Ace in the Hole: Under the Gun

I began to question just how worth it my winnings were.

Blackjack walks through the casino with a much different look and mood around him than he had before. Every step is a hard, resounding thump against the floor that’s only barely muffled by the carpet. His eyes are still a bright red and there’s no longer the friendly gaze; his smile is more a grimace that’s barely sticking onto his face. As opposed to before when he was making polite conversation almost constantly, he’s walking straight ahead and never letting Ace fully catch up to him. We get to the cashier and all end up drawing out another 500 bits just so we’re not running out of money too early.

As we approach the poker tables, I rush up to Ace and hand him six chips.

“I don’t want it,” he tells me quietly, pushing my hand away.

“Take it,” I say, pushing it back towards him. “He could bet big. And anyways; I’m still 250 bits up.”

Ace closes his hand around the chips and smiles. “Gonna try again? It seems luck is on your side tonight.”

“I don’t get why it wasn’t earlier.”

He leans so close I think he’s gonna kiss me, but right before he can he moves and I can feel his hot breath on my ear. “So you could be mine,” he says sultrily. And then, just so I both get the point and aren’t left hanging, he plants one on my cheek.

Blackjack has approached the dealer of an empty table by now and is explaining our rules. “Four for Canterlot Hold ‘Em. Small blind of 25, large blind of 50.”

“Yes, sir,” the dealer says.

We all pick positions. We all sit approximately one seat away from the others just to make it fair, though Blackjack picks a spot where he can easily watch me and Ace and while I can’t see him I feel Untakhan’s presence behind me. I’m suspecting he thinks – no, knows I cheated, that I couldn’t have pulled out a natural nine to beat his natural eight in so short a game without help at those odds.

Even so, it’s a wonder he doesn’t simply have me arrested. I’ve heard of it happening before in Las Pegasus; ponies who get charged with fraud and end up paying fines and kicked out of a casino for cheating. But he never says a word even to the multiple security guards around the establishment.

“Everyone familiar with the rules of Canterlot Hold ‘Em?” the dealer asks.

“Yes, yes,” Blackjack says almost as soon as he finishes. He waves his hands at the dealer. “Get on with it, already.”

“Right sir.” He passes the white dealer’s button to Blackjack before looking to Roseluck and Ace. “Madam pays the small blind, sir will pay the large blind.”

Roseluck deposits a single chip on the table and Ace deposits two. Already the stakes are grim; if none of us go on, Ace has already lost fifty bits. It’s clear at the shift to poker that Blackjack intends to make us lose.

The dealer passes out a card to each of us before making the rounds again so that each of us has two. I look at my two cards – a two and a seven – and throw them in for a fold. I know at least some of the rules of poker and know there’s not much I can do. At least I’m not losing any money.

Blackjack’s up next. He looks at his cards and raises a single eyebrow for a moment before slowly lowering it back down. He’s silent for a few moments before he attains an impassive look and places four chips down on the table.

Roseluck immediately folds without a second decision.

Ace looks at his cards and leans back in his chair, arm on the metal rod that holds a drink holder and an ashtray. He sits, thinking about it a little longer. His hand goes up to his cheek and he leans on it, tapping one of his cards with the middle finger of the other hand. He looks at his cards again and lays them flat on the table. A few moments later, two more chips join in.

With all the bets collected, nine chips lay in the center of the table. In almost total silence, the dealer discards a single card face down before laying three more face up. These are a four, a nine, and a king. It’s strange how silent the game is already, whereas with baccarat there was at least gentle ribbing and light discussion.

But I can see the mad but composed look on Blackjack’s face, and the slightest hint of determination in Ace’s eye. To others it might look impassive, but his ice-blue eyes look almost white and the edges of his brow are furrowed ever so slightly. It’s a look I’ve seen many times in the hours and minutes before a show starts. I’m sure he’s noticed Blackjack’s sudden change in demeanor, but he’s not showing it.

He doesn’t do anything for a moment once the three cards have been placed down. He simply taps the green felt of the table twice before pulling his hand back in.

Blackjack, however, is feeling lucky. Another six chips go into the pile.

Ace looks at his hand again. He deliberates for a moment before placing six chips of his own.

Another discard, another card added. This time, it’s a seven. Roseluck gives a slight disappointed snap of her fingers. Blackjack looks impatiently at his cards even though it’s not quite his turn yet. His mouth screws up ever so slightly at the end.

Ace’s eyes shift up to Blackjack for a second, watching this little maneuver. He places another two chips on the table and gives Blackjack a smirk.

Blackjack is fuming and almost throws his two chips in. It’s almost comical, watching the whole exchange play out like this. But because he’s not lightly chatting over it like he’s done everything else, I’m almost terrified.

The dealer discards and places down another card: the ace of spades.

Ace looks at his cards and places them on the table so that they make a small vee. He takes his middle finger once again and taps the top card once… twice… thrice. The card jumps ever so slightly, but with a fourth tap it brings it back to stillness. He sits for a moment longer before placing six chips down in the shape of a C before fixing Blackjack with a hard glare.

Blackjack for the first time the entire games gives Ace a smirk. It’s not long before he’s thrown out six chips of his own. It’s time for the reveal and there’s almost a thousand bits on the line between the two.

“Alright, gentlemen,” the dealer says, breaking the silence of the game. “Show your cards. Dealer first.”

Blackjack takes up his cards and throws them face up on the table. He’s got a pair of kings, making him have a three of a kind with the king already out on the table. “Going to show me your cards like a stallion or are you going to walk out like a mare?” he asks, voice dripping with sheer malice.

“The fact that you need to reaffirm yourself as a stallion makes me wonder if you are one,” Ace says evenly. “Caramel here can attest on my part should you really wish to know.”

“Oh, quit with the riddles and innuendo and flip your Celestia-damned cards already!” Blackjack says forcefully.

Ace shrugs and calmly flips his cards over one by one. The first to come down is the ace of diamonds, and the next is the ace of hearts.

“Aces higher than kings,” the dealer says impassively. “Aces win.”

Ace collects the 37 chips from the center of the table and the white dealer’s button is passed to Roseluck. Ace pays out his single chip and I pay in two chips and the game begins anew.

I’m fairing a little better this time. I’ve got pocket 6’s. It’s not much at the beginning, but it’s a start. Blackjack pays 2 chips to continue playing. Roseluck adds in two herself. Ace adds in one and raises one more, and everyone goes around adding a third chip into the piles. The dealer collects the chips in the center, discards a card, and places three cards face up in the center of the table.

The cards come down as 8, 9, and Jack, bidding starting with Ace. If anyone has a straight, it’s practically there. Ace looks at his cards and thinks, tapping his cards with his middle finger. He does so four times before tapping twice in quick succession on the green felt and retracting his hand.

I can’t do anything, so I mimic Ace. Blackjack screws up his face again, but does nothing for a long while. He places a single chip in order to add in. Roseluck also adds in a chip before the dealer places down the fourth card, another Jack.

Ace is looking at his cards when I see the face of Fine Print, the first time since his appearance at the performance over a week ago. He’s still as twitchy as ever but has grown a mustache and slight beard, which only serves to make his perpetual smirk a little more noticeable and doesn’t hide any of his scars. He approaches Blackjack and whispers something, and Blackjack turns to whisper back once he’s done.

Ace taps for a check and the play turns to me. I’m doing no better, so I tap for a check again and it goes to Blackjack. Play’s not doing any better for him so he taps before going back to whispering with Fine Print. Once or twice, they motion in the direction of Ace, and once they even point in my direction. Finally, when Roseluck taps out herself and the dealer places a fifth card, Fine Print has finished and leaves into the casino’s smoke and tinted lights.

The fifth card is a king.

Untakhan, who has a surprising ability of not needing to move for quite a long period of time, finally leaves his position by us to go over by Blackjack. Both him and Blackjack are staring intently at Ace, who has gone back to tapping his cards.

One… two… three…

The card jumps almost imperceptibly before Ace brings it back to stillness on the fourth tap. Untakhan’s eyes widen and Blackjack for a moment merely raises a single eyebrow. It slowly lowers as his mouth curls upwards on either side. Soon he’s baring teeth and by the time that Ace has placed four chips into the center of the table he’s laughing.

I almost immediately fold. Blackjack doesn’t stop laughing as he pays four chips in and Roseluck almost immediately throws her cards in to fold. But something’s wrong; Blackjack’s laughing almost hysterically and the sight almost seems unusual to Ace, who is tensing the muscles in his arms as though ready to push himself away from the table and his eyes are fixed on Blackjack.

“Shall we reveal?” Blackjack says, calming down yet still on the verge of laughing.

“I don’t see what you’re waiting for,” Ace replies guardedly.

“I don’t think there’s any real reason to be nervous about this,” Blackjack says, “considering I’m sure you’re hiding something under there. I would have been content to just stand aside, but you… amuse me.”

Ace slowly reveals his cards. His first card is a Jack. Unimpressive since it’s less than what he had previously, but his second card turns over a king, giving him a full house. Blackjack laughs some more, casually throwing his cards on the table. He’s got a 10 and a Queen of different suits, giving him a straight.

Twenty chips go over to Ace; he’s practically doubled his money over these two games with the extra 400 bits he’s won this game. Blackjack gets up and his polite smile returns, though it’s a bit more toothy than he’s given us before.

“Shall we play some more or cash in?”

Ace looks over to me. “Cash in. We have other things to take care of this week.”

Blackjack nods. “Shall we?”

We make our way over to the cashier and Ace beckons me to go first. He seems on-edge, so I do so without him needing to say anything. I’ve increased my bank by 300 bits and Ace by nearly 700 bits of the other’s money, primarily Blackjack’s. I deposit the bits into my back account at the cashier as well, and move so that Ace can do his own business.

Ace makes the same transactions I do but slower and more deliberate. He’s not gloating about his winnings; it was likely that on any normal day at least fifteen ponies leave with over 1000 bits more in their pockets, but this is small compared to the other winnings of the machines and tables and the amount it takes in through the same. No, Ace was not gloating. For only the second time in his life, Ace was looking scared.

When Ace finishes, he turns to me. “Come on, Caramel,” he says. “We’re going back to the hotel.”

A firm grip grasps my shoulder before Untakhan grabs Ace’s shoulder. Blackjack is slowly shaking his head.

“No, not yet,” he says. “I have… something I want to talk with you about.”

Almost immediately after he finishes, he turns around with Fine Print, and Untakhan begins shoving us out of the casino. We’re pushed and pulled out of the casino and into the main lobby. Before anyone notices, Blackjack, Fine Print, Untakhan, Ace, and I get dragged into an open elevator. Blackjack presses the button for the top floor.

Roseluck is running after us. She sees us in the elevator and starts running. She manages to get her hand in the door, but Fine Print smacks it and causes her to retract her arm. The door closes fully as Roseluck is shouting but I can’t understand what she’s saying.

The elevator ride is quiet and fast. We go flying up to the top floor and the doors open to a long hall. On either side of us are doors, likely to the suites, but at the far end is a door with a large gold plaque. Untakhan follows Blackjack and Fine Print as he shoves me and Ace out of the elevator and over to the door. I don’t have time to read the words before the door opens and I’m shoved inside.

“Take care of the mare,” Blackjack says to Untakhan. “If she has to, take her to lie down in my suite.”

Untakhan nods before finally releasing me and Ace and leaving. As he goes, Fine Print goes and locks the door behind him.

Only now do I have a good look of the room. At the far end is a large window looking out over Baltimare’s Historic District. Next is a large, ornate wooden desk and chair that seem to have gold inlays. Two more chairs are nearby, not as ornate but made of the same wood and covered with velvet on the seats. The carpet is a deep, dark red and the bookshelves are filled with alternating red, black, and white books.

“Take a seat,” Blackjack says politely.

Ace goes and sits down immediately, likely due to his leg still in a brace. I’m frozen until Ace says “Caramel, sit.”

Once we’re sitting, Blackjack goes around to the side of the desk between the window and the roof. He lights a cigarette and inhales deeply for a minute before exhaling a large cloud of smoke. He smiles and points to the window.

“Bulletproof glass,” he says. “Took them ten years to develop it and perfect the formula. Ten years too long, if you ask me; required an increase of 400 deaths per year since the introduction of the .22 caliber bullet to Equestrian technology.”

I wonder why he’s telling us that, since he’s saying it in too casual a tone to make me believe that’s the reason he shoved us in here.

Blackjack takes another long puff of his cigarette. “How did you do it, Ace?”

“How did I do what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Blackjack says, but he’s smiling. “It was a brilliant stroke. First with Caramel’s natural nine at the baccarat table, then with the three of a kind and a full house at the poker tables. If anyone didn’t know any better, they’d say you either counted cards or you had an extreme run of luck.”

Ace shrugs. “Sometimes the cards go that way.”

“Not to the capacity that these ones did. And let me remind you that a normal set of playing cards does not jump when one taps them.”

Ace nods. “Alright. Do you want the thousand bits back, my seven hundred and Caramel’s three hundred, and just call it even?”

Blackjack shakes his head. “Your skills are much too valuable to use them cheating at cards. If you would like, I could give you a few more… profitable veins for your talents. Even more than the shows you currently perform.”

Ace is looking hard at Blackjack and trying not to show any emotion.

“I’ll be quite frank with you,” Blackjack continues. “The casino and the restaurants are quite a large business. But I have a little bit more than that on my side. I collect money from illicit drugs, underground fighting, illegal gambling and fixing of outcomes, serviceable mares, gem smuggling, and fraudulent insurance policies, of which Fine Print does a fair amount of. And yet, despite my widespread range of these activities, not a single policepony shows up at my doorstep. At the rate I’ve been going lately, I in all likelihood should have had the Solar Guard Captain Shining Armor himself show up, yet he hasn’t. Do you know why?”

Ace says nothing.

“It is because I have so much money in my pocket that I can pay off the entire police force of Baltimare to look the other way.”

“So that’s how you got enough money to pay for that villa. Your tastes were too expensive even for that pricing, not to mention the amount you must have paid for it simply to be a summer house.”

“Indeed.” Blackjack’s smile vanishes. “But I’ve begun to fall under suspicion lately. I’ve had some of my employees get caught doing these practices. I own the largest drug ring in Canterlot, but someone went poking his horn around and suddenly I’m down fifteen men and background checks say they were all employed at one of my hotels or restaurants.”

“Sounds like a bad coincidence.”

“Very much so. But I can’t afford to have any more ‘bad coincidences’. Therefore, my offer comes around.”

“I don’t see how this ties in to my magic.”

“Oh, it will,” Blackjack says, a smirk forming on his face. He snuffs his cigarette in an ashtray and leans it against the side, which creates what feels like a worse smell in the room than his smoking did. “Because while your tricks with cards are valuable, you have a different talent.”

“Which is that?”

“Your hypnotism.”

“Certainly is a talent, but only on a small scale.”

“No?” Blackjack points to me and I find my heart skipping a beat out of fear as he jabs his finger towards me. “What about him?” he growls. “Your friend, Caramel? Don’t be silly with me, Ace; I’m fully aware of the fact that you’ve placed triggers on him. You’ve used them on him since our meeting at Janus’ theater, and I’m guessing longer.”

“Why are you not bringing this up with Untakhan?”

There’s a single, loud slam of the door. Everyone jumps except for Blackjack, who seems rather unperturbed and is back to smiling.

“Because he’s a bit of a freak of nature,” Blackjack says. “Powerful, but too exotic. No; it defies his tenants. He wouldn’t even do it of his own accord on the account that his, in that setting, breaks them.”

“What are you planning on having me do?”

“Simple enough,” Fine Print spoke. “I would create a stage show. Hottest billing in town. Everyone would come. Town down your language and sarcasm a bit so even the foals could enjoy it. Your talents and fascinating reputation are widespread enough that with the proper funding and advertisement you’d have a full house every night of this tour.”

“But where does the hypnotism come into play?”

“We would need you to do it en masse,” Fine Print continues. “Blackjack wants you to place everyone in a trance. Within a few weeks, the entirety of Baltimare wouldn’t even know he exists so far as the proprietor of Blackjack’s 21 Casino, a respectable business that follows the law, pays its taxes to Celestia, and provides a range of entertainment for all ages.”

“If I accept?”

“We’re talking fifteen hundred bits per week,” Fine Print replies. You do shows at theaters across Equestria, take a break if you need to, and return without a single missing week of payment. You’d work on your own time. I would be able to accommodate you anywhere. And, as an extra bit of service, I could pay you an extra three hundred bits if you do private sessions.”

“So, you’d also put me into prostitution?”

“No sex. Let me say that straight out; no sex. Unless, of course, you’d wish to.”

“So… more hypnosis?”

“Exactly. Smaller sessions where no one would expect the level we’d be paying you for.”

Ace says nothing.

“You know what?” Blackjack says politely, as though he’s actually concerned. “I know it’s a lot to digest and consider. So, I think I’ll call you in a week and send a cab around to bring you back here. That sound good?”

“I have no choice. I leave for Canterlot next week.”

Blackjack nods. “Very well,” he says quietly. “I’ll let you go to think about it.” He nods again to Fine Print, who goes and unlocks the door.

Outside, Untakhan is lying dazed on the floor with a rather large bump on his head. A rose-maned mare is running away and turns a corner before any of us can actually do anything. Fine Print immediately goes over to Untakhan, picked him up, and drags him inside. Blackjack watches for a moment as Fine Print dabs Untakhan’s head with a cloth, trying to wake him up, before turning to us.

“I trust you can find your own way out,” Blackjack says. He looks at each of us in turn. “Good night.” And he goes back inside the office and closes the door.

Ace doesn’t say a word before he goes off to the elevator. I stand there stupidly for a moment before running after him. Roseluck is nowhere in sight as we get into the elevator, and doesn’t show up downstairs in the lobby either. Ace picks up a cab outside the casino and tells the driver to take us back to our hotel.

“Ace… are you okay?”

Ace doesn’t respond. He’s looking ahead with a kind of glazed look on his face, as though he’s thinking deeply.

“Ace… please, talk to me. What are you thinking?”

I’m kind of surprised that this is the first thing I’m concerned about, not that Ace had been invited to join in a rather large criminal organization. But part of me thinks that Ace wouldn’t actually join in with them. He got the offer, sure, but I don’t think he’d actually do it. But Ace isn’t telling me; he simply stares ahead of him as we drive back to the hotel and never responds to me.

He walks quickly and quietly up the stairs to the room and goes to sit with a whiskey on the patio. He’s standing there for a long while even with his busted leg, so I go to the kitchen and make him a sandwich, salad, chips, and set him up with a large glass of water. By the time I get out to the patio he looks faint and doesn’t argue as I lead him inside to eat. I don’t bother to speak to him until he finishes and sits himself on the couch.

“Ace… please tell me you’re not going to actually do that.”

“Do you think me mad?” Ace replies, his voice quiet. “No. It’s… it’s wrong. I don’t use my hypnotism that way. I use it… I use it for entertainment. I don’t necessarily believe it should be used for control.”

One of Blackjack’s comments begins to bother me. “Then… what about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“What is your hypnotism on me for? For the most part, all you do with it is tell me commands during the show setup. Only recently have we been going out and doing things with each other that are just fun and getting to know each other and you don’t use it there.”

Ace opens his mouth to rebuke, but falls quiet.

“I just want to know what you want out of me, Ace.”

“…I don’t want to lose you.”

Ace’s eyes are shimmering. He’s on the verge of crying again. I don’t know why, but this is the first time I ever feel hardened to one of his depressive moods. I’m more questioning it than anything. Something’s bothering him, but I’m kind of able to shut it out to focus on what’s bothering me.

“So you resort to hypnotic control and triggers for that? Isn’t that what Blackjack wants you to do but on a larger scale? I mean, pretty much my entire existence at the moment has been to help you out and care for you when I’m under trance.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Hurt?” He’s angering me; I can tell by the firmness and growling in my voice. “You took me away from my home, Ace! You took me away from my family and friends! I’ve been traveling with you for a year and haven’t seen a lick of home since! And I’m not entirely questioning why I haven’t been feeling homesick, because I’m pretty sure I know the reason why.”

Ace looks at me. In the past his crying would have done something to me, made me want to care for him and comfort him. Tonight, I feel nothing.

“Please, Caramel, just…”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” I’m surprised I interrupted him before he could get the command out. It’s affecting me still – I can feel my focus train on him even more than usual as though expectantly waiting – but I continue. “I don’t want to have any commands used on me until I get some answers!”

Ace looks at me for a second, then drops his head. “…in some respects, I have none to give. I saw you at my show, I had you come on stage, and when I saw you I decided I wanted you.”

“But why? Why not someone else?”

“…because I figured you would be suggestible enough.”

I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. “And what difference is that from what Blackjack wants you to do?”

“Caramel, think about your life. What have I done for you that’s changed?”

“You’ve taken me away from my home and my family. I wouldn’t be surprised if I went home and they thought I was dead because I haven’t seen them for a year. And why? Because you’ve been putting me into a trance every week for a year so that I would forget them and focus on you! Do you have any idea how utterly selfish that is!?”

“I have been asking you if you want to go back!”

“But I’m too deep in your trance to say that I do!”

“Caramel, be honest with me: if I gave you the chance right now, would you go back to Ponyville willingly?”

“No!” The word shocks me. “I mean, I would not… I can’t even believe… why must you… see what you’ve done!?”

“Caramel, be honest with me again: why wouldn’t you want to go back?”

“Because I care for you and see you as a friend and I want us to get closer… you see what’s going on!? I’ve got that Stockholm Syndrome! I’ve been around you long enough that I don’t want to leave!”

I grab Ace’s collar with both hands and lift him up slightly; the months I’ve spent working backstage have given me muscle, so when Ace pulls up his own hands to take mine off him, he can’t find the strength to do so. “Take me out! Break me out of your trance!”

“I can’t!” Ace whines. He finally breaks down sobbing. “I can’t do it!”

“Why not!? You put me into it, now take me out!”

“I have put you under my trance for nearly 45 weeks now, Caramel,” he says through sobs. “Even if I tried, that’d still be more time you’ve spent around me, and more time I’d have to spend drilling the reverse and clearing the old stuff out! Might not be another 45 weeks, but it certainly can’t be done easily.”

And then he can say no more. His eyes are red and they close and all he can do is sob. He can’t even issue me a command anymore because he can’t form any words. I drop him and he almost immediately falls backwards onto the couch, wrapping himself up in a ball and crying louder and louder.

And then I can’t stand to see him crying anymore. But I don’t do anything about him. I merely leave the room and begin to fill the bathtub for a soak. I don’t want to hurt him physically, but I have a feeling like something’s been lifted from me. It’s not entirely satisfying, especially not when I can still hear Ace crying like a foal through two closed doors, but at least I’ve heard it straight from his mouth.

When I’m done in the bathroom, I put on my pajamas and pull out an extra blanket and pillow from the bedroom closet. I come out to the living room and pick up Ace, no longer sobbing but still sniffing, and get him into the bedroom. Once I’ve gotten him in bed and given him a glass of water, I turn to leave.

“Caramel, please…” Ace chokes out as though he’s not done crying. “Please, lay—”

“No, Ace,” I say. I can feel the tug that compels me to go over to him, already knowing what the rest of the command is and just waiting for him to finish it, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I pick up the blanket and pillow and head towards the door. “Not tonight.” I close the door before he can respond.

I take my pillow and blanket and set myself up on the couch. It’s comfortable but hot and by the time an hour has passed, I’m merely laying on the couch in shorts with the patio door open. The moon is shining down and I’m trying to shut out Ace’s sniffling and mumbling that I’m thankful I can’t hear through the door.

I’m twisting and turning, trying to go to sleep, when a thought hits me. What attracted me to him in the first place? Sure, physically, he’s handsome and definitely poses a striking figure, but that’s just the surface. I’ve known Ace for almost a year, and even then I can’t say that; I’ve been acquainted with him for over a year, but I haven’t really started to know him until maybe a week or two ago. And how did we meet? By him manipulating me into coming around to his place so that he could hypnotize me deeper.

Ace is one hell of a fucking bastard.

The next morning, I’m wondering how I managed to go to sleep the last night when I’d been so angry with Ace. I still am, but normally one does not get riled up and somehow manage to fall asleep. I’m still on the couch in the position I last remembered myself in.

Ace is up, too. He’s stirring around the kitchen, fiddling with something. I get up and close the door to the bedroom for a minute, changing my clothes. By the time I get out, Ace is at the table with two plates of food; breakfast is served. He’s not happy, which is good, but something tells me that he thinks he can get away with apologizing.

I stand in the doorway for a while.

“I made breakfast,” Ace says. His voice is sore, hoarse, and broken and there are clear bags under his eyes. I wonder how long he was up for last night.

“I can see that,” I say simply.

“…could you join me?” he asks.

“I’d rather not,” I tell him.

“Caramel, please, sit down with me.” He’s getting faster at getting these out, which is bad. I go and sit down with him, but don’t touch the food

“Please, Caramel, eat.”

I almost do. I have a forkful of egg up to my mouth when I stop. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I still feel the pull of his command. He’s hardly touched his own plate and seems to be waiting for me to do something first.

The fork still at my mouth, I look over to Ace. “How much have you thought about this?”

“A lot,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not a lot to say for someone you essentially kidnapped,” I say. I try moving my hand down, but it’s frozen in place.

He nods. “It was stupid and impulsive.”

“You’re a right fucking bastard for doing that, you know.”

“Yeah.” He sniffs again. “If you were to act without restraint, what would you do?”

“Punch you, walk out the door, and leave.”

Ace chuckles. It’s still not happy, more nostalgic, like an old joke that’s been told so many times only he remembers why it’s funny. “That’s what you said the first time. And you didn’t leave.”

“I’d probably do it this time, though.” The fork wiggles, but doesn’t move in either direction very far. “What did you do last night?”

“I commanded you to sleep,” he tells me. “You were too preoccupied with your thoughts. I thought… I thought it might help you to…”

“Relax?” I finished. “Calm down? Forget about it?”

Ace nods.

“Well, it failed.”

Ace shrugs weakly. “No surprise. I didn’t tell you to do the others.”

“Well, that’s a step. You’re actually letting me think for myself.”

Ace sighs. “Caramel… what are your plans from here.”

“I’ll join you for the Canterlot shows,” I tell him. “I’ll finish my duties. Then, when we’re done, I’m taking the first train to Ponyville… back home.”

Ace closes his eyes. For a long time, he’s completely still. Then he nods. “Alright,” he says, weaker and even more broken. “When we’re done, I’ll pay for your ticket and—”

“No,” I say. “I can’t have you paying for it and have that be the last thing I remember about you.”

Ace looks like he’s been punched in the gut. He flinches and turns away from me. “Al-alright. I… I’m sorry, C-Caramel. I just c-can’t…” He can’t say anymore; he gets up and runs off as fast as he can with his brace towards the bedroom.

When he’s gone, the first thing I end up doing is eating the bite of egg on the fork.

* * *

I don’t talk to Ace through the rest of the week. I make my own meals and refuse to lay with Ace, sometimes even refusing to accept things he does for me like make breakfast or dinner or share in a bottle of wine or go out somewhere like the harbor market; he goes on his own and I go on my own because I don’t want to be in the same room as him for very long, not with the pleading eyes and posture that is literally being thrown at my hooves, begging for attention.

Even when his voice comes back, it’s mostly to plead with me to forgive him. I can’t; it’s also found to be the one thing that doesn’t work with the trigger, as even other things still do like Ace hugging and kissing me, incidents that usually end with me shoving him out of my face and locking myself up in another room so he can’t touch me.

I’m still mad at Ace on Sunday, when he’s doing his performance. While from my point of view there is a certain lackluster performance – he’s not as theatrical as he usually is – he still manages to keep the audience’s attention. His brace is off, though, and he still manages to command the stage with grace and charisma.

It’s about the end of the show, and Ace is preparing for a trick I’d once asked him to do. I both hate him for it and yet can’t help but admire it. It’s the one where he takes the replica and tears it up before restoring it. He’s got another full house, partially due to it being his last show and partially because he gained an interesting increase in popularity due to the trick. The gilded frame comes out with the picture and a small curtain on a bar above it and Ace takes the time to pull a small blade like a knife out from his hat; Lens Flare positions the equipment in just the right way to make the lights shine on the blade and give it a faint shimmer.

“Fillies and gentlecolts,” Ace says in his loud stage voice. “In this frame is the Master Stroke’s famous work, the Mona Lisa. It has been a treasure of Baltimare’s Historic District Art Museum, is regarded as one of the greatest paintings to have ever existed, and it has a smudge of mustard on it. Right there, probably from some careless bastard who wasn’t careful with his carrot dog.” Ace points to a small, dried, brown spot on the replica’s surface. It really is mustard, put on there and left to dry the day after Ace purchased it, when I wasn’t questioning his motives. I kind of miss that, to be honest.

The audience gives out a bit of restrained laughter, as expected.

“Normally, this calls for a bit of restoration. This is usually done by a team of professionals who thoroughly clean and return the painting to its former with special cleaning materials and chemicals. However, with me in town, they decided to do it in a way that was faster and cheaper than normal.”

Ace takes the knife and fingers it a bit amidst light laughter. “Of course, me being a magician, I don’t like using the normal ways of materials and cleaning supplies. All I have are my hat and this rather sharp knife. So, I’m just going to make a little incision like this” – he stabs the painting with the knife rather forcefully, causing some of the audience members to gasp – “and cut the damn thing out.”

Ace makes deliberate strokes with the knife, careful to go all around the edge of the gilded frame. The audience is murmuring to themselves as Ace removes the painting from the frame and holds it out.

“Well, that’s step one complete. Now, on to my next step. You see, paintings like this masterpiece require delicate and precise handling” – at which point he immediately begins ripping the painting to shreds. “There, of course, is oil on the body which must not touch the surface, bacteria from the hooves that could ruin the paint, and thus requires a long decontamination process before even touching the required materials. I don’t take stock in them because, well, my way is faster.”

The audience is laughing, if only because there actually is someone from the local museum here tonight – the curator is in the audience and is quite aware it’s a replica.

With the painting ripped to shreds, Ace places them all inside his hat. “So, now that that’s all done, it’s time for the actual restoration to begin. See, the actual process takes about a few hours, but all I have to do is give the painting a few shakes of my hat” – which he does – “and voila!”

Ace turns the hat upside down, only to have all the ripped pieces just go fluttering out onto his usual table. The camera’s not on it so nothing’s shown, and Ace soon tries scooping them all into a little pile, muttering obscenities as the ponies watch and laugh.

“Well, shit,” Ace says. “Oh, Celestia, what am I going to do?” He shrugs as though resigned. “Well, I guess there’s nothing left to do except mourn the passing of a great masterwork.” He takes his hat and places it over his heart as Soundwave cues up a piece of mournful music and the curtain falls solemnly over the empty gilded frame.

“I’m sorry, fillies and gentlecolts,” Ace says quite soberly. “I… I shall have to have a talk with the curator back stage. I mean, I know I ruined a work of art, but… it’s priceless. I’m sure I can find a way to pay for it, but—”

Click. A piece of the curtain has fallen off its rung. Ace looks behind him at the exposed corner of the gold frame and panics.

“No, no no no NO!” he shouts. He runs over and grabs and the audience is suddenly laughing again. “I can’t let them see it like this! No, not the tattered remains!”

Click, click. A second rung falls off, but Ace is keeping it suspended upright. He starts muttering what appears to be more obscenities to the audience, now laughing uproariously at his “plight”

“What happened, Caramel, that was one more click than there was supposed to be,” Ace growls into the hidden headset. He’s not angry, he’s neutral, but the show requires he sound pissed.

“Not sure,” I tell him, also neutral. “Keep an eye out on the bar. I’ll check backstage”

Click. A third rung falls off. Ace looks at the bar expectantly, though the audience thinks it’s more of the usual.

“Backstage, something go wrong?”

“No,” one of the attendants tells me. “Three released as planned. Planning to trip rest of them in fifteen seconds. Not sure where extra click came from.”

“Alright. Keep watch; I’ll relay the information to Janus.”

Fifteen… fourteen… thirteen… someone’s concealing something in one of the balconies.

Twelve… eleven… ten… I recognize the face of Fine Print in the audience, passing something to a partner of his.

Nine… eight… seven… “Janus, we have an extra click.”

Six… five… four… “Heard it. Can’t tell from where.”

Three… two… one…

Click… BANG!

Without warning, the bar falls with the curtain in a massive clang right on top of Ace. Ace just manages to put his hands up and lean forward just enough that it catches his back after it drops only about a foot, but he goes down with the curtains and the bar and the “restored” painting is revealed.

“Ace,” I call into the mic as the audience begins a standing ovation. “Ace, are you okay?”

Silence.

“Ace, please answer me. Are you okay?”

Still nothing.

“Celestia-damn it all, Ace!” I’m shouting desperately. “Answer me, please!”

“…you were worried about me,” Ace says playfully.

“Shit, Ace! Get up and continue the show! We’ll talk about me being worried later!”

“Calling paramedics,” Janus says. “Be here by end of show. Finish up and get out.”

“Right.”

Ace manages to throw the curtain off and look up at the painting. He turns back to the audience with a sly smile that tells them he planned it all along. “It worked.”

The audience is responding with a mixture of whoops and laughter.

A few minutes later, the audience has been bid good night and is leaving the theater. I leave Camera Eye and Soundwave to finish up and immediately rush backstage to see a few paramedics attending to Ace and checking his vitals. Ace looks over to me as I approach.

“You got worried,” he says in a sort of sing-song voice.

“Damn it all, Ace!” I growl. “What happened?”

“The bar fell on me,” Ace says seriously. “I was dazed, but not knocked out. Paramedics say I’m good; the curtain cushioned my fall and prevented me from taking more serious damage. Expected to hurt for a while, though.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t higher up.” Janus steps into the room as the paramedics leave. “I’ve found the culprit.”

“What was it? Faulty spring? Loose wire?”

Janus holds up a small cylindrical piece of metal, about a few millimeters long and a few millimeters wide. The top looks like something exploded inside of it, and when it’s placed in my hand it’s warm to the touch.

“A bullet,” Janus says. “Might have hit the chains supporting the curtain bar. This looks like a Colt .25 ACP. Would have caused serious damage had it actually hit anyone, but I found it rolling around backstage.”

“You mean someone tried to assassinate me?”

“No. They broke my hook. Might have tried to pin it as an accident. Caramel, did you see anyone weird in the audience?”

“Well, I saw Fine Print at one point a few seconds before. He was there with someone I didn’t recognize and not with Blackjack like normal. He passed something inside his jacket on to someone.”

Janus nods and takes the fired bullet from me. “I’d recommend you clear out tomorrow if at all possible. Get your things; my assistants have been placing them back as you’ve had them in the boxes. Pack up and get out before anything worse happens.”

“What’s going on?”

Janus sighs. “I’m afraid I can’t say anything more. But it’s best if you don’t come back to Baltimare for a while.”

“Does this have something to do with Blackjack?” I ask.

“…so you know.” Janus nods. “I’d wager you pissed him off.”

“How much do you know about him?”

“I used to be one of his men,” Janus tells me. “I backed off when I heard about his more illicit activities. But now, in order to keep myself afloat, I have to pay twenty percent of the profit of my theater to him. Can’t prosecute him or his subordinates; he’s got the Baltimare Police Department wrapped around his hooves. You’re best off leaving while you still have your wits about you.”

Janus goes over to Ace and hugs him. “Be safe, old friend.”

Ace hugs Janus back. “Hopefully they don’t bother you anymore.” And he kisses Janus on the cheek.

We’re out of the theater within half an hour. Ace and I are running through the streets and getting ready to pack up back at the hotel. We only have a few last-minute things, but, as Ace is explaining to me, it’s not quick enough.

“Caramel, I need you to trust me,” he says. “We’ve got to get ourselves ready to go as soon as we leave Blackjack’s tomorrow. We need to get to his office early, like nine o’clock. Then we need to get to the station. If Blackjack’s as pissed as Janus thinks he is, we can’t go straight to Canterlot. We need to buy two tickets each; one straight for Canterlot, and another for Canterlot via Dodge Junction.”

“And what’ll that do?”

“If we’re lucky, they try to find us on the Canterlot train like I normally do and we hide via Dodge Junction. It’ll at least throw them off our trail until we get to somewhere we can hide via better protection, like the Solar Guard.”

“And they’ll listen?”

“To money. I’ve got enough I can feed them a few hundred bucks and they’ll keep an ear and nose out for Blackjack.”

We’re back at the hotel in half our usual time. As soon as we enter, Ace double locks and shuts the door to the patio before noticing a blinking light on the telephone. Ace presses the speaker button.

“You have one new message. To listen to the message, press 1.”

Ace taps the button.

Blackjack’s voice is a low, menacing baritone. “If you do not cooperate, next time my assistant will not miss. I’ll be in my office at nine thirty tomorrow morning. Come whenever you have made your decision.” There’s a click and the room goes completely silent.

“I don’t think you can go back to Ponyville quite yet,” Ace tells me. “Not if they think you’ll tell.”

I feel worse now than I did before at Ace. But this isn’t Ace’s fault.

The phone rings again before I can think much further. It rings a few times, and both of us are too scared and frozen in place to pick it up. It rings five times before the computerized voice fills the room.

“No one is available to take your call. Please leave your message after the tone.”

BEEP.

“Caramel, it’s Roseluck. Look, I heard the whole conversation with Blackjack. Please, pick me up. I can’t stay here any longer. Caramel, pick up the phone, please! I know you’re leaving soon, and I need to get out of here with you. I… I shouldn’t be doing this, but please let me meet up with you! Caramel, pick up the phone now, because I’m afraid he’s going to try and kill you!”