The Magpie

by Samsara

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, Slice of Life, Dark, Sad
Length: 15381

A collection of shorts, all of which involve characters in compromising situations.

This is just a quick collection that I decided to throw together. I like doing quick stories, so I figured I'd write several little dark one-shots with a similar background and compile them into a single story. They're really brief and mostly serve as an artistic study on my ability to create characters and set a mood. There's very little story development, it's more of a collection of scenes, but it's something I got myself interested in so I figured I'd try it out. Criticism is always welcomed, so if you like the story and/or think I need to improve my skills both as a writer and as a teller of stories, please leave a comment saying how.

(Oh, by the way, before anyone says anything, this is in no connection to the "Ask Magpie" Tumblr, I actually didn't even know that existed until after I started writing this and was looking around various websites for good cover images, happy coincidence.)

As always, I don't own anything related to My Little Pony, Hasbro (except maybe a few of their toys somewhere) or whatever else this may be related to. Any actual names or likenesses are purely coincidental and should be disregarded, and I'm definitely not making any kind of a profit on this, so lawyers can just f*ck off.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-05-12 11:00:03 UTC

One For Sorrow

As parables often do, we find ourselves following a particular fellow, all alone in the world with little to call his own.  By pony standards he was an average stallion, not too tall, nor too strong, and certainly none too wealthy, but he had a certain charm about him.  Something most ponies couldn't explain, but many of them did indeed feel it in his presence: he was happy, or at least he appeared so.

He could be seen wearing nothing fancy (or nothing at all more often than not), and occupying his normal business routine in Canterlot.  He went by the name Yellow Streak, and he bounded between jobs with a bright smile on his face and a submissive stance in his posture.  If the world threatened to crumble if he didn't stand up for himself, well, the world would crumble for certain.  He was a doormat; a bright yellow doormat that could make Fluttershy seem to have a mountain's endurance.  Some who had met the two of them theorized that they were long lost cousins, neither had ever met the other before.

Yellow Streak's job this particular week was to keep the windows to an office building that supplemented the quarterly supply of parchment to the Princess's guard captain clean.  Certainly not the most luxurious position, but he made due with whatever he could.  It wasn't as though he couldn't find a better job either; something about his honest green eyes just told employers that he'd be the right stallion for their workplace, and he rarely ever proved them wrong.  This week was no exception; he kept those windows so clean that bird casualties in Canterlot were at an all time high, and he even made a few extra bits for his few extra minutes of hard work.  Well worth it, he would say.

You see, on his way back home on Fridays, every week, he would run into what he could call an old friend of his.  Yellow Streak, green eyes and two-tone green mane bobbing with his happy trot back to his quaint little home in the suburbs always crossed paths with a small, black coated and white maned pegasus mare.  He couldn't ever remember where they had met, but she always spoke to him as if they'd been friends for a very, very long time.  Her eyes were a gorgeous shade of bright orange, seeming almost to put the popular fruit to shame by their luster.  She did have an odd name, though, and he always remembered it even to the end of his life: Maggie.

"Hello there, Streaky."  She'd say, whispering to him in a tone that he was sure nopony else could hear, but one that seemed to warm him from the inside like a deliciously well cooked meal.  "How's your luck finding a job?"

"Oh it's been just wonderful!"  He would reply, always ready to share his story with the only permanent friend he'd ever had.  "I have a job washing windows, and they just adore my work ethic!  Look here, I made some extra money today."  And, like clockwork, he would show her the sack of bits he had earned, one among many that he had brought home and stacked up on his table.  He never ate dinner during the weekdays, nor breakfast nor lunch, and he only paid his bills when he absolutely needed to.

"That's a fair amount!"  Maggie responded, each and every time.  His life was a routine, unchanging and unaffected, like a prophecy carved round and round on a sphere.  "What would you like to do with it?"

That, my friends and readers, was the ever burning question.  What would you like to do with it?  It, the money that you made with such hard work.  What would you like?  What did he like?  Well, he liked to eat.  He liked to lavish, and he liked to indulge.

His trip home that day, just as with every Friday, took a detour past the local liquor store.  He bought what he always bought, one handle of whiskey that a single family had been producing for over a century, and a fifth of brandy that had been aged for no less than twenty five years.  After his purchase, he dropped the bottles off at home and headed out to the "Red Light" district of Canterlot.

Yellow Streak, coward to ask for anything in every day life, would take on a whole new self: he would eat, and eat, and eat, and eat until he felt his stomach was going to explode.  He would spend his entire week's wages, unspent in any way up to that point, on hard liquor, expensive dining, and of course: mares.  He was known by name around a few of the pricier brothels in downtown Canterlot, many of which were happy to reserve a booth for his insatiable appetite for sex.  The girls counted themselves unfortunate if he didn't pay for at least four hours that night.

He would go home stumbling over, drunk and gluttenous, and bury his nose in his bottles.  One by one, you could hear the clink of bits dropping into Maggie's burlap pouch as Yellow Streak guzzled down his expensive liquors.  In a single night, he'd drain the two all on his own, hoping by the Princess's mane that he wouldn't open his eyes the next morning.  The instant he did, his life would be back to normal, though he'd be always fired from his job (if he wasn't, he'd leave for fear of the routine ending), and he'd be off to find new work.  He cleaned himself up, made sure nopony ever got too attached to him, and wandered off into the morning light, searching for more money so that he, and his best friend in the whole world, could eat again next week.  The routine did have to end sometime, however, though it's perhaps not what you'd expect.  Rather than alcohol poisoning or choking on some horridly overpriced morsel, Yellow Streak died after massive head trauma caused by a full paint can plummeting into his skull from four stories up.  He was walking past a small construction site, one with whom he was trying to get a job, when the accident struck him.  During his autopsy, morticians found remnants of Yellow Streak's last meal before death.

Two For Joy

Roal Glistering, a wealthy jeweler and very prominent political figure from Manehattan, had always done very well for himself.  He looked after those who adored him, especially that one stallion that looked back at him from the mirror each and every day.  His short, brown mane and bright purple eyes backed by a beige coat looked to the world like two beautiful gems amidst the dust and sand, and he certainly left a hoofprint with a similar impression.  Everywhere he went, ponies knew he was important.  He carried himself with his head high, chin turned up, and his opulence on display even though it wasn't quite as potent as he fronted.  He would scoff at the beggars, and only pay attention to those who clearly knew a little something about craftsmanship in their dress.  In fits of beautiful irony, he would always try to compete with those he admired, to drop them down beneath him and to feel better than they.

One instance in particular was, of course, during a bit of courtship on his part.  He always enjoyed escorting himself to fancy parties and gatherings, specifically with artists of any kind so that he could show them his own talent in, frankly, whatever field he wanted.  If he couldn't do, he could teach: he spent much of his leisure time professing pointless and undesired information about artwork, artists, sculptors, jewelers, writers, and philosophers of years long past.  Those that he bought his collection from were basically wrapped around his hoof, but those who simply enjoyed the media that he imposed himself on found his presence distasteful.  He did, however, meet the love of his life at such an event devoted in his honor.

"Fillies and Gentlecolts," began the announcer, eager to hush the clinking of glasses and silverware.  "This entire dinner, expensive as it was, all went to a very good cause, and I know you all contributed out of the kindness of your hearts for the unfortunate."  This prompted a bit of a unified stifled laugh from the audience.  They all had their reasons for the charity dinner, but nine out of the ten of them simply did so for a positive public view.  "It is, with proud distinction, that I introduce to you the most generous contributor of the entire event, Mr. Roal Glistering!"

As he was ushered in, Glistering took his spot at the podium and said his few words, all of which were directed into the audience like salt into a wound.

"My fellow ponies, thank you all for helping give me this opportunity.  I am so very glad all of you could make it here, tonight, because without you some slack jawed kids out there might not have something to nibble on tonight!  Goodness, we wouldn't want that, now would we?"  The light brown stallion, perfectly tailored suit and all, ended his question with a chuckle, waiting awkwardly for the uncomfortable audience below him to join in the laugh.  Only the nervous few coughs and feigned amusement trickled up, but he took the praise nonetheless and kept on delivering.  "Either way, everyone's donations helped bring us to the goal, but a distinct few of us helped in leaps and bounds while others only contributed baby steps.  No need to thank me."

Those that didn't know Glistering sat in awe at what he had just said, while those who had spent time in his presence before simply feigned an enthusiastic clap and went back to ignoring him any chance they got.  The self-righteous stallion left the dais and headed back to his privately reserved table, having to stop along the way after seeing somepony that definitely caught his attention.  Her coat was pitch black, her mane was just a shade away from purest white, and her eyes were some of the most beautiful amethyst that he'd ever seen.  She sat with flawless posture and poise, using exactly the correct manners to eat even though she was at a table all alone, and paid him absolutely no mind whatsoever.  The instant Glistering passed one of the wait staff, he ordered her food be transferred over to his table and that she was to join him.  Within only minutes, the black and white pegasus took a seat at his table, at least appearing delighted to do so.

"Pleasure to meet you, miss?"  Glistering held his hoof forward, taking hers and bringing it up to his lips only briefly.

"Margaret Antoinette Francis Alouette Pie, of the long forgotten 'Pie' royal family.  The only remaining bloodline, unfortunately, are those of the Duke and Duchess of Trottingham's rebellious great grandson who left to mingle with... Simple folk."  The strange pony responded, inspecting the back of her hoof as if it may have gotten dirty from the kiss.

"Margaret?  That's a strange name for a royal pony..."  Glistering cocked his head at the unusual gesture.  Most mares would swoon if he just glanced their way, or so he convinced himself.

"No stranger than Roal, that's for sure."  She looked back at him across the table, flashing a wry smile and replacing her hoof neatly under the table.

"You know my name?"

"Oh please, everyone in here knows your name.  Roal Glistering, born into nothing, made something of yourself just to spite your father and every other pony in your life that didn't believe in you.  I've always found rags-to-riches stories so... cute."  The black pony's mocking grin never went away, even as she spoke.

"If I had been able to choose my family I would have chosen the royal court.  Alas, fate doesn't pick favorites."  In his mind, Glistering found this to be a wonderfully witty comeback to the insulting way she was treating him.  He liked her already.

"Oh please, show me any pony in the world who wouldn't have been born into royalty if they were allowed to pick.  Some are, and some are not, and that's what separates us from the destitute.  Hard work is one thing, but security is another, and I'm afraid your money will run out the instant you can't see so well with those pretty little eyes of yours.  You're simply waiting to be poor again."

"How dare you!"  Glistering slammed his hooves down on the table and stood up, prompting silence from the entire room as every single head turned to listen.  "You know nothing of my work or of my health!"

"I know everything I need to--"

"That's right, and that's nothing.  Your money has been handed to you your entire life, your body and soul have been spoiled, and you aren't worth the scraps you feed to the dogs because of it!"  Glistering's rage was making absolutely everyone in the room uncomfortable, even himself.  The black pegasus at his table, however, simply rested her chin on her foreleg and cocked her head to the side, continuing to smile through the storm.

"And just what does that have to do with anything, hmm?  I still have money, and I still bought six plates at this charity dinner.  Who cares if some little hayseed thinks I'm not worth what I feed my dogs?"

"Maybe nopony does care...  But I'm still better than you!"  This final act of anger culminated in a rudely thrust hoof, pointing in the white-maned mare's direction.  Everyone in the room stared on at the standing earth pony, awestruck at his overtly vain behavior.

"May I show you a magic trick?"  Margaret asked, almost as if she wasn't having the same conversation with Glistering that he was.

"What?"  The stallion was dumbfounded at the question, but before he could respond, the pegasus reached behind his ear and pulled away two antique gold bits.

"You see...  I make money appear, even from the poor.  You?  Well...  Money leaves you, and goes directly to the likes of me."  With that, the pegasus mare produced a very ornate velvet bag, dropped the two bits into it one at a time so that they loudly clinked against the already present pile of coins, then replaced it back under her wing.  "You say you're better?  I challenge you to prove it."

Glistering couldn't respond to such a rude statement, and in fact he had just been outdone at his own game so thoroughly that he could only stand at the center of a very embarrassing spotlight.  The other ponies whispered, judged, sent their hatred for him out in the form of veiled laughs and gossip, and the mare before him was to blame.

"Or..."  She said, stopping him from allowing another fit of anger to make an even bigger scene.  "You can recognize something for me, and we'll get along just fine."

"What's that?"  Glistering asked rhetorically, still not trusting her nor willing to let her beat him at anything ever again.  He was already thinking of ways to pay someone off to have everything she'd ever loved taken away.

"You're not half as great as you paint yourself to be, but with someone like me at your side... well... you could be perfect."

Forks and spoons dropped onto the various dishes above which they hovered the instant the black pegasus said this.  Something inside Glistering told him that she was right.  A wave of humility passed through him, and though it didn't take away his pride, it did show him how to better back it up.  Rather than fronting money that he never really had, he could take her rather crude offer, give himself fully to somepony that knew what she was talking about and finally become part of the royalty he had always dreamed of.

The dinner ended and Glistering followed Margaret Antoinette Francis Alouette Pie (from then on she instructed him to call her Maggie) back to her home, passionately made love to her, even made an informal marriage proposal to be with her forever.  It would just be the two of them.

Glistering died at a fairly young age.  He hadn't spent much time with his love since she had spent so much time away on business, but he still managed to treat himself to as much of her money as he wanted.  His death was brought on by a light heart attack, something easily treatable if anypony were around to help him, but he hadn't exactly made many friends with his attitude.

Four For Boys

A great many times in our lives, we'll meet the lecherous members of society.  Often found flaunting whatever they've been given as far as "blessings" go, lechers all want one thing: attention.  More often than not, that attention comes in the form of sex, however some only accept sex because it's the easiest way to feel loved by another (aside from the obvious benefits).  Take River Delta for example: ever since she discovered her sexuality, she's been exploring it.  Colts and stallions of all types made her fancy list, though an unfortunate few wanted a long standing relationship.  She was happy to tug along her suitors as a puppet master, even if they were stable and attractive and offered her genuine love.  Eventually, though, she'd get bored of her little game, and do one of two things to the poor soul: dump them off on the curb like a used paper bag, or cheat on them for as long as she needed that little extra bit of excitement in her life.  Contrary to popular belief, she wasn't a bad person, just certainly went against societal norms.  Most folks disapproved of her promiscuous behavior, and she simply spurned them by, well, having as much fun as she could fit into a night.  Some were jealous of her (she certainly did have ample good looks), while others simply couldn't let go of their more conservative upbringing long enough to realize the fun and freedom of sex.  Moderation, however, was the one word that she never learned.

River was equipped with hips that, when they swayed, enticed all ponies, male and female, that happened to be looking on them at the time.  She'd gotten herself into expensive clubs for free just by flaunting her body.  In general, she was what most might consider 'hot', and she definitely knew it.  So she used her body to avoid any kind of monetary exchange on her part if she could, which led her to having every single door held open for her that she could ever want.  This, however, isn't ever a good way to live, as many know.

Once it came time for her to start paying her own bills and taking care of herself, she found that her tendency to burn bridges by tugging at puppet strings and leading other ponies along had come back to bite her in the ass.  Nobody wanted to help her out, nobody cared about her, and even those that had been lucky enough to get her in bed (multitudinous though they were) weren't willing to lift a hoof to help her.  She was entirely on her own.

Finding honest work was the hardest part, I only say it was the "hardest" because she gave up on the "honest" part first.  Instead of becoming a waitress, or a sales clerk, or any of a grand cornucopia of jobs available to her at the time, she chose to do the one thing she knew she'd excel at: work at a gentleman's club.  The only one that was hiring, however, happened to be in a rather filthy part of town.  The red light district in downtown Manehattan wasn't as objectively dangerous as most ponies said it was, however it did look the part with its grimy buildings, crowded streets and incredibly deep back alley system.  The entire city was an accurate reflection of its inhabitants: filthy, greedy, hungry degenerates with no greater love in the world than cheating another pony.  River fit in just nicely.

Her attractiveness was almost matched by her naivete, though, so she had a few nights on her own in Manehattan where she actually feared for her life.  She'd heard of muggers, rapists, murderers, abusive spouses, and frankly all other manner of criminal behavior after the sun went down, but even in the day she received hungry and inappropriate looks from just about every stallion (and the occasional mare) that she walked past in the streets.  Youthful, voluptuous, and oh so bubble headed girls like her were usually prime targets, but when they know how to sell what they have to offer they have a tendency to make it by, if not in a rather dirty existence.

It didn't take long for River to become popular at her Gentlecolts' club where she, along with the aid of a long, steel pole, kept patrons entertained between the hours of six in the evening to two in the morning.  The money was great: she described it akin to turning a faucet and having bits pour out into her lap, but she quickly started to gather rumors of an even better way to make a profit.  River hesitated, though, to jump into that scene.  The stigma associated with it, the danger, even the complications that can arise both physically and mentally from such an activity as prostitution didn't seem particularly desirable to the filly.  She really was just a filly, only three months into her eighteenth year, but she felt like an adult (as all children do) and wanted to show just how much of one she really was.  She rebelled against her parents' wishes, she sought her fortune by asking the other mares about how she could get into selling her body, and they were all very eager to recruit her.  River was told to report to a building along the coast on the south side of Manehattan, not too much further from where she had been living, but definitely a long walk into a dangerous part of the city.

The time came where River needed to make a decision: start her new life full of riches and colts, or stay in her strip club, making the occasional bag of rent or grocery money that left her with few luxuries.  The decision, at least in her mind, was perfectly clear, so off she trotted.  She had been told to step into the building at exactly eight o' clock, talk to the very first mare she saw and ask to see a stallion named Pepper Jack.

The streets at night began to slowly empty out, giving way to mares of the evening who stood on street corners, as well as the scum of the earth rising up from the sewers and halfway houses and other such receptacles of society's refuse.  The occasional political figure or other might show his hooded face around town at night, but for the most part the streets were populated with shifty individuals, a rather impressive fraction of whom decided to proposition River for a multitude of different (and sometimes disturbing) things as she walked past them.  One thing in particular, however, was only an idea planted in her head just after she left her apartment: stallions sometimes just take what they want from mares.  This wasn't something that she wanted, certainly not even for any pony out there, but she knew it happened and she felt the desire to defend herself.  Because of this, she got dressed in some older lingerie, a little tight around the flanks as it was, with garters and a very lacy fashion top teddy, all covered by a long trench coat.  She did, however, hide a dagger in one of her garters, just in case something bad were to happen.

With her knife in tow, and the rest of her confident and ready to face the trials of "Personal Sales," River passed her seedy compatriots, realizing eventually that the directions that she had been given led her through back alleys on the way.  They were a veritable labyrinth, forcing the mare to stop and look up at the grimy buildings just to try and get her bearings on more than one occasion.  The fact that less than a third of the windows had candlelight in them, and more than a third were boarded up, wasn't exactly a moralizing agent, but she pressed on.  The straw that broke the camel's back, however, fell while River was trying to decide whether to turn right or left and heard a loud, feminine shriek.

The shriek came from the left, but River just had this nagging feeling to turn right and leave the screaming mare to her own troubles.  Only three steps to the right, however, and River imagined herself being attacked, looking over and seeing somepony else deciding to leave her rather than help.  She imagined how crushed she'd be, how worthless she'd feel, and she knew that she couldn't do that to anyone else, so she took off at full sprint to the left.  What she found there was a small, black-coated mare with a filthy white mane.  Her face was somewhat battered, and she had clearly been rolled in the grime and filth at the cobblestone street, but that didn't seem to be her fault at all.  The stallion holding her down jerked his head to the side as soon as River emerged, and although he ran, River was faster.  She knew what he was doing to the mare on the ground, and just the sight of it flung her into a rage; one less rapist wouldn't be the end of the world, and it might save some young filly's future from a life of pain, so she drew her knife.  The stallion made a break for the streets, knowing that he could blend in with the crowd if he needed to, but he was stopped by the white-hot feeling of a dagger slashing at his cheek from the side.  The stallion yelped and found his second wind, kicking at River's hoof to trip her and then bolting for the roadside, eventually disappearing in the crowd.  River let out a curse under her breath as she hauled herself up off of the cobblestone ground, wiping the bloody dagger off on a newspaper that had collected itself in the corner.

River caught her breath as she walked back to the stallion's victim, an adorable little mare who was curled up in the fetal position and crying her eyes out after the horrors that she had just been subjected to.  But her savior came, donning a light brown trench coat and a small knife with her enemy's blood stained into the grooves on the metal.  She didn't have to say anything, but she did look up for just a moment with a pair of beautiful, deep blue eyes, just an instant before throwing herself onto River with a great, big hug.

The strange black pony introduced herself as Maggie, a mare of the evening already under the employ of Pepper Jack, and promised to put in a very good word for River after hearing the pony's interest in the job.  Maggie even walked with River, showed her a few shortcuts (some of which were safer than the route she was told to take) and introduced her to the management.  Maggie was given the week off after what had happened, and even paid for the night since she took the initiative to walk the new filly in, but it certainly wasn't the last that the grey earth pony would ever see of her friend.  She got a little practice during that week, but by the time Maggie had returned from her hiatus (strong as she was for returning at all) she began to learn many new tricks of the trade.  The black earth pony taught her to twist her body and rotate her hips so that clients could feel just that little extra bit.  She taught her how to kiss, on the off chance that she might need to.  She taught River about stamina and strength, maintaining power for those that clearly enjoy it.  Maggie taught River everything, and the clientele was definitely impressed by it.

Nearly a year went by, and River got far more adjusted to her new environment.  She was an expert with the customers, being asked for by name on more than one occasion each day.  Her wealth had grown exponentially as well, and she managed to have all of the nice luxuries that she could ever ask for.  Life was going exactly as she had dreamed.  That is, of course, until a single fateful night.  A new customer had come in, put down a hefty sack of bits and asked for the best girl.  Naturally, in Maggie's mysterious absence, the management picked River Delta to be the stallion's sweetheart for the night.  Things started off well: River escorted the stallion to her room and made sure he was fully aware of her rates.  The man preferred to keep his hood up the entire time, but considering her line of work and the section of the city that she was in, it really wasn't all that unusual.  After they got situated in the room, River managed to coax the stallion into disrobing for her (of course, this did require her to do so first).

Sex, sold sex anyhow, had become so mechanical to the mare that she could barely even feel it anymore.  All customers looked the same, felt the same, even smelled the same, and she, just like many other folks, simply zoned out during her work schedule.  The issue wasn't that she'd gotten bored with sex, she just didn't often enjoy the company that she had during it, and she was required by her employers to make them feel special.  Frankly, with the exception of Maggie and Pepper Jack on occasion, she rarely had anyone to make her feel special.

Unfortunately for her, this customer did consider her to be a very special mare.  She had spent a year sleeping with nearly every stallion in the south side of Manehattan, so she stopped looking for distinguishing facial features, and missed one very important detail: the scar on this stallion's right cheek.  It'd been a very long time, and the male who had been humiliated all those months ago managed to catch a glance at River, and more importantly recognize her.  He'd spent his time saving up for this occasion, though he was surprised at just how easy it had been.  River might as well have been served up on a silver platter: she was on her back, eyes closed, mouth open, and everything exposed.  Plus, as an added bonus, he got to enjoy the lovely feeling of being balls-deep inside of someone for a little while just before he got his petty revenge.

The stallion felt his finish approaching and smirked, though River had a bit of an instinctual streak for the way guys moved their hips.  She knew he was close too, and decided to look up and into his face; the only defining feature that she noticed was the scar.  Before she had any chance to react, the stallion dropped his hooves down and pressed them against River's throat, pinning her to the bed and beginning to strangle her.  River struggled as best as she could, accidentally kicking the table next to her bed and knocking the bag of bits that the stallion had brought for her off onto the floor.  River's struggle never ceased up until the bitter end; she refused to just lay down and die after how hard she had worked, and she knew that if she could throw the son of a bitch off of her then she could reach her knife and finish the job, but he was just too strong.  The stallion had her pinned down so thoroughly that she couldn't get a good angle, and eventually suffocated.  The mysterious assailant grabbed his bag of money and left in a hurry, never to be seen at that particular brothel again.  Four bits had fallen out of his bag as it got knocked to the floor, but neither those bits nor Maggie would be seen around that place again.

Five For Silver

The thing most often contributed to society by lazy people is that they're unseen by those who actually contribute to society.  This is a blessing, sometimes, considering the state that their bodies are often in, for laggards tend to neglect even that which ought to be more important than money or fame; their own health.  It is with this in mind that I'll tell you a story, one of squalor and filth, with wretchedness sprinkled about like jimmies on a doughnut.  A story of one particular lethargic stallion in a small town just off the oceanic coast.  The name of this town was Nickerbury, and it's since been abandoned due to the construction of a nearby railroad causing any kind of passers-through to detour around, but I digress.

Nickerbury's most infamous resident happened to be a stallion much like one I was just mentioning; a slightly older gentlecolt who came from a family in Canterlot with plenty of money, but he had been such an embarrassment that they exiled him.  His family wouldn't just throw him to the wolves, however, so they offered to pay his way for a little while until he could get a stable place in society; an offer they would eventually regret.  The stallion, Brumby Neighste IV, loved only two things in the entire world: expensive food, and cheap women.  He didn't care about having money, though it was certainly convenient for the buying of food and women, but he'd just as soon sleep on a bed of straw than on one of silk, so long as he was allowed to never get up from it.

Neighste was a disgusting individual, weighing nearly three quarters of a ton after nine years of constant eating and sleeping, and so inept with social interactions that, even if someone could be bothered to wheel his fat ass out of bed, he couldn't make any kind of impression besides that left in whatever cushions he sat on.  Frankly, nopony liked his company, especially not the women whose bodies he 'rented.'  They were, perhaps, more disgusted with him than anyone else, save one of course.  She was a black coated pony, something that wasn't commonly seen anywhere, but especially not that far east, so Neighste paid triple for her what he normally would.  She was definitely gorgeous, sporting a white highlighted mane and the prettiest ice blue eyes you'd ever seen, and with a name that just reverberated in the throat and left one feeling pleasant after speaking it: Maggie.

She was unusual, and Neighste very much enjoyed the unusual, so he decided that he absolutely must have her.  He still had a single servant, and she worked harder than any other pony in the town; busying herself with odd jobs just to make ends meet, as well as working full time for this disgusting lump of a pony.  She humiliated herself for her daily bread, while the stallion in her care ate enough to feed her entire family, all seven brothers and sisters and parents too, five times over.  When asked, even if by his own family, Neighste refused to work for a living, and he refused even to get out of his bed, except on one special circumstance: the sponge bath.

Luckily for his servant, Neighste was only willing to go through the effort of a sponge bath once a week, but in a cruel twist of fate, his servant was a pegasus that couldn't fly.  She had no magical horn to hover the sponge, and while most ponies wouldn't even consider touching Neighste with a ten foot pole, the pole on which her sponge was mounted gave her only a two foot distance from him, and she had to affix it in her teeth.  Her physical and mental fortitude was always tested on bathing day; the folds and rolls that she needed to lift with her hooves often weighed nearly as much as she did, and were stuck together with a fibrous mixture of sweat and shed fur from his dull, greasy coat.  She struggled not to throw up every time the sickening slap of flab displacing flab slid into her ears, and she always had to make a decision whether to breathe through her nose (and subsequently smell the behemoth) or to struggle with breathing around the stick.  This torture, mental and physical, lasted several hours due to the sheer mass of a stallion that needed to be washed, and deep down she knew that he took some kind of sadistic pleasure from the action.  Each day, she'd return home and cry alone, avoiding her brothers and sisters who depended on her income to stay fed; yet she still prayed to all princesses, past and future, that the repulsive leviathan would die in the night, either from sleep apnea or a heart attack, or at the very least something... painful.  She worked nearly seventy hours a week to keep herself and her family fed, while that gelatinous mountain stuffed his face with more food than he ought to physically be capable of ingesting, every single hour that he kept his eyes open.

On the day that he would have his prostitutes join him, Neighste's servant (known simply as "Clouds' Guest") would usually take a few hours to walk out into town and, at Neighste's expense, get herself some coffee.  She never had the money for coffee, but the blob always left his coin purse lying around, and he never once missed the four or five bits that it took to get a big, hot cup of dark coffee.  It was a life saver as far as she was concerned, so she always looked forward to the days when he would receive "visitors," even though she absolutely refused to watch with every fiber of her being.  One came about, though when she went to check on Neighste's purse, it was absolutely empty.  Clouds' walked back in to check and see if anyone had bothered to show up, and she did indeed spot a black mare tentatively approaching the aberrant pony before her.  While the beautiful black mare seemed to be absolutely perfect in every respect: perfect coat, perfect eyes, perfectly brushed and styled mane, and perfect posture, the stallion that she was in the room with didn't have a shred of perfection to his name.

His coat was technically mauve, but since his body lay so uneven under any light source it always seemed that he was several different hues at once.  His mane was greasy and matted, and only took up a very small portion of his entire body mass.  His tail, and for that matter his hind legs, were nowhere to be seen under usual circumstances, but all that time trapped beneath a sweating, grossly overweight body hadn't exactly been kind to its volume and bounce.  Even though the black pegasus seemed to be very skilled in pretending to be attracted to ponies, even she seemed repulsed just by Neighste's presence.  She shot a glance to the smaller, blue-green pegasus servant that expressed her emotions very explicitly.  They both knew that this guy would be either the death of them or the cause of a very severe series of humiliations.  To this, Neighste laughed a wheezy, bellowing laugh that caused most of his body to jiggle like the pile of jelly that it was.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm...  You there, Maggie was it?"  Neighste eyed Maggie like a fresh pastry, and although they knew better, both of the girls figured that he would be capable of eating either one of them just like one too.

"That's my name, sir."  Maggie managed to produce her expert speech without a single quiver in her voice.

"I'll give you five extra bits if you go fetch me something to eat before you start... working."  He smiled as big as he could, letting many of his chins stretch to accommodate the newly tensed area.

Maggie, oddly enough, gave a little smirk at this and turned around, walking right past Clouds' on her way into the kitchen.  Clouds' felt the black pegasus' wing brush up against hers, and somehow she felt very calm.  The blob sitting and laughing on the bed didn't bother her nearly as much, and she wasn't worrying about her next paycheck, but it only lasted for a few seconds.  This was followed by a feeling of chill that penetrated down to her bones, making her shiver violently before coming back to her normal state.  The entire experience was very odd, but she didn't have time to dwell on it when Neighste' asked her a question.

"Do you know her?"  His voice was deep, somewhat menacing even, but seemed almost grandfatherly.  As if he were deceiving her with every single word, and doing it well.

"No..."  She said, shyly.  She really didn't want to speak to him, and had gotten away without saying a word for the past few days in a row.  It was nice.

"Well neither do I...  You know, whenever I have the girls in, I usually think of you."  With this he let a much toothier grin show to the young pegasus girl.  His teeth had food in them from several days ago, and she could only imagine what his breath smelled like; the rest of him certainly didn't smell pleasant.  She was embarrassed at this thought, and at the same time driven to a dry heave as the mental image of herself "pleasuring" that lump tried to enter her mind.  "Not this time, though.  She's real pretty.  Just like you, except she doesn't make it so obvious when she's about to throw up...  and she doesn't steal my money."

The servant filly froze, unable to respond at all.  She knew that she could potentially go to jail for that, and considering this one's reputation he'd probably put her in there for longer than normal.  If nothing else, it meant she would be fired, and she had no idea what she would do for money if that were the case, so she just stood there waiting for him to continue.

"You're scared?  Hah, don't worry, I won't have you locked away.  A beauty like you would be like an Everfree Forest quetzal locked in a cage.  I couldn't do that, though I suppose I could make you stay for this..."

"Please... no..."

"Would you rather I took it out of your pay?  I think you're into... one hundred and sixty four bits that you owe me, by now.  That's a month's pay that you won't be getting...  For that kind of money I should have you do whatever I want you to for two hours, at least.  Be grateful."

She dropped to her knees, felt herself starting to cry, and simply refused to make any kind of decision.  He just wanted to humiliate her, both her and Maggie for his own amusement.  She had to do it or she wouldn't get paid, or he'd make her do something even worse to make up for it.  She already wanted to throw up just for being associated with him, that abominable excuse for a pony, and now he wanted her to sit and watch as he ruined the integrity of another beautiful young mare.  Nothing could be worse.  As soon as she was almost ready to stand up and accept the punishment, Maggie walked back in with a large plate of sauteed carrots and greens, still dripping with melted, salted butter just as Neighste liked.  As she walked back in, the servant girl felt like everything was going to be okay again.  Expertly, she handed the plate of food up to the glutton and let him sit back and stuff his face.  Once his mouth was full, Maggie asked the servant girl to leave, and Neighste's mouth was too full to object.  She gladly obeyed.

Not ten minutes later, Maggie opened the door and casually walked out, holding a small compact mirror up and wiping her mouth with the back of her foreleg.  She put her mirror away behind her wing and walked over to the servant girl, who was sitting at the kitchen table with her face buried in her hooves.  "Hey there, sweetheart, I don't think I ever got your name."

"Clouds' Guest...  My name is Clouds' Guest, but my family all calls me Cloudy...  I think maybe if I had a friend they'd call me that too."  The servant girl was clearly very distraught, but curious enough about the situation (especially now that Maggie was in the room) to ask.  "That was really fast...  Usually he makes the girls stay in there until after the time's up, regardless of whether or not they... well... you know."

"Oh, well he's not gonna get anymore time because he's dead."

"What?!"

"He had a heart attack just a few minutes ago.  I tried CPR but his chest is kinda like a mattress...  There's nothing I can do, and nothing you can do either."

"You didn't... Kill him, did you?"

"Pff, me?  Even if I had a knife I couldn't hit anything vital on that lard-ass.  He killed himself, slowly but surely.  I was just there to see it."

"W-what do we do?"

"I'm glad you asked.  We're going to leave this filthy place, no offense of course, you keep it remarkably clean, but regardless we're going to leave.  We'll stop by the hospital and let them know he passed on, finally, and then you and I are going to go out for something to eat."

"I'm not sure I have much of an appetite..."

"What about coffee, then?  Not exactly filling, and it should help settle your stomach."

Clouds' hesitated for just a second, blinked a few times, and realized that she was finally free.  She didn't know what she'd do about work, but something about Maggie was just beckoning her to follow.  "Maggie, was it?"

"Mhmm, unusual I know, but I had some strange, old, parents."

"Well, Maggie, you read my mind."

Six For Gold

When a child is exposed to the bad habits of their parents, they tend to pick up those habits in their development.  Take Glitterdust, for example, she'd been working hard and making money since a very young age.  Her parents were foreigners from a land far away, one that provided little in the way of food or opportunity, so they moved their six year old daughter and themselves out to Equestria.  Being foreigners, the family had to work as hard as they physically could to make their ends meet, often surviving on one bit a day between the three of them.  The values of hard work and sacrifice quickly set into Glitterdust, prompting her to fit right into the society that her family had brought her to.  She had a job before she turned ten, she finished all of her homework the instant she got home, and she spent her off time reading equestrian books with the hopes of learning to fit in, so not a single hour in the day was wasted.  She became intelligent, compassionate, and very well educated, which meshed extremely well with a hardworking attitude and the willingness to apply oneself fully to even the most menial tasks.  Anypony that met her as she was growing up knew that she would go far in her life.

It didn't take her very long to do so, either.  By the time she graduated High School, Glitterdust was already a senior employee at the ore processing office that she worked for.  Having gone to work with the mines with her family was something that Glitterdust had gotten very used to, so she stuck with the job as she grew, worked her way up until finally she became management material.  Even as a foreigner, with her perfect, bilingual nature Glitterdust became a fantastic foremare, taking over the very first leadership position that her family had had since before their recorded history.  Glitterdust brought her impressive attitude to the workplace even as a leader, often inspiring the best in her workers, and making sure that each and every one was at optimum efficiency.  She quickly became selective, judgmental, and of course, focused entirely on one thing: Money.

Glitterdust's family had always focused on money.  They loved acquiring it, they loved hording it, keeping it safe, and using it when necessary.  They loved being able to say they had more of it than others, and they loved being able to keep on making it.  In her country only the powerful had money, so money literally translated to power. Power meant the respect of many and honor for every generation that continued to hold that power, and it was simply an unfortunate coincidence that power and money had so recently become synonymous.

The family worked the mines as long as they could remember, with that being the most reliable way to make a respectable living that any could find, and so they even named Glitterdust after the very first time they learned how to describe gold in Equestrian common.  They wanted their daughter to do great things, to which she lived up as an agent of fate.  She saved every single bit that she earned, from an early age all the way into adulthood.  Not a single gold piece ever slipped between her hooves without her knowledge of it, and she had reflexes and intuition quick enough to seal any cracks before they became holes.  Her accounts were airtight and always growing, and her investments were picked so carefully that they always granted record-holding returns.  The term "rich" didn't hold a candle to her wealth.  She pulled the strings that Filthy Rich and his entire corporation danced from, and Celestia even took out a loan from her in preparation for the changeling invasion; just to "make sure all debts remained domestic in a time of crisis," so she said.

Glitterdust became reliant on her money flow, addicted almost, and it grew so out of control that she even fired secretaries over misfiles that may have hindered progress reports.  The ponies directly in her employ needed to be money-minded machines, with only enough conscious thought to pick out the best long-term investments the very instant they appeared.  If she could get away with it, some theorize that she would have had hooves chopped off if she found out that sompony had cost her money on a return.

As she got on in years, Glitterdust's beautiful blonde mane and off-white coat began to fade toward gray.  Her amber eyes, not dulled by age but definitely softened, never lost their quickness as she scanned over her finances.  She had accumulated a dragon's horde over her lifetime, yet made few friends, and realized that she would need an assistant if she were to keep herself up at her optimum efficiency.  Who she was looking for was a cross between a personal secretary and an accountant, full time, to be by her side and take orders perfectly.

Working as Glitterdust's protégé was something that a great number of ponies (quite literally) chomped at the bit for, but it certainly didn't take the frugal pony very long before she narrowed down the competition to only two.  The remaining ponies were a black mare with bright yellow eyes and a white mane, and a purple stallion with a blue mane and green eyes.  Both were somewhat of an oddity, and both were definitely known for their efficiency and coldness in making financial decisions, so they both appeared to be perfect.  What really set them apart, however, were their social records.  The stallion had performed several hours worth of volunteer time each week of his life, as well as having worked in a social field in nearly every part of his career.  He was a caring, generous pony who, if he wasn't so obscured by his own humility and refusal to announce large donations, would have been famous for his kindness.  Maggie, the black mare, didn't have a single outstanding mark, however, in either a good nor bad way present on any of her known records.

When Glitterdust found out the stallion's agenda, id est to convince her to perform charity work with her abundant wealth, she simply fired him and hired Maggie full time, taking the black pegasus under her own metaphorical wing and teaching her the trade.  Maggie did great work, being an absolute natural at every single project that Glitterdust gave her.  The old pony finally found someone to pass her fortune onto after she died.  Glitterdust had absolutely no one in her life that was able to tolerate her attitude long enough to give her children, and she certainly didn't have a long lived set of parents or siblings.  Most of them died long before she did due to the hazardous and often toxic work being done down in the mines, so she was left completely alone on the world, seeking only somepony enough like herself to leave her wealth with in good faith.  With nopony else but her student, it was obvious where the money would have to go, and Glitterdust knew that her time was coming.  The old woman never really accepted her mortality, but she was conscious of it.  Often times she chose to simply live each day frivolously, clinging onto her money with just as much of a stingy nature as she had always had, and once she could even be caught saying that if death came for her she'd just pay for another lifetime.

Death, however, did come for her eventually.  She died peacefully in her bed, with a small pouch sitting next to her along with a revised will and a scrap of paper.  Maggie walked into the room and found her this way; the scrap of paper read as follows.

Dear Maggie,

You've been so much more to me these past few months than just an assistant.  I cannot stress how close we've become, nor could I put it into words even if I had the skill.  You were like my daughter, and you're the only pony I can think of that deserves to be my heir.  I know you'll be wise with the money I'm leaving you, so I've placed it into an account that belongs to you now.  I also want you to take this pouch and keep it to yourself; it contains six bits, which represents a week's pay back when I was a child.  My very first week of work, the foundation upon which I built my entire life, resides there, so keep it safe for me.

~Glitterdust.

Glitterdust's death sparked a great deal of change in the way many ponies did business.  Since a large source of monetary loans and stability had just disappeared, and with nopony alive left in her will (that anyone could track down), the fortune was spread around Equestria, put to use by Celestia for public service projects, charities, and a great deal of other programs that desperately needed some private funding, overall increasing the quality of life in the nation for everyone.  Only one pony showed up to Glitterdust's funeral, however, and she kept her face veiled the entire time.  She was buried on a Saturday, and all the enemies that she had made had better things to do than to watch her be buried.  She only had the one mysterious friend, and that friend remained anonymous forevermore.

Seven For A Secret Never Told

Rocky Road, a mottled gray stallion with a dark brown mane and the oddest rose colored eyes one had ever seen, was just minding his own business one day at work.  He tended never to speak to anyone and was known for having a brutal temper once you got him going, so everyone just tried to stay out of his way.  He did a lot of the grunt-work as a tunneler, boring through mountains with often little more than a pickaxe and sledge.  The earth pony chose his position in the tunnel, liking the fact that mountainsides and rocks and dirt didn't talk to him, ridicule him, or try to cheat him out of something.  It was assumed that someday he'd have the word "Misanthrope" inscribed on his tombstone, just between husband and father.

Rocky's family meant more to him than the entire world as far as he was concerned, and he went back to them every day with plenty of food and money to keep them healthy and happy.  He didn't need many luxuries, and he certainly didn't need many friends, but every time he thought he could finally settle down and be happy something would come up.  Some kind of drama, some stupid conversation that struck a chord, or just some jackass that wouldn't leave him alone, and he just couldn't control himself.  He'd lash out, yell, make a big scene and then stomp off in a huff if somepony ever got on his bad side (which they tended to do with even trivial things), so rumors would always spread around in his wake.  People thought that he abused his children, used to fight in the wars and had Spear Shock, or was just an all-around jerk of a guy; not a single rumor of his heart of gold ever surfaced.  Had he ever really talked about himself or made some friends, venomous lies such as those wouldn't have been in the backs of everyone's minds, and they certainly wouldn't have been used against him as they were.

One day, while he was at work pushing a new train tunnel through the mountains adjacent to Canterlot, the royal guards showed up at the job site looking for him.  He was hauled away in iron, taken under suspicion of his family's murder.  What he had to learn on the long chariot-ride into Canterlot's jail was that his wife and daughter had been killed in cold blood with a crude, improvised blade.  Nopony would vouch for him, especially since the time frame that was given suggested the murders happened just several minutes before the train that Rocky Road took to work stopped at his stop.  Everyone, though they didn't all want to admit it, thought that he simply killed his wife and child and then went right to work like everything was normal.  He didn't, of course, but his confusion and distraught nature at being suspected of such a horrendous act was mistaken for anger, and in the biased minds of his peers Rocky Road's fate was sealed.

His trial wasn't a fair one, either, seeing as how the Equestrian justice system has never been exactly... just.  Cases such as Rocky's slipped through the cracks more often than anyone liked to admit, but Celestia's headsmare was just as happy to execute an innocent pony as she was a guilty pony.  The black-cloaked criminal never asked any questions about who came up to her block, she just brought the axe down whenever the Princess needed her to.  This was to be Rocky Road's fate; execution by decapitation for the murder of his wife and daughter, all because he preferred a little bit of solitude.  The two months that he spent in prison awaiting that date were the longest that he'd ever gone without speaking to anyone, and his intense vow of silence kept even the most hardened prisoners away from him.  It seemed that everyone in Equestria had heard the rumors; that he was insane, that his temper drove him to kill, and that he held absolutely no remorse for his wife and child.  He had nothing left to live for anyway, so he simply sat and waited for death to come, wanting nothing more in the world than to have the hatred and the sorrow finally taken away.  Rocky Road refused any kind of a final meal, though one was certainly offered, and he very nearly pushed his way past the guards that escorted him to the executioner's block.

Rocky kneeled before the big stone block, looking out on the faces of Canterlot, as well as those of the Princesses standing immediately to his right, all of whom showed up to watch him die.  The headsmare stood next to him, silent as night, just holding her axe and waiting for the order.

"Rocky Road."  Princess Celestia began, "We have brought you here today, before sovereigns and Empire, to face your death as punishment for the murder of two innocents, one of whom was barely able to read."  The Princess paused and the crowd murmured amongst themselves.  Rocky Road could hear curses being placed on his name, though the details of them all started to blend together under the drone of the crowd.  Celestia hushed all of them, excluding the ravens perched up on the wall.  The large black birds loved execution time, because the bodies of those deemed particularly wicked were always thrown into the river, and therefore to them.  "As Princess of the sun and a representative of all that is good and just in this nation, it pains me to have to deem you unfit for living, and yet I stand here today forced to do so.  Do you have any final words or wishes that you wish to leave us with?"

Someone in the crowd screeched out, "He doesn't deserve any!  Cut out his tongue before he poisons our ears!"  This jeering was quickly put to a stop by the icy glare of Princess Luna.  She took her executions very seriously and absolutely refused to have a peanut gallery form.  She had allowed that once several thousand years ago, and the mess from the resulting riots cost a pretty penny to clean up.

"I do have a request."  Rocky Road mumbled, looking down at his hooves and at the large, carved granite block, stained mahogany after eons of use.

"Speak it, child."  Celestia moved to stand next to the captive, wearing her sorrow readily on her sleeve so that all could see her compassion.  The genuineness behind it, however, was somewhat questionable.

"I want you to hold the axe."

The crowd gasped in unison, and Celestia had to stand and process for a moment exactly what he had asked for.  Even the ravens seemed to fall silent, and only the sound of the babbling river into which Rocky's body would be thrown post mortem could be heard.

"I beg your pardon?"  Celestia, somewhat intrigued by that bizarre request, probed for answers, delaying Rocky's execution by just enough to annoy her younger sister.

"I said I want you to hold the axe.  My whole life I've been taunted and ridiculed, feared for no reason, and looked down on by... them."  Rocky tilted his chin outward to signal the crowd as he spoke.  His tone was one of dry hatred, simply lacking any kind of emotion that one would use for anything other than harm.  "I didn't kill my wife and daughter, but you've all decided that I have just because you don't like me.  Disgusting as that is, I haven't got anything to live for without them, so go ahead and kill me already.  It just has to be you holding the axe, Celestia.  It'd make me smile to know that you of all ponies were the one to cut off my head."

"And who are you to demand that royalty bloody their hooves with your execution?"  Luna, angered already by the disrespect she received from Celestia, wanted to put Rocky back in his place.

"It's alright, sister.  It's not unheard of that a leader must perform a little wetwork every now and then."  Celestia, having actually participated in a few high profile executions before, was willing to carry that burden.  She firmly believed that he was guilty of murder, and was fully ready to show that she was the arm or justice in Canterlot and beyond, so she took the axe from the headsmare and levitated it by her side.  The headsmare flashed Luna a disappointed look through her hood, but the Princess of the night just sighed and grumbled to herself.  The execution had already been ruined as far as she was concerned, so this would at least expedite the end.

The headsmare placed her hoof on the center of Rocky's back, pushing him down so that his head sat squarely over the block and his neck was outstretched.  Celestia took the axe in her hooves, favoring the old fashioned method over magic, and knelt down beside the block to say a few final words.  "I, Princess Celestia, will now personally carry out your sentence as per your request.  May you and your family find peace in the lasting slumber of death."  With that, the white Princess lifted the heavy black axe above her head with both of her front hooves, bringing down her full weight behind a sharpened mass of iron.  To the crowd, the whole thing was over in a flash; Celestia's pure white coat was spattered with blood, and the "murderer's" head rolled off the block and into the flowing waters of the river beneath the dais.  To Rocky Road, however, that final few seconds seemed to last an eternity.  He heard the axe cut through the air as it fell to meet his neck, and he could even feel the blade split his flesh and spine apart.  Everything had happened in slow motion, yet the shock of the injury didn't relay any pain to his already dying mind, yet he still felt every single inch of his neck slowly go numb as the axe carved its way through it.

The strangest thing was the sensation of falling as his head separated from his body and plopped into the water.  His brain stayed alive for around ten seconds after the decapitation, letting him see, hear, taste, and feel the cleansing stream as it washed his head away, though none of his senses were exactly sharp enough to provide reliable information.  For that last ten seconds Rocky Road could have sworn that he was still in his mother's womb, picking up only traces of sound and touch and taste from the world outside.

As all things do, however, Rocky Road had to die sometime, and in doing so he felt as though he were born again.  That's not to say that he literally was, but his head seemed to be reattached to his body and he seemed to still be at the block.  He wasn't in chains anymore, and nopony was there, but it was clearly the Canterlot castle courtyard; midday and everything.

"I really am sorry about what happened.  They love you, you know."  Rocky Road heard a single voice, though it sounded like it came from every direction at once.  He glanced around and noticed the only pony figure still around: the headsmare.  She was still wearing her black cloak and hood, veiling her face so that nopony could see any of her features for the rest of her days, and holding the large iron axe with her hooves.

"Who are you?"  Rocky was frightened by the figure, though he felt an overwhelming sense of calm come from his surroundings.  He knew he was dead, he just didn't know what exactly was happening.  As far as he knew, nothing could ever go wrong for him again.

The headsmare took off her hood, revealing a face that Rocky hadn't ever seen before in his life.  She was a beautiful mare, white maned but with a coat as black as night, and bright ruby red eyes that put the pinkish tint in his own to shame.  She wore a soft smile, despite her intimidating appearance, and slowly approached the stallion as her outfit faded away into a fine dust that tracked along her contours.  "Oh, just take a few seconds to think about it and I'm sure you'll figure it out.  Everyone always does."

"Death?"

The black mare rolled her eyes and unfurled her beautiful oversized wings, flapping them a few times to un-mat the feathers after confining them to a cloak for so long.  "Please, my friends call me Maggie.  Not everything has to be about work, you know?"

"Alright then...  Maggie.  I guess it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Mhmm, but you wish it was under different circumstances, right?"

"Heh...  I bet you hear that a lot, huh?"

"Seventeen billion, four hundred and fifty six million, five hundred eighty two thousand, three hundred and seventy nine times, including this one of course.

"I had no idea I was so unoriginal..."

"Well, to be fair, fifty two of them were you in a past life."

"That so?"

"Mhmm, technically nothing about you is original."

"Well that makes me feel better...  So why are we here?"

"Oh that's such a long story..."

"No, I mean you and me, here, right now.  Not... the big picture.  Plenty of time for that later, right?"

"Well you're only half wrong about that.  We're here right now because you're not done yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, before I can take you away, you'll want to tie up all of your loose ends.  Most folks do so by dying, but since you died instead of someone else, you've got a bit of a special case."

"Special, huh?  I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Well it's just a simple offer.  Here, allow me."  Maggie walked in closer to Rocky Road, opening her wings up so that the black of her feathers engulfed his vision, then she revealed that the location had changed once they folded closed again.  Rocky found himself standing in the absurdly small living room of someone's home, with a young mare and two children who were sick in bed.

"What's this?"

"You see him?"

"I do..."  Rocky looked around the home, feeling strange about standing someone's house, but they didn't seem to mind that he and Maggie were there.

"Well they don't see us.  We're dead, remember?  Well...  You are."  Maggie interrupted Rocky during a small experiment of how far he could reach his ghost foreleg through the various members of the family.

"Of course I remember, it was the strangest sensation of my life.  Why?"

"Because he's the one that should be dead instead of you.  He's the one who killed your family."

Rocky was speechless, and he turned his head as slowly as he could toward the stallion.  He found his target kissing the forehead of one of his sick children after secretly passing a bag of coins to his wife.  "...Him?"

"Yes, him.  He saw that you left and thought that you lived alone.  He broke into your home and planned on stealing as many of your things as he could, but your daughter startled him.  He accidentally swung the axe that, had he not been fired would have continued building his 'fortune,' and mortally wounded her, naturally she screamed.  This brought your wife downstairs, and she didn't even hesitate to go... what's the saying... 'momma bear?' on this man.  Well... he panicked and killed her too, and when you got stuck with the blame he just held his tongue.  He was at your execution, you know.  He never stopped crying since he set foot in the courtyard."

"Why did you bring me here?"  Rocky never met eyes with Maggie; he kept them closed tight and his face pointed to the ground.  He tried a little trick that he learned in a court ordered anger management class; counting to ten.  It didn't work, but it did put a tense pause into everything that he said, his rage slowly building to the point of bursting.  Every fiber of his being screamed to use whatever ghost powers he could to kill the stallion standing in front of him, but every shred of compassion he had screamed at him not to harm the father standing in front of him.  His mind was at war with itself.  "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Well, as I said, I brought you here to make you an offer.  You want your life back?  Take it."  Maggie, still holding the headsmare's axe, sat down on the bed next to one of the sick children, looking down longingly at her quiet, pained face.

"How?"

Maggie smirked and rolled her hoof toward Rocky, looking him in the eyes and saying, "Guess."  Between breaths, or perhaps the last time he blinked, the headsmare's axe had appeared at Rocky's hooves.  "Just realize what you're getting into.  His children are dying, he's become a burglar to quickly get the money that they need in order to save their lives.  He has a family."

"He killed my family!  He killed me!  He doesn't deserve his family!"  Finally, Rocky's pent up anger exploded, bringing him to take the very same stance that Celestia had taken over him, ready to hack off the stallion's head as he sat and watched his children writhe in fever dreams.

Deep down Rocky Road's heart broke for them; he had more than once resorted to violence when money was the only thing standing between himself and homelessness, something far more tolerable than the death of a child.  For the first time ever, Rocky came to the conclusion that perhaps things were right just the way they were; that perhaps he deserved what had happened to him after a life of refusal to befriend anyone, refusal to even be a decent person.  Perhaps his family deserved whatever peace was to come in being dead rather than living with him as a role model.  The axe clanged to the floor, but when he looked down it just wasn't there.

Maggie walked over to him and placed her wing around his shoulder.  Just her very touch made him feel calm and cool, bordering on a kind of deep chill, but the kind of pleasurable one that only comes about when you've been scorched to the bone in the heat of a long day.  "Revenge is petty, Rocky.  I'm glad you made the right choice."

"What do you mean, the right choice?  I haven't made a right choice once in my life."

"Well, then this is a shining example of why it's never too late to start."  Maggie walked over to the desk at which the stallion's wife was sitting.  She opened a black velvet pouch produced from beneath her wing and dumped out seven bits onto the counter.  "Tell me, Rocky, how much is a life worth to you?"

"I..."  Rocky stuttered a little bit, surprised by the dramatic shift in conversational tone.  "I don't think I can answer that, Maggie.  Lives are priceless."

"I wouldn't say priceless, you just have to know the right currency in the right amounts.  Watch."  Somehow, the ghostly bits that Maggie had poured out onto the desk had become real, and the mare at the desk had absentmindedly counted them along with the rest of her money.

"Honey!  We have enough to get the medicine!"  The mare called out.  She had to muffle her obvious excitement so that she didn't wake up the children, but she was happy to the point of tears.  The stallion, who was pacing outside, quickly came back inside and gave her a hug.

"Oh that's wonderful news!  I couldn't handle another day of this...  It's gotten to the point where I almost can't live with myself anymore."

"We'll never have to do that again, ever.  I promise you we'll make things work this time, everything's going to be okay."

As the couple finished their exchange with a deep, tight embrace, Maggie turned to make eye contact with Rocky again.  "Ain't they cute?"

"You're a lot more perky than I thought death would be, you know that?"  Rocky Road couldn't help but crack a smile as he hugged into Maggie's wing.  Just the thought of hugging the reaper brought a grin to his face, but the inner peace wasn't exactly hurting the situation.

"If I took my job seriously I'd be pretty messed up by now.  I've seen things that would make your nightmares cower, the horrors of wars that came about before your time of reason, of crimes, of justice or of self control.  The darkest depths of sentient life have been revealed to me, the watcher and guardian in the shadows, to see how they choose to dispatch their victims.  I've seen the kinds of things that people do just because they know they'll never get caught, when thought is abandoned and pure hedonism, sadistic pleasure, and maniacal behavior become just as alive as the body hosting them.  I've seen natural disasters that have killed entire villages, villages that simultaneously pray for their safe passage, and then when their entire world ends in the flash of a tidal wave or volcano, they ask me 'why?' and I can't answer them.  I've witnessed accidents that have broken the fortitude of all who viewed the victims' corpses, and I've seen the bodies of millions, all loved ones, carted away on meatwagons and burned in the ditches just to help control the spread of disease."  As Maggie spoke, her gaze became more and more disjointed.  She stared off into space, losing herself in her own little world before popping back into the conversation with a big smile.  "But I've also seen puppies and rainbows and a foal's first steps, and those are just so much nicer to think about."

"Heh..."  The small flashback that Maggie showed off at first was somewhat disconcerting, but Rocky tried to change the subject before things turned potentially bad.  "Well at least you're friendly.  Everypony's got this image of death as a quiet, frightening figure that chases you down if you don't go quietly."

"Well they've got it all wrong!  I wouldn't chase you."  As the pair spoke, the world they were standing in simply faded away into dust, all of which was blown away with the simple flap of Maggie's wings.  At this point, Rocky didn't want to question any of it.  He just wanted to keep on talking to his new friend.

"Oh no?"

"Definitely not.  If you don't wanna stay dead that's your choice, we'll just put you back in as another baby, but you gotta ask first.  Plan ahead, though, because walk-ins tend to have pretty drastic changes to gender, ethnicity, and the time you're born."

"What happens if I do want to stay dead?"

"Also your choice."  The surrounding area at this point was a pure humming white light in all directions, though Rocky felt a discernible floor, and Maggie started walking away.  "You're welcome to stay here as long as you like, or even go haunt around your planet for as long as you want, but if you can't touch anything."

"Will I get in trouble or something?"

"Nah, nobody really cares what you do, but touching things in your world as a ghost is physically impossible.  If you wanna touch you have to be alive, just like with this place: you gotta be dead to do anything.  It's pretty binary like that, but we're not going to corral you into some kind of afterlife daycare, that's what living is for."

"I guess this is the part where you tell me about the meaning of life, eh?"

"Well, you forget that when you're born, so sure.  It's because, and you'll figure this out really quick, living in a timeless, dimensionless plane of existence gets really boring really fast, so y'all made this little make-believe place that you like to visit every eon or so.  It makes you forget everything you've ever known and live out a meager existence in a place where time flows only in one direction.  Makes things interesting, knowing everything at once just takes away surprises."

"You're telling me that the entire world is just a vacation home for spirits?"

"I guess you could call us spirits, though we're really just wayward beings who happened to be passing through this particular piece of time-space on our journey through the white."

"The white?"

"It's what we call the environment that exists outside of all time and space.  We're all creatures of the white, but we have the power to squeeze ourselves into time and space and experience it, but that cuts us off from our bizarre way of thinking if it's done for too long.

"So... you're like, a crossing guard at an elementary school that makes sure the little kids get across the road safely?"

"Kinda.  I like to think of it more as a theme park operator.  I'm here to make sure everybody has a good time and gets off the ride safely."

"What's next, then?"

"Well, you're welcome to get back on the ride, or go visit some of the other places that you've all created.  Or you can just stick around and make some friends, they could last you several lifetimes out here."

"Where exactly is here?  All I see is...  Well, I guess it's "The White" that I'm seeing."

"Mmn, and I suppose you still see yourself and me as ponies, right?"

"Indeed I do... should I not?"

"Well... it's just an illusion from your planet.  Once you get used to viewing things outside of the third dimension again you'll be able to see our true forms and start gathering up your true memories.  For now just take your time getting acclimated.  It's gonna be a long eternity."

~Fin

Three For a Wedding

Tawney usually spent her nights locked up in her room, reading the odd book or writing the odd journal entry, but she rarely ever went out with anyone else.  She lived with her parents and, though she was certainly an adult, didn't ever feel the need to emancipate herself from them.  Her father had always been, frankly, somewhat abusive, but her mother always made it feel so much better with love and spoiling.  She was afraid to leave them behind; even though she'd be rid of the mental and physical abuse, it would mean that she'd also be rid of the love.  Hollowness was the one thing she really feared, and she knew (or rather thought) that without her parents she'd slowly drift away into a husk of a pony that would never have a hope in the world of finding anypony else to love her.

One particular night she didn't write or read, or do much of anything.  She just sat in front of her vanity mirror, a present from her mother after a particularly brutal 'punishment' for coming home late, and examined her fresh black eye.  Cheek tilted toward the mirror, she tried her best to open up her beautiful hazel eye, but couldn't manage to get the purplish lump to separate itself.  She took out her hair brush and started to comb her dark blue mane down the way she always kept it; hanging like a curtain in front of whichever eye happened to be black that week.  This was always a calming time for her; for whatever reason she found hiding the abuse of her home life to be somewhat relaxing.  Even looking in the mirror, with her dull beige coat covered up with an absurdly contrasting blue mane, she felt relieved to know that she could look beautiful regardless of how broken inside (and outside) she really was.

Her horn always acted as a great divider for her mane, so she didn't need to try too hard to brush her hair the way she needed it (and always managed to get it perfectly each time), but nevertheless she could spend hours and hours brushing.  Her parents were fighting in the next room, but she hummed as loudly as she could to try and drown it out; her favorite tune in the world was a lullaby that her mother liked to sing to her a very long time ago.  What came through the wall didn't sound to her like words, just raw anger in the form of sound, and she awaited the inevitable crash of some breaking dish or other.  That specific sound didn't ever resonate through the house that night, though, and Tawney just guessed that they had run out of dishes to break.

"Don't you ever lay your hooves on me again!"  Tawney's mother cried out.  The argument was getting loud enough that, even through the humming and brushing, the quiet unicorn could still hear them.

"Maybe if you could do a single damn thing I asked I wouldn't have to!"  Tawney's father had always been a big, brute of a stallion, and nobody ever really could figure out why his wife ever stayed with him.  Perhaps she was afraid to leave, or perhaps she wanted to try and fix him, but nothing ever seemed to keep him from causing anything but pain to her or her child.

"Oh, now it's because you have to, huh?  That's fucking rich!"

Tawney ground her teeth a little bit, tried to paste a smile on and kept brushing.  Her humming grew to the point that she might as well have been singing the tune a cappella.  She wanted the argument to stop, desperately begged for it, but her only escapes were sleep (which usually ended in a nightmare) or going out with her friend Maggie, with whom she usually stayed out late enough that she was punished anyway when she got home.  Maggie really was her only friend; the only one she could talk to and the only one who would actually listen.  Outside Tawney's door, however, the argument escalated.

"Listen to you!  You haven't shut your mouth since I got home!  What the hell else am I supposed to do?  Huh?  Just let you peck at me all day after I work from sunup to sundown just so that I can give you and your daughter a roof over your heads?"

"She's your daughter too, asshole."

"Don't you call me an asshole!"

"I'll call you whatever I damn well please!  D'you know how many times I've been asked where I got a black eye from?  Ever wonder how many times I've considered telling the truth?"

"Shut up."

"No, you shut up!  I'm so sick and tired of dealing with you!  I hate your baggage, I hate your personality, I hate the way you drink, I hate how you treat me and I especially hate how you treat my daughter!  I... Hate... You!"

"I said shut up!"

"And I said n--"  Tawney's mother was interrupted by a very audible slap across her face, followed by a long stretch of tense silence.  Eventually, after a few minutes had passed, noise flared up again, and Tawney couldn't bring herself to look away from the mirror.  The young unicorn heard doors slam, items get thrown around, and various other noises often associated with anger coming from her house, but she had become a master at ignoring them.  Eventually, however, she was met with something she couldn't ignore: her bedroom door being thrown open.

"Come on, sweetie.  We're leaving."  Tawney's mother's face appeared in the mirror within the open rectangle of light that was the door, though her father's imposing grimace stayed just at the threshold.

"Where are we going?"  Tawney asked in a panic, looking quickly over her shoulder with her mouth dropping open.

"Yeah, where are you going?"  The big lumbering stallion cast Tawney's own words out as a taunt to her mother, a tactic that he always used to get at both of them.

"None of your damn business!"  Tawney's mother, the cream colored pegasus that she was, turned back and snapped at the man, only giving him the satisfaction of having pushed her buttons even more.  "Pack as many changes of clothes as you can fit in a backpack-- and anything else you think you'll need for a little while.  We're going away."

Tawney actually got a good enough look at her mother as soon as she came into her room; the earth pony's nose was bleeding and she had the telltale signs of a new black eye forming.  Tawney wanted to help, but knew that it wasn't even worth bringing up.  Especially not with the perpetrator standing in the room.

"You can't leave!  This is your home!"  Tawney's father never took his eyes off of her mother, keeping the same, deranged glare that he always got whenever he was particularly angry.  Tawney knew from experience that he was capable of almost anything in this state, so she simply packed everything she could think of that she might need as quickly as she could.

"This isn't our home.  Home is supposed to be a safe place."  Tawney's mother let her voice drop to a menacingly motherly tone, the kind that only a bear or mountain lion whose cubs are threatened can make.  Tawney's big, blue pegasus father just stared half in awe and half in defiance, but he knew his place when it counted.  Tawney and her mother stepped out of the bedroom, but the young girl showed her weakness far more than her mother did.

"You'll never make it without me!"  Her father yelled down the hall after them.  Tawney's mother didn't even bother to dignify the stallion with a response, instead she put her wing around Tawney's withers to try and guide her quickly toward the front door.  "I make all the money!  Your mom can't even keep a damn job!  You'll be homeless and hungry and you'll come crawling back!"

The front door was thrown open, and Tawney and her mother nearly jumped out into the soft rain of the night.  Everything was absolutely dead outside save the occasional cart passing by.  Tawney hadn't even realized that she never put her hairbrush down that entire time, so she just stared down into it.  She hadn't cleaned the hair out of it in a while, even though it was easy due to her magical ability, so she absentmindedly started to pick the strands out from between the bristles.  Meanwhile, Tawney's mother tried to hail a passing cart, to poor results in the beginning.

Lightning flashed, though thunder didn't follow until several seconds had passed, but Tawney caught the image of a pony standing just next to her in the night.  It was Maggie, black coat with a white streaked mane, dropped down over her face and soaking wet from the rain.  She was holding a small plastic bag, and Tawney could see that it was her favorite flavor of cherries.  Maggie must have been coming over to surprise her.

"Where are you going?"  The black pegasus asked, cocking her head to the side and letting her pretty green eyes flash in the dark.

"I need to go away for a while, Maggie...  I'll be back, I promise."  Tawney ran up to her friend and hugged her tight, not wanting to let go because she knew that it would mean the end of their relationship.

"This is about your dad, isn't it..."  Maggie tilted her head down and let a very macabre look wash over her face.  She had come to know about Tawney's father issues over years of private confessions, so she easily picked up on what Tawney's mother was doing.  "You're not going to come back this time, I can see it in your eyes."

"Don't say that, Maggie!  I'd never leave you, you know that!"

"It's not your fault, Tawney, you're not the one that's leaving.  You're being taken away from me..."

"No, I swear!  We just need time to think is all!"  Tawney had told Maggie everything about her life.  About when her mother was abused, about when she was abused, and about how close she had come to killing herself more than once.  Maggie was her best friend in the whole world, an even saved her life just by being there for her.

The black pegasus was the only one ever there for Tawney; she couldn't count on her parents, on her other friends (few and phony though they may have been), on her teachers, nor even on her friends' parents.  She hadn't ever met her friend's parents, but Maggie spoke so fondly of them every chance she got.  Tawney was stricken with envy over such a stable family life, and one with wealth on top of that.  Now, even the window that she got to watch through was being taken away from her.

"I'm going to miss you, Tawney.  Here...  Don't forget me, please."  Maggie handed Tawney the bag of cherries and started to walk away.  Tawney was just about to give chase when she heard her name shouted from behind her, so Tawney turned to look.  The unicorn's mother had managed to hail a covered wagon and desperately wanted to get out of the rain.  By the time the unicorn looked back for Maggie, she had disappeared.

Tawney turned and solemnly walked to the taxi, getting in alongside her mother who promptly hugged her close.  Even with safety guaranteed, even with her only loving family brought together, Tawney couldn't help but feel a little dead inside.

"Where you're going is gonna cost you three bits, please."  The cabbie said, briefly lifting his hood to get a look at his customers.  Tawney couldn't put her hoof on it, but the man looked familiar.  His big, green eyes and the hint of a white mane were the only things really visible from under the hood, however, and Tawney figured that a happy coincidence was just adding salt to a fresh wound.

Tawney's mother paid the stallion, the three coins clinking into his velvet pouch one at a time, and they drove off into the rainy night, finding their home at a dingy little hotel on the edge of town.  Despite all of her mother's efforts, Tawney refused to cheer up for the rest of the trip, showing all of the angst of a teenager, coupled with several tortured feelings that were absolutely justified in being there.  She was sincerely depressed, and her mother knew it, but she wanted desperately to start a new life with her daughter.  They had already taken the first, and biggest leap of faith, and it was just her and Tawney against the world.  Unfortunately, Tawney had different plans.

Across the course of her life, Tawney had only one other pony to talk to, and that was Maggie.  Her mother hadn't ever been there for her, she'd only been motherly when it benefited her to do so or when instinct took strict control of the woman.  She wasn't cold, but she didn't know how to truly love, so Tawney always felt alone;  then more than ever.  Before the sun rose, Tawney had taken the disgusting hotel sheets that she was given to sleep in and tied them around her neck in a knot that she knew wouldn't slip.  Her mother had gotten a room on the third story of the building, so Tawney's dive out the window was instantly fatal, snapping the vertebrae the moment that the cloth tightened.  Tawney's mother woke up with the draft and din of an open window; just fast enough to watch her daughter commit suicide right before her eyes, but not fast enough to stop it.  Three vertebrae in her neck snapped, and within the confines of a dying mind, Tawney could hear the sickening crunch of each one.

One.

Two.

Three.