On the Streets of Manehattan
On the Streets of Manehattan
The street next to the station was crowded, as it always was. Those who worked under Celestia’s sun were just now heading to their jobs, many of them already sour at the prospect of another long day, while the not insignificant number of those who toiled through Luna’s night headed home, to sleep behind drawn curtains in preparation for another shift under the stars. Everypony else had somewhere else to be, whether it was running errands, or meeting a friend, or simply heading to their favorite bar. No matter their destination, they rushed to it as if every one of them were late, sweeping in and out of the station and flowing up and down the street in a constant stream, going as fast as they could without pushing against whoever was in front of them.
It was unclear how many ponies noticed the ragged shapes dispersed along the sides of the road. Some were lying still, either asleep or conserving energy, while others were begging, or offering a menial service for a bit or some food. Most ponies looked past these members of the bottom rung of society as if they weren’t there. Those that did see them quickly averted their eyes in discomfort.
One of the smaller shapes stood at a bench near the door to the subway, half-heartedly calling to passersby. He was wingless, and hornless, as many of them were, and was no more than a colt, though without the innocence generally attributed to that age. He brushed his mane out of his eyes to scan the crowd, trying to meet somepony’s gaze. The hair had a greenish tinge to it, but mostly matched the dirty brown of his coat, though that once may have been red. He was called foal, or whelp, or runt, if he was called anything at all. His name was Hot Pepper, but it had been so long since he had been addressed that way that he hardly remembered it himself. Nopony, least of all him, would have guessed that in future years, that name would be memorized by countless foals across Equestria for history class.
Of course, though much would be documented in the history books, under such chapter names as “The New Equestria,” “The Secret Conflict,” or simply “Chapter 107” (from the rather dull Complete History of Equestrian Events), still more was never written down, such as this Manehattan morning, when the cogs were meshed together and set in motion.
Hot Pepper caught the eyes of a rather well-dressed stallion who was moving marginally slower than the rest of the crowd, as if he was only mildly late, rather than very late like everypony else seemed to be. The colt knew from experience that such ponies as he, fancy, but not too fancy, hurried, but not rushed, were the most likely to stop if flagged down.
“Hoof-buff, sir?” Hot Pepper called to the stallion, who hesitated slightly, before nodding and altering his course to cut across the throng.
The stallion was silent as Hot Pepper did his work. The colt was fine with that. Any conversations he had with customers were forced and awkward, so the quiet was a nice change of pace. When all four hooves had been buffed, the stallion reached into his coat pocket and dropped some bits into the can Hot Pepper held out, before trotting away and disappearing into the crowd.
Hot Pepper looked into the can, curious. It had sounded like the stallion had dropped in several bits, which was unusual, as the generally excepted rate for such a service was two bits, maybe three. Indeed, the stallion had given him at least seven or eight bits. But he had also dropped in something else. Hot Pepper took it out of the can to examine.
He held in his hooves a small circle of paper. On it were drawn two ponies. One was red, with a green mane. The other was smaller, and had the same color scheme, except a shade lighter. At the bottom were two words, with a cross between them. Hot Pepper couldn’t read very well, but he knew what it said.
Hot + Chili
Falling into a sitting position, he continued to stare at the paper. A drop of salt water fell between the two drawn ponies as memories he had locked away began to swirl in his head.
He crept around the park bench, and roared dramatically, his prey squealing and jumping up to run over to a nearby tree. It didn’t get far though, as he pounced on it with another roar, tackling it to the ground and preventing it from reaching base. They rolled around on the ground before getting up, laughing. Hot Pepper glanced over at their mother, lying on another bench some distance away, splitting her concentration between the book in front of her and her semi-identical children. She gave him a smile, which he returned before running after his brother.
He put his hooves on the edge of the couch, peering at the red-and-green bundle cradled in his mother’s forelegs. The thing yawned and turned over, nuzzling into the blue fur of its living bed. His mother smiled at the baby and told him to welcome his brother, Chili Pepper. He said hello to his baby brother, who cracked open his eyes to look at him, and yawned, as if saying hello back, before going back to sleep.
He opened the door, thinking maybe it was his father, home early, but it wasn’t. It was a strange blue unicorn, with a police cap behind his horn. The officer told him to fetch his mother, which he did. He then stood in the hallway, Chili Pepper peering around him, and watched as the policestallion said something he didn’t hear, but which caused his mother to break down crying. Father didn’t come home that night.
He and his brother huddled together in fear behind some trash cans as a stallion confronted their mother, demanding money. The red maned mare pulled out four bits, all they had for food, but the robber seemed to think she had more. He pulled out a knife with his wing and stabbed her before she could react. Hot Pepper held his brother back, and they watched helplessly as the thief searched her. He took the loaf of bread they were going to share for dinner, and then left her bleeding in the alley.
He came back after scouting for food, holding a bag of stale biscuits in his mouth, which he placed on the ground next to their box before calling out to his brother that he had found something to eat. Nopony answered. He called out again, and looked around, becoming increasingly frantic. He searched all night, and through the next day. He never found a trace.
The morning rush was over. The street was by no means empty, but you could now see the other side between the passing ponies. Hot Pepper blinked a few times and wiped his eyes with a foreleg, taking one last look at the paper. It was soaked through, and the picture was blurry. He hugged it close, before putting it in the pouch around his neck, along with the bits from his can.
He didn’t know where to start looking, but this time, he wouldn’t stop his search, no matter how long it took. He had to find that stallion. His brother was alive.
As the colt picked himself up and walked away, a cloaked figure emerged from an alley and followed, discreetly.
