Chapter 3: Featherdrop and the Hermit
It was the last time I cried; the first time I met her. I was upstairs, alone. Everypony else was downstairs, likely still congratulating or bidding farewell to the colt who’d just been adopted.
It was rare, after all, that a colt got adopted.
As hard as I pressed my face to the pillow it could not stop nor even slow the escape of tears and the occasional sob emanating from my snot-sullied face. I held that pillow closer to me, hard enough to strangle any living creature. I wished it were one though. Because sometimes, if I hugged that pillow hard enough to my chest, I could almost imagine it were the soft, warm hoof of a loving pony, or at least someone who cared enough to be there.
But not this time. This time it was just a pillow, and I was just a pathetic filly, crying, as if crying could do something to give me a taste of the “normal” that everyone in Equestria seems to take for granted, yet all it could do was take me ever further from it.
A bump resonated loudly from my right. I’d scrambled up, rushing to wipe the evidence of my break-down from my face and pillow, but doing a pathetic job of it. But when I looked to my right I found nothing but an empty window to meet my confused expression, until a tiny grey feather gently tumbled from the top of the window,
All…
The way…
To the bottom.
The feather was soon followed by a pegasus, identical in color, whom dropped down from the same place and began to inspect the window for damage.
I dove to the floor, hiding behind the opposite side of the bed from the window. Temporarily forgetting my sorrow and finding myself overcome with the innocent curiosity of a filly, I warily raised my head back up past the sheets.
The mare was still hovering by the window. Her grey fur and feathers were contrasted by her dirty blonde mane and beautiful golden eyes (which, to my understanding, was a very rare color).
I then noticed that those eyes were… unaligned. One was staring upwards, towards the rim of her black and blue mailmare cap, while the other one was looking directly at me.
I properly realized that last part a second later and swiftly ducked back behind the bed, hiding from the mare’s gaze.
Seconds later a gentle pair of knocks emanated from the window. Somehow slightly reassured by this, I raised my head back up. The Mailmare was still there, looking at me and smiling gently now as I climbed back up onto the bed. I stared back at her, a carefully blank expression on my face as I regarded her with hidden curiosity.
She then began to make small gestures. I gave her a confused look, and she thought for a moment. She began now to re-enact what had happened a few moments ago, and looked at me sheepishly.
I tore at that in my mind momentarily before I realized she must be trying to apologize for startling me. Finding myself at a lack of gestures representing “it’s ok,” I gave her a shrug in return.
The mare seemed as content with that as I was, and looked about ready to take back off. She didn’t, though. Instead she turned back and pressed her face a little closer to the glass, inspecting me. I only had to feel uncomfortable about that for a few more seconds, after which she pointed at me, then raised a hoof to her eye and slowly trailed it down her cheek, mimicking a sad expression.
Again, I shrugged.
She didn’t seem as satisfied with that this time. I left her gaze, repositioning my eyes to stare longingly at the ground. What was I supposed to do? How could I express how I felt? What it was like trapped in this wretched place, my only escape a hopeless, foalish dream? How could I possibly express my anger for the staff, the orphans, the orphanage, and the world outside it? What could I possibly do to show her any of that? Why would I even want to?
Another rap against the window brought my attention back to myself, and I was… well, surprised at what I came back too (and a little disturbed). It turns out the whole time I had been making gestures and re-enacting each of those thoughts as they came, and I came back to find myself repeatedly hitting the pillow beneath my hooves. I looked up also to find the mailmare still looking back at me, with a foreign look that must have been concern. I released the pillow from my grasp and straightened it back out on the bed.
Mailmare laid her hoof against the window. She made no further gesture, aside from her constant, steady, one-eyed gaze. I looked from her eyes to her hoof, then back to her eyes. When I realized she wasn’t going to take it away, I inched myself closer and hesitantly reached my hoof towards hers. I stopped, just before the glass, for whatever ridiculous reason was running through my mind—but only for a moment.
I pressed my hoof against the glass, at the same place where the mailmare’s was. It was cold… like always, it was cold. Yet… barely noticeable, almost invisible, I could feel a warmth. Somehow, through that cold barrier, the mare found a way to seep a little bit of warmth into my world. I could feel my then-weak eyes begin to tear up again; through the tears I could still see the mare, and on her face was the most perpetually kind smile any living creature had ever shown me. It was the kind of smile that demanded a smile in return.
Perhaps, for the first time in my life, that mare made me truly smile.
~
“Featherdrop!” I turned to see Scoots standing by the door across the room from me, a degraded expression on her face to match its flush. “What the hay was that all about?” she whined.
I dropped my gaze to the ground, unwilling to explain the memory that had just been running through my head. “Yeah, um… sorry ‘bout dragging you halfway across the town ‘n stuff… I was in a hurry.”
“In a hurry for what?” Scoot-annoying was still whining, trotting across the room to sit on the bed next to mine. I spoke more quietly now, a bit of the filly’s embarrassment seeping into my own cheeks.
“… The mailmare’s coming today…”
Scoot-annoying didn’t seem any less confused at the statement than the first time I had made it. Still lacking in the will to explain it properly, I continued with my quiet rambling.
“She comes around every week…”
Speak of the devil and she will appear… I never thought that old saying was relevant to anything other than Ms. Coltone. Emanating from behind me was a knock, tugging my ears taught and pulling my eyes to look behind me. My face immediately burst into a smile, and forgetting about Scoots I swivelled all the way around to face the window.
Mailmare smiled at me and waved, her shoulders rising gently in an inaudible giggle. I waved back, my smile growing the tiniest bit wider, and sat now with my legs hanging over the edge of the bed.
Since the first time we’d met, we slowly became better at making and understanding each other’s gestures, and in a way we had formed our own language with them.
“How’ve you been?”
Just about every conversation we had started out this way, but unlike with most ponies I didn’t mind. I thought for a moment, and then replied with further gestures.
“Nothing unusual, I suppose” I thought further. “I went outside today.”
Mailmare smiled proudly and clapped her hooves together. She followed with a more complicated series of gestures. “Yesterday I delivered a package to…” The mailmare paused, and then pointed to the hill in the distance atop which sat the town of Canterlot.
I repeated the earlier gesture of clapping my hooves together.
It didn’t matter to us how little or insignificant the past week’s events had been for us; if there was something to share, we shared it every week. I guess it wasn’t much, but it was something to look forward to in life…
“Who’s…?” Mailmare pointed behind me.
I looked back, and saw a confused looking Scoot-annoying left abandoned on the bed behind me. That look only lasted a moment though, and was soon replaced with a shy blush as she realized both me and the mailmare were looking at her. She waved, and I looked back at Mailmare thoughtfully.
“She’s…” I stopped abruptly as I realized I didn’t have a gesture yet that represented the word “friend.” Hesitantly, I reached back and put a single arm across Scoots’ shoulder, smiling sheepishly.
Mailmare looked from me to Scoots several times. When it looked as if she'd gathered her thoughts, she pointed at me and Scoots, then made a heart shape with her hooves on the glass that, from her perspective, likely encompassed both me and Scoots.
For the second time that day Scoot-annoying found herself thrown all the way across the room from me.
My head was shaking so violently it likely distorted the massive blush on my face, and I made frantic crossing motions with my hooves.
Mailmare burst into guffaws that were almost audible in their intensity. She seemed to forget about her wings, as she proceeded to fall a few feet and then catch herself, stifling her laughter into mere giggles, grinning as she gestured to assure me she was only joking. I continued to blush despite myself, but at the very least the consolation helped to lower my sense of embarrassment.
Glancing behind me I managed to spot a very peeved-looking Scoot-annoying blushing and glaring at me from across the room. My apologetic half-grin seemed to stifle her frustration but replace it with a look of confusion and curiosity. When another knock came sounding from behind me I quickly waved her off and turned back to Mailmare.
She told me she had to go early, because of a special delivery or something. I was disappointed at her swift departure, but I understood. After expressing such with a solemn nod, I came up and pressed my forehead against the glass. Mailmare did the same, paused to lend a wave of “goodbye” to both me and Scoots, and then soared off into the now-setting sun.
~
School. What can I say? I love it. I never understood how the vast majority of the orphan populace could hold such resentment for it. Even the perpetually exuberant Scoot-annoying couldn’t seem to stand it.
“Come on, be one o-clock already!”
Come to think of it, Scoot-annoying was probably the worst of them all.
I was hoping Scoots would catch my piercing glare of “shut the hay up already,” but as always during the last ten minutes of class her eyes were glued to the clock.
Finally little Scoot-annoying’s wishes were granted; all at once the clock hit one, our lesson on the agricultural history of Ponyville ended, and the whole class heaved a relieved sigh as one massive organism that I was not a part of.
Still moving as one, the whole class made its way to the classroom exit. As usual I waited until the majority of the chaos had waned before I sat up from my seat. All the usual ponies were left in the classroom: the Caresoar Orphanage’s personal school attendant (no, they didn’t just call her a teacher), a filly named Screwball, and of course little Scoot-annoying waiting for me by the door.
I tried my best not to look directly at Screwball. She was… well, let her name do the talking. If there was a single filly in the whole orphanage that could match my lack of chances at being adopted, it was Screwball. Nopony could really tell what was going on in her head, behind those lopsided, swirly eyes of hers—and that smile. Scoots at the very least had an innocent sort of permanent smile. Screwball’s…
Yeah, I wasn’t the only one who liked to give her a wide berth when walking past.
Once I dealt with that hurdle, I made my way to Scoot-annoying, who, as expected, immediately began to talk.
“Ugh, that was horrible. Ms. Cheerilee was a way better teacher!”
Oh yeah, that. Apparently before Scoots came to the orphanage she went to a school with her friends Sweetie Bell and Apple Bloom. Since she came to the orphanage she’d begun taking school with me instead, but she still mentioned it a lot.
Suddenly that got me thinking, and I was overcome with the rare urge to ask Scoot-annoying a question.
“Scoot-ann… er, Scoots, where were you staying before you came to the orphanage?”
Scoots’ mouth still hung halfway open, making me fear I may have interrupted something I hadn’t been listening to, but if she was bothered by it she sure as hay didn’t show it.
“Oh, I just, you know, hung about… my friends had to convince me to come stay here.” Scoots’ eyes were focused on something inconceivably further away than the wall she was staring at. “I guess I’m glad they did… I’d heard so many horrible things about the orphanage; I guess I was scared to let anypony know I didn’t have a home…”
It wasn’t very often Scoot-annoying fell silent the way she did just then. The last time she did was back at Miss Rarity’s, when she’d thought I didn’t want to be her friend anymore.
I looked around to make sure Nopony was looking at us, hoping to avoid a repeat of the incident at Miss Rarity’s, and when I was sure no one was doing so I reached over and gave Scoots a quick, gentle one-legged hug.
I must have been getting good at that, ‘cause Scoots immediately perked back up and changed the subject.
“S-so… um—oh—yes! I was going to ask you if you wanted to hang out again today? We were going to ask Fluttershy later if she wouldn’t mind us having another sleepover at her place.”
“Fluttershy?”
“Oh, she’s uh… Applebloom’s sister’s friend.”
“Friend of a sister of a friend? That doesn’t sound sketchy at all.”
“Oh, it’s okay; she’s a friend of Ms. Rarity too.”
“… Are all normal friend circles this complicated?”
The seriousness of my question was lost in the sort-of-forced laughter that proceeded. When Scoot-annoying calmed herself, she tapped my ear and said nervously “I uh, got to go… do something. By myself. So uh… at three we can go an’ hang out, ok?”
I nodded my head in silence and watched the little orange filly scamper off to places unknown. It was only then that I vaguely noticed the filly hadn’t smiled at all since I’d asked her about life before the orphanage.
I didn’t see her again until a little after three o’clock that afternoon.
~
The proceeding afternoon was… well, interesting. First I had to apologise to Miss Rarity for the last little thing I graced her and her sister’s ears with before I rushed off the other day. After she was convinced I wasn’t a foul-mouth and a fiend (a ruffian… a savage… an anarchist…) she finally let Sweetie Bell come with us. We still had one tiny problem to work through though.
“Fluttershy came by the boutique earlier; she already said she wouldn’t mind if we had a sleep-over at her place.”
“Ah still think we ought to go to th’ Library though. Maybe we could borrow some books on cutie marks.”
“I already told you, I don’t want a dusty-old-book cutie mark! Let’s just skip the Library and go to Fluttershy’s already. Hey, maybe we could ask her how she got her cutie mark!”
“We already tried that!”
I kept myself a few paces behind the small-scale argument, quietly observing my surroundings and trying my best to learn the layout of Ponyville. Despite all objections from Scoot-annoying we were already making our way to the library, which was now visible at the end of the road. As usual I’d tuned out the chatter to the best of my ability, so I didn’t notice Sweetie Belle slow to match my pace until she spoke to me.
“Hey, um… I’m sorry about hurting your nose the other day.”
I could’ve sworn I’d already said it wasn’t a big deal.
“It’s no big deal.”
Sweetie Belle looked about as convinced as I’d expected her to be. She dropped the subject though, focusing back on Scoots and Applebloom. Without meaning to, I did the same.
“Do they always argue like this?” I inquired.
“Sometimes. Applebloom usually wins though, and Scootaloo doesn’t really mind.”
Our little discussion was abruptly stopped when Scoots called my name. The both of us trotted back up to join her and Applebloom, and I was met there with a sharp inquiry.
“What do you think Featherdrop; do you want to go to the library?”
I looked discreetly ahead of us; we were practically already at the library. “Well… I uh, wouldn’t mind seeing if they have any good books…”
I liked to read. I wasn’t some sort of massive book nerd or anything, but it was kind of nice to read about what life could be if you weren’t… well, me. The orphanage has its own little collection of books for any adventurously bored fillies who might be interested in the simple-minded literature, but never anything worth reading more than once. As a result, I was genuinely interested to see what I could find.
“See?” Applebloom raised her snout pointedly, “Ah told you she’d want to go. And look at that, we’re already there!”
True to her word, Applebloom gestured to the innovative structure towering above us. And by innovative, I mean it was built out of a tree. An orchard granted by the royal sisters themselves was impressive, but that must have been one for the agricultural history books.
The Library stood out from the gingerbread urban sprawl that was Ponyville, not only because of the unusually large amount of space granted to the perimeter of the building, but because of its distinct color pallet. It also smelled of spring, had birds swimming and singing throughout its many thick branches, and cast a welcoming shade over the entrance of the structure. It was a welcome change of scenery from the orphanage, which looked just like every other building surrounding it.
Scoot-annoying conceded at last, trotting with the others towards the entrance of the library with me in tow.
A familiar problem began to surface as the three began to argue over who would be the one to knock. I found that absolutely ridiculous; it was a library! Who knocks before going into a public establishment?
Deciding to take that point and prove it, I stepped past the scuffle of young ponies and walked through the door. A surprised “eep” and a flash of flame followed, fuelling an urge for me to look past the door.
The interior of the library, I noted, was just as nice as the exterior; as one might expect the walls, floor, roof, and furniture were all solid wood. Shelves were carved into the walls and lined neatly with books which added a splash of color to the otherwise monotone view. The room was very spacious and had little else in it—certainly not anything that could have conceivably created flame or an “eep.”
I was the first to step through the doorway, followed hesitantly by the rest of the crusaders. The four of us peered about the space cautiously, and when it seemed clear nothing was around Applebloom cried out a pair of syllables.
“Twilight?”
Some movement was audible from above us, and I noticed just then a wide spiral staircase lining the far wall and leading to a second floor. Moments later a unicorn, purple in both fur and mane, came trotting down said staircase.
“Oh, hi girls! I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you knock.”
“This is a library,” I spoke curiously, “why would we knock?”
Scoot-annoying decided to answer for the unicorn. “Twilight lives here actually—sorry, should’a told you that.”
I was starting to notice an odd pattern of mares choosing to live with their craft. It’s not all that unusual that somepony like Miss Rarity might start up fashion as a home business, but a librarian living in a library? What’s next, a baker living in their bakery’s attic? A weather manager living in a cloud? Ponyville is a feathered up place.
No wonder I live in it.
The librarian named Twilight finished coming down the staircase and came trotting towards us.
“Ugh, girls, learn to close the door when you come inside.”
Miss Twilight trotted past us and towards the open door, grumbling to herself something about horses and apples.
From behind us the sound of a door closing could be heard, followed by yet another new name.
“Spike!”
Twisting my head I saw now that there was a small dragon stuck to the backside of the door—limbs spread out and face trapped in an awkward expression—likely due to my earlier abrupt opening of the door. Miss Twilight helped to peel the creature off, letting him fall with a thump to the floor.
“Is that… a dragon?” I didn’t realize how quivery and nervous my voice sounded until I asked the question.
Miss Twilight nodded, punctuating the motion with a “mhmm!” After helping him up, she nudged the dragon my way.
“Don’t worry; he’s just a baby dragon. He helps me out around the library.”
The dragon shook his head and at long last seemed to get back his bearings.
“Nice to meet you too…” he spoke, to my own surprise. “I’m Spike. Who are you, a new cutie mark crusader or something?”
I nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. My name’s Featherdrop.”
“Featherdrop, huh? Well, why don’t we just go ahead and shorten that to Feather. Nice to meet you, fea-“
Spike’s mouth was abruptly covered with a hoof, namely Scoots’. Good thing too, else I might have done the same thing—only much harder.
“She… would rather you just call her Featherdrop, ok Spike?”
Looking passively confused, Spike nodded and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.
“Ok then, Featherdrop. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to write the princess a letter asking her to send me back the book I accidentally sent her when I got squashed against the door.”
Spike furthered his point by walking away, heading towards the staircase across the room. I self-consciously scratched the backside of my head and bade him farewell. His departure was followed up by a familiar, drawn out silence.
“Well…” Miss twilight cleared her throat, “now that that’s over with, what can I help you girls with?”
Applebloom was the first to speak up, but the others chimed in moments later.
“We’re here to ta find some books on cutie marks!” came the badly synchronised cry.
The librarian’s eyes gleamed, obviously proud at the eagerness of (most of) the fillies to invest time in literature.
“That sounds like a great idea! The books you’re looking for should be under ‘C,’ of course.”
As soon as they knew where to look the fillies scampered off. I didn’t follow suit, and Miss Twilight took note of this.
“Aren’t you going to go with them?” Twilight scratched her ear, frowning.
“Nah, I’ll uh… let them do their thing. I was hoping to find something else to read…”
Miss Twilight immediately perked back up, excited at the prospect of introducing another young filly to the wonders of fiction.
“Great! What do you like: Fantasy? Romance? Adventure? Or are you hoping to try something new?”
“I, uh… well, what would you recommend?”
Another dangerous gleam entered the librarian’s eyes.
“Everything! Oh, well, not the Crepuscular trilogy by Stephanie Mayor… we burn those.”
I shied away slightly at the thought. “Oh… well, what are you reading right now?”
Bad question. Really bad question. Looking back I probably should have seen it coming, but now that I’d asked there was no turning back.
“I’m so glad you asked!” The Librarian became positively giddy as she began to list off the names of the many various works she was currently in the process of reading—“Daring Doo: Raiders of the Lost Element,” “Falling Feathers,” “The Famine Games” and “Olive Twist” to name a few.
Needless to say, I was sitting there for a very long time.
~
Eventually the Crusaders finished with their research and rescued me from the throes of the rambling purple unicorn, whom I left with feelings of awe, fear, and respect towards. We left the library hastily, the crusaders with a resentful disappointment at the lack of progress and myself with a fresh copy of “Olive Twist” held under my wing. I found the Librarian’s prime recommendation almost unbearably ironic, being as she didn’t even know I was an orphan.
As the sun set towards the outer edges of the horizon, so did we towards the outer edges of ponyville on the last leg of our journey, to a secluded cottage in the woods.
“Ok, are you SURE this Fluttershy fella is… safe?”
Scoot-annoying nodded her head for the third time as I asked the same question for the third time.
“A’ course she’s safe,” Applebloom chimed in. “Fluttershy’s really nice—she takes care of lost animals n’ stuff. Jus’ don’t get on her bad side, or she’ll give ya th’ stare.”
New images of a hermit-like mare with rats running through her mane staring at me the way screwball stares at her food before eating it ran through my mind at the new information, forcing a shiver from my spine and only reinforcing my reluctance.
“Look, I really don’t know about—”
I was interrupted as Scoot-annoying abruptly stopped walking, holding a hoof out to stop me.
“Listen” she said, almost menacingly “we’re going there. Alright? So stop acting like a diamond dog in the rain and keep up with us.”
Yikes. Scoots was… almost kind of scary there. Her frown proved just as strong as her smile, and I wasn’t in a mood to try to argue with it.
It was only a few minutes from there to Hermitshy’s cottage-of-death, but I spent them keeping up with the group and occasionally contributing to the pointless bantering. None of that kept my mind from envisioning the worst out of our venture when we finally arrived. I was surprised to find we were headed towards another house made out of a tree.
Okay, I’ll admit, first impressions were already far better than I’d been expecting. It wasn’t a dark, damp, crudely-hewn cabin overrun with rats and insects. It was a quiet place; cute, bright, secluded. That’s not to say my nerves were calmed. Still, I felt just a little more inclined to trust Scoot-annoying about this.
I was relieved to find that the crusaders made no argument as to who would get to knock—all made way for Sweetie Belle as she approached the door and did just that… I think.
Actually, after a few seconds I began to think she hadn’t knocked, or if she had it was so quietly I could hardly hear it, much less somepony inside. Yet, once again, my expectations shattered as the door opened a crack.
Some mumbling…
“It’s just us Fluttershy—me, Scootaloo, Applebloom and Featherdrop.”
The door opened further, and from within I could just make out half the face of what looked like a yellow Pegasus mare. The other half of her face was covered by either the door or the shadow it created. Warm light came from within, only making the mare’s face that much harder to see.
“It is you. Hi Sweetie.” the mare spoke up, just loud enough to hear. “But who’s Featherd—”
The mare froze when her eyes met mine. I was equally frozen, but unwilling to back down my gaze.
“Um—” The mare hid a little more of her face “—y-you didn’t say y-you’d be bringing an extra friend…”
Sweetie Belle rubbed the backside of her head. “Yeah, I kinda forgot to mention her… she’s okay though.”
Fluttershy looked back at me, unconvinced. “Uh, I mean no offense, but you… seem a bit old to be friends with them.”
“Funny” I retorted, “I was thinking the same thing about you all day.”
I was surprised to find that drew a snicker from the cripplingly shy mare.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Featherdrop. C-come inside, it’s getting cold out.
All the other fillies were happy enough to obey, I, however, still had my doubts. I waited, but as soon as that hint of fear flashed over my face I saw all the fear wash away from Fluttershy’s, and underneath was a look of… well, it was the kind of look I’d only ever seen from Mailmare.
Fluttershy stepped out past the doorway and into full view, about as calm and unmenacingly as possible. Now that I could see her in the quickly diminishing sunlight I could tell that she was actually a rather beautiful mare. Even without the door her pink mane naturally covered one side of her face, whilst the other side stared at me with all the kindness a face could muster.
It was creepy.
Fluttershy draped one hoof over my shoulder and gently began to guide me to the doorway.
“There there,” she said calmly, “come inside. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
I was terrified; as I inched towards the door my mind began to race, looking, figuratively and literally, for a way out. I began to stammer, formulating my words as I went along.
“Um… h-hey, girls?”
Closer to the door.
“horsefeathers,” I mouthed silently. “Um… hey girls, who wants to go camping?
CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS CAMPING AT FLUTTERSHY’S, YAY!!
I didn’t hear those words so much as feel them coursing through my mind and body. I guess Fluttershy had much the same experience, as I noticed her shy away, much like a balloon in the wind held down by a weight just barely substantial enough to keep it tethered to the ground.
Fluttershy began to open her mouth. “Girls, I’m not sure that’s—”
A flash of yellow, white and orange and the crusaders were out in the yard with sheets that were originally meant for celestia knows what clasped between their teeth, trying to prop them up with sticks.
“G-girls, I… oh no, that’s not right at all.” Fluttershy left my side to try to correct the Fillies’ lumpish wreck of a shelter. I heaved a heavy, heavy sigh of relief at her departure. Okay, I’d managed to avert having to enter the cottage-of-death. At least that was something.
My nerves piqued back up when I felt another pressure on my shoulder, but this time I looked to find Scoot-annoying tugging at my leg. Deciding to follow her lead, I came over and watched as the crusaders piled up on a marginally better looking tent, which collapsed in a giggling colorful heap of enthusiastic fillies. They invited me to join them, and I realized this was going to be a long night.
Yet… somehow as I contributed to the pile of young fillies I also realised that, perhaps for the first time in my life, I actually felt like a young filly myself.
This was going to be a very long night… but maybe I wouldn’t mind that so much.
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Still setting up. At this point, I have no idea as to whether this story will be interesting or not. The previous chapter hinted at the former, but I'm still wsiting for something to actually happen. Anyway, the writing is good, so I'm not complaining.
A bit of a contradiction there, as well as using an adjective and an adverb to describe the same thing.
~bass
3409493
That one was a typo... meant to put unmenacingly. anyways, your point is noted (and perhaps explains a few things).
and thanks for the compliment.
Yo Flux, I just got around to reading this (sorry!) but I like what I've read. Especially this:
That had me
I wonder how Featherdrop would react to shed.mov?
That aside, very sound writing, you continue to be at the top of your game. A couple of veeeeeery minor gripes though:
needs a capital
Celestia
Keep it up, don't leave me hanging for too long! And don't be discouraged about having a close-knit audience. Nearly every opening fic by an author with next-to-no followers will struggle at first. I know I still am, but I fear there nothing I can really do about it except hope for EqD to snap it up.
This is Kalash93 of WRITE with your review.
Initial impressions were alright, but everything soon dissolved into a mess of grey slurry.
I am not exactly sure what to make of your story or how to react to it. To be entirely honest, I can barely remember anything about what I just read or why it matters. I could care less about the characters and the story. I am bored. And that is a bad place to leave someone in just act 1 of your story. This is going to hurt.
Criticism RPG Inbound!
I read through your whole story, and I honestly could not be any less engaged. The damn thing is crawling with problems. You allegedly worked on this thing as a team. I don't know where you got these guys, and I certainly have never heard of any of them, but somewhere along the line, something, or more to the point, several things, fucked up. Unless I explicitly name you, Author, or address other elements of your team, then a point applies to you and everyone you worked with. One thing that you all must realize, is that you should all help with whatever elements you can iff you see something that looks wrong.
The first problem is your grammar. The very soul of your writing itself is plagued with issues. You allegedly have two grammar technicians. They honestly blow at their jobs. Attention, you, grammar technicians, should know that, when you are writing things like direct addresses, and marking subordinate or dependent clauses, that you need to use commas. Seriously, it's like you guys have a phobia of commas. Secondly, I see chronic overuse of hyphens, such as when talking about "Scoot-annoying". You can do away with them in just about every single situation you use them in this fic. In your first chapter, you have inconsistent paragraph spacing. Sometimes, you go down a line but do not leave a gap, but at other times, you leave a whole line in between paragraphs. Either do one or the other, but not both. Choose a method and stick with it.
A second issue I have is the damnable swarm of miniature paragraphs. I have no idea why you have so many paragraphs which are no more than three three sentences at most, and many are even shorter. Merge them together. It would do wonders for your story's flow. They also have the highly unfortunate effect of making time dilate for the reader. There is the fact that the story takes up more space on the page, causing it to feel subjectively longer to the read. Know that when readers see things separated by any means at all, they tend to assume that some time passes between the things. The larger the gap, the longer the subjective time for the reader. Having many short paragraphs is something which naturally favors action scenes, as it implies a quick pace. When there is no corresponding action, this, coupled with the extra scrolling the reader has to do, very quickly frustrates the reader and makes them fatigue prematurely. You might think that you are being dramatic with these short and one sentence paragraphs, but that effect is ruined very quickly when little paragraphs are the default. It's like wearing a suit every day in a place where everybody wears one; it doesn't look important, fancy, or special. Dramatic effects or formatting are dramatic and noticeable because they are seldom used, so that when they are included, the audience is immediately drawn to them and the important information they highlight. It is generally considered good form to make paragraphs no shorter than four sentences, but an average number of between nine and sixteen sentences for your core structural paragraphs is more pleasing to read with the view most readers will have on fimfiction.
The narrative flow is dreadful. Much of this connects to how everything dissolves into grey slurry without standing out much. To be concise, nothing at all in this fic feels important. Nothing catches the eye. Nothing grabs interest. Scene transitions are weak. One never gets the sense that the scene is over and that we are transitioning to the next one. Instead, they either happen unceremoniously with an audible clunk, or the reader finds themselves being dragged off to some new place with some other characters. Events just happen. Now, this could be a good effect in a story about a depressed character or a hopeless character, but it's agony to sit through for sixteen thousand words of tedium. The problems with narrative flow relate to many things.
First of all, your paragraphs are quite uniform and short, lacking any sort of power to engage and hold the audience to impart anything upon them. The sparse textual environment means that they're either seeing if they can get clean whole lines to exactly fill up their screen, or they're scrolling away towards the bottom, skimming at the words as they zoom by. Another issue with samey paragraphs is that it's not obvious where important information is, or where any meaningful information is. This same issue is true for both long paragraphs and short paragraphs. The point is that you need variety in your writing to make a visually interesting and easily gauged story.
Secondly, your pacing is awful, It just simply is not working. This is because nothing meaningful to either the audience or the characters is happened. Look, you are sixteen thousand words into a story, and has anything really happened yet? No. For all the things that have happened, how much of it really means anything? Could anything at all be considered a defining moment that advances the arc or kickstarts the plot? No! Your description about an orphan and a Changeling needing each other to survive looked interesting, like a story that would have drama and depth to it. That's what you advertised, so where is it? So far, you've shown the audience nothing but a generic story about an OC with no friends who meets the CMC's and gets sucked into their group. There's nothing wrong with that premise, but it has been done so many times in much better stories.
Thirdly, things need to happen! I don't care if it's introspection or action, but something needs to be done to advance the plot and characters. There's slice of life, and then there's this, which is slice of life in the same vein as watching CCTV footage of a shopping mall; there's nothing worth getting invested in. You've been trying to tell a story for sixteen thousand words, and I can't see any kind of meaningful conflict, whether internal or external. Nobody is doing anything for their goals, and that's the problem! I understand that you are trying to not rush in, and introduce things bit by bit, but the audience already knows the mane six, and the cutie mark crusaders, and Ponyville. No need to reintroduce us to them; skip time and be conservative; your story drags like a fat man tied behind a snowmobile. our protagonist, Featherdrop, is an orphan who wants to be adopted. Why isn't she scouting out the ponies she's meeting and trying to get one of them to take her in? Now, that would be interesting to watch the interplay between pragmatism to leave the orphanage, versus the genuine desire to be loved.
Your protagonist, Featherdrop, is a major problem. Featherdrop is an orphan. That lends itself towards a lot of drama and opportunities for growth and introspection. However, all that complexity gets reduced down to her being angsty and not understanding how friends work. She is also unlikeable, striking me as ungrateful, passive aggressive, manipulative, and fucked up. Throughout the story, she seems to positively dislike every single other pony she comes across. At the same time, she's very self-absorbed, not once thinking of others. Her reaction to Scootaloo trying to befriend her, is annoyance, and she puts up with it seemingly only because Scootaloo somehow enables her to get away from the orphanage. In the very first chapter, she goes up to one of her caretakers and says that she hates her, and it's treated as normal. She also spends huge chunks of the story just tagging along with others, never failing to be displeased by whatever befalls her, and the whole time getting more and more resentful. This This isn't childlike behavior; this is fucked up! It would be interesting to see a character recovering from the harsh influence of the orphanage, but instead, all we have is the first person perspective of a protagonist who seems determined to be miserable. And that makes the reader miserable. It does not help that she is exceedingly dull, and apart from her slightly snarky Hot Topic shirt quirk of giving things nicknames, she has roughly the same amount of personality as the discarded packet of ramen beneath my chair.
I'd say that pretty much all your characters are poorly done. This is especially true of your changeling OC's, whose names I can barely remember, and whose personalities I can't even recall. All your characters fall into three camps: poor victims, helpful friends, and mean bullies. And that's it for their complexity of depth. Featherdrop and on of your changelings are of the victim tribe. Their distinguishing features are that they are unpopular, get picked on, and suck at what they're supposed to do. None of your characters have that much personality. Even the canon characters act like caricatures of themselves. Rarity is indecisively posh English and is generous. Sweetie Belle is bombastic. Canon Scootaloo is far more reserved and concerned with looking cool than your interpretation.
You do far too much telling instead of showing. Honestly, if the audience did not have access to what your protagonists think, then they likely would be quite confused. You do so much with narration and inner monologue that it gets in the way of experiencing the story. Quit yapping about it and let us witness it in action! Use a lot more dialogue. Actually have the characters get involved in things to demonstrate points. A perfect point for character development would have been the adoption of the colt in chapter three. Had Featherdrop been shown trying her hardest to win over prospective parents, then that scene with her crying afterwards might have had some impact, instead of making her seem unhinged for mood swinging between discontent but resigned, to hopeful, to inconsolable, without even telling us that there was a hopeful phase until later.
The absolute worst part of the story is chapter two. Half of it was weak scenes that went nowhere, and the other half was gratuitous infodumps about the changeling culture. I could hardly follow it at all. It could be cut out without harming anything, and greatly improving the story. Honestly, that chapter was just bad. My advice is that you pick a protagonist and stick with them; juggling two protagonists in this kind of story is difficult and doesn't add all that much. They're both outsiders who don't know love.
Your story feels bland. There's no kind of unique vibe to it. Sure, Featherdrop has an unattractive, but definite attitude, but the rest of the story has absolutely no zest. One mentioned that you have a team of editors. Perhaps you need to change how you heed them, because the prose is uninteresting to a stupendous degree. It's like reading a Wikipedia article. There isn't any sort of personality or heart to it. You must insert personality into the story; allow it to come alive in your own words. The writing style is very businesslike and stiff. I certainly couldn't imagine somebody using it to describe something fun. There is a lot of x verbed y in the syntax, which is not exciting to read. You really could use more choreography and body language. Using such cues would make scenes and characters come more alive, and alleviate the talking head dialogue. You also ought to add more strong descriptors and verbs to your writing. You depend heavily on adverbs to emphasize actions. Adverbs are not fun. Use extravagant words occasionally. Use zoomed, soared, ripped, smashed, thundered, sprinted, and so on. Pay careful attention to word choice, as subtle changes can mean big differences in the overall effect. Make your scenes colorful with lots of imagery and analogies. Don't be afraid to get outlandish.
I don't understand why the dark tag is here. Nothing particularly dark has happened. Much unpleasantness has transpired, but nothing properly dark. There haven't been any sort of murder, torture, kidnapping, or those sorts of reprehensible acts.
Deserved Praise inbound!
You definitely understand the basics of scene. That is good, as this is important for writing engaging stories. Your scenes are introduced quickly and efficiently with a bit of useful imagery. Good setup, but you have white void syndrome, where your characters begin to act independently of any sort of physical objects or scenery. I advise that you make it more obvious where scenes begin and end, because it can get confusing.
Your dialogue is fine. The inner monologue of your protagonists is definitely one of the highlights of the story. Your characters have a tendency to blend together somewhat, but it's not too bad. You really could use more dialogue, because what you write is not bad, and it would be far more interesting to overhear dialogue than it would be to read narration or see yet more inner monologue. It breaks up the monotony and gives the golden opportunity for simultaneous plot advancement, character development, and entertaining the reader. Never underestimate the power of good dialogue.
Tone and mood in this story are actually dead on. The story feels desaturated to match the loneliness of your protagonists. The story is not happy, but it continues marching on regardless. It takes itself just seriously enough to work, but also knows when to allow in comic relief, such as when Featherdrop is finding something absurd about her experiences. These moments are perfectly timed.
Final Conclusion Inbound!
This presents an awkward dilemma where is seems like you get some advanced aspects of writing, like tone, but fail at basic aspects of writing, like pacing. Your story has a lot of problems, but there is one key issue that really bugs me about it: I can't bring myself to care.
The only word to describe its impact is, insubstantial. I don't care about the world, or the story, or the characters. That is a massive shortcoming, especially considering the fact that you now have about sixteen thousand words down, and they have all failed to make me care or become invested in the fic. There is just so much wrong with the fic that it should have eliciting a much stronger reaction from me -- should have made me angrier, but it didn't. Instead, I came out apathetic and underwhelmed. While this does mean that there had to be good aspects to counteract the bad ones, it also means that these were not enough to make me like your fic, which is a grave sin in itself. For a sixteen thousand word story to have zero impact across its three chapters is quite a failing.
And that is why I am going to be harsh on this story, despite personally not hating it. You're enthusiastic and you want to do a good job, author. That's why you sent for a WRITE review. My verdict is that your story needs a lot of work to become more engaging and more enjoyable across all fronts. Take a good look at your team and reevaluate it. Get some guys who really know what they are doing, and have the history to back it up. This is your first fanfic, and so of course, it is going to be one of your worse works. Keep on writing and asking for feedback, and you shall improve in time. I hope that your future projects go better.
Your story is deeply flawed, and so it wins a mere 3/10 flutteryays. This means that your story has numerous problems, but it is neither offensive nor irredeemable. 5/10 is average.
Kalash93 -- The wall of text master.
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3441619 Oy... well, thank you for putting it bluntly. Seriously, thank you, I actually have something to work off of now. I'm not sure I have anything to say aside from thank you... so... yeah.
Alot to process, but I have the rest of my life to work on those flaws.
3441619>>3448637
Now I remember why I don't preread!
Seriously, it was only a matter of time before my incompetence was discovered. I'm surprised it took this long.
If I don't know what this word means, then I probably shouldn't be on this site.
I should probably quit before I damage this fic anymore. Resigning would be the honorable thing to do.
I apologize writer!
I may have come a long way, and fought long and hard over all this time, but the fact remains that I still suck.
Silver out!
3450509 you seem to be taking this harder than I am.
but if you want to go, that's your choice.
*reads the very long, critical review*
Huh.
Well, I'm interested. *faves and follows*