Photos of Fillies

With the previous encounter behind me I was finally able to relax and compose myself. I breathed a sigh of relief, the first order of business was to steady my nerves and try to focus on what I was doing. Second was to pick up my bicycle and inspect the damages.

I stowed the bag of bits and slung the satchel over my shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting the cool air carry away my stress and the memory of the filly that had just tried to doom me—“Celestia damn it” I swore, and stomped my foot.

If I’d only known she was going to cause me this much trouble I would have never even tried to take that photo. Granted, it was half of my fault—I should have expected the camera would be out of film. I’d taken so many photos since I’d arrived it was basically a given that I’d be replacing the roll every few days.

What was more a miracle was that I was somehow able to find replacements all the way out here, on an alien world, but that mare in the photography studio—Films and Filaments—had assured me their films were almost identical to my Canon film, nearly to a T.

I pulled the bicycle out of the embankment, and almost immediately the handlebars flopped to the side like a flaccid dick, and however much I tried to get them up, there was nothing doing. The brakes, too—I frowned at the cut lines, dangling useless in the dirt beneath—were completely trashed.

It was becoming painfully obvious that I’d never be riding this thing ever again, not without the work of some kind of miracle.

I sighed, again, gritting my teeth, and pounded a fist against the seat—“Celestia damn it, you bucking f—“

Something metallic clinked against my foot and I paused, looking up suddenly, and then down at the ground. My immediate thought was that I’d either dropped something, or the bicycle had lost yet another critical function, but the object I saw on the ground gave me pause.

My brow furrowed as I stared at what looked like a silver locket. It was covered in dust and visibly dented by how it had fallen, and then subsequently stepped upon, but it was clearly some sort of ornate container—far more expensive-looking than anything I would be carrying.

“Huh?”

Leaning down, I picked up the locket and turned it over in my hands, inspecting the delicate carving of the floral pattern. It was about the size of my fist and about half as thick—too big to be a pocket watch, but somehow not the right shape to be a regular locket. It was almost clamshell shaped, with a clear lever mechanism to open it up.

I looked around, left and right, to make sure there was nopony around—I wasn’t about to make that mistake again, and rested the tip of my thumb against the lever. It creaked as it began to bend, and the locking mechanism inside released with a soft click.

The seam cracked open, and I was about to look inside when, suddenly.

“Ahem.”

The ruffling of leaves broke me out of my concentration and I jumped on the stop, almost dropping the locket and its contents. I slapped it shut, and spun around, sweating as I stammered. “N-n-n-Nothing!” I shouted, “I wasn’t looking at everything!”

The filly—I immediately recognised her from before, let out a startled squeak and scurried back into the bushes—the same bushes I’d hidden from the guards just minutes earlier. “Eeep,” I heard her squeal.

“Oh—“ I mentally facepalmed—I’d forgotten about the filly, almost completely. I had to discard the bicycle, letting it stand on its own as I lowered myself to my haunches, putting on the best smile I could muster. I adjusted the trap of my satchel and held out a hand, as if calling out for an injured puppy. “Hey, hey, it’s okay...” I said; my voice low.

I had to be careful, something inside told me I had to take it slow, try not to scare her, I thought. “Are you still there?” I said.

The bushes parted and first the tip of a tiny horn, then her mane, and finally face of a scared, shivering foal poked out from between the greenery. Her eyes were wide, sparkling with the inklings of tears as she looked both ways, and then a hoof or two revealed the rest of her from the shadows. “You didn’t have to do that...” she whispered.

I smiled, taking a step closer, just an inch.

The filly flinched, and retreated back by a centimetre. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice staying as warm as I could without literally coating myself in honey. “Do you mean earlier?”

Her head jerked as she nodded. “Y-Yes,” she said. Her voice grew slightly more confident, and she wiped her nose, sniffling. Had she been crying? “W-With the guards. You didn’t have to protect me.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Dinky, mister.” she whispered.

“Okay, Dinky-mister.” I grinned, letting Dinky snicker. She covered her mouth, but I could tell she was smiling. I continued, “I couldn’t just leave you here alone to fend for yourself. It wouldn’t feel right to me.”—and it probably wouldn’t do me any good either if you were caught, though I didn’t want to say that part.

She smiled again, and took another step out of the bushes. Dinky’s eyes were still darting around, cautiously as she did so, though I could tell every time that her gaze settled on the locket that was now in my lap.

I glanced at it, and then back at her. Dinky squeaked, and averted her eyes, her cheeks flushing red, and only then did it click.

That colt from earlier, the silver object he’d dropped, the fact that Dinky was seemingly waiting for somepony to come back—I pin dropped, and my mouth opened in a silent...Oh.

I held the locket out to her, and whispered. “Is this yours?”

Dinky nodded, though hesitant at first. It took a slight bit of encouragement, but she eventually reached out and took the locket from my hand in her mouth.

She scurried back to the edge of the bushes where she dropped to her haunches and grabbed the locket from her mouth. She smiled again, her ears pricking up as she wagged her tail gratefully. “Th-Thank you,” she said.

It was my fault.

As Dinky was fiddling with the latch on her locket I considered leaving her there to do... whatever it was she needed that locket for, but there was just something holding me back. Call it a morbid curiosity, of a sort, that had me glued to the spot, almost craning my neck to get a proper look as she cracked the seam around the container.

There was a little click and I couldn’t help but stare as she manipulated the tiny mechanism with her hooves, and the mechanism began to turn.

“H-Hey,” I whispered.

Dinky’s ears perked, as if she was suddenly aware of my presence. She snapped the locket shut and a pair of wide eyes turned up to look at me—sending a jolt of pain through my heart at the scene of the adorable filly, cocking her head in confusion. “Yeah?” she said, causing a secondary palpitation through my heart.

I clutched my chest and took a sudden intake of breath, tensing myself, steeling nerves as the sharp stabs of pain passed.

At length, I asked. “Um...” Leaning in closer, she pulled the locket away from my gaze, hiding it under her hooves.

I quickly retreated. It didn’t look like she was going to let me get a look at it, and who was I to blame her. What if it was a photo of a loved one? A mother? Her grandmother? It didn’t matter to me, and it felt terrible that I was even trying to pry.

Averting my gaze, I scratched the itch behind my neck and looked around, before my eyes settled on the bushed across the way and an idea crossed my mind.

“I was just wondering...” I said, “D-Did you see any other fillies here? Earlier, I mean,” I quickly corrected, “When I was talking to the guards?”

She glanced to the bushes in question, and Dinky’s brow furrowed in thought. I caught another glimpse of the locket as she shifted it to another hoof to tap her chin, but then it was gone again in the crux of the space under her shoulder.

Where did ponies put things? I quietly wondered, but not for long as Dinky suddenly spoke.

“...Unfortunately...” she said. Dinky’s ears lowered, her teeth bared as she practically spat the next line of words—If I’d ever made a bet that ponies could be filled with so much bile, well, I would never had made that bet—“That was Diamond Tiara”—

My memory flashed back to the image of her in the bushes yesterday, where she was wearing a tiara and was looking menacingly at that other filly whilst coaxing her clit, and the words ‘Hold her down, Silver’ flashed through my memory.

It was like an icy shot in the back.

“She and Silverspoon are the biggest, baddest, bulliest meanies in town. Nopony messes with them.” Her gaze steeled as she waved me closer so she could whisper into my ear—I leaned down, almost getting onto all fours as Dinky had to jump onto her tippy toes to reach my ear.

She whispered: “I heard even Mayor Mare is afraid of them.”

“B-But—“ I whispered back, “You can tell an adult, can’t you?”

She shook her head and signed. “It doesn’t work. Nopony listens to us. Everypony thinks they’re the ‘most perfect little angels’, and as far as Scootaloo and their friends are concerned, Diamond and Silver were reformed months ago when the three of them got their cutie marks.

I was flabbergasted. My mouth dropped as I finally sat flat in the stones. “B-But—” If there’s nopony who would listen to this filly about them, did this mean Diamond was doing the same thing to others? Was she just going around raping fillies, with nopony able to speak up!?

“But—Doesn’t anypony catch them? There has to be something you can do?”

Dinky shook her head solemnly. She sat down on her haunches in front of me and pulled out the locket again, fiddling with the clip as she spoke. “Nu-uh,” she said, “They’re super careful. When adults and the crusaders are around, they’re nice, but if you’re alone they’ll be the worst. They threaten us, and say that, I—” Dinky went suddenly silent.

I reached forward. Hesitant to touch her, I tried to encourage her to keep going. “They didn’t...” I had to choose my words carefully. I couldn’t scare her away, not now, when I felt like we were on the precipice of something, a revelation. “...Do anything to you, did they?”

Was that too direct? Sweat was starting to bead the back of my neck—a spot that hadn’t stopped itching all day—and I suddenly became imminently aware of how exposed we were.

How was I sure Diamond wasn’t watching us now?

The bushes could have eyes.

Dinky shook her head—immediately raising the weight on my chest. “N-No. Nothing to me, but she’s... She threatens things, bad things, if anypony tattles.”

My stomach twisted at the sounds of her words. Diamond Tiara was going around threatening other ponies? She was being violent, raping, doing...I couldn’t think what else, and I wasn’t the only one that was a victim of this.

There had to be something I could.

My knuckles whitened and I almost seethed my next words. There has to be something I can do. “You mentioned.... Scootaloo’s friends? Are they the ‘Crusaders’?”

“She, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle,” she nodded, “Yes.” Her mouth wrinkled and she cocked her head in that cute way again. “Do you know them?”

“You could say that...” I whispered.

I stood again, ready to bare my farewells. I trudged over the bicycle and pulled it upright again. Straightening the strap of the satchel on my shoulders, I walked the bike back in the centre of the path and pulled the handlebars to a somewhat straight position atop their perch.

“Thanks, Dinky,” I said, over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

I smiled. “I have an appointment with a pegasus.”

As I pushed off, I jumped onto the back of the bicycle and glanced over my shoulder to watch the foal disappear into the distance as the path picked up speed below me.

The last glimpse I got of her, she’d just opened the locket and I could see, just faintly, what looked like a circle of pills inside.

Wait, was that—