//------------------------------//
// Silence in the Library (Yeah, Right) 
// Story: Woundsalt, Mother Bucker. 
// by OneUppington 
//------------------------------//

“…So, yeah. It’s highly possible we’re related.” I finally conclude.
“Wow… that’s… wow…” He says, with his voice trailing away to think of something. “Woundsalt, do you mind if I suddenly do something I know you won’t like?”
“Is it hug me?”
He nods.
… I sigh and hold my front hooves out. “You have ten seconds.”
He quickly slaps his forelegs around me. He’s right, I don’t like this. However, I understand that this is quite emotional news to somepony who said I’m the brother they never had.
But I had to tell him. I knew I had to tell him. After all he said to me… about me… about us. I had to tell him about the fact there’s a chance we’re actually brothers.
I had to tell him… because it pretty much guarantees that we’re not.
Think about it. With all this shit going on in my life right now, I won’t be surprised if it turns out I’m in a goddess-damn sit-com. All these different characters with different storylines, situations that are fucking nuts and of course…
Plot twists.
I’ve been getting plot twists by the bucket-loads since I got here. Thought I was a failure in poetry, but TWIST! It turns out I’m the hottest shit everywhere and Canterlot’s the only place that doesn’t care. Thought everyone in my past’s a prick, but TWIST! The poet formerly known as Printed Page comes out of his shell and makes himself cooler and Blue Curaçao turned over so many new leaves it’s like he’s a whole new tree. Thought my date was going to be a stuck-up busybody like all the bitches from Canterlot, but TWIST she’s… you know. 
So with all these plot twists in mind, surely there is more to come and most definitely going to affect something like this. So, while Page was spilling his guts out, I was doing what I should have done since these twists of fate started to happen. Get into the mind of fate. Guess the twist.

And I think I got it.

If I don’t declare the letter to Page and think that it is somepony else, which is what I still want it to be, the twist is that Page is actually my brother. However, If I do reveal this letter and bring up the possibility that it is him who is the mysterious sibling, the twist is that it is that somepony else! Easy! You can see it telegraphed a mile away!
Look, don’t get me wrong. Page really made me consider that maybe him being my brother wouldn’t be as bad as I thought. So much, in fact, if it turns out I’m not right and it happens to be true anyway I wouldn’t mind. It just wasn’t not enough to make me want somepony else as a sibling, that’s all. And let’s face it; if I didn’t tell him, the plot twist would be worse for him. I know my sit-coms. If I continued keeping it a secret and like I predict doing so makes him my sibling, then I’d be juggling whether or not to let him know or not and the next thing I know, TWIST something renders him in at least a coma... Worst case, death. And then he’ll never fucking know then now, will he? So, not only am I guaranteeing he isn’t my brother, I am guaranteeing that Page doesn’t have anything like that happen to him! So, if anything I’m giving him a huge solid here! 

You may never know about this scheme of mine, or believe the logic behind it but… You’re welcome, Page Presser. Don’t you ever say I never gave you anything nice.

“… Aaaaand off!”
“Thank you.” Page says, releasing immediately and then getting up. “Can I use the bathroom? I feel like one of those Sombreracs wants out.”
A little too much information, but I can relate. “Sure. Up the stairs, to the left. Maybe you shouldn’t have one the most alcoholic cocktail repeatedly in a short amount of time next time.”
“Okay… brother.”
... He’s going to keep calling me that, isn’t he? Ah well. Let the baby have its bottle.
As I see him slowly move up the stairs, I go get started on the coffee. Might need to heat up the pot ag-
…
“Hello, darling. Forgive me for not knocking again, but… are my ears deceiving me or did I just hear Printed Page?”
Well, I guess I should be thankful that Rarity didn’t sneak up on me this time. Wish she stops eavesdropping, though. “Yeah. He’s had a hard night last night, though. In fact… Three… Two… One…”
“HUEEEEARRRGH!” Came the noise from upstairs.
“… I don’t think he’s willing to meet anypony today.” I finish.
The now completely grossed out fashionista nods. “I did hear from some window shoppers that he had an issue with his mother and went on a… what would you call it? A bender?”
“Five high alcohol level cocktails in five minutes.” I inform her. “That’s not what I call a bender, that’s what I call liquid seppuku.”
Bleh, that left me with a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe I should refrain from comparing actions to suicide in the light of Rain Coat.
“But… haven’t you gotten yourself into this sort of state for the last five years?” She asks. 
“Not in five fucking minutes.” I reply. “I may drink in excess, but I don’t drink in express.”
“True.” She sighs in compliance. “Well, anyway. I was hoping you could assist me with a translation. I’ve received a letter and I can’t for the life of me tell where it’s from.”
Huh… Well, I do still feel like I owe her for the suit. “Alright. Let’s see it.”
With a glow of her horn a letter floats into my face. Hmm, let’s see. “I Rarity. Os gwelwch yn dda maddau y newid iaith yn sydyn . Mae fy ffrind sy'n medrus yn y cyfieithiad wedi diflannu rhywsut.” I read out loud. “Well, it looks like somepony did an unholy desecration on a bag of Scrabble tiles, so I guess it’s from Cumreign. Didn’t you say some filly from Cumreign bought a wedding dress from you?”
“Why, yes!” Rarity gleefully smiles. “But she has written to me in Equestrian before. Why write to me in Cumreign now?”
I read on. My magic just managed to translate this mess for me. “She couldn’t find a translator, apparently. She just wanted you to know the wedding was a great success and thanks you for the dress, anyway. She’s going to give you five stars on Whinny.com.”
“Oh, hurrah! Another happy client! Fantastic in any language!” She dances with joy. “Woundsalt, thank you. I know precisely how to reward you for this.”
“Oh come on now, there’s no nee-”
“HUEEEEARRRGH!” Came the noise from upstairs.
“Oh, but I insist!” Rarity says, coming closer to whisper. “I found an arcade near the Renter District that I know would peak your interest.”
“Why? I’m not a gamer.”
She raises her hoof to her mouth and zips her lips. “That I leave for you to find out on your own. I haven’t even investigated it myself because I found the floor of the place to be harmful to my hooficure. However, it is definitely something you need to observe.”
Hmm… why does an arcade needs my observation I wonder? “Alright. I’ll have a look after I sort out Fluttershy’s donation to the library…”
“HUEEEEARRRGH!” Came the noise from upstairs.
“… and get him an exorcist.”
“Yes…” Rarity says, looking up the stairs. “Woundsalt, can I ask you something about the Canterlot Horn? And I’m asking this as somepony who hasn’t even touched it while it was in circulation admittedly, so forgive me if it sounds like a terrible question.”
“What?”
“Well, I’m a little curious to why nopony didn’t hire you afterwards. Page I understand.” Rarity says, pointing up the stairs. “His father would be against any notion of him going to another magazine; at least, not one under the chain of Printed Media. But why did you not go elsewhere?”
Th… that’s a pretty good question, actual-
“Because there was no elsewhere, Miss Rarity.”
We both turn to the top of the stairs. Page stands there looking down us as he continues.
“No elsewhere for him at least. My father didn’t even want him to start with, why do you think anypony else in his competition wanted him either? Woundsalt, in the opinion of heads of multi-million bit companies, is the mad, sad, little pony on a soapbox who shouts ideas that change things. They don't want things to change, so they don’t want to hire the pony who shouts about it.”
“But all those ponies who love Woundsalt…” Rarity interrupts.
“Don’t matter to them.” He snaps back as he comes down towards us. “All that matters is that their agenda is absolute and no pony like Woundsalt, if there’ll ever be a pony like Woundsalt, ever have a soapbox to stand on ever again.”
The library falls silent. Fuck… That’s dark. I never heard him be this depressive before. Me, I understand, but Page? Printed Page? No. Printed Page didn’t say that. Page Presser did.
“That’s… quite a negative viewpoint from you, Mister Page. I... I always thought of you more of a cheerier soul than this.” Rarity eventually states. “Do you really believe this?”
Page nods. “I tell you something else that I believe, Miss Rarity…” His horn starts to glow as something floats down where he… Oh goddess. He must have found it in the bedroom opposite.
He found my adoption certificate.
“… I believe your friend needs to explain why she did this.”