Chapter Eight
Where The Heart Is
It was a beautiful smell, the sweet life-smell of a branch of a sapling with a little bark carved away, revealing the exuberant young growth underneath. Somehow, it is never too late in the season for that sweet smell to punctuate the air… the life is always present, even in the deadest winter, if only you search for it, if only you can carve away the thickened shell of ice.
It was the fragrance of home, and it was blended on the air with the thousand myriad scents of her sweet town. She was nearly there now; she was already there in her mind, flying away to her house on the thermal drafts so familiar to her, drifting away to her happy little house…
It was all she could do to not stuff herself out the window she had opened and fly away now. Lost in bliss, she barely took notice of Tick stumbling in, wide-eyed and staggering, doing his best and succeeding not at all to look like he hadn’t been part of some dramatic series of events. He sat down at the table facing away from Ditzy, not noticing her in the least, and his starkly open eyes ticked away in time with the ever-so-slight swaying of Ditzy at the window, eyes closed, wings spread, breathing in deeply the rushing air as it flowed about her graceful form.
Time passed gently for both, but only one was enjoying the gentleness; the other was too frazzled and distraught in his apparent solitude to appreciate it. The tumultuous Tick was trapped in some perilous thought; his wits were at the end of their logic; he was unsure of everything in his after-panic. Ditzy was lost, too, but in a joyous way, and she did not think as much as feel Tick’s presence—he still being unaware of her—and the breeze and the warmth and the sweetened smells.
Eventually, the harmonic tranquility was swept away by a darker-colored, soot-tarnished, coughing, smoky Quirk who had stumbled into the room in a vain attempt to enter quietly. Coughing again at the haze that still lingered around him, he retreated to his partition while muttering something that sounded familiar to “Never again.”
Tick took attention of the interruption that time, as did Ditzy, but he did not notice her at the window, and he jumped slightly and swerved about in his seat when Ditzy queried “What do you think happened to him?”
“Knowing him…” Tick recovered from his surprise, alienated still, but working to hide his condition. “He was probably drug into a bet or a contest. And by drug I mean rushed headlong into without having the least idea of what he was getting into.”
Ditzy nodded. That sounded about right for Quirk.
It was strange how life had barreled on for her, just like how Quirk had gone headfirst into whatever shenanigans he was now no doubt contemplating remorsefully, but hopefully he was able to laugh at himself enough to shrug it off. Time would seal it.
Oddly enough, now that home was in sight, Ditzy thought that she would have been fine if the tunnel had been a bit longer, the journey a bit more wearying. For the first stage was nearly over now, and with it came the hints of the end that must eventually come. I’d like to go back to Canterlot sometime when things have calmed down.
The memories that had been made there reverberated throughout her now, and the wonder that had accompanied their passing had been nothing short of exhilarating. It seemed a shame that it should be close to the close, even in the smallest sense. Every time she looked back inside the train, those wistful thoughts were dispelled handily by the amusing thought-image of Quirk cleaning himself up after some unimaginable contest, or the contemplative way Tick was looking back at her, or the promised entertainment of introducing those two to her friends.
The way Tick was still looking at her…
She turned an inquisitive frown at him, curious of his stare. He blinked for a tick’s time after a moment, realizing his actions and the curiosity they had aroused. He turned around from his sideways position in his seat, muttering an apology.
“What were you thinking about?” Ditzy asked, honestly curious.
Tick hardened his mind, barred whirling speculation and emotion from his guise, and said flatly:
“Nothing.”
She let a little time pass, let him flow away into the river of his thoughts, and her own was pleasantly cool and comforting. She had no way of knowing that his was threatening to flow over his banks in a flood and drown him in knowledge that he did not comprehend. She had no way of feeling his confusion, his distress, his frustration, directed all around and at himself most of all.
The train wove the last bit of the way out of the foothills, curving and carving through, and not five minutes later the train would arrive at the station. Ditzy had gone back to her partition now, and as she swept her unusual findings into her mailmare’s bag she considered a few of them.
The first thing she noticed was the envelope containing the stubs of tickets to the trains she had taken and left behind, and the concert that had proven so pivotal. There was actually a time when I thought I was going to go to a beach… to think about that now! It feels so strange of an idea. It certainly couldn’t have been as exciting as her trip had been, but it might have been a shade more restful. Ah, but she wasn’t going to complain about restfulness now. Peace of mind was the best rest, and she had plenty to keep her occupied if she tired of the calmness now.
And then there were the rolls of parchment, scraps of paper really, that Tick had scratched out his thoughts on. How innocent her own thoughts had been during that initial confrontation! Although, perhaps innocent alone did not hold the correct connotations. It was more correct to say that she had been innocent of his thoughts and fears at first, but that was an innocence she had gladly traded away, or at least she would have traded it away if she had had a choice in the first matter.
She dug around in her bag to see if there was anything else, and to her displeasure she pulled out a bit of the stained bandage that had been wrapped around Tick when he had had a broken rib or two, courtesy of an enraged Luna. Why is that in there, anyways? In disgust, she tossed the hazardous scrap into the trash and did her best to stray her thoughts from returning to the subject of the ruinous and ominous destination that she would have to travel to on Luna’s reappearance. Fortunately for her, the train would soon grind to a halt in the station, a few wild sparks flying as the brakes engaged.
She made sure everything was in order, and then excited her room. Soon Ditzy disembarked with the brothers in tow and a tour in mind.
“Here we are!” She announced as she turned about, Tick and Quirk looking around with observant eyes, trying to familiarize themselves as quickly as possible with their surroundings.
I never thought I would get back. Has it been as long as I planned to be gone? I’ve lost track. It won’t matter; I can’t have been gone longer than I planned.
“Small town,” Quirk observed. Ditzy thought him to sound distinctly dissatisfied as he glanced about with a morose air.
“I can’t wait to show you the town, but first we have to pick up Dinky on the way.”
“Who is Dinky?” Tick queried.
“My daughter,” Ditzy replied, and she set off with the brothers in formation behind her. There was a bounce in her step; vibrant animation accompanied her every word as she pointed out places she knew well, houses of ponies she knew, interesting quirks and tidbits of information with the occasional anecdotes about the time the town had been invaded by parasprites, or the time that they thought they had caught a Changeling, and other fascinating but brief reminisces. It was apparent that while Ditzy appeared to be acquainted with most of the town’s inhabitants, she only made significant note of a few.
Ditzy continued on in her lead position, continuing her diatribes and only occasionally glancing back while not really seeing Tick and Quirk. Tick was respectfully absorbing her words, keeping his eyes on the locales as she mentioned them.
Quirk sank further into his quiet, seemingly unhappy contemplation.
Now she was mentioning that while Sugarcube corner had the monopoly on sweets, she made the best muffins and would absolutely not surrender the recipe, no matter how much Pinkie Pie or the Cakes begged.
Quirk looked ill at the world. Tick was paying attention; he was somewhat dazed by the long input of information.
“That’s Rarity’s shop up ahead,” Ditzy continued. “She keeps up with all of the trends in fashion, not that I care much for it, and she is very proper, so please keep yourselves composed.”
She turned about to face Quirk as she spoke her last line, and Quirk gave a half-considerate “Perhaps.”
Ditzy narrowed her eyes threateningly at Quirk. He let out a sick-sounding laugh; it unnerved Ditzy not at all, but Tick took more notice than he had of anything else of late.
She continued glaring for a moment. “If you do something untoward...” Ditzy let it hang; turning back around she doubted her words. What would I do, even? It’s just an empty threat.
Distracted for a few moments by her thoughts, she knocked on the door to the boutique and it swung open at the behest of magic. Rarity was just inside, dispensing some fabrics on a table before she turned to the now-open door.
And the fabrics on the tables, the fabrics in the bins, the fabrics on the walls! Spectacular color and variety placed perfectly, pin-cushioned; performing in vivified shades, hues, from midnight blue to burning orange; draped and hung; half-dreamed conceptions and sashes and cloths being woven, unknown yet to any name or face save she who had made them. They lay and hung in the circular space; mannequins and wire-frames were robed, as if they had been frozen in a moment of animated pose, beautiful and striking, some in frenzy and some with dignity, yet none could hold compare to the maker. Her white-and-purple image was enough of a vestment for her, for though Rarity went without she retained a natural beauty. She stepped closer, examining Ditzy as she exclaimed her thoughts.
“Ditzy! Darling, it’s good to see you again. How was your vacation? Has it been week already?”
“Not quite what I expected, and no; there were some unexpected events.” Ditzy stepped inside. “This is Tick, and this—”
Where did Quirk go?
Ditzy glanced and nearly pirouetted spinning, befuddled with a creeping annoyance at the absence of Quirk. She looked at Tick for an explanation; he too looked behind to see only absent air and a wall. Without the source of the problem to blame, Ditzy continued to glare at Tick, who responded by scanning the area, frowning intangibly, and doing his best not to look at Ditzy as she laid hoof to forehead.
Of course. Something has to happen; how could I forget.
“Is something wrong, dear?” Rarity looked at the peculiar situation with a similarly peculiar mix of slight amusement and concern.
“No, not really,” Ditzy sighed, fooling nopony. “Is Dinky around?”
“I’m afraid not; Twilight just took her home. Or rather, she probably took her to the library and will take her home after trying to convince her that reading is the most wonderful thing in Equestria.” Rarity turned back to face the alternatively messy and orderly piles of fabric for a moment. “Darling, you should really let me make her an outfit. She would look absolutely gorgeous! In fact, why not a matching set for both of you? It would look completely adorable!”
“No, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” Ditzy replied. She’s too young, I don’t need it, I couldn’t ask it of Rarity anyways. I don’t need fluff…
“A shame, dear,” Rarity sighed in her melodramatic fashion. Eventually, her attention turned to Tick.
He had been mute for the duration of the encounter; unknown to the two, he had been keeping an eye on the exit and looked anxious yet unable to do anything about it. She, however, did not act on that out of politeness or her obvious interest, and she soon spoke, shaking him out of his unnerved contemplation.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting your unfamiliar friend, dear? I don’t think I’ve seen him around.”
“I was traveling through here,” Tick replied, unmoving, eyeing Rarity as she walked almost completely around him. Ostensibly, she was moving to a desk filled with designs, yet she also analyzed his body as if measuring him; her eyes ran over him to his clear discomfort.
“Really?” Rarity asked, rifling through some papers. “Do tell me about it, dear.”
“We really should be going,” Ditzy intervened.
“Ah, I suppose there isn’t enough time in the day. Ditzy, I expect to talk to you later. I insist upon creating something for you two…” Rarity’s voice trailed off as she lost herself in focus and the two travelers exited, the door swinging shut behind them.
As soon as it did, Ditzy turned to Tick and pinned him with electric eyes.
“Where did he go and what is he doing?”
“He will come back,” Tick said affirmatively, but something about the way his eyes tracked the skies behind Ditzy was less than comforting.
“What is he doing and why did he go off without letting us notice?” Her stare increased in intensity, and Tick found it hard to tear himself away from her eyes that seemed to glare with light itself.
“He has an irritating habit of doing this when he needs to think.” Tick shifted, uncomfortable and slightly cowed by her directness. “I wouldn’t doubt his ability to find us. He’ll come back when he wants to.”
I don’t think you’re telling me everything… Ditzy thought, yet gradually she peeled away her angered focus from him. After a silence that left Ditzy focused on the ground and Tick observing her curiously, she started to move again.
She took the lead again, and the quiet was for a peaceful time only interrupted by the soft drumming of hooves on the hardened ground and thoughts rebounding in quiet minds. They had been closer to the center of town, but now they were headed to the western edge: walking into the sun.
“Where are we going now?”
“I have to stop by work to check on a thing or two before I head home. After that, the rest of the day is open.”
Tick nodded, and his thoughts began to shift back to what they had left behind.
Quirk is not well. However, this opportunity… once in a lifetime, they say…
There is a slim chance that the library would hold something of value in this particular study. I did not look for such a thing before: I never could have thought of it, let alone conceptualized… imagined, such a thing. Slim, but it is there, and worth looking into.
Ditzy led him through a nonchalant variety of paths and streets. Towards the edge of town they went, until Ditzy stopped to open the door of a small building that was the mailmare’s office. In the moment before it opened, she wondered about something that she had completely forgotten. Time to see how Rainbow Dash did.
She did not know what to expect when she opened the door—indeed, she had not thought of it at all—and she was pleasantly surprised to find it perhaps cleaner and more organized than she had left it. I must have made an impression on her more than I realized… of course I did; she got me the tickets after all. Ditzy moved amongst the boxes of mail and sorting tables, examining her workspace. The amount of space in the room suggested it was cramped, but the well-ordered arrangements provided enough comfort to avoid any sort of claustrophobia.
Critically eyeing her workspace, Ditzy started to notice a few small things, a couple of insignificant errors that Dash had left or caused in her week’s tenure. Her heart was into it, but it’s probably for the best that she’s a weather pegasus. Dash was not the most resplendent mailmare. She had left behind a few mistakes, but it wasn’t remotely close to beyond fixing. It was only a few minutes of work, and Ditzy set herself about correcting the issue.
“Tick, can you move some of those boxes for me?”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, Ditzy was still moving things around and rifling through cabinets, doing more than she had planned but less than she would like. Tick helped where he was asked but mostly observed, and eventually Ditzy was left with a small pile of letters that would wait until another day.
“It’s not always like this,” Ditzy mentioned as she finished. “Normally, I’m out delivering the mail, but there is enough sorting, paperwork, and packages to keep me tied up here for at least a bit of the day.” She paused, and then glanced at him. “You said you were a historian. What’s that like?”
Tick took time to think, eventually settled his stare on the paneled-glass window. The white borders and patterns of wood lattices cut the glory of the setting sun, letting the burn-light fade and the soft-light wash over them. It was a turn of the sun, a turn of the moon, a turn of the tides. It swept its way through their minds and washed them cleaner for a while; they were polished by thought until they shone in the softness of night. Ditzy nearly lost herself in the scenic quietude before Tick responded.
“I think you would say I was self-employed, or at least self-occupied. I didn’t often find myself in need of money. I was a wanderer, as I told you earlier… Quirk and I were always trying to find a place for ourselves in the world, and in that long process I discovered that I wanted desperately to be a scholar of some sort. Fortunately, I eventually found that hideaway in the library that you unfortunately knocked me out of, and so my dreams are now stalled.”
Ditzy watched quietly, unsure how to respond to the apparent blame, but he was not finished.
“I suppose it was for the better that you did run into me.”
She watched him stand by the sliver of the sun and stared at the eyes clocking around in their sockets. Had his eyes flashed, if only for a moment? There was nopony else there. What is he thinking? That was the perennial sentiment in her mind and it only grew over time; indeed it had been nurtured ceaselessly since she had first met him. She gave him peace, but her patience crumbled under the well-meant inquisitiveness and took a meditated guess into his wonderings. All she could see now was the sunset sliced by thin veins of black and his dancing eyes before it.
“Well, I was wondering more about how your days went.” But I’m certainly not going to complain about you telling me that.
“Oh, that.” Tick shook his head for a moment, clearing his mind. “Ah, the royal library was fairly exciting in its own way. Plenty of room to explore, think, get lost, read; I hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of the place and I had been there… eight months? A year? It seems nice around here. What are your days like?”
Ditzy cocked her head for a moment, but only a moment. She had not expected the reciprocal question. “Busy, for the most part. I work every day, but I get a fair amount of off-time if I want it.”
The hour was beginning to fall, the sun still shading the horizon with night imminent.
“We should probably get to my house before it gets any darker.”
Tick nodded and Ditzy lead the way out of the ordered room, maneuvering by boxes and bins and tables until they were out the door. It was an average degree in the twilight, a dusky affair, and she was surprised that the rest of the day had decided to flee so quickly. Perhaps her tour around town had gone on for a bit too long, or perhaps she had talked a modicum more than was necessary, or perhaps she had been merely having enough fun to discard the knowledge of the passing of time. Ditzy thought the third most likely.
The path that she took to her house was the same she had taken for many days, yet it was more than solitary now; the difference in her routine brewed thoughts in her as she spared the occasional eye to see her tourist.
Apparently Tick had been brewing a thought or two as well.
“So what makes being a mailmare so complicated?”
“Didn’t you see all the things I have to sort through!? And then there’s the routes, the priority system, the packages, time constraints, quality expectations, the list is infinite. I have to do all of that myself, delivery and everything else. I have to handle feedback and paperwork and unrealistic expectations. I have to keep that building clean and make sure it doesn’t explode every time something juicy happens and everypony just has to send mail to all of their closest friends and relatives when they could take five minutes to go tell them themselves. Normally, there would be at least one more employee or the mail office wouldn’t handle packages. I could go on, but I think you get the point.”
Ditzy did not look back at Tick as she walked, and eventually he asked another question.
“What was that about something exploding?”
“It’s a bit of a story. Maybe later; I think Twilight has a book on it you could borrow.”
Left only with more questions, Tick decided to reserve them.
Ditzy turned off the path a short ways to what could only be her house. Tick paused at the doorstep.
Before he could resolve whatever bothered him, the door was open and Ditzy was inside, looking out at the hesitant pegasus.
“Waiting on something?”
“No, sorry.”
Tick moved inside, and Ditzy closed the door. Tick reminded her then of a very previous event, a past purple awkwardness who had since come closer to heart, and she thought it odd that he should be uncomfortable in her house. They knew each other, did they not? At the absolute minimum, they were acquaintances; she would venture to call him a newer friend at least, although that might be ambitious. Certainly she was comfortable around him, even if the opposite might not be true.
Dinky burst around the corner, and with an ecstatic squeal leaped at her mother, who caught her and held her with an embrace more powerful than words. The ecstasy of the daughter mirrored that of the mother: the tight embrace held them. Eyes closed, locked together, the warm feelings seemed to transcend their bodies and pass directly between them.
“Don’t go away again, mom,” Dinky pleaded.
Ditzy flushed; as she put her wide-eyed daughter down, she simultaneously spoke and looked at Dinky directly.
“Don’t you worry about it; I’m not about to leave again.” Ditzy then faced her quiet guest, and Dinky’s glance followed.
“This is Tick, a friend of mine. He’s going to stay with us for a couple of days.”
After staring at her mother a moment longer in hopes of further reassurance, Dinky bounced up to him with an unabashed look of curiosity, and he watched with a more subdued measure of that same emotion. Having captured Tick’s attention, she looked at him from a variety of angles with the same flat, analytical facial expression before she boldly declared her findings.
“You have funny eyes, like mom.”
“Dinky! You shouldn’t call people strange, you know that.”
“But it’s cool, like a clock!” Dinky protested, but Ditzy’s gentle condemnation had put an end to it.
Meanwhile, Tick finally discontinued his silence. “I don’t mind.”
Ditzy watched, trying to determine if there was any well-meaning deception, but Tick appeared passable. He’s not completely comfortable… but I don’t think he’s about to do anything drastic.
“Alright. Tick, the guest room is down the hall and to the left. Dinky, remember that if he asks you to leave him alone, you have to leave him alone.”
Dinky silently pouted for an instant, and Ditzy hugged her close as she looked at Tick. Boxing her child’s ears for a moment, she whispered: “Don’t let her start playing any games with you unless you want to be occupied for a long time.”
Tick nodded, and Ditzy surrendered the room to head upstairs to hers.
Dinky and Tick will work themselves out. She trusted him not to do anything untoward—well, at least for a few minutes—and Ditzy herself had worries now. A darker pallor had cast a shadow in her mind, and it was best that her daughter not see her worry. It would only taint her enjoyment of the new and exciting days to come.
The hall was warmly painted, the wooden floors insulated, and the warmth in both senses could not pierce the curtain draped around Ditzy’s mind. Up the stairs, at the end of the passage her room lay. It was comfortable; the sheets on the bed white and silken, the pillows immaculately embroidered; the lone window faced where the sun would rise in the morning. She had a writing desk in the corner and a rare book or two about for when she would read; the closet was mostly unused with only a spare uniform or two inside. Above the bed was a singular work of art: a painting in contrasts and shades of light, pigments unreadable in the darkness. It had been the last room she furnished. It was not a large space, but it didn’t need to be: as long as she had owned it she had been the only one living in it. The sheets and fancy pillows had been a part of a gift from somepony she had once disapproved of but now appreciated. She thought it strange how it had all worked out, but that is another story. Altogether, it was cozily enclosed.
I wonder how Luna will arrive without grabbing the attention of everypony in town. I shouldn’t dwell on this bizarre mission we’ve been tasked with. I can only worry about it, not do anything useful, can only wait.
Mercifully soft moonbeams illuminated the room, and she opened the window to let the night’s breeze in. There was a candle by the bed, but she declined to light it. Strange, how in the impassioned light everything was insurmountable, yet in the dark peace was there, albeit sometimes tainted. Still, it seemed better to her now than any sun.
She imagined Tick for a moment, imagined seeing only his eyes in the absence of light; she was so close to the communion of minds and still tantalizingly distant. Only in the night now could she remember what it had been like. It was so… ephemeral…
Ditzy began to think again of an excuse to find that experience again, if only for the sake of wonder.
~~~~~~~~~
Perhaps you can help me.
So Tick thought as Dinky poked him incessantly, trying to draw a reaction out of him. Dinky continued to poke his foreleg for a while, but at least it was silent and eventually she stopped poking him altogether.
And perhaps you will only distract me.
“Hi,” Dinky said again, as she had before she had begun her barrage of pokes. Tick had responded with a simple ‘hello’ the first time she had spoken, but his lack of continued conversation or movement of any kind had bored her into action.
“Hello,” Tick replied, as if nothing had happened. He had not yet moved since he had walked in the door and declined to do so. He had been watching Dinky and pondering how she might mirror her mother; admittedly he found the child’s efforts to test him somewhat amusing.
Dinky’s small face scrunched in thought, and Tick hid a slight grin at her failure to draw a reaction out of him. She sat back, remaining in such a pose for several short seconds. Then her expression broke into epiphany and she asked with excitement:
“Wanna play marbles?”
“Sure.”
I’ll play your game a little longer. Perhaps we will both learn something.
~~~~~~~~
“So how do I play?”
“Easy,” Dinky said, a bag of glass globes opened on the floor. “Hit the marbles out with the other marbles.”
They had moved on into another room. The furnishings were more than staid and less than extravagant: a slightly worn couch, a window with curtains of an unusual fabric, a resilient carpeted floor, walls painted in pleasant calm colors with the occasional painting. On the floor was a circle Dinky had set out with black string, and at the other end of the circle stood Tick, listening with the peculiar and pleasurable fuzzy feeling of learning as Dinky explained the game.
“You hit them from outside and you try to knock a different one out, and if you do you get to go again, but if you don’t the other pony goes…”
Dinky finished her short explanation, and with a nod from Tick she scattered the spheres and they began.
It was a cosmic contest, tiny little variables and variances of the flattened floor and curved connections of breaking, clacking, clinking worlds that somehow remained without cracking. Every last subtle detail played into consideration, and minutes in and marbles down he felt outmatched. Soon Tick felt his chances might be better if he played blind, for Dinky was beating him severely.
“How am I supposed to have fun if you win by so much?” Tick asked lightly.
Dinky grinned wily, energetic and pleased. “You should be happy because I’m happy!”
That’s an odd thing for a child to say.
There were many in the circle, and then there were two less, and it was his turn again. He chose a red sphere, crimson and flourishing, and he sent it spinning straight, but only succeeded in missing entirely. She chose an aquatic globe, a blue-green curiosity, and sent it at a light yellow earth near the edge and it knocked it to the center, quite contrary to what both had expected. Her mouth scrunched into a surprised expression. Tick, absorbed into the game, saw the opportunity and seized it.
He sent a great black marble blazing after a deep purple one; striking with great force the black knocked the purple in the opposite direction he had expected. No matter, it would still exit the circle at great velocity. At least, it would have. There was a barrier of the deepest blue, so blue it was nearly black, and it stopped the purple’s exit and cracked, jagged but whole.
The unusual sharp peal of the glass shook Tick out of his absorption. What am I doing? I’m wasting my time… and I knew you would distract me.
Oblivious of Tick’s sudden self-annoyance, Dinky continued the game.
She hurled a sun of red and orange and white clear to the edge, straight to a black marble with a chaotic white stripe through it. The sun rebounded, but the striped marble moved anyways. It went in a strange curved pattern around the centered marble, as if it had gravitated to it. It was teetering on the edge, perilously close, and neither could tell if it remained or not.
“I don’t think it’s out,” Tick announced, far from certain but doing his best to sound so.
“Yes it is!” Dinky exclaimed, standing up in objection.
“If we can’t agree, then we can’t play.” Tick looked her in the eyes, inflexible.
His matter-of-fact tone wrought a quick change in Dinky, so quick that he felt the unexpected urge to retract his words. Her face immediately sank, eyes downcast; her ears drooped as she flopped down pitifully.
Tick turned to leave, dismissing his emotion. He paused in the doorway—the tugging persisted—and he hazarded a glance back. Dinky remained in her sad state, dejectedly staring at the half-emptied circle. The trepid Tick walked back over, and in a moment’s time raised his hoof—paused in indecision—and patted her on the head awkwardly, comfortingly. Her eyes blinked, looked up, and she was on the verge of smiling when he retracted his gesture.
“Can we play later?” Dinky asked, neutral.
“Yes,” Tick replied, and then he walked out of the room. His brain felt fuzzy. He was dazed, a sensation he had not felt in a while. He had lost his sense of place; the house felt strange, alien to him.
I have no time for sympathy. I need to start working.
~~~~~~~~
In time, Ditzy escaped the ravages of the future by choosing to engage in the present. She had left them unattended longer than she had planned, and soon found the two, engaged with actions she found rather interesting as she spied around the corner.
She saw the last remnants of the game—she saw him stand, the hesitant hoof, and she was glad she had not left them unseen and alone. The sympathy had been endearing, cute, though plainly awkward for him, and she retreated a ways down the hall so as not to give the pretense that she had witnessed it.
Tick walked straight down the hall, a little lost and not noticing Ditzy at all until he nearly ran straight into her, startling himself.
“Do you need anything? Is your room alright?” Ditzy asked, surprised at her eagerness. She hadn’t had the opportunity to host another in her house before, and especially not in such an unexpected manner.
“I, ah…” Tick said, suddenly desperate for an escape and looking at Ditzy with what she could swear was caution. “No. I mean, the room is fine, and I don’t need anything,” he finally finished.
Ditzy nodded, and Tick passed her by and shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the hall.
You are very strange, she thought, and she could hardly restrain her curiosity enough to find Dinky and put her to bed.
Despite Dinky’s usual protests, bed was a straightforward affair for the two. Ditzy found her daughter, told her that it was late, which was followed by the expected refusals to move and declarations that it wasn’t late at all. Without a second thought, Ditzy scooped her up and carried her up the stairs. Once the two had gotten over that precipice Dinky normally subsided in her protests, but tonight was proving slightly more difficult.
“But mom, I didn’t finish the game with Tick!” Dinky objected, squirming as Ditzy tried to tuck her in.
“You can do that tomorrow or another day, my love,” Ditzy reassured as she lost a tiny bit of the infinite patience she had for her child. “But you have to go to sleep first so you can rest and be ready.”
Dinky’s face was a silent pout, but eventually she surrendered and Ditzy laid a soft kiss on her forehead before exiting.
”Good night…” she whispered as the door closed.
And may I be here for all of them.
The wish-thought left a disturbing silence in her mind, and she retreated back downstairs hastily, although she knew not where she could retreat to.
When will I know what I’ve gotten myself into? What does this mean for her, and what am I going to do? I can’t leave her… not even for a few days; I would die; it was hard enough for me to decide to leave on a vacation and even then I couldn’t stand to stay away. I can’t let go of her when she needs me…
Despite her earlier promises to not hopelessly worry herself over the matter, Ditzy found herself pacing in her living room as her frantic questions remained unanswered. Eventually she stopped her spiral of worry, and her thoughts shifted. Circumstance and will conspired to distract Ditzy from useless thoughts. She ceased her incessant pacing, and forced herself to consider the other now residing in her house.
How is Tick going to occupy himself? Especially if he’s here for more than a day. I can’t imagine him wanting to stick around here. Dinky might have fun, but she would probably exhaust him quickly and I can’t be sure that he won’t do… something weird… yet. I’ll go ask him what he plans to do and give him a little more information about places he might like.
The thoughts had her wandering down the hall, and soon she interrupted his solitary space.
~~~~~~~~
… As to what she did in my mind, beyond the one point where she almost attacked me, there’s no telling. That was simply Quirk’s theory in effect, perhaps. In any case that part was unremarkable. Quirk and I, we fought so many times, physical, mental; that was not different. She has to remember; she has to know what she did!
Tick laid in the dark. Before the light had faded, he had scrounged together some writing tools from the small travel bag he had carried with him and put a few initial thoughts to paper on the insanity that was occurring. He did not know the location of his translation, or any of the books that had been uncovered now, and he was suspicious that Luna had unscrupulously disposed of them. He remembered small bits and pieces from the history and had preserved them, the only vanguard he had against Luna’s mysterious insistence on destruction.
But I can’t ask her… can’t let her know. She is unpredictable… and powerful, when she wants to be.
His thoughts had rapidly turned to Ditzy, and the hesitation in the shadowed scholar only caused more uncertainty in turn. He knew that he would enjoy talking to her, and saw potential in her questions, but thoughts of her quickly turned tremulous, nervous.
Tick could only link it to the unexplainable reaction of their minds’ meeting. That was the crux of the whole matter.
I need a mirror so I can see this again, if only vaguely. A mirror and to go back to that library. I have to look for something about this. Surely I can’t have been the only one to possess this kind of ability, or anything similar to it, although that is entirely possible…
He sighed, and the smallest light from under the door reflected in his ever-moving eyes.
Sometimes it is a burden to have nopony like you.
But Tick would not let himself rest on melancholy thoughts. There were many more important things for him to do, and despite the barriers—the late hour, the trappings of the house, and his own wearied mind—he continued his thinking. Stubbornly, his mind did not leave the past behind, and he let the echoes of that past union wash over him again. It was very nearly a guilty pleasure, although he still remained a semblance of analysis as he tried to label it. Perhaps it is the exact opposite of Quirk’s theory. It was… an interesting experience, he thought.
He did not admit to himself that he had enjoyed it. Both that thought and the thought of the thing itself scared him. The thing that had struck him was beyond comprehension, beyond his imagination, and the possibility of a similar encounter in the future terrified him as much as the academic question intrigued him.
Yet in the softness of the dark, his fears were lessened; with no sight to distract him he could focus.
Playing with the possibility tentatively, he stared at nothing as his thoughts wound their slow way towards the owner of the house. Tick was still uncomfortable looking her in the eyes: it scared him, he finally admitted. It was too close to the merging of minds, but still he was drawn to her.
She is very intense.
Even though he only thought it, it still sounded flat to him. Even if she doesn’t show it, there is a lot of emotion in her.
It would be useful to know what she thought of that encounter.
~~~~~~~~
Ditzy knocked on the door. She wasn’t sure that that was the right way to go about it, given her inexperience in all things guest-wise, but she figured it was the courteous thing to do.
“Tick?” She asked, not loudly, with hesitation. The door remained an impenetrable barrier.
There was a shifting of the bedsprings, but no acknowledgement came. Ditzy cracked opened the door, inching it open, and by degrees she saw Tick sitting up on the bed, wincing at the light. She hadn’t woken him up. He was blatantly wide awake, restless. His eyes moved to look at her, and then they both looked away. He looked down, and Ditzy off to the side, and she almost forgot the reason she had disturbed him. I feel like I’m intruding in my own house. It was yet another awkward moment before she spoke and the two found some eye contact.
“I was wondering what you were doing—”
Tick felt his insides run cold for a moment, heart pound at the irrational fear. His dread only lasted for a moment.
“—Because you might be here for a while, and I thought you would get bored. I’m not going to be around the house that often, with my work and all.”
“I wasn’t really doing anything,” Tick replied.
Ditzy did not let the silence last long. “Well, I figured the thing you would find most interesting is Twilight’s library, but if I remember correctly you’ve already been there. It’s not that far from my house; to get there—”
As she had spoken, Tick had begun staring at a spot just to her left, out into the hall. Ditzy noticed it and passed it off for a few moments, but his blank stare continued at the spot behind her. She glanced as she spoke, and then looked back again. Dinky was bouncing in place with a wide smile, looking straight back at Tick and unaffected by the now-two blank stares focused at her.
“When are we gonna finish the game?” She asked excitedly, stopping her bounce. Breaking out of her surprise, Ditzy quickly scooped up her daughter and carried her back up the stairs.
“Dear, I’ve told you that when you go to bed, you stay in bed…”
“You can have that marble!” Dinky called out, voice receding up the stairs.
The uncomfortable pegasus slid off the bed, glancing around the room. The unexpected break in the conversation let him recuperate some of his wits, and about two minutes later an aggravated and slightly ruffled Ditzy appeared again at the open door.
“I think she likes you,” Ditzy announced as she enters, her exasperation draining out into her words.
“Understandable.” Tick nodded. He was collected now, at least visibly. She could not penetrate him with a stare now, see through him plainly into his odd confliction.
“So you ended up playing a game or two with her,” Ditzy put forth. “I’m sorry about that. Her coming down, I mean, not the game. Normally, she’s well-behaved… just know that she doesn’t like to give up on her games.”
“It’s not important; she didn’t irritate me.” Curiously, Tick seemed devoid of the uncertainty of only a few moments earlier, yet hints of it still lurked in the depths of his eyes.
“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Ditzy looked at him differently, as if she was sizing him up. He had regained his composure in her minutes of absence, and now they were on equal footing. She spared a glance back down the hall and out a window, and saw nothing. Sudden and irrevocable exhaustion struck her; the minor irritations of the day combined with the mental strain of having Tick thrust into her personal space destroyed any thought of conversation.
“Maybe it would be better if we had this conversation in the morning.”
Ditzy left before she could see Tick’s reaction, far too tired to delve as she wanted.
I’ll talk to him later. In the morning, maybe. I didn’t ask him anything, no business or pleasure, but tonight is not the night. I just want to hear of you…
She was home. Yet her adventures had barely begun, and her troubles were not about to end.