Aesthetics of Mysticism

Elysium is a world governed by Harmony. In all things it is the final arbiter, but it does not judge puny rocks, nor deadly landslides. It is a system with human-shaped loopholes...

Westley’s cage swayed as the cart rattled over the rough terrain. His view was blocked by a tarp thrown over him, but it kept the light out of his eyes. The last several months of foraging the land and eating scraps from towns had left him weak, so he was in a perpetual state of headache. His hardships had long since beaten into him the xenophobic nature of ponies, who seemed to develop strong internal bonds by enforcing a whitelist of trust; he'd seen how the other races were treated, some welcomed, like the cows and goats, and others were tolerated, like the minotaurs. This is why Westley currently sat in bondage: a supply heist gone wrong in a large port city.

It began simply enough, Westley slept his days hidden upstream in a misty, serene forest, and he spent his nights casing the city and rummaging through garbage for anything useful. Ponies did not often create excessive waste, so pickings were slim. Or Westley didn't know where to find the good garbage. After several confusing encounters with the Law in his early days, he decided theft was too risky, but he had little choice this time: it was his fourth night in town, and all he had on his back was a pair of towels poorly stitched into a poncho, patched jeans, a child's canteen, a small box of thread and bent needles, a metal bowl, and a wrinkled map.

Westley was lying on his stomach in the shadow of an alley, his hands were pressed into the ground, ready to push him up as soon as it was safe to move. Through his shaggy hair he could see two ponies strolling together, occasionally nudging each other and giggling. He could hear their horse sounds, but couldn't make out anything he'd call words; they seemed to be on a romantic outing. It'd be a shame if they saw Westley, ruin everyone's night.

Before the couple passed completely out of his vision they were stopped by an armored pony. He'd seen ponies like this before, in the past he’d run from them. His heart began beating in his chest; his hiding spot wasn't as dark and out of the way as he'd like, but he'd yet to meet a pony with decent night vision. The cop made a loud horse noise before passing the couple, who turned to follow him. It was unusual for ponies to have such dejected looks on their faces after dealing with police; the ponies seemed to have a much better relationship with their law enforcement than anyone had back on Earth. Westley couldn't see anything obvious that would indicate the couple were participating in illegal activity, but he also wasn't an expert on pony society; he only had the bare understanding he'd gleaned after months of studying them from the shadows, like an emaciated Jane Goodall.

When the encounter was over he shoved himself up and dashed in the opposite direction from the cop until he could duck into another alley. He'd have run further, but he caught sight of a dispersing group of police, each moving down a different street for their patrols, leaving only one road behind. The safe bet was that street was also patrolled, possibly the way to a much larger group. He turned his head to the sky and noticed the heavy flapping of weighted pegasi, though he could only see their silhouettes in the distance. It didn't matter if the city's sudden police presence was because of something else, Westley couldn't shake the feeling that it was because of him. He couldn't remember being seen recently, but his paranoia had served him well, and the outcome would be the same if he were spotted.

He turned to consider his options. He couldn't walk in the open, even if they'd only see a shadow of his shadow, that was enough to spook them sometimes. He couldn't climb around buildings, that would make him too vulnerable and easy to spot; even if there were no pegasi he'd be reluctant to try that. He couldn't simply wait until day, then he'd lose his only advantage. The one thing that stood out to him was the police were apparently still in the middle of deploying. Were they just now standing watch, or was this a shift change? In the first case, his best option would be to move out immediately. In the second case his best option would be to wait for the extra police to leave the streets and move after everyone had settled down.

Westley poked his head out again and saw the street was clear; he strained to hear anything, but only heard the soft whispers of night. As long as he kept an eye on where the pegasi were, his way seemed to be clear now, so he sprinted out of his alley eastward, to the outskirts of town. He passed several blocks before he stopped himself in the shadow of a cart, he'd arrived at a store he hadn't seen before, a perfect mark, a camping supply store. If he were going to make this trip worthwhile, this was the only chance he was likely to get. He started creeping, but froze when he saw the shadow of a pegasus fly nearby; he could barely keep himself from shaking loud enough to be heard. Moments passed and his senses strained.

"Ok, man, you can do this. Don't be a coward, fear is the little-death, the mind killer, there is no do, only tr- Wait, I said that one wrong. Point is, you can't let yourself get paralyzed; this isn't a stealth game where you get to step away from the controller until you're willing to put up with the willies again.", he whispered to himself.

He darted through the night, then snuggled himself behind a barrier near the store. One of the windows was slightly agape, held open by a wooden block, which hopefully meant it was loose; he'd need to be sure it didn't slam behind him. He slowly let the window down after he entered, then he crept into the first hiding place he could find to observe the store. On the walls he spotted several large backpacks, although the straps looked awkward. There were also some jars of preserves, a selection of compasses, pots, tinder, blankets... Everything he'd need to live away from the ponies for an extended period of time. Really, it was in everyone's best interest he took what he needed.

He carefully started packing away his prizes, using numerous blankets to keep things from bumping into each other. After he was done he considered it for a moment, for it was large and it was bulky. He could get it out of the window, but he'd be vulnerable the entire time, and it would likely get him spotted. He could unpack, but he didn't want to press his luck and spend even more time in the store. He could leave it, but then he'd have to make the trip again tomorrow. His choice was made for him when he heard a hoofstep and a voice.

"Ice Cream Social, are you down here? I told you not to sneak food anymore, you're already becoming big for your size."

He had to tug the pack through the window, and an errant pot handle almost stopped it entirely, but he managed to yank it through... which let the window slam. Westley looked up and saw the terrified face of a squat mare.

"Shit."

And Westley ran. His paranoia was cranked up to 11, so he didn't care about being seen, he just needed to get away from the scene of his crime. He made it for a time until the staccato rhythm of his feet shook loose the errant pot, which clattered on the cobblestone streets. Westley didn't look back, he barely noticed it. In his mind it was just more evidence that he was being chased, which it was.

A pegasus guard came to investigate the commotion, but instead of noticing the lone pot she saw the faint silhouette of an off-balance figure. Her wings beat silently as she turned in his direction. She settled into a comfortable, downward glide that would have allowed her to overtake him if he hadn't kept darting between streets. He didn't seem to be aware of her, or at least he never looked in her direction, but he was clearly trying to shake someone. She pulled a sharp corner after his last turn, then slammed into his body.

They both collapsed onto the ground, human under pony. Westley's paranoia had finally started abating when he'd taken his breather, only for her to appear right in front of him. In his shock he flung her further into the alley, where she hit her head on a brick wall, and after a moment to orient himself he ran further into the outskirts of town to his escape.

The cop slowly picked herself up. It was uncommon for police officers to be injured in the line of duty, they were closer to civil servants than law enforcers. Their primary function was to talk ponies through their moral dilemmas and negotiate the peace, not to keep the peace by "containing" a situation. But then there were occasions like these, where they were tasked with defending the public from monster attacks. This was why Floating Bee considered herself lucky, she only had minor pains after her encounter with the "monster", it'd be trivial for a medic mage to treat her. But then, was that the monster? It seemed smaller than she'd been lead to expect, and nothing about it seemed like it was another of Lord Animus's more vile creations; it was nothing compared to a manticore. Still, after determining it was gone, she flew to the Pegasus Corps base of operations, a conspicuously large cloud, and reported her findings, which were soon relayed to the Ground Corps and to a contracted mage named Trixie Lulamoon.

"So is this it?", Trixie asked while she rode in the back of a flying chariot.

"We're not sure.", Spade Chunks said. Since Trixie was on contract for her special talents, and not for her formal police training, he was her handler, designated to keep her safe. "The consistent reports suggest it might not be him." He was also her pegasus taxi.

"Consistent?"

"Floating Bee and the store owner both said it was a poorly dressed and balding slob."

"That might mean he's not using his glamour.", she said.

"I don't know why he wouldn't use it, though. They're supposed to be difficult to do, but not particularly draining."

"When Trixie was traveling on the road, she often became too hungry to cast. He's only stolen food, right?"

"No, he's stolen other supplies, but it all points that way. He does seem less well-to-do than most people.", he said.

"Then again, Trixie supposes her own experience with illusions may not apply to him. It's not like we know what kind of creature it is."

"I'd stay quiet. Talking like that is an easy way to get your contract nullified; we'll believe you if you say you're incompetent, and I don't think someone in your position can afford that", he said.

"And just what do you suppose Trixie's position is?"

"You don't hide it as well as you should. Most ponies wouldn't spot it under your cape, but police are trained to spot Stigma."

"Trixie... I see. I'd hoped that part of my contract would stay hidden.", she said.

"This will sound crazy, but a lot of us prefer working with contractors when they have Stigma. We know how you're going to act, so it's easier to plan around you."

"Trixie is so glad you're finding her disability convenient."

"Hey, now, I don't mean it in a negative way. Most cops end up with at least a little bit of Stigma before they retire, so we get training at the Lodge every year. The way I see it, you're closer to being a by-the-books cop than a villain.", he said.

"Just what Trixie always wanted to be."

"It's a noble profession. Have you detected anything yet?"

"No, just keep flying. Trixie will tell you when she does."

Below them, hidden beneath a dewey canopy of leaves, Westley collapsed to his knees. This wasn't his closest encounter yet, but he attributed that to luck more than skill. He slowly straightened himself out and relaxed against a tree. Before he went to bed he'd need to climb it to ensure he was safely out of sight, but for now he could hydrate and eat. After his third handful of strawberry preserves Trixie pinpointed his location, and he was captured.