//------------------------------// // Gelding Egos // Story: House that Heartbreak Rebuilt // by Jet_Black1980 //------------------------------// Chapter 27   Gelding Egos                 The tuna hot dish was pretty decent. Nothing that I would write home about, but still... it’s nice to know that I can eat some form of meat. Despite the fact that it’s made of fish. And the sausage? That was more than pretty decent! That was fetting awesome! I mean for being a meat-substitute and all.                 There was a nice smoky, garlicky, salty, sweet, charred taste to that first bite. Though the chef, Gavril was it? I look over at the chef and check his name tag. Yup, Gavril. Was right, the texture does leave a little to be desired. It’s too... smooth. Not enough roughness. Oh well, the expression on his face is amusing at least. I bite down into another one just to see what happens. He continues to give me that weirded out look. Just then a couple of passing ponies eye my platter and give me the same look. I just snort at them and proceed to rip the remaining links off the skewer. They don’t faint but the expression is, once again, priceless.                 After savoring my somewhat meaty treat, I look at my empty platter. “That was a nice little snack... but now what?” Yeah, really. Now what? Looking around the room I still see nothing but stuffy ponies dressed up and talking among themselves. I decide to take a catalog of the ponies here. Well, sort of. Most of these ponies look to be of the upper middle class or the well to do. Ugh... I just realized that I might have to look at their asses just to figure out what they do...                 “May I take your plate?”               Who’s talking to me now- Oh, one of the waiters. “Uhm, yes. Go right ahead. Thanks.”               Let’s see, there’s a small group over there in the far left corner just opposite to where Rarity is seated. I can’t make too much out from where I’m at, but they all seem to be stallions. Then an odd thing strikes me. One of them is your generic somewhat muscled purple pegasus stallion with a white mane and a, oh geez, yellow sports jacket. His mark?                 A football helmet. My ears perk in their direction.                 “So, how’s the team doing this year?”               “Oh a bit better than last,” he replies. “Got some good strong fliers this year-”                 He’s talking with a dusty blue colt who is on the thin side. He has a red mane and a white jacket. Oh, and surprise, surprise! A baseball cap as a cutie mark. I was never into sports but I still recognize them both.                 “Seriously? Ponies based on sports teams? A Vikings and Twins pony? I’m sure you think you’re being funny Equestria, but booooooring. Right, who else is there? Oh right, Blueblood and company.” I bend my head back and see that they are still in the same spot that they were before.               Blueblood points at one of the mares and the other three cock their heads and laugh a bit. A snippet of the conversation enters my ears.               “Mark or tag?” He asks in a horrible, snooty sounding voice.                 “Oooo, I’d tag that,” the creepy one with the black mane says.                 “I’d mark and tag,” Jet Set replies.                 They laugh some more and start to grin. Oh, I know the grin that is on their faces. That’s the grinning of four guys who are on the, ‘prowl.’ How do I know this? I mean I’ve never been out, ‘prowling,’ in my life and I hated both the bar and party scenes.                 The answer is easy. The internet.                 These four are in your stereotypical, ‘Ooo, look at us! We’re rich stallions! Watch out mares!’ Ugh, all that’s missing is a fucking car scene while the four of them bang their heads to the song, ‘What is Love?’ I sniff the air from my awkward upside-down facing position. Ugh! There’s a variable that makes this equation almost that more volatile and just as likely to end in a terrible 80’s montage. They’re drinking. Yay! Another advantage of being equine! Heightened sense of smell!                 Fuck if I know what they’re drinking though. Maybe it would have been a good idea to go sit with Rarity and crew after all. I point my head back in the direction of said table. Come on ears, you have your stupid advantage, pick up a conversation worth listening to!                 “You bet’cha there, Rarity darling! I was talking with my grandma and she was sharing with me some of the best ways of-” Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that shit! Ugh! I have the choice of listening to sports ponies, ‘wild stallions,’ who are most likely talking about, ‘marking and tagging’ and Hot Dish’s Minnesota accent saturating my ears!?               One of these fucking ponies needs to invent an iPod or at least a Walkman. Hmm, they would call it a... Trotmare, a Walkmare? Ugh... I should have asked about that sort of thing or at least look up a list of Equestrian tech when we get back from this travesty of an adventure. Wait, did I call it a, ‘travesty?!’ Fuck! No! I don’t want to be thinking like Rarity! Train wreck! Yes! This has been something of a slow train wreck!               “Alright, it hasn’t been all bad. Popfizz’s soda was really good, as were the fries on the train. I also liked the sausages. Hmm, I wonder if I should get more to eat...”               Spike is busy looking over the list of things on the wall that are no doubt up for auction. And I really don’t want to bother him to get me more food. He already does too much for me as it is... Gods I am bored! This is one of the things that I am finding even more difficult in my ‘adjusting to being a pony,’ and was painfully highlighted with my little talk with Starchaser.                 The world of ponies is woefully without a great deal of technology. And when you are constantly bombarded with information brought to you by your technology? Your attention span shrinks to nearly zero. But ponies and technology? Why would they need it in the first place? They have fucking magic! The great number of technological advances that humans made were due to our, well, their limitations. Magic kind of kills that. Once you can do anything, what’s the point of making a tool or device that does the job?                 Just then I feel my ears flick back just in time to hear more of Blueblood’s little posse talking.               “What about the tan one? Mark or tag?” One of them asks. Fuck! Nooo! I don’t want to hear this conversation! I don’t need to hear this conversation! Please ears, come on, turn back the way you were before!               “Don’t know,” the creepy one says. “That cutie mark is kind of off putting...”               “You turn down a chance to mark or tag, Smooth Talker?” Smooth Talker? Ugh! That name alone makes me want to scour myself in a scalding hot shower! Still, I can count my lucky stars that he’s put off by me.                 “There’s just something about her... kind of ...creepy, ya know?” Ha. Now that’s funny. I’m creeping out the creeper. “Then again...” No! No, ‘then again!’ Just pass me over! “Hmm, maybe if I was desperate. That messy tail? She might be an eccentric tag, might dig some of the more unusual stuff if you catch my drift? Maybe a crop and some-” I can feel my lunch start to try and gorge on me and I quickly cover my ears to block out the noise. Fuck no! Why, ears!? Seriously! I’d rather hear Hot Dish talk about her grandmother’s sewing habits or how she makes that tuna casserole! Fuck! I would even listen in on the Viking and Twins ponies! Anything but this!               I look over at my saddle bags that have been placed on the chair next to me. Yes! I can tune them out using that! Using my leg, I pull the chair closer to me and quickly dive my face into the bag. I am feeling leery about using my mechanical pencil in public. I know it’s mine, and I might have been drawing on the train, but this is a more open place. Time to finally break out those pencils that we bought from Ghost Writer.               Pulling them out of the bag, my teeth bite into them and I realize something. “Mint flavor?” The pencils have a minty taste to them. What the... Well. I guess there are things that even ponies don’t like tasting. My eyes look back at the cackling wolves in pony’s clothing behind me. “Congratulations Ghost Writer. You’ve gone from, ‘leech,’ to ‘mildly irritating,’ in my book. And all it took was almost losing my lunch.” Right. I’m just going to get to drawing. Hopefully my ears will follow the movements of my pencils and not the sounds of the conversation behind me.   ==============================================================                 Manifest chuckled before taking another sip of his brandy. It was a smooth old brandy with a good number of fruity tones to it. Some would say that it wasn’t a, ‘Stallion’s drink.’ “But then again, some don’t have an appreciation for the finer things in life.” He glanced at the tan mare with the broken heart that they were currently assessing. Suddenly she become uncomfortable and shot them all a narrow eyed glare before turning around to rummage through her saddlebags. “Smooth Talker old chap,” Manifest said, leaning near the perverted pony. “Are you certain that you put up that... what was it called again... Encryption spell?”               “Yeah, I put it up just as the four of us arrived,” he replied, his laughing subsiding. “Why do you ask?”               “That mare you were just talking about was giving us the most dreadful of stink eyes. Like she knew what we were talking about,” Manifest said looking worriedly at his drink. The magical green aura was starting the waiver and waffle about, causing the drink to tilt and wobble. “Maybe I should stop, the alcohol is starting to affect my concentration.               “Humph, you worry too much, Manifest.” Blueblood interjected taking a long drink off his wine glass. “If anything, she’s most likely bored to tears over hearing us talk about stalks, bonds, our inheritances and a few other choice trivialities. Though speaking of inheritances...” He looked at Manifest. “You seem to be enjoying yours quite well. What has it been? Three or four months last the old steed finally kicked the bucket?”                 Manifest glared at Blueblood. “Humph, yes,”               “What’s the matter there M.D.?” Jet Set asked. “Clearly you are enjoying yourself! And about time too! If I recall correctly, he had you pinned quite hard under his hoof! Never giving any quarter, always looking at you with disappointment. And then after he finally keels over? A large inheritance!” He took a long drink off his cocktail while giving Manifest a half-hug. “I would say that is a reward well earned, wouldn’t you?”               Manifest snorted and pushed Jet Set away. “As the commoners would say, ‘whatever.’”                 “No need to be a, ‘downer,’” Blueblood said putting hoof quotes in the air.                 “Look, I just would rather not talk about such things at my parties!” Manifest said, glaring at the Prince.                 “Whoa! Whoa! ‘Chill-out.’” Prince Blueblood replied backing away, his ears drooping a bit.                 “Yeah, what’s your, ‘deal,’ anyway, Manifest?” Jet Set asked. “You have your money and freedom. What more could you want?”               “Ha! Manifest is just cranky because he hasn’t had a good mark or tag in months,” Smooth Talker explained, a strange grin going over his face. “He hasn’t even pulled a single tail ever since his old steed up and-”               Manifest snorted and pushed his face up to Smooth Talker’s. “I could get a mark, tag, or tail anytime and from any mare I please!”                 Smooth Talker pulled back. “Touchy much?”               Prince Blueblood chuckled. “Fancy putting your money where your mouth is, Manifest?”                 Manifest stomped his hoof down. “Are you making a wager that I can’t?”               Smooth Talker smirked. “I’d take a wager that you can’t to the tune of what... five hundred bits?”               “Pocket change,” Blueblood replied, taking another drink. “I would go no less than a thousand bits. And I’ll make the wager that he can.”               Smooth Talker looked thoughtful and chewed on his lip. “Yeah, I can spare a thousand. I’m in on this!”               Manifest glared at the both of them. “How is it that my love life has become sport for your gambling habits?”               “Hey, you were the one that said that he could get a mark, tag or tail from any of the mares here,” Smooth Talker replied. “Though most of the mares here are pretty easy pickings. I think you could could get at least some tail from Hot Dish over there.”               “Hmmm. Quite so, quite so... let’s make this a real challenge,” Blueblood replied, pretending to look around. “Ooooh, let’s say... her.” He said, pointing at the lone tan mare.                 “The one that looks like she has been traveling through the countryside all day?!” Manifest protested, his words slightly exaggerated with inebriation.               Smooth Talker tapped his chin and reassessed the mare, “Hey, if you don’t think that you can pony-up on the eccentric mark over there? I’m willing to take a shot!”               “I said no such thing! It’s just that she looks like a ruffian! Sporting that green military like creation? And not even a single bit of formal wear! I mean look at her...” He tilted his head and looked over the mare’s subtle frame. Her almost generous flanks... Her wild unkempt mane and tail. “She’s practically... naked,” Manifest said, his words starting to slow down. The group chuckled. “Manifest, methinks you’ve had too much, most all ponies go around naked,” Jet Set said snickering. “Well, unless you mean that she might as well not be wearing any overwear." Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the fact that this friends had just pointed out that he hadn’t had a good mark, tag or tail in a while. But something was rather striking about her on a second glance. Something, appealing. Almost dark and mysterious...                 Smooth Talker slid up to Manifest. “Soooo, you going to do it? Cause I’ve got five hundred that says that you can’t.”               Manifest glared Smooth Talker before drinking the rest of his brandy. “Waiter! Refill!” He shouted. Not seconds later did a waiter quickly refill his glass. “Ha! I can mark, tag and tail this one, even without your silly wager!” He replied, swaggering across the room to where she sat.   ==============================================================                 Ahh, thank you drawing. I was right for once. Focusing on my drawing does indeed tune out a good number of the unwanted conversations and sounds. My ears are totally focused on the drawing in front of me. Though because I haven’t been practicing with my mouth as much as my hoof?               Ze art? She is suffering.                 Oh, it’s certainly far better than what I could first do. And yeah horse lips have far more dexterity than I give them credit for. But fuck. My hoof is where my creative muse really springs from.               I haven’t been sketching anything in particular. Just something abstract. Something that doesn’t have any real form but at the same time has a bit of design. Sharp curves and tiny points all moving around and swirling around. Right now it doesn’t look like much, but still, it’s something that keeps my attention off everything around me. Especially that horrible conversation behi- Just then, a red something enters my field of vision to my right and the smell of some sort of brandy hits my nose sharply. Fuck. No, please no. I’m just going to ignore him and really hope that he-                 He clears his throat and I can feel him looking at my artwork. “That’s a very lovely...” He pauses. He most likely can’t make heads or tails of what I am drawing. “I dare say... uhm... what is that?”               Fuck. Do I really have to answer? Sigh. “Abstract,” I reply curtly. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that he has green eyes and a brownish mane. He’s wearing what appears to be formal wear.                 “Oh,” he replies, blankly. “For a moment I thought you were drawing oddly shaped noodles.” Strike one. Well, maybe strike two. Coming over here was strike one. But strike two? Insulting an artist’s work while they are drawing.                 “Can I help you with something?” I ask in annoyance. I’m kinda considering taking off my hat just to express my body language here.                 “Well!” He begins before taking a sip of his drink. Ugh! I know I keep harping on the alcohol, but that smell! Really!? “I could not help but notice that a lovely mare like yourself was sitting here all by her lonesome self. So, I thought that I would be a gentlecolt, come over here and see if I could get to know you better.”               Ha. Yeah, right. I heard the conversation that you four were having. How the hell could you have a conversation like that in open public?! Seriously! I would be saying these things to his face but I’m still hoping that my blocking him off will send the message that he should just go back to his little cohort of perverts. "Yeah, strange that. It was almost like I wanted to be alone. By myself...”               “You’ll have to excuse my rudeness. But my name is Manifest Destiny.” What. The. Fuck? Seriously? What kind of fucking name is that?! The pony names at this party are just a terrible lot. ‘Hot Dish,’ ‘Smooth Talker,’ ‘Manifest Destiny?’ What, was the guy in the pony name creation division drunk or something? We have a food pony, a perv pony, and a pony named after a horrible act of unjustified racism against the Native Americans!                 “Calm yourself, H.B. He doesn’t know that. Let’s just find a way of making him go away.” “That’s nice.”               I catch his expression out of the corner of my eye. It’s a perplexed and baffled expression. His head turns, no doubt to look at the other stallions. And then he returns to his former drunken resolve. “And your name would be...?”                 I want to bang my head against the table now. That might be a little over dramatic, but fuck. I don’t want to be talked to or flirted with by some drunken rich stallion named, ‘Manifest Destiny.’ “Heart. Break,” I reply through gritted teeth. He’s suddenly taken aback. “Heartbreak?” he blinks in confusion. “By Celestia, who would ever name their foal that?”               Yeah, you’re one to speak, ‘Manifest Destiny.’ I’m going to leave my replies to a low growl now...                 “I mean, uhm...” He takes another drink. This is going to turn ugly if I don’t stop it right now. “That is a lovely abstract,” he says, his words slurring a little.                 I take a deep sigh. Let’s try putting what I am feeling into nice words like Rarity wanted us to. “Look. I’m not really here to socialize, I was more or less dragged here by Rarity and would very much like to be left alone until the auction starts. So if you don’t mind-”               He waves his hoof in the air. “But this is a party! The point of a party is to have fun! Chat with friends. Eat fine food...” He then waggles his eyebrows at me. “Mingle?”                 I feel myself sicken at the implications of what he could mean by, ‘mingling.’ “Yeah, no, I don’t do, ‘mingling.’ I would much rather just be here drawing.”               “Hey! Manifest! What kind of mark or tag is she?!” Smooth Talker shouts from the other side of the room. “And have you gotten a mark or tag on her yet? Come on! I have five hundred bits riding on this!”                 My face twitches. Alright, I get what’s going on. The rich folk are having some sort of game going on here. I’m the new mare and a cold fish. They want to, ‘break me in,’ and ‘warm the cold fish up.’ I shudder and turn my head glaring at Smooth Talker. As I do so, I can almost see him jump a little.                 “You were right, old chap! She is an eccentric mark! Excuse me but-” He starts.               I push my chair out and snort while getting up. “Oh, yeah, you’re charming. Excuse me. I think I’ll just go back to sitting with the other mares if you don’t mind.”               “Was it something I said?” He asks innocently. Like I am going to even dignify that with a fucking response. I’m just going to get out of here. Ugh. I pick up my things and put them back in my saddlebags. I pick them up in my mouth and turn to walk over to Rarity’s table. However, Manifest seems to be determined to get his, ‘mark,’ as he steps in front of me. “Please, do forgive me, it has been a while last I was graced with the presence of a lovely mare like yourself.”               “Gee, I haven’t any clue as to why that would be,” I reply in the most sarcastic manner possible. Fuck, why aren’t I just ripping this stallion a new one and sending him into a crying ball by now? Right, we’re at a social event and I’m worried about what Rarity will think. I’ve already put her through so much stress as it is, I don’t need to add any more. “If you don’t mind-”               He zips to the right and gives me a smirk. “Please, I only wish to get to know you a bit better, there’s nothing wrong with that is there?”               I take a deep breath. “Right. I’ll give you a crash course in, ‘knowing me better.’ Hi. My name is Heartbreak. There! All done. Now if you don’t mind-” I begin to step forward again.                 “Surely there is more to you than merely a name, Miss Heartbreak.” Fuck, my, 'don't be a bitch,' dam is starting to crack... “After all,” he puts on some fake sounding floaty accent that is meant to make him sound more sophisticated, “A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet,” he quotes, leaning over and attempting to... Fuck! NO! No smelling me! I jump away as quickly as I possibly can.                 “Don’t. Ever. Do that,” I snap under my breath. “Please.”               “Forgive me, but was I perhaps a bit too forward?” He asks me.               I look at him glaringly. “Yes, yes you were. Now excuse me-” I turn back only to find that he teleported in front of me.                 “Please, my dear, I only ask that you give me a chance.” He takes another drink and leans forward. The glittering green magic aura hasn’t yet faded from his teleportation spell. “All I ask is for a pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, perhaps a few drinks? Maybe even come and chat with my good fellows over there?” I look glaringly at the three other stallions in this gang. Blueblood is smirking and laughing with Jet Set, while I swear Smooth Talker appears to be pouring a small vial of something into a drink. Right, I don’t have to be female to know that this is a bad idea.               “I have a better idea. How about no? After all the party scene isn’t really my thing and-”               “Well, if it isn’t your thing,” He starts his voice getting all low and growly. “Perchance we skip this party and have a time on the town? I am a rather rich stallion after all! I could buy you anything you wanted!” He lurches forward slightly and attempts make what I can only guess are bedroom eyes, only to spill a good deal of his drink in the process. His attempts are so sad, it’s pathetic. “Maybe if you’re so rich you could buy yourself a clue,” I mutter under my breath. “What?” He asks. “What?” I reply awkwardly.               “Well? It is a generous offer I’m giving you. It’s not everyday I offer a commoner like yourself a chance to go out on the town with me, Miss Heartbreak.”                 What. An. Ego.               I’m surprised that he didn’t call me a, ‘dirt pony,’ while he was at it. Fuck, how the fuck do I handle this?! I can feel the rage starting to build up and I just want to repeat what I did with Big Mac. Only this time, purposely. But he sounds like he’s somepony of importance here! Fuck! What do I do! Do I shout out for Rarity or Spike?! Come on brain! Think!                 I look down at the puddle on the floor. Then an idea strikes me. An awful, terrible, wonderful idea...   ==============================================================                 “What’s that, magic puddle?” Heartbreak asked, her head bent down near the spilt drink on the floor. “That’s a great idea! Huh? Yeah, oh wow! You don’t say! Please go on!” She nodded her head and smiled before gasping. “No way! Ha! I bet the look on his face was-”               Manifest looked confused and quirked an eye at the sudden nonsensical action that the mare before him just took. “Excuse me. But, just what are you doing?” he asked, some of his words slurring slightly.                 Heartbreak frowned. “How rude. Excuse me for a moment.” She waved her hoof at the puddle. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” Her head popped up and she looked at Manifest in an annoyed manner. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”                 Manifest blinked. “It... would appear that you are conversing with a puddle of brandy.”                 “And appearances for once would not be deceiving you! Now if you don’t mind-”                 “But... why?” He asked.                 Heartbreak stopped and took a deep breath, a small smirk forming on her face. “Well, you see... I was growing tired with the failing attempts of you trying to flirt with me and the horrible conversation you were attempting to have with me. And there was a puddle of brandy that was spilled on the floor. Being an, ‘eccentric?’ I figured that it would give me a far more entertaining conversation than you ever could be.” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “After all, it is infinitely more complex and has far more depth than you could ever hope to possess.”                 Manifest blinked. “But... it’s only a puddle.”                 The tan mare’s eyes narrowed and a grin formed on her face. “Precisely,” she replied as her face twitched and her tail swished back and forth in an almost cat-like manner. “And I don’t have to worry about it making wagers on me about whether it can, ‘mark, tag, or tail’ me either!”                 Manifest felt like a colt that had just had just been caught pilfering the cookie jar. The cold shock brought his senses back to a little bit of sobriety. “But-I-how- Smooth Talker has an encryption spell up! You should have been hearing about stock figures and transactions!”               “So that’s why...” Heartbreak’s brow deeply furrowed and her eye twitched before she took a deep breath and recomposed herself. “Guess I just happened to break your code, huh? But does it matter? What matters is that it was almost too easy to figure out what you four were up to. And if it was that transparent to me? I’m sure that it was to everyp-pony else here. So please,” she nearly stomped a hoof forward at Manifest causing him to flinch and swallow hard, “Just go back to whence you came.” Her eyes darted at the three other stallions. “And remember when a mare says, ‘No,’ she means, ‘No.’ Do you understand?”                 “Well, I-” Manifest started to fumble on his words. “Are you sure I can’t offer you a drink? Try starting the conversation over?”               “Wrong answer,” Heartbreak replied, clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes. “You want to have a conversation? Alright, let’s talk about you, Manifest Destiny. You certainly like your alcohol. Tell me, how much did all this cost you? I can’t imagine it would be anything cheap.”               “I told you, I’m rather wealthy! I just came into my inheritance a-a-and-” Manifest began to stutter.                 “Came into your inheritance you say? My, my, my. Who had to die for that to happen? Mom? Dad? Great lost uncle?” Heartbreak began to probe.                 “I-i-if you h-have to know, it was my father!” Manifest sputtered out.                 “And how long ago was that?” She asked.               “F-f-four months...”               “Four months! You recover pretty fast and were rather quick to start spending it all on booze and parties! I bet your father would be proud. Tell me, how did he come about into his fortune?” Heartbreak asked, her eyes narrowing further.                 Manifest blinked and looked at those eyes once again, they had gone from pretty and sparkling to downright malicious and threatening. Stranger yet... they almost seemed to warp the light that reflected off them. “H-h-he was a granite barron, he owned a good many quarries in the local area a-a-and helped build most of this c-c-city!”                 Heartbreak got up in the stallions face. “And here his son is, boozing it up with his buddies and macking on random mares that he doesn’t have any genuine interest in. Just those he would rather make wagers on whether or not he can get them into his bed covers. How. Lovely. You must have had a wonderful relationship with dear old dad now, didn’t you?”                 Manifest’s facade started to crumble. His buddies had only touched lightly upon his problems with his father. This, ‘Heartbreak,’ who only knew what he had told her in not even casual conversation, had pulled them all out and was prodding them like a foal with a sharp stick on the shore of the beach. “I-I-I...”               Her expression softened slightly. “You know what? You’ve suffered a bit of trauma and a great loss. I can relate. I really can. But my advice? Instead of throwing expensive parties, why not go back home and think about your life? Think about what you are going to do with your money... that is... while you still have money to do things with.”   ==============================================================                 There. Sharp, cutting and it even ended with some good advice. I might have been nicer about all this but he was being so fucking persistent! Then again, looking at him, I think I might have done my job of shattering his ego a little too well. There are tears starting to well up in his eyes, the glass of brandy wobbles before dropping to the floor and shattering. He backs up and turns away before running past his friends.                 Suddenly, I realize that all the ponies are staring at me. They are all shocked into a bit of a stunned silence and some of their mouths are agape.               That’s when the whispers start.   “Can you believe she just talked to him like that?” “Jeez, I can’t imagine-” “What did she do-” Little snippets of things that I can’t quite make out, but all the ponies around me are looking at me. Fear is starting to grip me as they stare at me. Then I look up and see Rarity’s face. The whispers must have gotten to her as well, because her face is one of horrified shock.                 That confidence I was feeling when slicing and dicing Manifest? Yeah that’s gone and in it’s place is panic.                 My breath is starting to get caught in my lungs and my eyes are darting back and forth. “I... need... to... get out!” I whisper under my breath. Looking to my right, I see a sweet sunlit escape of a push handle door. I grab my saddlebag and run outside. I need air. I need to get away from these ponies! Outside I find myself at the back of the building with a series of stairs. I’m not going to just run away. Where would I run to? I sit down near the stair railing and hang my hooves over the ledge. “Was all of that really necessary? You could have just told him that you weren’t interested and that he should go away. What if you had taken him up on his offer? Would it have been so bad? Then again, no, it would have been stupid to do that. You know what he was planning. You overheard his conversation. Still, I can’t help but feel like a bitch.”                 “I don’t want to be an ‘itch...” I begin to tap my forehead on the railing and let out a discontented sigh. “Whinneapolis... You're nice and all. But, I... want to go home. And if I can't do that... can I go back to Ponyville? Please?”