Regrettably, Fiddlesticks woke up that morning.
There was no reason for her to believe she wouldn’t, really, but that didn’t stop her from wishing it’d happen. It would be so simple, everything would be over and she wouldn’t even have to lift a hoof.
No one would be able to blame her.
She sighed and rolled out of bed; wasn’t much point in staying in it while her heart was still beating.
Fiddlesticks fumbled her way into the bathroom and took stock of herself in the mirror. To put it gently, she looked horrible. Her mane was a tangled mess, and the bags under her eyes were probably permanent at this point.
She roughly brushed her mane, forcing it to look like it always did, paying no mind to the dry, damaged hairs that she was destroying. As long as it looked okay, that was all that mattered.
A quick application of concealer under her eyes, and she almost looked like a normal pony. With a deep breath, Fiddlesticks put on her practiced smile, and hoped other ponies wouldn’t think it looked as fake as she did.
Leaving the bathroom, she was greeted by a hallway filled with empty rooms. Her family’s home was so quiet it was deafening, and Fiddlesticks doubted she’d ever get used to it. She walked down the stairs, and was faced with an empty kitchen. Thoughts of breakfasts past haunted her, and she had to shake the memories off before they consumed her.
Everything in this house was a reminder of how everypony else in her immediate family had moved on. There was a bitter sort of irony in the fact that she, the adopted Apple, had ended up inheriting this house, that she was the one stuck in Appleoosa despite growing up certain that she’d be the first—and perhaps only—of her siblings to move on. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But that’s life, she supposed.
Fiddlesticks shook her head and walked to the front door. She wasn’t hungry anyways. She grabbed her violin, donned her hat, and set off into town.
Appleoosa had changed very little in all the years Fiddlesticks had lived there. The same dirt roads, the same wood facades on all the main street buildings, and the same ponies.
Well, that last part wasn’t strictly true. There were many new faces these days, some of whom she knew, many she didn’t. They all had the same attitude though. Those pitying looks for that poor Apple mare who was reduced to busking to get by. Bits thrown in her violin case not for her playing, how could they be when nopony stopped to listen? The awkward smiles as they offered the same hollow platitudes over and over again.
‘Keep your chin up.’
‘Things’ll get better.’
‘I’m rooting for you.’
It was exhausting. It made her feel sick. Sometimes she wished there was a blade at the end of her bow, and she could just slit their throats.
But there was no blade, so she shut her eyes and tuned the world out and just kept playing the same songs she always did, notes flowing out mindlessly, useless thoughts swirling in her head. Everything was always the same.
So imagine her surprise when a large gust of wind blew dust all over her.
That wasn’t supposed to happen, the streets of Appleoosa were laid out to minimize dust storms, and even the most careless carriage drivers couldn’t cause this much dust to be sprayed.
“Oh, whoops, sorry about that,” a rough, feminine voice chuckled out, sounding anything but apologetic to Fiddlestick’s ears. “Here, let me just—”
The sound of flapping wings was the only warning she got before another gust of wind struck her, sending her and the other mare into a coughing fit.
“What in the hay is wrong with you?” Fiddlesticks exclaimed.
“Hey! I got all that dust off you, why are you complaining?”
Fiddlesticks cautiously opened her eyes, but no dust irritated them like she had expected. She glanced at the other mare, a turquoise pegasus with a windswept golden mane, before taking stock of herself. She’d need to take a shower still, sure, but the majority of the dust had been cleared away. Even her hat and violin seemed to be clean (at least as much as one could expect in this situation). She sighed.
“Fair enough, it did actually work, even if it was pretty harebrained,” she begrudgingly said. She glared at the other mare and continued, “I don’t see why I should be too grateful though, considerin’ you were cleanin’ up your own mess.”
The mare rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. I keep hearing you play that thing in the distance while I’m doing weatherwork, and I just had to get a closer listen. Still getting used to the fact I can’t come in for a landing as fast as I used to without making a mess.” Unlike her previous apology, she sounded genuinely contrite this time.
“Well, apology accepted, just don’t make it a habit.” Fiddlesticks placed her violin on the ground and leaned back against the building behind her. “So, a weathermare, huh? Thought I knew everypony on the team, but I’ve never seen you around before.”
The mare grinned. “Yeah, outside of the other weatherponies and some of the shopkeepers, I don’t think anypony really knows me here yet. Still new in town and just getting used to everything, but trust me, everypony here will know who I am soon enough.”
Fiddlesticks wanted to laugh at the other mare’s cocky attitude, but there was something about the way she held herself that made Fiddlesticks believe her. “Well, if you want ponies to know you, how about you start with giving me your name?”
“Oh, right,” she said, blushing, “the name’s Lightning Dust, and you better not forget it!”
Fiddlesticks chuckled. “Doubt I’ll forget it, what with your introduction matchin’ your name so dang well.” Lightning’s blush intensified at that, but her self-assured body language still didn’t falter. “Aw, I’m just teasin’ ya. My name’s Fiddlesticks. It’s nice to meet you, Lightnin’.”
Fiddlesticks held out a hoof, and Lightning bumped it with her own. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.” She pointed at the spot next to Fiddlesticks with a wing. “Mind if I sit there?”
“Go right ahead.”
Lightning did just that, and Fiddlesticks scooted over a bit to give a little more room between them. “Thanks. I meant what I said earlier, y’know.”
Fiddlesticks smirked. “What, that everypony is gonna know who you are?”
Lightning shook her head. “Nah, not that. Well, I mean, that too, but I was talking about hearing you play. That uh…”
“Violin? Fiddle?” she supplied.
Lightning nodded. “Yeah, that. You’re really good at it, I could tell even from up in the clouds. But there’s no passion in your playing, like at all. Why is somepony as good as you just going through the motions?”
Fiddlesticks felt her heart stop for a moment. Lightning knew. This mare she had just met knew. Not only that, she actually said what nopony else around her had the guts to say. Panic gripped at her and threatened to rip her mask to shreds. So much of herself desperately wanted to run home and cry, wallow in her humiliation in peace. But something about Lightning’s lack of tact rubbed her the wrong way, so when she finally broke, she didn’t weep.
She lashed out.
“Who do you think you are, tellin’ me my playin’s got no soul? You didn’t even know what my instrument is, and you’re gonna say somethin’ like that?”
Lightning leaned back. “Woah, hey, I didn’t mean—”
Fiddlesticks glared at her and leaned forward, snarling. “I think we both know what you meant, Lightnin’ Dust.”
Lightning blinked and, like a switch had been flipped, was suddenly in Fiddlestick’s face, glaring right back at her. “Fine, you want to put words in my mouth? Then I’ll tell you what you clearly want to hear. With playing like that, you’re always gonna be stuck here in this boring little town, playing music nopony will truly appreciate, only getting money because your neighbors feel sorry for you.”
Fiddlesticks’s jaw dropped, and Lightning stood up. “I might not know music, but I sure know talent, and I know when it’s being wasted. And here, since you like the Dust part of my name so much.” With a quick flick of her wing, Fiddlesticks was once again sprayed with dust.
By the time she was done coughing and shaking herself clean, Fiddlesticks was alone again.