//------------------------------// // In the End, You Are On Your Own (Together) // Story: Dinky and the Sisterhooves // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// The others left in good spirits, one by one. Alula was the first; any time Twilight talked less about heroic deeds and more about all the fun she’d had shelving books lately, Alula’s face didn’t so much glaze over as ice over. “Great,” she muttered, “another bookworm.” Yet Twilight had at least persuaded her to take a book home, since this was a library after all. To everyone’s surprise – and Apple Bloom’s triumphant grin – Alula shyly slipped a book about princess dresses off the shelf and tried very hard to ignore the giggles around her. “It’s warrior uniforms!” she shouted when they giggled a little too loudly. Second was Odd Job, who tried slipping out without anyone seeing her and then nearly blushed herself to death when Twilight and Spike insisted on saying goodbye. Next was Piña, who wanted a lock of Twilight’s hair. When nervously asked why by Twilight herself, Piña said she wanted to eat it. “To get all the yummy magical goodness,” she said, nodding helpfully. Twilight stamped out her book as hastily as politeness allowed. It was about ladybugs. She didn’t ask. To Dinky’s slight annoyance, Apple Bloom hung back at the entrance. Her book had been an odd one: The Big Questions for Little Foals (Who Are You and What Do You Want?). “What?” snapped Apple Bloom defensively. “Ah can take an interest too!” “I didn’t say anything.” Dinky kept her gaze away from Apple Bloom. Any fiercer, and the red-and-yellow earth filly might catch fire. Both of them hung back from the entrance, despite the beckoning blue of afternoon’s approach. Twilight and Spike stood to one side, the traditional place for Canterlot ponies to see their guests off correctly. “Well, that was fun,” said Spike. He waved the key in a clawed hand. “And if you ever want to break in again, you know where this is kept.” “Spike!” said Twilight. “I’m just kidding, Twilight.” “Uh huh. Just like you were kidding when you helped them sneak past me last night?” Spike, Apple Bloom, and Dinky paused a little too long. Unfortunately, whilst Spike and Dinky could keep themselves in check, Apple Bloom blurted out, “He didn’t help us! We snuck out on our own while he distracted you away from us! Spike didn’t know nothin’.” By the time Spike slapped his own face, Apple Bloom realized what she’d just said. “Oh, pony feathers…” she groaned. “Ah didn’t mean to lie! Spike meant well, honest! He coulda told ya, only he didn’t, and Ah’m happy he didn’t, but we didn’t mean anythin’ by it, Twi, honest we –” Too late, Dinky elbowed her in the ribs to shut up. Twilight had Judgement in her eyes again. “You know,” she said, drawing out each word as though measuring it, “I would have expected better from Applejack’s sister when it comes to honesty.” Apple Bloom slumped in defeat. “Ah’m sorry, Twilight.” “I’ll let it go this one time,” continued Twilight – Apple Bloom’s hopeful eyes sparkled in turn – “but I won’t be able to ignore repeated offences in future. Ponies should practise what they preach, is that understood?” “You got it, Twilight! Ah really am sorry.” Dinky then struggled to remember if she herself had actually apologized at any point. Evidently, the same point crossed Twilight’s mind, because suspicion gave her an expectant look. Dinky shrank a little under the attention. “I think Apple Bloom’s just a little confused,” said the imp in Dinky. To her surprise, she saw Apple Bloom nod sadly. “A little. Ever since Applejack…” Even more to her surprise, Dinky saw Twilight’s face soften considerably, almost becoming sisterly herself. “I understand.” Apple Bloom looked up sharply. “You do?” “Yes.” Twilight’s gaze nudged the book on Apple Bloom’s back. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask. I’ve studied lots of books and theories. Maybe there’s something I can give back to the community, for giving me so much?” Sappiness detected, Dinky kept quiet and shuffled out of range. Part of being an imp was being slightly allergic to goodness, especially when it dribbled thick as syrup. Apple Bloom smartened up and nodded – an almost perfect imitation of her big sister – and then hopped out into the day. Which just left Dinky, who by now was fervently hoping the break-in wouldn’t be brought up again. Oh, to heck with it. Amethyst would have attacked it head-on. “Look, about last night –” Dinky began. “Didn’t you want to take a book home with you?” Twilight said, surprisingly quickly. It had occurred to Dinky, yes. It was just that there were times to obsess over books, and times to obsess over ponies, and today’s pony had been far more interesting than any amount of books. Taking one seemed kind of beside the point. “I haven’t decided yet,” said Dinky. She could tell Twilight had something on her mind, but she was in no rush. “Tomorrow? I can come back tomorrow and have a look.” On her part, Dinky worried about the teatime with Twilight. She’d just had muffins with a hero, a saviour, a vanquisher of evil just like the ones from her stories… and it had seemed so ordinary. So familiar. So… so not-heroic. If she didn’t know who Twilight was, she might have thought the slightly awkward mare was just another Canterlot unicorn like Lemon Hearts. Or like Minuette, or Twinkleshine. Or… “Hey, are you OK?” It was Spike. He’d been so quiet and off-to-the-side that Dinky almost forgot he was there. And that he was a dragon. A big, dangerous, supposedly impossible creature: waddling around, serving tea, and smiling at ponies nicely. He was somehow mere background to someone like Twilight. “Is it about what we talked about at tea?” said Twilight. Despite the stupidly vague words, Dinky picked up on the meaning at once. “Not exactly,” she said. “It’s nice to have a hero around.” Twilight had enough self-control to stop the blush, but not completely. “But?” said Spike encouragingly. “There’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?” “If it’s about last night,” said Twilight, stumbling over herself, “then don’t worry. I mean, no harm done, right? And I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson. Everyone learns in their own way, so who am I to judge?” Dinky wished she could say what was on her mind. The thought seemed too big to just say. She had to keep turning it around until she found a way to push it out of her mouth and get rid of it, otherwise it’d get stuck in her head all day. Something tumbled out, if only because the silence was getting unpleasant. “Do you have a sister?” she said. Twilight and Spike gave each other puzzled looks. “I have an older brother?” offered Twilight in case this helped. “And Spike, in a way. Although he’s more like someone I took in and raised – Well, not me, of course, I was only a foal, and he was a dragon, and only Celestia knew the spells needed to take care of his fire outbursts, and really I was given him, but as a technicality, I mean, as part of the family –” “No sisters, is the point she’s trying to make,” said Spike. Twilight sagged with relief. “Yes, we have no sisters! Although Spike might, since I never found out much about his blood family ties, and no one at the school seemed to know where his egg exactly –” “Why a sister, anyway?” said Spike, sparing Twilight again. Dinky shrugged. “Oh, just asking. We have a Sisterhooves Social every fall. I just wondered if you wanted to try it.” “Oh.” Twilight’s ears drooped at this. “I see.” She’s new here, Dinky thought to herself. And I know what Canterlot can be like. Ponyville is a whole alien world compared to that. No, Canterlot is the alien world. Like a cold and lifeless moon. “There’s the Running of the Leaves, though,” she piped up. Twilight’s ears rose. “Oh?” “That’s tons of fun. And there’s the Winter Wrap-Up we do here, but I’d read about that first. It’s different in Ponyville.” “Oh, right.” “Plus, you can’t miss the Summer Harvest Parade. Or the Nightmare Night coming up; they don’t celebrate that in Canterlot. Or one of Pinkie Pie’s birthday parties, ‘cause she has loads of them. Come to think of it, Ponyville celebrates a lot of stuff…” “Then I’m sure I’ve got a lot of research to do,” said Twilight, brightening up. Learning to fit in and getting an excuse for more reading: Dinky might as well have handed her the keys to heaven. She wasn’t the only one. Heroes inviting her to tea was confusing and exciting in ways Dinky didn’t understand, but Ponyville was Ponyville. Dinky could walk to the other side of the planet, and she’d still carry Ponyville with her. She laughed with Pinkie’s laughter, and worked hard like the farmers Golden Harvest and Applejack, and she thought flighty thoughts with Derpy in the sky, and she walked on solid ground alongside Amethyst, who could crush diamonds with her iron grip on reality. The cottages might be small and old-fashioned, but that was just to fool and test the unwary, because inside, the hearts were bigger than one life could hold, big enough to share and still feel big, and always very much present, no matter where you’d take yourself. Dinky didn’t know how to explain all this to Twilight. Too much to say. She just had to hope Twilight picked it up as she went along, though she seemed to have a pretty good starting point already. So she settled for something a bit easier to understand. “Maybe your next Summer Sun Celebration will be a lot better than this one,” said Dinky, as sweetly as she could manage. Twilight’s giggle came welcome as ever. “I think that’s a pretty safe bet.” “Did you ever read Sparky the Space Scout?” Dinky found herself blurting out; she’d seemed comfortable enough for a moment to do so, as if she’d known Twilight for years. It was Spike who grimaced. “That corny old space comic?” “That’s the one!” said Dinky happily. “Bah, Crush Cauldron was way better than that lame spin-off. That one was all ‘PEW-PEW-PEW’ and epic space battles and destiny ghosts and laser force fields and cool stuff like that.” “There’s that stuff in Sparky too.” “Yeah, between all the dull stuff. Like, who cares if Sparky wants to find the ultimate question to everything? Get to the good stuff! And super-preachy, hello? I mean, why does every adventure have to end with a super-obvious moral, like ‘Be nice to those who are different’? Um, hello? Dragon in pony society? Why does this apply to me?” “Hm…” Twilight rubbed her chin, and Dinky waited patiently despite Spike’s shaking, disbelieving head. “Sparky the Space Scout… that’d be the one with the scientific interest?” “Uh huh.” Dinky beamed. “And the ethical dilemmas in an easy-to-understand didactic style?” “Uh huh!” Dinky beamed wider. “Blending the traditional action-oriented approach of pulp fiction with more modern intellectual and emotional sensibilities?” “It’s like we’re long-lost sisters ourselves!” Dinky’s beaming smile nearly became a crescent moon. “Yeah, and wasn’t that a lame plot twist in Issue Number 53 –” began Spike. “Spike!” said Twilight warningly. To Dinky, she added kindly, “He has different tastes in graphic novels than I do.” “They’re ‘comics’, Twilight,” said Spike with wearying patience. “Not ‘graphic novels’.” Stiffly, Twilight said, “You have your term, I have mine.” Dinky willed the words to come. She could see now, looming into the sky, the reason why she’d brought the comics – or graphic novels – up at all. “Well,” said Dinky hesitantly, “you ever read Issue Number 6?” Twilight barely needed to think. “The one with the Moon Queen, yes.” Both of them saw the spark of realization in each eye, as if a comet had surged past, heralding worse behind it, bracing them for impact. If only it hadn’t been close to the middle of the day. Dinky wanted to look out and see stars twinkling in the sky, or better yet a full shot of the empty moon. Dramatic timing wasn’t the world’s strong point. “Do you think Sparky ever gets scared,” she said, trying to walk around the real question, “whenever she faces stuff like that? Like, really scared, deep down?” “Maybe,” Twilight answered a little too quickly. “But what choice does she have? It’s her moral duty to protect others. Even if she is a little scared. And that’s exactly what she will do.” Dinky hadn’t realized she’d still strayed too close to the real question, and her mind backed off at once. It wasn’t lack of curiosity; any other day, Dinky would have asked as naturally as she probed into other ponies’ cupboards. It wasn’t even fear of offending anyone, certainly not Twilight. She sensed, at a later date, that it might be fun to poke and prod at Twilight a little bit. She was too much like Amethyst, in some respects. Stiff, dull, a little unimaginative and serious-minded. A little chaos might do her some good. What could Dinky say? That she couldn’t read enough, go far enough, stare at the stars long enough to feel really satisfied? That she wanted to fly up there too, and look down and see everything, know everything? That the world was like a massive, delicious cake, so delicious and massive that no matter how fast Dinky ate, she’d never get to enjoy it all? It felt worse because Dinky sensed, in her sister’s disapproving looks and her mother’s more puzzled ones, that she wasn’t supposed to think thoughts like this. Odd Job didn’t; there was too much going on at the farm. Alula didn’t; if she couldn’t kick or worship it, it meant nothing to her. Piña certainly didn’t; she seemed content in a baby book version of her own world, where everything was written in big, colourful letters and fairy tales kept going. She’d never had anyone else to talk to about this. And then out of the stars, out of the moon, a nightmare had come, and suddenly she was in the middle of a story with a hero. On top of that, a hero with brains. It was like running into Sparky at her local library. Even now, she had no idea what to say. Dinky realized Twilight and Spike were staring at her. “I’m OK,” said Dinky, and to her horror heard a weak crack in her voice. She wiped her eyes quickly; they weren’t blurry, but they felt more moist than usual. Twilight stepped forwards. “Is there anything I can do?” she said at once. Deep down where no one would ever see, Dinky burst into tears. The rest of her snapped at it to be sensible. “It’s nothing,” said Dinky, a little too panicky that time. Twilight gave her a long, thoughtful look, then without looking away, said, “Spike, I think it’s safe to say your break’s over. Could you take care of the dishes, please?” “Hm? What? Oh. Right.” As if remembering something there and then, Twilight added, “I’ll join you in a little while.” “Oh. Oh.” Spike glanced from Twilight to Dinky and back. “Uh, sure thing. Those dishes won’t wash themselves!” Only when he left did Twilight sit down. It was such a defeated move that Dinky almost gaped. “It’s weird,” admitted Twilight, smiling strangely, “but in a lot of ways, you remind me of… me.” Dinky’s mouth hung open. It was as if Twilight had summoned the words right out of them, only turned back-to-front and shown up to Dinky’s broad eyes. “When I was younger, I mean,” continued Twilight. She nodded at the door. “Those friends of yours?” “Mm hm.” Dinky didn’t feel capable of saying much. No words left. “I’ve been watching how you act around them. You seem to be… how can I put this…? Every inch the leader that they officially don’t have.” Of course, that was a risk, thought Dinky. While I’m watching someone, maybe they’re watching me. “Mm,” was her reliable answer to this. “It’s like they’re all individuals with their own minds, and you know that they could lead if they wanted. Yet, they keep looking at you when something big comes along. It’s like you end up doing the big things for them. Not that that’s wrong, of course! I mean, you would anyway, of course you would. It’d be the right thing to do. But you wonder: does it always have to be you? Will it always have to be you? Every time? And what if you’re not ready? What if it fails just once? You understand what I’m trying to say? Don’t you?” Again, “Mm” was about as much as Dinky could admit. Twilight’s face fought not to collapse for a moment. “You’re very lucky to have made so many friends so young.” Dinky didn’t respond except to nod. She got the impression Twilight was trying and not trying to say something else. Just like me, thought Dinky. Eventually, some words came to her aid: “I try my best.” This seemed to break the trance. Twilight stood up again. Something far stronger came back to reinforce her muscles and bones, her whole stance, even the space around her. “Well, as reasonably as we can, of course,” she said, sounding like a professor summing up. “Who can do more than their best, logically?” “Oh, well, logically,” said Dinky. “Like when ponies say you should give 110% of yourself to something. You can’t give more than 100%. Because if you could give 110% of that, then that’d just be the true 100% of what you could really give. That’s just logic.” They both relaxed, as if after some obstacle surmounted. “It was really nice meeting you,” said Dinky. “Can I break in again tonight?” Twilight’s face made some interesting contortions. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Dinky flapped her hoof placatingly. “How about I just come for another tea thing, and we pretend I stole something?” Now Twilight’s face showed off a true contortionist’s trick: the half-twist of someone with a busy schedule, almost curled up on itself with the pressing weight of horrified guilt. “Next week?” Dinky offered. “Next month?” Dinky offered again, when the contortion didn’t stop. Twilight shrugged helplessly. “I’m sure we can arrange something.” “Well, it better be soon, or I might make an unarranged visit in the middle of the night.” Hastily, she added, “Kidding, kidding!” Lurking at the back of her mind, though, the imp said: Oh, the fun we could have, tormenting Twilight so… “I take it back,” Twilight said grimly. “Maybe we’re not so similar after all.” “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll surprise you?” “Maybe I won’t be that easy to surprise, given my knowledge of pony psychology.” Yes! She knows about psychology! And she knows the word “psychology”! Yes, yes, yes! “Maybe I’ll hold you to that, Professor. I’m a very surprising pony.” That did it: she got a half-smile out of Twilight despite Twilight forcing it down. What was a little adventure without a little risk? They parted, Dinky waving back, Twilight shaking her head but smiling at the same time before easing the door shut. This particular summer’s afternoon, Dinky skipped out and about the streets of Ponyville. All during a school day too. She giggled at her latest subversive deed. As she skipped home, feeling lighter than a pegasus in the air, she wondered if she could arrange a Sisterhooves meeting at Twilight’s library. They’d never held the meeting at a non-member’s home before, but that was the point of frontiers. So you could go where you hadn’t gone before, and possibly annoy someone whilst doing so. For now, Dinky pretended she was Sparky pretending she was a filly with the most interesting life in Equestria and the best future yet to come. For once, it didn’t require much acting.