A Stranger Amongst the Little One
Evening. The time when everypony gets wasted and tries to forget about life. Life. What a concept in this day and age. It isn’t hard to forget about life nowadays, mainly because we don’t really live one. Okay, I mean we do, it’s just not that great; though for me it is. Or so I’ve been telling myself; being a town’s thief will make you feel that. But life in Equestria just isn’t the same as it used to be. Things have changed, and they’ll never go back to what they used to be. Not after everything that has been done. The industrial revolution—as everypony calls it—ruined everything.
I mean, buildings that pump toxic smoke into the air, warehouses being built on a daily basis, homes becoming ragged and old, with new homes being built all around, and a growing population isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a good life. But I have to ask: How the hell can a world go from living in harmony to nothing but disparity and work? That’s all we do now—work. Except me; I don’t work for society, I take from it. Think of it as my own line of personal business; though it isn’t a good way to make friends. Being a thief will do that.
When I was discharged from Wonderbolts, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t fly with the body I’d sworn my allegiance to, the Wonderbolts. Because of the stupid industrial revolution, budget cuts were made, and that included many members of the Wonderbolts; only those ranked Captain or higher stayed. Not only that, but the pollutants being put into the air by all the factories all throughout Equestria will cause all kinds of health problems.
Since then, I’ve taken up my own art to fill the void of not being able to fly like I used to ever again. Thieving. Yeah, I know it’s amoral and against the law, but you know what? I don’t care. I got something taken from me—mainly from the ponies who thought it would be a good idea to build a gigantic industry go through with it—so it’s my turn to take from all the bozos who took what used to be rightfully mine. Mind you, I don’t steal for the sake of stealing, I do it because Ineed to. It’s all part of my code.
Leaning against a wall, I look out the window from the upper floor of the house I slipped into. The smoggy, grey sky is being lit up by the sun. Yuck. We really did let our beautiful world go. It’s a bummer, really. I liked the world we once had: Animals running around, a clear sky to soar in, positive enlightenment, being with my Wonderbolt comrades whom I barely talk to anymore.
But in all honesty, I prefer this life over the one I had, over the Wonderbolts. Probably hard to believe, considering I’ve always wanted to be one since I was a kid; I had worked night and day to master my flying stunts, movements in the air, everything; and then one day, six months after auditioning for the Wonderbolts, I read those words: You’ve been accepted. I couldn’t believe it when that happened. I was happy. For five years I was with the Wonderbolts. Trained alongside the most elite, kick-ass fliers. Then I got discharged. Funny thing is, I got my cutie mark after being dismissed. Funny right? You’d think I would’ve already gotten it if I were to make it into the Wonderbolts. Nope, not at all. I stole something of Spitfire’s along my way out, and that’s when I got my mark—two criss-crossing lockpicks.
But I’m telling you: Becoming a thief is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.
I gaze at the passed out pony drooling on her bed. Drifting away from the wall, I start rummaging through drawers for anything of value. I find a pair of silver scissors and a gold-plated envelop opener. Yay. Such great loot. If there’s one thing I have learned about being a thief, over the years, it’s never let flimsy loot put you down; you’re gonna find something good sooner or later and, when you do, it’s the best feeling ever.
Five minutes later and I find an old pocket watch with a compass in it. Silver plated. This ought to come in handy. I attach a metal chain to it and slide it in one of my many pockets on my suit. That a shock? You bet. I always, and I mean always, wear my suit when I’m out. You know, so I don’t get caught? It’s my old Wonderbolt suit, but with some modifications to it. Not like the ones you’d normally see. I sewed a hood made of artificial leather to the back of collar, a mask that I wear to cover my face, and I stitched a few patches of leather to it to muffle my movements and protect me from minor injuries, and dyed it dark blue. Even has a tail slot so I can hide it. Pretty sweet, huh?
I make a last few attempts to grab anything I can salvage, and, to my luck, find a lyre. Too bad it’s mine now. I put the lyre in my saddle bag, and my ears twitch at the sound of somepony stirring awake, along with a bottle breaking. I turn around and see the pony getting up—though I doubt she’s able to see that I’m here. She seems pretty wasted. She tries to get up but falls down on the floor.
I stay right where I am, watching her struggle. Eventually she pulls herself to the bed and catches a good look at me. I wink at her, to tell her that she got shafted by one of the best thieves in town. The best part is, during our little stare, she has no idea that I took her precious lyre. I half wanted to wave it in her face, but that would only violate the code I set up. I leave through an open window, heading to a path of planks that, conveniently, lead to another house. Guess tonight’s my lucky night.
The pony says nothing to me as I leave.
I’m outside now. Great. Outside…I hate being outside, but I love it at the same time. The worst part of it is breathing in the air. It’s thick, smells like death, and it’s warm as hell. On the bright side, there’s lovely shadows, rooftops, alleyways, and small vents that I can use to my advantage to escape, should the need ever arise. The main thing to take from being outside, though, are the shadows and dark passageways. Shadows are your friend if you’re a thief. Trust me. You can be in and out of someplace in fifteen seconds if you use them well.
Right now, though, I’m exposed, in the open. Not exactly something you want to be doing if you’re sneaking around, now is it? Still, it’s worth knowing you can get caught for being in the open. It’s the adrenaline rush, knowing a guard has spotted you, and your only goal is to run like hell.
I carefully move along the wooden planks, until I come across a closed window in the next house. I put my ear against it to see if I can hear anything or anypony inside. Nothing. But the window is shut, and there’s no way I can open it from out here…of course I can. That’s what a crowbar is for. I prop the window open with my small crowbar and slip inside.
The place is a dump. Then again, that’s how most places are nowadays: Filled with a bunch of doohickies and useless crap.
I search the drawer of a table in front of me and find a gold necklace. Score! It’s moments like this that make me wonder why ponies put their most valuable things in the stupidest spots. But, hey, I’m not complaining.
I come across a bedroom. It’s empty, though there are a few sparkling items around. On the desk there is a letter of some sort. Curious, I pick it up and read it. Mentions a gold mask with embedded jewels and a small bag with a fair chunk of bits; and it just so happens to be in this house, in a safe. And this letter has the code to get into the safe. Oh, Celestia, did I just hit the jackpot?
Slipping the letter in my pocket, I leave the room and continue down the hallway. I hear a babble of voices downstairs somewhere. Guess I’m not alone after all. No biggie. I like a challenge, especially when it comes to stealing things where I can easily get caught. Makes it…thrilling. Now where’s that safe? It’s not upstairs since I just checked the only room that’s up here. Guess it’s downstairs.
The main floor isn’t something to be excited about. It’s just an old generic house: Made of wood, has windows that aren’t even clear, and has a damp smell. Yuck. I’m in the living room right now, and there isn’t a soul here. I lean against the wall that leads to the kitchen, peek around and see nothing. I notice a staircase in the kitchen leading someplace downstairs. Must be a basement or something. When I get to it, I can hear those voices. Perfect. Gives me a chance to find the safe and get the hell out.
I wander about in the house, checking for any loot that can get me a bit. I find a few things like more envelope openers, hand mirrors, gears, all that stuff. Nothing entirely exciting. But then I come across this bedroom, much smaller than the others. But there is no safe anywhere to be seen, unless…I go up to the only painting in the room and feel the edges of it. Hollowness. Of course. Hide the safe behind a painting and think it’ll be safe forever? Wrong.
Eventually the painting flips open like a door, and, lo and behold, the safe. I put my ear against it, and turn the knob to the correct combination, and then…click. Bingo. A mask made of gold and gems and next to it is a small bag of bits. Now this is what I’m talking about. This will make another great add to my collection. I quickly swoop up both items, and make a leave, only to see somepony stand in the doorway. I say nothing.
“Thief! Thief! Somepony call the guards!” the pony in the doorway calls out.
I see a window to my left and I quickly pry it open with my crowbar, only to be stopped by the pony. I push her aside with all my strength, and I make my escape. Darting out the window, I find myself on the streets, something I’m both okay and not okay with. Just another one of those things. I bolt into an alleyway nearby and hear the guards’ voices coming from behind me. They aren’t after me, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. Most guards here are dumb bozos. Oh, and blind. It’s too bad, really. Those ponies I just robbed will never get their items back again. If something gets stolen from you nowadays, good luck getting it back.
The alleyway leads to a side of town I’m all too familiar with: The market. This is the place to be if you have bits to spend; otherwise you’ll always find yourself empty-hoofed. Right now, it’s completely empty since it’s now nighttime, and everypony has to be in by their curfew. Yeah, everypony has the same curfew: Have to be in by 7 p.m., or else you’ll be in trouble. It didn’t matter to me, though. I’ve never followed the stupid rule.
A few guards are buzzing around, but I just slip past them. Easy-peasy. You know, sometimes, I wonder if being a thief is good enough for me, considering how awesome I am at it. I take out my newly stolen pocket watch and check the time. Eleven, o’clock. Time to head to my hideout and call it a night.
About halfway there, I pass the Ponyville’s orphanage, and my Celestia, what a dump that place has been. Sad thing is it’s still running. It’s built from wood that’s rotting away, and many of the windows are broken. They’re patched up with wood, though; it’s something, I guess. Every day, those fillies sit on the front step, hoping that somepony would pick them up and never bring them back to this place. I don’t blame them. Everypony and anypony would be miserable if they live in a total dump.
When I pass a dumpster not too far from the orphanage, there is some movement in it. Almost sounds like an overgrown rat trying to find something to eat. Wouldn’t doubt it. Ponyville is filled with those critters.
But then I see the thing that crawls out of the dumpster.
It’s an orange filly wearing an old worn cap and ragged clothing. It’s the orphanage’s uniform standard. Yes, it’s a standard to look like a bum.
I don’t think much of strangers or the little ones, so I just carry on with my business like I normally do. But this one calls out to me. Just says, “Mister.” And I stop, look back, but say nothing. “Can you help me?” Ha! Somepony wanting help from a thief. Never heard that one before. It’s weird being asked for help by total strangers because I usually don’t get seen or caught by anypony around. Generally speaking.
But here is a scruffy filly asking me for help? I guess there’s a first time for everything, right? “What’s your name, kid?” I ask.
“Scootaloo,” she says, eyes toward me. “Can you help me?”
“With what?”
“I’m hungry. One of the other orphans took my food tonight and I didn’t eat.”
“What makes you think I can help, kid?” I say in my cold voice.
“Because you’re a grownup. And grownups help, right?”
I smile and shake my head. To me it’s so clear. “I guess so, but you don’t know me and I don’t know you. Shouldn’t you be in bed now? Curfew is up.”
“I don’t care about sleep or some stupid curfew,” she says. She stares hard. “I haven’t eaten anything in the past three days.”
“But I thought you said grownups help you, no? Aren’t they suppose to feed you back there?”
Scootaloo makes an awful face: Anger and disgust competing for space. “I hate this,” she says. “I can’t do this anymore, or I’m gonna go nuts.”
I sigh. This isn’t exactly how I pictured my night to end, dealing with a poor, broken filly. I may be a pesky thief, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of compassion, right? “Come, sit, kid,” I say. What am I doing out here in the middle of the night with a filly? My suit isn’t helping me, either. If guards come through here, I’d be a waving red flag to them. But I’m determined to talk to this kid, for some reason.
“Look, Scootaloo,” I say. “We don’t know each other, but I’m gonna help you out, okay? Just promise me you won’t tell anyone that I was here. Deal?”
“Deal,” she says.
“Good. Now listen. You said that some filly has been stealing your food right?” She nods. “Well, you know what to do right?”
“Tell on her so she won’t do it again?” she says.
I laugh. “Do you really think that’s gonna cut it? No, it won’t. You know what you need to do? Take back what’s yours when they least expect it.”
“You mean…stealing? But that’s bad. The ponies at the orphanage said if we steal, we could get into a lot of trouble.”
“It isn’t stealing if you’re taking back what’s rightfully yours. Trust me, I know.”
“I don’t know,” she says.
“Ever hear of the Wonderbolts, kid?” I ask.
“You mean those fliers who would move so fast in the air and do cool tricks?”
“Yeah. I used to be one. I was a Lieutenant. Been with them for a long time. Five years. Then I got dismissed from them.”
“Why were you dismissed?”
“Budget cuts. Not enough money to support all the Wonderbolts since the Royalty was more interested in building an industry. What you’re living in now, kid.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“Look around you, kid. The industry. The way things are now. The way we live, eat, breathe, even the way we work, all the crap that’s being put in the air. It’s making it dangerous for fliers to take the sky for prolonged time. If we did, we could have some serious health problems.
“I lost my dream as a Wonderbolt because of this stupid industry. It was taken from me by all the bozos who agreed that making a huge industry was a good idea. So you know what I do? I take from the ponies who wrongfully took my Wonderbolt career away.”
“You steal things from other ponies?” Scootaloo asks. Her eyes are glued to me.
“Yeah, I do. It fills the emptiness in me for losing the one thing that made me happy. But you, kid, don’t have to put up with all the crap you get from those fillies.”
“So I should steal from them and show them who’s boss?”
“No,” I say, “I got a better idea.” I reach into my pocket and give the kid the small bag of bits I stole tonight. “You can have all of this. Consider it a gift. Go out and buy yourself something nice to eat.”
“Wow,” she says. She’s totally mind-blown. “You’re really giving me all this money.”
“It’s yours, kid. It means more to you than me. Besides, I already got something that means more to me than that pile of bits.”
“What’s that?” she says, picking up the bag.
Oh, why do they always have to be the curious ones. “Don’t worry about it. Look, I wouldn’t bring that inside the orphanage if I were you. That’s gonna get stolen before you know it. Here.”
Behind me there’s a barred off vent that goes nowhere. “Take about twenty bits, and give me the bag.”
I put the bag inside the vent, close it, and put a few bricks that are laying around in front of it to cover it up. “If you ever need some money, just come here and it’ll be right in this vent, okay?”
“Thanks,” she says while giving me a hug.
I somewhat return it and push her off of me. “Don’t mention it. You should probably go to bed now.”
“I’m still hungry though,” she says.
“Right…hold tight. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
When I got back, I give the filly a loaf of bread and a small carton of milk. Better than nothing, I guess. “Here you go. Should do the trick and get you through the night.”
“Wow, thanks a lot. How can I repay you?” Scootaloo asks.
“Don’t have to. If those fillies steal from you again, let me know and I’ll deal with them, okay?”
“Okay. Will I see you again?”
“Maybe. Can’t make any promises though, kid. See ya.”
I bolt down the alley and soar into the sky, just so I can get to a rooftop. Oh, how I miss flying. There’s a clocktower just a few blocks away from me. That’s where my hideout is. At the top, where all the clock stuff is. I look back at the orphanage. Can barely see it from here. I smile knowing that there could be a somepony out there waiting to see me again.
And that is good.
A Stranger Amongst the Little One
Chapter Two: The Clocktower
The clocktower. Boy, what a place this is. Towering at least fifteen stories high, this place is basically my home, my hideout, and the place I can feel safe after a night of stealing. It’s also the place that tells Ponyville the time. I mean, duh, it’s a giant tower with clocks on all four sides.
When the builders were done making this place, which, by the way, took almost a whole year to build, I thought it would be a great place for a hideaway: mainly because not many ponies go tootling off into a clocktower for fun. The only visitors I ever get are crows and owls. Nothing else. And I plan to keep it that way: the last thing I want, as the town’s thief, is to have my hideout found.
At the very top of the tower—where all the gears, clock heads, and other mechanical junk are—are trunks where where I keep my most valuable trophies and steals. Mostly things I don’t want to sell or ever get rid of. I have a bed near the window for sleeping. A wardrobe. Mirror. Candles for light. And a water pump for, you know…water? Basically all the stuff I need is up here, where I call home.
I place the gold-jeweled mask in one of my trunks, next to a giant pearl I found sometime ago. I keep these because they are mine. Stolen, yes, but they’re mine. And no one can take them from me; even if they try and are successful, I’d track them down and take back what’s rightfully mine. Then again, I have been doing that for a long time now.
I walk up to the windowsill and gaze outside. Darkness is the only thing I see. Everypony has gone to bed. Figures. Resting for the next day of hard work to come. Not me, though. I don’t normally steal in the daylight. Nopony would be stupid enough to rob somepony in broad daylight. During the day, I normally rest up here and plan my next bust. Sometimes I just sleep all the way until the evening and go out to wherever I think I should go.
Tomorrow’s going to be different; at least I think it will. Scootaloo has got me thinking about life. Mostly about how lucky I am to be where I am right now. I mean, being a thief and having a bunch of trophies that are worth a buck ton is great and all, but realizing that there’s a filly out there who respects what I do is something…I inspiring about her? We may be total strangers, but maybe she’s exactly what I’m looking for. I don’t know. Could I give the kid a better life? Maybe. Only time will tell, I guess.
I get off the windowsill and glance at my pocket watch. Almost one. If there’s one thing I hate about this clocktower it’s when its big hand hits twelve. That’s when the stupid bell goes haywire. If it were up to me, I’d take the stupid thing apart. But that’d only draw attention to myself. I don’t think anypony wants a clocktower that doesn’t work, so that’s not exactly a good way to keep my hideout a secret. Still, I’ve put up with the bell for so many years; no reason I can’t do it now.
Later that night I lie in bed, look up at the high-up, narrow ceiling, thinking about Scootaloo and how she has to live in a total dump. Nowadays that’s where ponies live: In dumps and in the slums of wherever they are. That is, of course, unless you’re rich, or royalty. Or best friends to somepony who’s of royalty. But only to an extent. Rumour has it that Twilight Sparkle practically gave all her best friends a room at her crystal castle—which, by the way, towers over all the crummy little houses. If the rumours are true, someone them declined. Told her they had a place of their own.
Some of her friends, on the other hoof, accepted, and they all run their businesses in there. Except that crazy pony who’s obsessed with apples. She still has her farm and boy, she never stops working. I’be stolen from her a few times. Still, though, I wish Twilight could do something more for all her subjects, not just her friends. But there’s only so much she can do, I guess. And that doesn’t include helping Scootaloo. Still, I wonder if there is something more I can do for her…
Why am I thinking so much about this? All Scootaloo is to me is a poor orphan, who has to live the life everypony else does. A stranger. Nothing more. If it were up to me and if I stuck to the code I have for myself, I would’ve just passed her and not said a single word. I bucked up. Who knew that a little filly, a total stranger, could get me going? I never get attached to anyone or show compassion toward others. I’m a thief. I take. I don’t give. The only time I do give is to the very few friends I have. That’s it. Everypony else can go buck themselves. But Scootaloo…she’s just—she’s….
I get out of bed, head over the window, and look out again. Still dark. I sigh. A pause. Another pause.
But Scootaloo…she’s just—she’s different. Maybe I should try and help the kid out. Not take her in, but help her fend for herself. Maybe I can even show her my ways. Teach her the code. Have her carry my legacy when I’m gone from this place. Or…am I really thinking this?
I honestly don’t know why I’m so fixated on trying to help her. I’m never one to love. My inspired guess its because she is a lone filly who’s already on the verge of losing it if something isn’t done soon. But the idea of me helping somepony else…What a concept. Can I actually help Scootaloo? Can I give her the life I think she deserves? Maybe. If it do, does that mean she will love me? The last and only living thing in this world that could ever love me is Scootaloo; but that’s simply not possible. This isn’t self-pity but the coldest, clearest self-knowledge: I am unlovable.
Following my plan of the code, I have tired many times to involve myself in other ponies, in relationships, and even love. It doesn’t work though. It’s impossible to formulate; it’s like I was born into this world with the incapacity to love, even though, for some, it is the easiest thing to grasp. Something in me is broken, torn, or missing; and the sooner or later I realize that, the sooner I can stop chasing after love. It’s so stupid.
I lean against the windowsill, admiring Ponyville’s darkness. I still don’t know how the princesses could let our world go down the drain like this. I’m serious. You’d think that they’d be opposed to such a crazy idea, but nope. They were all in for it. Even Twilight. The four princesses agreed that it would be a great way to boost the economy and create more jobs. It obviously did, but at the cost of ruining our beautiful world. Forests were cleared to make room for the warehouses and factories and—you know, all the stuff needed for an industrial revolution. Even at that point, Twilight still supported the idea of the revolution. And when she did, it made ponies go bonkers, especially somepony named Fluttershy. Apparently she’s really into helping animals and seeing all the little critters get displaced isn’t exactly something she likes to see. Still, she helped them by taking care of them…but I know that all of of our lives will never be the same, ever again.
After a year of building, hiring, and working, all the smoke and junk being pumped out from the factories has poisoned the air. Makes it practically impossible to fly in the sky for prolonged time without choking on the air and dying. Even these so-called gas masks don’t work. Since then, they declared that Pegasi only fly for a maximum of two hours a day. Otherwise you’ll really mess up your lungs. This whole industry has me thinking why the hell did these idiots agree to put this ridiculous thing into motion. Even Twilight is one of them. Believe it or not, I steal from her from time to time. It’s really easy too. It’s the only time I feel partially bad, even though, in the end, I never really do.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a good flight. It’s been a while. I mean, yeah, I did technically fly tonight, like I do everyday, but that was just so I could get on top of a roof. That’s it. I haven’t actually done any stunts, or races in ages. Hell, I haven’t even been able to sleep on a cloud. That’s how bad it is. The only time I actually get to fly is when I have to.
Probably hard to believe, huh? Pegasi only being able to fly for two hours a day? The sky belongs to nopony now. Trust me, I know. I’d give up everything—all my trophies, my dignity, my hideout—just to get one more day in the sky. Too bad it only ever happens in my dreams.
I sigh again, and head back to my bed lie down, and stare at the dull ceiling again. My life may be great as a thief, but, deep down, I still face my inner demons. Still, I’m somewhat determined to help Scootaloo get a better life. And that’s what I’m going to do.
Every day I learn more about myself.
