She had to clean her face again, and getting rid of tear tracks was its own art. Apple Bloom had never found the chance to try makeup (and her only possible reason was something she hated herself for, dearly wished the dreams would just stop) — but when it came to smoothing out her fur so that it looked as if no emotions had been felt at all…
There was no mark for that. The youngest Malus recognized it as a certainty. The Crusade would have produced a triple manifest, and it would have taken place within the first three moons.
Dead.
She looked into the bathroom mirror. Sent the word through her mind a few more times, and only stopped when it temporarily ceased to produce a need for additional touch-ups.
When?
She didn’t have an answer for that, and when it came to getting a precise date… Ponyville didn’t have its own newspaper. (On the most technical level, it didn’t have one any more.) She couldn’t visit the library and look through yellowing pages for a single obituary. And even if that level of public record had existed — it was Homecoming. The library, as with every other local government building, was closed. A factor which closed off the true first resort, because there was no current means of getting into Town Hall and looking at those public records either.
The easiest way would have been through asking an adult, but… Apple Bloom would need to luck into one who knew. And there was another lingering side effect of the Crusade to deal with: when it came to even the most basic questions, too many mares and stallions would still want to know why the inquiry was being made. To ask about a death…
Apple Bloom didn’t know exactly when Diamond’s mother had died. But she could make a rough guess.
Long enough that ponies don’t talk ‘bout it no more.
There were things which the youngest Malus barely remembered. And as the years passed, time abraiding memory like a grindstone turning against moss…
She was losing memories. She knew it. She tried to bring back those days, concentrated fiercely on anything which remained, and sometimes wondered if the clearest images had been born from imagination twinned to the desperate desire to still have something.
Memories being lost to the void, while the things she didn’t want to remember would perversely insist on staying outside the abyss. But there were times when the latter category became useful, generally in moments of renewed pain. And in this case, it meant Apple Bloom knew a few things about death. The ways in which it faded, for all but those who were still wounded. Forever bleeding, for some things never healed.
There would be a death.
(There had been two.)
And it would just… take over. Death consumed your life. It was every moment. If somepony spoke to you, then that was the topic. Shiva started and for somepony too young to ever hear the final echoes which rose from the magic of the lost, all the mourning period did was grant you time in which death was the lone thought. And when shiva ended, when you went out into public again, complete strangers would come up to you and say how sorry they were, how very sorry and maybe they’d known the lost, but Apple Bloom had never met any of them and it didn’t feel as if they had the right.
Death was moons of falsely being offered comfort. (Or sincere attempts, but… they didn’t work, and the resulting void felt exactly the same.) Of being pitied. Of climbing into a cold, too-large bed because maybe, just maybe, it had all been a dream and she would wake up to find —
— but time passed. It stole memories, and it did so while weakening the majority of emotions. Eventually, the wound bled for her —
— for us, that ain’t fair, for us —
— alone. Ponies mostly stopped talking about it. If the topic did somehow arise, it was quickly dismissed. A few would even begin to speak of the lost with smiles on their faces, as if those gone forever would be coming around the corner at any minute.
Waitin’.
And when enough time had gone by, weeks into moons, moons to seasons and seasons passing year after year… nopony would speak at all. And that was the point at which Apple Bloom found her anger.
There was a saying: that nopony was truly dead as long as their name was still spoken. While they were remembered. But Apple Bloom remembered less every year, her own family seldom spoke of the lost, and when it came to the town… hardly anypony brought it up any more. With so many new ponies in town, there were those who would never speak. No memories to bring back, and no reason to inquire. The way things were… that was all they would ever know.
Diamond’s mother was dead. And it was an old death, for even the words had been buried —
— the bathroom seemed to be getting colder.
Babs told Diamond t’ go tell her mom herself. Whatever had t’ be done for that.
It was like being too close to Princess Luna when the alicorn was in a bad mood, only with all of the chill rising from within.
Babs told Diamond t’ kill herself.
She didn’t understand why the mirror wasn’t frosting.
”I don’t think ponies change. The most they do is show you who they really are underneath.”
Ah told mahself Ah care ‘bout Babs. Ah… want t’ care ‘bout her.
But Ah don’t know her, do Ah?
Who is Babs?
She didn’t know.
There was no realistic holiday means of staying in the bathroom forever (unless you were Babs): eventually, there were going to be questions or, if she really stalled, either guests who needed the space or the summoning of doctors because something clearly had to be exactly that wrong. Apple Bloom wasn’t entirely sure which was worse and in both cases, didn’t see any real hope of getting meal delivery until Babs got back on the train.
So she had to exit, because Homecoming still had chores to inflict. But before she went back out…
What do Ah say?
Was there anything to be said at all?
She didn’t know if there was any current point in telling Applejack about what had happened between Diamond and Babs. And it wasn’t from a desire to avoid ‘snitching’, because the youngest Malus now understood exactly how stupid that was. Her sister would likely believe her about all of it: the end of the Crusade had brought a slowly-increasing spike in credibility — but what was the current motivation for speaking?
Confront Babs on her own ‘bad attitude’?
…protect Diamond?
…probably not that last.
Apple Bloom understood that a lot of families fought on Homecoming, and… she didn’t want that. The part of her which was still fully a filly longed for warmth and comfort and somepony who would carry her to bed. Or, at the very least, not to wait any more.
But there was also a slowly-emerging inner adult to reckon with, and that party recognized that something might have to be said — while simultaneously feeling that before any words came out, the speaker had better make sure they were the right ones.
Each aspect recognized the existence of the other. This was mostly done through a lot of glaring, the not-so-occasional open tumbling battle through the interior of Apple Bloom’s skull, and a rather solid agreement about giving up on waiting.
Might be able t’ hold off until tomorrow mornin’. Jus’ get up first an’ talk t’ Applejack then. Won’t disrupt the holiday, an’ it gives me more time t’ get the words right. Ain’t like Diamond’s likely t’ come back —
— Diamond, when angry or bored, tended to drag her father into everything. With this new emotion in play…
Apple Bloom made a quick estimate for the amount of time which had passed since the encounter. Compared it against Diamond’s best hoof speed across the distance to the estate, and then factored for a slower adult coming back.
They would’ve been here by now.
She paused. Listened carefully, and held her breath.
Or now.
Maybe now.
Maybe…
…all right: Ah know Ah can keep this up for hours. Figure they ain’t coming, work out what t’ say in a hurry if’fin they do. But Ah don’t know if she told her dad. If she’ll ever tell. Ah don’t know what Diamond does when she —
— cries.
Jus’ go back out there. Do chores. Help set up for the holiday. Pretend everythin’ is fine. Ah’m good at that, right? Ah pretended for a couple of weeks when Babs was here the first time. Pretendin’ is easy.
…not so easy that Ah got a mark for that, neither…
An’ Ah think Ah need t’ get a look at that letter. Maybe Ah can find where they put the thing. It’s like Mac said: the wordin’ counts. An’ since Ah don’t know what any of those words are…
She had the option to directly ask her siblings. Or Granny, for that matter. But she suspected the usual result was very much in play: that she would be told she was too young for such things, or… Honesty, asked for the favor granted by truth, would simply fall silent.
The youngest Malus turned away from the mirror. Holiday chores would keep her mouth and hooves busy for a while. In theory, that would buy the brain time in which to actually come up with something productive. And chores would mean avoiding Babs, gaining that much more solitude for thought.
She unlocked the door, started back into the main farmhouse, and nearly trotted directly into the center of the too-soft argument.
It was easy to pick out out the words. Applejack could just about whisper with authority, and with Scootaloo… the pegasus had a way of going quiet which effectively duplicated a scream.
They were in the sitting room, and only the near-instant freeze of Apple Bloom’s legs had kept her from joining them. She could hear every word — but to move enough for a single glimpse of fur would risk being seen herself.
Stopping at the border of a discussion. Eavesdropping, for the second time in less than a day. She knew the family wouldn’t approve. But having heard any of the words meant she knew not to step into sight.
The time before the holiday had seen Scootaloo growing increasingly quiet. Tense.
“I have to!”
There was a reason for that.
Almost gently, “Y’shouldn’t.” It was an honest opinion, and so the shine came off necklace and jewel.
“I have to be there!” The volume hadn’t increased. The desperation had. “Today of all days! If they’re ever going to — it’s right there, it’s in the name! I just need to check! Stay, just for tonight, because if they… and I’m not there, I have to be there — I can sleep there tonight, I know how to sleep in my own —“
“— an’ if they don’t?” Just barely above a whisper, and the soft tones failed to comfort or cushion.
“You don’t know!”
“Ah know,” Applejack gently said, “that the police put alarms on the house.” (There was kindness in the words, and Apple Bloom mentally raised the count of ruined Elements to two.) “Somepony tries t’ get in, and a signal goes off at the station. They’ll dispatch. They’ll come tell you, as quick as they can. ‘cause they always would, ‘cause that’s been the plan all along — but especially today, Scootaloo. They’ll always tell you —”
“— it’ll be dark!” the pegasus protested. “It’ll look like nopony’s home, because there isn’t! If I just —“
“— Ah can ask somepony t’ turn a light on,” Applejack offered and, before the youngest could evaluate the use of ‘can’, switched to “Will. It’ll be a little complicated, but Ah can get word into town.”
‘Frantic’ applied to tone and speech, if only as drastic understatement. “But they’ll go inside and see it’s just a light, and it won’t be — if I’m there…!”
“Scootaloo,” Applejack softly asked, “the alarm spell is still gonna send the signal. Somepony will be there, as quick as they can. An’… after all this time, if they got back an’ saw y’weren’t there — d’you think they’d jus’ go an’ turn around?”
The worst thing happened.
There were a lot of worsts on that particular holiday, with more to come on the day after. But when Apple Bloom looked back on all of it… there was an argument to be made that the nadir arrived at that exact moment. Forever embedded within an instance of perfect silence.
Applejack had asked a question. Something which had been designed to bring out a single, instantaneous answer. And Scootaloo… hesitated.
“…no.”
Her sister was Honesty, and that meant it was sometimes possible to hear when Applejack wasn’t speaking. But in that moment, if only for an instant, the youngest Malus picked up on the second silence. The place where the deepest of sighs would have gone, if not for the barrier created by responsibility and the bond which had yet to fully build. And perhaps that sound would have been followed by tears, and wet eyes pressed against welcoming fur.
But the older sister and the welcome guest weren’t there yet. And so there was only silence.
“Ah’ll get word t’ Miranda,” Applejack finally promised. “T’ turn a light on. An’ make sure the alarm is charged. Maybe even leave a note, sayin’ where t’ go. That’s a promise, Scootaloo.” With the lightest hint of ill-timed humor (and that was three now), “Appreciate it if’fin y’wouldn’t question that — “
“— I didn’t,” the pegasus quietly said. “I won’t. I’m… just going to go up the ramp.”
“Stay on the Acres,” was, all things considered, much more gentle than it could have been.
“I’m not leaving through the window,” Scootaloo stated. “I’m just — going to try a glide. Because… maybe if they…” Stopped, and Apple Bloom heard the effort which went into the next breath. “Gliding. It’s… something they could see, if Chief Rights brought them over. So I’m going to practice…”
Apple Bloom listened. Briefly wondered exactly what Applejack could do to ruin Magic, because that seemed to be next on the list and putting a crack in Loyalty was going to take some work.
But all her sister said was “Go ahead. But don’t go too far.”
The lighter set of hooves shifted. Slow, dragging impacts made their way up the ramp. And Apple Bloom, unsure of whether it was safe to move, reverted to that which was most common.
Ah hate this day. The day, an’ everythin’ that comes with it.
All the things which don’t come. Which never come, no matter how much y’hope. Pray, t’ Sun an’ Moon, until y’realize that none of it gets heard. Or if it is, then… there’s nothin’ which can be done. Ever. An’ they don’t want t’ say so. All y’get is silence.
An’ when it’s quiet, you jus’…
…wait.
How many times, Scootaloo?
Did y’clean the house? Get everything all polished by yourself? How many days t’ make ready?
Ah know y’ had a budget. You’ve almost bragged a few times, ‘bout how one of the reasons it took so long t’ get caught was because y’ kept all the bills paid. There was money for the house. For staying alive, an’ none of it ever went t’ the Crusade. So that meant a food budget. Y’learned how t’ cook a few things. No other choice. But the budget didn’t have a lot of extra space t’ use.
You never came over. Not on this holiday. You were always home. And when Ah saw you after, you’d be tired. Slow. Y’wouldn’t really talk much for a while.
How many times did y’ go hungry for a few days, because you made a meal for three? ‘cause none of what y’made for the other two was stuff you could actually eat?
How many times did you jus’…
…wait.
We…
…we really are sisters…
She kept herself still. Forced her breathing to steady, and pushed it all down. The anger, the hatred, the loathing of the holiday and all of its lies. And then she stepped forward, went into the sitting room, and almost trotted into Applejack’s forelegs.
“So there y‘are,” her sister exhaled. “Good. Got something Ah need t’ ask you.”
Or maybe, Apple Bloom’s mind frantically spun out, the Riches came around t’ the back door —
— no, there had been no time, not unless it had happened well before she’d come out. Or — if her sister knew she’d been listening…
“We’re a little ahead of the work curve right now. So,” the sibling generously stated and, in doing so, managed to effectively pervert a fourth Element, “why don’t you hold off on chores an’ take Babs around the Acres? Show her your workshop: Ah bet she’d love t’ get a look. An’…”
Green eyes briefly glanced towards the ramp.
“…take Scootaloo along,” Applejack finished. “Ah think she could use the company.”