//------------------------------// // 1. The Day She Arrived is the Day I Died // Story: Truth Needs No Colors // by Lastingimage24 //------------------------------// Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd; Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay; But best is best, if never intermix'd. -William Shakespeare Chapter 1 Tap, tap, tap. Sketch’s ears perked at the sudden sound. He immediately tried to jump from his bed, unfortunately forgetting that he had been laying upside-down. After that tumbling discovery, he tried to rush to the window, only for his sheets to trip him up on the way over. What seemed like an epic journey later, he finally reached the source of the sound and slid open the window. To his dismay, all he saw was the empty night. And that was disappointing. He wanted that night to be filled by this peculiar little batpony he could confidently call his friend. But that was nearly a week ago, and he had not seen her since. He didn’t want such a strong friendship from such an interesting creature to go unfulfilled. He had believed they had hit it off, and beside a particular lapse of judgement on Sketch’s part, kissing this woman he had only known for a day, he was sure the two would meet again. But as he stared at the darkness before him, he could only lament to himself. That is, until he got his wish. “Boo,” she shouted from below, prompting Sketch to look down. Her smiling face and bright glowing eyes gave him a start, but he was just too happy at her appearance to be frightened. “Trust!” he yelped in excitement he absent-mindedly wrapped his arms around her in an embrace, remembering only then that she was flying outside. Trust felt the weight of her friend becoming more pronounced and dashed inside before he could hurt himself. “Jeez, man! Contain yourself before you kill us both!” Trust scolded, rubbing her head in discomfort. Sketch was too overjoyed to care. “Trust,” he said again, trotting to her and wrapping his forelegs around her neck once again. She found herself unable to respond to the hug properly, so she was content just sitting as he embraced her. Trust really didn’t want to admit how nice it felt. “I thought you weren’t coming back...” “C’mon,” she whined, brushing some hair out of her face. Sketch realized it had gotten a bit longer since they last met. “It’s only been a couple days.” “Again, your grasp of time is remarkable.” Sketch put a hoof to his chin. “It’s been like, eight days.” “Tch, you counted?” Trust taunted while smirking, same as she always did. Sketch missed that. “Yeah, I did.” “Are your parents home?” Trust asked, spinning her paddle just in time to catch the ball heading straight for the goal. She gave a little victory jump when she managed to catch it. “Yeah, but they’re asleep, and they don’t go into my room without knocking first.” Sketch chuckled a bit. “I’m seventeen after all.” He looked at Trust and winked. She quizzically shrugged after a while. “What?” “Uhh, nevermind.” They played for a bit more, before Sketch felt the need to stare at her. She realized he had completely stopped playing. “Er, what’s up?” she asked, chuckling softly. Sketch noticed how rude he must have been and quickly looked away. “Oh! Uh, I... Trust, is there a reason that you don’t want to come over more?” Trust exhaled, frustrated. “No.” “Then why? We’re friends, right?” “Of course we are, Sketchy.” she put down her paddle and sighed. “But I have to survive too, you know. I have to eat and sleep, and bathe occasionally.” She decided not to reveal she took a bath immediately before she got here. Sketch stood up and and put some passion into his body language. “But I told you, I can cook for you! You can eat here.” “I don’t want you providing for me, Sketchy!” she yelled. The anger in her voice took Sketch by surprise. “It’s not fair to you, or your parents. I may lift something to eat every day, but it’s always someone different. No one’s going to notice a missing sandwich, or instant noodles. I’m not a charity, Sketch. I’m a thief, and it doesn’t bother me a bit. ‘Cause I only steal what I need, and I don’t take any more.” “I...” Despite him disagreeing with Trust on whether or not she could take his food, she had a airtight argument after mentioning his parents. After all, there was no way to just ask them. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry.” Trust’s jaw dropped for a second and she turned away. For some reason she found it hard to believe she just won an arguement. It felt weird. She closed her eyes and huffed. “Good.” “Still, though... It wouldn’t hurt to see you more...” Sketch said while staring at his canvas laden floor. Trust looked surprised for a moment, then just sad. She stared at the ground as well, in the opposite direction. She caught a glimpse of her batwing and felt a pang in her chest. She wanted to see him more too, and she had more than enough time to do so. Why was it so hard to go through with it, though? “Hey,” she said, solemnly. “I’ll try... okay?” Sketch smiled. He put a hoof on her shoulder. “Lemme cook you something.” Sketch tip hoofed ever so carefully throughout his residence, careful not to fall victim to his many clumsy blunders he had become famous for. With homemade vegetable pizza close, he glid up the stairs and made it back to his room without so much as a fumble. He entered his room to the sight of Trust scanning massive amounts of his drawings, staring intently, uttering a wistful groan, or chuckling softly as the appropriate moment came to pass. He set the pizza next to her and eyed what she was looking at. He was shocked to see one of his embarrassingly plentiful sketches of her, which he had believed to be locked inside a drawer in his desk. He quickly swiped it from her. “Where did you find that?” he shouted, gathering the other drawings as many turned out to be Trust. Trust snidely sauntered towards the pizza, laughing to herself. “I’m a thief, Sketchy, you don’t think I can pick a lock or two?” “Pick it?” He asked, stuffing the drawings back. “With what?” She chuckled and pointed to her fangs. He looked at them for a few seconds, failing to understand. A moment late, he facehoofed. “Oh.” Trust lowered her head close to the warm food and sniffed a few times. “What is this?” she asked, drooling. “It’s pizza,” he said plainly. He cocked his head as he took a step toward. “You don’t know what pizza is?” “Well, I’ve seen this on signs and stuff before.” Trust carefully began to try to pick it up. “But I never had any... okay, how the hell do you eat this?” She had been trying to pick it up for the last couple of seconds before giving up and prodding it angrily. Sketch chuckled before he helped her. “Here.” Sketch got up and took the knife that was next to the plate he had brought. He lifted and cut with a ridiculous amount of precision so that eight equal slices sat on the platter. “Now grab it by the crust.” “Ooohh,” she oh’d, grabbing a slice and taking a large chomp out of it. “Thathh Shhmart,” she mumbled through chopped cheese, grease, bread, and tomato sauce. “Mmn.” Sketch felt that same inexplicable joy he had felt the day they first met. It wasn’t so much he was proud, though, he was just glad she was so happy. It was hard to see her otherwise. “Hey,” she uttered between bites. “Do I really look like that?” The question caught Sketch off guard. Unknowing of her implications, he simply dropped what he was doing and looked at her. She had a new slice of pizza hanging straight out of her mouth as she stared at him expressionlessly with big blank eyes. Where was she going with this? “You mean my drawings of you?” he pondered aloud. “Mmhmm,” she confirmed while taking a bite simultaneously. It was cute. “I kinda... avoid mirrors.” Sketch’s heart fell to his hooves when he heard that. Was there really any way to convince her that she looked much better than any normal pony did? Even if he could, was he really willing to flatter her in that way? He thought for a bit longer before responding. “I would like to think you really look like that, they’re my sketches. But Trust... you look great.” He rubbed the back of his mane nervously. “I-I mean, I only draw things I like the look of.” That came out right... didn’t it? Trust remained quiet for what seemed like the longest time, making Sketch more apprehensive with every moment. After a while, she just shrugged and took another bite of pizza. “You know,” she whispered. “You’re a good artist.” Sketch smiled. This was all he wanted to do. He just wanted to talk to this absolutely fascinating creature. It felt like the more he spoke to her the more like her he realized he was. The more in common they were. One of the first things that came to mind was that Sketch had no real friends, except for his parents and of course Trust. Well there was Anthem, but he was waaay out of the ballpark. An introvert he was, and he liked it that way. Relying on people always just sort of got in the way of what he wanted to accomplish. He just didn’t realize how nice it was for someone to rely on him. He took a slice of the pizza for himself, as he noticed there were only two left and Trust was likely to gobble them down. They sat and ate in peace, content with the company of each other. It was nice. But Sketch, pessimist that he was, couldn’t help but wonder; How long is this going to last? Nothing this nice lasts forever... “What in Celestia’s name is that?” Trust asked, reaching out from under her chin to point at the ferris wheel the book shown. Sketch knew that she couldn’t read that well, so he had voluntarily went down to the basement to grab a elementary level book that Sketch had owned in the past. It was about a young immigrant griffin going to an amusement park for the first time and detailing all the new things she saw there. It was one of his favorites from his childhood. While not exactly an avid reader, when he got something he was actually fond of, he would go days without bothering to set it down, and he’d read it over and over again until it stopped being entertaining for him. He was glad he had an excuse to bring it up again, and he was doubly glad he could use it to teach Trust how to read properly. There was a lot of fond memories in those pages. “It’s a ferris wheel. That giant wheel rotates while you sit on one of the seats.” There was unprecedented joy that came from teaching someone you lo- liked something. That feeling of getting to share an intimate experience of learning something was just... blissful. “Holy crap, sweet as! Does it go super fast?” she asked again with renewed enthusiasm. “Nah,” Sketch laughed. “It goes rather slow. It’s more of a casual ride.” Disappointed, Trust scoffed and pouted. “Lame. What’s the point then?” “It’s more for people who can’t fly. They get to relax and take in the view. Also, it’s to have some easy-going fun with another person. See, it seats two, so it’s popular for couples to go on and have a moment to themselves.” Sketch sighed and closed his eyes. “There’s nothing better than stopping at the very top so you can just take it all in. The thin cool air, and the smallness of the world around you. You really feel alone up there.” Sketch enjoyed his little imagine spot, looking down and seeing all the ants of ponies below. He looked to his side and... Trust was there too. She smiled at him shyly, not sure whether or not she wanted to avert his gaze... “We should go some day.” Sketch jerked out of his daydream and looked to Trust in shock. “Really?” She thought for a while. “No,” she finally decided. “It’s a stupid idea, actually...” Sketch felt his heart sink. Barely audible, he whispered, “Why?” Trust smiled weakly and pointed to her wings and fluttered them a bit. Sketch had completely forgotten. “Oh yeah,” he said solemnly. “I would like to, though,” she admitted. “Yeah...” Desperate to change the subject, Sketch laughed a bit awkwardly. “Okay, try out the next paragraph.” Trust sighed. While she enjoyed spending time with Sketch, it was just physically exhausting sounding out every damned word. “Okay...” She trailed her hoof on the page. “T-the. Heh, easy. The... s... small griffin... then... f... found... her...s-s...seehh... self. At... a g... gaa... game... thr...thro... throw... ing a ba... lll... at a... a...?” “Pyramid.” “The hell is that?” Trust asked, genuinely confused. Sketch struggled for a way to explain it. “Well... It’s a triangle.” “A triangle? That’s it? Why didn’t it just say so?” “Er... well a triangle is always flat, but a pyramid is three-dee.” Sketch demonstrated it with his hooves. “Dumb,” she deadpanned, causing Sketch to hang his head. “Ugh, enough reading!” Trust huffed and crossed her forelegs. “I’m tired of this. Could you just read it for me?” Sketch was fully prepared to deny her that right, but as he looked at her puffed cheeks and angry eyes and crossed legs... it was freaking adorable. So he sighed. “Alright, you already read half of it anyway.” He picked up the book and leaned back on his bed. Trust followed suit, leaning next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. The contact made his heart nearly jump out of his throat. As his heart panicked, he managed to act nonchalantly on the outside. Trust hadn’t had much experience with other people, so she couldn’t have known that’s classified of flirting. So that probably wasn’t her intention. Probably. When they were both settled, he began to read. The small griffin then found herself at a game, throwing a ball at a pyramid of bottles. The vendor pony smiled when she approached. He cleared his throat as she neared. “Gather ‘round, gather ‘round,” he boasted, nearly frightening the griffin. “Come, try your hoof at ‘bottle bowl’! Get three tries to knock down the stacks of stone bottles. Knock some down and win a small prize! Knock ‘em all down to win an exclusive prize! Miss all three shots and well... try to leave with your dignity.” The griffin gawked at the pony, the game, and the small prizes littered along the stall. She looked down at the silver bit her mom had given her and then spoke to the pony. “What’s the exclusive prize?” she asked in her strange little accent, hopeful smile across her face. “Oh-ho-ho, little griffin girl,” he replied. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be that exclusive, now would it?” “Gee, I guess not,” she answered. After pondering her dilemma, she meekly rose the single silver bit. “Ball, please!” “Are you sure, little girl?” he asked. “There are many things you can buy with a bit, all guaranteed wins.” The little girl put her talon up to her chin, thinking long and hard. Finally she said, “Of course! But if I win, what I would get is worth more than a bit! It’s a smart risk, isn’t it?” “Sure ‘nuff, kid! That is...” The vendor pony took three balls from below the stall and set them on the counter. “If you’re confident in your skill.” BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP Sketch’s ears perked as he suddenly stopped reading. Looking at his clock, he spied the time. Six o’clock? It’s that late already? “What’s up?” Trust asked, confused as to why he had stopped reading. He really didn’t want to say. “Uhh... my parents are getting up, Trust...” he explained, setting the book down. “I... have to go to school” Becoming aware of what he meant, Trust frowned and her (fluffy) ears lowered with her smile. “Oh...” “I’m sorry.” “No,” she reassured, getting up to leave. “It’s not your fault or anything.” She nimbly hopped over to the window and caught herself on the sill. “Sketch?” she asked, hope in her voice. “Yeah?” “Thanks.” Trust slowly flew away, and with it, the joy in the room. “And... I’ll come back... soon.” Sketch didn’t bother walking up to the window. He didn’t want to see her leave twice. Time for school... Staying awake wasn’t exactly a skill Sketch had any talent of. At least, not when it was required of him to do so. And ever since he met Trust, it had been sleepless night after sleepless night waiting for her to return. And the fact she actually did return meant he wasn’t going to get the sleep he needs anytime soon. Sketch wasn’t the best student anyways. He barely passed and only did the work when it was convenient for him. And although he worked well with logic and learned easily, booksmarts were the furthest from his priorities. Never before had school been so boring for the unicorn, now that a wonderous world of the unknown had been discovered by him. All he did all day was wish Sketch could’ve have been there next to him. He spoke to nearly no one the entire day, and he was ready to just leave, only after his favorite class, which happened to be his last. A Studio Art class. It was a no-nonsense bare-bones art class with no gimmicks or handicaps. He was asked to draw something and he did, and then goofed around with his art the rest of the period. Despite all the monotony he knew he only had one year left in this boring prison. He could deal with it. It was mostly for his parents, he realized one morning. If he had his way, he’d get an occupation in the arts, and an education was really unnecessary for that type of career path. Still, not like the knowledge could hurt him. Especially since he intended on sharing his education with Trust, knowing full well it’d be impossible for her to be schooled. She never even got the choice... Finished with his assignment, he struggled to stay awake as he doodled mindlessly on his blank paper. He hadn’t even been paying attention when Miss Conté approached him from behind. Before he could react, she swiped his paper away from him. “Enngh!” he grunted as he tried to hold on to it. Miss Conté was too fast, however, as he had no grip left. She scanned the paper for a good few seconds before offering any feedback. “Interesting...” she said in her surprisingly soft french accent. “Hmm.” The art teacher had artichoke colored hair and mint-green fur. Her hair was very full and curled in multiple places, and her eyes were somewhat narrow and violet in color. A small mole adorned her left cheek. “This is a very unique concept, Sketch.” “Er, yeah!” Sketch agreed, hooves buried between his legs. Miss Conté was a teacher he had formed a special bond with. One of his very few friends outside his family. Over the four years he attended Canterlot’s General Education University (a complicated way of saying you’re not sure what you want to learn, or you want to be a teacher) they had connected over their interests of the arts and their own special philosophy concerning it. “But, uh... what exactly did I draw?” It didn’t help that she was hot. Really hot. Like... smoking. There was an element of a crush at one point, but he conditioned it to just be an uncomfortable attraction. Hopefully. “You don’t know what you’ve just drawn?” Miss Conté deadpanned, tilting her head. “No, I was just... doodling.” Despite not knowing, Sketch had a pretty good idea what it was he had drawn. “This, Sketch, is really quite something.” She leaned over, rubbing her shoulder against him and flipped over the paper. There sat Trust, staring at the audience, a tantalizing smile piercing through the fourth wall. Sketch blushed both from the contact of Miss Conté and the fact he had drawn Trust quite scantily. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought, he drew mare all the time after all. Maybe... “How did you manage to think up such an intriguing creature?” “Uhh...” Sketch searched for the correct words to format into a sentence. There was no way in hell he was going to tell her the truth, no matter how much he wanted to get into her pants. Or... that... to protect Trust! Of course. “She uh... she just came to me one night.” ...Technically not a lie, Sketch told himself. “Hmm...” Miss Conté tapped her chin a few times looking at Sketch and the paper back and forth. Finally, her eyes fell into a state of concern. “Is there something the matter?” “Wh,” Sketch started, knowing full well where this was headed. “Whatever do you mean?” “You know what I mean, Sketch.” Miss Conté pulled a chair forward. It must suck without magic. “Your teachers told me you’ve been sleeping in class again. You only do that when something’s bothering you.” Turning away, Sketch felt a revulsion against himself and his lack of self control. He wanted to stay awake, he really did, but... Trust was too important to forego. “It’s... it’s nothing... I really... I really can’t tell you, Miss Conté.” She looked actually shocked at this, completely unexpecting his answer. “Really?! But you always tell me...” She made a mocking sad face and puffed her lip. Not gonna fall for it. Nuh-uh. Not when so much hung in the balance. “I know I do. So... you know it’s really important, okay?” Sketch rubbed his arm. “I just... I can’t tell you, at least, not yet.” The art teacher studied him intently, the way he shook slightly at the hooves, and stared at her with that uncommon glare... he was very serious. “Okay, then, sure!” she said lightheartedly. “If it’s that important to you Sketch.” “Heh...” he said, smiling at the sketch on his desk. “More than you know, Miss Conté...” Sketch was going to go home. But he didn’t. He couldn’t figure out what possibly made him come here, but the alternative was just going home and waiting around for Trust. Not that this was much better than the alternative, but it was a step above. He knocked on the door and once again questioned why he was doing this. The door opened to reveal a slightly disgruntled looking griffin. Her voice, however, betrayed her appearance; full of life and sounding quite content. “What’s up?” “Uhh, I’m here for Anthem?” Sketch asked slowly, unsure of how to speak to a griffin. This was probably the first time he was face to face with one before. “I assume you’re Haren? My name’s Sketch.” “Ohh-ho, little Sketchy,” she slammed her fist into her palm in some sort of ‘eureka’ gesture. “Yeah, Anthem’s told me all ‘bout you.” “Likewise,” Sketch replied, walking inside after she gestured him in. She gave a short gasp. “Really? What’d he say ‘bout me?” she asked, obviously trying to mask her enthusiasm. She clumsily sauntered off to the kitchen as she waited for a response. “Uhh, nothing much, just some stories about your parties.” Sketch flumped down on the single sofa in the middle of the room. The room was very bare, except for an incredibly out-of-place projector sitting in the back of the space. It pointed towards a bare white wall. Films have gotten a bit of a lime-light in the past year or so, and Anthem had apparently inherited the projector from his late uncle-in-law. Anthem’s timing was impeccable. Now, Anthem had become somewhat of a film aficionado, being one of the only ponies in Equestria to own a projector. Ironic, considering his living standards. “Oh,” she said, in no particular manner. Sketch was usually a great judge of character, but so far Haren had been a bit of a blank slate. Sketch looked over at her digging in her fridge. She was standard looking from the waist-down. But her head-feathers seemed very long, and strangely colored orange. Two small metal piercings took up the space above her right eye, and and ear ring only where her right ear was (he assumed, considering he couldn’t see her ears). He presumed she was considered quite attractive by male griffins, but he couldn’t speak for himself. She did have some savory elements, though he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about her. He had to admit her flicking tail was quite alluring. Oh, and there was a small ring on the end of her tail, too. “Beer?” she offered from across the room. “I’m seventeen,” he said as-a-matter of fact. “Beer?” she repeated snidely. Sketch sighed in exasperation. “Got anything else?” “Guh, jeez.” she took a beer and another bottle and close the fridge. “Soda?” “Sure,” he finally agreed, catching the tossed soda with his magic. “Thanks.” Sketch was surprised that the cap had already been popped. He turned to Haren just in time to see her pop the cap with her talons. “Holy crap,” he gawked at the display as she chugged a few gulps of the beer. “You just tore that thing off.” She chuckled as she set the beer down as casually as possible. She then showed off her talons. “Razor sharp. Bottle caps aren’t the only thing they’re good fer tuggin’.” As Sketch’s face reddened at the image that had just been burned into his mind, he heard a voice come from the bedroom across from them. “C’mon Haren, stop makin’ the kid blush.” Anthem, looking very rested, lazily trotted out and sat on the floor. “Hey, Sketch!” he said as if he barely realized he was there. “How you doin’, kid! Haven’t seen you in like, a month.” “it’s been a little bit over a week,” Sketch clarified, face-hoofing. “How come nobody remembers how time passes?” Anthem was a very sloppy individual. He had wrinkles around his eyes at the ripe old age of twenty-five, a muddy, dark blue coat and a very deep purple mane. Despite his appearance, he generally took very good care of himself. He had to if he didn’t want to pass out from his taxing partying experiences. “Well, it sure felt like a month.” he said, sincerely. “So what’s the issue? You usually try to pretend I’m not your friend until some shit goes down.” “Yeah, sorry about that.” Sketch shifted uncomfortably on the couch. The couch, while comfortable in its own right, served to just make Sketch more nervous. “Well... There’s this girl-” Haren snickered loudly and interjected. “A girl huh? How original. You’re asking Anthem for help on that?” “Hey, hey hey,” Anthem said, waving his forelegs back and forth. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You aren’t exactly the least dense of individuals.” “Guys, stop!” Sketch yelled, surprising himself. “It’s not like that. She’s just...” Oh crap, I didn’t think this through... I can’t really tell them anything. Come on, just think of something! “Really shy,” HA! Not a lie. Victory. “She has severe anxiety in groups. She needs something to relate to them first.” Wow, I’m on the ball today. “Uhh... like if people wore costumes!” Sketch proposed, giving them a chance to raise their brows. “Yeah. She has this really good gothic bat costume, so if you guys know any parties like that... we could go with. I just want her to have some fun with other people, you know?” Haren and Anthem turned to each other and looked at each other quizzically, no doubt having a silent conversation. After what it seemed like a short argument, they smiled and looked back at Sketch. “Hearth’s Tearing Eve.” Sketch remained silent while digesting the strange name in his head. He mused what it could possibly mean, before giving up and asking himself. “What’s that?” “It’s a week before Hearth’s Warming, where a few bands go out and play in the Canterlot forests. It’s pretty well-known, but a lot of ponies skip it ‘coz it’s like, super cold then,” Anthem explained. Haren giggled and jumped in. “Feathers, BOI!” she yelled without an ounce of sincerity.. “All the griffins in town go to Hearth’s Tearing. That’s not saying much, of course, since the ponies that do stick it out still outnumber us a little.” Haren shrugged and emitted a “Hm” sound. “It’s also pretty tame, as far as parties in the woods at night goes.” “In all honesty,” Anthem began, rocking back and forth on the floor. “If she wore that costume at any party she’d blend right in, but I think Hearth’s Tearing is right up your alley.” He got up, brushed himself off, and approached Sketch, his tone getting lower and more even. “It’s still going to have the usual, though. Drugs, sex, loud music, obfuscating stupidity, obvious stupidity. You sure you’re up for this? This is a change for the ‘responsible and sensible’ Sketch.” Sketch exhaled heavily and stared into his soda. He swished the bottle around a bit. “Don’t worry about me, Anthem. I never partied with you because I couldn’t handle it, I never partied with you because I didn’t find it particularly interesting.” Sketch leapt off the beaten couch and looked Anthem straight in the eye. “But I can handle it, trust me. I opt out of choice, not fear.” The severe amount of determination on Sketch’s face was remarkable. This clearly meant a lot to him, Anthem figured. “This mare’s pretty important to you, huh?” His head fell, now feeling more tired than ever. It’d been a long day. “More than you can realize...” “Be here on the eleventh, then,” Haren interjected, “Twelve o’clock. Noon. Just kidding, midnight.” Haren joked and corrected herself so fast Sketch didn’t have enough time to so much as laugh. “Eh, sure.” “Ha!” Anthem rose his fist in the air and pumped it. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for ages, Sketch!” He put his leg around Sketch and used his other one to point at the ceiling. He panned his hoof over the entire room as if it were the sky. “I’m going to show you all that life has to offer! What life is all about when you take control and toss everyone’s opinion down the shitter! You... are going to...” He suddenly shot forward and whispered into Sketch’s ear. “...live.” “...Dammit.” As Sketch walked down the street, desperately trying not to pass out, he mulled over the rather off-putting events of the day. Everything just seemed so hazy lately; he wondered if it had anything to do with Trust. It almost seemed to odd to be true: meeting this unique creature, and now his life revolved around it. It’s like when you read a storybook and you wonder what the heroes do after their adventure. Do they just go back home? Live out the rest of their days hoping for another one to come? After musing for a while, he chalked up the strange feelings to the fact his own life changed quite dramatically in literally fourteen minutes. Nothing would be the same after befriending Trust. He’d probably grow up to be a completely different stallion now. I guess that’s how chaos theory works. And then there was Haren, that griffin. There was something... off about her. It had nothing to do with her functionally, no she was definitely of sound mind, but Sketch just felt this really strong field of suppression around her... the figurative kind of course. Her and Anthem had been roommates for a while now, a little over a year, and the two were thicker than a history textbook. Yet somehow there was a realm of unrealistic circumstances surrounding the two. She didn’t seem like the type of girl to hang around one place for too long, not at all. Then again, neither did Anthem, and he’d lived there for much longer than she had. Still... Also, Sketch found out griffins can be strangely attractive. But sadly, the thought still disgusted him. He guessed that it required to have some sort of feather fetish or something. It must have just been the way she presented herself. Those piercing were not bad at all. He wondered if they’d look good on Tru- Blomph! “Agh, fuuuu...” Sketch rubbed his head in frustration and pain as he questioned his intelligence. He just trotted head-first into his front door without even attempting to open it. That required a special brand of stupidity, the kind only found in a Turkish black market. Walking through like an actual sentient being, Sketch was greeted by the heavenly smell of oatmeal cookies, and the voices of his parents. “Hit your head on the way in, sport?” his caramel colored dad asked, using the word sport in an ironic fashion. He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “Just a little bit,” Sketch deadpanned, walking in and diving into the sofa in the living room. He just wanted to sleep. And also talk to Trust, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen. “Where ya been, Art?” his dad asked, using his first name for more than obvious reasons. “Hanging with Anthem,” he said truthfully. This sparked some action from dear old dad. “Anthem?” he said, setting down his paper. He leaned forward sternly. “You know I don’t like you hanging out with that stallion. He’s bad news.” “Dad, we’ve had this talk before.” Sketch buried his face into his arms. He really wasn’t in the mood for this. “I know he’s into some bad stuff, but he’s not a bad guy at all. ‘Peer pressure’ has no influence on me, and he’d never try to get me to do anything, he’s too nice.” Although Anthem jokingly tried to get Sketch to participate in the more sleazy parts of life, passing him drugs and offering him alcohol, he knew what his lifestyle did to an unprepared pony. He also knew that a clean life was marginally a smarter decision, and he respected that. But he also let Sketch make his own decisions and never tried to talk him in or out of anything. He had demonstrated that today. His dad sighed and rubbed his aging eyes. “I know... But I only allow you continue to see him because you don’t have many friends, and you’ve never proven to be untrustworthy.” “I never told you, but a girl also lives there an-” “What?!” Sketch jumped up and flung his hooves forward. “Lemme finish! She’s a griffin.” His temporary face of rage melted into one of understanding. “Oh, sorry. Heh.” “See, I forgot what I was going to say now.” Sketch exhaled a breath he’d been holding for what seemed like an entire day. Although today wasn’t very eventful, he knew shit was going to hit the fan sooner or later. But the feces could wait. He was pretty sure he was asleep before his back hit the sofa. As always, Trust was there to keep himself some company, if only just his dreams.