//------------------------------// // Chapter Seven, Part Two: Forward and Back // Story: Equestrian Concepts // by Achaian //------------------------------// Chapter Seven, part two Forward and Back Back in the shared space between the living cabins, Quirk and Tick were buried in dual frustrations. “Are you sure it only took her two times? It took about two hundred attempts before I was able to do anything like that. Perhaps..?” Quirk motioned at Tick’s eyes. “No,” Tick said, ceaselessly moving, pacing around, clearly unsettled. “I don’t think I could communicate that kind of thing, and I’m not sure that I understand it either, so I am confident that I would not be able to sensualize it in a way we could study it. I’m not even sure it was the same thing.” He stopped, and looked at Quirk as if expecting an answer. When none came forth, Tick sighed, closed his eyes, and turned away. “Are you sure you aren’t just crushing on her?” Quirk jabbed, poking in a way with a curious crooked grin that left Tick unsure if he was serious or not. “No,” Tick replied, with the usual tiredness he assumed when Quirk prodded around that kind of thing. “Ah, but wouldn’t you argue that that is a syntactically ambiguous answer?” Quirk was grinning now, leaning back against the window with hooves crossed over his chest, and his semblance of seriousness vanished for a moment. “You could be saying you aren’t sure about crushing on her or you could be denying crushing on her, and either way you could be lying. Which is it?” Tick turned back to look at Quirk with an irritated expression, then ignored him as Quirk let out a quick, sharp laugh. We have more important things to worry about than mares, you perpetual... Quirk looked off to the side at the floor, his expression rapidly becoming dismal as he stared off into blank space, hinting at the inner mood that Tick knew lurked. I can’t believe you. I help get you through it every time and you keep going back. Now I need your help, and you’re too locked in your own problems… When they left, they told us we had to take care of each other, because we’re the only family we have anymore. We taught each other a lot of things… They would figure out it, as they tended to do, yet Tick doubted everything in his irritated state. “Begin again,” Quirk said, looking no happier, but clearly making an effort to dismiss his distractions. “At the chasm.” “It was only the second time…” Tick muttered again, shifting in his seat and in thought, whirling eyes closing, shutting his negativity away and delving into memory. “I had retreated, and I was going to shut her out, but I was exhausted...” Tick was silent for a long time as Quirk watched him with mild impatience. Eventually, Tick started again with visible agitation “It was the most alien welcome thing. Her empathic skills are very strong as I should have realized the first time around (alas, I was drunk) and after she had nearly struck me. It was not the attack; that was not spectacular, our fights have done much more damage… as you well know, I suppose. It was pity but it was not shame; it was empathy but not a descent; she pulled me up but did not fall to do so. I don’t even pretend to know how she was able to undertake such a thing when she had so many troubles in her mind at the time. It was plainly obvious to me that she has one worry that overrides all her other emotion. It shouldn't have been possible. I can’t comprehend it… It weighs on me. It seems strange that she was able to reach out like that when she was in no position to do so. It was like passion without suffering, without pity. Her emotions were strong, profound, deep. It was insane.” Tick stopped, sighed, rubbed his eyes. “I can’t figure anything out of this; I can feel the pressure of worlds on my shoulders to make sense; I am sick and tired of being forced around by Luna and these insane ideas.” “I’m sure that the rest of us have no problems making sense of this,” Quirk retorted dryly. “Your pity, in any case, still has the passionate half, or at least the mildly poetic half. And you are very right; this doesn’t make sense, so I wouldn’t bother beating your own brains. You don’t know enough to extrapolate consciously what might be going on in her head or even if she’s aware of how unusual and familiar she was. You must give yourself a break, and you can do that by either asking her or feeling her or doing your best to forget. You know what I would recommend. Besides, you’re getting morose. You should come and get a drink with me or find some other way of getting some fire in your belly. I, for one, wouldn’t mind at all getting lubricated in preparation for our arrival in a town notorious for its mare to stallion ratio.” Quirk’s last line passed Tick by completely, an ignorance of habit. “You do what you want to do, you know I don’t care as long as it doesn’t get in my way. And of course, the usual deal applies for new places.” “As always. Although I doubt either of us would find something here, given the location and the fact that you’ve already gone over the one place that could be considered noteworthy.” “I didn’t really go through her library, so there might still be something of note, just—” “‘Going through her library?’ Do I detect an innuendo? Not to mention some filly that lives in a library sounds like a good match for you.” Tick’s gaze narrowed; Quirk was rapidly pushing him to the point of intolerance. “The answers are no and not a snowball’s chance in Tartarus. You ought to know I haven’t ever cared about that. Although, you sound almost as starved for action as somepony who lives in a library presumably would be.” Quirk mimed being stabbed in the chest, grinning all the while. “Ah, but you wound me so.” His smile sank into nothingness and he turned to face the window, absorbing the last of the sunlight. The train would soon again dip into that mode of singularity, the tunnels, and inevitably conversation would slow in the darkness. Tick’s eyes and the panorama of the windows were the only movement for quite some time, until Tick slammed his hoof on small table, not an overly loud motion considering the hum and rumble of the train. He was frustrated, understandably, and not least because Quirk was holding the better set of cards in the conversation and playing them smartly. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I have to know; you must have some opinion.” “Alright, if you have to dwell on it I might have something to say.” Quirk then launched into something that sounded slightly more certain than his last statement. “The way I see it, it’s all a matter of perspective. There are innumerable things that you can see from your view, and she might not be able to see all of them. The opposite is also true, of course, and that can create a very strange vision on both sides…” ~~~~~~~~~ They snuck right up to the windowed door, Ditzy mercilessly teasing and hinting to Inkie’s constant hushed refrain of “Come on, just tell me!” and the occasional guess as to the seeming varied nature of Ditzy’s own surprise. They were huddled just below the window, Inkie quietly (at Ditzy’s insistence) demanding to know what she had to show her. For an instant, Ditzy was tempted to giggle out loud, tempted to claim a piece of a memory that would have fit well in a childhood that she had never had. It would have been like this, sneaking around with a friend and doing silly things, but unhappiness passed her by; she preferred the present over a morose past. Again resisting the urge to lapse into a giggled laugh at the impatience of Inkie who was looking everywhere but up through the door’s window, Ditzy put a hoof to her mouth and shushed, then motioned to the door’s window. Ditzy and Inkie peeked through into the room. Inkie could see the table and cart that Ditzy had eaten at, and she could see the edges of the partitions that comprised their separate rooms, but most significantly she saw Tick and Quirk, engaged in fierce discussion. Both did not appear happy, but the silent intensity of their discussion caught her attention fully. Tick was gesturing with furor at Quirk, who looked increasingly ill at the direction the conversation had gone. Neither of them were close to hasty and dramatic action, but Ditzy was rapidly gaining curiosity about what they discussed. “It’s them!” Inkie said hushed, eyes wide. Ditzy heard nothing, and she wouldn’t have heard from Inkie at all as she tried to listen in, but Inkie looked like she was about to veritably jump through the door and interrupt, shaking Ditzy out of her petrification. “Wait,” Ditzy insisted. “Do you remember anything about them?” She was intent on getting a wider perspective on the brothers, given her unusual interactions with them anything would be of use. “I remember them! I remember talking to them now. He was nice—” Inkie pointed at Tick “—but he was smooth.” Her eyes half-lidded for a moment, looking not quite at Quirk but through him, and she let out a quick little giggle that betrayed her memory to Ditzy. That’s not the word I would be using… “I can’t wait to talk to them again!” Inkie announced, moving to open the door. Ditzy grabbed Inkie by a shoulder as she spoke and turned Inkie to face her. “Wait! Again, sorry.” Ditzy was getting repetitive, even to herself. “Do you remember anything else about them?” “Not really,” Inkie admitted. As one, they turned back to the window to see Tick and Quirk giving them the exact same befuddled expression. It was unnerving enough given Tick and Quirk’s recent clamor to render Ditzy temporarily catatonic and for Inkie to let out a little squeak as they both fell back from the door, landing in a small heap. Tick and Quirk opened said door, both sparing a moment’s attention to the two mares lying on the floor before exchanging glances amongst themselves. “I don’t know either,” Quirk said to Tick. He looked back to Inkie for a moment and blinked, and then frowned slightly. “What were you two doing?” Tick asked, next looking to Inkie. “And have we met?” “You all have. And we were just about to come in,” Ditzy claimed—but it was no use, Quirk raised an eyebrow in apparent doubt and Tick looked reasonably amicable, but had interest shaded behind that expression. “Don’t you remember me?” Inkie said excitedly, and much to Ditzy’s relief. Anything to keep them from thinking I was, well… Tick’s expression gained a vagueness suggesting a lack of remembrance, but Quirk nudged Tick and quietly mentioned something, provoking an intake of realization. It was a short blur, the next few moments, a general melee of commentary between Tick and Quirk and Inkie, with Ditzy absorbing all she could from their interactions. Soon enough, she was absolutely outside of the conversation. She gave no input, and no output they gave to her save for Quirk’s occasional searching-suspicious glance toward Ditzy. He had no shortage of questions as to how and why she had found Inkie, but he knew that his very suspicions were known by Ditzy, so he made no effort to air them. Likely, she would avoid them anyways. Inkie did not mention what had brought her and Ditzy together initially, but recalled without hesitation the tale that those selfsame brothers had participated in. Like shadows in a forest, words slipped through the train, and Ditzy found it hard to grasp them. She could not discern anything important from the conversation; her thoughts wandered to other things as they delved further and further into meaningless talk. After some time, Inkie left (Ditzy did not notice why) and Tick retreated to his partition as Quirk sat down. It was strange, the silence, confronting it again after such a blurred conversion of thought and feeling. Ditzy was left not far from the door, and neither had she moved far after the other three had begun several minutes ago. Quirk was again at the table, looking expectantly, looking at Ditzy… It took her a moment to snap out of her absorbing state, and just as Quirk began the motion of asking a question, she hastened her own breach of silence. “Why wouldn’t you let Pinkie tell anypony else you were there?” Quirk passed over his relative perturbation to Ditzy interrupting him quickly, and took care crafting his answer. It was a good deal of time before he actually answered. Silhouetting his head was the window, and the silhouetting the sun were the trees, and silhouetting Ditzy’s thoughts was the unknowability of Quirk's mind as the train prepared to enter the tunnel. It would only be moments now before they once again plunged into that untellable cavernous place, and only moments in their lives would they exist there, and before they knew it they would be somewhere they did not know, and the quietness and thoughtfulness of the tunnel would pass. Ditzy could not see his face or discern what he was thinking; Quirk had still not yet answered. The moments ticking by, the trees vanished outside the window; the sun cast blindingly on them, and he finally spoke. “We wanted to be left alone; we preferred it. But I do not think you want to talk to me.” He rose, and for an instant the sun was blackened by his head and the corona of the sun shone down, enveloping him, forcing Ditzy to wince. “I think you need to talk to Tick.” And before Ditzy could recover, the train plunged into the tunnel and the light vanished, and her sensations evaporated, and she could feel not the metallic floor underneath her, and she could see not Quirk nor the sun or trees outside, nor the very table that they had shared at. It was in a spare instant that she stumbled, tumbling through quick reactions of fear in her mind, so much that she nearly lost her footing in the shock-sudden dark. Her mind had so very little time to process through the shift of the paragons, the blinding of light and the blinding of dark; Ditzy would have made little progression into either given multitudes of time. The dim lights came on—the electric lights seemed to cast greyness over the room rather than the normal spectrums. It was light, yes, but it was also soft shadow, and not a pleasant kind. She could distinguish no color in it, nor black or white. They didn’t seem to exist here, and though the light might become close to white, it could not; though the darkness could be close to black, it was not. And there was Tick, poking his head out of his partitioned room and glancing around before settling his gaze on the recoiled Ditzy. Quirk was nowhere to be found. In his moving irises, she could see the unusual usual gray and white and black, curiously undiminished. Ditzy recovered from the swift change and found the strength of mind to ask a question. “Tick, where were your parents when you… encountered the rock farm?” The grey was stifling in rigidity. Neither Tick nor Ditzy moved to take a seat; neither was keen on closing the distance. Although she was hardly conscious of her actions, her focus stabilized on the only color she could see, the variance in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—I mean, if you—” “I don’t mind,” Tick cut in, but he made no immediate action. His mind was somewhere else than the question, somewhere closer to Ditzy than she realized. ~~~~~~~~~ Tick, of course, could not see his eyes. When the light of the sun had cut out as the train had plunged into the tunnel, he had been startled for an instant, but not near the momentary panic that Ditzy had achieved. The light had come on as swiftly as the sun had shielded itself with the mountain. He thought the greyness a trick of the light, or perhaps it had been tampered with. In any case he did not concern himself about it, so he had stuck his head out of his room and saw Ditzy, eyes wide and wild—and he was their nexus, their focus. Odd… I can see the gold in her eyes while the white and black of them looks grey. “My parents were rovers. We never stayed in one place for long, and we were nearly always traveling. They had a habit of telling us that one day we would have to take care of each other because they weren’t going to be around. That day came sooner than we expected…” Tick stopped, took notice of Ditzy’s changing expression. “We managed after that.” In those few short sentences a few small ideas that served for a many great things, and it brought up many strong memories. Yet he was not there, not in the past; he was attenuated to the present and the vitality in Ditzy’s face, how it changed from curiosity to a repressed disapproval to a fiery intention and malignant opinion of his parent’s care. In her eyes something intrigued Tick, some passion he was simultaneously scared of and tickled by… And he thought it strange that he could hardly hear her words when he looked at her, even as he gave half-hearted defenses to her unabashedly inflamed comments. “Your parents just left you? And Quirk? And they never gave any excuse for it, as if any excuse could work for that?” “Well, they were raised that way.” Tick felt neither one way nor the other on the issue, but took on caution as she phased through attitudes. “That is NOT an excuse!” Ditzy looked on with a furious darkening of her eyes, narrow beams not focusing on Tick, but it gave him pause regardless. He could clearly see the passion tempering her features, and it was not entirely unattractive to him, yet he still reconsidered his reasoning for letting Ditzy in on that particular piece of his family history. Ditzy was infuriated, hooves on the table as if she might leap up at any second and fly out of the train and search until she had found his parents and lectured them thoroughly about child care. She is full of depth, of anger and emotion, but it is care as well. Tick watched her closely, and found himself intrigued by the sweep of her feeling, the intensity. Somewhere along the way color had begun to creep again into the picture, but it remained dull and stained, oddly faded: it was not more light, but more color. He had bigger imperatives, though, such as steering Ditzy towards a less volatile topic of conversation, which was nearly anything at that point. The maligned mother had calmed her anger, if only slightly; she had closed her eyes and made visible efforts to breath easily. Mad as she might be, she would refrain from judging Tick’s parents any more than she had. “I was wondering about something else,” Ditzy began again. “What were you two talking about when we interrupted you?” “Nothing important, really. Just a trivial discussion.” Tick glanced down momentarily at the table, two emptied cups and some debris scattered upon it. “It didn’t look trivial to me, not the way I saw you talking. Actually, it looked important from what Inkie and I saw of it. What were you talking about?” She can’t know… “We were discussing what’s better to have with breakfast, milk or orange juice.” Tick replied evenly. He gestured at the table, and sure enough there were traces of white and orange in the two glasses. Ditzy was put off. There was no solution in her mind that involved movements of such angered discourse that she had seen involving breakfast articles, of all things. He had to be bluffing, disguising something, at the very least. “So what was Quirk arguing?” Ditzy asked, beginning her cross-examination. “He thought that orange juice was better,” Tick recalled, a hint of tired defensiveness in his voice. “I was arguing for milk.” “So neither of you drink coffee in the morning?” “Not really, no.” “And what did you conclude?” Tick leaned back in his chair and gave a look that clearly expressed his disapproval of being so crossed. “I am not a book that you can tear apart for answers,” Tick said, “but for the record, we agreed that it was dependent on what you were eating and what you were going to be doing that day.” His snarkyness having gotten his point across, Ditzy retreated to advance down a different scenario. No need to waste what gains she had gotten, anyways. “Sorry,” Ditzy apologized. “That reminds me of another thing I was wondering about. Why were you so insistent on arguing with Luna?” “What?” “Well, you seemed very set on arguing with her. You reached an agreement, but I guess what I was getting at was that I don’t really understand what this is all about. You got so deep into this discussion about knowledge and I tried to follow it, but you went on a lot of tangents and I’m not really sure why the discussion was so fervent, why you were so…” Ditzy stopped, having attempted to explain more than she could elaborate without reflection. Neither of them noticed that the color had trickled back into the room until it nearly had fulfilled the radiant spectrum that once was. They had each other’s attention. “I don’t know if I could explain it to you. It would take quite a while,” Tick admitted, his eyes slipping, blinking away from Ditzy’s from a moment; his mind was a shock of nervousness that he could not place. “I could, but…” “Then don’t tell me with words; show me.” Tick slipped, his mind racing about. Something fearful in him had come to the forefront; he wanted to say no but he knew not why he would say it. He couldn’t let her see him, but she was looking right at him, and the whirling winds of his eyes turned away from her. As he did, the color again fled from the room and he saw only the grey. Tick looked away from her and thought furiously, hurriedly. I can’t let her… “You aren’t going to show me.” Tick looked swiftly back at where Ditzy had been, but she was already up and pointed towards one of the exiting doors. His mind was divided between asking her to stay and letting her go, but the moments fell away from him and so the decision was made. Ditzy closed the door without looking back. ~~~~~~~~ She thought it was a bit mean of herself to exit so, with a bleak declaration of his unwilling indecision, but she knew she had to play a harsher game if she wanted to get information out of him now. She had wanted to look back at him, if only to make sure he wasn’t overly distressed, but their conversation had been unlike what had happened in the bar. He wasn’t just some mystery to unravel savoringly, a curious and innocent questioning, albeit against one who wished to reveal as little as possible. He was defensive now, and he had something to hide, and it irked Ditzy terribly to let it be. If she figured out what it was, she was convinced she could help him. I don’t know why he’s so stubborn. Ditzy sighed inwardly and continued on her journey to the front of the train. It isn’t like I’ve ever been annoyingly stubborn before or anything, she thought with self-remonstration. I probably shut him up just by asking him so many questions. I need to slow down and apologize. Anyways, there was no reason not to go exploring as she resolved things, and if she ran into Quirk (as much as she relished the possibility of that) she could question him about his recalcitrant brother. Anything for a clue. The journey to the head of the train was long enough to lose herself in thought, and she hardly noticed what she could see through the window into the engine room before she turned and trotted again away, but those in the engine room noticed. There were three there, quietly observing the lack of events around them. One muttered something, the only distinguishable word being ghosts, and he shifted where he sat, unsettled. The mutterer was an earth pony sitting against the grated gate of the furnace, his coat black as midnight from either natural coloring or the coal he shoveled, his mane only a shade lighter. “I’d bet you anything that she came from the room with the lights. They always seem to set them wanderin'. I still don’t get why you messed with the wiring, Tarnish.” “Just… observing natural reactions, my ever-inquisitive friend. They are peculiar, sometimes.” Tarnish was leaning against the wall as far away from the coal hopper as possible, a chromatically perfect silver coat that seemed unblemished by the coal dust, an oddly brimmed hat disguising his horn not at all as it poked out of a slit in the front. “Besides, I did not just adjust the wiring.” “Well, I can assure both of you gentlecolts that I know the mare, and if that room is the seventh one down then she indeed came from there,” Quirk injected, having sat with them, mostly in bored silence, for some minutes now. “And I can’t imagine any fine gentlecolts such as yourselves traveling without some means of entertainment—” “There’s booze is in a panel to the right and below the hopper, but you won’t want it.” The blackened colt turned to shovel more coal into the furnace. “I assure you, I am thirsty enough for the vilest of brews. I have known quite a few,” Quirk replied dryly. Tarnish intervened. “Unfortunately, that is not why you would not want to drink it. He brews it using the heat from the engine, and it is foul enough for my friend here (The coal-blackened shoveler seemed unperturbed by the insult to his brewery, but raised a questioning eye at the word friend), but it is not ready and would prove most disagreeable to your eyesight, sanity, and general health and welfare.” “Too good for your ‘phisticated tastes,” The dark shadow muttered. “Thank you, Tarnish,” Quirk said, a suspicious gleam in his eye now kept on he whose primary interest seemed to be shoveling coal. “And may you have many fine brands of less-poisonous poison in your future.” “You are quite welcome.” Tarnish tipped his hat, and mirrored Quirk’s disapproving glance at the shoveling colt for a moment. His lingered, however; at last he cleared his throat loud enough for the colt to turn his head for a moment. “Be mannered, and introduce yourself at least.” “My name‘s Blue.” Blue’s back was turned, completely careless for the conversation. “Blue?” Quirk asked. “Blue.” “You don’t look blue,” Quirk observed. He did observe in Blue’s glance that he did have shockingly light ice-blue eyes, however. “And yet he is,” Tarnish replied with a measure of curious satisfaction. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the wiring. As I was going to say, the lighting is one of the newer experiments that I have made time for in this travesty of an assignment…” ~~~~~~~~~ It did not cross her mind that Quirk must have been hiding someplace for her to have missed him on the way to the front, but he was on Ditzy’s mind as she wandered through mind and space towards the seventh car of the train. She must have been wandering slowly, or Quirk must have been moving with a precise lack of deliberation, because Quirk had passed her with a spying eye. “Quirk?” He turned about the rest of the way, giving her his attention and a small amount of well-hidden surprise. He hadn’t expected her to engage him in conversation ever since he had met her, given her reaction. “Did you and Tick have a conversation about milk and orange juice today?” “Yes, but it was a trivial thing before you got up.” Quirk leaned backwards slightly, alternatively suspicious and befuddled gleams in his eyes. “Why?” “It came up,” Ditzy replied simply, her thoughtful expression having melted away into a blank façade. His glance lingered at her blank look, but Ditzy’s only hidden motive was care, although her dislike of Quirk warped it somewhat. Quirk could only divine the deliberate cover of information, although that still was of great significance to him. He was no novice at hiding reactions or spying them out, and his skills had been in use lately more than they had been. Quirk turned without comment or hesitation and went back the way he came. Ditzy stopped, sighed, and thought. What changed to make them so suspicious and guarded towards me? Granted, she had known neither of them for longer than a week, but it was more than enough for them to set up expected behaviors. She had several nice conversations with Tick, learned a few interesting things, enjoyed herself—but he changed today, something had changed. Quirk, too, had ceased his normally suggestive behavior and had switched to suspicion. She could imagine a reason why. Tick always hid information from her, whenever and however she communicated with him, but it seemed more of his habit than prejudice. She thought at least that they enjoyed their conversation in that lonely tavern before the incident, and though what had transpired in the cell had been morbid at first, she enjoyed their story and the telling. Quirk had been strange, seemingly more relaxed, and while she guessed that his general set of reactions strayed more than Tick’s, he had never been suspect of her. She wasn’t about to complain about the recent lack of sexual advances, but he had been aside his unusual self for the entirety of the short day. And neither of them would give the barest hint to what caused it. Maybe it was me showing up with Inkie out of nowhere. She knew well that she had more than a few figures in her past that she would rather not run into again, but the already-met three had seemed to get along well enough for the time that they had talked. No, it had started before that… For Quirk, it had begun during Inkie’s unforeseen visit when he had shot her several suspicious looks, but for Tick it had come earlier. His reluctance had been there at the very dawn, when they had been at the table. He was telling her his story, right up until she had asked for a more ‘complete’ version of it, as she thought of it. Could it be that Tick was hiding something with his words that he could not while using that most unusual talent of his eyes? She had no way of knowing what resided inside him. Ditzy could always rifle through the few who knew the brothers in vague attempts to learn more, but that list quickly narrowed to Inkie, who had only known them for a short time, Pinkie, to whom the same restrictions applied in addition to being Pinkie, and Twilight, who didn’t seem to have gotten involved with Tick. Her options led her into a dead end, and so she went with what seemed best, to bide her time and be more cautious, wait for an opportunity that would allow her to see through the haze and the strange greyness of the train-car she had occupied. She found herself back in that same seventh car now, the lights seeming to have switched back into their normal bands and lengths of color, even though that color was still a dull yellow in the tunnel blacker than tar-covered coal. As she reentered, she noticed that Tick’s partition was closed, but Quirk’s was ajar just so… just enough for a curious mare to slip inside. ~~~~~~~~~ “Were you able to determine if the lights had any side effects?” Tarnish asked, having no more patience once Quirk had entered again into the room. “You’d be lucky if I could get any information at all out of that mare,” Quirk replied, dissatisfied. “She is very much unusual. However, she is more thoughtful than usual, and appears to be more on-guard emotionally and self-aware in general. Unfortunately for your research, not all of that is because of the lights, but because of… prior actions.” “A shame,” Tarnish said, staring off in thought. Time in the tunnel passed; Blue shoveled another mass of coal into the furnace and it quietly roared in appreciation. He slammed the grate shut on it; the dancing shadows cast flickered shapes on the various levers near it, and the walls surrounding it. Quirk and Blue seemed colored by it, but Tarnish’s visage could not be changed. He seemed immaculate against the coal-dust and shadows, as if he had some magic about him to never tarnish, quite contrary to his name. Perhaps he was already tarnished so heavily that he couldn’t be made dirtier or cleaner. Miscellaneous thoughts rolled through Quirk’s mind at an irregular pace, as he watched the shadows that were thrown about the room. It was weaving in and out of reality, it seemed, the light and the smoking fired shadows were much the same in this engine-housing room. He stirred himself to action as Blue stretched himself and lay against the grate, his nearly-black mane sending spiked absence-of-waves that would only be overtaken by more diffused ones that had already passed, or passed around. “So what’s the point of having lights that function as dissonance meters?” Quirk asked, a soft clinking sound echoing before fading into the general hum of wheel on track-rail. “A thousand reasons!” Tarnish replied, giving a wide gesture that encompassed the room in a grandiose wave. “But really only two or three, and none that I am quite willing to share at the moment.” “A shame you won’t. We could have something to talk about.” “Ah, but we could talk about anything.” “Then start talkin’ about somethin’ real and entertain the rest of us,” Blue cut in, eyes closed and forehooves behind his head as he sat back against the grate. “Fine, if all of you insist. One of the more demanded technological innovations that has yet to be invented is an accurate Changeling detector, one possible application of said lights. They pick up the miniscule electric waves that the brain uses as signals to communicate with the rest of the nervous system and interpret them by displaying varying spectra of light, from the full that would normally be seen to a grey that should not normally be possible considering the nature of light and the properties of all reflective surfaces. Unfortunately, neither the magic that reads and interprets the waves nor the ways the brain works and produces them are understood well,” he sighed. “It is a very unrefined field of study.” “What does that have to do with Changelings?” Quirk asked, and Blue grunted an affirmation. “Well, what little information we have on Changelings is that they are in constant search of emotional fulfillment by draining it from other intelligent beings. Therefore, an unfulfilled changeling will be a veritable black hole of all positive emotion. Whatever negative emotions are possessed will so overpower the lights that they shine until all that can be seen is a solid wall of grey: not an unusual amount of negative emotions, but the complete absence of positive ones lets those negative ones have power,” he clarified. “At least in theory.” “So why are you testing this on a train, of all places?” “That, my inquisitive acquaintance, is a story for other times.” Blue opened the gate to the fire again, and it roared with anger and a vengeance as he shoveled another heap of coal into the blazing engine, cursing with vigor as he smacked out an ember that nearly caught fire on his coat. ~~~~~~~~ It had been long enough for Ditzy to have gone through every drawer and cubby of Quirk’s space, and she had found nothing—nothing of any value to her investigation, merely a few odds and ends that told her so very little about him. She would have preferred to rifle through Tick’s things; she would have preferred not to rifle through their things at all, but this was her only chance at the moment and Ditzy had no patience left. She had ripped through a notebook and several sheaves of papers, but they were all blank; they revealed nothing but the occasional odd scratch on them. Indeed, they seemed very thoroughly scratched as if somepony had run over them again and again with a blank quill. It confounded her; what was the use of having a blank notebook? There was one set of words inscribed on it: inside the cover it read ‘You have one chance.’ Minorly frustrated with her lack of success, Ditzy stopped and had to remind herself not to make any noise. She was trying to be sneaky, of course, and being caught would only add to their growing distrust of her. What would she make of it? It was back to the same question now, time and time again, limited information but never enough to reach a conclusion. She looked hopelessly around at the mess she had made of Quirk’s temporary residence, and began to close drawers and move the covers on his bed closer to the state of disarray that they had been when she had come in. She turned around to make sure Tick wasn’t watching her— A very displeased Quirk was watching her through the open door. Ditzy worked her jaw in anticipation, no adequate words coming to mind to explain what she was doing. Better to stay silent then say something stupid... She was caught with her hooves in the honey now, and she could not think of the words that would wash it away. Quirk closed his eyes for a minute, opened his eyes and said with deliberation and a hard, straight stare. “Explain yourself.” “I shouldn’t have been looking at your stuff, but… what’s in the notebook?” Ditzy asked, insatiably curious. I can’t get any deeper into this mess. I might as well go on what I have. Quirk grinned. He was happy... or perhaps not happy but relieved, and nevertheless he seemed to be laughing inside at Ditzy. She was more unnerved by that than if he had become furious, in honesty. She shifted in readiness, prepared to fight or fly at a moment’s threat. His erratic actions kept her guard toward him high; he was comfortable in the uncertainty of others. “What, can’t you read it?” He taunted lightly, a predator with all the cards. “No.” Ditzy answered honestly. No point in deceit now, but what does he have planned, what is he even doing... “What’s in it?” “Everything!” Quirk said, the wide grin on his face narrowing somewhat as his bizarre amusement passed. He walked towards Ditzy, and she very cautiously moved to stay out of his way as he grabbed his notebook up from off the drawer. “Everything I know, at least.” He moved and stopped in the doorway, and said without looking back. “You tried to read it; you’ve had your chance. There will be no second one if you do something this invasive against me or Tick again.” After delivering that rather opaque and ominous promise, he went over to Tick’s door, knocked, and entered. Ditzy was alone again, and she wisely and quickly moved out of Quirk’s space. She sighed silently, deciding it was time to retreat out of the grey-again communal area into her more generously lit quarter. There, at least, she could lie for a while in solitude and try to make sense of the always-maddening world she inhabited. All that risk, and I didn’t even learn anything about them. I shouldn’t even have done or even thought about it in the first place… the fact that I thought I had to do it was a bad enough sign. It was a tired and frustrated sentiment, and she did nothing for a time but lie on her bed and stare out the window onto the blank stone of the tunnel. After she had let the stress of the situation drain, she began to consider her recent days, and after consideration felt less morose, even amused. It was all absolutely ridiculous! It was truly and completely crazy. Here she was, on a train, with two colts she had known for, what, a couple of days, on a mission to venture into a ruined castle in the hopes of finding some books that might or might not have something to do with a smoky ominous threat of Nightmare. She had run into Discord, of all things, again and had pushed him aside like he was a falling leaf on an autumn afternoon. She had been painted inadvertently into and out of a storm and spoken to the princesses and had spent a night in jail. She had explored an underground city and hallucinated strange things after running into an invisible forcefield meant for Changelings. She had a home, she had a happy life now and she was headed back to it now that she had healed. No doubt, she would still seek understanding of the brothers, and especially Tick, as Ditzy had found him interesting, but she had placed so much emphasis on figuring them out quickly that she had quite overwhelmed him. I was in such a rush! As if they were going to disappear tomorrow. How could I forget that I’m stuck with them… at least until they figure out this mad thing that Luna has sent us on. I can’t lose myself among the craziness again. Ditzy would roll with the tides now, dodge the punches of life and let her enjoy herself. She would be home, at last. All the excess impetus had done was cause her to rush into rash and irrational actions. She would slow down and be alright. She would slow down and figure Tick out in time. ~~~~~~~~ Why didn’t I answer her question? Normally, I could have in a respectable amount of time… “Tick, guess what Ditzy was doing,” Quirk said, having barged in on Tick’s meditation to his complete expectation. He did not prefer subtle entrances around Tick. “What?” Tick said, one partitioned eye open. “She was trying to read this.” Quirk tossed over the unusual notebook, and Tick looked at it for a moment before raising a questioning glance and a questioning question. “Isn’t this what you used to construct your memory palace?” “The very same. She was going through my stuff, or rather my absence of stuff.” “Did you threaten her?” Tick asked, unhappily anticipating the answer. “Just a little bit; enough to make sure she doesn’t go looking down through either of our stuff again.” “Why did you have to threaten her? Couldn’t you have just asked her to stay out of your business?” Tick swung himself to sit upright on his bed, demanding a reasonable explanation. “I thought you didn’t care about her.” “This is an extenuating circumstance, as you well know…” Quirk shrugged; Tick seethed silently at his reaction. “It worked,” Quirk ventured, unashamed. “I don’t know why I ever gave you a copy of The Prince.” Tick muttered, as he dropped off his bed and exited his room. Quirk just laughed, and laughed, and was probably still grinning at Tick’s disgruntlement long after Tick swung the door on him, leaving Quirk back alone in Tick’s own room as Tick wandered the short distance to Ditzy’s door. He hesitated for a moment before he knocked, but when he did her voice called “Come in!” and he poked his head inside. Ditzy was sitting on her bed, looking expectant. Tick moved inside the room, fully conscious of everything his senses could feel, from the nearly rumbling of the train under his hooves to the way Ditzy was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. “I’m here to apologize for my brother,” Tick began. “You shouldn’t be, really,” Ditzy interrupted. “I was going through his stuff, after all. I would be pretty unhappy if I caught anypony going through my possessions.” Well, that was easy. “But I was wondering about a couple of other things about Quirk. Do you want to sit down and talk a little bit? I don’t mind if you don’t want to.” She motioned to a spot next to her on the bed. There was nowhere else to sit in the room. …This is not a good idea… Tick did his best to let his indecision stay in his mind and not be displayed throughout his body posture, but the ever-perceptive Ditzy caught wind of it rather quickly. “You shouldn’t feel obliged to talk to me because Quirk said something to me I found rude or offensive. If you were, you would be talking for a pretty long time.” She scooted over on the bed, still smiling and giving him plenty of room and doing her best to be amicable. Tick knew he shouldn’t be obliged, but reverse psychology had guilt-tripped him hook, line and sinker, up out of his pool of indecision and fully into her grasp. “Alright, then,” Tick said, as much as to convince himself as her. He sat on the end of the bed, very consciously putting as much distance between them as possible as she leaned against the wall at the other end. “I was just wondering about one or two things,” Ditzy began. “I’m sure you know by now that I ran into your brother once, or, well, technically two times before we talked. But does he always… hit on mares the first time he meets them?” “Mostly, yes,” Tick replied, doing his best to avoid looking at Ditzy. “He claims that he can get a good read of them based off of their reactions. I never really agreed with him, but he is as he does.” He shifted uncomfortably. “One other thing. I was at a concert when I was in Canterlot, and after it was done and everypony else had gone he got up on stage and sung half a song to an empty theater. Do you know what that might have been about?” Tick swung his head in surprise, gears whirling in his eyes and head, but he had looked at Ditzy in the eye. He felt trapped, he could not break her gaze, could not look away from her; her golden eyes bore into him with the calm intensity that she so casually possessed. “I don't know," Tick said, half-lying, distracted both by her and the information that he suspected revealed something else entirely. "I think it would be better if you asked him about that.” “Alright, thanks.” Ditzy hopped off her bed, and walked out her door as it closed behind her, and Tick inhaled, and that was that. She was gone! And so quickly, too: normally she would have dragged it on, but she had moved without hesitation now... What game is she playing… Tick breathed quicker now; unsure why, he moved off the bed and out the door and left the car. He was going, and he was going slowly, and his heart beat and his eyes clocked away the instants. He went faster; he headed towards the tail of the train—it was far away—he sped up, he ran now, almost flying. He wouldn’t make it in time, make it in time for what, he rushed down through the cars, passed a bemused Inkie, out—out—he went, to the very end as if only there he could breath, until finally he burst out the last door of the caboose and onto the rails and gasped air— And the train erupted out of the tunnel into burning daylight as he hit the railing, the radiance magnified to insane intensities by the darkness of the tunnel. Tick cried out, but he did not hear it in his temporary blindness as his eyes were utterly seared, but he could not be stricken by the sun as much as her eyes— What were the words to describe it? He could not imagine them in the radiance. ~~~~~~~~ Back in the car, Ditzy too was observing the daylight now streaming inside, harmoniously gracing the space with a fuller spectrum of light. She was nearly home now, nearly with Dinky again and a few days where she could hopefully relax. Ah, but she knew better than that. They would be full and busy and would pass quickly, but she would treasure them no less because of it; they would be full of no less beauty to her—she still had today, even. By Celestia’s sun, it was only just now past noon.