//------------------------------// // 14. Thanks For The Talk // Story: Truth Needs No Colors // by Lastingimage24 //------------------------------// School. The word had lost all meaning for Sketch. Instead of being a proper noun, and a place where his dreams went to die, it became an isolated segment of his life that played no part in the grand scheme of things. In a cruel twist of ironic fate, now that he had completely stopped caring about it, he found himself awake and alert in all of his lessons and lectures. Even Mr. Lead had found himself shocked at Sketch’s seemingly new ability to pay attention and not consistently drift off in his speeches. The school life had now become a distraction to his problems, and a time of quiet solidarity to forget about his anxieties. But not quiet enough to become lost in his mind. As he sketched the last few lines of a modern house in a lesson of perspective and scale in Conté’s class, he found himself slowly closing his eyes in a thick haze. That was, until Conté had opened her mouth. “Are you okay?” she asked, concern dripping from her voice. It was a long while before Sketch finally turned to her, expression neutral. “I’m... not sure.” There was a click as he set his pencil down. He stared at the plain-jane house he drew, struggling to remember where he had seen it. A burst of revelation washed over him as he remembered Syntax’s apartment, and he flinched. “I’m not really sure of anything anymore.” “Sketch,” she lamented, shaking her head. “You need to talk to someone. Maybe not me, as much as it pains me to say.” She put her foreleg around her neck in a encouraging manner and placed herself in front of his eyes so he could not look away. “Whatever you’re dealing with, you can’t do it alone.” Sketch scratched at his desk apprehensively, breathing a little harder so that his head would nod slightly. The apartment he drew seemed to laugh at him, and he chuckled in turn. “You know, I thought I was protecting people by not telling them the whole truth. That it’d somehow spare them the hurt. But when everything started to blow up in my face, I found out that nothing would stop my friends from taking the bolt for me, no matter how much I didn’t want them to. So...” He turned to Conté and smirked. “Might as well warn them about the bolt,” Conté’s face turned into one of concerned uncertainty, utterly confused at Sketch’s complex confession. She smiled with apprehension. “Atta... boy?” Sketch laughed once more, and pushed himself away from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll make the right choice. Thanks Miss Conté.” He headed towards the door, leaving a thoroughly flummoxed art teacher in the wake. “Your welcome... I think,” she said, to no one in particular. “Knock knock,” Sketch singed as his hoof synchronized to his voice against the door. There was some shuffling behind the door along with some hushed whispers before the sound of a turning deadbolt caused him to take a step back. The door swung open with gusto, revealing a ruffled griffin behind the door. Haren’s feathers had lost their dye and simply became a darker hue of grey along the tips, a detail Sketch hadn’t noticed in the confusion of their previous meeting. The feathers themselves were also a lot less organized, but Sketch failed to figure out if it was simply unkempt or an intended style, seeing how well she wore it. He also briefly wondered if feathers were similar to manes at all or if he was just making assumptions at that point. His thoughts were interrupted by the silver tongue herself. “‘Sup, kiddo?” she attempted to casually greet. It was laced with a certain level of enthusiasm that he was not used to seeing Haren in, however, though that was probably due to recent developments and not anything he had done. “Is that really Sketch?” a voice from inside called, causing Sketch to try and take a peek inside. Haren stepped aside as he leaned and allowed Sketch full reign of the place, as she sashayed to the kitchen to grab a drink for her guest. Sketch accepted her unvoiced invitation and made his way towards the sofa, where Anthem lounged, a beer in his hooves. “What’s up, dude?” “Hey man,” Sketch replied, Anthem’s laid back attitude already putting him at ease. “How’s it going?” “Great,” he confided with a wink. He grinned widely as if he were letting Sketch in on a secret. After a second, he sunk further into the cushion, looking into the ceiling blissfully. “Glad you’re here, kid.” “Any particular reason?” Sketch asked as he caught a thrown drink from Haren. It was an average cola, and he silently thanked that one of his friends finally had some forethought and didn’t hand him alcohol. Anthem shook his head. “Not really. I was just thinking that a couple months ago, I would have to borderline beg you to hang out. And now you’re coming around at your own volition. Just feels good, y’know?” Sketch thought back on it, since it had been around a year since they met. Was he really such a stick in the mud before he met Trust? It wasn’t like he was busy, all he did was draw and go to school. As if Haren was reading his mind, she nodded her head at Sketch and asked, “How did you two even meet? Was Anthem just hanging around schools and being a creepo?” Anthem snorted, but Sketch was quick to answer. “Anthem helped me out with a problem.” When Haren rose her brow, Sketch elaborated. “A bully at my school was making the rounds and harassing me outside my school. Anthem just started beating the shit outta him.” “Woah!” Haren exclaimed, turning to Anthem. “You beat up a little kid?” Anthem groaned into his hooves, pulling his face down. “I didn’t know they were kids! I was on the way home and I wasn’t exactly aware of my surroundings, so all I saw was one stallion giving another a hard time and I told him to beat it. He didn’t listen, so I socked him in the face. I mean, you shoulda seen the guy, he was friggin’ huge for a highschooler.” Sketch nodded in approval. “Yup, I can attest. Everyone tells me how they forget how old I actually am, and the guy was a hoofball player and was gigantic. I could see how it must have looked.” Anthem took over the story as he leaned over. “Yeah, so, Sketch is all panicking and asking what the hell I thought I was doing, and I start freaking out when he told me that I just punched a minor. So we both booked it to my place and the rest is history.” Sketch blew a raspberry. “Hardly. The cops wouldn’t stop pestering me for a whole week asking me for descriptions of what happened and Anthem’s appearance. Of course, we sorta became friends after that so I purposely gave them a cold trail.” Anthem giggled uncontrollably, “He told them I had a mustache and a shaved head.” “What happened to the bully?” Haren inquired, flicking off the cap of her own bottle. “Well, Anthem rocked him so hard, he couldn’t give an accurate description of his appearance, and he was just kinda scared of everyone after that. I don’t even know if he still goes to my school.” “Heavy,” she commented, taking a huge glug of her beer. She was doing that thing again where she sticks the entire neck of the bottle down her throat, but it didn’t fluster Sketch like it used to. He briefly pondered why, but was distracted by the fact Anthem looked pretty bothered by the display, turning around with his face flush. Sketch couldn’t help but smile, a ghost of a thought of how weird all this was sparking in his mind, but never bringing anything alight. He frowned as the reason for his visit flushed itself back into his mind. He set his soda aside and sighed. “Listen, guys...” “Yeah?” they both asked in unison, Haren looking inside her bottle as if she didn’t believe she already drank it all, and Anthem taking a sensible sip. “I think I should start being a little more honest with you... with you both.” The both of them perked up, and Haren nearly dropped her empty bottle. Anthem rose his eyebrow, not having feeling particularly lied to. “What’s this about?” Anthem asked, not an ounce of mistrust in his voice, just pure curiosity. “Well, a lot of things. But... something happened that’s going to change a lot of stuff. It’s going to change me... and all the people I’m involved with. And I just thought you guys should know.” Haren’s feathers all stood up and stuck out, as her eyes became wider. Anthem simply blinked a couple of times, and he nervously pawed at his bottle. “Uhh, Sketch?” Haren asked. “Are you going to uhh... ell-tay, them-Anay, about the at-bay ony-pay?” Sketch facehoofed at Haren’s sudden pig-latin usage as Anthem started to flick his head between the pony and griffin. “Okay, what am I missing here? You two hiding something from me?” Sketch shook his head violently, “No no, not Haren. She barely found out a couple days ago. I’ve uhh... I’ve found myself caring for a... mare.” Anthem nodded as-a-matter-of-factly. “Yeah, that Trust mare. Not really much of a secret, I mean, you were all over her.” Sketch scoffed, still upset at how transparent that was for everyone considering how torn up he was about it. But he shook his head and growled. “Yes, Trust. She’s the reason. Her... her...” Haren, to everyone’s shock, took the reins. “Her wings and teeth were real. And her eyes.” Anthem scoffed in disbelief, and he chuckled. “Yeah, okay.” Sketch nodded sagely. “No, she’s right. She’s a batpony.” Anthem smirked again, and laughed. “What? You mean like a vampony?” Sketch opened his mouth to disagree, but stopped himself once his brain turned a couple gears. Was she a vampony? Maybe, nothing about her really said that she wasn’t. He hadn’t really tried all the classic vampony weapons, or rather any of the non-lethal ones since he wouldn’t want to hurt her. He hadn’t tried garlic, or holy water, or symbols of Celestia’s brilliance. She was nocturnal, as far as Sketch knew, and that counted as an aversion to sunlight, so she actually had a few ticks marked in the vampony column.... But he shook his head again before he could lose himself in thoughts. “No. At least, I don’t think so. We’ve been just calling her a batpony for now, she doesn’t suck blood or anything.” At least, so far. “You’re fuckin’ with me.” Haren put a tender talon on Anthem’s shoulder, who nearly jumped at the contact. “No, Anthem. We wouldn’t lie to your face like this. I saw her with my own eyes.” For the first time, Anthem considered the possibility of their talk. It appeared as if he was mentally checking the date to see if it was april fools or other prank themed holiday. As he slowly looked between Haren and Sketch, his eyes became wider. He just didn’t have it in him to doubt anything his two best friends had to say. “Wha... are you... are you serious?” Sketch gave one final, firm nod, before folding one hoof over the other. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Anthem. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I thought you weren’t ready. But things are getting worse, and I... want your help.” “Oh my god, Sketch...” he cursed, slipping into Haren’s blasphemous musings. “Y-yeah, of course, dude, anything. Is... are you going to bring her around? You can do that if you want.” The unicorn reared his head, the possibility of all of his friends in one place at once making his head spin, almost nauseating him. That was an overwhelming offer, and he couldn’t just deny it. “Oh! Umm, maybe... Maybe, uh, later.” Anthem was probably the only person Sketch would be able to tell and have them believe him. Haren was too intelligent to not have a healthy amount of skepticism, and she also hails from a country without magic. His parents would simply think he’s coming up with stories. His teachers would call him crazy. Syntax, if she didn’t already know, would probably write his story off because of lunacy. But Anthem was a simple soul, and was trusting enough to ingest anything his friends would tell him, because he knew they wouldn’t take advantage of him. In his musings, Haren had furrowed her brow as she reviewed their conversation in her head. “Hey, what did you mean, more honest with ‘you both’?” she asked, tapping her empty bottle. Sketch sighed, tapping his hoof. “Well, that’s mostly why I’m here. I was hanging out with Trust and another batpony, Royal. He’s uhh, the only other one we know exists. We were all at the lake when Syntax showed up.” “Syntax?!” Haren yelled. “That bitch knows not to mess with you! Did she forget about me?!” Sketch grumbled and furrowed his brow. “Don’t get all bent out of shape, I made a deal with her, it’s okay.” “No it’s not, Sketch,” Haren shouted. “She’s just trying to manipulate you!” “I know, that Haren! But if she wasn’t there, I would have died that night!” It was Anthem’s turn to be upset. One mention of bodily harm made him leap off his seat and growl a deep threat. “Who,” he demanded. “Who did it?” Haren’s anger had disappeared and was replaced with a morbid curiosity as she watched on. “It wasn’t a person,” he reassured. “Unless you want to kick the shit out of a broken tram, then be my guest.” “Broken tram?” Anthem asked, but his girlfriend behind him lit up. “YOU WERE ON THAT?!” she shouted, immediately covering her beak as she realized her volume. “The sky rail broke a few days ago, but the paper said no one was on it!” “That’s because Trust and Royal saved Syntax and I.” He wistfully smiled and held his shoulder, messaging an ache that flared up. “But I nearly fell before that, and Syntax overcame her crippling fear of heights to save my life. She broke her act because she cared about me. You can’t fake devotion like that.” “How do you know she didn’t rig the whole thing up?” “Haren!” Sketch slammed his hoof into the floor and Haren flinched, knowing she had said something unacceptable. “Even if that were true, there is no way you should be throwing accusations like that without knowing for sure!” Anthem put a hoof on Sketch’s shoulder and gave him a menacing scowl. “Easy, Sketch,” he warned evenly. Haren pulled him back, which made him drop the macho posture. “No, Anthem, he’s right. That was fucked up.” Haren exhaled, covering her beak as she always did. “I just don’t know why you’re still dealing with her.” “Because she got a photo of us.” The couple’s mouths gaped at this, and they both instinctively reared up. “A photo?” Haren asked. Sketch nodded in response. “After everything that had happened.” “What a bitch,” Anthem spat, grinding his teeth. It was then that Sketch realized Anthem didn’t have any personal run-ins with Syntax. Then again, that would probably give him more colorful words to work with. “She has her reasons,” he excused, tapping the floor. “I don’t want either of you giving her a hard time, alright?” Haren grumbled, her previous threats now losing their luster. Anthem shook his head. “Why not? If we can stop this-” “She’s smarter than you think. She’s going to have copies, and she’ll go to any length to publish it. It’d be better to deal with her my way.” Sketch hardened his face, “I’m asking you guys to trust me on this.” “We have to do something,” Anthem offered, grimacing as if he had eaten something foul. “I can’t just sit here and watch you deal with this on your own.” “I know,” Sketch agreed, closing his eyes. “That’s why I want you guys to do something for me.” “And that is?” Haren inquired. “I want a place for Royal, Trust, and I to crash if things go sour. Once this all goes public, I won’t be able to bring Trust around to my house anymore, since my parents probably would do something to keep me from her. So I need a halfway point of sorts.” There was a creaking in their seats as Haren and Anthem turned to look at each other with honest interest. The couple nodded feverishly, and Haren stood forward. “Of course, Sketch, that’s no problem at all. We’re going to have an extra room here since Anthem and I are sharing one now.” Anthem couldn’t help but lower his head bashfully at that mention. He cleared his throat and spoke as well. “Yeah, in fact, she can bunk here any time she wants. You too, brother.” He looked up at Haren to make sure it was okay and she shrugged and laughed. “It’s your apartment, remember?” Putting a hoof over his heart, he sighed once more. “Thanks guys. Sorry I didn’t tell you about all this sooner. I know who my allies are now.” They told him not to mention it as they both got up and put their forelegs around him, in one group hug. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?” “Much better now that you two know,” he giggled. “I’m going to go now, I’ve got some things I need to do.” “And what’s that?” Anthem asked. Sketch smiled as he turned to leave. “I’ve got to do some research.” “The last book you checked out was... The Legend of the NIghtmare on the Moon. It’s still here if you want to grab it again!” The librarian's sunny disposition always annoyed Sketch, but today he found it quite nice compared to the madness he was dealing with on a regular basis. Her flowing sky blue mane and navy fur almost made her disappear in her similarly colored chair. Sketch politely nodded in thanks and headed to the area he remembered grabbing it from. It was on the second floor of the grandiose library, on the thirteenth row of shelves. The shiny green and white tiled floors smelled of cleaners, and mixed rather pleasantly with the burnt vanilla of the old books. The air had no taste and seemed to steal the moisture from one’s mouth, and the oppressive silence was a nice blanket for one to read without distraction. Occasionally Sketch would hear the idle sniff from a pony clear on the other side of the building, cementing it as a place of solitude. The natural lights emanating from the stained glass windows seemed to guide Sketch to his destination, He rounded the corner, and began looking at the guide codes located at the ends of each shelf, before pinpointing the exact location of his goal. That is, before he was greeted by a hole in the line of books, and nothing else. Strange, the librarian said it was in... That meant somepony inside the building has it with them, since Canterlot definitely wouldn’t let something like that slip. With his new goal in mind, he started rounding the tables near the shelves of the book. There weren’t very many ponies here, and it wasn’t long before he found it. Oh. It was that purple unicorn he bumped into a couple weeks ago. He surprised himself that he remembered her so easily, but something about her was... rather unforgettable. A sort of spark that he couldn’t explain. One that he didn’t feel the first time they met. Not that he particularly cared. He walked up behind her and sat in the chair to her side. She didn’t even react at first, until sketch put his hooves on the table. She quickly turned and met his eyes, where she blinked once or twice without saying a word. He waited her to say something, but it seemed she was doing the same. Sketch decided he’d be the one to break the awkward silence, and smiled. “Hello.” She must have realized she had been staring and looked away, back into her book. “Hi?” she asked, nervously turning a page even though it was quite obvious she wasn’t reading. “What do you want?” “Do you remember me? We bumped into each other a few days ago,” Sketch offered, deciding it would be better to ease into his request. She however, refused to play social ball. “Yeah,” she said flatly, turning another page. “Do you have a point to this? Because, I’m busy.” Sketch’s smile faded and he struggled to not just walk away. He was used to that kind of rudeness from adults, and he wasn’t going to start taking it from someone younger than him. He inhaled, and pushed his irritation into his stomach. “Okay...” he took a peek at a notebook she had at her side, and saw her name written in the upper right hand corner. “...Twilight Sparkle. My name’s Art Sketch. I uhh, checked out that book you have before you did, and I was wondering if you knew anything about it.” Her eyes widened and her mouth became ajar. She panickedly started grabbing at the books before her, before remembering she had magic and picked up the one she was looking for directly. As she picked up the one book Sketch recognized, she shoved its decorated cover in his face. “What do you know about this? Tell me everything you know!” “I only know about what’s in the book!” he answered, throwing his hooves up like she was about to blast him or something. “Yeesh, that’s why I’m asking you.” She squinted at him and slowly placed the book back onto the table. She turned away once again and pretended to read. “I don’t know that much. There isn’t many books on the subject, and believe me, I looked.” “Then why are you getting so bent out of shape?” Sketch spat, his patience having evaporated after two measly minutes. She must have not detected the ire in his voice, because she droned on as if nothing happened. “Legends that directly involve Celestia are few and far in between, and none of them deal with her family. That’s what initially interested me in the story. But every instance of it prophesied the return of her sister on a specific date, one that is only hinted at in the many incarnations of the story. Normally I’d throw everything like this away as myth, but...” Twilight squinted harder and nervously placed both her hooves on the table. “Myths are never so consistent when they are so widespread. Monoliths, murals, paintings, stained windows, scrolls, books, poems, songs... this story of the two sisters are everywhere across equestria, and that can’t be a coincidence.” She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Everytime I ask Celestia about it, she just tells me not to worry about it.” Suddenly, after being such a killjoy, she started to tell jokes. “Ask Celestia. Right.” he laughed sans mirth. Twilight ignored him as she continued to muse. “The evidence is overwhelming, though. Magic fluctuations in the night sky and strange astronomical events are happening more and more often lately. But...” “But...?” Sketch trailed with her. “But... It doesn’t make any sense.” Twilight growled and faced Sketch once more. “If there was a living entity on the moon, my equipment would be able to pick it up, even if it was ethereal. That’s not something that could be hidden, no matter the level of magic involved.” She grumbled as she set the book down in front of Sketch. “I could do a more thorough scan using a magical dowsing rod to see if there were any magical traces at all, but in order to do that I have to wait four years for the centennial meteor shower to use the comets as conductive magical catalysts.” “Woah,” Sketch breathed. “Uhh, how old are you?” “Sixteen, why?” she asked, cocking her head and furrowing her brows. “And you have access to all this equipment?” he bemused in disbelief. She dismissively waved a hoof at him as she looked at her notebook and began jotting down a few unrelated notes. “Yes, of course I do. I take science very seriously and Celestia was sure to provide anything I ask for.” “You weren’t... kidding.” “I don’t kid when it comes to subjects such as these.” She put a hoof to her chin. “In fact, I don’t kid at all. Now, I wish I could tell you more, but I will have to return to this once I have the time and means to do so. Maybe if I find out more you can try to get a hold of me, but please make sure you aren’t just wasting my time like you are right now.” Sketch blinked. “You can take the book if you want, I don’t need it, I was simply going to take a few notes, but I can do that later. Now-” “Twilight! I got everything you said you needed!” a raspy voice called out under a stack of six or so books. Sketch had to a double take when he saw two little reptilian claws sticking out beneath the stack, shaking under the weight. The first smile Sketch saw shone on Twilight’s face as she began to gather her things. “Great job, Spike! Excellent timing as always.” Well at least she wasn’t rude to everybody. The little reptile turned and grinned back at her, as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. He sighed as Twilight’s magic skillfully grabbed all the books and her things at her table. She distributed the weight evenly in her saddlebags. Spike saw Sketch, and waved his little claw at him while smiling nervously. “Who’s Mr. Lanky, here?” the little purple lizard with green spines incredulously asked. No wonder they were all buddy-buddy, they were both rude as hell. “Doesn’t matter, he just wanted to ask a few questions,” she commented. She ushered him with her magic, and put him on her rump once she had a grip. “Good-bye Twilight and... little lizard guy,” Sketch forcibly smiled and gave a dainty little wave. “Dragon!” Spike yelled from across the way, earning sushes from everybody around him. Nobody seemed to react to the baby dragon that was in a Celestia-damned library, but hey, what does he know? Then again, if she personally knew Celestia, she must’ve been some kind of royalty or celebrity. Maybe a dragon familiar was common for them? Sketch suddenly felt he should read the paper more. He couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed by the fact everyone was okay with a dragon walking around with free reign considering the backlash he knew Trust would receive. He guessed it was fair that ponies would be more offended by a batpony’s appearance as an affront to nature, but it would never feel fair. Plus a baby dragon was probably thought of more as a pet than an individual, which was a whole different kind of messed up. He looked at the book Twilight left behind. What did this have to do with Trust? He never had any concrete evidence other than Trust’s weird affinity for Nightmare Moon and the strange dreams he had a couple of times. But if Twilight’s comments about magic fluctuations and anomalies in the sky were true, maybe it had to do with Trust’s appearance in the first place. He wasn’t about to put all of his effort into this, as he had bigger concerns than Trust’s origins to worry about, but he couldn’t help being curious. He lifted the book and carried it to the front desk. Sketch exhaled, opening his door and taking a step inside. It wasn’t very late, and he wasn’t even that tired, but he really wanted to lie in bed right now. Did that count as depression? He didn’t feel depressed... then again, he never really felt frustrated until he started punching walls. He took off his bag and threw it to the side where it... thumped something and hit the ground early? Sketch turned to investigate- “Sketch.” “GAH!” Sketch jumped back and nearly slipped on one of his drawings. One of these days, he was going to have to pick those up. The usual glowing batpony eyes were standing next to his bed, but were more masculine than usual. For a very brief moment he was afraid Trust somehow turned into a stallion, but then he slapped himself when the much more rational explanation crept into his mind. “Royal! Geez dude, you’re worse than Trust.” “In many ways,” he dug at himself. “I hadn’t really taken the time to get a good observation at your abode. It’s not very organized, is it?” “It is,” he disagreed, picking up his bag and tossing it on the bed. Looks like he wasn’t getting any sleep soon. Come to think of it... “You’re here early.” Royal very rudely started to go through Sketch’s bag, probably unaware of the social taboo, or just not caring. He pulled out the book once he fished through the whole thing. “I didn’t know you had a timescale for my visits considering this is my first one.” “Come on, Royal,” Sketch sighed, taking a seat on his bed. “You’re not stupid, you know what I mean.” “Well you’re not incorrect,” he remarked, sitting next to Sketch and making him feel a little uncomfortable. “Fine. I have been forcing myself to operate during the day, at least a little more than usual.” “Why?” Sketch inquired. “No real reason. I simply wish to not intrude on your time with Trust. Though I now realize I must be interrupting what little free time you have.” He began to turn the pages of the book. “I’m not that busy,” he excused, giving out a small smile. The gesture did not faze the batstallion, as he continued to slowly turn pages of the book with a stone cold stare. Sketch bit his lip and awkwardly continued. “So any particular reason why you’re here? Or are you just around cause you can’t resist me?” “Can’t resist you,” he replied flatly, nearly sending Sketch out the window in astonishment. “From the moment I saw you I thought, ‘I may have wanted children all of my life but damn is that stallion is much too attractive for me to not abandon all my goals’.” The way his tone never shifted once, or his straight face ever faulted, made his sarcasm all the more bitter. Sketch couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright,” Sketch pleaded between haggard breaths. “I get it, geez.” Royal suddenly stopped turning pages and sighed, closing his eyes and placing a hoof on the page he was on. “Sketch,” he affirmed. This made Sketch sit up at attention. “I wanted to ask you something. Not a joke.” “Well at least you admit they are jokes,” he commented, though it was more something to say to give Royal permission to continue. It seemed he had recognized that, as he continued without hindrance. “Is it... okay to lie to somepony?” Royal asked, his usual uninterested, half-mast eyes, cold stare opening to full. “When it protects them... when the truth could hurt?” Sketch wasn’t prepared for this kind of question. This was the kind of thing a person learns on their own through the subconscious, the kind of thing one would never teach another, even a foal. This was philosophy and principle, nothing less. “Uhh,” he stalled, unsure how to go about it. “I don’t know, Royal. I don’t think anyone does. That’s something you have to decide for yourself, cause everyone would give you different answers. If you want my opinion, and that’s what it is, an opinion, I would say yes. Sometimes you have to lie to the ones you love, to protect the ones you care for.” Royal looked off to the side, contemplating the words in the air. The silence for once, was not awkward, and instead was simply for ideas to stew. Sketch laughed a dry laugh. “So I guess I have nothing to worry about from you, right?” Royal actually chuckled at that, if just for the audacity. “Don’t write home so quick, Sketch.” He blinked. Sketch wasn’t sure what that meant. “Well, one more thing, Royal.” “Yes?” he asked, looking towards the book once more. “Don’t operate in half-truths. Either tell the whole truth, or tell a bold-faced lie. That’s the advice that I would give you. Because I quickly found out how a web of lies that was partly true... isn’t that strong a web.” Sketch stretched himself out, exhaling as he did. “Truth needs no colors.” “Truth needs no color, its color determined; beauty no pencil, beauty’s truth unneeded; but it is best, if never intertwined,” Royal spouted out, turning another page. “It’s been a while, so I’m paraphrasing.” “Woah,” Sketch remarked. “You know Shake Spear?” “No,” he droned. “Someone I knew did. They relayed a few anecdotes, and that was one of them. Haven’t thought about it in a long time, thus the butchering.” “You ever going to tell me of this mysterious person?” Sketch requested sweetly, elbowing him a few times gently. “No.” Before Sketch could protest, Royal tensed up, and brought the book closer to his eyes. “This.” “This?” Sketch asked, dropping the previous subject. He scootched in close to Royal’s side, and spotted what he was looking at. “What is this?” Sketch had forgotten what book Royal was looking through. ‘This’ was the Nightmare. The beautiful and dark Nightmare Moon. There was an abstract depiction of her in the book, with a lot of curvy lines and oily pastel texturing. But it was still enough to speak to him. “I’ve seen her before,” he stated, his words as solid and cold as his expression. “You have?” Sketch questioned, taking his eyes from the page and looking at Royal. That was when he noticed Royal’s eyes had shrunk... not just his pupils, but his irises as well. They were pinpricks in the white of his sclera, but he didn’t look stressed. Just, impossibly focused. It was equally as alarming when he turned to face Sketch and they returned to their normal size as if nothing was wrong. “You’ve drawn her,” he stated as a matter-of-fact. “I saw your depiction and this same feeling washed over me...like I knew her. Something drew me to your sketch that was almost otherworldly, as if some other force was pulling me. Even this book, I got the same feeling from, even before you walked in the door. I was looking through it to see if it was for the same reason, and sure enough...” “Nightmare Moon,” Sketch clarified. “That’s who she is. Celestia’s sister, consumed by jealousy and rage, was banished to the moon for her refusal to bring the moon down to make way for the sun. Trust felt the same pull, but she was less... eloquent about it.” “Strange,” he said through his hoof that was planted firmly on his chin. “I suppose this is what magic is. That’s the only thing that could explain these consistencies.” “But why? Is it something you’re born with, or were you guys just like every other pony when you were born, and you were cursed with the bat thing? And why the connection with the Nightmare?” Sketch bonked his head with his hoof. “Twilight was right, nothing makes sense.” Royal nodded his head in agreement, then sighed as he shut the book. “No use worrying about something we don’t understand.” He pushed himself off the bed and set the book down on the cushions. “Thanks for the talk, Sketch. I thought your understanding was just a fluke on our first meeting, but you truly do go out of your way for us.” Sketch smiled warmly, earning a small smirk in response from Royal. “No problem, Royal. Anytime.” He thought for a second, and reached out a hoof so Royal wouldn’t leave. “One thing, brother. You’re not hiding anything from me, are you? With the whole lying thing...” “No,” he flatly said one last time. Sketch couldn’t tell if he was lying. But that didn’t matter, not anymore. “Okay,” he conceded, and Royal took off into the twilight. The windows creaked and his papers shuffled in the winds of the night. Sleep had eluded him, but that was fine. It was only just reaching the true night, where the lights turned off and children went to bed. When the seedy side of society revealed its imperfect head, contrasting with the perfect mask of the day. Sleep was coming soon, but not yet. It must be another hour or so. A light shone in the dark. He could not see the source, but he could see the glare off of all the surfaces in the room. It was quick and its movements were sudden, but it slowed as it got near him. But he was not afraid. Sketch was no longer afraid of the dark. Instead he turned on his side and welcomed it with open arms. He saw the two glowing disks floating in the darkness, turning all of its surroundings even blacker now that his eyes were adjusting to its light. They narrowed as the eyes smiled. Suddenly all the color in the room intensified, and he was made acutely aware of all the hues as they danced with one another. The colors that made up his love grabbed at the sheets and pulled them aside gently to allow itself room. His bed bent slightly as new weight introduced itself and pulled the blankets over it. The darkness embraced him. Everyone always described darkness as cold, but Sketch could see that it was not. It was the warmest he’d ever felt. People always described things with a ying and yang, but there was more to it than that. People were afraid of the dark because of the corruption within, and people loved the light because of the pureness they could see, but what of corrupted light? What of pure dark? What he had was pure in the dark. And all he could see in the light was the corruption at the borders. So he took great comfort in the embrace, as if it would disappear if he looked away. Knowing its temperance, maybe it would... But maybe... “Sketch,” Trust asked in the dead silence of the room. “Yeah?” “I love you.” It was a simple statement, but that was all it needed to be. “I love you, too.” It was a simple statement, but that was all it had to be. The sweet taste of mangos filled Sketch’s mouth once again. It must have been some kind of magic, because he had no idea how it could be so pleasant. A comic thought of bottling and selling Trust’s saliva briefly entertained itself in Sketch’s mind, but he decided he was not keen on sharing. “Hey...” she asked again. “What’s up?” “Are we gonna have sex?” There goes the mood destroying Trust once again, taking a hammer to any confidence Sketch had. “U-uh.... I mean... only... only if you want...” What kind of stallion would just say yes? Not the kind of stallion Sketch was... but Trust probably knew that. That’s why she said it. She wanted to see him squirm. She pulled him closer than he already was, and giggled softly in his ear, he fang barely scraping up against the soft flesh of his ear. “Finally.” This was probably not a good idea. But it fucking felt like it.