//------------------------------// // I – Of Death's Report & Exposition Galore // Story: The Day Spike Kinda Cared // by B_25 //------------------------------// The Day Spike Kinda Cared A story of not caring too much, nor too little, written by B. ~ I ~ Of Exposition Dumps & Break-Ups NEXT, called Death. WILL THE NEXT MORTAL PLEASE ENTER THE ROOM? Death's domain, only in the weakest sense of the word, could be considered a room: its floors were like a night sky, stretching infinitely out into oblivion in every conceivable direction. Death, if he were to gaze up from his desk, would remember what it felt to stare up from the bottom of the abyss—this caused him a lot of complaints because of a soul called Nietzsche. Then someone knocked on Death’s door, a voice floating behind it. "Um, sir? Is it okay if I come in?" OF COURSE, BOY, said Death, resting his elbow on his rectangular, black desk—he enjoyed things that were black. THERE IS LITTLE POINT IN COMMANDING YOU IF I DID NOT DESIRE YOUR PRESENCE. The ebony door hung in the nothingness, suspended by a mysterious, invisible force, its knob squeaking as it turned left and right, the frame shifting an inch forward and back but never swinging open. "Uh, sir? I think the door is stuck." THAT DOOR’S EXISTENCE PRECEDES TIME ITSELF, said Death with a groan. NEVER HAS A MORTAL STRUGGLED TO OPEN THAT DOOR, UNLESS IN A PLOY TO DELAY OUR MEETING. DO I FRIGHTEN YOU, CHILD? "Not really," said the voice, its owner ceasing to play with the handle. "Kinda cold, though. Don’t suppose you could put a heater on or something like that?” WE'RE IN PURGATORY BOY, said Death. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE DEAD TO FEEL ANYTHING, UNLESS... "About that," said the voice, accompanied by something pounding against the door. It lasted for a moment, followed by a yelp of pain and panting. "It’s kinda the reason why I came to see you in the first place." The voice paused as teeth chattered. "You sure you can't put a fire on?” THE NEAREST FIRE IS THE INFINITE FLAMES OF RAGE AND HATE, said Death. IT IS THE FLOOR BELOW THIS ONE, WHERE THE GUILTY PAY FOR THEIR SINS. PERHAPS YOU COULD WARM YOURSELF DOWN THERE? "...on second thought, I'll pass." Thuds slammed against the door again, the yelps of pain repeating, yet the voice spoke over the sounds. "So—” thud “—I know that—” thud “—you’ve had this door—” a cry “—for a pretty long time—” a louder cry “—but are you sure—” sobbing “—there’s nothing wrong with it?” The voice learned to work through the pain and sadness. “Maybe a hinge that hasn't been oiled in a few millennia?" THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THE DOOR, said Death, pulling the black hood of his robe over his head. His blue eyes shone through the darkness. THE SAME, HOWEVER, CANNOT BE SAID FOR YOU. He thought for a moment. HAVE YOU TRIED TURNING THE KNOB ALL THE WAY? "Let me check..." The pounding stopped and the squeaking began anew, the knob turning left and right several times, the door still just as stuck. "No dice, but...it doesn't feel like its turning all the way." IS THAT TO THE STRENGTH OF THE DOOR OR TO THE WEAKNESS OF YOUR GRIP? "Let me give it my all, and then I'll get back to you." The door pulled back an inch, two feet scratching against it in order to support their owner’s weight, causing Death to sigh at what was to come next. The knob turned to the right further than it had ever done before, and yet, it still didn’t fully turn. Then a yelp came from the other side, followed by a crash, and Death sighed once again, foreseeing a long day ahead of him—whatever constituted long in the underworld. "Yeah, this is because I’m too weak, just like all my other messes." The unknown stood back up, dusting himself off. "So, uh, I don't suppose you could open the door for me?" YOU WOULD HAVE THE LORD OVER SOULS, THE REAPER IN THE NIGHT, A COMMUNICATOR FOR THE GODS, AND ABOVE ALL, A SKELETON REDUCED TO THAT OF A BUTLER JUST TO ACCOMMODATE YOUR INCOMPETENCE? "My best friend puts up with me, and she's a princess!" The only response to that statement was silence, a silence that stretched on, broken only by the same voice again. "...would it help if I said pretty please?" Death sighed, rising from his chair of bones and crossing to the floating door. WITH ANY LUCK, he said as he walked, I WILL BE JUSTIFIED IN CONDEMNING YOU TO AN ETERNITY INSIDE THE HOTTEST FLAME. "That doesn't sound all too bad!" Death heard the voice say from the other side of the door, standing before it silently. He pressed his skull into his palm, rubbing against the smooth surface with grief. "Not only would it feel nice, but I wouldn't have to take a bath ever again! I’d set myself on fire more often if I weren’t afraid of setting the library on fire." YOU DO REALIZE THAT FIRE BURNS, THAT FIRE KILLS, RIGHT? said Death, placing his bony hand on the knob to the door. THAT, DESPITE THE IMMORTALITY GRANTED BELOW, THE FLAMES WILL STILL INDUCE AGONY UPON YOUR FLESH? "Oh, but I have scales, so no sweat!." The voice went silent for a moment. "Unless the hottest flame is hotter than lava that burns off scales!” he gasped in a way stolen from a pink friend. “Is it?" For the first time in his, well, life, Death wondered if killing himself was forbidden, as well as the possible ramifications of doing so. He turned the knob, and the result would have etched surprise on his face, that was, if he had a face to begin with—his form allowed only for a shit-eating grin. "Everything alright over there?" the voice said after a moment. "You having trouble with the door as well?" NO. I AM HAVING ZERO DIFFICULTY WITH THE DOOR. Death shook his head. I AM JUST FATHOMING HOW THE GODS COULD HAVE CONCEIVED A CREATURE SUCH AS YOURSELF. He tried knob again, this time harder, but it still wouldn’t fully turn. AND IF THIS IS AN ACT OF DIVINE PUNISHMENT. "Most ponies who meet me usually end up saying that after a while...” The voice slowly trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. "Griffons especially." Death, summoning his infinite strength from a place beyond the current realm, turned the knob right, hearing a squeak but not feeling it turn an inch. It’d been created before he'd gotten the job, its wood imbued with the power of the gods themselves. He pondered: why was the door responsible separating the living and dead rejecting him now? Had the gods relinquished him of his power, leaving him stranded in the nothingness responsible for keeping track of life above, forced to be driven mad by the creature on the other side of the door? He felt a shudder through his body at the thought. NO, whispered Death in self-assurance, THE GODS ARE FAR TOO LAZY TO FIND SOMEONE TO REPLACE ME. Death sighed, wiping his nonexistent brow and digging a hand into the infinite recesses of his robe. His bony fingers fiddled around in a pocket, scavenging until there was the clink of metal, pulling out a set of keys. "It’s the door, isn’t it?" the voice started back up, much to Death's dismay. "You wouldn’t be taking this long if there was nothing wrong with the door. C’mon, tell me the truth. I won’t make you apologize.” THE TRUTH IS YOU ARE AN IDIOT, said Death, sticking a key into the slot above the handle and unlocking it. He quickly dropped the keys back into his robe and then cracked open the door. NOW, LET ME FEAST UPON YOUR DRAGON OBSESSED PONY FACE. A purple dragon stood on the other side of the door, rubbing his shoulder with a claw in a seemingly endless hallway, an overall guilty expression on his face, though this didn’t stop him from trying to smile. "So...you must be death then, huh?" I AM A BEING JUST LIKE YOU, he said. MY NAME DESERVES THE SAME CAPITALIZATION AS YOURS. "Oh," the drake said, letting his claws drop. "So you must be Death then, huh?" DEATH WITHOUT ITALICS IS JUST FINE, BOY, said Death, stepping out from the doorway. I AM NOT IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO DESERVE SPECIAL TREATMENT. A hand slid out from his black robe, gesturing to the desk. COME NOW. STEP INSIDE TO MY DOMAIN. "Uh." The drake did not move from the hallway, instead looking to the right and down its infinite length. "Am I consenting to something by crossing over? Like being trapped here forever unless I agree to your terms?" THE FACT THAT YOU ARE HERE SIGNIFIES YOU HAVE ENTERED A DIFFERENT PLANE OF REALITY. Death let his hand fall back to his side. ONCE YOUR SPIRIT HAS PASSED ON, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO PASS THROUGH THE BARRIER BACK TO EXISTENCE. "But I'm still alive!" the dragon exclaimed, throwing up his claws. "You can feel my heartbeat if you want proof." IS THAT CONSENT? said Death, stepping into the hallway of pre-purgatory. He towered over the dragon, who managed to come up to his chest. THE GODS ARE VERY PARTICULAR ABOUT THESE ACTS. THEY DO NOT TAKE KINDLY TO MY TOUCHING OF THE LIVING UNLESS THEY CONSENT TO IT—VERY IMPORTANT THEY SAY IT OUT LOUD. "I consent," said the drake, sticking out his chest. "Now come on and feel my heart!" Death lowered himself to his knees, pressing his hand against the dragon whelp’s chest. He felt a heartbeat beneath the scales, and then another, and then he had to fight himself from stopping said heart—killing this annoying creature would be so easy, so easy to cover up in the intricate disguise of his own domain. IT APPEARS YOU ARE STILL ALIVE. Death rose to his full height, pressing the same hand to his forehead. THIS BREACHES MANY LAWS AND IS THE HIGHEST VIOLATION TO BOTH REALMS. He removed his hand from his skull, looking down at the dragon. TELL ME, BOY, WHICH DEITY HAS CAST YOU DOWN HERE? SPEAK HIS NAME, AND JUSTICE SHALL BE DONE. "I came down here of my own free will!" the drake said, far too happily for Death's liking. "On the way here, a snake told me where the lord over souls was—he also offered me an apple as well, but I wasn't very hungry." Death's eyes glowed a brighter blue. "I’ve read a lot of books about you from before, though most of them didn’t portray you the same," the drake said. "In some of them, it shows you making a deal with mortals, and I was kinda hoping to strike a deal with you." He gulped. “You still do deals...right?” JUST, Death sighed, HOW WERE YOU ABLE TO SECURE AN APPOINTMENT WITH ME ANYWAY? ONLY THE DIVINE HAVE SUCH POWER. "I used my mother's magic!" the dragon said, smiling. "She's also a princess of Equestria, though she started the trend along with her sister." His smile faded. "I uh, I kinda knocked her unconscious to use her magic. She would be really mad if she knew I came to see you, so do you think we can keep our exchange just between you and me?" YOU ARE A STRANGE ONE, DRAGON. "...so is that a yes?" VERY WELL. Death nodded toward his domain. I SHALL COME TO UNDERSTAND YOUR STRANGENESS SO I MAY REPAIR THE DAMAGE YOU HAVE CAUSED BY COMING HERE. IF ROOM PERMITS ITSELF AMIDST OUR TALK, WE SHALL SPEAK OF A POSSIBLE DEAL. Death walked back into his domain, pausing when he did not hear footsteps. He turned; the drake stood in the doorway. WHAT ILLS YOU NOW, BOY? TIME MAY NOT FLOW THE SAME HERE, BUT I WILL BE DAMNED IF IT IS WASTED BECAUSE OF UNNECESSARY CAUSES. "I wanna make a deal with you, Death," the drake said, holding onto the frame of the door. His body quivered. "But Twilight's always telling me how ponies make a small mistake in these situations, and because of that, some divine entities use it against them for the rest of their lives—like that king who wanted gold and now can't touch anything." BOY, said Death, DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A SWINDLER? The dragon blinked. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to know that." LOOK. SOME GODS ARE NICE AND OTHERS CRUEL—I COULD NOT CARE LESS. I HAVE A JOB TO DO, AND YOU WANT A DEAL TO BE DONE, SO WE HAVE OUR REASONINGS IN THE AIR. YOU CAN RETURN TO THAT FROM WHICH YOU CAME, SO LONG AS YOU KEEP YOUR LIFE ABOUT YOU DURING OUR DISCOURSE. "And you promise not to steal my soul?" TO BE HONEST WITH YOU, said Death, turning around and striding to behind his desk, taking a seat in the chair of bones, I WANT YOUR SOUL AS FAR AWAY FROM ME AS POSSIBLE, AND THAT WOULD BE THE PLACE WHERE LIFE LIVES. "Well. Okay." The drake carefully lowered his foot to the night-sky floor. His eyes glanced at Death, who would frown if he could, waiting and waiting, until finally, the foot made contact with the ground. The drake tensed, eyes gazing around as if something terrible was to occur, a few non-existent seconds ticking by, and then, with a mighty sigh, the drake was relieved that nothing bad would happen, as was the case with most of his worries. He wiped his brow and stepped further into Death's domain. FINALLY. Death snapped his fingers, something slammed and echoed throughout the abyss. The drake whipped around to see the door imploding from existence, leaving only an infinite expanse of blackness behind it. He gulped, feeling a weight on his shoulder—had he been tricked? Was this plan in vain after-all? TAKE A SEAT, BOY, said Death, setting his elbows on the desk. THERE IS MUCH TO DISCUSS. The drake shivered and nodded his head, looking at his surroundings, or to be more specific, the absence of such. All that laid on the floor were bones and webs, the pinpricks of distant stars and darkness of infinite-depth. He shook his head, hoping to rid himself of his fear, approaching the desk while twiddling his claws as he did so. YOU LOOK FRIGHTENED, BOY, said Death. He snapped his fingers, and just like that, a chair of bones manifested just before his desk—the perfect height for the dragon to climb onto. DOES THE COMPLEXITY OF MY DOMAIN REPLICATE THE SENSATION OF A VIVID NIGHTMARE? "Not really," the drake said, sitting down on the chair. He fidgeted in his seat, trying to get comfortable.“It’s irritating more than anything.” He stopped fidgeting. “If Death’s allowed to keep his domain so messy, then why does Twilight give me so much slack for a couple of comic book lying on the floor?" TWILIGHT? said Death, leaning forward. LAST NAME? "S-Sparkle!" the drake stammered, sighing as he sat back. "Twilight Sparkle, Element of Magic to the Elements of Harmony, Princess of Friendship, Savior of Equestria—" AN UNTOUCHABLE, said Death, a blue glow surrounding his right hand. With a snap, a shelf manifested itself above the desk with an array of hourglasses standing across it. THEY PRIDE THEMSELVES ON THEIR TITLES TO LORD OVER THE MORTAL SOULS, AS IF THAT MAKES THEM ANYTHING MORE BEFORE THE EYES OF DEATH. "And my name is Spike!" Spike said, blinking at the sensation of déjà vu. "Though I'm just her number one assistant." JUST A NUMBER ONE ASSISTANT, YOU SAY? Spike nodded. I STAND CORRECTED, THEN, TITLES DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE TO DEATH. Death ran his fingers along the hourglasses, every contact clinking into the air, one of them exuding a rainbow glow with a lavender grain, the next one not nearly as flashy as its sand was green. SPIKE THE DRAGON? "Yup!" Spike crossed his arms and grinned. "That's me, alright. The sand is even the same color as my belly scales." SPIKE THE DRAGON, Death repeated, taking the top of the hourglass into his palm. YOUR FULL NAME, SERIOUSLY, IS SPIKE THE DRAGON? "Yeah," Spike said with a concerned expression. "Why, is there something wrong with that?" DRAGONS ARE MEANT TO POSE NAMES THAT STRIKE FEAR INTO THE HEART OF THEIR PREY, JOLTING THEM AT THE VERY MENTION. Death took ahold of the hourglass, and with the wave of his other hand, made the shelf to float to his side. ANCALAGON THE BLACK, ALEXSTRASZA THE LIFEBINDER, ENDRAX-DIVINE OF SHADOW. He paused with a sorrowful sigh. ALL YOUR NAME MANAGES TO ACCOMPLISH IS TO STATE THE OBVIOUS. "Well, I mean, my mom kinda picked it out for me." Spike twiddled his thumbs and looked down, avoiding Death's gaze. "It rhymes too—Spike the Dragon—doesn't that make up for the lack of menacing part?" ... "Death?" ... "Please don't leave me hanging here." Spike chuckled. "Heh, get it? Because hanging, when somepony is hanged, they usually die, and then you come in and—" ONCE WE HAVE DISCUSSED YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS ON BOTH THE LIVING AND THE DEAD AND RHYME, WE WILL BE WORKING OUT A NAME CHANGE. "Do we have to?" THIS IS PART OF YOUR DEAL THAT I REFUSE TO NEGOTIATE. WE CHANGE YOUR NAME OR BACK OUT THE DOOR YOU GO. Spike crossed his arms and huffed. "Fine." He held out a claw. "But I'm keeping the first name." CONGRATULATIONS, said Death, reaching his hand out from the black rope, taking hold of the claw. Spike shuddered at the touch, body going cold once they shook hands. WE HAVE REACHED THE DEAL YOU DESIRED. NOW SPEAK OF YOUR PURPOSE HERE. "Hey!" Spike ripped his claw from Death's bony grip. "You said you wouldn't pull any of those small detail tricks!" I AM MERELY COVERING MY BASES IN CASE THE DEAL YOU PROPOSE IS FOOLISH. Death returned his hand to the infinite recesses of his robe. He then cracked his neck. YOU ARE NO DOUBT A FOOL, SO THE POSSIBILITY OF A FOOLISH DEAL IS QUITE HIGH. Spike tucked his lips inward. "Fine," Spike said, after a moment. "But if the deal isn't foolish, you'll consider it?" Death took his claw once more. WE HAVE A DEAL. "Will you quit that!" Death returned his hand, wiggling the bones that were supposed to be his fingers, summoning a fountain pen to manifest into existence and glide onto his thumb and papers onto the desk and then began to write. Spike hovered forward and gazed at the papers, unable to read the language as his body began to waver and his eyes become sleepy, quickly sitting back in his seat and feeling instantly rejuvenated. I'VE WRITTEN YOUR NAME IN THE REPORT, said Death, looking up from the pages. BUT YOUR HOURGLASS DOES NOT STATE YOUR PRECISE AGE. "Oh, my mother left that ambiguous for a reason," Spike replied, leaning over the table and feeling tired again. He still couldn't read the letters, but pretended he could anyway. "For the sake of the narrative, you’re better off saying I'm over eighteen, that way you won’t get in trouble with the gods above." I SEE. Death scribbled, or at least, it looked like scribbles to Spike. Death met his gaze again. BECAUSE YOU MORTALS ARE THE AUTHORS OF YOUR OWN LIFE, OF YOUR OWN STORIES, THAT YOU’RE ABLE TO CHANGE SUCH SMALL DETAILS? Spike looked left. “Yeah.” He looked right. "Let’s go with that convenient excuse. Oh! And say that I'm about the average ponies' height when this story begins so we can get that out of the way as well." Death scribbled some more. Spike did his best not to see him frown. NOW THEN, SPIKE. Death sat back in his chair. THE REASON YOU ARE HERE? Spike smiled. "I bet you've been dying to know." Death sighed. "You're smiling!" Spike said, beginning to smile himself as he leaned closer to Death. "That was a clever one, wasn't it?" SPIKE. "Yes?" I AM A SKELETON. "Yeah?" SKELETONS ARE FORCED TO SMILE PERPETUALLY. Death let his shoulders drop. IN FACT, I'M CRYING ON THE INSIDE, BECAUSE SKELETONS THEMSELVES CANNOT CRY. "Oh, well, that blows." Spike fell back in his seat, tilting his head. "Would it helped if I cried for you?" THAT WOULD ONLY MAKE ME MORE SAD. "Oh, right." THE REASON YOU ARE HERE, SPIKE? "Oh, right." ... "..." ... "..." SPIKE. "Yeah?" THE REASON. "Yeah, about that." Spike clenched his left eye shut, opening it a second later. "Say, Death? Can I, uh, trust you?" YOU HAVE NO CHOICE, said Death, voice sounding tired. YOU ARE STUCK HERE, IN MY DOMAIN, UNTIL THE TRUTH HAS BEEN SPOKEN BEFORE ME. "Hey, Death." ... "Death?" YES? "The truth, it's kind of, well, embarrassing." ... "I'm trusting you with this, alright?" ... "Promise me you don't think any lower of me once I've told my story?" SPIKE? "Yes?" IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO THINK ANY LOWER OF YOU. Spike, not one of a sound mind, took this to be a compliment. "Thanks, Death. Knew I could trust you." AND THE IGNORANT DISTORT REALITY TO ACCOMMODATE THEIR IGNORANCE. Death tilted his head back, letting it rest on the top of the chair. GODS, HAVE I BEEN SO TRULY INEFFICIENT AS TO DESERVE THIS KIND OF PUNISHMENT? "So, you ready to hear my story then?" Death sighed, taking the pen once more, hovering it above the page. He glanced up at the drake, wondering how such a thing ever came to be. I AM READY. I DO NOT WANT TO DO THIS, BUT I AM READY. WHERE DOES THIS TALE OF ABSURDITY BEGIN? "A few weeks ago," Spike said, his head tilted in thought. "It started one morning when Twilight shot me in the face with magic, but we didn’t think too much of it at the time, that was, until I woke up the next day without a care in the world.” He paused, smiling bittersweetly at the memory. “I got a lot of things done that day, words I would have been too scared to say or stuff I was too terrified to do—everything I had pent up for my whole life, released in a single day.” THIS TALE OF YOURS, said Death, IT HAS TO DO WITH PONIES, CORRECT? “Uh, kinda?” Spike raised an eyebrow. “Why you ask?” I AM THE LORD OF PONY SOULS MOSTLY. Death brought a finger to his mouth, wondering that, were he normal, if he would have chapped lips from the coldness of his domain, as well as all this talking. THE GODS ABOVE CARE NOT FOR MY INTERACTIONS WITH ANY OTHER KIND, REVOKING ANY REPORTS THAT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE PONY KIND. “Guess I can get behind that then,” Spike said, lowering the same eyebrow. “Yeah, there’s a lot of ponies, from my friends to some I just wandered into.” SUFFICIENT FOR ME. Death looked down at his desk and brought the utensil to the top of the page. JUDGING FROM WHAT YOU HAVE TOLD ME THUS FAR, SHALL I TITLE THIS REPORT THE DAY SPIKE STOPPED CARING THEN? “I don’t know Jack about titling stuff. I usually end up ripping the letters I’m forced to title.” IT IS NOT LIKE YOU ARE A PROFESSOR, DRAGON, said Death in an air of annoyance. YOU ARE NOT BESTOWING A TITLE UPON A KNIGHT, JUST A TITLE TO A REPORT. "Hmm," Spike bounced his head left and right. Apparently, this helped him think better, although there’s no scientific evidence to this being the case—such a proclamation made possible by the experimentation of one Twilight Sparkle. Oh wait, this isn't important to the story. Okay, rewind. "Hmm," Spike bounced his head left and right. "It's uncreative, but it'll sell." ... Death wrote the title, muttering, EVERYONE IS A CRITIC. He looked to Spike. SO, WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED ON THIS DAY THAT COULD OF HAVE CAUSED THIS MESS? Death asked, emphasizing ‘mess’ with a gesture towards the dragon before him. “Jumping out a window and making your best friend worry, apparently.” Spike’s expression was solemn, but he still shrugged at the memory. “Went to a bakery and ate everything off the menu, not sure how that pertains to the story, but at least I found out dragons can't get diabetes!" Death stopped writing and looked up from the page. IS THAT TRUE? "Yeah!" Spike gestured down at himself, his body now slim in contrast to the belly fat he once had. "Didn't believe it myself until Twilight had me tested." Death resumed writing. When it came to the part about diabetes, he put in brackets: (FUN FACT: DRAGONS CAN'T GET DIABETES) Death chuckled to himself. CONTINUE. "Right, about what happened after that, heh." Spike scratched his neck and turned his gaze to the non-existent horizon, oblivion less intimidating than Death’s glare as he spoke of the next part. "Well, for some reason or another, I thought asking the mare of my dreams would be a good idea, so I went and did just that." Death caught up in his writing, waiting for the words, hearing only of silence, and then looking up. AND? "Well, I got uh, you...you know..." Spike refused to look back at Death, licking at his dry lips. "What’s the word I’m looking for? When a mare, y’know, doesn't quite like you a hundred percent back? YOU MEAN REJECTED? That last word felt to Spike as though Death had stabbed him with the sword he wore at his hip. "I-I wouldn't call it rejected, per say..." WHAT WOULD YOU CALL IT THEN? "I don't know!" Spike looked back to Death, giving him a pleading look. Out of all the ponies Death had seen plead for their lives, none had looked so desperate as the drake before him. He was amazed, but wouldn't dare speak of it. "Do we need to label such a complex situation?" THE REPORT DEMANDS IT. EITHER COUGH SOMETHING BETTER UP OR REJECTED IT IS. "Well, if we look at the facts of the case, we'll see that I poured out my love to Rarity, and she didn't accept it." YOU DO KNOW THE OPPOSITE OF ACCEPTANCE IS REJECTION, RIGHT? "...I prefer the term ‘didn't return my love,’" Spike's whispered, knowing his voice would crack if he spoke any louder. "Rarity said we would always be friends, and that I was cute." I SEE. Death wrote the passage down. Spike threw himself at the table. "You wrote down rejected, didn't you?" I DID NO SUCH THING. "But you did!" SPIKE. "Yes?" YOU CAN'T EVEN READ THE LANGUAGE I AM WRITING IN. "So?" SO HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT I WROTE? Spike thought on this, became dismayed, and fell back in his chair for the umpteenth time. "I didn't care so much about it at the time, though I found how Rarity was putting me down to be boring. I spotted Cloudsdale during her lecture, deciding then and there to steal a hot air balloon, and for whatever reason, that made Rarity fall in love with me." WHAT? "Oh.” Spike blinked. “What part of that didn't you understand?" THE PART WHERE YOU CONFESSED YOUR LOVE AND GOT REJECTED— "I knew you used that word!" —AND SOMEHOW WON HER LOVE BECAUSE OF IT. "Oh, well that's easy." Spike chuckled at the thought. "Mares love what they can't have, or, at least, that’s what Applejack said. Tell a girl she can't have you, and she'll do anything in her power to prove you wrong—unless you’re ugly." Death stared at Spike—who pondered if he was ugly or not— for a moment. Then, he spoke. IT WOULD APPEAR YOU ARE NOT SO FOOLISH AFTER ALL. "That, and falling to your death is considered extremely sexy for some reason." I STAND CORRECTED. Death scratched out something he had written. CONTINUE. "So, I'm falling to my death, and from the corner of my eye, I see Rainbow Dash falling alongside me." Spike giggled at the memory, gaze becoming lost as if it were happening again before his eyes, the phantom sight of the cyan pegasus causing him to smile. "She was surprised that I wasn’t scared, that I didn’t care if I lived or died, with the latter becoming a reality hadn’t she’d saved me at the last second.” Spike shook his head, eyes blinking to accommodate the present once more. “She lifted us up to Cloudsdale, and as I held onto her tightly, feeling her every heartbeat through her chest, I couldn’t help but develop a crush on her.” RAINBOW DASH, said Death, dropping his quill. NOW, WHY DOES THAT NAME SOUND FAMILIAR? He went to gaze upon the floating shelf of hourglasses, but was stopped by the drake wildly shaking his hands. "She comes later in the story!" he said, lowering his claws. "You don't want to spoil yourself by looking ahead, right?" If Death could narrow his eyes, he would have on the drake. YOU BETTER NOT BE SCHEMING ANY TRICKS. "None whatsoever," Spike said with a heavy sigh. "Just a story to tell, one with cotton candy and a fight in it." A FIGHT YOU SAY? Death picked up the quill again, astonishment in his tone. FOR A DRAGON, YOU HAVE A FRAGILE LOOK ABOUT YOU. BUT I SEE THE WILL OF A DRAGON STILL ROARS IF YOU FOUGHT— "Oh, I didn't fight!" Spike smiled widely. "Rainbow fought for me!" ... Death scratched something from the paper yet again. REMIND ME NEVER TO EXPECT ANYTHING GOOD TO COME FROM YOU. "Already tell myself that every morning." Spike began to twiddle his thumbs. "I could remind you at the same time, that is, if you're up before sunrise." Death didn't even sigh in disappointment that time, neglecting to mention how he never sleeps. He resumed writing. CONTINUE. "Anyhow, because she had saved me, I decided to treat Rainbow to a pizza date afterward. At one point or another, she contracted me to assassinate my mother—a good price too.” HOW MUCH DID SHE PAY FOR SUCH AN ACT. “Five milkshakes," Spike said, nodding in satisfaction. “I know, pretty steep if I do say so myself.” Death stopped writing. He tapped the quill on the desk, each tap progressively harder than the last, until he was practically stabbing the counter. I HAVE COME TO UNDERSTAND OF YOU, DRAGON, Death began, impaling the wood with the quill, THAT ASKING YOU QUESTIONS ONLY MAKES ME MORE CONFUSED IN THE END. Stab, stab, stab. SO I ASK THIS QUESTION, NO LONGER OUT OF PAINED CURIOSITY, BUT BECAUSE THE REPORT DEMANDS IT SO. Spike raised an eyebrow. SPIKE, WHO IS YOUR MOTHER? "Oh, that's easy!" Spike said, sitting up straight. "You have to promise to keep it a secret, okay?” Death didn’t want to, but he nodded anyway. Spike leaned over close, whispering, “The truth of the matter is, Princess Celestia is my mom!" Death kept still. Spike sat back. "Crazy, right?" Death sighed. "Well, okay, you may have gotten me there," Spike said with a roll of the eyes. "She isn't actually my mother. My biological parents abandoned when I was just an egg, which is probably why I have fears of abandonment, but that’s beside the point.” Spike repressed that thought, a ticking-time-bomb for another day. “Either way, I don't consider those dragons to be my family anymore." SPIKE. "Yes?" I AM UNSURE IF I AM SUPPOSED TO FEEL PITY TOWARDS YOU, OR OUTRIGHT HATRED AT YOUR ABSURD EXISTENCE. "I'd been trying to figure that out my whole life," Spike said while shrugging his shoulders. "Not caring for a day let me processed some mental baggage all right, but after all was said and done, I couldn’t say with certainty that I’d developed past being a wimp.” Spike glanced down at his claws. “I still didn’t have a clue of what or who I was supposed to be. Caring too much about those things nearly drove me to insanity, so it was nice just to stop caring, and, y’know, be myself.” SO YOUR MOTHER IS PRINCESS CELESTIA, Death said while writing, AND YOUR BEST FRIEND THE PRINCESS OF FRIENDSHIP. Death ceased to write, glancing up. AN ABSURD DRAGON SURROUNDED BY UNTOUCHABLES. WERE YOU TO TELL THIS TO A MORTAL, THEY WOULD CONSIDER THIS TALE A FAN’S FICTION. "Tell me about it." NOW THEN, AFTER YOUR DATE WITH THIS RAINBOW DASH, YOU WENT TO ASSASSINATE YOUR IMMORTAL MOTHER, CORRECT? Death resumed scratching the page with the quill. HOW DID THAT GO? "Extremely well." Death glared at him from the paper. YOU MEAN THAT YOU KILLED AN UNTOUCHABLE? "Oh, no! Nothing like that," Spike replied. "Just convinced her to stop being a princess for a night and to join me for coffee and donuts.” He smiled at the memory. “We ended up hashing a few things out, and ever since then, I've been writing letters to her." YOU DO UNDERSTAND WHAT AN ASSASSINATION IS? "..." Spike blinked several times. RIGHT...A STRANGE ENDING INDEED, said Death, waving a hand. BUT A HAPPY ONE, NONETHELESS. WHAT OCCURRED NEXT? "I rode a waterfall back home." ... Death didn't even bother caring; it seemed to be catching on. CONTINUE. "Rainbow Dash saved me moments before impact, though the force knocked me unconscious—seems like she’s always the one saving my butt.” Spike tried to chuckle at his words, but nothing came out. "I’d woken up to drifting down a river, her watching over me the whole time, and ultimately pulling me out. Our bodies got close, and, well, she confessed that she liked me, only it was at the same time the spell was beginning to wear off.” Spike sighed and slumped forward. “I was worried at the time, scared the dragon she had come to like would be gone tomorrow, and all that would be left was, well...me.” He pulled back and shrugged his shoulders at the memory. “So I asked if I could give her an answer the day after, just so that we knew full well what we were getting into.” THAT'S... Death stopped what he was going to say, thought about his words, and ended up expressing them anyway. SURPRISINGLY RESPONSIBLE. "I learned a whole lot about responsibility after that," Spike said, looking Death straight on. "Being careless gave me actions to be proud of and ponies to apologize to. I hashed things over with Twilight when I got home, rejected Rarity while sleeping standing up, and in a last act of confidence, decided I wanted to date Rainbow Dash after all." Death recorded all the details. Upon finishing, he dropped the quill on the desk and sat back in his chair. SO THAT IS ALL THE EVENTS OF THE DAY COVERED? "Uhm...yup?" AND THAT'S THE REASON WHY YOU'RE HERE NOW? "What? No!" Spike waved his claws. "All that happened weeks ago.” He crossed his arms. “I'm here because of what happened today." Death collected his face into his palm. WHY DID YOU NOT THINK TO START WITH TODAY?! "Well, I wanted to avoid possible confusion, y’know?” Spike uncrossed his arms. “A lot of the stuff that happened today wouldn’t make sense if you didn’t know about that other day, so I figured I’d tell you both days in this place that has never seen day before.” Death leaned over the table, and in grasping the dragon's wrist, slapped it with his other hand. EXPOSITION DUMPS ARE FROWNED UPON IN PUBLIC REPORTS. He let go of the wrist, picked up the report, and it promptly disintegrated into a small curl of smoke. NOW I MUST START A NEW REPORT DETAILING TODAY. A new form appeared on the table just as the lingering remnants of the old report dissipated. Death picked up the pen, filled out the parts he already knew, and came to hover above the title of the report. SINCE MY TITLES ARE LACKLUSTER, YOU SHALL CHOOSE THE NAME OF TODAY'S REPORT. Spike thought long, and he thought hard about it. The title of this report would summarise all that had happened today, all the joes and the woes of the ponies he met, and the ponies that would rather have not met him. How he made his greatest mistakes and so much more. Everything about this day had to be compacted into a single title, and just like that, genius came to the dragon. "Okay, I got it!" Death prepared to write. "The Day Spike Kinda Cared!" Death dropped the pen. Spike smiled. Death contemplated quitting his job.