//------------------------------// // Spacing Out // Story: The Scar // by FriendlyTwo3 //------------------------------// Chapter 4: Spacing Out Your watch beeps again, signaling the passing of the second hour of today’s afternoon. 3:00. Derpy and her daughter should be here any minute. Of course, you also have to take into account what a struggle it is getting out of school in a hurry. Bumping into people, watching your step, being careful not to trip over the littler ones… Wait. She’s probably not as tall as you were. Still, school gets out at three. Meaning the real time for this whole deal should’ve been something like three-fifteen, or three-thirty. Oh well, as long as she doesn’t skip out on you again… …No… She was busy Sunday. She didn’t skip out on you… Did she? Taking a small bite of your donut, you continue to look out the window at the bustling street. You can see Sugarcube Corner a few blocks away. As always, a line of both kids and adults runs out the door. You overheard Donut Joe a few minutes ago talking to a customer about how good this is for business. Confused, the customer asked why. He responded with: “F’That place’s so busy all ‘e time, mo’ people won’t bodder widda line and come ta me.” You’ve been sitting in this booth for about half an hour. Only in part to wait for Derpy and Dinky. The bigger reason was to think. To think about what Cloudburst said. That was the hardest you’ve ever seen her cry. Ever. It makes you think. She reacted so strongly to thinking you were going to take your life, even when the thought never crossed your mind. Hell, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your blood keeps you from it. It gives you a healing factor. That giant gash in your forehead from the other day? It’s already gone without a trace of it ever being there. It heals the wound quickly, but doubles the pain and makes it last longer. How Chrysalis made that happen, you’re not sure, but it worked. And it still works. Say, if you were shot by a gun. The wound would reseal in a matter of a day, but the burning and stinging would last a week. The more serious the wound, the longer the pain lasts. You lower your head into your folded arms on the table. The jacket you’re wearing warms your cheeks and neck. The bell on the door chimes twice. Someone has either entered or left the establishment. Peering up at the door, you see just the Pegasus you hoped to see. On Derpy’s shoulder hangs a small brown purse. She looks around a bit until her gaze falls upon you. Her lips rise into a smile and she waves to you. A smile graces your lips as well and you sit upright. Extending your arm a bit, you wave back. She looks behind her and whispers something. Then, you see her daughter step into view. She looks just like her mother, with three exceptions. Her coat isn’t so much gray, as it is a pale purple. In the stead of wings on her back, she has a tiny horn on her head. And her eyes point forward. She carries a small backpack with her. She wears a light blue t-shirt and jean shorts. Sitting down across from you, Derpy greets you and looks to her daughter, who is staring wide-eyed at you. “Say hello, Dinky,” says Derpy soothingly. The child simply stares at you. Looking at Derpy then to the girl, you extend your hand and introduce yourself. This time, Dinky quickly grabs your hand and admires it. She runs her soft, tiny hand gently over your palm as she quietly mutters to herself. Looking back to Derpy, you see that she’s as confused as you are. “Ahem… Dinky,” she says sternly. The child is unmoved as she starts to lightly prod your knuckles. “Dinky Hooves. What did I tell you?” This time, Dinky looks up at her mother and then to you. As she realizes what she did, she smiles sheepishly and blushes immensely. With a nervous giggle, she sets your hand on the table. Derpy, with red cheeks, giggles as well. “I’m sorry. She acts like this when she’s interested in something. I think she likes you.” A smile spreads on your face. “I was just… fascinated,” says the five year old, eyeing your hand again. “In my hand?” you ask with a hint of sarcasm. “No, silly. Hands aren’t interesting. It’s what’s on your hands.” Oh great. You probably have jelly or something all over you. Looking down at your hand, you see what she meant. “…Ah…” you say as you look at a fair sized scar on your hand. A short period of silence follows. The sounds of the usual three-o-clock bustle can be heard from outside. Eventually, the silence is broken by Dinky. “Mom, can we get something to eat now?” Derpy smiles as she stands. “Sure. Want the usual?” The child nods vigorously in agreement. Derpy looks over at you. “Anything for you?” she asks. Flicking a single bit in the air, you give her the pay for a small chocolate milk if she’s offering. As she begins to walk to the counter, she turns back to you. “I’ll leave you two to bond,” she says with a large smile. When she reaches the line for the counter, which had grown a bit in the last few minutes, you turn to the child across from you, who is playing with her pale golden bangs. “So,” you begin, leaning back into the cushion of the booth, “You like my scars, huh?” “Yeah!” the child quickly responds, “Y’know, sir, in some cultures, especially Griffon cultures, scars are a sign of loyalty and trustworthiness. But not here, though. Here they just look cool. Anyway, I’m just dying for a milkshake right about now.” … Did that five-year-old just say that? Has she been talking to that librarian? “Er… Yeah…” is all you can come up with. Yeah. That five-year-old just said that. “By the way, sir,” says, leaning forward, “How did you get them? Those scars there?” “That, young lady,” you say, leaning forward, your forearms resting on the table, “Is a story for special friends and family only.” “Yes sir,” she says, resting her head on the back of the booth. Suddenly, a loud gout of laughter comes from the line in front of the counter. About four male voices. Looking over at them, you see them recovering from their little fit. You can see the back of Derpy’s head in front of them. A short cough rattles your sore throat as you look to the right out the window. The streets of Ponyville are, as always, peaceful and quiet. Not too many things happen in this quaint little town. At least, not since you got home. Apparently, from what Cloudburst told you, a lot of shit went down here. You were a part of an escort in Cloudsdale when Nightmare Moon returned a year and a half ago. After she was defeated and Luna took her place once more by Celestia’s side as co-ruler, you were assigned to be her assistant, then to advisor. She needed assistance with modern technology and linguistics. She could speak the language just fine, but something had to be done about that ye olden tongue crap. Just as you were reassigned to your old squad a month and a half later, Chrysalis captured you. As Cloudburst had told you, something major and incredible happened. Discord, the god of chaos and disharmony, had returned. He turned the Elements of Harmony against each other and seized control of Ponyville. He almost won, but was defeated once more. “Sir?” “Mm?” you mumble, snapped out of your thoughts once again. “Do you space out like that a lot?” Do you? “Yeah. Now that I think about it.” Huh. “It’s fine,” replies Dinky, “I space out sometimes too.” “Do you now?” you ask, resting your chin on your fist. She doesn’t answer. She seems to be staring straight into the eyes of oblivion. Her posture becomes all but straightened out. Her face is the definition of expressionless. You say her name in the hopes of bringing her back to reality, but it’s in vain. Suddenly, another figure sits down next to the child. Looking up, you see that Derpy has returned. “Here’s your milk,” she says, handing you a small cup. You thank her. As you go to take a sip, something falls into your lap. Looking down, you see a single golden bit. As you look back up, you see a smile form on Derpy’s face. “My treat.” You chuckle slightly. “Thanks,” you say, tilting the cup to her. As the Styrofoam cup touches your lips, you move the coin around in your hand. As Derpy takes a sip of her drink, you flick the coin to the other seat under the table. With a quiet leathery thump, the coin lands in her purse. Your smile widens ever so slightly. “Oh!” Derpy says, setting her drink down. “I almost forgot! Here’s the usual, Dinky—” She looks to her daughter who still looks paralyzed by nothing. A long sigh escapes Derpy’s lips. “She spaced out again, didn’t she?” “Right before you came back,” you say, examining the child. “Then she’ll be back in a few minutes,” says Derpy with a chuckle. “This sort of thing happens a lot?” “More than you’d think. The longest she’s gone like this was an hour.” “Man. So… What’s new?” Derpy tells you that the post office is looking for Earth ponies to carry heavy loads of mail for extremely long distances, a feat that the Pegasi in the office can’t do. This gets you to think again. You used to be a royal guard. That meant vigorous training in both air and on land. You may not look it, but you could carry heavy loads with ease. Not only that, but you’re pretty familiar with the way paper jobs and the mail system work, as you used to work with the princess’s top secret and not-so-top secret documents. When you started serving Luna, she told you that you had a pretty good eye for this sort of thing. That, and sometimes Luna would have you run errands, and said you were the fastest and most skilled she’d ever seen in her presence. With a blush, you responded by telling her she was making you think you were a Mary-Sue. She asked what you meant, and you explained it to her. Thus she moved you from errand-colt to advisor. “So,” you say, breaking the short period of silence, “Anyone applied yet?” “No,” Derpy says with a shake of her head, “The ad for it says the weight of most of the loads, and that usually scares people off.” “How much?” “Lowest is around twenty pounds, and the highest is around a hundred or more.” Seriously? That scared some stallions off? Earth stallions no less? What are they? Fillies with their tails planted firmly between their legs? You had to lug around a hundred and fifty pounds of armor around daily! Including the fifty pound shield and sword! And you were a Pegasus! A snort followed by a snicker is your answer. “Where do I sign up?” “…OH, THE PHONE NUMBER!!!” exclaims a frightened looking Dinky Doo. “…What? Where…? Oh. I’m still here. Good… That’s good… Ooh! Milkshake!” She then proceeds to gulp down her vanilla milkshake, the cherry included (which somehow fits through the straw). You and Derpy both look on in confusion as the most content of smiles graces the five-year-old’s face.