//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: Howard Fillip Lovecraft // by Hengf //------------------------------// Chapter 2 Thoughts were the main concern of the one who walked along that path, darkened by the shadows of trees and other vegetation, with such purpose. Upon his brow lay a light patch of well-kept hair, flowing aft unto his back and repeated at his tail, a mane of simple brown. Upon his shoulders he wore a simple vest, buttoned at the abdomen and from the side fop protruded a small golden link, swinging as he walked. He carried with him a simple tan saddle bag with a simple silver buckle holding its contents of tomes within. With pale coat, appearing more so in the light, his thin stature suggested a lack of food, or perhaps a lack of hunger for physical nourishment. His eyes stared forward along the pathing, a hue akin to both that of coat and mane; an ecru appearance. The auburn bows and stumps of trees mixed together with the green of spring leaves performing a contrast between the base and extremities of the surroundings, and the gravel of the road aided in tiering further this environment into sectioned areas. Sparse patches of nothingness allowed for the viewing of parts of the hills beyond, burgeoning and monstrous in their ponderous ways giving silent watch to the valley through which he transgressed. Such hills caught the eye of this wayward traveler, and he halted to take in the sight. The monomania of movement faltered there as he looked upon them with an admiration of not their beauty, nor awe at their scale, but of their steadfast nature and solidity. This reverie was soon past as he began again down the trail of macadam, a burnished mahogany sign now visible in the distance. The individual’s eye widened slightly and he gave a slight anticipatory exclamation of comprehension. His pace quickened to meet the oncoming declaration with more celerity. At the reaching of his goal, the black letters, with their twists and loops, proclaimed the location of Ponyville, the wanderer’s apparent destination, to be just around the bend. Looking behind him, he felt as if not many transversed this route much, for so overgrown were the details that it seemed almost unkempt and certainly under-traveled. The trees, even, held a thick roof, to the point that he was unsurprised that he had not seen the roof-tops from his approach if the sign indicated the truth of his proximity to his destination. He leaned against the sign’s post and let his head fall slightly, breathing rather heavily. This was soon past and, his thoughts once again of travel and other items, he commenced once again his ageless stride, the steady walk of the wayward, the steps of the searcher. No longer than a few minutes had he left behind the sheltering trees then had he stepped foremost into the outskirts of a town of cream coloured homes with thatched hay roofs. Searching for a street sign he could locate none, feeling it strange that not even the houses held numbers of identification, however, he was able to connect the ideas of locality and size with great ease, and the problem was now as nothing. Looking towards his left he could see the great expanses of an apple orchard and knew from his own research it to be orchard of the Apple family: Sweet Apple Acres. The many groves of trees expanded and soon disappeared over hills which blocked from sight their downward descent, which were sure to contain even more fruit-bearing trees. Towards his right were but more trees and hills, with a mountain even visible in the most posterior of the roving landscape. During his surveytion a rather awkward pegasus flew by and very nearly crashed into a set of trees just astern of where he current stood surmounting both his surroundings and the current implications of the situation. Her auric mane and tail were long and a flowing, with a coat of steely grey, and a mark of bubbles present upon her flank. She shook her head as she looked upwards at the very trunk she nearly drilled into headlong, and turned to see this newly arrived individual looking on in what was a strange mix of curiosity and what appeared to be indifference hinted with concern. Her eyes looked from different origins in their sockets and their pigmentation matching that of hair and tail, if in a more profound manner. Tilting her head to one side, they looked at each other with almost parallel contemplations. The miss was the first to break the vision with a friendly wave of one hoof, and a grin of warmth and a welcoming nature. He did not return said grin, but rather proceeded closer to her, face nearly blank and reserved. Slightly intimidated by this, she looked away, biting her lower lip. When he arrived in front of her he gave a low bow, and said “Good day, Madam.” The voice that spoke was cool and well-thought, and of a tongue more proper than heard by most, and this was by far the most off-putting feature for the mare. Crossing her left front leg over the right nervously, she replied in a nervous tone, gaze evasive: “H...hi, um, mister.” After speaking she seemed a bit more confident and looked at him if still a concerned look upon her face, her irises once again returning to their opposing positions. “I have just arrived and I was curious if you could direct me to a location I am seeking.” “Sure, be happy to,” responded she. Concern and nervousity banished as she once again held a smile upon her lips. “I wish to find myself in the presence of the town library and in the company of a Miss Twilight Sparkle, the local keeper of books?” “I know where that is easy, just keep following the road and look for a tree-house with a book sign near the side.” She pointed towards the centre of the town down the road he had already planned to follow. He gave a slight smile in thanks and told “Thank you, Miss…” “Derpy. Derpy Ditzal Doon. And you?” “Lovecraft. Howard Fillip Lovecraft. Thank you, again Miss Doon.” “No problem, Howard,” smiling after saying this with eyes closed and head tilted. “Lovecraft is fine,” he said, smile gone once again from his face. “Oh, sorry, um Lovecraft.” Once again did she look away with embarrassed expression. “Twas nothing, good day and thank you again.” Giving fare well, he began to set off, but paused suddenly back still towards her and said aloud, head turned to the side so that she might hear him more readily, “Oh, and Miss Doon, concerning your eyes,” the expression now became one of regret for having greeted him, and she began to protest the expected question when he finished with: “They are very beautiful,” and continued onward no faster, nor slower, but with intent nonetheless, leaving the golden headed mare there, his face this same placid sheet of phlegmatic expressions. Miss Doon remained there stunned for a moment or so, but then lifted herself high and trotted away rather gleefully, eyes closed, and brimming with a new found confidence. His proceedings down the road continued him past the many homes of this village, each similar in general outline, but dissimilar in character were they to be juxtaposed with one another. Much more of the populace was now visible under the burning sun, a myriad of colourful, full spectrum ponies. Some held the stalls that sold general goods of food stuffs, where as the more specialized shops held their own facilities and the passing of a herbal shop was seen by the passer-by of ashen complexion. The one called Lovecraft examined the surroundings with that way of generalized disconnection that was shewn with the previously encountered mare, and it was minor in belittling an obvious separation from most others, with spectral figure in tow. The tall spire of the town hall was now obvious and lacked all dubiousity that would have come from a simple account from a fictionalization, and the flowing river held its usual sounds as it washed along the slight shore and underneath the bridge he now crossed. Tents and other pitched cloths of more frivolous natures were seen as he circled around the distal of the centre, and he could see atop the highest point a flag unfurled with the insignia of the land of Equestria, a swirl of light and dark, depicting the balance betwixt the sun and the moon, the two regal sisters: Princess Luna and Princess Celestia. The grassy streets of the town would have suggested a lack of concern for travelers’ needs were it not for the fact of its well-kept nature and soft undertones. The rose stalls that inhabited those grassy paths were a bright sanguine, and the satisfactory visage of potential patrons would suggest the flavour to be as robust as the colouration. The abodes were becoming almost tiresome now, and a nagging sensation of false direction crept towards the back of his mind, however, he soon reassured himself by spotting the very tree that had been indicated by the antecedent mare who had greeted him with such cordiality. The suddenness with which it twisted and coiled were of an adverse to the encircling frameworks as to deal a fatal blow in sharpness and realism. Organic was its placing with its conniving branches, red door with emblazoned candle, windows at odd intervals across the front, and an out of place telescope topping over what appeared to be a precarious balcony, though the strength of ancient, and elder bindings was sure to br enough to hold such a structure. Halting at the entrance, he looked about in an attempt to gauge its likelihood of inhabitance. Though he knew well who resided here, there was a sense of uncertainty in whether its function as a public place of reading had been compromised. His self discussion lasted but a few minutes, though his intent contemplation had caused some on-lookers to wonder about the business he had. His bearings straight, he decided finally upon the need to knock. His hoof connected with a steadfast door, and a knocking of thrice followed in suit. After several minutes of careful waiting, ears pricked, he heard nothing to suggest the current occupation of this reader’s haven. He sighed, letting his head fall low, and began to wonder whether he should go search for the one he sought, or wait. The simplest answer would have been to wait, but he had an aversion of remaining here to-night, and therefore needed to find his quarry with much haste. Two ponies were also in need of his visitation not including Twilight Sparkle, and each was of equal importance. He allowed himself to lean against the door and breathed a heavy sigh, not one of disappointment, but rather one of the weary. Soon this passed and with head held up again, he performed an about face, and surveyed the area for possible indicators of the location of any of those he sought. Luckily, a group numbering three was passing close by, and one of said group was of a mulberry coat with a mane of sapphire blue, streaked with a moderate violet and brilliant rose. Seeing this stallion standing in front of the door to her home she gave a shout from her place at the furthest right of the group, a yell of greeting rather than a shout of displeasure. The two others with her, a pale rose -maned mare with a pale yellow coat accompanied by a pegasus of fair cerulean with mane of many colours, a full spectrum example of rainbowic hues. Both looked onward questioningly, and upon spotting the stationary individual, the latter of the two began to walk with Twilight, while the other shewed recognition in her facial expression, and moved slowly and somberly to follow the others attempting to not make contact of the eyes with the soon to be acquainted. Not wishing to let them walk all the way just to speak with him, he met them mid journey, and gave a low bow greeting with; “Good day, Madams,” his gaze falling upon each in turn giving a slight nod of acknowledgment and smile to each, but said smile nearly faltered upon meeting eyes with the pegasus attempting to hide behind the others, a tinge of some unsavory emotion reflected in his face for but a moment, but was gone in that same instant. “Hello,” replied Twilight, “Do you need anything from the Library?” giving a friendly grin as she inquired his business, head ever so slightly pitched to one side. “In a way,” he said nodding, “I am engaged in the search for the caretaker of this place, a Miss Twilight Sparkle, I hold some business related to her works that must be addressed. She should be expecting my arrival, for I have been in correspondence with her for a short time before my trek here.” “Well,” in a cheery tone of understanding, “Look no further. I’m Twilight Sparkle, and that means you must be Howard. These are my friends Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy,” she said nodding towards both in to match their mentioning. He cringed at the saying of his first name, but said nothing until she was finished. Giving nods to each of her companions he greeted them yet again. “Miss Dash…Sister.” The last part of his statement resulted in a an exchange of surprised looks between both Twilight and Rainbow Dash, in addition to eliciting a soft reply from fearful Fluttershy almost below the hearing of those present. “Oh, umm… Hello Howard.” However, the ears of the newly introduced brother picked up this and he gave a dissatisfactory exhalation of air through his nose and said rather brashly, though not without a still present part of gentleness, “Please, I would prefer to be referred to as Lovecraft.” Mouth open in incredulous gasp, Twilight returned with: “I didn’t know Fluttershy had a brother, she never mentioned anything about it, and Rainbow how come you never told me, you two grew up together right?” “Well yeah, but I never heard about any brother.” Both of their lines of sight turned away from Lovecraft and towards the one cowering behind them, eyes pleading to have their questions placated. However, the saving grace did not come from the frightened pegasus, but from the newest addition to the family lineage. “As you may be able to tell from superficial observation, I am of the flightless variety, where as my sister is of pegasii birth. I could not reside in Cloudsdale, and frankly nearly died from falling were the hospital attendants no so attentive and realised my lack of wings. You would never have seen my presence Miss Dash, for I almost immediately was removed from residency, due to safety concerns, and was reared in Rode Island, a long trek from Cloudsdale, with a our Grand-sire, Mister Whipple Van Buren. As to why my mentioning is non-existent, it may be attributed to my lack of importance in her life and in that of our guardians. Now, please Miss Sparkle, may we proceed with our afore mentioned business?” The lengthy explanation finished, and questions fulfilled, the group could do nothing but follow behind Twilight as the group was allowed access to the Library. As they entered the door, the ashen arrival requested of Twilight that their business be kept between themselves, and that the carry-ons be asked to give them privacy. The response of Fluttershy was a quick yes, and soon she was gone from their sight, however, Rainbow Dash began to go against this, but Twilight was able to convince her of leaving, despite the reluctance present till the very end. Unsure of the length of time needed, she asked them to go on with their day until she caught up with them. The conversation was far from rude, but rather reasonable, and this reason was something even the stalwart Rainbow Dash could not refute. The sounds of Rainbow Dash fervently questioning Fluttershy about this new sibling could be heard as the both of them vacated. “Thank you, Miss Sparkle,” bade Lovecraft “I find my goings-on to be mine alone, and again give to both your companies and yourself thanks for respecting this desire of mine.” “It’s no problem How… Lovecraft.” The inside of the Library was not impressive, at least by the standards of this pony. The table with carven horse head held its centre-piece vigil in the room and from an observation the windows could be seen to lead on to the balconies to view the town from different perspectives. The tanned oaken interior was quite a difference from the almost magenta-red exterior. The shelves, spanning almost the entire circumference of the space, were filled with a bounty of bindings nevertheless, and he looked on wondering at what ones were not a part of his own library. “Now what was it exactly that you were after again?” asked Twilight, “I haven’t looked over your letter recently.” Breaking his vision from the cover-bounds he made contact with her eyes and remarked that: “You own a very well collection of writings and many are the magnum opus of great ponies,” his eyes once again to the items of which he spoke, “and it is for this reason I am here. Lately I have been giving into the fancy of mine having to deal with my antiquarianism, and from a slight investigative inquiry of some fellows at Canterlot, through postal means, I discovered you to be the most prevalent and knowledgeable in said field in the immediate area.” His gaze once again fell upon her, and the same placid facial features with it. Despite his smooth method of speech and well versed diction his words, or at least his voice, sounded as if strained. “Thanks for the compliment,” said she a piece a pride present at this building-up of her collective interests, “So, what books exactly are you looking for your… um… antiquarianism?” Looking with an unsure smile, she awaited the explanation behind the obviously foreign word. He glanced toward her with another blank expression before turning back to the tomes remarking: “If memory serves, I detailed what I sought in the typings I sent to schedule this meeting.” sounding almost exasperated, a section of books to the far right attracting his attention, eyebrows raised in interest, he proceeded, albeit slowly, towards it. “I’m sorry, like I said I haven’t had a chance to look at it again recently, so could you please explain what it is your after?” pleaded Twilight, embarrassed at her apparent unpreparedness, looking away meekly, crossing her forelimbs and rubbing the topmost upon the other sheepishly. Halting mid stride he said: “Then perhaps you should forgo your reveries in preparation for a guest rather than have him arrive only to have them speak again of what they so painstakingly described through previous correspondence,” his voice crescendoing to the point of being vociferous. A rebuking stare followed, causing Twilight to avoid his eye contact all together. As he looked upon her countenance his look of outward disdain turned inwardly, and he blinked, a look of shame and regret overcastting him. He walked towards her and with his neck genuflected, and in a tone very soft he said: “Madam, I apologize for that remark, I had no business saying that. I myself have never been one of perfection, so I have no ground in expecting it from others. There is no excuse I can give for that outburst, for it was both cruel and rude beyond normal constraints. I implore you once again for my forgiveness for such a brash inflection.” The regret was very obvious in his voice, and she understood this to truly be the brother of Fluttershy. The meekness now altered in origin, she placed her hoof on his shoulder. “Its fine, I should have had everything prepared, and I am honestly surprised I didn’t, because I’m quite the stickler for organization.” His eyes rose from their downward focus upon her visage and the warm and forgiving smile that set there. His face was sorrowful, but more so did the eyes hold something else. With a blink, however, this quality was absent and he slowly raised his head to meet her on an equal plane. He gave a pained smile in reply, and looked back towards the shelves and began to speak of his reasons. ------------------------- A pause was taken in by the speaker; a stop of foresight based upon the previous years of recital. The scene, a lack of monotony, was a collection of curious faces for such a phrase as was the unknown antiquarian that even those who had heard it in the few years of this stories relevancy tended to become forgetful of the particulars. A moment of respite was given for one of the group to work up the courage to ask. Finally, a young colt, a coat of sea green and mane of auburn, in the vestments of a Canterlot soldier, the sewn seems of his garbs obvious about the rim, arose to the occasion. Holding the same timidity as others he said “Um… Princess?” “Yes, Aquan?” A bit of confidence was restored in his demeanour at the mention of his name. He continued with struggling with the correct pronunciation. “What does antiqua... qu… quaran…” “Antiquarian?” proffered Luna. “Yeah!” he exclaimed excitedly, “that. What does it mean?” A smile given at first in reply, Luna surveyed the gathering and asked aloud, “Does anypony know what this word means?” But yet again was she met with an initial silence, however, this time with greater speed was her question resolved. A hoof rose, one of teal connected to a wild-haired filly, the youngling who had begun the night’s story. Rather eagerly did she keep her hoof aloft, moving from side to side in an attempt to further her additive. Nodding her head towards the appetent pony she recognised her by name, smiling warmly. “Yes, Lute?” “A… uh Antiquarian is someone who really likes old stuff! I… I think.” She said jumping up initially, but ended timorously, suddenly unsure of herself upon realizing the amount of gazes that fell upon her. “Yes Lute,” gave the Princess with a slight chuckle at her shrinking away, “that is correct. However, an Antiquarian does not simply ‘really like old stuff’, they are enchanted by it. Ponies of this creed look to the past for enjoyment, and as such could be observed in the mannerisms of Lovecraft.” As she mentioned this her gaze looked off towards the lunar body in the heavens, and look of recollection holding its ground on her face even as she continued. “He loved all that was of times past to the point of his entire style of living being based around ancient times, at least to an extent. However, this infatuation with those older epochs also resulted in a love of the strange and lesser tread paths. It was this that brought him the need to seek out knowledge of those past times and was the purpose for his arrival here in Ponyville.” ------------------------- “Um… Here are some books by Nimaru of Nascent detailing the rise and fall of Nightmare Moon,” spoke the fair voiced Twilight, “and here are some on the origin of Discord, are any of those helpful?” The pony with which she spoke was the pale faced Lovecraft, but rather than the usual phlegmatic depictions, he had a twinge of emotion about his brow, as these fonts of information were referenced, as if in pleasant remembrance. “I have read multiple scribings,” he told, hoping to narrow the specifications of his search to make both the seeking and the acquiration of the cover-bounds all the simpler, “depicting the origins of the Princess Luna and Princess Celestia, I know well the writings of Nimaru of Nascent detailing the Miasma, and the usage of the Elements of Harmony by Princess Celestia and the five embodiments at the time, Rook, Winter Willow, Crabapple, Luau, and Rose Petal,” his voice more towards longing as he spoke further, “I even have read writings on the origin of the kaotic Discord, but it is what is antecedent to all those that truly haunts my mind. I am resolute with hope that with your own resources you may give aid to my cause.” Having been listening intently, the lightly purple pony looked again toward the organized brackets that held palpable speech, and kept her silence as she prolonged the staring into the depths of her mind, hoping to find that which this stallion so desired. The information of which he gave as previously examined was astounding to the point where she felt trumped by what must be a near plethora of lore and erudition locked away in the recesses of his conscious thoughts. It was this wish for understanding that enthralled her to give assistance so willingly, for it was akin to her tendencies as a youth. Moments passed, and only after the span of a few minutes did she finally come upon a prospective answer. “I feel like I can only offer one possible solution. There is a book around here that I borrowed from the Canterlot study a while back that I never looked through thoroughly, or returned for that matter. It was about old tribes of ponies, ones before Discord had ruled and of a lot of strange things that they believed. It was really quite silly. I remembered it talked of the creatures they thought were real, although most of them were, like manticores, cockatrices, et cetera. It’s just… I remember there being something weird that they were almost obsessed about, but I can’t remember.” Her idle musings had the effect of his eyes widened hopefully as he felt as if a minor part of the past that eluded him may finally divulge from its hidden house, but the subsequent uncertainty exiled this, at least part way. “I would very much like to read from the pages of which you speak,” the longing gone from his voice replaced by the usual observational tone, “as I do not have access to the rich collections of scrolls and scribings held in the Canterlot athenæum.” He was about to add additional when the environment without caught his attention and he looked through the glass-framed apertures with mouth slightly ajar. With a quick hoof did he produce the attachment that was held by the golden link: an old pocket watch of similar material to the chain. An inspection was given of its innards for only seconds before it was returned to the fop it had previously occupied. “It is becoming quite late, and I would hope to see this book, however, you are not the sole pony of whom I shall give visitation to. I would have hoped to avoid prolonging my remainder here longer than the day, but it seems that I must concede this to be unsure and unlikely. I intend to attend the company of two addition ponies during my stay. They are a Doctor Whooves, and a Miss Zecora. Unfortunately, I am unaware of where they make their livings, and I would hope you to be able to direct me towards the correct areas.” “You mean Mister Whooves?” she asked curiously. “Are there any others by the name of Whooves, spelled with a double-v?” returning her curious look in turn. “Double-v?” she mentioned quietly, flabbergasted at its strangeness, but able to understand his meaning, “Oh, yes. He is the only pony who goes by that name, at least here in Ponyville; though I didn’t know he was a doctor. Anyway,” she said shaking her head in an attempt to focus,” Mister Whooves’ hourglass store is just down Stirrup Street, on the left as you walk out, it should have a painting of an hourglass on it, and Zecora’s can be reached by taking the same road, but following it until at the outskirts of town and you should see a path leading into the Everfree Forest, the only one there. Then just follow the path until you see a hut, it’s also the only one in there.” After a nod of both recognition and thanks, the entryway was close at hand and he very nearly departed without further word, except he halted at the door and added: “I apologize, again, for my outburst earlier, for you are taking from your personal time to see me,” the remorsefulness heard once again, “and I would ask if you could aid me in entry to the Canterlot library, in addition to possibly locating the book of which you spoke for inspection as well. There is another matter of which I would also request of you, but I will wait until a later moment in time to ask that of you,” all the while keeping his back to her, poised to leave in an instant. At first dumb-founded at the request, Twilight soon found her senses and gave a firm reply. “I don’t see why I couldn’t help you see the Canterlot Library, but stop by later after I triple check, plus I should have found that book.” Moving again towards the portal he very nearly gave his good-days, before she added with a heart-full grin, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” This caused him to stay his action and mumble quietly, “I hope I do not,” his visage taking on a combination of fear and despair. Not hearing, as was the intent, Twilight gave, “What was that?” “Good-Day Miss Sparkle, thank you again for all your help.” He turned his head towards the side and bowed it, and promptly left without additional comment. Twilight, unsure as to the character of the one to whom she had just spoken, but soon shook off her betwixt and between thoughts and began to search for the codex of which she had alluded, failing to notice as the pale pony once again stopped wearily in his progress when none were observant, only to regain composure upon the introduction of prying eyes.