Of Soldiers and Swindlers

Clip, clop, clip, clop

Hoofsteps echoed between alabaster walls and barred windows, bouncing off the painfully unassuming stone floor and filling the corridor. Despite the prison’s vastness, it appeared empty, leaving the three ponies to break the silence themselves.

“So Crackerjack, you turned out ta be a big un, eh? Ain’t gonna lie, thought you was gonna be much smaller. Ain’t had much muscle on ya then. I guess the guard fattened you up eh? Must be nice.”

Eightball’s jabbering was met by a cold silence, the guardsmare to his left giving only a flick of her ear in acknowledgement. He chuckled, shaking out whatever patches of his mane he had left in amusement.

“Always quiet. What’re ya quiet for? We got a lot ta talk about, you and I. Been what, ten years since I knocked yer ass ta th’ ground, Crackerjack? Did ya join the guard ta beat me? Cos I ain’t gonna lie ta ya, I don’t think I’ll be fightin’ again. Nah. Too much work.”

Green eyes flashed to meet his, causing Eights to feed off the attention like a cigarette - drained leech.

“Yeah, I ain't been able ta fight fer… well. Since ya got caught. Guess you was lucky, right after ya got learned and all that, them guards overran the ring. I dunno who they got. Too many ta count.” Eights frowned, “Life’s been shit since then ya know. Allie’s prolly dead by now. Aint seen her in a while. Remember her? nice mare. Shame what happened.”

Unable to hide the clouds in his eyes, Nutcracker finally gave in to the delinquent’s pestering, asking simply, “What happ’ned?”

Eights shrugged, keeping his head low, “She got hit when they sprayed th’ ring. Th’ gas did somethin’ ta her.. Last I saw her, she ain’t been good. I kept bringin’ her food an’ such, but she ain't eatin. ‘Ventually, I go up to her nook an’ she's gone. Heard some pony say they saw her fall in the canal, and go off the mountain.” He lowered his head with a solemn shrug, “She ain't stupid enough to do that accidentally.”

Nutcracker was all too grateful when the solitary cell block finally came into view down the corridor. Clearing his throat, he picked up the pace, half-rushing the sickly stallion beside him into a hasty pace.

“Cell 301 will be your home, for now.” The guardsmare piped up, taking over in place of the thought-lost private. “You are far from anypony else, so confrontation is highly unlikely.” her horn glowed a sheen of blue as she unlocked the heavy door, “Mercy has you on a strict health plan, so don't expect your usual pack of cigarettes. From here on, you will be allowed three, so choose wisely. As today is nearly over, you are allowed one before you sleep. Is that clear?”

Eights, unable to fathom how he would accomplish such a feat, could barely nod a reply before he was nudged into the cell. Starlight cracked a wry smirk.

“Guards on the floor tonight are Relic Dust, Cinnamon Cone, and Aster. Your jailer on duty is Keystone. Your dinner shall arrive shortly, through the panel on the bottom of the door. You are then to return the plate, fork, and any other utensil the same way. If there is a piece missing, you will be searched in a way that violates most personal codes, and I guarantee, it will not be a mare doing it. Are we clear, Mr. Eights?”

Paler than a nightmare night ghost, Eightball was left staring at his cell door in horror as it closed on him, the silvery wisps of the guardsmare’s tail disappearing from view. He swallowed roughly, trying and failing to calm his newfound nerves.

Perhaps they really were out to torture him.

As they left the quarrelsome stallion safely behind bars, the armor-clad duo chose a different route to the one they lead Eights down, pallid walls soon fading to the catacombs’ usual stone brick interior. The mare levitated a torch from the wall to light the corridor as twilight strained through the inapt windows partially blocked by wrought iron, preventing any hopes of escaping into the night air. The tension pulled the air taught, curious glances from the silvery mare hoping to instigate a reply, an explanation, anything from her younger counterpart. With wisps of mane shrouding her gaze, Starlight stared forward, forcing herself to break the silence, despite the emotion stirring in Nutcracker’s verdant eyes.

“Princess Celestia has banned the use of tear gas for over a century… Whatever could Eightball mean?”

Nutcracker shook his head, slipping into the barracks as soon as he came upon them, half-murmuring in reply;

“He doesn’t know.”