//------------------------------// // What Manners Maketh (January 2020) [E-Rated] [Rumble] [Spike] [Slice of Life] // Story: The Voices Told Me to Hug You // by Aquaman //------------------------------// Rumble opened the door to the kitchen quietly, but he wasn’t quite sure why he did. He hadn’t seen mane nor tail of another pony since he'd entered Princess Twilight’s castle a few moments ago, nor any sign that other ponies had been in here today. Now that he was a little ways inside, though, an alcove tucked off to the side of the main hall had come into view, where warm light--and the sound of idle male humming--had trickled out and washed over him as he approached. He shook his head in yet another attempt to clear it, and rapped his hoof on the doorjamb to announce his arrival. The humming stopped, and a cheerful voice rose to replace it. “Oh, hey, Rumble!” Spike called out. “Was wondering when you’d show up. Your brother said you’d be over by noon.” “Yeah,” Rumble said, trying not to glance at the wall clock that read twenty past the hour. “Got, uh… sidetracked. You got the stuff?” “Yes indeed-y!” Spike said, sounding for all the world like his friend Pinkie Pie--and, at the same time, sending a weird twinge through Rumble’s chest. As Spike clambered off his stool and walked towards a bag of cooking supplies on an opposite counter, Rumble’s eyes scanned over him--his happy smile and his flour-dusted claws, and the frilly pink apron over his front. For pony’s sake, pink. What kind of… Rumble shook his head once more--not that it helped anymore this time than it had before. And what was he supposed to do about it anyway? Spike certainly didn’t seem bothered. Nor did his big brother Thunderlane, for that matter. And as for himself… he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He… “Hey, Spike?” “Three cups of cubed tofu, paprika, cayenne, and… frozen peas!” Spike said, confirming each needed ingredient was present in the bag he picked up to deliver to Rumble. “Everything you need for a hearty Hayseed Gumbo! Sorry, you say somethin’?” “Um…” The weird feeling in his chest was back, and no amount of head-shaking or scratching was going to get it out. With a deep breath, Rumble resigned himself to being honest. “You mind if I ask you something kinda… personal?” “Sure!” Spike said brightly, only to sour slightly a moment later. “Wait, this isn’t about a crush on Rarity, is it? Because I definitely can’t help with that.” “No, it’s…” Well, frankly, Rumble didn’t even know what it was, but he did his best to shape the weird feeling in his gut into something like a question. “Do you ever feel like you should be… I don’t know, different?” “Different like… more handsome? Can’t help ya there either,” Spike said with a grin and a flex of his bicep. After a second, though, his face changed again. “Sorry, bad joke. Different how?” “I mean, like… do you feel like you were supposed to be a certain way and something just… went wrong? And it’s not like you’re not happy, but you’re… you’re not sure that you’re supposed to be? It doesn’t make sense, never mind…” “No, no, it does,” Spike said, setting the bag aside and dusting his claws on his apron. “You mean do I ever feel like I’m supposed to be more like a dragon and less like a pony?” “No, that’s…” Rumble stammered. He knew he should’ve kept his big mouth shut--not talked about whatever this dumb feeling was. “I-I didn’t mean to say that’s a bad thing, it’s…” “Hey, no sweat,” Spike said. “I know I’m different as much as anypony does. Buuuuut I get the feeling we’re not talking about me right now, are we?” Rumble sighed. Thunderlane was right--he really was transparent. “It’s nothing,” he tried to tell himself out loud. “Or… no it’s not. I just don’t know how to talk about it. I don’t know why I feel like this.” Spike’s eyes darted towards the saddlebag on Rumble’s flank, and a moment too late Rumble stuffed the protruding chef’s hat deeper into its depths. Really, really transparent. “Did something happen?” Spike asked, much softer than before. “That’s just it!” Rumble replied. “Nothing happened. Nopony said anything, nopony yelled, ‘Hey, pansy, nice hat!’ Literally nopony has ever said anything like that to me, but… but why do I always feel like they want to? Why do I feel like I’m supposed to be tougher than this, or supposed to like different things, or like doing anything else but cooking like a…” Rumble pressed his lips shut before he could finish his thought. As it turned out, he wasn’t the one who did. “Like a mare?” Spike asked. Rumble closed his eyes, huffed, and slowly nodded. “Hoo boy,” Spike said. He reached behind his back to pull up a stool to sit down, gesturing for Rumble to do the same before continuing. “Kinda the billion-bit question there, huh?” “I guess,” Rumble said once he’d gotten himself seated, forelegs wrapped around his saddlebag so the top flap would stay tightly closed. “So you don’t know either?” “I don’t think anypony does,” Spike said. “I mean, I know it still bugs me sometimes. And…” He motioned towards his current wardrobe. “Clearly I’ve got some material to work with there.” “It does?” Rumble asked. He didn’t know what he’d assumed specifically, but he definitely didn’t think Spike of all creatures could possibly be self-conscious. How else could he so easily slip into his whole “happy homebody” mold so easily, baking and sweeping and humming like everything a dragon wasn’t supposed to be? “Yeah, man, are you kidding?” Spike answered. “It used to keep me awake at night. When we first moved to Ponyville, I had this whole fantasy about it: me, the mighty dragon hero, rescuing damsels and saving the day. It kept me going half the time, honestly. It made me happy.” “Yeah, that’s the other thing,” Rumble said, leaning forward on his stool. “I remember when the Crusaders did that Cutie Mark Camp and I kept messing it up for them… I feel bad about it now, but it felt good then. Even though it wasn’t me.” Spike nodded. “Same here. When you see yourself as a hero, sooner or later everyone starts to look like a villain. I did a ton of stuff I regret because I thought I wasn’t allowed to fail… but I learned from all that, and eventually I got better. More… comfortable with who I really was.” “How?” Rumble asked. “What did you learn?” Spike thought for a moment before responding. “I guess I figured out why I felt like that.” “You were angry?” Rumble asked. “I was scared,” Spike said. “But back then… yeah, that’s what it felt like. I was angry that I was small and helpless, so I acted like I wasn’t, and it felt good. But I think that’s how anger works: it feels good in the moment, but only because it’s supposed to keep you safe from bad things. If you’re angry all the time, you’re constantly chasing that good feeling and it’s harder and harder to find each time. It’s addictive, like… well, I don’t know what it’s like. Something you get addicted to.” “So I’m just... angry?” “I don’t think so. It’s different from being, like, mad at another pony for eating your leftovers or something. It’s more like… you’re scared of being different, because everypony is, and some part of you deep down is mad at yourself for being different. For making it harder to feel like you fit in, even though you actually do fit in just fine.” When Rumble didn’t say anything, Spike kept going. “Dude, it’s not like I figured out any of this on my own. I talked to Fluttershy a lot about this, how she dealt with fear and how it was being different from your average pegasus or dragon. And kind of together, I guess, we figured out that we had to find that deep-down part of us that wasn’t thinking straight, and keep reminding ourselves that the better parts of us could be louder--that we could fight it. And that was something I understood already. I didn’t know how to be happy, but I knew how to be brave. And eventually, the first part came with the second.” Once again, Rumble had nothing to say. He was lost in thought--lost in a part of himself that felt fiery and intoxicating and, for the first time, understandable. He sat in silence for several seconds, only surfacing once the ding of a bell sounded out from the back wall. “Hey, subject change: want a brownie?” Spike said, springing up from his seat and donning a pair of oven mitts. “They’re preservative- and toxic-masculinity-free!” “Toxic what now?” Rumble asked as Spike extracted his day’s work from the oven. Spike shrugged, brownie pan in claw. “I dunno. Twilight said it once when I talked to her about all this. Probably an inside joke.” “Probably,” Rumble agreed. “I should get going anyway. I’m already late.” “Seriously, though, brownie?” Spike repeated, carving a hunk out of the pain and popping it immediately into his mouth. “‘Ey’re rea-y goo’!” “I... think I’d probably have to wait for them to cool off first,” Rumble pointed out. Spike considered the observation, swallowed, then nodded. “Probably,” he agreed. “Dragon tongues are pretty tough.” Suddenly, his face split into a grin, and he flashed Rumble a thumbs-up. “Hey, there you go! I’m great at being a dragon! Now go forth, young hero, and be great at being a pony!” Rumble bit his lip as he backed towards the door. “No offense, but I definitely see why that fantasy didn’t take off.” Spike rolled his eyes and sighed as Rumble finally made his exit. “Everypony’s a critic...” was the last thing Rumble heard before the door slammed shut. The castle was still empty, but this time it felt a lot warmer walking through it. It was a bit chilly outside, though, he realized as neared the front entrance again. He might need to wear his hat.