"I think we could have been friends."
"Huh?" Wick looked towards the stallion.
"Me and Stella," he explained. "Under different circumstances. If she'd been a little different. I really think we could have, and I would have enjoyed it."
"What's she like?" Wick asked, not moving from her spot behind the counter but focusing more on the stallion than on the door.
"Smart," he replied. "Kind of purple. Ruthless. Without a real direction in life."
Wick Clip hummed to herself, idly playing with some spare bits. "Why is it that she wants you dead, again?"
"Because I can see her," the stallion explained. "I think she doesn't like being seen. Not like that."
"Like what?"
The stallion paused, tilting his head as he thought about it. "Like she sees herself," he finally replied. "Or better than she sees herself. She can't stand it, either way."
Wick half smiled, half pursed her lips. "Do you think you see me better than I see myself, too?"
"It is really hard to get a good look at oneself, from inside. You can see things those outside can't, but you miss the bigger picture. You see the gears turning but not the thing they animate." The stallion shrugged. "Personally I think it's best to see both. But doing that usually requires one to listen to what others might have to say about them, and that's not always something you want to do."
"I suppose not," Wick replied. "But some ponies have a point there."