“So… what comes next?”
This time, you manage to look into her eyes – expectant, practically begging you to answer.
Everything that’s happened has been building up to this point – and you honestly have no idea what to say.
Grand Central station is an invariably busy place. Ponies of all shapes, sizes, races, and businesses come and go from this one spot in all of Manehattan. Maybe it’s the size, the grandeur, or maybe just the right to brag about how they were in “the” Grand Central Station. These days, there are faster ways to travel: hot air balloons, dirigibles, ocean liners – heck, one day, there might even be teleporters like in those shows you’re so fond of. But right here and now, everypony is here.
And minding their own business.
That’s what city life is all about, really – minding your own day, not butting heads, or in general, just staying out of everypony else’s life, because the big picture is just too big here.
As you feel Lemon Drops loosen her grip on your shoulder, you feel the city shrug at what is probably the last time you’ll ever set hoof in Grand Central as a whole pony. Top Brass pushes his chewing gum into the other side of his mouth and sneers in that sleazy way that shows he thinks he’s won. His slicked back mane and big words could never hide that he was and still is a huge bully – more so than his two goons.
The acidic-yellow filly trots away from you over to her partner-in-crime. “I wouldn’t run if I were you,” she intones cheekily. “And believe me, shrimpy, nopony who’s anypony ain’t itchin’ to be yous.”
You swallow hard but plant your hooves all the same, your fear-addled brain going into overdrive to figure a way out. She’s right – this is where things go belly-up for you, but only if you don’t act. The problem is, nopony within the immediate surrounding could care less. Thanks to your rushed exit from Ponyville, you never did get to call your parents for a safer pick-up inside the station.
Top Brass looks over at D-Cell and gives him a hearty slap on the back. “Welcome back, my big-boned chum. We are SO eager to be in your company again. I’m sure you know our old acquaintance!” His eyes, closed in mock joy, open and give you a malicious glare. “Judging by your new physique, I assume you have some… overdue well-wishes for him? Why don’t we go out and find a nice, quiet place for the two of you to do some catching up?”
Smart move, you begrudgingly admit. He knows how you managed to escape D-Cell’s tantrums the last time. He wants you to get creamed without any pesky cameras around. In that case, all you have to do is to stay here and not get dragged out by the pony death machine in front of you. It’s impossible, but you’re very short on options right now.
The smaller, irritatingly confident brown colt turns and quips over his shoulder. “I hear there’s a nice, warm spot behind the buildings a few blocks from here. I’m sure we would all love to hear what you’ve been through, D-Cell. Shall we hop to it, then?”
“Let’s.”
For a good few seconds, your mouth threatens to rip wide open, your lungs and diaphragm cramp and tickle at the same time. The voice is in a confusing state between high-pitched and low, like a lone note from a mangled bassoon. It warbles in a comedic attempt to communicate single-minded determination; with just the one syllable, the speaking pony makes the prospect of getting your bones rearranged sound like the first knock-knock joke ever told.
It isn’t the now similarly-straining Top Brass, who has spun around in his own disbelief.
It isn’t Lemon Drops, slack-jawed, with her right brow arched so high on her face, it’s threatening to disappear.
And it certainly isn’t you.
It’s D-Cell, wearing a grim look on his face, apparently aware of the bubble he just burst. His eyes are cast down on the marble floor, his body held in what you can assume is a hard-bodied posture that has been beaten into him by his correction officers.
You don’t dare utter a single hiccup of laughter out of fear. Despite what his voice now sounds like, the pony still facing your direction is still an intimidating sight. He’s never been the kind to talk you or anypony Top Brass targeted to death. You notice now that his orange outfit is ill-fitted, threatening to rip at the seams from all his new, terrifying bulk. The quick bout of comedy is quickly forgotten when he makes the first few steps towards you.
You swallow a very audible gulp of fear. Your legs are shaking. In just a few more minutes, he’ll probably just chuck you straight out through the roof into Zebrica and pound you there.
D-Cell approaches you, stops… and turns around to glare at his fellow bullies. He stomps down his left hoof and declares in a more threatening, albeit still shakey, voice. “This ends tonight. You aren’t going to make me hurt anypony.”
Lemon Drops breaks the silence, shouting “Are you friggin’ serious?!” She scampers over to D-Cell and grabs his shirt collar firmly. “Don’t ya remember what that little geek DID to you? They put ya away for two years cuz he squealed!” Her pupils have shrunk to pinpricks and her lips are straining to cover her exposed teeth. “HE put you away! HE took you away from your home! HE did this to you!” she finishes, letting go of the larger pony and gesturing to his mane and outfit.
D-Cell responds coolly, “No, Lemon Drops. I did this to myself.” He’s concentrating on keeping his voice from cracking again. “I deserved what I got and I learned my lesson.” He eyes Top Brass; you imagine them trading the meanest, gnarliest stink-eyes on the face of all Equestria. The larger colt goes on, saying “Beating on ponies for being small, for being different, for being anything… it won’ fix anything. It won’t give us friends, it won’t win us any favors or honors.” He walks around Lemon Drops and stops directly in front of Top Brass. “It won’t make our fathers love us.”
Before anypony can say anything, Top Brass shrieks and lunges at his old friend, oblivious to the ponies milling around. He rages and howls and screams, throwing desperate punches at the larger colt. “You big, stupid, stupidface! I made you! You can’t talk to me like that!” His tirade devolves from simple, angry words to shouts and flying hooves. Even Lemon Drops stays closer to your side, looking absolutely horrified at what is happening.
His angry outburst barely fazes the larger colt, who waits about three minutes before using a single shove to lay his angry opponent squarely on his backside. “This isn’t the way, Top. When puberty hit me in Lunar, I got the short end of the stick from everypony. I finally felt what it was like to be the other guy – the loser. I’m not going to be a bully anymore. And as long as I’m here, neither will you.”
All the confidence and swagger Top Brass had earlier is gone. He angrily spits out his gum at D-Cell’s hooves before turning tail and walking away quickly. Lemon Drops is also devoid of all surliness. Normally, she exits with a barb about your mane or your friends and follows her friend suit; now, she appears conflicted as to whether or not she should pursue Top Brass. She looks at D-Cell and even you with wide eyes, confused and asking for help. You slowly shake your head ‘no’ and she nods. She walks away and vanishes with the crowd.
D-Cell turns and gives you a curt nod before making his way off the platform. Snapping back into reality, you dig into your saddlebags for an apple-tart and call out the larger pony’s name before tossing him a confection. Without missing a beat, he catches it and swallows the whole thing with no ceremony. He mumbles his thanks and continues to walk into the medley of pastel colors.
Turning to the main exit, you hear your name being called. “By the way, it’s Detention Cell. And thanks for helping set me straight.” After that, your old “punch buddy” finally parts ways with you to head off to only Luna knows where.
And it’s only been a couple of hours since you came back.
The rest of the night is rather uneventful, all things considered. Your parents pick you up roughly ten minutes after you step out of the station and give you a good earful about calling them when you got back. It looks like you had gotten so wrapped up in tying up loose ends in Ponyville that you neglected to phone ahead. Your mother is definitely the more vocal between the two of them, but both are equally glad that you got home in one whole piece. If Top Brass and his former cronies had gotten in the way, you were more than likely to be grounded for at least two forevers and a half (if you’d gotten the math right).
The cab ride back is full of bumps and the occasional swerve, but you and your parents make it home mostly unscathed and just in time for dinner. Brussel sprouts and artichokes, while not your go-to meal, don’t stop you from making short work of what’s on your plate. “Golly, sport – you just got back. Slow down and chew your food.” Since it’s your father commenting on your ravenous eating, you decide to tone it down significantly, opting instead to answer your kin and let them catch up with your escapades. Unlike the day before, you have a much better handle on your own feelings, allowing you to measure out your words before you blab your head off again.
Your mother starts: “So, dear – did you make any friends while staying over at your Aunt and Uncle’s?” Her voice is sweet and more importantly, familiar to you. You feel a smile grace your features and reply happily, naming almost everypony you can think of, one after another, including nearly everything that happened between you and them. It’s only been a few days, but the memories are still fresh and exciting; what’s better is that without your worries about Babs, you feel much lighter about the entire stay.
Your father speaks up, “That is a lot of mares and fillies you mentioned, son.” His somber voice and straight face put a chill through your little spine. He’s usually the one to joke about these sorts of things but he’s so subdued, so unsettlingly serious that it makes even your mother look at him with alarmed wonder. He puts a heavy hoof on your tiny shoulder and looks you dead in the eye.
“What would Babs think?”
And with that, what’s left of dinner gets pelted at your dad, courtesy of yourself and your chuckling mother.
After all the first days of school you’ve been through, you think you’d have a better handle on it by now. There’s always that one new teacher who looks too happy for his own good, the older teacher who thinks you should have a quiz or a ton of homework ten minutes in, a student who has some sort of accident that either gets him labeled for the whole year or gets him really popular with some ponies, and lastly, the ever popular “What I Did Last Summer” paper. Despite the repetition, you always have a lingering sense of dread on the first day – the small chance of doing something embarrassing that would follow you around for the rest of the year, possibly even forever. There’s just something awfully scary about not knowing something that might happen, even in the middle of a polished routine.
On this particular first day, however, you find yourself glancing at the door more often than usual. Nearly every ten minutes, you feel compelled to shoot a quick look at the door leading into the classroom. Mister Chickenscratch is far too distracted by his own story about lollipops and glass-blowers to pay you any mind, so there’s at least that. As the day stretches on, even beyond lunch break and into the final bell ring, you can’t help looking at that empty door.
Babs Seed didn’t come to class today.
Hauling your heavier than usual saddlebags, you stand in front of the school building and look at the small gaggle of ponies making their way home. Trailing a few metres behind them, you spot a strangely isolated Lemon Drops. With last night’s bout of drama, you can only suspect that she’s still having a hard time seeing what she did. It’s only a fleeting glance, but you notice she has some dark circles around her eyes. While not particularly high on your to-do list, you make a small reminder to try and talk to the troubled filly once you get the chance. You’re still not very fond of her, but you of all ponies know now what a huge thing it is to have another pony be willing to just listen.
You don’t see hide nor hair of your elusive friend, so you consider just getting as far away from school as possible; unfortunately, a mere three steps in and your stomach decides to very loudly tell you it needs to be filled up. Preferably with something sweet and cold.
Ice cream it is.
The walk to the ice cream parlor is about the same length as the one going to your house, but the payoff is way more attractive in the former. Suffering the added weight of Rarity’s gift and your new books, you press on until you are greeted by the familiar glassy façade of Rootbeer Float’s. Since it’s the first time in a long while you’ve been here, you take in the sight of the whole building. It has polished silver pillars decorating the front and a big neon light sign telling you the place’s name in bright red cursive lettering. A stylized soda pony is built framing the doorway, its mechanical hoof waving back and forth while a painted speech bubble tells everypony to “Savor some sweets!” The afternoon sun bounces off the building, giving it a beautiful warm hue. It’s big, bold, and makes your mouth water a little. While its look is nowhere near as inspired Sugarcube Corner’s, it still has great memories for you and most ponies your age who live in and around its radiant glow.
Making your way inside the establishment, you are surprised to see the one and only Babs Seed, sitting alone at an isolated table at the far end, near a window. She’s looking emptily at a tall, melted milkshake parked in front of her nose. The long silver handle of a spoon is pointing up and out of her pouting lips. Her eyes are half-lidded and apparently not truly focusing on anything as a small foal manages to lodge, laugh at, and retrieve a paper airplane out of her cropped mane.
Your legs wobble like jelly, forcing you to redouble your efforts to just stand up straight. You try and tame your scruffy mane and double – no, make that triple – check your breath, and valiantly lick out any pieces of food that might have stayed stuck in your chompers since lunch. You mentally smack yourself for gorging on garlic puffs and pesto at the time. It’s now or never.
Babs hardly even notices you approach her table. You nonchalantly cough into your hoof to get her attention, but it doesn’t work. You try and cough a few more times, but all that does is get you a wad of tissues from a passing staff member. Without any other means at your disposal, you set your bags down and prepare yourself to do the unimaginable.
Hoisting yourself up to the seat opposite hers, you prop up a single elbow and ask her a la Con Mane“Is this seat taken?” You pray that you sound cool and sophisticated, not meek and unsure.
“Wha-?” Babs is shaken out of her trance and gives you a look that can only be described as petrified. “I-I have to… I have to go!” She tries to clamber off her seat, but it seems like her legs have fallen asleep on her. “Ah, dang pins n’ needles…!” she grunts through gritted teeth. Taking the opportunity, you lean forward and put a hoof on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Babs! Please – I just need to talk to you!” She looks at your hoof and then at you like you just grew a second head. You plead with her again. “I just want to talk.”
Babs relents, but refuses to look you in the eye. She keeps her line of sight fixed at the window, apparently preferring to watch other ponies mill about. After a solid five minutes of complete and utter silence, she mutters a simple apology and begins to sob. You keep your hoof on top of hers and shush her gently. This doesn’t seem to do the trick, as her tears continue to flow, followed by more words. “I h-heard from your parents. Th-that you went to Ponyville. And now y-you know… what I did… and I n-never told you…”
“I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore… It’s what I de-“
You cut her off by gently squeezing her hoof, causing her to turn her head in your direction. “Now why would I want to do a crazy thing like that?” you ask with complete honesty. “When I went to Ponyville, all I heard about was how good you were.” She raises her eyes to meet yours and they’re every bit as amazing as they were in your dream. Her tears don’t stop flowing and she asks in befuddlement, “What’re you t-talking about? I was a bully…”
You let go off her and answer, “No, you were scared and alone. Babs, you knew too well what it’s like to have that kind of problem back here – and it was happening all over again and you wanted to change that.” She bows her head down in shame, prompting you to continue. “But you did change! You made friends, real ones that taught you a better way. In the end, you stood up for them, like how you’ve been standing up for other ponies since you got here.”
Her sobbing is much slower now. She’s relaxed enough to put both hooves on the table. “S-so… you’re not mad?”
Feeling a little stifled by the mood, you try and make a quip. “You know, you don’t look too good when your face is all messed up like that.” This earns you a giggle and a solid hook to the arm from Babs, who smiles appreciatively. “Jerk. You calling me ugly?”
The combination of her question and her smile causes your brain to seize up, making you say something that’s downright stupid:
“What? No, no – I think you’re really cute!”
Her features freeze up and she pulls both hooves down under the table. “Ya big dummy…”
Hoping to ease the tension, you grab Miss Rarity’s parcel from your saddlebag and push it towards Babs. “From Ponyville,’ you say quickly. She eyes it carefully before undoing the carefully set knot. Both of you look down at the contents and can only sit in awe at what you see.
Two expertly crafted vests – a matching set for two ponies of your age. Their crimson colors only serve to make a familiar logo sewed into the sides pop all the more. Babs pulls out a small piece of parchment from the package and reads it aloud: “For the Manehattan branch of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. May you find what you are looking for… together.” She speaks the last word slowly and looks at you with a curious intensity that paralyzes you. Now it’s your turn to turn your head and look at the ponies going to and fro on the streets outside.
You hear her call your name. You try to ignore her, on account of all the butterflies doing somersaults in your gut. Princesses, it’s so much worse when you’re alone with her!
She touches your hoof with her own before asking:
“So… what comes next?”
This time, you manage to look into her eyes – expectant, practically begging you to answer.
You breathe to calm your nerves and think of an answer. The moment feels so different from usual, like you’re supposed to say something profound – like you were talking to an entire crowd and everypony knew your name.
No, that’s inaccurate.
You were sitting alone at an ice cream parlor with this filly.
This filly you had fallen head over hooves for. You can finally admit it to yourself.
“As long as it’s with you, I can do anything.”
A blushing face. Another quick jab to the arm, followed by the sound of hooves clattering on the tiled floor. Babs is all smiles now, blushing from what you just said.
“I like the sound o’ that.”
She rears up on her hind legs and plants a small kiss on your cheek. She says her goodbyes and leaves, promising to meet you tomorrow at school.
You watch her run and skip out the door and follow her with her eyes through the window you’re seated next to.
“Now that… is an adventure I can’t wait for.”