted for the rest of her life, so she'd better try to fix some of that while she could. On her own.

Sketchy sighed and resumed feeling across the roof slowly. Sweat began to stain her fur under the sun, attracting insects to the damp. Her hooves and belly were scalded by the tile, the burns only marginally helped by the crumbling decomposition. The tile was some kind of ceramic, long since worn by the weather and eaten by the lichen. Perhaps they were once a dark grey, befitting the rest of the house before Her Divine Light decided to bleach the shingles pale.

Hopefully there was some place she could simply press her way through. A cloud-boom would definitely attract attention, and she didn't want to destroy anything. She didn't want to become a terrorist with the explosion, and she definitely didn't want to cause a cave-in and hurt anypony. Hm, perhaps as a distraction.

It dawned on Sketchy that she could probably plead insanity in court and get away with anything. Crazy or not, nopony was supposed to have a mental sidekick 24/7. The thought made her pause and reconsider her mentality.

She moved onwards, a little slower and more careful in her gestures than before, the cloud-boom idea abandoned.

Every now and then she would snort at the gnats and flies, but they never got the message, flitting into her eyes and nose, crawling into the fur under her legs.

Sketchy shook her head impatiently, and her balance faltered when she had rubbed her face - and as she fell backwards, something beneath her gave way.

Sketchy fell into a chilling darkness a few feet below. She was stunned, coughing and gasping as she heard sounds elsewhere. Voices, muffled. Every breath was a challenge to draw for some reason, despite the hole of sunlight blazing inches above her head.

She rolled over and bumped her head against the ceiling. Hard.

Sketchy let out a low moan and curled up in agony. There was about a foot or two of crawlspace here, she realized, when the pain subsided and she had opened her eyes - not to see anything, but as a reflex while she felt around, carefully.

The hole she had made was useless. For some reason, that was all it was- a sunny hole to the outside. Here was another world. The light was too far away. She was floating within a dark and peaceful ambiance. Yet, she could feel wood underneath her. As well as- well, soft things that didn't need to be named. She was on a solid surface, a flooring. That was enough to comfort her.

It was hard to think.

She felt sleepy, weak. Her body was going numb, and that wasn't helping.

Magic. This was magic.

Dark magic, it was dark. Evil. Powerful. Bad.

Her medication wasn't working. This was too much.

Sketchy coughed and beat her head with her hooves where she lay. Focus.

She could...

Her thoughts drifted, her eyes meeting the glowing, sightless gaze of her...Her...

Shadow, that was it. This was her shadow.

It was calling her. Directing her.

Move. The realization hit her.The roof sloped up. If she could move closer to the center, she could get out. That way, somehow. There could be a door.

Focus! Sketchy started to crawl along the floorboards. Keep on thinking! Her limbs dragged themselves along. No longer able to feel them, they were a struggle to control.

Dark magic. What did she know about dark magic?

It didn't like light. Simple, but one. It was used by evil creatures to defy the laws of nature. Two. There were psychological effects, and physical ones, both from use and being cursed. Okay. Three.

Sketchy couldn't think of much else for that, so she asked herself about evil things.  Okay, evil. Also doesn't like light, one. Some evils have specific weaknesses, like salt. Two. Evil didn't like music, three -

Music.

But she could barely breathe. Well. It didn't have to be loud. And it would give her something to focus on. She could barely keep her eyes open as it was.

Sketchy took a shallow breath.

You tell me I have little taste,

And I can't ever keep the pace,

Well I try and do my best,

And only I should know the rest,

Mistakes I've made, but made so few,

So tell me once and tell me two,

Who are you to disagree,

When I'm the one in harmony?

Slowly, by the end of that, it was easier to breathe. Some. She was still struggling, and the air was freezing in her lungs- but there was an improvement. The fact encouraged her, despite how weak she felt, to continue her melodic whispers. It was this or death.

The end can be a threat you see,

But nothing you can do stops me,

So with your prayers, say goodbye

my stars will shine a lulla-

"-Bye?"  came a voice.

Sketchy froze. There was nothing in the dark that suggested movement, not a sound she could have heard.

Looking about, she saw nothing except a pair of glowing eyes looming above her. Sketchy sighed in relief. She had imagined it. The voice had been so faint, so whispery and there was nopony-

"You shouldn't have met me," said the voice again. It was close. Masculine and rasping.

"I-I'm sorry," Sketchy heard herself say around her shock. She rubbed her head. Forced herself to stay awake, despite the growing pain in her skull.  It was an agony that sent her tumbling through her mind.

"You should leave," Sketchy mumbled suddenly. Her eyes closed, too heavy a burden to bear.

The voice.  She didn't even entirely believe herself now. Perhaps her delusions had extended to her hearing. There shouldn't have been a hobo up here.

The house will be blown up, She wanted to say. You should-

She couldn't breathe. And she was okay with that.

Sketchy's thoughts trailed off, crushed into oblivion.

The guards were milling about the row-house, still taking the time here and there to pry apart whatever walls and floorboards remained. There was a stiffness in their movements, a sense of being alert even while each operative's eyes lacked the focus to linger on anything in particular. The unicorns were more wary than the earth ponies. Eyes darted about while various hues flickered to life and then faded as quickly as possible, their efforts followed by several weak avalanches of plaster.

The house was already gutted, the walls and floors reduced to skeletons and makeshift plywood scaffolding. The second floor had received a similar treatment, although the stairs and the landing had been left intact. There was nowhere to hide. The furniture had even been tossed into a bonfire out back. If anything still lurked within the home, it should have been seen - but it hadn't. Nothing had been revealed, and so the condition of the mission was stagnant.

Somepony had pointed out the word 'liar' they had discovered in the filly's room, carved into the baseboard. Following an investigation, that pony was then whacked upside the head after crude doodles of hearts, flowers, and the odd dragon were also found to line the walls.

The only success the stallions had collectively faced had been a series of soft thumpings above their heads at one point. This proved to be misleading however, as they found nothing in the attic after two stallions had braced themselves to look.

There was the report of singing at one point, the notes however heard only by an older guard on the second floor and then conveniently never repeated again. The older guard, a graying stallion by the name of Blueberry Vigil, was sent to the hospital for delusions. The incident didn't aid the dwindling confidence of the mission, and many a stallion were now ticking away the seconds until Shining Armor would arrive and they would all be relieved of duty and sent home.

The waiting was agonizing. It had been reported that Shining Armor's train would be arriving later than scheduled. Stallions had begun to pray off-hoof for something exciting to happen.

When a loud crash and a thump resounded overhead, stallions stumbled over one another to investigate. Those who couldn't make it to the stairs quick enough to escape the charging blockade of bodies were quick to disintegrate their intentions and go back to what they were doing, albeit with one ear cocked and ready.

"We found a filly!" Somepony bellowed. There was a clatter of hooves on the stairs before a guard stumbled onto the planks before them. A limp orange bundle sat suspended in his indigo magic, which was then carried carefully outside. The eyes of the others followed him out, their jaws clenched. Many resolved to spend time with his family that night.

"What happened?" One pony asked the next guard that descended the stairs, a few minutes later. Unlike the rush of the first, his pacing was almost sheepish.

"Ah..." The stallion licked his lips. "A trap door has opened from the ceiling of the attic." he paused. "It appears the crawlspace was put into use. I saw a coffin."

Hearts leapt, but more than one gaze drifted to the front door. "Is the filly...?" The pony's words trailed. None of them could see any signs of smoking out in broad daylight. Although Commander Stroke looked like he was having a fit.

The unicorn huffed a deep breath. "She's not undead, no. But she is very close to dying."

"How did she-"

"I don't know," The unicorn responded gravely, pawing at a step with a hoof. "Men who wish to follow, lets go. We have a mission and I hope to complete it." He turned, tail giving a flick. Paused. "The rest of you can offer your support."

"Yes, Lieutenant Cloverfield," Came a few murmurs.

Peppermint Stroke was failing to keep his composure. He was aware of this but could do nothing about it. He was sure his men were seeing this as well.

He snorted heatedly, repeatedly, nostrils flared at the small orange form that had been placed before him. He had restrained himself from bellowing his alarm, and now he struggled to remain seated. His body itched to get up, and as he sat, trying to project an air of calm, the effort it took to remain still was causing him to shake.

"Sir?" Asked the guard.

"C-" Damn it, he could barely speak! "Call an ambulance."

"But sir," The guard swallowed. " Why not teleport her to the hospital? It would be quicker."

He didn't know what to say. Should he tell this pony he knew her? Knew her, knew she was on the premises, and hadn't said anything? Or would it be worse to say he had known her, and lied about knowing where she had been? That.  That would have been unbelievable. The link would have been made and he would surely be called out for lying. All an interrogation took nowadays was a few simple spells. There was a 98% success rate.

Should he have agreed with the teleportation, to appear less conspicuous? Even though it would probably kill Sketchy outright? How could he justify an ambulance of all things, to a unicorn, without telling him about Sketchy's allergy?That this was a life-threatening allergic reaction and even being in proximity to the two of them was making it worse?

To wait for an ambulance would mean waiting on traffic, no matter the benefits. Teleportation would be easier and safer - usually - since it would shorten the wait before she got treatment...

Sketchy was going to die. Peppermint's jaw clenched. She was going to die, and he was going to be fired for carelessness.

"Sir?" The guard prompted.

Peppermint heaved a deep breath. "Taking her to the hospital on hoof will be safer," He said slowly, "Because then the arcane nature of your spellwork has no chance of making her condition worse."

"This... filly," Peppermint continued, "Has been poisoned by high concentrations of dark magic. Clearly." Although he didn't know where she had found it... Damn it, Sketchy.

"And dark magic feeds off of other magical sources, which is a main reason for its potency," The guard answered thoughtfully, to Peppermint's gratitude. "Good call, sir."

Peppermint gave a shaky nod. "Fetch one of our experts and have him meet you at the hospital. Run like the wind. Her life is in your hooves."  Scary words for the stallion, He reflected, watching as panic flickered across the guard's face. But it took the weight of this responsibility from his own shoulders, which was good, as he had other things to handle.

Sketchy's limp body was levitated onto the unicorn's back. Peppermint watched as the stallion galloped off, distantly observant. Unicorns were poor runners. He wouldn't make it in time.

Still. Peppermint sighed and turned his attentions to the house. That pony had a good heart to try. Unlike him.

His horn lit up.

Reporting in, Peppermint announced. Civilian interference rediscovered and dispatched.

Really? Came Wireframe's voice. The pony I sent out returned inconclusive.

Peppermint gulped. The civilian has been found unconscious and near death, likely having succumbed to the dark-magic. The civilian has been sent to the hospital on my orders.

So to clarify, Wireframe said, Does the evidence conclude that the dark magic is starting to leak into the area?

No, Peppermint corrected, perhaps a bit too frantically. An evacuation of the block is not in order. The civilian was found inside the house.

How did the civilian bypass your perimeters? Wireframe asked.

Peppermint hesitated. Through the roof. It was the best guess he had.

Your guess is inconclusive until further evidence is collected, Wireframe told Peppermint, catching him off guard.

Of course, Peppermint answered.

And what measures were taken to the adjacent row-houses on either side? Wireframe asked, changing the subject.

The occupants were evacuated and relocated into new homes, along with their belongings, said Peppermint. They were also given eligibility for free psychiatric care.

You've been thorough, Wireframe noted.

Peppermint preened at that. I try.

You try too hard, Wireframe corrected him. Peppermint's ego deflated. So no reports of dark magical contamination in the other homes?

Ah - no, Peppermint replied. The dark magic has been found to have been contained solely in this one building, with no signs of displaced residue from our detection spells.

Our occupant has been oddly considerate, Wireframe said dully. Well, that is good. Keep me updated.

As I shall, Peppermint promised.

Peppermint's horn went out, he turned back towards the road.

He found himself gawking at the pristine white unicorn in crystal-embellished, royal purple armor who  now stood before him, towering rather. Worse, the unicorn appeared faintly amused, if a bit sweaty and tired from his long trip.

Peppermint scrambled into position. "Prince Shining Armor, sir! It's an honor to have you serving with us today, sir!" He saluted.

"Staying on target I hope?" Shining Armor's smile waned, although Peppermint was already suppressing his embarrassment. The unicorn gestured his horn to the house.  "Tell your men to lay down their detonation spells and get out. Once the coast is clear, I will cast my shield to contain the blast."

"Right sir," Peppermint nodded. As was planned. His horn lit up.

Lieutenant Cloverfield, Shining Armor has arrived. Arrange the men in formation, have them deploy their detonations, and -

What about the coffin? Cloverfield asked.

Peppermint frowned. What coffin?

The coffin we have discovered above the attic, Cloverfield clarified. What do we do with it?

Destroy it, was Peppermint's answer. Our occupant is probably inside.

There was a pause. No he isn't, Cloverfield answered carefully. There... Isn't a body.

Alright then, he's likely hiding. Tell the men to get out.

Another thing, sir. The levels of dark magic are actually going down now, from what my spells are telling me.

Wait. What?

He's... Flown the coop, sir.

Peppermint froze. His thoughts blanked white, his neck prickling with more than heat. This couldn't be happening. This, of all things, couldn't be happening. No.

Er, came Cloverfield's voice. It...Has. What measures will we be taking, sir?

Peppermint drew in a ragged breath. He ignored Shining Armor's gaze upon him.

Continue as planned. The house is probably too tainted to be livable. Tell...Tell the men to get out. Later on I'll figure out what... What to do.

Understood sir, Cloverfield sighed. Over and out.

Right..,Came Peppermint's weak reply.

With the spell ended, Peppermint mustered every inch of his will-power to keep from falling over in shock.

"Is something wrong?" Shining Armor asked, as the guards filed out in an orderly fashion.

He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot. He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot. He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot.

Everything was perfectly fine. Except for that.

Sketchy's death. That too.

"I'm..." Peppermint swallowed and steadied himself with all the guard-like poise he could muster. "I think I will relieve myself early. The sun is starting to get to me." He shakily arose and began to wander off. "Lieutenant Cloverfield will take over the report."

"As you will, Commander," Came Shining Armor's voice, a tone of confusion hinted but not expanded upon.

Peppermint ignored him, as he ignored a few off-hoof whispers of 'work fatigue'.

He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot.