//------------------------------// // Pal // Story: Harmonics // by ezra09 //------------------------------// Thistleroot was complaining again. It had become almost routine by this point. Scootaloo would forge on ahead with some mad idea or another, dragging him along. He’d ask why he was being forced into these situations, and she’d come up with some smartflank response. Honestly, the familiar banter was helpful, giving Scootaloo something to focus on. Star Shine’s manor loomed ominously ahead of them. “Are you sure you want to go?” Thistleroot asked, nodding back towards the road. “It’s not too late to turn around.” Scootaloo put on a determined face and shook her head. “I’m not scared.” “Makes one of us.” They approached the large double doors and the grey maned pegasus standing by. “Good evening, Miss Scootaloo,” the pegasus said. “Oh, uh...” Scootaloo trailed off, at a loss. “Silver Shield,” the pegasus said. “We met briefly a few days ago.” Scootaloo tried to recall the meeting, but was rewarded with a small shock at the back of her head. Wincing, she said, “Oh, right, Silver Shield.” “Master Shine will be pleased to hear you’ve accepted his invitation. The group is meeting down the main hall and to the left.” With a short bow, Silver Shield swept the door open for them. Scootaloo and Thistleroot followed his instructions down the hall toward a growing buzz of noise. They stepped into some kind of dining hall filled with other ponies. Most of the crusaders were around their age, with a few fillies and colts, and some older ponies in the mix. “So, uh, what now?” Thistleroot asked. “Hay if I know. I’ve never been part of a cult before.” “Activists,” he reminded her with a smirk. It wasn’t long before they were approached by a young stallion. He had a light green coat and gave them a genuine smile as he said, “Hey there.” “Hi,” Scootaloo responded noncommittally. “You two new? I know most of the crusaders, but you don’t look familiar.” He raised a hoof in greeting. “Name’s Pal.” “I’m Scootaloo, this is Thistleroot,” she said, shaking his hoof quickly. “So, what usually happens at one of these shindigs?” Thistleroot asked, shaking Pal’s hoof in turn. “Starts pretty social, everypony free to talk and meet up, meet new members. They’ll bring out some snacks, and then some of the group’s officers will read the minutes of the last meeting, announce any new events, and that’s usually it.” “What kind of events?” Scootaloo asked. “Let’s see. Last month we had a fundraiser. We do those every once in a while to pay for materials and food and the officers and volunteers. We sometimes do community service. Last week a dozen of us went to help out in a soup kitchen.” Scootaloo blinked. Community service? A soup kitchen? “That’s less malevolent than I expected,” Thistleroot commented dryly. “Malevolent? What, were you expecting pony sacrifices and cult worship?” “Nope. That is definitely the last thing we expected,” he said. “I heard the CMC were all about doing away with cutie marks,” Scootaloo said. “What kind of stuff do you do about that?” Pal chuckled. “Not much, really. There’s not a whole lot we can do.” He tipped his head toward the crowd behind him. “The thing is, this whole group is about being anypony you want. Nopony here will judge you on your cutie mark, half of them won’t bother looking at it.” He turned to show them his flank and an artist’s palette splattered with paint. “I’m good at painting, even enjoy it sometimes, but my parents pushed me into art school, everypony expects me to make a career of it. They always ask to see something I painted, or whether I’ve done any art shows or exhibits. Here, nopony expects me to be the deep artist, or anything.” Pal shook his head, “I’m rambling, you’ll get the idea faster if I show you around.” And with that, they were off. He wasn’t kidding when he claimed to know most of his fellow crusaders. In the next few minutes they were introduced to Home Run, an athletic pony deep in thought sitting at a chessboard, a bespectacled unicorn with a book as a cutie mark, entertaining a group of colts by balancing a spoon on his snout, and dozens more. The longer they stayed and chatted, the more comfortable Scootaloo became. Not once did anypony ask about her cutie mark or ask what her special talent was. Everything was going perfectly. A world where cutie marks don’t matter. That was one of my better ideas, wasn’t it? “Are you alright?” Thistleroot asked, looking at her with a small frown. She realized she’d locked up, holding her body rigid. “Yeah,” she managed to squeak out, “I just uh, need to use the little filly’s room.” “Second door on your right,” Pal said, pointing. Oh, don’t leave on my account. Scootaloo hurried to the restroom, barely keeping herself from breaking into a run. “You're not real,” she declared as soon as the door was shut. Obviously, Discord answered. We’ve been over this already. “I’m not crazy.” Oh, that one is still up for debate. Scootaloo sank to the ground, eyes shut. “This isn’t happening. I’m not crazy.” I mean, it’s one thing when you’re half starving and sleep deprived, but how are you going to justify it now? Scootaloo thought back, to that night, looking for some reason or explanation for— Silver pain flashed through her head, making her gasp and duck her head. It burned through her thoughts for several seconds before subsiding. She shakily got to her hooves, pained tears dampening her cheeks. After a minute, she was able to compose herself and wipe away the tears. Discord’s voice was silent. ***** “Hey Scootaloo,” Pal said as Scootaloo approached. “You’re just in time. They’re gonna start with the announcements in a second.” “Actually, I’m not feeling well. I think I’m gonna go home.” Without waiting for a response, she made for the door. Thistleroot was only a few steps behind her. He kept silent as she half ran from the manor, only talking when she slowed on the streets outside. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head, eyes stuck on the road ahead of her. Limbs shook. Thistleroot thought she looked one good shove from falling to pieces. He followed her for another minute in awkward silence, deciding he’d at least make sure she got home safely. He’d barely finished the thought when Scootaloo collapsed, holding her head in her hooves. “Gah!” he said in what was most definitely not panic, as he hurried forward. Her chin was rested on the stone road, buried under her legs. Her eyes were screwed shut and her breathing came in harsh gasps. “Oh, Celestia, this is not good,” he said, bending down for a closer look. “Scootaloo,” he whispered, “can you hear me?” Scootaloo mumbled an unintelligible response. “Do I need to go find help?” She shook her head. Thistleroot sat back to wait, and after a moment her breathing had quieted. She cracked an eyelid to look up at him. “Uh, are you okay?” he asked, feeling stupid before the words were out of his mouth. Scootaloo nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Thistleroot raised an eyebrow. “No you aren’t.” Scootaloo ignored him as he continued. “It was a dumb question, you’re definitely not okay, and you shouldn’t pretend otherwise. You need to tell somepony about this.” “The princess already knows.” Thistleroot closed his mouth, cutting off his next reply. After a moment he said, “Oh. Well, that’s good then.” Scootaloo shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s not... I’m...” She gave a frustrated snort and stomped a hoof. “I’m not sick or anything, so you can stop looking all worried.” Thistleroot frowned. “But I am worried. Even if you aren’t sick, there’s still a problem.” “It’s nothing the princess can’t fix.” Thistleroot gave her a doubtful frown, and she sighed. “It’s something the changelings did. They blocked out my memories, and anytime I try to remember the past four days, I get hurt. The princess is working on a way to undo it, so you don’t have to worry.” Thistleroot nodded thoughtfully. There’d been books on the subject of mind magic back at the school library, all theory of course. Even the legal areas of mental manipulation were tricky. “What set it off?” “Trying to remember something.” “I mean, why?” Thistleroot furrowed his brow, trying to remember what he’d read. “Most ponies automatically shy away from pain, which is the point of spells like those. What are you trying to force yourself to remember?” Thistleroot’s frown deepened as Scootaloo glanced away. His suspicions had been right, there was more to it. “I think they did more than just take away my memories,” Scootaloo said in barely more than a whisper. “When I first woke up, I heard a voice in my head. It happened again a few minutes ago. I’m trying to remember if they did anything to—” She cut off with a wince and Thistleroot nodded. “Did you tell the princess about the voice?” Scootaloo shook her head. “Nopony knows. Until just now, I thought I’d dreamt the whole thing.” Her voice dropped even lower. “I’m not crazy.” “Yeah, I know,” Thistleroot said with a dismissive wave of his hoof. “Has anything else weird happened?” After a moment of silence, he looked back to see Scootaloo staring at him. “What?” “You’re not... I mean, I just told you I heard voices. I mean, I’m not crazy, but I thought you’d think so.” “Oh,” Thistleroot said. His eyes widened a moment later, “Oh! You’re worried other ponies will think that!” “Well, I was,” Scootaloo said, turning away, face flushed in embarrassment. “The whole field of mental magic is a big mystery. Any spell is sure to have unexpected results, and the less subtle spells are even more likely to cause problems. If you were actually crazy, you’d have heard voices before somepony messed with your memories. I’m sure the princess will be able to fix the side effects, and even if she can’t most prominent researchers theorize that the effects would reverse themselves if the mind is given enough time to heal.” Thistleroot had begun pacing, eyes bright as he got rolling, “There’s actually a really interesting book written by your friend Princess Twilight. She theorizes the side effects of memory charms are actually the subconscious, or some part of the psyche untouched by the magic—” Thistleroot found his next sentence cut off by a face-full of orange hoof. “No need to go full on egg-head mode on me,” Scootaloo said before throwing her hooves around his neck. “Thanks though.” Thistleroot stared as she started down the road again. “For what?” ***** Scootaloo felt a bit lighter as she made her way toward her front door. The voice and the pain were both worrying, but at least she didn’t belong in an asylum. She invited Thistleroot in for a bite to eat, knowing he’d be disappointed about missing the snacks at the meeting. After a couple of barley sandwiches each, she walked him to the door. Before they reached it, somepony knocked. “Expecting company?” Thistleroot asked. “Not that I know of.” Scootaloo reached the door first and swung it open. She stopped, hoof still raised, jaw slack in shock. A yellow earth pony stood on the steps, red mane tied back with a bandana and her tail tied into a ponytail with a pink bow. She didn’t look up and pawed nervously at the ground as she spoke, “Uh, hey, Scootaloo.” “Apple Bloom?” Scootaloo shook her head, putting her hoof back down before she could lose her balance. Apple Bloom glanced up, eyes guarded. As the shock wore off, Scootaloo noticed she looked tired. Her mane and tail were tangled. “Can, uh, can Ah come in?”