//------------------------------// // 3. Waltz With Lady Luck // Story: Truth Needs No Colors // by Lastingimage24 //------------------------------// Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky. -Rabindranath Tagore Never a dull moment in my exciting city life is there? Sketch’s head rested on the cold lifeless desk. As exciting as the history class of who cares was, there were other things he’d rather be doing. Such as anything. And everything that has ever existed. He had already been called out for doodling, successfully making him feel like an unruly third grader. So there wasn’t much to do except wait for his teacher to shut his damn mouth. Tolerance use to come easy before he met Trust. While he never liked school, he never made much of a scene and did his work silently, and he had the common decency to stay awake during lessons no matter how sleepy he was. But now, after everything that had happened, he began to question his place at this school more and more. What was the use of learning all of this if he was never going to utilize such knowledge, except maybe to sound like a pompous douche in public spouting useless trivia about the founding of a small city he was likely never going to travel to? Sketch never minded education, and he was thankful he had received it, but there comes a point where you’ve learned enough about something to pursue your dream. And be damned if he didn’t want to... “Art!” Sketch jutted up, surprised to realize he was starting to drift off. He mentally checked to see if he was harboring any drool and inhaled quickly. “Yeah?” “Who was the mayor of Agister during the first part of Celestia’s Era?” “Ugh,” Sketch groaned, really hesitant to dance this dance again. The teacher knew he was sleeping, why didn’t he scold or punish him and then get on with it? “Burlap Sack of the Sack family, brother of Ball Sa-” “Mr. Sketch!” he yelled, effectively grating on the blackboard that was Sketch’s brain. The rest of the students befell that awkward silence that Sketch had actually learned to appreciate “I am certain that you have the capacity to sit up and pay attention. Don’t try to convince me otherwise.” “It’s impossible to convince you of anything.” Sketch wanted to slam his hoof on the table. Generally, he was a very passive stallion, but the boredom he felt all day and the frustration of what everyone was forcing him to do, everything he wanted to do, it all slammed itself in his face at this moment. Plus he was tired, but that wasn’t anything new. Until now, he hadn’t realized how angry he was when he wasn’t with his friends or drawing... or learning something he was actually interested in. “Look, sit down and shut up, or I’ll notify the principal.” “Oh, dear Celestia help me, not the principal, why don’t you just kill me?” Sketch spat sarcastically, getting up from his seat and staring the teacher down. “Mr. Sketch, if you don’t behave yourself immediately I will have to take disciplinary action! If you don’t learn anything you will not be successful in the world.” “Bullshit!” Sketch shot back, taking a step. His ears felt hot and his heart raced. “I don’t need to be an educated jerkass like you in order to be happy or successful.” “Fine then!” the teacher yelled, matching Sketch’s volume. “Associate yourself with the filth and the uneducated! See if I care!” That’s when Sketch lost it. In technical terms, he had just call Trust filth, and Sketch would have none of that. “Fuck you!” The entirety of the class flinched, and the teacher’s jaw dropped. “I don’t need this. The next time you self-righteous assholes want to ‘help me learn something’, don’t bother!” Sketch stormed out of the classroom and ran once no one could see him. No doubt security would come looking for him once they hear what just happened, and walking around with no pass would be suspect enough for this conflict to be elongated. He was prepared to deal with the consequences of his actions, but right now he just needed a break... As he approached the unsettlingly quiet north gate, he looked back once, towards that all too familiar red building, isolated from the rest of the buildings like one would have a trailer. It was Miss Conté’s art class, alongside rooms reserved for music and the like. Sketch... felt low. The air felt heavy, and the it became thick enough to swallow; which he did. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran, trying to stop any tears from flowing out. Why do I want to cry? What the hell is wrong with me?! Why am I sad? I’m happy. I’m happy, dammit! Trust, and Anthem, and most recently Haren? And his dad, mom? Everything was going great! Sure school was boring, but there was nothing to be sad about! Sketch skidded to a halt and rose his hooves to his head. He banged on his skull, trying to reason with himself. The past couple of weeks had been hard on Sketch, and the closer Hearth’s Tearing came the more stressed he got. The only upside to all of this was that Trust’s visits had became much more frequent, close to every day now. But it was so wonderful, so much fun, that whenever she wasn’t around it just made him spiteful. Could that have been it? Maybe he was just angry that she couldn’t be with him all the time, not that she wasn’t. Just because she looked a little different! It was all their fault. It was everyone's fault that she can never have what he’s had. It wasn’t his fault, or her fault... it was their faults. Ponies... “Sketch!” Sketch gasped and jerked up at his name. He hadn’t realized that tears had ran down his cheeks during his thoughts. He turned to the voice with mouth agape; his face and ears felt incredibly hot. It took him awhile to associate the voice with the face, and in a moment, it came together. “Miss Conté?” he mouthed, trying to make a sound, but miserably failing. “I... I don’t...” “Shut up, Sketch,” she ordered almost mechanically as she wrapped her legs around Sketch’s neck and buried his face into her chest. She held him tight, and refused to let go. Sketch was surprised at first, but was then calmed by the sound of her heartbeat. And it was warm. And safe... “How did you know-” Sketch started to ask, now stable. “Fifth hour is my free period, Sketch. I heard what happened very quickly,” she explained, brushing Sketch’s head. “Sketchy...” Sketch’s heart jumped at the use of his nickname. His nickname that Trust almost exclusively used... “I know there’s a lot going through your mind right now, Sketchy. Just... don’t blame ponies for being ignorant... they’re just scared of things they don’t understand.” “Everyone is, I guess.” Sketch reasoned. “Even me.” “Just relax, Sketch. It’ll get better.” Maybe... But I doubt it. I have to make it better. I have to. Sketch pushed Conté away and kept her at arms length. He wanted her next to him, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Sketch took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled out his mouth. “Thanks... This is gonna bite me in the ass...” “Hey, you already screwed up. No use seething on it.” Conté giggled, placing her hoof on Sketch’s cheek. “Get some sleep.” As Sketch strolled down the street, a certain surreal mist circled around him. It felt musty and humid, and he constantly had little itches all over. The buildings and establishments around him blurred into one giant bowl of grey soup as he passed, melding into a state of carelessness. This just wasn't like Sketch. He never cared about petty inconveniences and ill worded statements of disrespect. He would have just minded his own damn business any other day. Sketch found himself turning right, into some sort of subconscious destination. PHILS GENERAL STORE, the sign read. Despite the subtraction of a necessary apostrophe in the sign, it was a pretty standard corner shop. Sighing, Sketch took a step inside, eyeing the shelves and spotting all of the familiar merchandise that occupied them. He trotted up to the cashier's counter after grabbing a small candy bar. He really didn’t want it; he was just stalling by now. He could've been home. While waiting for the cashier, Sketch could've sworn he heard a familiar voice curse under its breath. "Dammit..." Sketch turned his head, and was surprised to see Haren, of all people, leaning on the counter, looking at some sort of tin can. "Haren?" he asked needlessly, as it was fairly obvious it was her. There were very few griffins in Canterlot, and even less had piercings on. She turned towards Sketch abruptly, just as he did a moment ago, and appeared shocked. It faded quickly, then she donned that familiar sly look of confidence she always wore a variant of. "Hey, Sketchy! Funny meetin' you here." "I could say the same. No offense, but aren't you outta the job? What're you shopping with?" Haren just laughed as an answer, and exhaled heavily. "There are other ways to make money, dear boy." The 'dear boy' part of her sentence bled with irony. She winked and wiped the side of her cheek gingerly. Sketch knew well enough not to ask further. Eager to change the subject, Sketch decided to question her purchase. "This thing? 'It's a Wonderful Life' by Frank Capra." She looked at the film reel with a solemn intent, and a voice betraying the small smile she had across her beak spoke up. "You know... The director is a griffin..." There was something off about Haren. Her attitude at the moment was unlike how he had ever seen Haren. Granted, he had only known her for about half a month, but her personality was very up front and in the open. It was such a contrast to how she usually behaved. Something hit Sketch. "Wasn't Anthem looking for that a couple weeks ago?" Knocked out of her stupor, Haren grinned and held the tin up in a victorious pose. "Yup. This bad boy was in super high demand after the movie was shown in theaters. Now everyone wants this sucka. I asked my boy Phil here to hold a copy for me if he could find it." She glanced through the employees only door and snickered. "He owes me a few favors." "Glad to do it!" Phil shouted from across the room. A few sounds came from the door. It sounded like he was sifting through some random objects. "Be right with ya, kid!" "Take your time Phil Up! No rush." Sketch replied, happy that the stallion remembered his voice. "Hey, kid. Aren't you supposed to be in school or something? I just remembered it's a weekday." Haren inquired, tapping at the counter rhythmically. "Yeah. But I made a hell of an early exit..." Haren slammed her fist into the counter with genuine enthusiasm. "Holy crap, dude! You ditched? You never pegged me as the type." "Ugh, I'm not." With the sound he made, he was obviously disgusted with his ill-timed outburst. "I just got fed up with the place." "I can hear that, but I can't say I empathize." She said, closing her eyes and letting her head roll back casually. Sketch was somewhat surprised of the strange spike in her vocabulary. Every time they spoke, she'd toss in a word like that naturally. Sketch sensed that she was actually fairly intelligent, but the front she gave obviously meant she wanted to hide that fact. Yesterday she had used the word "penultimate" when describing a party she was at. “What do you mean?” Sketch asked, taking a few bits out of his bag. Only, he realized just then that he had left his saddlebags at school. He sighed in exasperation as Phil came out of his little den. “That bar is two bits, Sketch,” Phil commented, leaning on the other side of the counter. “I left my bag at school, Phil. Sorry.” Sketch pushed the candy bar further away from him towards Phil, but Phil stopped him before it came out of his possession. “Don’t worry about it, Sketch. I know you’re good for it.” Sketch smiled at him and lifted the candy bar and put it in a small paper bag that was there for the taking. At least he’d look less ridiculous carrying around a brown bag rather than a candy bar. “C’mon, dude. Let’s have lunch, my treat.” Haren suggested all-of-the-sudden. Sketch eyed the clock hanging in one of the upper corners of the store and saw that it was barely 1:30, a full hour before he would regularly get out of school. He was already in trouble, and this was a small offense. “Sure.” It was kinda hard to eat with a griffin staring at you, Sketch decided. Haren had ordered some kind of strange soup and was giving Sketch a piercing stare whilst casually stirring it. Unsettling for Sketch, to say the least, but not bad enough for his basic survival instincts to kick in. If they did, he would’ve bolted a long time ago. The smirk she wore made it easier to deal with. “What did you mean back there?” Sketch asked, taking a nervous bite of a hay fry. “About saying you couldn’t empathize?” “Hmph,” she grunted, smiling even harder and letting her head fall as she closed her eyes. There was a silence. Suddenly, she lifted her spoon and took a bite of her soup. “Griffins are very different than ponies, Sketch. Our culture differs greatly, and our ideals may not be what you’d expect.” “Such as...?” he inquired, tapping at the table curiously. “Such as: males are considered the superior gender, where as here females are, or at least you’re just growing out of that mindset.” Sketch’s eyes widened at this. Males? Seriously? What can we bring to the table that mares haven’t beat us to? Raw strength is next to useless here. “Why?” “Because griffins don’t have magic, or at least we don’t anymore. Males are generally born physically superior, so that stigma was born. Practical application of physical abilities are very important to a griffin...” Mouth agape, Sketch wondered why this isn’t the stuff he could’ve learned in school. It was fascinating. “And because of that mindset, education, and the pursuit of it, is generally frowned upon. Scholars and teachers are shunned by their families, are considered useless.” She leaned into her talon and covered one eye with her thumb. The rest of her palm covered her beak and expression. “That’s why I can’t empathize.” A cold wind blew in as the restaurant's door opened for a new customer. The waiter laughed as she showed a humble couple to their booth. She gave them menus and asked what they wanted for a drink. They answered and she walked away, eager to fulfil their wishes, secretly hoping they’d leave a big tip. A subconscious thought, but one without maliciousness, one not governing her treatment of them: an innocent thought. Sketch felt a chill run up his back. That’s when Sketch really took a good look at Haren. Despite her nearly flooring appearances, and her carefree attitude, what she really looked like was... exhausted. Somber. A tolerance tested so far to nearly make her break. But she still found the joy of it all, somehow. Some kernel of radiance kept her going, and that was enough. “Haren... I was... so wrong about you.” “Hmmn?” Haren reacted, rearing and arching her eyebrow. “How do you do it?” It was Haren’s turn to stare at him with a dumbfounded expression. She didn’t answer. She just smiled again and looked the other way. The couple received their food and thanked the waitress. “Do what?” she asked innocently, cocking her head to the side, wearing a positively shit-eating grin. She lifted her spoon and took another bite of her soup, never taking her eyes off of Sketch. “I guess... I need to find out for myself... huh?” “You couldn’t be more wrong, kid.” “She said yes, but... I don’t think she’s too into it.” “She said yes, that means she’s interested. She probably secretly wants to have done something similar herself.” Harens reasoning was sound, and he had no reason to doubt her. Sketch just had this feeling that he was forcing Trust into the party. Things like that, being forced into something that you don’t want to do, is generally what pissed of Sketch the most. He felt like a hypocrite, but it was the only way to get her comfortable around other ponies. Still... “This is it right?” Haren asked, poking Sketch in the shoulder. Sketch’s head jerked up and he confirmed that it was indeed his house that they had approached. Taking a walk with Haren felt unsettlingly natural, but it proved their friendship had grown in the past weeks. It was hard not to enjoy her company. “You sure you’re gonna be fine?” she asked, concerned. Sketch looked back before speaking. Haren’s tail flicked a couple times, eager for an answer. “Yeah,” Sketch decided. He didn’t know what to think at first. All of the stress accumulating in what seemed a head start into depression proved itself otherwise with the intervention of Miss Conté and Haren. They were true friends. They could understand his strife without actually knowing what kind of mess he was in. It was spectacular, really. “Yeah, I am.” “Stay gold, ponyboy,” she quipped, winking. The small reference threw off Sketch enough to leave him speechless as she flew off. Maybe I still don’t know her... Sufficiently shaken, Sketch marched up to his front door and clenched his teeth. As much as he didn't care about other people's opinion of him, he would always value his parents'. He was afraid of disappointing them, most of all. Still, there wasn't much that could be done now. He's just going to have to bite the bolt. Sheepishly, he opened the door and slowly strode in, awaiting his scolding.... A scolding that never came. Confused, Sketch had an investigate around, looking through every room in the house. Neither of them were there. He was thinking of checking his room before he spied a small paper laying on the table held down by a fork used as a paper weight. He lifted both with his magic and tossed the fork in the sink. Sketch, Your dad and I decided to have a little dinner date to kill some time. I'm fairly certain you'll be able to take care of yourself in the meantime, and at the very least leave the foundation of the house hidden in the burnt ashes of our possessions. ...but seriously, don't start any fires. Love, Mom P.S. We probably won't be home until tomorrow ;) "Ech," Sketch remarked in disgust of the implications. He set the note down and took a seat on the couch. The ceiling suddenly became a lot more interesting for him. "I guess I'm lucky," He said to no one, closing his eyes. "Or something..." He rested his head for a moment but then decided he should relax in his bed instead. Climbing up the stairs, he trudged to his room and opened the door... ...To find Trust fast asleep in his own bed. About a billion thoughts flew through his mind, mostly of joy and shock, but a few having a trace of anger for her being so careless. Maybe he would scold her later, because she just looked way too peaceful to yell at right now. Assured that he was too tired to do anything about this debacle, he yawned and went limp at the side of the bed frame. It was around four o'clock; surely it was a poor time to sleep. But everybody had told him to get some rest, so that's exactly what he was going to do. Maybe it would be a bit easier this time, with Trust's soft breaths slowly enveloping and warming his ear. He was proved correct fairly quickly as the slippery character of sleep finally had a few words with him.... And now I have to pick up the pieces Click, clock... Click clock... Click clock... The second hand was a bit slow. The minute hand was aligned incorrectly. The hour hand had an inconsistent speed. Yet they all converged into an unexpectedly correct time. Or so it seemed on the surface. Sketch rubbed his eyes, struggling to dig out the dirt that had accumulated in his sockets. He had lost track of how long he had been awake now. Maybe half an hour? More? He inhaled sharply and leaned his head back, hitting the bed frame gently. He stretched his legs, and found himself at a disappointing level of groggy. It was midnight, so he slept for a good eight hours; by all intents and purposes he should be well rested. Still, that may come with the insomnia description. He yawned and twisted his neck to wake up Trust. "Hey, squatter. Awake, freeloader," he joked, sniffing. Sketch nearly jumped when Trust's eyes flew open, the soft glow they gave abruptly lighting the area around them. Her features familiarly were more aggressively colored in the dark, which perplexed him greatly to this day. Maybe it had something to do with her feral eyes and slitted pupils. Her initial burst of energy dwindled quickly, and she gave a more natural groggy moan. She lazily threw her sheets off of herself and took a normal stance on the bed. She gave an exaggerated stretch, and of course Sketch stared a bit at her form. What would anyone expect him to do? "Good night, Sketchy." Trust said this with a shocking lack of irony, however she must have been aware of its oddity. "Good night," Sketch replied, unable to stop himself from smiling. "I see you took it upon yourself to take a nap in my bed." "Hey, you said I could last night." She pouted without an ounce of sincerity and made sad eyes at the stallion. More than unamused, Sketch scoffed. "I meant whenever I was here, Trust." Trust seized the opportunity with lightning speed, gasping sarcastically. "Why Sketch, how scandalous of you! Trying to take advantage of an innocent, wide-eyed girl like little ol' me!" Her cadence was that of an old-timey ignorant country girl. Had the joke not have been so obviously at his expense, he may have blushed at the not so subtle innuendo. This was the first time she had been risqué with her teasing, and it surprised Sketch. He had always thought of her being slightly naive such subjects, but she has showed to at least be knowledgeable enough to get the basics of the intimacies of ponies. Sketch chalked it up to her having holes in her knowledge of that subject, just like she had with everything else. "I know what you meant," Trust said, chuckling and rolling her eyes. "I just noticed your parents weren't here and decided to squat until you came back. I do it all the time." "Fair enough, I guess." Honestly, Sketch could’ve cared less considering she was very aware of her surroundings. She probably knew that Sketch had come home earlier and fell back asleep. And the thought of Trust comfortably sleeping where he sleeps was... nice to know. Trust yawned and bounced over to the door. She put a hoof on the knob and looked back. “Where’re your folks anyway?” “Datenight,” he deadpanned, glancing at the moon. Trust stuck her tongue out in disgust and as a sign of sympathy. “Where you going?” “Fridge,” she answered casually, already halfway down the hall. Sketch followed close behind. “Don’t be thinking you need to make me some fancy meal like you always do, I’ll just make a sandwich.” He wanted to protest, but he knew it’d get him nowhere. The kind of tone she was using made it obvious she was standing her ground this time. As they made it to the kitchen, Sketch reached for the light switch. “I’m gonna turn on the light, okay?” he stated, already putting pressure on it. “Ew... yeah whatever.” He did so, letting light burst into the kitchen. He saw her slitted pupils shrink suddenly, a sight that definitely made the ordeal worth it. It was adorable. She rubbed her eyes in discomfort for a moment and then returned to normal. “Stupid light.” She was taking out materials one would use to make a veggie sandwich (including butter, for some reason. It was less the fact it was weird on a sandwich, but the fact it was the only weird thing she brought out.) That was when Sketch’s brain hatched an idea. His parents weren’t going to be home anytime soon, and the house kinda made Trust look cramped up, so... “Hey, Trust?” “Hmmn?” she questioned with a slice of cheese in her mouth. “How about we take this outside?” The look of absolute astonishment on Trust’s face was a sight to behold. “You want to fight me?” she asked completely befuddled. “What? No.” Sketch uneasily pointed to the ingredients on the table. “How about we make the sandwiches and have a little picnic in the woods?” “Pic... nic?” she inquired further. It took a lot of strength for Sketch not to facehoof. “We can eat them there... in the wilderness.” Trust’s look of puzzlement only faded a little, but however was still apparent. “Uhh... why? It’ll be dark.” “It’ll be roman-” Sketch coughed to interrupt himself. Weird. Why did that almost slip out? He cleared his throat. “It’ll be fun. And silent. And dark. And it’ll smell a lot better than the city.” “Oh.” She tapped her chin with her hoof, making audible sound off of her bare fang. “I guess i never thought of doing that. Sounds cool!” Internally, Sketch set off some fireworks and danced in the impending flames. “Let me grab a basket.” It didn’t get dark until Sketch had reached the outskirts of the city. The placement of canterlot city, while novel and beautiful, was a bit inconvenient at times. In order to reach the woods or its surrounding areas, one had to take a trolley, train, cave system, hike, or flight. Luckily there was an automated tram stationed for civilian use that Sketch had a lifetime ticket for, because of his dad’s occupation. Many of his cases involved the lower class cities around the base of the mountain, and therefore made regular use of the tram necessary. He was just glad no guards stopped to ask why he was out so late and find out his age. There was no curfew for the citizens of Canterlot, but an underaged unicorn asking to exit the city so late at night could raise some suspicion. Trust had assured Sketch that she would be behind him every step of the way in the shadows, and that she’d show up once they had gotten away from the crowds. On cue, Trust landed expertly in the tram in mid-air. “Ta-da. Miss me?” Sketch, although thoroughly impressed with her agility, looked up from a pamphlet he only picked up specifically for his joke. “Hmm? Oh hey, Trust, didn’t see you there.” Trust clicked her tongue and pushed him in the shoulder. “Ha-ha, shut up.” She spun around on one leg and fell into the cushioned seats. She eyed the basket Sketch had brought. “You know, this seems like a lot of work to eat a couple sandwiches.” “I think it’s worth it.” Now that Sketch’s two bits were on the table, Trust waved her hooves assuredly, showing a small amount of blush. “Nonono, I didn’t mean it wasn’t, I mean I wanted to do this...” She meekly touched her two hooftips together. “I just... I don’t understand why’d you want to waste the time...” She instinctively knew what Sketch was going to say next, a side effect of spending so much time with him. “And I don’t mean that I’m not worth it either, I’m just saying... we could’ve just ate them at your house and then done some other stuff. We would’ve had just as much fun, but with less work.” Staring at her, Sketch had trouble thinking of justification. The fact that he wanted some private alone time with her was the obvious answer, but it was out of the question to share since it sounded too weird. It always felt like the house was somehow watching them too... not that it should’ve mattered. “Well... hanging out at the house is fun and all... but this’ll be a new experience. I mean, you can always have new experiences by yourself, but it just means more when there’s someone else to share them with.” Trust contemplated this for a few moments... and then blew a raspberry. “Sappy garbage...” She haughtily laughed and stuck her nose up in the air, closing her eyes. She opened one eye and looked down on him before sincerely adding, “...But I guess I can see the appeal.” The idea of Sketch making it in the woods must have been humorous for Trust, as she giggled when she sat on the floor. "Have you've ever been out here?" Not one to be still, Sketch started to absently sift through the contents of their lunch. He casually shrugged. “Not really. I went camping one time, but we were pretty much set with high quality materials. Just short of like, air conditioning.” A small chuckle escaped Sketch’s lips as he closed the basket. “Haven’t been out of the city much, actually.” “Really?” Trust asked, cocking her head as she always did. “Pretty strange for an artist.” The tram stopped suddenly, the magic and the lamp being powered by it gradually dying. Sketch simply craned his neck and faced Trust. Sincerely, he confided. “Isn’t it?” The air was crisp and the wind was raw. Dew plaqued itself onto the hooves of the two equines, and the leaves whistled at their passing. Sketch’s breathing had reached a rhythm, pacing itself at the slow beat of his heart. He noticed Trust had closed her eyes some time ago, guiding herself with the sound of Sketch’s steps. She was close... close enough to inhale the fresh smell of the wind carrying soothing petrichor every so often. And every time, she took a step closer. Sometimes, her batwing would brush up against his fur, delivering a surprisingly warm touch to the cold winter air. He found what he was looking for... “Here we are,” Sketch announced, gesturing to the large body of water that they had befallen. “Lake Gallop.” “Hm.” Her voice contained a hint of dull surprise. “This is the spot, huh? Can’t say I’m disappointed.” Sketch was halfway through the setup of the picnic, laying down that oh-so cliché red and white checkered blanket and removing the humble sandwiches contained within. “Rightly so.” The next few minutes were spent in relative silence, the soft sound of chewing and the occasional question eating up the time. Sketch had no idea what time it was, nor did he care. It was late enough to be near pitch black, the only light coming from the moon, its reflection off Lake Gallop, and Trust’s eyes. Once they finished the sat and stared at the water, both wondering if one was trying to catch a glimpse of the other in the reflection of the water. “Hey, Sketchy?” she suddenly asked, nearly making him jump at the sound. “Yeah?” “I wanna say thanks.” “For what?” “I know what you’re trying to do by inviting me to that stupid party.” “Do you now?” She puffed her cheeks. It was obvious because her raised cheeks cut off some of the light from her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Sketchy. Just be glad I’m not throwing your pity back into your face.” There was another silence, this one more content. “Trust... its pretty obvious you didn’t have much growing up. I don’t know how bad you had it, but I assume the worst. I... just want to show you something you could’ve missed otherwise... something I know somepony like you would love.” Another silence. “You sap!” she yelled, giggling. Sketch was suddenly knocked forward by Trust’s entire body, causing him to break face first into the water. He felt all his veins suddenly contract as the freezing brittle water strangled his body. Sketch could’ve sworn he had simply stopped living for a moment as his lungs were bled dry of oxygen. He desperately kicked for air, not wanting to drown. It took him a moment to realize he had never gone more than nose deep past the surface, and that the sheer temperature of the water had deceived him. As his body grew accustomed to the sudden change in climate, he began to yell. “D-d-d-d-damm-mm-mmit! Tr-t-t-trust! It-t-t-tsss wayyy to c-c-cold!!” She was still on the ground laughing when he had finished his scolding. She refused to acknowledge that he was reaching his hoof out. “Seriously, Trust! I can die from hypothermia!” Sketch growled, now more in control of his voice. “Hypo-what-ia?” she questioned, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She didn’t know that a pony could die from just being too cold, so she quickened her pace to help him up. “You should’ve seen the look on your f-” Immediately as Trust’s hoof touched Sketch’s, he hooked his leg around hers and pulled her in with all his might. She instinctively tried to flap her wings, but his weight prevented that. In a less than graceful splash, both ponies were now soaked. “Dang it!” “H-how do you like it?” Despite getting used to the water, it still chilled him to the bone. As such, he chittered his teeth every now and then. “Sly bitch...” “What’d you say? You think you’re a bad-ass now, huh tough guy? Try to talk smack when your lungs are full of water!” She lunged at him, taking him by the neck and slamming him through the water. He hit the ground completely submerged. This time, he was prepared and held his breath. Then, using his extra leverage, kicked up and tossed her off of him. This continued for a few minutes, until finally she pushed him to the bank of lake and pinned him on the beach. “Gotcha!” she celebrated in glee. She sported a huge toothy grin which contradicted the feral intimidation her fangs brought to the table. The juxtaposition made Sketch laugh as she eased her grip, in turn making her laugh. They returned to normal, and cleared their throats when they were done giggling like schoolfillies. All that Sketch could see were her glowing yellow eyes. They slowly dilated as her vision was focused on Sketch, away from the moon and lake. His pupils shrunk from the massive intake of light from her glowing irises. They sat there, apathetic to the vulnerable position they were in. Slowly, the light from her eyes began to get smaller. She was closing her eyes. Sketch didn't know why she would do that... He felt the pressure of her nose pressed up against him get stronger as the light turned into slits. They were almost all the way gone, when- "ACH-OOO!!!" The process made Sketch jerk forward violently, but his muzzle hit nothing but air. Trust had thankfully dodged the sneezing blast rather quickly, her head off to the side. Whatever was happening stopped in one fell swoop. By the time Sketch recovered, Trust had already gotten off of him. She giggled with a surprising amount of resolve. “You alright?” “Yeah, just... ACH-OO! Cold.” “Wait, you weren’t kidding about the cold thing?” she asked, perplexed. Sketch sat up, cradling himself to save from the cold. “Of course not...” “Oh, sorry! I thought you were just saying that to drop my guard!” She ran to their previous picnic location and grabbed the checkered blanket from the ground. She made sure the clean side was facing inward and wrapped it around Sketch. She held her body close to him to give him warmth. Sketch couldn’t think straight. Whether it was because he was cold, he was flustered from Trust’s embrace, or some combination of the two, not a single clear thought entered his mind. Water had soaked into the blanket already. Had it not been for Trust’s body heat, he would be freezing again despite the blanket. “Buhh....” Nice. Smooth, Sketch. “Were... were you serious about the dying thing?” Sketch could barely see her face from his peripheral. It was difficult to breathe normally knowing her forelegs was wrapped around his neck and chest, but her face gave him a pang of sadness that rang through. “Well... no, that’d only be if I was still in the water... and... alone.” He put on a smile to cheer her up. “But since you’re here it’s pretty much impossible.” “Good.” “So...” Becoming more rational, Sketch thought of a question. “Do you just not feel the cold?” Her body radiated a peculiar warmth, he noticed. Her biology was obviously ignoring the freezing temperatures. “No, I do... it just doesn’t bother me. At most, it gets a little uncomfortable.” It was hard to find words, for the both of them. They weren’t looking at anything in particular and their thoughts were empty. The only sounds emanating were the quiet rustles in the woods. Sketch was okay with that. But he was not okay with the cold. Unfortunately he had to end this moment with a voice of protest. “We should really get indoors,” he blurted aloud. It took a moment for Trust to react; she was too lost in thought. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. The hypoglycemia or whatever.” She quickly flew over to the picnic basket and snatched it up with her teeth. She was at Sketch’s side once more in a matter of a second. Sketch stood and try to make sense of everything. Like what the hell was he exactly trying to accomplish? After analyzing his recent actions he figured subjectively that he was indeed trying to get romantic with Trust. But that was subjectively. He knew he wasn’t! But if he saw anyone else in his position it would be obvious what they were trying to do. Namely, Trust herself. Everything felt like a mirage, or an illusion of some kind. Like a dream. He didn’t even feel he was in his own perspective anymore. He knew he was cold purely through calculation, he no longer felt it. He hardly felt anything other than Trust. It was like a dream... one that he didn’t want to wake from. Trust slowly eased her grip until it eventually became too loose to support its own weight. It was enough to snap Sketch back into reality. He stood, the cold going back to directly affecting him. Recovering, he took the time he was given to shake a bit of the freezing water off. "I really need to dry off," he commented while trying very hard not to shiver. What in the hell am I trying to do... I don't even know myself anymore... “Hearth’s Tearing Eve is in a few days now, isn’t it?” Trust suddenly asked with her back turned towards Sketch. Not expecting the irrelevent question he had to think of an answer, one that quickly became, “Yes.” She was silent and grabbed her knee nervously. She stuttered a bit. “I... hope I like it.” “So do I, Trust. So do I...” The little griffin child’s smile faded as she realized just how large the stuffed elephant prize was. It was twice her height and nearly just as big. She struggled with it for a while, trying to hold it in her beak only to have it drag across the floor, she attempted to put it on her back only to have it slide off within a moments notice. It seemed like nothing was going. to work out at all. She would have to leave her prize here, her pockets a couple of bits lighter. She sat on a nearby bench, thoroughly defeated. That was when a strange little pony approached the poor griffin. “Hi,” he gingerly greeted. He had puffy orange hair and dark blue fur, and his thin-rimmed glasses hung a couple of centimeters above his nose. “You need help, little girl.” “No!” she was quick to deny, holding her prize even tighter. The small pony backed up for her sake and stood cool. “Are you sure? That wonderful prize is very big, and if I had won it I’d want someone to help me.” The little griffin girl contemplated this for a moment, staring into the eyes of the gorgeous stuffed elephant. She nodded her head sheepishly, blushing like no tomorrow. “I... guess.” “See, now? Isn’t it a good idea to admit you need help when you do?” The small pony laughed as he swung the elephant around his back, taking small strides next to the flushed little griffin girl. “Centimeters?” Sketch asked under his breath as he laid the book beside him. “Guess I should have expected that from a book about a griffin.” The room was too neat for his liking. When he and Trust came back from the lake, she immediately conked out in Sketch’s bed, which was rather strange considering she usually sleeps during the day. Because of his unexpected dip in the lake, Sketch was wide awake and decided to clean up his room to kill some time. It never bothered him before, but a clean room made him feel a little uncomfortable now. It was odd, really. Now Trust was gone and he needed to be at school, something he was dreading terribly. He locked the door before leaving, just then realizing that the door was locked when he got there, meaning his parents were back. They must have been asleep. Sketch wondered when a school official would be over to tell his parents of his misconduct; after all, they must have missed them yesterday. “Yo, kid!” Sketch raised his head, seeing Haren’s tell-tale form in the distance, donning a brand new feather-style and jewelry. Today her feather’s were split in the middle and had her right eye obscured, with the tips making a graceful curve near the end that made them point outward. She was more cleaned up than yesterday, which was saying something since she didn’t look bad at all that day either. Most importantly, she looked more smug than ever. Her mood had improved; yesterday she seemed a bit distant and troubled. Today she looked as if she could take on the world. Sketch waved as he hurried to her side. “Pride.” “Pride, huh? What do you mean?” Haren lifted her talon to further her point (she still kept walking unperturbed, somehow). “Well, I know you ponies aren’t strangers to pride or anything, but it’s a big deal back east. A huge deal. People take attacks on their reputation personally, and more often than not get very violent with it.” “Really? Wouldn’t they get in trouble with the police?” “It’s not illegal.” Sketch froze his limbs and choked on the air. “What?! You mean they just attack each other willy-nilly?” “Yup. Personal quarrels can be carried out any way the individual sees fit, as long as they keep it amongst themselves. A lot of griffins have been killed because of this.” “K-killed?” “Yup. The only reason we have a court system is for corporate dishonesty and contract infringement. Political scandals and illegal deals, regulation disobeying, things like that.” Sketch couldn’t believe a word. Her country cared more about honesty in business than they did the well-being of their citizens! “B-b-but what if it did get out of hand, what if innocents start to get hurt.” “Then the police come. Well they aren’t really police, their members of the military in reserve. They’re a certain branch of the military you get sent to when they want to give veterans a break or they have a surplus of soldiers.” “That’s utterly ridiculous!” “Is it now?” she snapped, that smile still plastered on her face. The smile let Sketch know she was being light-hearted, but the tone made him realize she was being serious. “You never thought for one second that maybe random people’s pitiful squabbles don’t merit a court meeting?” Sketch felt his stomach squeeze with nausea after hearing such a sharp tone from Haren. It was so odd hearing her talk like that; she was always so relaxed and easy-going. “Do you realize how much time and money goes into helping stuck up individuals sort out their dirty laundry after weeks of investigation? It’s their fault they got into any trouble anyways, yet they demand others to solve their own damn problems. An official court should only focus on societal and economic crimes, not the individual’s. They can sort that amongst themselves.” Haren stopped in the middle of her rant to check on Sketch, who was walking a pace slower and had his ears down in defense. She realized that a raging griffin with razor sharp talons ranting about how violence was totally okay wasn’t exactly the most comforting thing to see. She calmed down and put her talon over her beak, a tick that Sketch had become familiar with whenever she was self conscious about something. “Sorry. Told ya... pride.” “No, no...” Sketch assured, his ears rising. “You... have a point.” Haren looked actually surprised; dumbfounded even. A rare sight. She crossfaded into her usual smile and tried to hold in a hefty guffaw. “Ha! That’s why I love you, Sketchy.” She hooked her arm around his neck and rubbed his chest with her talon. Sketch was sort of confused how to feel about that. She removed herself and began to trot away with... her hind kind of in the air. She flicked her tail and winked at him. “Come by later, ‘kay Sketchy?” She tossed her talon at the wrist in a backwards salute. “Good luck at school, Sketchy.” Sketch’s eyes lingered as he struggled to gather his thoughts. Ooookay... she’s gotten friendlier. What the hell happened yesterday? Sketch looked at the School’s doors and took one deep breath. Hopefully not the last one he has. Sketch decided to save the school some time and immediately walk towards the Principal’s office. He expected everything. Except laughter. That was the last thing he expected. “Hahaha! In all my years at this school I’ve never had a student inviting punishment!” The stallion certainly had gusto, what with his thick grey mustache and large build. The only thing he was missing was a monocle. His fur was of the most pronounced blues. “That’s absolutely rich!” “Uhh,” Sketch’s voice was cracking under pressure. “I’d like to disagree, sir... I just know I can’t get out of this one. No use fighting the cat’s grasp...” “Haha! Fighting the cat’s grasp, how original!” Principal... Pulp, I think his name was, sat in his chair and clopped his hooves. “So, Sketch... I was actually to call you up later, so you got that right. I didn’t think you’d be so progressive about it.” “Umm... thanks?” Is he calling me stupid, or...? “We sent a teacher over to your house to inform your parents of this little... transgression, but they weren’t home. Where were they?” “They uh... went on a ‘date night’ or something.” Sketch pouted (a rare sight) and blushed. "Hohoho! I can sympathize, my boy!" He guffawed greatly, clopping his hooves together once again. "You know, to anyone else, that would sound suspicious..." "...But..?" Principal Pulp chuckled, darker than usual. He arched his brow dramatically as his laugh petered out. "But not to me. I'm not daft, boy, I realize something's troubling you." Sketch wanted to scream in frustration. Was it really that obvious? "I know troublemakers and their lot, and you're not a part of it. When a student misbehaves, they do so out of habit. They want power over our instructors and are too proud to admit they just want to disobey authority. But this is your first offense. Sketch, my boy, I understand that when you're under so much pressure that you're at your breaking point, the slightest insult can make you explode. We've all been there, lad. We can't deny it." Principal Pulp crossed his legs and mentioned one more thing offhand. "Your griffin friend came here yesterday and vouched for you, by the way. Said you deserved a second chance." "Haren?" Sketch asked, more to himself. "She was quite the seductress. I think she fancied me, too. Think of it, a griffin attracted to a pony. Ha! Ridiculous to even think of." “I... guess...” Sketch felt really dirty all of the sudden. Principal Pulp sighed with the entire force of his lungs. “Look, my boy... I know it’s hard sometimes, so I’ll let this transgression slide....” “Really?!” “Indeed!” Pulp coughed with enthusiasm. “Don’t expect this to happen again, my boy,” he warned with a grim expression. “I...” Sketch sunk in his seat. The amount of good luck he was having lately put him on edge. “I wouldn’t take advantage of that...” “Good,” he said, grinning. “You’d best thank that griffin. She was the one that made me second guess myself.” “Yeah,” he agreed, smiling back. “She can do that to people.” The rest of the day went by without much hindrance. Despite his history class being a bit tense, no mention was made of yesterday. It felt like a dream, and before he knew it, the dream was over. Miss Conté made it a point to avoid him today. Maybe she was just trying to give him some space. He felt he didn’t need it. As Sketch made his way to Anthem's place, he couldn't help but get anxious over the party that was soon to pass. Giddy wasn't quite the way to describe his feelings, but was apt enough. Though there was no way to not worry about how Trust would take this whole thing. Of course that's ignoring the fact something might go horribly wrong without her help... This was dangerous, that much was obvious. But if they never tried, what good would that do? Still, the whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth as many scenarios played out in his head, none of them good. He was so distracted he walked right past Anthem’s apartment block. He quickly doubled back, self consciously looking around to make sure no one saw his little blunder. He walked up to the door and rose his hoof when it swung right open. “Yeah, I suppose,” was all Sketch heard of the conversation. Anthem nearly walked right into Sketch before realizing he was there. “Woah, Sketch! How you doin’?” “Good, I think...” Sketch answered vaguely. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt, but when he looked at it subjectively it seemed he was blessed with some good fortune. “Is Haren here?” “Yeah, she’s over there making... something.” Anthem scratched his head, unsure of how to word it. “Where are you going?” “I’m gonna pick up some cooking oil... for... a reason?” The amount of uncertainty that Anthem sported made Sketch a little nervous. He was acting a bit odd. It didn’t seem like there was much on his mind, nor did it seem like he was troubled. He just looked a bit confused. “Alright... see you soon I guess.” “Take care, Sketchy,” He immediately returned to his usual demeanor and slapped Sketch’s shoulder before leaving. Maybe he was drunk or something. “Haren.” Sketch immediately walked over to the kitchen. Haren was cooking, a strange sight indeed. However, Sketch was notified by Anthem long ago that she was a good cook, she just hated to do it most of the time. She was in the middle of seasoning a pot filled with an assortment of foods. "Sup, little Sketchy?" "Oh don't give me that." He poked her playfully, holding back the urge to laugh. "You know exactly 'what is up'." She coughed out a chuckle. "Why, whatever do you mean, Sketchy?” “You know, there was a school, and a teacher, and things were said...” Sketch looked at her with his head at an angle, a smug expression covering his face. The look of feign ignorance he sported caused Haren to burst into laughter. “But seriously... thanks. For everything.” She covered her beak as she always did, this time sincerely. No words had to be said, her humble look and ambiguous smile said it all. “I really should be thanking you.” Confused, Sketch cocked his head. “What?” “Don’t worry about it.” Sketch shrugged and walked up next to her. He took a seat and marvelled at just how much larger griffins were compared to him. One really never understood the scope since both species were the same height while standing. “What are you cooking anyway?” Whatever she was boiling was dark, large, and had an odd texture. It seemed she was making some type of stew since there were various vegetables littering the sides and floating in its broth. She took out the makeshift ladle and flung a bit of the broth at him whilst covering the large pot. "It's roast beef." "Beef?" He asked. Haren opened the pot again and took a chunk of the loaf out and handed it to him. He popped it in his mouth with his magic and chewed. It was stringy, and despite being tough and dense, it fell apart as he chewed. It was rather tasty. "Yeah, beef. You know, cow." Sketch spat up immediately, doubling over. "What?!" "Calm down, kid," Haren laughed, barely able to keep her posture. "I'm joking." "Oh... so it's not cow meat..." Sketch had to reassure himself in his mind repeatedly in order to keep from vomiting. "Oh no, it is," Harem replied, keeping an eye on her food. Sketch gagged and his stomach started heaving. It took all of her strength to not fall over laughing. "Ha ha ha, calm down. It's synthetic." "Blegh." At some point Sketch had become very accustomed to the floor. The thought of eating something that once held political opinions nauseated him. “Come on, did you honestly think I’d eat meat when I live with a pony? It’s disrespectful.” She turned off the burner and lifted the roasting pot off of the stove. “I’m glad you think so,” Sketch commented incredulously. He stood, only to find his knees held no more strength. He quickly held on to the counter to support himself. “Want some imitation innocent animal?” Haren inquired while grabbing a plate. She didn’t grab a second one what with already knowing Sketch’s answer. “I really don’t like how you ruined what could have been an interesting meal for me.” Sketch grimaced a couple more times and finally sat on the sofa in the living room. Haren came over to the same sofa with her plate of food, setting it aside to allow it to cool off. Sketch noticed that Anthem’s projector was set up from what looked like last night, with a movie reel still in set. It was strange, Anthem usually took very meticulous care of his films, why would he leave it up like that. He was a bit of a scatterbrain today, maybe he was high last night or something. Would explain a few things. “Scooch.” Haren leisurely flopped on the couch and sighed. There was a bit of a silence, when Haren faced him with a look of contentment. “It’s cool, innit?” “Excuse me?” Sketch hung his head back and had to resist closing his eyes. “What is, exactly?” “Just... everything, y’know? It’s all good.” Haren put her legs up and leaned up against Sketch’s side, completely catching him off guard. His heart immediately stopped, and within a moments notice, started up again with astonishing speed. “Wutareyoudoin?” Sketch spat out instinctively. It seemed that Haren ignored him or didn’t notice him say anything since she acted like he had not protested. She made some type of gesture with her talons. “It’s just... for the first time in a while... I know what the hell I want, and what I have. I know it ain’t gonna last, but... I have to appreciate it while it lasts. I don’t want what happened last time to happen again.” Despite his more than awkward position, he didn’t want to appear insensitive. It really looked like she was pouring her heart out. Too bad his was about burst. Either way, he had no idea what she was talking about. “U-uhh, L-last time?” He smiled inadvertently even though the position she was in didn’t give her the window to see it. “Yeah there was this thing...” She yawned and covered her beak. “I’ll tell you about it later.” There was that distant look again, the one from that lunch yesterday, Sketch noticed. Her sad disposition distracted him from his anxiety for a couple moments where he started to show some concern for Haren. “...Are you... tired?” “A little, but I just didn’t get much sleep. There’s nothing wrong. At all. Thanks.” There was another silence, and Sketch’s feeling of anxiousness began to return. He couldn’t just bail, as much as he wanted to, so he decided to make some conversation to eat up the time. “Uh... I don’t know if you know, but uh... I’ve actually got insomnia... so... heh.” “Hmn...” Haren grinned and looked up to Sketch’s face. It made an unsettling feeling across Sketch’s shoulders that made him tense up. “Yeah I remember Anthem saying something about that... Hey you know, if you want, you could chill in my bedroom and take a nap or something.” NOPE, NOPE, NOPE, NOPE, ABORT, ABORT, ABORT, ABORT. Sketch sat up immediately and leapt off the couch, causing Haren’s head to hit the sofa. She was dumbfounded by the sudden gain of momentum. “OOOKAY, I just remembered I have to do something with someone somewhere that involves some other stuff, so I’m gonna go, alright? Seeya.” Sketch raced out the door without a second thought, slamming it on the way out. “Hmn...” Haren recovered and grabbed her plate of roast beef, grabbed her fork, and began to pick at it. “Weirdo.” Okay, okay, okay. Calm down Sketch, you’re being irrational. She wasn’t making a move, no, she was just... just... being nice! Yeah totally. The last half mile or so was spent by Sketch trying to rationalize what he just witnessed. Surely she wasn’t trying what it seemed like, right? Sketch took a moment to himself and inhaled slowly. His heart rate decreased and his stance steadied. He decided that he was just a bit on edge and had just looked too much into her action. Even if it wasn’t true, he couldn’t let this affect his life in any way. Still, what the hell was going on in her life to change her behavior so radically over the past couple of days? She had these unstoppable bouts of passion and beliefs, followed by some low energy glumness. It’s her business, Sketch thought, I shouldn’t bother her about it. Sketch blew a raspberry in frustration while stomping his hooves. A quick look around showed that he had achieved reaching his house while he was walking in deep thought. He rolled his eyes at himself, but realized it was probably better this than walking straight into his door like last time. His father must have heard Sketch close the door behind him. He put down the newspaper he was buried in and smirked in Sketch’s direction. “You’re home late.” “Oh, you know... just hanging out,” Sketch stated, lacking any enthusiasm. He shot a weak smile at his dad in an attempt to assure him. “You alright?” Sketch winced. Obviously his act didn’t convince him. Truth was, he was alright. Just a little flummoxed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, a little more convincingly. “You know how it is; just a little overwhelmed.” His dad inspected him a few more seconds and nodded, satisfied with his son’s vague explanation. Sketch took the opportunity to hop up his stairs and veer straight into his room. He hadn’t seen his mom anywhere, perhaps she was asleep or something. Some part of Sketch wished that when he opened the door to his room that he would find Trust there waiting for him, or for her to be taking a nap in his bed, but to no avail. It would be too dangerous with his parents there anyway, and as naive as she was, she was anything but stupid. Sketch sighed, tossing his bag across the room and bellyflopping onto his bed. Was he making a mistake with all of this? It didn’t matter, he could never find it in his heart to forsake Trust, or anyone for that matter. Even if this was a mistake, he was pretty much burned in at this point. Nothing he could do to snake out of it, even if he wanted to. At some point of this ordeal, any chance to return to his normal life was obliterated. And you know what? He was okay with that... Anthem stared at the counter, trying to make sense of it all. He glanced at all the merchandise he had accumulated; oranges, bananas, ice, and of course Haren’s cooking oil all decorated the once clean counter. “Sir? SIr.” The mare’s voice knocked him out of his stupor. He shook his head to keep his fleeting consciousness and smiled sheepishly. “Uh, yes?” “Fourteen bits, sir.” “O-oh, of course.” He reached into his bag and sifted it’s contents for a bit, trying to grab loose change. It took some effort, but he achieved his small goal. As he laid it upon the counter, the cashier gave him a look of concern. “Are you alright, mister?” “Huh?” Anthem asked, bringing a hoof to his forehead. It took him a moment, but he answered with certainty. “Yeah... yeah, I guess you could say that...”