Title:           House of Horses (Part 3)
Author:          InstantCoffee
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/37QNYVnz
First Edit:      Sunday 23rd of November 2014 04:29:47 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Last edit on: Sunday 13th of March 2016 03:04:42 AM CDT

>It's the weekend, meaning that you're free to do whatever you please. For a great deal of politicians and college students, the weekends are a time to nurse their usual hangovers. Hedonists always choose the most self-destructive forms of celebration. Perhaps there is some sort of amusement in pushing one closer to death in order to feel all the more alive.
>But you're not your average politician. Usually you'd spend the weekend painting or reading. Keeps the mind sharp. After all, what good would drinking yourself into oblivion do? You'd no sooner become the sole ruler of Equestria than soil yourself to death before the coronation. And that is not how you intend to be remembered.
>However, today is a little different from your normal routine. Partly because an important political figure died very recently, may he rest is peace. The official report didn't come out yet, but word travels quickly. A reporter heard from a friend who heard from a friend she sleeps with who allegedly heard from an investigator at the scene that it was a suicide. Word has it that he left a suicide note confessing to his longstanding allegations of taking advantage of poor, defenseless mares. How tragic.
>But let's be completely honest. You could not care less if he was rotting in whatever version of Hell existed here. Maybe that's why you let him fall to his demise. So instead of mourning his death, today you need to check on a certain someone.
>You knock on the door, and within you hear a voice grumble.
>"Just a minute."
>The sound of hoofsteps approaches the door which soon opens, revealing a rather tired Finch, strands of her gray-white mane shooting off in various directions. Her sleepy eyes widen in shock upon seeing you.
"Sorry to surprise you, but may I come in?"
>Her mouth repeatedly opens and shuts, looking for the right response.
>"O-of course. Please."
>You enter her apartment. Not exactly as fancy as yours, but even then it is a little too bare for your average home. Minimal decorations line the walls, and only a few photographs are displayed on a nearby stand. A basket overflowing with laundry stands shamefully in the corner of the living room. It would be hard for one to put together her past simply by standing in her apartment. Perhaps that is the intent.
>"Sorry if it's a little messy. Feel free to sit down," Finch says, closing the door behind you. "Want something to drink?"
"A glass of water, thanks," you say as you sit on her couch, the springs creaking as an unusually heavy weight presses down on it, almost apologetically. "How are you holding up?"
>"Oh, alright, I guess," she says as she enters the kitchen and grabs a mug.
"You know, I'll be hearing enough lies next week to write a book heavier than the Bible itself. We need to be completely honest with each other, Finch."
>"What's a 'Bible?'" she says as she comes back and hands you your cup.
>You don't reply, instead drinking the water, looking at her all the while with a serious expression. She's trying to change the subject, and the both of you know it. After a couple seconds, she gives up and sighs heavily. It's just now that you notice the bags under her eyes.
>"I've...had a nightmare last night," she finally admits in defeat.
"About what happened?"
>She nods.
>"A replay of what...he was doing. I remember screaming and trying to move, but unable to escape. He just kept coming closer and closer..."
>That's not unexpected, but sad nonetheless. You'd hate to lose your best assistant to something like this. A rare twinge of guilt strikes at you as she recollects herself.
>"...and then I wake up." She pauses. "How long is this going to happen?"
>You set down your cup.
"I don't know. It could take weeks, months, even years. But I know you're strong, Finch. It'll heal with enough time."
>A pause.
"I never should have asked you to talk to him."
>She looks down.
>"Did you know?"
"Know...what?"
>"What he would do...to me? He told me that you did. That you'd use me to meet your own ends. Is that true?"
"Finch look at me."
>She does, her watering eyes meeting yours.
"Yes, I knew what his reputation was. I knew what he did to mares like you. But I never expected him to try what he did that night. It was too brash, too risky even for him. If I had known what he would have done, I wouldn't have sent you. I made a mistake. One that you're going to have to suffer for."
>She sniffs.
"We're together in the same boat, you and I. I'm not going to throw you overboard just because there's a couple hungry sharks circling below while the ship struggles to stay afloat. We need each other to survive, Finch. I can't tell you that what happened to you will never happen again. I wish I could, but I can't. But I made you a promise last night, and I intend to keep it. I only hope that you can forgive me in the future. I'm sorry, Finch. I truly am."
>A weak, but genuine smile form on her face as she wipes her eyes.
>"I forgive you, Anon. I know what I signed up for."
>Silence.
>"Is there anything else you need to talk about?"
>Yes. Now that an important political figure is dead, the following investigation is going to be a little more...meticulous. They probably haven't completely ruled out his suicide being something else entirely. No doubt that soon they're going to ask you and Finch some questions. You're going to need a agree on a solid story. But now is not the time. Finch is in no state to be discussing this sort of thing. Fortunately for you, time is on your side. Based on past deaths of members of the Court, you have at least a week before questions start flying to those suspected of being involved. And they're not going to send accusations to the Head Chair right away. The situation is too delicate for it to escalate so easily. But you'll address this another time. A more...suitable time.
"No. Get better soon, Finch. And take the first couple days off as well. I won't take no for an answer."
>"O-okay. Thanks..."
"And thanks for the water," you say as you get up and heads toward the door. Before you open it, you turn around one last time. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."
>She gives you a small smile and nods, at which you open the door and leave, shutting it behind you.
>As your footsteps fade away, Finch turns to look at the mug she gave you. She doesn't move or say anything, simply focusing on the cup, the water still, the incessant ticking of the clock being the only audible sound in her apartment.
 
>You're in your office, looking over the list of nominees for Head of the Education Department. The list itself is rather lengthy. It's not surprising, though. Who wouldn't want to try to obtain a position that's basically up for grabs? After all, the pay's good, the influence substantial, and the shoes to fill not so big. It's like a group of hungry vultures just waiting for the dying cow to draw its last breadth.
>You only wish that Finch is here to help you go over the names. Hopefully she's holding up okay.
>As selfish as it sounds, you haven't been sleeping well, either. The other night you had a nightmare where you were at the entrance of that door in the corridor, her muffled screams coming out the other side. You kept trying to break the door open, but all of your efforts proved fruitless against the immovable barrier. Her cries kept getting louder with each passing moment, your desperation increasing with each failed attempt...
>But you don't have time for self-pity. There's nothing to be gained from feeling bad for yourself. Only the weak justify their lack of progress by blaming their setbacks.
>A knock on the door breaks the silence, and you call out to let the source in. The door opens, revealing your date that you ditched.
>"Greetings, Anon."
>You get up from your seat.
"Hello, Luna. I'm so sorry I abandoned you last night. What I did was inexcusable."
>"Oh, it's quite alright. I know you wouldn't leave me without good reason. Where's your assistant?"
"Sick. She should be back within a couple of days."
>"Do you need a replacement for the time being?"
"Oh, I think I can manage. Thank you for offering, though. Anyways, why are you here, if I may ask?"
>"Well, it's about...recent events."
>A bit too soon for that, isn't it? Something tells you she doesn't want to feel bad about it together.
"So I've heard. Truly a shame."
>"It is," she says, taking a seat on your couch. "I just wanted to let you know that the investigation has been accelerated, and tomorrow the Judiciary Panel is going to question those who saw him shortly before his death. Standard procedure."
>Tomorrow? You thought you had almost a week.
"I beg your pardon, but tomorrow? That might be a bit premature, don't you think?"
>"I'm afraid the circumstances are rather unusual this time, so the timeline has been moved forward. And because you were asking for Mr. Swirl right before his passing, you are among those to be questioned."
>You try to regather your thoughts. This is not good.
"I understand. Is Finch to be questioned as well?"
>She pauses.
>"She is. According to witnesses, she's the last known pony to be with him."
>You've expected this, and you're certain that Finch has as well, but neither one of you is prepared for something like this so soon. You need to find her as soon as possible.
"I see. I can let her know if you want."
>Her expression is grave.
>"I'm sorry, Anon, but I can't allow that. In order to prevent those in question from colluding, you are not to speak with each other until after the hearing. I'm sorry, Anon. We're not assuming either one of you to be guilty, but it's what protocol dictates. I hope you understand."
"It's perfectly alright, Luna. Thank you for letting me know personally."
>"I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this, Anon. I'm certain that you've had nothing to do with this. Finch will be notified by my guards later today."
>She leaves the room, right after which you collapse in your seat. You can't contact Finch, and the both of you are to be brought in for questioning tomorrow. Somehow you two will need to give testimonies that are perfectly in line with each other. If there's the slightest discrepancy, the two of you will be tried for murder. And there's no coming back from that. But there's no point in worrying about what might happen. The best you can do is prepare yourself for tomorrow, and you trust Finch to do the same.
 
>You've never thought of the courtroom to be a place of justice. It's more like a coliseum. Think about it. A bunch of people from the outside watching the participants hack away at each other, drawing blood and not holding back as if their very lives depended on it. Both sides under the scrutiny of the public eye. And at the very end of the day, there's a victor and a loser. The winner gets to live and fight another day. On the other hand, the loser either dies or worse, lives to suffer the humiliation. You don't intend to be a loser, but then again, so do most of them before they fall to the sword of their opponent.
>You're sitting in the center of the courtroom. The panel of judges are on one side, and the public on the other. You'd prefer that common citizens not be allowed to witness these hearings, as it makes things too emotional, too volatile. But the Princesses, in their hopes to 'improve transparency,' have dictated that such sessions be accessible by all. You can only guess which one it was to make that law.
>"Anonymous, the Head Chair, thank you for coming," the lead judge states.
>Not like you had much of a choice.
"The pleasure is all mine, Your Honor. Whatever I can do to help bring closure about my dear colleague's passing."
>"Can you go over what happened that night?"
"Of course. For the most part, I was spending the evening with Princess Luna. We went around, talking to the guests that were there."
>The judge looks over his papers.
>"I see. According to the Princess, you've had to leave at a certain point. Is that correct?"
>No point in denying that.
"That is correct. I remembered that I had to speak with someone."
>"Who?"
"...Mr. Swirl. As witnesses would state, I went around asking for him."
>"Why did you need to speak with him?"
"Political reasons."
>"I'm afraid you're going to be more specific than that, Head Chair."
"...the annual budget."
>Some murmurs among the judges.
"You do realize that discussing matters such as that is prohibited at these events?"
>No shit. That's why you couldn't do it yourself without attracting too much attention.
"It's only a rule, Your Honor, and a commonly broken one that that. But it's not the law. Ban me from future gatherings if you must, but that is not why I am here."
>He raises an eyebrow and clears his throat.
>"Very well. What happened next?"
"I deducted out that Mr. Swirl was likely to be in one of the guest rooms."
>"And how did you reach that conclusion?"
"It wasn't hard, really. We all know the rumors about Mr. Swirl and his affinity for fine wine. Since he wasn't in the main room, he was probably recovering in one of the guest rooms."
>"Did you find out which room he was in?"
"I did."
>"How? Did you use more 'deductive reasoning'?"
>A sassy one, this judge.
"No. I asked the guard stationed."
>"And he told you?"
"He did."
>To be honest, you don't know if the guard confessed to seeing you that night. But here, you don't really have much of a choice. Besides, knowing how they usually are, he probably ratted you out the moment someone offered him a shiny bit. And who would have thought that the Royal Guard was a lucrative career?
>The judge looks through his papers, then back at you.
>"Continue."
>So he did sell you out. What a good waste of money. You remind yourself to have him taken care of at some point in the future.
"I came to his room, and he let me in."
>"What room was this?"
"Top floor, far end of the corridor."
>"What happened then?"
"I was going to discuss the budget, but I noticed something. He seemed very...depressed. His breath reeked of liquor, and upon examining the room, I noticed a half-written letter on a desk."
>"The suicide note?"
"Maybe it was. I didn't take a good look at it."
>"Did he say anything?"
"He did, Your Honor. He asked me if it's possible for the worst of crimes to be forgiven. If it's never too late to redeem oneself. To be frank, I was a little put off by these questions. He was clearly in no condition to discuss what I came there for, so I left."
>"Anything else?"
"Oh, yes. Right before he closed the door, he told me that my assistant was in the other room. She had a little too much to drink and was passed out."
>"And that was it?"
"Yes. I then went to the other room, and there she was passed out on the bed. Had a little too much to drink, I suppose. I then picked her up and carried her home."
>"Did you know that Mr. Swirl died that night?"
"No."
>"Not even with that crowd around him?"
"I didn't notice. There are always crowds at events like these."
>"Very well. Anything else you'd like you add?"
>You look down and pause.
"Nothing, Your Honor."
>"Very well. You are pardoned for now, Mr. Head Chair. Please take a seat at the witness section. Now, if the guards will let in Ms. Finch..."
 
>You admit, you are nervous. Your heart won't stop racing, your hands trembling ever so slightly. The path has never been so narrow. And now Finch has to traverse it while blindfolded. If she missteps and falls, you go down with her. She's competent and brave, but even you would have trouble doing what she has to do now.
>She takes the seat in the center of the room, and you can only watch from the side. It makes you feel helpless. You hate feeling helpless.
>The general chatter dies down as the sound of the gavel cuts across the noise. After everyone quiets down, the lead judge speaks.
>"Thank you for coming here today, Ms. Finch."
>"Not a problem, Your Honor."
>"So tell me, why were you at the gathering the night Mr. Swirl died?"
>"I originally wasn't supposed to go, but my boss, Anonymous, got me an invitation."
>"And why did he do that?"
>"He said that he appreciated the work I was doing, and that I should be rewarded."
>"And this gathering was the reward?"
>"Yes."
>The lead judge looks over his documents.
>"And you weren't there for anything else?"
>"No, Your Honor."
>"No political reasons?"
>"None."
>"Not for, say, the budget?"
>"No, Your Honor."
>Careful, Finch. Careful.
>"Very well. What is your relation to Mr. Swirl?"
>"He knows my father, who teaches at one of the universities here."
>"And how long has he known your father?"
>"A very long time, Your Honor."
>"Could you elaborate?"
>"Years. Ever since I was a filly."
>"And did you encounter Mr. Swirl that night?"
>"Yes. I recognized him there and approached him."
>"And?"
>"I asked him if I could speak with him alone."
>"So the two of you ended up together alone?"
>"Yes."
>"Why?"
>"I wanted to catch up with him after not seeing him for such a long time, and didn't want others to hear."
>"Why wouldn't you want others to hear? Was there something to hide?"
>"No, Your Honor. I just felt more comfortable talking to him alone. I don't like discussing my family to the ears of strangers."
>"Your family? Was Mr. Swirl close to your family?"
>"My father, yes."
>"And what happened next?"
>"We had a toast, but I think by then I had a little too much to drink. I could feel the alcohol hitting me already."
>"Are you sure it was the alcohol and not something else?"
>"I've been drunk before, Your Honor. I know what being drunk feels like."
>"I see...What happened next?"
>"The next thing I remember, Mr. Swirl asked if I was okay, and said he'd carry me to one of the guest rooms."
>"And then what?"
>"I...blacked out. I don't remember what happened since then that night."
>Feigning ignorance? It's a safe path to take, but can raise suspicions. Some might interpret that as having something to hide. The path is widening, but the ground is growing weak.
>Murmuring increases among the public, but soon dies down.
>The judge's eyes narrow.
>"Nothing at all?"
>"Nothing, Your Honor."
>"When you later woke up, did you have any reason to believe that something might have happened to you?"
>In other words, do you think Mr. Swirl took advantage of you? What angle is this judge playing?
>"N-no, Your Honor. Mr. Swirl is a good family friend. He would never..."
>The low chatter among the audience indicates that not all of them believe that.
>"And what's the next thing you remember?"
>"I...I was in Anonymous' house. He said he carried me home."
>"And do you think that's all he did?"
>In other words, did your boss rape you in your sleep?
>Everyone takes a look at you. The whispers increase in volume, only to be silenced by the gavel.
>Your blood starts to boil as you grip the sides of your chair as tightly as you could. This judge is trying to discredit Finch. As sad as it is, one's testimony weakens if there are reasons to believe that she's been drugged and raped, because listeners think that the victim's mind is so messed up that she's either incapable of correctly recalling memories or is trying to repress them. The memories themselves could even be corrupted from the drugs. This judge has no honor nor shame in what he's doing. This hearing isn't about finding out if Mr. Swirl was murdered; it's about throwing mud on you. And there's nothing you can do but take the hits.
>"No, Your Honor."
>The judge's expression softens.
>"There's nothing to fear, Ms. Finch. Our job is to make sure that the guilty are punished, regardless of whatever position they may hold."
>Finch grimaces as she responds, her tone suddenly very serious, almost menacing.
>"And with all due respect, no one has ever been more respectful toward me than Anonymous. It angers me that you would even suggest such a thing."
>The audience's chatter rises once again, with which the judge cuts off with his hammer.
>Calm down, Finch. You might also be boiling with rage on the inside, but she's the one at the stand. Being  defensive could cause more harm than good if overdone.
>The lead judge is a bit taken aback by her reply, but soon collects himself.
>"Very well. Moving on, there are reports from a trusted source that lately you've been having nightmares, correct?"
>You think that trusted source might be a certain Princess of the Night.
>Finch seems put off by this question.
>"Y-yes, Your Honor."
>"And according to these reports, you've been having dreams of, I'm sorry to say this, but being about to be taken advantage of by someone you know. Someone...close to you."
>So Luna has finally shown her true colors. Her friendly attitude was nothing more than a facade the entire time.
>If Finch clarifies that the monster in her dream was Mr. Swirl, the public would think that the dream is in fact a repressed memory, and that he did take advantage of her that night, thus discrediting her testimony. This doesn't necessarily hurt you, but it hurts and victimizes her, and they know it.
>On the other hand, if she doesn't specify who it was, then the public would think that it's you, upon which your reputation is ruined and is brought down to Mr. Swirl's level.
>Finch has to choose between you and herself.
>She looks down.
>"Ms. Finch?"
>"In my dreams, that was...Mr. Swirl."
>The crowd gasps in collective shock.
>"But Ms. Finch, you said that he did not take advantage of you."
>"He didn't...Not that night."
>You cock your head. What exactly are you playing at, Finch?
>"'Not that night?' Could you perhaps clarify?"
>Finch looks as if she's about to break down, then collects herself.
>"Mr. Swirl and my father knew each other for a long time. Ever since I was a filly. He would often come over to my house for dinner. He was treated like family."
>Silence.
>"One time, my father and mother asked him to watch out for me while they went out to get something. He accepted. Soon after they left, he put me on his lap, said 'How about we have our own little secret together?' He then picked me up and then he...he..."
>The judge leans in.
>"He...what, Ms. Finch."
>"Raped me."
>The commotion from the audience grows even more intense. It takes several hits of the gavel this time to get them to quiet down.
>"I always told myself that it didn't happen, that I was just making up stories. But when I read his confession published in the paper the day after he died, it all came back to me. It really happened, what he did way back then. And I had to come to terms with it. He was my father's trusted friend, and he took advantage of his little daughter. Me. I have to live with that for the rest of my life, and yet you're trying to discredit me, Your Honor. But you can't take away my voice. I've spent years building up my life to where it is now and neither Mr. Swirl, nor you, nor anyone else can possibly take that from me."
>The audience goes wild.
>"I ALWAYS KNEW THAT SICKO WAS A PREDATOR, BUT A PEDOPHILE?"
>"SHAME ON YOU, YOUR HONOR!"
>The accusations keep getting worse and worse. The gavel no longer does any good, its power gone at least for today. The situation goes so out of control that the guards have to form a barrier between the audience and the judges, slowly pushing them out of the courtroom while the frightened judges are escorted to safety. It's quite a scene watching from your seat, and you're savoring every last bit of it.
>What Finch did was dirty, perhaps even pure evil. What she said happened never happened, the both of you know that. But she found an opportunity and strangled it to death, turning this battle from an imminent loss to a clear victory. In a fight where both sides are willing to play dirty to win, she dove into the mud without a second thought.
>Besides, there's only so much guilt one can feel from turning a dead rapist into a dead rapist and a pedophile.
>Thank you, Mr. Swirl. You've proved to be more helpful dead than alive.
>In the midst of the chaos, Finch manages to reach you. All traces of anguish that she expressed in her seat are no longer there, instead replaced by the faintest hint of a smile.
>"Did I do well?"
>You nod in return and cup her face with a hand. She leans into it, her eyes closed.
"That'll do. Now let's get out of here. We have work to do."