//------------------------------// // 69 - Tick Tock // Story: The Memoirs Of A Reality Jumper // by Techogre //------------------------------// The familiar hum of my laptop just barely played at the edge of my hearing, and as the screen sprang to life, it cut through the shadows of the evening with its quiet glow. My fingers danced over the keys, as natural to me as the grip on the hilt of my knife once was, their rhythm almost musical in its routine. By my side, Rainbow's mane painted a streak of vivid contrast against the encroaching dusk, her smug grin a testament to unshakable confidence. I could feel Scootaloo's gaze burning with excitement over my shoulder, her underdeveloped wings fluttering in a futile attempt to take her off the ground. Then there was Summer Blossom, our newest addition to this eclectic tribe, doing her earnest best to sit still despite nervous excitement, causing her tail to betray her emotions. As the call connected, cheerfully chime leaping through the speakers, a world and lifetime away, Ann's face materialized on the screen from her cozy Earth office. Under the artificial light, her green eyeshadow caught the gleam, while beside her, Lily beamed in her "My sister Scootaloo" t-shirt worn as if it were a medal of honour. Lily's chipper voice rang out first, "Hey, Dad! It’s been almost two hours. We were wondering when you’d call." I found myself rubbing the back of my neck, an old habit that wouldn't quit. "Ah, sorry about that, sweetie. Has it been that long already?" Time here always seemed to dart by, evasive, like water slipping through clasped fingers. This time, it was literally slipping away. A quick glance at the clock confirmed my tardiness. "Oh, but before I forget,” I corralled the conversation back, “there's someone new here dying to say hi!" "Yeah, and she’s been on pins and needles!" teased Rainbow, leaning toward the laptop's camera with a sly flick of her wing. At that cue, Summer, somewhat shy but filled with hope, edged closer, her deep blue eyes flicking between the familiar faces peering out from Earth's side of the screen. A blur of motion was the signal of Lily dashing off to fetch Daniel, and soon enough, his face, shadowed beneath his gaming headset, completed the family picture onscreen. "Alright, let's do the official introductions then," I said, pointing out each family member. Scootaloo smartly saluted, her chair nearly toppling with her zeal. Summer's smile widened seeing such friendly chaos. "And that lady with the commanding presence? That's Ann," my voice softened instinctively,  "She’s the alpha mare around here," Rainbow quipped with a flick of her mane. Ann's laugh was a sound I knew well; its music was as heartwarming as it was tinged with sorrow. "Now, this one here," I gestured to Summer, who squared her shoulders under our collective gaze, "is Summer Blossom. She’s a Diamond Dog and the newest member of our family." Even through the screen, the enthusiasm was palpable. "Cool!" the siblings exclaimed in harmony, Lily's eyes gleaming with the bright curiosity of youth. And contagious as laughter, Summer's joy seemed to ripple out, her tail giving little flicks of elation. Her eager voice, heavy with the accent of her kind, was both stilted and earnest as she said, “Me happy meet all you.” Lily, ever the child, blurted out, “Huh, you talk weird, Summer Blossom." A quick but gentle chide from Ann followed. “Lily, manners. We all speak differently, and that's alright,” her voice ever the diplomat's, soothing over the sudden ripple. Loyal Scootaloo quickly chimed in, jumping to Summer's defence. "Hey, she just talks a bit different, no biggie." Rainbow wrapped a comforting wing around her little sister, a silent reassurance as much as a physical one. Her other wing brushed against Summer, silently telling her she was accepted, supported. "They've never chatted with a diamond dog before, squirt. No harm, right guys?" Rainbow sought confirmation from the screen, her eyes questioning. The apology came swiftly, bashfully, "Sorry. It’s just—we never heard a diamond dog talk like that on the show. Caught me off guard, is all," Lily mumbled. Rainbow rolled her eyes, “That stupid pony show.” "Yeah, you're telling me," Daniel joined in. "Mom says not to believe everything it shows us. Good thing I'm not a fan. Anyway, nice to meet you, Princess Summer.” Summer nodded, her tail giving enthusiastic thumps now. "Me greet you, brother," she declared, though a hint of irritation flicked her ears. Being regarded as a 'princess' didn't sit well with her at all. "Me not like ‘Princess’," the annoyance was clear in her voice, "Me no royal highness. Long past, ponies, Princess Celestia, they took our lands. It complicated." I witnessed a flicker of understanding cross Daniel's face, his wit soon peeking through, "No kidding! You weren't elected or anything, right?" His humour was sly, a little bit Python. It took a heartbeat for Summer to process, and in that quiet moment, her tail went still, a question painted in those deep blue eyes. I tend to jump in with explanations; old habits die hard. "Well, you see Summer, Daniel’s making a bit of a funny because—" But before I could really dive into it, she figured it out, her tail now up and thumping away. "Ah! Me understand. You make joke—like coconut on tail," she stumbled but her expression was pure pride. Chuckling quietly to myself, I watched as Daniel's face broke into an open laugh. "Exactly. You catch on fast!" He deftly switched lanes, "So, do you have video games in Equestria? How about tabletop games? Like—" I could tell he was trying to find common ground, ever the inclusive one. Summer began to tilt her head, clearly not quite sure, but Scoots was already barrelling in with the intel. "You mean those games for nerds? Like Ogres and Oubliettes? Yeah, Spike's all over that. And Button Mash might as well be glued to his console," she added with that signature Scootaloo eye-roll. Interest sparked in Summer’s eyes. "Me would like to try... games," she considered, her tail a clear sign of excitement. The thought drew out a mutual curiosity in her. "What height you? Me about one hundred seventy-eight centimetres.” Daniel exclaimed, “That’s how tall I am!” “So, we same height?" she mused, staring at Daniel. "In pack, bitches bigger. You tall for dog?" It took him a moment to understand. "Oh, uh, yeah. Guess I am," Daniel said with a laugh, a hand reaching up to brush back his hair. "Means we'd see eye to eye if we stood next to each other, huh?" The kid was a bit shy but carried a confidence about him when it came to making friends. I watched, a quiet hum of satisfaction in my chest as our worlds meshed together in this warm kitchen, illuminated by the laptop's glow. Despite digital divides and awkward explanations, underneath it all, we were discovering the unique rhythm of each other’s humour and heartbeats. It was a bridging of two quite different worlds that somehow felt like just another family evening. "Alright, folks. Looks like it's about time for a little break to do the time test." I glanced at the bottom right of the screen; the timer indicated we had a few minutes left, and the connection was already starting to waver. Ann's face softened with a hint of sadness. “Okay, kids. This is just to make sure everything is alright between our worlds. You know the drill?” Nods all around, except from Summer. Ann continued, “It’s simple. We disconnect and set a timer on both ends. You’ll wait for sixty minutes exactly. Then, we reconnect, and I say what the timer here reads. This tells us the time difference between our universes. There shouldn't be much of a difference. Just routine checks, no worries.” As we set our timers, my eyes met Ann’s through the pixels and data, a moment heavy with the words we didn't say, with the history between us, with the weight of worlds apart. But in that shared glance, fleeting as it was, there lingered a connection that not even universes could sever. The rain pattered against the windows, an unexpected accompaniment to the apprehensive atmosphere that had enveloped the room. I stared through the glass, watching as the premature tempest turned to a torrent. Dash's soft wing twitched against my side, a silent rebuke for the weather team who'd started their storm almost an hour early, throwing off the schedule she'd meticulously planned. "Scootaloo, Summer," I said, my voice betraying a fraction of the anxiety I harboured, "could you two please head to the living room for a bit?" It was a difficult request, masking my concern with a veneer of grown-up matters. The young ones reluctantly left, their steps a fading staccato against the wood floor. I gazed at the timer on the laptop screen, each second ticking away a silent drumbeat of worry, the numbers a link to Ann and the pending results she would bring. Rainbow Dash shifted her position, frowning lightly at my restlessness. "The timer's still got plenty of time to go, Alex. Try to relax." I heaved a sigh, feigning a calm I was far from feeling. "Yeah, you're right," I admitted, though the twitch under my eye told a different story. My gaze swept back outside, tracking the runnels of water streaming down the pane. We filled the silence with chatter about the day's mundane events— Dash talked about the planning for winter weather, and I brought up Wood Frame’s excitement at the quality of the theatre plans. But beneath it all, an undercurrent of tension hummed steadily. Scootaloo paced the threshold, her frequent glances towards the laptop betraying her anxiousness. "Is the hour up yet?” Dash answered, “No, squirt.” A few minutes later, Scootaloo asked again, “How about now?" Her voice was a thread, strained and thin, and I felt my patience fray. "Scoots, sit down! It hasn't even been fifteen minutes!" Immediately, remorse lanced through me. "I’m sorry, Scoots," I muttered, my hand rubbing the back of my neck, feeling the prickle of guilt for snapping at her. “I’m worried, too.” Rainbow nudged me, a feathered embodiment of support. "Give her a break, everypony's on edge. We'll know soon enough." My pacing resumed, a relentless march back and forth that annoyed Dash as much as the early storm. Dash rose, placing herself firmly in my path to halt my pacing. Her rose eyes locked onto mine, steadfast. "We'll get through this. No matter what, we face it together, okay?" "Yeah," I replied, my voice steadier thanks to her presence. "Together." The empty silence stretched between Dash and me, filled only by the patter of rain and the soft whirring of the laptop, the black screen with the countdown bar slowly crawling across the screen. "Don't worry, big guy," Dash murmured, her wing pulling me closer. "I'm sure it was just a mistake." I forced a chuckle, hollow and strained. "You're right. I must have made a mistake. I forgot to carry the π or something. Easy mistake." But my laughter died in the growing storm. I had checked and double-checked the calculations, my certainty a leaden weight in my stomach. We waited, our anxiety mounting as steadily as the rainfall outside. After an hour that seemed to stretch into an eternity, I stabbed at the key to start the connection with Ann. Nothing. A glance at the screen showed the connection hadn't been established yet, fueling an unsaid dread. Why was it taking so long? Ann’s image finally filled the screen. She had finally answered, but with a look that cradled a galaxy of unspoken fears. "Hi, Alex. It was sixty-five point two nine minutes versus fifty-nine point eight seven minutes last time. It looks like we're drifting apart in time again, only this time, it's getting longer for me." A sense of dread coiled inside me, cold and serpentine. "Damn.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, “Okay, let's say we do the test again daily. We’ll reconnect at about seven tomorrow. Get a baseline for how fast the change is happening." Ann’s face on the screen twisted with a sorrow that mirrored my innards. "Should we tell the kids?" Dash's voice was firm yet tinged with vulnerability. "Yeah. I think so. Blinders off." The storm outside boomed, a punctuation to the gravity of our conversation. I sighed, fighting against the deluge that threatened to break through my carefully maintained barricade of hope. "Agreed. I hate it, but they deserve to know." "Then we're all in agreement," Ann nodded, the faintest tremble in her voice. "I say we do it now, with all of us here." Our eyes locked on the screen, a digital bridge between two worlds growing painfully longer with each passing moment. Suddenly, the charged air ruptured with a sharp intake of breath from the doorway. Scootaloo’s eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and understanding, met mine in the mirror's reflection. Her small body was rigid, poised for flight or fight. Dash turned, her face softening, but Scoots was quicker, a blur of orange darting away. I started to get up, "We need to—" I began, but Dash cut me off with a shake of her head. "No. Give her time," she said, but I could see the pain in her eyes, echoing my own. Summer Blossom’s small voice broke the building silence. "What problem? It only five minutes." Her innocence was a sharp contrast to the ominous conversation that had taken place. Scootaloo turned back from the top of the stairs, voice trembling with the effort of holding back tears. She was barely heard as she cried out, "Five minutes!? Five minutes! It's just the start, I know it is!" The ever-loyal Dash made to move after her but stopped, respecting the need for solitude to process the bitter bite of reality. Instead, she stood, a guardian at the window, watching the storm rage outside as it did within us all. I sat motionless, my mind racing. Five minutes can become an eternity. Ann, Dash, my friends, my heart is strewn across the cosmos. The thought of permanent disconnection from Earth, from Ann and my kids—a chilling void that no Equestrian magic could fix. Ann's face, a flickering spectre on the screen, brought my focus back. As I looked into her eyes, I saw reflected there the young woman I’d loved, the mother of my children, the rock that had kept me sane all those years, and the bond that not even the relentless march of time could sever. With a deep breath, I prepared to face the tempest, inside and out, alongside those I loved— in every universe, in every minute—no matter how many we had left. Scootaloo’s small hoof thumped against the frame of her scooter with a rhythm echoing her inner turmoil, each knock a futile attempt to vent the frustration clawing at her chest. Her treasured room, usually a sanctuary adorned with posters of high-flying Wonderbolts and neatly arranged memorabilia, lay in disarray, reflecting the chaos within her heart. Flight goggles, a symbol of her aspirations and love of speed were knocked to the floor, one lens cracked—a casualty of her rage against the unfolding situation. Plush toys were strewn about without care, and the silence of the room felt oppressive, punctuated only by Scootaloo’s fuming grunts. Summer Blossom entered, the grey of her fur blending with the onset of dusk seeping through the window. Her deep blue eyes held an ocean’s calm, but the furrow of her brow betrayed concern for her sister. She saw Scootaloo’s mane stuck to her damp cheeks, and her usually bright eyes dimmed by helplessness. "Sister?" Summer's voice was soft, unobtrusive, as if willing the tension in the air to dissipate. Scootaloo barely managed a glance, instead directing another indignant kick at her scooter, sending it skidding to a stop against a bedpost. The clatter seemed loud in the quiet room. "It’s not fair," she muttered, torn between a simmering rage and an impending sense of defeat. Summer navigated the minefield of toys, her paws careful not to disturb the remnants of Scootaloo’s earlier tempest as she made her way to the bed. Her voice remained gentle, a counterpoint to the pegasus’s bristling energy. "Talk? Make you feel better. We pack mates. Sisters," she offered, extending an olive branch as she sat, an island of serenity amidst the chaos. Shifting uncomfortably, Scootaloo’s eyes finally met Summer’s. "It's Lily and Dan," she exposed the core of her fears with a whisper. "The... the time, it’s getting worse, Summer," she sputtered, desperate to unburden her heavy heart. "Each hour here... it's like Earth is slipping forward, faster and faster. Soon, it might be days or weeks from their point of view before we could even say hello again." Summer’s expression softened, her heart reaching out to their shared unease, even if she could not fully grasp the mechanics of the temporal chasm threatening to widen between them. "Me understand," Summer murmured, her voice laced with an earnest desire to soothe. In an unexpected display of affection, Summer drew her adopted sister into a tender, if slightly clumsy, embrace—an embrace that broke the last of Scootaloo's resolve. The diamond dog's arm, awkwardly draped over the smaller form, provided an anchor in the storm of Scootaloo’s emotions. "I just wanted more time, you know?" Scootaloo’s voice broke as her words dissolved into a sob. "More time with Lily. She won't... she’ll forget about me if this keeps up." Summer let out a fierce growl, one that startled Scootaloo. "We make time count," Summer declared, her fierce protectiveness morphing into a vow. "Me here. We family. We strong pack." A tiny spark ignited in Scootaloo, and she allowed herself to feel the solace offered by Summer's warmth for just a moment, her earlier despair yielding to a cautious hope. They parted, and Summer's gaze was steady, fierce, and sure. "We find way. For family. For everything we are, together." On Summer’s strong words, a smile crept onto Scootaloo's face, its small triumph over the gloom reflecting the light from her sister's resolve. Here in her room, with shadows stretching and the promise of night swelling outside, facing the uncertainty of worlds together seemed less daunting. "Yeah, we will," Scootaloo mirrored the conviction in Summer's tone. “Come on, Summer. Let’s get a snack.” “You always eating, little sister. Soon, you become big sister,” Summer teased. “Hardy-har-har. I can’t help it if I burned off supper already,” Scootaloo said in her defence. Summer smiled warmly, “That alright, little sister. Come, we get snack.” Summer and Scootaloo were sitting at the kitchen table. The patter of the rain was still beating against the windows. Scootaloo glanced across the table to her Dad’s laptop, sleeping among scattered notes and books, a lifeline across dimensions. There was a promise within it, a fleeting chance to share moments and forge memories that might bridge the widening gap between their realities. "They might be trying to reach us right now," Scootaloo said with renewed energy, already thinking about the logistics of the next connection, the next opportunity to communicate. "We need to plan, to make the most of every second we have." Summer watched as Scootaloo’s gaze lingered on the damaged goggles, an ache evident in her eyes. The younger sister gathered them with a sigh, cradling the memento in her hooves. "It's like forgetting a scooter trick you had just figured out, ya know, Summer? I was getting so good at those spin landings... just like talking to Lily. It was getting easier, and now..." Her voice trailed off, but Summer nodded, understanding the parallels in the trials her sister faced. "Not worry, little sister. We find a way," Summer reassured, using the term of endearment that bound them. She helped Scootaloo to her hooves, pressing a warm paw against a small shoulder. "We'll start with fixing those goggles. Tomorrow, we plan for next talk. And we keep planning." As evening yielded to night, the sisters remained together, bound by determination and the love that had transformed two strangers into a family. Together, they faced the uncertainty of shifting worlds, the bond between them a tapestry woven with threads of sisterhood—unyielding, even against the relentless tick of discordant clocks. In the quiet confines of our attic bedroom, the tick-tock of the magical alarm clock was a relentless metronome, each beat a cruel reminder of the slipping synchrony between worlds. The cool night air, slipping through the slightly ajar French doors, couldn't displace the stifling anxiety that clung to me like a second skin. I lay there in the semi-darkness, the soft ambient glow of the clock the only light, the scent of Rainbow Dash that lingered on the bed sheets my only solace. A memory, unbidden but sharp as the chill of the room, sliced through the buzz of my overwrought mind—a time when loneliness had been a constant companion in my endless jumps, when every new reality was an echo chamber amplifying my isolation. Years, perhaps decades, lost in the cracks of the multiverse, until this spirited land of Equestria, and she—my rainbow-maned anchor—had collided with my life. The bed dipped as weight settled beside me, a wing—warm and soft—draped over my chest. "Alex," Dash’s voice, imbued with concern and unwavering loyalty, tethered my racing thoughts. "I'm here for you, big guy." My self-imposed isolation had once seemed an impenetrable fortress, but it had crumbled before her earnestness. Even our decision to handle our challenges, to lean on each other rather than call upon Princess Luna and Celestia, stemmed from a shared resilience that she fostered within us. I drew in a breath, savouring the earthy tang of the autumn air mingling with her comforting scent. I wasn't alone. Yet, with her, moments of solace could as quickly become tempests of passion. She shifted, suddenly nimble and brash, pinning me beneath her with a whoosh of feathers. Her muzzle found my ear, her playful nibble sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the night air. Her hooves, usually so strong and sure, were now tender, tracing a path of yearning over my chest. Dash knew precisely how to unravel me, how to wield our connection as both a balm for my soul and a fire that coursed through my veins. The kiss she planted was fervent, speaking truths words could only fumble at, weaving a narrative of shared destinies and enduring love. With her wings locked around me, the reality of our entwined heartbeats was a cadence more grounding than the relentless ticking that had held me captive. In her embrace, amid the gentle murmuring of the nocturnal world beyond our balcony, notions of time, desynchronization, and separation dissolved, inconsequential in the face of the now. The worries about our disjointed timelines, the looming uncertainties of my Earth family, and the uncharted future with our daughters Scootaloo and Summer—they seemed distant, unfocused, against the clarity of this connection. Rainbow Dash’s love was a vivid spectrum, splashed across the canvas of my night, turning fear into strength, doubt into determination. Our present was a woven tapestry of trials, but here, in this room of keepsakes and memories, we were the artisans of our fate. And when morning came, with its light and questions, we’d face it not as two untethered beings lost to time, but as a union, steadfast and ready. For now, I embraced the night, her, and the promise that—no matter the span, no matter the universe—love was our constant, unyielding truth. Chamor’s silhouette etched itself menacingly against the bright entryway as he stepped into Sugarcube Corner, the chime of the bell above the door out of tune with the gravity he brought into the room. The air seemed to grow colder, or perhaps it was the shift in atmosphere as patrons recognized the grim figure. The conversation lulled to a cautious murmur, glasses clinked a tad nervously, and Pinkie Pie paused in mid-giggle, a less common occurrence on any given day. "The usual," Chamor pronounced, his gravelly voice eschewing any pretense of nicety. "And I need to talk to Mr Cake." Pinkie Pie swallowed her sprightliness, nodding with more restraint than usual. "Coming right up, Mr Chamor. And Mr Cake's in the back; I'll let him know." Chamor's eyes scanned the room—a slow, calculated sweep that left an invisible trail of disquiet. He made his way to an empty corner table, casting a nonchalant glance towards Golden Coins, who quickly looked away and pretended to be absorbed in his newspaper. Chamor's pince-nez perched precariously on his nose, ready to be re-adjusted at any sign of the disorder he so detested. Soon enough, Pinkie Pie delivered a steamy cup of extra bitter coffee with practiced cheerfulness that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Mr Cake will be with you in a jiffy!” “See that he is,” Chamor replied, the corners of his mouth dangerously still. A few tense minutes passed before Carrot Cake emerged from the kitchen under the pretence of casual aplomb, his gaze firm albeit surrounded by worry lines. “Good afternoon, Chamor. You wanted to talk?” Not rising from his seat, Chamor simply gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. This matter involves some confidentiality.” Mr Cake hesitated, then motioned to Pinkie Pie. "Could you prepare a few more of those cherry cupcakes, Pinkie? Mrs Cake could use a hoof." Pinkie Pie bounced towards the kitchen, sliding a curious yet concerned gaze back towards their table. “I'm all ears,” Mr Cake said as he sat down, adopting a facade of calmness. “This is about Alex Roberts and the adoption,” Chamor stated, the coffee steaming, forgotten between them. “About your affidavit. And Miss Sweetheart.” Mr Cake stiffened perceptibly, his hooves fidgeting under the table. “I don't follow—” “Your letter to Miss Sweetheart,” Chamor interrupted, his stare unwavering, “it was against the adoption, wasn't it?” Mr Cake’s brow creased in confusion and faint traces of fear. “That—That was confidential. I... I gave my honest opinion, but the final decision wasn't mine to make.” “Yet, the adoption went through regardless,” Chamor pressed, his tone indicative of the suspicion that riddled his thoughts. “Miss Sweetheart ignored your advice. I need evidence. Surely, as a moral pillar of this town, you'd agree that justice should be served.” “I agree to justice, yes, but Alex Roberts—” “Is chaos incarnate!” Chamor hissed, his pince-nez quivering on his snout. “I’ve seen what creatures like him can do. And you’d let an innocent filly live in that environment?” Mr Cake’s fear ebbed, replaced by indignation. “My opinion of Alex may have been... premature. He’s not as bad a guy as I first thought.” “Perhaps,” Chamor snorted, cocking his head with calculated derision. “Or perhaps you too have been charmed by his deception. Someone is covering evidence. It has to be Sweetheart, and you,” he leaned forward, “are going to help me prove it.” The cheerful chaos of Sugarcube Corner seemed miles away as Mr Cake wrestled with himself, the moral fibre that held him stitched together being picked apart by the slowly escalating menace. A scraping of a chair from an adjacent table signalled Pinkie Pie's abrupt exit into the kitchen, a glance flickered towards them filled with uncertainty. “I have done nothing wrong,” Mr Cake said finally, a quiet steel hardening his voice. “And neither have Alex Roberts or Rainbow Dash.” “Don’t be trifled with this foolery”—Chamor let out an unsettling, mirthless chuckle, fixing Mr Cake with an icy gaze—“Have you considered the... repercussions if I were to turn my scrutiny towards you? Towards your dear wife?” Silence crackled between them, fraught with the threat hanging in the air. It was then that the faintest sound escaped from the kitchen, a ceramic clink, and Mr Cake's shoulders squared as his wife’s unspoken strength bolstered his resolve. “Your threats don't scare me, Chamor,” Mr Cake said with newfound firmness. “I don't have what you're looking for. And I stand by my current belief that Scootaloo is in good hooves with Alex Roberts and Rainbow Dash.” Chamor's nostrils flared, the muscles in his jaw twitching with unspoken outrage. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to grapple with the urge to say more, but instead, he stood, adjusting his pince-nez with a tight snap. Without another word, he turned, his shadow casting an ephemeral gloom over the checkerboard tiles as he exited, his coffee forgotten. In the wake of his departure, Sugarcube Corner breathed a collective sigh of relief, the warmth and gentle murmur slowly resurrecting as normalcy seeped back. Mr Cake remained seated just a while longer, reassured as he felt the weight of his decision settle firmly but justly on his shoulders.