• Published 5th Nov 2012
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Hope and Changeling - FrontSevens



A novice changeling undertakes a journey back to his own world.

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Chapter 18 - Sommelier

Hollow Shades knows how to party.

The tables had all been removed from the square to make room for everyone to stand and watch the sunset. Silence fell upon the village when half of the sun was below the horizon. The edges of it seemed to move closer together as the sun sank lower and lower, until just a sliver of bright yellow remained. As soon as that sliver disappeared, the entire village erupted in a cheer.

The ragtag band, made up of a violin, drums, marimba, and harmonica, swelled from the slow and pleasant music of before to a mix of western hoedown and tribal dance. Without a second thought, everyone jumped to their feet and started to dance. Some danced in circles around some fire pits, some danced with a partner, and some were just dancing on their own. I was content sitting off to the side, browsing the scene for the spirits I was promised.

Ponies danced in an odd way. Well, not so much odd as different. Of course, all four of their appendages were on the ground, which may seem restricting at first, but these ponies found a way. They seemed to have discovered every combination of extending or bending their arms, twirling, galloping in place, tapping their hooves… and that wasn’t counting what they could do in groups of two or more. It was so coordinated, I began to wonder if all the ponies here were required to undergo cheerleader training.

“Up there.”

“Huh!” Startled, my head whipped in the direction of the voice. It was Zephyr. I breathed out in relief. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He grinned, revealing his teeth. His fangs seemed smaller compared to mine. “Sorry. Figured you’d be lookin’ for wine. It’s up there.” He nodded up behind me.

I turned to look. A rope with several jugs hanging on it was strung over the doorway of a hut, like most of the huts I had seen that day. I thanked him and extended my hoof to it, but I couldn’t quite reach it. My hoof barely went past the top of my head.

“Here, I’ll take a crack at it,” Zephyr said. He stood up on his hind legs and plucked a jug off of the string. I’d been a pony for so long, I’d forgotten I used to do that.

Zephyr popped the top off with his teeth and handed it to me, smiling. I thanked him and took a sip, letting it run over my tongue to savour it. Just as good as I remembered.

I looked at the jugs. “Why are they hung over the doorways like that?” I asked.

“Tradition. Started by Ol’ Snozzberry, founder of Hollow Shades.” Zephyr grabbed another jug off the string for himself. “Hear tell he was such a hardflank that he wouldn’t let nopony drink during the village’s construction. He flew up and strung all the spirits ‘cross the two tallest trees, and as the only pegasus, nopony else could get at ‘em. Brought ‘em down only after the sun set. Was like that every day for ‘bout a year.”

He popped the cork on his jug. “Last day of work, which was also the Summer Sun Celebration, the last hut was done right around noontime. That night was the right happiest party they ever did have. Danced most the night away, hootin’ and hollerin’ and havin’ the time of their lives. So the tradition lives on, though nowadays a bit closer to the ground.”

I watched Fairweather hover over the lanterns strung across the square. She was helping some other flying ponies light them. “So they waited until sunset? Why didn’t they start the party at noon?”

He took a sip and swallowed. “Slowest trees, sweetest fruit, all that. Plus, it was always Snozzberry who brought the spirits down, always at sunset. It only felt right, so they were willin’ to wait for it.”

I nodded slowly and took a swig of my wine. “This place is full of stories, isn’t it?”

“You betcha.” He nudged me with an elbow. “Always room for another.”

I smiled without answering, turning my attention to the ponies dancing away in front of us.

“I’ll let you to your girlfriend,” he said, a twinkle in his eye as he walked away.

“Hey, I—” Before I could correct him, my ‘girlfriend’ surprised me from behind.

“Getting your party on, I see,” Whole Grain said, slapping me hard on the back and causing wine to go down the wrong pipe. I coughed and sputtered, which only made her grin wider. “Let me rephrase that—getting your party on for the first time.”

I wiped my mouth and set the jug down on the ground. With an air of dignity, I said, “I’ve drinken—drunken—had a drink before.” Even if I was sober, I couldn’t remember the right tense of that word.

This made her toss her head back in laughter. “Sure, sure.” She watched the ponies dancing in the circle. “Let’s dance, c’mon. You and me.”

“No thanks, Whole Grain, I’ll—” But before I could protest any further, she grasped my hoof and yanked me forward. I accidentally bumped into a few other ponies in the process—including Lucid, I believe—but they didn’t seem to notice or care. She led me to a spot near the middle, with ample room to move around in.

She turned to face me. I figured she might’ve been drunk, as her smiling mouth was hanging open a little. Not to mention that she wanted to dance with me. “Ever done the trot step before?” she asked.

“The what?” It was a little hard to hear over the merriment.

“The trot step. You jump between hooves, like this.” She did two hops, alternating holding her opposing feet in the air.

It seemed too coordinated for me, but after setting my wine down carefully, I gave it a try anyway. After stepping on my own feet a few times, I could only manage alternating my front hooves. “Like this?” I asked, knowing full well how clumsy it looked.

She smirked. “Close enough.”

She also tried to teach me a couple of other dance moves. Being the clunky four-legged creature I was, I stumbled in each dance, but she seemed to enjoy watching me fail regardless. And even though I felt like a blundering statue at times, I wasn’t having a bad time, either.

After some encouraging words and a few more sips of wine, Whole Grain and I attempted one of the group dances. We couldn’t keep up with the group at all, but they didn’t mind. They sort of danced around us as we did our own thing.

We turned and trot-stepped and cantered and junebugged the night away, laughing at each other (but mostly me) all the while. At one point, I was convinced to change into my changeling form, by Whole Grain or Fairweather or somebody. Whoever it was, either they were very persuasive or I was made very persuadable by the wine.

Eventually, Whole Grain took my hooves in her own and spun me around. She was wearing the biggest—and perhaps the only—earnest smile I’d ever seen on her.

The lights and the music and the laughter all blended and swirled together as I spun around. I let my head fall back and looked up into the night sky, past the soft glow of the lanterns. I felt the fullest feeling I’ve ever felt before, like I had eaten a hearty thanksgiving meal and didn’t get the bloating that came afterwards. I felt warm, like coming home on a frigid January evening to a fireplace and a cup of hot cocoa. I felt ecstatic, like I had just won the lottery and had millions of dollars waiting in the bank for me, any and all worries gone.

Screw wherever or whatever I was. I was having the time of my life. Whether it was the dancing, the alcohol, my new physical dependence on emotion, or all of the above, I felt the happiest I’d ever been.

We kept dancing for a while. I didn’t notice that time was passing until my steps got heavy and I was panting. I was tired, and needed a break. I pseudo-trot-stepped out of the dancing circle and to the sidelines, worn out and thirsty. I grabbed a stray wine jug and took a gulp. Even the smile glued to my face relaxed a little. I felt so good, I could’ve dropped down right there and slept.

However, casually looking around, I spotted Wheat Flour leaving Zephyr’s hut. She wasn’t headed to the town square, however—she was walking down the path we had taken earlier that day. I followed her, my curiosity fueled by wine. My feet were dragging, causing me to trip over the occasional tree root as I followed her. Despite the stealth that comes with inebriation, she probably knew I was there.

At the intersection we had passed before, she turned down the path to the lake. I wondered why. Was she thirsty? Was she meeting someone there? Maybe she wanted to be alone? Despite all these questions, my drunken self was not willing to waste energy in thinking or listening to petty reservations, so I continued to follow her.

The confining trees of the forest opened up to the atmosphere, taking my bated breath up into it. The moon presided over the clear night sky, slightly fuller than the last night. Crickets from all around the lake chattered over its gentle swishing. If there was one thing these animators knew how to do well, it was lakes.

Wheat Flour went down to the shore of the lake, onto a little natural jetty, and lay down. She didn’t make any sudden movements, not even an ear twitch. Her eyes rested upon the lake, and she smiled. The scene was familiar to me, though at the time, I couldn’t place why. I had stopped where I was, unsure of what to do at this point.

She turned around. “Hello,” she said.

“Hey,” I said, staring at her stupidly. She smiled, possibly aware of my drunken state. It was too early to tell if she was.

“The sky is clear tonight,” Wheat Flour said.

“Sure is,” I said, looking up to make sure I was correct. The stars were pretty, twinkling in the sky. “’S pretty, with all the stars and stuff.” I’m witty when I’m wasted, apparently.

Wheat Flour patted a spot on the grass next to her. “Please, sit.”

“All right,” I said, and sat down on the grass. Admittedly, I sat down a little too close to her than I should’ve, but she didn’t protest.

She smiled when I settled down, then looked up at the sky. “I used to wonder about the stars. I’d open up the window of my room and watch them every night. I still enjoy them now, watching them watching us, wondering…”

She set her elbows down on the ground, cradling her chin in her hooves. She went on about the stars and her childhood and things that were probably pretty important to her. However, being the clear thinker that I was, I didn’t realize that the shy pony who had said next to nothing to me the whole journey was talking about personal things. Instead, I was politely drifting in and out of paying attention, in addition to having trouble seeing straight.

“…Lucid says there are other universes right here on this planet. Can you imagine?” she was saying, realizing who she was talking to almost instantly. “Oh, I suppose you can.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” I said, not fully aware of what I was agreeing to.

She continued to stare at the stars, as if she wasn’t really talking to me anymore. “I have never had a real home, you know that? A place that I could proudly call my home, and not be ashamed, or embarrassed, or… fearful.”

Then she said something about how I had a home in my dimension. Her voice, low and soft, melted into the background. Crickets were chirping, and their chattering no longer annoyed me. It was sweet, like music, like a lullaby. The chattering, the sloshing of the lake, the humming of Wheat Flour’s voice in the distance. I lowered my head down slowly and closed my eyes, ready to drift off.

“…Something to tell you.”

I opened my eyes. That brought me back. My brain fought my body to wake me back up. Slowly, I raised my head again and looked at her eyes. “Mm, yes, tell me.”

She looked away at first, then returned to meet my eyes. Her mouth opened, but then closed again, as if she didn’t quite know how to word it. Her head tilted ever so slightly. “Do you love me, Sawyer?”

That was kind of an irrelevant question. Or, at least, it felt like one. “Mm, not really. Why?” I don’t know what I was expecting after that answer, but why I thought it would be anything but insensitive is beyond me.

She blinked, her expression unchanging. Her eyebrows rose and she looked as if she wanted to ask the question again, in case I didn’t hear it properly the first time. Instead, she stopped, looked away, and almost whispered, “Some other time.”

I was still focused on the thing she wanted to tell me. I moved my hoof closer to hers, barely touching her fur. “No, yeah, Wheat Flour, you can tell me,” I said, bobbing my head. At this point, I was really curious. “You can tell me, tell me anything. Go right ahead, tell me.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she drew her hooves in closer to her body. “Sawyer, you don’t truly want to know. Another time.”

Normally, at this point, I would stop and politely do exactly as she said—wait until another time. However, something about being drunk made me too focused on this secret, and it became more important to me than getting on her nerves. I scooted closer to her. “Wheat Flour, you can trust me. Just tell me, just…”

“Sawyer, no.” She stood up and huffed. “Another time, Sawyer, please.”

“Yeah, okay, just…” I stood up with her, and walked closer. I just couldn’t stop babbling on about this. “Just tell me, Wheat Flour, just—”

“No!” she yelled, whacking me in the face with the back of her hoof. I recoiled in surprise. My jaw hung open, and I froze in place.

Wheat Flour had frozen too, panting with her teeth slightly bared. She slowly put her hoof down away from her body, like it was unsanitary. Her breathing calmed, and she closed her eyes. “You are drunk, Sawyer. Good night.”

My jaw was clenched tight, holding my breath back. The most my vocal chords could manage was a faint “Uh”, barely audible over the crickets. Whether she heard it or not, she turned away from me and walked up the shore, back to the village.

My mind drew a blank. I felt like an idiot, but at the time, I had trouble pinpointing why. I certainly didn’t feel as good as I had before. Before I was full, and now, I was empty.

I tried to think, but it was hard to focus. All I could think about was how scared Wheat Flour was and that I was thirsty. I wobbled over to the lake’s edge, took a gulp, and settled back down in the grass.

I stared straight ahead across the lake, putting everypony else out of my mind. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, in and out. I let the crickets, the lake, and the alcohol left in my system lull me down into unconsciousness.

I began to dream, though this time, the dream was no longer as clear as the one I had in Lucid’s magical orb thing. This one was similar to the other dreams I had, in that my perception was hazy and time moved at an irregular pace. Being as drunk as I was, I barely noticed the transition.

I was at a very fancy party, an upper class event at its finest. The room was wide and circular, the lavish gold walls flowing upwards and converging at a large glass chandelier on the ceiling. Many well-dressed folks stood around elbow-high tables, each with its own petite bowl filled halfway with pistachios. Over the buzz of fervent conversation, I could hear the faint sound of a piano playing a light jazz song. It felt very much like a 1920s-era party. Maybe I was reminiscing about a time long past. I dunno. Someone like Freud or Jung might have a better clue than I.

I was dressed in a tight-fitting suit and holding a glass of wine, which I had no inclination to drink, surprisingly. Instead, I swirled it around like some kind of sommelier, because it seemed like one of the things that fancy people did at fancy parties like this. The party was packed, though not uncomfortably. I nodded my head at random people as if I knew them, because what the heck, if I’m going through one of these dreams, I might as well have some fun.

Hey, stranger. Evening, ma’am. Oh hey, a blue horse. I guess after spending so much time around them, seeing ponies in my dreams made sense. I nodded to her. She nodded back. And no, I have no idea what Jung would have to say about that.

I stopped at a table near the edge of the room and set my glass down. Two beautiful women with long, flowing gowns stood at the table and welcomed me with bright, smiling faces. I nodded to them and took one of the pistachios from the bowl on the table, studying it, turning it over in my fingers. This particular pistachio looked more like a chickpea.

Each of the women was fiddling with her own hair, twirling it when they weren’t pushing it up and pushing it up when they got tired of twirling it. Oh, isn’t it just a lovely party, the blonde one said. The red-haired one tossed her hair and agreed. Why, yes, isn’t it just?

Yes, I said, wondering why they both talked and acted so strangely. I set the pistachio down and picked my wine glass back up. I tried to emulate their way of speaking, not mockingly, but to blend in. I gestured to them with my glass, careful not to spill any wine. It is a wonderful party, I said. Very wonderful indeed.

Then they both stopped fiddling with their hair and looked hurt, like I had said something offensive. The red-haired woman turned up her chin and walked away. The blonde one took a fan out and waved it, pretending to be preoccupied and looking away.

I felt really bad, so I took out a twenty dollar bill from my pocket, laid it on the table, and walked away. It was an odd thing to do. No one gives money at a party like that, unless it’s a tip for a valet or something. Plus, I must’ve looked cheap as chips giving only twenty dollars. But I felt bad, so I was compelled to.

I weaved through the crowd again, but I was focused on the way out and not on nodding at the fellow partiers. I had had enough and was ready to leave. The people moved closer together, until I had to shuffle and squeeze between them to get past. I don’t know what made them decide to become so inconsiderate so suddenly.

Then the party, the people, the tables, the pistachios all faded away, but even as they did, I kept walking, no longer swirling the wine glass in my hand.

And then I woke—oh, my head. Ohhh my head.

Author's Note:

Preread by NotSoSubtle and Somepony New