//------------------------------// // Chapter 12: Recuperation // Story: Symphonies and Wubs // by BLT185 //------------------------------// We spent a couple of fairly uneventful days in the stables. They were strangely comfortable in a way I can’t quite put my hoof on. We didn’t have anywhere else to go, though, and we couldn’t find an alternate shelter until Fiddlesticks’ leg healed enough to allow us to continue our journey. Vinyl spent the time keeping her tail as far away from the other stalls as possible. The stallions kept biting her tail, and it was driving her crazy. One time, he didn’t let go until Janice (we finally learned the receptionist’s name) came in. Fiddlesticks spent most of the time sleeping, the medication the vet gave her left her very drowsy and a little ‘off’ when she was awake. I spent the time trying to come up with a plan, failing miserably. I couldn’t concentrate; but something in my mind was telling me to worry about it later. On the second day Janice bathed us. I was reluctant at first but it felt surprisingly good, especially when she brushed my mane and tail. I actually didn’t realize just how filthy we’d gotten until I looked back at the purely brown water I had been cleaned in. It’s hard to worry about that kind of stuff when you’re on the run. It was the best I’d felt in days though, leaving my coat grey again and my hair smooth as silk. On the third night Janice told us that Fiddlesticks should be well enough to walk and that we could leave whenever we felt like it, and to come back to her if anything else happened. We were all a little reluctant to leave but we ignored the urge to stay longer. “Keep an eye on her. She’ll still be weak for a while” Janice called after us as we left. Truthfully, I was glad to be out of there. For some reason the comfort was beginning to get a little unsettling. Something just didn’t feel right in there. Maybe I was just being paranoid, or the lack of action had left me with my guard up 24/7 or something. We had to navigate very carefully. Fiddlesticks was still, for lack of a better word, drunk on the painkillers. Lucky for us though, she didn’t complain when she was hoisted onto our backs “I love you guys so much!” She slurred, before falling back asleep becoming dead weight on our backs. Vinyl had to stifle a laugh. It was hard for to believe but I was actually in a good mood. Unlike Cold Grove there weren’t many derelict buildings. By comparison, this town was thriving. Unfortunately this would make getting supplies and staying secret much more of a problem. I also worried Janice might tell somebody about us. If that happens our cover might already be blown. This time we found an old farmhouse near the outskirts, that way if we need to run for it, we can sprint into the forest. This house was a shack compared to the one in Cold Grove, one floor, no power, two bedrooms, one bath and a very tiny kitchen. Lucky for us though, it was much cleaner and there was running water. Personally, I thought the best part was that there wasn’t a basement that a sheriff could hide in to ambush us… again, but just to be safe I gave every curtain and open door a good kick. We laid Fiddlesticks in one of the beds, making sure to lock all outside doors and windows; we didn’t want her wandering out in her condition. Vinyl came up with a plan. It went something like this: 1. Get supplies 2. Find other ponies 3. Find a way back to Equestria 4.? 5. Profit Needless to say I was less than impressed. “Vinyl, could you please explain why step four is a question mark?” I queried. “Because, no one ever knows the step before profit.” quipped Vinyl “Which brings me to my next question...Why do we need to make a profit from it?” I asked, though I already knew what she would say. “Because profit is always the last step Tavi… always” Said Vinyl, rolling her eyes and snorting like I was the one not making any sense. It was then that I noticed a half empty whiskey bottle lying on its side “You’ve been drinking again haven’t you?” I asked “You’d do the same thing if somepony left a chocolate cake on the counter.” Retorted Vinyl I had to admit, she had me there. I gave up and decide to go to sleep. We wouldn’t be able to get any ‘serious’ planning done until Vinyl and Fiddlesticks were sober, which would hopefully be the following morning. I really wasn’t tired at all; the past two days had been very restful. I had a lot of energy I hadn’t burned. Questions ran through my mind for a few hours. How do we get supplies if we’re ponies? What do we do next? Where do we find other ponies? What happened to my bowtie? Eventually, sleep overtook me. My dreams were filled with images of having my bass back and playing it with three other ponies on their instruments for what appeared to be very upper-class ponies, if there taste in classical music was anything to go by. One inside a ballroom, another in a garden. I couldn’t help but think of the others in my quartet, where were they now? What were they doing? Were they alright? I hoped that they were at least safe, and not suffering the same fate as Vinyl, Fiddlesticks and I.