HANG
IN
THERE
“Just hold on. I know it doesn’t seem like I want you here. But the truth is, I wouldn’t be the same without you. No matter how insignificant you think you are.”
-Arthur Sketch
The grass crunched underneath Sketch’s and his friend’s hooves, along with the lone sticks and fallen branches the forest is known for. Neither had spoken for a while. They didn’t need to. Hearing the same sounds and seeing the same sights was enough conversation for the both of them. Trust had closed her eyes after a while, guiding herself with Sketch’s steps. Sketch sighed, and rose his head to the sky. The moon was full.
“I thought I wasn’t going to see you again.”
The sound of crunching grass ceased. Trust cocked her head, her smile never disappearing. She wanted to know, and she was willing to wait.
“I thought you were going to disappear.” Sketch kicked a twig that poked his hoof. “When you stepped towards my window... everything was going to return to normal.”
Trust took a step closer to Sketch, biting her lip playfully. “You wish you never met me, huh?”
“What? Trust, I-”
She put her hoof on Sketch’s lips, gently this time. “It’s okay. There are days I wish I never met you. You make it so hard for me sometimes.”
Sketch looked away, a lump forming in his throat. A frog bellowed in the distance and an owl hooted. ‘Yeah. It would’ve been easier if you had just left.” He began tapping on hoof with the other. “But I never wanted easy. The reason that I did everything everyone told me to was because I never put any value in my life. But when you showed up... it expanded my little world.”
“I thought that nobody would ever be able to care about me. That I was the only one putting value in my life,” she confided, chuckling darkly.
“That’s why I kissed you. I wanted you to come back. You make me want to be a better stallion, to do important things. I was scared that it wasn’t going to happen.”
“Well, it worked, Sketchy.” Trust began to walk again, expecting Sketch to follow. He did. “You make me feel like a better mare.”
“You’re not the problem, the world’s the problem,” he added as he walked parallel to her. “I can attest to that.”
“So... now that I’m sticking around, no need to kiss me anymore, right?”
“Well, you’re also very pretty, so...” Sketch chuckled and rubbed the back of his mane. Trust punched his shoulder yet again. Forget bruising, his arm’s gonna fall off.
“You know that- ROYAL!” Trust shouted and jumped back at the statuesque batstallion that was suddenly in front of her. She coughed in her hoof and wiped it on her chest. “Royal, hey, you are here and are not,... not here. You’re standing. In front of us. Hi.”
“How long until the lake?” his gravelly voice bellowed, ignoring Trust’s blabbering. “I think I may have been there before.”
“That wouldn’t be to hard to believe. If you’ve been living around Canterlot you’d only be able to walk so far before running into it.” Sketch sighed and passed Royal, motioning him to follow. “Thanks for humoring me, Royal. I know this must be kinda typical for you.”
“Hmm,” he answered, neither confirming or denying. “I just want resolution.”
“You’re not gonna get that any time soon, bucko,” Trust chortled, slapping Royal on the back as she passed him. He didn’t budge from the contact, but his face bore that same confusion as he did back at the house. He shook his head and followed close behind.
They passed through several clearings wordlessly, exchanging quick glances every thirty yards or so. Eventually they got to the cold black lake.
Memories of time spent here flooded back into Sketch, primarily of him and Trust wrestling in the water. It felt so long ago now. He took a seat near the shore and set his things down. He took the sandwich out of the bagged lunch and split it into three pieces, giving every individual a piece. Trust nearly ate it one bite almost instantaneously, while Sketch gave it a quick sniff before taking a chomp out of it. Royal simply looked at it intensely.
“Something wrong?” Sketch asked him, taking another bite.
“I just... haven’t ate something like this in a while,” he answered, rotating it. “Is there a reason it’s symmetrical?”
“Umm...” Sketch pondered, finishing the small piece of bread he had left. “I guess not really. It looks nice, and it’s convenient to hold. That’s about it.”
“Okay then.” He took a small nibble of it and lowered his hooves, staring out into the darkness of the lake as he chewed. “Seems like a waste of time.”
“It is a waste of time. That’s why people do it,” Sketch explained. He had gotten good at explaining simple concepts, thanks to Trust. “Crafting different foods using a small amount of different ingredients is an artform. Drawing different flavors from unrelated foods is a popular past time, and people savor the sensation as an unforgettable experience that they learn from, and the chef gains fulfillment in changing how ponies feel via a simple biological process.”
Royal looked at him with that same neutral face he was becoming famous for. He licked his teeth whilst taking a second examination of his sandwich. “I suppose that’s reasonable. Art is subjective and so is taste. It’d be easy to draw parallels.”
Sketch wiped his mouth whilst giving Trust the small juice box he had brought. She immediately got to work putting the straw in. “You know, for a nature nut, you’re quite well spoken.”
“I learned my speech from a language teacher,” he said, his eye twitching. “I hid in the attic of an advanced class for a couple of years. I’m nocturnal, so I would fall asleep listening to lessons.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “I haven’t been back there in a while.”
“Do you know how to read?” Sketch asked, taking the juice box Trust was offering and taking a swig.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Not very well, mind you.”
“Well, damn,” Trust cursed, puffing her cheeks and lowering her head. “I decide to live off of civilization and I’m dumber than nature-boy.”
“You shouldn’t try to receive guidance from sheep,” he quipped, taking another nibble from the sandwich.
Sketch planted his hooves into the ground in faux protest. “Hey!”
Royal shook his head and looked down on Sketch with his nose in the air. “I wouldn’t be offended, boy. From the looks of the company you keep, you refuse guidance from sheep as well.”
Sketch’s eyes shot open, and he opened his mouth to say something. But as all the protest in his mind for the past month resurfaced, that would be an apt description for his feelings of the public. It was a little harsh for his tastes, since his parents was included in the mix. Sketch put his hoof to his chin and put on his poetry hat. “But I can’t stray too far from the pack. I may sympathize with wolves, I may want to help them, but I am no wolf.”
Royal began to make weird motions, rubbing his hooves together and stomping his back right hoof. “But you are no sheep either.”
“A third party,” Sketch offered.
“The sheepdog,” Royal confirmed.
“But not the foolish farmer,” Trust interjected. Sketch and Royal both gave her a quizzical look. “You know... the establishment.”
Sketch lit up, placing his hoof on Trust’s shoulder. “Hehehe, yeah! Raugh Raugh!”
“Fight the power,” Royal added.
Sketch and Trust began giving a hearty laugh, a friendly wholesome laugh. Royal looked away, but not upset. Just... distant.
“Alright,” Sketch wooed, biting his lip. “Okay, let’s get started. Trust, go be pretty over there, please.”
“Yessir,” she saluted. “I’ll try very hard.”
“You don’t have to try,” he sang as she walked away, closer to the water. “Royal, you want to get in on this?”
Royal’s eyebrows shot up. “You want me in your drawings?”
Sketch refrained from screaming ‘YES’, and reserved himself to drawing little circles in the ground with his hoof. “Ahem... I mean... I would like you to... if you want?”
He thought for a moment and shrugged, taking his place next to Trust. “Okay. I thought you wanted to keep everything on a low profile.”
Sketch took out his mechanical pencil, not the best artist’s utensil, but it got the job done. He raised his sketchpad and clicked the pencil whilst clearing his throat. “I do.”
“But you have drawings of Trust in your house. Aren’t you afraid ponies will find them?”
“They have, and thought nothing of it.” Sketch shrugged, starting his lines. “If anything it’ll help my case if this all goes to shit. Flattering pictures of pretty mares can go a long way.”
“I suppose.”
Sketch looked up at his subjects, sticking his tongue out. He began sweating preemptively as he noticed how terrible their poses were, Royal was just sitting, like the dictionary definition of such. Trust looked bored and was leaning awkwardly on her left foreleg. “Uhh, Trust, could you lay on your side, and prop one hind leg above the other and like, cradle the ground as if it were a baby?”
“Uhh, alright boss.” She took the pose and Sketch nearly passed out. “How’s this?”
...
...
“Sketch?”
“Fine! Its... fine.” He nervously chuckled and cleared his throat. “Royal would you like, puff out your chest and cross your left foreleg with your right.”
He obeyed wordlessly.
“Alright let’s do this.” Sketch went to work, dragging his pencil rapidly across the pad. Sketch usually drew with no reference, so posed ponies were a cakewalk at this point.
After a small while, Trust yawned, and Sketch knew he was going to have to entertain her in the meantime. Luckily, Royal decided to take up the mantle. “What’s the point of art?” he asked. Expression unchanged.
“What do you mean? People like it.” Sketch offered, nearly finished with the framework.
“I mean conceptually. What made ponies attach themselves to theoreticals and fantasies? Was it simply envy?”
Sketch looked up at Royal. He didn’t take him for an intellectual as well, though he supposed that if you spent enough time alone as he did, you’d get a little introspective. Or is that extrospective?
“I don’t think it’s that superficial. I think it's for understanding parts of yourself. Feelings and emotions that you can relate to get inflated into bombastic proportions, so you don’t have to put yourself to a microscope. Dragons and monsters could be your struggles to get your next meal, or pay off your house. Pits and valleys can be debts and desires. It’s why art is subject, too, I think. I mean, it makes sense to me.”
“Hmm... haven’t thought about it that way.”
“Careful, Royal,” Trust laughed, throwing her head back. “You almost sounded impressed there.”
“Yes, I probably should pay more attention to suppressing that,” he deadpanned, never breaking eye contact with Sketch’s pad.
“More jokes, I'm impressed.” Sketch finished up the framework, weak lines and soft outlines. “Alright you guys can relax, I’m done with the basics.”
Trust let out an exaggerated ‘BLEGGGH’ as she rolled over. Royal simply rose and approached Sketch, taking a peek at the work in progress. He looked it over, and nodded slowly. “Decent,” he confided, taking a seat next to Sketch.
“Aw, jeez, don’t make me blush,” he quipped, adding light shading to a segment of Royal’s mane. “Not an art stallion?”
“No.” Royal eyed over the sketch again. “Doesn’t make your art any less good.”
Sketch eyed him suspiciously, unsure if he was trying to flatter him or break him down. They were both silent for a while as Sketch worked. He found out Royal was staring at Trust as they sat. He didn’t look away from his work as he spoke. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted.”
“It never does,” he mentioned with an even tone. Not a hint of sorrow in his voice, a hint that he wasn’t exaggerating. He rubbed his knee and narrowed his eyes. “Why is mating exclusive to a single individual?”
“Well it isn’t for some, honestly.” Sketch finished drawing for now, but pretended he was still working.
“But why at all? It’s for having children. It’s biological.”
“Think about it, Royal.” Sketch placed his pad down, and faced the stallion. “Animals are built to survive. They’re built from the ground up to deal with dangerous situations in different ways. But when mating happens, animals are vulnerable for a short time.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Animals put themselves in danger for a short time to pass their genes.”
“But ponies and more intelligent species are rarely in constant danger. Mating was still just as necessary, but we no longer needed to worry about our surroundings.”
“So?” he asked, raising a brow.
“So it became a viable pastime. But in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t massive orgies constantly happening in the streets. Why?”
“Hmm,” he hummed, crossing his forelegs. “Because ponies still feel vulnerable during the act.”
“Exactly,” Sketch exclaimed, flicking the air. “It meant people only mate with those they trust. And those numbers are quite lacking for most.”
“Then what stops multiple partners?” he asked. His questions were less accusatory now, and more genuine in their curiosity.
“That’s where culture comes in. People put value in connections. Trusting someone enough to mate with them means they trust you enough to mate as well. An agreement was made to be vulnerable together for a long period of time, for a moment of weakness to break down the defensive wall people have set up, so they can show their partner their true self in the most carnal of ways. The ephemeral nature of sex, and the ecstasy that results became sacred to those involved. Subconsciously, a deal was made between two parties, that no one else other than those involved are allowed to see this vulnerable version of themselves.” Sketch leaned back and set aside his pad. “As you can imagine, all of this is extremely emotionally exhausting, so people settle on only having one partner. Only having one partner became sacred in itself. And thus, husbands and wives, marefriends and coltfriends. Everybody’s happy.”
“Except me,” Royal quickly rebutted, staring off into the night, finally taking his eyes off Trust.. Sketch frowned and got closer to him.
“Not necessarily. Just because you might not have a future with Trust doesn’t mean you can’t have a future with someone else.” Sketch shrugged. “You just can’t give up.”
“We are the only ones, Trust and I.” Royal looked down at Sketch as he had many times before. “I could never find another batpony.”
“You could maybe-”
“Find a normal pony? Not a chance. You are a very unique stallion, Sketch. The odds of finding a mare who would cast aside their perceptions and fears so easily as you did are slim to none.” Royal laughed, for the first time since he and Sketch had met. It was a bone chilling, heart wrenching, empty laugh. “She really stumbled on something quite special. Somepony quite special.” He set his hoof on Sketch’s shoulder. For the first time, he looked vulnerable to Sketch, and it made his heart sink. “I know you don’t need it, or necessarily want it, but you do have my blessing.”
Sketch looked towards the ground, no longer being able to bear seeing Royal’s broken, empty smile. “No, no, it... it means a lot actually. I haven’t had anyone... care enough to hand it out like that.”
“Hand? Somebody? People? You’re using a lot of general terms, Sketch. Not something I expect from another pony,”
Sketch scratched his neck, just now realizing his language. “Oh. I guess I am. I know a griffin that I’m quite fond of, I guess that’s why.” Sketch lit up and slammed his hoof into his other. “Hey, why don’t you go to the griffin country, or somewhere else overseas? They probably won't care about some measly batwings, you could probably find a girl there!”
He rose his eyebrow and reared his head. “What? Sketch, i want children. This isn’t about sex. I want... community.”
“But you just want someone to understand you, right? To empathize with you, and stand by you. You could get that from-”
“One is not enough, Sketch.” Royal kicked his hoof and gritted his teeth. “It never was.”
Sketch squinted his eyes and scoffed. “That sounds selfish. You can’t have kids just to have someone look up to you. That’s wrong.”
“Tch,” he scoffed back, stomping his right hoof. “You can think whatever you like. You know what it’s like to have strangers care about you for the simple fact that you look somewhat similar to themselves. Or the simple fact that you share blood. Trust and I never had that luxury.”
“But you can still have people care about you. Because of who you are, not what you are,” Sketch argued, his face growing sorrowful. “Hell, Trust and I would like to be that for you.”
“What?” Trust yelled in the distance, which both males ignored.
“That sounds nice Sketch,” he answered honestly before turning away. “But I’ve tried that before. It didn’t end well.” He began to make his way away from the lake, making his intent to leave clear. “I don’t care to be disappointed again.”
“Alright, fine,” Sketch exhaled. “Fine. I hope you come around again, though. I enjoyed our time together. Please... if you ever feel like talking... just show up whenever, alright? I’ll be there for you, and so will Trust.”
“Are you volunteering things for me?” Trust yelled again, finally getting up from her reclined position and walking up the shore of the lake.
“Maybe I will show up again. If just to prove you wrong,” he stated flatly, slowly disappearing into the darkness. Sketch’s mind began to race once more, trying to think of anything that could comfort the poor stallion. Suddenly, he had a thought.
“There could be more, y’know! Than just the two of you!”
He stopped for a moment, and without turning around, shouted back. “One other in twenty-two years, Sketch? I’m not exactly enthralled about the odds.”
Twenty-two? Great. Still can’t get friends my age.
At that, he was gone, and the forest was that much quieter. Sketch frowned, rubbing the back of his neck, the old familiar feeling when Trust had first flown off into the night resurfacing into his chest. What a tragedy...
“Why didn’t you kiss him?”
Sketch jumped at Trust’s sudden proximity, but he quickly calmed himself after a quick hyperventilation. “What?”
“You didn’t want him to leave, right? Why didn’t ya kiss him? Would’ve loved to see that. Maybe a little mud wrestling too.” Trust winked with a saucy smirk.
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” Sketch asked incredulously, taking steps towards the lake.
“Hey I wanna know whose face ya suckin’,” she answered with a shrug.
They both took a seat at the edge of the water. Sketch picked up a rock with his magic and skipped it across the lake a few times. Trust picked up one herself and gracefully tossed it with decadence. It skipped across the entire lake and landed on the other side. He rose his eyebrow at her and she laughed nervously. “I swear, that’s the first time I’ve done that, I didn’t even know that was possible.”
Sketch laughed, holding his stomach as he lurched over. Sighing, he gave he a thin smile. “You’re perfect.”
They stared long and hard at each other, with thin smiles and half mast eyes. Trust got in close to his ear and whispered...
“You sap.”
Sketch’s eyes widened and he tried to jump away, but Trust was too fast. She already caught him in her forelegs and threw him violently into the black lake. The cold shot beams of pain through his spine, and his lungs shrank to the size of raisins. As he struggled to maintain his position at the surface, it was immediately threatened by a shouting Trust.
“Cannonball!”
Sketch gaped at the fast approaching batpony, knowing full well he would not be fast enough to avoid her. He accepted his fate, and allowed the full force of the mare crash into him. He went under this time, cold water filling his nostrils and seeping into his mouth. He slammed shut his eyes since he wouldn’t be able to see in the darkness of the lake anyway. Panic almost set in, but Trust lifted him out with her incredible strength. He gasped and panted for air as they both became still after surfacing.
“J-jeez Trust! You- you can’t keep doing this, it’s gonna kill me,” Sketch reprimanded through the clattering of teeth. While it wasn’t cold enough to be immediately dangerous like last time, it still might be enough to get him sick.
“Aww, poor baby, can’t handle a little-PPBTH” Trust’s taunt was interrupted by a well timed splash from Sketch. She quickly recovered, wiping her face and clearing the water out of her glowing eyes. She scowled at a cocky, shit-eating grin from Sketch. “You a dead little pony, Sketchy,” She growled playfully as she lurched at Sketch, catching him around the neck and biting his mane. Sketch noticed that she was really holding back since he was able to easily overpower her. They wrestled in the water for a bit before Trust finally pinned him against the bank of the lake. She laughed and chortled like an evil villain, throwing her head back and grinding up against the stallion as she did her act. “Gotcha, bitch! I win, just like always.” At some point the water had caused her to slip from her initial pin, and she threaded her forelegs underneath Sketch’s own, resulting in a twisted hug of imprisonment. “You’ll never be able to escape my-”
Trust stopped after she saw Sketch’s face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape; his jaw was a bit askew. He had a dumb look of fear in his eyes, like he was going to throw up. She feared she had gotten him hurt somehow in the playful struggle. “Woah, dude you okay?”
Sketch closed his mouth and furrowed his brow. He inhaled sharply and held the breath. And at once, everything became clear.
Going forward, there was no looking back.
This was all a foregone conclusion.
“We can get out of the water if you-MMF!” Sketch’s heart stopped as his mouth entered her own. Since she was in the middle of speaking, there was no resistance for his tongue to immediately overlap hers. Their breath suddenly mixed to form a new concoction of gasses with a taste all of their own. And the taste, oh the taste... It was sweet, like mangos. Mangos. Despite the fact she had just eaten potato chips and a third of a sandwich, she tasted like celestia damned mangos. Only Trust could manage something like that. After the initial surprise, Trust took over, widening her mouth and nearly swallowing Sketch’s entire head. She closed her eyes and moaned, sending vibrations into Sketch’s own throat. She panted heavily through her nostrils, causing a steady rhythm of her hot breath to drape around his freezing face. The minutes they spent like this felt like hours, as his thoughts fell into a dark pit. In its place, the sensations and feelings of the most perfect mare. His odd little bat pony.
He almost cried when she pulled away.
Trust’s dumb look probably mirrored his own, a satisfied smile with furrowed brows. She arched her brow and giggled. “Afraid I’m going to leave again?”
“No... now it’s because I know you’ll come back.”
“Very smooth Sketchy, very, HOLY SHIT YOU’RE BLEEDING!” Trust leaped off of Sketch and nearly made him slip back into the lake. She realized her mistake almost immediately and caught him before he could slip in completely. She dragged him out of the water and onto the bank.
Sketch reached his hoof onto his muzzle and immediately felt the sticky warmth of blood. He smacked his lips and waved his tongue around, the sour taste of blood taking place of Trust’s sweet saliva. He looked at his hoof,now covered in a healthy amount of blood. “Huh, I am.”
“How did that even-” Trust tapped her muzzle in a dark moment of shock. “My fangs.”
“Huh?” he asked, cocking his head. “Your...” He looked her over and spotted a small amount of blood has stained her fangs. “Oh.”
“This sucks.” Trust exhaled as she traded weight on her hooves. “I hurt you even when I don’t want to. Maybe their right. Maybe we are mon-”
Sketch lurched forward again, passionately kissing her once again, trailing her mouth without fear. As he pulled away, a dumb look of shock was all that she could muster.
“It didn’t hurt,” he reassured.
She began subconsciously rubbed her mouth softly with her hoof, a smile adorning her once more. She lowered her head and peered at him out the corner of her eye. “Your blood tastes good.”
“Oh?” Sketch oh’d, a look of indifferent surprise across his muzzle.
“May have to... take some more,” she teased, putting her forelegs slowly around his neck. As she pulled him close, she put her snout in the base of his neck. Her fangs poked his skin and sent goosebumps up and down his chest.
“You know I’d let you.”
She inhaled, opening her mouth and scraping her fangs along his neck, around the base to directly under his chin. She tenderly kissed the vulnerable part of the flesh. “How did you know?”
Sketch had stopped paying attention a long time ago. He held his eyes closed as the soft sensation of her lips crawled up his neck. “Know what?”
“What to say. What to do.” She stopped and reared back,looking directly into his eyes. “To make me care.”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Maybe it’s because I had stopped caring myself.”
“Someone’s coming.”
Sketch snapped back into reality. “What?”
“Someone’s approaching the lake.” Trust disconnected from Sketch, after a small fight from him. “I’ll be close, okay?”
“Okay,” he reluctantly agreed. “See you later.” A quick nod, and she disappeared into the air. Sketch was now down two batponies.
That went a lot better than Sketch would’ve thought. He only hopes that Anthem’s night is going as smoothly as this. He got that familiar feeling that he didn’t deserve it again. He hated that feeling. Sketch sat down, and stared at the lake, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t exactly unallowed here, but he was underage and it had to be at least eleven o’clock. He decided he should just lay low and wait for them to leave. He sighed and flattened himself into the ground as hoofsteps got closer. He closed his eyes and hoped they’d just leave, or at least assume he was old enough to be out here. The hoofsteps stopped. They must be near.
A few minutes passed of pure silence, and Sketch grew restless. He wished he had brought his pad with him, then at least-
Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no. Sketch shot up and began running before he was completely standing. He stumbled a few times, but this was too important to fumble the ball now. The sound of grass crunching became shattering glass, as every hoofall contributed to the crumbling future. He saw a female figure in the distance, She became the target. He galloped faster and faster. Eventually, the muddy image of the drawing pad and book forming in the dead of the night. The figure was poised towards it. She was reaching for it. “Don’t!”
The figure obeyed instantly, something Sketch wouldn’t have expected. She looked up at the sprinting stallion, her face wearing more confusion than shock. “Sketch?”
Sketch gasped and stopped his legs. Unfortunately, the inertia sent him flying forward, crashing and burning into the ground. He still had enough motor control to flail a leg out and attempt to cover his pad. After his face met the ground, he craned his neck up and spat out some dry grass. He rolled towards his pad and sighed in relief to see that he had successfully covered his art. He laughed in triumph, before something clicked in his brain. The mare... knew his name. And judging from the silhouette...
“Syntax! Hi!” Sketch chuckled, his heart burning and his lungs constricting. Why, why why? Why did she have to be here of all places? “What brings you out here on this beautiful night?”
She had a strange device on a sash around her neck, an expensive-looking camera with a very large light bulb.
“Sketch, what are you doing out at this hour alone?” she asked, ignoring his play-dumb charm.
“Just, you know, enjoying the night air, listening to the still lake. Artist stuff.”
She furrowed her brows, taking a step toward him, trying to make him back up. He didn’t. “I have more than a few ways to get my information, Sketch.”
It was his turn to go on the offensive. He took a step towards her this time, tired of being pushed around. “Are you trying to intimidate me, Syntax?”
Since they were both taking steps towards each other, they were mere inches apart now. Sketch, his face intense, and Syntax, a cocky grin. They had a battle in silence, both looking for faults in their poise, or a crack in the surface. Once she was satisfied, she turned away and chuckled. “What were you drawing? What do you have to hide?”
“Naughty sketches of my marefriend,” he instantly replied, lying having become second nature. “It’s very private.”
She gasped in feigned indignance. “You have a marefriend? Why didn’t you tell me? Taking me out to dinner, naughty boy.”
“Stop it, Syntax,” he complained, putting a hoof up to his forehead. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you making my life hard enough?”
She sauntered up silently and lightly tapped him on the cheek. “Easy. I come here every time I go out of town. Didn’t realize it was so popular.”
“Why?”
She frowned, and closed her eyes. “I’ve got... personal reasons. Used to come here with an old friend. They aren’t around anymore.” There was a silence, Sketch unsure if he should keep prodding. On the chance she was telling the truth, he decided to drop it.
“Yeah, sure... I’m gonna leave now, if you want to stay-”
“No, I’m leaving.” Syntax turned around, but kept her eyes on Sketch. “I only visit this place for a second. Wanna walk a mare home?”
Sketch opened his mouth in protest. He only said he was leaving so that he could get away from her. But now that he was backed into a corner, saying ‘no’ could destroy all of his progress with Syntax. As much as he just wanted to spend time with Trust, he didn’t want to sour his relationship with Syntax. Begrudgingly, he agreed with an unintelligible murmur and began walking along side her.
“Don’t sound too excited,” she sarcastically warned, her regular smile flickering with victory. They silently strode through the night, and Sketch pretended she wasn’t stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. “So why were you there?” she asked again. It’s a good thing Sketch wasn’t a violent person, because he was feeling very frustrated.
“It’s none of your business.”
“I know,” she confided, lightly bumping her body into his. “I’m asking as a friend, Sketch. Not a journalist.”
“We’re friends now?” he asked incredulously.
She shrugged in a ‘up to you’ motion. “You’re the only stallion that’s been able to liquor me up in a long time, Sketch. Maybe that’s worth something.”
“It’d be nice if we stopped being enemies,” he agreed, loosening the rigid grip on his features.
“I’d like to think we were never enemies, Sketchy.”
After a while, the two ponies arrived at the tram. It looked like one was arriving soon. “I hate this tram,” Syntax whispered, giving Sketch pause.
“Really? Why?”
“Fear of heights,” she replied, shrugging. Her extreme casualness was off putting.
“I’m surprised you’d tell me something like that,” he mentioned honestly. The tram arrived and slowed to allow them to get on.
“It’s not my fault,” she said, as-a-matter-of-fact. “It’s an irrational fear. A disease. Not a flaw.”
Despite the confidence of her character, her knees began to shake as they approached the tram. She subconsciously played with the camera draped on her neck. Sketch rolled his eyes and exhaled, grabbing her leg and pulling her on the tram. She yelped like a dog as they got on, and Syntax let go of a breath she probably didn’t know she was holding. She quickly but steadily took a seat at the edge of the tram, holding onto the available railings. She chuckled a little bit as she took her seat, and he body was sprawled out to steady herself. That’d normally make someone look pathetic, but she wore it well, it being more impressive than anything.
Sketch wished a bit she had been lying about the fear of heights. Because that means something wasn’t adding up.
Sketch craned his head and looked outside and hoped he’d be able to catch a glimpse of Trust. He really needed her right now. “So... what were you doing out of town.”
There was a slight pause, a pause Sketch was afraid of. “I had a friend in the Canterlot Outskirts, said she had a story for me. It turned out to be a bust, but I have to check my sources.”
“Yeah. What was the potential story?”
“Politics. You wouldn’t care. Or understand,” she teased. She sniffed and averted eye contact. Something about the way Sketch was looking at her was probably bothering her.
“Is that right?”
Her smile faded. She furrowed her brows again and her smile grew darker. “That’s right. Are you implying I’m not telling the truth, Sketchy?”
In reply, he simply stared at her. It was a standoff. Eventually she laughed and looked away. “C’mon Sketchy, you’re making me blush.”
“Stop being cute, Syntax.” It was just a hunch, and he was bluffing, but losing Syntax was a sad but acceptable price to pay in order to keep Trust. “Us meeting at the lake is way too convenient. You were following me.”
“What?” she asked, her eyes getting wider and her smile cracking. She looked really torn up. But Sketch kept an eye on her hoof. She scraped it on the railing so hard it chipped the paint. That was her tell.
She was lying.
“I wasn’t-”
“Stop lying! I keep trying to give you the benefit of the doubt but you just won’t let me! I thought this lying to my face was gonna stop, I thought we were getting somewhere! I want to be your friend, Syntax. I keep seeing small spots of kindness showing through your armor, but... is that a lie, too?”
...
Syntax became intent on staring out the window, her expression finally in a state of solemn thought. Probably the first real expression she’s worn in front of him. “Now you’re the one lying. No one wants to be my friend.”
Sketch recoiled suddenly, not expecting her to show herself in such a light. “Why would you say that?”
“I’ve shown ponies my true face before. It never worked out.” She shrugged. “It’s not their fault. But it’s the price you pay when you have a job like mine.”
“I want to see that, Syntax. Stop pretending.” Sketch took a seat and sighed, about to pony lengths away from her. “I don’t want to be enemies.”
“You wouldn’t like what you see, Sketch,” she said under her breath. “Nopony ever does.”
Sketch rubbed his legs, frustrated at her lack of cooperation. He guessed he really shouldn’t be so surprised. “Why are you following me, Syntax?”
She did her standard pause, no doubt doing equations in her head to assure what words to use to not say too much. “I’ve had this ability for a while. I’m very good at reading ponies, Sketch. I can tell what they’re thinking and if they’re hiding something. It’s very useful as a reporter, being able to tell who’s the shifty-eyed CEO and who’s the honest business partner. But when I look at you...”
She eyed him up and down. “You don’t belong here. You’re a good kid Sketch. You don’t go to parties, you don’t skip school, you don’t hang out with troublemakers and low-lives. You don’t sneak out to go to a lake, you don’t walk grown mares home. Yet here you are. I look at you, and the fact that you’re hiding something is overwhelmingly obvious. And I can’t read you. I can never figure out what you’re thinking. You’re an enigma, Sketch. And I intend to figure out why.”
Sketch looked at his hooves. She was making sense. And to be honest, her actions weren’t terribly irrational considering her reasoning, and the fact Sketch did in fact have something to hide. But that’s why this was important. He needed to get to know her. The real her if he wanted to defuse this.
“How did you know I was following you?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” he replied, a half smile on his face. She scowled and scoffed. “The timing was just too suspicious. And I figured your appearance at the lake was delayed because of your fear of heights.”
“I was lying about that too, Sketch.” Syntax put her cocky smile back on. “I was clawing for sympathy. Very standard negotiation method.”
“No you weren’t,” Sketch replied, matter-of-fact.
She rolled her eyes, smile still plastered on her features. Something caught her eye, and she slowly reached for Sketch’s book, her way of asking for permission. “What’s this?”
“Uhh, an old children’s book I used to read when I was little. Maybe it’s where I got my fondness for griffins.”
She inspected the front cover and laughed, a real laugh, not her usual mirthless laugh. “Ah yes. Wandering, Not Lost by H. Cassidy. I read this when I was little, too.”
“Is that a lie, too?” Sketch asked, elbowing her lightly. She did that snorting giggle she once did at the restaurant before she caught herself in the middle. She blushed a little bit before uncomfortable scooting a little bit further from Sketch.
“Now you need to stop being cute,” she quipped, playfully throwing the book back at him.
He set it aside and rubbed his temples. Judging from the way she was behaving, she hadn’t seen Trust or Royal, so he was still in the clear for that. But he had to ask... “How much did you see?”
“Hmm?” she started, before putting a hoof to her chin in thought. “Oh, not much. I kept losing you when you kept going in those damned alleys. It’s almost like you were trying to shake me. I did see you get all fresh with that stallion on the bench.”
Sketch laughed and brushed it off. “Yup, sounds about right.”
Syntax waited a few moments before scooting back beside Sketch, placing her hoof next to his leg. “Ske-”
Whatever she was going to ask was gonna have to wait. The entire tram suddenly stopped in its tracks, sending both of the seated ponies into the front of the car. They both yelped as they landed on top of each other and slid the rest of the way to the wall. Sketch hit his head against the painted metal with a large thud, but was able to catch Syntax with his body. She grunted as he did, losing her breath from the impact. The car swung back but did not budge on the rail, and Syntax attempted to grab flat surfaces to brace herself. “Oh Celestia! Oh Celestia, Celestia, Celestia, Celestia!” she cursed rapidly as her breathing became more and more labored. The inertia from the swing made Sketch’s stomach lurch up, but it slowly became more stable every subsequent swing. Sketch took a quick look at Syntax who had completely flattened onto the floor, clutching the camera as if it was going to save her.
“Syntax, are you okay?”
Despite her desperate position, she seemed to retain all of her faculties. “No. No I’m not. Please check and see if we’re gonna die?” She looked at him with a very neutral expression. Despite it all, she still wore her mask.
“We’re not gonna die. The cable track is still hold-” SNAP
Sketch’s words were cut off by the sharp sound of the cable giving out. The tram shot vertically upward, sending Sketch and Syntax into the air, nearly hitting the ceiling before crashing into the floor as the tram tried to stabilize itself. Syntax screamed bloody murder, and Sketch was too focused on survival to make any noises. Her scream was cut short by the impact, as they both let out guttural groans when they fell into the floor. The tram shook around for a few moments, until finally stabilizing.
“Oh celestia... oh god...” Syntax dragged her face across the floor before forcing herself to get up. It was as if she had stuck to the ground; she peeled herself from the floor. “Why? Celestia...”
Sketch had also begun to hyperventilate. He had to force rational thought to the front of his head, rather than the pure survival instinct that had taken over. His limbs were weak. “It... the cable isn’t one cable... it’s three or more cables twined together... one snapped, but the other two are holding.”
“So we can still get back?”
Sketch shut his eyes, commanding his lungs to stay where they are and not exit his body through his throat. “This thing’s not gonna move. It’s too unstable. The tram is the thing that moves, not the cables. It works like a never ending screw... I think”
“Fuck.” Syntax looked like she was about to vomit. Her body was standing, but her snout was still touching the ground. The mood was not right to tease her use of language.
“Just don’t move... lemme think...”
Trust.
Trust could get them out. But at what cost?
It didn’t feel right to debate, but... we’re safe now, right? They could just wait for help. This doesn’t have to put anything in danger.
As if the world was personally cursing him, the cables let out a sick groan, straining under its newfound pressure. Syntax whimpered, clutching her camera so hard that it might snap.
No... I’m not going to put her life in danger for a petty secret. Sketch took a step towards the door. “Dammit.”
“Sketch? What are you doing?” Syntax asked, the fear in her voice making her sound smaller.
“Getting us out of here.” Sketch inhaled deeply. “TRUUUUUUUSSS-” In the middle of his primal yell for his friend, SNAP! the second cable gave way. The tram jumped straight up once again, the inertia causing the both of them to go straight into the air. Since Sketch’s head was outside the door, his neck made a deafening thud as it hit the frame of the door. The impact shifted his body in such a way that sent him halfway out the door. He blacked out from the force almost immediately, and he was helpless to gravity.
“SKETCH!” Syntax screamed, her throat becoming hoarse. He was out like a light. After Syntax recovered from her own fall, she lurched forward as his lifeless body began slipping down the edge. Syntax abandoned all her common sense as she dove, wrapping her forelegs around Sketch’s rump. The momentum sent them both over the edge, but she caught herself on the frame of the door with the lower half of her body. “SKETCH!” she repeated, ignoring the futility of the action.
Sketch’s eyes began to flutter back open, his ears ringing and his stomach tightening. Gravity’s pull on his hanging neck and head nearly sent him into a panic, before realizing that Syntax had caught him. “Syn... Syntax?”
“What were you do...” she tried to speak, but the strain of her hold on Sketch got the better of her, and she nearly passed out. She groaned and gritted her teeth. Luckily, the majority of her body and some of his were still inside the tram. Letting out a bloodcurdling roar, she pulled her body in, allowing Sketch to push on the frame of the door and support himself. He pulled himself up, along with her, and once they were stable, they panted on the floor, trying to recuperate. “The FUCK were you doing.”
“I know someone that can help... a.... Pegasus.”
“Is she also a fucking dog? What makes you think-”
“She’s nearby,” he assured. “And she has really good hearing.”
Syntax thought for a few seconds and laughed. She rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes in shame. “Holy shit. You weren’t alone at the lake. You were with somepony,”
“Red hoofed,’ he confided, sharing in her mirthless laugh. “And right now she’s our best bet.”
There was the familiar groan of the cable above. If Sketch was right, that was their last lifeline. This was their last chance.
SNAP! Instead of lurching up like the other times, the car dropped like a dead weight. Sketch couldn’t hear Syntax’s screaming over his own. He made contact with the wall of the car first, with Syntax crashing into him like a bullet. Almost immediately, the tram crashed into the top of a tree, sending both ponies tumbling to the other side of the tram. Sketch tried to manipulate himself to once again act like a cushion for Syntax, but everything was happening so fast, he had no hope.
THUD Sketch made contact first, landing on the edge of the windowsill, barely escaping the gap. Syntax, unfortunately, was not so lucky, flying cleanly through the large window. Thinking quickly, Sketch leaped forward with all his strength, and as much magic as he could manage. He succeeded in the vaguest sense of the word, catching her forelegs with his own and his body hanging on the outside of the window.
“HANG... IN... THERE...” he groaned, already feeling his grip slipping. He fired his horn up again, attempting to envelop her entire body in magic. His ears were beginning to plug up,and he felt blood welling up in his nose. Sketch used his magic precisely in his life, it was not built for raw strength.
Syntax was unbearably quiet, only letting out a lone grunt every now and then. Seconds felt like hours. Sketch’s legs were on fire, and every slight movement felt like knives to the tendons.
There was a long quiet, creaks of the tram, and bustling of the leaves, being the only sounds resonating through the forest.
Sketch couldn’t think because of the use of his magic, and Syntax was presumably too focused on not dying to make any noise.
That was, until she made a decision.
“Drop me.”
Sketch’s eyes shot open, not even realizing he had shut them in his effort. He released his magic, and struggled a bit as the full weight of Syntax now began to pull at his legs. He cursed under his breath, and growled. “What?!”
“No one’s gonna miss me, Sketch. Not even you. But if I take you down with me, everyone’s lives are going to be just a little shittier.”
“Stop... talking... nonsense.” Sketch tightened his grip once again, a new fear in his head that she’ll try to force him to drop her.
“It’s the truth. Everypony hates me. Your griffin friend was right. But I can tell from personal experience that... even if you think you aren’t that great a pony... even if you aren’t that great a pony... you make everypony around you want to be better... you make them better. Everypony comes to ponies like you for advice. Because you know how to put things in perspective.”
“SHUT UP!” He yelled, his body slipping forward a bit. “Just hold on. I know it doesn’t seem like I want you here. But the truth is, I wouldn’t be the same without you. No matter how insignificant you think you are.” He slipped a bit more. “JUST HOLD ON! I know it seems like no one wants you around. But even if you leave a sour taste in people’s mouths, you make people think. You make people want to rally behind something.”
Sketch slipped a bit more, and tears began to fall onto Syntax’s face.
“JUUUST... HOOOLD... OOON! YOU’RE NOT FINISHED HERE YET! YOU HAVE PEOPLE TO CHANGE! PEOPLE TO CARE ABOUT. PEOPLE TO CARE ABOUT YOU! YOU’RE NOT DONE YET! YOU HAVE FUCKING STORIES TO WRITE!” Sketch roared as he finally slipped off.
They were falling, and Sketch’s legs were ripped away from hers.
Except... he stopped falling.
That was what he was afraid of. Of course Trust would save him. She didn’t know Syntax. There was no reason to go for her. He had grown numb, so he couldn’t even feel Trust’s forelegs around him. There had to be something they could do. There had to be something.
Sketch turned to look her in the face, but... it was a stallion’s face! Royal!
He simply stared at him. That means that... “TRUST!” He bellowed, before even being able to see her. She was in the distance, shooting straight towards him, likely to check on him. “GRAB HER!”
It was a split moment, but trust immediately knew what he meant. She dove straight down before even getting eyes on Syntax. She absolutely gunned it, probably breaking some sort of record. All of this happened in less than a second.
It was too dark to see if Trust was successful. After a few tense moments, Royal spoke.
“We need to get to solid ground.”
“Not until-” Sketch was cut off with the image of two mares slowly rising up above the tree line. “Trust!” Trust’s flight was wobbly and unstable. Once Royal noticed this, he instantly began flying towards the sky tram station. “What’re you-”
“We need to get to solid land so I can assist her.”
He was amazingly calm under the pressure, but Sketch could tell he was also emotionally taxed. Sketch ceased his protests and begun to just enjoy the calm. It only took fifteen seconds of moderate speed flight to get there.
That is fucking unfair. They were almost home. Royal dropped Sketch a couple feet above the ground, leaving Sketch to land with a small thud, and sending pangs of pain through his limbs. He tried to get up, but his limbs refused to work after all the strain. Royal bolted off to aid Trust, leaving him in the dust. But Sketch didn’t mind. He was just glad to be alive. He must have dozed off, because Royal and Trust were already back, dropping a dazed Syntax on the ground across from him. Just as she hit the floor, Trust dashed next to Sketch’s side. “SKETCH!” Royal calmly followed.
“Tru... Trust.” He attempted to get up again, not wanting her to worry. “Trust I’m fine...” His words were punctuated with an audible thud as she enveloped him in an encapsulating hug.
“Oh Celestia, I was so worried. When you yelled my name, I...”
“I know,” he interrupted, hugging her back. He felt a bit... sticky, for some reason. He lightly pushed her to arm’s length, looking down at their chests. There was blood on his... but he had no wound. That was when he discovered a large gash along her chest, fresh blood dripping down from it. “What? When did-”
“I’m fine, it’s not too deep,” she assured. “That damn cable nearly cut me in half.”
“It’s why we were late,” Royal interjected, inspecting her wound as well. “I was making sure she was okay.”
“We need to take care of that, Trust.” Sketch said, concern-laden voice.
“Don’t worry about it too much. I wasn’t planning on walking around with an open wound all week,” she said, rubbing the back of her mane.
Suddenly a flash of white invaded Sketch’s retinas. He grunted and rubbed his eyes. The batponies reactions were much worse, however, the both of them hissing and screaming in agony. Royal flew off into the sky, clumsily knocking a trash can over as he did, whilst Trust simply buried her face into her forelegs, cursing and gasping. Sketch held her as she squirmed, telling her to calm down and assuring her safety. He snapped his head at Syntax after the initial confusion wore off.
Syntax was standing there with a shocked, scared look on her face. Her camera in hoof.
“What the hell... did you do?” Sketch asked darkly, his tone more of a warning than a question. She instinctively took a step back, her pretense of confidence having melted away from the preceding events.
“What the fuck was that?!” Trust screamed, blinking rapidly to force her eyes to adjust.
“She just took a picture of us.”
“What?!” Trust yelled, taking rapid breaths. “Why would she-... You bitch! After all we did for you?”
Syntax didn’t reply. She simply took a few more steps back. She eyed her camera, as if she couldn’t believe her own actions. That makes two of us, Syntax. Trust lurched forward, but Sketch caught her and mouthed her to stay. He solemnly shook his head, and wore his mask of determination.
“Don’t do this, Syntax. I know this was what you were looking for, but it’s not worth it. Please Syntax.”
Syntax took another step back, looking at Sketch once more, a tear falling down her cheek. Sketch held Trust at his side, propping himself on her. “Don’t do this. Please. I meant everything I said back there.”
“I told you... you wouldn’t like the real me, Sketchy,” she said, her expression never changing. Sketch’s face contorted to horror.
And then she ran. She ran away. She disappeared into the night.
The two ponies left in the street could only stand there in shock. For Trust, shock turned to anger. Her pupils shrank and she yanked and pulled to escape Sketch’s grasp.
“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL HER! FUCK! THAT BITCH IS GOING TO DIE!” She growled and screamed like an animal, taking swipes at empty spaces, and biting at imaginary demons.
“Trust, just stop, leave her.” Sketch pleaded, tightening his grip. “It’s not worth it.” He was somewhat confused he was able to keep someone as strong as Trust from moving. That was, until Trust began to whimper.
“She’s... she can’t... get... away...with... w-with...” Trust’s eyes began to dilate, Her body began to go limp as the light drained from her eyes.
“Trust? Trust, you okay?” Sketch propped her up and looked into her eyes.
“Yeah... just a little woozy.”
“You’re losing too much blood. C’mon let’s go to my house, I have first aid stuff.”
She started to weakly chuckle, draping herself over his body. “You’re the one that almost dies and I’m the one that needs medical attention.”
“Shh. You’ve done enough, Trust.” Sketch sighed. “You’ve done so much.”
Sketch fully stood up, stabilizing Trust as she leaned on him. With a big inhale, he limped towards the alleyway, desperate to get out of the streets.
Sketch was tired.
It wasn’t insomnia.