Save for the fact that he only had a one in seven chance of leaving the mansion with his life, Sketch was having a great time.
His disillusioned mind had enjoyed twisting itself around. He felt like he was on one of those new reality shows that he would always watch on weekday nights. Unfortunately, instead of playing for one million bits, he was playing for the opportunity to keep his existence. It was strange, you never saw anypony fighting for something they already had. At least he didn’t, yet.
This was so new to him. He had always craved adventure. This, however, was not exactly what he had expected.
Sketch didn’t view this as an adventure at all, really. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere, discovering anything new. He was stuck inside of this massive house, after being trapped inside of a fancy room for forty-five minutes. He made the best of that, though. The bath he had taken was so relaxing. It even had strawberry scented shampoo. While in the bath, he imagined that he was not exactly “trapped” in that room, but more so as staying in a really nice hotel, or a castle. He pondered if this was what the Princess’ lived like.
Either way, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. His inner sense of creativity helped him get over the tremendous amount of fear that had built up in him earlier. He was absolutely terrified… but no worries. As long as he stayed numb to the fact that he could die simply upon taking a nap, he would be fine.
Besides, he was good at imagining things.
He was a Drawer. That’s what he’d been labeled by the other students in his class. You know, one of those students that do nothing in school besides doodle on whatever they can find, and by the end of class they have an entire notebook full of pointless pictures? Sketch took pride in that. He liked his pictures. They provided an escape from reality, allowing him to imagine himself in the little slice of a different world he created. He’ll do many different types of drawings in a day. From mountains, to rivers, to cities. It didn’t matter. As long as it was nothing like the world he lived in now.
Luckily, upon looking through the dresser in his room, he found his notebook and pencil. A single pencil. He wasn’t too happy about that, as he tended to go through pencils like they were sticks of gum. It was plenty sharp, but he just needed to be careful with how he used it. He didn’t find a pencil sharpener anywhere. Then again, he could always just whittle it down with a knife, say he found one. However, the last time he did that he got admitted into the emergency room. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Only if it becomes an emergency.
But drawing was not his first priority right now. Though it was a close second. He felt the need again, the need to slip into another reality. He held it at bay, because before him stood six ponies. Six ponies of different personalities, likes, dislikes, and looks.
Six chances.
Six more chances to get a new friend. Maybe, if he said witty or clever things, they would like him, and want to hang out sometime. Maybe, if he showed them a few of his pictures, they would like him. Maybe, if he just kept his obnoxious mouth shut, and pretended not to exist, they would like him. He didn’t know what about him drove others away, but this time he was determined. Only one of them could get out of their mansion, but that didn’t mean that Sketch couldn’t try to make a friend.
What if they could escape, get out of there? What if one of his new friends and he could find a way out? Then they could be friends forever.
Sketch smiled to himself, not realizing just how insane the idea was.
The seven of them stood in a circle, not knowing where to look or what to do. Sketch wanted to draw this moment. But even to him, it would seem a little inappropriate. “Listen guys, I know we’re all freaked out and stuff, but could you hold your poses for a little bit?” The thought almost made Sketch laugh, which also would have been unwanted. He resorted to shifting his weight on his hooves instead.
The quiet one, Swallow, spoke up. Sketch just couldn’t get over her name. Who would name their child something that could be taken so badly? If her mother had backed out in the middle of it, would Swallow’s name have been Spit? Either way, maybe he shouldn’t make fun of her. She seemed nice, like she could use somepony to talk to. That’s how you made friends, right? “So, what do we do now?” she asked, looking at the floor.
“We find ways to stay awake, ‘course,” said Buttermilk. Sketch wasn’t a big fan of him. He was scary.
“I don’t think that should be our first course of action,” replied Alloy. He was a little strange. But he was a scientist, which is pretty cool. Sketch could never do a job so monotonous. He also seemed very smart, which Sketch kind of liked. Perhaps he could provide some actual feedback on his pictures. He looked like the kind of stallion to recognize good art. “Perhaps we should explore the rest of this mansion, first.” He pointed towards the dark hallway, to the right of Sketch’s room. Odd, he hadn’t noticed that there before.
Buttermilk sighed, and Sketch was sure he heard a tint of crossness in it. Surprisingly, after having been completely “told” just five minutes previous, Tenor was back to her original self. Sketch didn’t really like her much either, but maybe that was why he felt such an exceptionally large urge to talk to her. “Well, what about Wonton over here?” she asked, throwing a hoof in Miso’s direction. “Someone needs to tell her just what’s going on.”
Miso creeped him out. Perhaps it was the smile, or the fact that she had no idea what was currently going on that did the trick. He didn’t see himself being good friends with her, unless one of them wanted to take a language class. Then again, he wasn’t sure. He’d give it some thought.
Another thing about this whole situation that made him think, was the fact that Tenor kept bringing up Miso’s inability to understand the situation. That tipped Sketch off. It was as if Tenor, inside, felt bad. Maybe she just didn’t want the game to be unfair. However, that was strange considering what she was saying earlier about how she was going to win this game easy.
Gallant sighed. “That’s going to be a little hard,” he said. He casted a disappointed gaze upon Miso. “Anyone have any ideas how we can communicate with her?”
Silence.
This is it, Sketch! Time to show them all just how smart and creative you are!
“I have an idea,” Sketch said whilst raising a hoof. He didn’t know why he did it, but Alloy insisted on pushing it back down every single time. He was getting more and more forceful. It kind of hurt this time.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to hear. Or he was just ignored entirely. That happened a lot to him, so usually he would just bury his sadness deep inside of him. This time was not one of those cases. “I said I have an idea!” he repeated with more power. This time, he didn’t move his hoof, save for a small stomp.
“Yes, Sketch?” Gallant sighed. Sketch couldn’t hold back a small glare. It was as if Gallant figured that what he had to say wasn’t important. Like he wouldn’t be the one to come up with some sort of idea. He hated that, being underestimated. Sketch didn’t want him as a friend, really. He was too old anyways. If Sketch stood side by side next to Gallant somewhere in public, it wouldn’t be crazy to assume that they were father and son. Much like Miso, he’d think about it.
“I have a notepad and stuff in my room, in my dresser,” Sketch said. He had no idea why his voice was small and trembling. “Maybe we can try and communicate to her through pictures. After all, stick figures and smiling suns are a universal language…” he explained. He noticed Alloy cock a brow.
“That’s… a decent idea,” he said. He realigned his glasses. “Anyone volunteer?”
Sketch didn’t mean to, but he threw his hoof in the air and waved it around like crazy. Perfect! A chance to showcase his drawing abilities! No doubt they would all be lining up to be friends with him after this!
Even after Sketch had had his hoof raised for the better half of ten seconds, no one seemed to acknowledge him. When Swallow raised an innocent hoof, heads snapped to attention. Sketch’s hoof slowly fell back down, and he let out a disappointed groan. He frowned, but the initial response of the others didn’t change.
“I’ll do it,” she said. She wasn’t even too sure of herself. That didn’t make Sketch any happier.
“Wait a minute!” he intruded, desperately. “I’m a great drawer! It’s my special talent, after all! It was also my idea! Let me do it!” He must have sounded like a child again, as Alloy didn’t look very amused.
Unsurprisingly, Gallant was the one to speak up. “Listen, kid,” he started. Sketch’s ears fell downwards. He wasn’t a kid. At least that’s what he thought. “Maybe we should let somepony else handle this. Your ability doesn’t really play much into it, sorry to say. Your goal isn’t to draw pretty pictures, it’s to help Miso understand just what’s going on here.”
Sketch looked at the ground, and held back a tear. “Fine,” he muttered. His chest quivered.
Gallant took up the role as the “leader” while everything’s been playing out. Sketch didn’t like it too much. He didn’t feel like he needed a leader. He just needed someone to laugh with. Gallant appeared to be doing his best to make sure that that didn’t happen. “Go grab your gear, kid.”
Sketch toddled for a moment, hoping that someone would shout at him to stop, not to go, to stay with them a little longer. Nopony did. He wasn’t surprised. He went and did as Gallant asked of him.
His one talent, his one true passion, wasn’t enough to win affection. Gallant saw his love as something that was pointless. He could see that much. And now, somepony else was going to be doing what he loved best, and not give it a second thought. Swallow didn’t look like a Drawer. She wouldn’t put care into it. She would just draw and be done with it. Also, he was going to have to give her his one and only pencil. No doubt by the time she gave it back would it be dull, or on the verge, or even broken.
After running back into his room and reluctantly grabbing his pad and pencil, he trotted back to the group all in under twenty seconds. The entire time, he wished that he wouldn’t have raised his stupid hoof.
“Thanks!” Swallow smiled gratefully upon being handed the supplies. Sketch smiled back.
“Swallow, take Miso into your room and try to get through to her. The rest of us can explore this place. Maybe we can find a way outta here, or something,” Gallant ordered. He ran a hoof through his brown mane, and grunted.
Buttermilk’s eye twitched, and he looked back towards his room for the third time in the last few minutes. Sketch noticed this time. He didn’t question it.
Swallow took Miso’s hoof. Miso wasn’t too thrilled about it. With copious amounts of kind begging, Swallow ushered Miso towards her door, nearest the hallway. Miso kept turning back to look at the other five, like she was being dragged to Tartarus. Her uniquely slanted eyes were soft, and fearful. Sketch didn’t keep eye contact. It made him uncomfortable. Tenor rolled her own eyes, and Sketch became self-conscious.
Sketch looked up just in time to notice that the rest of the group was slowly walking towards the dark hallway. With a yelp, Sketch bounded after them. He only tripped twice. Not bad.
The hallway was much thinner than it was originally thought out to be. They were going to have to go in single file. Instead of barrelling into the darkness, like Sketch would have probably done, they stopped. “Is there a lightswitch? It’s darker than Tenor’s attitude in here,” said Buttermilk. Tenor was second in line, behind Gallant. Sketch, who was at the back, wasn’t able to see Tenor’s face. He thought he saw her turn and give him a death stare.
“Watch it,” she warned.
Buttermilk was directly in front of Alloy, but luckily said stallion was short. Sketch peered over Alloy and saw the yellow stallion smirk. Gallant hushed them, grumpily. Gallant felt along inside wall, leaning in so he won’t have to step into darkness. There was the sound of hoof on plastic, the sound of Gallant fumbling, and a clack. Just like that, the hallway lit up. “Hah! Got it!”
The hallway itself was a loud white, shining like the interior of a hospital. It reminded Sketch of the ultra-shiny bathtub in his provided room. It seemed to go on for miles, or so he thought. He had trouble seeing over all the taller ponies in front of him. Sketch cut in front of Alloy, and was practically clamoring onto Buttermilk’s back before the stallion pushed him backwards. Buttermilk wasn’t happy about it.
Before Buttermilk had a chance to scold Sketch with a bunch of words that the young stallion wouldn’t have been able to repeat at home, Alloy spoke up. He looked peeved. “Let’s get going. Gallant, lead the way.”
Gallant didn’t need to be told twice. With Alloy now at the back of the line, and Sketch right next to him, they walked one by one into the hallway.
Sketch’s forever moving mind was unable to stand it. The blandness of the walls, the monotonous clopping of their hooves on the marble floor. He hated the color white. It was too plain. Then again, black wasn’t good either. You couldn’t paint over black. Either way, the walk was trying to kill him. The sheer amount of imminent boring struck a nerve. He wanted to paint this room, make it pretty. He wanted to add millions and millions of boisterous colors. He wanted to run up and down the hall with colored pencils and markers, watching as the hallway began to take its own shape.
Unfortunately, the others probably wouldn’t have liked that. Besides, he’d never liked coloring vertical surfaces. He always got in trouble for drawing on the walls when he was younger. That action always brought on sad thoughts.
They walked on for what seemed to be ten minutes. It was agonizing and stressful to Sketch. Eventually, Gallant’s voice spoke up from the front of the line, “There’s something ahead.” His voice echoed more so than back in the foyer. Perhaps it was just the hallway. Sketch didn’t care anyways.
The hallway began to open up to a large room. It was white, much like the color of the hallway, and equally as bland and depressing. There were seven marble pillars in the middle of the room, coming up to shoulder height for the rest. To Sketch, they were just as tall as him. There were absolutely nothing on them, and made a large semi circle that faced them. The rest of the room was completely empty, save for two large grey rectangles on the walls. They were connected, and made a square. It took Sketch way too long to realize that it was a door. He felt incredibly dumb.
“Is that the way out?” Sketch asked. Gallant’s brain must’ve been on the fritz, because he didn’t answer.
“Must be,” said Tenor. A creepy smile traced her lips. “Let’s bust it down.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be possible. There isn’t even a door handle…” Alloy added. He was right. Not a single handle to be found.
“Like I said. Let’s bust it down,” she repeated. Buttermilk scoffed.
“Well? You’re the only unicorn here. You try and do something,” said the large stallion. Tenor huffed, and her face grew a little red. Sketch took a precautionary step back. Tenor reminded him of those ponies who would offer drugs outside of an alleyway. He saw it on television once. He made a mental note to never repeat that sentence out loud, or risk a beating.
“Just because I’m a unicorn doesn’t mean I can destroy a freakin’ wall by myself, you dip,” she replied. “Besides, I can only do basic levitation. That’s all I need, anyways.” To prove her point, she enveloped her horn in a startling light blue, untied two foot long pieces of smooth wood out of her mane. Sketch hadn’t noticed them before. He noticed how her eyes seemed to soften as she took control of them. She handled them delicately, like her life depended on those two little sticks. She played a small, impressive beat on the ground, lasting for only three seconds. It was at this time when Sketch actually noticed her cutie mark: Two crossed drumsticks.
Sketch wasn’t sure, but maybe Tenor knew how to play the drums.
“Well, we have to at least try. C’mon, we’re going to ram this door,” said Buttermilk. Alloy furrowed his brow, and followed him. Gallant and Tenor did the same. Sketch didn’t really want to. He was a lover, not a fighter. Why don’t we just try and sweet talk the door instead?
Sketch quickly realized that it wouldn’t have mattered anyways.
Even with the mighty power of a fat stallion, a flight commander, a drummer, an artist, and a scientist, the door absolutely refused to budge. Now, everypony--save for Tenor, as she had resorted to using her magic anyways--had sore shoulders. Sketch knew a bad idea when he saw one, and he blamed Buttermilk for it. The doors didn’t have a single scratch on them, and they looked practically untouched.
“You think we need a magic word, or something?” Sketch quipped, whilst lying in feigned agony on the ground. He mentally patted his own back for such a wonderful joke. He should be a comedian. His ears perked up, and he looked desperately at the other ponies. Sketch’s delusion’s would not rest until he got what he wanted.
He died a little inside when no one else laughed. In fact, he was once again horribly
ignored.
Alloy hobbled over to the door, and inspected it for a brief moment before his eyes fell to the ground. Sketch didn’t like the look of that. He barely gave the door a second glance. “This is pure titanium,” he exclaimed. “Steel enforced. This isn’t gonna budge.”
“Why do you tell us this now? Why wait until we’ve rammed the damn thing three times before analyzing it?” Buttermilk practically yelled. The poor stallion had done most of the ramming, and his right shoulder was the color of a rose. Sweat was pouring down his brow like raindrops.
“Because I didn’t think of it…” he said, truthfully. To save face, he turned back to the door. “E did say that this mansion contained nothing but the best. Anyone could have assumed that the door be impenetrable,” he said.
“So, we’re going to be forced to play this game? There isn’t any windows that we could climb out of?” Sketch asked, hoisting himself off of the ground. His mane was still a little wet, and it left a small puddle on the floor. He stood over it, to prevent anyone else from slipping.
“This is the world’s lamest mansion, if you ask me,” said Tenor, with a huff. She was busy elaborately tying her drumsticks back into her mane. By the time she was done, they were entangled so precise that they probably couldn’t come out no matter how hard you tugged. “I mean, a foyer, seven rooms and some kind of empty room with pillars. There isn’t even a kitchen, or a living room. Boring!”
“Speaking of the pillars, what’s up with them?” replied Sketch, not taking his eyes off them. They appear old, like they would much rather belong in a temple than a deluxe mansion. Some of them were cracked in places.
“Not sure,” answered Tenor, as if the question was directed towards her. Sketch guessed, upon noticing the silence of the others, that the other three really didn’t know either.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Alloy broke through the silence like he was revving a chainsaw. Gallant took one look at the exasperated scientist only to have the edges of his mouth curl downwards.
“Well, I think I know what I’m going to do,” Gallant started. “I think Alloy and I should stay here and try to figure out what we can do with this door, and try to find… I don’t know, a window or something.”
Buttermilk nodded in acknowledgement, throwing his head upwards. “I’m going to go back to the foyer. I gotta grab something from my room. I’ll probably check in on Swallow and what’s-her-face foreign mare.” Sketch chuckled. Tenor’s eye twitched. The small stallion was getting a little bit concerned, and wondered if the punkish mare would eventually burst into flames.
No doubt, it’d be a tragedy. It’d also be really fricken’ cool.
“I’ll go with,” Sketch added. When Gallant casually looked at his direction, Sketch felt himself redden. It wasn’t even a mean glare, more so of curiosity. Gallant simply made Sketch the tiniest bit nervous, like if he did something wrong he might order the poor stallion to do push-ups. “Not like I have anything else to do anyways.”
“Mmk,” Gallant shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me what you all do. Just make sure you all stay awake, alright? E may have started this game, but that doesn’t mean we have to finish it.”
Tenor snorted, “‘Kay, dad.” With that, Tenor turned away. She strode for the hallway, back towards the foyer, obviously bored with the practical nothingness of their current room. Sketch was becoming antsy too. He needed to see colors, preferably now. He found himself doing a small dance in place.
Sketch ran after Tenor. Actually, tried was a better word. As soon as he took one step, he flew face first into the floor, his hooves actually being thrown out from under him. He had forgotten all about the large puddle of bathwater underneath him. There was a sharp thwack as his head collided with the marble below him. Sketch could in no way, shape or form ignore the horrid, dull pain in his temple. The stabs of pain matched the beating of his heart. He let out a low groan.
Much to his surprise, he felt hooves wrap around him. His eyes were closed, his head throbbing, but he could still tell that he was being hoisted up to his hooves. “Whoa! Ya alright?” said a voice inches away from his ear. Sketch didn’t know whether to embrace whomever was kind enough to help him, or not.
He opened his eyes, only to meet a pair of dark green. It was the one and only Buttermilk. The stallion had Sketch’s foreleg wrapped around his back in a poor effort to balance himself. Sketch fought through the pain. It was like swimming through a sea of syringes. “Yeah… thanks,” Sketch gave Buttermilk the kindest smile he could muster.
“Ya fell pretty hard…” Buttermilk stated. Though, Sketch wasn’t listening anymore.
Sketch’s eyes shined like bulbs. The stallion had actually stopped and helped him. Sketch could hardly believe it. He saw it on television, in the books, in the movies. Friends helped one another, that much Sketch knew. Buttermilk went out of his way to make sure that Sketch was okay. That… that meant they were friends now.
They were friends now. Good friends.
Sketch must have been smiling bigger than he had originally thought, as Buttermilk quickly set him down and took a few steps away. “Right…” he drawled, stretching out the word longer than necessary. “Let’s go.”
Sketch felt like exploding.
That was the gist of what he was feeling right now. He wanted to explode. He wanted to jump and scream with joy. He wanted to ask Buttermilk a bunch of questions. He had so many. If they were friends, then they needed to know everything about each other. What was his favorite color? Did he have any siblings? What’s his favorite breakfast? Unfortunately, the last time he had made a “friend”, and asked those questions, it wasn’t long before he was alone again.
This time he was certain. Sketch was positive that Buttermilk and he were going to be the best of friends. Sketch wondered if the stallion could give some of his art a look.
Sketch decided, in the end, to give it a shot. He spoke up from behind Buttermilk. “So, how’s it going?”
Buttermilk turned and gave Sketch a hard glare, bearing a few teeth. Fortunately, before he had let the words fly, his face softened, and he heaved a sigh. “Well, considerin’ the situation, not all that good.”
Sketch felt incredibly stupid after that. Even more so when he unintentionally replied with an “Oh”. Buttermilk looked straight forward, determined not to look at Sketch entirely. Sketch grinned, and increased his pace. Boy, does Buttermilk walk fast.
“So… what do you do for a living?” Sketch asked. Buttermilk didn’t reply, so Sketch deemed it appropriate to keep talking. “I draw, you know? Sometimes I paint, or use crayons, or colored pencils. I have lots of pictures in my dresser, actually. They’re pretty rad, bro.”
“That’s… cool,” Buttermilk murmured. Sketch wasn’t sure if Buttermilk had just said a fact, or indeed asked a question. It didn’t matter. Sketch embraced the compliment. It wasn’t like he got many, anyways. His heart felt like it had just turned into an anvil. “I’m a chef,” he continued. Sketch noticed the stallion smirk, as if he was proud of the fact. The smaller stallion had been completely clueless about Buttermilk’s occupation. Then again, maybe the cutie mark was a dead giveaway. He didn’t put two and two together, earlier.
“Really? Where?”
Buttermilk cocked a brow. “I’m head chef at this fancy restaurant in Las Pegasus. Pays well,” he explained. Sketch stifled a laugh.
“You don’t strike me as a pony to live in Las Pegasus… or a chef, for that matter.” Sketch quickly realized how poorly he chose his words. Buttermilk actually stopped walking. Sketch had no time to react. The stallion did a 180 and feigned a charge, causing Sketch to flinch and slam his flank into the wall.
“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” he seethed. Sketch thought quickly. Surely, this was just a bump in the road in their friendship. Everypony had those moments, every relationship. They’ll be best friends again in a minute. It’s how it always worked in the movies.
“No! I didn’t mean it like that!” Buttermilk’s eyes burned into his, like the end of a stick spontaneously bursting into flames. Sketch felt like the torch was pointing right at him, threatening to burn, to sear. “I mean… your accent… it doesn’t really match with those in Las Pegasus, or so I’ve heard…”
Buttermilk simply stared at the young stallion, before turning back around. He continued walking like nothing ever happened. “Yah, well I was born in Dodge Junction. Been working in Las Pegasus for the last eight years, cookin’,” he explained. Sketch took this as a good time to get up, and scrambled to his hooves. He fell in step behind the large stallion. “Cookin’ is my life. It’s the one thing I wouldn’t trade the world fer.”
“I feel the same way about drawing,” Sketch added. Buttermilk didn’t appear to care.
“Good. Then you’d best know not to get it confused, kid. I’m the best damn chef on the west side of Equestria. Make the best grilled cheese sandwich you’ll ever have,” Buttermilk chuckled to himself. “Ah wish this place at least had a kitchen.”
Sketch viewed this as good. Friends talked about themselves. They must be friends now. Sketch was learning more about Buttermilk, and the same way around. Sketch felt like crying, for now he had a best friend.
Their conversation came to a halt when they exited the hallway. Sketch missed the dark colors in the foyer, and he found himself staring at the wall for longer than what was necessary. Luckily, nopony else seemed to notice. For some reason, Sketch didn’t see Tenor. She was supposed to have been only a few moments in front of them. Perhaps she just went to her room.
Buttermilk and Sketch made their way over to Swallow’s room. It was the first door they looked at. Her door was to the left of the hallway. Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked. Sketch noticed that the timer above her door read one hour, eight minutes. Compared the Sketch, Swallow must have woken up a while after him. Sketch’s timer was much farther along than her’s.
Upon opening the door, the two stallion’s found the two mares sitting upon the bed. Swallow was furiously drawing on the pad, while Miso’s smile had faded completely, into one of confusion. Swallow looked downright irritated. She held up the pad again after making a small correction in her drawing. She spoke slowly, and kindly. It was like Swallow was talking to a small child.
“Sleep,” Swallow said. She even made the gesture, putting two hooves under her chin and rocking her head. She emphasized every word she spoke. “You cannot fall asleep.”
“Ūn... Nemuru?”
Buttermilk broke into this rather heartbreaking scene. “Any luck? You getting through to her?”
Swallow jumped, and practically flew off the bed. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and she let out a small yelp. Sketch snickered to himself. Obviously, she had not noticed them come in. It was like an act in a bad sitcom. Buttermilk didn’t laugh.
Swallow adjusted herself, and fixed her milky mane. She didn’t look angry, but she did appear to be a little shaken. She was shivering. It made Sketch want to laugh a little harder. Buttermilk got her good. “I’m not sure. I think I’m getting through to her a little bit.” She sighed, loudly. Miso looked downwards. “We need to watch her, to make sure she understands that she cannot go back to sleep.”
“Nani ga okotte iru no? Toki ni watashi wa ie ni kaeru koto ga dekimasu ka?” said Miso, though Sketch had absolutely no idea what she said. Her eyes darted from pony to pony, like a caged animal. Sketch felt horribly sorry for her. With nopony to explain just what’s going on, the poor foreigner probably thought that the six of them had kidnapped her, or something. It was a picturesque moment, and Sketch wanted to steal his notebook back for a moment.
Buttermilk sighed. “That’s a good idea, Swallow,” he admitted. “It’ll have to do for now. I’ll be back.”
Almost as suddenly as he had appeared, Buttermilk make a beeline for the door. Unfortunately, Sketch had been behind him the entire time. His eyes became soft and heartbroken. “W-Where are you going?” asked Sketch. He didn’t want his new friend to go. He had just made a connection. They had actually talked. That obligated them to be friends, to do everything together. Why was he leaving so soon? Buttermilk just shook his head.
“I need to go grab some things. I’ll meet up with everyone later."