//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: What Meets the Eye // by Butterscotch Cream //------------------------------// What Meets the Eye By Butterscotch Cream Chapter One It's said you can take any point in life and begin a story. It's also said the purpose of any story is what it teaches, and how well it teaches that purpose is the measure by which it's judged. Philosophers and great thinkers may debate the latter point, but most would agree on two things. First, there's no life so dull or inconsequential that a lesson could not be garnered, whether positive or negative. Second, how dark or sorrowed a story may be depends heavily on where the beginning is reckoned. This story begins in a pub named "Barley's," owned by Barley Brew. It was one of the smaller, more niche locations in Port Bradoon mainly frequented by the town's spectrum of blue-collar working class: freight workers, dock workers, construction workers and others of similar vocation. Simply put, it was a rough spot in an already rough town, a fact evinced by the shoddily repaired furniture, cracked or boarded windows and dubious dark stains that smeared sections of the floor and walls. To accent this brusque atmosphere, wispy columns of smoke coiled up from the denizens' cigars and pipes to disperse into an opaque smog that hovered about the ceiling. Fortunately, the night was less rowdy than some the pub had experienced. The environment was thick with rumbled conversation and occasional bellowed chortles as patrons, usually saturated with their drink of choice, bantered back and forth over work, tall-tales or coarser subjects unfit for more austere company. An uproarious laugh punched through the general din of discussion and clinking mugs from the back of the establishment, belonging to an appropriately large, black-maned, sawdust earth pony named Sledgehammer. He was sitting in one of the booths with three other earth ponies as company, one of whom he had tucked against his side with a foreleg. "An' th' board smacked 'im right in the eye! Hahaha! An' ya didn't cry once did ya darlin'?" Sledgehammer leaned his head down and pressed a kiss to Finial's blushing cheek, just under the fading black eye that was the subject of discussion. The dusky-brown colt just chuckled with a wince and gently tried to pull his head away. "Careful there, it's still kinda tender... You'd think being an engineer I'd not be so clumsy." "Sorry darlin'! I'll get'cha an ice pack whin we get home." Chuckling across from them were Writ and Locket Ledger - older blue ponies who looked almost as much siblings as spouses. Sledgehammer and Finial both worked in the construction field: Sledgehammer with demolition, and Finial with architecture. The Ledgers were their current employers and, while technically members of the upper class, were too gregarious by virtue of nature or perhaps frequent association to care for social divisions. They probably hadn't even flinched when Sledgehammer invited them to the local drinking joint. Locket, being the more vocal of the pair, was the first to pipe up. "Oh Fin, you look absolutely adorable next to Sledge!" The mare leaned over the table and shook a hoof at him jokingly, "Don't you ever let go of your stallion! Why, I have trouble just getting Writ out of bed in the mornings, let alone getting him to coddle me like that!" Writ blustered through his white mustache in mock indignation. "Why I beg your pardon! I'm quite prompt in the mornings Mrs. Ledger! I resent that remark!" Undaunted and brimming with mischievous glee, Locket just leaned closer and stage whispered over the pub's background babble, "And you should hear the way he snores! Sometimes I can't get a wink of sleep for all the racket he makes!" "Now really Locket! That's quite enough!" Writ's tone was still mostly blithe and coltish, but only the unobservant could have missed the blush that streaked over his puffy cheeks. Finial laughed a little and brushed back a chocolate-colored forelock. "It's alright Mr. Ledger. We all have our shortcomings. Even Sledge can crank out some pretty hefty snores. Sometimes it feels like I'm sleeping next to a trai-ooph!" A quick poke to the belly interrupted Finial's placative tease. "Now Finnie darlin', don't make me tell th' nice folks just how long y'all take in th' shower." Locket giggled and leaned against Writ's side. "Oh look at what we started. Don't you two worry now. You've got it good and so long as you stick together, you'll pull through anything just fine! Fin, you don't know how rare it is for a horse like Sledge to fall into your lap!" "Technically I kinda fell into his," he replied with a soft grin. "I met him during my first project here in Bradoon. I was walking along trying to read a set of blueprints and blundered into the lunch table - and into Sledge. From then on he was all charm and flowers and... well, eventually he offered to let me live with him. That's when things started changing for me." He nickered and leaned his head to rest on Sledgehammer, who chuckled and squeezed him lovingly. "An' he's been a dandy partner too. Real precious to me. How 'bout y'all?" "Nothing quite so romantic, I'm afraid." Writ chuckled and sipped at his brew for a moment, wiped his mouth with a swish of his mustache and then continued. "Locket and I met at a business conference in Canterlot. We had seats next to each other on the airship leaving, got to talking and everything just fell into place from there." Locket kissed her husband's cheek and smiled back at the other two. "But as you can see, we turned out just fine. We've been together for... oh my goodness, 23 years! Just goes to show you don't have to start romantic to be romantic." Finial nodded a few times in agreement. "Or the reverse." "What's that dear?" "Hm?" It took Finial a few seconds to register what Locket was asking. "Oh - sorry Mrs. Ledger, I was just musing is all. Hehe, don't mind me." Finial retreated from the conversation and leaned closer against Sledgehammer, letting everything tune out for a few moments. He could hear the others talking and the noise of the pub, but as his mind drifted further it all melted into one meaningless stream of sound. It'd been five years since he met Sledgehammer. Five years. He couldn't help but wonder what life would be like ten, twenty or thirty years ahead. How much different - or the same - would things be? That first day with Sledgehammer had left him glowing. A charismatic, ruggedly handsome stallion picks you up off your hooves and treats you like a prince - who wouldn't be ecstatic? Was Locket's life anything like his? Did she hide things? A quick jostle from Sledgehammer rattled Finial out of his reverie, and he realized he'd missed more of the conversation than he'd intended. Locket was looking over at him with a curious concern on her face. "You alright there honey-dear? You just drifted off into your own little world there..." "Oh! Yeah, I'm sorry." Finial laughed and shook his head a bit, plastering on a smile. "I'm just a bit tired is all. It was a long day at work." His statement was met with surprised looks and raised brows from all three. "Honey-dear, today was your day off..." He'd made a mistake. "Work at home! Sorry, haha! I usually have a lot of paperwork that needs doing off-site. See what I mean about being tired?" Sledgehammer squeezed him again and smiled at the Ledgers, giving a nod of agreement. "Finnie here's been workin' 'imself to th' bone on all'a that. What say we get another round'a drinks to liven things up? Maybe give my darlin' here a boost. 'Ey Barley!" Finial's placid smile flashed a brief look of concern when he heard this, and immediately tried to casually pull down Sledgehammer's beckoning foreleg. "Sledge... Sledge... let's not get any more drinks tonight, please. I don't need any, I'm just tired. Please, let's not get more drinks tonight..." Sledgehammer paused, his foreleg compliantly sinking back down as he turned to study Finial's face for a moment, then nodded. "A'ight. If your tired maybe we should head on home? I'll get ya that ice pack and tuck ya into bed." Hearing this made Finial's smile a little less strained, and he replied with a few embarrassed nods. "Yeah, yeah I'd like that. Sleep will do me good." Then he remembered their company. "Uh... you all don't mind do you? I'm sorry..." Writ and Locket, who'd been passively observing, just shook their heads with encouraging smiles. "Don't you worry honey-dear!" Locket soothed, reaching over and patting his foreleg sympathetically, "You go home and cuddle up to that stallion of yours, and get some sleep! I don't know what hours they have you working at that place but goodness knows I can tell you need it! If you need to shave off some time you take it! And if anyone complains, just send the complainers right to me!" While the comment exposed how unaware Locket was of the construction work mindset, Finial smiled gratefully anyway. The offer was still generous and considerate. "Thanks, I appreciate it. I hope we can have another night like this soon!" Sledgehammer left bits enough to cover the party's tab and scooted out of the booth, soon followed by Finial. After being sent off with a few more farewells and waves, the stallions weaved their way through the pub toward the exit, dodging various drunken gesticulations, rushing waiters and hobbling patrons. The moment the pub's door closed behind them, everything changed. It was dark, as the sun had already set several hours ago. The previously ear-filling sound had been muted to a bare murmur. It was cool and quiet. Very quiet. Neither Sledgehammer nor Finial moved for several long moments, both staring straight ahead at the street with flat expressions, though Sledgehammer's had a more definite glint to it. There would be no ice pack, no tucking in, no sleep and certainly no cuddling. Sledgehammer's voice dropped through the air like lead - a single, forceful command. "Let's go." The walk home wasn't a long one. The pub itself was merely blocks from Wine Street where their apartment was. Just the same, Finial found himself grateful for every tiny delay that slowed them down: a carriage that had to be walked around, a puddle of slick to avoid, the gate that had to be unlocked. When they reached the door of the building, his senses pressed him to turn and run, but he couldn't. His body was too well-trained. Almost as if programmed, the moment Sledgehammer opened the door for him, he stepped through, feeling rather than seeing his coltfriend follow him inside. Up the first flight of stairs, then the next. His pace was even and steady. He didn't dare show reluctance. Any faltering would earn him a shove from behind, from past experience. Then came the final door, the one to the apartment. Not a word had been spoken since they left the porch of the pub, and none were spoken now. "Oh Fin, Sledge! How are you two this evening?" An elderly pink mare several doors down, waved at them while trying to balance a bag of groceries and her key. Finial's smile immediately jumped back to his face. "Mrs. Puff! We just got back from some time at the pub. Here, do you need help with that?" He started to walk toward her only to thump into Sledgehammer's iron-like foreleg. "Don'cha worry about it darlin'; I'll help 'er. You jus' go on inside, okay?" "Alright..." Sledgehammer made his way down the hall toward Mrs. Puff and started up a friendly conversation as Finial turned the key that'd been left in the lock. For some reason, he almost resented how easily the door opened, but he walked in nonetheless and shut it again behind him. Now he was quivering, and he only had a short time to prepare. The colt ran though the apartment and turned on every light in their relatively small suite. Every single one. When he got back to the den, he positioned himself next to the sofa that sat in the middle of the room. It gave him plenty of leeway to move around in. He knew this part by heart. Only seconds later, Sledgehammer's shadow broke through the thin line of light that seeped underneath the thick door, followed by the usual click and scruff of it rubbing over the rug. He walked in casually enough, and then the door closed. "What was that? What was that!?" The air pumping in and out of Sledgehammer's lungs held all the savage thunder of an angry bull, and in this instance there wasn't much difference between the two. Finial automatically began backing away even though he was already two rooms apart, and Sledgehammer stormed through the kitchen to the edge of the den, reducing that number to one. "'You'd think being an engineer I'd not be so clumsy!' 'That's when things started changing for me!' 'Or the reverse!' What was that!? Dropping hints?" "I'm.. I'm sorry Sledge, I just-" "You just what? Was that some kinda code? Code to try an' tell'm I taught your sorry hide a lesson?" "No... No Sledge really. It was all just a mistake. And... and if they'd asked I would've told them it was an accident, you didn't do it on pu-' "You'da told'm no such thing! You got hit with a board and that's that! You want'm to come drag me off? Leavin' you all alone? Huh? And then! Ya go trailin' off in la la land and tellin' that ya were tired cause'a work ya didn't have! You're lucky I don't give ya a matchin' eye for the other." Finial pressed his shaking frame against the side of the couch, his legs already tensing up in case he needed to move, but much to his surprise and relief, Sledgehammer turned away and stomped to the fridge, jerking the door open with such force that the whole appliance shuddered. Finial closed his eyes and let out a sigh, thanking whatever fates existed. It hadn't gone as badly as he'd feared, but the night wasn't over yet. At that moment, he was simply grateful he'd managed to convince Sledgehammer to leave the pub without drink- "Where're my beers!?" A violent cold seized the brown colt's heart in his chest. This was a very bad time for Sledgehammer to find that. A very bad time. "I said, where are my beers?!" The air suddenly felt like a million needles piercing his skin as Finial looked up to see Sledgehammer glowering down at him from over the counter. It would be bad to tell him, but worse to stay silent, and even worse to answer him with no means of retreat. Immediately he stood up and started rushing his way to the front door, blurting out his explanation in the slim hope of placating his coltfriend before he could react. "I-I'm s-ssorry Sledge! Th-the neighbor asked for some and I figured y~Aaauuh!" There was an odd smacking sound as Sledgehammer caught him around the middle and spun him around so hard his hooves slid over the kitchen tiles like skates. There was only a moment before Finial's peripheral vision registered the hoof coming for his face and jerked his head back a split second too late. It didn't hit his face, but it connected with his jaw and snapped his head to the side. He didn't yelp, or cry. He couldn't cry or it would be worse. He knew, as he felt the hot, sticky blood trailing down his lip, he'd have another story to tell. Another accident. "I'm'n sssoryr.. I'm sorry Sledge... I'll-I'll...I'll get s-s-some'mre... some more...Please..." A blast of hot, angry, alcohol-drenched breath blew over his face as Sledgehammer leaned in, those furious brown eyes glowing like hellfire in the pale kitchen light. "I told ya before. Them freaks come askin' for beer you tell'm to go buy their own booze! But you do not. touch. my. Beer!" Sledgehammer bit down on Finial's scruff and practically lifted him off the floor by the mane, dragged him to the front door and slammed him against the wall for good measure. "Now you go down an' get that beer, or buy some or steal some, an' don't you dare come back through that door 'less ya have it or I'll skin yer hide." "I'll... I'll... I'll get i-" "Get out!" Blind, desperate gropes against the door slid uselessly to the floor, till finally one landed Finial's hoof on the doorknob. He pulled down as fast as he could and yanked the door open. Whether Sledgehammer had pushed him or if he'd tripped he wasn't sure, but either way he fell through the doorway and slammed into the metal railing that circled the stairwell across from it. For a few split seconds he regretted the railing existed, his imagination playing out a merciful scene of him falling down the stairs to break his neck. Would Sledgehammer feel any regret if he did? Almost as if in answer, his train of thought was interrupted by the heavy slam of the door behind him. For now, he was safe. Sledgehammer was afraid of the public. As long as Finial was outside that door, he was safe. Somehow, it held a terrible irony. One would be hard-pressed to find a town more unsympathetic than Bradoon. When ponies heard screams and yells, they walked the other way. When they heard fighting or struggles near their homes, they turned on the water, closed their doors, closed their windows or anything that avoided involvement in 'other ponies' business.' Sledgehammer was afraid of the public, but the public was more afraid of him. With an agonized lethargy, the colt dragged himself into a sitting position on the steps to collect himself. He still couldn't cry. Oh, he wanted to with all his heart, but he couldn't. When he met Sledgehammer, everything had been wonderful. Even after he initially moved in things had been... good. He remembered loving smiles, long nights of love and tenderness and it all seemed genuine, for a while. Somewhere things changed. Sledgehammer became more, and more resentful. There were times Finial felt like he was an irritant just by existing. His attempts at affection were rebuffed. Sledgehammer stopped smiling, and the public smiles had a hollow quality that no one else seemed to sense. Sometimes, Finial wondered if the hollowness had always been there and he simply hadn't seen it. Was everyone's life like this? Did Writ get angry at Locket? Or... had Finial simply done something so terrible, or become so revolting somehow, that Sledgehammer just didn't want him? He'd tried to talk to him about it, and sometimes Sledgehammer had promised he'd try to be more sensitive, but things just got worse. And Finial had lied. No neighbor had asked for beer. He'd thrown it away to keep Sledgehammer from getting drunk. Things got... worse when he was drunk. It'd worked before and only a few times had he caught flack, but never had it backfired so badly. The rest of his night was already laid out in his mind. He was accustomed to this routine. He'd go to the liquor store, buy more beer, wait till Sledgehammer was asleep, go home again, clean up any mess his coltfriend had made and crawl into bed. At one point he used to sleep on the couch, or outside the bedroom door, but he'd discovered Sledgehammer was quicker to forgive when given a little carnal compensation in the mornings. It was probably the only time they were affectionate anymore - well, the only time Sledgehammer would allow him to be affectionate. It wasn't exactly reciprocated. "Hey..." Finial jumped in alarm and reflexively slammed himself against the wall. It was only after a few seconds he realized that his "assailant" was simply staring at him with a confused expression, and wasn't Sledgehammer. He was a pegasus with a cloudy gray coat, contrasted by light blond hair and a golden eye - his right eye was covered by a black patch. Despite being a pegasus, he was on par with some of the freight pegasi that handled heavy cargo at the docks, who almost reached the size and stature of Sledgehammer. His cutie mark seemed entirely unrelated to any such work though. What was it - bubbles? Finial's observations were interrupted when the pegasus took a very slow, careful step toward him. "Hey... are... you okay?" It was then Finial noticed the stallion's voice was a tad slower than usual, and slightly mushed. Was he drunk? It didn't matter. That wasn't the thing to be thinking about. "Sorry - you just... just scared me, that's all. Uh... Hi. Are you new here?" The pegasus shrugged once, then nodded. "Yeah... I guess. Are you okay? You're... bleeding." Story time. Finial slipped immediately into acting mode and put on his usual tired smile, pulling himself away from the wall with a reassuring nod. "Yeah... yeah I'm fine. I just tripped on the way out and hit my mouth on the railing." "And... the yelling?" Questions. Questions were bad. Why did he keep asking questions? "Oh that! Yeah, the neighbors can be really noisy this time of night. No idea what's going on with them." The two of them exchanged stares, Finial smiling, and the pegasus just simply watching. Belatedly, Finial realized he didn't know when, where or how much this stallion had observed, and usually ponies weren't so nosy. Maybe admitting just a little was a better strategy in this case. The social game wasn't playing out as it normally did, and the more this persisted the more his emotions began to strain the seams of his false composure. Inside he wanted to burst. "Me and my coltfriend did have a small argument. It was totally my fault and I can take care of it. Nothing big. You know how it is - just silly couple stuff." The stallion nodded and looked to the side for a little while, seeming to process this information. By now Finial had concluded that he was definitely a bit... simple, and a strong unease began to infect in his mind with an almost instinctual aversion. It was fear. 'Normal' ponies minded their own business, constrained to predictability and restrained from interference by rules of social etiquette. Finial could deal with normal ponies. He didn't hate impaired ponies but, for him, this pegasus posed a threat. He didn't know what to expect, and the unexpected frightened him. He was scuffing his hooves on the rug, mentally preparing an excuse for escape when the stallion turned back to him. "And... your eye?" Too many questions. "Look, I'm sure you're a nice guy, and I appreciate your concern and whatever it is you're doing but... please just..." Finial paused, trying to scramble together words to complete his thought. Courtesy could be forgone. He was running out of reasons, and thinking of more reasons just tore him apart as something inside struggled against them, a suffocated truth fighting for breath. He couldn't let himself cry, and crying would just bring more questions. Rudeness was necessary. "Just leave me alone! I mean just... let me live my life, and I'll let you live yours. Okay? Mind your own business." There was no waiting for a response. Finial made a beeline for the gap between the pegasus and the railing, aiming to barrel past him to the stairwell, but with surprising quickness and purpose the pegasus stepped forward and blocked him off. Finial automatically looked up to start chewing out the impertinent stallion, but when their gaze met he was stricken. The unpatched eye was filled with nothing but an innocent, honest concern, as though it saw right through everything he was putting up. Not that it would have been very hard for anyone who cared to pay attention. This stallion cared, and it was so blatantly obvious it was all Finial could do to keep his face frozen in its mask. He could already feel the wetness welling in his eyes, threatening to coalesce into tell-tale tears. He wasn't sure how long they held their stare-down, but finally the pegasus relented and just offered Finial a hoofshake. "My name... is Klutzy Hooves... but... you can call me Klutz." It was almost like a moment of truth, in some strange way. There was the gray hoof, held out in a general show of cordiality, and yet for some reason it felt like something else. A signal. An opportunity. Something Finial couldn't quite single out. It was an offer of something genuinely kind - no matter how small - unfiltered by lies or the vindictive scrutiny of Sledgehammer. Very hesitantly, Finial took the stallion's hoof in his and shook it. "Finial... Finial, here but well, yeah... just 'Fin' is fine." For a moment, Finial smiled. It was probably one of the first genuine smiles he'd given in at least four years, and Klutz smiled back. But the moment ended there. "Sorry Klutz, but I need to go. Thanks, though. Thanks..." Finial pressed his way past the pegasus and down the stairs, half-expecting to be blocked again. Klutz didn't stop him this time, however, and he reached the front door of the building unimpeded. Mixed feelings wrapped around his heart as he pushed his way through the door and out onto the street. All he had done was shake the stallion's hoof, and yet somehow he felt as though he'd given a full-blown confession. Sledgehammer would have been furious if he'd seen, but he didn't have to know. After all, they had only greeted.