Merciful Deletions

It was just after 9 PM local time when Spike and Piercing Gaze staggered into the hotel they'd been put up in, situated midway up a nondescript highrise on the outskirts of downtown Manehattan. It took them two days to get there from Snapdragon Hollow, though it would've taken longer had Spike not convinced Piercing to let him floor the gas pedal and hit the lights and siren. They'd been stopped no less than 3 times by the National Highway Patrol, each time they'd shown their badges and explained why they were driving the way they were.

NHP were usually hard-asses about things, but when it came to OPTIC they knew well enough not to ask too many questions. It helped that Spike was only ever speeding when there weren't other cars around, he knew that he and Piercing were both more resistant to being injured in an accident, but he'd be damned if he put other drivers at risk.

Spike was just glad to be sleeping somewhere that wasn't the car... Comfortable as the seats may have been, after two days he'd started to feel achy, no doubt contributed to by his sizable height. The crick in his neck was stiff and painful, as was the tightness in his shoulders. Piercing closed the door behind him as the duo laid eyes upon the two beds in their room, from the neat and tidy sheets to the plush mattresses and comfy blankets. They may as well have been gifts from the Gods. The room itself was well appointed, in spite of the obscurity of the hotel. Soothing blue floral wallpaper, polished hardwood floors, an oak dresser, nightstands, two crystal ashtrays, a phone, even one of those newfangled 'televisions', as well as a typical wooden cathedral style radio. The bell boy had been kind enough to bring their bags up from the car while they were checking in, and Spike had made sure he was tipped well, considering how heavy they were.

"I'm fuckin' beat..." Spike grunted, rubbing at his neck and approaching the bed nearest to the window. "Is it just me, or did it feel like every idiot and his brother decided to get on the road today?"

He removed his bomber jacket and tossed it haphazardly on a nearby leather armchair. It, like much of his clothes, was wet with rain, which was at that moment pouring down outside. Spike unclipped his appendix holster from his belt. Out of habit he racked back the slide and checked to see if the weapon was loaded. Were he back home this would've been when he unloaded the weapon, cleared the chamber, and returned it to his gun safe, but that... That may as well have been another lifetime ago. Now Spike couldn't imagine falling asleep without the loaded pistol on the nightstand, well within arms reach.

"It wasn't you, lad." Piercing responded, letting out a tense groan as he eased himself down on the edge of his own mattress. "Granted we aren't exactly innocent either, but... That guy doing 35 in a 55? He was an idiot if I ever saw one... We should've given him a ticket for impeding the flow of traffic."

"We can do that?" Spike asked in an absent voice, himself letting out a relieved sigh as he settled on the edge of the bed to take off his boots.

"OPTIC is a national law enforcement agency, we just happen to specialize in the weird..." Piercing snapped his fingers, in a flash of magic his slightly wet clothes were whisked away and replaced by a pair of blue pajamas. The clothes in turn materialized on a hook in the closet by the door. "That doesn't mean we can't enforce other laws though. How do you think we convince informants to talk? We catch them on a narcotics or smuggling charge, offer to let it slide if they give us the information we want. It's a powerful tool in our arsenal."

"Alright then..." Spike looked off to the side, images of deadly crashes running through his head. "Just as long we can stop an accident before it happens." He didn't have the benefit of magic, and so with great reluctance he got up off the bed and began to change into his sleeping clothes. His were far simpler, just his boxers and the white tank top he wore under his shirt. "Bet we'll make a lot of people's day... Finally a cop when they need one, heh..."

"Yeah." Piercing laid back on his bed, settling into the mattress and looking up at the ceiling. "I'm hoping to get started by 10 AM tomorrow." Spike grunted in agreement as he himself got comfortable and settled in for the night.

Tomorrow was indeed another day, and they'd be starting another investigation... This one was on behalf of the city of Manehattan itself, which had forwarded along numerous reports of odd happenings and sightings in the poorer quarters near the waterfront. With another snap of his fingers Piercing flicked the light-switch, plunging the room into darkness... The only light came from the cityscape outside, the ambient golden glow of street lamps, the headlights and taillights, buzzing neon signs. Then there was the sound, rumbling engines, distant police sirens, the wind, and the rain. It wasn't all that different from Canterlot on a rainy night, and that gave Spike a modicum of comfort. Not enough, though...

He tried to close his eyes, just as he had tried so many times over the past couple days. Sleep was proving an increasingly elusive respite. Every time he closed his eyes he found himself transported back to Darkwater Manor, back to the visions in his head, the twisted memories and the howling peels of laughter. That voice... That awful voice...

Spike just laid there, staring at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused as his mind replayed every awful moment of the night on endless repeat...

"Hey, boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you sleep?"

"No..."

"Got a spell that could help?"

"Technically? I guess... I could snap my fingers and put you to sleep, but odds are you'd be up again within the hour."

"Damn..."

"Yup..."

The two of them continued to stare at the ceiling, Spike wasn't entirely sure how long. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore and sat himself up in bed, swinging his legs over the side. With a grunt he stood from his bed and walked towards the window, leaning against the frame and staring down at the city below. From his spot he could see a number of stores on the street below, most of which were closed. One appeared open, situated on the street corner, though customers seemed scarce. In the window he could see assorted staples and canned goods, advertisements for coffee, as well as a sign that read 'Tobacco! Cigars! Cigarettes Sold at City Minimum!'.

A bodega.

Canterlot had bodegas, Spike had been to a few of them growing up. With nothing else to do the young man sighed and resigned himself to getting dressed again, he was feeling a little hungry anyway. The pistol found itself right where he always kept it on his belt, as did the jacket. He patted it down, ensuring his keys, badge, and wallet were all where he'd left them in the inner pocket. With that he pulled on his soggy black wool knit cap.

"I'm going out, there's a shop across the street... Want anything?"

"Pipe tobacco, if you can find it." Piercing responded, still laying on his bed. It was obvious he intended to try and fight for sleep a little longer.

"Gotcha..." Spike grunted, tucking his hands into his pockets and walking to the door.

Little of consequence occurred in the walk from his room to the ground floor, he went out into the hallway, took the stairs down as the elevator operator had long since gone home, and strolled through the hotel lobby. The night clerk at the desk seemed preoccupied with the book keeping of the previous day's business, and so paid little mind to the hulking dragon as he went past, outside of a brief flick of the eyes.

The air outside was cool and humid, rain came down in sheets, but not nearly as hard as it'd been in Snapdragon Hollow. Round rivulets of water beaded up on his jacket, or began to soak into his cap. The breeze carried with it a scent that only a city could conjure. Car exhaust, burning coal, tobacco smoke, dirt, grime, grease, old Chi-Neighs food. To a dragon's heightened sense of smell the odors were quite strong. Fortunately the fresh falling rain was doing wonders to settle the smell, otherwise he might've needed to dab some bay leaf oil under his nostrils.

Impeded by the street, Spike spied a crosswalk, watching numerous cars and horse carriages trundle past. None of them seemed particularly inclined to stop and let him pass, which yet again brought him back to his childhood. When Shining Armor and his Mom would go out to a museum or something, Mom would always want to wait for someone to stop and let them cross, but her brother seemed disinclined to just stand around, opting instead to find a lull in the traffic and effectively force the issue.

That was the norm in the city, so that's precisely what Spike did.

He spotted a brief lull in traffic, then started across. He didn't dally or delay, his long muscular legs spanning the distance in rapid time. This still wasn't fast enough for those he was holding up, as evidenced by a series of annoyed honking horns and a few shouted curses. Spike responded in the traditional fashion of the city, with a gesture of his hand that was more or less universal. Traffic resumed flowing at its usual pace once he was across, thus concluding that brief but oh-so-common ritual that contributed to the character of cities in general, for better or worse.

The young dragon moved along the sidewalk, parked cars on one side, closed stores and a darkened alleyway on the other. It was one of those alleys that just screamed 'Shankings await!', though Spike wasn't sure if that was the Wraith Sense talking or just his gut. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he pondered the absurdity of what might happen were someone to attempt to mug him. It'd be one thing if they had a gun, but then again so did he. They'd be in for a bad time if they had a knife, or a shiv, or some blunt instrument. Those would bounce off his thick leathery hide, or any of the patches of scales that dotted his body... Or they'd just shatter on impact. The idea of some mugger staring at him, the shattered remnants of a weapon in their hand, came across as profoundly funny in that instant...

It was followed by a number of other thoughts, darker ones, not related to the events in Snapdragon Hollow. His mind was wandering to the next logical step in the hypothetical mugging, how he himself would respond. His instincts told him it would be a very short and very one sided fight... More of an execution, really. Assuming the mugger was an Equestrian at any rate. The gory image of a freight train obliterating an unfortunate cow at over 90 miles per hour came to mind, a memory of his time working with the FDPV. Again Spike giggled, unable to help himself. He'd been noticing that a lot in the wake of his molt... Violence held an odd sort of allure, and the consequences of it --namely the death of a mugger-- were met with little more than apathy or even outright excitement on Spike's part.

The irony was that Spike was more concerned about not caring about the violent act than he was concerned about the act itself.

With another shake of his head Spike stepped into the bodega, dripping water upon the dirty welcome mat at his feet, all that separated his boots from the green linoleum tiles. A small brass cowbell chimed as the door knocked into it, swaying about on a line of cheap butcher's twine. The bodega may as well have been one taken from Canterlot, as it had more or less the same sort of layout and items as its counterpart in the capital. There were four aisles, each stocked with all the staples and snacks one would expect of a convenience store, as well as a refrigerated section at the rear of the store full of milk, cream, and other assorted beverages. One wall had a small counter where numerous pots of coffee and paper cups waited to be used, the other had the storekeeper's counter, stocked lottery tickets, scratch offs, disposable lighters, and the like.

Behind the counter was a brawny bull of a woman, in that she was half bull and half woman. A minotaur. She was as tall as Spike, absolutely jacked, with a nose ring and rugged clothes that seemed a good fit for her equally rugged features. She eyed Spike with obvious curiosity, not surprising. It wasn't every day a dragon walked through the door. Behind her was a wall of cigarettes and tins of dip -- the chewing tobacco kind, not the bean or cheese kind. Beside them was a tall wooden humidor, in which Spike saw boxes of cigars and baggies of loose tobacco. Some were obviously blended for use in pipes, others were for those that preferred to roll their own cigarettes.

"Wipe your shoes, I don't need you tracking dirt everywhere." She spoke in a gruff voice, wordlessly Spike complied, wiping his boots on the welcome mat before stepping off of it. "Sure is coming down out there, huh?"

"Yeah, cats and dogs." Spike agreed, tucking his hands in his pockets as he approached the counter. "Not the worst I've seen, not by a long shot, but..." He trailed off as he saw a mild flicker of annoyance in the minotaur's face. This wasn't Ponyville, people didn't really do small talk the same way here, he had to remember that. "Whatever..." He took a few minutes to peruse the snacks, settling on a couple bags of beef jerky and a green glass bottle of 'Moonlit Lager' -- the preferred beer brand of Ponyville's blue collar workers. With food and beverage in hand he returned to the counter. "I need some pipe tobacco." The young man gestured to the baggies in the humidor.

"Any particular flavor?"

"I dunno, it's for my partner..." Spike stopped for a moment, rubbing at his chin and feeling the stubble there. "Uh... Cherry Cavendish, I think." The minotaur narrowed her eyes at him, looking at him with an obvious air of suspicion.

"You got ID?"

"Oh, yeah... One sec." Spike reached into his jacket, briefly exposing the holster clipped to his belt. The shopkeeper's eyes widened, she looked about ready to say something, at least until he produced his badge and placed it on the counter for her to inspect.

"Office of Paranormal Threat..." She trailed off as she read it over. "What, someone see a goblin or ghost running around out there?" The minotaur handed the badge back and made her way over to the humidor. She took a small brass key hanging from a chain around her neck and slipped it into a lock on the door, then opened it up. Spike's nostrils were soon struck with the sweet aroma of tobacco of numerous types, which alone helped to soothe the anxious nerves that'd been building up over the past couple days.

"Something like that." Spike deflected with a chuckle, slipping the badge back into his jacket.

"Five ounces okay?" Asked the minotaur, grabbing one of the bags of tobacco. Spike nodded, watching her carefully. "You want anything else?" At this the man paused, biting his lower lip. It was a simple enough question, but the answer was less so. His Mom would've killed him if he ever so much as looked at a cigarette growing up, but... He was an adult now, and they did smell quite nice. Given everything he'd gone through over the past couple days, if not weeks, he could do with something to mellow out.

"I'll take a box of Sovereign Heritage, the campanas if you have 'em." Spike pointed at one of the boxes of cigars, situated on the top shelf of the humidor. He didn't know much about cigars, but in a bid to sound like he did he opted to go for the only ones he knew by name. The cigar box he happened to carry his various precious keepsakes in was from Sovereign Heritage, and 'campana' style cigars were really the only choice given his large hands, something Spike knew only from observing Big Macintosh when he smoked.

"Glad to see you're spending my Tax Bits wisely." The minotaur grunted, reaching up and taking the box of cigars out of the humidor. Spike didn't know what she meant by this until she set the box down on the counter. It was elegant, made of sturdy teak with a polished cherry stain, decorated with gold leaf and a prestigious looking crest. Burned into the wood beneath the crest were the words '10 Campanas - Hecho a Mano - 100% Tabaco Suave Y Natural - Hecho En Ornithia', as well as a price tag. 200 Bits. Extremely expensive, over a month's wages if he was still working as a firefighter. Fortunately his new assignment had also seen a substantial increase in pay, to say nothing of other forms of passive income.

"I don't smoke often." Spike responded, technically true as he'd actually never smoked before... This was probably a good time to practice his 'spin', one of the very important skills employed by just about every Agent under the auspices of the Nocturne Agency, be they SID or OPTIC. It honestly felt wrong to use it in casual conversation. At least if he was using it to cover up some unspeakable otherworldly horror it didn't feel quite so shady, but he needed to practice. Besides, it wasn't like this Minotaur actually cared about the truth or not, she had no way of knowing he was 'spinning' his words. "Figure it may as well be something good when I do."

"I don't need your life's story, kid..." Was the Minotaur's grunted reply as she began typing the items into the cash register. Spike meanwhile took out his wallet. "Matches?" The man nodded, so she grabbed a small box of wooden matches from below the counter and added it to the total. Rummaging through the wallet, he produced four crisp new 50 Bit notes, as well as some smaller bills and a few single Bit coins, which depicted Princess Celestia in profile on one side and her royal sun insignia on the other.

Spike was always struck by the odd colors the Equestrian Mint chose for its paper currency, as well as the images they put on them. 5 Bit notes were green and depicted Clover the Clever in profile, 10 Bit notes were blue and had Flash Magnus, 20s displayed Princess Platinum. The old 50s were purple and had Princess Luna, while the new 50s were reddish-orange and depicted Orzel in her headscarf and crown. Luna had since replaced Celestia on the 100, which still maintained the almost metallic gold paper in an odd departure from the typical conventions... Spike shook his head, he was getting off task. In total the bill came to 203 Bits, as everything else was comparatively cheap. Carefully he counted the money and set it on the glass countertop, sliding it towards the bodega owner. She in turn picked it up and counted it for herself.

Ka-ching!

The register opened, the cash was taken, change was made, and Spike departed the bodega with his purchases tucked neatly away in a brown paper bag, which was in turn stuffed inside his jacket. As he was going out the door he caught a look at the clock, it was now closing in on 10:30. The brief time he'd been in the store was enough for the storm to get even worse, causing large puddles to overflow from the gutters along the streets. Puddles that the drivers of passing automobiles had no qualms with driving through at speed, causing a rooster tail splash of frigid water that nearly chilled Spike down to the bone. Fortunately the bag remained dry.

"Great... Just great..." Spike muttered, looking down at his soaked pants and jacket. "Un-fuckin'-real..." He shook his head and trudged across the street, this time paying even less heed to the drivers that honked at him. One of them got so bold as to roll down their window and shout.

"Get outta the road, jackass!"

"Yeah yeah! Fuckin' eat me, cocksucker!" Spike shouted back as he finished crossing the road, punctuating his statement with another of those universal hand gestures. The driver returned it in kind, then continued on his way, concluding the street-crossing ritual once again.

Spike meanwhile sighed, slumped his shoulders, and made his way back to the hotel. He didn't particularly care for the way being in the city was making him feel, to say nothing of how he was acting. Back in Ponyville he never would've been so abrasive, so... Crude. Mom would've chewed him out royally for talking to someone like that. Part of it was another flaring of the infamous volatile draconic temper, but there was so much more feeding it.

His mind went back to the whole reason he was out here in the rain, getting shouted at and soaked to the skin, an inability to sleep. There was a very big difference between 'sleep' and 'rest'. He had enough sleep to allow him to function at a basic level, dragons on average needed only 2-3 hours a night, but as for rest? His reserves of patience were wearing thin, his temper continued to be ground down, the edges of his affable Equestrian personality were starting to fray. With each passing hour it was getting increasingly difficult to continue playing the 'cuddly friendly dragon'. For now he was able to restrain his outbursts to total strangers, but give it enough time and he very well might start going off half-cocked on people he cared about.

Spike trudged into the hotel lobby, still dripping wet, his face set in a less than enthused scowl. The clerk at the desk looked up and opened his mouth, no doubt to complain about the water and grime being tracked in. Spike didn't even look at him, just wordlessly held out his hand with his index finger raised, a silent gesture that the clerk should refrain from raising a fuss at the moment. Sensing the hostility radiating off the 7'4" tall mountain of muscle, the clerk came to the conclusion that discretion was the better part of valor and thus shut his trap.

"Just... Bill me." Was all Spike managed to grunt, more of a snarl really. He took a deep breath and composed himself, affecting his affable persona once again. "Whatever it costs to clean it up, I really don't care... Sorry."

With that Spike made his way to the stairwell and ascended back to the room. The man placed the paper bag on the dresser, then peeled himself out of his wet clothes. Piercing was in his bed, asleep and nestled under the blankets... At least one of them was getting some rest. Keeping hold of his holster, Spike made his way into the bathroom and turned the shower to its hottest temperature. The weapon rested gently on the bathroom counter, within arms reach of the shower.

An Equestrian would've been shrieking in agony if they spent an extended period of time in the scalding water, but Spike... Spike felt refreshed. He spent an hour or so in the shower, cleaning himself up in the first few minutes, then letting the water cascade down his back, over his aching muscles and sore neck. For the first time Spike sighed not with frustration, annoyance, or discomfort... It felt like he'd been holding his breath for the past two days, constantly on edge, always on the alert. He couldn't restrain a chuckle as he pondered just how much his life had changed in the short time since that first day when Piercing approached him at the BBQ. It wouldn't have changed anything, but boy... He really hadn't known what he was getting himself into.

There was a saying he'd heard some of Shining Armor's army buddies say... 'Embrace the suck'. Perhaps that's why laughter came so easily, it was either laugh or scream. Embrace it, or let it grind him under. What else was there to do in the face of cosmic entities and monsters but laugh? The entire idea was absurd, and the absurd deserved to be laughed at. Spike shook his head, offering a humorless smile to himself as he leaned against the tiles on the wall, the water continuing to cascade down his skin and back. After a few more minutes of standing there with his eyes closed, the dragon reluctantly turned off the water and got out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the nearby rack. All was going as things usually did after he showered, with him starting to dry off. Then he used a small hand towel to wipe away some of the mist on the mirror.

The face that stared back at him was tired, with dark rings, sunken eyes, and an increasingly present crop of stubble. There were some subtle changes that Spike had noticed in the wake of his Molt, and these were becoming more obvious day after day. His eyes were narrowing and becoming more almond shaped, his cheekbones were rising, his chin was tapering, his jawline had become square, his nose was more slender and angular...

Spike still recognized himself, more or less, but the features gave him a distinctly 'Jade Oriental' appearance... Not all that far off from Orzel, albeit without the metallic skin. All he needed was to grow a goatee and it'd complete the picture, like some shogun or ronin out of the 'Samurai Dragon' films Shining Armor liked to pretend he didn't know anything about.

That brought Spike's thoughts back to something Piercing had mentioned in Darkwater Manor, but had yet to follow up on. He suspected it was because the man hoped his protege would forget the comment as one of many things said while their lives were in peril. The voice that'd tormented him then, and still haunted his dreams, had spoken to him in Hisuinese. Granted Spike had a barely conversational grasp of the language, his studies hadn't been nearly as in depth as his studies of Szafirian, but he knew enough to recognize it when spoken.

For the entirety of his life Spike had wondered 'what sort of dragon am I?', and now he couldn't help wondering if the answer was as easy as looking into the mirror. It didn't explain how Celestia had come into possession of his egg, or how it might've come so far across the world, but... On some deeper --instinctual-- level Spike suspected he was an 'Eastern Dragon', a native of the Jade Orient to be more precise, though which clan he might've hailed from was anyone's guess. That was a question for another time...

How much further his face would change as he 'grew into' his new body wasn't totally clear, Spike didn't really care so long as his family could still recognize him. Another chuckle escaped his lips at that... These were the sort of things one had to expect when reflecting upon one's own reflection.

Embrace the suck, Spike. Embrace the suck.

Toweling off and drying his hair, Spike grabbed his gun and made his way out of the bathroom, where he changed into some fresh boxers and another white tank top. He looked at the clock. Just a hair before 12:15 AM, and he still didn't feel tired enough to sleep. With nothing better to do Spike walked to the paper bag on the table and grabbed the box of cigars, his jerky, and the bottle of beer. He paused for a moment to admire the cigar box again, then carefully broke the seal and opened the lid. 10 Campana sized cigars awaited him, not packaged in the usual plastic wrapper one might expect, each delicately adorned with a little red paper ribbon that displayed a miniaturized version of the insignia on the lid. Spike took one --as well as the box of matches-- and closed the lid, meandering back to his bed and taking a seat on the edge with his items.

He'd seen Big Mac and countless other men in his life light up numerous times. First he bit off the cap at the end, placing the cigar between his lips. Next he struck a match, filling the room with a brief flare of light and hiss of burning phosphorus. For a few moments he 'toasted' the 'foot' of the cigar, only then did he make his first puff... Then the second, then the third. The smoke soon flooded his mouth, a sweet tasting smoke, with just a faint sort of fruity accent. He waved the match until it went out, then tossed it into a small garbage can beside the bed. He made double sure it was out first, being well aware of the dangers of matches in garbage cans.

The man took another puff on the cigar, seeing that it was thoroughly lit and smoldering. The smoke vented from his nostrils, and with that he sat more squarely on the bed, making sure one of the crystal ashtrays was nearby. Thereabouts he noticed an odd sort of wooden box on the nightstand, which had five buttons. Two sets of arrows, each with one up and one down, and a red circle. Curious, he picked up the box with his free hand. Absently he pressed the red button, and nearly jumped out of the bed with a start as the television on the dresser flickered to life, bathing the room in an unnatural glow. Piercing stirred for a moment, but didn't wake up...

The image on the screen was in black and white, it was a little grainy, but... Reminded Spike of the movies he'd seen at the theater. The fact that there was no projector, and that he was sitting in a bed smoking a cigar as opposed to in a crowded room with a hundred people, was surreal... He narrowed his eyes at the screen and eased back against the headboard, heaving another great big sigh as he tried to get comfortable. Pushing one of the up arrows on the wooden box, a 'remote' if he recalled what he'd read in some magazine, prompted the audio to get louder, pushing the down button made it quieter. With another experimental press of the second up button Spike watched the screen flicker, before the images changed to something different entirely. Pressing down brought him back to the first program...

With the controls sorted Spike decided to see what was 'on', there were only a handful of channels, most were educational programs or advertisements, then he flipped to a scene he hadn't expected...

"...tensions in the Griffon Empire reached a boiling point following an altercation at the Wendepunkt Bridge Crossing." Spoke a very serious man's voice over shaky footage, much like those Spike had seen in newsreels at the movies. On the screen he saw what looked like an old draw bridge of some kind, spanning a massive river. Tanks burned on one side, there were crumpled bodies laying on a cobblestone street beside several damaged houses.

"Forces sponsored by the Iron Blood Movement dubbing themselves the 'Empress' Sons' seized control of the northern bridge bank and erected a checkpoint. The Griffon Empire deployed troops and tanks to dislodge the Empress' Sons, but met with substantial armed resistance from local townspeople."

The footage then cut to men wearing what looked like Griffon Army uniforms, though each wore a bright white armband --though the real color was lost. They held weapons, SMGs Spike recognized as PM-72A Rivet Guns and P1936 Equalizer pistols. They also wore what looked to be OUBCs --Over Uniform Ballistic Cuirasses-- of Equestrian make. This was significant for a number of reasons, one because all of those were weapons that Orzel had designed and now mass produced through her company Basilisk Defense Technologies, and two because they really weren't supposed to be available to foreign markets, let alone the Iron Blood Movement.

The men with the armbands were standing guard as more men in nearly identical uniforms, but lacking the armbands, walked by with their hands raised over their heads. Well, perhaps calling them 'men' wasn't all that accurate, most of them looked like they should've been in high school, or drinking milkshakes with their girlfriends at the local malt shop, not running around playing soldier.

"Imperial Forces were handed a crushing defeat. It is estimated that roughly 500 men were killed and 1,500 men, most of them recently conscripted, surrendered. While a full blown Civil War has yet to develop, this comes as yet another setback for the embattled Emperor Guto as he struggles to hold the Griffon Empire together. Continued peace in the continent of West Parthenia has never been more in doubt..."

Just like that Spike tuned the television to another channel, unable to keep a sigh from escaping his lips. This one was most definitely annoyed. Taking an idle puff on his cigar, once again the man's thoughts turned inward, back to his girlfriend... In all likelihood she'd have met in some dark and dingy situation room, surrounded by generals and security advisers, patched in with her Mom and Aunt in Canterlot. There she and the other members of the Crown would assess the situation and determine Equestria's response. Public opinion would no doubt be split, as there were many that thought Equestria should take a more active role, others believed it to be a purely 'Parthenian Squabble' that Equestria had no business in.

Judging by the presence of Orzel's weapons on the scene, Spike wouldn't have been surprised if she'd had some hand in things. She was very much in favor of assisting the Iron Bloods in their bid to secede from the Empire, from a moral standpoint and a practical one. Whatever decision she and the other Princesses made, there were sure to be people that complained. Spike supposed that even Princesses had a rough go of things, albeit in different ways. It might not have been back breaking physical labor, but no less spiritually taxing. There was a good chance that Orzel was still awake herself, either on account of the difference in time zones wherever she was or, like him, maybe she too was having trouble getting to sleep.

Speaking of, another look at the clock... 12:25 AM.

"Great..." Spike muttered to himself, opening his first bag of jerky and twisting the top off the bottle of beer. It's worth noting that the cap was not designed to twist off, and Spike had merely done so through application of his draconic strength. He flipped through the channels before settling on what looked to be a show about cowboys, complete with gunfights and desperadoes. He spent an hour or so eating his jerky, smoking his cigar, and sipping on his beer.

In time the show came to an end, so Spike turned the television off and again got out of bed, returning to the window and looking down at the street below. Smoke wafted up from the end of his dwindling cigar, coiling in the gloom and gradually scenting the suite with the sweet aroma of high-class tobacco. The tobacco and the beer were at least helping to mellow him out, but that was small comfort when he just wanted to be curled up in bed, dead to the world, sleeping a deep and restful sleep. Soon he was unable to restrain a yawn, which was at least a small step in the right direction.

At some point he turned the radio on and tuned it to a gentle slow swing serenade, the sort that made him long for better days of childhood, or a brighter future with the woman he loved. He finished off his cigar at some point around 2:15, it was a good long smoke... Then Spike tried for the third time to get some sleep. He crawled into his bed, ensuring his gun was again within arms reach, and pulled the blankets up over himself... This was followed by yet another sigh. Being as tall as he was, his feet dangled off the end of the bed, and the blanket was short as well. The man made the conscious decision to continue the attempt anyway, mostly because he'd exhausted all other possible options.

Spike closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, his ears focusing on the slow steady music from the radio. Through that sweet serenade he attempted to transport himself back in time, back to the Hearth's Warming Eve Ball, when he'd finally finally worked up the nerve to tell Orzel how he felt... When the two of them had stepped out onto the dance floor, and swayed together to a song of a similar tempo. The soft moody lighting from the tree, the smell of food and sweets in the air, the feeling of elation that'd filled Spike to his core as the Princess leaned her head against him. The furtive brush of her lips against his when she stole a kiss later on...

The dark images tried to flood in, that awful voice tried to shake him from the gentle embrace of sleep, but for once they were powerless. Something about the memory prompted a small smile to worm its way across Spike's weary features, he took in one last deep breath and let out an immense sigh... One of relaxation and sublime relief. He could've sworn he smelled Orzel's scent, an incongruous combination of old parchment, gun oil, and frankincense, but Spike knew it to be wishful thinking on his part. The prelude to some warm and comforting dream, one where he didn't have to worry about cosmic monsters and evil cults.

Things in his life weren't okay. In fact, Spike himself was pretty far from being 'okay'... But in that moment of fading consciousness, as he and the bed became one, he and Orzel were together again. He could feel her arms as she held him close to her chest and stroked his head...

"Be still, my Love... I am here... You have been through so much, I am so proud of you, but now you must close your eyes..." Entreated the dream. "Everything will be alright... No harm can befall you while I am here... You can rest at ease..." Spike opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words would form. He had crossed the threshold into the realm of dreams. "Shh... Shh... You need your rest..." He felt her kiss his forehead in the realm of dreams, a warm sensation that filled him with a feeling of absolute safety, in a way he'd never felt before...

So, at last, Spike rested...