//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: What Meets the Eye // by Butterscotch Cream //------------------------------// What Meets the Eye Chapter Three If ever a living being could experience the detached, mechanical existence of a ghost caught in time, the heartless limbo of apathy would be closest to it. The world becomes a very different place without emotion. You sense things, you feel things, but everything slips by as meaningless, or technical information. The faculties that normally make life pleasant or unpleasant are filtered like background noise to the point where even your thoughts are stripped of life, and most of your mind becomes a deserted silence. You don't eat because you're hungry or because food tastes good. You eat because you need to. You don't shower because it's pleasant or to relax. It's routine. You take safety precautions not from concern, but disinterested recognition you should. Those are the times you could face both death and eternal life with equal, machine-like complacency. There are neither meditations of life's purpose or worth, nor thoughts of suicide. You just don't care. That is apathy. Finial had fallen asleep on the couch rather than go to bed. There was no dreaming comfort with Sledgehammer, no peace or imagined affection from the silence and bodily warmth. He couldn't pretend that Sledgehammer loved him, or hide in a crumbled fortress of fading, fond memories. His only companion had been a tear-stained corner pillow. When next he woke it was to Sledgehammer jostling him, and the morning sunlight was already creeping past the blinds with inappropriate cheer. He turned his head to look at Sledgehammer and their eyes locked, but nothing exchanged. Their faces were equally blank. Gradually, memories from the night before began filtering into Finial's mind, but he still felt nothing, as though his emotions had been amputated. Some inkling knew that Sledgehammer was thinking about the night before as much as he was. What Finial's intuition couldn't divine was what Sledgehammer felt, and he didn't really care. For a brief moment, Sledgehammer opened his mouth to say something. He paused as conflict crossed his face, and then he closed it again. Whatever internal argument had been betrayed by his eyes was squelched in an instant, and his face had returned to its stony expression. "It's time for breakfast." Sledgehammer's sentence was simple and bland, as devoid of feeling and emotion as his face. Most would read that statement and move on thinking it normal and insignificant, but Sledgehammer hadn't spoken before work in months, or perhaps even a year. It was easy to lose track. Silence like that might seem strange and alien - one not wanting to speak, and the other afraid to - but when it becomes an accustomed routine it's hard to realize how bad things are till you encounter the exception to the rule. The fact the exception was such an insipid statement only made it more obtrusive; an insult would have been less out of place. Breakfast slid by, and then work. Even Sledgehammer seemed somewhat subdued that day. The few who took notice only did so as passing observations which were idly waved off. Time had lost its consistency and meaning, slipping beneath Finial's notice as he worked through the day. It was almost a surprise when their shifts came to an end, but some distant, small part of him had been waiting for it. As little as he felt, there was one thing he wanted to do. He wanted to see Klutz. The two of them walked out the gate of the construction site, and Sledgehammer started making his way toward the apartment. Finial stayed behind, fighting the habitual urge to follow along. When Sledgehammer noticed Finial wasn't beside him, he turned around and looked back, his face almost despondent. "Where ya goin'?" His voice hadn't changed since that morning. It was still blank and without inflection. The only evidence that he actually cared was the fact he said something. "I'm going shopping. We need food." "Are ya gonna see that pony?" Still no change in his voice, though now, Finial thought he detected a slight weariness to it. "Possibly. I don't know." He waited. Sledgehammer didn't say anything at first, but eventually his patience was rewarded. "......are ya gonna come back?" This time, there was definitely something different to his voice. It was almost... hopeless. Sledgehammer had turned away again and was staring across the street, listening for the answer with unaccustomed patience. Sledgehammer's threat flashed into Finial's mind and part of him wanted to say "No" just to see what would happen - the part of him that didn't really care what happened. He let the question hang in the air, standing in silence as the first vestiges of his emotions murmured in his heart, struggling over what ought to be said. He wanted to say yes, he wanted to say no, he wanted to give hope, he wanted to inflict pain... he wanted Sledgehammer to understand... "....I don't know." Finial turned away and continued down the sidewalk. Sledgehammer didn't move. * * * * * * * Despite it being the afternoon, the market was busy that day. Ponies everywhere, trying to get their shopping done before anyone else, since the morning and noon rushes had passed and the vendors were setting out the last of their reserves for the evening crowd. Lines were strung out from every open shop, and the area was filled with the sound of ponies chatting, gossiping, laughing, bartering and haggling. Drifting around in the midst of it like a leaf on the surface of a stream, was Finial, not really interested in buying anything but time for the off-chance that Klutz would find him. He had no particular reason to believe Klutz would be at the market or even available. It had just been the most honest and convenient excuse to not follow along to the apartment. All he knew was that Klutz lived somewhere in the same building, and yesterday he had the time and concern to follow him around a construction site, while somehow remaining unnoticed. The thought made Finial smile, just slightly. He'd never known a pegasus so sneaky, and he'd met drunks at the pub who were less persistent - though Sledgehammer was usually there to knock them one if they got too friendly. He had a strong punch too... Finial could swear by it. Everything around him felt muted and distant. The racket of the market frenzy was barely a murmur in his ears, and his direction was guided solely by where there was space to walk. When someone he might've known smiled and waved he smiled and waved back. It was an automatic, programmed response from years of habit, mechanical and practically meaningless. Inside, he was walking an emotional tightrope, afraid that straying too far in any direction would just send him toppling into the abyss he felt in his heart. He was holding out for a hope, and he knew these first few steps he needed to take on his own. These were his first few steps. "Hey..." "Auh! Kg-...Klutz!..." After the initial shock had passed, Finial heaved a sigh and rubbed his head. Somehow, it felt like Klutz had barged into the middle of his thoughts. Nothing seemed hidden from that searching, piercing eye of his. None of the important things, anyway. "Sorry, you just startled me." When he looked at the pegasus, he finally learned what his job was. Strapped to his sides were a pair of flight crates: the kind used for large, single shipments over short distances. They'd get a lot of such shipments at the construction site when they ordered parts from local suppliers. In this case though, it looked more like... "Muffins?" The pegasus followed Finial's gaze to the crates then looked back at him. "Hmm? "You deliver muffins?" Klutz bobbed his head with a smile and proudly rattled the cargo with a shake. "Err.. are you working? Am I interrupting?" "Nope... just finished..." Finial nodded and looked away for a few moments, instinctively trying to hide the strain in his face. Like chained animals sensing freedom, the emotions he had battened down so securely began to struggle against their bindings. Pain could only be held back for so long before it sought an outlet. He knew he could tell Klutz, he wanted to, for once not lie. The more he thought about it, the more the shackles of his apathy began to deteriorate, and the more drawn his features became. "You were hurt... again..." A painful throb lurched in Finial's heart. Barely a minute ago he had been barren of any feelings, and now suddenly they were roiling inside of him, threatening to make him break down there in the marketplace. Finial mustered his all of his will and reined back the rebelling emotions with a deep, resolute sigh, steeling himself till he finally felt the squall in his heart quiet down again. Eventually he opened his eyes and heaved a second sigh, more relaxed than the last. He could still feel his emotions struggling inside of him, tugging at his face as they tried to manifest themselves, but it was more manageable at least. He mostly kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, as the grass was less likely to incite another revolt than trying to look at Klutz. "We just... had an argument... is all. I'd rather not talk about it. And you probably wanna get out of those crates anyway." Klutz just watched him a few contemplative moments, chewing on his thoughts. Klutz had called himself slow, but he seemed to have a knack for reading others. Stories had circulated of "retarded" individuals being incredibly good at certain things, far beyond the normal capacity. But "retarded" just didn't do Klutz justice anymore, nor "impaired." The more Finial knew of him, the less he seemed to be either. Was his talent empathy? Wisdom? Or... maybe simplicity. Could simplicity be a talent? Is that why he had bubbles for a cutie mark? Simple, transparent, perfect spheres... even beautiful in their own way. A shock ran through his body as he suddenly became aware of a warm, soft nose pressing against his cheek. He didn't jump, he didn't cry out, he didn't move. He just felt his heart skip a beat. A moment later, Klutz pulled away and lowered his head to Finial's eye-level when he was sure he'd acquired the colt's attention. "Let's... go talk." Nothing more was said as they started walking, this time with Klutz in the lead and Finial following along beside him. Sledgehammer had led Finial places plenty of times before, but this was different. He followed Sledgehammer out of mindless habit. He followed Klutz out of trust. It was humbling. There he was, being led like a foal by one most ponies looked on with pity, speaking to him with the same patronizing tone used when babbling cute nonsense to a baby. Finial had almost done the same thing, and the fact Klutz could live with such a lack of animosity or bitterness in his heart astounded him. They left the market behind and eventually made their way to a tiny park on the east side of town. Mothers usually brought their foals there during the day, and the gangs congregated there at night. As per the social schedule, several mares were sitting on the benches surrounding the brownish green patch of grass, chatting away while others played with or corralled their charges. After unstrapping the crates from his back, Klutz sat on an unoccupied bench with a young birch tree growing at either side and motioned for Finial to join him. Klutz didn't seem in a rush to say anything. Instead, he just looked out over the park, watching the activity. And he was smiling, softly. Finial couldn't seem to look away this time. The stallion's calm, peaceful smile entranced him somehow, perhaps by some vicarious longing to know what it felt like to smile that way. "It's nice here..." Klutz hadn't even turned his head when he said it. It wasn't a conversation starter or a prompt. It was just a simple observation, a feeling he wanted to share because he enjoyed it. Finial finally tore his eyes away from Klutz and tried to take in the scene for himself. A streaming chorus of playful screams and giggles danced over the late afternoon air, occasionally mixed with the child-like seriousness of an argument over a game of jacks or marbles. Foals of various sizes and ages over at one end of the park were playing "Sun Island" underneath the trees on the far side of the park, hopping from one patch of sunlight to the other. A chubby earth foal kept barely clearing the distance, more than once nudged into balance by one of his friends before he toppled over. Finial remembered setting off to "explore" the woods behind his house with his best friend in the early summer mornings. Brooks he had seen a hundred times before were always new places, depending where his imagination placed them. His tree house never ceased to be sieged by sudden hoards of monsters, spies, and worst of all, adults. He remembered trying to count the constellations, staring for shooting stars till his eyes dried out, playing cloud charades with the pegasi foals, running through thunderstorms pretending it was the end of the world, and home was the only safe place. It seemed... so far away. The sun cast everything in a golden glow tinged by the first blush of sunset as it slowly eased toward the horizon. It held a silent, living beauty no unicorn magic could touch. When a breeze brushed through the summer long-grass beyond the park it transformed into a shimmering sea of sunlight, sprawling out to a rose horizon crowned in bridal-silk clouds. He couldn't remember the last time he had even thought about anything beautiful, yet there it was sitting in front of him, waiting for someone to see it. He focused back on Klutz for a moment, and realized the pegasus was no longer looking out over the park, but at him, watching with a gentle, knowing smile. He'd seen the look before on the faces of parents when their foals first learn to fly, or levitate their first object. It was a look of quiet joy. "He gets it. He understands." Finial dropped his gaze to the ground and swallowed. "Y-yeah... it... it is..." He reached up and wiped his cheek with a foreleg. He wasn't crying, but sometimes when you feel you might, you do anyway just in case. He couldn't hold Klutz's gaze. He knew he'd lose it if he tried. Something inside of him other than his emotions had been set free. A truth that was breathing its first free gasps of air. A large, gray hoof stroked over his cheek and tenderly lifted his muzzle again. Klutz was still smiling, as warm as the deepening sunglow that lit his face. As the first sob freed itself from Finial's throat, he felt the tears start streaking down his face. He felt ashamed of them. Silly. Yet he couldn't stop them. "H-how do you make me cry ov-over such s-stupid stuff..." Finial, clenched his eyes shut and made a feeble attempt to pull his head away, but Klutz just drew it back. When he opened his eyes, Klutz's smile hadn't wavered in the least. "You're crying... over... the best there is..." "'Ey mister pi-rate. Why's 'e cryin'?" Much to Finial's embarrassment, the two of them glanced down to find they had gained a minor audience. Literally. About five foals had crowded around the bench, each peering at him and Klutz with shamelessly inquisitive eyes. The voice seemed to belong to the closest, a pink unicorn filly. Finial immediately straightened up and scrambled to compose himself, putting on that plastered smile again, though its integrity was largely compromised by sniffles and the tears that stubbornly continued. "He's... he's not a pirate sweetie. He jus-" "Yaaaar! A' course Imma pirate!" Finial just stared at Klutz in shock. "Wh.. what!? Don't tell them-" "Did you fight a bully? 'Cuz you got a black eye, and my cousin got a black eye when he fought a bully." The filly's child-like logic was a little too close for comfort, but before Finial could think of a reply, one of the colts carried the conversation with his own speculation. "Did ya beat 'im? Was 'e big?" "I fought a bully once! I lost a tooth too, but it grew back!" "Liar! Teeth don't grow back!" "Yes they do!" "Do not!" "Look!" Intent on proving his point, the colt with a head slightly over-sized for his body opened his mouth as far as he possibly could, proudly displaying a front tooth noticeably shorter than its counterpart. A couple of the foals thought it was just broken. One insisted that teeth did grow, though he admitted not knowing into what. The other was attempting to confirm the speculation of the first two by twisting her head upside down to look inside the colt's mouth. As this world-altering debate continued, Klutz's grin grew a mile wide, his face practically brimming with laughter. "Mister pi-rate, do teeth really grow back?" "Yar! But only once... when you're young!" At this point, the colt with the debated dental condition decided to chime in while trying to keep his mouth open. It was a difficult feat, considering the filly was now lying on her back trying to pry his lips wider with her hooves. "Yau taahk funnah." Finial expected to see hurt in Klutz's face, but it never came, not even the slightest. In fact, he went right along without missing a beat. "I sing funny too!” Klutz stood and started hi-step trotting around in a circle, kicking his legs in needlessly fancy ways. "Yo-ho, yo-ho a pirate life fo' me. Yo-ho, yo-ho a pirate life fo' me. Yo-ho, yo-ho a pirate life fo' me." It was largely dual-tone, repetitive and... bad. The foals around him were laughing hysterically, pointing, rolling around in the grass having gigglefits. A pang of guilt rang through Finial's heart. His condition couldn't be helped, it wasn't a laughing matter. It was cruel of them to laugh, and crueler that Klutz didn't seem to realize they were laughing at him. Or... maybe... he didn't care. Soon, one of the colts was trotting along behind him, mimicking his motions, voice and mannerisms in an exaggerated way. The fad caught on, and shortly the rest were trying to do the same thing, along with a few additional foals who'd been attracted by the antics. Within moments, there was one joyously discordant train marching around the park grounds with Klutz as the leader, adding flourishing motions and new words to the chant while mischievously peering out the corner of his eye to watch the foals attempt incorporating the changes into their own versions of the march with spotty success. The most studious foal, trailing along at the end of the chain, had tied a maple leaf over one eye with a piece of string to get the true "pirate look." Every few steps his makeshift patch would slip and he'd pause to push it up again, keeping him just slightly more out of step than anyone else. Finial's eyes traveled back up to fix on Klutz again. The stallion was filled with mirth of a purity he hadn't seen anywhere but in those little foals. It was as if all of the best parts of childhood had been consolidated into one being, and then aged to a gentle, adult-like maturity. Right about then, Klutz looked back at him and waved with a pointed smile, and Finial smiled back. It was hard not to, since the entire line of dancing-pirate cult converts had turned to copy him in proud gusto. It was then Finial realized that he was smiling just as Klutz had when they first came to the park. He was filled with an inexplicable, peaceful warmth. Though he wasn't sure he had ever felt it before, he was sure he would never forget. The games continued, and slowly the parade group dispersed as mothers gathered their foals and went home. The sun was just barely peeking past the hills in the distance, and the evening summer breeze had started combing through the air. Klutz walked up to Finial and smiled gently, though there was, for once, a touch of sadness to it. "Can... I walk you home?" Home. Strangely, the glow in Finial's heart didn't shrink as much as he expected it to at the thought. He still felt at peace. But home was still a place he needed to go. Though for how long, he wasn't sure. He was sure that it wouldn't go over well if he came back with Klutz again. "Only if you need to go back too, Klutz." Klutz paused for a moment, then shook his head. "No... I have another... shift tonight..." Finial smiled a bit and reached over to pat Klutz's hoof. "It's probably better if I go alone, then. I'm sorry." He turned to leave but Klutz halted him gently with his foreleg. "You... don't have to... go back..." The smile was gone from his face, and instead there was an earnest pleading. So much of Finial wanted to follow that advice, but something still held him back. "I guess... part of me wants to think he can change. He could learn-" Finial stopped himself. Somehow, imagining Sledgehammer acting like Klutz was beyond ludicrous, to the point it almost seemed insulting to compare the two. It didn't help that it already felt like a stupid excuse on his part. "What I mean to say is... you are a wonderful friend. Thank you for..." He glanced out to the park, and the last red glows of daylight as they faded over the edge of the world, "...everything." "You're... welcome..." Finial thought he heard tears in those words, but he couldn't bring himself to look. Instead he gently pulled away and made his way "home." He didn't rush. Despite the time, he was in no hurry. He knew Sledgehammer would be mad, but he'd been mad before. His job was here, his belongings were here, his life was here. Leaving wasn't as easy as he wanted it to be. The despondency in Sledgehammer's voice that morning echoed back in his mind, and that small voice that yearned to hope clung to it. It hoped for a tearful confession and a changed heart, one the rest of him doubted would ever truthfully come. It wasn't really a question of could he change. Everyone can change... but would he. All too soon, he found himself walking up to the apartment building. It was strange that the park seemed miles away. In his mind he still saw it there, the sun filling the golden scene, and Klutz, that lug of a pegasus laughing in the middle of it with the foals. The image made him smile as he climbed the stairs, plodding up one by one. When he pressed his key into the lock of the door, his heart gave one final surge and pressed him to turn back, but he grit his teeth and opened it anyway. His mind was right. He couldn't just leave - maybe with preparations in a week or two, but to simply leave would only cause trouble. Or would it... As the door swung open, the first thing to strike Finial was the almost complete dark. No lights were on in the rooms anywhere, save for the window's very pale, useless blue glow from the moon and street lamps outside, which was muted itself by the drapes and blinds. What light shined in from the hallway revealed the kitchen floor was strewn with broken glass, broken furniture and smeared food. He furtively reached in to switch on the lights, only to find the switch was already up. The lamps were probably lying smashed somewhere on the floor with the rest of the furnishings. He stood in the hallway, about as willing to enter the apartment as he would be the cave of some fanged horror. Everything about the scene told him Sledgehammer was either very angry, or very drunk and very angry. Either way, he was also very dangerous. The apartment was silent, though. Perhaps Sledgehammer had stumbled down to the pub at some point. Or perhaps he was hurt... It was the latter part that finally drew his first few footsteps. Finial slid his hooves over the tiles, shuffling more than walking as he tried to sweep away any sharp debris. The strong scent of beer and liquor wafted into his nose, so strong he couldn't tell if it was spilled somewhere in the darkness, or if it was due to the amount that Sledgehammer had been drinking, or both. His hoof ran across something rough on the tiles, and another scent slipped in underneath the others. Slowly, he leaned down and sniffed: dried blood. "Sledge!? Sledge!" Suddenly heedless of the wreck in the unseen dark, Finial stumbled forward blindly till he felt his forelegs run into something organic. When a few furtive prods with his hoof confirmed it was a pony, he immediately dropped and began feeling his way along till he found the stallion's chest and pressed his head to it. Seconds ticked by, but eventually Finial relaxed. Sledgehammer's breathing and heart rate seemed normal. He had likely just cut himself on a piece of glass and passed out. In a way, it was almost serendipitous, because it did two things for Finial. He knew he couldn't stay, now, and he'd probably never get an easier chance to say goodbye. Though his eyes were still adjusting to the dark, he could see enough to make out Sledgehammers head and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Oddly, amongst the alcohol, he caught the faint smell of salt as well: tears. The idea of Sledgehammer crying was an alien one, but it only caught his heart a moment. It was still time to go. "...I'm sorry, Sledge. I'm sorry you changed. Goodbye." Resolve will do strange things to a pony, and here once more, Finial felt himself disconnect from his emotions as he stepped over the sleeping form and groped his way to the bedroom. Thankfully, the light in that room hadn't been smashed and turned on normally. In fact, everything except one had been spared Sledgehammer's drunken rage. A photo of himself and Sledgehammer had been dashed against the wall and now laid under a layer of shattered glass, a symbol of the shattered memories it represented. It was ironic. That picture was the one proof Finial had that once he was able to smile naturally around the stallion. He gently pushed the picture to the side and walked over to the bed, pulling out the smaller of two suitcases underneath and clicking it open. It wouldn't take long to pack the few belongings he needed. When he turned to walk to his dresser, however, he found Sledgehammer standing there, staring at him. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and were furrowed into a sorrowful, flat-browed expression that almost made him zombie-like. A dozen or two small cuts and scratches scattered over his side marked where shards of broken bottles had bitten into it as he slept, and looking down, he found that a larger shard was still sticking out of Sledgehammer's foreleg and bleeding onto the rug. Sledgehammer seemed completely oblivious to it. "...ya came back..." His voice, though mostly that same despondency from earlier, managed to carry a touch of surprise. Finial paused for a moment, uncertain whether he should respond, and how. "...yes, I did." He walked to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and made his way back, gently wrapping it around the shard. "Hold still." Sledgehammer didn't even twitch as Finial pulled the glass free. The wound bled a lot but seemed mostly superficial. Finial tossed the cloth somewhere to the side and resumed his previous path to the dresser, pulling out what few belongings he had or needed. "...ya'r leavin'?" "...yes, I am." No sooner had he tossed them into his suitcase than Sledgehammer drew him into a hug and started pressing kisses to his neck. A shock of revulsion ran through Finial as he jerked free, shooting Sledgehammer a searing glare before grabbing his suitcase and dragging it over to the dresser. He didn't want to keep walking past the creep. "Ya can still love me, can't ya? Ya can love me?" Hearing those words in that pleading tone almost broke Finial. After five years, he was asking that now? Finial didn't answer. He just ignored it and yanked a few more things out of the drawer as angry tears streaked down his cheeks, stinging like liquid darts. He was beginning to rush now, pulling things out and throwing them into the case with no particular order. The longer he spent there the less he had any desire to do so. Again Sledgehammer tried to pull him into a hug, but Finial writhed away as if he'd been branded. "NO! ...I have always loved the stallion I met five years ago. You aren't that stallion! I'm not sure that stallion even existed or if he was just bait to draw me in! You don't want to love. You want a free pass to being loved! You don't want consequences. You don't want responsibility. You want emotional servitude! And for all I know you're too drunk to even grasp what I'm saying." For several seconds, they just stared at each other. Finial was reeling with the force of his own emotion. Never in the last few years would he have dared talk to Sledgehammer like that, and yet there he was, shouting at him, not caring what came from it. Dependency on someone else, sharing life, wasn't a necessity. It was a gift, and Sledgehammer had lost it. He didn't deserve to have someone depend on him. Finial's chest heaved as huff after huff of angry, hot air blasted its way through his lungs. Sledgehammer just gazed at him, and for the first time in years, Finial thought he might have detected a hint of pain. He turned away from it with a defiant, resentful twist, forcing himself to finish packing. "...ya'r leavin' me for that... simple..." There was the edge that had been hiding. "I don't know where I'm going. All I know is it'll be away from y-" The colt never remembered being struck so hard by anything, or anyone. It was an almost surreal experience. All thoughts, all feelings left his mind. He felt the hoof smash into the side of his face, but he didn't black out. He felt himself fall, hit the floor, all of the motion slipping by his vision with a serene fluidity. It wasn't until several seconds after he'd fallen that the sharp, crackling pain manifested in the side of his skull, and a familiar liquid heat began seeping down that side. He also became aware of a stabbing pain in his thigh, and managed to turn his head enough to find he'd fallen on the picture, and one of the larger shards was now embedded in his haunch. "I'M BETT'A THAN 'IM! I AIN'T NO SIMPLE!" Finial shoved past the the careening pain in his head and ignored the shouting as he struggled to bend around and pull out the glass. It took several tries and cut lips before his teeth finally caught, and he let out a yell as the jagged edge cut further as he pulled it free. No sooner had he gotten it out though, than another crushing blow landed on the top of his head, tearing past his ear. He couldn't scream - his voice was frozen in his throat. All he could do was curl up as the throbbing pain reverberated in his skull. "I saw ya with 'im! I saw ya laughin' and smilin'! Ya can love ME!" The adrenalin pumping through Finial's system endowed the strength to drag himself up from the floor and stumble across the room, but then came another hit. A pair of steeled hind hooves slammed into his chest and threw him backward onto the bed, blasting the air from his lungs. In a saving grace, Sledgehammer was too inebriated to judge the distance and much of the force was stolen from the otherwise fatal strike. Finial realized, though, intentional or not, Sledgehammer would kill him. When the stallion reared for another attack, Finial caught sight of his face for the first time since he'd fallen. It was no longer cast in a sorrowed despondence. His features were twisted into a ghoulish snarl of sheer fury, his reddened eyes seething with livid rage. At that moment, whether by grant of epiphany by some gracious power or raw inspiration of a desperate mind, Finial knew exactly what he needed to do. In a surge of pure willpower, he lunged for the nightstand and grabbed the lamp by the top, his only weapon and his only light-source, and threw it at Sledgehammer's face. As if enchanted by divine guidance, the lamp hit its mark and shattered against the stallion's head, plunging the room into darkness with a violent blue spark. Sledgehammer screamed, and as Finial rolled to the side he felt the deadly hooves strike the mattress behind him. When he tumbled off the bed and looked up, though, he saw a light glowing in the rooms past: the front door was still open. The pain in his body was screaming at him, but he pushed it out of his mind as he dashed for the bedroom door. By pure serendipity, where his smaller frame could slip through the doorway, Sledgehammer's shoulder caught and dragged the door shut on his neck as he tried to stumble through. Finial's only guidance through the dark was the darker forms of scattered furniture, and it wasn't long before he found himself falling onto his face, having tripped over a shattered chair and into a puddle of drying beer. He heard the bedroom door crash outward behind him, and several agonizing seconds passed as he fought the pain in his leg to drag himself up again. Somehow, he caught his balance and plunged forward out of the entanglement, launching the chair backward with his good hind leg in the off-chance it would slow down pursuit. He rounded the counter and leapt forward, crashing down again halfway to the door. He heard Sledgehammer run into the chair and start shouting again, and his legs kicked into action, scrabbling over the tiles till they caught and launched him forward again and burst him into the hallway light. He didn't stop there, though. Sledgehammer was too drunk and too angry to care about who saw. Limping and bleeding a wide trail of blood beneath himself, Finial stumbled down the stairway as fast as he could. Names and faces of others he knew in the building flashed through his mind of who he could run to, but it was all useless. Sledgehammer would out-pace him before he reached anyone. Outside. He had to get outside. Pounding footfalls faster than his own began thundering down the stairs by the time he had reached the bottom of the first flight. The next flight, he took a chance and jumped halfway down, miraculously landing on his hooves and sliding into the wall. His heart was pumping madly in his chest. The pain shooting through him was nothing but a dull background to his dread. Finial slammed himself against the door, which arduously seemed to fight him. Perhaps it was loss of blood, perhaps it was his wounded leg or sheer fear, but it seemed to weigh as much as a bank vault. Still he pushed, his heart and Sledgehammer's hoofsteps pounding in his ears. Suddenly it gave way and he burst past the threshold. And ran. He didn't see the guards he passed or other ponies. All he heard were pounding, deadly hoofbeats on the ground behind him. And he knew he couldn't run as fast. Shouts sounded behind him, distant and irrelevant. His mind was fading. Two forelegs clamped around his chest and he let out a scream as he began to kick frantically. His first strike connected with something solid, but the next strike met nothing but air. Then he heard it: strong, slow, heavy wingbeats. His heart shuddered inside of him as he realized he was being carried upward, dangling over the street as the pavement became more distant beneath them. He looked up, and outlined in the moonlight was a ghostly, serious face, with an eye patch that couldn't be mistaken. All at once, though, Klutz let out a yell, and the two of them lurched toward the ground. Finial looked down to find that in some impossible feat of rage or desperation, Sledgehammer had clamped the end of Klutz's tail in his mouth, and was swinging underneath them. With the weight tremendously increased, it was all Klutz could do to stay in the air, and climb slowly, sweat beginning to stream down his sides as his muscles overheated with the strain. Klutz gave a single kick that connected with Sledgehammer's jaw, and the stallion let go. For a split second, Finial's eyes connected with Sledgehammer's once more. All he saw was pure, mindless grief and dejection, as if begging sympathy. The next moment, their gaze was torn as he tumbled downward, letting out a shriek which was quickly silenced as his body smacked head-first onto the pavement. Finial was never sure how long that moment in time lasted, staring downward at the crumbled heap shrinking below him as he was lifted faster and higher. All he felt were the first, shaking sobs that racked his body as Klutz carried him skyward. Eventually they reached the cloud-line, a landscape of shapeless ghosts illuminated by moonlight. Klutz flew to the nearest, and in a surprising feat of acrobatic grace, spun Finial around in the air to face him as he landed laying backward on the cloud, cradling Finial between his limbs. Shake. All Finial could do, was shake. His heart was still pounding, aching, his breath still heaving. Forceful, paralyzing sobs gripped his chest as tears poured from his eyes, smearing the dried blood streaked over his face. He wasn't crying out of physical pain, though, nor relief, nor happiness, nor sorrow. There are some emotions so powerful and so rare they defy description, but anyone who has felt them knows what they are. He simply could not stop. Klutz never said a word, never shushed him, never tried to wipe his tears. He simply held him silently, staring up at the stars above them. And at some point, Finial fell asleep. You know a heart is truly broken when it ceases to feel pain. You know a heart is healing when it starts.