//------------------------------// // Chapter Five: The Other Side of the Table // Story: Equestrian Concepts // by Achaian //------------------------------// Chapter Five The Other Side of the Table A small space. An old, beaten mahogany desk, wax faded as its glory had, four walls, one of them a deception, a small shelf, a cot in the corner, countless books and papers scattered by a wandering mind, a ravaged, ponderous soul. Tick did not remember last night. When he had regained control of his primal instinct after losing Ditzy in the streets, he had simply crawled back to his refuge and slept until morning. All that had happened was a little too much drink; that was all he knew. Ditzy was an indefinite thing to him. His life had always been a moving struggle, though he had slowly started to settle down prior to Discord’s temporary resurgence. Discord had not touched him during his short reign, although the tendrils of his madness had reached far and wide from the cortex of chaos that had been his black throne. Indubitably, he had felt those tendrils, if only the merest edge of their presence, whisperings in the dark and then a literal unearthing of something that still intrigued and now harassed him. Presently, he was where he had been when his unfortunate experience had begun: holed up, quite literally, in the Royal Library. He was hiding from the Princesses—Luna in particular, but she would have doubtlessly informed her sister by now. To most, it would seem suicidal to hide within a few thousand feet of your pursuers, but Tick knew that often the best hiding places are often the most recklessly obvious as well. Not to mention that the library itself was huge. Hundreds of wings, passages, fleeting flowing flights of stairs, untold nooks and hideaways layered so numerously upon each other that visitors occasionally had to be rescued from their isolation. It was not a zealously guarded area, nor was it often explored except by those of singular dedication to knowledge. His particular room, if he could call it that, was concealed behind a bookshelf that could only uneasily be reached by those without wings. He had lived there almost a year now; he would have lived there longer still. To stay was not his fate, however unhappy it was for him. It was as much of a quiet, happy house as he had ever had, and the longest he had ever stayed in one place. When he had woken this morning, he knew that he had to jump town, and quickly. As clever as his hiding place was, two immortal beings were probably cleverer than him. Always more of the world to see. I should’ve known that I could not stay here forever. Tick looked around the space again with a distant longing, but the hard severance of experience cut through that quickly, but not painlessly. At the least, when I sort out this mess I will be free again. Ah, my father would laugh if he saw me so tied down, so slow to move… Standing by his desk in the small space he could no longer call home, Tick realized that it would be much harder than he anticipated to pack up and leave, especially with an arduous hangover making his head radiate pain. The room was lit with a single candle that blazed with the stabbing rays of ten thousand suns to the post-inebriation Tick, but at least it was quiet. The infernal magical gag-spell that Luna had placed on him to ‘motivate’ him would only make getting away more difficult. His writings would, for the most part, have to stay here. He would have to round up his brother, who would no doubt be disappointed to leave, but wouldn’t complain. Either would make the sacrifice for the other. The setbacks on his work translating the books unearthed by Discord would be enormous; it severely needed attention and caution to avoid spread of those particular… concepts. His mood soured as he recalled how he had spread those exact concepts. Damn Luna for letting her emotions cloud her better judgment… Tick soundlessly growled. He couldn’t believe that she had the temerity to appoint herself judge and jury to a whole host of lost knowledge. Surely there was danger, as in all things, but he had only scratched at the unyielding surface, only deciphered the slightest comprehension out of the tomes. He had intended to put the primary care and discretion of such delicate things into greater hooves than his, but Luna’s willingness to obliterate what had promised to be an entire ancient library changed his priorities drastically. He was not normally one to be so incensed, but the severity and gravity of the situation played poorly on his analytical mind. Reluctant to relive the rest of that episode, he instead absorbed himself in creating a solution for his lack of a voice. The likelihood of me being able to get rid of a spell cast by Luna is next to nonexistent, but it’s all I have to do at the moment. I won’t get anywhere if I just simmer, and I certainly won’t get rid of this tyrannical gag. I’m going to create too much unwanted attention if I have to keep writing everything out, and it will make traveling that much harder. Where to go is almost as important a question as what I’m going to do when I get there. I can’t see an end in sight to this situation without resolving the book problem first. And then he heard muffled voices, distinctly out and below the façade of the shelf. “Are you sure this is the right spot?” a mare’s voice said. “Yes, this is the correct location,” said a diminished, quiet voice. Tick recognized it as one of the few librarians who were ostensibly in charge of the sprawling library. They mostly ended up reading or wandering more than loaning books or sorting them, in his experience. Tick, very cautiously, slid a small panel on the back of the shelf to where he could observe the conversation from far above. Down below, Inkie and the librarian were standing next to what appeared to be one of the larger book-packing crates he’d seen. The librarian looked a little worn and weathered, a bit rough around the edges: her more adventurous days had passed her and she had contented herself with fading like a wraith into the shelves of the infinite library. Inkie was the utter opposite, the ultimate vivification in comparison. Although the color of her coat was drab, her short and straight mane flowed round her head as she unceasingly turned about, breathing in all she could perceive and exhaling energy, exuding radiant interest with the world. The poor librarian looked a little overwhelmed. Neither of them noticed the curious whirling eyes gazing down upon them. This can’t be a coincidence. Not in so short a time after I escaped from her mad scheme. “Okey-dokey then, I’ll just leave it here. Kinda weird that there’s an address for the middle of a library, huh?” “It is how the system works,” the librarian said, brittle and upbraiding (although Inkie took no notice of the tone). “We librarians do not question the systems.” “Alrighty then. Bye!” “Fare thee well, young and vibrant one.” The two parted their separate ways, Inkie with an almost-bouncing step. Erratically, with no set pattern she went out towards the eventual exit. The librarian continued her slow, self-absorbed gait, her eyes misting over with memories of some past time. In the passage of time, both of their sights and sounds subsumed to silence as Tick slid back the shelf and floated down toward the crate. He was as alone as he could be in the hall of knowledge, vacant of all others save for the towering, but silent, presence of the billions of pages of material surrounding him. It was that feeling of awe he loved. He could never reach the end of the story; there was always another; in honest comparison the practical reasons for his location of habitation were merely secondary to him. He lived for the discovery and for the learning. What else could compare? He was wincing at the glinting light as he descended, longing for the painless darkness of night; and with not a thought that brought delight, he landed with a sharp clack next to the crate. Well, if I am fortunate in the least, then whatever this is shouldn’t create more problems for me. He would have checked for observers, but he knew he not be seen here; the seclusion was rarely broken. Receiving mail now struck him as unusual: he had ordered or requested nothing, he had been away after all, and his brother usually accompanied the package himself if he thought it interesting enough to send his way. This was neither of the two, and so he was clueless to the contents. He pried the top off the crate, tossed it aside with a clatter that made him wince at the sound, and peered in. Tick did not expect a sleeping mare to greet his tired, revolving eyes. Stepping back in confusion, he glanced around apprehensively and rubbed his face. How long was I asleep? Am I still drunk? If this is his fault and he dragged me out… Is this his idea of a joke? It fits his sense of humor, but I haven’t talked to him in weeks. It couldn’t have been. After he had groggily assured himself that he had not started drinking again that morning, he reopened his eyes. Ditzy was still there, curled up into a ball amongst foam packing peanuts, chest rising and falling softly as she breathed. This doesn’t make any sense. There's no cause... He sat down, perturbed and confused. Something very important had happened, something he was forgetting. The alcohol had obscured it—his weariness had disguised it—and then he remembered last night. He recoiled from Ditzy instinctively, stepping back, fear and anger flooded back to him— It had been quite the different picture on the other side of the table. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tick wasn’t really one for socialization. That and the fact that he wanted to lie low had led him to The Last Resort, which proved true to its name. His first resort, finding silence, had failed him—he had found no peace in his mind. His list of other options had fast dwindled to what the bartender had called ‘liquid courage,’ so he made use of what he had, and plentifully. To go another day without some sort of meditation on the situation would have been rather foolish to him. Luna’s quest that she had imposed on him had angered and distraught him, to say the least. Her command was ludicrous, almost sacrilegious to him: destroying knowledge was everything he stood against. He thought it insane that she would try to defeat the darkness by obscuring the light; the illogic of it had wreaked havoc and torment on him. He had done what little he could to fight against it, but he could not, of course, engage her directly in any manner. He could run, hide and resist only, yet not a single campaign could be waged against her while the deathlike decay of what he had glimpsed crept throughout his mind. He had felt it inside himself in the same moment he had seen it in Luna, and the fact of its existence lured his thoughts into dark places. Archetypal discord was kept at bay; but how long would it be until he defeated or subverted it? He dared not entertain the chance of failure. Thinking about it would be stepping tantalizingly close to despair. So it had played out on his mind, if only for a short while. His dissonant thoughts had been temporarily suspended by a wall-eyed mare seizing the seat next to him. She had only scratched the surface the first time his eyes betrayed him, a compromise that he didn’t like but could afford. On a whim, he had decided to talk to her, or rather, let her talk to the brick wall that he had mimicked during the first half of their conversation. He was just being courteous, using her like he had used the alcohol to lessen his pains in some vain attempt to get time to accelerate. She had been clever and insistent enough to find the cracks in his mental armor, to his now-sober chagrin, and provoked him into responding. Then she had looped him in further with the promise of somepony who could help him with his historical dilemma. She might not be familiar with his fields, but she was certainly not one to be trifled with. She had a kind of natural intelligence that would blossom if nurtured correctly. Remembering what had happened, he thought it fortunate that he hadn’t spilled his preliminary findings on the unearthed tomes—right up until he realized he had, and in the worst way possible. Not only had she seen what was the worst-looking part of his encounter with Luna, she had visited several of his memories, some reaching into his more remote past. Sighing in silence, his wandering mind’s eye momentarily returned to the present and he looked at Ditzy. Excellent. Spectacular. She saw some of the most sensitive things I know and she found me in record time. How am I going to handle her when she wakes up? He belayed that query and returned to figuring out all of last night’s events. Priorities, he reminded himself. Resuming his analysis, he proceeded through the still-blurred memories until he ran upon something that interested him. “I just wanted to hear from you,” she had said. “And of you, and your struggles.” Why did she care? It made little sense to him, he was nopony to her; she could have been following courtesy; she could have been bluffing, but why? It seemed markedly irrational. All she was doing was risking emotional involvement and investment in somepony who, as he would judge himself, had their own problems and very little interest in involving others in them. Granted, she might learn something—but the risk, the dare—how could she justify it? How could she care for a stranger from nowhere? It was hopeless endangerment at worst; he had never seen the best. It has to be something else. Still, it remained, and his mind passed it by to examine other things. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” She was right enough about that. His eyes jabbed pain into his brain and he winced again. In pieces, it came back to him. “Well, all of the Elements actually live in Ponyville.” Simultaneously, he remembered his rise in wariness and felt it once again. After all, he had just been there a few days ago and he didn’t remember anything about the Elements of Harmony or their bearers. His memory hadn’t exactly been trustworthy this morning, however… “… So I run into all of them at some time or another.” “The librarian is actually the personal student of Celestia herself.” “She can send letters directly to Celestia…” He felt an all-too-familiar surge of panic hit him. He saw the structure unfold before his eyes, ending in a spot entirely too close for comfort—the mare, lying before him, below his very eyes! Ditzy knew Twilight, who had a direct and instantaneous mode of communication with Celestia, and Twilight probably knew Celestia very well, being her prime student. If Celestia asked Twilight if she knew anything about Tick, or if Twilight mentioned Tick in one of her communications… Twilight could have told Ditzy, and even if she hadn’t, Ditzy would surely tell Twilight now if she hadn’t already by mail or otherwise—perhaps using that instantaneous communication Twilight used with Celestia. Ditzy had shown up right at his door. Ditzy was a mailmare, and could trace his records through his occasional correspondence… No time! All pretense of calm blown away by panic, he screamed toward his hideaway, nearly crashing as he did. Tense—flashing—quick, he seized only what he thought most important. The one book he had remaining from the unearthing, a couple of writing utensils; it was too little, it was too much; he had to fly, soar away before Ditzy woke up. Even if she wasn’t here on the command of the Princesses, she could mention this to Twilight and give away his vital location, and it would happen sooner rather than later with their speed of communication. He turned around, once, twice, looking over his living space in great haste to check for anything too important to leave behind, anything that would give him away. He wasn’t sure he got everything, but he had enough; he flew out the entrance of his room and— Ditzy was standing, looking the other way, shaking a couple foam packing peanuts off her head. Tick floated motionless for a moment, and then began to edge away from her in. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. For the love of Herodotus, don’t look over here… And then she did, of course. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Waking up, Ditzy’s first realization was that there was entirely too much light in the box. Her second was that she had never actually formulated a plan of what she was going to do when she got to wherever Tick was. Standing up, the behemoth shelves had grabbed her attention first, then the polished marble floor, then the hall itself, stretching onwards for several hundred feet. The immeasurably soft sound of the foam packing falling off of her had only one competitor: the slightly less soft sound of wings, rhythmically slicing the air. Only when she had turned about did she realize that somepony had to have taken the top off her crate, and that pony was probably grey pegasus she had sought, the one with the look of horrific dread on his face. “Tick, I…” Her mouth had dried, her mind was whirling in the suddenness; the reservoir of words had emptied, or perhaps it had filled to overbearing. She wanted to ask where this was, if he was alright, assure him that she could help, demand to know more about Luna, plead with him not to run—but out of those, she probably should have pleaded. Tick wouldn’t have heard it, though, because he was busy rocketing down the hall, away from Ditzy. Damn it! Not again—I won’t let him— Ditzy took off after him, challenged and determined, careening out of the crate and through the hall, and the chase began. Screaming along at speeds completely ludicrous for the indoors, it was obvious to her that Tick knew this place very well, but she had the clear advantage in speed. Still, he flew at a break-neck pace out of the hall, into an enormous cubic room, and dove between convoluted rows of shelves that reached nearly to the ceiling in an attempt to shake her off his tail—for she was almost in reach of it. He didn’t look back; he focused on his path. Ditzy craftily flew just above the shelves, wary of any traps Tick might put into play. Sure enough, within five turns he faced a dead end and instead shot straight up, assuming Ditzy’s superior speed would cause her to crash. Tick, stopping and wiping the sweat from his brow, turned, expecting to see that Ditzy had smashed into the shelf. Instead, he saw Ditzy floating just behind him, forehooves crossed over her chest in an insulted manner. “Come on, I thought you knew I’m not that unintelligent. Now are you going to tell me what this is all about or what?” His answer was to turn again and dive, spiraling as he went. So you’re going to make me work for my answers… Cursing his stubbornness, Ditzy mimicked his dive with the intent of cutting him off, but he had enough lead to make it to one of the other four exits. The corridor they entered was starkly narrow compared to the enormous cube they had left behind; so little room to maneuver was left that she couldn’t even spin, let alone overtake Tick. She had a spare moment to wonder what this place was—whatever it was, it had to be huge. Rounding a hairpin curve, the corridor retained its narrowness. It had started to angle upwards, and Tick wasn’t about to stop, so neither would she. He flipped into a doorway, his wings retracting just enough to avoid breaking them on the frames. Taken by surprise, Ditzy nearly overshot the door and gave Tick a significant advantage. The room was nothing but a tight spiral staircase with less than a full wingspan’s clearance in the center. Flying up was Tick, and he was executing no simple ploy: he was operating his wings independent of each other to avoid hitting the staircase. “You’re insane!” Ditzy yelled as she imitated his movement, barely keeping up with him now. If either of their rhythms were less than perfect, they would break a wing and tumble to the bottom of the stairwell, probably breaking many more bones in the process. His head turned and he shot her a glance momentarily—as if to say, And yet you are still following me. Mercifully, they soon reached the top of the stairs and exited into a tall, circular room. Wasting no time, Tick took to an open window and soared out. Ditzy followed—like I’m going to stop now after I chased you all this way—and hazarded a glance down as she did. It was a very long way down from the top of the tower. Accelerating, Tick was headed for the open skies above Canterlot. There, Ditzy thought with satisfaction, she could outmaneuver him and take him down without much trouble considering he was not only slower, but also injured. She could see the white of the bandages even against his light gray coat from here. Adrenaline rushing, she started to close in. He can’t escape now! But neither could she. Tick slammed into an invisible object like a bug on a window, the air around him shimmering as he did. Ditzy understood what it was an instant before it could have helped her—she, too, crashed into the force field, albeit with less speed. The solidity of it surprised her; shocks ran through her body as she felt the crackle of magic painfully surging through her. Surprise, then numbness coursed through her mind. I can’t feel my wings! Her vision started to dull—the last thing she saw was Tick falling, seemingly paralyzed as she was, several winged black and white dots racing to intercept them. And then consciousness faded. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ditzy's mind was a very confused place. It was surreal dreaming, it was fervent reality; it was quiet and dull, it was loud and piercing. What little sensation she knew was ethereal and wraithlike: she felt her ardor extinguish, her fire for Tick burnt out to return when next she woke as smoldering hot coals, ready to be stirred anew. Carried as she slipped between states of lucidity and blank, whispered vagueness, she could hear voices— “She seems to be somewhat stable, no signs of any of the symptoms similar to the Changelings we caught. The other isn’t a Changeling either, but he’s no better off. Make sure he hasn’t suffered too much blood loss before you transfer him to the cell. Princess Luna has expressed interest in these two. And be careful! Preliminary testing of the spell they hit had unusual side effects.” She continued to slide, she was floating in a cloud now; no, she was in a shallow pool; she was asphyxiating—hacking—coughing for breath, she attained some relief. An image stratified before her, a head enshrined by the sun, mane blowing, indistinguishable. “Mother?” Ditzy whispered, completely incoherent. The vision rippled like water into blown smoke, replaced by a pair of yellow and red eyes, feral. Maddening. Intoxicating. The solitary mind; the lone, damned soul. I can see you… You are so close to me now, almost close enough for me to taste your anguish. What folly, trying to solve your problems. You could simply submit. It would be so easy, so gratifying, a faster escape, peace at long last—What more could you want, Ditzy? But he was not eternal. He passed, like the rest of the incomprehensible visions, and become one among many—no less or more meaningful than the phantasmagoric phenomena that grasped and befuddled her bewildered senses. This is a dream. Yet her mind still wandered. And then there was light, glorious redemption. The sun shone on Elysian fields, the soft breeze scented with honeysuckle and dew, a brook ran through, a sense—not of timelessness, but of hopefulness, and sincerity, and of beauty. This is just a dream; why am I— Her mind convulsed and the last of her lucidity faded; there was something in the light, a prism: distortion. It altered, a paradigm shift, and the light flared, bent, twisted. Broken up into disparate bizarre elements, the perversion of the light intensified as it reflected on the landscape, granting an ominous, menacing desire to the air itself. With mighty and terrible fulfillment, at last something arose that blocked all light. And then there was shadow, horrendous devastation. It was like the painting of the storm again, except she had no ship—and she was drowning, struggling, failing, being ripped to shreds and tossed by the storm. She raged, thrashed, screamed against the waves and wind and whirlpool, cursed it, struck out against it, triumphed not; she was never the victor, she was her own victim. And then there was nothing, absolute and final, immutable. And that was the most horrifying thing of all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Waking, she was glad to be free of her hallucinations, even if her current reality was a mass of painful bodily reactions to the magical paralysis. The massive effort it took to open her eyes distraught her, yet she managed to roll into a shaky sitting position. Strange dreams, and he was there, and she was there… but she’s gone. She shivered and took stock of her surroundings. Across from her, Tick was lying, apparently unconscious, on the opposite side of the cell. To the left, iron bars wrought in crossed patterns barred the only exit. To the right, a nondescript smooth stone wall was cut only by a lone shaft of sunlight, a diamond-shape spilled onto the floor, giving luminance to the room. In totality, it was spartan—but not cruel. They had been placed on mats, not the bare stone, and the cell was neither damp nor rough; in fact, it was rather precisely constructed. It was cold, though. The stone walls communicated that clearly. Shivering slightly from both the chill and the symptoms of the insidiously surreal spell, Ditzy checked herself: she was heavily bruised in several places, with a particularly nasty bump on her head, but it had been bandaged, and she suspected she had been medicated, as she was feeling less pain than she would expect from colliding with the magical equivalent of a Taser and a brick wall. She wanted to dissect her visions—but they were only visions, after all; they could mean or not mean anything, and she had many more important questions to answer. Why am I in a cell with Tick and nopony else around? Is it not going to be explained why we’re in here or where this is or what happened to us? Not that she was complaining about being stuck with Tick. He would likely be her only source of answers for some time. Her patience long ago evaporated, she unsteadily came over to Tick’s side and examined his painful appearance. I wouldn’t want to be him right now. He’s not even healed completely from when Luna threw him against the wall, but I can’t do anything for him now. The stained bandages that had long enwrapped his ribs had been replaced, no more did blood seep into them. His new injuries looked painful enough: his left wing had been immobilized; he had no shortage of bruises; his eyes were locked shut and Ditzy could not tell if he was frozen in sleep or lurid consciousness. I wonder if I’ll find my answers now, or if the he’ll find another way to stall. Gently and carefully, she tapped her hoof on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open sharply, revolutions begun. His gaze focused and intensified quickly, staring blankly up into Ditzy’s eyes. Deliberately closing his eyes, he concentrated, opened them again, and slowly assumed a more upright posture. Several moments passed, his eyes closed again; he focused on breathing. She could see his chest expanding and contracting slightly; what he was thinking she could only guess. The game of details and guesswork was just beyond her reach, but she needed none of that now that he was awake. “Tick?” He gave her his attention, eyes opening. “Where are we?” He looked left, right, back at her. He mouthed something, but it was futile: Ditzy couldn’t read lips. She rubbed her hoof against her forehead in slight frustration. She would have to resort to charades and yes-or-no questions to get any information out of him, if he even wanted to respond to her. Hardly the most effective method of communication, but he had nothing to write on and no other channel to express himself. At least he had tried to respond; she had half-expected that he would continue his apparent aversion and hostility. “Do you know where we are?” He nodded. “Alright, ah, are we still in Canterlot?” Yes. “Upper or lower?” He pointed up. “Is this some of jail?” She wouldn’t have asked, but it seemed oddly nice for somewhere to hold delinquents. He nodded emphatically. Great, just perfect. What are we even in here for? “Is that… thing we ran into the barrier they put around Canterlot to prevent pegasi from flying in?” After a moment of hesitation, he shook his head no and then yes. He started drawing on the floor with his hoof, despite not leaving a mark—he was constructing a mental image. He drew what appeared to be the side of a mountain, then what had to be Canterlot, and a bubble encircling Canterlot. Then he drew a smaller semicircle covering a section of the inner city and looked back up at Ditzy. “There’s another barrier?” she queried. “Is that what we hit?” Yes, his head indicated. “And we hit it from the outside?” No. “So we hit it from the inside?” Tick nodded. What’s important enough for a second layer of protection? She mulled it over for a few seconds, and found her answer to be one that only begged more questions. “We can’t have been—were we inside the palace?” He nodded. “What in the name of Celestia were you doing inside the palace?!” He made no motions, but let his silence speak for him. Ditzy knew he had no good way of answering that question, but his complete lack of response still created a disapproving look on her face. He left her no choice, nor was she going to be gentle now. Her trials demanded a resolution. Her voice dropped in volume and pitch. “I don’t think Luna would have been too happy with you living in her house after what I saw between you two.” Tick’s eyes narrowed. He leaned back, crossed his hooves over his chest and made no further motion, watching Ditzy carefully. “You might as well tell me, we might be here for a while. Besides, I think you owe me an explanation. I’ve worked hard enough for it, and this was your fault anyways.” His eyes closed, a silent sigh escaped him. Reopening his eyes, he held out his empty hooves as a gesture and shrugged, as if saying “How would I even tell you?” “You could show me,” Ditzy pressed. “The same way you got me into this mess in the first place. If you can control what you can show me, then you can explain this whole confusion from the beginning.” Shutting his eyes, Tick’s head bowed in thought. Ditzy could divine no thought process emanating from him, only confliction. After an appropriate amount of time, he nodded and opened his eyes, looking directly at Ditzy from the moment his lids opened. Adjusting his position to one more comfortable, he never ceased eye contact. Strange as his eyes were, she could look him in the eye now indefinitely—no longer could she be shaken by his moving irises, even as they spun quicker, even as her perception wore away to be replaced by history, his story, his past, and inevitably his present. It had begun where all ideas are conceived: the deep, dark recesses of a library, the inscribed contours of a mind… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “It is important,” Ditzy felt him think, “that you know of the two most dangerous things in this world before we begin.” She witnessed the immense cost of him directly prescribing his present thoughts to her; it was intensely more difficult than replaying his memory. She would have been trepid if she had thought about it, but now she was not. She was brave now, concerned and yet hungry. “The most dangerous thing in this world is writing.” The rather blunt statement surprised Ditzy. She had expected him to elaborate in the very least, and writing surely was not the greatest danger Equestria had to offer. Even in the vast gulf between their minds, there was still a sort of union—and through that Tick could feel her skepticism, but he pressed on anyways. “The second-most dangerous thing is reading. That in particular was the catalyst for this… mess. And now we begin again…” She could feel him slip farther away as his effort to maintain present communication ceased and his memory took form. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chaos! It was not so much perceiving it as it was an emotion in his past mind, although his senses gradually coalesced into a scene that was uncomfortably familiar to Ditzy, particularly, the rapidly changing color of sky and the indecision of the sun and moon to stay as ordered. Tick was watching the phenomena occur through a window in an expansive library, likely a different section of the royal library that they had impromptly left behind. As he watched, he scratched notes concerning the changes with an air of curiosity about him, not yet extremely concerned about his own welfare. Then the cracks began to show—literally. Behind Tick, a section of the stone floor was breaking. It caved quietly at first, escaping his notice. However, when it broke cleanly free and crashed into and through the next floor, and the one below that, he took plenty of notice. He jumped into the air and twisted around with a look of complete surprise on his face, then flew over to the newly excavated hole. Looking down at the edge of the hole, he glanced around and saw no others. The hole continued through the next lower story of the library, into a basement, and seemingly beyond that. “Can’t get any stranger…” he muttered, and began his cautious descent. He stopped where the debris had crashed through the floor of the basement; prudence and common sense dictated that he at least grab a candle first. It looked discouragingly dark down in what he guessed to be a sub-basement of the library. After a minute of digging around the upper basement, he found a candle and tentatively entered the sub-basement. It was old, very old. The stones that had constructed had long since cracked seemingly into mere rocks; they had greyed to the point that it was hard to separate them at times from the greyness of Tick’s coat. Stone was the only material, down to the empty sconces on the walls. Light shown on the debris that had opened the way for Tick, but not on anything else: he would have to venture into the dark to illuminate it. Such is the cost to be a beacon in the dark—he had to go into the dark, first of all. So he wandered, tentatively at first, but then with familiarity as the small size and structure revealed itself. It was not sprawling, consisting of four rooms in total. The most unusual thing was that there appeared to be no natural entrance or exit. It should have unnerved him, but it didn’t at the time. As he brought slight luminance to the last room in the row, he noticed a bookshelf in the corner. It, too, was constructed of stone—but it seemed more… alive. More colored, as if it had been preserved through time; although it was not lively, but foreboding. Black-metal bound were the few books that sat on it. It was very quiet; he could hear himself breathing and the blood pumping in his ears. And it was very dark. The lone candle sputtered. The inseparable paleness of his coat and the stone were contrasted only by the black books on the shelf and the shades in his irises. His breathing hastened slightly as his pupils dilated. He was staring at the books. Strange that they had held the test of time more than anything else in this eerily quiet, dilapidated place. He laid hoof on one, pulled it off the shelf— Crack. As he pulled it off, the supporting stone shelf underneath broke, and the other metal-bound books scattered to the floor with sharp metallic clangs, pealing discordantly against the silence. He winced—and then the candle went out. Complete, absolute absence of sight. He inhaled sharply in shock; his eyes were useless! Nothing could be seen! His hearing seemed only amplified—every breath, every scuffle of hoof on stone, every pounding beat of his heart was thunderous. Panicking, he felt around him, all sense of direction lost. He was alone, lost in the dark, the unusual shadows had caught up to him. Opening his eyes, closing his eyes, it made no difference. Sight lost, adrenaline pumping, he felt around him. Nearly crawling, his instincts screamed out warnings as he reached around for some wall, some rubble, any kind of point of vantage. It was agonizing, inching along with no retreat or relief. He had the feeling of always being about to fall into an infinite abyss—and the darkness granted no favors. Breathing heavily, mind racing, an eternity passed. He would have given anything for the tiniest point of light, anything—anything!—to break the dark. Nothing did. After an interminable age of darkness and overbearing sound, he found the wall. With only the slightest of relief, he traced it onwards, his back against it; it hardly would have helped if something was sneaking up on him, as his vision was still black as oblivion. He slid along, using the wall as his guide, until he made it into the next room. He could go faster now; there had been nothing in the two rooms separating the hole and the room with the shelf. As he found the entranceway to the first room, his vision was restored, rays of moonlight cut down upon the pile of debris. He thought it odd—but then he realized that the sky had decided to go insane on him as well, that or Celestia and Luna had gotten into a fight. He thought the second option less likely, as any clash of that magnitude would no doubt cause a bit more disturbance than the sun and moon swapping places every few minutes. Regaining his breath, he realized he still had the book he had grabbed off the shelf. Looking back at where he had come from, he was summarily dumbfounded: there was candlelight flickering, reflected on the wall. Rushing over, all caution abandoned by curiosity and incredulity, he ran into the fourth room—and saw a few metallic books on the floor, some slight debris from the shelf breaking, and a lit candle where he had left it. A very much light-producing candle. The look on his face, directed at the candle, was one of simultaneous loathing, disbelief, and confusion. A stuttered noise of annoyance and a growl later, he turned about and found himself several seconds later standing under the moonlight as he looked up out of the hole. Decided, he flew out with the promise of returning later when the world was saner. With purpose, he travelled through the myriad rooms of the library, through the cubic room where Ditzy would chase him, and into that long hall where she had found him again. Stopping, he flew straight up until he found the movable panels and ducked inside. His room was small, somewhat cozy, consisting of the unwaxed mahogany desk, cot, and a small shelf with the occasional book or article scattered around the room. Overall, it was not a bad place for someone squatting inside of a royal palace, which no doubt had many things in place against such an occurrence. Ditzy wondered where he got his food, and many small other questions, but Tick, past and present, had other plans. He laid the book down on his desk, sat down, and began examining the cover. The unusual blackened metal binds had been inscribed with a language that Ditzy did not recognize. It was not quite runic, but the symbols appeared very different. The cover looked almost jagged, the metal wrought into black tints and the ornate symbols, cut precisely, with a cruel suggestion in the manner of harsh strokes. Inquisitive, he laid it open without flourish and sighed when he saw similar symbols layering the pages. With a slight frown, he pulled a book from his shelf labeled and a blank journal and opened both. “I thought it was just a book,” Ditzy felt his present think, “and it was. But the problem with books is they have words in them, and implications are not always easy to accept.” “Weeks passed.” His vision accelerated, jumped ahead—countless runed pages flashed through her mind-vision as Tick proved his words, bringing her to the next point of her interest. Ditzy remained silent, keeping her questions at bay for the moment. Tick was again at his desk, poring through his journal, which was now filled with dozens of inscribed pages; on the front was written “Translation of De Terra et Animi Caelorum et Tartari.” He looked haggard, his mane messed and his eyes wider than they should have been. Lack of sleep and intensive translations had proved wearing on his past appearance and on his past mind, which he now was taking care to shield from her. He’s not letting me feel what he felt anymore. She felt him carefully monitoring her reaction, yet she had no problem letting her disappointment known. Well, that hardly helps me. Ditzy thought with a slight sulk. “I can hear you,” Tick’s present thought with a hint of amusement, “and it means Concerning the Earth and the souls of the skies and of Tartarus.” Ditzy didn’t think that he could hear him, and she had meant more his deception, but she would take what she could get. What did you find? “I had only scratched the surface of it; it is no easy venture translating something that old and archaic.” And you found? “You saw what was in Luna’s mind.” You’re just saying that because you don’t want to tell me. It was a blind blow, but she had had enough of the games. She felt a lot of confliction inside him; it could not be hidden. Now that she had found a weakness, she would exploit it ceaselessly. It was merciful instead of merciless for her to pry; her deepest motivation was ultimately concern in the moment. She would not let him suffer—her sympathy inspired by her own past was too great. He drew his consciousness up decidedly, and communicated deliberately, precisely: “I do not know what I have found. Whether it is related to Luna’s past or not is her jurisdiction, and I will not speak for her.” I care, she thought, and she put as much emotional weight behind her words as possible, resisting the urge to lose her patience. And I know how you feel. His mind was turmoil now, a mess of roiling emotions, he had exposed vulnerability and he knew it; he could not resist while his weakness was apparent and Ditzy insisted on pushing— “No! This will not stand. I will not justify it! Leave what is mine to me. It is a problem best left contained in my mind, and you would want no part of it.” I saw it already. It’s no use for you to hide it. Yet he remained obstinately silent. Frustrated, she mentally retracted from his thought, and he did not resist. It was not only his own danger if he refused her help, but also hers. I put so much hope into you, I come to you and try to help you, and you ignore me. You’re so weak right now! You wouldn’t give up your stubbornness to help me or yourself? How can you refuse this so selfishly? She was so close to knowing, all she had to do was push while he was wounded, she could know if she only pressed on. She could bring the conflict to its climax, force the issue; all it would take was her overpowering his distraught state. He was surmountable before her mind—one shove could send him over into madness or confession. All she had to do was dominate him, and it would be done easily. His denial made her angry, progressively more furious as empty seconds passed. Her insidious wrath rose from the very darkest corners of her mind, plotted to lay him bare. She would strip his thoughts and lay this controversy into light. She would solve the mystery of her pain, release it, the consequences be damned. Cunningly, she brought herself together, refining her mental focus into a spear-like point. She would strike while he was distracted. She would end this now, like a burning ray of light thrust into shadows—and its burning was the torment of all her past, of all her worry, of all her frustration with Tick, and it would penetrate his mind, and the fire would spread until he had either submitted and told her everything or burned away into charred nothing. The gulf of minds was before her, seemingly no longer vast. She leaped, prepared to strike— Then Tick saw her. And through his mind, she could see herself. And she was like the blinding sun, with all the fury it had shown down on her during Discord, with all the hate it had enshrined her with against Rainbow Dash. All the pieces of disgust and madness she had ever seen in every hateful act she could see in herself: the terrible potential of unimaginable cruelty that lay within her, the malice in the Nightmare reflected. No! No, this isn’t me! She recoiled from herself, terrified; the scream of the recollection echoed as she fled in terror from herself; she had looked in the mirror of minds and found unthinkable things. She tried to break off the union of minds, ran as far as she could from Tick, but the gulf would get no wider, just as it hadn’t gotten any shorter—she was in his grasp until he released her, and he was too terrified to let go now. But strangely enough, he was now looking in, still frozen, and not out. Tick, listen; I wouldn’t—I couldn’t have— couldn’t have what? Tore through his mind without the slightest concern for his sanity until she had found answers? And then she saw why he had been reflecting her. For in his most terrible thoughts, he was no different than her. He was capable of the worst kinds of evil, just as she. And he had been no less scarred by his realization than her. Did he even feel me? I was… this is his nightmare. So she reached out, across the chasm between their minds. No words this time, just feelings—an offering of her peace, of her hope, a sanctuary for him; he could lean on her if he wished. It was an open gesture. And he seized it, but neither was prepared for what the selfless offer entailed. For an instant, she bore his pain with him and he bore hers, and it was diminished between the two. It was only a second, but the sensation was so intense—so real, she could feel all of his mind and he hers; they drowned in each other for a moment. It was beyond comprehension, they were in complete understanding of each other, but they had not yet had time to think. They had found harmony with each other. Wondrous beyond doubt, their minds working together, they knew each beyond a shadow of a possibility— He recoiled. The abyssal gulf formed again between their minds, and Ditzy was left reeling. How could she even begin to describe what had passed so quickly? How could she replicate what already seemed so intimate and sanctified to her? I… “Not even he could…” Ditzy felt Tick think. The walls around their minds gradually rose again, leaving Ditzy feeling as though she had to make amends for her initial action, though she was still awestruck by what had happened after. Tick, I’m sorry, I don’t know why but… what just happened? He was mute for a moment. “Now you know what I found in the book. I am exhausted…” It was an act of desperation that had driven her to almost strike his mind, but now overwhelming patience and care had taken over. She could feel the mental and physical tiredness almost seeping out of his mind. He broke the communion of minds, so very suddenly, and she was looking at his tired eyes. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ He was sleeping now, and though he did not seem as peaceful as Ditzy would wish him, he might never reach such an elevated bliss. He had collapsed very shortly afterwards, and Ditzy had thrown her blanket from her mat over him in an attempt to comfort him. His breath was still slightly ragged; his wounds looked no more healed than when he had entered the cell. She was seated next to him, rubbing his shoulder with one hoof as he slept as she watched him contemplate dreams. The way he slept reminded Ditzy of Dinky: All the time she spent caring for her, all the love they shared and the memories made. She felt terribly homesick, with not an ounce of an idea when they would be released. She had seen nopony else and was losing track of time; although the diamond-cut sliver in the wall still emitted sunlight, it was hard to examine the state of temporal affairs beyond that. She might be stuck here a long, long time. How would her friends know, how would Dinky find out? Fear struck Ditzy, but she knew of no way to relieve it. It would be crushing to her if she knew her mother was trapped in jail, let alone all the horrible implications of her getting into jail in the first place. All she knew was that she and Tick had probably been trespassing. Surely they wouldn’t keep her here long. We’re at least going to be questioned, she rationalized, yet her rationale had failed her enough recently for her to doubt all expectations. That didn’t help the time pass as Tick slept, blissfully unaware of Ditzy’s meandering thoughts. “Now you know what I found in the book,” he had said—but she had known it all along; it had come along in pieces until Tick had woven it together for her. What he had found in the book was a simple realization. He had seen, at some moment in time, all the truly terrible things that he was capable of. Odd, that Ditzy was so easily able to cognitize it when Tick had not understood it; she could not release the thought, for it was all that she had been thinking. She had seen glimpses of it before: certainly when she had confronted Rainbow Dash, although she knew she would not have been able to identify it then. The subject had been carefully, unconsciously avoided—the burden of a free will, the decision, however innocuous it might seem at the time, between something that is more right and something that is less right. How was she supposed to know what choice is better? Were there any choices that are unambiguous wrongs? Gazing upwards at the shaft of light, she felt inclined to answer yes: and Discord was at the forefront of her reasons. If, then, he was an absolute wrong, was it acceptable to hate him? The wave and particles of light provided no obvious answer, and she sighed; it was an exhalation of her issues, a retreat from questions she did not yet have answers for. ‘Time heals all wounds,’ she had heard once, and it returned to her conscious now. The problem with that, she knew, was that time usually healed wounds by letting the wounded die off, and she was far from content enough to pass away without a stir yet. Did that mean Luna still had her wounds? Shifting somewhat, her contemplation seemed to agree: her memories of Nightmare had certainly been vivid enough. Bizarre implications conceptualized, she started to wonder. She didn’t have long to imagine what might be: something was coming down the hallway toward the cell. She could see the silhouette—no horn, it couldn’t be Luna—then he crossed the corner; Ditzy’s mood proceeded to turn from philosophical to dour. “You again?” “Oh, now that’s just cruel and unusual,” said Quirk, but his grin suggested amusement. “Turn me down and then go running around with my brother, of all people. It must have been one hell of a party to get arrested in the palace!” “Tick is your brother?” Ditzy exclaimed. Tick was intelligent and somewhat aloof, but Quirk was… Quirk. It didn’t make any sense to her how they could be related, not given the vastly different introductions she had had. “Yup. How’d he get the bandages?” “Shouldn’t you know that?” “This is the first time I’ve seen him in two weeks. I was starting to wonder what he was up to until I heard of a suspiciously similar pair of pegasi crashing into the palace forcefield. Tick would be the last to know of it, of course. He was always more interested in yesterday’s news.” She looked down at Tick; he was still sleeping, his eyes shut. “If you’re his brother, then what’s the strangest thing about him?” “Probably his mad obsession with books. Oh, or his eyes, too. They tend to freak ponies out at first. Where’s he been the past few days? He wasn’t holed up in the royal library, was he? I just checked a few days ago.” “I don’t know; I ran into him at a tavern… and why should I tell you?” “You don’t have anything else to do, except maybe seduce Tick. Normally he doesn’t go for that sort of thing, but if that is alcohol I smell he might be a little more, ah, ‘open to new experiences.’” Ditzy glowered at Quirk, thoroughly unenthused at his response; he just laughed to himself for a moment. “No, really—what was he doing in a tavern? Lower Canterlot, I presume?” “Yes. Brooding… I think. I would let him tell you himself, but he lost his voice somehow.” Quirk froze. He looked set off, like he had remembered something fearfully unpleasant. “Lost his voice?” Ditzy shifted at his reaction; she had not seen him even with the remotest worry before. “I don’t think it happened a long time ago, did he always—” Quirk was urgent now, almost desperate. “Open his eyes! Open his eyes, wake him up, let him see me.” He was visibly relieved when Tick opened his eyes after some prodigious poking on Ditzy’s part. When Tick noticed Quirk, he sat up quickly and began motioning erratically as Quirk said “Don’t bother, she explained slightly, just show me.” They set themselves up sitting on opposite side of the crossed bars, Tick’s eyes whirling faster now. Ditzy took the position of the awkward bystander, not knowing what role she had to play. The tempo played without her this time, as Quirk tossed her an aside. “You might want to take a nap or something, this might take a while.” She settled back against the corner where the bars and smooth wall intercepted and watched as Quirk and Tick ascended into their trance. It was decidedly anticlimactic on the outside: a mere blurring of his eyes, Quirk staring into them, and finally the peak as Quirk’s iris showed nothing but the reflection of Tick’s glow. It irked her slightly, watching Tick commune with his brother—was she jealous of that experience? It was an uncomfortable thought; she had just shared a moment of closeness with him that she was still unraveling in meaning. He was still very much a stranger that she knew little about, still very much an oddity to her that nonetheless determined a great deal of her immediate future. Ditzy found she had naught else to do but stare and wonder what Tick might be telling Quirk, and the reverse flow of information. She imagined Tick would tell her the story that he had reluctantly wove in her eyes, but with more detail, an endless amount of context, and much more mutual understanding. The persnickety feeling of the seed of jealousy rose to the back of her mind again; she pushed it back down. She had learned her lesson about patience for the day. It was tempting to take a nap, but she had learned a lesson about naps this very strange day, as well. She wasn’t about to miss the reactions of Quirk and Tick when they finished, especially Quirk’s. His in particular would reveal much about the real significance of Tick’s misadventures. The diamond key of light in the wall faded, vanished, and reappeared as a silver beam over the course of many long instants; the room darkened, blackened, and resolidified in shades of alabaster, silver, and black in accord with the light. The interactions of Tick and Quirk seemed not to emanate light, but reflect it between themselves, like two mirrors placed opposite each other. Her attention drifting away momentarily, she wondered how anypony could tolerate solitary confinement. It must take incredible fortitude to last in such an environment. She turned back to them just as the embrace of minds ceased. Tick looked worried—but in comparison Quirk was absolutely pale, as if the shadow of death had swept through his complexion. Quirk glanced, his expression dread, at Ditzy, and then back at Tick. For a while he sat, staring at the floor in meditation: he shuddered at one point, his eyes blinking; he gave his attention once more to Tick. Well that can’t be good. “I will prepare, as we discussed. Good luck,” Quirk said, “especially with dealing with Luna.” He turned to leave, and Ditzy angrily exclaimed, “Wait! Aren’t you going to tell me anything?” Glancing back, Quirk said, “If Tick wants you to know, then he’ll tell you.” But he didn’t have any chance to leave; hoofsteps echoed down the hall. “Quirk, are you allowed to be here?” Ditzy whispered. “Well, not technically—” “Then hide!” They looked up, down, sideways; their frantic glances ricocheted around the room in desperate search. At last, Quirk flew straight up, the top of the bars and the lower ceiling of the cell blocking Ditzy and Tick’s views of him as Luna herself entered, all dark blue and black and regal. Straight forward she walked, her gaze on Tick from the moment she turned, she halted not—ceased not—right up to the bars she went, as Ditzy’s heart hammered in her chest. She went as with one singular purpose. Driven was she; her magic enveloped her as she walked through the bars as she shimmered with spell and moonlight. Into the cell to stand tall and mighty before Tick she strode, seemingly unperturbed by the racing of his eyes. Her eyes were as intense as the storms a red moon brought: unassailable, full of might, wrath promised—and yet something else, the leanest hint of shame and sorrow. Nor was glory in her eyes; although surely she was magnificent and beautiful. Something in her refused magnanimous trappings; her own accords with harmony she had wrought. Tick stared back into her eyes, presumably unafraid, but Ditzy could see a rivulet of sweat run down the back of his head. Luna commanded his gaze: he could not break it if he had the audacity and foolhardiness to try. The silent depths of her brooding observance consumed Tick; he seemed as if his body would explode into motion with all of his tension or freeze to black ice in all of his well-disguised fear. “Tick,” Luna said, and it was so soft compared to the screamed silence that it seemed almost ethereal. “Why have you disobeyed us?” A silvery glow extended from Tick’s mouth down over his throat, and the same glow enshrouded her horn. “You are able to talk now.” It was a simple statement, yet her voice was still different than what Ditzy had observed in Tick’s memory. It was missing the gravity needed to corral a room of listeners, but it still had the draw, the gentleness and dignity, the same strength but through quietude instead of implied authoritas. She had certainly lost the royal Canterlot inflection since she had visited Ponyville, but none of the mannerisms. “You know full well I refuse to perpetuate ignorance.” Tick spoke—Tick spoke!—His voice sounded, clearly stressed by the issues at hoof, yet constrained by temperance. So you do talk. It was the first time Ditzy had heard it with her own ears. He sounded determined, certain, with a tinge of anger, but his anger was the cold and sharp kind; the focused and silent kind, so unlike hers, and not nearly as intense. Yet it could be just as destructive. Luna was not amused by his response. “There are things far beyond what you have comprehended that influence your actions. That knowledge is best left untouched, and your refusal to believe so endangers everything you come into contact with. We cannot tolerate this, no matter how distasteful the task may be.” “Would either one of you be kind enough to tell me what’s going on?” Ditzy almost cringed interrupting, although tempted to lose her patience. Nonetheless, she could not stand being left in the dark any longer. Both Tick and Luna appeared surprised by the interruption, but Luna was the quicker to respond, cutting in smoothly. “It would not be wise or prudent in regards to your safety or state of mind for you to know what we are talking about. We regret to keep you uninformed, but it is necessary.” Luna's attention swung back to Tick. Ditzy was irritated, ignored, and left in the dark, and after so many long hours of suppression, her composure finally cracked. “Forget my safety, and to hell with my peace of mind! Do you know what I’ve been through in the past year? Discord, Changelings, depressions and then Tick’s half-explained mind-vision-thing that showed me you, Luna, having some sort of weird flashback and then almost killing Tick, not to mention the incredibly unsettling familiarity of whatever Tick found in that book and what’s in your, and apparently our, minds to top it all off! I think I ought to deserve an explanation, whether it hurts me or not.” She ended on all fours, wings flared out and a look threatening that she might charge them recklessly should she be offered any provocation to. Tick appeared as if he would fall over at the tip of a feather, even Luna had lost some of her serene grace by her widened eyes and so-well-disguised disapproval. “We are of the opinion that this would be better explained on a fresh day, when tempers have settled. Our night is yet late, and we have many duties to attend to that are necessary.” I had better get to know what this all is and why I’m in here! Resisting the strong urge to again demand concessions, Ditzy turned away, eyes shut yet furious emotion still apparent. Without waiting for a reply, Luna’s body phased again with her magic and she turned and passed through the bars. Ditzy turned her burning gaze to Tick, who said nothing and wisely stepped back. Not only was this the first time he had seen Ditzy outraged; she had not so long ago nearly attacked him directly through his mind. He would take no chances. “It is shameful that you have involved others in such a destructive work,” Luna commented from across the bars. “It may soon pay dividends.” “It wasn’t his fault; I involved myself,” Ditzy objected, all respect forgotten in the built-up heat of the long moments. “I made my choice,” she said, defiantly and decisively, with a certainty that caused Tick to give her a curious, silent glance. “Then I pity you,” Luna whispered, sorrow in her eyes and voice, enough of an unexpected emotion to cause Ditzy to falter in her tirade. Had her eyes blinked, hid something? Luna turned, faced the exit, and said without looking back: “Oh, and you may inform your friend that he may dislodge himself from the ceiling. He will be joining you in your cell shortly.” One magical bang and a yelp later, Quirk fell from out of sight, only to be grabbed whilst he grumbled by Luna, enveloped by her magic, and passed through the bars into the cell. Twenty seconds later, Luna was gone, Tick was sitting in a corner, Ditzy was still angry, although her intensity was fading as worries overtook her, and Quirk was leaning against the bars with his head in his hooves, muttering something about a jailbird. The moonlight was still shining, the night on in full. The diamond on the wall had shortened from the long length into a something respecting a more normal polygon. It reflected now onto only the few feet around it, all else had faded to black. Ditzy’s temper was fading, but none of her thirst for explanation had been quenched. By unsaid accord, they gathered around the diamond of moonlight, each half concealed in darkness, looking at each other for some hint of guidance. “I’d still like an explanation, and now neither of you has an excuse,” Ditzy said with impatience rapidly draining into simple exhaustion. “I’m going to withhold the explanation of the past few days’ events for the sake of clarity when Luna explains the rest of this,” Tick announced, looking to Quirk for support. He did not appear particularly enthused about being included in the matter. “But I already know what you found, and I understand it more thoroughly than you! It’s in your best interests to explain the rest of what happened to me.” Tick looked no happier that she made such claims, but said nothing. Ditzy, too, turned to Quirk. He wasn’t her first choice, but he was her only one. Quirk looked thoroughly disheveled. He had just been unceremoniously dumped into jail for an indeterminate length of time, after all. Recognizing the role of peacemaker as being set squarely on his shoulders, he squirmed for a second and then suggested: “We need to find a good compromise. I understand both of you, but I think we should wait until morning to see if Luna has anything important to say. She might’ve let you out, Ditzy, if you hadn’t admitted to knowing about everything you do, and she might let me out anyways, provided I make a good enough case of ignorance about what was going on. But we do need to throw Ditzy here a bone, so I suggest we avoid the issue altogether, preferably while still providing the rest of us with some entertainment. Like old stories about Tick and I. Sound good?” Tick agreed; Ditzy begrudged him a nod after a short time of consideration. That was what she wanted originally, was it not? All those days and hours ago, underground in a tavern? Everything changes so quickly; it’s hard to say what I want anymore and I’m stuck in here with them now. I couldn’t have prepared for this, but what do I want, what do I do anymore? “Alright then, I might as well start off. I figure its best to start from near the beginning, anyways.” Quirk leaned back, the three circled around gemstone moonlight like a campfire. He stretched, yawned a little, made himself comfortable as the others declined to relax their levels of tension; Tick and Ditzy, unsettled, looked anywhere but at the other. “The day we were born—” “Wait,” Ditzy interrupted, “You said near the beginning. How can you go back further than that? And ‘we’? You’re twins?” “I could go back further, but I’d rather not imagine that,” Quirk replied dryly. “And yes, we are twins. Loosen up a little! Let the story unfold!” “Alright, sorry.” Ditzy said, settling in for the long haul and not wanting to give Quirk any more opportunities for crude humor. “Alright then, where was I? Tick, feel free to jump in at any time. Ah, yes—the day we were born. It was one of those peculiar days, as our parents would've put it…”