The filly cocked her head, looking at me with furrowed brows. “You’re the Princess, right? The Princess always comes to help with friendship problems.” She looked past Pinkie and over to Vinyl. “Who are you?”
“Who, me?” Vinyl said, pointing to herself. “I’m Vinyl. I’m like a, uh… friendship apprentice.”
The filly looked even more confused.
“It’s her very first time out!” Pinkie explained. “And she is just so, so, so excited to help! Right?”
“Uh… yeah!” Vinyl agreed. She flashed an uncertain smile and crouched down to the filly’s level. “What’s your name, little filly?”
“Type Set,” she said.
“And what’s the problem, exactly, Type Set?” I asked.
As if a switch had been flicked, Type’s face crumpled back into one of utter defeat. She heaved a great sigh. “I don’t think I can be friends with Ink Well and Allegory anymore…”
PInkie gasped softly. “Did they say something mean to you?”
“Not yet,” Type said simply.
Pinkie, Vinyl, and I exchanged a look of confusion. Vinyl seemed to be silently asking if this was normal, while Pinkie was a little surprised that somepony else seemed to possess her eponymous Pinkie Sense.
“Why don’t we sit down by the river and you can tell us all about it?” I suggested.
Type sighed again. “Okay…”
She began to walk slowly back towards the river, dragging her tiny hooves.
My friends and I followed as best we could, but were held back by the filly’s slow, miniature steps.
“Do you think she has powers?” Pinkie hissed at me.
I shook my head, then tapped my lips, gently reminding Pinkie to stay quiet.
“Do you think she doesn’t have really any friends and it’s pre-friend stress?” Vinyl suggested, just as obviously as Pinkie.
“Shush!” I spit back.
“But she walks so slow!” Pinkie argued.
At long last, we reached the bank of the river. Type Set pulled herself up onto the boulder, her tiny hooves slipping against its slick surface. Pinkie, Vinyl, and I plopped down on the sandy shore beside her.
“So, what seems to be the issue, Type?” I asked.
Type sighed again. This filly had some magnificent lung capacity. “Well, my friends--Ink Well and Allegory--both want to be writers when they grow up. They like fantasy stories and stuff. They already have their cutie marks and everything.”
She paused.
“But?” Pinkie prompted.
“But I don’t have mine yet!” Type exclaimed, pointing to her blank flank. “And I used to think I wanted to be just like them, but… I don’t think I want to write made-up things. I think I want to write real things, like in the newspaper and the magazines.”
Vinyl snickered to herself, probably at the concept of ‘real things in magazines’. That hit a little close to home for the two of us.
“Like a journalist?” I said.
Type’s eyes sparkled. “Is that what it’s called? Yes! A journalist!”
I giggled. “Being a journalist is a great profession, Type. You get to travel, meet lots of interesting ponies, and tell important stories. I know lots of great journalists. I’m sure you’d love it!”
“I know!” Type agreed. She looked genuinely happy for a moment, before the look dissolved. She didn’t say anything else.
“So…” Vinyl cleared her throat. “What’s the problem, exactly?”
Type flashed Vinyl a distasteful lookl. “I just told you the problem.”
Vinyl blinked, wearing a vacant expression.
“Um…” I put a hoof on Type’s shoulder. “Maybe you could help my friend out? Since she’s new to all of this, she might need some help seeing the problem more clearly.”
Vinyl thanked me with her eyes.
“Well, what if we were only friends because we all wanted to write stories together?” Type said. She put her chin in her hooves, turning her gaze out over the river. “Now I want to do something else… what if they don’t like me anymore?”
And it all clicked into place.
What was it that Vinyl and Pinkie Pie had in common? A cutie mark that rivaled their origins. A special talent that defined their families and friends.
Who knew better what it was like to be the oddball?
“Ohmigosh!” Pinkie put her hooves over her mouth. “That’s totally crazy! The same thing happened to me when I was a teeny, weeny filly like you!”
Type rolled her head over to look at Pinkie. “Really?” she murmured, not entirely convinced. “My friends don’t even like the paper. They think it’s boring.”
“My family was the same way!” Pinkie explained. She always got this sort of warm look when she talked about her cutie mark, and her time on the rock farm. “I grew up on a rock farm. My family was really-- well, not boring, really. They really liked rocks! But… I thought rocks were boring, so I didn’t get it.”
“That just sounds like what my friends think of me…” Type mumbled.
“But then I got my cutie mark!” Pinkie said. She threw her hooves up in the air in reenacted celebration. “And my family and I got along so much better after that, because we appreciated each other more! I liked parties just as much as they liked rocks!”
“But… but they were your family,” Type said. “They had to get along with you.”
Vinyl stuttered something, then cleared her throat. “Y’know, Type, the same thing happened to me with my friends.”
Type looked at Vinyl with some reproach. “Was it really the same?”
“Yeah,” Vinyl said. “I… well, I like party music, right? Rock music, dance music, all that stuff. The real exciting kind.”
“Mm-hm…” Type mumbled.
“But, when I was a filly, I was only friends with ponies who liked classical music,” Vinyl explained. “I hid it from them for a long time, even after I got my cutie mark. I pretended that I just wanted to do what they did, because I thought they wouldn’t like me anymore if they found out I liked different music.”
Type said nothing, but sat up a little straighter.
“They even trashed on the kind of music I liked sometimes,” Vinyl continued. “They thought it wasn’t as good as classical, and they had a fun time talking sh-- uh, ragging on it, y’know?”
Type nodded. “Just like my friends.”
“Exactly!” Vinyl agreed, smiling. “But, eventually, I told them how I really felt. And you know what happened?”
“What?” Type asked.
“Yeah, what?” Pinkie echoed.
“They were weird about it at first,” Vinyl said. “But they came around. They wanted to listen to my music because I was their friend, and because I liked it. And I started to appreciate classical music more, because they let me into it easier.”
“Aw,” Pinkie commented, grinning sweetly.
Vinyl chuckled in embarrassment. “Yeah… well, anyway, your friends are there for you whether you agree or not. They’re still your friends.”
“You think?” Type asked. Her expression was softening.
I leaned forward a little. “Vinyl is right. My friends and I have a lot of different interests, some things that are in direct competition. Pinkie Pie here, for example, likes surprises, but they scare our other friend, Fluttershy.”
“Boy, do they…” Pinkie commented.
“But they have other things in common!” I said. “Like baking and animals. Their differences aren’t the most important thing about them; their similarities are.”
“Yeah, who knows?” Vinyl said, giving Type an encouraging punch on the shoulder. “Maybe you guys can all work together on something even cooler. My friends and I were all pretty good at making music alone, but we made the best stuff together!”
Type shifted on the boulder, turning to face Vinyl more directly. “You… you did?”
“Heck yeah, we did!” Vinyl made herself chuckle with her own censoring. “It was even better than before, ‘cause it was like… all these competing opinions and ideas made us want to be better and more creative. I wanted to work hard so that my music made them happy, and their music made me happy.
“If you talk to your friends about your interests, they’ll want to work with you to make something bigger and better,” Vinyl continued. She was talking faster and faster now. “That’s what friendship’s all about, right? Being more than the sum of your parts. My friends and I could make more moving music as a group than we ever could have alone… and you and your friends could write the most amazing things if you all brought your unique skills together.”
Type was smiling now, if hesitantly.
Pinkie was looked on, her jaw hanging open. She threw me a quick glance, wondering if I was proud.
I smiled at her, then looked back at Vinyl.
There was something in her eyes… a special kind of sparkle, a glint, a glimmer. Like she was realizing a missing part of herself. She was still talking, gesturing wildly to the little filly, explaining the music she had made with her very oldest friends. But it was like watching it all through a foggy lense, only Vinyl in focus. Even her voice faded away. I only saw the way she spoke, the way it flowed so naturally, the way she understood friendship, and me, and just… everything.
And the cold stone of doubt melted away.
It hadn’t been a distaste for her joining us. It had been a fear that, even if she wanted to, she couldn’t belong. I wanted her to be a part of things so badly that even the thought of failure had terrified me.
By why had I ever been scared in the first place?
It was magic. That little spark of something that made friendships work, made relationships work.
Friendship, magic, love… maybe it was all just one big spectrum.
When I looked at Vinyl, I saw magic. The same magic I had seen when I met Pinkie, and Applejack, and Rainbow Dash, and Rarity, and Fluttershy. A slightly different color, I suppose; a shift in hue, or shade. But it came from the same place.
Type suddenly stood up, and I was pulled out of my thoughts.
“I’m gonna go talk to the foals at the school paper!” she announced. “I’m gonna be a journalist!”
“Heck yeah, you are!” Vinyl agreed, pumping her hoof in the air.
“Heck yeah, I am!” Type agreed.
She was about to take off running, but paused. Without a word, she reached out to hug Vinyl. She was standing on the very tips of her hooves to do it. “Thank you.”
Vinyl sort of laughed and patted her on the back. “No worries, kiddo. Go kick some flank, okay?”
Type pulled away and nodded enthusiastically. Then, without another word, she was off like a shot.
Vinyl watched her go, trying to keep an eye on the filly until she had disappeared around a corner. When Type was gone for good, Vinyl turned to look at me. There was a strange look on her face; one I couldn’t quite decipher.
“I know,” I said. “Not as zany as you were hoping. Our friendships missions can be kinda--”
“Are you kidding me?” Vinyl said, her eyebrows arched as high as they would go. “That was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever done. Is that how you guys feel all the time? Is this how teachers feel? Is this how parents feel?”
She sort of looked down at her hooves, as if expecting some sort of power to begin flowing out of them, perhaps in the form of liquid rainbows.
Pinkie squealed in delight and tackled Vinyl to the ground in a hug. “Ohmigosh, Vinyl! That was so awesome!”
Vinyl laughed as Pinkie lifted her off the ground, squeezing her tight and rocking back and forth. “Pinkie, come on! Put me down already!”
Pinkie made one more noise of joy, then set Vinyl back down on the ground.
Vinyl looked at me, happy but expectant, almost breathless. “Well? How’d I do, princess?”
I bit my lip to fight back a smile, but the smile won out. “You did amazing, Vinyl! I’m so proud!”
I ran to her and wrapped her up in an embrace, nuzzling her cheek gently. Vinyl leaned into the affection, giggling and beaming.
It was then that our flanks began to pulse again, calling us back to the cutie map.
And, at last, the last message clicked.
Vinyl and Pinkie were here to help Type Set. But I was here to learn something myself, not to teach.
There had been many moments before this one that I had felt love for Vinyl. Many moments that made me think she was the one, that she was perfect for me, and that our happiness was inextricably tied together.
But this was the first moment I saw the magic. That there was something more between us than just chemistry, or friendliness, or even attraction.
There had been magic in the club. In the bookstore. In the diner.
Wherever Vinyl was, there was magic.
No, no-- wherever we were together, there was magic.
Vinyl and me.
Me and Vinyl.
Together.