The day I first met Derpy was solidified in my mind. I can't believe he and I had come so far since then; gone from fellow orphans to best friends. There was a time, long ago, when I thought I was in love with him, and boy am I glad I wasn't. I can barely tolerate him as is, imagine if I discovered I was in love with him! No, he's great, but eventually he became more like an annoying older brother. My thoughts dragged me back to that day as I sat alone in the front seat of my car.
TEN YEARS AGO
The counselor seemed concerned that I was seeing my sister, as he'd asked me earlier in the semester about any family I might have, and I explained that they were dead.
“Ms. Dash, you know that your sister is dead, correct?” he asked me, pulling out a clipboard and pen. The counselor was a middle-aged man with a scruffy mustache, tapering at the ends, and bore a small amount of stubble on his chin. He wore a corduroy dress jacket and dark blue jeans, with gray and black running shoes.
“Well, she were dead-” I began, but he interrupted me.
“'Was dead,' Ms. Dash,” he said kindly, clearly extending an olive branch as he made the comment. I was not angry, I knew I would have to learn the language fluently at some point.
“-right, was dead, but now she not,” I finished the sentence, wincing at the obvious mistake. He clicked the pen and rose an eyebrow at me.
“'Now she is not,' or, 'she's not,'” he corrected once more.
“Right, sorry sir,” I mumbled. I looked down at my black shoes, embarrassed and disappointed.
“No no, don't be. You learn better from mistakes than from successes,” he said, coining his signature phrase with a sly smile. His tone drew my head back up and drew my eyes to his.
“I know. But yeah. She's alive now,” I finished with a grand smile, finding it hard to believe myself, but believe it I did.
“I see...is she here right now?” he asked, and he sounded a bit more concerned than usual.
“No, she's outside,” I told him, sitting back more on the chair and looking around the quiet room.
“Hm...could you have her come in here?” his voice had regained it's kindness, and he was preparing to write some more.
“Sure. Embers, c'mon in!” I called to her. I saw the door open, and shushed her as she slammed it. The counselor looked at me oddly, but I didn't pay much attention. I took Embers' hand and sat her next to me, smiling at the counselor, “Dancing Embers, meet Dr. Chaser.”
“Hello, Ms. Embers. Can you tell me something about you? Something your sister can't?” he asked of her, but wasn't looking at her. He was looking at a spot just above her head.
“Oh, she was-” I began, but the look on his face was stern enough to shut me up.
“I asked Ms. Embers, Ms. Dash. Something you wouldn't know about her.”
“She doesn't want to answer!” I shouted, standing up and glaring at him. He looked a little concerned, and I sensed he was not concerned for himself inasmuch as he was for me.
“Rainbow Dash, please. Sit down, and tell me what's wrong,” his voice was gentle, and my wave of anger crashed onto the shore of his calm, dispersing and leaving no indication of it's existence.
“She don't want to answer the question. She's fidgeting because you looking over her head. She won't answer until you look in her eyes...that's her chin...that's her forehead...that's her ear...that's her nose...her eyebrows...there you go. She still won't answer the question.” Throughout all of this Dr. Chaser had been very patient with me, but now he just kinda...he got angry, very angry.
“What? Why?” was all he said, but it had myself and Embers quivering in our shoes.
“U-u-um...sh-she don't have any...” I whimpered pathetically, and upon hearing this Mr. Hampton calmed right down.
“She does not have any what?” he asked, correcting me once more.
“Eyes.” I explained, looking to Embers for confirmation. The eyeless girl nodded, and she had a strange protrusion from her body, two actually. They were jagged pieces of steel, some guts hanging off their shiny tips and the skin beneath her clothes was badly burned and horribly cut. I realized with horror that my sister had died again, right next to me, just like the first time. Her mouth opened and a horrified scream rang out of it; after a second I realized the scream was coming from me. I fell off the sofa and scrambled backward into the wall as the figure closed in, and I screamed that she wasn't real and none of this was in fact real. She seemed satisfied with that desperate cry, and showed clemency, allowing me a respite from her horrible visage.
I came to the realization that Dr. Chaser was kneeling over me, hand outstretched and just centimeters from my shoulder, and I shot forward to wrap my arms around him, taking comfort from his muscly build and warmth. I sobbed openly into his shoulder, babbling nonsense about my sister coming back and then turning into a monster of horrendous proportions, slipping into my native German as I usually did when greatly upset. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes yet, and my chest felt like it was bursting.
I was sent home, then, and it was the Caretaker's grandson that came to get me. The Caretaker was what the orphans called the elderly woman that ran the orphanage, though she encouraged me to speak her true name, Granny Smith. She was a homely lady, well-loved by all of us, and her grandson was just as likeable. He didn't speak much but to his sisters, and me, surprisingly. When he did speak, his voice was deep and melodious, and his topics were deep and insightful. One would be hard-pressed to find something to dislike about him.
“Howdy there, little lady,” the teenager greeted, tipping his big Stetson to me. I smiled shyly and climbed up into the truck beside him, placing my hands in my lap and looking at the carpeted floor of the beat-up pickup truck.
“H-hello Mr. M-Mac...” I whispered, stuttering a bit as I attempted to get myself situated on the lumpy seat. I twiddled my thumbs anxiously, knowing he wasn't usually one for conversation. Today, however, he seemed to have some things to say. Just as I began to settle into the silence after about twenty minutes of silence, he shot off a question at me. I admit I jumped in my seat and squeaked out pitifully.
“Why am Ah takin ya home?” A relatively simple question, but his tone implied that depending on my answer I could be in real trouble.
“I-I-I s-saw someth-thing today...w-with Dr. Ch-Chaser..." I stuttered, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I finished speaking. Big Mac's entire posture changed, and he pulled the truck onto the shoulder and turned to look at me, eyes intense and angry.
“'Scuse me? Did he lay'a finger on ya? What did ya see? Did he co'urce ya ta do anythin'?” Big Mac was drilling into my already-drilled mind with this torrent of questions, and once he'd fallen silent I explained what had happened, start to finish, and then let some tears escape.
I heard someone yelling at me to stop crying and get up already, and I knew that it wasn't Big Mac because this voice was feminine, 'Come on, you wimp! I mean, really? You're just going to sit there and cry? You're a disgrace.'
As my story came to an end, Big Mac's gentle-giant nature came out and he hugged me close, despite his discomfort toward being around crying girls. I'd been good friends with the big guy for awhile now, and knew that he had a kind heart despite being a little rugged at times. Being moderately-illiterate for most of his life (home schooled), when Big Mac went to school in 8th grade he was wholly unprepared, and was made fun of for his obvious lacking in education. He knew what it was like to be in my position; outcast-ed because of something you couldn't help. For me, though, it was worse. You see, because I was German and didn't know their language very well the students decided I wasn't worth knowing at all. In addition, since Anna and I had vastly different schedules the only friend I might have talked to was never around. None of this is really relevant, of course, but I feel like it's a good idea to include it, anyway.
“Listen here, lil' lady. Ya lis'nin'?” He asked me, gently pulling up on my chin so I met his kind eyes.
“Y-yes...” I responded, unable to look away from his face.
“Them things y'all are seein' ain't real, ya here? It's just a figmen' o' yer 'magination. Yer mind is tellin' ya that y'all need ta face somethin' hor'ble that happened, right? Well, all ya have ta do is face it. Then them monsters, go 'way, see?” Big Mac gave me a simple, friendly smile, and I couldn't help but to return it. He winked at me then, and put the truck back into gear, pulling onto the road and taking us back to the ranch.
* * *
I lay on my cot, lumpy and hard, hands behind my head and one leg propped up on the other. The orphanage was an old building, rotting in parts and rusting in others. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about this orphanage seemed off, like some terrible event lay just around the corner. Squinting my eyes closed tightly I gave vent to a strangled groan, feeling like my mind was going to explode. My legs ached, like they wanted to be used for the work around the ranch/orchard or be worn out from running instead of laying here in this damn bed.
“Y'okay?” The voice was sudden and unexpected, and I jumped back from the shock of it. I had lashed out in a reflexive punch, but instead of meeting flesh and bone I met what seemed to be a glove. When I calmed down in the next few seconds, I looked into the eyes of my “assailant” and realized that I knew him.
“Sa'y miss, I didn' mean too startle youz. Yuh just sounded like yuh whuh in pain,” he spoke with a slight accent, clearly masked by time and desperation. The accent gave his slim and muscular build a rugged quality I knew would have Embers scoffing and Scootaloo swooning if they could hear it. The boy wore a peculiar ensemble: a baseball cap with a white “N” and “Y” on the front, the main color of the hat being navy-blue, a brown leather jacket that was a size too big, a pair of loose-fitting, well-worn blue jeans and a pair of old white tennis shoes. The boy was chewing on something, and upon realizing that I was staring at him he opened his mouth and displayed near-white teeth and a piece of chewed-up gum resting between the upper set and lower set. My eyes widened as I eyed the contraband, and, looking around while my heart pounded, I prayed not to see any sign of an official.
“What are you doing, Dummkopf? You know that's against the rules! Spit it out,schnell!” I ordered him, hissing in a low whisper; my eyes were closer to full moons than normal size, now. His face scrunched up in a cute fashion, titling his head and sucking the offensive item back behind his teeth. He clearly had a strong distaste for this particular rule, and looked over at the list of rules we had been told to memorize and recite at a moment's notice. The rest of the orphans had already done this, but for some reason this boy couldn't be bothered.
“Oh. Yuh one o' dem brown-nosuhs Pa told me 'bout, ahren' yuh, Dayuh? Listen he', I ain' 'bout ta get intuh a fight 'bout it, soz yuh should jus' drop it,” he gave me a look and turned on his heel, heading back to the boys' side of the room. I scrambled to my feet and listened to the patter my skin made on the tile floor. The floor was a little cold, but my feet were burning up for some reason so it felt nice. Without even removing his shoes first, the boy crashed back onto his pillows and stared at the ceiling, blowing a bubble in his gum surreptitiously. I came to stop beside him, un-rumpling the front of my shirt as I sat on the foot of his bed, staring into his mysterious dark-gray eyes. I put a hand on his knee, and while he flinched fractionally away his face showed no emotion.
“I am not a 'brown-noser' as you say, saukral, I just believe the rules should be followed. The Caretaker does so much for us, and all she asks in return is for her rules to be followed.” I explained myself patiently, giving him a genuine and rare smile. He nodded and looked away, chewing a bit more avidly at the gum while I awaited his response. I would be surprised by his next question, however, and the rest of the ones to follow.
“Whuh-does dat mean anyway, 'sauskrel?' Is it Deutsch?” his eyes were wide with wonder, staring directly into mine once more as his darted back and forth in excitement.
“Yes, it is Deutsch. It means 'pig,' a dem-....demea-....mean-....” I was struggling, my hands waving out before me and my levels of embarrassment and shame rising.
“Demeanin'? Dat whut yuh mean?” he asked, his accent beginning to make him sound as uneducated as Mark's did. I suddenly realized why both Mark and this boy had never been too out-spoken: their accents were so thick and rich that people judged them by that aspect alone, ignoring everything else.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, smiling wide again as he tugged loosely on the brim of his cap in my direction, “It is a term of....of uh-....affec....tion.....a-ffec-tion.” I beamed as I sounded out the word, and for some reason the boy smiled back, a light blush tinting his cheeks.
“Oh. Whut about uh...whuh's duh wuhd? 'Dumb-cop?'” he looked at me sheepishly, like he was hiding something that could turn out to be embarrassing. His smile had been replaced by a slight frown as he tried to mentally answer the question before me. I didn't question it, I just prepared myself for his reaction to my answer.
“It means, 'stupid,' or, 'dummy,' and it's pronounced Dummkopff,” I said nervously, looking at his entire face this time despite the strong pull I felt coming from his eyes. He nodded slowly, that small smile claiming his features once more.
“Huh. An' he' I was dinkin' Noo Yawkas whuh rude to each odda,” his accent was endearing for a reason I could not place, and I wanted to hear more of it. I stared at him and considered the various ways I could get him to say more, shortly finding an option that might work.
“So....what's your name, where do you come from, how long have you been here, how old are you and how did you know my name?” I fired off each question at a reasonable speed, scooting closer as I did so. I made sure to do it slowly and surreptitiously, moving only one inch at a time. By the time I'd stopped asking my questions I was almost sitting on his foot. I loved how he began to squirm fractionally in discomfort, from either his foot almost being sat on or the fact that I was so close to him.
“Woah, slow down, would yuh? Lem'me answ'suh fuhst,” he rolled his eyes and held up his hands in a gesture that I needed to calm down, “My name is Derpy T. Hooves but ev'ry body calls me Derpy. I was bohn in Brooklyn, Noo Yawk, an' I only came down he' 'cause Pa didn' wannuh look aftuh me no mor' aftuh Ma died. I was brought he' aftuh a few yea'uhs in fostuh cay'uh. I've bean he' 'bout five yea'uhs, now. I'm 16, an' I knew yuh name 'cause it ain' 'zactly a state secret.” He winked at me, and I knew that if I wanted more information I would have to be more conniving and deceitful. At the time I believed I was up for the challenge.
“Wow....that's quite the life there. What was it like, this 'Noo Yawk' you lived in?” I asked, and he busted out laughing. I mean, he really let loose. He roared in laughter and clutched at his chest, and I couldn't help but to give a bewildered laugh of my own. Once he finally regained control, Derpy gave a hearty sigh and kept the smile.
“Nah, it's not Noo Yawk, I mean it is....eh....lemme show yuh,” he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a pencil. He searched around his cot for a piece of paper, presumably, and found it at the bottom of his desk drawer. He then proceeded to write out, 'New York,' and displayed it to me.
“New York,” I said aloud, looking up into his cheerful face. He winked and pulled the paper back, writing something more on it. Derpy pushed it back to me and winked, leaning back against his pillow. Reading the note, I blushed deeply as it read: 'Central Park, New York, 10 years from this moment.'
“You gon' be theh?” he asked me, not meeting my eyes. I ducked down and practically crawled into his lap, craning my neck so I was looking into his eyes. Derpy blushed at my actions, but held my gaze all the same.
“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” I responded sincerely, and then rolled off him and the cot and sauntered back to my own space. I felt his eyes on me, and when I turned my head around slightly I expected to see him gazing at my backside; I was wrong, he was staring at my hair. I hadn't realized until now that I was standing in a ray of light. He stared at me like I was an angel, and my blush increased. I waved a tiny wave and went outside instead, needing a break from that boy and this....whatever was happening to me.
Present Day
"RAINBOW DASH!!" I felt my shoulder being shaken wildly, and looked up blankly into the sky-blue eyes of Pinkie Pie. I knew there would be no escape for me now.
"Hey there, Pinkie...wanna go for a ride?" I asked meekly.