The Strange Case of Lord DeFace
Maud Pie the Geologist might have appeared serious and severe at first glance, but one only had to see her in the company of her sisters to note that—while she was said to love her job to a literal fault—this was by far eclipsed by her devotion to her family.
Though her expression rarely changed, as she and Pinkie Pie strolled the streets of Canterlot, she had also taken the first Friday of each month off for the previous six months, without fail, in order to ensure the continuation of these emotionless excursions.
On this particular night, they had wound a circuitous route through Canterlot’s entertainment district, passing various bars and restaurants as they wandered.
Nestled within this neighborhood was the city theater. This world-famed institute—which had recently hosted the premiers of such popular plays as Jester and Mud Summer—was now even busier in the off-season, due to various rumors circulating throughout the city.
Pinkie and Maud were on the other side of the street, but—as they passed—they paused for a moment, to observe.
“It looks like someone’s propped open one of the emergency exits,” Maud remarked.
“Ooh,” said Pinkie, “I bet it was Idol!”
“Idol Who?” said Maud.
“No, Silly, Idol Hooves!” Pinkie corrected, beaming a smile her sister’s way, pleased as punch at the wordplay.
“I’m afraid we haven’t met,” said Maud. “How do you know them?”
“Weeeeell,” began Pinkie, “one night I was helping one of the local bakeries with prep-work for a super big catering order, when this lost filly showed up, looking for her parents. And it was way, way too late for a foal to be out by themselves, so even if it would mean having to stay up even later, we all knew that we’d have to stop what we were doing and go get the Palace Guard.”
Maud nodded, to show that she was following along thus far.
“…but, before we could even decide who should go, one of the regulars showed up for his weekly order, took one look at the filly, and said he’d go inform her parents. None of us could even get a word in edgewise before he walked straight out the door!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed, giggling at the memory.
“Well, after he left,” she continued, “we all just looked at each other, and the cooks told me that the stallion was named ‘Idol Hooves,’ and that he can have some weird ideas that he’s completely confident about, but also completely totally wrong about, but… sure enough, he came back not even ten minutes later with the foal’s parents! It was like a magic trick!”
Maud paused, considering the narrative of this chain of events. “What does that have to do with the theater door?”
Pinkie just laughed again. “Well, it’s the weirdest thing. Once the foal was reunited with her family, Idol offered to escort them all home. We asked ‘Mr. Hooves’ if he’d like us to deliver his pastry order to his house, since he’d saved us so much time—and it was really no trouble—and he just said to take it to the Canterlot Theater side entrance and say it was for Lord DeFace!”
Maud blinked. “I… see,” she said. “It’s odd that he would specify a public building rather than his own home. And even stranger that Lord DeFace would know him. He doesn’t seem like the type that would encourage helping lost foals back home.”
Pinkie thought it over. “Well, for one thing, they do have similar looks, so maybe that’s it?”
“Looks?” asked Maud.
“Idol’s not a pony,” Pinkie explained. “Probably not, anyway. He doesn’t have a coat, his legs have holes in them, and he’s got more fangs than even a thestral. Maybe Lord DeFace likes him since they both look super creepy, at first glance!”
“Or, perhaps this means that there’s more to Lord DeFace than the rumors tell of him,” Maud suggested, shooting a last glance at the door as they finally resumed walking.
Two weeks later, Maud found herself arriving ten minutes early for the matinée performance of ‘A Legend of Night.’ An ironic choice for a daytime show, she thought.
Maud told herself that she was going because she appreciated the Magic of the Stage in small quantities—and this was true—but she would have been lying if she’d said that her sister’s tale of one, ‘Idol Hooves,’ wasn’t a factor as well.
There had been no sign of him thus far, and this was entirely reasonable, she supposed. At any rate, the play was said to be a good one, if a bit flowery in its language.
Maud settled herself into her seat, as the lights dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd.
A mare in a gauzy white dress was revealed by the parting curtains. She took a breath and began to recite the prologue.
“Once upon a time, the ancient poets croon
Luna, scrying on the planet from the moon,
Looked down on the world, but, hearing how it lied,
Returned to her seclusion, horrified.
There she abode, so conscious of her worth,
Not even Stygian’s rampage called her forth,
Nor storytellers, striving to defame,
By writing off her deeds and crossing out her name.
Meantime, her cannier sister, whom we call
Celestia, did her work and more than all,
With so much zeal, devotion, tact, and care,
That no one noticed Luna wasn’t there…”
As the actress continued, something caught Maud’s eye.
Not from up in the balconies, nor from the box designated as belonging to Lord DeFace, but instead from the side of the stage.
It appeared that one of the prop tablecloths had fallen over into view of the audience.
It was soon gone—yanked out of sight in a flash—but, for a second, Maud could have sworn—with the contrast of the black hoof against the white fabric—that she’d seen holes in the stagehoof’s leg.
Clearly, it wasn’t definitive evidence: it could have simply been a trick of the light, splotches of white paint from one of the other set pieces, or something else of similar nature.
Still, if she had seen correctly, then was that how Idol Hooves had maintained his anonymity so well? Rather than a relatively normal-looking pony claiming himself a ‘ghost’ or ‘phantom,’ as Lord DeFace did, was he perhaps a mundane sapient working as part of the stage crew?
After all, many species coexisted in Canterlot. If he hadn’t been so grandiosely painting himself as the ‘Spectre of the Theatre’ it was likely that even DeFace’s mask-like visage and green blood would have been written off as mere incidental quirks.
Regardless, the first act was starting, so Maud put aside such concerns and returned her attention to the play. If she could ignore how the marble pillars of the Lunar Palace were obviously cardboard, she might even manage to enjoy herself.
The show’s climax involved Celestia visiting Luna on the moon, begging her to take back her nocturnal responsibilities.
“We’ll rule together, Sister,” said the actor portraying Celestia—a pegasus with a false horn on her forehead. “Co-equal rank and powers, if you agree,” she added.
The actor playing Luna, an earth pony donning both ornamental wings and horn, hesitated.
“Leave Sister,” she answered. “They need you down there.”
‘Celestia’ shook her head in emphatic denial. “They need us both,” she protested. “Come back, Luna.”
Her voice choked off with emotion for a moment, before adding, in a small, broken voice, “…please?”
‘Luna’ hesitated, but then, slowly, she got to her hooves, stared up at the stylized rendition of Equestria painted on the backdrop above them, then finally met her sister’s gaze.
“Very well, Celestia,” she eventually said. “Let’s go home.”
And, as the orchestra swelled with a heartfelt melding of Celestia and Luna’s leitmotifs, the curtain rang down, and the audience burst into cheers, many of them blinking away tears at the story’s heartfelt conclusion.
Afternoon was just turning to evening as ponies began filing out of the theater, squinting at the rays of sunlight that shone through the windows, their minds taking a bit longer to emerge from the story than it took for their bodies to leave the auditorium.
Maud listened to the chatter of her fellow patrons of the arts with mild disinterest. If she’d wanted to hear other people’s opinions, then she wouldn’t have come by herself.
While she was aware that most people would balk at the thought of going to a play or restaurant alone, Maud had always found the experience… centering? Refreshing? Peaceful, certainly.
And it left room for improvisation in a way that coordinated schedules did not.
For example, when she caught sight of a white-coated earth pony beckoning to her from a stairwell, well, she had no excuses to make or explanations to fake when she chose to approach the stallion.
Lord DeFace hadn’t been her primary target, but he was a part of this mystery as well, she supposed, and one well worth investigating.
The Spectre of the Theatre led her through secret passageways, down spiral staircases, and even over a canal by boat, before finally showing her to a darkened chamber containing a pipe organ and very little else.
At last, DeFace turned to meet her gaze.
Though tall as the rumors painted him, he was thinner than she had imagined, and, in the instant that she’d had to glimpse his face before he’d restored his rictus-grin, his features had been less sharp than she’d expected.
“What news of the hive?” he demanded.
Maud blinked.
“The what?” she asked.
“Don’t toy with me,” DeFace growled. “I’m not a child.”
…which was definitely something that a child was more likely to say than an adult.
Maud revised her observations of Lord DeFace’s limbs as ‘lanky’ and his features as ‘rounded, possibly with baby fat.’
Now, what was it that he was looking for from her?
Well, if there was one way for certain to infuriate a younger sibling…
Maud Pie raised an eyebrow.
“Prove it,” she said.
DeFace bristled. “You Dare…”
And Maud had to repress the urge to quirk her lips in a small smile. She might not know anyone like Lord DeFace in her current social sphere, but she’d known at least ten of him back in college.
…and, while it might be tempting to write this off as young-adult rebellion of some sort, well, the so-called ‘edgelords’ were often those who felt that this dark and abrasive type of persona was the only way to make others take them seriously.
There was also the fact that the Spectre of the Theatre was indeed a well-established urban legend. Most schemes of this sort never even got off the ground, let alone wound up being this wildly successful.
It spoke to a remarkable amount of luck on DeFace’s side.
…although, even if such schemes did succeed, all that did was leave you sitting all alone at the top of a tower of lies.
“…and I may not be an infiltrator,” DeFace was saying, “but I am still one of you! I deserve respect!”
“Perhaps,” allowed Maud, “but that does not mean that you are owed deference.”
“Deference?” said DeFace. His face twisted, before his smile ratcheted up another notch. “I’ll show you deference…”
He took a step toward her, menace radiating off of him in waves.
And here was a dilemma, Maud thought to herself.
While ostensibly an earth pony like herself, DeFace had very little muscle definition, and—even if he did apparently spend most of his time in a basement filled with stone—it was clear that this space was unloved, that DeFace had virtually no connection to the soil or its magic.
She could easily best him in a physical fight.
Could easily beat up a child, that was.
But, by the same token that she shouldn’t look down on him just because she was older, she also shouldn’t infantilize DeFace simply because he was younger.
Clearly, he was capable of harm, and he intended such towards her.
That intent was something to be taken seriously.
Maud met his eyes.
“You can try,” she answered.
Maud came awake with a soft groan of pain, wincing as she felt the beginnings of deep bruising in her shoulder.
“Steady now, young mare of earth….” began a calm, measured voice. “…You won your fight, for what it’s worth.”
At that statement, Maud’s eyes snapped open.
She frowned, slightly, at seeing bits of green slime stuck to her limbs. She turned her attention instead to the room’s other occupants.
Before her were two individuals. The first a Zebra, and likely the one who had spoken.
“My name is Zecora, a shaman by trade….” began the Zebra.
“…he is called Idol Hooves,” she continued, nodding at the stallion next to her. “He effected this raid.”
“Maud Pie,” she introduced herself, glancing at ‘Idol Hooves,’ before turning back to the more vocal of her rescuers.
“Thank you,” she said, “but do you know how I got here? The last thing I remember is attempting to tackle DeFace, but he ricocheted off the wall at an odd angle, and I missed. Whatever happened to finish the fight, I don’t think any definition would say that I ‘won’ such a match.”
The Zebra chuckled. “A battle you lost—and though part of the score—a battle is far from the whole of a war.”
“Indeed,” said Idol Hooves. “When DeFace realized that you were a pony, it rattled him to such an extent that he failed to secure his belongings, allowing me access to this room and its prisoners.”
“Then, where is DeFace now?” Maud asked.
“He is hiding,” Idol Hooves answered.
That brought Maud up short. “…why?” she asked.
Idol Hooves sighed. “He is always hiding.”
Maud nodded, slowly. “You said he was disturbed to learn I was a pony. Does that mean that he’s like you?”
Idol paused. “It is more accurate to say that I am like him.”
Before Maud could think too deeply on that, Zecora cleared her throat.
“An insect, whom I’ll deal with later,” Zecora began, “made his home underneath this theater. Upon waking I find here a stranger most kind…” she paused, sharing a glance with Idol Hooves, while letting the incomplete sentence hang in the air for a moment.
“…but I’d rather see an elevator,” she finished.
“Ah,” said Idol Hooves, in realization.
“The stairs are that way,” he added, with a wave of his hoof.
Zecora nodded.
“If you wish to avoid leaving town in disgrace, you'd best keep your distance from young Lord DeFace,” she advised.
And, with that, Zecora was gone.
“Why,” Maud hesitated, “why do you keep company with the Spectre, if you don't mind me asking?”
Idol Hooves bowed his head. “I owe him my life. That is not a debt easily repaid.”
Maud considered that.
“Debts of honor are important,” she allowed, “but, even if you're close to someone, that doesn't mean that your love can save them from themselves. And trying to force an improvement is rarely successful.”
“Under most circumstances, I would agree with you,” said Idol Hooves. “However, that assumes that the other party does not wish for change.”
Maud was skeptical. “And DeFace does?”
“If he did not,” Idol mused, “I would not be alive today, of that I am certain.”
And then it hit her.
The vague theories that she’d been forming over the last few minutes were all wrong: Idol Hooves wasn’t a busybody or an archnemesis.
Idol Hooves was an older brother.
Things continued much like normal, until the next month, when Pinkie abruptly cancelled their get-together plans for that week.
Having already purchased her train ticket, and being reluctant to waste money, Maud instead found herself in the Canterlot Theater basement, playing what she remembered of ‘The Entertainer’ for an enraptured Idol Hooves.
“You have mastered the song of the Ice Cream Cart,” he observed, trying not to look too impressed.
Maud chuckled, lightly. “It is also the main theme of a play entitled ‘The Sting,’ she offered. “It is simply old enough to have entered the public domain,” she explained, as she finished the final notes of the piece.
“Do you play?” she asked.
Idol Hooves shook his head. “It is DeFace’s hobby more than mine,” he answered. “While I am sometimes allowed to provide ambiance during intermissions, I have been told that my interpretation is too ‘stiff’ for the main production. I believe Conductor Estella has likened myself to ‘a music box in pony form,’ on more than one occasion.”
Maud considered that. “If your preferred style involves uniformity, then perhaps you’d enjoy music originally composed for the harpsichord? Clemaneti’s Sonatina in C Major has always been a favorite of mine…”
“Maud!?” called a surprised voice from the stairs. “What are you doing here?”
Maud turned to see her younger sister, as well as the rest of the Elements of Harmony, entering the room.
“Getting to know each other,” Maud answered. “I am finding that Idol Hooves and myself have much in common.”
The Elements exchanged looks at that.
“Darling,” began Rarity, glancing at the stallion, “are you certain that you won’t change your mind?”
Idol Hooves sighed.
“I will not,” he said, “but perhaps I was a bit ambiguous in my wording. I will speak plainly: against this particular foe, I cannot help you without Lord DeFace’s aid. It is not a matter of desire or of permission, but of physical impossibility. Shall I fetch him?”
“Please do,” said Twilight, eventually.
“My apologies, Miss Pie,” said Idol, before he stopped short and glanced at Pinkie.
“…Maud,” he amended, “but I must retire for the night. Perhaps another time?”
Maud simply nodded. “I look forward to it, Mr. Hooves… Idol,” she replied.
With a final bow, Idol Hooves left the chamber.
“Maudie…” began Pinkie, a teasing lilt in her voice, “…are you two dating?”
Completely unperturbed, Maud shrugged. “A single outing does not a couple make. I haven’t even introduced him to Boulder, yet.”
“That wasn’t a ‘no’!” Pinkie sang.
Maud sighed. “It wasn’t a ‘yes,’ either.”
“Is this what Hooves called me out for?” interjected a disdainful voice. “Dating drama?”
They all turned to see the speaker and, sure enough, they beheld the pristine coat and electric blue eyes of Lord DeFace.
“No,” said Twilight. “We came to ask for your help against Starlight Glimmer.”
“I do not know the mare,” said DeFace, with a scoff.
“She’s been altering Equestria’s timeline using spells,” said Twilight. “We’ve managed to stop her from making major changes, but we haven’t been able to completely defeat her, yet. Idol Hooves helped us against Tirek…”
DeFace snorted. “Then ask him.”
“… he told us to ask you,” Twilight said.
DeFace rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did.”
“Now, look here,” said Applejack. “You’re friends with Hooves, ain’tcha? That must mean that, deep down, there’s something good in you.”
For a moment, DeFace looked taken aback, before recovering himself and sneering at the lot of them.
“You are more correct that you may realize,” he admitted, “but you are wrong in thinking that I am the one to help you. Idol’s hooves may have brought you aid, but my own have caused nothing but suffering and death for others. Find someone else,” he told them.
“Now, wait just a minute!” said Rainbow Dash. “Are you saying that you’ve killed somepony?”
“I confess to nothing,” said DeFace. “Now leave, before you find yourself my permanent guests,” he added.
“Meep,” said Fluttershy, hiding behind the rest of her friends.
Twilight met his eyes, gauging the truth of his statements.
“All right, girls,” she said, to the rest of the Elements. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of planning to do.”
One by one, the Elements filed out of the basement. Maud eventually moved to follow them.
“Even if you’ve made mistakes in the past,” said Maud, pausing, as she reached the first step, “that doesn’t mean that your future can’t be different.”
She then headed up the stairs without looking back.
And, oddly enough, it wasn’t even a week later that Maud returned to Canterlot, this time at the invitation of Zecora the Shaman.
Perhaps she should look into purchasing a timeshare.
At any rate, rather than one of the dives that she’d frequented in her student days, today they were instead patronizing The Grind House.
It being barely past noon, and well after the morning rush, this gave them no small amount of privacy as they gossiped.
“I passed some rather interesting graffiti on my way here,” Maud mentioned, after the first pleasantries of small talk had been exchanged, and she decided to bring up a slightly more serious topic.
“Did you now?” said Zecora, smiling slightly. “Well, don’t be shy. What art of the streets has caught your eye?”
The syllable count was off from that of a true couplet, Maud noted, but that seemed par for the course, as far as Zecora’s rhyming went.
Though Maud had yet to see her be moved to limericks—as she had been during their first meeting—the invitation which Zecora had sent her had included no fewer than three haikus.
Apparently, more regimented forms of poetry were associated with higher emotional states, or possibly simply with greater formality.
Maud raised an eyebrow. “’Lord DeFace is real, and I hoof-fought him behind Pony Joes’?”
Zecora continued to look amused. “Indeed?”
“Also, a highly deformed drawing of DeFace, entitled ‘Dat Face.’ Shall I go on?”
Zecora grinned openly, not even pretending to take things seriously anymore. “Proceed.”
“And, last but not least, the train engine of the Canterlot Express has been emblazoned with a likeness of DeFace, a speech bubble attributing to him the words, ‘Sing for me, my Angel of Music!’”
Zecora chuckled.
“The law of reprisal rings fair and rings true:” Zecora began, “when harmed by a child, childish vengeance will do.”
Maud paused.
“What, precisely, did DeFace do to you?” she asked.
Zecora shrugged. “The same harm which he was attempting on you: sealed inside a cocoon filled with slimy green goo.”
Maud had no clue whatsoever what to make of that. “Do you have any idea why?”
Zecora sighed. “He and one ‘Idol Hooves’ are much more than a pair. A species is, frankly, the least that they share.”
“It’s an insect thing, then,” said Maud. “Was he planning to eat us?”
“In a literal sense, I suspect he would not,” said Zecora, frowning. “I’ve heard tales that his kind feed on feelings and thoughts.”
“They eat… emotions?” said Maud, unable to make sense of that. “But that’s—”
Her words were cut off, as what might have been a fire spell blazed through the room, illuminating it.
“Hey!” yelled the barista. “Didn’t you see the sign? ‘No Light Spells’!”
Another spell shot across the dining area, and the barista was gone.
“Alright, now I’m mad!” called a much-higher voice.
A foal in an oversized vest climbed over the counter. It appeared that the barista had been turned into a colt.
Maud snapped her gaze to the other side of the room, to see that standing by the entrance was none other than Starlight Glimmer.
“…I’m fairly certain that is not how Fight or Flight instincts work,” Maud was saying.
“To fight or to flee is a simplified quip,” replied Zecora. “There is fight, there is flight, there is freeze, there is flip…”
Maud blinked. “I’ve heard of Death Feigning. That’s something you see in opossums, and I guess ‘freeze’ is an adequate descriptor. But I’d thought that the fourth was called ‘Fawn,’ or sometimes ‘Tend and Befriend.’ I’ve never even heard of ‘Flip.’”
Zecora cocked her head. “While somewhat uncommon, to flip can be boon. Though it’s how Princess Luna became Nightmare Moo—"
“Will you two Shut! Up!”
Maud and Zecora ceased their small talk and returned their attention to Starlight Glimmer.
“If our shackles were opened and bonds were untied, perhaps we’d take this conversation outside,” Zecora observed, before turning back to Maud.
“As for how this relates back to Hooves and DeFace…” Zecora trailed off, giving Maud a meaningful look.
Maud’s eyes widened minutely. “…you can’t be serious.”
Zecora just laughed.
“Enough!” said Starlight Glimmer. “You have ten minutes before I obliterate you from the timeline. Are you really that determined to ignore the reality of your situation?”
“My sister will save us,” said Maud. “So why would I worry?”
Starlight chortled. “Save you? Not even I can deactivate the device now that it’s counting down, and you’re tied to it! What makes you think that a mere Element of Harmony can save you? I’ve already trapped them in an inescapable time loop!”
Maud and Zecora exchanged a look. If true, that would be devastating, but they had no way of knowing whether or not it was true.
“Then why take us hostage?” asked Maud, because that certainly didn’t add up.
“It’s not the Elements that I’m trying to call out,” said Starlight, turning her gaze to the door, just as a familiar stallion entered the chamber.
“Welcome,” said Starlight, with a smirk, “Idol Hooves.”
Before he could get a word out, Starlight blasted her ‘guest’ with a spell, apparently an age-regression spell, because all that happened was that Idol Hooves turned into a smaller bug pony.
“What do you want with my…” he hesitated, “…friends?” he hazarded.
“Nothing really,” said Starlight. “What I want is to see you suffer.”
The insectoid equine remained inexpressive. More so than usual. That was odd, Maud thought.
“I know you care about these two,” said Starlight. “So, I’ll make this offer. The machine that you see is a temporal explosive. In five minutes, it will detonate, erasing these two from the timeline. There is nothing you can do to stop this. However, if you wish, you may take one of their places. One will go free; one will go with you into oblivion. What do you say?”
He hissed in revulsion, and launched himself at Starlight, fangs flashing in the torchlight of the sewers.
They fought. For several seconds, neither was able to gain the upper hand, before the insectoid managed to land a kick that knocked Starlight into a wall, winding her.
She glared at him, but rather than counter-attack, she merely scoffed.
“So be it,” she said. “You’ve chosen death.”
With that, she shot off a spell, not at any pony, but rather at the locking mechanism of the door.
“You have two minutes, and then all of you perish together,” she finished, before dissolving into a fit of çadistic laughter and teleporting away.
With barely a glance at where Starlight had vanished, the stallion instead turned to the machine, only to find Zecora already free and examining it. Maud was over by the door, doing her best to kick it down.
Apparently, a distraction was all that they’d needed to get themselves loose, though they now all had larger problems to deal with.
“It’s stuck,” observed Zecora, “and we’re bucked.”
“DeFace, get over here and help me with the door,” said Maud.
He startled. “It’s—it’s ‘Idol’…”
Zecora snorted. “Though much about you I do not comprehend, you are named Lord DeFace… and I now call you friend.”
DeFace might have said something, but as he cast about for a response, his gaze fell upon the timer, which was just reaching the ten second mark on the countdown.
Instead, he nodded to Zecora in acknowledgment, and the two of them ran over to ram the door, impacting in synchronicity with one of Maud’s kicks.
If this were a play, then the symbolism inherent in that gesture of teamwork would have shattered the barrier like plywood.
If this were a novel, then this would be the point at which the cavalry arrived to save them, most likely the Elements of Harmony, having miraculously escaped from their time loop prison.
If this were a comic book, then DeFace would have known a teleportation spell, or how to dismantle an explosive, or any number of Chekhooves’ Skills to turn things in their favor.
But this wasn’t a story.
Help wasn’t coming.
The door held fast, the timer ticked down to zero, and the world whited out.
When Lord DeFace next came to awareness, he found himself in a misty stretch of space with no identifying landmarks.
This observation was pushed aside to examine later, however, because he also found himself face-to-face with Idol Hooves.
Ah, so this was a dream, then, and a familiar one, at that.
“Come to gloat?” asked DeFace, wary and resigned.
“No,” answered Idol Hooves. “I come offering praise. You have done well, DeFace.”
DeFace bristled. “Because I’m becoming you.”
Idol snorted. “No, because you are finally becoming yourself, rather than living in fear and regret.”
DeFace shook his head. “It was an act of impulsivity, nothing more.”
Idol did not look convinced. “If it were mere impulse, you would not have destroyed your shrine to Queen Chrysalis.”
“I…” DeFace faltered. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still the evil half of our personality.”
Idol disagreed. “You aren’t evil, DeFace. Cease drawing false dichotomies when we are as true a one as ever existed.”
“…what?”
“You are not evil, nor am I am good,” Idol went on. “True, I am bold where you are hesitant; I am iconoclastic, where you place great stock in your own reputation; and I am reserved where you are emotive… but this is because I represent the inverse of your own personality. Even our coats are opposites on the color wheel.”
“But I’ve killed people!” protested DeFace, looking distressed. “I’ve kidnapped innocent bystanders, and looked the other way while others suffered. How can that be called anything but evil?” he demanded.
Idol sighed. “Cowardice is not the same as malice, and we are all victims of it from time to time, particularly during youth.”
Here Idol paused, as though something had just occurred to him.
“I suspect that is part of why I am the elder between the two of us,” he went on. “Most people do not gain the ability to be sufficiently blunt or self-disinterested as I am until at least their third decade. You are barely entering your second, and that is after five years of banishment.”
“I’m not a nymph!” DeFace insisted.
“You are not,” agreed Idol, “but you were barely past nymph-hood when you were exiled.”
DeFace scowled, but was unable to offer protest.
“So, what happens now?” he asked. “We merge and become one?”
Idol shook his head. “I have always existed within you. After we finish speaking, I will fade back into mere potential.”
“But, but you’re conscious,” DeFace pointed out. “You exist as a separate personality now. Why would you give that up?”
Idol shrugged. “Life is more than awareness. And love is more than sustenance.”
“But,” here DeFace’s mind went to Maud and Zecora, to all the other ponies he’d watched Idol help, “…they need you.”
Idol scoffed. “They need us both,” he disagreed, “…but you far more than me.”
And, with that, the structure of the dream began to unravel.
Before DeFace could say anything else, Idol Hooves was no more.
Lord DeFace woke up. He felt different.
He felt whole.
…if somewhat constricted by the fact that he was back in his pegasus disguise, ‘Sandy.’
Oh, he realized, he was back with the caravan.
…wasn’t the device supposed to erase him from the timeline, altogether? Why had it merely returned him to an earlier point in said timeline? Had the same thing happened to Maud Pie and Zecora?
Noticing that the wagons were beginning to leave him behind, DeFace resumed walking.
The looks the ponies were shooting him were mildly concerned. He’d almost forgotten that they’d almost tolerated him, in the beginning. Back before…
DeFace paused. Back before what? He didn’t actually remember, anymore.
“Child, get away from there!”
Ah, yes. That.
DeFace remembered the first time this had happened. How he’d been as paralyzed by fear as the foal had eventually been by scorpion venom.
The child had survived, and even regained mobility after a day or two, but ‘Sandy’s lack of sympathy had been noticed, and not appreciated by the rest of the caravan. Eventually, he’d left to strike out on his own, once he’d realized that there were no more positive emotions to be had in that particular social circle.
This time, he strode forward and crushed the arachnid, sparing the foal from injury.
… and was completely unprepared for the wall of gratitude that blindsided him over the next few days.
He still left the caravan, of course. He might be changing things, but that required, at least, that this next portion of his journey remain the same.
As had happened last time, he’d made a makeshift encampment in a canyon, and then kept an eye out for the mare and the manticore.
It had been his biggest regret, last time, that he’d never tried to save her.
After all, it had been her provisions that he’d eaten, her form that he’d taken, and her identity that he’d stolen in order to survive the desert and later to enter pony society.
He felt as though he owed her something. And so, he had raided a nearby ruin for weapons, dug a few pit-falls, and settled in to wait.
He would do better this time, and hopefully never have to deal with the guilt that had once driven him to split his personality in two with a spell.
He had saved a foal from a scorpion already. How much harder could it be to save a mare from a manticore?
…it was much, much harder, as things turned out, but—in the end—the deed was done. He and the pegasus sat together around his campfire, DeFace doing his best to keep his ichor-dripping wound out of sight, while the mare adjusted the splint for her wing.
“Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along,” she was saying. “Seriously, I owe you my life. If you ever need a favor, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Do not mention it, Ms. Showers,” said DeFace, who was already off-kilter enough from seeing the face he’d used as his own for several months stare back at him.
“Call me Topaz,” she insisted. “Wait, what did you say your name was, again?”
…he hadn’t mentioned such, and had been hoping to avoid it, but he supposed that this was also an opportunity to make a change.
‘Lord DeFace’ had been chosen for him by the masses, once rumors of him had begun to spread, and he liked the idea of keeping an homage to it in his new title.
What to choose, though?
‘Marquis’ offered a nice parallel to ‘Lord’ he supposed. And, perhaps, if his first name made him sound less like one presuming deity, then others might be less reluctant to use it.
Next, to the surnames.
‘Restor’ would be an interesting inversion of DeFace, but he didn’t precisely wish to solve his problems by changing absolutely everything. There were parts of himself that he’d prefer remained as they were, even if he did need to rearrange his priorities, somewhat.
In that case, it could only be…
“Façade,” he decided. “My name is Marquis Façade.”
And the mare just stared at him in disbelief, no doubt in awe of his aesthetically pleasing moniker.
Author's Note
Other references for this fic include A Legend of Truth by Rudyard Kipling, and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, both of which are public domain.