//------------------------------// // Act Your Age // Story: I Just Don't Think He's Right for You // by Aquaman //------------------------------// Applejack didn’t do much talking after that. She tried to apologize a few times, to Braeburn and Twilight both, and they both politely accepted her apologies without seeming at all cheered by them. So eventually, she just let them go their own ways — let Braeburn retreat to some dark corner with Sombra, and Twilight drape herself over Rarity on the dance floor and sway to the soft rhythm of a deep house track, and Rainbow Dash find a group of old acquaintances to swap shots and stories with. And in the meantime, she had gone the way she’d earned herself: to the bar, by herself, batting a cocktail straw back and forth inside a gin and tonic that soured more in her mouth with every reluctant sip. It was a good moping drink, a G&T. Like a blanket to smother your brain under, and molasses to stick your tongue to your teeth before it could form around exactly the wrong thing to say to ponies you were just trying to help. Or was that what she’d been doing? Had she ever really had Braeburn’s best interests at heart, or Twilight’s? Or had she just been annoyed by the kind of silliness she’d thought they’d all grown past and gotten too drunk about it, and on top of that felt inexplicably uncomfortable in a place that used to feel like a second home, and which now felt like an elementary school classroom full of fond memories she was too far grown to ever truly relive? That was the trouble with going from a dumb teenager to a somehow dumber adult: not the bills or the work or even the increasingly rough hangovers, but the nagging dread of knowing that you were never really going to get comfortable with where you were at in life, because now you knew from experience that where you were at now probably wouldn’t be where you’d find yourself in a few years, and there was nothing you could really do but be a grown-up about it and hope the next version of you was the one who’d finally figure this life thing out. Maybe she’d just wanted to spare Braeburn all of that — her goofy, happy-go-unlucky cousin Braeburn, finally living his best life, and maybe hitching that life to somepony who’d steer him towards an even unluckier one. Or maybe she’d turned thirty years old three months ago, same as Twilight and Rarity had a few months earlier and Rainbow Dash would in a few weeks. Maybe her friends all had great grown-up relationships or great grown-up careers, and she was still here in tiny little Ponyville tilling her tiny little family farm and scrambling to hold onto the tiny sand grains of the life with those friends that she’d only just gotten used to, and it had finally turned into the kind of pony that her past self wouldn’t have liked. Could be that. Probably was that. If she was finally being honest with herself, it had been that from the moment Twilight had gone to Canterlot to take Celestia’s place and the last candle on her thirtieth birthday cake had gone out. “I’m a bad friend…” she mumbled towards her glass. “Yes, you are,” a booming voice next to her replied. Somehow, Applejack’s flailing startle and shout didn’t knock over anyone’s drink or even attract much attention from the other patrons. It sure got her heart rate up a tick or two thousand, though — and that was before she saw who had suddenly spoken up.  “Luna bless a pig, Sombra!” she swore. “You ever heard of personal space?” “There’s plenty of space,” he said, nodding towards the numerous empty bar stools on either side of Applejack — and then wedged himself onto the one directly to her right. “That’s not what… don’t sit down! We’re not friends!” “I am aware.” “Then why’d you answer me? And for the record, it wasn’t a particularly friendly answer either!” “You just said we are not friends.” Applejack glowered at Sombra, and Sombra gazed impassively back. “Oh, go to Tartarus,” Applejack growled. “What’re you drinkin’?” “Whiskey. Neat.” “Go figure…” Applejack muttered, before signaling the bartender — Candy Corn, of course — and passing Sombra’s order along. The least she could do at this point in the night was cover a tab or two. It may have been a tiny farm, but it was a very productive one. “I apologize for startling you,” Sombra said once he received his drink. “I am… unaccustomed to this.” “To gay bars?” “To bars. And… ponies, generally. Many things.” “And yet here you are,” Applejack couldn’t help but grumble. “Doin’ who-knows-what with the sweetest stallion I’ve ever known. A war criminal, just…” She clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip. Sombra sipped his whiskey. “Sorry,” Applejack said for the umpteenth time. “I’m… I don’t know why I’m sorry, but I am. You are a monster. I’ve seen you be one, more than once. And now you just look like… I don’t know what you look like. What you are. Are you any different from what you used to be? Should I pretend none of that stuff happened just ‘cause somepony I love seems to like you?” “Would you like a comforting answer or an honest one?” Applejack blinked, then blinked again. She hadn’t expected much of anything she’d heard from Sombra tonight, but that outdid all of it and then some. “I… what’s the difference?” “One is comforting,” Sombra said plainly. “The other is honest.” “Well… the honest one, then.” Sombra gave a tight nod. “Then you should not pretend. Everything you said is true. I was a monster. I may still be one. And if you truly believe I will hurt someone you love, you should stop me from doing so by any means necessary.” Applejack had to be wasted right now. That was the only way any of this made any sense. “Wha… what the hell am I supposed to do with that?” “You asked for an honest answer. I gave it to you.” “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” “No.” He gave her a glance that she could’ve sworn made him look puzzled. “That was what the comforting answer would’ve done. It was my understanding that–” “Okay, just…” Applejack interrupted, holding up a hoof so Sombra would give her a moment to mash her thoughts into order. “Let’s just back up for a second. You said you may still be a monster, as if you don’t know.” Sombra sipped his whiskey. “Do you… do you not know? How could you not know?” After a moment, Applejack added the question that had never actually been answered earlier. “How are you alive?” Something like a smile flickered across Sombra’s face, which seemed shrouded in shadows despite the strobes and spotlights flashing from the dance floor. “I am not entirely sure that I am,” he murmured. “Nor am I sure you should forgive me for what I was.” He sipped his whiskey, swallowed, and continued. “When you and your friends first defeated me, I died. My memories are… fragmented, to put it charitably, but I remember that. You did kill me. I passed on. To what, or where, I do not know, but it was something other than this, someplace other than here. And then Discord — or Grogar, as he styled himself then — brought me back… but not all of me. I was different, changed for the worse by whatever I passed on to. Or perhaps there were simply parts of me Discord chose to restore and parts which, through arrogance or incompetence, he excluded. Either way, I was a monster, worse than before, and you and your friends killed me again.” Another sip, and a shudder — maybe from the liquor, maybe not. “To directly answer your question: I do not know how I am alive now. I suspect Discord was involved, with what little I know for sure and for lack of any evidence to the contrary, but the most honest answer I can give you is that I truly do not know. What I do know is that whatever was taken from me when I last returned to this plane of existence is with me now — or perhaps what was restored with me last time was not this time. Either way, the outcome is the same. I remember what I did, who I was, and it…” It hadn’t been the liquor. Sombra knocked back the final mouthful of his whiskey like it was water, and set the glass down on the bartop with a clack like the snapping of a whip. “I will not ask for your forgiveness, nor your friendship,” he said, plain as ever. “I have earned neither. I know that. What I do not know is why you, among all your friends, despise me the most. I do not begrudge you your feelings, but I do not understand them either. I would… like to understand them. For his sake, if nothing else.” Applejack swallowed hard, chased it with a gulp of her drink, and stared down at the bartop as she replied. “I… I made bad choices in high school,” she murmured. “Bad choices after too, with who I strung along and let myself get strung along by. I got hurt, and I hurt ponies, and knowin’ I hurt ‘em made me hurt even more, and I just… Braeburn’s done enough hurtin’ in his life already. Enough for ten lifetimes.” “And you think I may cause him more pain. Because of who I was. Who I may still be.” Applejack thought about trying to make it sound better than it was, and thought better of it. “Yep,” she said into her glass. “That’s the long and short of it.” Sombra thought for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. In your position, I expect I would feel the same way.” “Then help me feel some different way!” Applejack exploded. She was still angry — at Sombra, at herself, at life in general, and he was the only pony close enough to inflict herself upon right now. “Why him? What d’you have in common, what… how could you possibly think you deserve him?” Her voice cracked during the last sentence, and she hadn’t meant for it to, but it had now and it was too late to act like it hadn’t been how she really felt about all this — especially once she realized that Sombra had flinched at the sound, and that realization got to her deeper than anything he’d said or done the whole night. Maybe this pony was still a monster, maybe he’d still hurt Braeburn more than help him, but whoever he was, he wasn’t the Sombra she’d thought she knew. She knew that now like she knew her own name. “I try not to think about what I deserve,” Sombra told her. “About what I did. Because no apology could be strong enough, no works good enough to undo what some past version of me… what I did. And because, on some level, I still am that version of me — still inclined towards misanthropy, imprisoned by egotism and inferiority in equal measure. My memories are fragmented, and in the gaps between them is noise, this cacophony of thoughts I do not want and feelings I would deny if I knew how, and atop all of it is fear so deep it would drown me if I tried to swim through it alone. I did try in the past, and I failed, and so I wandered the roads of this kingdom in search of something, someone, I could not name or describe.” He turned to her, and for the first time Applejack realized that his eyes — which she always assumed to be a dark and evil shade of red — were actually a soft shade of maroonish-orange, like sunlight-dappled clay.  “And I found him. I found Braeburn, and he… calms me. Centers me. Helps me float on the high tides and hold my breath through the low ones. I do not need to explain myself to him, and when I try to anyway, he will not let me. And in return, I am the pedestal on which he stands for the world to see him as he is and should be, the shadow beneath the effervescent light of his life, and it gives me purpose beyond what I thought I was capable of doing, of being. And I do not know how long this feeling will last, whether it should last, whether I deserve any of what he’s given me or could give me after this. But for the first time in what remains of my memory… I feel imperfect. I feel mortal. And it feels good.” Applejack blinked, blinked again, and kept blinking even though it wasn’t doing a damn thing to clear up her vision or stop her from trembling or put the weight she needed into what she said next. “Don’t you hurt him,” she told the worst pony she’d ever met, tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. “Don’t you dare ever hurt him, Sombra, or I swear on this life and the next that I’ll make you wish you’d stayed dead.” “I will not lie to you, Applejack,” Sombra softly replied. “‘Never’ is not a promise I can make. What I will promise is to do right by him, as much as I am able, until and after our paths diverge.” Applejack grit her teeth, wiped her eyes, and sighed. “Guess that’ll have to do.” Sombra nodded — and this time, he really did smile. “And if it does not,” he said, “history suggests that problem is one you and your friends know how to solve.” Despite herself, Applejack chuckled, and she clinked her half-full glass against Sombra’s empty one. “Don’t tempt me,” she started to joke. “I’m still–” But whatever she still was suddenly didn’t matter, because their duo had suddenly become a trio. Braeburn had wandered over and leaned hard into Sombra’s side, nestling under his foreleg and twitching his lips up when Sombra’s hoof wrapped around his shoulder. “Y’all fightin’?” he mumbled. “No,” Sombra said, beating Applejack to the punch. “Just talking. Your cousin cares for you a great deal.” “Yeah,” Braeburn murmured, smirking Applejack’s way. “For better an’ worse. Mostly better. Don’t tell her I said that.” A thin smile crossed Applejack’s face, and Sombra mirrored her — but his expression changed first, smoothing out into a tender frown. “Are you all right?” the beastly warhorse said, soft and sweet as candy floss. “Fine,” Braeburn sighed. “Just tired.” “Would you like to leave?” “Just need a sec.” And that was what Sombra gave him: a squeeze around his shoulder, and a body to brace himself against, and a pocket of silence in the middle of a pulsing and pounding nightclub. And finally, Applejack understood: they had nothing in common. They were total opposites in every way, as wrong for each other in theory as two creatures could possibly be. And that was precisely what had drawn them to each other, what had prompted one to save the other on a dusty road somewhere outside Appaloosa, and what drove them to continue saving each other day by exhausting day.  This — flamboyant, fruity, effervescent — was who Braeburn truly was, as Sombra truly was stoic and pensive and compassionate in that way which could turn to cancerous resentment if not carefully managed and maintained. They were both so much more than what they used to be, but neither quite knew yet how to be anything other than what they once were, and so the truth still felt like a performance that would grow less and less taxing with time, and the weight of their old lies still hung heavy on their shoulders but, day by day, was slowly sloughing off. They would keep growing and changing, and maybe someday change into ponies who wouldn’t fit together at all. But they fit now, perfectly, like pieces slotted at long last into the correct puzzles instead of the ones they looked like they should be forced to fit into. “Braeburn,” Applejack said. “I’m sorry.” Braeburn made a little noise under Sombra’s foreleg. “Said that already, cuz.” “I said I was sorry for what I said, not for what I thought,” she continued. “I thought I knew what was good for you better than you did. Tried to make you be somepony I wished I’d been, not who you deserve to be. I’m sorry for that. And you don’t need my blessin’ to be with whoever you want, but for what it’s worth, y’all have it.” Another little noise — and then Braeburn smiled. “Thanks, AJ,” he murmured. “Love you.” “Love you too, Brae.” Sombra didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. He caught Braeburn’s eye, carried out a silent conversation through small movements of their heads, then gave Applejack a nod before leaving his stool and heading for the bar’s exit, Braeburn right by his side. Applejack watched them go, allowed herself one exhausted sigh, then finally addressed the bartender who’d been eavesdropping on them for several minutes now. “I owe you an apology too, Candy,” she said as she swiveled around in her seat. “Awww,” was Candy’s initial reaction. “Was trying to sneak up on you. You’re cute when you’re startled.” Applejack rolled her eyes and didn’t acknowledge what didn’t really need to be spoken about. “Seriously. I… I know we didn’t leave off on a good note, but it was years ago and we’re adults. I should’ve been an adult about it. And I’m sorry.” Candy Corn smirked. “Come on, AJ. Water under the bridge. And it’s not like I wasn’t a headcase back then too. You’re way too hard on yourself, you know that?” “Startin’ to get that sense, yeah. Still, though. ‘Pologies. Lotta mares I owe ‘em to, I reckon.” The bartender’s smirk widened. “I’ll let ‘em know. We have a book club, actually. Call ourselves the ‘Cored Apples.’” “Just gonna assume for my sake that was a joke.” “Probably for the best, yeah.” Applejack’s eyes wandered, and soon enough landed on a mare who’d just approached the bar’s far end and landed heavily on a stool, ready to close her tab and see where else the night might take her. Applejack didn’t move — just stared at Rainbow Dash, and felt Candy Corn staring at her. “Cadance on a bike, AJ, just ask her out,” Candy Corn insisted. “Stars know you’ve spent long enough lying to yourself about it.” Applejack couldn’t argue with that, and for the first time she could remember, she didn’t want to either. “Been too scared not to lie. Scared of bein’ wrong about how we felt, even more scared of bein’ right.” She turned to face her ex. “Am I crazy? Bein’ afraid of happiness like that?” “Think being afraid of happiness is the most normal a creature can possibly be,” Candy replied. “Not joking, though, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I’m giving you Twilight’s tab. And she’s had a lot of jello shots.” “Thanks for the support, Candy,” Applejack grumbled through a grin. “Any time, AJ. And for the record, you can keep the scarf. I’ll get a new one.” Applejack stayed in her seat for a bit, finishing her tonic and ginning up the courage to do what she should’ve done years ago. A few minutes before last call, she finally got up and walked to the other end of the bar, and Rainbow Dash saw her coming and turned in her seat to face her head-on, pushing her hoof-stamped receipt away as she did. “Hey,” Applejack began. “Howdy,” Rainbow Dash replied. They stared at each other, and Applejack felt drunk and tired and impossibly brave. “Wanna dance?” she asked, nodding towards the emptying floor. Rainbow Dash smiled. “Not really.” “Wanna get outta here, then?” Dash’s smile grew, and for just a moment, Applejack felt giddy like a schoolfilly who could drink and party all night if she wanted. “Yeah,” Rainbow said. “Sure.” She hopped off her stool, and Applejack followed her towards the exit. On the way there, Rarity saw them leaving, braced her hoof behind Twilight’s head so her muzzle stayed buried in her neck, and nodded while rolling her eyes in a way that said, “It’s about damn time.” It really was. That was the honest truth. And for once, Applejack was truly ready to just see where honesty led her. Maybe she hadn’t earned it. Maybe she didn’t need to. Either way, it’d probably feel nice to give it a try.