//------------------------------// // Chapter 65 - Acceptance // Story: The Stereotypical Necromancer // by JinxTJL //------------------------------// For as much as Light loved the fuzzy warmth of holding his pseudo little sister, listening to her idle chatter about her school life and her latest attempts to get her cutie mark, his mind inevitably wandered from the filly's danger-laden exploits, inexplicably thrilling though they were. Neither could his eyes stop drifting towards the door he knew Granny was behind. Though he did make a note to talk to his marefriend about keeping a closer eye on the little pony, because he never should've heard the words 'I tried' and 'scuba diving' coming out of a ten year-old's mouth. It didn't take long to convince himself to stop stalling—curse the warmth and his new, energized attitude—so he shortly extracted the filly from his arms and made her promise to go finish her schoolwork. Just because schooling in Ponyville wasn't good didn't mean she shouldn't try to apply herself. If there was anything he wasn't going to let the one child on Equus he cared about do, it was ignore her education. He watched her gallop up the stairs at a definitely unsafe speed with more melancholy than was probably deserved, but he was going to excuse himself for that on account of the incoming ballistic impact into his life. He'd not been able to help the sigh, either, or the lackluster energy with which he ventured towards... the door. At the moment, he was still standing in front of the metaphorical chalk line that separated him from the blast zone. It was definitely a warzone in his head, so it was probably warranted to see the door to such—but the metaphor was a bit overstated, however funny. Not to mention it was a saloon door and he'd stopped rather close to it, so he could actually see Granny Smith's hooves in his peripheral. A chalk line, indeed. What was the point in stopping at all? Light sighed again, hanging his head for a moment before he straightened and forced a placid mask over his miserable expression. With another deep breath, he took a step forward and pushed the doors apart. His eyes focused to the right on instinct, but he knew the room well enough that he wasn't all that interested in the décor or the immaculate shrine to Princess Celestia he'd once mocked and been subsequently made a fool in front of. It was just as well maintained as ever, and like always, there was a fresh apple in the bowl. Slightly delayed, his gaze focused to the left, where the target of his interest was sitting in a plush rocking chair against a wall absolutely inundated with family portraits, Beside her was a short table holding aloft a lovingly-bound photobook and a white mug with something steaming in it. In her wrinkly—yet unbelievably strong—hooves she held an unfolded newspaper, and at his entrance her auburn eyes rose from its pages and focused on him out of her sagging expanse of a face. Her paper lowered to her lap as her wrinkles parted in a pearly grin, and as it did every time he'd seen her since he was nine, his imagination leapt to cover her age with the die-hard image of a cocky mare in her forties. Because for as few times as it had shown through his life, Granny Smith did not carry herself as though she were a hundred and fifty-three. However she looked, however she sounded, and however she acted like the perfect archetype of a kindly grandmare, she could fool just about anypony into thinking she was in the prime of her life. She was both the oldest mare he knew and the only one to do a hoofstand. That was only one of the reasons why he was currently standing on what felt like pins and needles. The other was behind the baggy shawl draped over her shoulders, which, on the day he'd seen it for the first time, had only reinforced all of his fears. He'd seen old ponies' souls, and he'd seen the souls of ponies when they were close to death. They were typically graying, shrinking, and literally coming apart at the seams; the ephemeral strings that comprised the soul would actually unravel and begin to fade the closer they were to their natural death. At times throughout his life, he'd found it to be one of the coolest things he'd ever seen; at others, he'd considered it to be nauseatingly terrifying. Granny Smith's was still as vibrantly golden as when he'd first seen it, and larger than any he'd ever seen. If he was terrified of anything, he was terrified of her. "Well, lookie that! Izzat Light Flow trottin' on in through my door?" the old mare wheezed out with a laugh, rocking back in her chair as she folded the newspaper in her lap in half. Her eyes, ever youthful, gleamed with humor. "I heard all that ruckus in the other room an' I figured Apple Bloom was gettin' herself attacked by a Timberwolf!" He laughed along with her, however uneasily, gradually inching his way forward as the mare unfolded her paper and focused back onto it. "Glad t'see it was jes' some 'lil sprout," she murmured with a humorous preoccupation, flipping a page over as she settled back into a lethargic rhythm of rocking. It was more or less Granny's thing to make flippant remarks about him—he'd absolutely earned it—so he just nodded along as he'd long since learned to do. "Um... yeah, it's just me, Granny." He halted his forward shuffle and sat himself down, content with the distance he'd closed. "I... did call out for you when I came in, though." He adopted an abashed expression when Granny Smith huffed, not bothering to look up at him or turn her page for emphasis. "Was that what that hollerin' was? Figured it was jes' some punk or vandal or somethin'." He took the oblique insult with little more than a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh as he sagged. "...And that punk called for you by name?" he muttered monotonously, keeping his eyes low and lidded with routine. She was just giving him the runaround, he knew. Did it every time he saw her. It was like tradition, or a rite. At his response that wasn't meant to be a joke, Granny Smith barked out a piercing cackle, rocking forward in her chair and crinkling her newspaper down as she lowered it to flash him a rather wolfish grin. "Y'all know there ain't a whippersnapper in Ponyville that don't know Granny Smith." Finally—and it was odd how he'd been waiting for it—she turned the page, and Granny's tone became humorous again. "Couldn't count the times we got whole crowds up here tryin' to 'curry mah favor' an' nonsense like that." He blew out a long-suffering chortle. She made it sound like she was some kind of mob boss or something. ...Maybe she was. That actually made a startling amount of sense. With the thought of the elderly mare in a black suit surrounded by armed security, Light straightened, his expression flipping into wary tenacity. "Um, Granny?" He waited for her to respond with a hum, continuing as his gaze fell to his hooves. "I wanted to... ask you—or tell you something, I guess." He swallowed. Whoof, this was hard. "Something... important." Sitting in front of Granny for pretty much any reason was... an extremely difficult position for him. It wasn't hard like sitting in a crowd of ponies or talking to a stranger was, it was... most like a great deal of pressure. Worry. It wasn't actually fear, no matter how much hyperbole he slung, it was just nerve-wracking. He'd been intimidated by the mare since he was a foal, and for good reason. She was a business mogul—not even retired or anything, and she'd helped found Ponyville. She was still far more physically able than he was, she commanded respect in basically every town that sold apples, and she'd proven on multiple occasions that she was smarter than him. Most importantly of all, she was the grandmare of the mare he loved. He'd grown up under her watchful eye. Out of all the ponies who inexplicably tried to mother him, Granny Smith was most analogous to the chastising type who disciplined him when he did something bad. She was the one who most commanded his respect. ...Aside from the overbearing disciplinarian who had actually killed him. That one had been a bit more severe. For Granny Smith, though, he held many feelings of appreciation. She'd been a constant source of positivity and wisdom in his life, and though that came with disapproval and actual discipline, he was grateful for it, because it had helped keep him from... going bad, he supposed. For a long time, he'd resented her. With all that had happened... all that he'd gone through... how he'd changed... ...He wanted to thank her. He wanted her approval. He wanted... he wanted... Whatever whim was carrying him, it carried him further until his eyes were open and off the floor, and he met Granny Smith's undivided attention. Her paper was down; her chair had stopped rocking. Her soul was gleaming with slow, steady patience. She was giving him his moment to speak. Maybe she'd heard the plea in his voice. He hadn't looked her right in the eye for more than a second too many times over his life. Not after the first time, anyway. Not since he'd challenged her authority and been put in his place. He'd been wrong, back then. She was deserving of respect. And he wanted her to respect him. "Applejack and I started dating." Out it came. Without even thinking, without even blinking, the words slipped off his tongue. He didn't regret it. He hadn't meant to say it so matter-of-factly, but that was how it came out, and hearing it, he couldn't imagine any other way. This was the definite way—the only way. If he wanted Granny Smith to accept him—and he did—then frank honesty was the only method to prove himself. He could feel it in his bones; if he wanted to be part of this family, he had to speak his mind. Even if he didn't regret it, it was still hard. Forcing himself to stand up straight and tall, quelling every instinct to fidget and scuffle, would've taken a lot of fortitude without the blistering leer of Granny Smith boring into him. It was unsafe of him, really, to sit so close to the furnace. No wonder he was sweating. He kept eye contact, though, considering it a strong focal point not to look away. She may have been old and frail-looking, but he'd long since learned to read her facial language under all those bags, and her jaw was clenched. Her expression's recession was growing so much less so, it was as though her eyes were popping out. That gaze—that weathered, knowing gaze—read history and experience in its every glimmering facet. Her stature meant nothing; it was clear for all to see, if only they looked, that the mare was indomitable. There wasn't an ounce of give in those eyes, and as she straightened minutely in her plush chair, he could swear the saggy flaps of her hanging skin were tensed. There was rippling muscle underneath those wrinkles. How that massive soul of hers pulsed... it was like an earthquake, full of vitality and strength that had lasted for more than a century. He'd hardly ever seen it affected. For as long as he'd tried, it was almost impossible to accurately read. It was simply too dauntless, and that was barely even an exaggeration. Every second he spent before her, trapped in the peaceful silence of the house and farm she'd built, the more he felt small. Like a child. Like he'd said something stupid. Like he should bow and apologize. Something chipped off the back of his brain, and a niggling sense of resemblance he hadn't realized had been in contention shriveled into resolution. A question that hadn't ever been on his mind that needed answering. Nightmare Moon reminded him of Granny Smith. Bitter, satisfying resolution. If she hadn't taken that exact moment to snort back a chuckle, Light would've thrown up in his mouth. As it was, when her withering gaze finally tore away from his with a shake of her head, rocking back and lifting her newspaper to reveal her quilt-covered hindlegs, he already had to swallow a glob of chunky acid down. He tried not to make a face—he felt himself fail—as Granny Smith turned to throw her paper onto the table aside her, turning back to him with a sliver of a bright grin and a twinkle of laughter in her eye. If his eyes weren't mistaken, her soul even seemed to glow with a dimly orange satisfaction. "Betcha don't know, 'lil sprout—" She rocked back, grinning wider and raising a hoof to wag at him as she continued with a disquietingly smug tone. "—y'all jes' won Macintosh twenty bits." There hadn't been many times recently where he'd been able to use the phrase, but just then, Light did a double take. "Buh- huh?" He could feasibly be forgiven for his overdramatic reaction given the mare before him throwing her head back and cackling at him, especially given... everything that'd been running through his head! She and Big Macintosh had bet on him. No, that was stupid! There was no way that was the case! Why had that been the first explanation that'd come to mind? He was such an idiot. Or was he? Maybe it made sense, after all. Did anything else make sense? He could swear he'd just had another possible reason on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't find it all of a sudden. No, that didn't make any sense; betting was the only half-decent explanation. Why had he tried to change his own mind? Wait, nevermind, that was a stupid question. The real question he should've been asking was why he was wasting time grilling himself and not Granny Smith. His face felt hot. Was there blood coming out of his ears? Maybe it was just steam or something. He was very, very aware of his tongue between his teeth. He let it go, folding it against the roof of his mouth as he shook his head to shoo away the murmuring gadflies buzzing around his ears. "Wait- are you- what do you- I'm- I'm confused, Granny!" he finally managed to yell as soon as he was able to see straight again, taking a step forward—then back to offset an onset of dizziness. He let out a puff of hot air, pursing his lips to stop them from gaping as Granny, sitting with her hooves crossed and watching with a self-satisfied smile, threw her hooves up with an amused scoff. "Now, ain't nothing t'get hot 'n bothered over, youngin'—" Light started at the phrase, going just a teensy bit rigid as Granny Smith wheezed out another witchy laugh with a disarming shrug. "—it's jes' a day we've all been waitin' for, s'all." Light sputtered indignantly, blinking a few too many times too quickly and forcing him to sit back down as the dizziness returned in full force. Granny, meanwhile, was concerned with telling a story to the ceiling, laying her hooves over her lap contentedly as she spoke towards it. "See, all'a us knew you an' Applejack were comin' up on the horizon, so a year or two back, Mac 'n I put a 'lil money on when." Light reeled back from the tangible impact of the elderly mare's airy recollection, barely registering yet more dialogue flitting past the ringing in his twitching ears. "Mac said anytime durin' the year you turned eighteen, 'n I said anytime after y'all lost that dirty shack an' had to come move on in here." Was that the floor? No, his face just felt cold. He was still sitting up, he was pretty sure. Yep. He could turn his head, and yep, Granny Smith was still sitting over there and smiling smarmily at him. Weird how all his confidence and poise kind of leapt out of the window as soon as all of his preconceived fears had been dashed to pieces. Hey, there was a window over at the other end of the room, wasn't there? He'd been staring at it a moment ago. He glanced over, and there it was. It was open, too. There was fresh daylight and birdsong on the other side. ... ...No, he couldn't just jump out of a window every time he had a problem. He had to... confront this. Be a stallion. He couldn't just... he didn't want to freak out. He wanted to own up and act... like a grown up. He had to act... worthy. He bit his lip, forcing his jaw to straighten and not to wobble as he did his best to tweak the kink out of his back. He made himself stand marginally straighter with a mostly even frown, and he was able to keep his eyes and ears from twitching every half-second as he turned back to Granny Smith, still... grinning. As their eyes met, though, some of the humor in her expression bled away, and she sat a little straighter, too. He heard her clear her throat a little as he forced his body to take just one step forward, and from there, the second didn't seem too bad, and the third basically invited the fourth. Suddenly, he was standing just in front of her, and he honestly had to marvel a little at how easy the journey had been. There was still a ringing bell somewhere in his ears, he definitely had no control whatsoever over his breathing, and he hadn't completely quelled the twitching, but none of that had stopped him. He'd gotten up. He... had to look down a little as he spoke, a warbling note of wariness in his voice. "Did you... I mean... do you..." His decision to look down was mollified as he tried to take just a little peek up to the mare's face, and suddenly, his face was growing warmer. "...do you really mean it, that you'd... I mean, if I lost my house, you'd..?" Oh, great. Now he was crying. He covered a sniffle with a cough as he quickly jerked his head away, rubbing the solitary tear that'd trailed down his cheek away with a hoof, but that damned Granny Smith had probably seen, already. This was the worst. Now all he felt strong enough to do was sit in front of her like an idiot, trying not to let the first tear bring twenty more. He couldn't... help it that her stupid one-off comment had meant so freaking much to him! It hadn't even sounded heartfelt, and—watch, any second now she was probably going to brush it off, but the thought... imagining that the faux-parental figure whom he'd known for half his life would open her home if worst came to worst was... ...It really didn't help that, much as he successfully ignored it, he didn't have much money, a job, or any marketable skills. He strutted around like his life was on the rise and everything was dandy, but the underlying existential fear of being evicted from what he maintained was his dream home may have been worse than... most of the other things he was afraid of. He had love, sure, but he also wanted a home. Picturing that home with all the ponies he loved—and Big Macintosh—was... it was... "Hey, now." The thought he desperately wished he was confident enough to vocalize was cut off by a quiet call from the elderly mare, and he happily took the chance to bring his gaze back to her. There was... just the slightest glimmer of... affection in those receded auburn eyes, and to him, looking past her outstretched hooves to the little smile on her face, he might've been able to fool himself into thinking it was... well... probably not. She was offering him a hug, though, and for a long... long few moments where it was not rescinded, he wanted to take it. So badly did he wish to take her up on it, no matter how much she smelled like dust and outdated perfume. It was a yearning need for comfort that he knew it was okay to indulge, but... He'd already snorted his excess snot away, forced the tears down, and he was sitting just a little taller. He didn't need the hug. So he extended his own hoof, instead. Her gaze focused down onto it, narrowing slightly before returning to him, and her jaw firmed a small bit. One of her outstretched hooves fell, and he shuffled forward to allow her take his in a firm hold. His hoof immediately began to ache from the pressure of her ironclad grip, but for all that he stood for, he did his best to reciprocate. Ever so slightly, he was sure she might've nodded to him. "Listen here, Light," she murmured, slow and tenuous, but not unkindly. Her hoof gently shook his—that might've been his, actually—as she nodded once more, unmoving in her deep gaze. "'S been a tough time with you as'a late, an' I ain't blind enough not to see how you been treatin' Applejack, an' how she's been hurtin'." He didn't have anything to say to that. He felt like... he should've apologized, said something about how it wasn't his fault, but... He didn't. He didn't say anything. He didn't let go of her hoof. He didn't look away. He squeezed tighter. And for the few, quiet moments that Granny Smith scrutinized him, seemingly intent on crushing every bone in his hoof, he was sure she found his answer, all the same. Because she smiled. In a calmly silent motion, like storm clouds parting, her frown crept up into a grin. "I've seen her the past few days, too, 'an it's been like night an' day." Her tone lifted; from its terse line of clear severity, it tilted back into warmth and familial affection with a whisper of a laugh. "I ain't seen that filly so upbeat since the day she came home from the rodeo with her first bright 'n shiny trophy." She shook her head, letting out a deep breath tinged with reminiscence as she closed her eyes for what felt like the first time since they'd begun their staring contest. "Lookin' at her, you'd think she'd won some biggol prize." He was glad the jab went unspoken. It probably would've ruined the moment. She was silent for a moment, and so Light dared a whisper. "Like I'm some big prize, right?" Now he was smiling, chuckling along with the mare as she let out a wheezing cackle. Her grin was wider as she nodded, trailing off into chuckles. "Wouldn't go 'round spoutin' off like that, but nah—" Her gaze and her grip firmed, though she still smiled to him. "—my 'lil runaway could do more'n a mite worse." His own smile faltered at that, and a question filed itself away into the back of his mind for later. For now, though, Granny commanded all the attention he could muster, as she shook his hoof again and leaned a bit closer. "I seen you, too, 'an that colt that walked on in through my door ain't the same one I been worried over." A bashful sense of tepid mortification crept over his shoulders to tickle at his neck, and the urge to sink back and cover his face was nearly overpowering for a moment, but for that moment, he allowed himself to take the compliment. The shame washed over him and washed away after a few seconds as Granny Smith went on. "You're lighter on yer' hooves, youngin', an' I can see it in yer' eyes. Y'got somethin' worth fightin' for, now." At that, her smile grew knowing. "Ain'tcha?" He huffed out a breath of a laugh, finally letting his eyes close for a moment of reprieve. The weight of a hoof in his. Her heartbeat. The security of her grip. Her laugh. Her eyes. Those precious freckles. That teasing tone. That slurring accent. The love in her voice. His eyes drifted open, scattering the wispy threads of beloved recollection with a sigh. "Yes," he murmured, raising his gaze once more to Granny Smith, finding so much familiar there. "I do." There had always been warmth there, but just then, a glimmer of wetness grew alongside it. "Then I ain't gotta tell you twice." The deeply felt tone of... love grew clipped as she went on, pulling his hoof closer and forcing him to shuffle forward until it was against her chest, and he could hear the steady thrum of her heartbeat. "You been apart'a this family since the day you barged in an' called me a hundred years old." Heavens save him, the tears were returning. Making him cry by crying wasn't fair! The ones in Granny's eyes were content to sit and glimmer, but their example did sweet buck all to stop any from rolling down his cheeks. With their sudden assault, he was fighting his own vision as he spoke through a choked up wad of snot. "I... I can't believe you still... remember that," he managed, somehow with an abashed chuckle. He hung his head to wipe his free hoof across his eyes, trying to cover the sound of him sniffling with more flimsy laughter. Granny was laughing, too, at least, and when there was a sudden tug at his hoof, he could hear it on the top of his head. He'd denied it earlier, but this time, he gladly threw his arms around her and returned the hug, keeping his horn as nestled into her blanket as was possible. His head was really just in her lap, but it was loving enough, and he could feel her voice, still so strong and steady reverberate through his hooves. "Sugarbean, I ain't forgotten a damn thing since I was born, y'hear?" He choked out another laugh through the tears, though he couldn't stop thinking about how much he hated hearing Granny Smith swear. It felt... wrong, like an extra-severe violation of linguistics, or something. He didn't need to hear his Grandmare cursing. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Was the air in the orchard always so fresh? Light took another deep breath, opening his eyes and freely letting them feast upon the sight of the afternoon sun beginning to set over the endless rows of animated green. No complimentary dots of red in the corner he was looking out on from his vantage on a little hill, but that just meant he was getting closer. With the sun setting, he was running out of time, too, so he hurriedly set his hooves to trotting. He was getting kind of tired of walking, what with the trip out from his house, to the farm, and now out to the orchard, but he supposed he could use the exercise. That didn't mean he wasn't hoping he would find Applejack or Big Macintosh soon, though. He hated that ache. His latest trek through trees as far as the eye could see began with as little fanfare as it deserved, with Light making a beeline for the general direction of southwest as he'd heard from Granny. Supposedly, the Apple siblings were somewhere out here inspecting trees for rot and whatnot, but directions in an orchard of this size were always expectantly terrible. Turn left at the thousandth tree, and it's three miles down on your right. The time alone was welcome for thinking in the wake of the emotional wringer he'd been put through, at least. He'd not really counted on revealing his and Applejack's relationship on the walk to the farm, though it'd been a little on his mind. It'd grown... more prevalent when he'd gone in, but still, even when he'd spoken to Apple Bloom, it'd been nothing but a surprise that he'd decided so quickly. Just being there had made him really want to get Granny's blessing, he supposed. It felt nicer to be recognized and accepted, especially at... the level he'd been. Even there, alone in the orchard, thinking about the emotionally charged moment made something sticky and hot well up in his throat. It took a strong swallow to force it down, and a gentle mental prodding to get his hooves moving at the same pace as before. The closer he'd become to the Apples, the more they'd all felt like family, and those feelings for Granny had only grown stronger after his... well, it was obvious. The point was, in all the dinners and holidays he'd been invited to, it'd always been clear that Granny planned for him to be there. Maybe it hadn't needed to be said, but it was still wonderful to hear that she considered him family, too. ...Oh, speaking of family. A flash of red that wasn't an apple—but it was an Apple—caught his eye from his left, and as he stopped, the color resolved itself into a pony in-between trees. He was gone in a moment, but Light was already following after the stallion, and it didn't take long to catch up. "Mac! Hey!" he called out to the idling stallion as he stepped through the trees, who turned to face him as he approached. As always, perspective quickly shifted with each step, until they were just a few hoof-lengths away from each other and... separated by a head. He was content just to look at the massive colt's chest—his brownish soul was so solemn and mesmerizing—but to actually look him in those docile green eyes of his, Light had to crane his neck back. It was always an interesting experience in demoralization whenever the two of them spoke, which... wasn't all that often. Sure, they were around each other a fair bit, but since they'd first been introduced, it seemed like Macintosh grew quieter every day. Light appreciated that, but he'd never been more of a converser than a conversee, so unless either of them were feeling particularly bold, their interactions typically boiled down to awkward silence. Today, as Macintosh stared down at him the way most ponies did to ants, it didn't seem like it'd be very different. "Howdy." He actually adored Macintosh's voice—so surly and paradoxically gentle—but that tended to be as much as he heard from the giant. As Light gave him his best half-genuine smile, Mac just kind of... stared. It was almost like looking into a mirror. ...Though his mirrors had spoken more to him in the past. "Um," he began, shuffling his hooves against each other and casting a glance to the right. No Applejack to save him the awkwardness, unfortunately. He returned his gaze to Macintosh, still staring, and raised a hoof to wave it forward. "—you can... keep working, if you want. I'll just..." He pursed his lips, glancing again to the side. "I do have something to tell you, so I guess I'll follow behind." He trailed off, licking his lips before popping them together as he bounced energetically on his hooves. Well, not energetically, but he didn't think he was anxious enough yet to ascribe the adjective. Either way, he was... oh, antsy! He was definitely antsy. Macintosh blinked down at him, soul spinning with blistering placidity. Eventually, he nodded, shaking those enviable, orangish bangs of his. "Alrighty, then." He turned, then—Light felt a little stonewalled—and began a trot forward without looking back. Light stared after him for a moment, wondering if he should glare, but quickly settled on the high road to follow the stallion. He did so with a forced spring in his step, because if he didn't hustle, Mac would naturally outpace him. Light fell into sort of exhausting step behind the stallion, then decided that was no good for a conversation and sped up to keep at his side. They continued that way for a little while, Macintosh not really stopping as he kept his eyes high on the branches of the trees. Sometimes, they circled them. In silence. Suffocating silence. Conversation was a nice thought. After... Tartarus below, it felt like an hour before they stopped at the base of a particularly Mac-sized tree, and Light had finally decided to throw out all the circuitous garbage he'd been considering as a route to get to the topic he wanted. It was hard to transition into, but Mac really wasn't the small talk kind of pony. It was best to just jump right into it. "So, Granny wanted me to tell you she owes you twenty bits," he spoke with as much casual bravado as he could muster, hoping that the shared activity of looking up at a tree would be enough to make it sound normal. It helped not to look at him, at least, and the tree was actually remarkably receptive! What a nice change! ...Macintosh wasn't saying anything. Maybe just a little peek..? Light did his best to scrutinize the stallion out of the corner of his eye, but his periphery was actually pretty bad at this range, so he let his head tilt a little bit down... Oh, Mac was staring at the tree, too. His eyes were a little unusually wide, but otherwise, he seemed- Light jerked his eyes back to the tree, swallowing past the noise of his heart beginning to pound in his ears. He'd never seen Big Macintosh's soul spin that fast. It was... jarring. Frightening. Heavens help him this might've been the most danger he'd ever been in. Forget Nightmare Moon and literally plummeting to his death; Macintosh could twist him into the shape of a pretzel with his bare hooves. Faintly, quietly, he heard what sounded... not like an incensed whisper. "...Eyup." That gifted him... a little more confidence to... look just a little bit at Macintosh, though his blurry shape was still staring at the tree. Bravely, foolishly, Light tugged his tongue out from where it was cowering. "Um..?" That was good enough, right? It was another little while that they stood there, certainly past the time Mac should've finished his inspection of the tree, which meant... neither of them really knew what to do. It was a nice feeling of solidarity, at least, however terrifying. They were about on equal hoofing when it came to social skills. That probably meant they would just stand there for the rest of their lives, but at least Light would have a life! Eventually—though Light let it lie for a good long while—he found wherever his courage had run away and managed to tear his eyes from the tree to look at Macintosh. He looked... as placid as ever, but the whorling of his normally subdued soul was enough warning that Light felt it prudent to take a step away before speaking. "...Macintosh?" he tried, keeping the note of genuine concern most prevalent in his tone as he broached the silence. The stolid stallion still didn't react, so Light took it a step further. "Are you... alright?" After a few moments where Light really thought it hadn't worked, Big Macintosh showed his first sign of life in a quiet sniff. Thankfully, it took him until after Light coaxed his heart down from his throat to speak, unpredictably even-toned as ever. "I don't have to give you the talk 'bout not hurtin' her feelings, right?" He spoke without shifting his gaze down from the tree, or without really moving his jaw much at all, so Light felt no shame in the small start he gave. "Er- um- no! I would- I would never hurt her!" he stammered out, shaking his head a moment later as something occurred to him, and his tone grew bashful. "...On purpose, anyway." That was probably true, since at this point, Applejack just didn't take offense at his varied insults. ...He didn't deserve her, did he? At his oratory stumble—but before his mood plummeted—Macintosh nodded. "Then I'm okay." Finally, the stallion dropped his gaze from the tree and turned, trotting past him and—ow! A massive, massively weighty hoof clapped to the dead center of his withers, blowing all of the air out of Light in one knee-bending impact. He wheezed, tasting something burning rising up his throat as Big Macintosh passed him, while Light only barely managed to keep on his wobbling hooves as the larger colt spoke again. "Applejack's back the way you came," he offered as he walked off through the trees... and as Light strained to stand straight. Had that broken his spine? He felt like it might've. His shoulders, at least. He wanted to toss Macintosh a farewell as he ambled off on his way, back to looking up at the trees for oddities, but it was only a few moments after he was out of sight that his system shook the impact off and he was able to inhale a deep lungful of air. Coughing, choking, Light pounded a hoof to his side as he blinked tears away, shivering at the numbness that was beginning to spread over his back. That was all barely even hyperbole. Had Mac held back at all? Could he have hit him harder? The thought made his stomach twist. He couldn't help picturing a gory spray of viscera painting the air from his spattered torso, with Big Macintosh's hardened hoof acting as the brush. All that separated him from that fate was... a 'talk.' Good incentive for not hurting his marefriend. Great incentive, death was. Really put things in perspective. Soon enough, Light managed to quell the sputtering shakes of his impacted lungs, though it was far after he could've gone after Mac for... erm... Was there any actual reason to go after Macintosh? He'd told him where Applejack was, after all, so unless he just wanted to hit him up for another chat, then there wasn't much point. He thought about it for a moment. A moment later, an entire dedicated moment seemed a little generous. Light turned, stepping forward and shaking off the tingling as he began a lumbering canter back the way he'd come. If Macintosh's curt tone wasn't a misdirection, then he was guessing he just had to go the one way. He quickly passed... where he thought he'd first caught up with Mac—trees were not good waypoints—and continued on his way, passing trees and trees and... trees. Much as he loved to monitor his surroundings for chewing material, there just wasn't much in the orchard. He could think, at least, and to escape how his back panged with every step, he thought that to be a good idea. Macintosh. He sure was quiet. He was quiet in everything he did, though he was sure... the larger-than-life stallion must've had a lot to say about his and Applejack's getting-together, but he just hadn't. He never really did. Quiet was his go-to forte, and—actually, despite what he'd thought in the past, his soul did show his emotions. Back there, he'd been... conflicted. Upset? Probably not. Uncertain? That seemed more likely. For all the work Nightmare Moon had put into ruining his image—it hadn't been all that great in the first place—Light probably didn't look like the best fit for Applejack. ...Probably wasn't the best fit, either. Applejack probably needed some... hunky farmer pony, who could... farm and stuff. She needed a coltfriend who could help run the family business and take care of trees, not some... jerkish wimp like... like... Light pursed his lips, letting his eyes drift up to the orange afternoon sky above. Those panning canopies beneath it, seemingly bent on drowning out the dissonance in his head with the rustling of the orchard... as much as he tolerat- er- loved the nature his marefriend had devoted herself to... they almost seemed mocking. They knew he wasn't a farmer. He wasn't Macintosh. He wasn't tall enough to touch their tops. A sigh drifted up and out of his mouth, washing over his lip as his head hung forward and bobbed with his gait. He stayed like that for a few steps, though, of course, he knew he had to keep his eyes up to walk. It was only right, as his mother had always told him. Keep his eyes up. And then his mouth fell gently open, and he slowed to a gradual stop. There she was. In the dusk-dappled clearing past the wall of trees he'd emerged from, she stood in its center like a gleaming beam of light. With her shimmering blonde ponytail curled over her shoulder, back turned to him with her usual cowpoke hat tilted up with her head, she even seemed somehow modest. Like a left-alone statue in the woods, covered in moss and ivy yet immaculately sculpted in the mold of some foreign, forgotten deity just... waiting for him to stumble in and discover her. But she wasn't a statue. She was alive—breathing, and her soul... so dazzling. Beautiful. Innocuous. Her fur was pristine and groomed, and to him, just the profile of her back was captivating. He'd spent too long staring, or perhaps he'd let his breath go when he'd meant to hold it. She turned, barely at first, then a little more until her shining emerald eyes were on him, and he just... He didn't care. About anything. Nothing but her. His hooves carried him forward without a thought, but he joined their march gladly as the cold shroud of disparity that had held him began to wither, washed out by a growing blossom of warmth in his pinching cheeks. He felt he had to smile to alleviate the pressure, and then he was laughing, just softly. She turned, and her smile was warm. "Now, that better not be you slinkin' outta the trees back there, Light." she called out to him as he approached, but it was teasing. Light-hearted. When she went on, and her eyes narrowed, the white freckles peppered over her cheeks popped out in elated greeting. "Can't y'all see I'm workin', here?" Her voice. The familiarity in her tone that he felt in his own heart. No longer did his smile alleviate the warmth; now, he could feel it like frantic need in his hooves, carrying him just a half-step faster. "Really?" He let his tone rise with a humming chuckle from teasing to gloating—taunting. "Looked more like tree watching than working." She laughed at that, and he found he had to, too. The expression of smug dismissal on her face was just too much. If he hadn't been a few steps away, he was sure he would've leapt at her—kissed her—throttled her—anything. They were close enough to touch, then, and Light could recognize the scent of mussed fur and apple shampoo in the air. All he could see... those eyes. Inviting him. Daring him to. Oh, he dared. He stepped in, and the harsh grin she wore eased into breathy anticipation. As her eyes fluttered shut, so did his. He heard the throaty warble of her chuckle rub fuzzily through his cheek as they brushed together. He tasted her breath. He felt her lips. And everything was right. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They hardly spoke. They both knew there was nothing to say. She led him through the trees by a hoof, glancing back with coy chuckles and a sly grin every time he spoke out through the noise of their hoofsteps. In truth, he couldn't have cared less about where they were going, only that she was going with him. The ground slanted gradually up as they went, and as they went, he could hardly force himself to breathe. All of his attention, all of his mind, everything he was, was focused on her. The trees broke; they came out onto a hill. Trees and countryside beyond them spread out before their eyes. They settled against the lonely tree at its top, backs pressed to bark and their sides blurring together. When his hooves snaked under her arms to cradle around her back, and her head snuggled into the cleft of his neck with a breathy huff, he found himself taken back to a dream he'd had. Her satisfied breath washed over his neck in a murmuring sigh. He held her closer, and she squeezed back. He shifted down; his eye caught hers. Shining emerald green, and so full of love. He began to weep, and as he wept, and as he used his every breath to tell her of all the ways he was so desperately in love with her, she held him. Tightly, devotedly, she held him. And she kissed his tears away. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- His walk home was less of a trot and more like a stumble. He felt dizzy—light on his hooves and unpredictable. He swayed in a daze with every step down the road away from the farm, but he didn't care. Nopony was around to see. He wouldn't have cared even if there were. His body was warm, his heart was full, and he'd been fully sated on the memory of every short moment he'd spent with the love of his life. Never, in all his life, had Light felt so... contented in his every desire. She hadn't changed her mind. Oh, she still loved him. And how he loved her. He let out his... what felt like his thousandth dreamy sigh with another stumble forward, still trying to keep his eyes open and his mind from drifting to daydreaming of their wonderful, reciprocal embrace. With the sky rapidly darkening by the minute—the moon peeking over the horizon—if he dozed off too badly, he'd end up falling on his face and breaking his nose or something. If he did, he'd never be able to smell her scent. And that'd be terrible. Though it wasn't quite dark enough for him to miss the familiar, crumpled shape at the side of the road. He slowed to a halt, blinking dazedly down at the unmoving form of the dead squirrel in the grass aside the path. For a moment, his mouth almost drifted open in a short chortle, but he thought better of it, shaking his head as he turned to continue down the road. ...But then he stopped, and his lidded gaze drifted back to the corpse he'd left carelessly left behind. For a few moments, his stare remained. And then his horn lit, and the latch of his saddlebag clicked open. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In a shaded room only barely lit by the dazzling flash of city lights through the open window, two pairs of lips quietly parted with a glistening trail of saliva, leaving one to pant with unmet need. The grey mare pulled back from the other, taking the time to quell her uneven breaths as purple eyes met glowing red—a deeply scintillating sight in the darkened bedroom, but she still eased back, running the hoof she wasn't using to hold her lover back along her neck. With the immaculately combed locks of her mane off her shoulder and out of the way, she leaned forward with a sigh, muffling her next breath into the white fur of her partner's neck. So comforting. "Are you... absolutely sure about taking this assignment, love?" she whispered, shuffling her hooves further up the white mare's back and making her shiver gently in her arms. The sensation made the grey mare smile, breathing deeply of that familiar scent of smoke and polish as she raised her muzzle to murmur into the muss of blue mane under her ear. "It's just such a long way to move... and with so little notice?" Her shoulders shifted as the mare in her arms shrugged gently, and a sigh loosed from her lips. Of course, they'd had this one sided discussion already, so why was she bothering asking? Whoever these ponies were, they needed immediate protection, and her partner's organization was very adamant that she be the one to provide it. Still, she pulled away, meeting those red eyes sparkling over that small frown and narrowing her own eyes in curious concern. "You could just say no, couldn't you?" At that, those red eyes averted from hers, and her partner's muzzle tilted quietly down. Uncertain. So she pressed forward, rubbing a hoof up and over her lover's shoulder as she did her best to catch her eye. "You're important enough to them that they allow you your passion and your patents, and you've provided them so much... gadgetry that they don't mind the two of us, so why couldn't you just-" Red eyes rose to hers with a pained slant, and she cut herself off of a breath. She'd been on the verge of shouting. She forced herself to take a breath. In, and out. Then, she let herself slide away from her partner, trailing their hooves together until their frogs touched in an intimate grasp. "I'm sorry, I just-" She took a another breath, firming her wavering tone with an unsteady smile. "It's a lot to leave behind." Her partner nodded, then again a moment later as a sheepish grin rose on her face. Gradually, light began to trickle up from the horn atop her head, casting the room in soft shadows and her face in a glowing spotlight. Above her head, mana began to whirl in indeterminable little patterns, shifting and changing and shrinking until trails of energy began to slough off little by little to leave a sparkling line of written words in shining blue. I wouldn't ask you to come with me For a moment, the grey mare felt her heart plummet. Then she smiled. The sparkling loops of manifest mana sputtered and crumbled away as the grey mare let her head rock forward to knock into the white mare's with a soft laugh. Startled red peered forward at twinkling purple, cut off as the grey mare shifted forward to capture her partner's lips in a kiss. As they drifted away, her words whispered out between their brushing mouths. "You don't need to ask, Vinyl."