After Sunset

“Come on you piece of junk!”

I swat the generator, then wince and shake my hand out. I’d stolen some parts from one of the big box stores that didn’t care to chase me past the parking lot, and that was if they even spotted me, which they didn’t.

After a month of living in this hole, I’m starting to understand why Sunset was such a bitch all the time before she met us. I’d be pretty fucking surly too if I woke up this cold every morning.

“Bastard!” I kick the generator a couple more times before plopping down beside it again and pulling off one of the panels. “Alright, let’s see if there’s something loose in here…”

Again.

I feel around the inside, running my fingers over every wire and plug, every nut and bolt. I know exactly what each one does the moment I touch it, and I can’t even say as to why. It reminds me of the short time I spent in the Trials, actually, and how we had to rebuild those crappy generators.

It didn’t matter that I’d never worked on something like that in my life, for some reason the moment I sat down to try and fix it along with everyone else, I just… knew. Just like I knew how to put all the new parts I’d gotten where they needed to be. I knew just where they went, how to attach them, and how to wire them up.

“Wonder if some of it stuck with me,” I mumble as I root around. “I wonder how long this thing’s been dead…” I turn my head to look over to my left. “I wonder how long you were living here without any heat?”

The photograph is silent, as always.

I’d found a picture frame tucked away and put the photo of all of us inside it. It was just a plain, metal frame, but it kept the photo flat and neat, and free of the grit and dirt that’s all over the place in here.

My fingers trace over something and I pause. I don’t know why, but something feels off. I let my instincts do the work, adjusting and twisting whatever it is I’m grabbing until-

SNAP

“MOTHERFUCKER!” I jerk my hand out of the generator.

Just as it coughs, barks, and chugs to life.

A slow grin creeps over my face as I wait for a few seconds, then a minute, but the thing keeps on chugging.

“Hell yeah!” I woop jumping to my feet and pumping a fist in the air. “Did you see that, Sunset? I did it!”

I turn back the photo grinning wildly.

“You’d be proud of me, right?” I say softly as I walk over and drop down in front of the picture. “Probably say something like, ‘wow, guess even you can’t be bad at everything’ or something like that, huh? But I bet you’d be smiling when you said it.”

I pick up the photo and run my thumb along the side where Sunset and I are smiling at the camera, then shiver. It’s still cold as shit, and even with the generator running I’ll need fuel for it. There are a couple of full canisters in the basement, and one that had a couple of gallons, but that won’t last me forever.

The gauge on the generator shows it at half a tank right now, and I have to let it run for a little while to get everything circulating before turning it off. I’ll have a warm night tonight, though, at least.

I tuck the frame under my arm and retreat back to the office, shut the door, throw the bolts, and drop onto the cot. It’s a little warmer in here, but not much, so I curl up on the cot and roll myself up in the covers. I stink of oil and sweat, but it’s not like anyone is here to care.

Shifting around under the covers, I bring the picture up so it’s resting on the pillow next to me. I’d grabbed it from a pile of stuff left on the curbside three days ago, and it was surprisingly nice.

“Dad’s probably still looking for me,” I say quietly to Sunset. “He doesn’t get it though, no one does. Everyone kept trying to talk to me like you just… just died of being sick or something.” I shiver again, this time out of anger. “It’s like no one wants to admit that we fucking… fuck!”

I rest my head on the glass pane of the frame.

“A-Anyway… I figure if you made it through just fine living like this, I can too,” I say with a weak laugh. “I mean, it sucks, but like… you did it and you were awesome, so… I’ll figure it out.”

I lower the picture and press a kiss over Sunset before putting it out on the banged up end table near the cot. Maybe tomorrow I’d go out and find a real mattress. I had to figure out money too…

Sunset did it, so I’ll figure it out.

I don’t sleep well, but I never do. That was the case before I left home, and it’s still the case now. No matter what, I always see her in my dreams. I see those black eyes with burning cores of blue fire. I see gleaming silver blades where her fingers used to be, and she’s smiling that too-wide smile of hers, with a mouthful of sharp teeth.

I dream of a beautiful Nightmare.

Strange how those dreams are the most comforting ones I have. When I wake up I almost feel like I rested. I chuckle weakly as I sling my legs out of bed, shiver, and pull on my socks and shoes, and wince a little at the smell. I still have a few coins left for a run of laundry, might as well use it for that. It’s not like it’ll buy me anything else.

I shove my wallet in my pocket, grab a couple of plastic grocery bags, and load up before putting my heavy jacket on and pulling the hood over my head.

The grand old city of Canterlot is a miserable place when you’re homeless. I guess I’m lucky in that I could go back home if I really wanted to, assuming I can call that place home. The thought of stepping foot back in that world makes me sick to my stomach, and at the same time it makes me mad.

Hypocrites.

Everyone on that side of the line is just a bunch of hypocrites.

Sunset is gone because we fucked up. Now everyone is acting like just because we buried her, said a bunch of pretty words, then looted her house for mementos, we’ve made good.

Bullshit.

BULLSHIT!

My scowl deepens as I slip out of the train station and into the early evening air. I’d found the key to the office weeks ago, so no more worrying about coming back to find my hidey-hole looted. Now I can lock it from the outside, and be at least reasonably certain no one is going to steal all my stuff.

The Commons are lively despite everyone being poor as dirt. There’s lots of homeless, though. A lot more than anyone else in the city seems to realise. I would know, being one of them. Everyone just drives by and sees the little makeshift campsites under overpasses and whatnot, but there’s so many more that live under the city, or that you just don’t realise are homeless because they don’t fit the stereotype.

For all anyone else knows, I might be a poor college kid who just doesn’t shower much. Pretty sure no one would guess that I secretly live in an abandoned train office.

Just like Sunset.

That thought cheers me up a bit.

Definitely looking forward to having some clean clothes again, though. I’ll figure out what to do about cash after that. Maybe I can wash up and get a job or something. There’s bound to be something stupid and easy I can get paid for somewhere around here.

I move through the sparse clumps of people that have collected around the sidewalks and streets like litter. Some of them are going somewhere, most of them are just standing around, talking, or begging.

Those last ones are something I’ll never be.

Sunset never did. I won’t either.

It’s three blocks to the laundromat. Funny thing is, I never would have known about it if it weren’t for Sunset. I found a little spiral notebook tucked under the endtable’s drawer that we’d missed when we’d been going through things the first time. At first I thought it was like a journal or something, but it wasn’t. Just locations, dates, names, and notes scrawled in the margins, and it takes a little while but eventually I figured it out.

It’s a survival guide.

Sunset had been taking notes on how to stay alive on the streets of Canterlot from the get-go. I know it’s from the start because her handwriting in the first few pages is almost unreadable, kind of like how Princess Twilight’s was when we first met her. It gets better fast though.

For such a badass, she takes some really good notes.

I learned where the best places to get food from are, and which places to scavenge from. There’s even diagrams of some of the big box stores nearby with notes about numbers of employees and which sections are less watched than others, and where is easier to steal from. Some of that stuff is out of date, but a lot less than I expected.

Before this, I always kinda wondered how she survived, but now I get it. Sunset survived because she was smarter, faster, and better than everyone else who was trying to manage it.

Take the laundromat, for instance: she realised that the fourth row back are the oldest ones, and some of them still use the old cointakers, and if you shove them in really fast, you’ll usually get a few quarters back, but a glitch in the reader will turn the washer on anyway.

Saves me about a buck every time I go in there, and that adds up.

I'm in a pretty good mood as I cross Eighth and Davis, but that mood evaporates when a punk a few inches shorter than me with a dirty mop of blue hair elbows me as he walks past.

“Hey, fucko, watch it!” I snarl.

A chill runs down my spine a split-second later as I recall another note from the notebook.

‘If someone bumps you in this city, immediately check your pockets’

I shove my hands in my pockets as the kid sprints off and snarl wordlessly as I realise my wallet is gone. I bolt after him, weaving between pedestrians and ducking around corners. He glances back and his green eyes widen as he sees me catching up to him.

“SHIT!” He puts on another burst of speed, but I match and beat it easily.

I used to be a track star, this kid is nothing.

He takes a hard turn, almost tackling through someone as he sprints down an alley. I take the turn too, but I know this one. It’s on one of Sunset's local maps. It goes to a dead end, but the end is a fence which is low enough that, if you’re quick, good, and lucky, you can jump it.

He’s only two out of three, because I’m the one chasing him. His luck runs out as I turn the corner twirling one of my sacks of dirty laundry like a set of bolos and let it fly. He’s mid jump when the sack hits him in the back and knocks him straight into the fence, then down onto the ground.

The thief hits the filthy concrete floor with a dull thud, and I drop my other bag of laundry at the mouth of the alley as I advance on him.

“Nice try, kid, but no cigar.” I stop a meter from him and hold out my hand. “Gimme my wallet back. Make me take it back and you’ll regret it.”

Another tip from Sunset: ‘Violence first, violence last, it’s all these savages understand.’

The kid glares sullenly at me with bloodshot eyes for a moment before shoving his hand in his pocket, pulling out my wallet, and holding it out to me. I reach out to take it, but the moment my fingers touch the leather of my wallet, I get another chill down my spine.

I jerk my hand back just in time to see the kid pull a switchblade from his other pocket and jab at me from under his outstretched arm. If I had still had my hand stretched out I would never have seen it, my own arm would have been blocking my view. The blade would have hit me right in the gut, but as it is I get my free arm between us, and the knife sinks a good four inches into the meat of my forearm.

I don’t scream. I barely even flinch. This little pigsticker is nothing like getting filleted by Sunset’s fingers. I barely even feel it.

“You little shit.”

The kid blanches and tries to pull away, but I get him by the neck before he can make good on his escape and pin him to the fence. My temper is boiling over as I slam him against the cheap wooden slats.

I tighten my grip on his neck, and it makes a satisfying crackling sound as I slam him into the fence once, twice, then throw him into the brick wall to our right. He hits the ground and coughs, trying to drag air through his abused throat. He might’ve even managed it if I hadn’t landed a goal-making soccer kick right into his gut.

The thief bounces off the wall and hits the ground again, this time he doesn’t get up, he just lays flat and dry heaves. I’m not done with him though. I bring my foot up, then stomp down hard on the wrist of the hand he’d used to pickpocket me, and I feel something crack and give under my heel.

If he had any breath in him, he’d be screaming.

“Pick a better mark next time,” I snarl. “If you even get a ‘next time’.”

I turn on my heel to leave the alley-

-and stop at the sight of three guys who look like they each weigh in at about two of me blocking the exit.

The one in the middle is a heavy-set guy with broad shoulders and a low brow. He runs his hand over his bald pate as he steps into the alley, chuckling a low, mean laugh.

“Damn, cold as ice, girlie,” he says looking me up and down before looking over at the kid. “Cost me my fastest runner, though, so I’m gonna have to take it outta ya hide on principle… just business, y’know?”

I narrow my eyes at him, look down at the knife sticking out of my arm, then pull it out and brandish it at him as I back away. The big man’s eyebrows go up as I hold the knife out level at him, and he chuckles.

“Damn,” he laughs and looks back at his companions who share a couple of mildly impressed laughs before looking back at me. “That was a fuckin’ power move kid. Tell ya what, forget the beating, ya want his job?”

He jerks a thumb at the crying kid on the ground. I feel a small pang of pity, but nothing else. I should probably feel worse about hurting him, but I don’t. He stole from me, I caught him, and I did what I had to. Just like Sunset was doing whatever she had to do to get back home.

To survive.

Whatever it takes.

I lower the switchblade and straighten out as I look the big man in the eyes and nod. “What’s it pay?”

“Fifty bucks a delivery, and ya make two or three a week,” he says. “Plus, I throw in a bonus at the end’a the week.”

A hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty a week. That’s pretty good money. Not great money, but it’s… it’s enough for food and shit, and a bonus might be a little more, who knows?

Like I have a choice. I could try to find something else, but there’s no guarantee anyone would hire me, and unlike Sunset I’m not a genius.

But I am fast.

“Yeah, sounds good,” I say finally. “I don’t have a phone or anything.”

“No problem,” He smirks, then walks over to the kid, kicks him onto his back, and reaches down to fish out a flip-phone from the thief’s jacket and opens it up to check it over. “This’ll be ya phone. Call it a business phone, a’right?”

“What’s the business?” I ask.

“None’a yours,” he replies with a grim smile. “F’now, anyway. You just go where I tell ya, when I tell ya, and you get paid. We good?”

He holds out the phone to me and I take it without hesitation.

“We’re good,” I say as I pocket the old model phone. “I’m Rainbow Dash.”

“Chase Dragons,” He says, holding out a hand. “And if you’re as fast as your name, kid? Then we might be goin’ places.”

I stare down at his open hand for a moment before taking it and giving it a hard shake. I try to remember how Sunset shook hands. It always felt so good when she did it, and I was unsurprised to find a description for how she learned to shake hands in her notebook. I guess for someone born without hands, it would have to be practiced.

Palm-to-palm, grip tight with the fingers and thumb, and shake.

“Nice grip, kid,” Chase says. “I like you.”

I match his grin with one that I don’t feel. So long as he’s paying me, though, I’ll smile. If I want to eat, I gotta run and I gotta smile.

Whatever it takes.

“Cool… can I do my laundry now?”

Chase laughs uproariously, lets my hand go, and slaps me on the back, sending me staggering forward, between his two thugs, and out of the alley. My laundry bags follow me a few seconds later, tossed at my feet.

“Sure thing, Dash,” Chase laughs. “I’ll be in touch, let’s go boys.”

He gestures for his two thugs to follow him, and they do. Both of them are clearly there for the intimidation factor, not their ability to hold a conversation. Besides, Chase strikes me as the kind of guy who really likes the sound of his own voice, so I figure silence is more of a job requirement than anything.

As I’m stepping out of the alley, I glance back at the kid I just beat down. I dunno if he deserved it, but I can’t let people just steal from me without consequence. A part of me wants to go back and check on him but I don’t even know what I’d do. I’m not a doctor, and if I drag him to Canterlot General somehow, I’d have to answer a lot of really tough questions about who broke his wrist and beat his face in.

“Sorry kid,” I say quietly as I turn away. “Should’ve been smarter.”

I get it now.

I get why Sunset was always so cruel when she came to Canterlot High. I always wondered why she would just socially nuke anyone who came within sniffing distance of threatening her, but not anymore. You can’t back down, you can’t show weakness, and you can’t give anyone an inch, or they’ll take the whole nine yards.

I heft my bags of laundry and start heading towards the laundromat. The flip-phone is heavy in my pocket.

Hopefully that bonus is something good.