//------------------------------// // Summons With Notice // Story: Split Seed // by Estee //------------------------------// There was a certain warmth to Homecoming: a quality and condition separate from the conditions imposed by the Weather Bureau every year. It was something which even Apple Bloom had to acknowledge, if only internally because that was the best way to keep anypony from commenting on the potential muttering. But for most ponies, the perception of that warmth came with an automatic falsehood: the internally-applied lie which said that it was always a positive trait. It wasn't. For Apple Bloom, Homecoming's warmth was perfectly suited to the season, because it was the sort of thing she most often encountered during autumn. It would be a chill night: the kind of conditions which encouraged her to place an extra blanket across her bed. Possibly two. This was occasionally followed by unpacking a quilt, giving it a good shake, making sure it was draped properly and then jumping up and down on it a few dozen times because she'd told herself that was the best way to make sure all the stuffing got evenly spread out. She would do all of that, push herself under the layers and after a while, the warmth would build up. Accumulate to the point where it was nearly all she could feel: there would always be at least a touch of chill lingering around her head. The warmth would build. Then it would just keep building. It usually didn't take long before the heat started to become oppressive. Every strand of fur would gain awareness of just how many layers were pressing down, and that weight quickly turned suffocating. Too much warmth under the layers, with an excess of mass trapping her within it. But she had a way out. All she needed to do was kick the layers away. Fully expose herself to the air and at the instant that happened, the cold would come crashing in. And every tenth-bit of the chill which had been making itself known to ears and snout would stab towards her heart. Entering the farmhouse again put her within the miasma of scents. Most of that arose from the foodstuffs which were being prepared for the holiday, added to a low-level presence of sweat: something which slowly rose through levels of awareness as the ancient clock ticked down the last hours until deadline. But the furniture had its own scents. The walls. The pony sense of smell wasn't as sharp as that possessed by some of the other species: Apple Bloom dimly recalled that from a years-distant International Studies class, and was somewhat surprised that she'd retained that much. But even a subtle olfactory signature could be writ large through constant exposure, and she'd been living within the same drifting text for her entire life. It was possible to pick out her family within the layers. She could distinguish Mac's faint musk, Applejack's sweeter scent, and the liniment which never really did Granny's bad hip any true good: the carefully-supervised exercises which Snowflake had been teaching the elder were accomplishing significantly more in the way of improvements. It was easy to scent her family, when she was within the walls and wished to focus so finely. On rare occasion, a gentle current would allow her to do the same outdoors (although she acknowledged that in Ponyville, she was probably just picking up on the eternal saturation which rose from the wood of the apple cart). Even with all the cooking odors in the air, she knew that each member of her family had a presence embedded within the house, and -- -- curled up in the bed, snout against the pillows, an' then when Ah was lookin' through the attic, Ah thought Ah found some of the old sheets, but there wasn't anythin' left an' all Ah was breathin' was linen an' dust, but Ah jus' kept pushing mah snout deeper in because there had t' be somethin' -- -- it was a miasma. On this day, that was all which truly existed. Too warm, with an excess of weight. And to fully kick it away would only allow the true cold to come rushing in. She felt so tired, and most of what strength she had left seemed to be going into making it look as if everything was normal. Something which, when it came to Homecoming, almost served as a personal tradition. It was just more typically based in a different kind of exhaustion. Apple Bloom wanted to lie down for a while. To take a nap, because surely even a little bit of sleep would help and that way, she might even discover just what Granny and Miss Rainbow found so deeply fascinating about the experience. But she was a farm kid, and taking Babs around the Acres meant certain chores had only been postponed. And when she added in all of the little jobs which the holiday kept inflicting upon her -- --- well, upon everypony, because that last indignity was effectively universal. Applejack tried to make allowances for guests, but a mare who'd effectively forced Apple Bloom to look up the definition of 'workaholic' at the age of six was going to be a mare who still possessed certain issues with not distributing the load. It had taken multiple failed first-and-only dates before the older sister had realized that the best way to explore romance with a potential partner might somehow not be through treating them to the full twelve-hour Acres workshift experience or rather, as much of it as anypony could actually complete: the first moment of distraction was typically treated as a chance for the stallion to channel the final dregs of strength into dragging his spent body out of sight. And with the pre-dinner push on... Applejack slipped. Babs wound up washing cooking pots so they could be used again, while Snowflake was asked to stretch out the dining table. The latter wasn't a question of trying to give the wood some exercise: there were support poles just under the surface, ones which slid into each other: unlocking and extending them created a gap, and carefully-placed wood filled it in. The panels for doing so were called leaves, and Apple Bloom wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the way unbalanced ones tended to drop out. Babs wound up washing pots -- but not for long. Eventually, the Manehattanite got into the bathroom again and once she'd successfully reembedded herself within her favorite habitat, she didn't come out for a while. The farmhouse had two designated spaces for seeking personal relief and Babs had just left one available for everypony else. Between Scootaloo's own dubious time habits and the fact that Granny occasionally seemed to take the toilet trench aside for a very long and extremely personal talk, Apple Bloom almost wound up seeking out a friendly tree: this was defined as any trunk which completely hid her from farmhouse view, needed the fertilizer, and couldn't be seen by the tenants because she'd recently offended the pigs and they would tell. Apple Bloom wanted to rest. She needed sleep. But she had chores. Things she had to do just about every autumn day. Homecoming just added to that. And she had to do all of it, because getting through the tasks she had to accomplish would surely make a few minutes magically available for that which she needed to do. But there didn't seem to be enough time. Strength was also in short supply. Blinks, however, seemed to be coming more frequently, and it could take fifteen seconds before a particularly slow specimen got her eyes open again. (The youngest Malus was vaguely aware that when it came to puberty, getting the right amount of rest was potentially vital for proper growth. Babs wasn't just costing her sleep, but future size. She was going to wind up at least a hoofheight shorter than she should have been, it was all her cousin's fault, and she was tired enough that this too seemed to make some degree of sense.) She forced herself across the familiar trails of the Acres, grateful for the fact that she knew them so well because that way, her legs could pretty much do the job on their own. By contrast, yellow ears were deliberately and constantly rotated towards the farmhouse, at least until she found they'd reached the limits of their turning range and any additional degrees were going to have them twist off. But she had to listen... ...except that when it came to what she was still expecting to arrive, nothing was happening. Diamond had something real to tattle about, and yet the Riches never appeared. ...she had to do something about Diamond. Apple Bloom was sleepily aware of that fact, and felt a vague annoyance towards her inability to refine the definition beyond 'something'. The filly faintly recognized that some sort of action needed to be taken, and -- that was it. There was a freshly-drawn blueprint. But she wasn't sure of what needed to be fixed. Or broken -- -- she almost had time to herself in the farmhouse. Over and over. Some of the scant thoughts Apple Bloom managed to fully assemble concerned the best places to start looking for the letter, giving her what felt like the vital chance to directly see what Babs's parents had written -- and then Applejack would subconsciously register the renewed presence of A Filly Who Can Be Put To Work, followed by appearing so she could do something about that. Of course, it wasn't always work. Snowflake and Scootaloo were on the Acres at the same time, and that mandated certain activities. For starters, he carefully reviewed Scootaloo's homework. This was something which Applejack usually tried to get away with, and she generally failed because she couldn't use it as the final gateway before starting a flying lesson. And when there was a flying lesson... It put Apple Bloom outside, with her sister's blessing. The announcement even displaced Babs from the restroom, and it took the youngest Malus a few seconds of gawping before she began to spot exactly how the mane and tail extensions had been tied in. (The color of the artificial length was just about an exact match for Babs's own hues, but there was a certain thickening at the join points.) The earth ponies watched as Scootaloo demonstrated her increasing glide distance: something which only involved coming down on top of Apple Bloom once. Snowflake offered gentle corrections, then demonstrated some feathering tricks and did so while in possession of less than half of the typical feather count. Babs, to her credit, was rather more than suitably impressed. Hours passed. Minutes fled. The day seemed to blur, and then a too-early Sun-lowering brought in a clear night: one where all of the fog was in Apple Bloom's head. Miss Rainbow turned up, because there was a theoretical temporal formula which allowed her to stall long enough to avoid all of the work while still being able to access every last bit of the food and eventually, she was going to figure out exactly what it was. And with the adult mare pegasus muttering to herself as she searched for the fancy mugs, it was just about time for the group to head into the sitting room... The youngest Malus never found an opportunity to search for the letter, and the revelation of what it had contained would only come after it was already too late. They were all in the sitting room. The Malus family, Babs, and their invited, expected guests -- which totaled out to Snowflake and Miss Rainbow. Apple Bloom imagined much of Ponyville would have been surprised by that, but... the Bearers had their own lives. Miss Pinkie spent Homecoming with the Cakes, and did so in a state of near-exhaustion. The holiday featured a lot of home cooking and baking: it was just that most ponies felt it still counted if some of the labor had been performed in somepony else's home. Sugarcube Corner dealt with a lot of special orders for Homecoming, put in what Applejack considered to be excessive hours in order to fulfill them all, and the holiday dinner wasn't so much of a formal event as it was a chance for the adults to slowly sink into soft cushions while hoping that nothing would happen to pry them out again. Or, given that the twins were the only ones with any true strength left and tended to get some rather impressive headstarts, hoped it wouldn't happen too many times -- but when it did start up, they always had the option to wearily turn towards their guests. Miss Twilight had spent the previous Homecoming on the Acres: something which had actually gone fairly well until she'd used her field to try and get the cooking utensils organized and, after trying to set up an automatic set of repeating movements which would let her focus on something else, effectively wound up getting them unionized. This year would have her with the Cakes. Apple Bloom understood that when it came to the alicorn, hosting duties were effectively being rotated. The small adult still had a few bad habits, and high among them was a tendency to treat any holiday which saw the library closed and Ponyville's population distracted as a chance to lock herself in the tree's basement for a full day of Experimentation Without Interruption. Somepony had to make sure she spent Homecoming in a decidedly more social setting, and the 'somepony' varied by the year. Something which was done partially for her sake, and largely for Spike's. Spike would be with her... Apple Bloom was vaguely aware that Miss Pinkie had been adopted by the Cakes. (She didn't know what had happened to the birth parents, and -- she'd never been able to ask. She didn't want to ask, because she knew how much pain could be inflicted by what so many would have seen as a simple question.) And Spike was legally a part of Miss Twilight's family. Those who had been welcomed in, spending Homecoming together. She wondered if Miss Pinkie and Spike ever talked about that sort of thing... She didn't know what had happened to Miss Pinkie's birth parents -- but it felt as if there was the tiniest chance that the apprentice baker spent each holiday with the Cakes by choice. When it came to Spike... ...it won't always be with Miss Twilight. Could visit her parents, or maybe that brother. The one Applejack was so irritated 'bout, because nothin' annoys her quite so much like somepony not bein' truthful 'bout their family. But when it's Homecoming, it'll always be that family. There's nowhere else he can go. It ain't as if he'll ever be with -- Homecoming was usually about her own misery. But as she watched the interactions in the sitting room, failing to truly rest while Scootaloo kept trying to call her attention to whatever that last feather adjustment had done... there was time to spare a little sorrow for Spike. And then there was Sweetie. She would be at home, of course. She was always in her own house for this holiday, because Applejack wasn't entirely comfortable with inviting Sweetie or Miss Rarity over -- and the problem wasn't the designer: it was the fact that their parents lived in town. Miss Rarity was the only other Bearer who could say that, and Applejack didn't want to pull them away from a full reunion: both sisters, mother (whom Applejack really wasn't comfortable with), and -- -- almost a full reunion. Miss Rarity would attend, of course. Apple Bloom had overheard her saying something about obligation, generally with a sigh and dip of head and horn. The designer didn't always seem to get along all that well with her mother, and -- the father was a hoofball coach. There were times when the schedule allowed him to spend a holiday at home. It was more common for him to be well outside Ponyville, presumably seeking out a quick dinner at a distant restaurant. Even when the team wasn't active within the sporting arenas, there were future players to scout. Trades to consider, and trips being made to evaluate them. And when the dangerous sport was in season, you would need all of that information to bring in replacements. Because players got hurt in hoofball. Players and, when something went wrong in a fashion dictated by nightmare, coaches. Sweetie wasn't really talking to Apple Bloom. The youngest Malus didn't know where her friend's father was. ...Sweetie waits a lot. Miss Rainbow was with them, because Applejack wanted her to be around other ponies. The weather coordinator barely possessed any cooking skills, treated restaurant reservations as something which could obviously be done while standing within the overbooked eatery's entrance... she wasn't going to be having a good meal at Homecoming unless somepony else had prepared it. And she was a little twitchy on the holiday. If Apple Bloom looked towards the sleek adult at just the right time, she would find the pegasus turning towards the west. Over and over, staring out the window into Princess Luna's night. Exactly as she'd done during the previous Homecoming. It was something the filly hadn't originally understood, and it had taken a lot of awkward inquiries (made to just about anypony who wasn't the observed party) before she'd been told that at certain times, pegasi just felt the need to... go home. A factor which would become a little stronger on a holiday when just everypony was going home. And for Miss Rainbow, home was Cloudsdale -- and the cloud city was in the west. Apple Bloom had wondered if Scootaloo felt the pull. If that instinct was yet another part of why she was so desperate to be in her old house during the holiday, or -- if she wanted to be in Akhal-Tekes, wherever that was. But she never caught her friend repeatedly seeking out any particular direction. And Snowflake didn't seem to look at all. He was simply talking back to Miss Rainbow -- or was at least sort of trying to put forth some rough effort in that direction. The actual results were substandard. As a group, The Bearers had accepted that Applejack was dating. Nopony had apparently said anything unkind about her choice or taste, although Apple Bloom suspected Miss Rarity had probably come up with a number of rather pointed questions. And they accepted Snowflake's presence in Applejack's life: a factor which came with the recognition that every so often, one of the other mares was going to expect 'she' and come across 'they' -- -- but four of the five had a hard time speaking with him, and the exception was the ironic one. Miss Fluttershy seemed to care about Snowflake on the sibling level, looking to him as both her substitute caretaker during missions and somepony she could trust. Miss Fluttershy spoke to Snowflake more often than she talked to just about any stallion, and at noticeably higher volume. The other mares had tried to welcome him into Applejack's life. But they hadn't been able to do the same for any presence within the group. He wasn't a Bearer. He didn't open up easily, had trouble talking to anypony he didn't know or, when it came to Mac, hadn't soundly defeated in a public fight. Getting to know Snowflake through conversation had to work past the barrier of 'Yeah': something which was mostly launched in an effort to prevent him from having to say anything else. And when it came to Miss Rainbow... Both pegasi possessed a drive for self-improvement. (Snowflake's produced considerably less in the way of crash sites.) But that wasn't what Miss Rainbow was trying to talk about. They'd both been through the Wonderbolts Academy: an experience in common, the intersection where the weather coordinator seemed to feel they could connect. But Miss Rainbow had become a reservist, while Snowflake had been sent home early on: his speed and maneuverability were within the team's standards, but his magic was too weak to execute the techniques which were a vital part of every performance. Apple Bloom wasn't sure he wanted to talk about his Academy time, and... it was what Miss Rainbow thought would work. Miss Fluttershy had trouble getting away from the cottage, and it wasn't just due to her reluctance to deal with a social setting: the grounds offered up at least as many daily chores as the Acres, while demanding that they all be performed by a typical workforce of one mare. A full evening away from home usually required the caretaker to hire a watchpony, and the primary substitute was currently occupying a significant percentage of the oldest couch. She had trouble arranging for her presence at group gatherings. She hadn't tried to reach her birthplace: Applejack had once mentioned that as Stratuston. But she was still celebrating Homecoming -- because according to the filly's older sister, Miss Fluttershy had decided to play hostess. She'd set up the cottage to welcome someone who was participating in his very first Homecoming. And, according to overheard rumors, wasn't entirely sure what the holiday was supposed to be about. Miss Fluttershy had set up a Homecoming dinner for Discord. Apple Bloom could barely picture what that might be like. Then she tried to assemble an image of what the holiday meal might turn into (in a flash of white light) if it had been hosted at his home. This immediately led to the filly attempting to form some concept of what Discord might call 'home' and at that point, her imagination shut down in self-defense. Her brother had a padded bench to himself: carefully-selected words occasionally came from that direction. Granny kept going into the kitchen, and Apple Bloom kept a close eye on those movements whenever she could: the sheer duration of her blinks seemed to be costing her a certain amount of clock. Applejack made the rounds. Babs seemed to be distracted. She wasn't really talking to anypony. Most of her attention seemed to be focused on the windows. The door. Apple Bloom dimly wondered if earth ponies ever felt a pull, then remembered that the door didn't face northeast. And it was natural for her cousin to not really be all that involved, because the adults outnumbered the kids and there were a lot of strangers around. Even when it came to family... well, it wasn't as if Babs had spent all that much time with the older siblings during the first visit, and nopony had found the chance to do much of anything other than Mandatory (Not) Fun before Applejack had finally recognized the scope of her mistake towards the end of the second. The lack of interaction felt normal, because Babs didn't really know anypony. Ah barely know her. And Apple Bloom was too tired to talk about much. She tried to mutter at what felt like the right times, and she felt that she had to be hitting a few of the proper syllables because nopony questioned her choices. Conversation flowed around her, while she simply longed for sleep. If it had all wrapped up in the sitting room... if it had just been adults and kids in a too-warm space, spending a few hours together before scattering to their respective homes and beds... then perhaps Homecoming would have been bearable. Time with those you were close to, and the ones you were -- still trying to figure out. The Riches had remained notable by their absence. No scrolls had appeared from bursts of near-heatless flame: the missions had taken the holiday off. The sitting room, and then directly to bed and sleep... Apple Bloom would have simply decided, partially in the face of significant countering evidence, that it all could have been a lot worse. But then Applejack and Granny went into the kitchen at the same time. Then they came out again. And it was time for dinner. Ah won't wait. Ah won't. Maybe she won't even -- But Granny did. It was possible to place some portion of the blame on Applejack, because the older sister arranged the seating. Each pony was assigned a bench along the extended table as they entered, and had to go exactly there. No questions were asked, because this was Miss Rainbow's second year and she knew better now. You couldn't get a reassignment. Anypony asking why Applejack had put Snowflake on her immediate left was presumably punishable through withholding of cobbler. Everypony was placed along a table mostly filled with plates: the food had yet to make an appearance. A little bit of resentment managed to peek out through Apple Bloom's weariness, because her sister had managed to create a children's section. The three fillies had all been placed along the same facing -- and, for extra offense, positioned so that Applejack could keep an eye on all of them. Most of the family took their benches: Granny was nowhere in sight, but it was possible to spot her designated position at the table's far end. The guests tried to get comfortable. And then Apple Bloom saw it. Something which woke her up in an instant, if only for just long enough. What felt so much like the very last of her strength rose, burned through her with something which partially felt like rage and denial and a refusal to go through it all again. It only partially felt like all of that, because the majority was designated as a temporal echo. Something which reached back through every Homecoming she could remember, and stopped where memory ran out. Suffocated within the darkness inflicted upon her by advancing years, where the images she wanted to bring back were the ones which had been lost forever. The table could be extended as much as sliding poles and wooden leaves would allow. But it would always be a rectangle. Three of the sides were occupied. Only three. And somewhere just beyond the kitchen, Apple Bloom heard the black ironwood chest unlock. She had a little time to reflect on the unchanging nature of that sound. How every last dolorous note was exactly the same as before. Time during which she presumed dust was being removed, and which doubled as the duration for red and orange-furred heads to dip. It took Granny Smith three trips to fully set up the empty end of the table, because there was only so much she wanted to carry at once. Something which was just as true on a good day as a bad one, when the elder was being so delicate. Was doing this a sign of a bad day? The same bad day, year after year? Or was it something born from what others would have somehow termed as a good one? Apple Bloom didn't know. Couldn't know, and would never be able to ask. She just watched, as the echoes continued to sound their endless dirge. And all everypony could do was wait. Finally, it was all there. Or at least, everything which could be there was in place. All that was ever there. There were mugs. The one on the left was considerably larger. It bore a faint scent of cinnamon, because the spice soaked into wood and a pony who liked chilled cider to bear a little inner fire was eventually going to wind up with a mug all to himself. The smaller was crystal: the only crystal mug in the house. Dimmed inner rainbows did their best to coat the wood. The good plates were colorful. They were decorated with a custom pattern: something which showed two very different kinds of fruit blossoming from the same tree, and Apple Bloom only saw it once a year. As with the benches, they had been put a little too close together, but... that was just convenience. Something which assisted those who liked to nip food from each other's plates, generally when they pretended nopony was watching. Don't stare at the plates. Stare hard enough an' Ah'll probably chip 'em -- -- good -- Everypony was looking at the good plates. The settings which had been arranged for two, and the vacuum which rested behind them. Miss Rainbow, for whom it was the second year, only did so for a few seconds. Snowflake was silent for a long moment, and then the red eyes slowly closed. It won't happen. It can't happen. It never happens... Everypony looked. And then nopony would. "Ah'll jus' get the food comin' in, shall Ah?," Applejack abruptly declared, and the tones felt far too light. "Tried somethin' new for the appetizer this year, everypony. Little bit of Las Pegasus food on this table!" The snort was soft, almost bemused. "Which Ah'm told is mostly every other settled zone's food. But in a 'buffet'. However that happens t' operate. Anyway, let me know how it worked out, since that one was pretty much all me. All the credit or, if'fin Ah've got it comin', all of the blame." She got off her bench. Began to trot towards the kitchen -- -- Babs spoke. At normal volume, in a questioning tone, using words which could have been successfully argued as innocent. It wasn't a mark talent. Perhaps there was no mark strong enough to encompass it. "Shouldn't we hold off?" "No," Apple Bloom softly said. "Ain't we waiting for a couple of ponies?" her cousin rather naturally inquired. "We probably shouldn't start without them --" Nopony looked at her. Nopony at all. "No," Apple Bloom quietly answered. "Nopony's coming. Nopony ever comes." It wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen. It never happened. She tried to bring it back every year, every time, sights and sounds and scents, and -- all she remembered was the empty places. Good plates, which were good for nothing at all. If the good plates didn't exist, weren't intact, if it was possible to get into the chest and -- -- her siblings had told her about memories. That she'd been too young when it had happened, that it was natural to forget. But she fought against the closing darkness every year, lost again and again, had sought out pictures so she could tell herself that was what she remembered and -- -- she remembered the first time Granny had put out the plates. Looking at the way it had all been set up, as if the entire table was just -- -- waiting. And there was magic in the world, there had always been magic and there had to be enough of it for one wish... And she'd waited. And it hadn't happened. And a year had passed. And there had been two perfect settings. And she'd waited. And... And now she was older. Bigger. Wiser. She knew better. That it had never happened. Wouldn't and couldn't. And she waited. She felt herself waiting. The anticipation, directed towards a door which would surely open this time. The wish. And she hated it. She hated herself. She was bigger. But she wasn't big enough, and her heart was too small to hold the hurt. She'd lost too many memories. But there were others which had simply never found a chance to form. Certain prerequisites existed for forming memories, and consciousness was rather high on the list. When Apple Bloom tried to recall what had happened during the majority of that Homecoming dinner, everything ran out in the middle of the second course -- because as she would eventually be told, that was when she'd fallen asleep at the table. Perhaps somepony had carried her up, possibly even by the nape of her neck. Tucked her in. She didn't remember that either. She was too worn out for such things to reach her, beaten down by confusion and mystery and too many kinds of sorrow. Driven deep below awareness, to the point where nothing which happened around her on that night registered at all. Even the shivering was lost, and that might have gone on for minutes or hours: she had no concept of when she'd kicked the blankets away. The night passed without notice, as Apple Bloom's body and dreams twisted within the sleep of the dead. And when she woke up, Babs was gone.