Adventures of Doctor Sparkle: Honest Jack and The Harlot

I awoke slowly, groggily. My head was pounding, and my right hand throbbed in agony. Groaning loudly I got into a more upright position, heavy blankets making it a difficult task. Something moved at the foot of my bed and I noticed Spike, his head resting next to my feet, and sitting on a small stool. He yawned and shook his head, slowly waking up.

“Doc,” he said rubbing his eyes, “are you feeling okay.”

“Yes, I think,” I informed him, “where are we?”

“Sheriff's house," he replied before his eyes shot open and he leaped to his feet, "oh, the sheriff, he said he wanted to talk to you, I should go get him.”

Before I could even react Spike had run out of the room. Deciding to look around I noticed where I was looked like someone’s bedroom. Family pictures lined the hardwood walls, they were hard to make out, the sun coming through the window was causing a glare. Curtains, and blankets looked homemade and had floral pattern on them. There was a wicker nightstand next to me, and on it lay a framed picture of a smiling girl and an open medical kit.

The door opened and Spike stepped inside the room closely followed by an older man I presumed to be the sheriff. He was graying with wrinkles running along his kind, matured face. A bristly mustache jutted from his upper lip and gave him the appearance of walrus. He limped over and sat down on the stool with a thud, then turned to give me bright smile.

“Thank you,” he said before pulling me into a tight hug, using strength I was unaware he could muster, “thank you so much.”

“Excuse me,” I said when finally released.

“Oh I’m sorry,” he laughed to himself, Spike joined in as well, though it appeared more at my expense, “I’m Sheriff Dust Storm, and you saved my daughter's life.”

“Daughter,” my head was throbbing, I was certain I heard him wrong, “sir I didn't save anyone.”

“Don’t be modest now,” he patted me on the shoulder, “if you weren't’ there, well, I don’t want to think of what could have happened.”

“No really sir, your praise is misplaced, those women that robbed the train are generally harmless.”

“Yes well, you still put up a valiant effort to bring them to justice,” he said with a tone that made it clear he didn't trust my judgment.

“Speaking of effort,” I said turning to my assistant, “what happened after I was unconscious.”

“Yes, that,” Spike said, clearly caught off guard, “well I went to get help, and that’s when I found the Sheriff’s daughter, she’s a doctor. Though not a doctor like you, a proper medical doctor, she and I helped bring you here, into the sheriff's bed, and then she dressed your wounds. Now she’s out getting food for breakfast.”

“How long was I out?”

“A few hours.”

“Well in that case, we’ll have breakfast, then go and investigate the town.”

“Doctor,” Spike questioned clearly shocked, “couldn't they already be fleeing the area, shouldn't we start looking for leads as soon as possible.”

“No Spike, rushing would only get us killed faster in this state. Besides patience is a virtue.”

Not so long after, the sheriff’s daughter returned, and made a large breakfast for us. She was a pretty, young woman named Redheart. She shared her father's kindly smile and stocky build. We all sat around a small wooden table, eating in a pleasant silence. The rising sun tinting the rustic dining room orange.

“So you’re bounty hunters,” Redheart said as she poured a glass of juice, “who you after?”

“The two women that attacked the train we were both on,” I stated simply.

“Oh, so do you have any leads?” Redheart asked clearly enthralled, the sheriff on the other hand ignored me and started talking to Spike, I don’t think he much liked bounty hunters.

“Unfortunately no,” I lied, it didn't seem like a good idea to get the sheriff involved, “we were lucky to be on that train at all, and even luckier to survive.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“These things happen,” I said with a slight shrug, “though I will stick around in town for a few more days, look around see if I can find anything.”

“Stay here,” Sheriff Storm said, suddenly much more interested in the conversation once it appeared we were hopeless in our search, “we owe you, and besides Redheart will need to check on your wounds every so often to make sure it’s all in order, right dear?”

“Definitely,” Redheart said shaking her head, “it would be our pleasure.”

I looked at Spike, and he seemed to have no problems with the idea so I accepted. Idle conversation continued for a few for minutes before it felt appropriate to start asking about what I really cared about.

“Sheriff Storm,” I asked, “I was wondering if I could as you a few questions about the town.”

“Of course you can Missy,” I didn't correct him, as it’s not every day someone's daughter saves your life, while they give you a bed to rest in and food to eat, “what is it you wanted to know?”

“Do you know anything about a place called Carousel Boutique?”

“That poor place,” Dust Storm hung his head low, and Redheart's grin fell away, “Rarity, a nice young woman opened it about a year back. There was a fire, nobody died, that’s at least something to be glad of, but the poor girl lost everything.”

This was going somewhere interesting, “where I could find her?”

"I'm not sure where you could find her. She used to live in her shop, then after the fire she started hanging with a bad crowd in the tavern, now it could be weeks between times I see her.”

“Could you take me to the boutique?”

______________________________________________________________________

Barron, that was the best word to describe it. A charred skeleton of a building sitting on the edge of town. Inside sat the remains of mannequins, on top of piles of ash I could only assume to once be dresses. Blackened carvings of horses danced around happily on the walls of the building, in a twisted juxtaposition.

I tried opening the front door, but instead of gently swinging, the hinges snapped off and it fell into the abandoned building. With a shrug I stepped in, if I was going to have a meeting here in three days I should know it as best I can. Spike followed uneasily and continually glanced to the ceiling seemingly expecting it to fall.

“Spike,” I started while examining the front desk, “how much experience do you have with lever rifles?”

“None,” he said apprehensively, “why do you ask?”

“Because you seemed to have no issue using it,” I explained, catching him with a gaze, “the lever always trips people up on their first try.”

“Well,” he scratched the back of his head, and suddenly found a particularly interesting ash pile, “I may have practiced with yours when you weren't paying attention. Not using any bullets or anything, just you know, looking at it, playing.”

“Playing?”

“Practicing I mean, examining it very carefully. Definitely not playing.”

“Well I’m thankful you did so much ‘examining’,” I said with a grin, “if you hadn't I would not be standing here right now. I think I owe you a proper lesson.”

“Are you serious,” he asked, eyes sparkling with hope.

“Of course I am, it’s not like I’ll be able to get use out of it,” at that moment I placed my foot on the stairs to the second floor, causing it to snap beneath my weight, “we should probably get started now actually. I don’t think there is much more to see around here anyway.”

We moved outside at a slightly accelerated pace and returned to the sheriff’s house to retrieve our luggage. I grabbed my rifle, some ammo, and a handful of empty bottles then led Spike back outside. I placed the bottles on the ground and stood next to Spike roughly ten feet away from them. I drilled him on the basics until no beer bottles remained.

“Spike, you’re draconic, correct?” I asked while he collected the glass pieces into a bin.

“That’s right, my father was cursed by a dragon,” he said uncomfortably, “no real negative symptoms have appeared yet, but apparently it could happen at anytime.”

“Yes, you are the most high functioning cursed being in recorded history. Of course for you it’s had some benefit as well. You can use dragon magic.”

“Well yeah, I guess,” he said with a shrug and handing the rifle back-over.

“Well in that case give me your best fire-breath,” I pointed out into the empty desert to direct him, “there should be safe.”

“I’ll try,” Spike began sucking air through his nose, and puffing out his chest, his face turned red and his eyes popped. After a few seconds he stomped forward and shouted, a small puff of flame accompanying it.

“Sorry,” he said his eyes dipping to the dirt.

“Nothing to apologize over,” I said patting his head, “it was a respectable attempt. Now you’re going to try again but with my help.”

“Alright,” his face brightened.

“Now I will be making a lot of assumptions about how your magic works, so I apologize if anything I say turns out to be incorrect,” I explained to him, this would be the first time dragon magic in any form would be studied, “now moving on. Your first issue seems to be trying to force the magic physically, when you should be directing the energy mentally. You need to stand up straight, regulate your breathing, and in your mind picture the fire rising up from your center, and out of your mouth. The real fire should follow your instructions. Now get in position”

Spike nodded then stood stock still, and began breathing rapidly. I circled around a few times examining all the details before I leveled the butt of the rifle at him.

“Chest in, back straight, chin up, arms flat,” I said correcting his posture, and tapping him with Celestia’s Might for emphasis, “and finally slower breaths.”

I waited a few moments to let him get used to his position. “Ready,” I asked, when he seemed prepared.

He nodded.

“Then do it,”

Spike was motionless for a few moments, but I could see his brow furrow in concentration. Beads of sweat ran down his face. Then without warning his jaw dropped and a plume of fire the size of a horse erupted into the air. The heat was unbelievable, standing next to it felt like stepping inside a powerful furnace.

“How was that,” he asked with a cocky grin, and I couldn't blame him, that power was amazing.

“Now, we’re going to try something interesting,” I said tossing him the rifle, “you’re going to combine that into a bullet.”

He held the gun limply and stared at me in disbelief. “Come on, it’s easy, I’ll show you,” I said rushing over to his side, “okay hold the rifle like you normally do, now place your thumb right in that slot above the trigger. There is will you will send the energy, not out of your mouth, but your thumb. Once that is done, the gun will take care of the rest, channeling the energy into the bullet to be released upon impact with your target.”

“It just doesn't feel natural,” he pleaded, “all my instincts say the fire should be breathed out.”

“You’re thinking like a dragon Spike. You need to be thinking as a spell-caster, now do it.”

Huffing angrily Spike aimed the rifle deep into the desert. Breathing slowly he began focusing the spell once again. A minute later he pulled the trigger and bullet launched off into the horizon. An explosion of fire appeared in the distance shocking my assistant.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he mouthed to himself staring at his hands in disbelief.

“They’re other kinds of magic right,” Spike asked returning my gun, “I mean like Jack, she uses magic right, that how she’s so strong.

“Technically yes but they are less obvious,” I explained, as we went back inside, “there are truly three types of magic. Energy, manipulation, and body. Energy is the most obvious form, and what I use, people take energy from deep inside their bodies and release it in different forms. Next is manipulation, where you can bend the world around you to your will, turning storm clouds into controlled weapons, or the most common form, bending wind for different effects, normally flying. Lastly is body, it is the most subtle form. It’s rare, and there is not really anything you can do to improve it if you have it. It makes you stronger, faster, and a quick healer, judging by our fight Jack has a hell of a lot of it.”

“So follow up question,” Spike said as we sat down at the kitchen table with glasses of water, “can Celestia’s Might absorb other forms of magic?”

“Now you’re asking the interesting questions,” I said with a smirk, “it absorbs energy from your body, so that makes manipulation a no right away. You do not create anything with the magic, you just move what is already there. Body however is a possibility, but since those people have very little control over that magic, it would be extremely difficult. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I think I get.”

“Good, now how would you feel going for a second round of practice after these drinks?”

The next few days were a blur of none stop training. I never told Spike because I didn't want to worry him, but I was going to relaying a lot on his skills with my injuries still holding me back. Before I knew it I woke up on the day of my meet up with the Harlot.

“Get up Spike,” I announced tossing a bag of equipment onto him, “we’re almost late for our date.”