~ XI ~
A Letter to the Lost
I wasn't left to stand outside for all that long.
Not that I minded, anyway. My mind was still pretty jacked up on itself. It could get like this at times when too many things were happening at once. I tried talking to Twilight whenever I get like this, but she just welcomes me the adult life and demands that I suck it up.
For somepony who requires lots of empathy during her anxiety and paranoia, she sure lacks a lot of the stuff.
A glance at the sky told me it was nearing close to midnight. Pinkie and I had spent a long time talking about something. I don't know what. I wasn't paying much attention. I felt bad about that, but I shouldn't, because I should only feel bad about things I'm willing to change—feeling bad can be the best motivation or the worse, endless pain.
What the heck was happening to me?
“You gonna come inside?”
I shook my head. There was a pony at the door. No, a stallion at the door. He was big for being, well, a stallion. Big frame and huge muscles, nothing Big Mac would scoff at, but at the same time, nothing he would be envious of either.
“Yeah.” I shook my head as he stepped aside. I entered. “Just got caught in my head. Hey, you're not going to offer me candy now, are you?”
“Sweets have never been sweet on me.”
“Damn. I actually wanted candy.”
“I can ruffee your coffee if makes you feel better?”
The booth was a lot bigger on the inside. Two stools stood in a make-shift kitchen: really, just counter-top with two silver looking, complex machine atop it. On the opposites side of that was a wall of slim but long shelves, each one stacked with blends of coffee, sugars, and other delights.
“Twilight said never to accept candy from strangers.” I took a seat on the steel, cracking my neck and back. “But she never said anything about date drugs. Whip me up a cup if you will.”
The door squeaked closed behind me. Hoofsteps against the wood again. I heard him groan as he rose, forehooves clattering against tins as he searched. “Hmm. Afraid we're fresh out of drugs. Perhaps rum will cleanse your soul?”
“If we're trying to do that, then pour half the bottle.”
“I reckon you drink a lot?”
“Only to excess.”
He chuckled. Humour and wit could always save me from answering hard questions.
It wasn't before long that we had our drinks. He gave me coffee that was black and then darkened by the rum. He'd asked me how I liked the coffee. I said black like that one stallion from earlier. Steadfast gave me a strange look.
“So.” We'd been sitting a while, drinking a while, being silent a while before he began to speak. “How'd your first date go with that mare of yours? Ya enjoy yourself?”
“Gave coffee to strangers and talked a lot.” I blinked, withholding details from the tale. “Not much to it than that. Guess I was expecting something a bit more different from a first date.”
“First dates are always a letdown, kid.” Steadfast lifted his white mug, sipping on the steaming liquid. He didn't even wince. “Ya can't be expectin' too much from them anyway. Only the books make 'em out to be perfect.”
“I get that.” I still made a face and shook my head. “Was just expecting to do a little more than talk. I can talk with anypony whenever I want. You get a marefriend to do something other than... you know, talking.”
“Like touching.”
“Like touching all over!” I couldn't wait any longer to get that rum inside of me, throwing back half the mug inside my maw, enduring the heat as the liquid poured in my gullet. When I finished, I exhaled heavily, smiling as a buzz overtook my senses. “We look at mares because they're, well, mares! They've got cute faces and nice flanks. Soft bodies and even softer fur.”
I leaned back and nearly fell. I played it off like I remembered I was sitting on a stool. “I mean, it's well enough keeping to the magazines stashed underneath my bed, y'know? But I thought the whole point to getting a marefriend was that I wouldn't need those magazines anymore.”
The stallion pulled his mug away from his lips, letting the drink cool and taking only that which had needed at the time. Something about his stillness and slowness both irked and intrigued me. “You thought getting a marefriend would net ya a front row seat to the show? Get to see the underside of a mare without many fees?”
“And don't forget to feel.”
“You like that mare you're with now?”
“I... don't know.” I took another swig of my coffee and rum—drinking made me think better. “She's nice. She's pretty. She's got the rump of a goddess. I enjoy her, I really do... she asks questions that make me feel smart.”
“Hard to find a mare like that.” Steadfast put his mug between his legs. “Gotta be a smart mare to ask the right questions. Seems a bit silly on the outside, but I reckon that's mostly a ploy... or somethin' like that.”
I found myself nodding along. “Pinkie's smarter than she lets on. Not many ponies see that, I think.”
“But you're seeing that now, aren't ya?”
I looked into my cup. “Guess I am.”
“Do ya think you would have cared to see that before the fake datin' thing?”
I looked at him. “How do you figure?”
Steadfast looked back at me for quite some time, keeping me both silent and in suspense, like he was thinking of words, being careful with them, all for the sake of a stranger who could take anything he threw. Why did ponies have to be so considerate when all it did was waste time?
Why didn't ponies just get to the point... even if the phrasing could string?
Ponies weren't as strong as dragons, I suppose.
“I'm not gonna deny to you now that dating is a game of self-interest.” Steadfast looked aside to a shelf. “There's only so much a friend is willing to learn about us before they lose interest. It ain't their fault, and it also doesn't mean something's wrong with us.”
“Aren't you ponies wonderful creatures.”
“Shut up and let me finish.” Steadfast was looking at some paper on the shelf, though I didn't care enough to squint my eyes at it. “It's only because of dating we invest ourselves in someone else. Wanting to touch 'em, kiss 'em, and do all whole more to 'em keep us interested.”
I went to throw a wisecrack but decided against it. Steadfast looked pretty serious.
“Because we're so invested in that other pony, they feel cared for and loved for, and that a feeling that can never be replicated.” Steadfast sighed. “It's selfish to expect other ponies to care so much for us. But we need to be cared for because of some strange reasons. And dating... dating is what makes ponies spend all that time with us, listening to us, and making 'em want to... loves us.”
I took another sip of my coffee only to realize there was nothing left of it. “So basically, we all want to be loved, but that's hard to get, and friends will never be willing to go that far. We need ponies to date us, to want to do naughty things to us, and that motivates them to love us in the long run.”
“Something like that.” Steadfast shook his head. “Love takes a long time and tons of effort. Only self-interest would keep a pony through all that. Afraid I've never had a way to explain' my thoughts all too well.”
I wasn't too sure to make of it myself. It made sense in a way. Big Mac was my best friend, and I'd help him through almost anything, but Celestia knows I wouldn't cuddle him in the middle of the night because of a bad nightmare he had—I'd smashed him over the head if ever confessed something like a night terror.
But those words... they hit close to home. Nopony really knew about the life I had inside my head, and even my friends, my best friend, didn't care all that much to find out. Only Pinkie asked me questions and listened intensely to my answers. Was it because she wanted to go further with me... to touch whatever muscles I'd been gifted not through effort but birth?
If that was the case, then why this silly trial? If relationships built on selfish desires that led to noble results, then why get rid of the first act? Pinkie never had a guy that stayed long enough, so much I never knew about this challenge, yet she kept trying this game of hers anyway.
Needles pricked my brain; I'd drunk too much to think this hard.
“Now that I've told you something.” My eyes blinked back into reality to see Steadfast standing over me. He smiled, a bottle in his wing, pouring rum into my cup. “It's time for you to tell me something. That fire you can breathe. It's not normal dragon fire, right?”
“It burns away like normal fire,” I replied, toasting. “Just doesn't destroy anything. Sends everything off to somewhere else.”
“Can you choose where it goes?”
“If I have a good magical hold, yeah?” I drank from my cup as the room started to wobble. “Give me a trace of a unicorn's magic and I should be able to transport anything light-weight through it. Mostly nothing more than a letter.” I shrugged and almost felt backward because of it. Strong rum. “My magic game really ain't all that strong.”
Steadfast looked at me for a moment. He then came to where the paper was, picking it up though it weighed a thousand pounds. He walked over to me, each step heavy, his expression stern, like I was about to be robbed or killed—maybe both.
“I need you to do me a favor, Spike,” Steadfast said to me. “I need you to mail this letter to my sister.”