The Hollow Kingdom of Big Macintosh

Exhibit U

It's already late afternoon. Big Macintosh spent more time in the forest than he anticipated. The path back towards Ponyville is deserted except for him. Nopony lives out this far. The only thing down this road besides the forest is Ponyville General Hospital. The only ponies who live there are generally not the kind that walk about on their own. There are some exceptions, one of which Big Macintosh spots coming up the road towards him. The two of them meet right in front of the hospital. It's been a while since Big Macintosh has acknowledged this pony's existence.

"Fancy meeting you here," Suave says. "Have you been out of town? I haven't seen you around."

"I was around. I've been caught up in some odd business recently; it kept me busy," Big Macintosh replies. A gentle breeze passes between the two while Suave nods, agreeing unconditionally. "You heading back?" Macintosh asks, gesturing to the hospital.

"Yeah, it's almost curfew. They'll sick the dogs on me if I say out again." Suave grunts and heaves a sigh. "But it won't be long now. Once the docs say I can run free, you're treating me to a drink."

"Isn't drinking what got you in trouble in the first place?" Big Macintosh reminded him.

"I would have been committed with or without drinking," Suave says, admitting what they both know is true. "I can control myself now, but it doesn't mean squat to me if I can't control myself while I'm drunk."

"That doesn't sound likely."

"A fella can dream, can't he?" Suave laughs with such a light air that Big Macintosh can't help but chuckle a bit too. They laugh for a bit, but it calms down quickly. A somber expression crosses Suave's face. "Pisces: it's time to turn over a new leaf. Change is coming, so get on board or get run over."

It was Suave's horoscope before he beat the tar out of some punk while in a drunken stupor. When they tried him for assault, the lawyers shifted the blame from alcohol to insanity, an insanity confirmed by no more than two court appointed psychiatrists. Suave hadn't always been stable, but one short trail slapped him into a world of hospitals and daily treatments.

"I'd never read a horoscope before that day," Suave says to himself. "The universe knows what's up, buddy. I'm going to get back to life as normal, it's already written. Pisces: you're coming to the end of a trial, but it is not the end that is important so much as the journey."

"You think it'll be okay?" Big Macintosh asks. It's only after asking that he realizes he has a selfish reason for wanting to know. He knows what's to come, and he needs to confirm something. His resolve frightens him.

"I gotta believe it'll be okay," Suave tells him. "But it's really up to me if it turns out okay, not the universe. Some stuff is like that, you know? All the stars, sun, and the moon could change the course of our decisions."

There isn't anything more to it than that. Big Macintosh has to do what must be done. There is no higher power to leave it up to. It is officially on him to go forward with the knowledge he has, with the knowledge he's had for a while now. He knew this, but it feels strange to think it. He is looking up at the load his must bare.

A tail whaps him in the face.

"Earth to big red," Suave says to him. "Don't tune out like that; it's rude."

Big Macintosh got a good whiff of Suave's tail. Unlike his mane, it isn't greased up. Aside from the musty scent of stallion, there is a hint of soap. There is a familiar, soapy scent.

"Do you bathe at the hospital?"

"Huh?" Suave grunts out, offended by the question. "Of course I do. I'm one of the only ponies who does bathe in the place."

"Does everypony use the same shampoo?" Big Macintosh asks, to which Suave snorts and rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. It's some sort of sanitary-hyper-allergic-whatever stuff... something like that, I don't really know," Suave says, notably peeved with the hospital's choice of hair-care product. "I gotta lather up like five times to get my mane clean. I tried to get them to let me use my own stuff, but they won't allow it. Something about harmful chemicals or something, but I know the truth: they get the stuff on special order, so they're losing money on it if nopony is using it."

"But everypony uses it?"

"From the burn ward to the delousing tent and everywhere in between," Suave tells him. "Anypony who stays there overnight and gives a damn about hygiene uses it."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, sure." Suave turns and heads up towards the hospital. "Well, you take care of yourself big guy. You look awfully tired, so get yourself to bed. Libra: if you're honest with yourself others will in turn be honest with you."

Big Macintosh hopes, even if it is only this once, his horoscope will turn out to be correct. He gallops back towards town as fast as he can, but before he reaches the town proper he has to stop again. Standing where the path to the hospital meets the main road is a sight for sore eyes. There, just as silent and mysterious as the day he first saw him, stands the elderly stallion with the black umbrella. Seeing as it may be his last chance, Big Macintosh takes a deep breath before approaching the ancient pony.

"Excuse me, but can I help you?" Big Macintosh asks the old stallion, startling him and causing him to turn. He wears the same worried expression that he did all those years ago. He hasn't changed at all, not one bit.

"No, no... I'm just waiting for somepony," he answers.

"Who?"

"My granddaughter." The old stallion casts his eyes to the ground.

"Pardon me for asking, but is she staying at the hospital?" Big Macintosh watches the old stallion turn back up to him with a start.

"Y-yes actually."

There is a pregnant pause before Big Macintosh can ask his next question.

"Is her name Hippocampy?"