//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: Limits // by TheVulpineHero1 //------------------------------// I take a look around me, sigh, and stand up. Even then, I'm still knee-deep in cardboard boxes. Originally I was just packing stuff for our stay in my old place, but then I ended up boxing all the old stuff in the attic. I didn't even know we had an attic, but apparently we do. It was full of ancient, dusty stuff like standing harps, calligraphy sets, old watercolour pictures of sunsets and fish. All sorts of stuff, but none that I thought 'Shy would own. Makes me wonder who lived in this cottage before her – before us, even. Probably a family, since the place is big enough. When I asked 'Shy about us staying at my house for the winter, I wasn't actually expecting her to say yes, never mind so quickly. I really wasn't expecting her to go out to my old place and start decorating it in advance. She's been in this cottage for ages, and I always thought she was totally attached to the place. But then, she had this weird look on her face when she said yes – like she was concerned for me or something. Maybe she figured I needed a break from here. I don't know why, but… I find the thought of that terrifying. Like, Fluttershy being worried about me. I mean, I'm meant to be the tough one out of the two of us, the pony she leans on whenever she's feeling spooked. If I started cracking up, it'd be like I was pulling that rug out from under her again. I guess it doesn't matter right now. What matters is the boxes. I'm almost done, but there's four or five left, and plenty of junk to fill them with. Looks like I've got another half-hour or so of tearing strips of tape with my teeth and coughing dust all over the place, but at least we'll be ready to leave by tomorrow. It won't hurt to stop for a little while and maybe have a mug of cocoa to soothe my throat. Usually I'd have coffee instead, but I already packed that. I take it black with three sugars, enough kick to jolt me awake in the morning but sweet enough that I'm not tasting it in the back of my throat all day. I know AJ takes her just plain black and with more coffee than you'd normally use. And Twi? I'm pretty sure that if you dumped Twilight's morning brew in the river, half the fish would be floating belly up by noon. The stuff could kill a minotaur. I remember one time when we were all shopping in Canterlot, and because Rarity exists we just had to stop in at one of those fancy street cafés, the ones with the colourful umbrellas on all the tables even in the dead of summer. Of course, they had all the fancy coffees and pastries and stuff, too. I ended up having a mocha in this huge, round cup that you could have eaten cereal out of. It was actually pretty awesome, but you can't really get them in Ponyville. We have an all-night coffee shop somewhere around here, but I don't think they can afford the machines. I start the kettle boiling on the stove, and decide to root around for snacks in the store cupboard as it slowly begins to rumble. It's a pretty old kettle, really, all dented from all the times when Fluttershy's been spooked and dropped it. By dropped, I mean 'attempted to hurl it straight through the floor and down into the molten core of the planet'. It's a nervous reaction, I guess. I want to get one of those whistling kettles that Pinkie's got one day, but I keep forgetting to ask her about it. I like 'em because they put a little noise in the house, but they're still pretty homely so I think 'Shy would go for them, too. I'm halfway towards putting together a sandwich when there's a knock at the door. Whoever it is, they sound frustrated. Well, that's no surprise. We have a doorbell but it doesn't work, so most ponies who aren't close friends sit there pressing it for five minutes before they twig what's wrong. I consider just pretending to be out, because that sandwich is pretty tempting, but in the end I hover over my maze of boxes and answer the door. The guy I find on the doorstep is nopony I've met before. I'd remember him if I had. He's wearing a bunch of goofy clothes that don't really fit together, like he just grabbed what he could and made do – a beat up hat, a pale blue neckerchief like the Appleoosans wear, with fancy shoes that don't match the rest of the outfit. He's also real thin, and not in the elegant way but the needs to eat a square meal way. Unicorns aren't normally big, but this guy's tiny. “You would be Miss Rainbow Dash, correct?” he asks, and he sort've reminds me of that Pip kid in the way he speaks, but slower and quieter. “That's me. What's your beef?” I reply. “My name is Brandy Alexander, freelance journalist. Could I trouble you for an interview?” I bite my lip. Journalist, huh? I've never been one to turn down good press, but I don't remember doing anything interview-worthy lately. I mean, yeah, saviour of Equestria and all that, but that's like shared credit between the six of us, which usually means Twilight has to deal with it. If Fluttershy were here I'd send the guy packing, but... Eh, what the hay. I'm curious. “Uh, sure. Come in. Mind the boxes,” I say, before some half-remembered nagging fit from Rarity pokes my brain. “I was just making cocoa. You want some?” He shakes his head and picks his way around the boxes, leaping over a few of them where I've forgotten to leave walking space. Well, it doesn't matter if you can fly. I catch him casting his eyes around as he walks, drinking in the house. “So, uh. You're a journalist, huh? What's your special unicorn magic? Anything cool, like reading minds for stories or something?” I ask when we've made our way to the sitting room. “My unicorn magic? Oh, I spin things.” I flop my ear down. “You, uh, spin things. How's that gonna help you at journalism? I mean… You sure you shouldn't be mixing drinks or something?” I ask. “I'd be lying if I said I didn't moonlight as a bartender. But that's not what I want to do. I want to take that ability to spin things, and then apply it to stories,” he explains, taking off his hat and holding it in a hoof. He seems like one of those ponies who can't speak without gesturing. “Uh-huh,” I say. Sounds pretty doubtful to me. Now that I think about it, what kind of interviewer is this guy? Seems like I'm the one asking all the questions. If I had to guess, I'd say he's either new, or just a dreamer who can't accept that he's not cut out for the job. “So what did you want to ask me about?” “Oh, yes,” he says, taking out a notepad. “I was told to come and interview you because –” “You were told? I thought you said you were freelance. Or was that just a fancy way of saying 'unemployed'?” He frowns and puts his hat back on. I almost feel sorry for him. Some ponies can never catch a break. Ask Twilight, she knows. “Aha. Well, being a freelancer is an undesirable occupation in my current financial state. I'm trying to get hired, but for that I need a portfolio and some scratch work. This is the scratch work,” he says. “Wow, way to flatter me. So, what were you saying?” “I was told to come and interview the residents of this cottage for an equine angle story. Something about an ex-athlete who gave up her career in order to care for her disabled wife.” Oh, boy. There goes any sympathy I had for the guy. Seriously, there's so much wrong with that sentence that I don't even know where to start. The words struggle to arrange themselves in my mouth as I try to decide what to set him straight on first. “Fluttershy is not disabled,” I growl. A look of discomfort flashes across his face as he realises what he just got himself into. “Ah, well, I'm sorry, that was just the information given –” “And I'm not an ex-athlete. I didn't give up my career, I just put it on hold for a while some we could get set up. What, I'm not allowed to change my priorities? Is that what this is?” “Well, I –” “We're not even technically married,” I finish, although it's a little half-hearted. I can't really get too mad about that one, since AJ did it too. “Seriously, what kind of outfit are you trying to join?” He doesn't try to apologise this time, and settles for looking sheepish. Probably because I cut him off. Well, good. He's probably a jerk in his spare time anyway. “Tell you what. You go back to whoever's pulling the shots, and you tell 'em that they'll get an interview the day my hooves fall off,” I tell him. Even ten minutes after the guy's good and gone, I'm still fuming. Seriously, disabled? They were probably gonna paint her out to be autistic or crazy or something. Sure, she's timid around other ponies. But she's way better nowadays, and besides, that's not crazy if you think about it. It's just logical. I can blow down a barn by just flying past it, AJ could probably punt a bear over the horizon, and nopony even knows what Twilight could do if she really set her mind to it. And that's without all the bullying and social backstabbing ponies can do. When you think about it like that, it makes sense to be a little cautious. It honestly makes my blood boil whenever this kind of thing happens. I hate it when ponies try to make 'Shy out as less than she is for the sake of getting some cheap sympathy. They don't ever bother thinking how she must feel – they treat her more like a stray puppy than a grown up, capable pony. What, just because she's scared of things they're not, that makes her dumb somehow? Ugh. What kind of two bit rag was that guy planning to join, anyway? Probably one of those stupid glossy magazines, the ones I never see anypony buy except that unicorn with the funky sunglasses. After a little more time and a cup of cocoa, I finally let the anger pass. Well, most of it, anyway. I'm still kind've annoyed about the ex-athlete crack, but I can understand how somepony'd make that mistake since I don't do a lot of public shows anymore. I don't wanna be angry for when Fluttershy comes home, though, so I sit down as still as I can and just let it wash over me until I can't feel it any more. When I'm done, I feel sort've sorry for blowing up so hard and so suddenly, but that's in the past, I guess. Twenty minutes ago is still the past. But then, thinking of the past… I think the last time I was this angry was when I first started living with 'Shy. Man, I was livid back then. I thought my throat would never stop being sore from all the yelling I did. It was about something that was pretty much none of my business, too. But then, that was just how I was. Now isn't the time to be thinking about it. I really ought to get back to packing those boxes. About a half an hour later, I'm done. I took way longer to do the last few than the rest of them, since I was actually thinking about what to put in each one. Most of these boxes – all the ones we're not taking to my old place – are going back into the attic, after all. I honestly doubt they'll get taken down again, at least not in our lifetime. That's pretty much how attics work; you put stuff in there, and you still have the stuff, but you never see it again because you don't bother to open the boxes. I guess a lot of things are kinda like that if you think about it. I try not to. But some of that old stuff was pretty cool, so I made sure to save some of it. I found a music box, one of those tiny tinkly ones with the spinning ballerina inside, and I think Pinkie'd like it because she could show it to the Cake kids. Pinkie loves music boxes anyway, though. I think it's weird how grown-ups always seem to appreciate them more than kids do, but I guess there's just something about music boxes that makes nostalgia stronger. I never had one as a kid, but even I get tricked into feeling young by the sound. Dumb, I know. Nothing like sitting in your attic listening to 'Row Row Row Your Boat' on an ancient music box and getting all sappy about it. It's a little bit out of tune, but Twi or AJ will know how to fix it. I also dug out an old set of crockery that I think might be interesting. There's some scrawly hoofwriting on little yellowing stickers at the back of the plates and on the bottoms of the teacups, but they're all pretty good porcelain… I think. Not exactly an expert on pottery. What really interests me is that they're got 'Princess Celestia: 950 Year Jubilee' on the fronts, along with a picture of her face, and the outsides have this laurel wreathe design but in like red and yellow, all phoenix colours. I'm a little surprised when I take a closer look, since it looks like Celestia wore her mane a little differently back then. A bit more reserved, like the ponies you see in old portraits, and her smile was a little more subdued too. I think maybe Twilight would like them, but wouldn't it be kinda weird to eat off of something with your teacher's face on it? She could just display them and not use them, I guess, but I never got the point of that. Rarity will probably take them if Twi doesn't. Her parents are into this kind of stuff. The very last thing I do before calling the job done for the day is to pack away our map, the one I was using to plan the trip for this year. Since we're already uprooting ourselves a little to go and stay at my old place, it doesn't feel fair to ask 'Shy to come traipsing around the countryside with me. I'd still love to go sometime, since I'd really enjoy just travelling around with her for a while without anything to hold us down, but that's just not a shared desire, I guess. Stability's important too. It's not like we can't go next year. For me and 'Shy, there'll always be next year. I have a lot of faith in that. And it'll give me an excuse to go up into the attic and dig everything out again. But something in my brain keeps whispering to me, and it's the part that remembers all the old mare's tales and proverbs that I don't listen to. It's the bit that always sounds like my mom's voice in the back of my mind. I ignore it, but it's still there; the words float between my thoughts and I can't forget them even though I try. “There'll always be next year,” my mom's voice says to me. “Right up until there are no more years left.”