//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Self // Story: Melancholy Days // by Zurock //------------------------------// There was a deep silence as James stared at the ceiling. The question was terribly off-putting. "Do you want to NOT like it?" Fluttershy had asked, and his every innate fiber said it was a ridiculous question to even pose. Absurd in every conceivable way. Who would want to actively NOT like something that they enjoyed experiencing? But the question being ridiculous didn't answer why he had been getting increasingly uncomfortable with the many queries these ponies had been pushing onto him. Its absurdity didn't give him a secure feeling like soundly reasoned feelings would or supply him with the understanding as to why his mind couldn't even picture him indulging in a spa experience more regularly. So... perhaps in some place he wasn't aware of... did he want to NOT like it? Was it embarrassment? It was strange to think of wanting to NOT like something but it was less unusual to be embarrassed by a guilty pleasure. Maybe he had been ashamed that he had enjoyed the relaxing atmosphere? Ashamed that he had felt warm and safe in the calming aura that the spa ponies had created with their impeccable and professional service? Ashamed by his bemused indulgence in the delicate attention given to his otherwise disregarded hair? But no... that explanation didn't feel right either. Even when his plans to escape from Rarity before reaching the spa had fallen apart he hadn't felt like he was embroiled in a true problem. There wasn't a part of him that had stood stalwart against entering the establishment, or had forged ironclad objections against laying down on the service bed, or had unflinchingly resisted letting his hair get dipped in their sink. All of these actions weren't things he had agreed to comfortably but riding out some discomfort had usually never been a big deal for him; at least for things he couldn't work up a passion for, like his hair. Actually, it was only after he had noticed how much he was enjoying the experience that he had started to become bothered. Could it be that he had been more unsettled by not having been able to predict himself accurately? He had never seen himself as a spa person and had naturally assumed he would find no engagement in it at all. The degree to which he had found solace and pleasure in the whole event was a curve ball to his personality. That thought felt right to him: the unknown disturbance was that heavy, awkward feeling of being surprised by himself. He had always been a bit of sure-footed fellow, generally confident in himself, and confident in knowing where he stood. Rattling that was what had upset him. Indeed, his hair hardly factored into it. Even after having enjoyed the spa treatment, he STILL didn't care about his hair. The absolute best thoughts he could summon up about it where ones of light frivolity and silly speculation; amusing diversions conjured up to pass the time. Nothing within him could call forth the dedication to care about or take his hair as seriously as these ponies had suggested he could. Maybe they had been right in that, if he really, REALLY tried, he could one day build it up as a passionate pursuit... but in this time and place, it didn't matter to him. He brought his consciousness back to his surroundings and answered Fluttershy, "Again, I don't care. I don't care if I like it or not. It's not important to me." "But maybe you'd feel differently if you gave it an honest try?" she politely objected. "Instead of just dismissing it out of hoof? How would you ever really know if you don't try?" "I wouldn't know. But I'm fine with that because, again, I don't care," James steadily replied. The shaky uncertainty ebbed away and he was sure of himself once more. "Like, I don't feel strongly about it one way OR the other. Can't work up any kind of passion in either direction for it. There's going to be lots of things in my life I'll never know. That's just reality. Got to live with it. And I'm A-okay with hair styling being one of those unknown things." "Oh," the surprised pegasus let up. Her face drifted thoughtfully, absorbing his opinion as she might memorize a long string of numbers. "But... don't you ever wonder...?" she asked in a dwindling voice. His hand rose up, offering its own tiny shrug. "Not really," he stated, "and personally, I don't think I'm the worse for it. I can lose so much time boggling over 'what if' that I'd never to get to 'what is.'" "But there's so much that you'll miss if-" Rarity started. "No, no, it goes either way!" James tried to explain. "If I throw myself at the 'could's and 'should's then that's less of me I can give to the 'am's and 'are's! Either way, I'm still missing things!" It was the same difference between trying a thousand things one time and doing one thing a thousand times. There's a thousand exercises in either case, and while one case certainly casts a very wide net, it will never come close to probing the depths that the other case would. A hearty slurping rose up around him. The thirsty guzzling of the sink's drain briefly plugged his ears as he felt the water swish away. He pushed his eyes up as far as he could and just managed to see Aloe drop a towel down upon his sopping hair. Somehow her hooves were able to get the towel mostly around his hair, and then with a firm nudge and light encouragement she sat him up. While the spa pony got to work rubbing away with the towel, drying his hair, James was able to use his new sitting position to get a fresh look at the ponies he had been conversing with. Rarity's treatment was continuing along just the same as his was, with Lotus Blossom dexterously yet tenderly wiping a towel about her washed mane, and Fluttershy still sat with an unlimited patience. But there was a quiet, nearly hidden pensiveness about them; revealed only by how clearly they were trying to grapple with what he was saying. In muted bewilderment, they toiled to try and see with his eyes. Lowering his voice, he announced to them, "You've been talking like... I'm an enigma, even to myself... and I have to figure myself out and puzzle myself together, but that's not really how it is. I define myself. I get to pick what I want to be, and I can work and strive towards that. And maybe I'll be surprised by things from time to time, and I can certainly take them for what they are, but go too far and they're distractions from what I want to make of myself first." "I suppose I can understand wanting to carve your own path," Rarity whimsically accepted, no stranger to a self-applied destiny, "but to do that you need to be searching around for what speaks to you. Don't you want to understand what is possible with your hair? What you can do with it and where it can take you?" "No. Regardless of if that's good or bad for me, no. Through my hair is not how I define myself. It's not how I want to define myself," he insisted. Aloe and Lotus Blossom pulled the towels off of the now mostly dry heads of their clients. After a quick inspection, the spa ponies grabbed hairbrushes and silently set to work. "You don't have any desire to improve yourself?" Rarity questioned with a skeptical suspicion. "No, I didn't say that," corrected James. "I said... it's on me to choose in which directions I want to improve myself. Not just... blindly stumble into betterment." He pondered aloud, "Besides, couldn't you really make that kind of claim about everything and anything at all? I mean, I can sink myself into hair styling... but then what about painting? Or athletics? Or studying history? Or dancing? Anything that is, even remotely, a pursuit could be a possible road to self-improvement. Can't take every road... have to pick the ones I want." The colorful marks emblazoned on the ponies flanks suddenly jumped out at him. In Twilight's books, and from the unicorn herself, he had learned about the special nature of these marks. Recalling the details of Rarity's and Fluttershy's daily labors, he pointed to each of the ponies in turn and said, "It's great that you two can work your passions so completely into your own lives, making dresses and taking care of animals and everything, but it's not always like that. Not everyone gets so much time for themselves. We all have responsibilities and obligations, and sometimes they're things that draw us away from what we want or who we are... responsibilities we MUST meet first before we can do anything for ourselves." And that was the solid truth to him. What value was a person who fulfilled their dreams to the fullest but NEVER had any responsibility to anyone? It would be like a new parent who, finally receiving the child they had always wanted, then chose to completely continue with their old life and their own pursuits over caring for that child. The self doesn't have to completely disappear... but the child, the responsibility, should always comes first. Resolutely he told them, "There's an order to things: I step up and meet my responsibilities first, and then with any time I have left, if there are passions and interests that I want to run with... then I can pursue those deeply." He shook his head, "This idea that I can just live my life infinitely learning and figuring myself out doesn't make any sense. At the end of my days, what would even be the point? That I did a lot of different things and stuck to nothing?" Completing their brushwork, the spa ponies exchanged their hairbrushes for intricately carved hand (mouth?) mirrors and came about to show their respective clients the final results of the treatment. James wasn't dragged out of the conversation by catching his reflection but he was still partially arrested by the change he saw; the new shine and smoothness that radiated from his hair. "I don't mean to put too fine a point on it," Rarity slowly engaged him as she analyzed her own hair through Lotus' mirror, "but as I previously mentioned, your responsibilities don't seem to be as weighty as they might have been... uh... before you came here." Again the whole business of his arrival seemed to make her nervous. Though in this case it was that she felt prodding his old life might be something potentially very sensitive. Refocusing herself, she continued, "I believe now you do have the time to at least be a little more experimental in your pursuits." Dismissing Aloe with a nod of approval, James then faced Rarity and grimaced ever so slightly. "You'd think, but no. Now is a time for me..." His voice just surrendered, falling away. "A time for... for me..." What was he even doing? The darkness of foggy thought shrouded his perception and all sense of foresight dimmed. "I just have to figure some things out right now, okay?" he abruptly explained. Fluttershy didn't appear to be bothered by his veiled agitation or his general resistance to their ideas. With a simple directness, she stated, "I just think it would be a shame to let something go that you might really like. Especially now that you know you at least enjoy it a little bit." "It is what it is, I guess," James uttered. "It's a shame to lose each of those infinite things that I could maybe enjoy... but like I said, no matter what I do I'm inevitably going to have choose some of those shames. Can't have it all. It's what I want; it's who I want to be." "The real shame is the dazzling mane that could be, if only the necessary undying diligence and proper primping were applied," sighed Rarity. She brought her eyes about him, inspecting and scrutinizing him, and as ever she saw the infinite possibilities crawling out of her imagination. But once more the sprouting buds of potential had been squashed by his goals not aligning with hers. Not altogether content but still lightly amused, she quipped, "It doesn't seem like I'll ever get to finish any project that I start with you, does it?" He realized what it had come to again, despite it not being a project he had even asked for this time. Like before though, it seemed that was just how it had to be; better to stand for himself in this matter. "Sorry again," he weakly laughed, "but some day we'll figure something out, I think. Just not today." It was reassuring that she wasn't taking it personally (again), but he found it difficult not to feel exploitive about the whole affair anyway (again.) Whatever good intentions he had were always being cut off by something else. That part of himself which was dedicated to responsibility wanted to balance it out eventually. Maybe if he... "You know...," James began tentatively, before he drew a breath and persisted more securely, "I'll acknowledge not putting anything into my hair. Figuratively and literally. But... I do already wash it, and it's not much to throw a little something extra in there. So, tell you what: if you've got some kind of special shampoo or whatever that you think will help, I'll submit to using it when I wash my hair." He reached his hand out, palm up, in offering. The offer was a small act, light in comparison to what was owed, but it was a start. Besides, the simplicity and low maintenance of it meant that he wasn't truly compromising himself; he still didn't care about his hair. What's more, he knew that because he wouldn't be burdened excessively by it he was avoiding the risk of being unable to reliably stick to it. It was what it was meant to be: a small kindness to Rarity in order to repay some of her generosity. "I'll just file it as one of my responsibilities." "Hmm...," the mare hummed while perking up. She withdrew into thought for a moment before she beckoned the spa ponies to her side for a serious meeting of the minds. James and Fluttershy exchanged curious looks as the great hair summit passed about rapid, hushed words, with only a few of the utterances escaping to outside listening ears: "... deal with the frizz...", "... no, that's much too strong...", "... if we paired it with...", "... too long to set, he'll never...", "... is that even safe? ...", "... if he keeps away from fire..." "Right then!" Rarity announced as the huddled ponies suddenly disbanded. The two spa ponies went and opened a large cabinet which stocked substances of all brands and varieties in ample supply. "I believe we have something you can use," Rarity continued. "Now, to be most effective you'll want to soak your hair in lukewarm water for a half-hour first. The water should be no hotter than-" "Rarity," James prompted her with caution. "Ahem, yes," the restrained unicorn coughed with embarrassed resignation. "Just... use only one of them a day when you wash your hair, rotating each day. No more than a small dollop. And brush afterwards," she instructed. At the same time, Aloe approached him holding a bag which had two specifically chosen bottles in it. Receiving the bag from her, James poked his fingers inside and swiped a glance at the items he had been given. They certainly reminded him of every other bottle of overly fancy haircare garbage he had ever seen, and he couldn't make heads or tails of the various accentuated labels. But overall it didn't seem that unmanageable. "Alright. Sounds simple enough. Thanks. Again," he said gratefully. "Are you sure we won't see you here at least a little bit?" Fluttershy asked with distant hopefulness. She quickly injected an overflowing humility into her words, "Not that I'm trying to get you to change your mind or anything, just, Rarity and I meet here a lot and you're more than welcome to join us any time you like." "Thanks. Not anytime soon, though," James replied. Later, he told himself. Figure it all out later. Thoughts of making more trips to the spa were just so far from his mind right now. Still unable to see himself as a spa person, still not caring to make himself into one, he could at least admit that he did enjoy his one treatment here... so maybe one day, later, he could make a rare visit. Sometime in the future when he'd be more comfortable just relaxing. Again having nearly forgotten that Lotus and Aloe were still in the room, he turned to them with an extra gracious bow, "Not that it hasn't been fantastic. Better than I ever imagined. Just not the thing for me right now." He started to run his fingers through his hair, as was his unconscious habit, but he immediately noted the change in texture. He pulled a few hairs in front of his eyes and twiddled them in his fingers. Weird. But acceptable. After all, it didn't particularly matter what became of his hair. Being different didn't make it any more important. He was certain. And all that fresh confidence which he had gained from reflecting on himself still coursed through him. A powerful readiness pulsed with each beat of his heart. In that moment, he felt he could face Twilight again. Now he knew that, when he confronted her, he wouldn't resent the spirit of what she had tried to do and that he'd be able to make clear to her that he was going to deal with his own matters in his own way. It was time to tell her to just keep giving him space. "I suppose I should head back to the library now," he said to the others. "It's starting to get pretty late in the day, I think." Rarity looked as if she going to invite him to stay longer, perhaps for another treatment or just for idle conversation, but she immediately recognized the futility in the gesture. Not otherwise discouraged, she instead pleasantly said, "Very well, then. It was still a pleasure to have you come on by, dear. Don't feel you need to have an excuse to come by the boutique in the future." Fluttershy seemed to have reached the same acceptance as Rarity. As Aloe began to prepare the pegasus' treatment, the quiet mare eagerly agreed with dressmaker, "Oh, yes. Do feel free to come by the cottage whenever you like." "Thanks. We'll see," James told them, trying to be as positive towards the ponies as he could. Later, he told himself again. All these things can be looked at, thought about, or done later. "Lotus," Rarity called, "his service can be on my bill." "I-" James nearly interrupted. The determined seamstress looked back at him knowingly and he relented. He had earlier straight up admitted to not having any money. Really, there was no other way this could have ended and he should have realized that before going in. Leaning in a bit, she whispered over to him, "But just this once! When those bottles run dry, I expect you to pick up the next set." "I'll gladly figure something out," he answered. After all, if he didn't discover some way to turn it around, this generosity debt was just going to dig deeper and deeper until it hit... whatever colloquialism fills in for China in these parts. With everything set, he thanked the spa ponies (once more assuring them of their fine work) and bade the others goodbye. They all returned his parting wishes, in respective customer friendly and plain old friendly formats. But as he started to walk out, his free-flowing hair tickled the lower back of his neck. He stopped to ask, "Does anybody have something I could tie this back with? I don't remember what happened to my rubber band." "Here, sir," Aloe responded, seizing a small scrunchie from an open bin choked with them. It's fluffy fabric was a strong green, not all that different from his shirt, and it was dusted in a sparkling blue glitter. She held it out for him. "Take it. Perhaps you'll find the time to come back and return it?" she said with a wink and a smile. It wasn't exactly his style but that would have been a trite thing to complain about now. He thanked her again and fit the scrunchie around the fingers on his right hand, opening it up so he could put it on. When Aloe saw what he was doing, she warned, "Oh, you'll want to leave your hair loose for about an hour, so your treatment can be most effective." "Ah," he replied, pocketing the scrunchie. Once more there was a round of goodbyes and then he departed. Emerging outside the spa, he saw immediately how much time had passed. Ponyville was moving on with its day quite rapidly, and the slow relaxation of the spa venture had deceptively hidden how fast the rest of time was ticking. Looking down the streets surrounding the spa, he resolved that it was time for him to fall back into pace. Before he started, his hand lingered in his pocket. He raked his teeth lightly across his lips with an undecided moan. Then, with careless frustration, he yielded to a great sigh, withdrew the scrunchie, pulled back his hair, and put it on. The golden hue of the horizon deepened as the sun wearily pushed itself towards the end of its daily journey. Evening was approaching, faster and faster it felt, and the start of sunset wasn't far off. Probably within the hour, by James' reasonable estimate. He wasn't sure which roads would be the most direct path back to the library but he had a rough guess of the direction his destination was in, so he had been ambling down the roads that way, sure that he would stumble upon something familiar enough to guide him. Despite many things, the whole experience at the spa had left him feeling spectacularly better. It was a buoyant rush of self-confidence, a firm laying of the compass over a previously perplexing map, and just a dash of delighted amusement at having his hair refreshed. He walked differently down the streets, his feet bouncing lightly off the cobble roads, and he gave an airy swing to each arm. He was still embroiled in his own thoughts but everything seemed to come at him more directly and clearly. Regardless, his inward focus cut his attention in half and he wasn't fully aware of everything going on about him. "Oh! Pardon!" a passing mare said courteously in surprise. Whoever she was, her day had left her equally contemplative and she had nearly crashed into him during her own inattentive meandering. "Oh, no, sorry," James instinctively responded, making space for her to pass. She walked by while giving a pleasant bow to him and he nodded back. But, as she went, it caught up to him. That was different. He gazed about. Several ponies were walking up and down the street, returning home from wherever their day had taken them, or perhaps heading out for a late visit to here or there. But they passed much physically closer to him than they ever had before. He was all but wading through them, if they had been the midday river instead of the early evening trickle. Now suddenly aware of them all, a guarded seclusion snuck back into him. His stance changed slightly, becoming more edgy and defensive. And the ponies who moved about him, almost as if in response, started to awkwardly slow down a tiny bit and nervously shimmied slightly out of the way, making that much more room for him to pass. Trying to forget it, he carried on, walking down the roads in not quite the same fashion as before. Eventually a street which matched his memory surfaced and he proceeded along it, now certain which way would take him to the library. His journey suffered another interruption when he recognized a giggling voice that rose up from the side of the street. It came buzzing through air like a giddy, drunken bee. Off to his left, a small court filled with simple tables was set in front of an inviting ice cream shop, and sitting at one of the tables was an easily identifiable pink pony who was playfully licking away at a cone which rested before her. In fact, she had a whole assortment of ice cream cones on her table. They were in waves of different colors, with swirls or chunks, peppered with sprinkles or crumbles; an eclectic menagerie of different flavors. As different ponies walked by the shop, she would call out to them by name and freely offer them their choice of ice cream from her collection. Pinkie Pie immediately caught sight of James staring at her. With a tremendous wave she gleefully called out to him, "Heeeeeeeeey! Hey hey, James! Want some ice cream?" He was ready to go back to the library... but quite suddenly he felt that he needn't be in a rush either. Nothing wrong with a short distraction. Approaching the gregarious pony, he leaned his chest against the low wall which separated the street from the shop's court and rested his arms upon the fixture. "No thanks," he graciously declined. "I haven't had dinner yet and I don't want to get in the habit of snacking before a meal." "Okie dokie lokie!" she delightfully accepted, before driving her muzzle in for another go at her own cold treat. With melting, sloppy vanilla still dripping from her lips, she followed up, "How ya been, you hidey horseshoe?" "I've been fine. A lot of staying tucked away in the library is all," he said. "Ooooooo," she sang in the instant before gobbling down the rest of her cone. Peeking about, she did a quick check for any other pony to share some of her horde with, but no others were in range. With the delicious prize all to herself, she grabbed another cone from the collection so she could begin to snack anew. Her licking and munching was so deliriously happy that her question seemed to come out of nowhere and hit James like a sucker punch. "Are you feeling better?" she asked in her unique, upbeat tone. "Better?" He was feeling better but that was sort of besides the point. He had barely seen her since the party two weeks ago so what was she referencing exactly? "Better compared to...?" he asked. "Before, silly!" Pinkie rolled her eyes around like a coin going down a funnel. "When you were all, 'Oh, I don't sing' and 'Oh, I don't play games' and 'Oh, I don't dance.'" Her voice rose and fell like a see-saw in her mimicry. "Oh!" he sighed with relief. Shifting his weight to lean on the wall more comfortably, he explained, "No, that's just... me not being an extroverted party person. Usually. I'm more-" "I know," she interjected in an odd, peppy moan. Her lips pursed and she waved her head with disbelief, saying, "You like quiet parties." She spat it out like one would dismiss a discredited myth. It was like... a burning ice cube. Or a dry bath. Or awful candy. Her whole body started to wiggle, an uncontrollable energy building towards an explosion somewhere inside her, and she rambled, "But you can't be hush hush all the time! What about when you're shaking inside and your legs won't sit still and you feel the jitters and jabbers and you just got to move move move? What about when you're all twisted up and everything's tingling and you just can't hold it in and have to let it out and SCREEEAAAMMM!" Her excited shriek was so regular that it didn't seem to draw any attention; not from other shop patrons, nor from passers-by, nor from windows. James raised his eyebrow slightly, marveled by her dramatic outgoingness but willing to accept it for what it was. Nonetheless, he acknowledged the overly excitable pony's words and said, "You have a point and everything. We take a lot in... so it's only healthy sometimes to let things out instead. I don't know if-" But before he could get any mileage on his next sentence, stars came to Pinkie's eyes, her ice cream trove suddenly lost all value, and she leapt from her seat. Nearly crashing into the short wall, she rammed her forelegs upon it so she could place her face right up to his. "Ooo," she hummed giddily, "let's do something then! Let's have some fun!" "Well, hold on now," James tried to object, "I can have plenty of fun and loosen up without getting crazy. But, more importantly, I'm looking to be a little more..." He paused. Don't say 'alone.' It's such a negative word and it would invite questions. "... quiet and inside? Yeah. Just trying to be more subdued and slow right now." "Aw, nothing crazy about singing a song! You do like to sing, right?" Her eager eyes pressed closer. "Not often... but I guess in general, yes," he admitted very reluctantly, "but I'm not in the mood. And this isn't the place for it." "Why not?" she blindly asked. "It's... it's a public place. It'd be a nuisance." It was like every time he felt that she was only putting on her highly effervescent personality as a mask, she went and crossed three lines into absurdity. "Oh, nopony'll mind. Here," she countered. Looking out over him, she called out to a mare who was strolling down the far side of the street, "Hey Laceyloom! Is it okay if I sing?" "Oh, sure! Don't mind me!" the mare cordially shouted back. "See?" Pinkie Pie proudly pointed. "Okay, so, that's not a concern then (for some reason), but still, I'm not in the mood," he said. She scrunched her face with lightning consideration and then proposed, "Aw, okay. How about I sing, and then if that gets you in the mood you can sing!" Her words were more suggestion than question, fueled by a relentless, unstoppable intensity. "I think I know just the song for you!" "You... could sing, I guess? But I'm-" But despite his words, Pinkie Pie bounced backwards and then bounded up onto the table with her ice cream cone collection. Miraculously, there wasn't a single tipped cone as she started to swing, and swish, and stamp her legs among them in a simple dance. Lifting and dipping, churning and turning, her movement seemed to invoke a strange, soundless rhythm in the air. Then she opened her mouth and her voice swam out clear and pure. Her song itself danced, and though they were just words, it was as if chime and bell, fiddle and flute, horn and drum all came with her as she sang: Each day - the golden sun rises Each day - you'll face some surprises Wanna look up - gotta face down Troubles come in - enough to drown Today - is just like yesterday One more - sad march about the town Making - your own lone muddled way But don't - you show no crooked frown You just smile Like a crocodile Don't shed a tear Your friends are near If it's not clear Your friends are near Sometimes - you don't know how to start Something - missing inside your heart Each time you look - your problem's grown And every step - you step alone Tomor - row's looking more the same Anoth - er day just like you've known Don't let - your eyes hide your sad shame With us - you'll trot not on your own You just laugh Like a glad giraffe Don't feel that fear Your friends are near We'll find your cheer Your friends are near It will be much easier when we're on your side No matter what you're facing we're in for the ride You just sing Like the rain in spring And we'll be here To lend an ear Your friends are near Yes we'll be here All through the year Your friends are near Your friends are near Her singing and dancing brought her back to the wall which James rested against, eventually climbing upon it, and as she closed out her tune she looked to him expectantly and held out an inviting hoof, "Now you sing!" No Even James' denial seemed to have a bizarre harmony to it. He pushed off the wall and stood straight, shaking the music out of his head. "Sorry. Still not in the mood," he apologized. Not wanting her gesture to feel worthless, he added, "That was a nice song, though." "Oh, gooey gumdrops!" Pinkie Pie swore. "I really thought that would do it!" "Get me to sing?" he asked for clarification. "Ya-huh," she confirmed. Edging in closer and nearly toppling off the wall, she covered one side of her mouth with a hoof and not-so-secretly whispered to him, "You sing just the right song and you can get anypony to sing along!" "Okay...," he ambivalently replied, "but why? What do you get out of me singing?" "Oh, I love to spread smiles to everypony, everywhere, every time!" she shouted, "And you always seem like you've got a smile hiding in there that you don't like to let out!" Whatever Twilight had seen that had raised her concern, this one appeared to have seen it too. A bit like a giddier, zanier, cheerier, more unhinged, more unpredictable, and more downright goofballier Twilight in that regard. But she seemed to be a much more free-spirited, go-with-the-flow kind of individual as well. Maybe he could work with this. Maybe he could turn this around. "I'm not really hiding anything," James evenly protested, "just keeping stuff close while I sort of wrap my head around it. Don't want my things to spill out without getting a handle on them first, you know?" "Whaaat? Hehehe," giggled Pinkie Pie, picturing the most ridiculous possible mental image of what he had said. There was a lot of comic pratfalling in her version. James gave a low grunt, dissatisfied with the alternate versions of his explanation that his brain kept producing. "There's a time... that's appropriate for letting your feelings out, and... there's a time for keeping them inside you," he tried. "Ohhhh, sure sure!" Pinkie responded with a rattling nod of her head. However, then she swished her face in the other direction, saying, "But feelings aren't a single jar of cookies! You can put out the chocolate chip and the frosted shortbread cookies and the raspberry blossoms, and then leave the sugar cookies, coconut creme doodles, and peanut butter gumdrop macaroons in the pantry! Sing a little song and share a little smile! Don't keep it ALL in your grumpy pantry!" "I'm just... playing it carefully. I can smile if I want," he insisted. Stretching his lips and flashing his teeth, he displayed the broadest smile his anatomy allowed him. "Hmmmmmmmm," Pinkie Pie protractedly drew out. She popped herself down off the wall and lifted her face up to his for a close inspection. Steadily and purposefully she scanned him, craning her neck about, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. She even brought a hoof up and pressed it against his face, feeling out his smile. The position of each of his jaw muscles was finessed, processed, and assessed. At long last, she withdrew and stoutly rendered judgment: "Your mouth can smile, but you aren't SMILE smiling." His whole face collapsed into a barely neutral position. "You're... going to have to explain this to me." "Aw, you know how!" she beamed. "You did it before, a little! At the party!" Her eyes shot a glance away and her mouth shrunk. "Or... the quiet party." She returned to normal in a blink, continuing, "When you were talking about your mom! And your dad! And your brothers and sisters! And your friends! And-" "I get it," he said. Despite her perceived absent-mindedness she was apparently very well socialized, enough to easily be able to pick up on all the subtle qualities that made his smile attempt synthetic. "So, come on! Don't you want to smile?" Pinkie Pie brought her own smile to bear with a welcoming levity. "I don't think it's that simple," muttered James awkwardly, retreating slightly inside himself. "Like... just choosing to smile... through whatever it is you're facing. There are definitely times for it, lightening up and easing the tension and everything... but not always..." He tried to think about what he wanted to say but again he felt blinded by a thick fog. Every thought that started only blitzed off into the dense shroud of his inner mind, coming to no grounded conclusion. With effort he at least kept from sputtering and continued, "For all the good a little respite and distraction does, it doesn't truly solve anything. Helps you endure for awhile longer maybe but it's just kind of running away from things sometimes. And it really takes effort too! To just smile along and kept going through it all." It wasn't clear if he had the pink pony's attention with his wandering monologue. She was certainly staring at him, slowly shifting her eyes and head about in small movements, but all the things he was used to reading in a person just couldn't be extracted from her. Whether it was something about her, or ponies in general, or something inside him at the moment, her gaze was just unreadable, like she had her own separate world orbiting about her. He said, "You're definitely very energetic, and upbeat, and positive... for you maybe it's really easy to just... grab the optimism bull by the horns, and... that must take a lot of energy for you to keep that up, so good on you I suppose. But... for others, there's a time when your feelings color everything and it's better to just... dig in and deal with it. If that makes any sense." She immediately replied in a bright tone, without any deviance from her usual felicity, "Ya-huh." "Uh, o-okay. Uh... good. Yeah, good," he answered back, lightly confused. Whatever nonsense had spewed from his month was already lost to him so he was glad that she had (apparently) caught it. Perhaps to try and cap it off, or maybe to reassure himself, he added, "I'm just looking for some time for myself right now. Whatever it is you think I'm missing will be back at some point." Life always had its ups and downs and it's not like he hadn't survived rough patches before. If he wasn't vivacious enough for her today... whatever. There would be another day when he probably would be. Probably. "But all that's why I think it'd be great for you to sing!" Pinkie Pie chipperly chirped. "It doesn't take a lot! Just set the mood, sing a tune, and it'll bring the smile, even if it's just for a little while!" She hopped back up onto the wall and patted her hooves upon it excitedly in rhythm, like her simple take on all this would suddenly change his mind. His hope with her prior brief reply was that it had been all over. Not wanting to go into it again, James tilted his head back and frivolously asked, "What if I choose to sing a sad song?" The pink pony froze up. "Oh... yeah..." Each syllable dripped out like the drooled remains of ice cream. Tilting and twisting, her eyebrows began to curl and across her muzzle her great grin started to flip. But then with a genuine stare at him she gradually asked, "Do you want to sing a sad song? Cause I do know some good ones for those times when you've got to... but I get it... sad songs can help too..." "That... wasn't what I was suggesting, no," he answered uneasily. Pinkie Pie looked at him with a controlled sadness. The concept that there was nothing she could do simply wouldn't, or couldn't, occur to her, so she felt nothing but the full friction of grating against his passive attitude. Eventually, with all the gusto of a stalemate, she weakly offered, "You sure you don't want any ice cream?" He sighed a tiny sigh, leaning back onto the wall. "If I take a cone, I'm not going to finish it all." Her smile sprang back, bouncing her head up. "Aw, I hate to let ice cream go to waste, but I got too much of it as it is!" she pointed out, swinging a hoof out towards her still sizable congregation of cones. "Every little bit you take helps!" "The chocolate," he said, pointing his finger. "Yup yup! Can't go wrong with chocolate!" Enthusiastic and in blissful spirits again, she quickly retrieved his choice, skillfully and sprightly balancing it on her nose as she brought it to him. Planting the cone on the wall, she closed her eyes with a gleaming grin and extended to him, "If you are ever in the mood to sing, you know where to find me." She blinked. "Do you know where to find me?" she suddenly questioned with a swirl of dizzy confusion whirring about her head. "Do I know where to find me when you want to sing?" "If I ever want to sing it's not going to be here out in the streets," James reminded her. "Oh! Oh! Then, you can come by the bakery some other time and we can sing! I'll teach you a cookie baking song and we can sing it and bake cookies and sing it some more and it'll be great!" Pinkie Pie stamped her hooves joyously, the dream already becoming a promise in her own head. "Yeah...," he noncommittally agreed. "Some other time..." He gave his chocolate ice cream cone a scarce lick. For several minutes James waited outside the door. More than once there were hints of forward motion, only to be canceled at the last second as he went back to rubbing his palms. He had been so sure he was ready to return to the library but now on the precipice there was suddenly doubt again. It was going to be a simple message to his host pony: a light apology for storming out (no matter how justified he had been) and an unambiguous proclamation on the solitude of his personal feelings and how she would need to respect that. However, settling on a way to convey the message wasn't as simple. No matter which route it took there were probably going to be some rough patches, as was the nature of such line-drawing encounters. What's more, he didn't know her well enough to know which side of her personality he'd get: the reserved, thoughtful, yet open scholar; the caring, concerned, if pushy acquaintance; the neurotic, invading, and controlling hostess; or something so far unseen or unpredictable. He might have to be quick with his tongue and adjust his words carefully to avoid a repeat of his earlier blowup. When enough calmness had collected inside him, he felt as ready as he would ever be. Tensing up just slightly, he stepped forward and sternly pushed open the door. The inside of the library was well-lit for the coming evening. Candlelight warmed the room and what it didn't touch was caught in the glow of the ponies' unusual phosphorescent lamps. Together they illuminated the remotest corners, the dimmest shelves, and even the spaces between books. It had a homely warmth like the inviting radiance of a well-tended hearth. The only spot of coldness came from the far side of the room where Twilight stood alongside Spike, the two facing mostly away from the door and discussing something to themselves. The swing and creak of the door as James entered alerted them and they turned to look. Twilight's eyes were dull and occupied, and her gaze appeared to go through him completely. "Oh... you're back," she said withdrawn. "Yeah, I-" He hesitated. Something was unusual. Maybe he should let her have the first words. She also waited, seeing if he had anything to say, but when his pause became obvious she took a moment to gaze between him, Spike, and something else that was in front of her. Then, with a heavy sigh, she rotated and started marching towards him. Drawing a breath in, James readied himself. "Here... you'll want to read this," Twilight said, almost in a drone. An opened letter whished passed her and stopped in front of the man before it slowly began to drift towards the floor. He snatched the paper out of the air as Twilight trotted right by him without stopping. Surprised, he twisted his head around to look at her. Opening the library door back up, she halted just before it and said back to the two, "I've got to inform the others. I'll be back later." Immediately she departed, with only Spike wishing her a goodbye. The unexpectedness of what had transpired froze James in place for an instant. As the bewilderment waned and he caught up to the moment, he set aside his shampoo bottles and turned towards the paper in his hand. A royal seal stamped upon it, he unfolded it carefully and looked down at the finely penned writing that elegantly wove its way across the page: My faithful student, The presence of yourself and your friends is urgently requested at Canterlot with all due haste. Please secure transportation as early as you are able to, and send word as- But his focus drifted. From just the start, the letter didn't strike him as anything that necessitated his attention and his eyes breezed down the rest of the writing without fully absorbing the contents. No truly specific information seemed to jump out at him, but the loose urgency of the words weren't masked by the formal language they were written in. He waved the letter and asked Spike, "What is this?" "From Princess Celestia," the dragon answered. When James returned to just scrutinizing it with uncertainty, he suggested, "You might want to look at the bottom of it." "Hm?" The man jumped down to end of the letter, reading: In addition, please bring along your special guest. I would enjoy the opportunity to speak with him again now that he has had a chance to settle in. Princess Celestia In silence, he bounced back to the top and read the whole letter again, slower and more deliberately this time, before setting it down on a nearby table. "I guess we're heading to Canterlot soon?" he asked of Spike. "Twilight wants to take the train out early next morning so everypony can make it." "I see," he mumbled. "Any idea what's up?" "I read the same thing as you," Spike shrugged. "I guess we'll find out when we get there." "Early morning train...," the man mused to himself. He stared down at the letter, the vague message sitting amidst his bottles, some books, and other paperwork. A different sheet of paper caught his eye. Short, formal, and written with a very methodical penmanship, it was a bill for services rendered by Gadget. The service completed time was only about an hour ago; the repairpony had come and gone during his absence. Spike gave James an odd stare. "Did you do something with your hair?" he noticed. His snout sniffed the air. "And what smells like honey?" "I didn't do anything. Rarity did a thing...," the man absentmindedly responded without facing the dragon. Gears turned inside, their grinding impossible to ignore. Suddenly he said, again almost offhandedly to Spike, "I'm going to have something to eat and get to bed... if it's going to be an early morning tomorrow." "You're not going to wait for Twilight?" Spike questioned. He made his way towards the kitchen, dryly replying, "No."