//------------------------------// // Conversations and Condolences // Story: Catatonic // by Stormy Night //------------------------------// Catatonic: Chapter 3 The rest of the night passed painfully slowly. Celestia sat on the balcony outside of her bedchambers, staring up at the night sky. The full moon drifted imperceptibly along, making its ponderous way to the horizon. Between fear for her student and fear of whatever had put her in such a state, there was no way the Solar Princess would be sleeping for a while. A snide voice rang out from above her. “You know, if all you're going to do is mope around then I might just have to find some other form of entertainment.” Upside-down, lounging on a beach chair somehow suspended from the roof that overhung the balcony, was the bizarre form of Discord. The spirit of chaos grinned at her, yellow eyes peeking over the tops of his oversized sunglasses. “This is hardly the time for your jokes, Discord.” Celestia said, looking back out at the stars. “In my experience, Tia,” replied the draconequus, “a bit of levity is always appropriate.” The beach chair was gone, replaced by an overstuffed armchair. Discord wore a patchwork bathrobe and a pair of slippers decorated to resemble the two princesses. He swirled a glass of champagne in one claw. As Celestia watched, he drained the liquid in one swallow before crumpling the glass into a small ball. He tossed the ball into the air, catching it in his mouth when it arced back up to him. After chewing it briefly he blew a large bubble. “Are you quite finished, Discord?” Asked the princess, glaring with tear-reddened eyes at her old foe. “Or are you going to continue with this insult?” She swatted the bubble of glass away with one hoof. The delicate bauble fell out over the city below, shattering against a rooftop somewhere. “Fine.” Discord said, dropping out of his chair and landing neatly beside Celestia. “Something is clearly bothering you. Care to tell your old buddy Discord all about it?” The balcony was suddenly furnished like a therapist's office. A couch and armchair sat side by side, with an obviously fake potted plant standing off in a corner. Hovering in midair was a diploma claiming to be from the Discordian University. Celestia could stand no more. With a burst of magic she obliterated Discord's props and thoroughly singed the no longer smiling spirit of chaos. She rounded on his, the full might of the sun blazing in her eyes. “You will cease your insufferable antics, Discord!” She roared, the full strength of the Royal Canterlot Voice filling her words. “NOW!” She stomped on gold-clad hoof, sending cracks across the marble surface. As quickly as it had come upon her, the anger vanished. Celestia's mane and tail drooped, the ethereal currents that normally lifted them gone. She seemed tired, vulnerable, and most of all scared. Discord snapped one claw, cleaning himself and banishing the ashes of his conjurations. This was no time for fun and games, that was clear. “I'm...” He paused, unsure of how to continue. Being sincere had never been his strong suit. “I'm sorry, Celestia.” He sat beside her, staring up at the stars. He had only seen her anything like this once before, and old memories began to stir. “You used to talk to me, after Luna...left. I don't know if it helped you then, but if it did,” He scratched his chin idly. “then maybe it will now as well.” “You were made of stone back then.” Celestia replied. “You didn't interrupt nearly as much as you tend to these days.” She sighed. “I just don't know what to do Discord. I've never felt this way before, this powerless.” Once the words began they didn't stop. Her voice broke as she described the fate that had befallen Twilight, but still she spoke. Everything came out. By the time she was finished she was shaking, sobs wracking her body and tears flowing freely. Discord surprised her twice. First, by remaining silent throughout the outburst. Second, by gently laying an arm across her shoulders. Celestia was reminded of the months after Luna's banishment, how the hedge maze had become her favorite place to think. For some reason the statue of Discord had possessed a sort of magnetism. The odd-looking creature had been the only one of his kind, alone in the world. While the princess had hated him for what he had done, she had also felt a strange kinship. Both of them, after all, were on their own. For months after the war ended she had frequented the gardens, sitting by the statue of her enemy and venting all of the emotions she kept bottled up around other ponies. She had never realized, however, that the imprisoned Spirit of Chaos had been able to hear every word. “Well,” said Discord, rising and stretching out his rather long back. “I hope that helped, Celestia. Now I need to go do something chaotic for a while. These heartwarming moments give me heartburn.” He burped quietly, a pink cloud of smoke rising from his mouth in the shape of a heart. Celestia stood as well. She wiped her eyes with a wing and managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Discord.” She said, “For a demented spirit of chaos you were a surprisingly good listener.” “Yeah, sure. Just try not to make a habit of it.” He replied, snapping his fingers and conjuring a door in the middle of the balcony. It slid open with a slight hiss and he stepped through. He glanced back, his expression serious. “I'm here if you need me,Tia.” The door hissed shut and vanished. Where it had been, there was now a single piece of paper. Written on it in surprisingly neat script, although no two letters were anything alike stylistically, was a single sentence: Tell anyone about that and I swear I'll turn your coat pink. Not a nice subtle pastel either. I mean the sort of pink you see on toys for little fillies. Best wishes, D. Spike Spike's night wasn't going any better than Celestia's. Without Twilight he was lost. He couldn't bring himself to go home, especially not with the library in its current state. Yet he also couldn't face any of his friends. To go to them now would mean telling them what had happened, and there was no way he could bear such terrible news. Instead, he wandered the deserted streets. The sun still hadn't begun to rise, and the empty town had taken on a sinister, almost haunted, feel. Overhead, the full moon made its way across the dark sky. It hung low over the Western horizon, soon to set and make way for the sun. A cold breeze blew, rattling shutters and shaking trees. Spike jumped at each sound, each movement. Every shadow seemed to conceal some lurking horror, perhaps whatever beast had put Twilight in such condition. He lost track of how long he'd been walking, lost track of where he was. Every turn was chosen at random, and in the darkness the streets all looked the same. He needed sleep, he needed to get in out of the cold. Most of all he needed a friend, someone who could help him get through this seemingly endless night. Trudging along, he failed to notice the large shape looming in front of him. His head met metal with a clash and the garbage can toppled. Trash spilled out everywhere and a light flicked on up ahead. “Who's there?” A familiar voice demanded. “If you raccoons have been rooting in my rubbish again I swear I'm going to have Fluttershy give you such a talking to!” A shape appeared, silhouetted in the open door. Spike moaned, rubbing his head and standing. Banana peels and coffee grounds clung to his scales, along with other, slightly less identifiable items. He looked up at the building before him. It rose, tall and elegant. Its walls were styled to resemble a carousel, and mannequins were barely visible in the gracefully arched windows. “Spike?” Rarity asked, recognizing him. “What ever are you doing out at such an uncivilized hour?” Concern was evident in her voice as she trotted over to him. “Is everything all right?” Spike tried to answer, but the words caught in his throat. He didn't cry, if only because he had no tears left in his body. Finally, after a few deep breaths, he managed to spit out one word. “No...” Rarity's horn flashed, a spell banishing the dirt and trash from the dragon's scales. He looked up at her, eyes red and sore. Even at this ridiculous hour, wearing a simple robe with her mane a mess and her eyes puffy from the rude awakening, she looked beautiful. “Come in, Spike. It simply will not do to leave you out here in this cold.” She turned and began walking back to the house. “I'll fix you a nice cup of tea and you can tell me what's wrong.” She paused, looking back. “Are you coming?” Spike numbly began walking after her. The inside of the Boutique seemed to bright and warm, so inviting. That was not, however, his reason for following. If anypony could help him right now, it was Rarity. He paused on the threshold. Once he entered there was no turning back. He would tell her everything, would be unable not to. He glanced at Rarity, who was already busy setting a kettle on the stove. He had to. He had to tell someone. Twilight's friends deserved to know what had happened. He stepped inside, the door swinging gently shut behind him. He climbed up on one of the chairs, watching the first plumes of steam rise from the kettle. After a few minutes, it gave a shrill whistle. Rarity deftly added dried tea leaves and a few sticks of cinnamon to a teapot and carefully poured in the boiling water. As the tea steeped, she sat across from him. Her blue eyes were filled with concern, and he knew that she would be perfectly willing to do whatever it took to help a friend in need. “What's wrong, Spike?” asked Rarity, levitating a pair of teacups out of a cabinet. “I simply cannot stand seeing my poor little Spikey-Wikey in such obvious distress.” “Twilight's in the hospital.” He said, staring at the teacup in front of him. Rarity gasped, her grip on the teapot faltering. As her magic flickered, the pot fell to the table and rocked, hot tea splashing the polished wood. “Whatever for?” She asked, the concern and worry in her voice growing. Spike told her. He told her everything, from waking up to her scream and finding her in a heap on the floor all the way to seeing her in that hospital bed, medical equipment filling the room with a symphony of noises. Rarity's jaw dropped as he spoke. “No no no, this simply cannot be.” She whispered. “Not Twilight.” Her tea sat, forgotten, and her eyes were closed. “Do the others know?” Spike shook his head. Words failed him, and only his constant desire to impress Rarity kept him from breaking down entirely. He looked up at her. Although she was shaken, visibly afraid for her friend, there was also a strong resolve in her eyes. “Well.” She said, drinking her tea in one swallow. “There's not much we can do about that now, is there? Why don't you get some sleep and we shall go inform them at a more civilized hour.” She lifted the teapot and her cup and placed them gently in the sink. “Are you going to drink your tea before it gets cold?” Spike felt a hot flush on his scales, and gulped down the tea in a hurry. “Where should I sleep?” Spike asked, following Rarity out of the kitchen. Stairs spiraled up along the wall, and another door led into the showroom. Rarity simply walked up the stairs, which led into a workshop that dominated the second floor. Spike followed, wondering how she could be so calm. “Anywhere you can get comfortable is fine.” She said, pausing at a doorway through which more steps could be seen. “Just try to avoid Opalescence's things. She's a tad, shall we say, territorial.” The cat hissed, eyes gleaming out from under the work table. Spike clambered up on a sofa that sat against one wall. Pushing some fabric out of the way, he made a space for himself. As he curled up on the cushion he felt a wave of complete and utter exhaustion wash over him. Although it had been only a few short hours since his unexpected awakening it felt like days. His sleep was deep and mercifully dreamless. After bidding the young dragon good night, Rarity climbed the stairs to her room in silence Not bothering with the lights, she closed the door securely and locked it. She made her way to the bed instinctively, stepping over and around the discarded concept sketches and easels. Her composure slipped as she went, and she collapsed on the covers. She cried quietly, face pressed into a pillow to muffle her sobs. This was, without a doubt, the absolute worst possible thing.