//------------------------------// // The Hungover Groom // Story: The Zebra and The Bat // by Apple Bottoms //------------------------------// Candle woke ar -  Candle -  Candle - oof.  Nope. The searing headache was what woke Candle up; it started at his forehead, just behind his eyes, but within moments he became aware of what felt like a vise closing around his skull. His eyes, already sensitive to the light, screamed in agony as he tried to open them to look around the room, and he quickly snapped them shut.  Candle had enjoyed alcohol before; he’d simply never been this drunk. He’d had little sips of his mother’s wine at dinner occasionally, and he’d had a few teenage friends who he could sneak out with, bottles tucked under their folded wings. But this? This was a whole new experience, this took his experience with hangovers and cranked it up to an - whatever was past ten. Candle didn’t know that numbers could hurt.  Zeffir found him half out of bed, attempting to crawl to the door, eyes mostly closed, his oversized ears hanging down on either side of his head like a beagle’s. “Good morning,” Zeffir spoke softly, and Candle waved a hoof at him.  “You don’t have to be so loud!”  Zeffir chuckled (but let the sound hum through his nose), and knelt down to hold a glass out to Candle. “I brought you some water, I thought -”  Whatever Zeffir thought was lost in the sound of Candle gulping down the entire glass in seconds. “More?” Candle gasped.  “I think that’s a good idea. I made you some toast, if you can handle it.”  “Yes, please,” Candle gasped.  It wasn’t morning by the time Candle woke up, but it wasn’t very far into the afternoon, and by the time Candle started feeling like a pony again, it was time for lunch. Zeffir was hurting too, so whatever he brought for Candle, he brought some for himself. It was mostly water, but he brought him a special smoothie at one point, promising that it would help - it made Candle cough (spicy!?), but it did seem to help. Candle retreated to his (Zeffir’s, really) bed, and that’s where Zeffir found him next.  Candle hadn’t been aware he was dozing until the sound of the door creaking woke him up, and this time, it didn’t make his head scream. It hurt, but only a little this time; he could even open his bright-green eyes all of the way to look up at Zeffir as he approached.  “I thought you might like some lunch. I didn’t realize you were asleep,” Zeffir whispered, setting a plate on the mattress. Candle wouldn’t admit it, but he was grateful when he saw a normal-looking sandwich waiting for him. He was a little worried it might be some kind of - spooky melon soup, or whatever it was that Zecora brewed in her cauldron.  “I’m feeling much better. I didn’t realize I was asleep, either,” Candle admitted, rubbing one eye as the pair exchanged an amused smile.  “Did you have fun last night?” Zeffir asked, although his voice was still soft.  “It was a lot of fun. Different, too. I’ve never been to a party like that,” Candle admitted softly, his smile shifting into a little grin.  Zeffir’s smile shifted as well, but instead of amusement, it seemed more - fond, and Candle suddenly felt his face growing uncomfortably warm. Maybe that spicy drink wasn’t settling right? Candle busied himself with his sandwich, biting into it enthusiastically and regretting it (spicy? Again?!), and worked on chewing while Zeffir climbed up to sit on the mattress beside him. It was his bed, Candle supposed he had the right to do whatever he wanted in his own house; it just felt very … well, something. And whatever that something was, it made his heart race, and this time Candle couldn’t blame his reaction on the sandwich.  “Is your sandwich okay?” Zeffir asked, his voice still soft. Too soft for just a casual conversation.  “It’s great,” Candle agreed thickly, swallowing. “I appreciate you - helping. Taking care of me, I guess. I don’t usually drink that much, I was just - nervous,” Candle admitted, his ears lowering to half mast.  “I was nervous, too,” Zeffir agreed, and his smile was so bashful, it made something twist uncomfortably in Candle’s middle. (And this time, it definitely wasn’t the hangover.) “I still am, I guess. But I’m glad it’s you. You’re like how you are in your letters, but - so much better.”  Candle flushed, he knew it for certain this time, and offered Zeffir a shy grin. “Thank you. You’re like your letters, too. But it’s much better, in person.”  “Yeah,” Zeffir agreed, and he kept looking at Candle, even as the silence stretched out between them. It had that kind of electric feeling, like before, but this time neither one broke it. Zeffir leaned closer, and before Candle could hoof-wave it away as meaning something else, Zeffir pressed his lips to Candle’s.  Candle’s first kiss. He’d been prepared for earth pony stallions to have rougher lips, somehow, but Zeffir’s were so soft, and his breath tickled along his skin as he sighed through his nose. Up close, Zeffir’s white muzzle had hints of pink, especially on his lips and nostrils; Candle wondered if they flushed even pinker when he blushed. It was brief, but Candle did his best to return the gentle pressure before Zeffir pulled back. Did he close his eyes? He thought he did, it was all happening so fast!  “You - mm,” Candle hummed, and this time he was certain his face must be beet red. “I wasn’t - expecting that. I didn’t know you - you liked - colts.”  Zeffir tilted his head as he offered Candle an odd look. “Well, I married one,” Zeffir said at last, with a little laugh.  Candle’s eyes widened. “You’re - you’re married?” Oh no! Was Candle’s first kiss as an adulterer? Was this going to color the rest of his dating career?!  Zeffir’s odd look intensified. “Yes … to you.”  Candle opened his mouth, but no words came out. He moved his mouth a few times, as if trying to prime it, but no words sprang forth. The sound that eventually came out was a high-pitched, panicky laugh, loud and rapid enough that it made Zeffir’s eyes widen. Candle couldn’t stop it until he clapped a hoof over his mouth.  “That’s - that’s a very strange joke, Zeffir,” Candle said at last, trying to both explain the strange laugh and Zeffir’s words.  “I’m not joking,” Zeffir was frowning at Candle now, confusion warring with concern. “Don’t you remember last night?”  “I remember the party,” Candle clarified, frowning back at him, although he didn’t look his frown looked nearly as composed as Zeffir’s did. His heartbeat was pounding so loudly in his ears, it was hard to hear Zeffir.  “The wedding party?” Zeffir clarified, and Candle’s heartbeat kicked up to a fever pitch.  “No - it was a welcoming party, as I recall!” Candle huffed, as if he might be able to argue Zeffir out of this.  “Well, yes - but then the shaman was there, and we undertook the four trials -”  “What is that? No one told me anything!”  “But - but you’re the one who wrote asking for a life partner,” Zeffir asked, and this time his frown looked hurt.  “What? No! I definitely did not!” Candle protested, and climbed out of the bed, his limbs jelly, and not from the alcohol. Somehow, Candle suddenly felt more sober than he’d ever been in his entire life. He made his way over to his bag, somehow, and dug through until he found the folder he kept all of Zeffir’s letters in. “Nowhere did it say ‘let’s get married,’” Candle insisted, his hooves shaking as he began scanning the letters. Did he miss something? Was there some key phrase he just - skimmed?  While Candle dug through his luggage like a frantic badger, Zeffir crossed to his bookshelf and lifted the box that Candle had seen on his first examination. After a few minutes of searching in mutual silence, Zeffir held a sheet of paper out to him - his own letter, Candle realized with surprise.  Zeffir tapped a line. “‘Looking for a partner to guide me through life,’” Zeffir read aloud.  “That’s - that’s not what I meant,” Candle said softly, his stomach dropping to his hooves as he scanned the stanza. His wings were so folded so tightly against his back that they vibrated with anxiety. “I - I was trying to find a rhyme, and ‘partner’ wouldn’t - see, the next line talks about showing me the land,” Candle stumbled over himself, his throat closing up on itself.  Zeffir was frowning at Candle still, but it wasn’t angry. “I told you about myself, so you could decide if I was a suitable partner; you told me about yourself, too.”  “Yes, to make - friends!” Candle gasped, and stood up suddenly, barely able to make out his own words through the pounding in his ears. “I need some air.”  Candle had never been to Zeffir’s backyard, but he made his way out there, somehow. He stopped when he felt grass under his hooves, and tried to gasp out a few tight, wheezing gasps, his head low. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t. Everything had been going so well, and Zeffir had been so kind, the party had been so wonderful, and he’d felt something electric, but not marriage! Not - he couldn’t - he wasn’t ready to get -  “Candle?” Zeffir had followed him! Of course he had - he was his husband now, wasn’t he? “Are you okay?”  Candle jerked his head up sharply, which only made the swimming sensation worse. He took a stumbling step to correct, and in an instant Zeffir was at his side.  “Sit down. Just sit down. It’s okay.”  “It’s - it’s not - it’s not -” Candle was gasping for breath, his green eyes wild, unseeing. It wasn’t so much agreement as much that his hind legs simply gave way, and his back end landed on the grass with a bit of a thump. He jerked as if burned when Zeffir tried to stroke his shoulder. “Don’t - don’t.”  He couldn’t manage full sentences; hell, he could barely manage full words at this point.  Zeffir retreated instantly, and if Candle hadn’t been so preoccupied with his vision tunneling, he would have seen how closely Zeffir watched him as he trembled, how heavily each wheeze wore upon him.  He thought he had planned for every eventuality coming to the Eastern Desert, but arranged marriage was not even on his list. Kidnapping, sure, danger, peril; but this? It had been awhile since a situation had arisen that Candle was at such an abject loss to deal with, and that was very purposeful on his part. Overthinking kept Candle safe. It had been a long time since he spiraled this badly, when he had visibly lost control of himself; the last time must have been -  Candle yelped involuntarily as he launched himself onto his hooves, the mental aversion to the memory so strong it had translated into a physical motion. A physical motion, unfortunately, that went precisely nowhere. His hind legs kicked out, but his front legs didn’t get the memo - and so he landed on his face only a few inches away.  The crash landing jolted Candle out of his fugue state, and he was able to look up at Zeffir where he gazed down at him, worry etched in every stripe on his face. If he had to be married, some distant part of Candle’s thoughts not currently occupied with screaming noted, at least it was to someone very attractive.  “We will find the shaman,” Zeffir said firmly, his midnight-blue eyes hardening with resolve. “We will find her, and we will break the marriage.”  “But - but you,” Candle panted, winded by his hyperventilating, “isn’t that - is that a - we can do that?”  “We will. She did it, she can undo it,” Zeffir responded firmly, and with a little nod, he turned away, vanishing inside the house, leaving Candle in a heap on the grass.  Find five things - six things? - find - find things - Candle tried to calm his rattling thoughts, and rolled onto his side, abruptly aware that he was still leaning on his face, his spine aching for relief. His flank heaved for a few more moments, trying to catch his breath, and slowly let the house come into focus in front of him.  Five things you can see. One, Zeffir’s house. Two, grass. Three, my front hooves. Four - four, a weed. Five, a cloud. Four things you can touch. One, the grass. Two, my leg. Little shaky. Three, my wing. Four, my face. Three things you can hear. Voices next door. Zeffir inside. Some kind of bug, zipping around. Two things you can smell. Grass. Earth.  Candle took a deep, slow breath, the fullest one he had taken in awhile, and breathed in the earthy smell of Zeffir’s backyard. The grass smelled like home, but not; behind the familiar earthy tones he could pick up something peppery. The dirt smelled like dirt, and yet it did not smell like his dirt. Everything here was roughly analogous to home, yet somehow wrong.  He’d have to get used to it if he was going to live here.  The panic spiked again, but the moment had passed; when the alarm pressed Candle to action, it wasn’t herky-jerky as in the midst of the panic attack, but shaky, weak, left exhausted in the wave of the adrenaline crush. He pushed himself to a sit clumsily, and made his way inside on legs that felt weak and trembly.  Candle found Zeffir working; he had two sets of saddlebags on his table, and he was rolling a thick length of fabric, tying it to the center band.  “What’re you doing?” Candle asked, softly; he didn’t want to admit how afraid he was that Zeffir would yell at him. It had to be painful, he realized, to see your husband go into a full-blown meltdown at the idea of being married to you. He didn’t think that the fact that it wasn’t intended to be insulting would be acceptable.  But Zeffir didn’t yell. Instead he gave Candle a quick up-down as he continued rolling the second length of fabric. “We will have to set out soon. Branching Fire is officiating a first year ceremony in Xatl in one week, and we will need to catch her there. Can you walk?”  “Wait - Branching Fire? The shaman?” Candle asked, and held one of his forelegs idly with his hoof when he realized he was still shaking. “She doesn’t live here?”  “No, she’s nomadic. Many shamans are. And with her wings, she usually sleeps on a cloud somewhere. If we can’t catch her in Xatl, we’ll have to leave her a letter at her home base,” Zeffir gave his bedroll a sharp yank, tightening the straps, “and that could take weeks.”  “Weeks?!”  Zeffir nodded, and looked at Candle, more squarely this time. “You should go back to bed. We will leave at dusk - that’s when bat ponies are active, yes?”  “Well, yes, but - I changed my sleep,” Candle explained, feeling more foolish the longer Zeffir stared at him. “So I could … fit in.” Zeffir was silent for a beat, then nodded. “You should still sleep, if you can. We can’t leave now at the heat of the day, anyway, and I’ll need some time to gather supplies. You should gather anything you might need immediately, but leave the rest of the luggage here. We have to carry whatever we bring.”  “Do you need my help?”  “I’ve got it. Will you need a wagon?”  The rejection felt like a slap in the face, and Candle did his best to keep his expression neutral; it was his ears that betrayed him, signaling his hurt by the way they twisted back and flattened out. “I can walk,” Candle insisted quietly. He wasn’t going to be carried around the Eastern Desert, not if he had to hobble on two legs! “Thank you, Zeffir.”  Zeffir nodded, then pulled his gaze away from him, returning his attention to the saddlebags. Candle stood for a beat longer, waiting for a dismissal that never came, and retreated to Zeffir’s room.  What had once felt like a welcoming, exciting new place now felt like a prison. Candle was too worn out to muster up much panic even at such a dour thought, and spent a few minutes gathering some items he thought he might need. A fresh journal, a few pencils; even if he had to chronicle his own journey to a divorce, it might be the only information he was able to get out of this trip. Somehow, he couldn’t see Zeffir or the town being very welcoming to him now that he was publicly disowning them. Was divorce even allowed here? Zeffir had seemed to handle it well enough, but maybe he had realized he didn’t want to be harnessed to someone like Candle for the rest of his life, either.  Candle only managed to come up with a couple of items he wanted to bring before he gave up and climbed onto Zeffir’s bed. He brought along his knitted sweater, the one his father had made for him, and clutched it tightly to his chest. If he breathed deeply enough, he could still smell some of the Everfree Forest that still clung to it.  Sleep did not come easily.