Everything You Wanted

by Between Lines

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Alternate Universe
Length: 10546

An older Scootaloo finds herself losing hope that she'll ever be a proper flier, until she's offered a deal: have her wish granted, and in return find others needing the same. Everyone wins, right?

As far back as she could remember, Scootaloo longed to fly. It was her life's dream to soar among the clouds like other pegasai, and to one day match skills against those greatest of all fliers, the Wonderbolts.

But it was not to be. For all her heart and will, her wings were simply not up to the task, a lesson proved time and again year after year.

Held back by circumstances beyond her control, she could only watch as her dreams slipped further and further away.

But that was before a powerful entity offered her a deal: get her lifelong dream granted, and in return, she would hunt down others burdened by their lost dreams, and offer them the same.

With nowhere else to turn, it seemed like a perfect offer: everyone wins, especially Scootaloo.

Right?

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-03 01:47:33 UTC

Scootaloo Makes a Deal

Scootaloo twisted upon her bed. The rusted-through cot squeaked beneath her weight, each groaning spring begging her to buy a new cot and let them finally rest in peace. Instead, night after night, she lay down on the same battered furniture and tried her best to sleep. Occasionally, she considered sleeping on the floor instead, until the sounds of oversized scuttling reached her ears and she remembered why she kept to her bed.

Sometimes, in the early hours, she would look over at her prized possessions: a pair of framed photographs. Three fillies smiled back from the first, laughing as they stood in front of Cheerilee’s schoolhouse for the last time, while none other than Rainbow Dash herself grinned back from the second.

It was strange to think she’d once known these ponies: a captain of the Wonderbolts, an heir to the Apple family legacy, and a rising star on the music scene. Now, they were just photographs in a low rent apartment, kept safe by scratched glass and rotting frames. Usually, they brought her comfort on those nights she couldn’t sleep, but tonight was an exception.

Tonight, of course, she was sleepless for a new reason. She tried not to dwell on it, tried not to look at the center of the room, where an arcane symbol burned quietly in the midst of the soiled concrete. Occasionally, something would scuttle across it, only to vaporize in a blaze of inscrutable forces.

Part of her wanted to try and cook something on it, if only because the price of natural gas was climbing through the roof. Of course, there was always the risk of magic poisoning and growing a horn or something, but it was almost worth it just the same. Maybe a horn would actually be useful.

There was a soft rush of air, and suddenly a dark shadow loomed over her. Two baleful eyes gleamed from its depths, cold and alien as the stars in the sky as they swept over her room. “Oh dear god, what is this place?” The shadow swung side to side, revealing a long canine muzzle that shifted and danced in the twilight. “This always happens when mortals industrialize. Would it kill them to show a little generosity?”

“Uh, maybe?” Scootaloo flinched as two pale, glowing eyes fixed on her. “Are you the Giver?”

“The Giver? That’s seriously what they went with?” He sighed, shaking his head in a disturbingly liquid motion. “This is the last time I leave my records to mortals. Call me Viscous. Two guesses why.” He grinned, the motion stretching his fangs unnaturally wide.

“Because, you’re...made of liquid?” She offered a nervous grin. This wasn’t quite the dark ritual of forbidden arts she’d been sold on.

“Close! I’m a fluid, not a liquid. All liquids are fluid, but not all fluids are liquids. Think of it like a square rectangle thing.” He slithered his way over towards her cot, and shot it a disdainful look. “Really? You couldn’t afford a pinch of arsenic on this thing?”

“Wouldn’t arsenic kill me?” Scootaloo said.

“Yeah, if you sat on it before cleaning it, but really, if you kill yourself with your own poison you don’t deserve to live.” He sighed and opted to simply hover in the midst of her living room. “So, if the surroundings weren’t clue enough, I’m guessing your life took a crap turn.”

“You could say that.” She felt her wings buzz self-consciously, and it was all she could do not to shoot them a glare.

“Ooof, are those vestigial?” he trailed off at her expression. “Okay, so you are a cripple.”

“I...yeah. Yeah I’m a cripple, who am I kidding?” She slumped back on her cot, letting out a heavy sigh. “All my life, I wanted to fly with the Wonderbolts, with my idol. Now here I am with a pair of bum wings and a life to match.”

“Oooohhh, tough break. Well, maybe not.” He formed a set of claws out of his shadowy mass, and casually polished them upon himself. “I mean, this way you get to meet me, after all.”

“Yes, it’s been worth every minute,” Scootaloo deadpanned. “Shouldn’t you be offering me forbidden power right now?”

“Oh, right. That was the deal, wasn’t it?” He tapped his chin contemplatively. “Lemme guess, wings?”

“Not just any wings! I want the most kick-flank, hardcore, sky wrecking wings you’ve got.” When he turned to stare at her, she rolled over and stood her ground. “Hey, I burned three chickens and sold my soul for this deal: I’m getting the full package.”

“Woah, wait, those weren’t live chickens, were they?” There was a beat of awkward silence before Viscous let out a low whistle. “Damn, you are seriously dedicated.”

“Wait, so I sell my soul in this deal, and you get wrapped up over some chickens?” She glanced at the runes now burned into the floor. “Did I get the right guy?”

“Well, to be entirely fair, it’s not like there actually is ‘a soul,’ so to speak.” He shrugged. “Certainly not one shaped by such petty concepts as barter. Really, the whole prospect is utterly asinine.”

“Wait, so I didn’t sell my soul? Then what the buck was the point of the whole ritual?” She glared at her now pointlessly ruined floor.

“It was testing for dedication. You throw around ominous terms like soul and sacrifice, and the uninvested tend to lose interest.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine how much I’d get called on if I asked for cash? Even at ten pounds of gold I’d be booked from here to eternity.”

“I...feel like I should be angrier.” Scootaloo just stared blankly. “Whatever, so, there’s no actual price? Besides the chickens.” Her nose still wrinkled at the memory.

“Oh, there’s a price, but it’s hardly so steep as souls and such.” He flicked a limb, and a scroll dropped from his shadowy substance. “Full terms are on there, but the gist of it is this: I grant your wish, and you go looking for others who need wishes granted. Then they do the same, and on it goes.”

“That’s it?” She crooked a brow. “No rituals and stuff?”

“That’s it. The rituals are just for when I can’t oversee things. Once I’ve got someone ‘on the ground,’ so to speak, I can trust their judgement. Well, unless they disappoint me, but,” he shot her another one of his too-wide grins, “I find people try to avoid that.”

“I, uh, okay then.” She found herself sweating. “So, wings?”

“Ah, so you agree then?” She nodded, and he simply continued to smile. “Very good, we’ll begin immediately. Mind, this might be slightly disorienting. Memory deletion can have that effect.”

“Memory—”

“—deletion?” Scootaloo blinked.

She was in an apartment, but it wasn’t her own. She still recognized the Manehatten skyline, but now it seemed lower down. She realized she’d been moved higher up, to one of the nicer pegasai apartments. Gone were the grungy furnishings of her hovel, replaced with a clean absence of anything. The room felt more like a box than a home.

“I saw this apartment, and simply had to put you here.” Viscous’ voice prompted her to turn around with a yelp.

“Don’t do that!” The instant her wings flared, she knew something was wrong. She lurched for a moment before she caught herself. A quick glance took her breath away. Where her stubby little appendages had been, there were now mighty spans of polished metal, done up in gleaming shades of her own colors. “Woaaaah.”

“You like?” He chuckled, smiling as she nodded. “You better. You know how long it took me to put those things in? Do you have any idea how messed up pony physiology is?” He let out a low grumble. “I really hate magic.”

“Really? Didn’t you get here by, you know, magic?” Scootaloo said.

“Yeah, not because I wanted to. The work’s gotta go on, no matter the method.” He said, shrugging.

“Yeah, so, about that ‘work.’ I just have to find another pony who wants,” she glanced back at her wings, “to be so epic and awesome they could die?” She gave them a quick flap and squealed with delight as she nearly smacked into the ceiling. “That would have winded me before! This is so cool!”

“That’s the gist of it. Just keep your ears to the ground. Really, it’s a part time thing at best.” He glanced around the space. “Meanwhile I can get things set up here.”

“Things?” She glanced around the empty apartment. “Where are we, for that matter?”

“Oh, just a little place I found. One of the advantages of being a master of the material arts is that currency is never hard to come by.” He flicked one of his limbs, producing a stack of golden bits as easy as magician’s stage trick. “Don’t worry about being caught for counterfeiting, by the way. I don’t use the term ‘master’ lightly.”

“So you can just make money whenever you want?” She let out a low whistle. “So, like, do I live here now?”

“Why not? You’re my high priest after all. Or maybe prophet would be better?” He laughed, starting to glide around the room. “What better place for a mare of the cloth to live than the temple of her faith?”

“You’re going to build a temple,” she paused to look around, “in a middle income apartment.”

“Hey, at least I’m not one of those chumps who piles a stack of rocks in the woods and calls it a place of worship.” He waved her off. “Anyway, I brought you here so you’d know where it is. You go collect your effects, chase your dreams, and I’ll get rolling on my miracles over here.” From his shifting darkness, he produced a tape measure and a marker, starting to plan out the floor. “Oh, and if you know any good sofa shops, that would be fantastic. Also, pick me up some letters. Mail order makes my life so much easier.”

“Uh, sure, can do.” She made her way to the door, sparing one last glance for the strange interior decorator she’d summoned, and stepped out into the hall.

“And milk! We need milk!” His voice chased after her with a cackle.

“Sure.” She rolled her eyes, making her way out of the building.

At first, it was strange having ponies stare at her. Their eyes inevitably caught on the polished gleam of her new appendages, and after the first few minutes she started to revel in the attention. She hadn’t been much of somepony back in her Ponyville days, but after moving away, she’d dropped off the map. It was nice to capture a little of that attention again.

Still, as she moved back into the slums, she found some of that attention growing a little avaricious. Uneasily, she found herself slowing down, hesitant to go further into what was essentially the underbelly of the city. As she eyed the grimy streets ahead, she found herself longing to keep the filth from her wings. And then the solution hit her so hard she laughed.

Spreading them wide, she gave them a few experimental flaps, rocketing into the sky as she did so. “Woah! This is even better than I thought!” She nearly overbalanced on the first few flaps, but found the balance wasn’t too different from her old set of wings. She had to pace her flaps, the larger wings proving slower to respond, but they were so much more powerful she could hardly be bothered to care. They were so powerful, in fact, that she nearly sped clean past her apartment, having to rapidly backpedal in a gust of trash.

“Home sweet home.” The words were bitter on her tongue. For the past year, she’d turned a blind eye to the state of her living conditions, but through the lens of fresh hope, they looked more decrepit than she could imagine. “Did I really sink this low?” She briefly considered heading in to take the stairs, but then she remembered her new pair of wings.

With a few quick flaps, she made her way up to her room, and pulled open the window. Maybe the broken latch should have concerned her, had she possessed anything worth stealing. As a matter of fact, she began to realize she barely had anything worth taking. Aside from her pictures, she was content to let the rest rot where it sat.

“Well, I guess that’s everything.” She stared at her hoofful of pictures, and found a smile teasing at her lips. “Hey girls, been a while. We should catch up sometime.” As she flapped her wings, the air beginning to rush past her, she felt her smile grow into a full blown grin. “You know what? Why wait?” She was about to turn towards Ponyville when she remembered Viscous’ request for mail, and his comments regarding ‘failure.’ “On second thought, girls, I think our reunion will have to wait just a bit.”

“So, uh, do you, uh, need me for anything?” Scootaloo dodged aside as Viscous wheeled about a cart of power tools. “Errands, labor, an alibi when the cops ask why you turned an apartment into a construction zone?”

“Nah, I’ve got that all taken care of,” Viscous said, his smirk bespeaking no end of ‘inventive’ solutions to that particular problem. “I gave you wings to go chase your dreams, so fly along little birdy! Fly free!”

“Uh, yeah. Sure thing. I’ll probably be gone a while, you know…” Even as she spoke the words, she edged her way towards the door.

“Pffft, you’re not at my beck and call. I can probably do anything I’d ask of you anyway. And it’d probably come out better besides. Go off, live life, and keep those ears open, eh?” With that, he hefted up a jackhammer, and started to brace it against the wall.

“Okay then, good luck with…this?” She quickly slipped out of the door, wincing as the staccato din of the jackhammer started up. “What a gigantic bag of nuts.”

Flying. All her life, Scootaloo had dreamed of flying. She’d been flown, and she’d hovered under her own power, but those had only served to whet her appetite for the real thing. Now, at long last, she was experiencing it for herself. It was spectacular.

“Hey slowpokes!” She blew past a family of pegasai, the small band no doubt having opted to forgo the trains just as she had. By the time they’d scattered in alarm, Scootaloo was already an orange and purple streak blazing towards the horizon. “Later slowpokes!”

A small part of her felt bad for scattering the family like a flock of pigeons. The rest of her was so high on thrills she didn’t care. Below her, the grand expanse that was Equestria spilled out like a map, only now the mountains were real instead of drawn, and the rivers sparkled and the grasses waved. She was doing it, she was finally flying.

She was free.

“Ponyville, here I come!” She started to flap her wings faster, feeling the metal moorings pull on her back. It was a strange sensation, so different than her old wings. Before, she could feel every joint, every muscle burning as she struggled to go faster and faster, desperate to fly. Now, however, it was as though they’d been doused in ice water. She could feel her wings, but there was no pain or stress. There was only the cool flow of air across their polished feathers, and the force upon their joints.

She pushed herself harder, curious to see her limits. The cold steel responded, keeping pace with her every desire. The air began to drag against her face, but still she went faster. The land below began to blur, but still she went faster. The force holding her back grew heavier, but still she went faster. The pressure disappeared before her, the barrier broken in a blaze of orange across the sky.

And still she went faster.

It was intoxicating. All she needed was to try, and it happened. Her wings hammered with the force of thunderclaps, but it didn’t bother her in the slightest. Where flesh and muscle would have protested and torn, the cool steel of her wings merely obeyed. There were no limits in this place, no boundaries. There were only dreams to chase, and the speed to catch them.

Oh, and there was Ponyville.

The wind lashed across her as she tried to stop suddenly, the smooth flow of air turning to vicious turbulence that whipped across her fur. Though her wings worked tirelessly and without complaint, the rest of her body howled in protest as it was forced to stop far faster than it was ever intended to. For a moment, she seriously feared she would tear apart in midair, victim of a horrible double-edged deal. Then, slowly, the strain began to fade, and she pulled into a hover, her entire body feeling as though she’d plowed clean through a brick wall.

“Okay, next time, pace yourself.” Panting more from pain than exertion, she settled into a glide towards the town she’d once called home. Below her, Ponyville sprawled out in a way it never had during her youth.

As the seat of a princess, Ponyville had grown from a small town into a city in its own right. Well, more of a suburb to be exact, the buildings keeping a small, homey feel despite multiplying endlessly in number. Perhaps it had been done to try and avoid the towering spires of Manehatten and the grimy shadows they never failed to cast, but the end result was a town that stretched to all sides like an overgrown spiderweb, several times larger than it had any right to be.

Fortunately, Scootaloo’s first stop wasn’t within the suburban sprawl. Or, at least, it hadn’t been when she’d last seen it. However, as she swept out towards Sweet Apple Acres, it was with an endless procession of buildings following her every flap. By the time she had reached Sweet Apple Acres, it was clear that the labyrinth of development had been quite happy to engulf the modest orchard, surrounding the trees within the way a river would a rock.

“Geeze, this place sure changed.” She angled her wings down, aiming for the farmhouse she remembered from her youth. As she did, she spied the old Crusader clubhouse, weathered but still in good condition. The sight brought a smile to her lips. “Maybe not that much.”

As she settled down on the ground, she caught sight of a familiar russet red stallion. “Big mac!”

“Hm?” Big Macintosh glanced up from where he stood beside the farmhouse, spitting out the axe with which he’d been chopping firewood. Just as time had touched the old Apple farmhouse, so too had it touched Big Mac. Years of working the farm had kept him in top shape, but his once lustrous red coat had been paled and bleached by the endless sun. He looked worn, but still strong, as befitted an Apple. “Scootaloo?”

“The one and only!” She galloped up and gave him a fierce hug. Until she saw him, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this place. “Sorry I never visited, just, with train rates what they are…” Never had she hated her wings more than when they’d trapped her in Manehatten, locking her to the trains to see her friends. Or not see them as the case had been.

“It’s okay, welcome back.” He returned the hug in kind, his heavy hooves squeezing her like a comfortable vice. The grip loosened a bit as he felt the stiff steel of her wings. “What’s this?”

“I, uh, got treatment for my wings!” Technically true, though from his expression, Big Mac clearly picked up on the ‘technical’ aspect of it. Scootaloo sighed. “Look, it’s a long story, and…I’d rather just tell it once. Where’s Apple Bloom and Applejack?”

“Market, Council.” He took another look at her wings, and shrugged. “Should be back soon.”

“Thanks. So, how’s the farm?” She took a glance around. Upon closer inspection, the buildings weren’t doing as well as they’d first appeared, with the bright paint beginning to chip and peel and the wood beneath dulled by sun and wind. “Need any help?”

“Enope,” Big Mac said.

“Looks like this place has seen better days.” Scootaloo coughed gently, eying the rust upon his axe. “I thought Ponyville was doing well for itself.”

“Property Taxes,” Big Mac said, and Scootaloo ahhed in comprehension. She’d been forced out of her share of apartments by rising property values.

“Well, don’t all these ponies buy more apples? Aren’t you making more money?” she said.

“Enope.” He picked up the axe in his mouth, and went back to chopping wood.

“But...why? You could make a killing on this place! It’s like a small city in walking distance!” Scootaloo said.

“Can’t plant more apples to sell,” he replied. “No room.”

“Oh.” So that was it, they were hemmed in. “Can’t Twilight help or something?”

“Enope. No hoofouts.” He spoke the words with conviction and pride, the next log splitting with a definitive crack.

“Yeah, I can see that.” She couldn’t stand hoofouts herself. She probably could have made it out of Manehatten earlier if she’d just been willing to beg for a ticket and someplace to go. Instead, she’d stuck it out, and now she had a sweet new pair of wings. Sure, she might have unleashed some dark god upon Equestria, but then again, that happened every Tuesday anyway.

That still left the question of how she’d explain herself.

“Scootaloo?” Despite her dark thoughts, Scootaloo felt her heart lift at the voice. It was several years older, but there was still every ounce of that sweet sunny charm to it.

“Apple Bloom!” Scootaloo whipped around in time to see one of her best friends in the world racing down the road towards her. As she felt those familiar hooves hug her close, it was as though everything slid backwards in time, the years vanishing like smoke. For an instant, she was a filly again, a big bright world waiting all around her.

“Scoots! I thought you died!” said Apple Bloom, tears welling in her eyes. It suddenly struck Scootaloo how big Apple Bloom was. She'd clearly taken after her brother over the years, to the point where she made Applejack look like the delicate one in the family.

“What?” Scootaloo pulled away to look her friend in the eyes. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know. We used to be so close, then all of a sudden the letters stopped coming back. I even came to Manehatten to look for you, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.” Eyes still brimming with tears, she grabbed Scootaloo for another hug, even as the orange pegasus struggled with what she’d heard.

“Apple Bloom,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“What happened to you?” The words weren’t angry, just concerned for a friend. “Why didn’t you ever reply?”

“I...couldn’t afford postage.” Scootaloo pulled away, her eyes averted in shame. “There’s not a lot of call for a flightless pegasus, part of why I moved to Manehatten in the first place, but it was just as bad there. I could barely afford to stay fed and housed, and several times I had to move to a lower rent apartment, and couldn’t afford to send you the change of address.”

“Oh, Scootaloo. Why didn’t you come home?” she asked.

“You know how much a train ticket costs these days?” She gave a bitter snort. “Not as if I could just fly home.”

“But, then, how’d you get here?” Apple Bloom finally broke her hold around Scootaloo. As she did, her touch brushed the metallic wings at her sides, and her eyes went wide. “What in tarnation?”

“I flew here.” Pushing down her remaining melancholy, Scootaloo threw on her best grin and flared her wings for all to see. Opened wide, they cast an impressive shadow, solicited a surprised ‘oooohhh’ from Apple Bloom. “Not bad, eh?”

“Are those your wings?” Apple Bloom reached out a hoof, caressing the smooth steel. “They’re amazing!”

“Yeah, I know, right? I actually flew here from Manehatten! Today!” She gave her wings a self indulgent flourish before settling them back against her sides. “Probably set some new records, maybe inspired a few fillies, you know how it is.”

“This is fantastic! You can finally get into the wonderbolts! How’d you do it?” Those last words almost instantly killed the mood, leaving Scootaloo to freeze with guilt.  Apple Bloom picked up on it instantly. “Scootaloo, how’d you do it?”

“Magic?” Scootaloo offered.

“Well of course it’s magic.” Apple Bloom took another look at Scootaloo and sighed. “I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

“No, probably not.” Scootaloo cast a glance over at the farmhouse, suddenly so much less inviting. “Can we sit down? It’s kind of a long story.”

“Sure. You coming, Mac?” When the red farmpony shook his head, Apple Bloom simply nodded and led Scootaloo inside the house. The interior of the Apple family household had fared better than the outside, the old kitchen implements and furniture clearly benefiting from plenty of tender and loving care. Apple Bloom sat herself on the far side of the table, facing Scootaloo as she did the same. “Alright, spill. What did you do?”

“Alright. It all started last year. I’d just had my last job shut down by the health inspector, and I had to make rent. Lucky for me, there was an old curio shop looking for help. Of course, I played the ‘I knew Twilight Sparkle’ card for all it was worth. It didn’t get me very far, but he was curious enough to let me take a swing at organizing the books. Thanks to learning with Twilight, I managed to do a good enough job that he took me on for some part time work.” She heaved a sigh. “It really wasn’t enough to make rent, but it was better than nothing, so I kept at it while I looked for other work. Most of it was garbage, old yard sale trash and stuff, but one day this book came in.” Scootaloo paused, beginning to worry her lip. “I could tell right off that book was bad news. Pony who sold it looked like he’d been through tartarus and back. There were bags under his eyes, his ribs were showing, and he kept fidgeting and glancing over his shoulder. Still, it was an old book, and if there were two things we sold, it was old and books. Of course, we bought the damn thing and put it on the shelves like everything else, but I just couldn’t get it out of my head. There was something different about it.”

“You read it, didn’t you?” Applebloom’s eyes said she already knew the answer.

“Of course I read it!” Scootaloo answered anyway.

“Why would you do that? You said yourself it looked evil!” Apple Bloom folded her forelegs, summoning up her best disapproving glare, clearly borrowed from years of Applejack’s guidance.

“I said it looked different. It wasn’t like the pages were bleeding or anything.” Twilight had once actually hosted an informative seminar on evil books, and section one had been entirely devoted to the topic of bleeding literature. Section two had been on cover materials, but by then everypony had fallen asleep.

“Scoots, haven’t we had enough problems with dark gods and all?” Apple Bloom said, Discord’s name not needing to be mentioned.

“Never stopped us before,” Scootaloo said.

Apple Bloom sat there a moment. “...you got a point.”

“See? And it’s not like I tried any of the really evil stuff,” Scootaloo scoffed. “I mean, you wouldn’t believe some of what was in there.”

“Well that’s a real comfort,” Applebloom snarked. “How about you tell me about what you did do?”

“Alright, alright, I was reading through the book, and it was all about summoning evil things, usual dark tome stuff, but then this one page falls out. It looked like somepony had stuffed it in there, and on it was a ritual for summoning something called the Giver.” Scootaloo leaned in a bit, her eyes taking on an excited gleam. “Apparently, you could summon him and he would grant you the power to fix your life. The page said to use it in case you were actually dumb enough to summon something from the book.”

“So you went and summoned him,” Apple Bloom concluded, nonplussed.

“Well, yeah.” Scootaloo deflated a bit, shaking her head. “Apple Bloom, my life needed fixing, and I was out of ideas.”

“I can’t believe you couldn’t find a way to come to us for help.” She scowled, her eyes hurt and confused. “We’re your friends Scoots!”

“Well maybe I didn’t want to come to you for help! Maybe I didn’t want to be Scootaloo the cripple, who couldn’t cut it on her own!” A deathly silence fell, and a moment later Scootaloo let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Scoots, you know we’d never…”

“But I would. I would know I had to run to you for help. I was alone, and broken and it was all my fault.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I couldn’t face it. Anything was better than that, even my soul.”

“Wait, your soul?” Apple Bloom stared, aghast.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Scootaloo replied with a snort. “Turns out he didn’t actually want my soul. I don’t think he actually believes in them even. It was just to scare ponies off from summoning him all the time.”

“Well...okay.” Applebloom blinked. “So, he didn’t want anything?”

“Well, not exactly. He wants me to keep an eye out for other ponies for him to grant wishes for.” She shrugged. “Seems innocent enough, though I think he’s got some screws loose. Last I saw he was trying to build a temple inside a middle class apartment.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I think he’s probably more crazy than dangerous.” She sighed. “Either way, I got my wings, and I said I’d do it for him, so I will.”

“I really think we ought to tell Twilight and the other elements.” She chewed her lip. “He could be a lot more dangerous than he looks.”

“Apple Bloom, I...fine, I’ll tell them as soon as they get back. Alright?” She leaned back and sighed. “I’m just...I’m just glad to be home.”

“Have you spoken to…?” Apple Bloom didn’t have to finish.

“My parents?” Scootaloo snarled. “No. I told you nothing would get me to talk to them again, and that means nothing.”

“Alright.” Apple Bloom spoke the words with the same reluctance she always did. “Well, you can stay here then, so long as you help out. Honestly we could use it. What are you gonna do now that you’re back?”

“Now that I’m back?” Scootaloo rolled her shoulders, a bit of her pep coming back. “I’m gonna join the wonderbolts, that’s what!”

Apple Bloom couldn’t help but smirk in return. “About time, Scoots, about time.” As she started to get up, however, the front door opened, revealing none other than her sister. “Applejack? I thought you were going to be in meetings all day.”

“I was, then all of a sudden Twilight gets a letter from the princess, and has to go take care of something ‘special.’” She sighed, offering Scootaloo a warm smile. “Good to see ya Scootaloo, Mac told me you were back in town.”

“Yeah, it took me a while, didn’t it?” Scootaloo scratched at the back of her neck. It was strange seeing Applejack after so long, especially when those very same years had so clearly been unkind to her. Between a struggling farm and the duties of an element, Applejack had clearly endured more than her share of stress. Between her frayed hair and tired eyes, she could have aged a decade since Scootaloo had last seen her. It was a testament to her vitality that she seemed no weaker for it. “What’d Twilight have to deal with?”

“Didn’t say, some sort of trouble in Manehatten.”

Scootaloo felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, and quickly caught Apple Bloom’s worried eyes.

“Uh oh.”

Octavia Plays for Manehatten

Rain fell softly on the streets of Manehatten, the gentle mist doing little to wash away the grime ingrained in its streets. Herds of ponies moved through its walkways, their bodies hidden beneath their impassive umbrellas, concealing the bright colors beneath. It was on these days, thought Octavia, that the city showed its true colors.

She sighed and turned from her balcony, stepping in before the rain could do more than dampen her coat. Within her apartment, there was little enough of note besides her prized cello, the space quite aptly summarizing her own life. With a sigh, she stopped by the bathroom to dry off before settling in for another practice session.

As she drew the first note, however, she stopped.

She loved the sound of her cello on a rainy day. The moisture brought a life to the notes she could feel in her soul, but today was not for her music. Today was for another tawdry party held by some wealthy socialite who would as soon listen to a yowling cat if they thought it was in vogue. Today was for showering tired pieces on deaf ears.

She took one glance at her sheet music and slowly pushed it closed. She shifted her grip and began to play, letting her heart guide her instead of her eyes. Note by note, a slow nocturne began to take shape, drifting through the dark corners of her soul. As she closed her eyes, she could see the city below, gray and uncaring. Countless ponies moved beneath black umbrellas, flowing in blind and soulless rivers, weathering the cleansing rains around them.

Such was Manehatten, a city of the deaf and dead.

As she opened her eyes, a lone shadow stood in sharp relief against her wall. “Be at ease,” he whispered, a pair of gleaming eyes fading into existence.

She almost threw something at the intruder, before the patent absurdity of the gesture struck her. Here was a creature that had entered her home without unlocking the door or breaking a window. If four solid walls couldn’t stop it, what good would a music stand do?

“Very well.” Octavia tightened her grip on the cello, but otherwise sat still. She had seen her share of strange things, even having played at the infamous “Gala of Harmony” as the debacle had come to be known. If she had learned one thing from her life, it was that sometimes one was simply a passenger. “I believe you have me at a disadvantage.”

“My name is Viscous. Forgive my intrusion, but your music was beautiful. It had a richness of longing I’ve not heard in ages.” He sighed, settling across from her upon one of her chairs. “You’ve lost your dreams, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps.” As she eyed Viscous, she thought about his words. She’d once dreamed of being a pioneer, of filling the concert halls of Equestria with a golden age of music. She was going to bring a renaissance to the classics, and revive the lost art of the orchestra. And now she played lawn parties for spoiled nobles. “Yes.”

“I thought so.” Those glowing eyes wandered about the room, settling on her books of symphonies as recognition flashed within them. “One artist can often recognize another, especially when it comes to the unique sensation of under-appreciation.”

“What manner of artist are you?” Part of Octavia reflected on the oddity of her current situation, but there was a sincerity to Viscous she couldn’t ignore.

“I work in dreams, lost ones specifically.” It let out a soft chuckle. “Funny, we build societies to fulfill our dreams, but in the end we rarely find a greater enemy to them. The walls that protect us so often trap us.”

“I suppose so.” She coughed. “I presume there’s a reason you’re here.”

“Yes. I said I worked in the art of dreams. I’d like to fulfill your dreams, or at least give you the power to do so yourself.” His eyes met hers, and the words hung in the air.

“Why?” She could have asked a million questions, but at the end of the day, it was only ‘why’ that mattered.

“I’m old. I’m quite old. I’ve watched millions perish unfulfilled, their lives devolved to little more than rote action. Living, breathing souls reduced to cogs and belts.” He shook his head. “It’s genocide of the soul, and inexcusable. Dreams aren’t just what make life worth living, they’re why we live at all.”

“Perhaps.” Octavia turned her head out the window, where the falling rain drew ripples across the glass. Even though the pure water, the city beyond was as gray and dingy as ever. “I dreamed of bringing beauty to the world once. Now I play parties for ponies who’d rather listen to the jangling of bits than the singing of strings.”

“I thought as much.” The shadow turned towards the window as well. “Do you still dream of bringing beauty to this world?”

“Yes,” decided Octavia. “Yes I do.”

Twilight muttered sullenly under her breath, her coruscating mane proving woefully attractive to ambient moisture. “There’s trouble in Manehatten, Twilight. You should go check it out, Twilight. Never mind it’s twelve degrees and raining, Twilight. Your hair won’t soak it all up and weigh half a ton in the driving wind, Twilight.” She managed a sharp huff, scowling as the hills and roads slid past beneath her. It wasn’t fair. Statistically speaking, she should have had at least another three days before a disaster.

When at last the city of Manehatten swam into view, Twilight only found her scowl deepening. Manehatten, so far as Twilight was concerned, was a lump of petrified excrement that couldn’t be bothered to show proper courtesy to a princess, much less a common pony. It was rude, boorish, noisy, and overpriced. It was a mystery what Rarity saw in the place to be sure. The streets even stank, Twilight noticed, as she angled towards a clump of police ponies surrounding the mayor.

“Princess Sparkle!” Declared Poll Numbers, the stately brown earth pony quickly straightening his tie. With a flawless jet mane, and a suit and tie to match, looked every bit the aspiring politician. Unfortunately, he acted the part as well, as he’d demonstrated when he’d pinned the ‘chocolate main’ incident on her. “I am honored you could come aid our fine city on such short notice!”

“My pleasure,” Twilight lied through her teeth. Honestly, there were days she considered simply ripping the choicest bits out of the city and hurling the rest into the bay. Maybe that’s what had happened already? She could only hope. “I live to serve the people of Equestria.”

“As do we all,.” Poll Numbers likewise lied, unless serving the public ponyfeathers counted. “We should make haste, lest the great ponies of Manehatten suffer further.”

Poll Numbers smoothed down his suit, and led the way further into the city, making sure the cameras caught his good side as he did. As he led, the procession passed parked police wagons and hastily erected barricades, their edges lined with worried crowds and the policeponies trying to control them. At the sight of Twilight, a few cheers erupted, quickly turning into a tide of applause.

“Oh, so now you recognize a princess.” Twilight grumbled.

“Did you say something?” Poll asked, but Twilight merely shook her head and grunted. “Very well. It all began a few hours ago. We would have tried to act ourselves but…well we’re not sure exactly what is actually happening.”

“So what is it? Ponies disappearing? Talking murals? Give me something to…” She trailed off as they rounded the corner.

Ahead, it was as though somepony had spliced another city straight into Manehatten. One moment it was brick and asphalt, the next it might as well have been the surface of the moon. Gone were the drab brick towers, stained with decades of soot and grime. In their place rose dark high-rises, their facades presenting a provocative cityscape of shadow and light. Art deco and gothic undertones intermingled, bringing a sense of age and class, while subtly colored lighting lent it all the youthful energy of a city in its prime. Beneath it all, soft strings of music drifted on the wind, completing the transformation of Manehatten into something beautiful. The sight took her breath away.

“It was like this when I got here.” Poll offered lamely, the constant fussing with his tie showing just how out of his depth he was. “I’m told that one moment, everything was normal, then suddenly: this.”

“Wait.” Twilight cocked an eyebrow. “This is it? Your city changes, improves even. And what do you do? You get all up in a tizzy and start calling down princesses?”

“Half our city, over a hundred years of history, was just obliterated! We’ve lost an immeasurable cultural heritage!” It was impossible to tell if Poll was legitimately concerned or just covering his own rump.

“And how many ponies were hurt?” She held up a hoof to forestall his response. “Actually injured, I mean, so don’t try that property damage horseapples.” Twilight asked, her words bringing a sudden, awkward silence.

“Well, uh, that is…” Suddenly, Poll’s rancor disappeared. “None, exactly.”

“Fantastic. I’m busy trying to prevent Ponyville’s economic collapse, and you call me over to play interior decorator.” She sighed and scrubbed her face with a hoof. “Fine, I’ll take a look and see if I can’t fix it, since I’m here anyway.”

“That would be appreciated,” Poll said awkwardly.

“I’m sure it would.” With that, Twilight made her way into the new city.

Sweetie Belle was having an interesting day to say the least. While she hadn’t exactly been looking forward to the Manehatten leg of her debut tour, she had been looking forward to the sights and landmarks of the historic city. She’d even been hoping, maybe, to run into Scootaloo, even though she wouldn’t have long in the city.

What she hadn’t been prepared for was whatever had decided to happen.

“Hello? Anypony?” She wandered through the empty halls, disoriented by the remodeled interiors. “Anypony at all?”

The last thing she remembered, she’d been sneaking off to the studio for some shut eye. Between her producer, her handler, and her fans, Sweetie was getting increasingly sick of being good at singing. She’d expected to maybe make it to the small time, maybe joining a modest band and seeing Equestria on tour. What she hadn’t bet on was breaking records on her first album and becoming part of a hit new group. A part of her wished Sweetie and the Silver Belles had just stayed forgotten.

Of course, when she woke up, it was to find that her studio had transformed. It was still her studio, with the same equipment in the same positions down to her half-finished bottle of water, but the architecture had changed completely. Every surface radiated a lush character that made the old building, landmark that it had been, look like a concrete bunker.

Even her dress had changed into a gorgeous yellow silk affair that went stunningly with her gilt surroundings, to the point where she found herself stopped by a window to admire her own reflection. Between her curly mane and elegant frame, she'd quickly become the poster mare for the Silver Belles, with looks that filled the seats as much as her songs. Some even whispered that, between her and her sister, she was the prettier mare. Of course, all such whispers were quickly drowned out by the grinding of Rarity's teeth and Sweetie's own polite giggling.

As she walked through the halls, something caught her ear. It was a tune, though this far away she couldn’t pick out the nature of it. It didn’t quite sound like anything she’d ever heard, however, and she found her hooves beginning to lead the way of their own accord. Slowly, she began to make her way to the stairs, following them up and up into the tower.

From the signs along the way, she quickly guessed that she was heading towards the main concert hall. With each step she took, the music grew louder, more enchanting. Somehow, she could tell that the music and the changes were related. Just listening, she could feel the music fit the decor flawlessly, as though it had shaped the walls itself.

At long last, she found the door to the concert hall, letting the song wash over her as she pushed it open. There, before her, the entire set sprawled out in all its new and glorious splendor. At its center, a lone gray mare played upon a cello of light, its soft blue glow accenting the golds and reds of the new architecture. Before the mare, in the seats, a shadow flickered of its own accord, hanging there in the open air.

For a moment, Sweetie felt panic rise in her chest at the wavering form hanging there, but as she watched a realization slowly dawned on her. It was simply listening to the music same as she was, and some part of her rebelled against interrupting the glorious notes with something so crass as a scream. She felt the urge to panic return as it turned its glowing eyes on her, but after a moment it simply turned away again. Producing a limb from its inky darkness, it waved her over politely. Still uncertain, but soothed by the music, Sweetie found her way to the seat beside it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the shadow whispered.

“Yes, it is,” Sweetie had to admit. “What, uhm... what’s going on right now?”

“Octavia up there is chasing her dream.” The shadow nodded at the mare on stage, watching rapt as she continued to play.

“What do you mean?” It felt uncouth to speak during such a beautiful performance, but her curiosity was simply too much to bear.

“Octavia was frustrated with the world. She dreamed of bringing beauty to it, only to find that the world didn’t care. So I gave her the power to make it care.” The shadow smiled as it spoke, clearly pleased with the outcome.

“So you did this?” Sweetie asked, the shadow shaking its head.

“No, I gave her the power to do this. Do you see the cello and bow she has?” He pointed a limb at the instrument in question.

“They’re beautiful.” They were. This close, she decided they were more like crystal than light, but the comparison wasn’t perfect. They didn’t shine or reflect, they simply glowed. This close, she could see they were inlaid with gold and lighter blue, wrought in oddly mechanical patterns. “Are they magical?”

“Sort of. I stole the idea from something I saw once, a brush of sorts, if you will.” He grinned. “I’m usually not one for stealing ideas, but in Octavia’s case, the harmony of the concepts was too much to ignore.”

“So it lets her change the world with her music?” Took a second look at the cello, further awed by it.

“To a degree. Certainly enough for her purposes.” He glanced at Sweetie, his smile gentler this time. “You approve?”

“Of course, it’s gorgeous!” And it was. “But, where did all the other ponies go?”

“Eh, reality starts spontaneously reshaping itself, some ponies are bound to flee.” He glanced around. “Maybe most of them.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” She glanced at the shadow. “Nopony was hurt, were they?”

“Probably not.” He shrugged. “Not by the changes certainly. I can’t vouch for their panic.”

“I see.” She turned back the performance. No matter how long it went on, each note proved as captivating as the last. As she listened however, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the melody was missing something.

“You’re an artist too, I take it.” When she glanced at the shadow, he smirked. “It’s obvious from the expression on your face.”

“Yeah, I just sing though, and I’m nowhere near as good as she is.” Sweetie felt a blush come to her cheeks. She didn’t even rate in the same league as Octavia, if the current performance was any indication.

“Is it your dream though, to sing?” Suddenly, he seemed all the more interested in her answer.

“Yes, it is. I didn’t want to be famous or anything, I just wanted to sing.” Her mind flashed back to those first days, feeling her voice fill the tiny space of her basement, letting it resonate around her.

“Here.” She glanced at the shadow as something bumped her side. It looked like a sword, but its colors and make matched those of Octavia’s cello. In its center was embedded a spherical red gem. “I think you’ll get just as much out of this as she would.”

“Is this…?” She took it hesitantly, her eyes flicking between Octavia and the blade.

“It’s actually closer to the original than Octavia’s is. The transistor was never really intended to be an instrument in the classic sense of the term, but you’re a singer, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “You don’t need an instrument in the traditional sense. Though if you prop it on the end it stands in well enough for a microphone.”

“I... why?” Sweetie Belle looked back up to him. “Why just give this to me?”

“Because I think that everypony, everybody, deserves to chase their dreams. It’s why we’re here at all, to have dreams and to chase them, but life and society do their best to get in the way sometimes.” He chuckled. “All I do is make it my business to level the playing field.”

“But, you’re just giving this to me? For free?” She stared at the blade in disbelief.

“Last I checked, charity wasn’t for profit.” He snorted. “Well, not traditionally. There are times.”

“Well, I—” Whatever else Sweetie Belle was going to say was lost as the door to the concert hall opened with an ominous click. Moving faster than the eye could follow, the Shadow knocked her off her seat and held her below the tops of the chairs. Motioning for her to keep quiet, he let her manage a peek at the newcomer.

It was none other than Twilight Sparkle.

The source of the disturbance hadn’t been hard to puzzle out. The way the notes reached her ears on the open air told her instantly that it was more than simple acoustics behind it. It wasn’t long before she pinned it down as coming from the Manehatten arts institute. She barely even had to look at the signs as the music led her straight to the concert hall.

When she arrived, it was to find the hall empty except for a lone mare playing atop the stage. Though her charcoal grey fur rang a bell in Twilight’s mind, she couldn’t put a name to the face. Then again, she didn’t exactly have to.

“Is this your doing?” Her words cut the melody short, leaving the charcoal mare to lower her bow from the cello. It was then that her name came to Twilight: Octavia. A cellist of some repute maybe a decade ago, prior to the first Grand Galloping Gala Twilight and her friends had attended. Unbidden, a pang of guilt streaked across Twilight’s conscience.

“Yes, it is.” Her purple eyes met Twilight’s, proud and even defiant. They both knew why she’d come here.

“I need you to put it back the way it was.” Perhaps Twilight could have reasoned it out, and engaged in a long and convoluted plan to bring this all to a close without any hurt feelings, but such time was a luxury the Princess of Magic simply didn’t have. “Now, please.”

“No.” Was all Octavia replied, before settling back to her song.

“I don’t have time for this.” Twilight muttered. Ten long years of being a princess, and it felt like every week she was dealing with some fresh brand of megalomaniac. “Please, just put the cello down, and we can talk about this.”

“No,” Octavia repeated, not even bothering to look up.

Twilight slowly rubbed her temples. Of course she had nothing better to do than talk down another psycho with an artifact. Never mind that she was expected to do paperwork and public appearances on top of stopping every deranged attempt to change the face of Equestria. It wasn’t as though she had a town of her own depending on her.

“Please, can we just sit down and talk about this for once?” Slowly, she felt a migraine building behind her eyes. She cast a spell and checked the time. 4:37 PM. It occurred to her that she’d likely be up until 4:37 AM filling out the budget requests she would normally be finishing right now.

“If this were something that could be solved with talk, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?” Octavia commented icily.

“...you make an excellent point.”  Without further ado, she simply seized the cello and bow and tried to yank them out of Octavia’s grasp.

What happened next proved difficult to describe. One moment, Octavia was there, the next, Twilight found herself on an express trip into the ceiling. With the cracking of plaster, her horn sank deep and stuck her fast, leaving her to flail helplessly above a cold eyed Octavia.

“I said no.” With that, she marched back onto the stage, and resumed her song as though nothing had happened.

“And I said,” Twilight growled, teleporting herself free to stand directly in front of Octavia. “Stop.”

Slowly, Octavia lowered her bow, and the music faded to silence.

“Make me.”

“What’s going on?” Sweetie wailed as soon as they’d escaped the hall, an ominously bass rumble lurching through the building.

“Just what I’d expected. The power to chase one’s dreams means the power to fight for them as well.” His head flicked side to side, and he started towards the stairs, leaving Sweetie to chase after him.

“Wait, is she fighting Twilight?” Sweetie Belle grabbed him in her magic, becoming briefly surprised when it actually worked, and tried to drag him back. “She can’t fight Twilight! Twilight’s my friend!”

“And Twilight is attempting to reign in the behavior of a chronically under-appreciated musician. Both of them are getting exactly what they asked for.” A tentacle snaked from his form and wrapped around a distant door handle, starting to winch him against Sweetie’s grip. “Now, seeing as neither of us picked a fight, I’m all for leaving.”

“You’re just gonna leave? After you started this?” Sweetie Belle huffed angrily, giving another haul on her magic.

“I started nothing, I merely gave Octavia the chance to act out what was in her heart. If she wants to rewrite Manehatten from the ground up, that’s her business, and she has every right to it.” He hauled harder in his own right, the handle beginning to creak.

“You can’t just go giving out power like that, then saying it’s somepony else’s problem!” Sweetie pulled as hard as she could, but her hooves began to slide against the polished marble floors.

“But it is somepony else’s problem! It’s always been a problem!” Just as he was winning, the door’s bolt snapped, causing the shadow to lurch back and crash right into Sweetie. “All I did was give Octavia a chance to resolve a problem that had plagued her. If the good princess over there feels like she shouldn’t have that chance, then that’s between them, and they can solve it the old fashioned way.”

“They’re fighting you maniac! They could get hurt!” As she disentangled herself, Sweetie flared her horn, but the shadow slipped through her grasp. “How could you let ponies get hurt?”

“They were already hurting, don’t you get it?” As soon as he was safely through the door, he rounded on Sweetie, glaring back over the distance. “Octavia could have stopped, Twilight could have stopped, but they chose to fight instead. However badly they might get hurt fighting, it would hurt them more to give up.” There was another rumble, and dust drifted from the ceiling. “Can we please hurry this up? I’d rather not argue philosophy with a pancake.”

“I—” Sweetie yelped as a chunk of masonry nearly brained her, shattering against the ground. “Okay, fine!”

The two of them made a mad dash for the stairs, only to find the lower flights collapsed already from the strain. With no other option, the two continued up, higher and higher through the crumbling structure. By the time they reached the roof, the entire building had begun to sway, the no doubt destroyed concert hall below being something of a structural weak point.

“What do we do now?!” Sweetie shouted, trying to keep to her hooves as the building lurched.

“Okay, it looks like the building is swaying pretty badly. With any luck the side foundations will give out first, and we can jump from the roof into an adjacent building as this one falls into it.” He glanced back at Sweetie, registering her distinctly unimpressed look. “Well? You got a better idea?”

“Yeah, how about we fly?” She thrust a hoof up, where a distinctly purple and orange blur was slicing a shockwave through the rain. “Is that Scoo—” The sonic boom washed over them, sweeping away her words.

“Sweetie!” Scootaloo shouted, immediately tackling her friend in a hug. A dry cough later, and she turned to the shadow. “Oh, right, hey Viscous.”

“Good to see those wings working out for you,” Viscous said as the building lurched again. “Mind helping us not die?”

“Scootaloo at your serv—” With a thunderclap and the scream of tortured metal, the building finally collapsed.

Rain fell softly on the streets of Manehatten. Beside her, Octavia could make out the sound of coughing and shifting rubble. All around her, the remains of the Manhatten Arts Center lay strewn about, a visual allegory of her own hopes. One particular chunk rested firmly on her thighs, pinning her beneath its weight. The cello and bow were gone, shattered before they faded to nothing.

“Why?” She turned her head to meet the gaze of the princess above her. Though cuts and burns covered the alicorn’s body, her eyes spoke of greater wounds to her heart.. “Why did you attack me?”

“I was sick of it,” Octavia said, as much to Twilight as herself. “I spent years learning, practicing, and for what? A grey drab world filled with gray drab ponies who couldn’t care less.”

“You can’t just go around changing cities and attacking ponies because you don’t feel appreciated!” Twilight huffed, a few tears of frustration mingling with the rain. Whether they were for herself or Octavia, it was impossible to say.

“It’s funny, now that I think about it.” Octavia coughed, the hot taste of iron on her tongue. “We always talk about what you can’t do. You can’t just do this. You can’t just do that. Nopony ever says you shouldn’t they just say you can’t. But what if I can?” She met Twilight’s eyes. “Should I?”

Twilight hesitated. “No, no you shouldn’t.”

The world began to fade, darkness filling the edges of Octavia’s vision. Somewhere distant, she could hear the sirens of an ambulance. Before she lost consciousness, however, one final question drifted to mind.

“Why?”

“You’re telling me you made a deal with this maniac?!” Sweetie Belle’s voice had been occasionally known to shatter glass. After taking up a career in singing, it felt like it was pushing the point of bones. That nothing in Viscous’ apartment-turned-temple broke was a testament to it’s construction, as well as the fact that there was nothing in it to break. “What were you thinking?!”

“Sweetie, I just, look, I…” Scootaloo grunted, then glared at Viscous. “Little help here?”

“Will you lay off about the fight?” Viscous groaned. “She didn’t even die.”

“She could have! Who do you think you are?” Sweetie thrust herself into Viscous’s face, the force of her voice causing him to waver slightly.

“Who do you think you are?!” Viscous shot back, his voice finally slipping towards a snarl. “I get it, you all live in happy go lucky cages munching your feed bags and hoofing the line. Maybe that’s convenient for you, but what about Octavia? She could have given up her gift. There’s no binding contract on that. But she didn’t, she made her call.”

“You can’t just shrug it off like that! You started this!” Sweetie Belle stomped off in a huff, only to stomp right back. “If you’d never bothered her, none of this would have happened!”

“And that’s a good thing?” he asked, his voice softer.

“Yeah!” she replied.

“So I never should have given her that choice?” It was clear from his tone that the question was a trap, and Sweetie suddenly hesitated to answer.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” As soon as she said the words, there was a blur of motion, and she found her jaws sealed into a heavy metal muzzle.

“Then in that case, you shouldn’t get to choose to argue with me.” He snickered as she started to flail against the muzzle, struggling at it.

“Hey!” Scootaloo shouted, finally involving herself. “Get that thing off her!”

“Just trying to prove a point, but fine.” He reached over to undo the muzzle, but paused to look into Sweetie Belle’s glaring eyes. “All I’m doing for you is letting you make your own choices, and your own mistakes, same as Octavia. Like me, hate me, but from this day forward, I want you to look around yourself. Look around yourself and tell me that everypony hasn’t been muzzled. Be it by weakness or luck or circumstance, you’ve all been muzzled, and that’s what I’m fighting against.” He unlatched the muzzle, withdrawing it back into the void that was himself. “Maybe you get hurt, but at least you get hurt being you.”

“Keep your stupid sword.” Sweetie growled, chucking the blade at him, only to have it tumble along the floor.

“No, you keep it.” He tossed it back so it barred the door. “You want to prove me right, you take that sword and don’t use it, but I won’t have you running around without the choice.”

“Fine.” She snatched up the sword, and stormed out.

For a moment, Scootaloo and Viscous sat there in silence.

“I should probably…” Scootaloo trailed off.

“What do you think of all this?” Viscous asked.

“I don’t know. Sweetie’s got a point, but…” Scootalo shrugged.

“So do I?” Viscous asked, a note of hope in his voice.

“Yeah, kinda. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I have a lot to think about.”

“We usually do, we just forget to think about it.” Viscous offered her a limb to shake. “I’ll talk to you later. And make sure Sweetie doesn’t throw away that sword. Seriously, that thing can be dangerous in the wrong hooves.”

“Yeah, alright.” With that, Scootaloo followed Sweetie out the door.