//------------------------------// // Chapter Nineteen: To Better Understand // Story: The Wayfarers // by TheFictionAddiction //------------------------------// The sun was a gluttonous bastard. Its angry gaze baked the dusty earth dry and thinned the air to little more than a shimmer. The world below was no better; a desert like a sea with a scorched sky hanging overhead. Desolation was all to be had here. The only promise of shore in this ocean of sand and dirt was the phantom outlines of mountains jutting from the horizon… ...what a pathetic promise… Tiny hooves rose and then fell, creating puffs of dust as they trekked on. The pony attached to them was little more than a child, a colt set adrift in the blasted expanse. Though sweat dampened his coat and his mane stuck to his mopped brow, the tiny colt was no more detoured by the heat baking into his bones than if a bur had gotten caught in his mane. He moved quickly and with much vigor. However, a quick look into the colt’s twitchy, darting eyes would show anyone that the poor boy felt the waste’s caress just the same. What the desert could not take from his body, it took from his mind. “Where is she?” he rasped, the words threatening to tear his sandpaper throat. His head swung low to the left, and then to the right. Only more desert. Clearly discouraged, the boy repeated the question. “Where the fuck is she?” Plodding and muttering. Muttering and plodding. Hours stretched on into what felt like days, and yet the child still trekked on. Those lying mountains were still a lifetime away, that damn sun still watched with an acidic grin, and still he hadn't figured out where ‘she’ was. The boy was ready to give up hope, and would have if only his madness had allowed it. “W-where is s-she?” a waiver crept into his voice. “G-gods be damned, s-she said she w-would be-” The words died, swelling up in his throat like a bloated carcass. For the first time in the entirety of his existence, the colt had discovered another. In his madness, he didn't notice the sprawled shape until he had nearly stepped on it. He hunkered down to inspect the thing, noticing its shape was equine. Sanity, a novelty in the desert, touched the colt’s golden flaked eyes. With sanity, came sorrow. “No.” There was no waiver now. “Please, no.” The thing -there was no denying, it had to be a pony- stirred at the sound of his voice. There was first the reek of burnt hair and cooked meat, followed by the creaking sound of leather as it lifted it's head. The creature's flesh was misshapen and black, mottled with boils and splotches of crusted blood. It appeared to the colt as if a great, fiery tongue had twisted and cooked the poor creature till it was nothing but a slab of jerky. The colt’s eyes stared into two empty sockets, the abyss trapped within them starring back. A hole opened where lips should've been, and the colt saw a bleeding tongue slide over melted teeth. It weezed, trying with all its might to draw breath. It croaked out a single word. “My…” “No,” the colt said quickly, trying to cut the thing off before it could speak again. “No, this isn't so.” The fever in the colt’s brain reached a crescendo. He rode on a cloud of lunacy, oblivious to all but the dying pony at his hooves. Not even the buzzards shuffling up on either side of him were of interest to the colt. That wide, gaping hole opened again. “My… My…” The colt’s rapid breath felt jagged, as if simply breathing would soon tear his lungs apart. That fever was no longer in just his mind, either, now it coursed through his body in waves. “My… my love…” Silence. An ungodly silence that seemed to hold existence by its throat. It broke finally as the speaking corpse coughed up the words that killed whatever sanity was left in the colt. “I've waited so long for you… so long… my love…” The colt’s screams split his throat and set the dead world ablaze with hot terror. **** Alabaster awoke from his nightmare, not with a start, but with a simple flutter of the eyelids. He understood everything in an instant. Whisper’s feeding sessions tended to leave his dreams ripe with nightmares. The burnt corpse, the endless desert, and those empty sockets were only a few tools Alabaster’s subconscious loved to punish him with. Everyone get your popcorn, Alabaster thought indignantly, his mind shifting restlessly, It’s movie night in the fuck-up’s head. The first thing Alabaster saw as his eyes adjusted to the dim-light were the soft features of the mare sleeping next to him. Whisper’s head poked out from underneath a quilt, a quilt that Alabaster himself had stitched together last year, and rested on her teddy bear as if it were a pillow. Mr. Smiles… The name was damn near acidic to Alabaster. The blasted thing was staring right at him, beaming in fact. I'm glad you're sleeping well, you rotten bastard. I would too with a head full of cotton. No longer caring for that smug smile of his, Alabaster carefully rolled over onto his. He knew it was probably a bad idea. Alabaster was prone to bouts of sleep paralysis, and sleeping on his back just made it worse. Not to mention it made his wings ache. However, if Alabaster had to look at Mr. Smiles any longer, then he just might be tempted to put a hoof through his squishy face. There, he thought to himself, unaware that might not be out of the clutches of delirium just yet. I'll take sleeping on the floor than having to look at that ass- The thought froze like an icicle. What was suppose to be a low hanging canopy dotted with specks of starlight was instead a void. The inky, soundless abyss had swelled until it consumed the moon and all of her children. Night even the songs of the night had been spared. Except, it wasn't just a void to Alabaster. Terror -how much more potent it was now that Alabaster was awake- clamped down upon the stallion’s chest. By the ever fucking gods, it’s her. Then, more frantically, he thought, And why shouldn't it be? She said she was waiting for me, didn't she? Didn't she!? In that moment, as Alabaster grew feverish with his fear, the eyeless sockets of that forgotten corpse became the entirety of the pegasus’s world. “I'm sorry.” The words that escaped his lips little more than a childish whimper. Thank goodness they did, however. The cords of terror winding tightly in his head snapped, severed by the reality in his voice. I’m… no… I’m awake... What little traces of sleep had rusted away Alabaster’s sense were gone, washed away by the chilly waters of dread. This allowed the stallion to hear now what he should've heard just moments ago: the squeal of bedsprings. Confusion struck Alabaster like a hammer, but on its coattail came realization. The sounds of the world around him weren't gone, only muffled. He still heard the chirps of crickets and the whistling of the wind, but they were pushed aside in favor for more immediate noises. Noises such as the creaking of floorboards or the ‘tap tap tap’ of a nearby water faucet. That's right, you're not camped out on some countryside.... You're in a house, you dolt, a house! Alabaster groaned, now thankful that he hadn’t flown into a panic. Would be quite a righteous laugh if he had woken up half of Ponyville, screaming like a little filly, wouldn’t it? “Al? Something wrong?” The voice in the dark sounded fuzzy with sleep, but concerned nonetheless. Alabaster turned his head to see Whisper now laying on her side, facing him as he had faced her. Mr. Smiles, still grinning, was clutched to her chest. Alabaster smiled, an act he found not too difficult given how relieved he felt. “Nothing wrong, sleepy head, just aggravated a muscle I pulled earlier today.” What a relief it was that Whisper hadn’t been more awake. She surely would have seen Alabaster’s lie for what it was. Alabaster could tell from the droop of her eyelids that he didn’t have much to worry about. “Should tell that old bugger to stop working you so hard,” she said dreamily. “Only been workin’ for him for two days and you're crampin’ up.” Alabaster smiled as he pushed himself upright. “That's rich coming from you, Wisp. I think you work harder than either of us.” “True, but at least my boss isn't a fuddy duddy.” Alabaster barked a short bray of laughter and relished how great it felt to do so. He leaned forward, planting a kiss on her forehead. The scent of Whisper was rich; the smell fresh apples and hay tickled his nose. I can get used to this life if it meant I got to smell this every night. The stallion moved his lips from Whisper’s forehead to one of her ears. “You're the fuddy duddy, you fuddy duddy.” Alabaster pulled back in time to dodge a swiping hoof. He laughed again as Whisper muttered, “I ain't no fuddy duddy.” “You keep working with Apples for too much longer and you’re gonna start talking like them,” Alabaster said with a grin. “It’s already started. I guess in a month’s time we’ll all be wearing Ponyville on our tongues, won’t we?.” Whisper made no reply. Those drooping eyelids fluttered madly, clearly fighting a losing battle. They opened once more, however, at the sound of retching bedsprings. Whisper watched, bemused, as Alabaster pulled himself out bed. The pegasus’s wings shot out either side of him as he hunkered down to stretch -Whisper had regained enough consciousness to be glad that their nightstand was behind him. Alabaster leath body produced a rapid fire percussion of snaps, crackles, and pops. “Where you going?” Whispers voice was thick now, thick like honey. She had just started back down that slippery slope. “Gonna get a glass of water and stretch out this sore muscle. Don't worry, your little bed warmer will be soon enough. Besides, it’s not like I want to be dozing on the job tomorrow.” Alabaster doubted Whisper heard him. He hadn't even made it to the front of the bed when he heard the ever familiar sounds of her snores. The truth, something that Whisper wouldn't know if Alabaster could help it, was that the ivory stallion knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep tonight. Even if he could find sleep, Alabaster doubted that he would let it take him once again. One nightmare was enough for him tonight. He might get a glass of water and go for a short flight to clear his head instead. Or maybe I’ll dig up my stash real quick. That thought made him smile. Perhaps it would be possible for him to get back to sleep after all. He crossed the room and made for the door, but his hoof paused just before grasping the knob. Something struck Alabaster just then, a pang of sorts. He glanced to his left, to the farthest wall from where he stood. The silhouette of a dresser could be seen there. However, it wasn't the dresser he had eyes for. Alabaster studied the dark heaps nearby. They were Whisper’s and Alabaster’s saddlebags. The saddlebags had been old and worn even before they had come into the duos care. The damn things had weathered badlands, grasslands, Dragon Lands and now, more recently, pony lands. I've had to patch up and tailor those damn things beyond count... but they finally made it too a better place. Then, after a moment's consideration he thought, We made it to a better place. Though it pained Alabaster to know that the days till the bags got replaced were few, he was glad that the things had finally found a resting place. Nay, he was proud. Alabaster rubbed at his moist eyes, then opened the door. **** Alabaster made hardly a sound as he descended to the bottom floor, choosing to glide down the stairs. Perhaps this was an inkling of how restless he really was. Already he was envisioning how the cool night air would feel buffering his upturned face, all while the sleeping world would swim beneath his beating wings. Gods, its been a blue moon since I've been able to really just cut loose and fly, Alabaster thought. Won’t have to be worried about getting mobbed by flying bats around here… at least I hope not... Alabaster stepped from the hall and into the living room at an almost trot. The dopey grin he had been wearing was wiped away in an instant. Alabaster’s heart rate flared and, for the second time that night, redhot adrenaline coursed through him, head to hoof. Holy hell, we’re getting robbed!Haven’t even been in Ponyville for three day, and we’re getting fucking robbed! Shock abated instantly, in its place came cold calculation. Alabaster crouched, wings flaring out at either of his sides -if he had had the misfortune of being only a few paces back, he would've banged them against the frame of the threshold. The living room and kitchen were one conjoined room that all but consumed the first floor of their new home. Where carpet ended and linoleum began was the core divider of the two rooms. It was in the land of linoleum that Alabaster was aimed, cocked and loaded. A pony shaped silhouette moved to and fro in the kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and closing just barely audible in the silence of the night. Alabaster was surprised he hadn't heard the intruder as he was coming down the stairs. Had the idea of tasting the night air intoxicated him so badly? Alright, I'll have to vault over the sofa, but that’s no biggie. It’s just that damned light fixture I have look out for. Wisp thought I was nuts when I told her we had to do away with the thing, but what do you know, here we fucking are! With that thought, Alabaster decided to wait. There weren't any lights except for the rays of moonlight veining in through the kitchen. Alabaster would lay in wait under the cover of darkness until the would be robber had circled back around to the living room. This would lessen the possibility of collateral. They were still making payments on the place, after all. Alabaster’s plan was solid, and would've likely worked. However, as if possessed by some sixth sense, the intruded whirled. The outlines of the pony’s ears twitched madly. Alabaster had been discovered. Shit! It’s now or never. Alabaster’s muscles began to tighten, static energy caught within them nearly burning power. The tension in the air was sliced, however, when the pony called out. “Wait, it’s only me!” Alabaster hadn't been expecting the intruder to cry out so, especially not in a voice that sounded just like- Just as Alabaster felt the hungry kiss of adrenaline for the second time that night, again came the angry slap of shame. Midnight! You stupid applebucker, you forgot all about Midnight! Straightening himself, Alabaster groped along the wall to his right. Eventually he found the light switch there. He flicked it, flinching momentarily at the stinging eruption of light. When Alabaster’s eyes adjusted, he saw Midnight staring at him from over the couch. Though a room and a half lay between the two stallions, Alabaster could see the young stallion was wound up tighter than a corkscrew. “S-Shit, mate, I'm sorry I didn't-” Alabaster trailed off, his gaze suddenly hardening. It crossed Alabaster’s mind to ask how Midnight had sensed him creeping up in the dark, but such questions were quickly discarded. That bitter surge of energy had made Alabaster’s eyesight sharp. He could just pick out something stuck to Midnight’s black muzzle. Something... brown? Crumbs, maybe? Alabaster moved his eyes past the stallion and to the kitchen counters. What he saw there confirmed his suspicions: an open cabinet door and a small box lying on the counter. Alabaster’s features cramped into a voracious snarl. “You son of a bitch, you’ve been eating my almond cookies!” **** Midnight thought that his short life had ran its course. He was almost positive of this when Alabaster vaulted over the couch. Time drew in a breath just as Midnight did, allowing him to taste the moment in far greater detail than he’d ever wish to. Alabaster’s wing pumped once, the muscles connected them to his body rippling like rivulets of molasses. His lips were pulling back into a murserous snarl -Whisper would’ve called it the grin of a junkyard dog. Directly behind Alabaster was the light fixture. It’s shining radiance appeared to give Alabaster a blazing aura. With his burning yellow eyes and that eerie sunburst corona, Alabaster had become an angel of vengeance. I’m going to die over a box of almond cookies, Midnight thought, dumbstruck. This was followed quickly with, wait, why am I just stan-? Whatever spell held sway over the universe broke. Midnight didn’t even have time cry out as Alabaster balled him over. **** Midnight would live to die another night. Alabaster knew if he gave the sneak thief more than a few bruises, Whisper would have his flank mounted up on the wall come daybreak. Mainly what he wanted to do was scare Midnight. Alabaster was allowed this, if nothing else. It was nearly a quarter past one. Midnight sat comfortable on the couch, or at least he sat as comfortable as he could get. A pair of invisible hooves pressed angrily against his chest, their touch painful. Midnight rubbed sulkily at where Alabaster had landed atop him, then decided he should sleep on his back for a few nights. At least no one will be able to see any marks through my fur. I’m practically a walking bruise. Despite the aching in his chest, and not to mention where his head had snapped against the anuliam floor, it didn’t occur to Midnight to be the least bit upset with Alabaster. Midnight had seen needful death in those flaming eyes of his, and was grateful to have only paid their price with a pair of shiners. As Midnight continued to poke and prod himself, he could hear cabinet doors being open and shut. There also came the clinking of glass. He’s being so quiet. I probably wouldn’t be able to hear him if I wasn’t a hop and a jump from the kitchen. Midnight was just about to glance over the back of the sofa when Alabaster appeared beside him. A tray lay level on his back and a case of tall bottles was clutched between his teeth. He set the case down carefully on the coffee table, then looked to Midnight with an apologetic smile. This was an expression Whisper had seen far too often. It usually followed some act of blind stupidity performed by the ivory heartthrob. However, this was Midnight’s first time seeing it, and he found it to be an odd addition of the pegasus. “So, I… a… I want to say I’m sorry again,” Alabaster said, the words feeling clumsy on his tongue. “I’ve had some weird dreams lately, and bad sleep tends to make me ornery. Anyways... just thought I’d fix us both a little midnight snack since neither of us can sleep… and consider it an extension of my apology.” Alabaster lowered his right wing till it’s tip touched the coffee table, then leaned sideways. With a grace unparalleled to anything Midnight had yet to see, the tray skated across a bridge of fur and feather. The mound of cookies on the plate weren’t even jostles. The plate slide onto the wood and came to a neat stop next to the case of bottle. “That was something,” Midnight said, his face a study of open wonder. You’d have thought Alabaster had just shown a magic trick to a foal. Alabaster shrugged. “Ain’t nothing, guy.” Midnight glanced back to the tray, his smile diminishing. It looked as if Alabaster had just upended the box of almond cookies onto the plate. That’s when the eight bottles in their cardboard cartoon caught his attention. “What are these?” Midnight asked, reached for one. He nearly dropped the thing when Alabaster flopped down next to him. The pegasus coiled a wing around one of the bottles and lifted it up to his hooves. “Can’t you read? It’s right there on the label.” Midnight turned the bottle one way, then the next. He hardly heard the snap of a bottle cap. When he found the label, he had to squint to read it. The words sprawled across it were terrible fine. Fine like a length of thread. Midnight read aloud, “Aunt Germane’s hard apple ale?” “The hardest, my friend. Or at least, that’s what the mare told me.” Alabaster lifted the bottle, taking a drought that nearly emptied half of the bottle. When he resurfaced, he could only grin deamily. Midnight eyed the bottle reproachfully. “Is it any good? I hope it isn’t like the cider I tried back in Dodge Junction.” Alabaster snorted. “You don’t drink because it’s good, numbnuts… but yeah, it tastes pretty good.” “I… don’t?” Midnight cocked his head at Alabaster. “Then why do you drink it?” “You drink it because… will you stop turning the damn thing over already, you gonna shake it up! Here, hoof it over.” Midnight had been trying to crank the bottle cap off, but relented when Alabaster held out his hoof. “You want to get some good sleep, don’t you?” Alabaster asked. Before Midnight could answer, Alabaster raised the bottle to his mouth and bit down on the cap. With a quick jerk of his head, there came that snap again. Midnight actually heard it this time. When Alabaster passed the bottle back, Midnight could only stare back. Alabaster laughed at how young Midnight looked with the dumb, awestruck expression on his face. “How’d you do that?” A flare of color rose up on Alabster’s cheeks, his feathers ruffling indignantly. “Well, let’s just say it comes from experience and leave it at that, okay?” Alabaster pushed the plate of cookies to Midnight, then made sure to take a few of them for himself. A cookie disappeared, only to be washed down with a swig of apple cider. A low hum had started in the center of Alabaster’s forehead by his third cookie. Midnight picked one up, then resisted the urge to sniff it. “So… you’re not mad at me for eating your cookies?” Alabaster shook his head. “Nah. I mean, I guess was kinda hot when I jumped you, but now I just feel shitty. We just need to set some boundaries, alright? Like eating stuff that isn’t yours. Ask someone first, then get their okay. That’ll be a good start.” Midnight murmured something into his chest. Alabaster didn’t think Midnight has snippy bone in his body, so instead of letting his temper flare, the pegasus asked his friend to repeat himself. Midnight swallowed. “I did ask someone.” “What do you mean? Whisper? Or you telling me Whisper said you could eat my cookies?” “I thought they were her’s! She said you didn’t like sweets...” There came no immediate response from Alabaster, only a pursing of the lips and a narrowing of the eyes. Midnight figured that a shout, an outburst, something, would’ve been better than that thunderhead clouding Alabaster’s features. Midnight started to speak, but then thought better. Gazing at the bottle in his hoof, Midnight decided to just take the headlong plunge as Alabaster had. The poor soul had two mouthfuls down before he even tasted the cider. When the taste caught up, though, Midnight’s taste buds sang. Once before, during his stay at the rock farm, one of the farmer’s daughters had let him try a glass of hoof pressed apple juice they kept for special occasions. This tasted just like that, only with a bitter edge buried beneath all that sweetness. Midnight furrowed his brow, trying to isolate the taste. Something about it was oddly… familiar. At least, he thought it was. When Midnight couldn’t tell what the taste was, he helped himself to two more mouthfuls. It wasn’t until he lowered the bottle, now a quarter full, that he felt the fiery rose blooming in his stomach. “Hey, way to go, tiger!” Alabaster exclaimed, giving Midnight a playful nudge. “Putting it down like champ. Although, I would recommend taking it a bit slow if you’re not use to drinking. Alcohol has a way of shitting on those who can’t pace themselves… I should know.” Midnight rubbed his stomach. “I feel so… warm. Is that normal?” Alabaster took a swig. “Yep, means it has some actual spirits in it, I think. Won’t lie, it was a little hard to find. Apparently Ponyville gets most of its cider from that apple farm up the hill, the one Whisper’s going to be working at. But get this, the damned sodbusters only make it when it’s in season. Ha! Who the hell has ever heard of cider season? It’s downright goofy, I tell you.” His snarky good cheer evaporated suddenly, leaving Alabaster solemn. “Funny thing… I was told that right now, the cider would be in season, but that the Apples just don’t have the time to make the stuff right now… got too many irons in the forge, apparently…” Alabaster was only dour a moment longer. He shrugged, then brightened. “Oh well, guess I’ll get to try it some other time. Hell, with Whisper working there, maybe I can convince her to get dibs on a barrel if I play my cards right. Oh boy, that would be something.” The thought of having a whole cask of cider -and if that berry bitch is right, the stuff will be as heavy as spirits- was enough to make Alabaster thirsty. Thankfully, he had something to tie himself over. “So… where’d get this?” Midnight asked, giving his own bottle a shape. He had to wait till Alabaster had lowered his bottle. “Well, long story short, I ran into a mare at the market who runs a fruit stand… well, it was a grape stand, if I were to tell the truth. I made a joke about it as I perused, trying to break the ice with someone. She told me that she has so many because of a personal vineyard. That… kind led into a discussion on what she did with so many grapes… which led into a discussion on fermenting said grapes… which led into another discussion about importing…” Alabast stopped, giving Midnight a sidelong look. “Are you following me?” “Um… I guess? Are you saying she made these out of grapes from her vineyard? Is that even possible?” “What? How the hell did you-” Alabaster noticed his voice beginning to raise, then paused to compose himself. “You know, let’s just say that I got them from a friend and leave it at that, okay? I don’t need you assuming shit and getting things misconstrued.” “Whatever you say,” Midnight said, lifting his bottle. What started out as a sip became a hearty pull once the drink hit the back of his throat. There was something about the cider that forbade him from tasting it in small increments. If he drank, the drink demanded Midnight drown his taste buds. The two remained silent for a time, content to drink and nibble. Midnight, incomprehensive of the effects of alcohol, finished the first bottle and then dove for a second. The mood only dipped once when Midnight tried to open the bottle as Alabaster had. The pegasus gave a shrill cry when he saw the bottle inching to Midnight’s mouth. He lashed out with a wing and swiped it. Midnight’s cocked an eyebrow at Alabaster. For the first time since he woke up in that far away rock patch, Midnight was starting to understand what it felt like to be brave. For the time being, Midnight had disregarded his self-consciousness as if it were an ill fitted shoe. “The heck, Alabaster, there’s a whole case of them on the table!” “No, just-” a snap, and then a hiss. “Leave the bottle opening to me for a bit, okay? Don’t want you breaking a tooth or cutting your tongue.” Midnight’s seemed mollified when Alabaster passed him back the bottle. “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it, guy. Can’t tell you how good it is to have someone to drink and shot the shit with. Whisper’s too much of stiffler to let a boy have a good time.” Midnight’s newly found gile resided momentarily. “You aren’t afraid that she’ll walk in on us?” Alabaster paused, the lips of the second bottle stopping short of his own. Whisper sleeps like the dead after she’s eaten… Flashing Midnight a comforting smile, Alabaster shook his head. “Don’t you fret none. Our secret is safe… this will be our secrete, right?” “Oh yes, I’ll want tell. This is probably the best I’ve felt since we got to Ponyville.” Midnight surprised Alabaster by giving the pegasus a sunny grin. Alabaster gaped. Well butter me up and fry me, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Midnight’s teeth before! I hope it doesn’t break his face. It didn’t occur to Alabaster that he should warn Midnight about what happens to those who outdrinks their weight class. Oh well, as he himself would say, ‘Such is life.’ It was five cookies and another bottle later before conversation struck itself up again. Alabaster rested his bottle next to him and peered at his friend slyly. “So Midnight, you mind if I ask you something?” While Alabaster was just starting to get a good buzz going, Midnight found himself paying a heavier toll. A low buzzing sensation had starting at the base of the stallions skull and was creeping outward on warm fingers. He thought to ask Alabaster if it was possible to have a wasp stuck up there, but then scolded himself for being so stupid. “What’s that?” Midnight replied. His limbs felt a bit watery as he first took a bite of his last cookie, then chased it with cider. “It’s just somethin’ I’ve been wondering. I’ve noticed you gettin’ some looks about town, especially in the market, but you don’t ever seem to pay it no-nevermind. Most studs studs who got that kind of attention would be wallowing in flank by now… but not you. You hold onto that ‘silent, brooding’ routine as if it were a way of life! What’s the deal with that? If you don’t mind my asking.” Midnight’s head pivoted around fast enough to make him dizzy. His eyes were wide and hurt, as if Alabaster had insulted him. “Who the hay’s been lookin’ at me? Why are they lookin’ at me? Did I do somethin’?” Midnight’s voice was raising now, that familiar tone of self consciousness twanging in an unfamiliar highnote. Alabaster scowled and motioned to the stallion’s bottle. “Easy there, killer, I’d tell ya if somethin’ was wrong. Take another sip and cool yourself, why don’t ya?” Midnight still appeared restless, but at least he wasn’t shouting anymore. Alabaster continued. “Well, at least now I know you ain’t playing coy, you really just don’t notice.” He cocked a sardonic smile. “Ha! Ain’t that a hoot!” “But why are ponies lookin’ at me?” The pleading sincerity in Midnight’s voice cut Alabaster amusement in half. Suddenly, Alabaster was uncomfortable. He drained the rest of his cider. “Let me think of how to put this...” Alabaster rolled the bottle between his hooves, thinking. “Um… hmm…” Suddenly, with the flash of a lightbulb, Alabaster’s ears sprung upright. His smile turned devilish. “Alright, so we’ve seen a lot of new faces these past few days, eh?” Midnight’s head lolled in agreement. “Soooo many new faces. I’m sorry, but I haven’t been able to count of them all, Alabaster.” “Damn it, dude, that’s not what we meant by counting on people. Now stop interrupting me.” Midnight drank deep, then cocked one ear. If this wasn’t consent of one’s attention, than Alabaster didn’t know what was. “Out of all these faces, hasn’t at least one of them maybe… caught your eye? Made you double take? Gave a stirring deep in your-” Alabaster gave Midnight a confidding nudge. “-belly?” Midnight thought about it. Thought… and drank. It briefly dawned on Alabaster that they were cruising nicely through his little stash. Would consider it a decent price if it means scratching that irritating itch to my curiosity… “Well… there is that old gauffer with the lazy eye we ran into at the market.” Alabaster was taking a swig and now he had to struggle not to cough the stuff up. “My stomach nearly turned when he looked at me. When he said ‘scuse me, sonny, I’s got to get by’, I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or the colt beside me…” Alabaster gaped when Midnight. As he quoted the old coot, he slid into a voice that sounded nearly as sun dried and leather as the old bastard’s face. Well hot damn, the son of bitch is a mimic too. “That’s not… for fuck’s sake, Midnight, you’re somehow harder to talk to drunk than sober. That’s damn impressive.” “T-thank you, Alabaster.” “Not a complement. Gods damn it, I’m asking what you find attractive, alright? Attractive, beautiful, sexy, pretty. Whatever word works for ya. I just want to know what kind of wind makes your barn door swing, for fuck’s sake.” “Oh…” Midnight’s eyes grew with understanding. “Oh.” Okay, screw being subtle from now on, Alabaster thought. Only thing getting through to that stallion is a fucking chisel. Midnight’s gaze fell to the mouth of his bottle. He raised it to take a drink, but paused midway. A tiny bundle of nerves knotted like an angry fist at Midnight’s temples. Alabaster would’ve given his remaining bottles of cider, and maybe even a shot from the wine had stashed away too, to know what Midnight was thinking. “I… maybe… um…” “Take another drink if you can't get your gears grinding,” Alabaster said, watching as Midnight’s frustration grow. “Tis the social lubricant, don’t you know?” It didn’t occur to Alabaster that the solution might’ve actually been the problem. Midnight took his friend’s prescription. That sensation of floating had been gradually growing, and now he very nearly felt like a boat ready to capsize. “To tell you the truth,” Midnight spoke with an effort, “I don’t really know how to answer.” “The hell do you mean?” “Well… oh, how can I put this...” Midnight racked his brains for a few minutes, then looked up suddenly. Those blue eyes were endless oceans, and captured within was the yearning for a shoreline never to be known. “You’re asking how I feel about strange ponies, Alabaster, when I hardly know how to feel about myself myself. My entire existence was void until only a few weeks ago. I’m an empty cup, drained and dry. What kind of pony catches my fancy, you ask?” Midnight raised a hooves and shrugged. “The first thing I notice when I look at a pony are eyes that see too much, eyes that see me for the alien I am. Perhaps that’s just anxiety, I’m not sure. The second is a face that always looks too much like mask. Dodge Junction showed me how quickly ponies can turn on one another, and for whatever reason. The ordeal has made me far too nervous of ponies.” Midnight paused, his lips parted. The locomotive of thought he had ridden on hit a speed bump and had veered off track. While Midnight did his best to reign it in, Alabaster watched him in somber consideration. Alabaster had heard Midnight speak more in the past hour than in his entire time in Ponyville. The quiet stallion had grown even quieter since settling into this little cupboard of a house. Alabaster figured, however, that he might strike water should he swing his dowsing rod around long enough. What he hadn’t expected was to find a waterfall. Midnight’s vacation expression brightened, becoming a timid smile. “That was… strange. Kind of spaced out for a moment. My tongue felt like it could’ve kept going, but… my mind couldn’t quite keep pace with it. Hope I didn’t get carried away.” Alabaster shook his head, grinning. “Nah, just haven’t really heard you talk so much before. It’s called rambling, me boyo, something that comes quite natural to drunks and crazy people. Don’t worry, you hang around me and Wisp long enough and you’ll get better at it.” “Did I… did I answer your question, at least?” “I guess you did, in your own kind of way. Sounded kinda like a monologue from one of Wisp’s novels.” Alabaster laughed, but stopped when he noticed Midnight staring at him, distantly. “The hell is that look for?” Midnight’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “She’s… already given me another to read… ‘The Heartwood’.” Alabaster blinked, flummoxed, then groaned in exasperation. **** Alabaster had brought the case of cider to the living room more out of convenience than the actually desire to empty the thing out. Better than having to make multiple trips to the kitchen, he had thought. Nevertheless, he drank as they continued to talk for the next hour. Talking was thirsty work, after all. And Midnight, never acquainted with those infamous ‘morning afters’, did his best to keep pace with his friend. It seemed that with each bottle Alabaster popped open, Midnight forgot more and more of the dirty little secret that had robbed him of sleep this night. By two of the clock, the overly elongated carton Alabaster had bought just the day before was filled from nose to rump with glittering, empty glass. Normally such a sight would’ve sent a jagged thorn right into Alabaster’s heart. However, it appeared Alabaster had found a another elixir that suited his palette just fine. He brushed his mane from his face absently -it was the longest it had ever been in the last four years. Alabaster’s eyes shone like flecks of glittering gold as images of late childhood played out before them like a picture show. Though this specific showing had taken place nearly half a decade ago, he found he had no problems at all at recalling it in vivid detail. Nor did he have any issues in racanting it. “So there I stood, Midnight. Alone and staring down half-a-dozen of Dozer’s numbskull bruisers. Thinking back at it now, I can’t tell you what was worse: the pugdog faces of those assholes or the reek of the cantina. Seriously, it smelled as if someone had kicked over a pissbuck.” Midnight, who had been listening in rapture, gave a sudden start. “Did you say a piss… bucket? Like a bucket of… of pee?” “The fuck else would it be?” Alabaster retorted. He didn’t appear all too pleased to have been interrupted. “I mean… it’s just, why would a pony pee in a bucket?” Alabaster gave a patronly tsk. “Why do you think I keep telling you to be glad we have indoor plumbing? That shit’s a commodity here, but a damn rarity in the Dragon Lands.” Midnight’s eyes widened. “Seriously? But that’s… a bucket? Really?” “Hey, that’s more than what most had, believe it or not. Some didn’t even have a pot to piss in, let alone a bucket. Now, let me continue the story, damnit.” Midnight gave a furtive nod and said no more. He pulled an empty bottle into his grasp and kneaded it nervously with his hooves. If there had been any more of those almond cookies, he’d have been chewing them down like a woodchipper. Alabaster cleared his throat, more for theatrics than anything else. “Anyways, I was surrounded by a half-dozen butt ugly meatbags. They made a kind of circle around me, shouldering in close like. Shit, they got so close I could smell the garlic bread one of them had for lunch. “I knew the moment I entered the cantina that I was in for a fight, but I wasn’t expecting the fight to find me so damned fast. Hunkering down, readying myself to bawl the fuckers over, I waited for one of them to make a move --Wisp always threatened to flay me alive and use my hide as a blanket if she ever learned that I was the one to throw the first punch. “Seconds soon turned into a minute. Can you imagine, a full minute of having to feel those dull, beetle eyes crawling all over you?” Midnight opened his mouth to answer ‘yes, he could’. The poor fellow had little comprehension of rhetorical questions. Whatever he was going to say was cut short as Alabaster fell back into pace with his story. “Just as I was ready to say ‘fudge it all’ and wail on them, that’s when the circle parted. With hooves like sledgehammers, I could hear the bastard walking from the other side of the cantina. He came slowly. I assumed it was to make a dramatic entrance.” Alabaster paused to give Midnight a humorless grin. Something about it made Midnight shift uneasily. He wasn’t sure if it was the vanishing of the warmth in Alabaster’s face, or how the pegasus’s teeth appeared to end in sharp points in the low light. Has he always had so many teeth? “That’s when I saw him. I had heard much about the cow licker who called himself Dozer, and mostly about his ungodly size. Bandits and harrairs love to hide themselves behind bright lights and cast long shadows, you see, so it kind of came natural to take such tales with a grain of salt. But by gods, Midnight, I’m telling you… that wasn’t the case with Dozer. He be one big pony.” “How big was he?” Midnight asked, his voice trembling. With like all good stories that wooed and serenaded, Alabaster’s story had whisked Midnight away and teleported him to Flutter Dust’s Cantina. He stood there beside his friend, drinking in the reek of piss and sour sweat. Before Midnight and the teenage Alabast stood the wall of glaring horseflesh. “He couldn’t have been less than six-foot four, easy. My memory might be a bit fussy on specifics, but I remember clearly how his head was only a foot or so from the ceiling. And not just tall either, boyoo, never think it. Dozer was vast. Think of a small boat on legs.” Midnight did, and he almost found the imagine as amusing as it was threatening. Satisfied with Midnight’s expression of awe, Alabaster continued. “We stared at each other for a time, no one saying a single word. His face could’ve been made from granite from all the expression I saw there, however, a smile did chisel its way across his lips after near a minute. “He spoke in a voice that could have belonged to a dragon. ‘You the one who broke Smokey’s leg, ain’t cha? Broke Smokey’s leg and put Dowser through a wall?’” Midnight recoiled. The voice that issued out of Alabaster’s mouth was not his own, but one much deeper. It sounded as if it had taken a bath in tar, then rolled around in a gravel pit. How many times has he spoken as Dozer before, Midnight wondered. “That’s when I gave Dozer a cocky smile of my own. ‘You mean the idjit with the cattle bell around his neck? Yeah, I guess that was me. Should’ve broken his neck instead of his leg though’. Heh heh! That wiped away the smile off his mug.” Ironically, it wiped away Alabaster’s as well. “That’s when said, ‘That means I got somethin’ your’s, you worthless git’. He turned a little and dropped something from his back. I didn’t see her before because Dozer was just too damn big to see around.” Midnight gasped, cradling his empty bottle. “No…” “Yes…” A flash of heat had blossomed in the pit of the young Alabaster’s gut as his friend, his only friend at the time, was deposited in a heap at his hooves. Trussed like a hog, grimmy with splotches of dirt, and bruised in places better not mentioned, a subdued Little Whisper craned her stiff neck to look up at Alabaster. The tightly wound breads of hers had been undone, leaving her ivory mane in a disheveled mess. Worst than the obvious signs of abuse, was how Whisper had smiled at Alabaster around the gag in her mouth. That is when the flower of heat in his belly became a sun. “What happened next?” Midnight pleaded. Alabaster started, having forgotten about his eager listener. The bottle rolled restlessly between Midnight’s hooves. It seemed that the stallion had scooted a couple inches closer. Though this gave Alabaster an iota of pride -for how long had it been since he last was able to entrance someone with a story?- he thought that it might be good to throw the breaks on this ride now that Midnight was on the edge of his seat. For one thing, it was getting late. For another… Alabaster was at a part in his story that would require a bit of editing. Whisper isn't the only one with something to hide, Alabaster thought bitterly. At least it’ll be easier for me. Alabaster gave Midnight a lopsided smile.  “You know, boyo, I think that's actually where we end the story for tonight.” Midnight continued to roll the cider bottle for a moment longer, when finally his hooves froze. Something had been growing tighter and tighter inside his guts as Alabaster’s story unfolded. Now, registering Alabaster’s words, that something snapped. All at once those taut muscles went slack. Spaghetti noodle arms fell to either side, dropping the bottle to the couch cushion. Thank goodness he had turned around to give Alabaster his full attention, or that bottle would’ve bent sent to the floor. “B-but why?” Midnight sounded hurt. “It was getting so good!” “Hush up now, boy, or you’re gonna wake Wisp up!” Then, with a cheeky grin, Alabaster added, “It’s called a hook. Storytellers have been using them to get free drinks in bars the world over. And I’m using it now. I gots to keep an audience.” Midnight lowered his chin thoughtfully. “Does that mean I owe you a drink?” A chuckle. “I’ll tell you what, Midnight, we can go half and half on the next case whenever we get out first pay.” “Will you tell the rest of the story then?” “You give me the five bits for the cider and a pair of ears, and I’ll talk you out of house and home.” “Wait, you’re gonna-” “It means ‘yes’, you dope,” Alabaster said, though not unkindly. He got to his hooves, stretching out pins and needles he didn’t notice till then. Hopping down from the cushion, he went about cleaning up the evidence of their midnight snack. Midnight watched on in thoughtful silence. In his mind, the softspoke stallion was still wandering through memories of Flutter Dust’s cantina. When Midnight finally exited through those old batwing doors and reentered his right mind, he was rather surprised to find the living room exactly the way it had been when he stumbled down the steps ealier. A glance around told Midnight that he was alone. Alabaster must’ve have either went to the bathroom, Midnight thought. Or back upstairs… He hoped dearly that Alabaster wouldn’t have just went off without another word. As if to spite Midnight, he was suddenly buffeted by cool night air as the front door opened. Alabaster stepped in and gingerly closed the door behind him. He brightened when he saw that Midnight was aware. “There you are,” Alabaster laughed. “Thought your mind must've stepped out for a cigarette or something.” Not even bothering to ask what his friend meant, Midnight said, “Was just thinking about everything you've said… why’d you go outside?” “To get rid of those bottles. Don't want Wisp to find them in the trashcan, do we?” “Oh, I guess not… where did you put them?” “In the neighbor’s trash can, of course.” Alabaster came to a stop beside the sofa. He gave Midnight a long, studying look. “This isn’t going to be something Wisp will find out about, is it?” It was Midnight’s turn to give a cheeky grin, something he did with slow, unpracticed effort. “I wouldn't get the rest of your story if I did, now would I?” “Holy shit, was that banter? By fire and ice, I think we’re actually making progress with you, Midnight.” Alabaster dropped him wink. “Well, I’ve avoided sleep enough. No one else around here is gonna saw them logs. Not trying to tell you what to do, but it might behoove you to do the same. There’s long days behind us, and even longer ones ahead. Best to rest when you can.” “Noted. Good night, Alabaster.” Alabaster gave him a nod. Soft hoofbeats rose slowly to the second floor, then vanished completely. Midnight must’ve remained in his seat for another five minutes, relishing the glow of the overhead lights. Things were quiet, blessedly quiet. Or, at least, Midnight thought they were. “They’re never truly gone,” Midnight told himself. He spared only a momentary peek over his shoulder. The kitchen was dark, all lights extinguished. A chill caressed the length of Midnight’s spine when he wondered about the conversations being held within the shadowy court. And what was that? An iato of curiosity? One voice called to Midnight then, but not from the shadows. It rose like bitter bile from the back of his mind. “LISTEN… YOU. MUST. LISTEN!” Though much of that strange lunch with an even stranger pony become distant and hazy, that one word rang clearer than any other memory of Midnight’s. “Listen…” It tasted funny on his lips. Midnight jerked nervously, looking about like a kid uttering his first swear word. The pony who spoke fondly of life, but reeked profusely of death, was nowhere to be seen. Things were silent, and there was nothing to be jumpy over. Then why do I feel so nervous, Midnight thought. There was no answer, at least, not one that he much cared for. When everything else seemed to escape him, that single word fluttered back on black wings. “I’ve had enough of this,” Midnight said at last, commanding himself to rise. Though he felt a bit heavy and waterlogged, Midnight managed to squeeze past the table with his usually grace. He paused only once on his way upstairs, and that was at the mouth of the stairs to flip off the switch to the overhead lights. Midnight flinched as the black curtain fell. After a quick scolding, he made his way upstairs. There was murmuring now. Voices with mouths full cotton babbled just on the other side of the wall. Oddly enough, Midnight felt himself rather unaffected by their presence. They had became nearly like white noise. I can see why Alabaster likes this stuff, Midnight thought. It’s… not peaceful, but i can hardly hear them! When Midnight finally slipped between the loving embrace of his velty sheets, he actually spared himself smile. He had awoken a few hours ago in a sweating terror, but now, caught in the euphoric hold of near drunkenness, Midnight could hardly remember why. He rarely felt so fine. Perhaps it was this sense of security, this sense that everything was as it should be. It gave Midnight the courage to think for a moment longer on the voices in the dark. They were with him in his room, still whispering away to one another in the far corners. Curiosity, first like a pinprick, but then like an incision. This wasn’t the first time he considered the voices since his trip from Appleloosa -considered to listen to them. This was, however, the first time he found himself possessed of any kind of bravery. If only Alabaster had thought to tell Midnight that grand stories and hard alcohol were the makings of a dangerous cocktail. Such a drink has been the undoing of many adventurers. For lightweights such as Midnight, it could be lethal. Pulling the covers all the way up to his chin, Midnight glanced over to his window. He was thankful Whisper and Alabaster hadn’t given him the other room. The window there faced only a brick wall. Midnight studied first the sleeping houses neighboring his own, then the moon. That great, lusty orb illuminated the world in her pale radiance. Midnight was grateful for her presence. She only bolstered his confidence. “Her? She?” Midnight mused, unaware of how the shadows hesitated at the sound of his voice. “What makes you think it’s a her?” Because you know it is. Midnight didn’t dispute the thought. Probably couldn’t. He drank in the sight of the moon for a moment longer before slipping his eyes closed. The moon blossomed even brighter as Midnight held it within his mind’s eye, its brilliance unfolding like the pedals of a flower. It painted both his face and his imagination. For the first time since that night in Appleloosa, Midnight opened his ears to the world hidden beneath his own.