//------------------------------// // 6. From the private journals of Dr. H. D. Charm; written spring 1377. // Story: Silver Eyes and Rainy Skies // by Roadie //------------------------------// From the private journals of Dr. H. D. Charm; written spring 1377. My guesses were correct. The colt and I, after clearing out a passel of less than helpful delivery ponies along with their destroyed bed, did what we could to get the room they'd wrecked into passable condition. The rain had stopped by then, so we went to get a tarp and some things for the household. The colt's better with groceries than with furniture, though he has odd tastes. Trying to get foals to eat enough protein can be troublesome at best, but he gravitated straight towards the tuna... though he did keep giving it this strange look, as though he thought it was going to leap up and attack him. With the hole covered and room closed off, and enough blankets to make sleeping on the floor a bit less uncomfortable—I wasn't about to make a cloud bed and leave him on hardwood—we settled in for the evening. The colt made himself a nest in the niche of the second-floor landing that overlooks the foyer and, I think, spent most of the time trying to practice his magic and reading the newspapers he'd gotten his hooves on. By the time I went to check on him before bed, he'd fallen asleep himself, and I thought it best to tuck another blanket over him and leave him there. I had the strangest dream of flying. I wasn't the one flying—I was on the back of a great dragon made of glass and steel. The guy-wires of its yoke and harness were a wind harp, and they keened out complex melancholic melodies as it flew. The colt was there, but he was wearing a crude Nightmare Night ape suit; below us human cities skittered by on a myriad of motorized mechanical legs, fiercely hunting each other in packs. The wall-eyed mare who's been plaguing me—she was on that delivery crew, too—she had her own dragon, except it wasn't actually a dragon but instead a cloud of bees pretending to be one. The bees promptly took offense to my presence and tried to sting me all at once. That's when things got a bit fuzzy. I have never been the quickest to wake, and by the time I got my wits about me the colt was nearly bucking me out the door and across the street. From what I was able to put together after, that mare, the same one from the dream, had intended to come apologize. I found the wreckage of the muffin basket later. Somewhere along the line she'd managed to fly into a beehive, and continued like that straight through the tarp covering the missing window. It's a good thing the colt is one of the sorts who's quick to wake. Any slower and, well, I would have been covered with bees. That mare was, when she stumbled out the door—I allowed myself a brief moment of schadenfreude before I grabbed a passing cloud and bucked it into a quick downpour on her. That was enough to clear out the immediate coterie of bees, though there were still quite a few ricocheting around angrily inside. The strangest part is, she was, as far as I could tell, perfectly fine afterwards. I was about ready to make a high-speed flight for the hospital, again, but she just shook her head, mumbled this confused apology, and flew off in spiraling loops. Neither the colt nor I were much in the mood to wrestle with bees, so I found a pony in the market who would be able to clear them out and we resolved to spend the day out and about. That resolve was tested when it promptly started raining, though at least by then the both of us had umbrellas. The rest of the day went better than the wake-up had. The colt and I—he still hasn't given a name, or even settled on a temporary one to use, and I've started to think he enjoys watching me fumble for words to use—took refuge from market stall to overhang to market stall until the rain broke, then settled in the market square with a fresh stack of newspapers. That red stallion was there again, with a filly I think might be his daughter or sister. The colt begged a bit off me and went to buy an apple from them. He spoke with the filly for some minutes before he returned. The crux of what conversation I could catch centered on her curiosity about his lack of a cutie mark... and, I will note with some small amusement, his claim that an "ancient magical tradition passed down from savannah sasquatches" forbade him from sharing his name until he had one. When he'd come back over to me, he sat the apple in front of him and, without another bit of prelude, promptly flared his horn and used his magic to tug the apple into a slow orbit around his head. He wasn't smug about it, like might be expected of most foals. He's not cold—but it seems like he picks and chooses what he lets show through. When he smiles it's almost all in his eyes, and barely in the rest of his face. It's not all that surprising, with his thoughtful nature. He might well over-think it, as some foals and many adults do, and hold himself back for fear of embarrassment. He did fall into the error that most unicorn foals make, when they have a firm grasp on their magic, and it was only by late afternoon, once I'd had a chance to speak with the local schoolteacher, that he gave the levitation any rest. The schoolteacher, I will note; Ponyville is a healthy little town, but it's certainly a little town, and Amaryllis Cheerilee coxswains the only local primary school. The colt was dubious about taking tests on a Celday but didn't refuse. In retrospect it's clear why he thought the time wasted: delusion or not, he tests well above his apparent grade level in the maths and sciences, and, entirely as I expected, is horrific with applied civics but reasonably good with the theoreticals. After some talking with Amaryllis and the colt, he's agreed to attend the school for a few hours a day. I've asked Amaryllis to keep me updated on his behavior while there. This is a risk, but being placed into a reality-reinforcing environment in a context that his delusion has no cause to argue against should serve as a kind of applied reality therapy. By evening the house was clear of bees and we'd gotten the tarp replaced. The colt spent dinner reading and doing more levitation, even after my warning, but by then he'd tired himself out so much in the doing that he was asleep in that nest of his ten minutes later. On the to-do list for tomorrow: - get a workpony to fix the window; get itemized costs so property owner can invoice store - receive items delivered from Canterlot storage; initial unpacking - get another bed delivered - find Neighponese restaurant!!