//------------------------------// // The Mail Mare // Story: The Scar // by FriendlyTwo3 //------------------------------// The Scar Chapter One: The Mail Mare It’s hot in here. It’s dark in here, the only light being that of the fireplace in front of you. It’s lonely in here. It’s humid in here. It’s dusty in here. But best of all, it’s quiet in here. You sit with your knees in front of your face on the floor. The faint sounds of birds chirping outside; the faint sounds of happiness fill your ears. Besides that, there are no sounds next to the crackling of the fireplace. It’s been a month since your return. A month since they found you. It’s hard to believe that one month ago, you were being tortured for information by Chrysalis and her changeling soldiers. All because you’re a royal guard. Well… You were a royal guard. Only a fool would go back and run that risk again. You quit last week. Running a risk isn’t the only reason you quit though. There’s another, much more material reason you left. And that reason is scraped along your left eye. It’s the only scar that can’t be covered by clothing. There are more scars. Oh yes, there are many more. But they can be concealed. You can hide those ones. No one could ever know you have them, save maybe one or two on your arms. But who cares about those ones? Many ponies have scars on their arms. It’s the mark on your eye, though, that keeps you alone. That’s not to say, though, that you haven’t tried talking with others. Not that you had a whole lot of friends to begin with, but after your near-year-long span of torture, it’s nice to be out in the open. That was, until the ponies you’d see every day that would pass you with a cheerful ‘Hello!’ now pass you with a look of disgust and concern. Only makes sense though. It’s hideous. It blinds your left eye, rendering your vision impaired. It’s disgusting to look at. It’s pink and utterly contrasts with your ashy gray coat. There’s no use covering it with your long hair, either. It runs from the top of your forehead to the bottom of your jawline, effectively splitting your face in two. Of course, the ponies aforementioned were the citizens of Canterlot, not Ponyville. Your peaceful silence is broken by a knock at the door. “Mail mare!” “Slide it under the door!” you call out rather bitterly. Sometimes you regret being so harsh to anyone that knocks on your door. Princess Celestia last week was only trying to help, yet you did everything in your power to get her out the door. Obviously you weren’t harsh with her, but that never-escaping tone in your voice was hard to miss. But you always feel the guiltiest about being so snappy with the mail mare. Her name is still unknown to you, but you can still somewhat relate to her. Her eyes are like nothing you’ve ever seen. One would look you in the eye while the other would peer down at the ground. She often gets the mail mixed up and her flight routine is… well… for lack of a better term… impaired. It’s mean to say, but the mail mare is in and of herself impaired. Perhaps it would be best to be nicer to her. She’s obviously been made fun of her entire life. “Are you alright?” she asks from the other side of the door, “You sound sad!” The ponies of Ponyville astounded you when you moved here two weeks ago. They were, and are, so nice. Sure they could get in your business sometimes but they meant well. Much different than the filth in Canterlot. Noses high in the air and egos even higher. Standing up with a low groan, you walk over to the door. Fixing your mane to make it look somewhat presentable, you open the door. The mail mare stands before you. She’s an entire head shorter than you. Her clothes are stuck to her thin body and her mane is a wreck. She looks sweaty and the wings on her feathers are ruffled like mad. She has dark circles under her eyes. Even her breathing sounds like she tried to compete in a Wonderbolts tournament. “You okay?” you ask her, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah… I’m fine,” she says, her cheerful tone obviously faked, “I just got out of bed late and I’m making up for lost time!” You look down at your watch quickly. “Funny,” you say with a chuckle, “You’re twenty minutes earlier than usual.” A blush paints her light gray face. “Oh… I am? Sorry…” “No, it’s fine,” you reassure her. The more you look into her crossed golden eyes, the more you can see what she has to go through on a daily basis. “Hey, you wanna come in? You look like you could use a drink.” you say, looking into your kitchen. One of the few perks to coming back alive last month was that Celestia repaid your ‘commitment’ (which we all know is really you’re stubbornness) with a nice house, a fully stocked fridge, and a perfect location close enough and far away enough from Ponyville. “Sure!” she exclaims, lighting up like a firework. Her overly cheerful demeanor is suddenly replaced by one of shyness. “U-um… I mean… Sounds nice.” You let a smile show itself on your face. Stepping aside, you let the mare walk in. As she takes a step in, you open one of the windows, letting light befall your living room. “Nice house,” says the mare, admiring your kitchen. “Where’d you get the bits for all this?” “I… I saved up.” Sure. Let’s go with that. You walk over to your large fridge and open it up, blue light immediately striking your face. “What’ll you have? I’ve got tea, soda, milk, and water.” You purposely leave out mentioning your alcohol. Not that you’re greedy or anything, but she doesn’t seem the type to drink. “What kind of soda?” “I got ParaSprite, Dr. Pony, Root Bear, Orange, and Grape.” “Can I have some ParaSprite?” You take out the green bottle and grab two cups from the cupboard. With bartender-like speed, you pour two glasses of lemon-lime soda. Handing her a cup with one hand and putting the bottle in the fridge, you take a drink. You kick the door closed and open the kitchen window. The mail mare takes a long drink and sighs. A slight chuckle escapes your lips as you watch satisfaction paint her face. You lead her into the living room and sit down in the chair. She sits on the couch and smiles at you. “So what’s your name?” you ask her. “My name’s Ditzy Doo, but you can call me Derpy. Everypony does.” Derpy? “You… Don’t think that’s a little… mean?” “Nope!” she says with a smile, “I think it’s cute.” “Well… Alright, Derpy. My name’s…” you begin to say your name, but Derpy finishes your sentence. “How’d you know?” “Well, I have to check your name on the mail, silly!” She suddenly looks as if she’s forgotten something. “Oh! I completely forgot!” She dives into her mailbag, somehow fitting half of her body into the small leather bag. She comes out with a gold letter in her hand. “Sorry there’s not much for you.” “I wasn’t expecting any mail,” you say matter-of-factly. Taking the letter, you notice just how shiny the gold letter is. With a sigh, you open Celestia’s letter. The letter begins with the stupid royal formalities you’ve grown to hate. you skip down past all that crap and get to the actual letter. “The reason I am writing to you, my former guard, is to tell you that I will only be supporting you for another month. That should give you enough time to get back on your feet and make enough to get by. I know it seems rather harsh, but after ten long months, you must be reintegrated with society. Supporting you for too long will result in an attachment to said support. It's happened before with the Red Leaf incident. I do hope you will not hold this against me. Good day, my friend. -Princess Celestia” “Great,” you mutter under your breath. “What’s wrong?” You look up at her and notice her curiosity. “I… Nothing… It’s… It’s just family stuff.” Suddenly, she gasps loudly. “You’re in a family with the Princess?!” “No… Fine,” you can tell her the truth. But perhaps not all of it. “I only have a month to find a job. I tried to get one but no one’ll give me a chance…” “Why? Is it because of your scar?” A loud sigh escapes your lips. “Yes. Because of my scar.” “That’s just mean! I mean, my vision’s not very good either and I got a job okay!" She pauses for a moment to look at you, and seems to be putting two mysterious twos together. "Wait… If you don’t have a job… then how did you afford this house?” Arching your back forward, you respond in a forced tone. Derpy stares at you with a confused, yet faintly concerned expression. The crackling of the fireplace echoes throughout the house as you think of an excuse. Perhaps it isn’t right to lie to a mare this innocent, but the wound is too fresh to retell the incidents out loud. “…Parents… lent me some bits a while back.” “Oh… Okay,” she says, a little quieter than before. Perhaps even she, with her imperfection, can see right through you. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop staring into Derpy’s eyes. They glow with the most subtle of glows. They twinkle with the light of the sun outside. Even though one eye looks at you while the other stares at the ceiling, you can’t help but feel she’s looking right back at you. After a few minutes, the sounds of vigorous coughing and hacking break the otherwise peaceful silence. You soon realize it’s you that’s hacking your throat raw. Ever since you returned, you’d felt ill in the throat. Even for a month or two in Chrysalis’s personal dungeon you’d coughed up a lung, so to speak. And you know exactly why. Two words. Gas chamber. In one of the many attempts to break you, Chrysalis had sentenced you to the gas chamber, where a near-deadly toxin filled your lungs. Hell, your lungs are probably still black. You’d coughed up blood. You’d vomited blood. You’d nearly died from blood loss, but Chrysalis filled your arteries with her own concoction. It was one that could sustain life on its own. But it burned. It stung. But now it’s all just numb. “Are you okay?” asks the Pegasus in front of you. Recovering from your spasm, you clear your throat. “Yeah,” you answer, your voice a little more gruff than before. A low growl follows your answer. Derpy smiles a sheepish smile and places a hand over her stomach. “Ahem…” she whispers, looking away. “Hungry?” you ask her. She slowly nods. “A little. I haven’t eaten yet today,” she says with a giggle. You stand up and walk in the kitchen. “Here. I’ll fix you somethin’ up. Anything you like?” you ask, opening up a cupboard. “Well… I- I don’t wanna impose…” she says, her hands behind her back. Her cheeks glow just a tad bit red. A smile creeps onto your face. “Nonsense. You deserve a good snack.” And you meant it. Not just feeling a kindred spirit with her, she worked herself nearly to death today because she thought she was late. She brings you your mail (what little you get) right on time each day, even if it’s sometimes a bit mixed up. But who can blame her? Nobody else you’ve ever met had eyes like those. “So, Derpy, anything catch your eye?” you ask, stepping aside and letting her get a good view of the shelves of the pantry. She eyes it over for a moment or two before reaching for a basket of muffins. She takes out a big blueberry one. She looks at you and you nod, giving her the ‘ok.’ She lights up a bit and munches away on the pastry hungrily. That muffin basket was given to you by your cousin the other day. She was the happiest to see you back; probably because she’s the only family you’ve got left. Honestly, you’re more of a cupcake kind of guy. She gives you a smile as you reach for a chocolate chip muffin. A low ringing can be heard emitting from the wooden clock on the wall. You look up at the clock as you take a bite of the muffin. 12:30. The clock dongs three times and silences. Derpy takes a look at the clock. Her eyes widen and she takes one last bite of the muffin. “Ohmygosh!” she says with a full mouth. She looks at you and blushes before smiling sheepishly. Swallowing the muffin, she walks toward you. “I gotta go soon. Thanks for the drink and the muffin,” she says with a smile. “Anytime,” you say after swallowing, “I’m glad to help out.” “I’ll…” she looks toward the door and back to you, “I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe?” “I thought Sunday was your day off…?” you say after taking another bite of your pastry. The Pegasus smiles and walks toward the door, a subtle blush on her face. Her pale golden tail swishes back and forth a few times as she grabs her mailbag. “Th-that... was my point,” she says quietly before walking out the door. You feel your cheeks heat up as the door closes. Did… Did she just ask you out? Looking out the window, you watch as she takes off into the sky. And suddenly… …You feel alone. The room seems emptier, darker, and hotter. You’re left standing in the living room with nothing to do, no one to talk to, and no one to comfort you. Yes… That’s it. Derpy comforted you, even if she did nothing more than ask you a few questions, only to be given less than the truth. It’s now you realize… She said nothing of your scar. In fact, she came to your defense about your scar. Perhaps… Perhaps you aren’t completely alone anymore.