//------------------------------// // Chapter XIII // Story: The Forgotten: Friends // by Jatheus //------------------------------// The forgotten mare gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She detected a slight nervousness in her otherwise bright blue eyes. The salmon color of her mane, normally flowing somewhat straight, had been coiled into ribbon-like spirals that danced cheerfully when she moved. Most of them were bound up toward the back, but three hung loose, sometimes getting in her eyes. The makeup that had been applied brought a border to her eyes, accentuating the lashes and making an almost catlike appearance at the corners. Rouge on her cheeks and deep red paste on her lips completed the work. The dress she wore was somewhat cumbersome, but it did allow for movement well enough. It was of a light blue linen, a bit darker than the sky, but it complimented her eyes. There were white lacy frills at the collar and foreleg cuffs. She thought she looked not unlike a cupcake. Stormy was similarly made-up mane and all, although her dress lacked the lacy frills. It was red, having only short sleeves on the forelegs, and it didn’t grow so large toward the flank as did Mestra’s. While she thought her own appearance was rather silly, the forgotten mare was amazed at how her friend was transformed. Normally somewhat boisterous, Stormy seemed quite elegant in spite of the simplicity of her gown. Turning to Mestra, Stormy smiled, “Are you ready?” “Ah...” The forgotten mare forced a smile of her own, but truly she felt nervous. Her butterflies landed atop her coiled mane, able to gain their perch even more easily than usual. The pair exited the restroom and found Misty in the entryway, waiting for them. Mestra would have sworn there were tears in her eyes for a moment for how they glistened. “Oh my... you two are so beautiful!” the elder mare beamed proudly. She gave to each of them a flower that matched their dresses. Stormy had explained that they were for the stallions who would be escorting them. Mestra couldn’t help but feel strange. It was as if her butterflies were flitting about within her belly. A knock at the door wrested Mestra from her nervousness. Misty welcomed Burble and Verdant Thicket into the home. They were dressed in black suits and white shirts, mainly standing apart in their neck ties. The style of their suits were also noticeably different. Burble’s had a larger weave. Fraying was evident at the knees and one of the shoulder joints. His tie showed similar distress in its faded dark green coloring. Verdant Thicket’s suit looked pressed and new with sharp creases running down every length. His neck sported a mustard colored bow tie, and golden links secured his cuffs in effigy of alicorns with emerald eyes. At the sight of Mestra, Burble seemed paralyzed for a moment. She wondered whether he would run away as he had the day he’d asked her to come, but he held his ground this time. “Are you two just going to stand there?” Stormy goaded. The more finely dressed stallion replied, “Sorry about that. I think I speak for both of us when I say that we weren’t quite prepared for how lovely you two mares look tonight.” Mestra and Stormy placed their flowers in their respective dates’ lapels as they had practiced. Misty returned with a camera. “I need a photo before you go!” “We’re going to be late!” Her daughter groaned. “Stormy Nocturne! It isn’t every day my baby girl gets asked to a Fall Festival. You will humor your mother!” Mestra felt herself instinctively stand more rigidly at the use of Stormy’s full name. In her experience, it always meant trouble. This time, however, Misty Fairweather’s tone seemed uncharacteristically playful. The three others gathered close. A look from Stormy spurred Mestra into joining them, standing in the center with her friend, the stallions standing on either side by their respective dates. “Alright, on three.” Misty took aim and counted, the others all saying, “Peas!” in unison. Before she could ask why they’d said ‘peas’, a flash blinded Mestra. She staggered backward, blinking against the brightness, and her butterflies scattered, eventually returning and taking up residence on her flank. Misty frowned. “Just one more, dear. Mestra, it is customary to smile for a photograph. You looked almost frightened.” “Ah? A... again?” Misty smiled, “One more, and say ‘peas’ on three.” The elder mare counted again, and this time Mestra was ready and smiled with the others. The flash was as bright as the first time, and the forgotten mare could see a distinctively off-colored spot in her vision. “Okay, got it, let’s go!” Stormy said quickly. As Mestra and the stallions exited, Misty caught Stormy and whispered something to her. Stormy nodded and rolled her eyes, continuing on. Tears of pride welled up in Misty’s eyes as she looked after them for a long moment before shutting the door. Stormy and Verdant Thicket seemed excited by the coming festivities, though Burble was much more reserved. Mestra herself was uncertain how to feel, but settled on nervous as still being the predominant mood. As they reached the edge of town, they came to the pumpkin patch, which had been quite extensively decorated in a rustic way which was common in Hollow Shades, but it felt appropriate. Hay bales served as tables, and displays of raw pumpkins, squash, and other vegetables which Mestra could not identify served as centerpieces. Ropes had been strung overhead with numerous firefly lanterns hanging along them. Their soft glow provided a cozy illumination to the grounds. A stage had been set up at one end and was more brightly illuminated. A duo expertly wielded banjo and harmonica and wove blissful folk music to complete the ambiance. In front of the stage, the area had been well flattened to serve as a dance floor. In the center, where the overhead ropes converged, was a buffet with a veritable plethora of savory and sweet delicacies. It looked as though half the town had come out, mostly the younger stallions with their special someponies. Most, Mestra soon noticed, were dressed far more elegantly than were she, Burble, and Stormy, but Verdant Thicket seemed to blend in quite nicely. “Come on!” Stormy led the way. The group followed her directly to the dance floor. Stormy and Verdant Thicket took to the swaying and gyrating quite naturally. Mestra felt a lump form in her throat as she realized that she had no idea what to do. Her gaze fell upon Burble. He managed what passed for a smile, though his eyes betrayed the fear within. He began to mumble something inaudible, but then stopped and took a breath. “Have you ever danced before?” Mestra shook her head, too nervous to even attempt words. The basic lessons that Stormy and Misty had given her on dancing were suddenly lost from her mind. “Oh, I see... well, I haven’t really... I mean... not really...” he stammered. Mustering what courage he was able, he extended a hoof and said, “Just... follow my lead... I guess...” Keeping an eye on Stormy and Verdant Thicket, Mestra stepped toward Burble and assumed a similar pose. As they began moving to the music, her attention darted between the other pair and her own hooves, trying to keep in step with her date. It was an exercise in futility. Try though she might, Mestra simply couldn’t predict where Burble would step next, and found herself going the wrong direction as much as not. After the third time she stepped on him, they stopped. “It’s okay, we can try again,” the stallion said sweetly as if he had detected the embarrassment that Mestra felt. “Don’t look at them this time. Just focus on how we are moving.” She locked her eyes with his, moving rather clumsily with the music. Looking down at his hooves, she thought she had figured out the pattern. As she looked back up, Mestra saw stars for a moment as a sharp pain snaked from her head through her body as her crown connected with Burble’s chin. Falling down onto her knees, it took the mare a moment to realized what had happened. Burble was lying flat on his back just in front of her. Before she could decide on a course of action, Stormy was there to help. “Are you okay?” “Ah,” Mestra said as she mussed her own hair to sooth her scalp. Burble sat up, seeming somewhat groggy at first, but it soon gave way to alertness as his face flushed. “I’ll bet you two are hungry, huh?” Stormy changed the subject as they all got back to their hooves. “Yeah, that’s... sure...” Burble said. Pointing, she continued, “How about you two stake our claim at that hay bale, and Verde and I will get some punch and maybe some of those cakes from the buffet.” “Ah.” The concussed pair made their way to the appointed place and waited in silence. Burble seemed as though he wanted to speak, but he didn’t say anything until Verdant Thicket arrived with punch. “Here you go, drink up,” he said. Mestra took a sip and found the bright orange liquid to be pumpkin flavored and wonderfully sweet. She unceremoniously gulped down the rest of it. Her throat tingled, almost with a slight warmth as it went down. Verdant Thicket laughed, “Easy there. You don’t want to fill up on punch.” “Ah... more?” He grinned, “Why not?” Walking away, he left the pair to themselves again for a moment. Burble sort of shrugged and offered, “Sorry I’m not a good dancer.” “Is... oh... oh... is fine. Mestra have never dance.” Stormy arrived with several tiny plates that were loaded with samples from the buffet. Butternut squash bars, miniature pumpkin pies, as well as assorted less noteworthy items filled their plates. “I forgot napkins!” Stormy chided herself. “I’ll be right back.” Verdant Thicket returned with an entire tray laden with cups of punch. Mestra’s mouth watered in anticipation as she took her second serving. “You don’t talk much, do you?” Verdant Thicket directed at the mare. “Uh,” she replied, indulging in the sweetness. “She just hasn’t had enough practice is all,” Burble said. Verdant Thicket took one of the tiny pumpkin pies and bit half of it off. He seemed to approve. Mestra felt her head swimming ever so slightly and concluded that she had bumped it harder than she’d thought. She took another drink of punch. Burble dug into the the softer foods, still seeming somewhat nervous and nursing his chin. “Try something. It’s all really good,” Verdant Thicket enticed. Mestra decided to stick with her punch, “Uh.” “Do... well... do you like Hollow Shades?” Burble directed his question at the forgotten mare. “Ah... is... nice. Mestra have not be in... other city.” “Me neither.” “I’m not sure if Hollow Shades qualifies as a city,” Verdant Thicket interjected. “Once you’ve seen Manehattan or Canterlot, you realize just how small we are up here.” “Big like Crystal Empire?” “You’ve been to the Crystal Empire?” Burble asked in amazement. “Uh... was not... had being there.” “That place is just an old pony tale!” Verdant Thicket scoffed. The mare was offended and sprang to her deceased mentor’s defense, “Mestra told about from Magister... Magister from Crystal Empire... He told Mestra so!” Verdant Thicket snorted. “I read a book of old myths once. It said the Crystal Empire vanished hundreds of years ago.” “Ah... evil king... bad things...” Verdant Thicket rolled his eyes. Mestra took another draft of her punch. She was coming to the conclusion that she didn’t like that stallion. Burble’s curiosity was somewhat more palatable, so she directed her attention back to him. “Magister... not could stop king... not there when... when van... van...” “Vanished,” Burble assisted. “Ah...” The mare felt pleased but also strange as Stormy returned with napkins. Her head felt light, making her somewhat giddy. Her stomach also made some strange motions, as though it were doing somersaults. The musicians went silent and a different group came into the stage. It was a quartet of guitarists that had a propensity for harmonies in their vocal undulations. “What’d I miss?” Stormy asked. “Nothing much,” her date replied. “We were dishcushing the Cryshtal Empire,” Burble slurred. Stormy laughed, “What?” “Cryshtal...” Mestra hiccuped, “Em... Emfire...” she felt herself giggle at the sound of her own voice. Stormy looked confused as Mestra finished another cup of punch. They would have to get more soon. “Pretty cryshtals... and... and... poniesh...” the forgotten mare hiccuped again. “Pretty cryshtals,” Burble teetered, but his eyes were fixed on Mestra. She returned his gaze, unafraid. Her face felt hot. “Pretty... pretty... You’re pretty,” he said with a sigh. Mestra giggled. “Hold on a second! What is happening?” Stormy demanded. Laughter rang from Verdant Thicket. Stormy turned to him. “What did you do?” He shrugged, “Have you tried the punch?” Stormy took a cup and sampled the sweet deliciousness as Mestra grabbed at the last one. She felt good. Burble closed the distance between them, standing close to his date. Stormy spit out the drink. “Are you crazy? You can’t give her spiked punch!” “I told her to take it easy,” he replied with a smug grin. Stormy shouted back at him, “She doesn’t know any better! What were you thinking?” She walked around the hay bale, not stopping until she had pushed Burble backward. He staggered but caught his balance. “I’ll deal with you two later!” she spoke hotly, “Mestra! We’re going home!” “Come on,” Verdant Thicket objected, “it’s not like I did it to them on purpose. I spiked the entire batch. It’s not my fault they can’t handle it.” “Yes it is!” She grabbed Mestra’s foreleg and pulled her from the table. Confused as she was by the turn of events, the forgotten mare attempted to follow Stormy, but the ground shifted as though it were made of water, and the next thing she knew, Mestra Amymone had unceremoniously planted her face in the dirt. Verdant Thicket stooped down, helping Stormy get Mestra up, “What’s the big deal?” “What’s the big deal!” rage contorted Stormy’s expression. “The fact that you don’t think it’s a big deal is most of the problem!” He shrugged, “We all have too much to drink sometimes. It happens.” Stormy reach around Mestra, pushing the stallion away, “Verdant Thicket, we are finished!” “But-“ he closed the distance. “Done! Quit! Broken up! Go do whatever you want, because I don’t care!” she shoved him backward a second time. Stormy and Mestra walked away as Verdant Thicket’s objections to their departure grew louder behind them. Mestra wanted to run back and slap him, though she wasn’t sure why. She was, however, unable to do so, presently finding walking unaided far too challenging to accomplish. Stormy mumbled fiery words as the pair left the festival and headed back home. Mestra began to be concerned that Stormy was mad at her. She tried to apologize, but the timing was poorly chosen. Her stomach twinged, and before she could stop it, she retched, and all of its contents showered Stormy’s red dress. She instinctively backed away, and Mestra stumbled. Picking herself up, she vomited a second time. “Great; that’s just great!” Stormy fumed. Looking back up at her irate friend, the forgotten mare said, “Mestra... feel better.” “By Celestia! I should hope so!” The intoxicated mare felt wounded by her friend’s outburst. She hadn’t intended to throw up on her or to make her upset. Mestra burst into tears. Her butterflies, which had taken flight when she fell down, didn’t attempt another landing on such a shaky target, but instead flew around nearby. Stormy did her best to help up her inebriated friend. Through much effort, several more stumbles, and no small amount of tears, they made it back to the house. Stormy delicately set Mestra down on the cold earth as she worked the door. The forgotten mare buried her face in the well cropped grass and continued to cry, though she couldn’t remember exactly what had made her so remorseful. Stumbling into the house together, Misty wore a look of concern initially that quickly gave way to total shock. “Nightmare Moon! What is going on here?” she demanded. Stopping in their tracks, Stormy looked up, “Either help or get out of the way!” “Stormy Nocturne! That is no way to speak to your mother!” The pair shouted back and forth, mostly about Stormy’s attitude and something about her dress. Mestra felt ill once again. She heaved, but there was nothing within to bring up, a condition that felt far more painful than had the vomiting. “I didn’t do this!” Stormy spoke hotly. “It was Verde and Burble who spiked the punch and gave her like six cups before I knew what had happened.” Reigning in her own anger, Misty spoke with a calm fortitude, “Clearly we have had a misunderstanding.” “You think?” Stormy snarled. “I’m sorry for shouting when you arrived, but it doesn’t matter how angry you are, you cannot speak to me that way.” Stormy growled, gritting her teeth, “I’m... sorry...” Misty sighed, calming down, “Let’s get you two cleaned up.” The bathing and getting ready for bed was somewhat of a blur. The dreamy fit that composed her sleep seemed to grow ever deeper into strange unknown worlds that would have filled a conscious mind with wonder. Mestra awoke to a massive dull pounding in her head. Her butterflies swirled in the air above, somehow making her head hurt even worse. The shades suddenly were thrown open, letting eye stabbing sunlight in. “Good morning.” Mestra groaned at the sound, which seemed overly loud and piercing. She worked, making it up to her hooves, but it increased the pounding in her head several times over. She was about to collapse back down on the bed, but she was caught by Stormy. “I’ve got you,” she said. “Let’s get to the table; you can sit down there.” “Uh... much loud...” she made a shushing sound. “Sorry,” Stormy whispered. “You had a rough night... we both did.” She gave Mestra water to drink, but nopony had yet prepared breakfast, so the forgotten mare had to wait. Misty crossed the room, stopping long enough to make a sympathetic smile at Mestra, but she avoided eye contact with her daughter. She continued into the kitchen. “Mestra,” Stormy spoke in a whisper, “If it’s alright with you, I want to move back into my room... with you.” The forgotten mare tilted her head to one side, which pounded from the minuscule exertion. “I think I’ve been spending a little too much time close to my mom, and we’re getting a bit... irritable as a result.” “Ah... Stormy stay... with Mestra.” A knocking on the door, soft though it was, nearly split the mare’s head open. She grabbed it with both hooves and groaned. Stormy went to answer the tapping, sighing loudly when she saw who had arrived. Burble stood there, still wearing his suit from the previous night, though it was quite filthy as if he had slept in mud. Heavy bags were under his eyes. “What do you want?” Stormy demanded. Both Mestra and Burble grabbed their heads and made shushing sounds. “Please, not so loud,” Burble begged. Still in her normal and combative tone, Stormy continued, “I don’t owe you any concessions after what you pulled last night.” “What I pulled?” his voice was cracked and hoarse. “Yeah,” she shot back incredulously, “trying to take advantage of Mestra’s lack of experience. What was your plan if I hadn’t been there to put a stop to it?” He held up a hoof, “Wait... You’ve got it all wrong. I had no idea that Verdant Thicket had spiked the punch. There wasn’t a plan, at least, not that I knew anything about.” Stormy raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Please... no yell...” Mestra mumbled as loud as she would dare. Stormy looked back at her sympathetically. Burble noticed her and redoubled his efforts with the guard. “Please,” he whispered. “Let me apologize to Mestra.” Her hard expression wavered, and Stormy glanced back to her friend. Mestra nodded, and Stormy took a step backward, clearing the way for Burble to enter. He slowly approached the table, a pained expression on his haggard face. He looked at least as bad as the forgotten mare felt. “Mestra,” he spoke softly. “I came by to try and say how sorry I am for last night. I had no idea Verdant Thicket had messed with the drinks. I would never do anything to hurt you.” His eyes were filled with devastation. “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you... I...” he hesitated. “I just hope... maybe we can still be friends.” It took Mestra Amymone a long moment to realize that Burble was awaiting her answer. Her butterflies swirled around his head. She looked to Stormy, who only shrugged in reply. “Ah... um... friends,” she said. Relief flooded his eyes, and the little glowing insects returned to Mestra, landing in her mane. Even as small and delicate as they were, it felt like hammers pounding on her head. She waved them off with a groan. “Come on,” Misty said from the kitchen. “I think you two could both do with some rest and plenty of water.” “Thanks, I’m fine to make it home,” Burble declined. “I’m sure my parents are worried about me.” Without further ceremony, he made his departure. Mestra certainly had much to consider after the events of the previous night, but she was glad to be able to put Burble at ease. He seemed nice enough, and she didn’t want to hurt him. She did wish that Verdant Thicket had been as considerate before bringing the drinks.