You sit across the room from Miss Dash as she continues to slumber, your eyes still wary upon her back, ever-fearful that her wounds might rise once more. Her muzzle rubs against of the pillows beside her, hooves clinging tight and bringing it to her chest like a filly to a toy bear. It is only when these subtle nuances, the smallest and most inconsequential of actions are lost that you truly learn to appreciate them for all they are worth. It is also a lesson that you would be happier to have never learned. Ignorance truly is blissful.
The chink of ceramics draws your watch from the mare and to the table you now sit in, Eir setting down a pair of alabaster ornamental cups upon two small brown slips, coasters, you believe they’re called. Lacking in the excitement of the roller variety, but they do serve their purpose… Whatever it may be. Eir… How has she eluded for you so long? The mare- Is she a mare? She is no more a pony than you are living. She wears her smile proudly and wane it does not, her hums a soothing melody as she closes her eyes. You feel the breeze return as she vanishes from sight, only to return several moments later, a small jug hovering alongside her, cast in her magical golden aura. Her eyes ‘gloss’ over you, then to Dash, then back to you before approaching and pouring the liquid within.
It’s a deep brown, your stomach and mind churning at the abysmal flavor that rests within, your brows scrunching without thought. “Is something wrong?” she never looks up at you nor does her smile dissipate.
“Coffee…”
“It has an acquired taste,” now pouring her own, “Hot chocolate, on the other hoof… I haven’t met a pony who didn’t like it.” Hot. Chocolate. Perhaps melted chocolate would better describe it and upon nasal inspection it does lack the nutty aroma of coffee, trading it for a creamier experience.
“The melting of chocolate in such quantity would lead to a heightened level of sweetness. It would be too much to qualify as edible, I can only assume.”
“Then we should be fortunate it is only partly chocolate. I find milk to be a tremendous addition myself,” she brings the cup to her lips but not before inhaling the vapors in one swift inhalation. “Delicious.” You dab your finger into the mixture, knowing better by now than to let the unknown substance wash over yourself like a flood of Smooze.
“Hmm… Quite so.”
“I thought you’d like it,” she sets her cup down and takes a long look at you. “So is this what we’re going to talk about after all this time? Hot chocolate?” It was topical…
“How long?”
She raises a single brow at your question, “How long what? That’s a bit broad.” Broad, yes of course. If you wish to know more you would do well to be precise.
“How long have you been like this?”
“You’ll have to be a bit more specific, love,” she takes another sip happily. “I’m afraid I can’t read your mind.” Indeed, if you cannot, why she?
“How long have you walked amongst the living, Life.”
She rests a hoof on your hand, “Please, call me Eir. I wouldn’t enjoy calling you Death after all.” She pauses, “and I don’t think you would either.” True, but to be life itself… That is an admirable position the living would say, if you should know their words. Topping off her cup Eir does you the courtesy of answering your question, “A long long while, though, I’m sure you kept tabs on me.” Keeping, tabs? Does she own a bar? No, that would lack sense. Why would a being such as her own an establishment that poisons its residents? Her eyes scan your silent visage, “Oh, not even once?”
Still you lack in response, unsure of which answer would be most appropriate. She does not seem to take your silence in such a negative light, however. “You were always so serious. It’s a wonder you ever had time for little ol’ me.”
“Much time has passed that I still recount, had I known that someone such as you walked amongst the mortal plane…”
Her gaze turns inquisitive with a squint of the eyes, “You… don’t remember me. Not at all?” You recall this same line of question between you and the Princess. This sensation of uncertainty must have mirrored dear Celestia’s.
“I do not remember many things,” you look down to the cup in your hand, taking another sip, “We have met then? In the past, long forgotten?”
“You were mine,” her whisper drawing you back to her, “And I was yours. You and me, together.” Such romanticisms are beyond a being such as yourself, but for her, she must have cherished this ‘connection’ between you both. Even still, no memory exists that you may call upon that would lead to such a tale. She nervously chuckles, “I know you never quite thought of it that way, but I had hoped you would still- My, just look at me. Babbling over myself like a filly. You- You wouldn’t remember a mare like me.”
“That’s not true,” the words blurt out from your mouth before you can master them. An uneasiness falling over you.
Eir simply giggles, “So you do care…” Of course you care. To be life itself is a position of great renown. There is not a chance in Tartarus that you would forget her and yet, it seems you have. “If I didn’t know any better than I would say another mare caught your eye,” she raises a single brow.
“I am unsure of what you mean.”
She points her hoof over to the bed, and Miss Dash. Still safe. You force yourself to look away however, almost able to visualize the punctures along her spine. “You could have simply revived her.”
“I didn’t-” you chance one more look and find yourself relieved at her unchanged condition, “I didn’t want to see her go. The light in her eyes… I would not allow it.”
“She’s a beauty that one, and that mane,” Eir hums at that last part.
“Yes…” She is- Is what? Beautiful? Her appearance is pleasant, yes, but- Do not forget yourself, Anonymous. Never forget. “She is a good friend.”
“And do you always take your friends to Tartarus?” You’re rather taken aback by the speed of her response, but even so, she means no ill will from the statement. “I mean no offense, but you of all ponies should know the dangers within the Gate.” That you would never deny. In fact, you would agree in a manner which could almost be described as ‘pride.’ Even so, you took this knowledge and used it to guide your friends through the trials that awaited within the dead realm with -varied- results.
Of all things to take pride in, you are most proud of your friends and the courage they possess. The strength of mortals… Something to admire as well. “Our quest brought us there. Had I any other choice…” Never would you risk their lives, those fragile little things that you hold atop a metaphorical pedestal, safe and secure, out of reach from those who would wish them harm.
“You said ‘us.’ You mean the both of you,” Eir replies seeking clarification no doubt.
“The three of us. Rainbow Dash, whom you have healed, myself, and the young Twilight Sparkle.” You’re taken aback when Eir shakes her downcast head. “Have I displeased you?”
“Anon, my dear Anon, when will you learn? Here you are, asking how long I have walked amongst the Equestrians when it was me who should be asking that same question.” Yes, you see… She need not worry of course. The conflict has been dealt with.
“The consequences of my actions have already come to pass,” you grin back at her. “My new friends had a hoof in the solution.”
Once more she shakes her head and looks up to you, “You don’t remember. Anon, please, you can’t stay in Equestria.” Why not? You know why. I shall deal with my conflict in due time. I will control- You cannot control it. You never could. Gah! Your arm knocks over your cup, spilling its contents over and staining the carpet below you, your hand gripping the side of your head, “I didn’t mean to anger-”
“I am not angry!” you fail to constrain yourself as your mind is assaulted once more. Your cheeks twitch as you attempt to explain, “An ache of the mind, acute to the point of agony.” While the exact situation is unknown to you, the feeling could be best described as a parasprite trapped within your skull with only one way to- By Tartarus… What you wouldn’t give to end this misery.
”Your mouth says one thing, but your body speaks another truth.” Impossible, your words only exit through your lips and no other. To claim another would- Stop. Why must you bucker so? Even as Eir crosses over to you, you cannot cease your belligerent questioning.
“Only my mouth speaks, another other is a lie.” Lying, which entity truly performs this act? When one is in control, can they not alter its nature? So which is truer, the nonvocals of your body or the- Your fingers perform the ‘massage’ upon your ‘temples,’ the uniquely sensitive patches of skin that seems to draw the attention of your fingers. How you wish they could do away with this pain.
”Here, allow me.” Despite her request to aid you, you remain still and vigilant, stubborn, if you would allow yourself the definition. “I think I might be able to help you.” As life… perhaps she can. Lowering your head, Eir rears up to place a hoof upon it. A heated pulse, hot but not uncomfortably so, much like the glow of a fire where you would roast the white puffs known as marshmallows. S’mores. How you yearn to return to such a simpler time.
The wave travels along her foreleg and finds its way to your own molten skin, the latter soaking in the rouge heat source without hesitation. Eir’s hums once more cascade throughout the room, the sweet almost velvety fluctuations in her tone, in some mystical and unseemly fashion, seem to tangle and wrap you about much as a fly in Charlotte's web. Charlotte… Who is this- Wait. Stunned, you look back to Eir, a true miracle worker.
“How?”
She giggles with a blush and releases you to wipe the hair from her eyes, “Hehe, you’re welcome.”
You- you find yourself unable to remain seated, an energy long having festered within you now begging to be released. “It has vanished. My thoughts- They no longer harbor the agony that has plagued my mind for so long. Charlotte… Eir, who is this Charlotte and why does she own a web? I must solve this mystery.”
”Ahh, Charlotte’s Web, a lovely little book. I’m surprised you remember it.” Yes a- a book. That’s right of course. You remember, vaguely of course with only hazy images but…
“Charlotte was a spider,” you find yourself reciting the thoughts that come to your mind, “She was- No, there was another character as well. A- There was a piglet.”
“I forgot that smile of yours,” Eir comments, your fingers moving to investigate.
“Am I? I am… Wilbur. That was the name of the pig, was it not?” Eir nods, only furthering this foreign excitement. Wilbur and Charlotte, they were friends. They lived upon a farm, it- How does it appear so clear? “I remember… Charlotte saved the pig did she not? Yes of course she did, but the end. Dare I say, the image is out of focus and the thought in shambles. How did it end?”
For the first time since you’ve seen her does her smile fade, leaving only her look of concern, “It’s not important. I should really clean up this mess.” Changing the subject, an excellent strategy for one who cannot foresee it. Even so, you do not have time further this line of conversation as Eir swiftly departs into her room of rest, the tinkle throne. Standing up you return to your sleeping companion who’s turned about in her sleep and gripping the sheets in a vice-like embrace.
Your head slumps to the side in parallel with her own; you even go so far as to time your inhalations with hers. The slumbering of this mare is infinitely more tolerable when her snores are absent. You do not know what you would do if she were to… Eir comes back out with a damp towel hovering alongside her. “Such a waste of chocolate. It couldn’t be helped.”
“Charlotte dies.” She doesn’t reply at first. “That is how the story ended.”
“But in her death she brought the miracle of life,” Eir tries, and that is the proper word for it, to convince you of the necessity of the act but… Death is never justified, not when it can be avoided. “No pony lives forever,” Eir begins cleaning up the mess you made. Is this the first time she has done this? “They’re born. They live.” Her pause is unmistakable, “And they die. It’s the circle of life.”
“But in a book, there is no need for the latter. Fiction is what its creator will make of it.” You pry a strand of hair from Rainbow’s mouth and return it behind her ear. “Charlotte need not have perished.”
Needn’t she? It is a troubling thought to be sure. “If only the world was as simple as that, then we might sleep easy.” The topic of sleep enters your mind and though you can dwindle upon the thought without interruption, it induces a certain curiosity.
“What you did for me- How long might it last?”
“It’s impossible to say. A week, a month. I hope it will last a lifetime.” You smile at her caring tone, “But… It will return. Nothing lasts forever, my dear.” A truer statement… “Except for us, of course.” The two of you share a silent bout of laughter, only your smiles signaling the shared joke. Eir lays the soiled towel in her bathroom and joins you by Rainbow Dash, Eir’s hoof testing her pulse. “While I have cured her wounds, it is still best she be limited to her bed. Her mind must rest.”
Rest? Miss Dash? She would never accept such a proposal. Perhaps if you told her she must exit from the bed… “Miss Dash is a rebellious one. Ask her to walk, and she will run. Ask her to rest and she will leave only empty covers.”
“Then she’s lucky to have somepony that’ll keep her in line.” Hmm? Does she? You were not aware that Eir knew of her patient’s roster of friends. Even so, you do not know one that could keep her ‘still.’
“Unfortunately not. Miss Fluttershy cares well for those she watches, but she is far too timid-”
“You, Anon.” Eir interrupts, “I was talking about you.” Ludicrous, you are not a pony. Unless by somepony she meant- Yes of course. You forget these things sometimes.
“The gesture is one of good will,” nodding in partial agreement, “but I cannot. I must return to where my duties lie. Tartarus has ‘run amuck’ in my absence.” You look down to Dash, reaching out to her only to pause and rest your hand upon the sheets beside her. So close… “The harm that befell her was done by me, by these hands. So different from hooves, aren’t they?” You add on in an attempt to lighten the mood. It is a failure. “I cannot harm anyone, any pony, from Tartarus.”
“So you’ll shut yourself from the world, locking yourself with the Umbras, the stitchers, and the abominations of the world? All for her?” Eir’s eyes stay locked to you, her fierce gaze nil against your own.
A warmth covers your hand, Rainbow having grasped it in her slumber, using it as a pillow perhaps? You can’t help but smile, despite yourself. “I hold no doubts about it.”
Moving away from the bed and towards the stain-glass window, you hear Eir chuckle, “Anon Anon Anon… You’re as blind as a bat…” Strange response. You do in fact see, and even bats have a way to evaluate the world around them.
“I do not understand.”
She turns back, “To give up the world for one mare? I can’t think of anypony else that’s more qualified to look over her.” Perhaps, but it is not just Rainbow Dash that you do this for. She must understand that.
“I leave for Equestria’s safety. My actions have already led to one tyrant’s escape.”
“Nightmare Moon,” Eir finishes the thought for you as you join her by the window. From here you can see most of Canterlot, but your gaze is fixed the garden, and the true tyrant cast in stone therein.
“I will not allow his escape as well.”
“What happened?” Eir speaks up, “How did Nightmare Moon escape. I never really got a straight answer from anypony. Gossip and rumors mostly.” The truth does tend to get ‘muddled’ as Rarity describes it. Gossip, turning rumors into truths, spreading like a fire through a forest. Only you can prevent them. What?
You recount the tale for her, of your meeting with Dash all the way through her attempt to ‘waste’ you, an act that still, despite her best efforts, you have not accomplished. In another life, perhaps. “I took my time here, allowing myself to indulge what I have missed over eons past. Miss Dash and friends took me in, in time. I believe I might have even made some of this ‘headway’ with Princess Luna.”
“The magic of friendship. There’s nothing quite like it.” True, and yet, there was. Something- long ago. A book you can remember, but this was magical, unworldly even. A strange description, but how else could it avoid you so? No matter, the only magic your friends need is in one another. “You can’t leave, Anon.” At first you believed Eir was mocking the pleads of Twilight Sparkle, but soon find her words to be her own. “You have friends here.”
“What is the phrase that the ponies use these days? If I had a bit? Yes, that’s it. If I had a bit for every time a pony said that.” You would be able to afford that new scooter for Scootaloo… You’d be leaving her as well. Unfortunate but necessary. “Miss Dash was to be my chauffeur, my guide. In this she has performed admirably and earned my appreciation. As you said yourself, nothing lasts forever.”
“I think I added ‘my dear’ to the end of that.” You chuckle. Indeed she did. “Do you trust me, Anon?” Once more you are given pause by her question. It seems an easy thing to answer, but if so, why does she ask them?
“If not you, then who might I trust?”
“I’ll take that as a yes then.” That would be a correct assumption. “Stay, keep Equestria safe here. Let the ones who’ve passed keep Tartarus safe.” Still on about this, is she? It is getting out of hand, or hoof in her case.
“I seem to never hear the end of this discussion. I would think that you, of all ponies-”
“Anon,” she lowers a brow, “I know you want to stay.”
You rub your shaking hand against your pants, looking back to Dash. “More than you could ever know…”
You feel the heat of her body as she steps closer, “I’ve known you for longer than anypony else, anyone even. I can see you don’t want to go, believe me, and I understand why you think you have to.” That foreign wetness returns, your vision growing hazy at the thought of truly leaving this world behind only for you to force this doubt aside.
“I must.”
“No you don’t.” Of course you do. “You may not remember our time together, but I do. Oh I remember the times we had, for good or for worse.” And for worse… “And I wouldn’t dare have you deprive this mare,” she nods over, “the very same that you had given me.”
“She is only a mare,” you reply, more to yourself than to Eir. “Nothing more.”
“And yet you brought her to me with tears in your eyes.” Eir’s head turns down as she walks back to the bed, “I’ve never seen you like that. Never.” You were- That is not the same- How could she- Dragon’s piss… “It’s not a request, by the way. You’re staying here, Eir’s orders,” she grins with a turn of the head. And who are you to deny the orders of life itself? Well, death, but that’s beside the point.
Eir retreats back to the table, pouring herself another cup of hot chocolate, “Care for another cup?” Like that, she’s back to her casual demeanor, almost as if we had never changed the conversation. “I would like that, but I believe I no longer have a cup. You remember… after I knocked it off the table.”
“Oh yes, I remember.” A breeze cuts through the room again as she vanishes from sight, reappearing with another cup. “Abracadabra.” You are sure the staff will appreciate her vanishing cup act, but still you smile and sip at your newly poured beverage. Yum, you might have to bring some for Miss Dash. She is sure to be astounded as well.
Speaking of her, a groan escapes from her direction, Dash’s hooves stretching out followed by a fervent shake, a morning ritual for many ponies. “I believe this signals the end of our meeting,” Eir states finishing up her cup. “Perhaps we can do this again sometime.”
“I would like that indeed.” Setting your cup back down you pick the half-sleeping mare up and into your arms, cradling her back and forth, to and fro.
Eir follows the sway of her head, “She’s a lucky mare you know. Not many have such a loyal friend to watch over them.”
“If that is the case, then it is I who am the lucky one.”
“I take it you’ll return straight to Ponyville?” You nod in response. “Do make sure she gets her rest. Tartarus can be quite taxing on the living.”
“Until we meet again,” you manage to lift her hoof with Dash in your arms, giving it a peck with your lips.
“I can hardly wait.” With a deep breath you begin to concentrate, focusing on Rainbow Dash’s mansion in the sky, thinking of the smooth steps that reach towards her door. A door of… metal and ice… Beaten and foreign. The breeze that had surrounded you drops suddenly, leaving you back within the confines of Eir’s room. “Forget something?” Many things, but one in particular.
“A phrase that has- haunted me, if you pardon the supernatural metaphor.”
“Alright, but I will remind you that even I don’t know everything.”You would be astounded if she did, but all you need are her thoughts on the subject, nothing more.
“What does it mean ‘to be human’?”
You watch as her unwavering smile vanishes, leaving the embodiment of life itself as stern as the most determined warrior. “To be cursed.”
You aren’t allowed a word as the bundle in your arms begins to squirm, “Ugh… Hmm.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” You wish to stay and learn more of this ‘curse,’ but it is time for your Pegasus to return home. She has had a long trip.
~~~
Finding yourself in the bedroom of Miss Dash is a rather odd experience. You expected more… color. A blue hue is cast over the décor within these walls which are surprisingly solid despite the expected cloudy exterior. Again Miss Dash squirms in your arms leading you on your way to her bed. Folding back the sheet with a free hand you take care to gently slide her beneath the blanket. Her hooves instinctively ball up the sheets to her; at least you do believe that is what they are doing. It is troublesome as dark as it is.
You move over to the windows and pull open the curtains, the landscape still covered in the blanket of night. You shall give Nightmare Moon this much, it does look peaceful. A yawn, Dash appears to be working herself along to full consciousness and you ensure that you are beside her when you do. Recalling the reactions some ponies have to being watched as they awake you pull a chair from across the room and take a seat. You can’t help but smile as her eyes begin to creak open revealing those cerise irises of hers, gorgeous.
Her hoof rubs her jaw as she attempts to scoot up, only to slide back down the headboard. “Hey…” she manages to say though her voice is weak and strained. You try to speak but only silence escapes your lips. Finding your tongue absent? No, there it is in your mouth. “You didn’t do anything while I was out, did you?” Besides speak to the embodiment of life? No, you would say not. Perhaps you should vocalize as much.
“Nothing you would find terribly interesting I fear. How do you feel?”
“Like I could use a drink,” she once again jokes, pushing herself up successfully this time and rubbing her eye, “Where am I?” Has her memory lapsed so far? That would- No, she recognized you.
“Of all the places you have ventured, surely you would remember your own bedroom.”
Squinting, she humphs and leans her head back. “Yeah well, I don’t remember putting a big green guy beside my bed… Sorry if the place is a mess.” You look around, drawers and floor clean and polished, a bit ‘spartan’ in its entirety, but she keeps the room well kept surprisingly.
“On the contrary, I found it unexpectedly well maintained.”
She chuckles lightly only to abruptly stop, “What’s that supposed to mean?” How you missed this… Her.
~~~
You ventured forth into the kitchen, also remarkably clean with the counters reflecting the light of the moon. Had you eyes they would be blinded by the intensity. Alas… A quick search finds you a glass and water to pour within it before returning back to the parched Rainbow Dash. Snatching it from your grasp she eagerly slurps it down. “One would think you never tasted the cleansing waters of Equestria before this moment.”
She takes two more audible gulps before ‘running’ the cup dry. “One would think you should shut your mouth before I mess you up,” displaying a hoof in mock intimidation.
“Be careful, you only just came back-” What is the term? Crap? Fitting. “Do you remember much?”
“Not really,” she admits to your relief. “I think I had a race. Yeah, with Scootaloo and them. I can’t believe they thought they’d win.” You huff happily at the image, “It was no contest. We were talking and fooling around, trying to make them feel better, you know? Scoots said something and- And then I’m here.” Dash shrugs, seemingly ignorant of the events that followed.
“Yes… You’re here,” your hand takes hold of her hoof involuntarily, squeezing it ever so gently, “That’s all that matters.”
“…Oookay, you’re making this kind of weird.”
“My apologies,” your rogue appendage returning to your side, “It was not my attention-”
“Anon.” She interrupts but says no more.
“Yes?”
“Chill.”
Chill? Chil- Really? Her tone had you assumed that she took offense to your- Aha, mortals. Mysterious things they be. “By this ‘chill’ you mean to relax, yes?” She has used this term enough now for you to discern its utilization. “I shall endeavor to do so, but you must partake in the chilling as well.”
“Pfft, I feel like a million bits.” How can one feel like money? You ponder this as she begins to get out of bed, “My wings are a bit stiff, but I just need to stretch them out with a-”
“No,” you place a hand against her chest, only using enough force to stop her, “You must rest.”
Dash just smirks, “You really think you can stop me from walking around my own house?”
“Actually, yes, I believe I can.” Do no test me. Please. I do not wish to force you, not now.
With a roll of her eyes she flops back into bed, “Ugh you’re so lame sometimes, you know that?” The actions you perform do not invoke energetic musings or unneeded bodily motions… So yes. If these actions are not to her liking then so be it, as long as they serve to aid her. “Not that that’s all bad,” you ‘catch’ her grin.
“Until the mandatory resting period has ended you shall be restricted to this establishment.” Dash mocks you by mirroring your lips with her own, “In this time, I shall be your caretaker. I will-”
”Whoa whoa whoa hold on there,” pushing herself back up quickly, “What was that last part?”
“I shall be your caretaker until such a time where I am no longer needed.” Eir could have fixed that little problem with her ears. Strange how most ponies have hearing difficulties, but that is a mystery for another occasion.
“Wow,” she falls back down amongst the sheets, “Not bad at all.” That’s odd.
“What isn’t?”
“Oh nothing.” You believe might squirm at the smile she now dons. Shifting over to her pillow she crosses her hooves and rests her forelegs behind her head, “I never thought I’d have my own maid. Feels nice.”
You believe the term butler would be more appropriate. You have the suit already, and you do not think your body would suit a skirt. After all, you do not have the rear for it. “So… Anonymous. A n o n I m o u s.” That- isn’t quite right.
“The ‘I’ is to be replaced with a ‘y’ should my understanding of Equestrian be correct.” Hmm, that fills you with a strange sort of pride. Even your chest seems to have lifted in response.
“And my cup’s empty. Be a good maid and fix that won’t ya?” She clicks her tongue, even going so far as to wink at you. You remember that feeling of pride ‘like it was yesterday.’ You think you miss that feeling. Alas, her cup has run dry and you are the only being that can undo this travesty, a minute travesty, but one all the same. Off once more with cup in hand you fulfill her request. “And no ice.” The first one didn’t have ice…
Returning once more the process repeats itself, Dash only managing to drink half of her refreshment this time. “Ahhh, I never remembered water tasting so… delicious.” Her time in Tartarus did not allow her body to rehydrate itself. The sap of an ash tree is a nutritious elixir, though, with your newfound information on the fauna, it likely tastes similar to the ash fruit.
“It is the lack of an item that rekindles one’s affection for it. In your case, water.”
“How are the others doing?” Of course, she wishes to know of her companion’s safety.
“Their condition is unknown to me. The days that follow will still be graced with their presence, rest assured.” The numbers do not lie… Why did you not pay more attention to Dash’s? Their return to Ponyville should be arriving shortly, but you will not be there to greet them. You shall remain here until such a time would make it necessary.
“They’re safe then?” she asks in a serious tone, you nodding in turn.
“The numbers remain true. Before the night is done they shall home. Of this, I hold no doubts.”
“Okay wait, so you didn’t actually walk back here with them?” Given the circumstances, you had not the time. “Why?” Choosing your words carefully you open your mouth, only to find the words absent from your tongue, or is it your throat?
“I had business to attend to,” you finally manage to reply, but not giving Miss Dash enough time to reply. “Now, it is time for you to rest. Should you remain awake during the night you shall sleep right through the day.” It is good that she does not operate heavy machinery as that has a tendency to go awry. The weather must tend to itself for now, you think as you tuck her into bed, Dash mildly protesting.
She is in no position to argue, however. “I’m not even tired.”
“Would it please you to hear of my work? I have heard mares find the musing of their partners quite a tiring experience.”
Her cheeks flush a bright red, “Partner?” Ah, you see the misunderstanding.
“I say this in a metaphorical sense, of course. Shall I speak of my time in Marelaysia?”
“Don’t you have something… different to talk about?” True enough; the details of your work are inappropriate in present company.
“There is- another story that I know of. If you wish to hear it that is.”
“Lay it on me then, big guy.” You would find that rather difficult. Scooting forward in your chair you begin.
“Our tale starts with a young piglet…” To see things so clearly… “His name was Wilbur.”
~~~
No that will not do at all. You! Flip over. No not like- Confound these instruments. It is a wonder ponies manage them at all. Reaching down to the pan you turn the pancake over, for once something is named in a logical way. Alright, hmm what next? Cook side until golden. Well so much for the logic. How does one expect to turn a cake into a shiny metal? Completely and utterly absurd. Closing this so called cook book, you set on finishing your task by your own hand. You are death, not an alchemist after all.
It does smell quite delicious; Miss Dash will find them delectable indeed. Repeating this process you slip the last slender disk atop the pile to your side. A cloud of flour takes to the sky as you clap your hands together. All in all you find yourself quite content with the progress you’ve made. A good two dozen pancakes, surely that is enough to sate her appetite? Perhaps another dozen are in order. You don’t make it back to the pantry before you hear Miss Dash calling your name. “Hello? Anon?”
“On my way.”
With haste you hang up your apron and wash your hands, rolling your sleeves back down to their proper place. The mess will have to be cleaned at a later date, but time is the one thing you have in your favor. You grab the obscene tower of pancakes in one hand and her utensils and syrup in the other.
“I was unsure of how your stomach ailed this morning,” you admit as you enter the room, having to bow so your head does not collide with the archway, “But I believe this might suffice.”
Dash’s eyes are wide as she watches the tower approach, “By Celestia…”
“Actually these were crafted by me. Celestia is in Canterlot.” What a silly mare.
“That’s- I mean, wow. Thanks.” You smile at her gratitude and set her breakfast for her, even having to close her mouth for her on more than one occasion.
“Energy is essential in a patient’s recovery,” you cite the teaching of a nurse to her patient, “A hearty breakfast ‘goes a long way.’ The nurse never explained which way that was though…” It likely wasn’t the way she thought, if your presence was of any note. You doubt Miss Dash will choke.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any orange juice, would you?”
“The question is not whether I have it, but you.” She never ceases her gaze. “Allow me to check.”
“You’d best.”
Finding your way back to the kitchen you pry open the fridge and take a look inside. Rather disappointing selection. The upper racks are filled with jars of various substances, none of which would make a delectable drink. No sign of orange juice in the middle section either, instead they are packed with bottles. Applejack Daniels? Yes, you remember the substance. Miss Dash attempted to make you drink some. It was not an enjoyable experience. Alcohol… Perhaps a wine would be more suited for your tastes. You do so enjoy the taste of- Have you had grapes before? Possibly.
The lower and side shelves also yield disappointing results, vegetables and the like, a jug of milk half-full on the side. “I have found the orange juice in your fridge to be lacking,” your voice echoing back out to her bedroom.
Your ears pick up a groan but no reply. As you’re about to return she speaks up, “How ‘bout some milk?”
“That we do have. One moment.” ‘Fishing,’ the one without actual fish, out a glass you pour a cup for Miss Dash. It is only when you return do you find out why you had heard her groan. She is attempting to escape. A trembling hoof clings to the nightstand as she attempts to take a step forward, only managing to advance an inch or so. Her face has contorted into a grimace with clenched teeth as she fails to make any real progress. “I have your milk.”
Her wings, which have been helping to keep her upright, tense at the sound of your voice and leaving her weakened legs to maintain her weight. It does not hold for long. In the instant she falls, you are there to catch her with an arm under her belly, careful not to drop her milk along the way. “And now I have you,” your attempt at humor lost on her as you place her back in bed, “You are supposed to be resting.”
How is it so difficult to accomplish such a simple task? It takes a certain amount of skill to fail to do so. She ignores both the glass of milk and the tower of food you’ve given her, instead choosing to cross her legs… and again… and again… “Did I not tell you how important-?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.” Oh. Oooh… She needn’t have said more. You’ve just gotta, “Whoa, what’re you doing?”
“Picking you up,” you reply, swiftly slinging her over your shoulder, “Which way to the bathroom?”
She begins to squirm but abruptly stops, “Dangit Anon, I can get there myself. Now put me down before something happens that we’re both going to regret.” Even alone with only you as her company she so desperately clings to her reputation. A foolish yet oddly redeeming trait.
“There is no need to lie to me, Miss Dash. Had I not arrived you would have collapsed right into the ground.”
“I only collapsed -because- you got back. Now- Okay please put me down.” Please. What a wonderful little word that is, but you will not allow it to manipulate you so.
“As your caretaker it is my duty to bring you to the bathroom, now which way.”
Her hoof trembles ever so slightly but still no answer. She is forgetting that you can wait until the end of time, where as she- “First door on the right. Just hurry up.”
“As you wish,” you head off in that direction, Dash strangely quiet about it.
Opening the door you find the toilet and rest her upon it, crossing your arms as she sighs. She looks up at you as you continue to stand there, “You- you can go now.”
“You will require me to leave? It is more efficient for me to wait until you have finished.”
“That-” she pauses and flexes the muscles in her legs as she taps her leg, “That’s not the point.” Then there must be another reason? What- How thoughtful of her.
“I assure you that I do not mind waiting. I have witnessed far worse in my day. In fact, there was even one occasion where-”
“ANON!” she hollers at you, catching you off guard. “Now!” You- Do as she bids, Anonymous. It is her will.
“I did not wish to offend you,” you bow and exit, closing the door behind you.
From behind the door you can’t help but listen to her mutterings, “Such an idiot sometimes…” A lump fills your throat at her words as you force yourself to turn away. Now seems a good time to clean that kitchen.
~~~
Rubbing a moist cloth you received from wringing out one of the many clouds around these parts, you go about washing up the counters. Such an idiot, the words continue to ring in your head causing your hand to clench, releasing the murky liquid from your rag. So it’s still there… waiting. You may not feel the pain, but the anger- That you most certainly can feel.
It’s not her fault. It’s yours. You are the idiot, not her. Can such a generalization be made? “She’s the one who doesn’t remember…” you hiss under your breath as you scrub, working the countertop harder than before, “She’s the one- No. No. There must have been a misunderstanding. That is all.” Let the memory drift away, Anon. Let it go and live in the mome- To live. Perhaps there is some truth to Rainbow’s words. Whether they are true or not, there is a job to be done and the kitchen has much left to be cleaned. Focus on your work and let the time pass you by. It is expected of you. It is what you do best.
The minutes pass as you manage to clean the kitchen faster than you had intended, now leaving you nothing to do but wait. You sit beside Miss Dash’s bed, the steam from her pancakes now absent. You take the topmost piece and bite into it. The flavor is adequate and texture as accurate as the book described. Applying a dollop of syrup turns it into a delicacy, but… Why can you not enjoy it? You look over to the door, finally remembering. If you listen close enough you could almost hear her call your name, but what is it that one stallion wrote? A pony hears what he wishes to hear. Even that sounds familiar, but that could be part of the philosophy.
Another echo of your name draws your attention back to the door. Can Death be driven insane? You do speak to yourself, true… “Anon?” No tricks play upon your ears, this time. You most certainly heard her. You pause as you reach for the handle, in a moment of clarity choosing to knock on the door instead.
“You called?”
“Yeah… I’m finished.” Good for her. “Can you- Help me out?” Only if she wishes it. There is no struggle as you pick her up this time and return her to her bed. She goes right into her breakfast, the meal likely having lost some of its taste now that it’s grown cold. Adding syrup. Take a bite. A little more. Another bite. Takes her glass of milk- “Blech, it’s all warm.” That is to be expected when a cold beverage is allowed to sit at room temperature. “Can you get me a cold one?”
You are her- her ‘maid’ after all. She need not ask… You take the glass from her without word, returning a minute later with a more pleasing glass of milk. She’s finished soon enough, not eating half of the meal you’d prepared for her. “You want some?”
“Not hungry,” your voice is stern and professional, taking her plate and empty cup for disposal. “Do you require anything else?”
“No, I don’t think so. Thanks for the breakfast.” Then it’s off to the kitchen with you. If she needs you? She has a voice, she can call. There are a multitude of things she can refer to you as. Anon. Anonymous. Death. Idiot. Any of them will do.
You put the glass in the sink and find room for the pancakes in the fridge. Perhaps if she did not drink so much there would be proper room. Think about it, Anon. She claims you an idiot, and yet she allows such poison to pollute her body. Has she any idea how many fatalities are caused by alcohol and related events. Too many. You have always been the one to clean up their mess. It was their fault, always. Your hand clenches on the countertop, squeezing the stone as you continue this line of thought. If she wishes to join them that is her choice. You cannot change that for her. If the heart attack had not killed her then the-
Come back, Anon. Do not allow this anger to consume you. No good will come of it. Releasing the counter you grip your trembling hands together. You- need a place to think. Someplace dark and quiet. You know just the place, but it rests in another land. Such a tragedy… Finding the stairs you descend, finding a couch in her ‘living room.’ You take a seat merely to spite the name of it. Focus your breaths. In and out. In… and out…
’Good boy.’
“No!” Your body lunges forward, chest heaving. To be cursed… Eir was right.
~~~
What today? A sandwich perhaps? She has said that she enjoys the hay variety, Twilight as well. Dash licks her lips when she sees the meal on approach, “Yum, is that a hay sandwich?” Seeing as how she had exhausted the resources for a proper salad, yes, this is the only logical alternative. “You treat me right.”
“As I must,” you reply with a glance to the door.
“Stay a while, I barely saw you yesterday.” She gestures to the chair beside her with a smile. Such a pretty little thing…
“As you wish.” This chair is not as soft as the couch, nor as comfortable. It’s likely to do with the soft situation.
Taking a chunk out of her sandwich she shuts her eyes and grins, “Sho good.” A chef in a previous life perhaps. ‘Tis wishful thinking, nothing more. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“Cooking this is not, merely an assemblage of ingredients…” This still does not answer her question. “Many years I’ve spent watching ponies. It is only natural to remember a few recipes.” The pancakes were partially Pinkie’s doing, a foreign sense of fulfillment that she instilled within you, the yearning for success.
Dash nods, gnawing into her meal, “Huw loerng-” You point to your mouth, Dash swallowing her food before continuing. You would have thought she might have some semblance of manners. “How long am I supposed to be cooped up in here? I’ll get crazy if this keeps up.” Eir did not exactly specify a date, you recall, but you would assume she was to be released upon her recovery.
“When you have regained your strength.” You continue as she tries to give her retort. “Fully recovered. I do not expect it to last the week.”
“Well that’s good. I can’t imagine spending the rest of the week with just you,” she punches you in the arm. A joke. You merely brush off the sleeve she had ruffled. “We’ll have to find something to do then, don’t we?” Perhaps she should do so herself. You’d hate to slow her progress with your idiotic rambling.
“Call when you have thought of such an activity or you require my assistance.”
She’s a bit surprised when you stand up and begin walking out the room, “Where’re you going?”
You rub your temples with a pause. “Outside. I find an ache returning to my mind, and no. I do not want your alcoholic beverages.”
“Could you grab me one then?” Her voice squeaks at the end in an attempt to sound innocent. You are not so easily fooled.
“When you’re better.”
You walk out onto the terrace, the balcony extending out eastward towards Canterlot and the lands beyond. A table sits to your right with a trio of chairs tucked underneath and to your left is a lounge chair, positioned just so that you might gain the full view. This one is far more comfortable than the chair your ever so gracious host provided. In truth it was you who picked that chair.
One little phrase and this is how you act? Her actions are not the cause of your woes, so do not place the blame upon her. Even so… Her words are her own, and if that is how she thinks of you then what is the appropriate response? To simply forget and let this memory slip into the darkness with the others? You think not.
You exhale deeply, the head of the chair slipping soundly in the groove behind your neck as you look to the stars. Such magnificent little things those are, to cast such an intense glow from so far away. Or perhaps they shine just so, instead finding themselves just out of your reach. You could almost reach out and take hold of one, making it your own. These are the little things that makes the passing time more tolerable. “Anon! I got it!” You could not possibly put into words how excited you are. “We could list our favorite Wonderbolts!”
Anything, and you quite literally mean anything, would sound more enjoyable than partaking in her sole fanaticism in regards to that team. “How about it?” Scooting further into your chair you decide to take part in a far more exciting hobby. Counting stars. “Hello?” Let’s see. You have one there. Oh look there’s another. That’s two now? Wonderful. “Anon?” It’s going to be a long night.
~~~
Day 3 of ‘Dash Sitting.’ It is much like the sitting one does with a filly or colt, only the filly is Rainbow Dash in this case. Your mind wanders back to your conversation with Eir on occasion as you contemplate what she said. She spoke of the times you had together, yet no specific events therein. She wouldn’t want you to deprive Rainbow Dash of the same you’ve given her. You can’t help but shake your head at the thought. What had you given her? A dull throb answers your question. No peace…
“Anon!” Speaking of a lack of peace, “Can I get another glass of water?” Of course she can. She has legs and wings… That’s not what she meant and you know it. Another day then… Leaving the comfort of the couch you refill her glass, Dash splayed out on the bed once more. “This is just what I needed, thanks.” She is welcome, and you need not say it. “You make it hard for me not to take advantage of you.”
“You seem to be doing a good enough job doing so.”
She chuckles in response. It wasn’t a joke. “You crack me up sometimes.”
“Perhaps I should commission Rarity for a pair of clown clothes so that I might act as your jester more appropriately.”
This seems to please her as her laughter continues. “Haha, oh my chest…” Hmm, laughter can cause pain as well?
“Should your heart betray you once more at least I won’t have far to travel.”
That seems to end her entertainment as she looks more serious. “That’s not funny.”
“I was not trying to be,” you glance over her empty plate. Only a few crumbs remain of her hay sandwich. “Is there any other business I might see to?”
“I guess not.” Her tone lowers as well as her eyes, “Any idea what’s for dinner?” Does your apron still adorn you? No? Then do you look like a chef? No?
“Your options are limited to that which you have available.”
“And what do I have?”
“Do you wish to eat another hay sandwich?”
“That limited huh?” She chuckles by herself, “I do have some bits saved up. How about you go to town and get us something?” Because that would involve you leaving her home. You do not plan on doing so.
“My job is to watch over you. I find it difficult to see miles away.”
“I can take care of myself for an hour,” she boasts with a smile as she slides out of bed. “See? I’ve been getting better.” Dash prances about for a few seconds before sitting on her haunches, “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry.” You don’t. Of course you do. Even you can see the trembling of her legs. “That doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy bossing you around for a few more days.”
“I assumed as much,” you follow as she opens the door to her closet.
“You alright there, Anon?” The mare not pausing as she searches for her bits. An absurd question. You are death, not a mortal soul. You tell her as much. “It’s just that you’ve been- Kind of cold lately. Yeah yeah, I know, death and all but I can’t shake the feeling that you’re angry for some reason.” You cannot imagine why you would be angry with her. “Here we are. Huh, I thought it’d be heavier.” She emerges with a brown bag in her mouth before tossing it to you, the bag falling to your feet with a clank. “Did you forget how to use those hands of yours?”
“It would seem a normal thing for one such as me,” you reply as you pick up the bag.
“I don’t get it, what does being ‘you’ have anything to do with it?” Your grip tightens on the bag in your hand, getting used to the weight. A strong stallion could bludgeon a creature with this, and you are much stronger than- Stop it.
“Me being death has no bearing on my forgetfulness,” you force yourself to smile as you concentrate on the town of Ponyville. “Being an idiot on the other hand.”
The wind begins to pick up as the origin of your cold nature becomes known to her, “Anon I didn’t-”
“Your maid will return in time. I might make a stop for those clown clothes.” Her words are cut as you find yourself back in Ponyville, the sun taking its orange hue as it begins to drop behind the trees. You inhale the fresh air that comes with the township, finding it all the fresher since your absence. With bag in hand you walk to the market. You merely hope you can remember where it is.
Ah yes, how could you forget the sweet lullaby that is bartering? Two bits more, four bits less. Two for one and one for two… That last one might not actually be a thing. You nod with a smile to a passing stallion, his eyes seemingly locked to your torso. Looking down you understand why. You’re still wearing the clothes you took to Tartarus. Indeed, seeing a suit such as yours torn and mangled would lead to quite a number of questions, none of which you are looking forward to answering.
First, you have food to purchase, something simple as the thought of wasting your effort away in a kitchen you find simply appalling. What was that noodly substance you found those mares cooking in the old ruins of Rainbow Valley? Hard when dry, soft when wet. Spag-something. Spaghetti, yes you remember now. Has Dash ever had Italian before? Ital- Hmm, there the thought goes, drifted away upon the wind.
There there, Anon, no need to fret. Remember that little phrase. Don’t re-live the past, don’t pre-live the future, live the present. Do not let what was said dampen your relations with these fine ponies. They have little time as it stands. The market is not as busy as you had imagined, likely having to deal with the setting sun. Some merchants have even begun setting their wares aside. It would be a shame if- There! The mystical spaghetti itself. It looks more like a thin twig than anything.
“Excuse me,” you approach the mare’s stall, “Might I purchase a bundle of spaghetti from your wares?”
She doubles back to you, like the others her eyes drawn to your damaged suit, “Oh, sorry. I just closed.”
“I understand. If not you, then perhaps you may direct me to another merchant who sells such an ingredient?”
“It’s just me I’m afraid.” Not literally afraid of course. Such a silly notion. “Here…” Reaching back into her wagon she retrieves a small portion of spaghetti, but enough. “You look like a good enough pony, that’ll be three bits.”
“If only I were,” you admit as you retrieve her pay. “Then perhaps I might come across some clothing that fits.”
She laughs and you find a weight lifted from your chest, almost as if you have yearned for such interaction. “If only. Have a good night.”
Five thousand six hundred eighty-seven.
“And you as well.” Now to find some tomatoes.
~~~
“Sorry, but that’s just the price.” A little more than you had expected, but what are two bits in the grand scheme? Nothing, if you were to answer your own question. Placing the tomatoes in the basket that you had borrowed from a vacant stall you continue down the line.
”…non!” Your head turns at the calling yet you seem to be unable to locate the source. This adds to one’s insanity, does it not? You manage another trio of steps before some force clings to your leg, and upon further inspection finding a filly in its place. “Hi Anon.” In no real rush you set your basket to the ground, never breaking your gaze with hers. “You okay?”
Wait for it… Wait and- Gotcha! The filly squeals as you pull her free and twirl her around yourself, raising her high above in your grasp, “Hehehe, Anon stop it! Put me down.” Never. You bring her to your chest and tenderly squeeze her in your arms, carefully avoiding those delicate wings of theirs.
“It is good to see you once more, Young Scootaloo.”
“I missed you…” You hold back a smile and hold your head against hers, the moment finally coming to an end as you set her down. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you-”
“We?” How interesting. Your time with the crusaders has never been one spanning hours, merely minutes. “And who might you mean by that?”
”The Cutie Mark Crusaders of course. I never got to thank you for coming after us. That’s the last time we listen to you for cutie mark advice.” You chuckle at the memory, regardless of the events that transpired because of your innocent suggestion. “Reading’s bad enough when Ms. Cheerilee gives it.”
“Indeed. To be assigned a task has a way of ridding any potential enjoyment you might derive from it. A tragedy, really.”
You set her down and pick up your basket, going along your way. “Sooo, whatcha up to?”
“Presently?” Double checking your purchased wares, “I am obtaining food for dinner.”
“Cool, cool…” Scoots skips along with you, “So what’s for dinner?”
“I thought the pasta known as spaghetti would be a good choice. Though, I am unsure of whether Miss Dash-”
“You’ve seen her?!” Her outburst forces you to rub your ears, the pads of flesh hearing all too well.
“Yes. I have seen to taking care of her while she recovers.”
“Phew, she had me so worried. When- we were playing around that tree I just thought-”
“You need not blame yourself. The Umbra is an elusive creature, one of cunning and deception.” She’s quiet. Too quiet. She watches the dirt beneath her hooves. At one point you would consider such an action as curious, but you understand. You do the same with the stars in the night’s sky, having them serve as a distraction of sorts. Scootaloo still blames herself, doesn’t she? “Come here,” leaning down you pick her up onto your shoulders. “My words will not sway the aching of your heart, only time may sweep the pain aside, but I will make you a promise, Young Scootaloo. I will be here when your day grows darkest. You need only call my name.”
You are unable to see her, but you can feel her hooves wrap around your forehead, “Thanks.” She need not thank you. It is your job. “You two going out yet?” What an odd question. Where would you go?
“I have attempted to restrict Miss Dash to her bed, although she insists on walking about her room to stretch her legs. She thinks herself fully recovered. I know better.”
“That’s not what I meant. Are you two, you know, dating?” This filly asks many odd questions. The two of you do not date; she is far too unpredictable for such an affair.
“I have indeed planned her release to follow in the coming days. She seems to insist on an earlier date, but I must decline.”
Scootaloo sighs and repositions her chin atop your head, “You really don’t know a thing about mares, do you?” Your feet come to a stop as you ponder the statement, Dash’s own words replaying in your head.
“Scootaloo, am I… an idiot?”
You must know if what Rainbow Dash said is true, if your mind is truly touched. “Of course not.” Thank the heavens, insanity might have certainly found you otherwise. “You’re a bit slow at times, but no. You might be a dork, but you’re my dork.”
“Dork? I do not believe I have heard this word before.” You resume your walk, headed off to Rarity’s boutique and home. “What might it mean?”
“You’re just a bit out of touch with the rest of us.” Strike yourself down if you are incorrect, but that sounds remarkably like how an idiot is described. “It’s not a bad thing. If anything, it makes you kinda adorable. Like a puppy.”
“And yet Miss Dash’s tone speaks a separate tale…”
“What do you mean by that?” She is merely a child, an infant among the social politics that you find yourself bathed in.
“It is nothing, merely the rambling of the insane without the slaughter that follows,” you even pat her on the back for good measure. “Now, how goes your studies? Has the Tiara one given you a hard time?”
“We’re going on a field trip on Friday!” She proudly announcing as she stand upon your shoulders, the soft flesh of her stomach resting on your head.
“Truly? Where might your destination lead? I would hope not to the land of the dead. One trip is enough for most.”
“Canterlot! Twilight planned the whole thing for us,” Of course she did. “We even get to meet the princesses!” Her tone drops as her weight falls upon your neck, “We do have to write a lame research paper over what we learned though.”
“All play and no work makes Scootaloo a happy girl. We cannot have that.” Looking up you find the tip of the boutique raised just above the houses that block your route, that lone red banner laid still.
You also feel Scootaloo tightening her grip as you almost push her off you and rest your head so she might stay attached. “You did that on purpose.”
“I did no such thing,” you hastily retort. “My name shall not be besmirched from your own instability.”
“Besmi-what?” Here you stand, figuratively of course as you continue to walk, with Scootaloo as your teacher in the world of Equestrian slang yet she does not know such a simple word. Or is the word merely simple for you because of your established experience with it? That might explain how such urban slang is trivial to her and an incoherent mess for yourself.
“Besmirched, to taint or sully. A complex word for one of your age I now see.”
Reaching back you ruffle her mane despite her attempts to stop you, “I’m not that young.”
“Of course you are not. However did I believe such a thing?”
You try to hide your smile but when she drops her head down from above your own you are unable to disguise it. “I’m watching you, buster.” She gasps as you grab her once more and hold her upside down before you, “Alright you can put me down now.”
“No,” you reply tucking her under your arm. She wiggles out eventually of course and while you might be strong she is a dexterous one. Much to your dismay she takes her leave as you finally reach Rarity’s home and place of work, something to do with her parents and the like. She does hold your leg one last time before you send her scampering off. Of all the fillies you have met and seen, that one will never escape your memory. Her parents are very lucky.
What were you doing again? Yes, Rarity. You knock on her door, wiping your shoes off so her mat may not ask you the same. Looking back the sun’s almost completely disappeared, the vibrant red overtaking the trees along the horizon as the night’s azure descends upon them. You consider peeking through one of the windows when the door finally creaks open and- “Darling! You’re back!”
A purple glow takes hold of your tie as you’re thrust forth, or pulled rather, into the building. It takes you a solid ten seconds to regather yourself and by the time this has been accomplished you discover a tightness around your stomach, Rarity. Her face is buried in your suit, the undamaged portion thankfully enough. The smell of vomit is rather distasteful. ”Thank you…” you barely hear her whisper, now finding a wet spot on your shirt, “thankyouthankyouthankyou.”
“The proper response, if I recall, would be ‘you’re welcome.’ Except I cannot find the cause for your excessive gratitude.”
“Darling, please.” She finally steps back allowing you a look at her red tear-filled eyes before she wipes them off, “You brought back my baby sister from that- horrible, horrible place.” Would Applejack react in a similar fashion? You would hope not, those legs would squeeze the death right out of you. “Oh honey, look at you. What did those monsters do to you?” Your hands instinctively cover the gaping wound in your side as Rarity begins levitating off your tie. “No matter, Momma Rarity is here to make things all better.”
To resist or not to resist? This is the question. The safer option seems rather clear as you allow her to pull your coat. “Are these- bite marks?”
“Better me than one of you, rest assured,” you reply and set down your basket, taking a seat at one of the stations along the left wall.
You stare back at your reflection as the buttons of your shirt are undone one by one, the white shirt stained a faint gray. “It’s alright, darling. Those big bad monsters will not find you here.” There’s only one beast from Tartarus in this world and she’s talking to it. “If any come near you or my Sweetie I’ll give them a piece of my mind.” Her nose curls up in the most charming of ways as she says this, so much strength and dedication; you only hope she might keep these virtues.
With one swift tug the cloth disappears from your back, the green of your skin now exposed to the world. It brings back unpleasant memories when it was your lower half that was left open. That tingle was- unique, and you never wish to repeat it. “Anon darling,” her hoof presses against one of the gouge marks in your torso, Grogar’s work. “You really must get these looked at.”
“Another day,” pushing the hoof away, “After Miss Dash has fully recovered.”
“Rainbow Dash?” Shoot. You had forgotten of her absence amongst the mane 6. “You’ve seen her? How is she? It feels like a lifetime since I saw her. Is she alright?”
“Yes and if she listens to my guidance and stays to bed she will not need me for much longer.”
Looking you up and down, Rarity seems to suspect something, “Are you two fighting again?” Of course not. If you were, it would be a relatively short one. In Rainbow’s words, ten seconds flat. “You’re fighting, I can tell.”
“Nothing of the sort,” you attempt to neutralize the discussion in its infancy. “Words were said, nothing more.”
“Just like a stallion you haven’t a clue how a mare thinks,” she leaves you with that little sentence as she trots away for a moment, returning with a bucket of water and rag. “Stallions I say…” Out of touch. Dork. Idiot. A fool… If anypony would know, surely it would be Rarity. Yes?
“Madam Rarity,” you pause as she dabs her cloth and works on your side, “Would you consider my intellect, lacking?”
“Of course not. You are among the most thoughtful and caring stallions I have had the pleasure of meeting.” Thoughtful, most certainly. Caring, true enough. Neither of these are what you asked.
“One could be a caring fool or a thoughtful dunce, neither of which possessing intellectual thought.”
She just smiles and moves the cloth to your upper back, “My father once said: ‘A happy wife is a happy life.’ Despite the other deplorable things he has said in his attempt at humor, I always found that to be his truest of quotes. You know to keep Rainbow Dash happy. I would say that makes you the smartest stallion to enter this shop.”
“But… what if it was she that made me unhappy?”
The rag dwindles upon your shoulder blade, a single drop rolling down the length of your back, “What did she say to you?”
“Not -to- me, but under her breath. An idiot, she called me. I did not- I do not know why she said this.” You can feel your cheek twitch as the words seep from your mouth. “It made me- My throat grew clogged with some sort of lump, yet breathe I still could.”
“You aren’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer when it comes to mares,” her attempts at humor colliding with your impregnable shell. “She didn’t mean it.”
“Then why?” you twirl around in your chair facing her, your chest increasingly rampant with each second the mystery remains unsolved. “Why would she say such a thing about me? I only wish to help her and she- Why does she hate me? Ugh… This head…”
Why could Eir’s aid not last a few days longer? That was all you required. “Anon, look at me.” She pushes up on your chin so that you might meet her smile, “Rainbow Dash doesn’t hate you.”
“Then why?”
With a sigh she stands back up, “Every mare has her patience. Yes, believe it or not, even I have my limits.” That you can believe. “I say things to Sweetie that I don’t mean if she happens to interrupt my schedule. That doesn’t mean I hate her.” To say something and not mean it seems completely illogical… The Smooze. It made you say things that you did not mean, but how would that work? It is not here and yet Rarity claims the same effect. “Quite the contrary, I love my little sister with all my heart, but ooooh can she get on a lady’s nerves.” She motions for you to follow her, “That’s all you did, darling. She never meant to hurt your feelings.”
“But I do not feel, Madam Rarity.”
You raise a brow as she giggles, “That iron hide routine won’t work with me darling. You care about how she thinks of you. Don’t try to deny it.” Well of course you care how she thinks of you. She is… Shouldn’t you care? Is that not the appropriate, feeling…? Moving to her line of clothing they are lit by a brilliant sky blue as they circle about, Rarity eyeing the mass of cloth carefully before pulling out a fresh suit. “I always like to keep one pair on retainer. Pinkie has her balls; Twilight has her books, but me? I’m far more practical a lady.”
“What should I do then?”
“Changing out of those filthy rags would be a start.” Noted. “And in regards to Rainbow Dash… Take what she says with a grain of salt.”
“Wouldn’t that make me thirsty?”
She laughs but you’re still confused. Why would you need salt? “Just remember that she cares for you. Never forget that.” She did say to remember. Not forgetting is a part of that task.
She allows your leave to the stall, the swinging doors slowing to a stop behind you. They seem strangely more appropriate for the Apple household than Rarity’s. You are unsure the reason for this, but you cannot shake the thought. Perhaps it is due to their seemingly casual nature where one might stroll through and order a hard whiskey. Such a place that might be, a realm without laws, a place where anything can happen and the working pony holds the power. It may resemble Appleloosa of all places. But, you are still half-naked and the time does not pause for your sake so you hastily begin to redress.
The length of your shirt pulls over your shoulders and down your arms, a chime ringing from the front door. “Ah! Twilight, dear, what do I owe the pleasure of your- By Celestia what have you done to your mane?” Twilight? Careful not to make any further noise you peek above the door as they begin in conversation. True enough, Twilight’s mane appears disheveled with different portions of her hair tossed about and turned sideways.
Not only that, but her eyes appear bloodshot as well, not a symptom of your arrival to be sure. It is more likely the result of mental fatigue. Starswirl is the only other pony you recall with that same look. You ponder what could result in such a state, and if the similarities between her and Starswirl are found true, then it is only the verge of discovery that such a look appears. He has been on the verge for millennia.
Since your arrival you had hoped to keep your origin and abilities secret to her, as she is the only one who would pursue you and three days you gave her the metaphorical front row seats. If you hurry, you might avoid the confrontation all together and that would do nothing more than please you. You button up your shirt and take the tie in hand. Tie. Hand… You look to yourself in the mirror. How do you tie this again? Bollocks.
Right, underneath, up, twist, slip and slide… Perfect, if you were attending Nightmare Night. To Tartarus with it, you think to yourself as you stand back up and prepare to leave. You can deal with this- And it hits you. Across, under and up, cross and behind, cross and up, slide down the middle. The Double Windsor. It’s a wonder how stallions manage with these things. “…with the basket? Is there somepony here with you?” you hear Twilight ask, bringing you back to the realm of the living.
“Oh not yet I’m afraid. A lady will wait for that special somepony. You see this basket is-”
“Mine.” Both of them turn to you as you exit, donning your coat in the process. “Miss Sparkle.”
Now you can in fact see the lump in the lavender equine’s throat as she swallows, “An-on.”
“It is impolite to interrupt a lady, darling.” You smile and pick up your basket as she bestows this lesson upon you. “And Twilight, you will happy to know that Rainbow Dash has been seen. Anon here has been watching over her.”
Twilight’s face darkens with a reddish hue as she looks up at you, your soulless stare meeting hers. “Is- that so…”
“Indeed, and I should be getting back to her,” you reply turning back to Rarity. “Madam, until our next meeting.”
Another peck at her hoof has her fanning at her hair, “I never get tired of that.” You hold no doubts about it.
“Twilight…” A nod is a sufficient goodbye as you walk out of the boutique, the winds picking up as you exit.
You do not manage a moment of silence before you hear the door open behind you, “Anon wait!” Your feet do not rest for her as you continue, the strength of the wind sending your tie flying out from your coat. “We need to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about,” you finally stop moving and stare back up at the clouds in the sky, an eerie black taking hold of them, a wet drop plopping upon your bald head. “Go home, Miss Sparkle.”
“I know, Anon.” Twilight is forced to shout through the raging winds, quite the storm brewing in Dash’s absence. “You can’t hide it anymore.”
“To know, Miss Sparkle,” you smile but are unsure why, perhaps relieved that the secret has been lifted? “To know, is to understand. You do not.”
An arc of lightning courses amongst the clouds, the flash of light illuminated upon her face as the rain begins to flow. “I know who you are. What you are.” What you are… Funny yet it brings no laughter. You focus on the image of Rainbow’s kitchen, giving a final wave to Miss Sparkle.
“Until next time.”
“Wai-” Too slow.
~~~
Gah, look at that. Your tie is a complete mess. Shameful through and through. You tuck the strip back into your coat and set down the basket, unloading and preparing the items for use. How does Dash like her sauce, you wonder, thick or creamy? You would think a thicker sauce is in order for her as she has a tendency to make a mess. Cleaning her sheets is not a task you plan on doing well, nor one you plan at all.
You pause from your preparations and listen, strangely finding nothing aside from the harsh bite of the wind. “Miss Dash? Are you there?” No- response… You spring forward, using the counter to propel you toward her bedroom. Her sheets are thrown about and overall as messy as she had left it, but she is not here. You knock upon the door to the bathroom in hopes her bladder be merely full. If only that were the case. “Dash? Where are you?”
The stairwell is your next stop as you look down the steps and call her, still nothing. This isn’t happening. Not now. You sprint up the stairs to the top floor of her tower and squint through the rain to the lawn of her home, nothing. “Rainbow Dash!” Down the stairs you move this time, the speed of which causing your side to grind against the railing in your descent. You check the storage room, the indoor pool, the Wonderbolt room, each without success. At last you run through to the balcony and much like the others you do not find a trace, only the rain that rages around you. If she is not here then… Your head turns to the earth below, a mile’s drop… If she fell- “Dash!”
No, please. You couldn’t let this happen. How could you? It’s all- “-mhm…” Back inside, that’s where you heard it. You move back inside and- Thank Celestia…
You drop to a knee beside the couch, the stealthy mare blending right into the couch. They are both blue after all. You reach a trembling hand out to her chest, all remaining doubt wiped away at the feeling of her heartbeat. “Mmmha,” she begins to stir, one eye opening, then the other, both… How could you leave her as you had? Not on those terms, never again.
She straightens back up when she realizes that you’re actually there. “Anon- You weren’t meant to hear that and- I didn’t mean it.” She tries to apologize but more so stumbles through the act. “I would never say you’re- Eep!” You hold her tight in your arms before she can finish making herself look like a fool. There is only room for one in Equestria, and you do not like to share.
“There is nothing to forgive… I am only happy to see Eir’s work not be for naught.” You pull away and stand up, “How does spaghetti sound for dinner?”
“Sounds delicious,” she smiles and paws at her eyes.
“Were you- crying?”
“N-no.” She attempts to cover up the act with that stern and menacing attitude of hers. “Don’t be stupid.” You shall let that one slide, for now. Who are you kidding? Her insults shall always do the slide. That night you prepared a meal just for the two of you. Together you spent the stormy night feasting and laughing and drinking, mostly her doing the drinking.
Tonight was a misunderstanding type of day.
“Anon, who’s Eir?”