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// IV: Hardly Uplifting 
// Story: He Is What He Hides 
// by Acologic 
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‘Thunderlane! Get yourself over here, and let’s have a drink!’

It was Blossomforth, who had shouted, accompanied by Flitter and Rainbow Dash. Grinning, Thunderlane adjusted his wings and flew to the cloud upon which they sat. ‘Working hard or hardly working, eh?’ He aimed it at Rainbow Dash, who yawned. 

‘I need my rest. Besides, everypony knows I could clear the sky in five seconds flat – if I really wanted to.’

‘I only wish you would,’ snorted Blossomforth. ‘If I were half as fast as you, I’d be the finest weather pony in Equestria.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, use your head.’

‘Hi, Thunderlane,’ Flitter said, smiling at him, and Thunderlane felt his cheeks warm. 

‘What’s the occasion?’ he said in a full voice, hoping to appear witty and impressive. 

‘Eh,’ said Blossomforth, shrugging. ‘We dealt with the cirrus clouds, and Rainbow says forty minutes till the next job. She –’ She tossed her head at Rainbow Dash, who winked. ‘She already finished her lot above the Everfree, and we caught her napping. How’s the day been with you?’

Thunderlane shrugged back. ‘Uneventful. Not much in the way of low-hangers, so I’ve been taking my time. Speaking with a few ponies. You know how it is.’

‘Oi, Flits, grab us some OJ off SCC.’ Rainbow Dash snorted, and Blossomforth frowned. ‘What?’ asked the latter.

‘You speak like a foal, Bloss,’ replied Rainbow as Flitter flew to the Cakes’ for drinks. Thunderlane watched her go.

‘So, you spoke with some ponies,’ Blossomforth said to him, ignoring Rainbow. ‘What’s the latest down below? Come on, give us the goss.’

‘You’re a nosy git,’ said Thunderlane. ‘Well, what can I say? It’s the usual. Bit dull after that business with the Ursa whatsit the other night. And then there was the smoke that Fluttershy cleared.’

‘Been there, seen that,’ said Rainbow, yawning again. 

‘Well, the word is there’s something up with Berry Punch, but it sounded pretty far-fetched. Small-town grapevine nonsense.’

‘Isn’t she growing something she shouldn’t be?’ prompted Blossomforth.

‘Why do I bother telling you anything?’ Thunderlane laughed.

‘Well, how do you think I find out about these things? I have to ask! Ooh!’ Blossomforth grew very still, like an insect preparing to ambush its prey. In a low voice she said, ‘Look who it is. Look. No, not there. There. Down there. Rainbow, look. See him? That’s the third time I’ve seen him look like that, and he’s always alone. A real weirdo!’

Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes, pulled back her head from the rim of the cloud and lay down with a sigh. ‘Wake me if it’s important,’ she muttered. Thunderlane peered at the pony and realised whose back Blossomforth was biting.

‘Hey, that’s Gem. Don’t be mean, Bloss, he’s fine. Gem!’ Thunderlane lifted a hoof. Blossomforth hissed and grabbed him, rolled him into the cloud. 

‘What’s that all about?’ Thunderlane snapped at her.

‘Don’t attract his attention!’

But Gem, for whom Thunderlane felt a strange fondness, seemed oblivious not only to the clouds above him but also to the ground beneath. 

‘See his face?’ Blossomforth whispered. ‘Creepy. Capital-C creepy. Now that’s a pony thinking some nasty thoughts if you ask m— aww, what did I say?’

For Thunderlane had taken a leaf out of Rainbow’s book and lain down, his eyes closed.


• • •


‘We met here, didn’t we? In a place like this.’

Twilight laughed and touched Gem on the snout. ‘I was studying for my magic exam, and you were working for your father.’

Gem shuddered at the memory of his father but smiled at that of Twilight. Her many books had covered their table; her eyes had been bright and determined. Then his mind darkened at his most recent recollection. ‘Why didn’t you remember me at the library?’ he asked, trying his best not to sound hurt.

Twilight’s brow rose. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean? Of course I remember you! I’m right here, with you, right now, Gem. Don’t worry so much. Everything is fine.’ She leaned forward, and they nuzzled. Feeling a lot better, Gem ate a hay fry. It wasn’t as bad as the ones he used to serve her, and he liked the idea of revisiting old times with old meals. 

‘What did you want to ask me?’ Twilight said, and Gem’s mood slipped again. It was astonishing, the power she held. When thinking of Twilight, he was at either his highest or his lowest. The agonies and the ecstasies that she alone summoned – Gem could describe neither the terror of the first nor the primacy of the second. Life without her was unimaginable. How he had managed it before he could no longer explain, having tried each night of the previous month.

‘I – I just wanted – just needed to – your help. To calm down. Myself down. The last weeks – they can’t be like this anymore, Twilight, please. Please don’t let me be like this. That bucking Trixie!’ He spat out the hated name with as much venom as he could muster, teeth clenched like vices. ‘H-how she dared to – I’ll – I’ll have her! I’ll –’

How he had wanted to hurt, to shame, to degrade that horrible pony who had wronged his only friend. But Twilight was, of course, magnanimity itself – so Gem had desisted. For Twilight. Everything for her. 

She studied his pale, taut face as she spoke, her words laden with utmost trust, respect and concern. ‘Remember when we walked to Headspony’s Hill, Gem? Where the wicked were punished. You held me, and I told you that the wicked are always punished; that does not change. Only the punishment.’

‘Yes,’ breathed Gem, his eyes wet and burning again. ‘Yes, I remember. I remember!’

‘Learn to let go, Gem. You must. You have to let the feelings go.’

Both of them knew he would not let her go, and that was the problem. He did not say it. He could not say it, yet he knew: Twilight was his problem. She ignited his extremes. The price for her splendour was the torment he wished would end. How could he let her go? Let the feelings go? 

They looked at each other. Then Gem blinked, and she was gone. 


• • •


Gem had not played his guitar for three days. Instead he’d been hard at work, engraving his choral composition. Twilight deserved the best, his best, yet that it was insufficient terrified him. The pages he carried in a bag around his neck. He had time to perfect them, to rectify their wrongs, for wrongs remained. He needed to take them out and look over them again, for the eighth time. He knew he would find nothing, for he had fixed everything he could by the fourth, meticulous pass. Then why did he feel so inefficient, so underprepared? So useless? The music was of a high quality, but the music was also mediocre. So, it was not of a high quality. It was useless. It was a disgrace, an insult to his friend, to whom he still intended to present it. 

‘Please, please, please,’ he murmured to himself in the moonlight. He had waited for darkness. Davenport and Soapy lived away from the shop, so slipping out had been easy. Unlike Canterlot, Ponyville was quiet on all but the best of nights. He was free to see Twilight alone, without birthing rumour or arousing jealousy. Then he remembered Spike, her dragon helper, and hoped he would not answer the door. ‘Please. Please, please.’

Light emanated from the windows of the Golden Oak Library. She was awake, and the thought sent an unpleasant chill down Gem’s spine. His heart thudded. His head was hot with sweat. His tongue bled because he had bitten it. He stumbled on his tail and, with a gurgle, fell. What was the matter with him? Why could he not perform this most straightforward of tasks? A task that each pony under the sun could complete? To give a friend a gift. His symptoms worsened the closer to his destination he drew. He retched and avoided being sick only by gulping down breaths of cool night air. 

‘P-please – please, please. Please. Please, please –’

And there he was. The door to the Golden Oak Library, tall, curved. His door to Twilight, and all he needed to do was knock. His hooves were anvils hugging the ground. His neck clicked as he tried to loosen up, steeling himself. He felt tears threaten again. How he cried these days. But Twilight was in there, and she would help him. She would embrace him, and the world would be right again. If only he could knock. If only he could give her his gift.

He raised his hoof, eyes popping. A foot from the door. He had only to swing it forward. No, to let it drop. It would connect with the firm wood, and she would know he was there, awaiting her magnificence. But what did he have to offer her? What could he do in the face of such effortless superiority? Extend a pittance in return for limitless bounty? He wanted to be sick, so disgusted by the injustice of such an exchange was he. His hoof quivered, trembled, but did not fall. 

'P-please – please, pl— plea— p-pl—'

And his strength, though no word suited less the state of his body and mind, emptied. He turned and ran like a rat from a flame. He ran until his lungs would not let him. Wheezing, he slattered his key into the lock and turned. He rattled the handle until he stumbled into the shop. He staggered upstairs to his room. The floor shook as he kicked open his door.

He ripped the bag from his neck, rammed his hooves into the pocket and tore his score to shreds. He howled with anguished laughter. Then he sank to his knees, sobbing more loudly than he had ever heard himself. He ground his face into the floorboards. The urge to bite, to tear himself to pieces, he could not realise. 

And he cried.