Fillydelphia Night

“Hey. Hey, Bit. You okay?”

I blearily open my eyes, groan. My face feels two times as big as it normally does, sticky and throbbing, and the rest of my body just generally aches like a motherfucker. Clever helps me to sit up against the side of the bed. He appears to be eating a fruit salad.

“No,” I say, spitting blood onto the carpet. “No, I am not. Pretty fucking far from it, actually.”

“Oh,” says Clever, chewing on a strawberry. “I’m sorry you got beaten up. Again. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Celestia, I’d give anything for a drink,” I moan, wallowing in self-pity. “I’d sell my fucking soul for just a single glass of the pissiest beer right now!”

“I know! I’ll make you a cup of coffee,” Clever tells me brightly. “Latte, right? Warm and milky?”

“Booze,” I whine. “Booze. Fuck coffee. Fuck my liver. I want alcohol.”

“Now, now, Bit,” Clever says sternly, “that’s not going to help, so let’s not go down that tree again. You’ve had more than enough for one night.”

“Fuck you!” I shout at my friend halfheartedly. “Alcohol is a depressant, you sack of shit! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Clever gets up, makes his way toward the kitchen. “Well, I’m making you coffee, whether you like it or not.”

“Caffeine is a stimulant!” I bawl at him. “FUCKING SADIST! Next, you’ll be putting salt in my face! Next, you’ll be taking me to watch a… a musical! With foals! Fuck you, Clever, you’re a… you’re a… contemptible… cock-sucking sociopath in need of many fucking years of therapy!”

Eventually, Clever returns. He quietly sits himself down across from me on the floor and pushes a gently steaming mug in my direction, a small smile. I pick it up wordlessly, glare at him, drink. It’s a surprisingly well-made latte, the right temperature, well-blended, and the perfect amount of milk and sugar, but there’s not a chance in hell that I’m admitting this to Clever. Plus, my bottom lip is busted wide open, so every sip is basically an ordeal in itself. And not to mention the fact that my entire fucking body is still a big, lumbering hive of agony just waiting to throb itself into tiny, little pieces.

“You know what, Bit?” Clever eventually says. I refuse to look at him. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Once a day, every day, treat yourself to a small something. It doesn’t matter when you do it or what it is. Don’t even plan it. Just do it. A present to yourself from yourself. It could be anything. A sandwich, a crossword, a coffee, a piece of hallucinogenic cactus. Anything. The point being that it serves as a little gift, simply for hanging in there, for standing up in a world that constantly asks you – with varying degrees of politeness – to sit down.”

“Wow,” I say flatly, “always knew you were a hedonist.”

Clever shrugs. “Call it what you want, but it works.”

“Well, anyway, what in Equestria are we gonna do now?” I ask my friend.

“Find Heather, of course.”

I scoff. “Well, how the bloody hell are we supposed to do that? She could be anywhere!”

“True. However, I know where she is.”

I glower at Clever skeptically. “Oh, and how do you figure that? Left you a note, did she?”

Clever stands up, walks to the window. “No, I can see her sitting on top of that building.”

I pick myself up with no small amount of effort and join him. “Huh.” A pause. “You know, I’m still pissed at you for not telling me Black Flight is Heather’s brother.”

Clever gives me a look. “Let’s go.”

And so, Clever and I leave the hotel and hit the pavement once more. (“We’re not hitting the pavement,” Clever tells me, “we’re just walking on it”). I didn’t check the time before we left, but my generally unreliable body clock is telling me that it’s between 1:30 and two in the morning, and being a Thursday, there aren’t really any other ponies out and about. Come to think of it, another thing my body clock is telling me is that I should be hauling arse to a hospital in case I have internal bleeding or some shit like that, but under the literally life-threatening circumstances, this is not really an option.

The night is crisp and clear, and the sidewalks are still damp from the rain, but the temperature is good, and I hate to admit it to myself, but it’s not unpleasant. It is so quiet I can hear myself breathe, and looking up, I watch as my breath freezes and drifts up, up, up to writhe and dance among the stars, cold and distant as they are, graceful bits of rock. Around me, the industrial metropolis that is the city of Fillydelphia towers, stabbing hoof-like, defiant, into the night sky, and the shadows are of such contrast and colour that it takes my breath away (although it could just be my crushed, potentially broken ribs). Walking through this city is more like drifting, drifting through and between clouds of pure cosmic lustre, now pink, now green, now blue, now so dark and so vacant that all it would take would be a single step, and you could just fall, fall forever, tumbling through the abysses and alleyways between all that is, all that ever will be.

I stop dead in my tracks. Fucking hell, I’ve become a poet. Fillydelphia has turned me into a poet. Actually, I bet it was that afterbirth motherfucker Knock. Celestia save me.

Clever turns to look at me. “You’ve stopped narrating. What’s the matter?”

“Uh…” I stammer self-consciously, hurriedly resume walking. “N-nothing. I was just wondering why you, uh… why you like green lights so much?”

“Oh,” says Clever, “well, it’s because they mean ‘go.’”

“What? That’s... that’s it?” I exclaim, a little taken aback. “Seriously?”

“Well, it’s more of a symbolic thing, but yeah,” Clever responds. “I just interpret them as meaning that I have no restrictions, biological, existential, or otherwise, as to what I can and cannot do in life. Freedom, essentially, to make my own decisions and to pave my own way through an existence I have been thrust into whether I like it or not, and with no consideration whatsoever as to how I might feel about it. Green lights just allow me to perceive that I am in control of a situation of which I am not the creator. Perhaps it is merely wishful thinking or a philosophical coping mechanism, but it does make me feel better, and I think that that’s all that really matters in the end, you know?”

“Wow… shit, okay,” I say, blinking. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Clever. Green lights all the way, stal!”

And then we have reached the building, a slightly more old-fashioned brickwork affair with rustic-looking windows, peeling, flaking, white frames.

“I really hope she’s still here,” I tell Clever, craning my neck painfully. “Like, she’s moved to the other side of the roof or something, and not just fucking outright upped and left. Because that’d be so typical.”

“She is,” Clever assures me. “Still here.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, not for the first time tonight. “Dare I even ask how you know that?”

Clever just smiles knowingly, reaching up and lowering the fire escape ladder, which the two of us proceed to ascend. When we finally reach the roof, rather out of breath, I am relieved to discover none other than Heather Clouds sitting there, gazing out over the sweeping cityscape, the stars in her eyes, and the wind in her mane, her coat, her… feathers. …Ahem.

Sensing movement, Heather turns. “Oh, hi, you two,” she says sadly, eyes misty.

I tentatively make my way over to the pegasus and sit myself down beside her, our legs dangling out over the street below. Clever sits beside me, giving the two of us some space, for which I am grateful.

“Hey,” I say softly. “How goes it?”

Heather smiles at me, but there is not a trace of warmth or comfort to be found in it. Put simply, it is the most tired, most pained smile I have ever witnessed, and I can honestly say that I would have preferred tears. “I’m okay,” she replies, then turns back to the city, the moonlight reflecting in her large green eyes as she takes it all in. “I mean, obviously bummed that my brother caught up with me and all, but aside from that: peachy.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “We totally fucked up, leading him to you like that. As detectives, we should’ve known better.”

Heather sighs, shrugs. “Ah, it’s all right. It was inevitable, so don’t worry about it. Family always finds a way, right?” She gives me a twisted smile. “How fucked is that?”

Heather looks so unhappy, so lost, so without hope, and I desperately want to do something, anything, to reassure her, to let her know that I am here for her, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, or how I’m supposed to do it, so I do nothing. I am suddenly pervaded by an acute sense of violent revulsion at myself, at how absolutely fucking useless I am. But then Heather has her head on my shoulder, wraps her wing around me, and it isn’t quite so bad anymore.

Feeling Heather shiver into me, I look at her. “Hey, if you’re cold, you can wear my jacket.”

“No, I’m fine,” Heather smiles. “That wasn’t a ‘I’m cold’ shiver; that was a ‘I’m freaking out’ shiver. And besides,” she adds, “I’m already wearing a jacket, so I feel like having a second one would just be… tacky.”

“Ms. Clouds,” Clever at last says, “I’m very sorry to have to ask you this, but why are you running from your brother? Bit and I will do everything we possibly can to help you, but first, we need to know what it is we’re dealing with.”

Heather sighs deeply. “Black Flight, he…” she is silent for a time, but then swallows, continues, “…he wants me to carry his foal.”

“What?” I turn to stare at Clever and am both astonished and relieved to see that something I cannot quite describe has entered his magenta eyes, something I have not seen before. I think it might be horror.

“Black Flight’s been pressuring me for years now,” Heather says miserably, “but lately, he’s become impatient. That’s why I had to leave. That’s why I came here.”

“So, what? He’s obsessed with genetic purity or something?” I ask, appalled.

Heather shakes her head. “No, he’s just really fucked up.”

“Well, well, look what we have here.”

Clever, Heather, and I jump to our hooves and whirl around. It’s Black Flight and his henchpegasi, pleased as punch.

“Thank you, detectives,” Black Flight sneers, “for once again leading me to my– SWEET CELESTIA, what have you done to your mane?!”

Heather blinks. “W-what?”

“Your mane!” Black Flight insists. “The colour is… it’s completely wrong!”

“Oh really? Don’t you like it?” Heather asks, examining her fringe with a frown.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” says Black Flight. “My body is just screaming ‘no.’” He turns to look at the three henchpegasi. “You know what I’m saying?”

The henchpegasus on the right bobbles his head. “I mean, it ain’t too bad, boss. Just a little on the garish side, I’d say. A shade lighter would be… I mean, what do you think, Twiggy? A shade lighter, right?”

“The fuck you asking him for?” I interrupt boldly. “This pansy motherfucker’s manecut makes him look like his mission in life is commercialised doorstep fellatio!”

Twiggy’s faces twitches ever-so-slightly. “What kind of bitch-arse name is Bitter Brambles, anyway?” he asks me. “Your parents must’ve really hated you.”

“It’s foreshadowing,” I answer. “Touch me and bleed, you cosmetologist’s fuck-up. Also, your insults suck almost – almost – as much dick as you do.”

“Hey, last I checked, I’m not the one with the busted lip and the black eye,” Twiggy jeers.

“All right, enough!” Black Flight bellows. “EVERYPONY JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He looks at Heather. “Sis, you’re coming with me. This disobedience has gone on long enough.”

“Not a fucking chance!” I shout back at him. “You want to fuck your own sister?! That’s like wanting to fuck your own brother!”

“You wouldn’t understand!” Black Flight snarls. “My family has its ways and its traditions, and they must be upheld, no matter the cost!”

“Oh, yeah, there’ll be a cost, all right,” I laugh angrily. “You are aware that inbreeding leads to all sorts of physical and psychological abnormalities, right? You sick bastard.”

For a split second, Black Flight looks uncomfortable. “There’s no… real evidence to support that!” The moment passes, and he now looks at his terrified sister once more. “Heather, I will never force myself on you, you know that. I’ll never, ever hurt you, and that is a promise. But so is this: I will do everything in my power to ensure that you conform to my will. I’m prepared to scour all Equestria for you. Wherever you go, you’d better hunker down real good because I’m gonna have a henchpegasus stationed in every fucking corner of every fucking town and city on the planet. Go to Princess Twilight Sparkle, and the second you set hoof in her castle, my henchpegasus will emerge from hiding inside her tight, affable little slit and drag you back to me. I will find you, Heather. Always. And I will do anything to make you mine, kill anypony to make you mine.” Black Flight points his hoof at Clever and myself. “Starting with these two clowns.”

At this point, Clever finally speaks. “With respect, Mr. Flight,” he says, “Heather isn’t going anywhere with you.” He glances at me, then back at Black Flight. “…You arsehole.”

Despite everything, I grin. Clever Clogs using the A-word? Now we’re talking. “Heather,” I say grimly, “Clever and I will buy you as much time as we can, but you need to fly away and never look back.”

Black Flight raises a questioning eyebrow. “Um… you do know that we’re pegasi, too, right? We can just fly over you, and you’d just be stuck on this roof like ‘well, we fucked up.’”

“Yeah? Well, you can… suck my arse!” I retort.

“Wait.”

We all turn to look at Heather.

“Wait,” she says again in a small voice. “P-please don’t hurt them, Black. I’ll go with you. I’ll do what you want. Just… please don’t hurt them. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

Black Flight flashes me a triumphant smile. He beckons to his sister. “Come here, Heather. Come to your brother.”

Heather dutifully obeys, and Black Flight puts his foreleg around her smugly. “You see? Wanting ponies to listen, you can’t just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to kill them, and then you’ll notice you’ve got their strict attention.”

Clever and I exchange puzzled glances.

“Heather,” I say. “Please. You don’t… you don’t have to do this. It doesn’t have to end this way!”

“Yes, it does,” she replies, looking down.

“There you go!” Black Flight declares, mussing his sister’s mane affectionately. “Would you look at that! I have my sister back!” He grins at Clever and myself. “As for you two, I just wanna let you know that we’re cool. I have no intention to kill you. The world is more interesting with you in it. Clever Clogs and Bitter Brambles.” He shakes his head, smiling, then throws us a sizable bag of bits. “Fun doing business with you. And who knows? I may require your services again one day.”

“How about now?” I growl, kicking the money aside. “Free of charge. No time like the present.”

“Oh yeah?” Black Flight smirks. “That right?”

“Uh huh,” I say, my jaw tight. “Yeah. I’m standing here. I’m standing right here. You just say the word, Black Flight, you just make the move. You’re a businesspony, let’s do business.”

Black Flight gazes at me a while longer, an amused twinkle in his eyes, then he laughs, shakes his head, turns away.

“Bye, Bit,” Heather says sadly. “Bye, Clever. It was good meeting you both.”

Suddenly, she begins to cry, sobbing her heart out, and I step forward, but so do the henchpegasi. Black Flight has a despicable expression of mock sympathy on his loathsome face, and he embraces his sister.

“There, there,” he says with an awful grin, “there, there. Black has you now. It’s all gonna be all right. Our foal will be beautiful.”

And then he screams an awful scream. Clever and I and the henchpegasi all jump. There is blood spewing out of Black Flight’s back. Heather has hacked off his right wing, knife in mouth. With one final look at Clever and myself, Heather embraces her shrieking brother and throws them both off the roof.