The Broken House

"Well Mr. Lancer, fortunately it seems like you don't have a pneumonia," the doctor said as he stepped into the examination room, causing Lancer to look up from his position on a bench in the middle of the space, "Just a mold allergy, triggered by an excess of fungal spores lingering in the air. I'd make sure you don't have black mold in your house, cause your allergies seem pretty severe."

"Oh... okay..." Lancer said, holding a well-used tissue in one of his hooves. His eyes were red, his nose was wet and runny, and he had sneezed around ten times in the wait for the doctor to return to the room.

"We can give you some medication to relieve the symptoms, but I'd suggest you stay away from forests, musty old buildings, and the bogs south of town. Exposure to fungus for too long can be hazardous. You can get a fungal pneumonia, which is not a very fun disease to live with!" the stallion chuckled casually, taking a paper from a nearby counter, along with a pencil from a cup.

Lancer grimaced as the clinician wrote what he assumed to be a prescription for the aforementioned medication. After a moment, he grew the courage and raised his voice to ask, "Hey, um..."

The doctor's ears perked and he looked up from his note.

"I'm here on leave from work... and uh, they need me to visit a psychiatrist for a... note," he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, of course," the doctor said, signing his name at the bottom of the note and putting his pencil down, "We have a psychiatrist in the hospital, or you can visit a private one in town if you'd prefer."

"The one that the government pays for would be nice," Lancer said, his humor barely registering in his low, sickly voice.

Still, the doctor managed a chuckle as he held the note out towards the other stallion, "Take this to the pharmacy. Take them every six hours, whenever those allergies flare up. If they don't work within a week, come back and tell me."

"Thanks..." Lancer said, taking the prescription.

"Would you like me to tell the receptionist to schedule a visit with the psychiatrist?" the general practitioner asked, dusting off his whitecoat as he stepped back.

Lancer shook his head. He only needed the note at the end of the month, and he didn't really feel like going to see them early, "I'll schedule one in my own time."

"You sure? It'd be no problem," the doctor asked.

Lancer simply shook his head, getting up from the bench, "Anything else?"

"Nope, you're good to go," he said, adjusting his glasses and opening the door for him.

Without any more fuss, he stepped out the door and back out into the halls of Ponyville General Hospital. White tiles, off-green accents, and buzzing fluorescent lights met him, with the occasional window letting in the light and distracting from the clean if 20 year old architectural design of the building. Lancer had never been one for hospitals, and especially now he was in no mood to stick around as he peered at the in-patient rooms. Images of different ponies blended together as he couldn't help but linger on the other patients. He saw her for a moment, but his eyes quickly darted away and he sped up to the nearby stairwell.

The ponies on the ground floor were more... well. After a quick stop at the pharmacy to turn in the prescription, he took the medication, some sort of liquid capsule, and left.

The pills helped... a little bit. His headache was still terrible, his nose still ran and ached from all the sneezing, and his eyes still itched like crazy until he could nearly not see, but he felt at least functional. It was a good thing too, because that afternoon hailed the arrival of the workpony from Mortar Construction.

He was not filled with much confidence as the earth pony took a single step through his newly-repaired door, sniffed the air, and then went to put on a dust mask. He watched awkwardly as the stallion tromped through the house, looking the water damaged, moldy part of the house up and down.

After a while, he went to go upstairs, the floorboards squeaking under his heavy, booted hooffalls. Lancer got up from his place on a chair and watched him as he climbed, only to grimace as the workpony tried the handle of her room.

"Erm- do you need to go in there?" he hurriedly asked, interrupting the other stallion before he could turn the knob.

The earth pony blinked, looking down the stairs, "Ayup. Gotta see if the water damage goes up to the roof."

Lancer raised a hoof to his muzzle, for once not seeking to wipe his nose but instead to cover his mouth in concern, "Uhm. I have... private things in there."

"Well, sorry sir, but I gotta see if the wall is damaged from all sides I can, for yer sake. Don't want any surprises on yer bill cause we needed to knock out another mile o' wall."

"I just-" Lancer bit on the edge of his hoof, "I can't let you in there, okay?"

The workpony grimaced, "Well, sir, yah realize we're gonna need to get in there eventually, right? As it looks, we're gonna need to pull down this entire section of wall, both bottom and second floors. Maybe some elements of the ceilin' too."

Lancer kicked the can down the road, "Yeah, I know. I just... need to move some stuff out of there before you start work, y'know?"

"Alright, yer the boss..." the engineer shrugged, before letting go of the handle and continuing on. Lancer let out a sigh of relief.

His next destination was the attic. Lancer had to admit he hadn't been up here since he'd arrived, nearly two weeks ago by now. Musty boxes were spread around all across the attic, along with what seemed to be spare furniture. The windows shone light in from the outside, making there be no need for the two lightbulbs that hung on either end of the large attic space.

"Whoowee! I can see where that mold smell is comin' from now!" the workpony exclaimed. As Lancer completed his climb up the stairs, he soon saw what the engineer was talking about.

In the middle of the attic, the roof had caved in slightly. Small shafts of sunlight peeked through gaps in the ceiling, where the cracks had driven apart the boards and rafters. Those were the sources of the leaks he had been placing buckets under, alright. Directly beneath the holes in the roof was a large, cloudy, black mist of moldy, rotten wood.

"Yep. That there's black mold. Seen the colony growin' down on the walls below as well. Sheeyoot, some o' the worst stuff I seen in my career, and I seen old development housing in Manehatten!" the other stallion adjusted his mask to fit more tightly around his nose and mouth. In the beams of sunlight from the outside, a thin dust was constantly floating through the space.

"Can you fix it?" Lancer instantly asked. His worst fears were rapidly becoming true. They wouldn't need to knock the house, would they?

"If I was still workin' for the city, I'd have yer flank condemned," he chuckled, much to Lancer's horror, "But I'm not. Not yer fault you were handed this dump. I'd still suggest knocking the whole building, but, eh..." he tilted a forehoof back and forth and paused.

Lancer leaned forward, "But..?"

"Well. It'd take a few months o' work, and it'd cost ya a lot," the stallion rubbed his his chin, "Buuut, the part ain't load-bearing. We can tear it all down and fix the roof. A whole Tartarus of trouble, but..." the workpony turned to Lancer, "I can tell you were lyin', y'know?"

Lancer was more confused than anything, raising an eyebrow he asked, "What... do you mean?"

"Y'all didn't buy this house a month ago. If ya did, you'd be pawning it off to a real estate agent, or asking me how much to demolish the whole place. My cutie mark's tellin me this place means something to ya, don't it?" an image of a brick house rested on the flank facing towards Lancer.

Midnight simply remained silent.

"Houses're a reflection of who we are as ponies. It's where we choose to come back to every night, spend our free time, keep our food, and fall in love. If I saw this place, I'd never live here. I'd tear it down, build a new one, or sell the land on. But yer not here as a landlord, yer here because this place means something to ya, don't it? That's why yer making yourself sick, co-inhabiting with mold. Cause of memories of some kind? Yer folks, probably?"

Lancer scowled, "If you're trying to get something from me..."

He raised a hoof defensively, "No, no. Just tryin' to get yer reasoning," he sighed, looking out to the weakened roof, "Yer putting yerself in danger living here. Another few months of wind and rain, and these beams might give out on you and the whole roof'll cave in. Better pray that ain't when yer sleeping downstairs, cause you might be waking up to a flash of rubble fallin' on ya, then..." he grimaced, before waving a hoof and hurriedly adding, "I get ya, I get ya. I'm just some country bumpkin waxin' poetic and telling ya ghost stories about yer own house killing ya without my services. So, let me cut to the chase and... hmmm..." he pursed his lips, looking around the room before shooting his gaze back to Lancer, "How about six thousand bits? Fer knocking out and replacing the damaged walls, scraping off the mold, and putting yer roof back right."

Lancer blinked, "That... doesn't sound like a lot."

"Sure ain't," the workpony grinned, "That's cause I'm only askin' yer money for the materials and the pay I'm giving to my workers. A firm in the city'd call you up for ten thousand at the very least."

Midnight Lancer narrowed his eyes, "Ever since I stepped off the train into Ponyville, ponies have just been... randomly kind to me. My neighbors bring me baked goods and fix my door for me. Somepony in town threw an entire party for me... for free, just because I existed... and now a total stranger is giving me a forty percent discount on the price of fixing the damage?"

He nodded, "Ayup. I only got one condition."

Lancer supposed that a repayment was inevitable, and he rolled his eyes, "Of course. And what's that?"

"Reflect some of that kindness back. Go and talk to those neighbors, if ya haven't been doing already. Show yer face in town. Meet some ponies. Maybe clean that lawn up so ponies won't need to complete a fitness course just to get to yer porch. Do that, and I'll remember that I'm helping a friend when I get called back to resurface that deck, or rebuild yer fences, or redo the mortar where those bricks're popping out, or fix yer electrics, or do whatever hundreds of other small things that are gonna cost you a wing an' a leg otherwise."

Lancer frowned, reaching up and dragging a hoof through his mane. His forehead felt feverish as he brushed over it. The doctor had told him to get away from the source of the mold spores... and indeed he hadn't had the chance to repay his kindness to his neighbors. While he'd had the savings to pay full price for the refurbishment (a product of his years of extra work in the guard), he had to admit that covering the repairs along with the new furniture, paint, and hidden expenses would put a lot of strain on his wallet.

In the end, he wasn't sure why he was even considering saying no to the offer. What did he even have to lose anymore? Reaching out a hoof, he asked, "Shake on it?"

"You got yerself a deal, partner," he shook, "I'll be lookin' for some materials this week. We should be able to start the beginning of the next. Sound good?"

Lancer managed a weak smile, "Sounds good..."

For the first time since that first Sunday, Lancer flew towards the town of Ponyville. Above, the beleaguered weather team were busting the final few clouds left over from the previous night's rainstorm. Summer was the busiest season for an agrarian town's weather team, and the fields around the town center were too far-sprawling for such a small population of pegasi to manage without a lot of back-breaking, wing-kinking work.

Lancer was on a mission. His day on the town started with a visit to the Hay Burger, where he asked if they could recreate the items they made for his party. After thoroughly enjoying his lunch, realizing he was a lot more hungry than his appetite had told him, he made his way first to the hardware store. He had failed to find her old mower through an entire morning of searching, and reasoned that if it even existed anymore it probably didn't work.

Skipping straight to the gardening section, Lancer looked down on the rows of mowers, both motorized and push-operated, as he hovered nearby. The price difference between the engine and manual operated mowers was bone-chilling, but so was the prospect of attempting to cut through the grass in his lawn with only a manually operated mower. He avoided eye contact of one of the staff members who walked over to help him and pretended like he totally knew what he wanted to buy. Eventually, he settled on an engine-run mower that seemed to be a fair mix of expensive and dependable. After checking out, he realized it was much too large to tow to the house all on his own. Fortunately, a ten bit charge was all that was needed to deliver it to his front door in a few hours.

Since he was having the entire package delivered anyway, he picked up some generic gardening equipment. A rake, a wheelbarrow, a sunhat, and some smaller trimmers to help remove the stuff that was no doubt clotting up his gate and fences, where the mower wouldn't reach. He also bought a jerry can of fuel for the mower.

Afterwards, it was a stop by the supermarket. He had completely run out of groceries, and after eating Cheerilee's apple pie the previous night his pantry (or rather, the kitchen countertop where he dumped all his groceries) was left empty. He bought food, as well as some microfiber cloths and alcohol wipes for the sanitizing jobs he'd eventually need to do. He also bought two packs of industrial strength dust masks. His several hours away from home had cleared up his mold allergies and he wasn't too enthused about returning and having them flare up again now that he'd experienced a clear nose and non-itching eyes again.

His final stop was, what seemed to be, the only salon in town. His mane had grown completely out of control, since his last cut had been two months ago in Canterlot. The hairdresser was a nice enough stallion, a unicorn named Straight Cut that talked his ears off the entire time while cutting back his mane and tail.

Feeling much lighter and cooler without the added weight of overgrown hair, he finally made his way home by wing. Fortunately, two and a half weeks of idleness had not degraded several years of guard training and the added weight of groceries did not slow down his journey. As he got to the house, he saw a large box sat on his front porch, assumedly containing the motorized lawn mower.

Hours dragged on past twelve o' clock and into the afternoon as Lancer opened the box and skimmed the assembly instructions. After installing the parts incorrectly the first time and spending another hour to put together the mower properly (following the instructions this time) he finally got it to start at around 2PM.

A little voice in the back of his head told him that he'd exerted himself enough that day, but he barely managed to ignore it. What else was he going to do with his day? Sit around and stare at the walls some more? Let his mold allergies flare up again?

Pulling the starter cord a few times caused the mower's engine to rumble to life. With a sigh, he lifted it and placed the front of its blades next to the first stalks of grass growing around the steps of the patio. The blades spun and grass flew for just a moment before the blades stopped, completely choked with plant fibers.

Yanking the mower backwards and tearing the jam out of the blades, he moved more delicately. Still, after only a foot or so of progress, the blades of the mower jammed again. His shoulders slumped as he once again pulled the blockage free. For the next several jams, he tried different methods until, finally, something worked. He needed to foist the entire mower upwards, working downwards from the top parts of the grass to the bottom, and then drawing the mower backwards through the leftover stalks and then forward again to clear up the patchy cut.

Still, that was how he proceeded through the entirety of his front lawn, and then down one of the side lawns. The process tacked on hours of work onto an already giant job, and it was sundown by the time he was in the back yard. Not only had he not even completed half of the work, the mower was getting less and less effective. He assumed his roughhousing had worn down its components to a point of failure, as the blades seemed to cut less and less with each attack on the grass.

The mower's motor petered out, running out of gas. He had more fuel, but he'd had more than enough for the day. He was covered in grass stains, his muscles were sore and tired - trained more for marching and flight than long hours of yardwork - and he felt that working into the night wouldn't accomplish much.

Taking his hooves off the mower's handlebars, he looked around at his handiwork. Half of the front yard had been cut, along with all of the side yard (the right one, if you were facing the front of the house), and a small chunk had been bitten out of the back yard. Overall, About a third of the work needed to completely cut the lawn. And it had taken four hours of his life.

Something caught his eye at the edge of the cut grass. The ground was soggy and gross, and the grass was extra tall. There was the subtle sound of water gubbling from somewhere beyond the curtain of uncut grass, and he walked forward and parted them for a better look. Below him there was a pipe sticking out from the soil, spewing clear water out into the increasingly muddy soil around it. It couldn't have been anything he broke recently, since the mower hadn't reached that part of the yard yet. Instead, he supposed it must have just broken on its own from wear and tear over the years.

With a sigh, Lancer dragged the mower behind him towards the patio. He'd have to look around inside for where the valves were. He had to assume the supply for - what he assumed to be an old sprinkler system - was on a separate pipeline from the main.

Putting on one of the dust masks from the store, Lancer turned on some lights in the house. Despite the fact that it was in just as poor a state as he left it, it felt... brighter somehow. Taking a spray bottle and microfiber cloth from his shopping bags, he sprayed down his kitchen window and wiped it down. It was still dusty and grimey on the outside after he was done, but at least he could see through it properly. Using the partial visibility, he admired the yard outside. There were obvious, long patches of uneven grass. The weeds by the walls and choking the picket fence were still as long as they always had been. However, he could walk around out there comfortably now. It wasn't a small yard either, he could imagine a barbeque out there.

His thoughts went back to the leak in the yard. Where would the pipes be? He didn't see a box for the water meter and valves outside, so... He rubbed his chin. The cellar doors outside lead to a basement. That was probably his best guess for where the water pipes were.

Opening his front door, he walked over to the side of the house where the cellar doors were. He frowned as he spotted a padlock holding the door shut. He wasn't sure if he had the keys for it, and he became sure as he checked his keychain and found nothing that fit the padlock. The chain that was holding it was rusted almost straight through though, and after a quick trip back to his gardening supplies he came back with a pair of bolt cutters. Its teeth bit down on the chain and it quickly gave way and snapped, leaving the handles of the cellar door unguarded.

Throwing the hatch open, the hinges gave a loud, foreboding screech. Taking out his keychain flashlight, he illuminated the stairs down towards the cellar.

There was a small room down below. A lightswitch sat on the wall, with cables tracing along the walls going to and from it. The edge of the flashlight beam shined on a large shelving unit. Frowning, Lancer walked down, trying the lightswitch. Lightbulbs flickered on and illuminated the basement area with yellow light.

On the far end of the basement were several red valves, connected to three sets of pipes. A magical crystal was connected to one of them, glowing a dull red. He recognized it as the heater that warmed up the water. One was smaller than the other two, so Lancer walked over and turned it until it wouldn't turn anymore.

Behind him, he saw several filing cabinets lined up against the dusty, far wall. He gave them a nervous look as he walked past them and back up the stairs to check on his back yard. Indeed, the pipeline in the back was no longer spitting gouts of water, and instead just drip-dripped weakly into the muddy ground below.

Breathing a sigh of relief, his thoughts went back to the filing cabinets. He didn't know what could've been in there... formal documents? Old books? It wasn't like she had been an accountant or something, there wasn't much he could've imagined her doing with a multitude of drawers of documents. If it was anything important, it was better for him to know, right?

Walking back down into the cellar, he cautiously reached one of his hooves out to the one of the closest drawers to the stairs. The drawer rumbled without much complaint from the cabinet and an array of... envelopes met his eyes?

Taking one at random, he looked at the front. The envelope had been opened already, and inside was a carbon copy of-

Lancer's rump hit the stair behind him. His heart thundered and he reached up to rip the dust mask from his muzzle, his breathing increasing.

"Dear Midnight Lancer, my shooting star,

Today I got some bad news from the doctors. They told me the procedure isn't likely to work at this stage, since we caught the tumor so late.. We're going to go through with it tonight since there's still a chance, but I'm scared Lancer.. I know you're off getting ready for your expedition and all, and I was hoping we could wait until after you returned to do the procedure, but they say the tumor has progressed faster than they expected. I promise that I'll be there afterwards to give you a big kiss for staying strong. I know this isn't easy on you, but I'll be there soon, I promise. You've always been my shining stallion, and I can't wait to be by your side again. I'll send you another letter after they're finished, and I'll try to convince mom to let me get a picture of us all for you. I know how much you like seeing my smile!

Your shining beacon, now and always, Starlit Beacon"

The letter slapped to the ground. Another one came from the cabinet. This one was from Lancer instead. It was from two weeks before. He remembered writing it. His words, telling her about his work at the Summer Sun Celebration in Manehatten. Every last word had been kept. If it was from him, it was the original letter and the envelope. If it was from her, it was a carbon copy kept in an envelope only marked with the date.

Drawers slammed open, and envelopes spilled out onto the floor. Before him, Lancer felt as if the filing cabinets extended forever. He ran forward, windows apparating through the darkness outside of the flickering, yellow lights. Windows where he saw them playing together. Going out together. Celebrating together. He saw her getting her masters, finding a love for kites, building a cloudpony together, sending him a carved gemstone from the Frozen North... he remembered that one. He lost that one.

He grabbed one of his envelopes at random. He didn't know what he had been missing. He didn't know what he missed out on, every spare week he went between corresponding. If only he'd spent a little more time. He wasted so much time.

A final filing cabinet waited for him at the very end of the hallway. The bottommost drawer slid open. A four year old envelope. It was from her.

"Hey, just thought that we should correspond now that we're in different cities.

I hope you didn't think at the train station that I was, like, abandoning you. Just because you're in Canterlot and I'm in Vanhoover doesn't mean that we're over or something! Just means we gotta keep up with each other by mail instead. You acted like I was literally leaving you. I hope I didn't make it seem like that or anything.

Just cause I'm far away doesn't mean there's anything less between us. No matter the distance, we'll always be together. Doesn't matter if I'm in Vanhoover, Olenia, or Griffonia. I'm just a letter away.

Love you,
Starlit Beacon."

He'd forgotten about this one. He sure as Tartarus hadn't stored his incoming mail as faithfully. Reality came to him as he realized he had been clutching the top of the filing cabinet, which tipped over with his weight and crashed to the floor. Stumbling, he fell on top of the upended cabinet, hoof still clutched to the letter.

The stairway invited cold air from the outside in. The lights buzzed above. Gone were the windows into their life, cut painfully short by the back wall of the basement. Hard, uncaring bricks and mortar looked back at him. Stiff, rusty valves judged him.

He fled the end. The cellar doors yawned towards the sky, lights glowing out over the uncut half of the yard and into the fields beyond.