//------------------------------// // To Watch // Story: Overgrow // by SugarPesticide //------------------------------// In her dream, her mind wandered. “You’re right, of course,” Rarity was saying. “There really wasn’t much of a point making a scene out of it. On the other hoof, it would have been extremely difficult not to. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an arrogant blowhard in my entire life, before or since. His behavior was positively atrocious, to put it mildly. And in all honesty, would you have done any differently if the stallion of your dreams treated you to a cake to the face?” A pause. She daintily nibbled at a croissant. “That’s what I thought.” Twilight nodded absently, sipping her tea. An ear idly swiveled as unseen ponies drew near their table, then stepped into her vision as they continued on their way. Ponyville was quiet at this hour. Not entirely, of course, as many of its residents were at the market trying to buy and sell; their voices wafted over the rooftops like smoke. But few ponies could be seen from their spot outside the café. Here there was a moment of peace in the neverending currents all ponies were caught up in, providing a dreamlike quality in an already hazy day. As she watched, the ponies who had just passed by were examining a small box intently, speaking in hushed voices as to its supposed contents. A pegasus colt, just old enough to be out of school, flapped by with a flower held carefully in his hooves. Farther out, she could see see Bon Bon and her unicorn sister passing Sugarcube Corner at only a block’s distance; they paused to wave to their friendly rivals, who returned the greeting with enthusiasm. She smiled. Her coat was warm with sunlight. An itch crossed her back, and as she rolled her shoulders she felt as if a great weight had been taken from them. “It isn’t funny, Twilight,” Rarity pouted, not entirely serious. “It was a disaster to end all disasters.” “It was also more than two years ago,” Twilight pointed out, rolling her eyes with a grin. “You’ve told that story a dozen times since then—” “Thirty-six times, actually.” “—and every time you’ve made it sound even crazier than the last.” “I don’t see how the cake to the face was an exaggeration.” “The cake itself isn’t, but saying it was literally a demon from Tartarus wasn’t how I remember it. Applejack might take offense, too.” “Twilight, I’m not disparaging her baking. I’m disparaging the mess her baked goods can make. There’s a considerable difference between the two.” “Really? Because when she’s tired the line can be pretty thin.” Rarity arched an eyebrow. “Fair point. I’ll indulge you, then, and simply drop the matter.” “Until you decide the story sounds better if he’s a rogue agent.” “Hmph.” She tossed her mane back, nose angled toward the sky. “I would certainly never think to go to that extreme, dear.” But a thoughtful smirk pulled the corners of her mouth upward. Twilight’s tail swished as she set down her teacup. Her eyes misted over. “Oh, Rarity, I miss this. All of this.” “I’m not sure what you mean, Twilight. You can hardly miss something you’re experiencing at that very moment.” “But you can,” she said. “Or, more specifically, I can. It’s my brain, trying to act like nothing ever happened. But it won’t work, because the past is in the past.” Her ears drooped. “None of this is real.” “What an odd thing to say. I feel very much real, speaking for myself.” Rarity’s head tilted slightly to the side. It was a small movement, and Twilight was sure she would have denied it if she’d pointed it out, but it was there nonetheless as Rarity’s eyes softened. “Twilight, is something wrong? You do know you can talk to me about whatever it is, don’t you?” Their eyes met. Twilight smiled sadly and nudged her teacup with a restless hoof. “It doesn’t matter. I guess … I guess I just miss having the five of us together.” Rarity nodded absently, levitating her own tea … and then she paused, brow delicately furrowed. “The six of us, I’m sure you mean. As well as Spike.” Twilight’s ears flattened as she glanced away. “No, I meant the five of us … and Spike.” “Ah. Well ... if I did anything to offend you, I’d be happy to fix whatever it is —” “No!” she said, a little more forcefully than she’d intended. Passersby slowed to give her strange looks, and her cheeks were tinged crimson as she shrunk a little in her seat. A moment passed, and the other ponies grew disinterested and continued on their way. “No,” she repeated, more controlled this time. “You did nothing wrong, Rarity. Nothing at all. Please, don’t take it as an insult. It slipped out, that’s all. I’d rather not talk about it.” Rarity arched an eyebrow. “I see … I see. If you’re sure, then.” But her tone promised an extraction of details in a more private setting. They said nothing. There was an awkward clink of a teacup against a cheap porcelain plate. “On a lighter note,” Rarity said in a chipper voice, examining a pristine hoof, “I don’t believe I’ve ever told you about that time last week when Rainbow Dash came by the Boutique. I was busy at work as usual, designing a rather unorthodox piece for somepony in Canterlot, when all of a sudden there she was, crashing through my window. Rainbow Dash, I mean, not the Canterlot mare. Luckily I’d left my window open, as I’d remembered how much she seems to love interrupting delicate operations at the most inconvenient moment. It took us a while to get her untangled from all those mannequins — I’m not sure how she even managed to get twisted up like that — but eventually she was able to tell me that she had been wanting to ask if —” “Rarity,” Twilight said slowly. “Stop talking.” “I beg your pardon?” “Just stop.” Her horn lit up. “Don’t move.” Twilight tensed as slow realization dawned on Rarity. Behind the latter, long black hands reached closer still; their arms reached from an unseen source, while all the while the sun shone down, only managing to cast them in an oily sheen. There was a flash of magic, and the hands pulled sharply back … but not before one of them had managed to gently brush against the unicorn’s shoulder. Rarity stiffened at the touch, not daring to move even as Twilight blasted the eldritch hands again. Something hissed, and one of them lunged at the alicorn this time; with a grunt she seized it in a burst of aura, slammed it into the ground with such force to produce an audible squelch. There was a snarl, and the limp hand was dragged over the ground and out of sight. Grass shriveled and died in its wake. She waited, but no second hand sprang into view. Only silence draped over the scene. The passersby had disappeared, though where to was a mystery. “Twilight.” Rarity’s strained voice gently demanded attention. “I … Twilight …” She was about to tell Rarity to relax, but soon she noted that the once-subtle muscles were contracting far more than was voluntary, twisting the forehooves into knotted mockeries of limbs. Rarity’s skin stretched tightly over her face, growing dry enough for moisture to stream away in a puff of mist. Her luxurious mane dulled and thinned into a stringy mess. Her lips parted, barely, and her larynx vibrated visibly to produce a deathly rasp. “Twilight … help me.” Twilight’s ears were pinned flat against her skull. “Rarity,” she breathed, eyes wide and welling. “What did it … No, you can’t be … No, no, no, no, no!” Her throat closed up, and she swallowed hard. “You can’t … I just … they’re not … no … hang in there, I’ll figure out how to —” “Don’t touch me,” Rarity hissed, and Twilight pulled back her hoof out of reflex. “Touch … infection, it has to be ... it hurts. Celestia, it hurts.” Patches of hair fell from her coat, but she didn’t seem to notice. When she looked at Twilight, her face displayed open terror, but only sadness shone from those blue eyes. “It’s a virus. Don’t let it eat you alive.” “I can use … no, no magic,” Twilight corrected herself. “But I’m still saving you. I’ll find the princess, just let me —” “Twilight.” By now Rarity’s voice was no longer her own. “This is not the virus I’m speaking of.” “What do you mean?” Her eyes widened as darkness blotted the sun’s rays, entrapping them in a sudden shroud of starless night. Around them, buildings and clouds dissolved into shadow, closing in on them in a rapidly approaching bubble. “This is … what is this? Rarity! Don’t move, I’ll find help!” But the words rang hollow as the light was snuffed out, and only Twilight’s horn could illuminate the slumped, twitching body of her friend. Her vision swam in tears as the darkness choked them, swallowed them — She awoke. She stared. Despite the faint presence of the light, still shining from the center skyscraper, it was nevertheless dark enough that she wondered if she had really escaped her nightmare. Above lay the moon and stars, distant watchers in the lonely night sky. She blinked as the wind brushed her face. When a hoof reached up to touch her muzzle, it came away cold and wet. “What was that all about?” she said with a hiccup, but the sound that was drowning her out caught her attention. She listened. Her ears rose half-heartedly at the noise drifting from below: a quiet murmur of unintelligible speech, punctuated every now and then with a burst of laughter. Uncertain, she got to her shaky hooves with a gentle huff, then walked to the edge of the skyscraper as quietly as she could manage. The Snivy was already there, standing on the short wall and looking down the lit hundreds-foot-drop without so much as a wobble. He was staring intently at whatever was happening below, not giving a glance as Twilight approached; only a flick of his tail signaled that he was aware of her presence. Not sure that his fearlessness wasn’t mere bravado, she reached his side and peered over the edge. Her head swam at the sheer fall, and her wings flared in response to perceived danger, but she peered past the threat of nausea and down at the procession below. For it was, in fact, a procession. Even from this height she could see dark shapes moving at a casual pace down the street, faintly lit by strange bright lights that cast warm colors on everything in their reach. The floating lights were scattered about at random points along the street, but the light was just enough to paint the surrounding buildings in yellow and orange. Farther above, where Twilight and her acquaintance watched, everything remained in shadow. Along both sides of the street, more of the strange beings were gathered. They appeared to be watching their fellows continue along, conveying their approval in a tide of chattering and hissing and cackling. The procession continued along like a tiny stream, and the creatures themselves formed a distant, animalistic mass of predictable and mildly interesting motion. It was as if they were insects, or as if Twilight were a god. A sickness unrelated to the drop twisted her stomach at the thought. Music floated from the procession then, as bizarre instruments, suddenly produced by the marchers, glinted in the lights. The music echoed off walls of steel and concrete, reaching the watchers’ ears in a fleeting, muffled form. What sounds Twilight could catch were boisterous, booming things with flute-like soprano woven throughout, all patterned in an upbeat tune that nevertheless carried a somber undertone of an unpleasant past. But the bombastic blasts and tireless trills continued despite the occasional slip into a discordant flat or sharp, promising a continuous journey out of the times of trial and into a brighter, more glorious future. She found herself tapping a hoof in time with the beat; the Snivy shot her a disparaging look, which she gladly returned. “It’s just music,” she told him, though her rhythm faltered. “Big bands aren’t that terrible.” He sniffed and flicked his tail, returning his attention to the scene. She rolled her eyes and let the matter be. Her nostrils flared as a faint flowery scent floated from below, and she watched as a thin pink petal rose up on the wind close enough to reach out and touch; a flock of others soon followed, culminating in a reverse snowfall of color that drifted higher and higher, until they were nothing more than translucent pieces of plants that tried and failed to blot out the stars. In its own way, this was all very beautiful. And yet they remained there, distant from the celebration while in the lonely darkness, and the ghosts below marched on to the rhythm of brass and cheers. A melancholy joy permeated the city that even the secluded watchers could feel, separate though they were. The moon continued on its way. Still the procession went on, and the marchers never lost their full force. And all the while Twilight thought of laughing ponies who only drew closer in the face of adversity, never caring that her vision was misted over for hours to come.