//------------------------------// // One Stall Closes, Another Opens // Story: Flush // by Raging Mouse //------------------------------// Chapter Two: One Stall Closes, Another Opens Depending on your point of view, Franzibald Holkins (named by two very loving parents), ‘Fonzie’ to his friends and ‘Baldie’ to those on his black list of annoyances, was either the best or the worst person to be Earth’s first contact with another sentient species. He’d always been large and heavy-set. Coupled with a shy and passive personality, as well as great strength coupled with poor agility, he’d gone through life feeling the proverbial bull in the china shop. Where others having his physique would’ve gone effortlessly through life’s difficulties with fists swinging, he’d chosen to whine until whomever caused him distress caved and went away. That tactic, too, had worked, if only because there’s a psychological barrier stopping even the most blatant mouth-breathers from bullying someone one and a half heads taller than them. One would think he’d have been picked for some of the more physical sports, but Franzibald had worn strong glasses for all of his life. He could run with the best of his classes, and could kick a ball hard enough to make the pig squeal in the past, but kids who couldn’t remember which team they were supposed to be on nevertheless got picked before he did. So he became an accountant and found work at an insurance agency. This particular, fateful night was wearing hard on his nerves. He was working his sixth hour of overtime (unpaid) trying to make sense of his department’s financial records, or at least trying to make sense of it in a way that didn’t mean he’d have to report his employer to the police for embezzlement. Moments before, he’d slammed his hands against his desk and shoved, rising up from his chair with a frustrated growl. He’d stalked out of his cubicle and headed towards the closest restrooms… and paused. With gloomy assessments regarding his continued employment circling around his head, he’d opted to rebel, as only someone as mild as Franzibald could, and changed his course towards the stairs up to the junior executives’ floor. The restroom he entered had tasteful, dim lights that lit automatically as he entered. A faint scent of meadow flowers lingered in the cool air. Four bathroom stalls against one wall, opposite four marble sinks with chrome and brass faucets, oval mirrors and paper towel dispensers. He opened the second stall door he passed, entered, pulled down his pants and boxers, and sat down. He was humming contentedly at the warmth issuing from the toilet seat when a noise like a landslide crossed with a power station made the room shake, and something big and heavy landed with such force against the partitioning wall to his right that it buckled and cracked. Many other people might have yelled, screamed or otherwise noisily lost their cool. In all honesty Franzibald did lose his cool, but that only involved him sitting up straighter and nervously looking around, as if the inside of the toilet stall could somehow provide reassurance. The sound of something brushing slowly against the now convex partition didn’t provide any reassurance at all. Then there was a very distinct sound of trickling, accompanied by an unmistakably feminine sigh. The realisation that Franzibald could be occupying the same restroom as someone of the opposite gender made him break out in cold sweat, something the unearthly noise and violent shaking hadn’t managed. Though it never is much of an excuse, he wasn’t really thinking as much as simply acting on instinctual politeness when he cleared his throat. Having already lost his cool, the deep blue face – placed on an inhumanly long neck and with a disturbingly elongated snout, suddenly appearing above the partition and twisting until it regarded him with a pair of huge and dark eyes – made him lose his bowels. The face regarded Franzibald for a couple seconds, blinking once. Then the snout moved and a mouth opened. “Ah.” The head turned to gaze along the row of stalls, and judging by the way it was twisting its mouth it was either deep in thought or had bitten into something sour. It cleared its throat and turned back to Franzibald. “Greetings, my little… person.” Franzibald lifted his right arm in a small, vague and purely reflexive wave. The head continued speaking. “I sense I might have startled you. For that I apologise. Is there some way I might make reparations?” Franzibald blinked as if it was the mechanism by which he jumpstarted his mental processes after a near total standstill. Then he twitched his head forward and down before raising just enough so that he could peer up at the night-blue face above him. “Er… could I have a little privacy?” “Oh! Certainly…” The face ducked down behind the partitioning wall. Some part of Franzibald’s mind less concerned with things like reality noted that deep blue (...skin? Fur? How does that work?) appeared to blush a purplish red. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head meet his hands with a light slap. He sat like that for a while, breathing deeply and listening to the sounds of something moving in the next stall and brushing up against the wall. There was a grumbling, barely audible, and although he was unfamiliar with the particular terms used he was positive it was swearing. “Discord’s teats…” Franzibald sighed, concluded that the sudden appearance of the head had made him finish his business, and reached for the toilet paper. “Look. I’ve seen the movie. I’m losing my mind, right?” The small noises from the other stall ceased. “I… wouldn’t know. We’ve only just met.” “I don’t even own any swedish furniture! Mine are all-American, made in China!” “That is… good for you?” “I guess what I’m saying is… do I really have to blow up my apartment? It’s got a nice view.” “Are you asking me?” “Well… yes.” The other stall fell silent, so after a while Franzibald stood and pulled up his trousers. Complaining to someone who was willing to listen always made him feel secure, so he opened the stall door without much thought and crossed the room to the sinks. He pumped soap from the dispenser and put his hands under the faucet, waiting for the sensor to activate. As he did so, the female voice sounded from behind him. “I feel honored that you’d ask advice from me, a perfect stranger, considering my appearance must be at least somewhat peculiar to you.” He’d looked up in the mirror when he’d heard the voice. There, staring at him from the open doorway of the stricken stall next to the one he’d used, he saw what appeared to be an animal – horse, he’d conjecture if pressed – dyed midnight blue and wearing some kind of hallucinogenic wig that flowed in response to an invisible wind. Its front hooves rested on the tiled floor outside the stall, with its back hooves just inside, and Franzibald assumed it was sitting on the toilet, though he couldn’t confirm it since the creature was so large it occupied almost the entire stall, bulging walls notwithstanding. The sight gave him serious pause, making his answer little more than a mumble. “I was prepared for strange. Well, thought I was.” The creature blinked its massive eyes once and licked its lips. “A sensible stance, I suppose. Maybe we should introduce ourselves? I am P— My name is Luna.” “Franzibald.” Luna nodded. “Well met, Franzibald. Now, since you ask me, I advise against inflating your apartment. The neighbours might complain.” He realised his hands were unmoving under the stream from the faucet and spent a couple seconds washing them. When he straightened up he spoke. “What about the rest of the stuff? Founding some weird cult, challenging the establishment and all that?” The creature named Luna raised her eyes and blinked rapidly as she digested the question. “Franzibald, it would be wrong of me to try to manage your life decisions to such a level, since you are not one of my subjects. That said, what you are asking about sounds perilous. I’d advise you to consider the consequences before deciding.” Franzibald’s shoulders sagged. Why couldn’t at least insanity be free of doubt and hesitation? “Well, do you at least have some cryptic life advice for me? A single word that I should follow?” Luna tilted her head. Then she glanced at the stall Franzibald had left. He could imagine her thoughts expand to include his past, his future and his place in the universe. He watched with rising excitement as she took a deep breath and held it, crinkling her nose ever-so-slightly. “Flush.” Franzibald let out a stuttering breath that he’d been unaware he was holding. “Flush?” “Yes. Flush.” He looked down at himself, turning the word over in his mind. “Wow. Ok. That’s a good one.” He raised his head and smiled at Luna. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.” There was a dispenser of lightly perfumed paper towels at every sink, between the mirrors, so he pulled out two and used them to wipe his hands dry, all the while aware of and ignoring the peculiar, askew look he was receiving from Luna. He threw the used towels into the garbage can under the sink and turned around to smile at the creature while walking towards the exit. “Well, thanks for your wisdom.” “Wait, please!” He paused. “Yes?” Luna fidgeted. “Could you please find me another roll of toilet paper? The one in this stall seems to have lodged itself under my wing, and I’d rather not maneuver that extensively at this moment in order to remove it.” He chuckled as he looked around and spotted a stack of three rolls lying on the counter, out of Luna’s sight. He laughed as he picked one up and moved to hand it over, only for it to be enveloped in a blue aura and float out of his hand. Of course magic. Franzibald walked out of the bathroom, guffawing all the way back to his desk. There he stood for a while, grinning like an idiot, looking at his computer display filled with incriminating numbers and shaking his head. Then he sat down and wrote an e-mail to his superior, explaining that he was regretfully forced to quit his job, but that the seven-figure severance bonus he’d redirected (he wrote flushed) from that one account in Trinidad was more than enough to ensure no hard feelings of his former employees. All the best, etcetera. ****** Luna, meanwhile, was trying to inspect the strange self-operating magical faucets when a letter popped into existence next to her, delivered via dragonfire and carrying her sister’s seal. She caught the rolled-up parchment with her magic before it hit the floor and opened it. She scanned the contents, eyes widening with every word. “Oh throw me to Tartarus, I forgot the tides!” Suddenly she was very appreciative of the microscopically vast expanses of unreality that lay between her and Celestia’s ire.