Pinkie and I sit on opposite sides of the tree, neither of us talking. I gaze out over the landscape, watching the ponies in the park. Ponies cycle through the park, a stream of faces that flows off my mind. The friends from earlier vanish into the streets of Ponyville. The occasional cloud cloaks the world in darkness as the day passes us by.
I watch a duck take off from the water, tracing its path through the air. Slow, meandering turns, seemingly at random. The creature follows its whims, driven by instinct, swooping and diving on the winds. Then it lands, back in the water, right where it started.
Pinkie can’t change me. She saw me get emotional and thinks that betrays something deeper, but it’s an illusion. A mirage in a desert. Once that passes, which it will, she’ll see what’s left of me and beg me to leave.
Until then it’s a waiting game, laying low and following orders. I can’t imagine it’ll be easy to get by without indulging myself, but I may not have to. Pinkie Pie is too nice for her own good, so she’s liable to give me at least some time to myself.
The duck takes off again.
“Twilight still isn’t back,” Pinkie says, finally speaking back up. Her voice is dry and dull. No cracking, no emotion, just a hollow emptiness.
“That makes sense,” I respond.
“Why did you make her go to Canterlot?” Pinkie asks, although it doesn’t really sound like a question.
“It was a significant escalation without any harm or property damage,” I say. “To make it seem more natural.”
Pinkie goes quiet again. Out in the park a game of disc golf starts, and then finishes.
“Why Fluttershy?” she asks next.
“She was the only other pony in your group I’d met at that point,” I explain.
The duck lands back in the water.
“Why…” She pauses. “Why do you want to make ponies hurt.”
This time I go quiet. I’m not sure how to answer that. I try to conjure up reasons in my mind, but in the end the only thing I can think to say is “It’s just what I do.”
“That’s not an answer,” she tells me.
“It’s the only answer I have,” I reply. “Monsters are made to do monstrous things.”
The day goes on around us. Eventually we’re the only ponies left in the park, the rest having moved on with their lives.
“We should go home,” Pinkie says, standing up. I follow suit, getting up to follow her, and catch her gaze for the first time in hours. She looks flat. Devoid of her usual energy, her spark of life. Her eyes are hazed and empty. I see no trace of the Pinkie Pie who found me in the forest, and I’m not sure I ever will again.
The duck takes off again.
The sun starts to set as we walk back to Sugarcube Corner. A chill in the air ushers the ponies still on the streets back to their homes. The walk back is silent, both from us and the world around us. No birds, no insects. Not even the wind seems willing to disturb the quiet.
When we get back, Pinkie goes inside without a word, but I decide to stay outside a moment and watch the sky darken. I’ve always loved the sunset. The peaceful contemplation of twilight. A solemn meditation.
The sound of wheels on stone breaks through the omnipresent silence. I look down to investigate.
Down the street is a small cart, laden with supplies and headed my way. Guiding it is Rarity, her perfect poise undisturbed by the heavy load. She smiles as we catch eyes.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Rarity says as she reaches me. “I was seriously worried that I might have to let Pinkie Pie choose your decorations.”
“Oh, Rarity,” I say, “right, I completely forgot. I, uh, I think-”
“Oh, hush,” she says, cutting me off. “I’ll have none of that. I’m not going to let your anxieties convince you not to have any fun. Besides, this isn’t just for you.” She gestures behind the cart, and looking back I see one of the children from that group kicking at the dirt. “Sweetie Belle is still all in a tither, so I brought her along for a nice healthy dose of Pinkie Pie to cheer her up.”
I wince, but I don’t know what to say. I just stand speechless as Rarity gives me another grin and walks inside. Sweetie Belle follows, giving me a polite but half-hearted smile as she passes. Reluctantly, I go in after them.
Inside, Pinkie is sitting at one of the tables in the lobby, head in her hooves, staring at the wall. Rarity notices her right away and gasps, dropping her things on the floor and heading over to the table. “Oh, Pinkie, dear, what’s the matter?” she asks, squeezing her friend tight. “What can I do to help you?”
I stand in the doorway awkwardly. I don’t think Rarity is going to be able to fix this, but I know for sure I can’t. I just have to stand by and hope that Pinkie’s mood doesn’t drive her to tell Rarity about me.
“Bad day,” Pinkie responds dryly. “Don’t wanna talk about it.” That’s a relief, at least. Seems that I’m safe for now.
Rarity gently strokes Pinkie’s mane. “That’s all right, honey,” she says softly. “You don’t have to. You just let me know what you need.”
Pinkie’s only response is a weak shrug, so Rarity continues on her own. “Oh, how about this,” she says. “I came over today to help Strawberry decorate their room. You and Sweetie Belle can join us! An impromptu little party, what do you say?”
Pinkie makes a noncommittal noise, so Rarity squeezes her again and pats her back. “Trust me,” she says, “a bit of fun will perk you right back up. Let’s all go downstairs, yes?”
Rarity doesn’t give Pinkie a chance to object. She loads up on supplies and heads downstairs on her own. It’s clear she’s putting on a cheerful face for Pinkie’s sake, but it seems to be at least partially genuine, or otherwise well practiced.
Pinkie watches her go without emotion, just staring at the door after Rarity disappears through it. For a second I can’t tell if she’s going to do anything at all. Then, slowly, she pushes herself up and walks heavily down the stairs. Sweetie Belle and I silently gather up the rest of Rarity’s supplies and head down to join them.
In the basement, Pinkie is laying on the sofa staring at the ceiling, while Rarity busies herself organizing her things. We add our loads to the pile and wait, unsure of how to help. Rarity seems content on setting up her workstation herself, anyway.
A minute later Rarity claps her hooves together and smiles at us all. “All right!” she says excitedly. “Let’s begin, shall we? We’re gonna give this dingy old place a full makeover!”
“I kinda thought you were just gonna pick out a design yourself,” I tell her. “I don’t really know anything about this stuff.”
“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Rarity replies. “My job is to give you the tools you need to do what you want. So, with that in mind, the first step is to pick a base. The background color of the room, you might say. Any ideas?”
“Uhh, maybe like a dark green?” I say. I’m really not sure, but that seems alright.
“Pink,” Pinkie says dryly. I purse my lips.
“Hmm…” Rarity hums. “Already at an impasse. How can we settle this… Oh! Sweetie Belle!”
“Huh?” the little pony snaps to attention from the corner of the room, where she had been idly reading boxes.
“You get to be the deciding vote,” Rarity tells her. “Green or pink?”
“Do I have to?” Sweetie Belle asks. “I kinda just wanna sit this one out.”
“Yup,” Rarity replies, her tone playful but assertive. “We need you if we want to decide anything at all. Just trust your gut, honey. I know I do.”
Sweetie Belle seems to be swayed by the vote of confidence. “Okay, fine,” she says. “I guess the green seems better for a basement.” Thank goodness.
Rarity smiles and skips over to a box full of cards with colors on them. She digs through it and pulls out cards, holding them up against the wall. Eventually she picks a subtle green, and drops the card on the floor where we can all see it.
“Excellent!” Rarity says. “Okay, now we need an accent. Something that fits well with the base, but can really pop out against it. Thoughts?”
“I think some kind of brown might work?” I say. “Like a medium brightness one.”
“Purple,” says Pinkie. If she stares at the ceiling any harder she’s liable to bore a hole through it.
“Sweetie Belle?” asks Rarity.
Sweetie Belle puts her hoof on her chin in thought. Looks like she’s getting engrossed in her role. “I’m gonna go with the purple,” she finally says.
I groan as Rarity digs through her box of colors. “No complaints, now,” Rarity says as compares cards against the first. “You both have a fair shot at winning, you just have to impress the judge.”
To my surprise, the card she places down in the end is fairly tame. It’s much darker than I would imagine for purple. It doesn’t look too bad.
“Okay, now we get to the fun part!” Rarity says, grinning wide. “We have to decide how to use the accent color. It can be anything at all. Just imagine the base on the walls and think of where you would put the accents.”
“Geez, I don’t know,” I reply. “I guess just curtains and stuff? I don’t really know where else it would go.”
“Paint a mural,” Pinkie says. She turns over onto her side and points at the wall. “Balloons or something.”
Sweetie Belle’s eyes light up. “Ooh, I like that. I bet we could paint something really nice, like, curving around the edges or something.” I groan, and she giggles at me, hopping in place.
“Oh, I love that,” Rarity says. “Wonderful, simply wonderful. Just one more decision, now. I simply cannot let that ratty old sofa go untouched. A full reupholstery would leave you bedless for too long, but for now we can make do with just a cover. A good sofa cover is surprisingly transformative. We just need a design.” She looks around at us all expectantly.
“I mean, it’s pretty much just a sheet, right? So, white?” I shrug.
“Stripey pink,” Pinkie retorts. We both look over to Sweetie Belle.
“White is pretty boring,” she says. “I gotta go with Pinkie.”
“Oh, come on!” I say. “What’s wrong with boring?”
Sweetie Belle blows a raspberry at me, and there’s a snort of laughter from the sofa. I look over, but Pinkie’s already stifled it, forcing a frown and turning over to face away from us. Still, I’m surprised to have heard a laugh at all.
Rarity is beaming as she trots over to a chest full of fabrics. After a minute of searching she pulls out a huge sheet, striped with what looks to be six different shades of pink. I can’t imagine anypony other than Pinkie Pie using this pattern, so I can only assume Rarity stocks it purely for Pinkie.
She takes the sheet over to the couch and holds it above it. “Alright, Pinkie, are you going to let me put the cover on?” Pinkie just grunts in response, so Rarity shrugs and says “Fine then.” She drops the cover onto the couch, completely covering Pinkie.
We all stare at the lump in the sheet. She’s not moving, but Rarity is smiling like she’s certain this will work. I can’t seem to muster up the same confidence.
Then, from under the cover, there’s a snort. The snort is followed by a giggle, the giggle by a chortle, and finally the chortle is replaced with full-on laughter.
A sea of tension drains out of the room. Rarity claps and hops up and down in a surprisingly undignified gesture. Sweetie Belle gets caught up in the laughter as Pinkie starts flailing against the sheet on top of her, fighting it in a way that only serves to get her tangled up more.
Then her head pops out, and it’s clear as day; Pinkie’s back. The color, the brightness, the life all radiating out from her smiling face. She beams at us as though she was never upset in the first place. I smile back, shockingly relieved. At least my time stuck here won’t be highlighted by Pinkie’s depression.
We spend a couple hours putting the plans we made into action. Painting the walls, then the murals, which turn out okay. Rarity and Sweetie Belle sketch out a design on the wall for us to fill. They frame the room, curving up from the floor at the corners in a subtle, unobtrusive way.
Pinkie micromanages me the whole time, hovering over me and giving me menial jobs to do. Go over that wall again, scrub these brushes. It’s tiring, but at least she’s grinning while doing it.
“You know, kid, I gotta say,” I say to Sweetie Belle as she and Rarity are leaving later, “your instincts worked out. You might have a real future with this stuff.” Rarity tousles her mane and showers her with praise as the two head into the darkness outside.
After they’re gone, Pinkie comes up to me in the lobby. “Hey, go sit at one of the tables,” she tells me. “I’ve got somethin for ya.”
I nod and do so, getting comfortable while she goes back into the kitchen. A few minutes later she shows back up, carrying a tray with two big mugs on it. I raise my eyebrows at her. “Tea?” I ask.
“Hot chocolate,” she replies with a grin as she puts them on the table. “I always make some after a long day.” She hops into the seat across from me and sighs. A tired sigh.
We sit there in silence for a few minutes, sipping our drinks together. Eventually, I decide to speak up. “So, now what?” I ask her.
“I dunno,” she says. “Guess we gotta figure that out tomorrow.”
“You can’t fix me,” I tell her.
“I can’t not try,” she responds.
I think for a bit, then say “Even if you do, that won’t make the things I’ve done go away.”
“I know,” she says. “That just means you’ll be stuck with me til you make up for em.” With how she smiles as she says that, it’s like she doesn’t have a doubt in her mind.
We finish the drinks without talking. Just sitting next to each other as we decompress. Crickets chirp in the dark outside, a clock ticks on the wall. We don’t drink in a hurry.
After I finish, I look up at her. “I just don’t understand why,” I tell her. “Why would you even want to be near me, much less try to help me?”
She laughs. A soft, measured laugh, not grating like they usually are. “Like I told ya,” she tells me, “you’re my friend.” She reaches out and taps me on the nose, then gets up and bounces away up to her room before I can respond.