GBOYHVerse—Dented Ironby Dragonborne FoxChaptersChapter I- NewspaperChapter II- Resigned DecisionsChapter III- Irregular PaperChapter I- NewspaperA middle-aged earth pony stallion, one sporting a dark grey coat, iron grey eyes and a slicked-back mane matching in color, walked down an aisle of cubicles with practiced ease. All around him, ponies worked at typewriters, printing presses, amid stacks of paper and staplers galore, filling the entire floor with the chorus of industrious, unceasing work. His eyes darted this way and that, leering at ponies from one angle or another as he walked. Some cowed with whimpers and worked faster, while others had the sensibility of keeping their backs turned to him and their faces fixed towards their typewriters. He rounded a corner of a leftmost cubicle with a huff, letting himself don the smallest of smiles upon seeing that it lead straight to a far wall with a set of double doors right where he could see them. His walk started anew before turning into a slight trot, but his eyes still averted every which-way they possibly could. His smile grew when he saw that nopony was slacking, and so his slight trot turned into a brisk one almost bordering on a gallop. It took him two minutes to reach the double doors, and he lifted a hoof to part one of them away from its mate before striding into whatever room was beyond. He found himself in a fairly large office, one that had bookshelves sitting to one wall that were lined with books about business practices. Some books were worn and had scratched covers, as if abused or perhaps in disuse. Others were newer things, pristine and polished in a way that made them seem as though made of glass. To the other side of this room sat a few lounging couches with a small coffee table between them, and the entire set had a large and expansive window right behind it. His eyes fell upon a mahogany desk in the center, one with a throne-like chair of oak behind it, a neat and small stack of folded papers atop of it, and to one side of the desk sat a small plaque bearing the initials 'I.H.'. The stallion trotted to the desk, then around it to sit up in the chair. Once he got himself situated and comfortable, his smile dropped to give way to a straight face as his front hooves came to tap at each other upon the desk before him. "I wonder who I should give the Employee of the Month title to," he mused to none but himself, and in so low a voice he himself barely heard it. "Everypony's working so diligently it's becoming hard to choose as of late…" Silence befell the office, though only for a second as the pony turned to the stack of papers at the side. His brow rose when he saw various words framed in boxes dotting the face of the stack, and he lifted a hoof before pushing them towards himself from the opposite corner. Then he slid his front hoof under the stack before he picked it up, bringing it closer to his face as he began reading. The paper immediately slid off of his hoof and landed on the desk, though the hoof itself was still raised and it started to slightly shake. The stallion's eyes went wide, his pupils shrank, and some hairs of his mane immediately frayed right out of place. "H-Helping… is in j-jail?" he stammered, his voice equal parts disbelieving and outright mortified. He scooped up the paper frantically and peered closer at it with narrowing eyes, as though his gaze alone could set it on fire. His other hoof shot up and unfurled the stack, and he started flipping through it until he saw another framed box that contained more details—details that caused his heart to skip one beat and pulse harder on the subsequent three. Details he'd least expected—and never in his wildest dreams ever wanted to see come to pass in his lifetime—scrawled onto that very page. Taunting him. Judging him. His chest tightened and his jaw shook in a way that his teeth began chattering intermittently, his mind almost entirely shutting down as he read what that box of information beheld. Worse, it had two grayscale pictures to one side, one with a unicorn mare sporting a cracked horn and the other an earth pony stallion with a black eye. "C-Checkmate… in an asylum? H-how…" Words died in his throat as he continued to stare, and he did not notice nor care as the papers started sliding from his hooves again. The very world went still around him, time froze, his vision turned muzzy, sound all but ceased to exist, and his body felt as if turning into stone. He was left to his own thoughts, fast-fleeting and dwindling in number until only one remained, pounding itself about his skull with enough force to leave just the dullest of aches. "H-Helping… in jail… C-Checkmate… asylum..." "Mr. Hoof?" a masculine voice called out as the doors opened, yet the stallion just stared vacantly ahead, seemingly stiff with front hooves still raised. "Mr. Hoof?" the owner of the voice repeated to no avail, as the pony he addressed did not budge so much as an inch. The intruder trotted over to the desk, making his steps as quick and loud as possible in an attempt to rouse the pony who remained unbidden to movement. Alas, he had no such luck—the poor pony who had previously made workers whimper with his gaze alone seemed transfixed in his current position; paralyzed, even. Perhaps 'petrified' would have been a much better word for the state he was in. It took another hoof raising up and pounding on the desk to get his attention, and the stallion slowly focused his eyes to find another before him. The second stallion sported a concerned frown, a slanted brow, a beige coat and a peach-colored mane. "Mr. Iron Hoof? Are you well?" the beige stallion queried in a sincere voice, with particular emphasis on the first name of whom he asked. Iron Hoof swallowed thickly. "Not at all… I just received the latest tabloid, and all things considered, I wish I hadn't," he answered in a subdued tone. He forced himself to assume a straight face again, though it took some seconds and a hoof going up to slick the stray hairs of his mane back into place before he could re-acquire the look of a trained professional. Even so, his eyes still shimmered with visible sparks of dread. "But I assume you're here for something else, Thumbtack. What is it that you need, apart for concern of my well-being?" Iron asked, his voice cracking a little when 'concern' left his mouth, though otherwise it remained flat and monotone. "Well, sir, I was wondering if we should stop investing money into Monarch Incorporated, since they went under heavy investigation three months ago," Thumbtack answered, his lips twitching slightly downward. "I-it wouldn't do well f-for us to invest i-in them any longer..." Iron's eyes widened again, and he turned to the newspaper stack. It didn't take long to find its printed-by date, and he turned back to Thumbtack again after having confirmed his statement. "Why did you neglect to tell me this until now?" he snarled, eyes immediately narrowing to grey slits. Thumbtack flinched and his ears pinned back. "W-word only came o-out recently, s-sir. Every b-branch of Monarch Incorporated in this s-side of M-Manehatten got temporarily closed down by r-royal guards last n-night," he stammered. Iron Hoof's ears gave the slightest twitch. "By royal guards? Why would they need to busy themselves with Checkmate's business branches?" he asked in a very low voice, albeit one that had a deep snarl rumbling out of his throat as he spoke. Thumbtack's pupils shrank to the size of his namesake. "Ch-Checkmate… used her company to p-perform sh-shady activities, s-sir. Th-the whole business is s-still under investigation," he answered uneasily. Iron's brow lifted no more than an inch higher than was normal. "Care to elaborate," he asked tersely, though it came out more like a demand than a question. Thumbtack's jaw jittered slightly as he elaborated, "She… used blackmail, a-and tried to u-use illegal m-magics, a-and bribed ponies…" Iron Hoof let off a sigh, and took a moment to gather himself. "Of course, standard accusations… why am I surprised?" he mumbled sarcastically, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he gravely shook his head. He then leveled a flat stare at Thumbtack that all but froze him to the spot. "The guards and Princess Celestia know not an iota of how we business tycoons work, Thumbtack. Sooner or later Checkmate will get her freedom back, and sooner or later my son Helping will do likewise to claim all of this—" He lifted a hoof and made a sweeping gesture about the office. "—as soon as I either retire, or simply cease to breathe." "I-I don't think bits could g-get Checkmate out of an asylum, sir," Thumbtack stammered, his front legs trembling slightly, almost threatening to buckle. "Sh-she suffered Cutie Mark Failure Insanity…" Iron Hoof dropped his front hooves on the table, almost slamming them upon the desk in a manner reminiscent of gavels. "Cutie Mark… Failure Insanity?" he repeated slowly and coldly, causing Thumbtack to hurriedly nod. "Y-yes, sir," Thumbtack answered. "The a-asylum she's a-at wouldn't even take a t-trillion bits to let her walk free because of th-the Insanity she's been diagnosed with..." He paused to swallow before finishing, "But the pri-prison, on th-the other hoof… you c-could get your son ac-acquitted." Iron Hoof sighed and closed his eyes. "Once I do get Helping acquitted, he had best explain himself. This is the last time I am indulging in his little charades attempts. After that, he's helping with this business, and Princess nor prison is going to stop me from seeing to it that he does," he hissed, slowly standing up from his seat on just his back legs. His eyes snapped open. "Manage the business while I am gone, Thumbtack. Consider this your punishment for neglecting to inform me of this travesty sooner." Chapter II- Resigned DecisionsIn hindsight, such a rash decision would have made most ponies think twice about what it was they were going to do, especially when it came to current income and similar things of that nature. Family was a very close second, though only for the truly greedy and careless. But Iron Hoof was not particularly keen to settle with most ponies on that specific side of the fence. He never really was. Thinking twice was the last thing on his mind that day. The moment he'd gotten home, he'd packed his suitcase and gathered bits for the impending trip and then ran to the first train that would take him to Canterlot. Part of him was wondering what in the bloody Tartarus his son Helping went and did to get himself incarcerated, but part of him was inclined to not know the specifics. Iron wouldn't have liked to admit it, but the turn of phrase 'ignorance is bliss' had some grain of truth after all. And what a truth had him gobsmacked, indeed. Even so, he had his reservations. It was one thing to learn his own son got canned, but another different ball game altogether to actually go and visit him. Doubly so, since he didn't know anything having happened until three bloody months passed, and with little on the specifics thereof to boot. He made a mental note to punish Thumbtack some more when all was said and done. As Iron settled into his cab, he couldn't help but wonder. "My son, if you really did get incarcerated of your own volition…" A scowl crossed his face, but he seized his facial muscles to prevent himself from baring and clenching his teeth. "Celestia so help me, the klink will be a lot easier on you in comparison…" His grim expression eased, however, as another thought crossed his mind. "But if you were falsely accused…" He shuddered at the notion. Who would have the heart to do such a thing? What reason did anypony have to bear false witness; what grudge possessed them to pull it off? How successful were they, for that matter? Was he canned for life? A couple of years? Iron's mental gears began turning, and it wasn't all too long before questions began piling up in the recesses of his mind. "Then who accused you? Why?" He felt a pang of guilt and sorrow that was strong enough to make his chest ache and cause him to wince, but it was brief. The notion that somepony would bestow such a fate on his son was enough to spark his fuse. Somepony was going to pay dearly if such a hunch turned out to be true. His ears started folding back as the scowl returned full force, and this time his eyes flashed with a dangerous light of righteous anger at nothing in particular. "Whoever your accuser is, I'll be sure to make them wish they had never opened their mouths. Not even Celestia herself would be able to save them from my wrath…" Little did Iron know what he was really in for. As soon as the train whistled and the wheels started turning, there was no turning back. His mind was too firmly made up at that point, too entrenched in his goal beyond reason. He had to get Helping out of jail. He had to get answers. He had to make sure his successor could get a good hoof-hold for when he ceased to breathe. No matter the cost. No matter if he had to trot through the very pits of Tartarus to do so. ~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~ At that exact moment in Canterlot, several armored guards had gathered before Celestia in the throne room in a single line, all of their snowy white muzzles affixed with deep frowns so thin and tight they seemed to be stuck that way. Each guard did not even flinch as a gaze of magenta fell onto them before passing over to the next stallion in line. Celestia herself was wearing a tight frown, but it was much smaller in comparison to those that the ponies in her retinue were wearing. Finally, she spoke in a calm voice that masked all other emotions, "Have you found anything?" One stallion somewhere in the middle of the line stepped up and bowed. "We have found nothing, Your Highness. We're still searching under every filing cabinet and desk for any other shred of illegal, shady wrongdoings," he answered, his tone low and grim. Celestia's brow furrowed, though only slightly. "I see," she muttered, her voice just as glum as that of the guard who'd stepped up. She'd decided to change the subject, even if only a wee bit, "How much evidence have you accrued thus far?" The bowing guard rose onto his hooves. "Not a whole lot," he muttered. "And most of what we have is… it blurs the line between legal and illegal. We're still trying to discern which of the two it falls in." His frown deepened. "If there is one thing I cannot fault Checker Monarch for, it's her impeccable penmareship." Celestia nodded at that. "Anything on the employees?" she pressed. The guard shook his head again. "With the exception of Helping, all of the employees do not have any black marks or criminal records to their names. There may be a few who went under the radar, but if so, we haven't found those ones yet. The employees in Monarch Inc.'s various branches are cooperative, which at least makes this whole investigation go a lot more smoothly," he reported. Celestia smiled at that. "I see," she cooed gently, her relief at that bit of good news evident in her voice. "And how is Helping Hoof doing?" The guard broke out into a smile that he did not bother to hide. "Just earned his cutie mark for real," he reported. "It's sad to see him earn it incarcerated, but… but it's something he genuinely enjoys doing." "Oh?" Celestia started beaming at that. "What is his special talent?" "Theatrics. That colt's a natural born actor," the guard answered. "Should we throw a cute-ceañera for him?" Celestia's smile fell a little, and she lifted a hoof to idly tap her chin at that. After giving it some thought, she nodded and lowered her hoof. "Since his crimes are minor in comparison to Checker's, and he did cooperate, I don't see why not," she answered. The rest of the retinue started grinning, and with nods and "Yes, Your Highness" leaving their mouths at once, they turned tail and trotted out of the throne room with their spirits lifted. The moment the doors opened and closed behind them, Celestia raised her hoof again to rub her temples with a sigh. "Mayhaps I should call off the investigation, if nothing else turns up…" she muttered under her breath with a sigh of resignation leaving her mouth. Author's Note While this chapter is a bit underwhelming (IMO, anyway), I strongly felt I had to end it on this note for the sake of worldbuilding and a bit of backstory. Chapter III- Irregular PaperThe train ground to a halt at the station with a screeching of the wheels followed by an eerie, ear-piercing whistle. The whistle echoed incessantly for a moment, only to give way to a brief silence heralded by the pumps of the engine ceasing with one last push. Silence held for a moment, but then the doors of the train slid open and out stumbled the assorted menagerie who had reached their stop. Amongst them was Iron Hoof, face passive but stoic as he took a moment to scan his surroundings. As was usual for the capital-slash-tourist-attraction, Canterlot was already in full swing. The hustle and bustle didn't match that of Manehattan; in fact, it was far more refined and dignified than that due to the density of rich and noble ponies here, but there was a hustle and bustle nonetheless thanks to the disembarking crowd. Clamor rang as the crowd split upon various streets, as distracted as mice tempted with cheese and as loud as a protesting rabble. Iron Hoof inhaled deeply, and only once. With a drawn out exhale, he set out onto those same streets himself, refusing to mingle with the fracturing crowd as they went to various attractions as commoners were wont to do. Unlike them, he had purpose. Unlike them, he already had a destination in mind. Hoofstep by hoofstep, he'd get there—and as much as he was loathe to admit it, some part of him was hoping things would turn out well. Paying heed to the road, the other ponies in it, and of course the occasional royal guard stationed here and there, he had little room and time to let his mind wander. A tiny part of him was concocting up vengeful ideas upon which to strike whatever had slighted his son—his heir of a business empire. Parlay with them and the crowd, he did not—answers took precedence over all else, and so help him he'd get those answers one way or another. Unfortunately, trouble reared its head when he parted from the main rabble and found himself meandering down a less-busy sidestreet. He ran into a papercolt standing crudely on his hinds, the morning edition in his flailing front hooves and a dozen tightly-tied stacks more or less next to him. "Extra! Extra!" the papercolt howled. "Get the latest news in business and politics!" Iron Hoof, frowning, trotted to the papercolt. "The latest news?" he parroted, drawing the attention onto him in the form of a one-pony audience. "Strange he'd prattle on about such news here instead of one of the more busier streets," he noted in the back of his mind. "Yeah; seems nopony's interested, though…" the papercolt said, ears turning back as the slightest hint of dejection flickered in his eyes. "Tell ya what, I'll give you the extra for free since nopony else wants it." Iron Hoof, bemused at this, could only nod. He took the paper and put it across his back. "I'll have to indulge it later; I've places to be. Thank you for your time," he said. "Don't mention it," the papercolt replied, watching as Iron Hoof trotted out of the sidestreet and onto a main road. Iron Hoof trotted on, though as he wandered, he found himself pondering… why hadn't that paper sold, if it was the latest in business and politics? Had the papercolt lied to him, just to give out one scrap of folded paper? A niggling feeling dug into his senses, itching and writhing and refusing to go away no matter how far he went. And the more it lingered, the more it started to irritate him. But he still trotted on; the niggling feeling could be answered to later, when time was more of a convenient commodity. ~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~ Within Canterlot's dungeons, ill-lit with flickering torchlight, sat some of the condemned within their cells. Behind wooden doors sporting thin, ill-spaced bars with only enough room to peek out of, some of the condemned were chatting amiably. Amongst the pairs of eyes that decided to look out into the hall with the armed guards were was a particular prisoner. "So, Heavy Lock, what're you in here for?" said particular asked. "Well Helping Hoof… I'm here for breaking and entering and petty thievery. You?" Heavy Lock responded, his voice less than lukewarm. "Helping in illegal activities on a business front… and falsifying my cutie mark," Helping Hoof said. An awkward silence held in the dungeons. "Falsifying… are you for real?" Heavy Lock asked, rather incredulously. It was difficult to gauge which cell he was in, let alone his expression… but Helping surmised he was rather shocked. "Yes. I've only earned my cutie mark for real yesterday," Helping answered with a heavy sigh. "Let's just say I couldn't earn it sooner if I tried." "... why?" Heavy Lock asked. Another weary sigh answered him. "Extenuating circumstances, extremely personal," Helping replied, a small amount of venom in his voice. "But isn't falsifying your cutie mark a minor offense?" Heavy Lock tried. "Only if you were a blank flank like me—neck-deep in trouble, whilst a young adult as it were," Helping replied, a mite sarcastically. Heavy could almost hear the nostalgic smile in his voice as he added, "Surprised I got a cute-ceañera yesterday." "... so that's why there was cake?" Heavy Lock asked, surprised. "Mhm," Helping hummed, nodding even though he was sure Heavy Lock couldn't see him doing it. "Oh, if Father found me now…" "Would he like it?" Heavy Lock asked. "I mean, I've not heard of a lot of ponies being blank flanks after graduating school." The dungeon chilled a little as the answer came, "No. He would not." Helping's mood audibly dropped as he added, "I'm almost dreading leaving the dungeons because of him." Heavy Lock guessed after a moment had passed in silence, "... bad blood?" "Like you would not believe," Helping answered, stomping a hoof. The noise echoed for a moment before fading. "Here… here is strict, but nice. Father—" Heavy Lock winced at the growing venom spat with the word, "—was more strict and less nice than Checker Monarch." A pair of eyes retracted from the bars of the door, followed by an audible whump as somepony threw himself on the bed of his cell. "I could make thirteen different lists of what he had me do growing up, and none of them are pleasant." Another silence hung. This time, Heavy Lock paused, trying to figure out what to say. A nearby guard beat him to the punch, though. "We'll be with you in case any unexpected visits happen before then. We'll keep your dad in line, don't worry too much." An exasperated chuckle left a cell before Helping weakly said, "Thank you…" "Don't mention it," the guard replied, unaware of the coming storm that was making its way to the palace.
Chapter I- NewspaperA middle-aged earth pony stallion, one sporting a dark grey coat, iron grey eyes and a slicked-back mane matching in color, walked down an aisle of cubicles with practiced ease. All around him, ponies worked at typewriters, printing presses, amid stacks of paper and staplers galore, filling the entire floor with the chorus of industrious, unceasing work. His eyes darted this way and that, leering at ponies from one angle or another as he walked. Some cowed with whimpers and worked faster, while others had the sensibility of keeping their backs turned to him and their faces fixed towards their typewriters. He rounded a corner of a leftmost cubicle with a huff, letting himself don the smallest of smiles upon seeing that it lead straight to a far wall with a set of double doors right where he could see them. His walk started anew before turning into a slight trot, but his eyes still averted every which-way they possibly could. His smile grew when he saw that nopony was slacking, and so his slight trot turned into a brisk one almost bordering on a gallop. It took him two minutes to reach the double doors, and he lifted a hoof to part one of them away from its mate before striding into whatever room was beyond. He found himself in a fairly large office, one that had bookshelves sitting to one wall that were lined with books about business practices. Some books were worn and had scratched covers, as if abused or perhaps in disuse. Others were newer things, pristine and polished in a way that made them seem as though made of glass. To the other side of this room sat a few lounging couches with a small coffee table between them, and the entire set had a large and expansive window right behind it. His eyes fell upon a mahogany desk in the center, one with a throne-like chair of oak behind it, a neat and small stack of folded papers atop of it, and to one side of the desk sat a small plaque bearing the initials 'I.H.'. The stallion trotted to the desk, then around it to sit up in the chair. Once he got himself situated and comfortable, his smile dropped to give way to a straight face as his front hooves came to tap at each other upon the desk before him. "I wonder who I should give the Employee of the Month title to," he mused to none but himself, and in so low a voice he himself barely heard it. "Everypony's working so diligently it's becoming hard to choose as of late…" Silence befell the office, though only for a second as the pony turned to the stack of papers at the side. His brow rose when he saw various words framed in boxes dotting the face of the stack, and he lifted a hoof before pushing them towards himself from the opposite corner. Then he slid his front hoof under the stack before he picked it up, bringing it closer to his face as he began reading. The paper immediately slid off of his hoof and landed on the desk, though the hoof itself was still raised and it started to slightly shake. The stallion's eyes went wide, his pupils shrank, and some hairs of his mane immediately frayed right out of place. "H-Helping… is in j-jail?" he stammered, his voice equal parts disbelieving and outright mortified. He scooped up the paper frantically and peered closer at it with narrowing eyes, as though his gaze alone could set it on fire. His other hoof shot up and unfurled the stack, and he started flipping through it until he saw another framed box that contained more details—details that caused his heart to skip one beat and pulse harder on the subsequent three. Details he'd least expected—and never in his wildest dreams ever wanted to see come to pass in his lifetime—scrawled onto that very page. Taunting him. Judging him. His chest tightened and his jaw shook in a way that his teeth began chattering intermittently, his mind almost entirely shutting down as he read what that box of information beheld. Worse, it had two grayscale pictures to one side, one with a unicorn mare sporting a cracked horn and the other an earth pony stallion with a black eye. "C-Checkmate… in an asylum? H-how…" Words died in his throat as he continued to stare, and he did not notice nor care as the papers started sliding from his hooves again. The very world went still around him, time froze, his vision turned muzzy, sound all but ceased to exist, and his body felt as if turning into stone. He was left to his own thoughts, fast-fleeting and dwindling in number until only one remained, pounding itself about his skull with enough force to leave just the dullest of aches. "H-Helping… in jail… C-Checkmate… asylum..." "Mr. Hoof?" a masculine voice called out as the doors opened, yet the stallion just stared vacantly ahead, seemingly stiff with front hooves still raised. "Mr. Hoof?" the owner of the voice repeated to no avail, as the pony he addressed did not budge so much as an inch. The intruder trotted over to the desk, making his steps as quick and loud as possible in an attempt to rouse the pony who remained unbidden to movement. Alas, he had no such luck—the poor pony who had previously made workers whimper with his gaze alone seemed transfixed in his current position; paralyzed, even. Perhaps 'petrified' would have been a much better word for the state he was in. It took another hoof raising up and pounding on the desk to get his attention, and the stallion slowly focused his eyes to find another before him. The second stallion sported a concerned frown, a slanted brow, a beige coat and a peach-colored mane. "Mr. Iron Hoof? Are you well?" the beige stallion queried in a sincere voice, with particular emphasis on the first name of whom he asked. Iron Hoof swallowed thickly. "Not at all… I just received the latest tabloid, and all things considered, I wish I hadn't," he answered in a subdued tone. He forced himself to assume a straight face again, though it took some seconds and a hoof going up to slick the stray hairs of his mane back into place before he could re-acquire the look of a trained professional. Even so, his eyes still shimmered with visible sparks of dread. "But I assume you're here for something else, Thumbtack. What is it that you need, apart for concern of my well-being?" Iron asked, his voice cracking a little when 'concern' left his mouth, though otherwise it remained flat and monotone. "Well, sir, I was wondering if we should stop investing money into Monarch Incorporated, since they went under heavy investigation three months ago," Thumbtack answered, his lips twitching slightly downward. "I-it wouldn't do well f-for us to invest i-in them any longer..." Iron's eyes widened again, and he turned to the newspaper stack. It didn't take long to find its printed-by date, and he turned back to Thumbtack again after having confirmed his statement. "Why did you neglect to tell me this until now?" he snarled, eyes immediately narrowing to grey slits. Thumbtack flinched and his ears pinned back. "W-word only came o-out recently, s-sir. Every b-branch of Monarch Incorporated in this s-side of M-Manehatten got temporarily closed down by r-royal guards last n-night," he stammered. Iron Hoof's ears gave the slightest twitch. "By royal guards? Why would they need to busy themselves with Checkmate's business branches?" he asked in a very low voice, albeit one that had a deep snarl rumbling out of his throat as he spoke. Thumbtack's pupils shrank to the size of his namesake. "Ch-Checkmate… used her company to p-perform sh-shady activities, s-sir. Th-the whole business is s-still under investigation," he answered uneasily. Iron's brow lifted no more than an inch higher than was normal. "Care to elaborate," he asked tersely, though it came out more like a demand than a question. Thumbtack's jaw jittered slightly as he elaborated, "She… used blackmail, a-and tried to u-use illegal m-magics, a-and bribed ponies…" Iron Hoof let off a sigh, and took a moment to gather himself. "Of course, standard accusations… why am I surprised?" he mumbled sarcastically, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he gravely shook his head. He then leveled a flat stare at Thumbtack that all but froze him to the spot. "The guards and Princess Celestia know not an iota of how we business tycoons work, Thumbtack. Sooner or later Checkmate will get her freedom back, and sooner or later my son Helping will do likewise to claim all of this—" He lifted a hoof and made a sweeping gesture about the office. "—as soon as I either retire, or simply cease to breathe." "I-I don't think bits could g-get Checkmate out of an asylum, sir," Thumbtack stammered, his front legs trembling slightly, almost threatening to buckle. "Sh-she suffered Cutie Mark Failure Insanity…" Iron Hoof dropped his front hooves on the table, almost slamming them upon the desk in a manner reminiscent of gavels. "Cutie Mark… Failure Insanity?" he repeated slowly and coldly, causing Thumbtack to hurriedly nod. "Y-yes, sir," Thumbtack answered. "The a-asylum she's a-at wouldn't even take a t-trillion bits to let her walk free because of th-the Insanity she's been diagnosed with..." He paused to swallow before finishing, "But the pri-prison, on th-the other hoof… you c-could get your son ac-acquitted." Iron Hoof sighed and closed his eyes. "Once I do get Helping acquitted, he had best explain himself. This is the last time I am indulging in his little charades attempts. After that, he's helping with this business, and Princess nor prison is going to stop me from seeing to it that he does," he hissed, slowly standing up from his seat on just his back legs. His eyes snapped open. "Manage the business while I am gone, Thumbtack. Consider this your punishment for neglecting to inform me of this travesty sooner."
Chapter II- Resigned DecisionsIn hindsight, such a rash decision would have made most ponies think twice about what it was they were going to do, especially when it came to current income and similar things of that nature. Family was a very close second, though only for the truly greedy and careless. But Iron Hoof was not particularly keen to settle with most ponies on that specific side of the fence. He never really was. Thinking twice was the last thing on his mind that day. The moment he'd gotten home, he'd packed his suitcase and gathered bits for the impending trip and then ran to the first train that would take him to Canterlot. Part of him was wondering what in the bloody Tartarus his son Helping went and did to get himself incarcerated, but part of him was inclined to not know the specifics. Iron wouldn't have liked to admit it, but the turn of phrase 'ignorance is bliss' had some grain of truth after all. And what a truth had him gobsmacked, indeed. Even so, he had his reservations. It was one thing to learn his own son got canned, but another different ball game altogether to actually go and visit him. Doubly so, since he didn't know anything having happened until three bloody months passed, and with little on the specifics thereof to boot. He made a mental note to punish Thumbtack some more when all was said and done. As Iron settled into his cab, he couldn't help but wonder. "My son, if you really did get incarcerated of your own volition…" A scowl crossed his face, but he seized his facial muscles to prevent himself from baring and clenching his teeth. "Celestia so help me, the klink will be a lot easier on you in comparison…" His grim expression eased, however, as another thought crossed his mind. "But if you were falsely accused…" He shuddered at the notion. Who would have the heart to do such a thing? What reason did anypony have to bear false witness; what grudge possessed them to pull it off? How successful were they, for that matter? Was he canned for life? A couple of years? Iron's mental gears began turning, and it wasn't all too long before questions began piling up in the recesses of his mind. "Then who accused you? Why?" He felt a pang of guilt and sorrow that was strong enough to make his chest ache and cause him to wince, but it was brief. The notion that somepony would bestow such a fate on his son was enough to spark his fuse. Somepony was going to pay dearly if such a hunch turned out to be true. His ears started folding back as the scowl returned full force, and this time his eyes flashed with a dangerous light of righteous anger at nothing in particular. "Whoever your accuser is, I'll be sure to make them wish they had never opened their mouths. Not even Celestia herself would be able to save them from my wrath…" Little did Iron know what he was really in for. As soon as the train whistled and the wheels started turning, there was no turning back. His mind was too firmly made up at that point, too entrenched in his goal beyond reason. He had to get Helping out of jail. He had to get answers. He had to make sure his successor could get a good hoof-hold for when he ceased to breathe. No matter the cost. No matter if he had to trot through the very pits of Tartarus to do so. ~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~ At that exact moment in Canterlot, several armored guards had gathered before Celestia in the throne room in a single line, all of their snowy white muzzles affixed with deep frowns so thin and tight they seemed to be stuck that way. Each guard did not even flinch as a gaze of magenta fell onto them before passing over to the next stallion in line. Celestia herself was wearing a tight frown, but it was much smaller in comparison to those that the ponies in her retinue were wearing. Finally, she spoke in a calm voice that masked all other emotions, "Have you found anything?" One stallion somewhere in the middle of the line stepped up and bowed. "We have found nothing, Your Highness. We're still searching under every filing cabinet and desk for any other shred of illegal, shady wrongdoings," he answered, his tone low and grim. Celestia's brow furrowed, though only slightly. "I see," she muttered, her voice just as glum as that of the guard who'd stepped up. She'd decided to change the subject, even if only a wee bit, "How much evidence have you accrued thus far?" The bowing guard rose onto his hooves. "Not a whole lot," he muttered. "And most of what we have is… it blurs the line between legal and illegal. We're still trying to discern which of the two it falls in." His frown deepened. "If there is one thing I cannot fault Checker Monarch for, it's her impeccable penmareship." Celestia nodded at that. "Anything on the employees?" she pressed. The guard shook his head again. "With the exception of Helping, all of the employees do not have any black marks or criminal records to their names. There may be a few who went under the radar, but if so, we haven't found those ones yet. The employees in Monarch Inc.'s various branches are cooperative, which at least makes this whole investigation go a lot more smoothly," he reported. Celestia smiled at that. "I see," she cooed gently, her relief at that bit of good news evident in her voice. "And how is Helping Hoof doing?" The guard broke out into a smile that he did not bother to hide. "Just earned his cutie mark for real," he reported. "It's sad to see him earn it incarcerated, but… but it's something he genuinely enjoys doing." "Oh?" Celestia started beaming at that. "What is his special talent?" "Theatrics. That colt's a natural born actor," the guard answered. "Should we throw a cute-ceañera for him?" Celestia's smile fell a little, and she lifted a hoof to idly tap her chin at that. After giving it some thought, she nodded and lowered her hoof. "Since his crimes are minor in comparison to Checker's, and he did cooperate, I don't see why not," she answered. The rest of the retinue started grinning, and with nods and "Yes, Your Highness" leaving their mouths at once, they turned tail and trotted out of the throne room with their spirits lifted. The moment the doors opened and closed behind them, Celestia raised her hoof again to rub her temples with a sigh. "Mayhaps I should call off the investigation, if nothing else turns up…" she muttered under her breath with a sigh of resignation leaving her mouth. Author's Note While this chapter is a bit underwhelming (IMO, anyway), I strongly felt I had to end it on this note for the sake of worldbuilding and a bit of backstory.
Chapter III- Irregular PaperThe train ground to a halt at the station with a screeching of the wheels followed by an eerie, ear-piercing whistle. The whistle echoed incessantly for a moment, only to give way to a brief silence heralded by the pumps of the engine ceasing with one last push. Silence held for a moment, but then the doors of the train slid open and out stumbled the assorted menagerie who had reached their stop. Amongst them was Iron Hoof, face passive but stoic as he took a moment to scan his surroundings. As was usual for the capital-slash-tourist-attraction, Canterlot was already in full swing. The hustle and bustle didn't match that of Manehattan; in fact, it was far more refined and dignified than that due to the density of rich and noble ponies here, but there was a hustle and bustle nonetheless thanks to the disembarking crowd. Clamor rang as the crowd split upon various streets, as distracted as mice tempted with cheese and as loud as a protesting rabble. Iron Hoof inhaled deeply, and only once. With a drawn out exhale, he set out onto those same streets himself, refusing to mingle with the fracturing crowd as they went to various attractions as commoners were wont to do. Unlike them, he had purpose. Unlike them, he already had a destination in mind. Hoofstep by hoofstep, he'd get there—and as much as he was loathe to admit it, some part of him was hoping things would turn out well. Paying heed to the road, the other ponies in it, and of course the occasional royal guard stationed here and there, he had little room and time to let his mind wander. A tiny part of him was concocting up vengeful ideas upon which to strike whatever had slighted his son—his heir of a business empire. Parlay with them and the crowd, he did not—answers took precedence over all else, and so help him he'd get those answers one way or another. Unfortunately, trouble reared its head when he parted from the main rabble and found himself meandering down a less-busy sidestreet. He ran into a papercolt standing crudely on his hinds, the morning edition in his flailing front hooves and a dozen tightly-tied stacks more or less next to him. "Extra! Extra!" the papercolt howled. "Get the latest news in business and politics!" Iron Hoof, frowning, trotted to the papercolt. "The latest news?" he parroted, drawing the attention onto him in the form of a one-pony audience. "Strange he'd prattle on about such news here instead of one of the more busier streets," he noted in the back of his mind. "Yeah; seems nopony's interested, though…" the papercolt said, ears turning back as the slightest hint of dejection flickered in his eyes. "Tell ya what, I'll give you the extra for free since nopony else wants it." Iron Hoof, bemused at this, could only nod. He took the paper and put it across his back. "I'll have to indulge it later; I've places to be. Thank you for your time," he said. "Don't mention it," the papercolt replied, watching as Iron Hoof trotted out of the sidestreet and onto a main road. Iron Hoof trotted on, though as he wandered, he found himself pondering… why hadn't that paper sold, if it was the latest in business and politics? Had the papercolt lied to him, just to give out one scrap of folded paper? A niggling feeling dug into his senses, itching and writhing and refusing to go away no matter how far he went. And the more it lingered, the more it started to irritate him. But he still trotted on; the niggling feeling could be answered to later, when time was more of a convenient commodity. ~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~ Within Canterlot's dungeons, ill-lit with flickering torchlight, sat some of the condemned within their cells. Behind wooden doors sporting thin, ill-spaced bars with only enough room to peek out of, some of the condemned were chatting amiably. Amongst the pairs of eyes that decided to look out into the hall with the armed guards were was a particular prisoner. "So, Heavy Lock, what're you in here for?" said particular asked. "Well Helping Hoof… I'm here for breaking and entering and petty thievery. You?" Heavy Lock responded, his voice less than lukewarm. "Helping in illegal activities on a business front… and falsifying my cutie mark," Helping Hoof said. An awkward silence held in the dungeons. "Falsifying… are you for real?" Heavy Lock asked, rather incredulously. It was difficult to gauge which cell he was in, let alone his expression… but Helping surmised he was rather shocked. "Yes. I've only earned my cutie mark for real yesterday," Helping answered with a heavy sigh. "Let's just say I couldn't earn it sooner if I tried." "... why?" Heavy Lock asked. Another weary sigh answered him. "Extenuating circumstances, extremely personal," Helping replied, a small amount of venom in his voice. "But isn't falsifying your cutie mark a minor offense?" Heavy Lock tried. "Only if you were a blank flank like me—neck-deep in trouble, whilst a young adult as it were," Helping replied, a mite sarcastically. Heavy could almost hear the nostalgic smile in his voice as he added, "Surprised I got a cute-ceañera yesterday." "... so that's why there was cake?" Heavy Lock asked, surprised. "Mhm," Helping hummed, nodding even though he was sure Heavy Lock couldn't see him doing it. "Oh, if Father found me now…" "Would he like it?" Heavy Lock asked. "I mean, I've not heard of a lot of ponies being blank flanks after graduating school." The dungeon chilled a little as the answer came, "No. He would not." Helping's mood audibly dropped as he added, "I'm almost dreading leaving the dungeons because of him." Heavy Lock guessed after a moment had passed in silence, "... bad blood?" "Like you would not believe," Helping answered, stomping a hoof. The noise echoed for a moment before fading. "Here… here is strict, but nice. Father—" Heavy Lock winced at the growing venom spat with the word, "—was more strict and less nice than Checker Monarch." A pair of eyes retracted from the bars of the door, followed by an audible whump as somepony threw himself on the bed of his cell. "I could make thirteen different lists of what he had me do growing up, and none of them are pleasant." Another silence hung. This time, Heavy Lock paused, trying to figure out what to say. A nearby guard beat him to the punch, though. "We'll be with you in case any unexpected visits happen before then. We'll keep your dad in line, don't worry too much." An exasperated chuckle left a cell before Helping weakly said, "Thank you…" "Don't mention it," the guard replied, unaware of the coming storm that was making its way to the palace.
