Nine - UnusualSuspects

> Cheerilee.
> The mare at the bar who was helped home by the two stallions before it all went sour.
> If she made it home.
> My first problem is finding out where this 'Cheerilee' lives.
> Local, if she got home with two horsepower.
> I settle on the idea of heading back to the station but, as I prepare to head out into the bright, moonlit night I noticed a small group of Stallions.
> They were from the mill, just off shift change and sneaking along by what shadows they could find towards the Carousel.
> They were the kind of folorn lost souls I knew so well.
> The only bar in town was empty and unguarded.
> It was like hearts and hooves day to these guys and they had a date with a special somebottle at an open bar.
> I lurked in the shadows, palming my badge and slipping on the extra knucks, just incase.
> "...quiet you foals. If there's anyp0ny in there, we're busted." Smart p0ny.
> "Pfft. There's no one. Look. No light. C'mooon." The second is more confident for all the wrong reasons.
> The last sounds gruff, but determined. "... where the buck else are we gonna get a drink?"
> I step into the doorway.
"Anywhere but here, 'less you got a passion for guard issue fetlock bracelets."
> I flash the badge.
> Smart p0ny is already backing off to run.
> Confident is looking for a new name, he settles on rustled.
> Determined isn't gonna budge.
> "What you gonna do, freak? Stop us? All on your own? Hah!" The grey coated Stallion is old, beligerent and has an itch only a good drink can scratch.
> We've got so much in common.

> Any other time, I'd have taken him up on his challenge.
> Tonight, compromise will get things done quicker.
"Tell you what, I got this bottle here. You take this one, head home and have a quiet night."
> The grey Stallion narrows his eyes.
"One bottle, no comeback...or, a binge, a few nights in the bigstable, quick firing from the mill and then a life looking for a new job."
> He's looking at the bottle.
> Take the deal you mule.
"Think it through. You know there's more hires than work to go 'round these days. Who's gonna pick a criminal over some otherp0ny?"
> "...ok. You got a deal, skinny." He steps in and I hand over the bottle.
"Hey, before you fine gentlecolts head home... you know a Cheerilee 'round these parts?"
> Rustled and Determined-but-happy share a glance and a grin, before laughing dirtily.
> "Pal... every 'gentlecolt' 'round here knows Cheerilee... At least once or twice a month. Cottage near the schoolhouse."
> The two leave chuckling to catch up with smart, who's long gone. "...she's dropping standards..." I hear the grey stallion mutter to his friend as I leave.

> I find the schoolhouse with little trouble.
> It sits alone, roof holed and poorly patched, red paint faded and blotchy.
> A tattered yellow flag hangs on the bent flagpole nearby.
> The belltower is mostly intact, but the bell is missing.
> An overgrown playground nestles at the side of the schoolhouse like a calf at it's mothers side, hiding in the longgrass.
> The cottage isn't far at all.
> Light can be seen through the window.
> Yellow, wan and spilling out into the pristine white of moonlit night like an oil slick.
> I decide to try this without flashing the badge, nice and easy.
> I walk down the path and knock at the door.

> "...whooo iiiis it?..." a singsong mare voice answers with a little quiver of apprehension hidden away.
> I knock again, bit more gently and look around as I wait.
> The garden is mostly empty, the only plants remaining are hardy, grim things clinging to life in an Equestria with less sunlight.
> The door clicks open and a fuchsia coloured mare peers through the gap, doorchain between me and her.
> She looks up, squinting and puzzled.
> I'm used to making this kinda first impression.
"...hey there, dollface. You mind If I come in?"
> She bites her lower lip and looks me up and down again.
> She's scrunching her nose up as if she's picked up a bad smell.
> The stuff me and my coat have been through? She may well have.
> I try to tip the balance.
> Drawing the bottle out of my pocket I say...
..."chat-o Day-lar-toy-tea. Sounds swanky. Bar's closed tonight. Somep0ny told me I'd be welcomed here."
> "...what are you insinuating, sir?" She say's firmly, but her eyes don't leave that bottle.
"...whoa... hey. Nothing. I'm a pal of Ditzy. I was meant to meet her at the bar. I don't know if you've heard, but that place is wrecked, sweethooves."
> She's still suspicious, the way she's eyeballing me..."...yes, I'd heard. Poor miss Rarity. You're a friend of Ditzy, you say?"
> I tip back the front of my hat with a thumb and scratch the back of my head...
..."Yeah. I was hoping she'd ended up here, y'see. She told me all about you and Dinky, y'know..."
> "Hmm. Well, I suppose you can come in for a while." She slowly unchains the door. "I'm glad she's coming again. I haven't seen her for... nearly a month now."
"Well, you know how it is. Mailforce keeps a mare busy, hey?"
> She chuckles sourly. "That's true...would you, um, like a glass for that bottle?"
> The door opens allowing me in.
"What the hell, sweetheart. Bring two. Might aswell relax while we wait for Ditzy."

> The front room of the cottage is sparsely decorated.
> Two stools, one table, a highback but threadbare chair and a unmatching chaise-lounge.
> A simple writing cabinet sits in the window with a lantern resting in the center.
> A small bookcase nestles in the corner, worn old text books rubbing spines with schlock romance novels.
> Most of the light is provided by the fire, crackling hungrily on a stubby trio of logs.
> The fireplace wall is what has your attention while you wait for your host.
> It's covered with photos.
> Class photos, students, foals, colts and fillies.
> A number of them are taken infront of the school, all the little p0nies lined up with a smiling, younger Cheerilee behind them.
> Her pride shines brighter in those photos than any sun.
> ...the photos go on, getting more recent, and in them Cheerilee getting older.
> All the while the pride shines bright.
> One of her students looks damn familiar to me...
> Little pegasus, short stubby wings and a devil may care grin.
> I move on.
> There's one photograph that sits right in the center of the fireplace mantelpiece, next to a small jewelry box.

> I pick up the frame and inspect the photo.
> The frame is neat and in good repair, but a spiderweb of rips mar the photo within.
> It's a young Cheerilee and a Stallion, both barely older than colt and filly.
> Young love.
> The truest kind.
> They're at a cafe, smiling and drinking from a shared milkshake with two straws, staring right at each other but only seeing imagined futures.
> She has a flower in her hair, a sparkle in her eyes and not a clue about how things are gonna turn out.
> The Stallion isn't in any of the other photos.
> Just Cheerilee and other p0ny's foals.
> A polite cough draws my attention to my host.
"Oh... hey. Sorry Cheerilee. Just looking around."
> I place the frame carefully back on the mantelpiece.
> She puts down two glasses on the table and gestures towards a chair. "Take a seat. Please."
> I open the bottle as she sits herself and pour us both a generous measure.

"What do you think happened to the bar? was it robbed?"
> Cheerilee sighs..."No...no. It was a raid. Guards. Perhaps Rarity had... no. It's probably just a mistake."
"Hope so. Guess I got lucky. I coulda been in there."
> "Me too, sir. A p0ny is always guaranteed a nice evening at the Carousel. Rarity was kind enough to let me play, on occasion."
> I picture a mental image of Cheerilee, half soused and mashing her face into the piano.
> I manage to turn my laugh into a polite smile, somehow.
> Still, she'd play better than me.
"Call me Anon. It's only fair. I know your name after all."
> "Anon? It's... certainly unique." She has a kind voice.
> The sort that's pitched to cut through any noise and reach where it needs to.
> It's the measured, understanding voice of a p0ny that's spoken to groups her whole life, whether they cooperated or not.
> The voice of a real teacher, not some brat wrangler.
"...Yeah, one of a kind. That's me. Hey. D'you think Ditzy is ok?"
> Cheerilee looks through the window to the moonlit night. "It's a clear night, Anon. I wouldn't worry too much."
> It's a poor way to tell the time with these longer, Equestrian nights.
> I used to think the p0nies would have started relying on clocks more with the change.
> Twilight told me it just reminded them of what things should have been like.
> Moonlight at 3pm will drive that home, I guess.

> We talk, we drink.
> She warms up to me, slowly.
> I ask her about all the photos.
> "Oh, I run the schoolhouse here. It's not far away."
> I nod and tell her I saw it.
> Despite the state of disrepair,, she's still proud of the old building and the fillies, foals and colts that attend.
> I let her spin tales of new students and old favorites.
> "There aren't so many families left in p0nyville now... but as long as there's one little p0ny who needs schooling..."
"You'll keep that door open. There's not many who'd keep going, Cheerilee. I Gotta admire that."
> She smiles at the compliment, then spends a little time talking about funding troubles.
> The main trouble being, there is none but what she and the last few parents scrape together.
> I let her vent.
> I get the feeling most of her 'gentlecolt' callers don't have much time for talking.
> She needs this.
> I try to steer the topic back to where I need it to be.
"So, I guess the Gigs playing at the bar help keep the bits rolling in?"
> She pauses, glass near her mouth, and for just a sliver of a moment her expression freezes "...yes, playing at the bar. That helps."
> "It does relieve tension... ahem... I mean. Oh dear." She blushes, mind drifting to other ways she lets off steam at the bar.
> "This is rather a strong vintage...ahem. It's a good way to relax. Just to forget... the day!. forget the troubles of the day."
> "...besides, I don't see why my sister should have ALL the fun." She murmurs over the glass with a wink.

> She's not holding out on me, I'm sure of it.
> Ditzy was at the bar on the night.
> So was Cheerilee, yet the guards hadn't even looked for her.
> The fact she hadn't been brought in for a statement just goes to support Twilights idea that this was a sting.
> I start to think she can't even remember.
"...I hope you're right. About the bar... I was meant to meet her there last night... I was late. I'm worried she turned up after you."
> "Well, I can assure you Anon. I was there the whole night. She didn't arrive. We would have recognised each other."
> Cheerilee pats my hand with a hoof, soothing my false concern.
> As I pour another glass for her and myself, she keeps the hoof in place.
> She gives a slow blink as she smiles up at me.
> Her eyes are sympathetic, soft and tired, but there's a fire underneath it all, buried deep... a passion that her life never sated or snuffed out.
> It's a flame of hunger that's kindled and starting to burn.
> She raises the glass to her mouth and drinks.
> I know how hunger looks, I've seen it lurk in my own eyes often enough.
> Her lips are moist with wine and she's blushing, red on fuchsia on red.
> It's the desire to forget yourself, forget everything in the heat of a hot moment stolen from a cold world.
> She licks those soft lips, leaving her mouth part open, smiling, moist and inviting.

> Down boy.
"...you're sure? what time were you there to?"
> Cheerilee's expression doesn't change, but it loses vigour.
> Suddenly, she looks just that little older.
> "... I was there all night Anon. I left at closing time. She... she wasn't there." There's weariness in her voice that doesn't suit her.
> Cheerilee punctuates the statement by finishing her drink in a single pull.
> I didn't want to hurt her.
> Maybe if things were different, I'd have stayed...
> One night huddled together near the fire, shielding each other from the world.
> Hiding from regret, just for a while, in each others heat.
> I stand to go.
> She doesn't look up, just towards the fireplace and a lifetime of second choices.
> I place the other bottle on the table, murmur...
..."Thanks for the Drink miss Cheerilee."...
>...and head towards the door.
> She doesn't answer.
> The fire dances in the reflection of her eyes, poor replacement for the fire that burned there so recently.
"...oh, one more thing."...
>...I say as I turn, finding a small cluster of cocktail umbrellas in my pocket.
> She looks towards me like she's just seen me for the first time that night. "mmm?"
"I.. promised I'd give something to Dinky if I ever visited. Do you mind If I just-"
> "Oh, she's out the back. You can do it yourself. Close the door as you go."
> Not cold. not this kind mare, just... defeated.
> Feeling the weight of her years.
> I tip my hat and head towards the backdoor.

> I gently close the door behind me.
> With the nights being longer, kids have had to get used to playing by moonlight.
> Foals seem to have adapted to things so much better than adult p0nies.
> The garden is long, and well maintained, if a little sparse.
"Dinky? Hi. I'm a friend of your mom. I brought something frome her."
> I twizzle one of the brightly coloured cocktail umbrellas between my fingers as I make my way down the garden.
> I don't get any answer.
> The grave is small, humble but well kept.
> The inscription reads "Dinky Doo. beloved daughter. only sleeping."
> She was eight.
> The date is four years ago, just about the time of the last summer celebration.
> Fresh flowers decorate the grave.
> Dayblooms somehow.
> They're rare these days, not a nightbloom amongst them.
> Given the date, I understand why.
> I place the three umbrellas open at the foot of the plain headstone next to a ragged, stuffed unicorn.
> A childs grave always looks too small.
> They look wrong.
> Something instinctual tells us that.
> We recognise a monument to something that should never have happened when we see it.
"G'night Dinky."