//------------------------------// // If He Was Still In Stone, He'd Be A CONvalescent // Story: Anchor Foal II: Return Of The Cringe // by Estee //------------------------------// There was a calendar in the bathroom, and it served to track the potential arrival of major events: related functions allowed it to remind Fleur of her own inadequacies while simultaneously offering a steady countdown of the time remaining until their public reveal. Veterinary appointments were noted separately: kept within a book, where they shared increasingly-crowded space with grooming visits, blocks of time set aside for general pet care advice, along with kennel dropoffs, pickups, and every other service which the cottage tried to offer Ponyville. A calendar and an appointment book. Two creations which shared both purpose and failure: the only true difference was in the scale. Ultimately, they each offered the same illusion: that it was possible for a sapient to exert some degree of control over time -- and because that offering was nothing more than illusion, it always shattered quickly. Appointments ran long. Clients arrived late. Shaving some degree of fur away during a grooming could easily uncover issues with the skin: something which quickly changed the nature of the visit while putting a near-mandatory tripling on its length. And even with the kennel services... There were very few ponies so heartless as to truly abandon their pets, towing all possessions but one away from the empty home in an overloaded cart, ears pressed firmly down against the skulls in an effort to block out forlorn barks. Trotting away from a companion who'd been left in the Everfree qualified for a few extra criminal charges. But there were those who took their pets to the cottage, because kennel services offered security: you couldn't bring your companion on the trip, so somepony else would look after them for the duration. And then the hired time would run out, the pony wouldn't return, and the actual (now unpaid) duration turned out to be for life. Or until Fluttershy managed to match the animal to somepony else, because surely leaving a former pet at the cottage was doing nothing more than offering a second chance and that meant the pony was doing the right thing, really they were and they could keep telling themselves that all the way to the next settled zone. Or perhaps the first border. It seldom truly mattered, as such clients were generally careful not to leave an accurate forwarding address. The calendar and appointment book could only try to indicate when things were supposed to happen or, in the case of The Square, indicate something which Fleur currently preferred not to happen at all. It was nothing more than the illusion of control, and that was something which always shattered quickly. Because it was the cottage and if you were trying to truly dictate an order of events, then you were attempting to impose a schedule upon chaos. However, when it came to the cottage's schedule, any actual appointments made with chaos were never written down. They existed as a void within the words, perhaps because the blank space was considerably more imposing. Realistically, there was also the chance that somepony would get a peek at the appointment book, or ask to use the bathroom and, with the unerring lack of direction possessed by the average client, wander through the cottage until they wound up in exactly the wrong one. In both cases, seeing the actual words had the potential to trigger a reaction. Knowing that chaos was going to turn up tended to produce -- 'reactions' was fair, if rather drastically understated. Having it happen right in front of somepony just about guaranteed it, along with the chance for some fascinating studies in sonics as some of those reactions had their ongoing scream doppler over the horizon -- -- that... didn't happen as much any more. Oh, it still took place: there were always new ponies in the settled zone, some of whom were going to spot the abrupt arrival of chaos for their personal first time and take it exactly the right -- -- the wrong way. (It was 'the wrong way'. It had been so for a while now, and Fleur still wasn't entirely sure if that was going to last.) But there wasn't as much raw panic these days. Ponyville kept acquiring new residents, the construction never truly stopped and more than a few fresh houses found themselves hosting the Flower Trio's spiritual cousins for a week or so -- but for most part, the reactions had shifted. Because those ponies would witness the arrival of chaos, fresh off the air carriage, and... ...it was the crutches. Fleur was almost certain that some of the new instinctive reactions were initially based on the presence of crutches. The cane hadn't done much to change that. (On a good day, he used a cane.) (There had only been a few good days.) These days, the more sapient variety of chaos generally arrived by appointment. But they didn't write down the times. It felt less offensive that way. There were still things to do before that arrival. On the morning after the fertility clinic visit, with one double-sided piece of framed glass expended and accordingly, one stick maliciously punished for the failure of another, Fleur was busy doing most of them. Because there was a tipping point to be found on the lever of manual labor: the place where the brain decided it wasn't currently needed and let the body take over. Eventually, she was going to discover where it was. The cottage needed to be cleared down. Every visit required a block of time with no active appointments: this meant looking at the moment when the last one was supposed to end, then adding a generous portion of minutes to correct for error: the hour kicked onto the back end of that represented Fleur's attempt to account for the universe's direct malice. But it had to be done. The imminent arrival of chaos had imposed certain rules, and one of the most prominent said that if there were any clients on the grounds, then they had to be over the bridge and well on their way home well before he arrived. Because there was always a reaction, along with a typical minimum of one pony who wasn't entirely sure what theirs was supposed to be and thus spent a full minute in having four legs attempting to run away from each other. (Fleur had irritably considered that the mayor really needed to issue a mandatory one-sheet to all new arrivals. Things To Expect In Ponyville: Now Including The Ones We're Reasonably Sure Won't Kill You, especially as she'd gotten sick of personally giving out the impromptu briefings: something which typically required about ten minutes for The Talk, and that was preceded by the variable amount of time necessary for Catching Up To The Blindly Fleeing Target. She'd nearly started into the composition of a first draft before realizing that Town Hall wasn't paying her for that either.) Certain times were clearly better than others. Early evening was fairly safe, while anything which took place deep under Moon could do so in the dual relative reassurance that very few emergencies came up the path at that hour and the caretaker was probably going to be awake anyway. By comparison, early morning was one of the worst possibilities, because any number of companion medical problems were initially revealed by Sun's light and after that, it was generally a race to see who could reach the cottage first -- but you couldn't impose too much of a schedule on chaos, especially when it seemed to have most of its night hours occupied. They allowed enough morning leeway to have some chance of clearing the earliest crises, and then you just hoped nothing turned up during the appointment itself. Because if there was a drop-in, then it went to Fleur. She could fetch Fluttershy if she had to: as a student, some tasks were still beyond her capabilities, and the most intelligent decision she could make after recognizing such a situation was to pass it off. It just meant listening to a lot of grumbling, most of which unerringly centered itself within her right ear. The cottage didn't necessarily require organizing before a visit: he rather naturally liked things to be at least somewhat disorderly. However, it was generally crucial to make sure there was nothing in view which could be considered as actual work. There had been times when he'd decided that it was his duty as a friend to take up some part of the perpetual labors, and that was typically followed by several hours of trying to correct for whatever he'd done: the next level of aftermath usually came from desperate attempts to make those corrections end. (He'd decided to assist in tidying up once, four moons before Fleur's arrival. According to Fluttershy, the Bearers' collective attempts to make the brooms stop cleaning had finally gotten to the point of implementing Rainbow's solution and while breaking everything into splinters had seemed like a good idea at the time, that was when the regenerative properties had kicked in. Preventing the citizenry from being swept out of their homes had ultimately involved torching one of the bridges (and not the one they've been planning to burn), and ponies were still advised not to approach any fragment of pale beige wood unless they were fully certain it wasn't moving.) There wasn't much need to do anything with the animals. Fluttershy had been coaching him on that for over a year: proper behavior (which he still occasionally chafed at), approach (same), and scent. His natural odor was like nothing else in the world -- when he actually chose to have one. The default setting for the manifestation of anything olfactory could be described as 'things you've only scented while in the core of dream, only twisted together and shot through with doenjang'. The pegasus had instructed him on producing something which the majority of nature wouldn't flee from, and now most of the cottage denizens were willing to approach him -- carefully. The exception was Angel: the rabbit visibly recognized a significant competitor for the attention of his mistress -- and had apparently decided there was only so far he could push his luck. He wasn't bad with the animals. And still, new arrivals were warned. Ponies were cleared out. The need to remove all clients from the grounds meant the last grooming session before the visit was done with some degree of haste, and Fleur took a little pride in managing to sell the non-fact that buzz cuts were just beginning to come into fashion: in fact, if that pony took her canine to Canterlot, she would find her companion well ahead of the trend. They cleared the grounds. And then they waited. There was a relatively new song which signaled that he was coming over the bridge and appropriately, none of the notes went with each other. Fleur opened the door for Fluttershy, watched her love go down the Sun-lit path under clear sky to greet him. For his part, the guest did his best to meet her halfway -- and was lucky to cover a fifth of the distance. He moved like someone who had to concentrate on every part of the process: this included remembering where his legs were, the number of joints each was supposed to have, and the limits on how far any given one of them was meant to bend. Given just who was visiting, it was rather likely that he hadn't spent any significant amount of his lifespan in previously working that out. When you had once been capable of appearing anywhere with a thought, the whole 'walking' thing was very much a learn-as-you-go process. Perhaps that was part of why he usually chose to take the walk. The air carriage which generally dropped him off in the heart of Ponyville could have just as easily landed at the cottage, but -- he'd said that walking was interesting. That you saw more when moving at lower speeds, especially when the majority of the living view was no longer galloping for its life. Additionally, he was still getting used to the crutches -- -- it's crutches again. He gets a better grip with the talons than the paw. The paw just sort of presses in. Even when it's got that stuffed shopping bag hanging off the wrist -- -- is that for Fluttershy? Plush toys go to the animals. And she never uses colors that bright. It's more suited for a nursery... There was a cane on the last visit. And now it's back to crutches -- -- and that was the sort of thing which benefited from practice. The thumps created by the crutches moving up the path were uneven, which perfectly suited his natural tread. Both paused when he called out a greeting to his friend, and then all other sounds were temporarily drowned out by grumbling because he'd lost a degree of focus and now had to deal with the consequences. Fluttershy reached him, helped to extract the half-tangible walking claw from where it had sunken into the path. Something which never would have been necessary before, but... ...Discord had... done something. Overdone it. Drastically. There were times when the draconequus openly resented his newfound weakness. He was still capable of pulling off a few tricks, but -- small ones, and not too many in quick succession. And as with everyone who had to recover from a near-fatal exertion, there were times when he forgot himself, started to overdo it and made matters just that much worse for himself. He needed more than occasional reminders to keep from slipping into old habits, especially since his physicality was no longer fully under his control. It had always been intermittent, but -- too much distraction, a lapse in concentration, and it became possible to watch the wind whistle through the antler. Using too much of his magic visibly made that worse. Fluttershy helped him reach the door: soft words of encouragement was most of it, along with gentle suggestions on how to place the crutches for maximum effectiveness. He paused to check on the health of the date palm. He always did. Fleur stood aside, and then the friends entered the cottage together. He had arrived for tea and sympathy: the latter would be sincere, while the former was likely to be rather weak and saturated with milk. He wasn't quite up to straight tea yet, and magma was at least three moons away. She watched them head towards the kitchen. Eventually, the back porch. And that was all Fleur generally did, because somepony had to watch the cottage. And... she wasn't his friend. At best, they had an ongoing truce. Something where it could be argued that neither party was entirely thrilled about the situation, but -- they both wanted Fluttershy to be happy and whether draconequus and unicorn liked it or not, each had managed to reconcile that maintaining that happiness meant the other was required. And he was still weak, being around Fluttershy made him feel better... He resented his weakness. But he also recognized that it would pass. And in many ways, he was proud of having brought himself down to this level. After all, the cause had been a noble one. Fleur watched as pegasus and draconequus slipped out of sight. The thumping of the crutches became softer. A few more breaths, and then a door opened. She tried to give them privacy. Asking Fluttershy what they'd talked about was a truly rare event, and answers were never guaranteed. She didn't ask him, because -- Fleur wasn't his friend. They rarely spoke because, at best, there was a truce. They weren't friends. The most recent discussion between them had arisen because Fluttershy had been on a mission: one where Fleur hadn't been so fortunate as to go along. That topic had been a familiar one. Two sapients with a pegasus in common. A situation which required a truce. We don't talk... But there was a new factor to deal with. She almost found herself hoping for a situation which would get Fluttershy off the porch. All it required was a veterinary emergency -- no, not an actual crisis, just an emergency: anything which Fleur either hadn't been formally taught to deal with yet or wasn't entirely confident in her ability to pass the abrupt test. If it was a question of a quick stomach tonic and the unicorn didn't have the mix for that species memorized, then it was clearly time to send in the pegasus. Fleur told herself that it wasn't really wishing harm on an innocent. Then she caught herself lying and paced around the sitting room, with her hooves propelled by the force of moderate fuming. And the sunlit cottage, which only partially existed to thwart her plans, quietly enjoyed its chance to have absolutely nothing arrive. There was no veterinary excuse to pull the pegasus away from her friend. Fleur couldn't seem to come up with anything else, and that bothered her. Fleur was used to lying. Every relationship needed a few casual lies in order to keep it galloping smoothly, and when it came to just making her way through life... She didn't seem to have any falsehoods ready to go. Blaming the stick felt mandatory. So she moved around the sitting room, cleaning a little here and there as animals watched, occasionally followed, and frequently shed a little more of their winter coats because cleaning was already in progress and this was clearly a good time. She kept her hearing focused. And after the clock had told her that the tea party was just about over, at the moment she finally heard the back door starting to open, Fleur moved for the kitchen. She could move quickly enough, when she wanted to. It frequently came across as being a rather casual thing. Reaching a target within a crowded party (or getting away from one) without seeming as if you'd been trying to do so was an art all its own. "Fluttershy?" The pegasus, who'd had just enough time to get her head through the slowly-opening gap, froze in place. One curious eye regarded Fleur. "...yes?" her love cautiously asked. Somewhere behind the hidden lushness of the tail, two crutches were trying to plant themselves for the seat-dislodging push. "I'd like to speak with him," Fleur told her. "Just for a few minutes. If he has time." The next sound to make its way past the yellow fur was a rather singular nonverbal grumble. This was quickly followed by the twinned impacts of crutches falling onto wood. "...speak with him," Fluttershy carefully repeated. "By yourself?" Just nod. One even, calm nod. ...oh, good. So at least my neck can still lie. "...it's okay with me," the pegasus quietly decided. "But it's really about what he wants to --" "-- oh, just send her back here," the draconequus grumbled. "Before she tries to follow me down the path. Or get in front of me. I am fully aware that there are those who, for reasons known only to themselves and possibly their therapists, not-faulting-your-taste-of-course, consider her to be fully worthy of an extended viewing, but I was rather hoping for the chance to find some snowdrops on the way back. Something which would likely become lost against her coat, because she simply must block anything with a fully natural appeal." Snidely, "A few minutes only, Fleur. As I do have another appointment?" You've said that a few times, when you visit. That there's another place you have to be. But not where. Fluttershy calmly nodded, came all the way inside. Fleur went out the door, and her left hind leg carefully nudged it shut. Discord's chair had been manifested fairly early into the friendship, because a sapient with a singular configuration who knew he would be dropping by fairly regularly was clearly going to need a comfortable place to sit. It rested at the left edge of the porch, and remained so in spite of the universe's attempts to heal over the falsely wooden wound. Its features included a built-in (occupied) tea tray, quite a bit of vaguely reddish padding, and being at least half a normal spacial dimension over the typical limit. It was possible to look directly at it for periods of up to twenty seconds: after that, the upholstery noticed, began to glare back, and then started openly considering whether to make its move. Fortunately, there was no need to make physical contact, as the chair never became dirty, wet, or dusty. This was presumably for the same reason animals avoided sitting in it, although Fleur was rather more impressed by having the inanimate avoid something which could so clearly lead to death. Contemplating it for too long usually sent a pony's attention towards its occupant: something which happened not so much in an attempt to find the blameworthy party as from a desperate quest to find a better view. The fact that this was usually successful said a lot about the styling, and slightly more regarding the way the tea tray kept any drinks at the perfect temperature. Which was an admittedly nice feature to have in a chair, but the patch of embedded vacuum with its tiny star was still rather hard to look at. Discord claimed it did a lot for his spinal support, and had continued to do so right up until the moment when his lack of strength had forced him to discover what a spine was actually for. He tilted his head slightly to the right, and the horn phased partway through the wood. Fleur was almost certain he hadn't meant to do that. "This is rather unusual," the draconequus grumbled. "Sufficiently so as to gain my attention." She stayed close to the door. Not that it meant much as a retreat point: he was weak, and -- there was a truce. But there was usually some distance between them. His head tilted again and, rather unusually, did so while remaining fully on the neck. "So what is this about?" Fleur was fully aware that deliberately trying to get Discord to do something bore a strong resemblance to what a minotaur client had described as 'juggling explosives'. (She'd had to look up 'juggling'.) She'd made the decision to speak with him, and -- she didn't know what was safe to say. There was an argument to be made that she was best off keeping her mouth shut, but Discord didn't always drop by on schedule and had a habit of going for limping strolls around Ponyville. There was a good chance that given enough time, he was going to see -- The thick white eyebrows arched. "Is this about Zephyr?" Discord casually asked. She managed to hold back the wince: the resulting cramp immediately took up residence near the base of her tail. "Because I feel like this is probably about Zephyr," the draconequus added as he raised a paw, gestured towards Fleur. "And if so, then in the interests of saving time...?" "Fluttershy mentioned him." Her tones felt too stark. "In rather exacting lack of detail," Discord nodded. "Almost a suspicious absence of true information. There is a brother -- something of a shock, wouldn't you say? -- and he is in town. And then she started into the list." She took a hoofstep forward. "What was the list?" Aggravated talons attempted to slice through the air: this was followed by a frustrated red glare as pieces of sundered atmosphere failed to shatter against wood. "'Things an honorable draconequus should not do to somepony's sibling.' Something so long and obnoxiously elaborate as to make one suspect the librarian played a part in its creation. And the precision wasn't even the worst part! She had the sheer nerve to bring matters into the realm of generalities. 'Neither through action or inaction'..." The repressed smirk, however, settled in at the back of her jaw and waited for another opportunity. "Do you have any idea how irritating that is, Fleur?" Both arms were now attempting to ward off invisible sprites of deep offense, and every last one of the opponents was getting through. "For her to behave as if she can give me orders? To not make a single move against him, to threaten him in any one of those specific or general ways? Especially when she refused to explain why she felt such 'instructions' were necessary in the first place?" "I might," Fleur allowed. And when the argument ends, you find yourself doing what she wanted. And you're not sure how she managed that. Or why it keeps happening... "I suppose you might at that," Discord muttered. He tried to lean forward. Then he brought both arms back, took a moment to remember what the elbows did, braced against the upholstery, and pushed. The results left him sitting up more or less straight, or as much as the half-foreign spine would ever truly allow. His arms came forward again. The paw and talon touched in front of his torso, as the draconequus attempted to steeple digits which he didn't fully have. "It was a rather detailed list," he told her. "Even in the generalities, because those were intended to cover anything she might have forgotten. All of those things which she'd rather I didn't do to him, this sibling whose existence I was not permitted to even suspect for so much time. So many ways and means, blocked -- at least, for one who might consider both listening and following the letter of her attempted laws. But --" and something about the red eyes seemed to deepen "-- she is many things, Fleur. When she wishes to be. And she did her best -- but she is incapable of galloping down infinity." He kept looking at her. Eventually, the hoof began to tap. "Which means?" Fleur finally asked. "There were loopholes," Discord informed her. "Quite a few. Enough that, even with my current -- limits... I could do something. If I wished." She'd taken a psychiatry class: something which had been mandatory for securing her license. It had required memorizing nearly all of the material, while trying not to snicker at most of it. But it meant she remembered things, and one of them was the teacher's theory regarding intrusive thoughts. That they were potentially meant as the brain's means of running a self-test. Come up with something horrible, parade it through the conscious mind and if disgust immediately surged... Having the thought didn't necessarily make you a bad pony, because the subconscious was capable of spinning out nearly anything and nopony could hope to control what emerged. It was all about whether you acted on it. Maybe if it was only a seventh of Tartarus -- -- no. So she was still sane. As the acid fumes coming off the shell reach his mane and start to evaporate it, making him scream and scream long before it ever reaches the skin because that mane is all he has, all he loves and he hasn't even noticed the fact that his tail vanished thirty seconds ago... Possibly enjoying the image just a little too much, but sane. "So what are you going to do?" It was a risky question. Any words spoken to Discord took on an element of chance. Spinning a giant wheel, when you didn't fully understand how the game was played, couldn't see every possible result, and someone had set the payout table on fire. It could have been argued that there were no good words. Something likely would have happened no matter what she'd chosen to say. The right question might not have existed at all. And there was no way to tell what might come from that -- "There are often reasons to supervise a friend during a potentially troublesome period in their life," the draconequus observed. "Necessity can be one of them, especially if there are concerns about whether they can truly manage on their own. Acting out of caring. Between the two, even when the situation isn't fully understood -- yet -- it's rather easy to perceive a need to personally step in --" She became aware that she was holding her breath. Talon and paw separated. Gravity noticed the presence of both arms, and they descended towards the chair. "-- and as you might recall," Discord added, "on a previous occasion when I chose to act, I wound up stuck with you." With the lightest, briefest of smirks, "I would call that a rather strong argument for hesitating. Past performance may not necessarily indicate future results, but I don't feel I can afford to take that chance." She was now equally aware that she was staring at him. Also that she was starting to feel somewhat -- angry. And he was still looking at her. "However," the draconequus slowly said, "the mere fact that she felt the need to dictate such a list is... a cause for some concern. So tell me something, Fleur. As we appear to be talking, and I know that Fluttershy has granted us privacy." And leaned in just a little more, as both ears rotated forward. Waiting for her words, and hers alone. "Has he hurt her?" They had been even words. Soft. Measured. Controlled. A soft spring breeze blew across most of the porch. All of it avoided the chair. Yes. But I'm still trying to work out how. And if I tell you that, if I say one thing which makes him responsible -- -- this was a mistake, I never should have come out here, I -- "They're siblings," Fleur quietly answered. "There's always some fighting, when it's a sibling. Even when you don't mean to fight, or know you're fighting --" "-- yes." The nod felt oddly solemn. "I've seen that." ...where? "And where there is fighting," the draconequus calmly continued, "there can be pain. But -- what is it that Protocerans say, Fleur? 'No blood, no squawk, no foul?' Is she bleeding?" I don't know. She acts as if pain can be cured. But she carries her own scars. Maybe her wounds were healing. But his being here reminds her of the hurts. Makes them raw again. I can't tell him that. I don't know what to say -- She felt her body take another hoofstep forward. "Not if I can stop it." And then he was truly staring at her. He -- wasn't particularly good at it, not when the red eyes didn't have the strength to leave their sockets. It took surprisingly little time before he blinked, and she could make out each of the rough lashes. Sense their weight. "A pony who requires such a list," Discord finally observed, "is perhaps a pony who needs -- special measures. But you seem to have a way with trouble, Fleur. It's one of the reasons I allowed the truce to form: because you can protect. After a fashion. So for now, I pass the duty of dealing with him to you. I expect you can manage it." 'You're on your own.' She genuinely wasn't sure whether she was better off. "Is there anything else?" the draconequus inquired. "As once again, there is that other appointment...?" Should I bring up Gilda? Did Fluttershy already -- -- she'd pushed her luck far enough already. He stretched, tried to reach down for the crutches. Her horn ignited, and a quick touch of glow raised them up towards his grip. "...yes," he muttered. "There we go. And the bag?" She levitated it towards him. Toys. Soft and bright. Why is he -- Discord visibly concentrated, pushed crutches and limbs against the porch. The chair added a helpful boost, and it all got him standing on the third attempt. "It was a good talk, Fleur," he decided as he made his thumping way towards the door. "In that there were words spoken, and people listening. I'm fairly sure those are the base requirements. We'll have to do it again sometime. Inevitably. And likely regrettably." He awkwardly reached down. Gripped the lever as he ducked his head in anticipation of the door frame (because that necessity had taken three visits to fully sink in), started to push -- -- stopped. "She's wearing her mane forward again," the draconequus said. "Covering part of her face." Fleur managed a nod. "It reminds me of how she looked when we first met," Discord softly declared. "But at the same time... I'd grown accustomed to seeing more of her features. Because she had changed. Part of that change came from being with you. And now she may be changing back." He looked down at her. Steadily, and neither gaze faltered. "Keep an eye on that," he told her. The door opened, and the wounded draconequus thumped away.