//------------------------------// // 7: All Will Be Shaken... // Story: The Humiliation of Quirk // by Achaian //------------------------------// All Will Be Shaken... Quirk thought it strange that she should be attractive. It was not a matter of specific importance to him; no- not in the least- he had known many mares that were deemed striking, and he did not consider it a feature that merited an especially singular attention. Solely was it a matter of incongruity, that she should be a diminutively quiet beauty and infinitely gracious yet a harbinger of sick pain to him. She was talking to him now in an excited voice, yet she never reached that plateau of decibels that would indicate excitement from any other. He didn’t deem her words of any specific importance; his attention was inbound on his own abyss and he paid no heed to her words- at least, not yet. “And if you can forgive yourself, then you’ll stop feeling terrible!” Fluttershy finished with an expectant happiness displayed; eagerly she waited for his response. “And why should I trust you not to hurt me?” His voice was unusually quiet to match hers, but in all other things it contrasted: it rasped in guttural pains; it was weak and unexcited; it thrilled the nerve but chilled the bones. Fluttershy paused, considered with a surprised worry the maligned intent of Quirk’s words. “If I hurt you, what would I gain from it?” “You have only inverted the question.” The sick-rasping voice lost a measure of patience. “Answer it.” The next answer was faster. “If I hurt you, then I would feel bad.” The focused plagued orbs sneered. “Sympathy.” He said it with a tone of contemptuous loathing, but he did not contest the answer- and yet- yet there was a hint in his voice, of something else, some regret… “What have you ever seen from me to indicate that I am worth saving?” “Everypony has some good in them.” “And what have you seen from me to place me among all the others?” He was lower, growling; his anger had risen to become a cold roughness. “What do you know of me, whom you first saw only hours ago in a forest? How do you know that I am not the exception to the rule?” “You came to me when I was singing. You saw that it was good, didn’t you?” “And if I only came to extinguish that goodness?” She could have stepped back, recoiled, shut him away or abandoned him, turned him out at the suggestive threat, or done many other seemingly justified things besides, but she stood straight before him and did not falter at his ominously mortal words. “Then you would just be hurting yourself. Nopony actually likes being hurt, they just think they do sometimes, because they think they can distract themselves with other pain. I’ve had friends tell me that my singing is very good, and I think it’s just ok, but that’s still good because they like it. Everypony likes a good song occasionally, and you wanted to see me singing.” “Your singing is unique.” The rasp replied. Despite the words, it refrained from being a compliment- it was more aptly termed an observation- yet it was still peculiar to hear from him; previously it would seem that he should not care. “I think that you’re causing yourself pain that you don’t need to experience.” Fluttershy forwarded on a suspicion. “You don’t deserve to suffer, not you or anypony else.” It was the most authoritative thing she had ever said to him, but unusually she had no qualms about it. Confidence and proof drove her to certainty in a higher principle. “Who are you?” His ragged breath took some time to catch up with his thoughts. “Who are you to judge me, to deem me worthy of not writhing in agony for every last instant of my life; you who know none of my past?” “I’m sorry to disagree, but I’m not judging you. I’m treating you like I do everypony else, and nopony deserves to suffer and especially not like you are right now. You’re physically hurt and it looks unpleasant to be like that, and that’s mostly my fault, and I’m very sorry for you and I’m trying to do what I can, but you’re also hurting inside yourself and I think that might be a lot of your pain. All of us are hurting inside ourselves a little, and we could all use some relief.” “What if I stole your voice? If I took your unique talent that your friends treasure and made it common, until every last one had heard it and they no longer considered you special or valued it in any way over any other?” Fluttershy replied immediately, without thought or hesitation. “That would be very nice of you. To spread it, I mean. If they really like my singing that much, then they ought to hear it until they’re satisfied. I’m afraid that I’m a little shy about sharing that, which is why I ran away from you. It might be nicer of you to ask permission first, but that’s only a suggestion.” For the first time, the wounded face turned from a grim-sickening disturbance to an expression of sheer incredulity- disbelief- he could hardly comprehend what he was hearing; the next statement came with finality and foreshadowing determination already possessed and now set into motion. “Then I will not.” He staggered suddenly out of bed, to the tuned gasp of shock from the mare that cared for him.