//------------------------------// // 2. Questions in Black and White // Story: Dysphoria, Arc 3: Canterlot // by thedarkprep //------------------------------// 2. Questions in Black and White Rose sat at her dinner table, leaving her salad untouched. Occasionally she would glance at either the clock on the wall or the setting of the sun through the window to gauge the time. Very little time had passed since she had last done so, which irritated her, causing her to focus her attention on the details of her house itself. The house was certainly a lot more comfortable than it had previously been, with the addition of a couch and rugs replacing the minimalist approach she had taken when her decorations were limited by her non-existent budget. Where everything had been pure white there were now splotches of colors and textures to give the house interest. And yet, as comfortable as it was, this impending visit made the place feel hostile and oppressive. “Isn’t that always the way, though?” Rose thought to herself. She thought back to every time she had had a problem and had been alone in this house to deal with it. She had suffered this wait in cold disquiet before, and it did not get any easier. Such was the strength of the foreboding emotions that they could drain the good feelings of a room regardless of how many tapestries one put before them. Rose looked at her plate of salad, mostly untouched, and pushed it away out of lack of hunger before turning to look at the clock. A minute had passed. “I really need to get a radio.” Normally, Rose would have been present and waiting at the train station for Octavia’s arrival. However, Octavia had not said at what time she would be arriving. If she had left at the same time as she sent the letter, she should have been there by now, and if she had taken the last train to leave the city that night, she would arrive in three hours. As such, it was easy to conclude that she would arrive sometime between now and then; all Rose could do was to wait. Rose got up, pondering the purpose of this visit once again. There were a lot of things not adding up, each increasing Rose’s frustration and worry. For starters, there was the message itself. Rose had received a lot of letters from Octavia in the past months, and if there was something those letters showcased it was that Octavia did not like brevity. Each of Octavia’s letters consisted of multiple pages written in flowery language and metaphors. Having known her for as long she had, Rose knew that it was how Octavia gathered her thoughts. When writing, Octavia thought in images rather than events, and it was through that collection of images that one could grasp what message she was trying to get across. This latest letter, however, showcased no such conventions. This led to two distinct possibilities. One, the message was not written by Octavia, or two, whatever had happened was of such urgency that the message required no thought and Octavia was now acting more on impulse than anything else. Rose was not sure which she preferred. The second problem was the urgency of the meeting. Octavia was a creature of habit and order. Everything about her life was planned out in advance and scheduled in the same obsessive fashion that Twilight was constantly guilty of. Octavia did not make random visits, she did not take casual vacations, and she did not break her schedule. The only time, as far as Rose knew, in which Octavia had taken a spontaneous trip like this was when Rose had been at death’s door. Rose shivered at the implication, hoping that it was more of a logical coincidence than a set rule. Lastly, there was a layer of secrecy that Octavia did not normally have. This was not implied in the letter, but it was something Rose had noticed yesterday while searching for answers. Upon receiving the letter, Rose immediately ran to the house of Vinyl Scratch, Rose’s friend and Octavia’s soon to be marefriend (if Rose was reading the signs correctly). She had intended on showing Vinyl the letter and asking her to explain if she knew anything regarding it, but when Vinyl opened the door, Rose changed her plans. “Oh hey, Rose, what brings you here?” Vinyl said. “Hey, have you heard anything from Octavia lately?” Rose asked. Vinyl stood frozen in thought for a second, turning as if distracted by a noise. When she turned back she was fidgeting with her glasses. Rose sensed that the next words Vinyl would speak might not be entirely truthful. “Um… No, I haven’t. Why have you?” she asked in return. Rose was shocked that her friend had just lied to her, but recovered quickly enough. She decided she would try to get information without giving up any. “No, that’s just it. It’s been a while since her last letter. I thought maybe you would know,” Rose said. “I just hope nothing’s happened in Canterlot or something.” Vinyl gave an involuntary twitch. “Oh, I’m sure she’s fine,” Vinyl said. “Nothing ever goes on in Canterlot; it’s a secure city with nothing ever happening there. Besides, the Princess’ castle is there; you shouldn’t worry.” Rose had been implying something to do with Octavia’s job at the orchestra, but was grateful for the information Vinyl let slip. “She’s talked to Octavia,” Rose thought. “And there’s something going in Canterlot.” Rose decided to dig into her reason for coming to see her. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said. “You wouldn’t know when her next visit to Ponyville is, would you?” Vinyl brightened up at the slight shift in topic. “Should be in a few months,” Vinyl said. “If I’m not mistaken there’s a break in which she’s planning on coming.” Rose did not let her disappointment show. “Oh, well I guess I’ll just see her then,” she said. “If she doesn’t come then I’ll have a reason to be worried. Anyway, have a good day.” “You too Rose, and please get some sleep. You’re looking really tired.” Rose reflected on the last part of information she had grasped through the entire journey home. “She doesn’t know,” Rose thought to herself. “If she did, she wouldn’t have been as cheerful.” While sitting at home waiting for Octavia’s arrival, Rose reflected on what was bothering her the most. Vinyl and Octavia were pretty much an item, despite the lack of official titles. They told each other everything and Octavia was not big into surprises. If she had not told Vinyl about her visit, it was because she was not planning on seeing her while she was here. Rose could not think of a reason urgent enough or secretive enough that would make it so that Octavia could not say hello to her special somepony. This bothered her immensely. She looked at the clock again. “It’s getting late,” Rose thought. “Maybe I should head out the train station and wait there. That way I’ll at least see her sooner.” There was a knock on the door. Rose stared at it for a while, far longer than most would be willing to wait, but there was no second knock. With caution and apprehension she approached the door, opening it to find a light gray mare with a dark gray mane carrying a blue saddlebag staring intently at her. Octavia was studying Rose. Her eyes clearly traced over Rose’s features as if looking for something. Rose could not tell what Octavia was doing, but it made her uncomfortable. Rose chanced a small smile at Octavia, but it was not returned. Instead the two continued to stand at the doorway in silence. “Hey Octavia, what ar…” Rose had begun to say before Octavia began to shake her head violently. She wanted to speak first. Octavia reached into her saddlebag, pulling out a small blade which she pointed at Rose. Rose in turn looked at the blade and then into Octavia’s eyes. Rose saw no malice or anger there, just fear. Whatever was going on, Octavia was not doing this because she wanted to. Rose decided to let the events play out, walking backwards into her house and allowing Octavia in. Octavia stepped into the house, closing the door behind her while keeping the blade pointed at Rose. She then turned to stare at Rose’s eyes. “Explain your name!” she yelled. Rose recognized the question; it was one of two questions that they had devised back in school in order to identify themselves. Back then they wrote to each other a lot, leaving messages and sending mail. However, the communication systems had proven to be very easy to compromise, and as such they used these two questions to prove that they were who they said they were. They each had a very logical wrong answer that no one would question if intercepted. A wrong answer meant that the writer was not whom they said they were, or the pony writing was doing so under duress. It meant something was wrong. She looked at the blade again before studying Octavia’s eyes. The fear was still there, but it was more subtle, having mostly been replaced with a cold determination. The message was clear: “Answer wrong and I attack.” “I am not a character to be toyed with and ordered. If life is a stage, I’m the script.” Octavia did not waver. “Explain my name!” she yelled. “Your music comes not from outside but from within; you are the muse that inspires, not the other way around.” Rose had been prepared for Octavia to lower her weapon at that, but the blade stayed put. She looked at Octavia with a questioning glance before Octavia spoke again. “Why did I stop chasing you?” Rose stared into her eyes. She knew the answer, or at least she thought she knew. It was one of the most painful memories she still carried with her. However, the two friends had never actually sat down to talk about it, so all Rose had to work with was her own interpretation of events. She stared at the blade again. A wrong answer meant Octavia would attack, and if she did, she would kill Rose. Rose would not fight back and risk hurting Octavia again. “You didn’t. You said you couldn’t be with me and would stop trying because I was too broken to fix. You said you couldn’t love me because of how often you got hurt because of me. And you did stop being interested in me, but you never stopped loving me or trying to help me sort myself out.” She took a step forward and closed her eyes. “Even now,” Rose said, preparing to find out if she had been right or wrong. Octavia lunged at her, giving Rose a hug and sobbing into her mane. The blade lay discarded on the floor. Rose allowed Octavia to weep into her mane, rubbing her neck with her hoof and whispering, “It is ok” in as comforting a way as she knew how. However, once Octavia had gotten most of her emotions out of her system, Rose began to question her. “Look ‘Tavi, I know you’re upset still but I need to ask a quick question,” Rose said. “What was that about? Oh, and the letter, and this visit… but mostly the questionnaire at blade point.” Octavia looked at the blade on the floor before turning to look at Rose with concern on her face. “I’ve had a rough two weeks,” she said. Rose motioned to her couch, non-verbally asking Octavia to sit and explaining that she wanted more information. Octavia complied. “As you know, your escape from Canterlot was hardly unnoticed. The very next day your absence was the talk of the town and your family had a lot of questions to answer. As you also know, they decided to tell the world that you were sick and therefore couldn’t go outside.” “It’s weird that they didn’t just declare me dead considering…” commented Rose. “Exactly,” said Octavia, “As I told you, I immediately suspected that something was off with their explanation. If you were really sick then I would’ve been allowed to see you. You probably would’ve been asking for me. As such, I assumed you ran away.” “It occurred to me that it was weird that their cover story was that you were sick, because if you remained sick long enough, somepony of importance, either a skilled doctor or the Princesses themselves, would ask to get involved. The only explanation was that they were sending ponies out to find you and bring you back before such a time occurred. It even coincided with your father sending out a small group of workers under his command to look for something unidentified.” “However, once I found you here and talked to you that no longer seemed like it fit. Your father probably thought you’re dead based on the injuries and your fall… so why not declare you dead? It occurred to me that the group he had sent out to search the area was too small to search all the towns, and therefore were probably only looking at the forest near the base of the mountain… for a corpse.” Rose nodded in understanding. “Well, there was an announcement made two weeks ago about a press conference to be held by the Rhyme family. It was a fairly big deal on something of the ‘upmost importance’.” “So they announced my death?” asked Rose. Octavia shook her head. “They planned to announce the full recovery of Slant Rhyme and his re-introduction into Canterlot society.” Rose stared for a second. “But that’s Impossible.” “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Octavia ran through the busy Canterlot streets as soon as she heard the news. Such a thing was normally unbecoming of the top cellist in the Canterlot Orchestra, but today she was in no mood to keep up appearances in front of the Canterlot elites who just barely managed to evade her mad dash towards the Rhyme estate. “What are they playing at?” So far the general populous did not know what the press conference would be about. In fact, most expected that the reason for gathering had been a somber one. However, due to her connection to Slant Rhyme during school and her mother’s inability to keep a secret, Octavia knew exactly what Rich Rhyme and his wife were getting ready to announce. “It makes no sense,” thought Octavia, slowing down to avoid running into the ponies set up around the elevated podium. Octavia struggled to find a place near the front where she could observe the press conference, wanting to not miss a single detail. At the scheduled time, Rich Rhyme, Ilene Rhyme, and Perfect Rhyme came out of their home and stepped onto the prepared stage. Both the parents looked simply ecstatic, which confused some of the reporters, who were expecting them to deliver grave news. Perfect, on the other hoof, stared at the floor with a sad grimace on his face, which could be attributed to the number of cameras now pointed in his direction. Octavia felt bad for the colt, having no idea how he was coping with having lost his sibling. In fact, she did not really have any idea of how much information Perfect actually had, but she could think of no possibility in which the colt did not suffer. However, as much as she felt for the younger Rhyme, Octavia could not spare any understanding for the elder. Octavia stared at Rich Rhyme with nothing but revulsion and disgust, not unlike what she imagined he had shown that night. While she was mad at Ilene for bearing witness and doing nothing, it was of little consequence compared to the ire she felt right now. “He’s done things,” thought Octavia. “Things I cannot forgive.” Rich Rhyme stepped up to the microphone, clearing his throat before speaking. “To this, the assorted press,” he said, motioning to the gathered ponies. “As I know you all know, from reading the tabloids and various newspapers, our son Slant has been going through a very tough time. During the summer he fell greatly ill, to the point that it was dangerous for him to come outside or really leave his own room. As a parent, I was devastated and feared for the worst, spending sleepless months by his bedside.” Fury unlike anything known to ponykind was beginning to grow within Octavia and it was through great efforts that she stopped herself from yelling, denouncing him for his lies. “Many a doctor and specialist under my own employ struggled to come up with a proper diagnosis, and found themselves unable. A cure was not on the horizon. And yet, it appears that Celestia’s grace has descended upon our household, since recently, the horrid illness disappeared on its own, as swiftly and mysteriously as it arrived.” There were murmurs growing in the crowd as the reporters reasoned the implications of what Rich was saying. It seemed he noticed their eagerness, for he continued. “It is as such that it becomes my pleasure to announce the recovery of my son Slant Rhyme, and to re-introduce him to Canterlot society,” he said, gesturing at the door. The photographers trained their lenses on the door as it slowly opened, waiting for the pony that was promised to come out. Octavia watched with the same intensity, but with different intent. “Let’s see how you try to pull this off.” The photographers were not disappointed, as Slant Rhyme slowly, but confidently, exited his home, walking until he stood next to his parents, at which point he waved at the crowd. The sound of the cameras going off was immense, but it registered as a slight whisper over the roar and applause of the crowd. Ponies cheered both for the recovery of the pony, and in celebration of the fantastic story this would make for the next day’s headline. In fact, there was only one pony in the crowd who was silent, made mute by surprise and betrayal. “What?” Octavia asked to nopony in particular. She stared at the pony now standing at the forefront of his family. Her first thought was that it was an impostor, that they had found a pony that looks like Slant in order to hide the evils they had committed in the hopes that the real Slant was dead. And yet, as she looked upon the soft smile of the pony before her, she knew this was not the case. She had spent too much time with him not to recognize certain peculiarities that even the best of imitators would be unable to copy. The uneven height of his shoulders, barely noticeable with his mane and posture, the two stray hairs at the base of his hairline which refused to join the rest of his mane regardless of how hard he tried, the slight discoloration of the outermost feathers; these and more were the things that Octavia looked for as she studied the pegasus before him. “It’s him,” she thought to herself, feeling a dark chill run through her spine. “It really is him.” Tears rose in her eyes as she pondered the possible implications of his presence here. “Why would he forgive his parents? Why be a male again? Had he lied about being transgender? Had he lied about everything?” Octavia tried to shut off her thoughts but she could not, not while Slant was happily waving at the crowd. In the end, she only asked two questions, unheard by the multitude around her. “Why would you?” “How could you?” Octavia composed herself before continuing her story. “I went home that night, angry and confused,” said Octavia. “Everything that I thought I knew had been thrown out the window and I wanted to know why. I stalked Slant for a week and a half, looking for a chance to talk to him without the rest of the Rhyme family getting involved. Eventually, I got my chance.” Rain poured from the dark heavens in Canterlot as the Rhyme family stepped out of their carriage and walked towards the entrance of their home. The streets had been deserted as few ponies of the Canterlot society tolerated such inconveniences as rain. Most ponies scheduled indoor parties and dinners on the days rain was announced and it was one of these dinners from which the Slant family now returned. However, despite there being no traffic, they were not alone. Octavia, dressed in a dark robe, passed undetected through the Rhyme family grounds. She took extra note of her surroundings as she took the secret path through the bushes, crafted specifically so that she could visit whenever she wanted. She had traveled this path many times before, but never before had she been afraid of being seen; the feeling did not sit well with her. After a bit of navigation she arrived outside Slant’s window. She looked in seeing Rhyme taking of his jacket and hanging it on a coat rack. He was alone. Octavia pulled the window open, getting his attention. “Who goes there?” Slant said, noticing the intruder. “Script, it’s me,” said Octavia. Slant looked at her in confusion. “Sorry miss, but you must have me mistaken. My name is Slant Rhyme.” Octavia twitched. Something was wrong. She removed the hood of her robe and a sliver or recognition shined on Slant’s face. Octavia decided to resort to an old system they had employed in school. “Explain your name.” Slant looked at her curiously. “Well, my last name is Rhyme because I come from a long line in the noble family. And my first name is Slant because the Rhyme family is all about literature, and a slant rhyme is a literary term. It’s also known as an imperfect rhyme,” he said. “But you know this already, don’t you, Octavia?” Something was very wrong. Everything about his response had been wrong, and Octavia reassessed the situation. It became apparent that until she had more information, she would just be putting herself in danger remaining here. “Yes, I know. I’ve just been having a few off days, I wanted to hear your voice, and that’s the first thing that came to mind,” she said looking him in the eye. “I’m glad you’re ok, Slant. You had me worried.” “You know me Octavia,” said Slant. “Never one to give up on life.” Wrong. Still, Octavia only nodded. “Well, I’m sorry about intruding like I did, but I wanted to talk to you alone. Again, I’m glad you’re ok.” “It’s no problem; feel free to stop by anytime.” Octavia left, her mind racing faster and faster until she arrived at her own home, at which point her thoughts doubled in speed. “I was really upset when I got home, after which I wrote a letter to Vinyl essentially complaining about everything,” Octavia said. “I heard nothing for a few days but then I received a letter from her telling me to ‘chill out’. She said that I was not making any sense and that it sounded like I was under a lot of stress or something. She also mentioned that you couldn’t have been in Canterlot, because she had just had dinner with you and the girls here in Ponyville.” “I knew this was important information, but I wasn’t sure how. I decided that the pony near my friends was a bigger threat, and so I headed here first. I sent you a note to ensure that you’d be home when I got here, then I went and bought a small blade, after which I went and caught the first train I could. You know the rest.” Having finished her story, Octavia looked at Rose, looking for a reaction. Rose had been quiet the entire time, trying to be open minded and attentive, but the disbelief was evident on her face. “You sound mental, you know that, right?” “So you don’t believe me…” “Hey, I never said that,” said Rose. “I know you’re not lying to me and I find myself believing every word you say. I just want to make sure you realize that what you’re expecting me to believe is insane.” Rose got up from the couch, pacing around as she compiled all the information she had just received. “You are asking me to believe that somehow I’m in Canterlot prancing around as Slant Rhyme in the company of my parents who, as you say, have forgiven and forgotten this,” she said, gesturing to herself, “without any proof.” Octavia looked at Rose with an amused smile despite herself, having realized that Rose believed her despite the show she was putting on, and that she was scared. “I never said I didn’t have proof.” Digging into her saddlebag, Octavia pulled out a newspaper, which she threw in front of Rose. After looking at the front page, Rose was shocked into silence. After a few minutes she managed to speak. “Yeah, I’d say this qualifies as proof.” The first thing one could see on the front page of the newspaper were giant bold letters announcing: Slant Rhyme, of the noble Rhyme family, Alive and Well This was followed by a picture of the Rhyme family itself. The picture was in black and white and featured Rose’s mom, dad, brother, and what appeared to be herself as a stallion, mid-wave and smiling. “Fancy that.”