Day 3
Today went relatively well. I’ve made progress, at any rate. On with the day.
The good news is that I slept in. Actually slept. The bad news is that I slept in, and woke to some weird sound I only vaguely recognized. I turned over, hoping in vain to retrieve the blissful condition of moments ago, until I placed the sound.
Doorbell.
Cursing, I sprang to my hooves and stumbled toward the door, upsetting an end table before arriving there. My hoof wrapped around the handle and I gave it a yank, only to have my face pulled into the door, mainly because the door was still locked and chained. I am definitely not a morning person.
More curses.
I fumbled with the security measures, again yanking the door open once I had unlatched and unhooked both.
“Hey!” I yelled out the door at the retreating mailmare. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at me, amber eyes uncoordinated as usual.
“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
She blinked, eyes focusing on me momentarily; an eyebrow rose, betraying her confusion.
“Muffin?” I asked holding up the tin that so much labor had gone into the day before.
Immediately, she visibly brightened, genuinely smiling and wings increasing tempo in elation. I returned the smile, just glad I could brighten somepony’s day, even if they weren’t a clinical patient. I should have been more worried about the projected damage to the wall opposite the door and possible bodily harm.
What happened next, I can only describe as a Pinkie-style “glomp” with the added propulsion only a pair of wings can provide. I was flattened and pressed into the wall, like a thumbtack on a cork board. Cracked plaster bits clung to my coat as I disentangled myself from the wall, coughing.
The gray pegasus offered her hoof as I pulled myself out of the pony-shaped hole in the wall, a clearly apologetic look mounted on her face. I accepted the hoof and gave a grunt with the last effort that popped me out of the new addition to the entry way.
“Wow. What a hole,” I said, shaking the dust out of my mane. I caught a glimpse of her cringing face. “‘S’okay.”
She hugged me.
Not a glomp this time, but a simple, clean, thank-you hug. I’ll be perfectly honest with you. I’m not a big hugger. In fact, physical contact of any kind isn’t my cup of tea. Not surprisingly, the source of this awkwardness (to be clear, this is not a phobia! Phobias are excessive and incapacitating. If this were to develop to the point where I would physically react violently to touch of another pony, then it would qualify as Haptephobia. As it is, I just get stiff and bite my lip till the offending party is through) come from my past, as do most things of this level.
As a foal, my parents never engaged or encouraged physical contact. Thus, when I got my first fillyfriend in college, things didn’t go quite smoothly. She took it the wrong way, and things got worse from there. Since then, I’ve managed to build up a decent facade and suppress most discernible reactions.
If you’re thinking that I’m not fit to be a therapist because of this, you can kindly desist. This is a minor issue with little or no effect on my clinical or personal life.
Apologies for the rant. I take a lot of verbal abuse for that in the psychological circles. Back to this morning.
After she disengaged, we ate our muffins in silence. Not a particularly awkward silence, she’s just not a particularly big talker, I suppose. Come think of it, the only word I’ve heard her say to date is “muffin.”
During our breakfast, I got a closer look at her. Her eyes are a mystery, but I made note of the specific behaviors I observed, and decided to mail them ere I get the opportunity. Specifically, the eyes seem to cross, an inward wandering, simultaneously wandering on the up-down axis as well. She seems to be able to temporarily straighten her vision with a blink and undivided attention.
Other than that, there isn’t a whole lot to tell. Gray coat, blond mane, typical wings. But not a typical pony, I think.
She left soon, indicating her still-full mail bag. But, she was more cheerful than I’ve seen her so far. She waved goodbye as she flew away, a gesture which I returned.
“Who is she?” I asked Bonbon, after briefly combing my mane and locking up.
“Who?”
“The mailmare. Gray pegasus, mail satchel...”
“Oh, you mean Derpy?”
“Her name is Derpy?” I replied in disbelief.
“Well, no. I think her real name is Ditzy Doo, but everybody calls her Derpy.”
“That’s hardly civil.”
“Maybe,” replied Lyra, who had just turned the corner onto the street, shopping bag floating alongside her in a field of levitation. “But not entirely unwarranted. Last Winter Wrap-Up she flew north to get the birds that flew south for the winter.”
Talk about a way to drive an argument. “That was her?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Oh... I just kind of pictured somepony a bit more... bubbly.” While I mused in thought, the two roommates continued chatting.
“What do you have there, Lyra?”
“Oh, just a little something I picked up for tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night? What’s tomorrow night?”
“It’s Thursday night, darling.”
“What’s special about Thur-” Bonbon stopped, understanding crossing her face. “Oh, Thuuursday night. What is it? Can I see?”
“No, I think I’ll save it for a surprise.”
“Awww...”
Well, apparently more than roommates. Needless to say I didn’t hang around to hear more.
My first stop was a mailbox. I deposited my observations and questions concerning Miss Ditzy Doo’s condition in a drop box, not particularly wanting to put it through the hooves of the mare that it concerned.
That done, I needed somepony who could tell me where to find a hardware store. Surely these ponies occasionally needed replacement plaster, right? Or was I the only one clumsy enough to let that kind of thing happen?
A scooter hauling a wagon, which contained some particularly troublesome fillies, popped into view. I dived into the bushes.
The trio came to a halt in front of my bush. “Are you sure you saw him over here?” asked the orange pegasus.
“He was here a second ago,” replied the familiar, strawberry-maned filly.
“You’re sure it was him?”
“Yep! The one I sold the apple to, a little bit back.”
The unicorn pranced nervously. “Come on, we have to find him so we can be... CUTIE MARK CRUSADER PSYCHOLOGISTS!”
Sweet Celestia have mercy and kill us all if that should ever happen.
They left, leaving behind a puff of dust. I emerged from my hiding place, trying to clear the air by waving my hoof. “What was I thinking? Of course they’ll have replacement plaster!”
I started on my way toward the library, thinking that Twilight should know where to find anything I might need. And, I might have a chance to start on my real mission. I turned and started a brisk trot toward the center of Ponyville, only to come muzzle-to-muzzle with...
...Pinkie Pie.
Pinkie is a very readable pony. And by this, I didn’t have to know her that well to see the openly suspicious look in her eye. She stood off-balance, neck far forward, snout as rigid as ice–in contrast with mine, which had crumpled inward from the impact.
“Sooo, did you have a good time at your party yesterday?”
Well, I thought I was bucked for sure. With the background the Princess had given me on each of the Mane six’s mental worries, I knew I was precariously close to eliciting another Pinkamena Diane Pie episode and/or mental breakdown. I wasn’t sure if this was a desirable position or not, at that moment. On one hoof, I could witness the event in person and possibly even treat and maybe even partially cure her insecurity. On the other, I risked alienating her and her friends from me, creating an irreparable rift that would impede any hopes for fulfilling the Princess Celestia’s mission.
Oh, what the hay. Life isn’t worth living if you’re not on the edge of it, right?
“Well, to be completely honest, I didn’t stay for more than a few minutes.”
She blinked. I waited. The staring duel continued, time compounding. If I was some kind of time-traveling wizard, I would have fast-forwarded this part.
Then she asked my favorite question. Unfortunately, it kind of spoiled my plan to throw her into an... episode. Or so I thought. “Whyyy?”
“Uh, to make muffins.”
Her mane expanded momentarily, before deflating and going flat. Her coat turned darker, grayer. The sky became overcast. “And... and... you didn’t ask me to come?” she sniffed.
This was a genuine surprise. From what I heard, her depressive onset had resulted in resulted in aggression, paranoia, hallucinations, and delusions; all common symptoms of schizophrenia. This was sorrow, regret, self-pity, rejection. It was time to turn up the heat.
“Obviously not.”
Still wasn’t enough. Instead, her eyes welled up with tears, and an instant later she was galloping away with little waterfalls streaming behind her.
I fell back on my rump. That wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Also, this was the first time I had made a mare cry. Sure, I hadn’t been exactly graceful in dumping the few marefriends I had had at the university, but most of them just brushed it off, or seemed relieved to have me gone.
In my defence, I wasn’t trying to make her cry. Although, I’m not sure trying to make a mare mad is any better.
As I was thinking all this, my hooves carried me back to my dwelling, on automatic pilot. Inside, I found myself hungry for lunch. Not that there was anything digestible. I turned to head out to get a bite to eat, opening the door only to find...
...the Elements of Harmony. Minus one.
Twilight Sparkle was front and center, brow furrowed in an impressive glare. Yay, my first contact with the object of my mission, and she was ready to shove my head under and applecart. On either side of her was Applejack and Rainbow Dash, each displaying similar looks. A hint of pink mane and yellow feathers was literally hiding behind Applejack, and in the back Rarity shuffled her hoof, no doubt feeling guilty for having come to me, confused because of what happened, and unsure about what to do next.
Twilight opened her mouth for what I’m sure would have been a very powerful and well-rehearsed speech, but I beat her to the first word.
“Save it.”
She stopped, momentarily stunned. Then took a new breath in preparation to restart, which I also headed off.
“Inside.”
I held the door open and ushered them inside. As they walked past me, they each glared at me in turn, except Fluttershy, who was still hiding behind Applejack, and Rarity, who paused and gave me a quizzical glance. I winked in reply, to let her know that I had the situation under control.
Which I completely didn’t.
I followed them into my office (merely choosing that room because it had the most seating), snagging a folding chair for myself. I flipped it around, straddling it, folding my forelegs on the back and resting my head on them. Now it was time to blow Twilight’s prepared rant out of the water and into the clouds, once and for all.
“So? Ask me a question.”
It had all the intended effect and more on Twilight. She blinked, once, twice, three times, stuttering a bit as she did so. She had been intending to talk at me, not with me. She’s just not all that frightening when she doesn’t have her plan.
But the cyan pegasus had no such qualms.
“Yeah, I’ve got a question. What makes you think you can pick on our friends?”
“Or anypony, fer that matter,” added Applejack.
I have to admit that it did cross my mind to inform them that I could say whatever I wanted to anypony, as long as it didn’t fall under verbal harassment, but I decided that was a bad route to go. Instead, I took their verbal assault for a while, composing a strategy.
“What kind of pony would do that?”
“Why would you do that?”
The insults disguised as questions kept coming until I put up my hoof.
“All very good points, and you are all completely correct.”
When I didn’t offer any further explanation, Applejack spoke up.
“Well then how in tarnation do you explain what happened with Pinkie?”
“I told her the honest truth.”
In all my career, I’ve never seen anypony shut up so quickly or fume so much after shutting up.
“Maybe that’s the problem. What did you do?” asked Twilight, finding a hoofhold to start her interrogation on.
“I left her ‘welcome back’ party early.”
“Oh...” said Twilight.
“Well that was a blasted fo-” started Applejack, before Twilight stopped her.
“He doesn’t know,” Twilight hissed to her friends, incorrectly assuming I was unaware of the situation.
“You see,” she continued, turning to me, “It seems you have accidentally pushed one of Pinkie’s buttons. She takes her parties rather seriously.”
“Aaah!” I said, feigning ignorance. “Her reaction did seem severe. Has this... happened in the past?”
“Um, yeah. It’s kind of a long story, though.”
“Please, enlighten me. I need to know how to make this right.” That last part wasn’t entirely untrue.
Twilight sighed. “Well, okay...”
And with that she dived into the whole story, each of the Bearers adding details where they were concerned. The story was, admittedly, more detailed than the version I received from the Princess. When they finished, a silence penetrated the room for a few seconds.
Finally, Rarity, looking straight at me, asked, “What now?”
“Well,” I said slowly, “I suppose an apology would be in order. And if all goes well, lunch would be convenient.”
While that last part may not have made me seem too sincere, it was certainly relevant. Because of the backstory, it was well past lunch.
And so, we left for Sugarcube Corner. On our way out the door, Rarity whispered quickly, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
So did I.
I entered the bakery first, followed closely by Twilight and her fellow Bearers, bell ringing as I crossed the threshold. Mrs. Cake had her foal-saddle on, and looked like she had paused mid-conversation with Mr. Cake, a look of slight worry etched on her face.
“Oh, Twilight, Dearie,” she exclaimed, once said mare came into view. “You’re just the pony I need to talk to right now...” She paused slightly when she saw me, before drawing Twilight aside. I’m still not sure quite why she did that; I could still hear their conversation.
Mrs. Cake continued. “It’s about Pinkie, dear. She seemed... upset.”
Twilight nodded, seriously but understandingly. “Don’t worry. We’ll handle it, Mrs. Cake.”
I tapped Twilight on the shoulder. “Actually, I think maybe I should handle it.”
She hesitated, and then nodded. I turned and went up the stairs, stopping in front of Pinkie’s door. I tapped it with my hoof, sending it swinging silently inward. “Pinkie...?”
The room was dark, curtains drawn and lamps snuffed. Pinkie sat on her bed, looking down with half-closed eyes at a wilted turnip. She pushed it away, looking up at me as the door I was closing clicked shut, betraying my presence.
“Nopony likes my parties.”
I climbed onto the bed as well. It felt foalish, but Pinkie wasn’t going to judge me.
“Do you know why I was baking muffins?”
Pinkie sniffed, wiping her muzzle. She shook her head slightly.
“Because by doing so, I brought a smile to another pony’s face.”
She looked at me.
“That’s your gift, Pinkie. Don’t kid yourself about what other ponies are thinking.”
“I... I don’t know...”
“Well I do know. It’s my job. And my gift. Okay?”
“Okay...”
“Now, if the Cakes are in any condition like they were yesterday, then you’ll need to give me a hoof with some muffins.”
“Okie dokie lokie!”
And just like that, the sun came out, lamps lit, and her hair re-poofed itself. I’m sorry, I can’t think of a better word at the moment.
She bounced out of the room and down the stairs, her usual self again. Things were shaping up nicely.
...Except for that pathetic, purple-eyed alligator that attached itself to my leg at some point during the conversation.
I forcibly removed it from my appendage and discarded it onto the bed, shutting the door behind me as I followed Pinkie into the kitchen.
Following that, we baked muffins together. Or rather, she baked and I watched, occasionally handing her an ingredient when she asked for it. Taking advantage of our time, I began asking subtle questions about her past.
I didn’t need to be subtle. Nothing is subtle with Pinkie Pie. She willingly divulged her stories of her life as a young filly, including her cutie mark story. She ran on for the entire period that it took the muffins to bake, which, when Pinkie’s rate of speech is taken into account, is really quite a lot of material.
“...and that’s how Equestria was made!” The timer dinged.
“Wait, wha-” I was cut off as she shoved the strap to my now-boxed muffins into my muzzle.
“Come back soon!”
Outside, Twilight and her companions were waiting.
“We all good?” asked Rainbow Dash, an unspoken threat sewn into the question.
At that moment, Pinkie came springing out the door, a tall pile of wrapped pastries mounted on her back. “Everything’s super-duper!”
Like I said. No subtlety.
“I gotta do deliveries for the Cakes, seeya later!” She bounced off.
I slid the strap to my muffin-satchel around my neck. “Answer your question?”
And I trotted off toward my house. I’m kinda bad about having the last word. I also get caught up in the moment and forget about more important things, like lunch. Or by that time, dinner.
I was almost home, when passing by Lyra and Bonbon’s house, I was hit by the blissful aroma of...
...stir fry.
I’m usually not a big fan of Eastern cuisine, but I wasn’t in any condition to be picky. Without hesitation, I trotted up to the door and rapped on it with my hoof. Seconds later, Lyra appeared, a stack of plates, forks, and knives by her side in a field of levitation.
I got right to business. “Two tickets to front row seats at Octavia’s performance in Canterlot, showing of the 29th.” Yes, I have connections, and yes, I abuse them.
She stuttered slightly, obviously not expecting that. “F-for what?”
“Suppers for a month.”
Lyra thought for a moment, tapping her chin. “Okay, except Thursdays.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I will gladly be absent on Thursday. Sold to the green unicorn in the fourth row.”
She giggled, inclining her head for me to follow her.
Dinner was uneventful, albeit a few irritated looks from Bonbon towards Lyra at my unexplained presence. I hope I didn’t cause any rifts. I would hate to ruin things with Thursday night so close.
Anyway, after that, I came home and started this recording. And I see I ran a bit long at that.
One more thing to note before I sell my soul to the sandpony. As best as I can tell, Pinkie’s reaction of “sad” rather than “mad” was most likely a result of a mixture of two things. One, I’m not her friend. Acquaintance, sure, but friend is a title that should be reserved for those special ponies, ponies you actually know, heart, mind, and soul. Secondly, I was honest with her. Pinkie’s last experience was brought on partially by the fact that she thought her friends were lying to her. Just a hypothesis at this point, but worth mentioning.
Goodnight.