//------------------------------// // Room 466 - Part I // Story: A Constant State of Atrophy // by mushroompone //------------------------------// “Flash, are you limping?” The stallion made a small, unconvincing grunt of dismissal. “No. I mean… well, yeah,” he said. “But it’s no big deal. I dunno how you came away from all that without a few bumps and bruises yourself.” “I’m not all peachy, if that’s what you’re implying,” Octavia muttered. “I feel like I coughed up a whole barbeque’s worth of hot coals.” Flash snorted softly. “Yeah. Drinking will do that to you.” Octavia’s face crumpled into an aggravated sneer. “You were the one who--” “I know, I know.” Flash sighed. He was moving slower and slower as time went on, hesitating to take even one step on his clearly sprained foreleg. “In my defense, if I knew you were gonna go all teen-drama on me, I wouldn’t have given you anything stronger than mineral water.” “Ha, ha. Very funny.” “It’s definitely a little funny.” Octavia paused here. She watched as Flash continued on, his weight shifting and hitching with each shuffling step, his wings partly unfurled to aid in balancing. She couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for that. Okay, a lot responsible. Not that she would admit to it. “Why don’t we take a break?” Octavia blurted out. Flash stopped short and looked over his shoulder at Octavia. “Uh… a break from what?” “From… walking,” she said. “I know I’m still not feeling very well. We should take a break. We’ve hardly stopped for hours now.” Flash blinked slowly. “I’m all good. Really.” “Well, I’m not!” Octavia stomped her hoof on the carpet. “My breath tastes like vomit and alcohol, I’m covered in mud, I’m exhausted-- let’s just sit. For a moment or two.” Flash sighed. Octavia could swear she saw the shadows of gears whirring behind his eyes, as he tried to do the math on Octavia’s request. Octavia was getting to know him quite well, after all-- manipulation wasn’t out of the question. Octavia rolled her eyes. “For goodness’s sake, I’m not trying to trick you!” she said. “I know you’re all Mr. Royal Guard, but I genuinely just want to take a rest. If you really must go on without me, then I suppose you’re free to do so.” She said it. She meant it, even. But it wasn’t true. “Don’t be stupid,” Flash muttered. He turned around and walked back to Octavia’s side, then lowered himself against the bit of wall there until his rear hit the carpet. Octavia waited a moment. She hadn’t expected to get this far. Flash sort of squirmed against the wall. “Ugh. What did they put in this paint, huh? Gravel?” That snapped Octavia out of her blank-eyed stare. She positioned herself beside Flash and shimmied down to a seated position beside him, cramming herself between the stallion and a nearby potted plant. Flash did his best to make space, but his wing seemed to be too stiff to curl up properly. It rested on Octavia’s shoulder, ever so gently hovering there. Only tips of hairs and frills of feathers for contact. All the same, it made Octavia bristle. “So,” Flash said, giving Octavia a look out of the corner of his eye, “you still think Twilight’s behind this?” Octavia returned the sideways glance. “You don’t?” Flash grimaced. “Seems a little extravagant for one pony. Even an alicorn.” He paused. “Not to mention… a little sadistic?” Octavia faked a smile. “Aw, was the party in the woods a little too intense?” she mocked. She even put on a fake pout and batted her lashes at him. “Did it give you fraternity flashbacks?” Flash only arched an eyebrow in response. He allowed Octavia to have a good, long look at his battered and mud-soaked face. Then, he said, “I was actually referring to the whole… you aspect of this.” “Very funny. So funny, in fact, I forgot to laugh,” Octavia snarked back. Flash was equally unamused.  They were quiet. The air conditioning hummed in the distance, thankfully a good few paces away and therefore not freezing the both of them solid.  That made sense. You wouldn’t put an air conditioning vent right above a potted plant. And this one, judging by the earthy scent, was quite real. Octavia nestled her muzzle in the plant’s and took a long, deep breath. It reminded her of… of something. Only she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was. “Seriously,” Flash said. Octavia blinked and pulled her face out of the plant. “Seriously… what?” “What do you think’s going on, here?” Flash asked. “I mean… we can do this all day. All week, more likely. Just keep opening doors and doing whatever the hotel wants us to do. But, so far, we’re two rooms deep and I don’t think we’ve made any progress.” Octavia scoffed. “There’s no progress to be made!” she said, throwing her hooves in the air in exasperation. “This is just a-- just a random, senseless magical anomaly. You can’t ‘do what it wants’, it doesn’t ‘want’ anything. It just is.” Flash gave Octavia a condescending grin. “Well. That’s one theory, I guess.” Octavia only growled in response and folded her forelegs across her chest. “You wanna know what I’ve been thinking?” “Somehow I feel like my answer won’t have any bearing on--” “I’ve been thinking about the times we’ve opened the doors, and the times we’ve left the rooms,” Flash said, proving Octavia right by plowing right over her. This, somehow, did not bring her the least bit of vindication. “Every time we’ve opened a door, it’s been because you agreed to try.” Octavia wrinkled her snout. “And every time we’ve been sent back to the hallway, it’s been because I had some… I dunno, epiphany, I guess.” Flash tapped his forehooves arrythmically on the carpet as he mulled that over. “Yeah. What do you think about that?” Octavia clenched and unclenched her teeth. “Well. First of all, I think it’s more like we opened the doors when we agreed to work together,” she said. “And we get sent to the hallway when one of us has an epiphany. Not necessarily you.” “Mm.” Flash shrugged. “Sure, sure.” “Second of all, I think the implication that the hotel is trying to force us to get along is…” She paused, trying to think of the right word. “Erm. Moronic?” “Ugh, of course you--” “Fine, not moronic. Just impossible,” Octavia interrupted. “I certainly love the idea of a magical, space-and-time-bending hotel that truly believes in the magic of friendship. Sounds not the least bit trite, of course,” she muttered, dripping with sarcasm. Flash rolled his eyes, complete with a motion of the head and a slack jaw. “I just think we should be a little more realistic. Don’t you?” Octavia said sweetly, looking up at Flash with a half-lidded glare of utter condescension.  Flash glared at Octavia. Then, without warning, he reached over and ruffled Octavia’s bangs, allowing the now-dry mud to crumble down into her face. Octavia spluttered something and swiped at Flash’s hoof. He came away easily, smirking all the while. “Cute,” Octavia all but growled. Flash shrugged. “Fine. You don’t wanna have any epiphanies, that’s on you. Guess it’ll just be me learning the meaning of life and becoming a better pony. Works for me.” Octavia clucked her tongue. “Suddenly you’re not seeming quite so weary.” “I thought we were sitting here for your sake,” Flash reminded her. “Well, I think that’s quite enough sitting!” Octavia announced, shooting up to her hooves. She regretted it instantly, as her vision quickly went black, and she had to focus unbelievably hard to remain standing. If Flash noticed, he didn’t say a word about it. In fact, he didn’t move at all. Octavia snorted aggressively and shook her head clear of her wooziness. “Come on, now. Let’s get a move on.” She gave Flash a small, gentle kick on the bottom of one hoof. “You want to have epiphanies so badly, let’s see a little hustle.” “You look like you’re about to take a header,” Flash said. So… maybe he had noticed. “I’m quite alright, Flash,” Octavia said, blinking away the stars in her vision. “Don’t be silly. Let’s go find out what’s behind door number three.” Flash made a long, low grunting sound as he pushed himself up onto his hooves. “Fine, fine. Let’s go check it out,” he said, giving Octavia a clap on the shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe there’ll be a shower in this one.” “One can dream,” Octavia agreed. The pair took a few slow steps down the hall, Octavia trying to account for Flash’s limp, and Flash desperately trying to overcome his own injury. But, before they could get very far, a strange feeling rumbled up through the carpet. It was a bit like standing on the platform as a train passed by; a sound more felt than heard. A great, low growl that grew and grew and grew… only to ebb once more, retreating lake a wave from the shore. Octavia looked up at Flash. “What was that?” Flash opened his mouth to respond when another sound cut him off. This one was of the same variety, but much quicker. A clap. A strike. “Thunder?” Octavia asked, more to herself than to Flash. She cocked her head and trotted a ways down the hall. Flash made a face. “It’s raining? In Canterlot?” He followed behind Octavia at a slow pace. “I thought they had clear weather scheduled for the festival.” But Octavia wasn’t listening. Her quick steps slowed as she waited for another lightning strike to send the rumbling barreling down the hall. Just as she was beginning to lose hope, another did; she went chasing after it at a quick trot, her head low, her eyes scanning the carpet for signs of water. “Octavia!” Flash called, though to no response. He waited a moment, then followed Octavia at a slow and encumbered pace. Another clap of thunder. Getting closer. Octavia picked up to a canter, then a gallop. Maybe this was it. Maybe somepony had left their window open, and it had broken the bubble of the spell. Maybe she and Flash had slept for days and days, and the festival was over, and it was raining again in Canterlot. Another great booming sound. This one right beside Octavia. She came to a screeching halt in front of room 466. The air felt very strange, here. Electrified. Energized. Wild. Cold and wet, too-- as if she were standing in the screened-in porch of her childhood home during a particularly powerful storm.  Another strike. The light of it flashed under the door, illuminating the carpet in a sharp, blue-white haze. “You think it’s safe to go in there?” Flash asked. Octavia produced her key card. “Only one way to find out.” She swiped the card against the lock. Bi-deep! Octavia and Flash exchanged a look of surprise, and reached out as one to open the door. No sooner had they touched the handle than the door was ripped away from them and into the room beyond, sucked out of their grasp by the magnificently cold, wet winds of a thunderstorm. Octavia shrieked and shielded her face. Flash instinctively stretched out his wing to protect her, as well. Though the wind was cold and damp, it was not actually wet; in other words, no true rainwater was carried in this wind. Flash peeked over his wing and into the room filled with wind and fluttering papers and not a single light. “Hey,” he said, nudging Octavia gently. “Hey, it’s a house!” Octavia lowered her hooves. It was, indeed, a house. A house that somepony had neglected to shutter properly before a storm, but a house nonetheless. And, as an added bonus, it seemed to be decorated in a series of nautical gimmicks-- Octavia could spot a ship’s wheel and a rather large conch shell from here, even in the darkness. A beach house. A summertime, vacation beach house. In fact, now that Octavia had identified the decor, she could smell it on the air: salt, sand, and surf underneath the petrichor and the ozone. Flash stepped over the threshold, using his wings to keep himself grounded there. “Hello?” he called into the house, and the words were stolen right from his mouth by the wind. He cupped a hoof around his mouth and tried again: “Hello? Anypony home? Hello! He waited patiently for a response, but there was none. Flash looked back at Octavia. “Well… they must at least have a bathroom," Octavia said. Flash nodded. "And a bed… right?" “We can close a few windows,” Octavia added. “Or barricade ‘em, if we have to.” Octavia shrugged. Flash shrugged back. It was quite possibly the closest they had been to agreeing on anything. The moment they were out of the door's swing--in fact, probably a moment sooner--the wind sucked it closed once again. Octavia couldn't quite puzzle out how that was possible, but it did nearly catch her tail as it slammed shut. Flash jumped at the suddenness of the sound and whirled to face the door. Cautiously, curiously, he pulled it opened once again… revealing only an ordinary linen closet. He may have commented on that, but it was quite hard.ro hear over the wind. Flash closed the door and looked around. "Wow," he bellowed. "Did they really just… not close their windows?" "It seems like!" Octavia agreed, battling her mane as it was whipped wildly about in the wind. "Let's split up-- get everything closed!" "Roger that." Flash gave Octavia a half-hearted salute with one wing, then turned on his heel and headed deeper into the house. Octavia watched as he went, still hitching ever so slightly, then turned to trot up the stairs to the second floor. It was a surreal feeling. First of all, she was in somepony else’s home-- an entirely unfamiliar place filled with unfamiliar smells and sights and sounds and patterns. Even so, it was a vacation home. A home that was hardly lived in, and kept in pristine condition. There were no rushed patch jobs, no attempts to fix things on their own, no mismatched decorations filled with sentimental value. Everything was… well, ship-shape and in theme. Secondly, though Octavia had been in bad storms, she had never been so exposed in a storm before.  Sure, she was safe--the thunder was rather far off, and there would be no getting struck by lightning as long as she was indoors--but the wind tore through her with unprecedented power. The smell of it was assaultive and overwhelming. The damp air on her skin only made her feel that much dirtier. Every now and then, a lock of her mane would go on the offensive, twirling around her snout or flicking into her mouth or skating over her eyes. But, with every window she closed and latched, the winds lost that much of their power. And then, before they knew it, they were standing in a house. A closed-up house, with them on the inside and the storm on the outside. As it should be. Octavia's ears rotated this way and that, searching for any more wailing or whistling or flapping of loose papers and bedding. To her relief, she found none. "Flash?" she called out through the house. "I'm in the kitchen!" he replied. Octavia wasn't exactly sure where the kitchen was, but she figured it was likely on the ground floor, and so came trotting down the stairs. Flash kicked the fridge closed as Octavia came around the corner. "So," he said, leaning back against the granite counter. "The power's out." "Brilliant observation, as always," Octavia remarked, gesturing into the dark hall behind her. "But," Flash said, his annoyance crystal clear, "they have a gas stove and a pantry filled with canned goods. You like soup?" "I like anything that isn't fermented," Octavia said, trotting to Flash's side. Flash laughed at that. A real, genuine laugh. That was rather nice, Octavia thought. She began to paw through the cans on the shelf beside the stove, searching through the many generic soup flavors until she came up with something rather noodle-y. Without light, she couldn't read the label-- she was going on shape alone, and she could have sworn she saw noodles. "Here," she said, sliding the can across the counter towards Flash. He caught the can easily. "Cool. Now comes the hard part: find the silverware drawer so I can pry this thing open." Octavi clucked her tongue. "Why can't you find the silverware?" "Because I'm trying to find a saucepan," Flash said. As if to prove his point, he rattled the contents of the drawer before him, producing an overwhelming clattering sound. "Eh?" Octavia didn't say anything. She wasn't sure why, exactly. Eventually, she happened upon the right drawer, and she tossed Flash a fork. The metal crunched under Flash's hoof--a familiar sound, a sick-day sound--and he poured its contents out into the saucepan he'd place on the stove. "Looks like… tofu noodle?" he guessed, giving the concoction a stir with the fork. "Can't be sure, though." "I'd eat just about anything right now," Octavia said. She hoisted herself up onto the counter beside Flash and peered down into the soup. "I won't be picky." Flash chuckled. "Bet that's the first time you've said that, huh?" Octavia punched him on the shoulder. He chuckled again. A mischievous little sound. And so they waited, in relative silence, for the soup to warm up. It felt like a very odd thing to do in the dark-- Octavia was no stranger to midnight snacks, but turning on the stove was far too much effort for a sudden case of the nibbles. She swung her legs off the side of the counter. Flash stirred, slowly and deliberately, and swayed in time to the occasional scrapes and pings as he did so. Octavia hummed to herself as Flash served the soup into little blue bowls. He passed one up to his companion, dropping a spoon into it along the way. "Thank you," Octavia said. Flash smiled his little lop-sided smile. "You're welcome." The wind tore at the shutters, but the shutters did not give. Flash slurped up a spoonful of soul, and made a frankly carnal sound of delight. Octavia grimaced in a sort of disgust, but had trouble not unleashing her own moans of satisfaction as she had her first bite. Warm, salty, soft-- it filled her mouth and hugged her from the inside out. "Mm," Flash mumbled, placing his bowl on the counter. "Let's eat on the sofa.” Octavia shook her head and lifted the bowl to her face. “It won’t last that long.” Flash laughed. “Fair enough.” They ate. They mourned the end of their can. They heated another, and ate that, too. The storm headed out to sea, slowly but earnestly. As the night wore on, the thunder faded away entirely, and only the sound of driving rain could be heard against the roof. Powerful as the rain was, it had a certain sameness to it that the pair found comforting.  Every now and then, the wind would howl through the porch. It made the kitchen feel that much warmer and safer. Octavia slurped down the last swallow of soup in her bowl and placed it on the counter. “Probably safe to shower, now,” Flash said through a mouthful of soft noodles. “Haven’t heard thunder in a while.” Octavia reached up to her face, as if she might be able to feel the dried patches of mud there. “Hm.” Flash nodded back into the hall. “Go on. I’m not going anywhere. Might make some tea if I can find it.” “You’re sure?” Octavia asked, sliding down off the counter and onto the tile floor. “I wouldn’t want to--” “It’s just a house,” Flash said. Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t. But Octavia didn’t have it in her to argue the point. She nodded, a shadow of a smile creeping over her face, and squeezed past Flash. She gave him a little pat on the shoulder as she went. Flash made a little sound, something like a scoff or a laugh. Something that brushed off her relative kindness as an anomaly. If merely existing in another’s home was surreal, then showering in another’s bathroom felt like stepping into a different world entirely. Octavia recognized exactly none of what she scrubbed into her mane-- partly because she was showering in the dark, and partly because they seemed entirely foreign to her. Even the shapes of the bottles were unfamiliar. Even the scents were strange. But she didn’t care. She scrubbed and rinsed and watched as all of her dirtiness ran down the drain, in amongst the trails of floral soap suds. She stood still under the water and allowed it to beat upon her back and her face and her neck. She tried to melt the anxiety from her bones. It sort of worked. The first shower after a long day at a music festival, and a long day at a museum, and a long day at a party in the woods. The first shower after the longest day she’d had her whole life. And, when she stepped out of the shower to find that there were no towels on the towel rack, she shook herself dry like a dog. It felt good not to care about where the water might end up. She left the bathroom feeling different. The difference was hard to explain, but it felt rather large and important. The sort of different you feel when you’ve finished something big, when a magnificent part of your life has come to a close-- only it was the delayed difference. The kind you feel when a few weeks have gone by, and it hits you out of nowhere that things are different now. And they won’t be the same again. And you’re different now. And you won’t be the same again. Flash Sentry was sitting on the sofa. He was holding a cup of tea in his forehooves and staring out the front window. He turned to look over his shoulder as he heard the floorboards creak under Octavia’s hooves. “Hey,” he said. “You’re looking less grody.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “How kind of you to notice.” He pointed to the low coffee table in front of him. “I made you some tea. I didn’t know what you liked in it.” “Oh.” Octavia started to walk towards Flash. “I normally take it white, but… well, if there is milk in this house, I certainly won’t be drinking it.” Flash clucked his tongue. “Shoulda known you’d drink it wrong.” Octavia flopped down onto the couch beside Flash. “It’s you big-city ponies who drink it wrong,” she said, lifting her mug allowing the steam to warm her face. “Coffee as well. Hardly even coffee anymore, the way these places fill it up with sugar and flavored syrups.” “I thought you guys had chain coffee places over in Great Bittain,” Flash said. “We do,” Octavai replied with a disgusted sneer. Flash only chuckled politely and sipped his tea. It was quite dark out. Though Octavia could not see the sky from her place on the sofa, nearly everything else was in view; the tall grasses just outside the window stood in little uniform clumps, bowing for each gust of wind yet always returning to attention. Beyond that, she could see the gentle rolling dunes which lead down to the water. Because it was a small, private place, it was somewhat overgrown. Shrubs of all shades of green littered the sand, all but for a small winding path which led from the porch out to sea. The ocean itself seemed almost unbothered by the rain. Bits of foam and spray were torn up from the surf every now and again, but the waves themselves rolled and crashed and receded as if all were the same. Octavia sighed and settled deeper into the sofa. “I suppose heading out in a storm is out of the question, isn’t it?” Flash swallowed his mouthful of tea. “Hm? Why?” “You’re hurt,” she said, gesturing to Flash’s leg. “And we have absolutely no idea how out-of-the-way this house is. It could be miles to anypony willing to help us out.” “I could make it,” Flash mumbled. Something about his tone put Octavia in mind of a very young foal trying to prove his strength to his father. “Not in one piece.” Octavia took a sip of her tea, but found she wasn’t fond of the bitter flavor and placed her mug back on the table. “And I’m not carrying you.” “You wouldn’t have to carry me…” “Well, you carried me,” Octavia reminded him. “It’s only fair. And I can’t do it.” Flash didn’t reply. The wind shook the siding of the house, and for a moment it felt like they were on a ship afloat in a vast hurricane, instead of in a house during a little rainstorm. “Okay,” Flash said at last. “What are we gonna do, then?” Octavia smirked at him. “Well. They do have beds, don’t they? I wouldn’t mind finally turning in for the night.” “They have a bed,” Flash pointed out. “One.” Octavia sighed thoughtfully. “You did tell me you would share.” What she didn’t say was “I’m not sure I’d want to be alone right now.” Or perhaps “I’d like to know where you are, know that you’re okay.” Or even just “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She may have meant them. But she didn’t say them. Even so, Flash made a face that was almost a smile. “I did say that,” he said. “I promise not to snore.” “You’d better shower first,” Octavia said, standing up getting to her hooves. “I’m sure whoever rents this house won’t be too happy to find all that dirt in their bedding.” Flash looked down at himself. He ran a hoof through the fur on his chest, as if it were entirely foreign to him, and watched as the dirt crumbled off and dropped down onto the carpet. “That’s a good point,” he said softly. Octavia stood still a moment, waiting for Flash to get up. He only stared down at his chest. “Well,” she said. “I’m going to bed, then.” Flash looked up at Octavia. “Alright.” Octavia nodded once, hesitated, then turned and trotted off to find the bedroom. It was a big bed. Wide and long, plenty of space for two ponies to sleep comfortably without being near each other in the least. It was encased in a well-tucked comforter and cool linen sheets. Octavia hardly even noticed the way the paint seemed to be peeling in here. The way the walls were hardly decorated, and the furniture was sparse. The way it didn’t seem to match the rest of the house at all. She slipped down into the sheets, and she was asleep before her head hit the pillow. When Octavia woke up, the first thing she noticed was that Flash was not in bed. She scrambled through the sheets, feeling her way along the mattress for him as if he may have just been swallowed up by the comforter overnight. Flash was not there, but a lingering warmth told Octavia that he wasn’t far. She breathed a sigh of relief, one hoof to her forehead to chase away the looming headache. It was only then that she saw that this was not the room she had fallen asleep in. None of it was the same. Not the wallpaper, not the bedding, not the windows or the chest of drawers or-- Octavia sat upright and tugged the unfamiliar blankets up to her chin. This was a young colt’s room. The nautical theme had vanished. No more off-whites and blues, no more ship’s wheels or seashells or nets or knotted rope. No fish. No dolphins. All of it had been replaced with-- “The power ponies?” Octavia murmured to herself. She had dim memories of them from when she was very young. Fiddlesticks had been somewhat invested, and had tried to drag her twin along with. The characters plastered over the walls and spilling out of drawers and covering every fabric surface held a sort of nostalgic familiarity for her. She couldn’t quite remember all of their names. She knew Fid’s favorite--Mistress Marevolous--but the others were much less defined in her memory. One in particular seemed to be the star of the show, at least in this colt’s mind; a pegasus, one with a blue suit and quite a lot of lightning bolt accents. Far and away, she was the one most represented here. A clear favorite. Zapp! That was her name. “I told you: I’m through being lenient!” came a shrill, utterly furious female voice. “I want you home! I want you here!” Octavia cringed at the sound. It reminded her of her mother, in a way. Not so much the voice itself, but the things it said, and the way it said them. Another voice replied. Much deeper. Muttered and dismissive. “That’s not an excuse!” the shiller voice shot back. Octavia dropped the sheets she had been clutching--ones printed over and over with images of the Power Ponies’s logo--and shimmied out of bed. It was much smaller than it had been last night, probably smaller even than when she’d woken up. She could have sworn it. She circled the bed and stood by the door, face-to-face with a lifesize printout of Zapp. She reached out to grab the doorknob, but hesitated. On the other side of the door, there was an impact. It sounded like somepony slamming down a newspaper with far more force than such a thing should have required. “Sunny, dear, I’m not going to have this conversation again.” The words were gentle, but they were spoken with such outright vitriol that the speaker couldn’t have meant them. “Especially not in front of him.” There was a long pause. “Flash, honey?” the first voice murmured. Another pause. “Why don’t you go to your room?” “Flash?” Octavia repeated to herself in disbelief. She twisted the knob on the door and it swung open, revealing an entirely different house. A different building, in fact-- nothing about this floorplan matched that of the beach house she’d fallen asleep in. The bedroom was down a very short hallway. At the end of it, Octavia could see what seemed to be a family kitchen: one with a little breakfast nook that overlooked a well-kept front lawn and a single pink lawn flamingo. Sitting at the table, coffee in hoof, was Stoic Sentry. He looked just like his portrait. Strong jaw. Small, squinting eyes. Not so huge as one might expect, but certainly disguising a strength that made you wary. The mare in the room, the one with the shrill voice, did not look familiar. Octavia knew her to be Flash’s mother, though. She was lithe and pale, with the energy of a fragile songbird on the alert. Something told Octavia that she was the mouse to Stoic’s cat. And, of course, Flash Sentry stood at the counter. He had a glass of orange juice sat in front of him. He was staring right at Octavia. Octavia froze. Flash opened his mouth ever so slightly, trying to figure whether he should chase Octavia away and yet not able to get the words out. “Flash?” his mother repeated. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” Flash blinked. He barely managed to tear his eyes away from Octavia. “Uh… yes?” “Your room,” she repeated. It was firm, but also sort of fearful. “Now.” Octavia didn’t know what to do. Why hadn’t Flash’s parents noticed her standing here? Where had they even come from? Or… where had she come from? She felt strange. Sick, almost. Perhaps it was a hangover. Whatever it was, she felt as if she had to run away from it, and yet it kept her rooted firmly to the spot.  Flash shook his head. Stoic took in a sharp breath. “Are you disobeying your mother?” he roared. He closed his eyes at the harshness of his father’s voice, but his expression quickly changed from that of fear to something else entirely. The way his chest rose and fell so steadily, the way his brows tightened and knit together… he seemed to be concentrating very hard on something. To the point of discomfort, almost. He’s thinking about Zapp, Octavia thought. She wasn’t sure what put the thought into her mind, but it seemed very clear to her: this was a memory. Something that had happened many years ago, and was playing itself out once again with Flash all wrapped up in it. And, as a colt, he had thought about Zapp. Octavia remembered the way her sister had clung to Mistress Marevolous. How, when her mother challenged her, she would scrunch up her face and bow her head low, like she was trying to summon that infernal lasso. As if enough anger and rebellion would make it appear. “Answer me, Flash!” Stoic barked, pounding his hoof on the table. “I’m not going anywhere!” Flash replied, just as loud and half as confident. His mother put a hoof to her mouth in shock, though she did not gasp. Octavia nearly bolted right then. His father set his jaw. He glared at Flash, who, in turn, stared at the wall in a mix of fear and pure adrenaline. After a moment too long of this, Stoic sniffed once, and turned his gaze on his wife. “Well,” he growled. “You heard the boy. He’s not going anywhere.” Sunny was frozen now, too. Unable to speak or move. “So go ahead,” Stoic continued, getting to his hooves. “Accuse me. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Quit beating around the bush. Be a mare and tell me what you think.” Flash was trembling. Octavia could see the youth in his eyes. Stoic, growing impatient, began to stalk towards his wife. “I’m not hearing anything,” he said.  “I know what you’re doing,” Sunny whispered. “Then say it.” “I shouldn’t have to!” she shot back. There was silence. Stoic and Sunny were only a few steps apart. The stallion seemed primed, coiled like a snake about to strike. Sunny, on the other hoof, did her best to stand tall and strong, though Octavia could see the tiniest shiver. Somewhere in the kitchen, the toaster pinged. It was enough. Stoic took one huge step forward, his exact intentions unclear beyond the anger that was fueling them. Sunny leaned back, her rear hooves slipping on the tile floor, her wings flaring to keep her balance. And Flash leapt between them. It all happened so fast, Octavia hardly had the opportunity to gasp. To react at all. All she saw was Flash--somehow tiny, a mere foal floating at the center of the ghost that was his modern self--dive out of the kitchen and in-between his feuding parents. Then there was a flash of light. The smallest thing. A spark. A blink. His father saw it first. His face went beet red in seconds, and he took two long steps away from his wife and son. Flash stood up, quite slowly. He seemed more than a little confused and disoriented. Then, all of a sudden, the conclusion of the memory dawned on him, and he whipped his head around to look at his flank. A shield. Within it, a lightning bolt. His mother gasped. His father spluttered something incomprehensible, then shouted “room!”, and Flash was off like a shot. He galloped past Octavia, his head bowed in shame, and skidded around the corner into his bedroom. His parents watched him flee down the hallway. For a moment, they seemed to make eye contact with Octavia.  Her breath caught in her throat. Before they could say anything, though, they began to fade away. Like a mirage. Soon, all Octavia could hear was Flash’s ragged breathing as he tried to recover on the floor of his bedroom. Octavia turned and followed Flash back into his room. He was crumpled on the carpet, wings limp at his sides, right on the verge of tears without really giving in. It was quite the picture: Flash Sentry, brave and bold, crying in his superhero-themed foalhood bedroom. Under different circumstances, it may have made Octavia laugh. She closed the door behind her, and Flash looked up.  “Are you alright?” she asked softly. Flash squeezed his eyes shut, trying to chase away the tears. He tried to laugh, but it came out strangled and weak. “Sorry you had to see that. There’s a reason I don’t really introduce ponies to my parents.” Octavia sighed lightly and put a hoof on Flash’s shoulder. “I had no idea that--” “You had some idea.” She couldn’t really argue that. “Just… we don’t have to talk about it,” Flash said. He clamped his wings to his sides and stood up, albeit slowly. “I’d really like it if we didn’t, actually.” Octavia nodded. “Alright.” The bedroom was silent. It looked different, Octavia noticed. Still a little more Power Pony-oriented than the average bedroom, but it seemed a little more mature. The bed was certainly large enough for a teenager, and there seemed to be a desk in here that she didn’t remember being there before. “So…” Octavia said slowly, in an effort to break the silence. “Power Ponies, hm?” “Shut up,” Flash muttered, though it did squeeze one light chuckle out of him. “This doesn’t look like studying,” said a familiar deep voice. Octavia nearly leapt out of her skin, and Flash all but snapped to militaristic attention. The door was open, and Stoic Sentry was standing in it. As if nothing had happened. As if all the verbal abuse he had just rained down on his wife was somehow already in the past. “S-sorry, sir,” Flash said, more out of habit than understanding. “Mm.” Stoic forced his way into the room, and Octavia had to scramble out of his way. Now that she looked at his face, he seemed to be a little different, too. The hints of a wiry beard were poking through the softer fur on his face, and his eyes were ringed with more wrinkles-- all of them from squinting. In fact, his eyes seemed to fall naturally into that trademark frustrated glare as he glanced around Flash’s room. Once or twice, his eyes skated right past Octavia. She sucked in a terrified breath and froze both times, as if holding still would somehow keep her from being seen. To her surprise, Stoic seemed to look right through her. Flash’s father stalked through the room with purpose. The way he paused every now and then, glaring at the covers on the bed or the books on the shelf, put Octavia in mind of a sergeant inspecting the bunks of a private. He came to a stop in front of a poster of Zapp, looking up at her without outright contempt. “Still keeping this comic book shit around, hm?” Flash blinked. “Um--” “When you do join the royal guard, they won’t let you bring all this foal junk with you.” He looked back at Flash, ears tugged back in a show of aggression. He had an odd way of speaking, Octavia thought. Never making an outright threat, or even really doing any more than stating facts. Yet the meaning shown through; accusatory. Disappointed. Vitriolic. “I-I know,” Flash said. Stoic made a low sound of disgust, and turned away from the poster. He wandered another few steps, Flash still stood at attention by the door, and came to a stop at Flash’s desk. There was a rather thick workbook laying open in the center of it, a pencil in its fold. Stoic lifted the pencil and quickly pursued the page’s contents. Then, apparently not happy with what he saw, he dropped the pencil back in the book and made another grunt of displeasure. “You’re hardly a quarter of the way through this book,” he said. Flash’s wings sort of shuddered against him. “Well, I--” “What are your mother and I supposed to do with you if you don’t pass?” His tone was very nearly sympathetic, but the anger that remained negated any kindness he may have intended. “What sort of work do you think you can get with a cutie mark like that?” Stoic pointed at Flash’s flank. Flash instinctively covered it with one wing, averting his eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Stoic said. He snapped back to attention. “Yessir.” Stoic sighed deeply, looking into his son’s eyes with a grimace bordering on pity. “Law school’s out of the question. You’re not exactly athletic, either.” He gestured broadly to Flash’s body, and he cringed into himself all the more. “You don’t get into the Royal Guard Academy, you’re stuck as a mall security guard for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?” Flash didn’t say anything. His eyes slipped back down to the carpet, and his father didn’t bother to correct him. “Defense.” Stoic scoffed and shook his head. “Useless.” He stood still another moment, looking upon his son with a sort of distant sorrow. As if he had watched his own dreams die, and not the halfway-true dreams of Flash Sentry. Finished with his anti-pep talk, Stoic sniffed, then strode past Flash without another word. He closed the door on his way out. There was a very long silence. Octavia, too scared to breathe, remained frozen as she waited for Flash to say something--anything--to break the neverending quietude. He only stared straight ahead at the poster on his wall, trembling ever so slightly. Zapp looked down at him from nearly the same height as his father. Only, where Stoic had truly asserted that difference in height, leveraged it for the purpose of intimidation and power… Zapp seemed to be drifting downwards. She looked down at Flash as if her height meant nothing. As if she would gladly land before and speak face-to-face, muzzle-to-muzzle, as perfect equals. Flash swallowed hard and shook his head slightly. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it vacantly. Still, he said not a word. “Um…” Octavia cleared her throat. It felt wrong when she did it, but it seemed to make no difference to Flash. “I’m sure he… he only wanted what was best for you.” Flash closed his eyes and heaved a great sigh. “Yeah? You sure about that?” he muttered. Octavia looked down at the floor in shame. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.” Flash sniffed and wiped a hoof under his nostrils. “In the end, he was right, I guess. The Royal Guard really was the right place for me.” Octavia scoffed. “Maybe so, but he didn’t have to be such a…” she struggled to find the right word, but came up empty. “He didn’t have to talk to you that way.” “Maybe. Maybe not.” Flash, at long last, turned to look at Octavia. She could see how hard he was trying to remain impassive, as if he were straining against some powerful, invisible force. “I wasn’t exactly going places as a colt. If he hadn’t talked like that to me, I might not have--” “Cool room.” Octavia shot to her hooves at the sound of this new visitor. At the sight of her, she nearly collapsed back in on herself entirely. She stood in the doorway of Flash’s bedroom with a sort of… apprehension. As if she had never done anything like this before, and it was all so new and strange to her that she could hardly bring herself to step over the threshold. From the look of her ratty mane and frizzy bangs, she certainly didn’t have a traditional interest in colts. Or mares. Or social relationships of any kind, for that matter. Had it not been for the cutie mark, Octavia may not have recognized her at all. Or, at the very least, may not have believed that she was the same pony. But she was. Twilight Sparkle. A simple, awkward, teenage unicorn with a tremor in her voice and a worried look in her eye. “Uh… thanks,” Flash said, rubbing the back of his head with one hoof. “Y-you can come in! If you want.” Twilight nodded and stepped inside. She had a different way of looking around Flash’s room. It had evolved even further, now-- no visible (or, at the very least, recognizable) Power Ponies merchandise, a more mature color scheme, a larger library. Twilight examined it all with the wide-eyed wonder of a foal meeting their first giraffe. Flash followed around after her as if he were desperately trying to corral a lost puppy. Everytime Twilight leaned in to examine something more closely, he seemed to dart in, preventing her from touching or otherwise poking around in his stuff. “So…” Twilight mused, tapping her chin as she surveyed Flash’s bookshelf. “You’re really into… adventure stories.” She said it slowly, as if she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. Flash scoffed. “I wouldn’t say I’m… really  into them,” he said, chuckled awkwardly. “More of a… y’know, a passing interest.” “Mm-hm…” Twilight hummed.  She reached out to pull down a particular volume, but Flash all but smacked it out of her hooves. “Uh-- that’s an older one,” Flash spluttered. “I haven’t even read it! I mean, I have. Long time ago. It’s-- it’s more sentimental than--” “The Power Ponies?” Twilight’s tone had fallen all the way over into judgement, now. She let the book fall open in her magic and examined the first page. “This is signed,” she said simply. “Pft-- is it? I hadn’t, uh… n-noticed…” Flash seemed to realize his lie was disintegrating as he spoke. Octavia couldn’t help but wince internally as Twilight closed the book and slipped it back onto the shelf. “I’m sure it’s, um… good,” Twilight said. “Just not really my cup of tea.” She looked at Flash as she said this. Not at the book-- at Flash. Flash didn’t seem heartbroken, exactly. More embarrassed than anything. He made a face that was trying to be a smile, but fell flat at an uncomfortable grimace. Twilight continued to pace around the room, looking more and more lost as time went on. Similarly, Flash’s own almost-grin deflated.  Octavia walked slowly out from her position beside Flash’s bed and began to wander around as well. Rather than examine the decor, however, Octavia kept her sights laser-focused on Twilight. If she was honest--really, truly honest--she had never spent that much time with the mare. And she most certainly hadn’t spent any time with this, the most genuine version of Twilight Sparkle there likely was. She had met the princess; both the one who seemed to be utterly clueless about romance, and the one who had managed to carry on a romance in secret. Right under her snout. But… in looking at this mare, it was hard to believe that could be true. In fact, in looking at this mare, Octavia felt a strange sort of sympathy. Or perhaps vulnerability. Whatever it was, it made her feel more scrutinously seen than she had in a very long time. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror that magnifies every keystone trait Octavia had-- including ineptitude at love. “Why don’t we sit and, uh… talk for a while?” Flash suddenly suggested, swooping in towards the bed and taking a seat on the edge. Twilight looked curiously at Flash. “Sure. I guess.” Cheerful enough, but certainly not eager. She took a seat beside Flash. It was not as close as Flash had evidently hoped, and so he allowed his wings to relax slightly, filling the gap between the two ponies. Though it was feather-to-fur touch, it made Twilight bristle. Octavia looked away. She wasn’t quite sure why. “So, uh…” Flash’s hooves pounded arrhythmically on the side of the mattress. “I heard Celestia’s school as a dance coming up. Were you thinking about going?” Twilight reached up to tuck a frizzy lock of mane behind her ear. “Not really. I have a lot of studying to do. Finals are coming up.” “Oh.” Flash didn’t ask why Twilight’s school would have a dance so close to finals. Or why she thought she needed to study for finals at all. Or why it was, really, that she didn’t want to go to the dance. He just pulled his wings back in towards his barrel, and allowed the distance to yawn between them. “I had a nice time today,” Twilight said. She smiled an odd sort of lopsided smile. Not exactly forced, just… not smiling for the reason she should have been. Flash straightened up. “Yeah! Me too,” he said, genuine and eager. “Maybe you and I can go to another dance sometime.” Twilight nodded slightly. “Maybe.” Octavia snuck a glance at the two of them. Flash--the teenage version, a scrawnier one that flickered inside the ghost of his current self--seemed hopeful. The glimmer in his eyes said that he really did think that dance would happen one day. Twilight was less so. She was looking at the carpet, as if tracing an escape route out of this situation. “Um… I gotta get back to my dorm,” Twilight said at last, getting to her hooves. “It’s getting late.” Flash jumped up, too. “Sure, Twilight. I can walk you back, if--” “That’s okay,” Twilight said quickly. She was already side-stepping towards the door. “I’ll be alright.” Flash, wasting not a second, squirmed around Twilight and grabbed the doorknob before she could get to it. “Let me at least get the door for you!” Twilight sighed wearily. She let Flash motion her through the open door. Octavia followed a few paces behind, never closer than the length their shadows stretched over the floor. She hovered in the doorway of Flash’s bedroom and watched, distantly, as Flash gave Twilight a chaste peck on the cheek and waved goodbye. Stoic was on the couch. He twisted to look over his shoulder and watch as Twilight walked down the sidewalk and around the corner. Then, he turned his gaze on Flash. “She’s too good for you,” he said simply, turning a page of his book. Flash visibly deflated. “Dad, I--” “Too smart,” his father interrupted. “That filly’s going places. You said she goes to Celestia’s school, didn’t you?” “Yeah, but--” “Then she’s too smart for you,” his father repeated. “There’s no way you’d be in a school like that, even if you were a unicorn. And do you know why?” Flash nickered softly to himself, but did not reply. Stoic closed his book and set it down on the table in front of him. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” “Yessir.” “Do you know why?” Flash set his jaw. “Because I… don’t apply myself.” Stoic nodded. “Mm. Maybe if you put in a little effort now and then, you’d be able to keep a mare like her.” “Dad, she’s just my friend’s little sister,” Flash said. Stoic laughed. One loud, harsh, booming sound. “Then maybe your friends are too good for you, too.” Flash didn’t seem hurt by this. Not anymore. He seemed bitter, almost. There was a deep and powerful anger in his eyes, smoldering like a hot coal, yet never allowed to catch fire the way it wanted to. Needed to. Stoic seemed to notice his misstep. “You know I’m only looking out for you.” Flash heaved a great sigh. “Yeah. I know.” “Don’t want you making the same mistakes I did.” “I know. I remember.” “I nearly dragged our family name through the mud, and you wanna know why?” Stoic asked. Then, before Flash had a chance to answer, he said, “because my father didn’t give me enough discipline. He didn’t care what I did-- and it cost me a chance at--” “--at the Royal Guard Academy,” Flash finished for him. “Don’t interrupt me.” “Sorry, sir.” Stoic grumbled something to himself, then picked up his book once more. “One day, you’ll thank me,” he muttered as a final thought, before once again burying himself in his novel. Flash turned away from his father, chancing an eye-roll as he did. “Yeah. Right.” He trotted past Octavia, hooves pounding a little too powerfully as he did so. Octavia lingered a moment longer and watched as Flash’s father slowly faded away into the furniture. She had never really thought about it, but it did very much feel the way a memory felt-- perfect clarity in all the worst places, and fuzzy around the edges. When even the barest traces of Flash’s father had disappeared, Octavia turned around and closed the door behind her. Flash was standing in front of his desk, his back turned to Octavia, looking out the window. Octavia snuck up a little closer to him. “Thinking about running away from home?” she asked, risking a little playfulness in her voice. Flash startled a bit. “Uh. I dunno,” he said blankly. “That was meant to be a joke,” Octavia said. “Oh.” Flash looked over his shoulder at his companion. “Sorry.” Octavia opened her mouth to continue, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. Or, rather, they seemed to pile up in her brain, trampling one another for a chance at the conversation. None of them were any good. She swallowed them down. She took a few steps away from Flash, head bowed in embarrassment, and began to slink back to the bed. There were a few other things that were different about Flash’s room, she saw. She wasn’t sure how she had missed them before, truth be told: the tight corners on bedding, the duffel bag on the floor, the strange sparseness of the room altogether. It wasn’t the room of a stallion his age-- or, the age he had been. It was the room of a stallion his father’s age, all hints of youthful joy carefully tucked away in hidden places. Octavia looked back at Flash. No, the room was different. It was shaped different, it had different furniture, and most of the books had vanished.  This was what it looked like now, in his own home. “He was right, y’know,” Flash said. Octavia knit her brows. “Your father?” she asked, incredulous. “Of course not.” Flash laughed, a dry and humorless sound. “No, he was.” He turned to face Octavia. And, in his face, Octavia could see his father’s strong jaw. The shadows of wrinkles around his eyes. The hints of a dark blue beard poking through the fur on his face. “No!” Octavia rushed in towards him. She stretched up as tall as she could, inspecting these new changes in her companion’s face. “No, no. Of course not.” Flash sighed, long and exasperated. “If he hadn’t done all this for me, i would--” “He didn’t do this for you, he did it to you,” Octavia corrected. “Parents are meant to help their child fix their mistakes, not restrict them in the hopes they’ll never make one.” Flash scoffed. “And you would know, right?” “I would, actually.” Flash opened his mouth, intending to snark back at the mare before him, but paused. His eyes slowly narrowed. His mouth fell into a confused gape. Octavia turned to look at whatever it is he was gawking at. And, in the doorway--the now familiar doorway--she saw an unwelcome face. “Well, would you look at that?” Flash said. “Guess you get to prove it to me.”