On the Horizon

by mushroompone


Chapter Five: Hair!

Ever notice how every shower curtain sounds the same?

It's weirdly comforting. The shower controls might be foreign, and the water pressure might be… unexpected. But, when the water turns off and you slide the curtain aside, it always sounds the same. The same deep crinkling of the plastic, the same metal-on-metal shing! of the rings. Silly as it sounds, it settled me a bit.

The air outside the shower was colder than I anticipated. I shivered and yanked the dark brown towel off the bar beside me. The towel was old and had lost most of its fluff, but it smelled like fresh laundry and dryer sheets, so it was lovely all the same. Just a scrubby-er lovely than I had anticipated.

I used my magic to lay the towel on the tile floor and stepped out of the tub, wiping each hoof dry as I went. 

There was a mirror over the sink, all fogged up with steam from the hot water. I used the back of my foreleg to wipe away a patch of fog. There, in the mirror, I saw her: tired, embarrassed, with a frizzy and poorly-styled mane. Her lavender coat looked dulled than usual, her eyes lacking that signature Twilight sparkle.

I blinked. Another me: her mane perfectly smooth and shiny, with nice straight bangs and an academically-minded look in her eye. A spring in her step. A mission.

I blinked again. Back to me and my cowardly faux-hawk. Bags under the eyes. Stupidly bad posture. Did I always stand this way?

I shifted my hooves, standing up taller and straighter. Now, the majority of my horn was obscured by fog. I leaned over the sink and widened my little viewing window. There. Much better.

My mane, flopped over my right ear and looking pathetic, would look much better as bangs, wouldn’t it?

Frantically, using hooves and magic, I combed my man down my forehead, creating some terrible makeshift goody-goody mane style.

I froze, stepped back, and examined my work. 

I looked… I dunno.

Whatever it was, it made my stomach do flip-flops. And it made my forehead start to sweat, too-- though I guess that could have been from my wet mane. I almost felt like I was about to puke again, truth be told. Felt like the walls were closing in, like the steamy air was suffocating me, bearing down on me, applying unbearable pressure on every square inch of my skin, like my chest with burning with the effort it took to breathe, like--

I scrubbed through my mane with one hoof. It returned to its usual style with unbelievable ease, like a ball rolling down a hill and settling in a valley.

I stared at myself. Stared right in the eye.

What was I doing?

Following whims was getting me nowhere fast. Stupid Compass Rose, sending me out to follow my stupid heart and do stupid stuff. The whole thing was so stupid!

I mean, what next? Would I embark on some mission of reinvention, all sparked by the unkind words of some random Manehattanite? Would I wander blindly into some fancy, expensive salon and just tell the owner to do their worst?

Oh, my stars, darling! What happened to your coiffure?!

For the love of--

I stomped my hoof on the tile to clear the unfamiliar, accented voice from my mind. Was it some kind of developing disorder? Were the events of these past few days so horrible as to cause my mind to splinter?

I turned away from the mirror and picked up the towel. Perhaps rejoining society would kick this weirdness.

The air from beyond the bathroom was like an arctic blast against my warm hide. I shuddered and resisted the urge to wrap my towel around my shoulders. I noted the addition of an "Out of Order" sign to the bathroom door.

It struck me, for the first time, that having a shower in a public-use bathroom actually didn't make much sense. I looked back over my shoulder into the room, I guess hoping that some bit of flashy neon I had previously missed would announce the answer to me. Shockingly, there was no unnoticed signage in the rinky-dink bathroom.

"Well, you sure smell better."

I jumped. As usual, Applejack had managed to sneak up on me. She was back in her chef's garb and looking surly.

"Uh… thank you?"

"Towel." Applejack held out a hoof for my dirty laundry.

I considered asking Applejack exactly what kind of stick she had stuffed up her ass, but decided that it would be better to just fork over the towel and be done with it.

She took it like a teacher would a bag of weed.

"Thanks," I said.

"For?" Applejack was already on the move, headed upstairs.

I followed close behind. "F-for letting me use your shower."

Applejack stopped on the stairs. I jolted and nearly slipped down onto the landing.

"Applejack?"

"I only let you do what I owed you. Now, get back to your friends so I can call a real plumber."

My mouth hung open, half-formed thoughts all tumbling over one another trying to reach it. While I did that, Applejack climbed the stairs and turned the corner into her little loft apartment. 

I slipped back one stair and the light of the evening sun caught the side of my eye.

It was past five. The work day was over. I had frittered away a whole day splashing about in a stranger’s toilet, and for what? Friendship? Closure? Reconciliation?

I wanted to scream, or maybe run away. I couldn’t bear to think that this was it. Could that really have been that last time I’d see her?

No… something told me I would again.

But how soon?

What would I have to do?

What if I left Manehattan when I was really supposed to stay?

What if I followed her somewhere just to see her again and everything else went to hell?

While my mind puttered along, munched on any little crumb of doubt and anxiety it could get its paws on, I began pacing.

I had always had a habit of pacing. I typically didn’t have the space to do it, though. Desks kept me restrained, and so I kicked. My room was too small to walk in a ring, and so I would lay in my bed listening to music as loud as it would go. I suppose it wasn’t so much a need to walk as it was a need to get energy out in any way possible. But not physical energy. Emotional energy.

I wandered into the front room. The glass display cases were devoid of baked goods, only blank trays lined with wax paper filling their rows, already prepped for the next day's muffins and cupcakes. 

Just like me. An empty shell, waiting to be filled with the personality of the day.

More intense orange light filtered in through the old-fashioned wooden blinds, tinged redder by the cotton curtains drawn back in neat bunches. 

I always liked this time of day. Three guesses why.

Of course I would let something as insignificant as my name dictate crap like that. What if I had been born a night owl, and I’d never give it a second thought because I always just liked dawn and dusk because that was my stupid name?

I considered leaving. The burning of bile in my throat was transforming into a burning of tears in my eyes.

As I approached the door, my thoughts slowed, like an arrow shot into a cube of gelatin.

Didn't this place need to be locked up?

I pushed gently on the front door. It opened with ease.

I yanked my hoof back as if from a hot stove. The bell jingled. The door slammed shut.

Now what?

It’s not like I had a key.

Applejack was going to realize eventually, right? She'd realize and come marching down the stairs with a big ring of old keys and--

Big ring of old keys? Damn, Twi, been reading too many detective novels lately?

--and she'd either see me here, waiting and guarding her bakery/cafe/diner very diligently, or she'd see the storefront empty… and she'd be seized with the need to check everything, make sure all was accounted for. After all, what if somepony had taken advantage of the unlocked front door?

It could take her hours, depending upon what she had in the back.

Maybe I should check.

If I found something valuable, then I should stay. If not… 

Before I could even follow my winding thoughts to the end of their trail, my hooves were walking me to the kitchen. 

I guess… I guess if there wasn't anything expensive-looking that I could easily reach… well, then I could leave! Right? Unless she had something hidden, something I couldn’t find.

I pushed past the huge, metal door, all the while thinking of submarines, and how funny it is that restaurants and submarines share so much. First, these weird round windows. Second, the word "submarine" (though I preferred to call them hoagies). I can't think of anything else right now, but I'm sure it's there. The presence of food, probably.

Part of me expected the kitchen to still be bright, bustling with life-- as if the massive doors created some kind hermetic seal, and breaking it would unleash a barrage of light and sound.

Not so. The kitchen was still and dead. It smelled a bit like uncooked flour and grease, and a lot like buttercream frosting.

My hooves echoed on the tile floor. Everything was really clean. I'm not sure why I found that so surprising. I guess I always thought these sorts of kitchens were chaotic, messy places. Now that I thought about it, though, I don’t know why I expected professional chefs to not only have so little control over their stirring ability, but also leave their workspace a sty for the next morning.

Suddenly, cooking in a professional kitchen seemed a lot less glamorous.

The fridge was towards the back of the room. On my walk, I didn't see anything that looked like a safe. Or… like a hidden safe.

There go those detective novels again, Twi. What exactly does a hidden safe look like? A painting with the eyes cut out? A funny-looking panel in the wall?

As if. A painting with the eyes cut out is for surveillance. And a weird panel could never conceal an entire safe.

… Focus, Twi.

I opened the fridge with my magic.

Definitely not what I expected.

Inside the fridge was six-pack after six-pack of glass bottles, all of them filled with a sparkling bronze-colored liquid.

I pulled one out, ever so gently, and examined the label.

Sweet Apple Acres Heirloom Hard Cider

I furrowed my brows, unsure about the use of "heirloom" in such a context. Just one of those words that city folk seem to think means "down-home" or "family recipe" or something.

Also on the label was a picture of an incredibly burly, tough-looking stallion wearing a yoke. He was flexing one foreleg for the camera--or, I suppose, the artist. Two pieces of silky golden ribbon proclaimed "BIG MAC APPROVED" in bold, important-looking letters. The ribbons were suspended in the air above and below Big Mac's portrait, gently brushing against his red fur, and bringing out the yellow of his freckles.

I thought I had never seen such a horrible caricature in my life, and gently pushed the six-pack back in its place.

My trip to the kitchen had afforded me no additional helpful information. Applejack did have exposed goods (in the form of copious amounts of alcohol), but would anypony really expect to find that stuff here? Enough to break in? Well… okay, walk in.

I flopped back down in a wooden chair, which squeaked loud enough to scare me. I made a mental note to complain to Applejack about this terrible feature next time I saw her.

Because there would be a next time, wouldn't there? She would come down the stairs to lock the door, and I would have to talk to her again.

I folded my hooves on the table and rested my head on them. I sighed with the depth and emotion of a dog who had done absolutely nothing all day, and yet found strife in his less-than-comfortable bedding.

What do I want?

What Compass Rose hadn't told me is that, if you follow your gut once, you have to follow your gut a bunch more times. You have to keep asking yourself what you want every minute of every day, just to make sure the whim hasn't worn off and left you high and dry. You’re committing to a life--or, at least, a summer-- of whims.

And I'm really, really good at ignoring my feelings. 

But here, in the blank atmosphere this empty cafe afforded me, I was finally able to hear my own voice bubbling up from deep inside me.

"We have to get ready for the Summer Sun Celebration!" I could hear myself saying.

I smacked my forehead on the table. Really? The deepest, most primal part of me, wanted to start preparing for a celebration that was more than a month away? 

That couldn't be right.

What did I want? Really, truly. What did I want?

Did I really wanna play with my band? Or was that all some elaborate scheme my brain cooked up to get the hell out of Dodge? To spend time with my best friends? To explore something which may or may not turn out to be the one true talent that would get me out of this?

I rolled my head to the side. This table was hard. Another complaint for Applejack, I thought. Softer tables. That was reasonable, right?

It's not like the band had ever been a priority of mine or anything. Sure, I knew how to plunk out of a few songs on the keyboard, but that was nothing compared to Lyra and Vinyl. They were real, actual musicians. Their cutie marks said so. What made me think I could call the shots on their stuff? On their careers?

No, no. You're panicking again, Twi. You already talked to them about this, and they're happy and proud. They like doing this with you. No reason to get all twisted up.

There must be something you want.

Something you and only you want to do.

What is it?

Think, Twilight!

I smacked my head on the table a few more times. It didn't help.

Is this what it felt like to be a failure? Maybe I was one of those "Before Their Time" ponies you always read about. The ones born with a special talent that didn't exist yet-- like roller-coaster engineers born in the stone ages, or video game masters stuck before vacuum tubes were invented.

Maybe I was supposed to be really great at time travel or something, and I was just born too early. Or maybe I really did have some musical talent, and the instrument I was born to play just didn't exist yet.

That means it's not my fault, right?

"You're still here?"

I made a loud, startled sound and shot straight up in my chair.

Applejack was standing on the threshold to the hall, her face the usual unreadable stone tablet.

"I was just--"

Applejack heaved a great sigh and started towards the front door. She did not look at me, only her destination. "Can't you take a hint?"

"Well, I thought--"

"You thought wrong."

I cringed into myself as Applejack opened the door and held it wide open. Her eyes slowly turned from the road to me.

We just sat that way for the better part of a minute, silently, each hoping the other would speak first. Although I suppose it was possible that Applejack didn’t want to speak at all, just wanted me to leave.

"I--"

"I don't like you, Twilight."

It was like a shot through the heart. My chest hurt suddenly and powerfully, like all the blood had been sucked out of it in the flick of a tail.

"You don't?"

Applejack shook her head. "It's nothing personal. We have nothing in common."

I swallowed.

"I know you like to think of yourself as some misfit or something because you're a blankflank who went to a crappy school," Applejack said, with no qualms about calling me a blankflank right to my face. "The truth is, you were still raised in a comfortable home with a loving family and you have absolutely no idea how to fend for yourself. I thought it was sweet, at first, but it's honestly just been a reminder of…"

Here, she drifted off. I tried to fill in the pieces in my own mind but was coming up just the tiniest bit short.

Applejack sighed again, this time much huffier and lighter. "You and all your city-folk friends will never be like me. And that's okay. But you can't keep pretending like we're at all on the same playing field."

I looked down at the floor.

"I fought for everything I have. And, if my guess is right, you're here because you threw everything away. That is not now and will never be the same."

I looked up and met Applejack's eyes. I expected them to be shimmering with tears, but they seemed unaffected.

"Sure, Applejack."

Applejack nodded in response. "Now, get on home. I'm sure your friends are wondering where you are.”

I didn't protest. I didn't protest, and I'm proud of myself for that. There were a lot of things I could have said, but in the moment I just felt so… so defeated. So sad and sunken and irreparably broken. 

I squeezed past Applejack in the doorway, our flanks sliding past one another in a way that was far too intimate for the conversation we had just finished. Well, scolding session. Although, I guess even eye contact would have been too intimate at that stage.

As I walked back to the van, I thought about what Applejack had said. About me being a rebel. And about me throwing things away instead of fighting for them.

Honestly, I think she just really had it out for big-city folks like me and my friends.

But, even more honestly, I knew that couldn't be it. Applejack wasn't a liar, and she wasn't one to come at an issue from the side, either. If she hated me just because I was from Canterlot, I would have heard her say as much.

I'm not entirely sure why I thought that. But I knew it to be true. It was a gut thing. A gut feeling. One that I was listening to.

I was a little impressed. I almost smiled.

Maybe I needed to start fighting for things.

Now I just needed to pick a thing to fight for, I guess.

Which took me right back to square one!

Well.

If one good thing had come of the day, it was the knowledge that plumbing was not my special talent.

I stopped.

I had tried it, failed at it, and basically hated it. Now I didn’t have to think about it anymore.

Process of elimination!

The idea was coming together, but it wasn’t quite words yet-- just vague ideas and concepts. Despite that, a good feeling was rising in my chest.

Up ahead I could see the van, and I broke into a gallop. Lyra and Vinyl would help me figure things out, just like they always did!

“Hey, is that Twilight?” Vinyl asked, muffled from the van’s interior.

“Ohmigosh, Twilight!”

The light of Lyra’s magic seeped through the crack between the van’s back doors. One swung open, and there stood Lyra-- grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey! How was the date, Casanova?” Lyra asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Process of elimination!” I shouted.

I leapt into the van, right past Lyra, and landed with a metallic bang.

“Whoa! Easy on the suspension, Twi,” Vinyl warned.

I chuckled. “Sorry.”

“What was that about…” Lyra cocked her head. “About process of elimination?”

I smiled. I was breathing hard from the burst of speed, and I’m sure my mane looked a fright.

“I’m sorry, are you wet?” Vinyl asked. “In my van?”

I ignored her. “It’s my new philosophy! Process of elimination!”

Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “Like… for life?”

I nodded. “Exactly, yes! I’m going to just-- to just keep trying as many different crazy things as I can, and eventually I’ve got to find my special talent… right?”

Lyra and Vinyl stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I guess that’s as good an idea as any,” Lyra said.

“Twilight, please tell me that brown smudge on your flank isn’t what I think it is,” Vinyl said with great desperation.

I whipped my head around. There was, indeed, a red-and-brown smudge on my flank where a cutie mark should have been.

I turned back to the group, waving one hoof dismissively. “Oh, no. I took a shower.”

“You showered there?” Lyra’s jaw dropped. “After doing what?”

“How much is this ‘trying crazy things’ plan gonna set you back, exactly?” Vinyl asked.

“Did you end up fixing her toilet?” Lyra asked, barely allowing Vinyl the chance to finish her thought.

“Did you still wanna play the show at the cafe?” Vinyl said. “‘Cause I talked to the guy, and--”

“Do you think she likes you back?”

Their voices built and built upon one another, creating a tornado of words that felt just as oppressive as the bathroom steam.

“Stop!” I blurted.

My friends froze.

“I--” I sighed, though it sounded more like a stifled sob than anything. “I want something to fight for. You guys have your cutie marks, and I-- I just feel like… I don’t have anything.”

Vinyl pushed her shades up to cover her eyes. Lyra chewed on her lip.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just want help, you guys. I need to figure out who I am-- who I’m supposed to be.”

Lyra nodded. “I get it. I remember how it felt to be-- well. You know.” She reached over and put a hoof on my shoulder. The warmth of her touched relaxed me almost instantly.

“Yeah,” Vinyl said. She slung her own hoof around me. “We’re with you, Twi.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“So, what do we do?” Lyra asked. “Are we, like, a task force? Or, ooh! Some kind of secret society?”

Vinyl chuckled. “I could get used to being a secret society member.”

“Come on, guys.” I gave Vinyl a playful punch in the chest. “It’s not all that.”

“It is too!” Lyra said. “And a secret society needs a name!”

“Ah, nice! I’ve got a whole book of band names!” Vinyl got up from her seat against the wall of the van and began to poke around a pile of garbage in the corner. “Okay, okay: Hep Alien?”

“What?” Lyra got up, too, crowding beside Vinyl.  The van groaned with the change in weight distribution. “No, no-- it can’t be just any name! It’s gotta have something to do with the group. Like, something to do with special talents, or cutie marks, or--”

“The Cutie Mark Three?” Vinyl suggested..

Lyra rolled her eyes. “No, not like that. Something like… The Cute-tastically Fantastics!” She struck a funny pose that rocked the whole vehicle side to side.

I laughed. “The Cutie Mark Crusaders?”

Lyra and Vinyl whipped around to look at me.

My smile melted. “What?”

“It’s perfect,” Vinyl said. 

“It’s so great!” Lyra agreed.

“Cutie Mark Crusaders, CMC for short!” Vinyl laughed.

I shook my head. “Guys, please, I wasn’t--”

“Cutie Mark Crusaders, Yeah!” Lyra held up her hoof for a high one.

Vinyl, still laughing, smacked Lyra’s hoof with her own.

“Oh, Celestia, what have I started…” I hung my head, partially out of embarrassment and partially to hide my smile.

“Don’t leave us hanging, Twi,” Vinyl said.

I looked up. The girls still had their hooves in the air, waiting patiently for me to complete their little ritual. As I looked at them, I tried to take a little mental snapshot. Something about the formation of this group just felt very right-- necessary, even. Like a little piece of the world had fallen into place, albeit haphazardly.

I gently and silently added my hoof to their cluster.

Their shouting was renewed, more incoherent than last time but even more filled with joy and camaraderie.

Tomorrow would begin my Crusade.