//------------------------------// // She's Taking The Long Way Around // Story: Anchor Foal: A Romantic Cringe Comedy // by Estee //------------------------------// It was just unfair. There was something about having a pile of blankets on a floor which could make it superior to a bed. For starters, if you'd spread out the pile enough, you could wind up with quite a bit of room to move while remaining on relative softness, and any mobility-produced drop off the edge was rather unlikely to produce injuries. But a mattress also forced another kind of organization. Tuck the sheets here, anchor them there, and Fleur had already learned that anything which claimed to be fitted was only going to fit a bed model which was being sold by the same manufacturer. You couldn't really cocoon yourself when you were on a bed, at least not without undoing the whole thing. The sheets would only twist so far before coming loose. But Fleur was on the floor, within her pile. She'd twisted and rolled, curled up here and there to make herself into a smaller target and even after she'd realized that was exactly what she'd been doing and forced herself to stop, the thoughts had just kept hitting her. Every security measure guarding the rental had been reinforced. Window seals had been checked. There was a certain long-term problem with closing all the vents, but she was sure she'd be okay for one night. But it was more than that. She'd used every blanket she had. Hours of shifting around within them, trying to weave fabric into armor. If looked at from the outside, the raised rim with the lump in the center might have reminded her charge of a nest. She'd done all of that, and... she was still awake. Still thinking. It might have been a defense mechanism: Fleur was fully aware of that. If she was awake, then she wasn't dreaming. And what would her dreams be, when her body inevitably collapsed? Would she find herself chasing down reflections, patches of dark blue playing across her fur as she galloped towards a target she could never reach because she wanted, she wanted and all she could do was run until her hooves split, until there was no keratin left and she stumbled forward on bleeding stumps because there was nothing left in her which could understand why she needed to stop... But for now, she was awake. More than that: she was thinking. She'd held onto her sanity, and thinking was the dubious prize offered to the victor. It isn't fair. She didn't want it. Thought was pain. It isn't fair. The unicorn twisted a little more, had to add a head tilt before her horn risked tearing the blankets. It left her looking at that inwards-slanting wall. Something which, in Moon's shadows, felt as if it was about to collapse. She used her talent against me. A talent nopony ever could have predicted or been ready for, because it's madness... Fleur still didn't know the full extent of Ponyville's social web. It now seemed vitally more important for somepony to have warned her about the nature of the poisonous spider which lurked on the edges, waiting for somepony to touch what it considered to be an offensive strand. And then it would strike, with the obsidian tail wrapping around a throat -- -- the next thought was a particularly dark one, especially when Fleur fully recognized the source. It almost made her laugh. Why doesn't the police chief do something about her? It had to count as assault. The unfairness of it, using attraction against somepony like that, just as a means of control -- -- she twisted a little more, stared out at slow-shifting shadows in the nearly empty room. ...no. No. She forced that on me. It's not like anything else. ...I just... move the right way, when I have to. I'm pretty. Ponies can become used to both. They can learn how to listen. Figure out the truth behind the words. Nopony has to be vulnerable to me, if they don't want to be. It was forced. It's nothing like what I did. They hired me. They invited me in. They didn't have to. And with me, the punishment comes from resisting. Give me what I want and nothing bad happens. (There would be one exception.) With her, the punishment comes from... giving in. From losing yourself. From giving her what she wanted to see -- All four legs briefly convulsed, kicked out, and hit nothing which was actually there. -- it's completely different.. She probably could go to the police. Expecting anything to actually come of it was purest stupidity, but she certainly had the option to go. That talent... There were ways in which she could feel sorry for the metallic, and she'd indulged in a few of them because it had meant brief periods of feeling something else. Of... feeling at all, at least for one very specific category. She wasn't entirely sure how Joyous' talent operated, other than being certain it was based in scent -- but she recognized that the pegasus had done something to neutralize its effects. And she'd tried to make herself relax enough for the sleep her body so badly needed, even knowing what kind of dreams might await her. Fleur knew a very effective way to force herself into relaxing -- -- but it hadn't worked. She couldn't seem to have a single truly sexual thought. Attempts to arouse herself shattered against a wall of internal numbness. Whatever had been done to neutralize the effect might have gone too far. She was hoping it would wear off after a few hours. ...a few more hours. Days. A lifetime of feeling nothing... ...it'll wear off. It has to. Nopony's magic lasts forever. ...it's all I have. If I have to fake everything, every last thing while my time is running out... She couldn't face that yet, not before seeing if sleep restored her. If sleep ever came. The unicorn twisted. Turned. Loops of fabric wrapped around her hooves, with one bit of cloth working its way under the titanium bracelet. Fleur could feel sorry for the beautiful monster, because there were times when monstrosity was something to be pitied. She didn't know how that talent had manifested -- but she had suspicions, some of which came too close to memory -- -- stop -- -- and after that... Afterwards, you forged the pain. You took what you had and you turned it into a weapon. In Joyous' case, Fleur suspected it was normally an effective one. A lifetime of growing mastery and eventual full control over one's magic would do that, especially when added to that hideous strength. If the metallic was capable of using the horror at a lower level, making the desires seem more natural, then she could effectively have whatever she wanted. For a lifetime, with her actual appearance being more or less irrelevant. 'I don't like users.' What does she think that little display made her? She used my attraction -- -- she forced it -- -- completely different... A lifetime of full control... ...starting from the second moment. The manifestation of the mark was usually viewed as the defining instant of a pony's life. (Fleur didn't apply that standard to herself: in her case, the final break had taken place a few hours earlier.) It was supposed to be glorious, the second when you truly tapped into the core of your own being, when you understood who you were and what you were meant to be. That was what it was supposed to feel like and as with so many other things which got passed around as universal truths, there were those for whom it was a lie. Magic came, something which arose from your soul in a moment of deepest recognition or -- need. But it was new magic. You realized something was happening, but you didn't necessarily understand how to make it stop. Most ponies wouldn't want to, of course. They would be exultant, eager to start exploring the possibilities and as far as Fleur was concerned, even those youths who dropped into full flank-brain never explored enough. But if the talent was providing something truly new, which you didn't fully understand or know how to stop... I have to stop. A lot of things could happen in the first seconds of the True Surge and when it came to the beautiful monster, Fleur suspected it was something else they had in common. It meant that even in her rage and restlessness, she could feel sorry for Joyous. She understood. She could tell the metallic that... ...if it wasn't for the fact that she never wanted to be that close again. I was upwind from her at the party. It almost made Fleur laugh. That talent... Most ponies couldn't control what they became attracted to. Fleur knew that pieces could be generated from the silliest things: receive a single gentle, caring touch in a vulnerable moment, and spend your life trying to find another. But Joyous was a living override, and... ...there was a reason to get relatively close, actually. Morbid curiosity attached to a darkly scientific bent, looking for a place to observe which would be both out of sight and shielded from all air currents. Because she didn't know what happened to a puzzle when that talent hit it, and Fleur was the only pony in the world who could ever know. Did all of the pieces abruptly slam together, temporarily fusing to each other as their natural hues vanished? Every separated desire and dream gone, overlaid with a picture of a single mare... She didn't know, and it made her darkly curious. She'd hardly even seen anything like an intact, single-image puzzle, at least in adults: the fracturing of pieces was inevitable over time. The closest Fleur had ever come was perceiving Fluttershy's sad white slate. ...easy enough to match those two, if Joyous is interested. It just leaves the foals being raised by a monster... The point was doubly moot. Her charge didn't match the metallic's tastes, and the forced connection only went one way. And even if Fluttershy had been what Joyous desired, to see the white replaced by -- that... ...stop shivering, maybe there's nopony here to see but I have to stop. Somepony else, then, if she ever came across the monster stalking another victim and couldn't warn them in time. For the sake of knowledge pulled fine and sharp into the cutting wire of nightmare. And it would have to be somepony else, because she'd gone through the horror, but -- Fleur's talent didn't work on herself. She'd tried. It was like trying to smell the inside of her own skull. I have to sleep. The dreams would only make her wish for death. A week without rest would render the desire moot. I don't have to dream. By the time she realized she was working herself free of the blankets, she was down to the last hoof loops: the final confinement was casually kicked free by a dismissive backwards thrust. After that, it was just a little trot towards the bathroom without ever quite entering it, the ignition of her corona, and then the box was floating up towards her, extracted from its temporary hiding place and opening as it approached, ready to bring her what she needed -- -- and then it stopped. Frozen in mid-hover. No. A flicker of light closed the lid. No. It doesn't matter what happened. If I say 'one more night' enough times, it adds up to forever. I can't become reliant on it. On anything. On anyone. There's just about always going to be one who dies first -- -- it's too vulnerable here, and I've been postponing this for too long already. I have to secure it. The lessons only survive as long as I do. I have to rely on myself. And when it was done, with the actual mass departed from her saddlebags and an odd phantom weight seeming to press down against the small of her back, she was simply wandering under Moon. It had made sense, to do it tonight. The first opportunity or rather, the first where she hadn't voluntarily stalled. She'd been up anyway. But she was tired, exhausted on so many levels, and it had reached the point where her hooves were just about picking out the path on their own. Her mind was focused on safety: the actual direction was effectively being left to instinct. She was alone under Moon, on a cold night with chill wind gusts and not enough light making it through thickening clouds. It left her igniting her horn now and again, doing so without projection simply because any light was welcome -- as long as it was brief. It couldn't be bright enough to reset her hard-won night vision (because it wasn't as if she could see heat), the duration had to be short or it would potentially serve as a beacon... Close to the fringe, wandering down the little paths which wound about the edges of civilization, as the world's approaching death rustled through her fur. And there was so much else which was awake under Moon. Her ears rotated, and night birds sang somewhere in the branches above. Little claws tic-taced across wood. She could hear the whirring of small wings, rustles and fur brushing against wood and all the little sounds produced by the natural world. The things which a planet used to remind itself that life persisted. But she was close to the fringe. And just beyond the natural world lay what ponies usually saw as the unnatural one. It wasn't just weather which lacked control, or plants which grew without direction. Ponies often defined a wild zone in another way: it was where the monsters were. Listen closely enough, and the more distant sounds might become stranger. Wood fracturing against itself as joints which had never been meant to move somehow forced themselves to go on, hard-shelled armor scraping against rock, or -- cries of pain, abruptly cut off at the end of a crunch. Ponies thought that wild zones began where the monsters started, and they were wrong. Wild zones were just where you found the monsters who could be readily identified. There were monsters everywhere, when you knew how to look. Too cold, and getting colder. The breezes were variable, and she briefly hated Rainbow for that because it felt like she was splitting her focus in too many directions. And all around her were animal sounds, all small and supposedly harmless by themselves, but some could attack in bulk and they were all so close, it almost felt like they were tracking her, Fleur's ears twisted again and -- -- those wings aren't small -- -- her horn ignited, corona almost instantly moving to a full single, and her own light met a rush of whitish-yellow as lumens dropped out of the sky -- The newest source of light was mostly aimed down: part of the softly-glowing fabric wrap was tangled up with her charge's ears, but the majority had been placed around her throat. It let the flyer see something of the path ahead, and it also allowed Fleur to spot a single visible blue-green eye widening as her charge saw a unicorn getting ready to attack -- "It's me!" Fleur blinked, and the corona winked out. Slightly-oversized wings flared out, scooped air, and the pegasus carefully touched down, landing two body lengths away. "...just me," Fluttershy quietly added. "Fleur, what are you doing out here? Why are you even awake? And --" the visible eye widened "-- your fur! Your mane, I've never seen your mane like that! Were you in a fight? I can --" My... mane? She remembered having gotten back to the rental, taking darkened, fully-isolated paths every hoofstep of the way. The bathroom had been used, mostly because a toilet trench was a convenient place to vomit. But when it came to looking in the mirror... Fleur had gone to bed -- and then outside -- in the same disheveled state which the beautiful monster had left her in. It didn't matter that Fluttershy was the only witness: the unicorn was miffed. To have allowed herself to become so shaken that she hadn't taken care of her appearance was unacceptable. At least the Dr. Groomer's is long-lasting. Without that, even Fluttershy might be able to pick up on what I would smell like. "No fight," she quickly told the pegasus. "I just couldn't sleep." The visible eye narrowed by a degree or two. "...couldn't sleep," Fluttershy repeated. A little too defensively, "There's times when just about everypony has trouble sleeping. So I went for a trot --" "-- like that? When your fur isn't groomed, and it's just -- just..." The incredible tail swayed a little. "...you never... and out here, at this hour, so close to the fringe --" And the same exhaustion-forced weakening of control found its way into decibels. "-- I can take care of myself!" There should have been silence after that. But there were wings, and claws, and approaching scents -- "...which doesn't mean somepony shouldn't look after you." Her charge's voice drifted across the short distance, and the wrap's light briefly went into Fleur's eyes as a yellow head was raised. "...and you have been looked after. For a little while now, ever since you got close to my border." The thought took a moment to sink in, and then plunged past the levels of reassurance into the depths of fear. If anypony saw me -- -- no. 'Anypony' didn't apply. The animals didn't necessarily understand what they perceived and in any case, she'd approached the border after she'd finished -- -- I'm over her border? "...they tell me when there's a stranger on the road," Fluttershy softly told her. "Or... when there's somepony they know, at a time when they normally wouldn't be there. So they watched out for you and sent back reports, while I got ready to come find you. Fleur, you look exhausted. Worse than exhausted, and... I'd know. You can take care of yourself when you aren't this tired. But you need to sleep..." She looked at the pegasus, whose visible eye was bright. Thought about how some escorts did have marks which allowed them to get by on less sleep, and briefly wished she had one. "...you need rest," her charge finished. "You can't be out here like this." Fleur had done what she'd needed to do: what she should have done days ago. There was no further reason to still be on her hooves. "I'll go back to my place. I'll see you in the morning." Just in case, "I might be a little late --" "...no." The blink seemed to take more effort than usual, especially during the part where she had to get her eyes open again. "Is..." Finding the next word should have been a lot easier. "...is there a reason you don't want me coming in --" "-- I don't want you going back into town." The yellow head slowly shifted back and forth. "Not tonight. You can sleep at the cottage." The dreams. Observers. Witnesses. And if she started to scream -- "-- I can have trouble sleeping when it isn't my own bed --" The slight leftwards head tilt was enough to cut her off, and "...that must be a real problem for an escort," arrived as a light coating on a small smile. "But you slept well enough in the tent." "And noises," Fleur tried. "When there's a lot of noise. With everything in the cottage --" "-- the tent again," And before any lies could be adjusted, "You can use my bed." This time, the problem was in relaxing her eyelids enough to let them close. "Your bed," Fleur managed to repeat. The words seemed to have something hollow at the center. "...this is only a little before when I'd usually get up. So I don't need my bed now. And I have some soundproofing, sort of. Twilight enchanted some blankets, because she used to live in the student section of Canterlot, before she had the tower. She always tried to sleep through everypony else's parties. We take them on missions when we can, but we don't get to use them much. Listening is usually too important. But if you sleep under them, you won't hear much. And if you snore like Rainbow does, then nopony hears you." The head tilt went right this time. "But you don't snore. Or you didn't in the tent." Nopony hears... ...her bedroom. Her bedroom. "I like to be alone when I sleep." She had to arrange for full security -- "...alone," Fluttershy openly considered. "Yes --" "...an escort," the pegasus added up, "who has trouble sleeping away from her own bed, can't deal with noises, and likes to be alone at night." And somehow, the smile became a little stronger. "Why were you popular again?" It took a moment before she recognized that her mouth was slightly open, and then she needed far too long to close it. ...I'm being outwitted by Fluttershy. "When I'm off work." It had taken what felt like the last of her strength to prevent the words from being pushed out between her teeth. "And not on a date, or in a relationship, and I meant animals, Fluttershy. I don't need a hundred animals in the room while I'm trying to sleep." "...I can tell them to leave you alone for the night," was gently offered. "Just to check on you after -- five hours? Six? To see if you're up. And then they'll tell me. Fleur, you need a drink too, I can see that. And I'm sure you want a mirror before you try to go home. You've got all that makeup in the cottage --" "-- I had to show you how to put it on with something --" "-- and that means there's a supply you can use. We're close. We can be there in a few minutes." Feathers vibrated, and the tail twitched a little as the pegasus took a little gulp of a breath. "...please?" I at least need a drink. Water's free. Technically. After you took out the effort and expense involved in digging out the well. It could take a few moons before you felt like you were breaking even... "Privacy?" She had to be sure. "...as much as I can give. Please?" She refused the pressure carry, because she wanted to believe she had a little dignity left. It didn't keep Fluttershy from essentially steering her up the cottage's central ramp with careful pressure from wings and head, especially during those moments when Fleur was no longer entirely sure how many legs she had. And then she was in front of the last door. And then it opened. And then she had more problems. Oh, no... She'd spent a fair amount of time trying to imagine Fluttershy's bedroom, mostly because she'd anticipated that it was going to be the last place anypony would want to finish a romantic rendezvous: that estimate was with the pegasus providing ninety-nine percent of the draw. Her initial expectation had been something small and cramped -- but she'd been through just about every other part of the cottage, and the leftover space was fairly extensive. That seemed to suggest small and cramped with an adjacent giant trot-in closet, filled to overflowing with every last one of the bitch's dresses. Fleur had been wrong. There was quite a bit of space available, and she suspected it would be well-lit under Sun. Most of the lighting was going to be natural in any case: there were multiple windows, and two of them were of the full-frame swinging Emergency Exit style preferred by pegasi who wanted the chance to get out in a hurry. By contrast, devices set to provide lumens were relatively scant: there was one near the desk -- -- which meant she was looking at the desk, and she didn't want to. It was a distinctive style, and that design was known as Failed Stable Sale. When no degree of price cut allowed old furniture to be sold, the offending piece was generally put out by the curb next to a sign that read Free. The usual expectation was that the furniture was still going to be there in the morning, but somepony would probably wind up adopting the sign. Fluttershy had taken the piece home. And it was scratched and parts of the sides were splintered, the desk portion didn't even have a bench and that meant the level surface was at the wrong height for proper mouthwriting, there were bookshelves built into the backpiece and they had been filled with veterinary journals, taxonomy guides, and three mystery novels. The mystery novels would have normally been the encouraging part, but the author didn't attend the Algonquin. There was a desk, and it only held onto that status because the current owner refused to apply the proper noun of 'firewood'. Even when the actual fireplace was waiting. She should have expected the fireplace: she'd seen the chimneys emerging through the sod of the roof. A nearby rack held cut logs and there was some sort of firestarter device to the left of that. It was clean, and the little scrap of carpet near the -- -- it was easier to look at the scrap of carpet, if just barely. Fleur had heard a number of theories regarding what happened after death, and was now vaguely willing to entertain the possibility of reincarnation because she was completely certain that the carpet scrap had started out as a badger's birthing bed. It was far enough away from the fire not to catch from a stray ember, and that was the pity of it. The upper rafters held birdhouses and perches: Fluttershy was already clearing out the disgruntled occupants. (She suspected the pegasus used selected species as substitutes for an alarm, and did so right up until she saw battered clock tines reluctantly force a second into the world.) Little marks in the exposed wood told Fleur where the squirrels liked to run: too-deep knotholes indicated sleeping spaces. And there was a vine wrapped around one of those rafters, growing indoors, when it was nearly winter. Some -- 'artwork' was the only word which Fleur could press into reluctant service -- had been hung on the walls, with a little more dangling from the rafters. Some of it had been poorly painted, other portions had been clumsily sewn, and what it all told Fleur was that there had been times when her charge had taken payment for services in the form of a foal's preschool projects. But it all focused on the bed. There was a sealed wooden chest at the hindhoof of the bed, carefully locked. There was a headboard, and somepony had carved the side knobs into hearts. You had blankets, a fairly thick quilt, and what probably wasn't more than two million shed animal hairs adding an extra layer of insulation. The pillows were just about passable. It was a place where a mare could sleep in rough hopes of comfort, as long as she wasn't allergic to much of anything. And just as Fleur had dreaded, it was a place where Fluttershy slept alone. Well... technically. The mattress was somewhat wider than would have been expected for a truly single occupant. Examine the indentations in the quilt, look at where certain types of shed fur clustered, and this is where the rabbit sleeps because he's pushed the cat over there and a puppy was here recently, possibly not a housetrained one, and there's been beavers and woodchucks and Fleur wasn't exactly ready to bet against a fawn. There was so much space in the bedroom, and there was so little in it. The decorating scheme imposed by poverty, where the vacuum was filled by hunger. But the bed was still the centerpiece. It was a bed chosen out of both economic necessity and personal perception. And at no time during the purchase had its owner perceived the possibility of ever sharing it with another pony. "...and you can just go into the attic for the night, it's warm enough..." The last irritated sparrow flapped out. "I'll go get the blanket, Fleur. You just get in..." It wasn't even a good height for a bed -- no, for Fluttershy, it was probably the perfect height: too tall for casual entry, but that just meant there was more room available for hiding underneath. The mattress felt like straw ticking, which meant Fleur's skin was now prickling in anticipation of straw and, in the worst case, ticks. Hoofsteps paused. "...it's strange," the pegasus decided. The unicorn simply yawned. "What is?" "...watching you get in. You're taller than I am. Longer. So you take up more space, front to back. And I don't slide the blankets that way." Fleur's corona winked out. "New bed." Well, the pillows were passable. They passed for pillows right up until somepony tried to use them. "I'm getting you a new bed." "...I don't need..." Another yawn. "Supposed to be..." Her eyelids were trying to sag closed, and she couldn't allow that to happen. She needed to stay awake until the soundproofing blanket was applied and the door had been shut. "...somepony for you. With you. Making you happy. Where are they going to sleep? New bed. Bed for two. And it has to be big. Big all the way around. Because they could be tall. Or heavy. Or really mobile." Her hooves shifted a little. "Gotta teach you about mobile." Silence. "...they could be anything, really," her charge softly decided. "As long as we're happy..." "Yeah," Fleur eloquently expounded. The bed had a scent: she'd just noticed that. A scent which was close to no-scent. Proximity to somepony who used the special soap, over and over again. She'd smelled it before: she was sure of that. She couldn't seem to remember when... "...I'll get the blanket. All right, everyone: she isn't me, she wants privacy, she just needs some sleep..." Claws shifted across the rafters and floor. After a while, Fleur felt a soft weight being added to the layers, and then... It was a single note, and she wondered which of the birds had decided to disobey its mistress. But the tones were wrong, it wound up being held for just a little too long... She hums. She sings and she hums. Algonquin humming competition. Could probably get that set up. The door closed. A few seconds later, a tiny weight plopped itself down on a nearby pillow. Fleur opened her eyes. The shrew attentively stared right back. The escort thought about it. "...whatever," she decided, and fell asleep. Sunlight streamed into her fur. She could feel the warmth, something which wouldn't become a lie until the outside air joined it. But there was another pocket of heat, small and close. It was right up against her face... Fleur's eyes opened. The shrew blinked a few times, then shifted away from her snout and wandered off to find some food. The unicorn stretched. Tested joints, and was unsurprised to find several of them stiff. She had to order a new bed today. Something large, extravagant, extremely comfortable, and billed to the palace. It might take a Canterlot trip to pick out a truly suitable model -- -- Fleur blinked. I don't remember dreaming. It was a lie. She just about always remembered her dreams, and there were a few scant images awaiting her inspection: replays of events from... a long time ago. She just didn't remember any nightmares. I can't do this again. I've gotten lucky twice now. I trusted Fluttershy not to look in on me, and maybe she didn't. Maybe the blanket even worked. (She made a few small sounds, was gratified to find them muffled.) But the only thing I can count on luck for is running out. First the tent, and now this? I'm due to get kicked. Especially with -- -- no, The box was safe again. That was more important than avoiding a few bad dreams. Fleur got up. Staggered out the bedroom door, into the bathroom, and found herself in the common (but rarely unfortunate) position of gazing into a mirror. ...I went outside like this. With my fur lying in every natural grain possible, my mane and tail halfway to coming apart, and basically radiating Just Failed To Have Sex, But Thanks For Asking. ...bucking Joyous. She checked the locks on the bathroom door, examined every possible space for watching eyes, then assigned necessary time to learning if she was capable of having an appropriate reaction to a sexual thought. (Her most commonly-used recent image had already been discarded.) Biology responded. After that, it took some time to restore herself, and just being able to do so was still more luck. It was one thing to have demonstrated application techniques to Fluttershy on herself, but... leaving the samples at the cottage? She should have taken them back to the rental. But at least the two of them naturally shared a soap. And once she was clean, she turned back towards the bedroom. Fluttershy hadn't come up yet -- but she didn't have long before that happened: there had been animals in the hallway, and some of the ones who'd scurried away had undoubtedly gone to sound the alarm. For now, there was an opportunity available: something she'd been waiting to acquire for weeks, and she didn't have much time... With open confusion, "...what are you doing?" Fleur turned her head towards the doorway: the notepad and quill, bobbing in their respective field bubbles, turned with her. "Making notes," the escort explained. "For the repair crew." "...the... repair..." "They'll be able to track the drafts themselves, but being able to tell them exactly how many they're dealing with, before they start, means we get a more accurate estimate." The quill shifted closer to the top sheet of paper: energy slipped aside just enough to let it slash across the page. "And we need to start that before winter comes in." Pegasi usually had better heat-sealing on their residences, but it seemed as if Fluttershy used very little of the species' natural magic. Fleur was starting to suspect a weaker-than-average field. "But I want to get a start on the bed today. I'm willing to check Ponyville if you know a good seller, but we may wind up needing Canterlot --" "-- a new bed," her charge carefully interrupted. "I slept in that," Fleur pointed out. "I'm not sure how." Sheer exhaustion had helped, but when it came to the aftereffects... "I massage you on most nights, and I think I just pinned down the origin point for half of the knots. Because now I have them. So I'm going into town, because we can't do this soon enough. I know it'll postpone some of the Algonquin preparation --" "...so I'll come with you." The tall unicorn stopped in midsentence. Slowly, carefully executed a full-body turn, until she was directly in front of her charge. "We're under Sun." Even with light coming through the windows, it seemed essential to point out the small details. "It's still pretty early, and this is on no notice. Your schedule is going to be -- you know what your schedule is usually like! If we stall long enough for you to set up a future morning off, that's at least three more nights of you having to sleep on this --" "...I have carrier pigeons," the pegasus pointed out. "They're not as quick as Spike --" Twilight has her little brother delivering mail? "-- but they get the job done. I can send one in a few minutes, and most of that is just writing the note. Somepony can be here within an hour after that, and... you'll invoice the palace. I already finished the feedings, Fleur, and I don't have much of anything scheduled today. Not which a good substitute couldn't manage." The shapely shoulders set, and the pegasus arced her neck forward. "It's my new bed. I think I need to get a say in that. Or a lie-down on the mattress, before anypony ships it." Her charge had just suggested billing the palace for an expense. Without being prompted. Or coaxed. Or... "...Fleur? You've got..." The pegasus expertly hesitated. "I'm not sure why your lips are curling like that..." She's learning. I get it now. The feeling of pride. That first moment when you really think there's a chance your charge can make it. It's a warmth. It's... And, not without irony: ...nice. "It means we're going shopping," Fleur announced. "Go write the letter?" "...okay. But you should have breakfast before we go. Even though it's a little late. But it's too soon for lunch. I'm not sure you slept enough." Automatically, because the cottage's supplies had to be protected, "We can eat in town --" "-- if we stay long enough. But you need food to get that far." Fleur thought it over. It was going to be a long trot on the road. Calories would only help. "I'll replace it." "...I'll start the fast-cooker." A little too cautiously, "On what?" "...I thought I'd try it for pancakes..." And then they were on the road, because it got them that much further away from where they'd buried the pancakes. It was a chill morning. Fluttershy had put on a scarf and jacket: Fleur, too tall to borrow anything substantial from her charge's wardrobe, had found a neck wrap which coordinated nicely with her fur. But they were trotting, and the exercise helped to keep them warm. "Do you know what you want in a bed?" Quickly, "The best case, Fluttershy. With somepony else paying for it, where budget isn't a concern." Sun encouraged a few shadows to scatter. "...I'm not sure." "You need to think about it. Before we get to the first store." For sheer expense, there was always a Cumulus. They were legendary. Fleur had only managed to get on top of one six times for her entire Canterlot career: even for the rich, getting a cloud enchanted into permanently supporting any sleeper wasn't easy. But the support was incredible and as a bonus, the pillows only heated up if you wanted them to. "...you'd be the expert," her charge said. After what felt like far too long, "On?" "...beds." The dismal sigh fell to the path, instantly shattering into the remnants of failed dreams. "Because you're an escort. It's an escort joke." "Oh," felt like the only appropriate response. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep. They trotted for a while. "...I've been thinking about that for the Algonquin," the pegasus sadly stated. "You told me there's a lot of jokes. I'm not good at jokes. Especially when I have to make one up, fast." "We can practice a few," the escort suggested. "You might be better with stories, though. Like when you told me about the Gala: you put a good spin on it, and you kept the pace. If there's anything else like that, which you can use at the party --" "-- but I'm not very funny," Fluttershy decided. "I'm not." Fleur automatically checked her charge: the set of shoulders and hips, position of ears and tail. Then she glanced at the sky. A much clearer morning than the night had been, probably no thanks to the weather coordinator. "How do you know?" With open misery, "...I say things and ponies don't laugh. They laugh when Pinkie says them. The exact same things." Three more hoofsteps, all of which were being used by Fleur for careful examination of the obvious. "There's two problems." It was almost possible to hear the sarcasm. "...just two?" "One is your delivery," Fleur determined. "You don't always speak quickly enough. There's a pacing to a good joke, and it's usually pretty fast. A story can be slower, but jokes need to finish before you give everypony else the chance to figure out the punchline." "...and the other?" emerged after the usual delay, because it wasn't a problem you could solve in one go. "You," the unicorn firmly stated, "are directly comparing yourself to, and trying to compete with, the Element of Laughter. How did you think that was going to work out? Better or worse than asking Pinkie to wrap a cat?" The pegasus blinked. And then she began to giggle. "...it's a pretty day," Fluttershy decided as they crossed the bridge. "Cold, but -- pretty." She glanced at Fleur. "We should go by your house. So you can pick up a garment." Fleur nodded: it was a practical decision, especially since she didn't know how long they'd be out. "We go this way..." It wouldn't take long to retrieve something suitable. And with this cold, she couldn't ask Fluttershy to wait outside. Besides, her charge had already been within one nest. They moved through Ponyville's streets together, and there were ponies who paused to watch. Fleur took it as a sign that she'd gotten the pegasus' makeup right. As long as they were going out (and possibly into Canterlot), she'd wanted to make sure Fluttershy was fully presentable. You never knew when you were going to meet the right pony. It was just a matter of finding one who was good enough -- "...this is Sweetie's neighborhood," Fluttershy observed. "I didn't realize your house was that close to hers." Fleur smiled. "She's a good kid." With what felt like an odd note of hope, with Fleur's rental almost in sight, "...you really like her?" "As a neighbor," Fleur clarified. "And a kid. She just makes ponies smile." "...I'm glad," Fluttershy softly decided. "It'll... make things easier." The escort's first desire was to frown, and she didn't do so because there were other ponies on the street and there were only so many times she wanted to restore her makeup in one day. "Make what easier?" Which was when she saw the rental's narrow porch, and the brown earth pony who was standing upon it. His right foreleg was raised, with the hoof moving forward. Clearly about to knock on the door -- "...Caramel?" Fluttershy asked, and it was just barely loud enough for him to hear. He turned. It took about two seconds, followed by the barely-measurable fraction required for the tide of rising red to underlight his fur. "Oh," he awkwardly said. "You're not in. You're -- out. Together." His tail seemed to be wrapping itself around his right hind leg, presumably for protection. "...hi...?" Fleur quickly strode forward, passing through a long, uneven shadow along the way: something which put a momentary chill in her own fur as Sun was briefly blocked. She prepared to blame Rainbow. "What are you doing here?" She'd kept it as a casual inquiry, but she knew she'd never told him exactly where she was staying. The start of street theater season had been effectively announced, and passing ponies stopped to watch. "It's my day off," the stallion awkwardly said. "I know you spend most of your time at the cottage, but that's not always regular. I found out where you live..." which was followed by a somewhat self-horrified throat clear, as his ears pressed down against his skull. "I mean, I just asked one pony. The usual pony. But I wanted to check on you, because it's been a few days. I thought I'd try to catch you in. I just..." He peered past her, and light blue eyes reluctantly focused on yellow fur. "...you're busy," he managed to finish. "Obviously. I can come by some other time." Fluttershy took a few steps forward. It put her face into the shadow, at least until it teetered across her back. "...you might be able to help," she gently offered as the darkness moved towards the base of her tail and then, as if unsure of whether it could manage what was coming next, worked its way forward again. "You do a lot of shopping..." "You're going out shopping?" the flustered earth pony checked. "For what?" "...we were thinking about a new bed for me," Fluttershy innocently explained. "A really big one. In case a very tall pony needs to use it. Do you have any ideas?" Selected portions of the audience immediately leaned against the nearest piece of cold metal, both for support and as a means of pulling the heat out. Caramel swallowed. Then, because he had a lifetime of practicing the feat and didn't need to give it much attention for full performance, he did it again. "I'm... not sure..." "WHAT IS THAT?" It had been a shout. More than that: it was something which the attendees took as their cue, because a good play could benefit from a surprise and so everypony turned towards the sound. One mare had leaned against a pole, and it had left her facing a little more up than before. Putting her face into the narrow shadow, as it shifted and teetered and widened, because the source was coming that much closer. It was a fairly slow progression, but it was measurable, and Fleur could already tell that if any of the poorly-wrapped bungee cords gave out, the uppermost portion would finish the trip in a hurry. She was already figuring out the best direction for a dodge. It wasn't quite like watching a mountain approach, because it was too thin for that. It was closer to a delicate spire, something carved out of stone by either wind and water or a sculptor who had no idea how balance worked. And it swayed as every movement from the unseen cart wheels at the base vibrated up to the visible portion which towered over the smaller houses, with possessions shifting into, against, and across each other. It was all bound by elastics, determination, a refusal to understand how gravity worked, and crests. There were crests set at various elevations of the swaying spire, because the stallion liked ponies to know he was coming. And because he had very little imagination, he'd gone with the icon he knew best: his mark. Fleur had never been able to link his mark with an identifiable talent. She wasn't fully sure he had one. But she had considered that his magic had, in the only moment of self-awareness the stallion would ever possess, set up a warning. It wasn't a symbol of skill: it was an instruction to all possible observers. Here we have a number of indicated directions. Pick one of them and start running. "That," the escort told a rather chill, very attentive world, "is Vladimir Blueblood." Caramel blinked. "Who?" "A problem," Fleur sighed. "Who's about to be a local one." She felt as if her voice was coming to her from something of a distance, and she treated it as giving the world a suggestion. "How far off do you think he is?" And, because seeing that kind of predictive sway probably wasn't doing the viewers any good, "It's either got to be further out than it looks, or that stack is..." There was a certain reluctance to openly finish the thought, and Caramel used the renewed silence to demonstrate his swallowing skills again. Other ponies took the time to get away from the shadow as a just-in-case, or at least aligned themselves for a better view. But for Caramel, there was saliva, and it had to go somewhere. "How much of Ponyville can see that?" he moistly breathed. Which was when they heard the scream. It was a rather loud scream, and remaining so by the time it reached them meant it had started as something much louder. It was slightly shrill, falsely accented, and it went on for a very long time. "...I don't know about all of Ponyville," Fluttershy eventually answered. "But you can definitely see it from the Boutique..." He's heading for the cottage. Fleur was certain of that. And when it came to what she saw as her charge's most obvious and expected solution, there was only enough hiding space under the current bed for one.