//------------------------------// // Catastrophe // Story: Acceptance // by Achaian //------------------------------// Catastrophe Passing by, she took no more notice of the vacant library as she had during the few short weeks that she had been in Ponyville. It was a nice enough day—blue skies, interchanging green rolling hills and cottage-houses, an atmosphere of quietude, a small and welcoming place in a world that so often forgot the wonder of warm places. She herself had come to Ponyville in search of a job and a place to raise her child, Dinky, and luckily enough she had found both of those things after wandering quite a long way from her original home. Being a mailmare was trying, at times; by no means was it easy work, but she enjoyed a challenge. Not to mention it was an excellent opportunity to meet her neighbors. Or at least, it would have been. When “Derpy” had arrived, she had been inundated in the usual Pinkie Pie-inspired deluge of a party and rapid introductions to everypony in town. Honestly, she would admit that she had been shocked into a motionless and emotionless state by the sheer weight of the welcome that had been so graciously put upon her. It had been a blur of names and faces and ponies she just had to get to know and talk to, and tell all about, and they had all been so nice and so many that she had not known what at all to do. In the second that the lights had been switched on in her house to reveal that torrent of new relations, she had no time to react except by instinct; and her instinct was to flee, but she could not move from the spot. Shortly after her shock faded, she had noticed something peculiar. They were all nice, and nearly all of them had come voluntarily, with the exception of a few who had been drug along by Pinkie. She had no idea how to respond to kindness on such a massive scale. It was utterly alien to her to face a community that cared; she responded by responding not at all. She couldn’t even gather the strength to tell them her name in the first chaotic instants. Not like I would, given how they treated me afterwards. In the wild socialization of the party that followed, they had all looked to her as the guest of honor: telling her how great it was that she could be here now, how adorable Dinky was, yet they thought it strange that she could hardly respond under the mountain of streamers, party favors, and gifts they pressed upon her. In their great rush to accept her, they had suppressed her. Somepony at the party came up with the nickname of “Derpy Hooves” after she had fumbled a present in nervous clumsiness, and from there on it was forever canon amongst them. After all, they thought, if she hadn’t bothered to tell them her name and if she didn’t respond to them calling her that then she must not mind, correct? It became her name to them, and soon nothing else sufficed for their initially harmless antics. The morning found the blaze gone, the guests absent, returned to their homes, and a newly-named and numbed Derpy befuddled but pleased by the unexpected magnitude of kindness. It took a few weeks for the glow to fade away; a few weeks for Ditzy to find that she was once again alone with Dinky. She hadn’t really made any friends at her welcoming party—nothing beyond acquaintances, a name and a face here or there scattershot among memory. After the initial burst of welcomes, cheers, and curious questions had been withdrawn by her shell-shocked silence, the thoughts of the guests turned to the quenching of their social thirst and they had left her alone. Their first impressions had been of a quiet, asocial and somewhat clumsy pony, and thereafter they had ceased to consider her except through that lens. To Ditzy’s dismay, she only realized this until weeks after her party, but it was too late: the doors of understanding had been shut and sealed against her. She would be accepted now, but only as a quiet klutz. Her first impression had been cemented by her solitary existence in the confusing weeks afterwards. How was I supposed to know anything about the social expectations of a normal community? I didn’t have a childhood! I didn’t have a normal life! How was I supposed to act, and then they started—but it’s too late now. There’s no chance for me anymore. I’m alone again. She fought that perception with all her heart and soul, only to be dismissed and left aside. Shortly after, her newness to her neighbors had vanished and the rumor mills began spinning their macabre webs. Where was she from? Why were her eyes “derped,” as it came to be called? Where was Dinky’s father? Could she even be a good mother considering the father was absent and she was apparently disabled, unsociable, and mean? She could hear them talking about her occasionally, always under the assumption that she could not hear them, or even more cruelly with the intent of her hearing them in the attempt of provoking a response. The last one struck her with the magnified pain, causing her bouts of distraught agony and negative introspection that helped not at all. She ignored them as best she could, with the unfortunate effect of reinforcing her asocial perception that only made the rumormongers declaim her louder. In vain, she searched for somepony who would give her a second chance—let her do the talking—and explain herself, let her define herself instead of constantly being harangued. It only took one mistake for them to start judging me. They’re no different from everything I left… they just look nicer. She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she approached the quiet tree-building. There was no use dwelling on problems she couldn’t solve. Considering her lonely state, it was of great interest to her to find that she had mail addressed to the library. Empty buildings did not get mail, and the library was supposedly vacant… She deposited the package in the library’s mailbox, and at last her overbearing curiosity drove her to in investigate. Attentive, she approached the tree—Golden Oaks, she had heard it called once. She thought it unusual that a tree should be converted into a dwelling, but she had seen many more unusual things in her days and was not about to question it. She wondered if the wooden door barring her way was made out of the same tree; she wondered if any of the books inside were composed of the hollowed-out wood. It would be fitting, she thought, but she had no way of knowing. Perhaps one day she would learn. It was a better subject for her to wonder about than the last one. Maybe somepony’s moved into it. No—it’s probably a coincidence; I can’t get my hopes up just to get crushed again. Nonetheless, an uncontrollable surge of curiosity and hints of a faint hope danced behind her eyes as she looked the opaque leaves and trunk over. The tree-house itself sprawled out in a way that would impress a willow, the oak’s girth and implied strength impressive—it would have to be strong to hold the balcony and who-knows whatever else was in the leafy boughs. She had never been inside the uninhabited building; the doors were locked; she even flew round carefully to spy into the windows, but the shutters were bound tightly and uninvitingly. She would divine no information from sneaking about; in any case it appeared whoever was receiving mail had not yet taken residence. With a great reluctance, she landed back in front of the wooden door, bowed her head, and sighed. She had placed so much hope in a moment’s coincidence, and the draining of that chance did no favors for her morale. It had been weeks—a month? —now, and Ditzy could find no inroads into the ponies that inhabited this place that she could only grudgingly call home. They had rushed to her, greeted her, and subsequently left her to suffocate on her own loneliness. It was bad enough having rumors float about as thick and malicious as smog, but she had reached her breaking point. Their actions could no longer be passed off as curiousness gone astray, or unintentional hurts portrayed. It would only be harder for Ditzy to change their perceptions now that they were fully woven into the daily fabric of their lives. Just another dead end… She leaned against the door that barred her from hope and life and sat for a while, staring against the skies. They no longer seemed natural to her; they were now a drab coat of paint splashed onto a moribund reality in the vague and indefinite hopes of one day achieving happiness. She could not bear to stand against her sorrowful maelstrom of emotion much longer; her life was drained, vanishing and seeping out of her into the earth, sky, anywhere but out of where it was needed most. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that she must remain strong. It was the only way, if not for her own hopeless sake, but for Dinky. Her own mother wouldn’t have let her down, and Ditzy would not dishonor her. She would deny the pain and apathy for Dinky, and that gave her the feeble strength to raise herself up from the shadowed threshold of the oak and take to the sky. She couldn’t fall down on her job, after all. I can’t let her down. I can’t let the same things happen to her as they did to me. This is a place she can grow in, and maybe it can be safe for her. My happiness, my anything, is worth nothing if she is not loved. I can’t give up. There is no one else for her. Unbeknownst to her as she flew away, a few letters had slipped out of her mail-bag to lie on the path leading to the door. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Twilight Sparkle was not a happy pony. Her closest source of irritation was the incessantly talking yellow pegasus behind her, engaged in a conversation with Spike about everything he had ever done and every other event of importance in his life. That alone would cause enough problems. Her assistant had been annoying enough with his queries about why he couldn’t make any friends and not just her, to which she had replied that they would only be a cause of distraction to him, and any distraction to him would cause delays in her work, and her work was infinitely more important than any social life he could have. She didn’t think of it quite as arrogance; she considered it justified by her station and quality of work. After all, she was THE faithful student, Celestia’s personal protégé, the head of her class in intelligence, studiousness, et cetera. And Celestia had sent her here in the middle of an unfolding crisis, and spited her concerns on top of that. Twilight resisted the urge to growl in frustration at both her farthest-away source of frustration, the chatterbox on her back, and the one just behind. She desperately wanted them to hush, give her a moment to think, but she knew that any time she was not researching she would spend in fuming disbelief of what Celestia had done. How was it even possible that I could have been ignored about this? I am, by her own words, one of the most intelligent students she’s ever had. It shouldn’t even be possible, let alone reasonable, for Celestia to— Twilight let out a slight yelp as she slipped on something, inadvertently dumping Spike off her back and triggering a squeak and protective leap backwards from Fluttershy. She stood and gazed for an instant at the source of her frustration. Several unopened letters lay scattered across the ground, tiny little obstacles between Twilight and her goal of solitude and work. Great. This place is a mess already and I’m in charge of making sure it’s perfect. I’m sure I can fix everything, but they’re going to have to cooperate. “Spike, grab those letters. We can’t have ponies slipping on them or look trashy for the Summer Sun celebration.” “It’s just a couple of letters, maybe somepony left them here—” Twilight’s glare left no room for maneuvering; Spike realized the foolishness of contesting her in her sour mood and complied before scrambling back atop her, letters in claw. “As I was saying, dragons don’t age as fast as ponies…” Twilight shut out Spike’s talking, the excited yellow pegasus attentively absorbing every animated word Spike had to say. She noticed neither their excited faces, nor the wonder in their conversation, nor the joy in Fluttershy’s face and tone as she let out a reverent “Ooh” whenever Spike told her something she found particularly interesting. Twilight simply could not let go of her indignation, and she would not cease thinking of her work. Unfortunately for her, she did not notice the steely-blue-grey mailmare hurriedly searching through the skies above her, nor her gaze—directed at the path Twilight was taking, frantically in search of a few lost letters. Not, at least, until Twilight nearly ran into her. Ditzy had landed directly in her way, a harried look at the letters she had lost in Spike’s claw she granted, a tiredness in her eyes disguised by a nervous energy in her frame and desperation. Twilight looked up at her, a preemptive loathing forming in her mind for the inevitable overly-friendly introduction and offers and invitations that she would then deny. “I’m sorry; I dropped those letters—” she gestured at Spike’s claw, “—and I really need to deliver them.” Twilight momentarily failed to resist the urge to stare at Ditzy’s eyes, which had been misaligned for several moments, and blurted out the question before she could consider it— “What’s wrong with your eyes?” ~~~~~~~~~~ When Ditzy realized she had lost the letters, she had lost control of over her destructively negative emotions and had taken the cold plunge into the river of despair that had threatened to swallow her up. Panicking, she had retraced her route with a precision driven by bleak terror. The agony of possibility tortured her: if she had lost the letters, she might lose her job, lose her house and fail Dinky as a mother. It was an assumption made only easier by the pain inflicted on her and the desperation tearing through her mind. I can’t fail her and I can’t lose these letters now— A jolting spark of recognition hit her as she spotted the letters in Spike’s claw. She flew down, apologized with the end in mind, and then the abrupt question came. It took Ditzy a second to process the question, and then hatred consumed her mind again. It did not come to light that she had never seen Twilight before. Ditzy had been filled to the brink by the ignorance of others; now it poured over and she was blinded by it, rendered hopeless. She did not see Fluttershy scared. She did not see Spike silent. She did not see Twilight, looking with regret at her, sole desire to apologize for the impolite question. All she saw were taunting faces. It all started as a pain in her chest, a bile that rose in her stomach. She was shaking in her mind, a tremor ran throughout her body, and it was all she could do to not give in to the desire to break. They who had perpetrated rumors had played their perfect game, and Ditzy had lost. They had harried her and cornered her and she would take no more, could take no more, and she didn’t know whether she was going to strike Twilight or collapse into a shaken sobbing mess as an admittance of their horrid victory. In the end of the instant, she quickly seized the letters out of Spike’s claw and rocketed into the sky, through a cloud, without a coherent thought, her anger and pain cascading over into miserable waterfalls of tears flowing freely into the colorless sky. ~~~~~~~ It was not long before Twilight’s shame corrupted into self-rebuke. I can’t believe I would ask something so stupid! I have so many other things to be worried about without making ponies upset! “Twilight, do you have any idea why she acted like that?” Spike asked, looking at Twilight in the few quiet, awkward moments after the encounter. “No, Spike. But we still have a lot to do, so we can’t stop.” And we would probably be going faster if you weren’t taking so much time to talk. After she had reflexively denied Spike’s inquiries about why she thought that unusual-eyed pegasus had flown off in a fit of tears, she turned to her own guilt in the matter. She had more than enough things to worry about without dealing with others. If I’m so smart, then how is it possible that something so insensitive and stupid could slip out? If I’ve learned so many great things, what is it worth if I can’t control myself? Her head bowed in concentration along the path, she edged ever closer to her temporary (or so she thought) residence, the now-unreserved pegasus and oratorical dragon busy in their talk, clueless to the contemplation in Twilight’s head and her slight annoyance at their conversation. ~~~~~~~~~~ It took far too short a time for Ditzy to break into pieces, she felt, as she wrapped herself in a stained old blanket in her sparsely furnished room. Her house—she could not bring herself to call it her home—was a nice one, but she had had precious little time or money to furnish it. Her own room she had left for last, preferring instead to first provide for Dinky. She would refuse to consider anything less as acceptable. So Dinky’s room had been painted and furnished, and the kitchen stocked; the living room was lively and bright, even the guest room was impressive for one of her means, but Ditzy’s own room was bare. She would not, could not complain. It had been her choice and her affirmation of the truth that she would first of all be a good mother to her child. All else, even her own care, was a lesser desire. So Ditzy lay tangled in her blanket and in her own broken dreams and hopes that lay sadly shattered, softly sinking into the bare floor and blank walls, and her ill-gained thoughts painted them in depressed colors for her, saving her the trouble of doing so, but providing no happy ends otherwise. And she could not have told how long it was that she occupied her sickened position, only that the loneliness drew it out into cruel lengths, that the misery was like a parasite, that as she succumbed to it as it became greater and more horrible. But there was light in the glacial shadows, and not inside the house it was, but in the home. And it would find its way to her… Ditzy felt it initially, a warm spot on her chest. For a minute, she was unable to even register the presence of heat in her cold-shocked torment. The heat built, the presence grew, until she felt the warmth spread out around her neck and she gathered the presence of mind to look down and notice the soft pressure. Dinky had crawled into her bed and had nearly fallen asleep hugging her mother. In the moment of understanding, the warmth shot through Ditzy’s body and mind with thunderous emotional recoil. How could I forget… I have everything I need here to be happy. She ran a hoof through Dinky’s mane, her now closing eyes giving a last glimmer at the mother who hung on to the moment. “I have you, and you are my love…” Dinky’s eyes promised to open, but Ditzy set her back to rest with a gentle shh and soft strokes of her hoof through her child's mane; both kept warm in the embrace. It was a ridiculous matter, her misery. It had fallen from her, swept away in the purpose of her life. Outside, the sun was falling below the horizon, the temperature was dropping, and the cold visages of her tormentors were wandering about, but none of that mattered now. Ditzy had her love; Ditzy had her peace. It was all by her side, and it was more than she could want. Dinky was now fast asleep, the last rays of the sun surrendering gracefully to the starry night. Ditzy laid a soft kiss on Dinky’s forehead. It’s alright; we’ll be fine. She laid there for a few more moments that would never be long enough, hearing the soft sounds of their breathing and the glow of warmth between them. It took a will that had traveled more than half the breadth of Equestria to move the few short feet out of Dinky’s embrace and then into the next room. While Ditzy would sorely like to rejoin Dinky, her work was not done yet. She hadn’t even checked her own mail. Ditzy sat down at her dining table, debating amongst herself what to eat while absentmindedly flipping through her personal mail. Most of it was junk, but there was one particular envelope that caught her attention: a pink one, fittingly from Pinkie Pie. It was a party invitation, one of several she had received over the past few weeks. She waffled over whether to actually open it for a minute. Ditzy had had no more desire to “socialize” with most of her neighbors after the unfortunate first party, even though she had tried to change first impressions. She had a suspicion, though—perhaps it was the mail addressed to the empty library, or merely the tumultuous events of the day, but it was a hunch nevertheless. She tore open the envelope and shallowly scanned the words on the letter within, brushing aside some confetti that had been tucked inside—and then a few words branded themselves on Ditzy’s mind. “This is an official invitation for the surprise welcome party of the newest pony in town, Twilight Sparkle…” Attention rapt, Ditzy hurriedly read the rest. If there was a new pony in town, then they probably hadn’t met Ditzy: a pony completely free of the grime that the rumors had smeared on her, a mind unblemished by the unfortunately unfriendly first impression that Ditzy had so mishandled and the others had so abused. A fresh hope, a blank slate, a beckoning candle in the darkness. This is my chance! “… To be held at the Golden Oaks library…” Much-appreciated satisfaction was the reward for Ditzy’s earlier investigations; a victorious flourish graced her face as a smile. “… Commencing at exactly six p.m.” Ditzy turned to face the clock hanging on the north wall before her mind could convince her body to lock up. It was nearly six thirty post meridium, the time zone was correctly set for the clock, it was not placed upside-down, and she quickly ran out of reasons as to why the time displayed on it should be incorrect. Don’t panic, there’s still time… Her body belayed the order to refrain from panic and threatened to sweat and hyperventilate. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass from her without a fight. She would let go of her home, only for a moment, in the hopes of finding a foothold out of the pain. I have to go, I have to go, there’s no time to prepare for anything— She rushed out the door into the cooling night, the last hope shining far away in the distance. ~~~~~~~~ There might have been a time when Twilight would have been amenable to speaking for the sake of speaking, but the thumping of the bass rattling about the house put a damper on any such tentative ideas. She couldn’t even concentrate, let alone seek a solution to the vexation that was the problem of Celestia’s ignorance. Had she not noted the signs? Surely, she had at least read the prediction at Twilight’s insistence. Had Twilight not been wallowing in her self-sustained mental grumblings, she might have heard her door being knocked on. She did not hear the knocking, nor did her retinas absorb the light radiated by the open doorway, and her sensitive nervous endings could not differentiate between the thumping of the bass and the thumping of scaled steps up to her loft. She could smell the myriad evoking scents of the party downstairs by the rush of air, though, and that tipped off her busily analytical brain that something had changed in her blissfully dark and quiet place. A tap, two taps, an uncertain drumbeat played on her by a poking claw. At last, she relented. “Spike, I’m sure that I don’t want to play any party games,” Twilight answered from under her pillow. “But there’s somepony here that wants to talk to you!” “Yeah, a whole party of them.” “Twilight, I think you need to talk to her…” He sounded nervous, or insistent. It was hard to tell for her with his voice muffled. The obstructing pillow shifted an inch, and the party lights blurred through the grooved tunnel into Twilight’s eyes, the sensation creating a phantasmagoric disillusionment, her sight stained by the burst of radiant color, dots flying about as she shifted about to face Spike. “It’s the pegasus with the messed-up eyes. You didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier.” Twilight was fully upright now, the lucid colors from downstairs playing games with her eyes. She couldn’t concentrate now, not with her eyes confused hopelessly. “Alright, give me a minute.” She wouldn’t get a minute. Spike ran back down the stairs from her loft, mercifully closing the door and the playful shadows that had been cast by the uninvited (in Twilight’s mind) houseguests faded to be once more a part of the welcome solidity of darkness. Twilight sighed and resisted the urge to put the pillow back over her head. I can’t believe I did this in the first place. I’m sorry that she got distressed, but it was just one question, and probably one that she gets asked a lot. How was I supposed to know that she was sensitive about it? I haven’t even been here a full day yet and I already made somepony freak out. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face as regret tinged her consciousness. I don’t know her at all… hopefully she’ll be reasonable. It would be strange for her not to forgive one mistake. Distressed, Twilight’s tumultuously tired and tentatively contrite mind wrestled with the idea of apologizing. Could she really find the courage to give a sincere apology? She would have to find her answer quickly as the door moved out of place once more. ~~~~~~~~ It was beyond the sunset now, the sky orange, burning, burning, burnt to grey, with black leaf-ridden trees all around in it. The signs of the seasons echoed her, fading away into the night. Ditzy was rocketing, chasing, whipped to frenzy along the trees in the vain hope of turning back time; from gold to orange to grey it had gone and to violet she and it would go, but who could tell what awaited her there. She whistled through the air, thundered to the door of the lit tree-house, swung open the door and dove inside the maelstrom of voices, bodies; she knew only what she was not looking for, and when she saw what she knew not she had found her destination; around and over, under, she went, a blur, a flash, a miss, a quick apology, she swerved, dove; she would find her hidden hope even if she had to go through the very last door—and soon she did very nearly fly through it, only to be walled in by dismay. The coldest drenching wave could not have struck her harder than to see Twilight looking down from the ledge upon her. ~~~~~~~~ “Hello. I, um…” Twilight would have continued, but the rapidly darkening tone of Ditzy’s face gave her pause. Her face turned down, eyes glaring up as if to charge; her face was frighteningly unreadable in the low light of Twilight’s room. It was a grim statement. Twilight could observe only her eyes, and they promised no immediate nor easy forgiveness. In the waiting silence, they thinned to sinister slits, slices of white and gold and black in comparison to the unnerved cautiously widening violet orbs above. Those narrowed eyes seemed to comprise Ditzy’s whole being in that moment, a solemn mortal promise shining up from the shadowed, dank bottom of the room. It was cold now, a chill that drove a jarring rhythm into Twilight’s spine; the shiver that ran through her body suddenly refused to desist. It was too far gone for Twilight to turn her back. The only possibilities were reconciliation or failure in the freezing room. “I just...” Her words were silenced in her mouth, the frigid air devouring the moisture and the words. It was cold in the air, and it was cold outside, and it was cold in Ditzy’s unrelenting eyes. Merciless, ice-burning entropy crystallized her vocal chords; the bitter cruelty promised in the ice-shattering eyes faded away the precious little energy Twilight could rally. It was overtaking her swiftly, deliberately planting seed-like bursts of dread now. It sapped Twilight like the waters of the northern seas, the apathetic urge to sink below the waves and be consumed; so terrible was it that her hope threatened to slip away from her like heat from metal into coldest air. She worked her mouth, but no words issued forth—it was all she could do to keep from being eaten alive by entropic black ice, the bitterness of the gold, the blankness of the white. Fear of failure gave Twilight enough desperate energy to make a last statement. “I just wanted to ask if—” But Twilight had hesitated for too long. Ditzy leaped furiously, suddenly up, a tiger freezing black, and Twilight buried herself as best she could in the moment before the shadow pulsed over her. Terrible anticipation drove her to hide from winter’s wrath, but nothing more passed over her than moonlight and the ten-fold refracted lights from the unheard downstairs. After an indefinable length of trembling time, Twilight snapped her head up to look about, but neither hide nor hair of Ditzy was left in the room. Behind Twilight, the window was wide open, curtains rippling silently. “…If you were alright.” Twilight covered herself and shivered mightily in the warm summer’s night. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you. ~~~~~~~~~~ Fits of angered syllables pillaged Ditzy’s mind. It would be her, it had to be her. I should have known that something like this would happen. Twilight was no different, despite her newness, from her insistent neighbors. No doubt her question would have ended with the inevitable query about her eyes, or her past, or some other unusual aspect about her without any concern about her herself. Forget all of them. None of them cared about me to give me a second chance. I’ve been the one trying. In the strange sensibility of modern irony, it was fitting that the tones of each mind had swapped between the two misguided souls. Twilight was now fearfully in the sad regret that Ditzy had once been controlled by, her perception of herself hopeless and twisted, while Ditzy had ridden herself of the same only to find herself burnt by the iciness of anger and disappointment, smoldering with the suspicion that she had been set up. Ditzy returned to her house to tussle in an unsatisfying bed as Twilight struggled to put aside her renewed shame in preparation for the dawn and the trials ahead. It would be an unusually long night.