Behind the Veil

by FeralFox

Chapter 21

Marckus groaned to himself, like the noise would somehow alleviate the pressure that was building in his skull. Time seemed to stretch on forever for the man, sick as a dog as well as bored to tears. He wanted to read something, but small text would put a much unneeded strain on his eyes. Something his headache really didn’t need at the moment.

Hours later, or years for all the ailed man could tell,, Marckus finally gathered up the strength to remove his arm from his face. And put the other one in its place. The sunlight, even as it dimmed with the Sun’s setting, was his bane until further notice, and his arm an aegis to its retina-melting fury. He attempted a sniffle, but his sinuses were far beyond stuffed, nearly resulting in him imploding his head from the stopped inhalation. He moaned and rolled over onto his side, loathing his own existence, as well as the existence of many other things. Namely, whatever virus was attacking him currently.

“Uuhg...what I wouldn’t do for a bowl of some chicken noodle soup.” He grumbled to himself. “Or some beef stew.” He listed, fantasizing about his go-to sickness cures. The thoughts made his stomach growl. “Or a steak…” He added, gripping at his empty gut. Even during his most trying financial times, he had never had to go this long without some sort of delicious animal flesh.

And as though to spite him, his brain picked that very instant to remind him of every human delicacy he enjoyed back on Earth.

“Roast beef….pulled pork….salami….sausages….” He named off in fond memory. “Mmm...pepperoni pizza…” He recalled. Not much meat in regards to the rest of the dish, but it was most definitely his favorite. Every Saturday, he went to a small, family owned pizzeria called “Joey’s Pizzas” and ordered the same thing - a small cheese n’ pepperoni pizza, and a liter of cherry Pepsi. Not exactly a meal fit for kings, but it was his own little tradition to look forward to every week.

“What’s pepperoni?” A familiar female voice asked, shattering the man’s illusion of seclusion. Twilight’s sudden question had nearly caused him to leap clear to the ceiling.

“Oh, hey Twilight. They give Rainbow her meds already?” He asked once his heart settled, not realizing how much time had passed since he began writhing on the couch.

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Though, I’m beginning to think that you should be getting some meds yourself.” She said with mixed teasing and genuine concern.

“I told you already, I’ll be fine. Just need some R&R.” He reassured for perhaps the billionth time. Twilight said nothing further on the matter, but she still had worries.

“Anyway, I heard you saying something as I was coming up, but the only words I caught were ‘pepperoni pizza’. What’s pepperoni?” She inquired.

“Nothing you want to know. Not even something some other humans want to know.” He simply put. Twilight grimaced and put the thoughts from her mind. But, in that moment, Marckus realized something. “Wait, so you guys have pizzas?” He asked in return.

“Yeah, why?” She answered. The man immediately fell from the couch, onto his knees, looked up to the ceiling, and clasping his hands together.

“You are merciful!” He said with an amount of joy never before seen felt for a food item.

“Who’s merciful?” The confused mare asked, raising an eyebrow in bewilderment. Marckus returned to his seat on the sofa and regarded her with a tired smile.

“Nothing, nevermind that.” He said, forgetting that she wouldn’t get the joke. Or perhaps it wasn’t a joke. Either way, he couldn’t be happier with the news. He lied back on the couch and placed his arm back over his eyes, fantasizing about the circular dish.

Twilight wasn’t sure what she had said or done, but seeing a smile on his sickly face was a bit of a relief. On that somewhat strange note, she left him to his happy pizza thoughts, and that much needed rest.

A short while later, Marckus became bored with being a vegetable and sat up. He stretched his back and shoulders, much to the discomfort of his brain, and leaned on his knees. He looked down at his pants - muddy and torn. He absentmindedly began picking away at the hardened mud. He grew tired of that and began examining the tear in the shin of his pant leg, and was struck by the remembrance of the ace-bandage around his calf. He rolled the pant leg up and looked at the cotton bandage. It had a thin stripe of dried mud on it from where the hole in his pants had ended up when he knelt down during the storm. Undoing the clips, he began rolling the bandage up as he unwrapped his leg. With it neatly rolled up, he set it aside and addressed the strip of gauze that was still covering his healing wound. He peeled up the corner and started pulling, wincing as it pulled some dried blood, scab, and hair up. Choking back a watery eye, he crumpled up the gauze and stuck it in his pocket, to be thrown out later. Leaning down over his knee, he examined how much it healed. Gently pressing along the edges of the scabbing laceration, he clearly felt that it was still tender. The man was relieved enough to see that it hadn’t become infected, though it was still quite a ways away from being a happy little scar across his shin. With that, he rolled his pant leg back down and reclined once more for some of that R&R he spoke about.

Too bad for him, he wouldn’t be getting much rest or relaxation for the rest of the day. His constant sniffling and sneezing would only make his headache worsen as time went on, and these three factors combined would make for one of the most unpleasant sleepless nights he’d had in quite a long time. No Nyquil to stop the coughing and sneezing. No hot soup to clear his sinuses. And no Aspirin to stop the pounding headache. His only option at this point was to suck it up and deal with it.

The night wore on longer than the day had in its entirety, and it had been a particularly chilly night at that. He curled up on the small couch and wrapped himself in his heavily soiled coat, only making him more uncomfortable. The feeling of having yet more dried mud on him, as well as blood from both himself and Rainbow Dash, was a feeling he would much rather do without. But more so than that, he wanted to stay warm.

About forty minutes of writhing beneath his coat, he recalled that he left Twilight’s quilt somewhere in front of the fireplace. Crumpling his coat back up into a pillow and stuffing it back into the corner of the couch, he stood up and shuffled across the floor with his arms tightly folded on his chest. He found the thick quilt and was quick to wrap himself with it. He attempted a sniffle in vain and carried himself back to the sofa. He looked miserably at it. Just staring, for minutes, at the unmoving piece of furniture. He mumbled something that even he didn’t understand, and sat down. Sitting, he glared out into the darkness of the night that enveloped the room. Somewhere in the vicinity, there was an obnoxious clock, ticking away the seconds. His ailed mind perceived the ticks as if they were gradually slowing down, just to spite him. He stood up, angered at the malicious clock, and shuffled through the room until he finally found it, perched on the wall. Its pendulum swayed back and forth, mocking him. He glowered at the wooden craft, like it had provoked him in some way.

“Why do you hate me?” He asked the clock.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

“Is it because of Sophomore year?” He wondered, remembering some obscure event involving a grandfather clock during his second year of high school. He stood and waited for the clock to reply, like the lunatic he was slowly becoming. He opened his mouth to address the clock again, but a low thunk sounded from within the timepiece.

CUCKOO! Ding! CUCKOO! Ding!

The cuckoo-clock chimed twice, signalling it was 2 AM. The head-splitting toles shocked some sanity back into the man. He rubbed his temples and inevitably began shuffling away towards Twilight’s room. The encounter with the clock had reminded him of a particular vitamin-c packed citrus fruit, and its delicious juice, and he was determined to get some by any means necessary. Up to and including asking politely. He dragged his feet with more purpose, and came up to Twilight’s bedroom door. He extended an arm from beneath the quilt and knocked a few times.

“Come in.” Called his hostess’s voice from within. He opened the door and ducked through. He found the lavender mare telekinetically juggling a dozen books, and even more sheets of parchment, each with a quill jotting things down.

“She would’ve been a great partner for doing book reports with back in middle school.” He thought to himself as he walked upon the scene.

“What’s up?” Twilight asked, turning from her multi-multi-tasking.

“I was wondering if you had any orange juice, and if I could trouble you for a glass.” He said, his words being changed by his severe congestion.

“Oh, of course! No problem at all.” She replied, setting down the tomes and note-sheets. She cantered out of the room, Marckus close behind, and made way to the kitchen. She retrieved a glass, and a carton of the desired beverage, filled the glass to brimming, and gave it to the sick man. He sipped the sweetly sour drink and grinned slightly at its taste. “Did you need anything else?” She asked as she put the carton away.

“No thank you, this should do fine.” He said with a gentle shake of his head.

“If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask. And have as much juice as you want.” Twilight said as she walked out of the kitchen. He nodded and took another sip from his glass and adjusted the quilt slightly around his shoulders. Of course, his brain reminded him that taking even a single drop from the carton would be taking advantage of his host’s generosity, even though it really wasn’t, and so he resigned to just having the single glass.

With his fruit beverage ingested, he rinsed out the glass, leaving it upside-down in the sink, and shuffled back to the living room. He sat back down on the sofa, grumbling quietly to himself. Only seconds after sitting down, he slowly lied down, resting his head on one of the few remaining clean spots left on his coat. His eyes drifted closed as the last ounce of energy within him was sucked away, drawn to his immune system to fight off the illness. After hours of miserable waiting, Marckus finally fell asleep, allowing his body to resort all of its resources to healing him while he lay in unconscious slumber.

His slumber was short-lived, as he woke with the sun’s appearance over the horizon, marking his ninth day in Equestria. He sat up and stretched, moaning quietly as he flexed and relaxed his muscles, making them nice and loose. Placing his hands on his knees, he pushed down and lifted himself to his feet. He twisted and bent, stretching his back and legs out before standing upright once more, sighing lazily. As the morning brisk rolled over his body, he took a deep inhalation, letting it out slowly.

He stood for a moment, feeling like he was missing something. He but his hand to his scruffy chin and thought on it, before realizing exactly what it was: he had taken a deep, cleansing breath through his nose, without having a coughing fit afterward. His nose was no longer stuffed, and he could feel his lungs free of mucous and fluids. The orange juice and rest must’ve given him the much needed boost to his immune system to get over his ailment. Or, at least most of it. His head still hurt, and his nose was a bit runny, but at least he could breath now.

A second realization dawned on him as well - he had a job still. He also figured that if he left the library now, he might be able to avoid another confrontation with Twilight about his eating habits. Or lack thereof.

He laced up his boots, tying them good and tight, and hastily but quietly made his way through the library, checking to see if the coast was clear as he gently opened the door and ducked out. Once he was a good dozen yards away from his lodging, he mentally pumped his arm at his small victory. But his internal smile was wiped away by the angry growl of his stomach.

“I’ll get paid soon. Just gotta wait it out.” He thought aloud to himself, motivating himself to continue on with this self-inflicted torment.

If there was one thing that he hated as much as he loved, it was his pride and stubbornness. He had to stand up for what he believed was right, no matter how stupid it seemed. He needed shelter, regardless of his penny-less state, but he could afford to refuse meals. At least for now. If anything, he could always just eat some of the bruised apples that don’t make it to the market while he worked in AJ’s orchard.

He made it to Sweet Apple Acres without incident, just as the sun had passed completely beyond the eastern mountains. He met up with Applejack and Big Macintosh like usual, and took hold of the wagon he was to haul when the middle Apple sibling approached him.

“Howdy, Marckus. You’re lookin’ better this mornin’.” She said with obvious relief.

“Feel better.” He simply replied.

“That’s good to hear. By the way you were lookin’ yesterday, I could've’ sworn that you were just gonna collapse at any point.” She expressed her concern as they began their walk into the orchard. Marckus chuckled grimly at how much he felt like collapsing that day. “Next time, though, just take a sick day, alright? You’re gonna drive me up a wall with all that worryin’.”

“Okay, okay. Next time I get sick, I’ll take the day off.” He said with unsure amounts of honesty.

On that note, the trio began their day’s work under Celestia’s blazing banner.