The Sleeper
Proofread by TehSporkBandit
“This close, I was this close!" The tankard thumps down and shakes the table, sloshing the frothy amber liquid over the rim. Rainbow Dash's growl is one of abject frustration, and lapping the cider off her forehoof isn't helping with that. She even puts her head down before loosing a loud pent-up scream in her throat. Only when she clasps her head in her hooves and lets the prismatic hair fold over her eye and forehooves does she finally go silent.
She could pass for a drunken barfly with that attitude.
You aren't feeling that different yourselfreally, Rainbow's irritated musings haven't acknowledged anything you did except for making her 'eat snow' when she had to help save you. It sounds a lot more feeble in her version compared to the free-falling, base-jumping, explosive extravaganza as you had described it. Rainbow Dash is tolerable so long as you have a mug of reduced vegetable stew, a strange braided wreath bread studded with nuts and cheese, and some sort of wobbly high-topped parfait, courtesy of Pinkie Pie.
Here, on the outskirts of town on Grouse mountain, your quarters would have been a picture perfect alpine retreat under any other circumstances. The bi-level cabin has a nice balcony overlooking the main room, the hearth is set in the sunken living room dominating most of the lower story. There is a bathroom and then a small dining room near a spiraling staircase that lead upstairs. Up those spiraling steps are four bedrooms that will suffice for the party, giving you your own quarters and a comfortable amount of extra space. As it stands though, the group is split in half between the dining area and the sunken living room with the hearth. You stick to the latter, curled up in a blanket and nursing a nearly empty tankard.
Applejack calls out from the kitchen, “Might wanna put on some warmer clothes. Once ya' get the chills, you get 'em easier yer whole life, and that's a fact. Why, mah cousin Honeycrisp doesn’t leave the house when Autumn rolls around. She just sits in the chair in front of the fire, sippin' soup and waitin’ fer spring. Early fall used ta’ be her favourite time, too. Ain’t no reason to be afraid of somethin’, of course."
Kinda’ like how you’re ‘not’ too afraid to step out here and admit your leg isn’t half as good as you’re pretending? Oh no, you’re certainly not staying out of sight, doing a job anypony else could, for vanity’s sake. Right?
It‘s overly harsh, and instead of starting some fight you probably won’t win, you give her a noncommittal ‘hum’ before mumbling into your tankard, “Thanks, ‘mom.’” Somepony's elbows jabs your side as they settle into the seat next to you on the brown tweed couch.
“Oh, my apologies. Hmm, this is no inspiration room, but I suppose it will have to do." Rarity sets aside her artbook and a myriad of coloured pastels so she can sketch out a suitable cutie mark. They will need a master design so the faux-cutie mark can be stenciled onto her flank.
“We could have got one of them and figured out exactly where they were!" Rainbow calls from the dinner table in the center of the split level cabin.
I'm not talking to you, Rainbow. You're making me look like Robin to your Batman and that's seriously not cool.
And she still doesn't let up, “And if you hadn't jumped out the window and needed me to save your sorry flank, we'd be talking to a Gremlin about where they're keeping Twilight." Rainbow looks over at you with her brow furrowed and ears plastered back. She tries to look unaffected but if she wasn't lambasting you she was whinging. Worse yet, you had a sneaking suspicion she isn't exactly blaming you at all. Instead, she’s simply lamenting what happened overall while downplaying her part in it. Confronting her about it likely wouldn't achieve anything useful, much like confronting Applejack earlier wouldn’t have made her admit anything.
Applejack narrows her eyes from across the room and gives the oblivious Pegasus a warning growl, “Hey, ease up there Rai-”
“Who wants smores!" Pinkie interrupts with her usual giddy optimism. The crackling crunch and sound of smacking lips say at least she did.. And there she sits, smiling by the crackling fire of the cabin's hearth a few feet from your perch near the fluttering fashionista. Between Pinkie Pie and Applejack there is a fair amount of comfort food set out on the table and countertop. It’s ostensibly there to ward off the cold, but it tastes suspiciously good and makes the whole endeavour feel less miserable.
Pinkie's ear-ringing screech dispels that thought, “It's like a great-big slumber party! Aaah, this'll be terrific!" There is little to do but waggle a finger in your ear and shoot the oblivious mare a sullen frown as she gobbles up another smore amid a flurry of crumbs.
“Oh, no, I'm fine, Pinkie." Fluttershy's voice drifts in from the bathroom. While Rarity was in charge of getting the sketch right, it would be up to Pinkie, Rarity, and Fluttershy to help actually paint up the impromptu cutie mark disguise. Fluttershy was already hard at work preparing the dyes at that very moment.
“'Nother hot trottie, suga'cube?" Applejack's voice draws your attention back to the kitchen where the mare flashes a hopeful grin as if to say 'don't be too upset with yourself'.
A hot-what?
Applejack must have sensed your bewilderment at a glance, because she smirkes and gestures to your mug.
“Is that what this stuff is called?" You quickly lift the empty tankard and look inside at the frothy remnants.
Rarity’s voice filters over the quiet in a distracted lilt, “In nine out of ten establishments in Canterlot, yes. And those are the only ones Applejack has ever could have conceivably visited for that matter.”
It quietly hangs in the air as your face contorts in a distorted facsimile of a grin. “Yeah, sure then. Thanks.”
You find yourself looking over at the mare absorbed in her sullen sulk. You aren't Rainbow Dash; the whole incident had been a frustrating near miss, but it wasn’t your fault. Without you the Pegasus might be little more than fried-chicken for a pair of Gremlins. Of course, you and your accomplice probably have wanted posters gracing the frozen walls of buildings all over town thanks to that stunt. Hopefully the nurse had enough presence of mind to actually mention the Gremlins.
Applejack must have caught your gaze as she leans against the deflated Pegasus, “So, what can I do ya' for, Rainbow?" The farm-mare ignores Rainbow’s plight.
“Well, got any more of this stuff?" Rainbow noses the empty parfait glass. The confectionary glass is shallow, but when heaped with layers of whipped cream, some egg-cream, mixed fruit and granola, it makes for a tasty chilled treat.
“Sure thing. Maybe some hot apple-nut pie ta’ warm yer belly? Hmm." Applejack puts on a show of tapping her lip in deep thought as Rainbow catches on to the pensive idea. A playful smirk eeks across the farmpony's muzzle, “Maybe a mug a' cider ta’ wash it down?" The little question lights a covetous spark in the Rainbow's magenta eyes.
“Y-you're joking right? You're not." A smile races across Rainbow Dash's muzzle.
Even if Applejack is partially lamed, the cow-pony made a good show of happily trotting back over to the door, scooting a few saddlebags over, and returning with a wooden keg on a braided cord like a search-and-rescue Saint Bernard. It’s enough for a few tankards but not too much more. You can't help but smile as she uses a spigot to tap the bung of the small wooden keg. “Don't all ya'll fret none, there's enough to go around." The Pegasus leans across the table as if drawn by a magnet.
“Like a moth to a flame. Now then," you turn to Rarity who looks back over her shoulder at Applejack and the near tail-waggingly happy Rainbow Dash, “I know what it should look like. Like I said when we came in, we're looking for a pair of crossed keys.”
“What's it open?" Pinkie's bouncy tone migrates from the fire to the entertainment.
“Huh?”
“Keys open stuff like doors, boxes and other fun secrets. So what's it unlock?" She flutters her eyes again and springs up from the fire, only to circle behind the small low-backed couch you and Rarity share. She plants her hooves on the chair’s and cranes her neck forward to look over your shoulder, then over at Rarity's open sketchbook.
You think for only a moment and smile, “Twilight's freedom." Activity in the room halts, leaving only the crackling sound of the fireplace.
“Then it's the best thing we could ever hope for." Pinkie's cheek meets yours as she wraps her hooves around your neck in a warm hug.
“Which is why I'm going to get this absolutely perfect." Rarity smiles and motions for Pinkie to sit next to her. After all, it was likely Pinkie was going to be the artist involved in actually painting the cutie mark. Pinkie readily lets you go and clambers over the seat back, nosing Rarity over so she sits between you and her.
“Uh, before ya' get caught up in that. Think ya' could get us some more wood for the fire?" Applejack awkwardly grins a toothy smile. Her eyes dart back and forth to the others before tilting her head towards the table.
You blink and loft a brow, “What? Now?”
“A drink'll be ready by the time ya' get back, ah promise.”
“Suuuure." A bubbling incredulity builds by the moment. “Okay, I guess." You pull yourself to your feet as Rarity glances back at Applejack with a puzzled frown.
Rainbow is the one who probably needs to be inside more than you, but that is less about the weather and more about the agitation. Not that she'd be too happy in collecting wood like a mundane worker.
Not that I like being the remedial servant, either.
Nevertheless, you pat yourself down and gather up your coat from its resting place on the stone in front of the hearth. You sweep your collar up and nab a multi-coloured scarf before button up the front of the garment and pulling on your less than ideal footwear.
“Be right back." You announce to the tune of a half dozen affirmations. If by some freak accident you are kidnapped, inexplicably lost your memory, had a tree fall on you, or got sucked into another dimension, then at least everypony knew that you had to forge a pair of crossed keys for your fake cutie mark. With a final stamp, you open the door and slip out into the icebox of a world.
Pitch black skies loom over you as driving wind sends sheets of snow skimming across the desolate pale wastelands like sand rasping the barren desert dunes. A mournful dirge screams past, buffeting the windows and causing the timber roof to croak under the relentless assault. Your world is lit by the orange glow from the cabin's frosted windows and nothing else.
You wearily trudge those ten agonizing paces from the door, around the corner in the dark, and towards the solitary island of light. The orange island illuminates the chopping block and a cord of uncut logs stacked against the wall of the cabin. You have no lantern, just an empty iron hook jutting out from beside the window at eye-gouging height.
Hopefully the whole stack isn't frozen solid.
It isn't worth devoting much thought to as you reach for the axe handle and pull the first log over to the block. The axe itself is somewhere between a hatchet and a proper wood axe, making it awkward to use with one hand or two. Even the wooden haft bears broad tooth marks from extensive use by many ponies before you. You try to balance the log, but it wobbles and falls in the wind.
Oh, this is going to be fuuuuun…
You scowl at the log as the wind rakes at your face, and swing the axe down hard. It bites into the log and holds fast as you pull it up. As the half split log lifts with your axe, all you have to do is let it fall to the stump to split it in twain.
♣
Five minutes of being outside is enough to last you for the rest of the night. You gather up an armful of wood and leave the whispering winds and inky darkness behind.
The frosted windows shine with hazy indistinctness, but you know that figures are moving around inside. You lean near enough to the window that the heat from the side of your face will melt the icy coating on the glass if you linger too long. The wind steals away whatever they are saying, but there is a conversation going on inside and it wasn't idle chit-chat judging by the tense mumbled tones. You awkwardly stack up all the wood in your arms and stumble through the snow-swept trench that was once a pathway moments before.
The wooden door gives you a few moments of resistance before you fumble got the latch with numbed fingers. As the latch gives way, you shove your way inside and swiftly shut the door with your foot.
“Still cold?" Rainbow smirks with that rejuvenated cockiness. The wooden mini-cask lay on its side next to her, completely drained as she cups her hoof against a tankard.
“You should know, O weather warrior." You mutter unhappily while carefully descending those steps to the sunken living room. A scrape across the wooden table catches your attention as you drop the firewood on the dwindling pile next to the hearth. Looking back up from the living room to the utilitarian dining table, Rainbow has slid a tankard across its surface to an unoccupied seat. Everypony is there, just awkwardly standing about waiting for you. The world rests in weary silence, clutched in the grip of a crushing tension as if preceding some dire intervention.
“Rightly, suga’cube, sit'own for a spell, would ya?" Applejack's eyes rove to look around the room, never settling in one place.
This is some sort of intervention, isn't it?!
The thought strikes you as both comedic and odd, but aside from Rainbow Dash, nopony is looking at you directly. Moreover, none seem willing to talk until you've taken a seat. The table is looking awfully cramped with five ponies crowding around it.
“Darling, we've had a bit of a talk." Rarity starts, her sketchpad forgotten by the couch. She gingerly motions for Fluttershy to take over.
“And we just don't want you to get hurt or feel anything is your fault if something... if something happens..." she ducks back behind her curtain of hair, waiting to see what you’ll say.
Applejack's gaze rests on Fluttershy who defers the fatal blow. A lump forms in your throat. The forthright country-mare takes over, “So, we all figured that you'd be best stayin' here and lettin' us pony-folk handle it."
It’s a damned coup d'etat! No, no, nooo you don’t!
But Applejack pushes on ahead despite your puzzled look turning to indignation. “Ah mean, sure, we're dealin' with a monster, but it ain't something we haven't done before. We’re worried that somepony’ll try ta’ hurt ya’ thinkin’ yer Ulf.”
Applejack opens her muzzle again just as you suck in a breath to interject in a hail of expletives, but Pinkie quickly butts in before either of you, “I tried to say that you could just borrow my Pinkie Plush costume. It's warm, it's fun, and you'd look exactly like me! Although, then they might not be able to tell us apart, and then if you looked into a mirror and suddenly another Rightly Pie popped out, there's no Twilight here to deal with them too. Then we'd never be able to find the right Pinkie Pie or Rightly Pie and if they mixed you up for me, then... I don't know if I could take another paint staring contest. I Just, Don't, Know!" Pinkie's eyes well up as she reaches across the table, taking your head in her hooves as her lips tremble and a glassy veil passes over those ocean blue eyes, “You understand, don't you?" The confusion is enough to stop that rising spirit of undeniable indignation.
I… what? Do I understand? No! Who would?
“It's true, she did. I said we should just go in and buck a few teeth." Rainbow bangs her hoof on the table, “And if somepony scares him off, it might not work again. See, we gotta' do this all right the first time. I said you were cool to tag along but AJ figured you would blow our cover."
"Might blow our cover. Might." Applejack corrected her though it wasn't enough.
Opening your mouth, the Unicorn mare gently presses a hoof to your lips. Your eyes are drawn to hers: the soft azure jewels shimmer but hold firm as she shakes her head. The tension and stress melt from her face, erasing lines of uncertainty and the creases of discomfort that had gathered like storm clouds since Twilight was taken. “We need to maintain a low profile, and as useful as a strong, able, heroic, assistant and friend would be, the ponies here don't understand that you and Ulf are different. They don’t know you like we do. We know you could never be like him, dear. But for your own good, for the worry you'd place on your own shoulders, let us do it. Let me do it. You've done so much, it’s time for you to get some rest. We'll take care of the rest of it. Besides, it may take a few days, we need somepony to look after our little abode." Rarity’s rich smile stills any explosive condemnation as she settles her hooves on your shoulders. With a last quiet peep she asks, “Is that okay, mon cherr?”
Getting angry at her was obnoxiously difficult when she put it like that. You are reduced to nodding, but it is enough by the little ‘huff’ of breath from her nostrils. She wraps her forelegs around you in a warm embrace as you stay rather still. Her little affectionate coo leaves you with little choice in the matter it seems.
There has to be something to refute it, to counter it. Pinkie gently pats you on the head, “Don't worry, we'll be back reaaaally, reaaally quick and have Twilight, too. Then, we'll have a spectaclarific celebration! It'll be great, trust us.”
You look around to see if that was the case: Rainbow merely winks, Applejack looks relieved and leans on you as if to say that nothing has changed, while Fluttershy mutely nods from across the table. It all seems to add up to them, even if you have your reservations.
Damn it.
You plaster a fake smile on your lips, “If we're going to do that, I'm going to make sure you're going to have the most tempting key cutie mark there is." You felt like spitting each word out as he bitterness and vitriol rose in your throat. “Rarity, you'll have to make up a clasp. It's going to be tough advertising a cutie mark any other way"
Rarity beams and unwraps her hooves from your neck, “Quite right. Oh, and a matching cloak. It would be a travesty to do all that work and miss something so plain in front of one's face." Twilight had once said that obscuring a cutie mark was a strange social faux-pas; it was indicative of a servant, somepony that wasn’t acting for themselves, but somepony else. The Royal guards, the constabularies, some inspectors, they each had obscured cutie marks, but for the most part it just wasn't done.
Choking back down the irritation you even refrain from that defeated sigh, “So, let's get to work. I'll stay here, look after the place, just... don't you dare get hurt. Spike’ll never forgive me.”
“We know.” Pinkie beamed then halts as her eyes flicker in recognition. Slowly she rubs her chin, “Was that supposed to be a secret?”
So Rarity isn’t the only snoop, hmm?
You adopt a professional mein and ignore that, “Now, about that key." The business-like tone helps steady your nerves as it sets everypony in motion. You take a deep breath and reach across to the drink set in front of you. Quaffing it down buys a brief respite. Being useful and helpful is fine but it doesn't make it any less disappointing.
This must be how Spike feels.
♣♣
Staring up at the ceiling far overhead, the homely rafters turn to skeletal ribs that creak and groan in pain at the relentless assault of the wind. Even after your friends told you that you shouldn't be going with them, there was a sort of caring sensation to accompany the harshness of their decision. Now, it‘s only a faded memory; sullen anxiety has replaced any vestige of warmth and the gathering gloom engulfs the cabin. Laying on the wide couch wrapped in a stifling wool blanket is a comfortable way to watch the crackling embers at the edge of the flames. You want to get up to stoke the fire and await your friends’ return, but that could still be gone for hours.
You have given in to the ponies’ demands, but instead of just going to bed upstairs and not worrying about it, you stayed curled up on the living room couch. You await the sound of the front door blowing open as a troupe of six ponies clamber in out of the cold amid complaints of the cold and congratulatory chatter. Then the nightmare could be over.
But what if things go badly? What if they don’t come back? Ulf has killed before, so what would another four ponies be to him if he found his final 'key'?
Those thoughts have been assaulting your senses for the past hour as you lay back, ostensibly trying to sleep, but that wasn't happening. You gaze out the black windows into the abyss outside before closing your eyes and rolling over. Now you wait here at the edge of town, far away from the hustle, bustle, and relative safety of the big west coast city.
Getting up is slow and arduous as you drag yourself from the couch and keep the wool blanket wrapped around you like a robe. Something curls and bursts within the cinders as you poke the dying embers. A light crackle, burning orbs like sprites that dance behind that metal grating. A pulsating throb is followed by a high pitched whistle emanating from the flames in the guttering hearth fire. A lulling sway imparts a calm and banishes the anxiety of the night.
Your gaze begins to blur and settle into an unfocused stare as the tongues of orange and yellow flame writhe and dance. They warp and twist like gates that let through the few blackened wisps of smoke forming the curling twists of a mane. Two coals blaze to life, turning from ruby-red to searing-white as a face forms in the heat of the furnace.
Squire! Hark and fly; make haste to the stone guardians beside the serpent who writhes but can not die.
Your eyes pop open fully as a gout of flames and sparks bursts to life. There is no question of whether or not you are asleep, you feel the surging compulsion to rise to your feet. Throwing off the blanket, you rapidly redress yourself as a cold sweat beads on your brow. Not until the whistling wind slaps you in the face and freezes your cheeks do you truly feel in control again.
You push into the wilds and ignore that quizzical part of you wondering how the strong impulse shocked you into action. Grouse mountain overlooks the whole of Vanhoover and it would certainly be a beautiful view if the snows didn't blank out the twinkling city lights in an impenetrable white veil.
In a fit, you slog through the few feet of snow and fetch the wood axe from the stump. Now you just had to find the 'Stone Guardians'. Something feels wrong about it as you make your way down the trail from Grouse mountain to Vanhoover's outer limits. Nevertheless, it was a portentous sign.