//------------------------------// // Crossing // Story: Cards of Finality // by SwordTune //------------------------------// Pick a card. Sunset's boots stopped their pace, holding her still in the middle of the school parking lot as she looked to the place she parked her car, where she brought extra supplies to decorate the gym for the Fall Formal. Graduated, being an alumni was worth the time spent. Across the field of concrete and foliage of parked cars, she could spot him standing by her car. Sunset knew him with the same familiarity that one has when they learn about something they had only vaguely heard before in passing conversations or off-hand remarks. Because he stood straighter than the light posts around the car park. Because even though he wore a grey t-shirt and hoodie, with plain blue jeans and a navy blue baseball cap, he looked inhuman. School had just started, but it was still summer, still hot. Walking closer to her car was a wade through a swamp; heat danced between cars and across Sunset's face in distorting waves. She liked her leather jacket, but in this weather Sunset dressed with her shoulders bare to the sun to see. His face--he didn't have one. His head shifted without moving, in tandem with the heatwaves. The fabric of his clothes, stiff rubber soles of his shoes. They trembled Sunset. But running away wasn't her. She walked up to him. "It's not possible." She stood ready, tense, no more than two steps from the door of her car. An arctic breath wrapped Sunset for but a moment, and behind her he stood with a deck in his hand. Pick a card. Sunset stepped back, her hand reaching for her car. It connected with her hand, not by touch, by the energy of heat overflowing from the metal shell of the machine. "She told me about you, you know. Twilight's thorough with her letters, there's not a trick you can do that I don't know." Don't be so sure. Sunset squinted, her face kissed by the evening sun. A certain breeze, Sunset knew it as the same kind that blows over the top of the school, where'd she'd sometimes go and sit to do homework, legs dangling over the side of the building. She looked out at all that was touched by the sun, feeling the breeze again. You're are like your mentor. Though the Sun doesn't quite have the same charm as you. He stepped closer, and Sunset could smell his breath if he had one. Instead, there was only the faint scent of paper, a newly printed book opened for the first time. An assortment of cards brand new opened and laid out for all to feel. "You're here because of the magic gemstones, aren't you?" Sunset grabbed her necklace, focused on the gemstone that adorned it. He looked only for a second. I'm here because I want harmony. Your friends stand in the way of that. Stone and magic and fist broke through his body, reaching to the dizzying cards and sticking like the warmth that still lingers on the skin of the cars. He looked down at his chest the same as Sunset. She grasped her necklace, gemstone tightly swaddled by her fingers, and connected her mind to his. "No more games," she said. "Threaten my friends and I'll show you what I can do." What are you willing to see? Lights on the face flickered fast, a deep sea show performed by troupe of bio-luminescent creatures. An endlessly vast and consuming Here all things reside, it is here I am I see your kind. reality in white forms a part of your world yet far removed from its existence. Think of a shadow rearranging patterns earth pony magic on a piece of paper, like a flat world. The friendship magic, have interactions, and from them comes changes to reality. There are no fragmented thoughts here. But of course, none understand the depths of It's created by something else, but it doesn't know. It can't conceive the object above it, a higher form. infinity. Yet the shadow exists Can you see the interaction now? Changing reality, you call it magic. Chaos magic, , unicorn pegasus , all the same. from light, interacting with a something. "Stop!" Sunset pulled back, shoving him in front of her car. She turned and opened her car, the lock sensing her keys and responding loyally. She drove forward through his scattered cards. Push the stone up the hill as much as you want. It will always want to roll back down. ============================================================= Drama Crest shuffled a deck of cards in his hands, occasionally drawing one out, folding it, and putting it into right pocket of his hoodie. He sat down in the waiting room of the music studio. There were a few rooms, four, soundproofed and filled with music. Teachers guided their students as they tentatively followed the notes, not yet able to follow their hearts. A little girl with purple hair stepped out of one of the rooms, saying goodbye to the brightly-dressed teacher, whose guitar seemed indefinitely fixed onto her hands. Drama Crest let the cards slip from his hands and walked over to the teacher. The cards fell into the earth and nobody saw them. The teacher was just about to turn back into her room when he greeted her. "Hello, I was wondering if you had a spot available for another student." The young woman beamed. "Actually, I've had a lot of free time lately. That little one that just left is my only student right now." She gestured inside the small room, pointing to one her many guitars. "If you want, you could have your first lesson now." He nodded and walked in. Stepped in, rather, as the room had just enough space for two to sit in. Surrounding the chairs were stacks of music scores, some in published books, some handwritten and unfinished in fat yellow folders. There were instruments too, symbols and flutes and a large goblet drum, but mainly there were guitars. Drama Crest picked up an acoustic guitar. Along the binding were engravings, simple pictures of everyday things. A balloon, a diamond, a butterfly, an apple. And there were some other one he couldn't immediately describe. There were two other acoustics and three electric guitars hung on the wall, but none were as ornate as the one he held. The pick guard was alive with detail, little gold patterns of flowers broken from their stems and drifting the electric air, inlaid under a protective coating, their rich yellow light a stark contrast from the dark wood material the pick guard was made from. The beauty had nothing to do with sight. It hummed and ate into his hands, sentient to the touch, letting its desires fertilize his flesh. "That one's my favorite," the young woman said, gently taking it from him. Drama Crest read the engravings on the other side of the backing, a name that continued after the engraved pictures as if the letters, each with a different color to make a rainbow, were just a series of images. "I had it custom made for myself, so it's not going to feel as nice in your hands as one of the other guitars would." Drama Crest nodded and grabbed one of the other guitars, its lifeless corpse cold in his hands, and grabbed one of the many picks strewn across the floor. "So, how do I start?" ============================================================= "When I was a kid, my cul-de-sac was mostly adults. All my friends at school lived too far to play very often, so I had a dog and a cat to keep me company. Oh, and an aquarium too, which I watched about as much as I watched television." The zookeeper was soft spoken, but Drama Crest could read her energy like a book. Her body language, the way she sat up as he told his story, the lengthened intensity of her gaze: passion. "Your resume says you studied zoology." She continued the interview with renewed interest. "What was your favorite part about the subject?" Drama Crest looked closer. Her hair was brushed very well; she repeated her routine three, no four, times. But he judged her nails as well, rough from working with the zoo animals with nail polish chipped at the edges. She didn't brush to look good for someone else, she brushed for hygiene. Three different types of animal fur in her hair, despite her efforts. Two of them possibly from the zoo, not the other. Some kind of rabbit hair, satin or snowshoe, or the hair of a house cat. Neither were present at the zoo. Conclusion, pet lover as well who identified with his story. Introverted, slightly lonely childhood, he assumed. But to an extent. She wore a shirt today; it was designer, too expensive for a zookeeper's salary, at least not without some saving. A friend got it for her. No. He looked over the stitching again. Hand made by a true talent, so the friend was both skilled and deeply caring. Stains on the shirt, deeply fading from painstaking efforts, showed repeated use; the condition of the shirt and the stains proved she care as much for the shirt as the giver. No longer lonely. Drama Crest smiled. "I studied abroad to observe prides of lions for about a year. My professor sent me to a colleague of his who worked on a reserve that had three prides and many known lone males. I was fascinated at the cooperation the females of the pride had, but also admired their capacity for independence, which I first noticed when a male lion from outside the reserve somehow found his way in." "That sounds nice," she said, taking note on a clipboard. "Well, that's all the questions I have for you, unless there's anything else you have to say, I think we can finish here." She looked at the clock to her left. "And before lunch, too." Drama Crest fidgeted in his pocket and retrieved a pack of cards. "There is one last thing." He shot the cards out from their prison and into his other hand, cutting and shuffling the deck as easy as breathing. The cards spread like peacock feathers in one swift motion, revealing their backs. Colourful. Vibrant. Powerful. Pick a card. ============================================================= He placed the card on the top of the deck and shuffled, until its diamond backing disappeared among the other designs. It would not be found, unless it wanted to be. Below, the still childhood of the sister and friends played out and remained in time just as their memories. "So, what's the trick?" she asked, looking at the deck. "Is the one where you guess the number I'm think of?" "Seventy-nine," Drama Crest said, and the young seamstress scrunched her face. "Well, I must say, you're terrible at the guessing game. I was thinking of forty-two." She returned patching up the tear on Drama Crests jeans; the knees were terribly torn. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a new pair? There are plenty of designs much better for working than these atrocious things." He looked down at his spare pair of trousers, khakis that itched against his legs sometimes when he sat. The pockets were uncomfortable, too spacious and letting his wallet and phone dangle around. It was tied to his body with a belt, not fitting right, and entirely a separate entity from his being. "Sorry, I was talking about the number your sister had on her mind." He stepped aside and gestured with his hand to the door, where the sounds of eager footsteps could be heard from outside the work room. "We won the prize sis', we sold the most boxes of cookies out of all the teams! I thought seventy-nine wouldn't be enough, but can you believe no pony else even sold fifty?" The sister scurried off as quickly as she came, rushing out the house with her friends to claim tickets to a live Coloratura concert. She set down her needle and thread, her mouth ajar. "That was simply div-" "Don't say it," Drama Crest interjected as he walked out. "Please." "Wait, where are you going?" She got out of her chair and followed him out. "It'll only take a minute to finish patching up your jeans." Drama Crest saw himself out through the door. "I have someone I need to see now, I'll stop by for it later today." He left her speechless, rudely leaving like she didn't matter, nothing more than a tool to fix a tear in some denim. "Well then," she huffed, pacing back upstairs to her workroom in a quickened pace, rather upset. "If you're going leave your stuff hanging around my boutique then you'll have to wait like any other customer." She picked out another unfinished design, a bright pink dress to match her friend's joyful personality, and began to work. But she stopped short at returning to her desk. There, where the jeans were, was left a note instead. She stood and stared, looking around for the jeans that were not there, leaving the half-sewn pink dress and its sketches on the carpet of the work room, another piece added to the mess. You fixed it up nicely. Rather, you will fix it up nicely. Thank you. ============================================================= "...after that I'd go around town, go to four or five spots, just some small shows to prep for the main performance later in the evening." "Wow! Sounds like a doozie," she said, caught in a net of astonishment and amusement. "How'd you get that kind of passion for comedy to work so much?" "Uh, from being poor, mostly," Drama Crest answered. She smelled of cotton candy and frosting, though the latter was more a result of her job than anything else, he suspected. Her laugh was joyful, a kind of sound that didn't just react to happiness; it was filled with it constantly and yearned to be shared. The door bell ringed. Rung? Rang? "Oh, that must be Sunset," she beamed. "She's the serious one I told you about. Blah blah blah, magic this, portal that. Ah! I bet she'd love to see some of your cards tricks. But make sure to make the joke that goes with it extra, extra funny." She got up and hopped out of the living room, her puffed up hair bouncing with her, seemingly moving like an entity of its own. On the glass coffee table, beside the television remote, a half-eaten doughnut, and a soda can, the gem hummed with immense power. He reached and picked a sprinkle off the doughnut. The gem was one with magic, and vice versa, connection across worlds and infinite in possibilities. A countable infinity. He observed the sprinkle. Hidden under the color of pink, bonds of power waited patiently to be broken. As was the case for all sweet things. "You sound like you're having fun. Hope I'm not intruding on something." Sunset's words came with her around the corner and froze together at the sight of him. "Pinkie Pie, how did he get here?" She didn't reply. A familiar sense passed over Sunset; the world stood still and all things did not matter except her. An uncountable infinity of events halted in their steps and trained their eyes onto the one who wielded their will. "What have you done?" She grabbed her friend to shake her, but nothing changed. She had to wake her up, but she reached and reset and reached out again. Drama Crest was as he was but she could see the dance beneath. She knew him, the magic, and its feeling penetrated her like a weapon, a spearing embrace. He walked nearer. Slowly and with time on his side. At the edge of the living room they stood and he watched her with amusement as though she was a pet trying to figure out some intricate game the master had prepared; taking his hand and placing it on her face to calm her, he spoke in resonant whispers. She, of course, refused. "I studied with Celestia once, you know. And I've learned from Twilight too. So don't think for one second I can't hurt you back." "My dear." He lowered his hand down to her neck. "I haven't done anything." "You bastard, you have my friends, I know it." His fingers were cold against her sun-kissed and warm skin, but she couldn't shudder when he reached for her gem. Sunset wondered why she could speak but her friend was petrified in time. The gem was a little sun in his eyes and glinted seductively with magic. He laughed at the poor thing. "Such power yet I have no interest." He held the gem around her neck in two fingers, turning it and letting it reflect the sunlight. Evening swam into the house wearing orange and red silks so entranced dancing covered the walls. He breathed her in. She smelled of sweet pea flowers and lilac fragrances. "You went to a garden? Or maybe a florist." She didn't know what to do but stare as he continued. His hand was on her gem but also her chest, cold heartless against her warmth and beating life. Thump thump. "You want to know about your friends, but I can assure you they are fine." He held up a card, its back marked by a pink balloon. "She is here, in this room with us, but in this card as well." He turned it, and she saw what he meant. Reality folded in on itself. There Pinkie stood, held fast in the grips of time, with Drama Crest and Sunset. In the card's image he held the same card, and with focus she could see the magic continue on and on. "They are trapped within their cards but the cards are all their stories in this world." He slipped the card back into his pocket. "Now you see, and you can help me with harmony." Sunset spat in his face, the only thing she could do. "I told you already, I know you. Twilight wrote to me about how you infested her mind. I saw your thoughts, and I can't forgive you for what you put into her head." He dissolved his body, flesh made into air and cards, but held Sunset tight. His cards, body, wrapped around her -a constrictor. Like a second skin that wasn't hers he covered her, squeezing hard on every inch and curve of her body. Then let go and appeared behind her. He was as she knew him, formless given form. Though faceless she felt his breath against the back of her neck, a soft breeze made by fluttering cards. His hands were still cold, and this time she could shiver as he held her tight, grasp sliding down her outline and trapping at the waist. "Let go, now." No, I don't think I will. The moment for you to serve harmony is at hand. You will listen because you must. "Unfreeze me and I'll show you how much I'm willing to help," she growled. And then she could move again. Still wrapped in his arms, but free to struggle, she twisted her body and ripped herself from his grip. But he stayed on her, and as she turned to strike him he pressed her up against the wall, cold fingers fixed to her lower back. He kept his grip on her fist, even as she flailed with the other he needed only to disperse his head and she struck air. Slowly and forcefully, fighting her resistance, he pressed her hand to her chest, cupping the gemstone she wore between their hands. You wanted to see, before, but you were lost in a night fog. I will guide you.