//------------------------------//
// Day 1 
// Story: I-solation 
// by Lapis-Lazuli and Stitch 
//------------------------------//


I-solation


Day 1


I’m not sure what it is that motivates me out of my dumb stupor, but I’m glad it does. C’mon, Diamond, I think to myself. Get a grip and think this out. You’re just making it out to be worse than it actually is. I’ve only been scared out of my wits a couple times before, and I don’t like the feeling at all. It makes me act like an idiot, which I’m totally not. It’s time to be rational and calculate my next move like a grown up mare. Which I’ve proved I am over and over again, even if none of the ‘real’ adults think so. I pick my butt up off the dirty pavement and walk a few steps until I find a proper bench to sit and think on. 

I haul myself onto it, put my chin in one hoof, and scowl. It’s my patented thinking look and pose, and I’ve trained everypony in Ponvyville not to disturb me when I’m in it. It’s great when I actually need to think harder than normal about how to mess with the Cutie Mark Crusaders, but I mostly just use it to keep ponies off my back when I don’t feel like chatting. With any luck, the ponies in Baltimare will take the hint and stay off my bench. My first thought is to try to remember what Daddy told me I should do if I ever got lost in a big city. I know for a fact he said something about it before, at least a couple times. It had something to do with… um, shoot… what did he say I should do when he was blabbering on. Most of it was stupid, but I think there might’ve been something helpful in there somewhere. I knock my other hoof against the side of my head, squinting my eyes in an attempt to concentrate. Nothing. I can’t for the life of me remember what he said. Why didn’t he make sure I was listening?

I sigh. Great. As usual, Daddy’s no help when it really matters. Well, Silver and I never thought about this sort of thing. Whenever we get to go on trips together, it’s always to Canterlot, and after being there so much, we pretty much know where everything is. And unlike Baltimare, Canterlot has a smarter way of doing things. They don’t mix the decent places and ponies with the dingy neighborhoods and icky peasants. So Silver and I never have to worry about going and getting breathed on by them. 

I growl to myself. The Royal Guard aren’t any help. They like the common ponies too much. If I were just some random mare who got lost or left behind, they’d be sure to help me find my way home. But thanks to that moron Hoity Toity and his stupid wimpiness, we royal and classy ponies have to provide identification for Guard services. Apparently, they’re not reliable enough and just as bad as common peasants. And, of course, mine’s in my bag in the back of some peachy train with Daddy on its way home. That dumb law Toity pushed through needs to be the other way around. I put the idiot at the top of my list to get at for making this whole dumb situation more complicated than it needs to be. Really, would the Guard not recognize the Diamond Tiara.

Whatever, can’t rely on anypony but yourself anyway. I’m still trying to think of anypony I may have talked to that might have had some idea of what a mare does when this sort of thing happens, when this big fatty of a stallion shoves his way next to me. He’s got guts, thinkin’ he can just interrupt my thinking time like that, him and his smelly fat. He takes a newspaper from behind his ear and unfolds it, but I take the opportunity to let him have a piece of my mind. He needs it. I snatch the paper away, and before his stupid face can even finish being startled, I lean up into his face and yell, “Hey, Mister! You wanna find another bench! This one’s taken. There’s probably a special fat pony bench someplace else.”

I keep my eyes narrowed and staring into his dumb beady eyes, just like I know how. He blinks like all the dorks do, and I can’t help but smirk at how uncomfortable he looks. Home run. Except, it doesn’t last long, and his brows scowl like mine, and he forcibly pushes me back, and says, “Shove off, kid.”

Wow, he really’s got guts this stallion. But Scootaloo’s got those too, and all the ponies who’re stupid enough to just go out on a limb all act the same way. “No. You ‘shove off,’ or I’ll -”

“Shut yer trap, filly,” he interrupts me, and I let my mouth twist into angrily surprised. “This is a public spot, not yer personal patio.”

“Funny, ‘cause I thought I was sitting here first,” I say and keep myself confident. He’s got nerve. You don’t go invading a pony’s personal space, and it was obvious I was trying to think alone without any distractions. Of course, he’s fat, which also means he’s not too bright, so I guess that explains some of his stupidity.

“I… Oh, you know what, just forget it,” he mutters in a huff and gets up to leave. 

I smile at my own force of will, and before he’s out of range, I yell, “Hey! What makes you think I want to keep your stupid stuff?” I wave the rolled up paper in the air until he turns around, and once his nose is all the way in view, I chuck it right at his ugly face. Unfortunately, it’s paper, so it doesn’t fly as far as it should, but it lands half in a puddle, which is a good second. He’s got an angry look on his face when he picks it up, and I think it’s probably good for him to walk some more. Being angry helps keep a pony in shape too, so really, he should be thanking me. 

Guh, where was I. I situate myself back in the center of the bench and take up my thinking pose again, this time adding a swing to my hind legs. Obviously the ponies in this city aren’t too bright, so I have to go the extra mile to make sure they take the hint and leave me alone. In lieu of Daddy or Silver, Momma’s the only pony I would want to take advice from, but she’s not much help either. Momma never went anywhere without at least three servants to take care of all the missteps. She never had to worry about a thing, but Daddy says it’s ‘tacky’ to bring along the servants from home. Once again, Daddy’s dorkiness messes everything up. But… wait, Momma! That’s it. 

Even if Momma always did make sure to have servants to take care of all the little annoying things and ponies, she also told me that some things were just too big for them. And these things were best settled with ponies of equal or close status and class to yourself. Makes sense to me. After all, unless it’s your personal servant, the only ponies who you can really trust to lend a hoof are the ones like you. Of course, it helps if they came to your Cuticenra; but it’s not absolutely necessary. So that decided, I hop off the bench with a smile. Everything will be all taken care in a few minutes, and if even the classy ponies in Baltimare try to give me a hard time, I can always throw Daddy’s name in their stupid faces. That seems to work a lot. Daddy’s business must mean way too much to too many ponies, not that I care when it gets me what I want. 

But I don’t know these grimy, gross parts of Baltimare at all. I walk on the streets for a couple minutes, trying to catch sight of somepony with a fedora or suit and tie. It must be such a pain (never mind a violation to their ears and noses) to have to come down here just to make sure your peasant workers are doing their jobs. Ugh, and worse, they sometimes have to act like these stupid ponies have something valuable that they want to buy. But I figure that whether they’re going or leaving, I can eventually follow them to the places the beautiful mares like me know. Only, the more I look around, the more desperate I can feel myself getting. Nopony in these streets even looks like they have a shred of intelligence or money. It’s all a bunch of low lifes and bums just meandering around like zombies and dorks. And the ones that don’t look stupid are in groups laughing and joking like morons. Who gets together for a party in the street anyway?

See, I’m lucky though, so a nice, custom built cart flies past me right at that moment, and there’s no mistaking that it belongs to somepony of my status. I take off after it, being careful not to let my tiara fall off at the bouncy pace. Geez, you’d think that even peasants would know how to make an even, flat sidewalk. I jump a few potholes, and I’m about to shout to the idiot cab-pull to slow down for royalty when my forehoof catches on an uneven sidewalk slab. I scream even before it happens, and my face hits the pavement. Hard. I just lay there for a few minutes, trying not to cry at how much my face stings. I don’t think I’ve got any deep cuts or anything. It doesn’t feel like I’m bleeding when I touch my hoof to my face, but it hurts even worse at the contact. I wince and sniff, and my concentration on not crying breaks and the tears start running down my face. They hurt too. Really?! I mean really!? Why now? 

I slowly lift myself off the gravelly pavement, and I notice my legs a shaking from how much I’ve dinged them up too. And nopony seems to have noticed either. Or if they have, they just aren’t bothering to care. How dare they. It’s not like I’m some groungy foal running around picking saddle bags. More to the point that I’m meant to be royalty. They’d all want to give me a hoof if Daddy would let me become like Momma, and if I were like Momma, I wouldn’t have to lean against a brick wall, clutching my shins and waiting for the burning to stop. I’d already be on my way to a hospital where I would properly taken care of. But no, I’m supposed to be some businessmare who only matters to other businessdorks. Why can’t Daddy just get over himself already?

I don’t know how long I sit huddled away from the crowds. It’s a kind of windy day, and every time there’s a break in the shuffling peasants, my scrapes sear up again. They crowd ebbs and flows too, and never once does somepony bother to give me a look. They’re all such ignorant morons. I’m gonna have Daddy do something that’ll make them never forget me when I get home. I try to stand up a couple times, but all I end up doing is hissing and sitting back down again. I’m actually really glad it’s not a rainy day, since I’d have to see how stupid and messed up I look in a puddle in the street. My one saving grace is my tiara. That at least still marks me out as belonging to a better, classier family of ponies. 

I don’t know what try it is, but I finally manage to stand up and walk. My legs and face still hurt, but it’s bearable, and I’ll get them looked at once I get to the better parts of Baltimare. I decide to just start walking in a straight line. It’s my best bet at this point, and after hours trying not to trip again, I recognize the hotel Daddy and I stayed in. My stomach’s reminding me it’s well past lunchtime almost constantly now, and it’s becoming harder and harder not to think about not having had breakfast either. I push the grumblings down again with promises of sweets and snacks at some boutique or other. I have half a mind to march right into the hotel and have them pull me up from the roster and let them take care of me in real style until Daddy comes back, but there’s a bouncer at the door. And I’ve been checked by and hired enough of them to know it’s pointless. I’d have a better chance talking a dragon into not being so smelly. 

I don’t like having to just walk past a warm bed and big kitchen and room service, but at least I get why we have bouncers. It doesn’t really help me at the moment, but I’m going to be sure to find some stylish way to wear my upper class identification so I never have to deal with this stuff again. That and carry some money. Daddy thinks it makes you a target, but I would have eaten by now if I had some. But I push on. Imagining what the Cutie Mark Crusaders would be doing if they were me brings a grin to my face and puts a small bit of energy back into my walk. Sweetie Belle would be straight up yelling too loudly and would sound even more stupid than normal. She and her sister like to think they’ve got class, but they don’t have the connections like me. Applebloom and Scootaloo would just want to stick to the gross parts of Baltimare. They’d fit in well enough, and there’d probably be some Apple somewhere. Ugh, nevermind. They would probably already be in some hick’s cart on their way back to Ponyville. It makes me sick. 

But wasting time or energy thinking about them is pointless, especially since I’m now in the middle of the classy part of town. It takes a few more blocks, but I finally get into the shopping areas, and now that I’m so close to getting this stupid inconvenience taken care of, I don’t even feel my scrapes anymore. I wander around for a bit, looking into the shop windows for signs of the tastes of the owner. I want to be able to relate to the owner after all. What’s the point of trying to get her to give me a lift if we can’t even talk about good perfume smells and ugly mane styles on stallions? I end up settling on a place that looks like somewhere Silver would shop, not because I like the look of the things inside, but I am getting to the point that I can’t ignore my stomach much longer and most of the places don’t look like they’ve got anything close to the fantastic style I’ve got. 

A small bell jingles when I step inside, and the mare of the store immediately turns from her jewelry display, her greeting just about to come out, but she ends up choking and trying to scream. I look around behind me, but there’s no big, ugly, fat stallion violating good fashion. But I don’t have to be confused by her stupid outburst for long. “Ugh!” she points a hoof at me, and I do the same, wondering why on earth a pony like me would make her look like she’s dying. “You street vermin just keep getting bolder and bolder! Gah! A fake tiara and everything! Get out, or I’ll call my bodyguard! And tell your little filly and colt ‘friends’ to stay away!”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m one them!” I burst out. This mare needs to get a grip. There are real diamonds in my tiara, and I’ve never seen a fake pearl glow like the real thing. “I’m Diamond Tiara.” When she only looks at me like all the stupid adults do when I tell them who I am, I roll my eyes and elaborate, “Filthy Rich’s daughter.”

“Huh! Brazen indeed!” she crows at me. “Such boldfaced lies are almost impressive,” she sneers at me. “Rich’s daughter never goes anywhere without him when they aren’t in Ponyville, so you can scat!” I open my mouth to protest, to give her the obvious reason I’m by myself, but she shouts in a cat-call before I can get the words out. “Big Socks! I have a trespasser I want escorted out of my shop.” A massive stallion almost immediately steps out of the back of the shop and nods in my direction to which the mare nods back. 

“C’mon kid,” he says in a grumbly way. He doesn’t even wait for me to walk out on my own. He just grabs me up in a hoof like I’m some piece of garbage. 

“No! Put me down!” I flail and shout at him, kicking and swinging all my hooves trying to get away. None of it even phases him, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. “I’m royalty! My momma was a royal mare! My daddy’s Filthy Rich! Don’t you get it! AH! Let me go! I’m trying to get home! Uh…” A puff of breath escapes me as the stallion just tosses me onto my rump in the middle of the street. 

“Keep it down kid,” he says to me, almost looking sad. “You’ll get money easier scroungin’ off the streets. Here, go buy a hayburger or somethin’.” He sighs and tosses some bits at my hooves, and I open and close my mouth, delirious, as he steps back inside and practically slams the door. That moron! That jerk! Daddy’ll run her out of business for sure for throwing me out! Really, how stupid do you have to be to think my tiara’s fake!? I huff and growl at the same time, turning my nose up and almost walk further up the street before I half-remember the bits on the ground. I wasn’t begging (that’s for wimps who can’t get what they want any other way) but they are there, and the longer I stare at them with one eye, the more I realize how hungry I am. Before anypony can see me, I sweep them into my hoof and do a quick count. It’s not even enough to get dessert for me and Silver from any place with good sweets, but it’s just barely enough for a hayburger. I never eat there. It’s so greasy and gross and full of fat, ugly dorks. But it’s cheap, which is why it’s gross, greasy, and always packed with fat dorks. 

But before I go that route, I decide to check more of the boutiques. My second choice doesn’t go any better. I’m thrown out by a personal guard as I glare at the goof-off owners who are holding each others’ hooves and whispering things like ‘street rat’ and ‘ugly fake’. But I’ve already told them what idiots they are for not recognizing me. The guard this time doesn’t give me any bits, but he does mutter, “I get that you don’ feel like lookin’ for open saddle bags after gettin’ beat up, but this innit much better…” That’s when I take a chance to look at myself in some glass and wish I hadn’t. My mane’s a complete disaster, the fur on my face is all scraggly from the fall, and I’ve got bits of sandy gravel all stuck in with my usually beautiful pink. I try to fix my mane with my hooves, even while I watch and can’t stop more tears, but the more I mess with it, the worse it gets. And the worse it gets, the more frantically I try to get it right, until I’m a crying mess with a frizzy, mussed up mane that’s dangling stupidly all in front of my face.

At some point, my stomach reminds me how hungry I am again, and I sniff and decide there’s nothing for it. I trudge out of the shopping streets, head hung, but not for any purposeful reason. I just don’t have the energy to keep it up. The nearest Hayburger place isn’t too far from the train station. Common ponies are so disgusting. It’s the first place they stop to eat after getting to a new city, and it’s the last place they stuff their faces before a long train ride home. As much as I don’t want to eat that stupid not-food, it’s the only place I know of in Baltimare where I can use only a couple bits to buy enough food to keep me from being hungry in the middle of the night. A fresh wave of tears tries to come at the thought of nowhere to sleep for the night, but I force them down despite how it makes my throat burn. Nopony even gives me a glance when I walk in, and I can’t believe that out of all the places I’ve walked today, nopony has recognized me. This is what happens when Daddy won’t let me out to go do things. 

When the line finally moves out of my way, I don’t even look at the peasant filly behind the counter. Never mind I’m a royal pony eating at Hayburger, I already look stupid, and I’m not letting anypony see me with puffy red eyes. I’d die first. “Just a hayburger,” I mutter to her and put the bits on the counter. She takes a second to make sure it’s the right amount, then says something really awkwardly about waiting just a second. I stand there, staring out a window in the direction of the fewest other ponies in the place. I can’t even think about anything. Not even where I’m going to sleep. I take the box without a word when it comes and go outside with it. There’s a small little nook between the Hayburger building and the next where they have their boilers. I squeeze in and eat the flat, tasteless food as fast as I can. I don’t want to throw it up before I finish. The noise of the boilers helps keep me from thinking too much. 

By the time I’ve finished, night’s settled in and the lamp-ponies are already going around lighting the lampposts. I take my box and wrapper with me out of the boiler niche, and end up just watching the lamp-ponies dart around. The sound of warming boilers is still in my ears, so I get a few more minutes of numb half-peace. My stomach doesn’t really appreciate my choice of Hayburger. But when there aren’t any more lamps to be lit, I’m forced to figure out someplace to sleep. I should have gone to bed a couple hours before this, I’m sure. And that’s even with me staying up after Daddy has told me to go to sleep. 

I start walking again, and my hooves are hurting now from all the work. See, this is why I shouldn’t get a job. Royal mares aren’t supposed to stand up and walk around all day. I end up trekking back to the train station. I reason it’s big enough to hide in without being caught, even if I don’t know whether it’ll be warm enough. I huff at the idea. No place is going to be warm enough. No place has my sheets and blankets. There’s a stupid draft in the building without anypony walking around in it, but it doesn’t tug at my fur if I get behind the pillars. I throw the hayburger stuff in one of the trash cans out of habit more than anything else.

I find an old, oily coat some nasty idiot left on the platform, but since I can’t find anything else, I take it with me behind the farthest pillar from the entrance. It’s not nearly big enough to cover me up and be a pillow. I have to curl up in a ball just to keep my hooves from sticking out, and my head has to lay on the hard cobblestone. I try using my mane to cushion my head a little bit, but it only tugs at my skull painfully, so I throw it over on the other side of my face. It’s stupid to think about, but I imagine where I should be and what I should be doing right now. I can see the giggling faces of the Cutie Mark Crusader dorks when they hear I’ve been left behind in Baltimare. And I can’t stop myself. I sit up and scream and stamp by hoof into the pavement. It’s not right! None of it! “I’m not supposed to live on the streets of some grimy city!” I wail, and it echoes through the empty platform. “Why haven’t you come back to pick me up, Daddy?” I whisper to nopony, but I can’t find the answer and there’s nopony else to tell me. I end up just burying my eyes in my foreleg to keep myself from crying, and at some point, I fall asleep.