“He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic , rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him in,”
―Edwin Markham
The mare slammed the door behind her, screaming in absolute frustration. She stomped with every step, and suddenly threw her legs at a defenseless nightstand, sending it and its contents to the floor. A small vase broke in many pieces with a volatile, sharp crash. In one last act of uncontrollable rage, she sent all of her weight into her forelegs and she punched the wall with both hooves, denting the drywall and shaking the entire apartment. As the sudden flux of noise subsided, all that was left was her breathing; bated, hyperventilating, breaths through gritted teeth. She slowly pushed herself off the wall, only now seeing the damaged she caused. She did not change her expression, but rather just processed what she’d done. She took big breaths to calm down her breathing and calmly walked to her bathroom, flicking on the light and leaning over the counter. She saw herself in the mirror. With a surge of emotion, she forcefully slammed her hoof into it, causing the mirror to crack. After she calmed down again, she stared in the mirror for another time, now with a calm demeanor. A few moments passed, and she smiled into the mirror, checking her teeth for any imperfections. She opened her mouth and checked for any damage. She closed her eyes and put a jovial face on... raised her brow suggestively... frowned in feign sadness. She ran her leg over her face and wiped everything away, leaving a blank stare in the wake. She stood for a few moments. Then left, satisfied with the results. “I can do this,” Syntax said aloud, to the noone in the room. “It’s my job. He’ll tell me what I want to know. And I can do so without upsetting the griffin, or even him. Because at the end, after I’m done with him...” She gently caressed her old typewriter, a device itching for use. “He’ll want to tell me.”
Blurred light entered Sketch’s eyes when he slowly opened them. As his eyes adjusted and the world became clearer, he found that he did not recognize the layout and object before him. He investigated, deciding it was the smartest thing to do, and found this room rather bare. There was a chair, a functional dresser, and the bed he was on. As he flipped over to see what was on the other sid-
“Oh, sweet Celestia!” Sketch flung himself in the opposite direction, sending himself off the bed and onto the floor with a soft thud. The object that caused such a reaction, a sleeping griffin named Haren, mumbled a bit before tossing and turning into a more comfortable position. Sketch was frozen for the moment, but as memories passed that explained the previous moments before his slumber, he became less rigid. They had done nothing, and simply fell asleep. He sighed in relief and stood, fumbling to get out of the blanket he wrapped himself in and tossing it onto the bed gently, before walking out the door himself. He closed it as lightly as he could.
A clock in the main room read 1:00 PM, leading Sketch to grumble darkly. He still had a solid two hours to burn before returning home. He trotted to the fridge and opened it.
Most of the fridge’s contents were various alcoholic beverages, ranging from fine liquors to discount beer. There was no consistency to the brand, leading Sketch to believe that most of it was stolen. Or was at least purchased from somepony who had stolen it themselves. Sketch moved various bottles around until he found something worth drinking: a bottle of lemonade. He made his way to the couch and sat, with lemonade in tow. As he brought the bottle to his lips, he was displeased to find that it was hard lemonade, the sharp and pungent taste of alcohol piercing his lips and burning his throat. Both the fact that the taste was quite pleasant with a small amount of alcohol, and that he was just too lazy to get back up again, he was content with sipping from the bottle. It felt so damned nice to just relax with peace and quiet, not having to worry about school or if Trust was gonna show. He wished every day could be like this.
”You’re a regular badass, aren’t you?”
Syntax’s voice rang through Sketch’s head as he tried to doze. He had tried not to think about what she said before, but now it was foremost in his mind. He furrowed his brows, trying to squeeze the feeling of unease out of him. Was he a bad kid? He used to pride himself in being this exemplary image of a good son, getting well along with his parents and doing things he didn’t even want to, for them. But now? Skipping school? Cursing out his teachers? Sleeping with griffins? Sneaking out? Going to parties? Drinking Alcohol? What happened? How did he change so quickly? He didn’t even notice until now. All his decisions seemed so binary, so obvious. Could he have handled all of this better?
Sketch ignored the fact that Trust was obviously the cause of his rapid change. He didn’t want to place any blame on her. Even if she was to blame, it was all worth it. He really didn’t even have to think about it. So he didn’t. He took another sip of his lemonade, this time prepared for the bitter sting. Raising a hoof, he rested his head on his foreleg, and sighed. There was a reason he had to do what he did. The decisions he made were unavoidable, for her sake.
A new sense of resolve made him close his eyes and relax. Perhaps another dose of sleep would put his mind at ease.
Don’t indulge your insomnia, his mother’s voice said in his head. It’s not narcolepsy, you don’t have to sleep.
His eyes shot open, and he groaned. “I need to if I want to be awake when Trust comes around,” he whispered to himself. He heard his mother sigh.
Is that so? So school isn’t important?
He didn’t answer. He opted to stare straight ahead, and it almost felt like he was avoiding his mother’s gaze.
Is that what you think?
“I hate school,” he said, a little louder than he was expecting. His heart rate began to race. “I didn’t think I did... but now I know. I hate it.”
...The voice in his head didn’t speak. It chose silence, as he did.
Seconds passed as slow as molasses runs. It was getting hard for him to breathe.
You’re killing yourself...
Then the voice left. A long time went by, as he listened to the tick-tock of a clock he didn’t know that Anthem had. He put a hoof on his face as he quietly began to cry. A very silent cry, the kind where tears just ran down one’s face without any sobs or inhales. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”
It didn’t take long for the tears to subside. He wiped his face and took another sip of lemonade, the bitter taste now welcome and satisfying. He heard Haren’s door open behind him and jumped, and frantically looked around himself, trying to find something to hide. He froze once he realized he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong, at least by Haren’s standards, and relaxed.
Haren entered the room and stretched, reaching out her arms while raising her hind, and giving a soft moan. She yawned and cracked her neck. She practically got in front of Sketch and put on a show, with the sensual way she went about it. Sketch had to tell her to not do that when he got the chance.
She went to the fridge and pulled out some apple juice, and began to take big swigs of it out of the jug. Because of her beak, she was stuffing the entire neck of the bottle down her throat. Sketch remembered Anthem and slapped himself, quickly looking away and getting a little nauseous. He was going to have to tell her to not do that when he got the chance.
She screwed the lid back on the bottle and threw it in the fridge, closing it. She yawned again and transitioned into speaking. “‘Sup, Sketch? Wow, drinking this early? You must be a deadbeat.”
He glowered at her and put the half empty bottle down. “I didn’t know it was hard lemonade.”
She chuckled and took a seat next to him, despite there being a free chair a bit further. He didn’t complain, though; it was a small act compared to sharing a bed for a nap.
Sketch started to rub his temples. Maybe letting that happen wasn’t such a good idea. Of course it meant nothing to him, but it would still have made almost everyone he knew angry with him. His parents would be ticked, Conte would be disappointed, Trust would probably have gotten jealous and Anthem...
Sketch’s head rose in a dumb realization. He didn’t know what Anthem would have done, because he wasn’t sure how Anthem felt about Haren. Anthem was so uncomfortable and confused all the time when it came to her. Maybe Sketch should tell him that he slept with Haren and keep it vague, just to see what reaction he would get. Then again, if he did like Haren, he might kill Sketch for that.
“I’ll talk to him,” he blurted out without really thinking about what he was saying. Haren nearly jumped at the sudden statement, and looked at him with wide eyes. It didn’t take long for her to figure out what he meant.
“You will? You’ll talk to Anthem?” she asked with about nine gallons of hope pouring over her words. Sketch nodded sagely while continuing to look at a wall as he thought.
I have to help. You’re in such a terrible place. Sketch empathized all too well at Haren’s situation. While his problems were more... external, Haren had been living like this for four damned years. He was glad she didn’t up and kill herself in that time. Sketch wasn’t sure if he would have been that strong.
Sketch’s thoughts were interrupted when Haren glomped him from the other side. “THANK YOU! Oh god, I was afraid I was gonna have to do it.” She retracted herself and wiped her nose while wearing a nervous grin. “I probably wouldn’t have in the end, though,” she admitted while she looked away.
Sketch couldn’t hold back a smirk. “That’s why I’m gonna do it.”
Haren’s smile faded as she stared right into his eyes. “Just... don’t tell him how I feel, a’ight? If he doesn’t... doesn’t...” Haren was struggling to say the next word, that Sketch believed to be love. “Care about me like that, I want to be able to stay friends without making things awkward.”
“Understandable,” he said with a fake smile. Chances are, any chance at a normal friendship with Anthem were destroyed at this point. They weren’t the type to be able to shrug this off so easily, that much Sketch could tell, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. He hoped that Anthem would at least be open to the idea of having a relationship. As much as slut as he was, Sketch knew that Anthem never had a proper marefriend. To expect him to get involved with one of his friends, a griffin on top of that, was... unlikely. But he wouldn’t know until he asked him.
“I can’t believe I put myself in this dilemma,” she stated quietly, rubbing her shoulder. Sketch did a small double take at her strange choice of words before easing into his next sentence.
“Yeah... right...” With that order of business over with, Sketch returned to fiddling with the lemonade bottle in his grasp, pawing at the open lid and sloshing around the liquid. He should be at school right now.
“Sketch.”
His ears perked, as he face Haren once again. “What’s up?”
“Now it’s my turn to ask.” Her face was dark and her words heavy. “What’s wrong with you?”
Sketch was silent for a while, choosing his words carefully. Letting something slip about Trust was the last thing he wanted to do right now. “Neon sign?” he settled on asking.
“Neon sign,” she confirmed.
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. The clock’s ticking once again became the front and center sound. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.”
Haren laughed at this, closing her eyes and leaning further into the sofa. “No one ever really does.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he clarified, causing Haren to look back in confusion. “I meant in relation to me.”
Her expression became troubled as she tried to figure out what he meant. Sketch didn’t blame her, he was being vague on purpose.
“I know I’m doing the right thing, Haren. But... I don’t know if it’s the best thing for me.” He bit his lower lip, looking away. “I keep thinking that things have to be this way... but everypony’s telling me that I’m going about it all wrong. It makes me doubt myself. Maybe there’s a third option I just can’t see. I keep thinking that I thought about everything, that I weighed all the risks and benefits of everything I do, but at the end of the day...” Sketch put a lot of weight into his right foreleg, causing the sofa to squeal in pain. “I just feel like a selfish little bitch.”
Haren physically winced at the use of his language, coupled with his pained expression. She wasn’t prepared for this. She never saw Sketch angry at anything until now, let alone himself. “Sketch...” She rested a talon on his shoulder as he fumed. She could tell he was shaking. “Sketch I wish I could help... but you have to actually tell me what your problem is without coating the truth in so much subtlety.”
Her poetic forming of words surprised Sketch, but not enough for him to show it. He narrowed his eyes at... something. Not haren, not himself, but at something, anything to blame. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t.”
“You know you can tell me anything, Sketch.” She trailed her talon through his mane, stopping at the end of a hair bang and rubbing it slowly with her thumb and fore digit. “Anything.”
Normally her actions would have been deemed too intimate by Sketch, something that neither of them should be doing. But it was different this time. It wasn’t a feeling you would get when someone you found attractive began to flirt with you, nor was it the feeling you get when someone you secretly admired took actions you enjoyed. No, it was a more... innocent feeling. A feeling that Sketch has felt before, but he had forgotten when. He didn’t blush from the contact. At first, he thought it was because of her confession of her feeling about Anthem made him more comfortable, but it hadn’t stopped him from admiring her before. He gave up trying to figure it out, instead happy that the feeling of support was so natural and welcome.
“I know I can, Haren. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that... I don’t want to have to make you deal with it. It might ruin my life, but I don’t want it to ruin yours.”
Haren gasped softly, clutching her chest. He had never seen her do something so effeminate; it was a strange sight. “Sketch! Ruin your life? This sounds serious!”
For some reason, Sketch got the insane urge to laugh. He desperately tried to keep from it, but a smile slipped through the fissure. “Haren, Haren, calm down. You know I’m being careful. I wouldn’t take something this big very lightly. You gotta trust me too, y’know.”
Haren pursed her beak (something he didn’t know was possible until he saw it), and exhaled. “...Fine. But Sketch... Just do me a favor and tell me.”
Sketch opened his mouth to object, but Haren reached out and put on digit over his mouth to shut him up. “Not right now, just think about it. Cause even if it does screw up my life, the pain’ll be nothing compared to seeing yours get destroyed in front of me. I’m sure Anthem feels the same way.”
Sketch lowered his head as he thought about it. Maybe she was telling the truth, but Sketch wouldn’t be able to live with himself if it was directly his fault that their lives ceased to be the same. So there he was, being selfish again. He blinked, then nodded. Haren slowly let her smile return, and she wrapped him in another embrace. They stayed like that for a while. When the silence became too much, she released him and tousled his mane with her palm while continuing to hold onto his shoulder.
“Don’t be such a sour pussy, okay? Doesn’t look good on you.”
“It’s sour puss,” Sketch corrected.
“Gesundheit.”
Sketch looked around, then eyed the front door. “Hey, where’s Anthem? Shouldn’t he be here?”
Haren shifted her beak around in an attempt to bite the bottom half. “He went to go visit his friend in Stirrups. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
Sketch rose his eyebrow and cocked his head. “Isn’t that on the outskirts of Canterlot?”
She nodded. “Mmhmm, you have to take the tram we took when we went to Hearth’s Tearing. It’s in the same direction, walking distance.”
“I might have to wait until tomorrow to talk to him, then,” Sketch informed, rubbing his mane earnestly.
“Don’t worry, as long as ya do it, Sketchy.”
There was another silence. Sketch coughed in attempt to trigger conversation, but with no results.
“Hey,” Haren eventually said, pointing to Sketch’s side of the couch. “You know, that’s where we did the deed.”
Setch immediately shot off of it, convulsing in disgust. “ECH!”
Sketch took a deep breath before reaching for his front door, closing his eyes in thought. There was no reason to be nervous, his parent couldn’t possibly know about any of his exploits. As the door opened, his father immediately began to speak. “Hey, Son!”
Sketch winced for a reason unbeknownst to him, and trotted into the living room. “‘Sup?”
“How was school?” he asked. Somehow, his interest sounded genuine without even having to look up at his son.
“Boring. Two tests, and I had to draw a blade of grass in art class.” Sketch nearly stopped in his tracks as he heard himself speak. It was scary how good he was getting at lying; that sentence required almost no forethought. Of course it was filled in half truths, being that he did have two tests at school today despite not being there, and he once had to draw a blade of grass in art class.
“Enthralling,” he sarcastically complimented with a hearty chuckle. “Here’s tomorrow something interesting happens.”
“Thanks, dad,” he replied with a cheery voice despite having a plain face. His mother must have been in another room, so he raced up the stairs to avoid her. He couldn’t look her in the face today, not with everything that had happened.
He didn’t catch it, but his Dad looked up at him at the last second, only catching the sight of his tail racing upstairs. He stared at the empty spot for a moment, unsure of what to make his thoughts.
He settled on a guttural “Hmm...”
Sketch almost slammed the door behind him, and only avoided it by reminding himself that he wasn’t actually in a hurry. As the latch clicked, he sighed and leaned on the closed door, slowly sliding down before his rump hit the floor. He chose to stare at the ceiling, hoping that it might have some answers for him.
It didn’t.
He moved to the window and opened it, the cold air slapping him in the face. If he wasn’t awake before, he was now. Taking a seat on a nearby chair, he grabbed one of the pencils that lie on the floor and began to doodle.
He decided on sketching five lines: two curved, three straight. The assortment on the page meant nothing to him yet, so he connect the far left curved line to a centered straight one. He cocked his head, seeing a small image in the wake. He connected another line, forming the very rough shape of a crescent polygon. He left those lines alone, and began working on the linest to the far right. He looked over his work after a couple of minutes and found his breath stolen from him.
He had drawn a griffin.
At least, the very abstract shape of one. Its lower body was obscured by the crop of the canvas, and the only thing one could see was the chest, back and forelegs. It’s head was pointing up, but the sketch was a bit too primitive at this point to have any foresight. Sketch pursed his lips, trying to get an image in his head that he wanted to draw. Once he covered the basics, he went to town.
He started on the eyes. Or eye, rather, as the angle only gave opportunity for one to be shown. It was forlorn, half mast, and a tear wouldn’t be out of place-- if not cliche. Then, he began to detail the feathers that most griffins take pride in, the ones adorning their head. Deciding that the scene would look better in the rain, he let the feathers hang down, imitating a pony’s bangs, covering its eyes slightly and interacting with the beak. He followed through by adding the forelegs, defining the chest, and letting its back take a more realistic posture. It occurred to him that he didn’t have much to go on, considering he only knew one griffin. It didn’t stop him however. He added wings, finishing the basic sketch of the griffin itself. As he took a further look at his drawing, one thing became apparent almost instantly.
“Hello, Haren,” he said matter-of-factly. It didn’t surprise him much, considering all the time they had spent together. He usually doesn’t draw something like this however, the last pony he had being Trust. But Trust meant something else to him, Haren was only a friend. Unless there was a different reason his subconscious led him this way...
He went back to work, shading and cleaning up the details, making tweaks here an there. When Haren was finished, he moved to adding the rain and backdrop. Most of the background was plain and abstract, just adding flavor to the focus. It took him some time, but he finished with a small stroke of water flowing through the back of her head and down her shoulder.
Putting down the pencil, he began to contemplate why he felt the need to draw this. Why she looked so... lost. It occurred to him that he didn’t know a lot of Haren past beyond her association with Anthem. She only spoke of her home country like she just read it out of a textbook, and she seemed to hold nothing but disdain for the simple notion of most of her past.
Inhaling slowly, he lifted his canvas.
“What are you hiding...?” he breathed, leaning on his left hoof.
“Whatchya drawing?”
Sketch, startled beyond belief, tried to cover the canvas with his left foreleg, forgetting that it was held by his muzzle, leading him to accidentally eat his hoof. With a gargle, he then attempted to reach for it with his right hoof, forgetting that he had nudged his body slightly and was now off center, missing the picture and sliding his leg frictionless across the table and slamming his nose into the desk. The mare behind him couldn’t help but chuckle at the spectacle.
“Woah, Art. Calm down there,” his mother advised, putting a hoof to her own muzzle to keep from laughing. Sketch sighed, also trying to keep from laughing.
“Jeez, you scared me.”
“Why you so jumpy, Art?” she asked through stifled giggles. “What were you drawing mister?” Her question was laden with feign condescension.
“I-I...” deciding it acceptable for his mother to see, he hoofed her the canvas. “Uh, this.” He would have asked why she barged in the room, but she probably knocked first, he just didn’t hear it. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
She scrutinized it with a confused expression, scratching her mane with her free hoof. “Is this a griffin?”
Sketch nodded, a still look on his face.
“Wow...” she breathed, admiring its features. “I’ve never seen one up close.”
Sketch’s heart jumped as he opened his mouth to blurt out if she wanted to get the chance. For some reason, the idea of having his mom meet Haren really appealed to him. But a slew of reasons why that was a horrible idea kept him silenced. Instead, he decided to be casual. “Yeah, they can get pretty intimidating when you don’t know them.”
“You know a griffin?!” His mom asked loudly, in shock. Sketch blinked, trying to remember if he actually hadn’t told his mom. Did he just make a boo-boo?
“Uh... yeah. Anthem’s roommate.” For some reason his voice cracked when he said ‘roommate’, possibly because of his discovery of their relationship. He technically wasn’t lying about them being roommates, though-- it’s not like he had to spell out that they were also lovers.
His mom pursed her lips in annoyance at the mention of Anthem. He couldn’t blame her, at face-value Anthem was a bit of a scumbag. The only things she knew about him were what Sketch had told her, and since he hadn’t spoken of him for while, the only thing she got were first impressions and crazy stories. He hadn’t got to tell her how great of a guy he really was. “She’s a friend of this Anthem?”
“Mom, they aren’t bad people. They’re very...” He struggled to think of a compliment that wouldn’t trigger suspicion. “Personal.”
“Personal?” she asked, arching a brow.
Okay, that sounded weird. “I mean... they don’t care what you do or who you are; they’re nice to you, they always give you a chance. They appreciate all company. You just feel so... at ease around them.”
She kept her face with an arched brow, but relaxed her features in a signal that she was opening to the idea of the two. “Okay...”
“I think you’d like them, even if you didn’t like how they lived.”
She smiled, but with her face still covered in concern. She walked to the side of his bed and sat, her eyes glued to Sketch’s. “So how’s this griffin? I mean, besides what you told me.”
Sketch leaned back in his seat, the feeling of interrogation dissipating. “Oh, she’s wonderful. Smart, funny, kind. Sometimes seems like she doesn’t belong in that lifestyle.” Though he knew the reason why she was in it: Anthem. “She’s the kind of pon- uh, person that you hate to see unhappy, y’know. She’d also do anything for a friend, even one she didn’t know too well.”
Had Haren not be a griffin, his mom would have teased him having a crush on her. The fact that she didn’t annoyed him a little for a reason he could not put his hoof on.
His mom hummed in thought, tapping her hoof to her chin. He got the vibe that she did want to meet her, but Sketch knew better than to let that happen. Haren was a bit too comfortable cracking risque jokes for her to meet borderline any mother. “Well... I still don’t know, Art. But... I trust your judgement.”
Sketch’s hoof scraped along the top of the desk, drawing a little bit of sawdust. He gritted his teeth in his muzzle and his body tensed. You shouldn’t trust anything about me. “Thanks.” He almost vomited as he voiced his next words. “You won’t regret it.”
She smiled, further bolstering the sickening feeling Sketch had in his stomach. She got up and trotted over to him, kissing his head and shaking his shoulder affectionately. Halfway through the door, she stopped and craned her neck. “Oh, and please answer when somepony knocks on your door. It makes things less... dangerous.” The implications made her look away awkwardly.
Sketch nodded, content with not continuing the talk. The door slammed, and Sketch frowned. Was there anything he could do? There had to be something. There must be a third option. He looked back at his drawing of Haren, smiling at the lone griffin’s face. His problems seemed so small when he looked at it, for some reason.
Adourning a frown once again, one that matched his feathered friend on the canvas, he trudged to the bed and lied down. He stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, silently wishing Trust would show early.
She didn’t show at all.
It was difficult for Sketch to get up in the morning. And for once, he couldn’t blame it on his insomnia. This was the first time he didn’t want to get out of bed. Of course that was all moot, since he was walking down the Canterlot roads at the moment, if not to just make up for the shitty things he had done. Of course, it was the last day of school for the week, so he’d get a chance to sulk then.
He uncomfortably shifted his saddle bag and took a faster pace. He just had to get through today, just today, and he’d be good. A mare that passed him gave him a playful smile as she trotted, lingering in his direction. He was surprised at first, but as his gaze met hers, something immediately clicked.
“Syntax?” he asked under his breath, not that there was much of it left. His knees locked up and he couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore. What the hell does she want?
She didn’t say anything, she simply faced forward once more and continued her trot.
He thought he was safe, but here she was. He wanted to vomit when a horrid realization washed over him. Had she been following me? That would be bad.
Sketch didn’t have time for this he had to get to school. He shifted his weight around and- Bumf! A guttural sound relating to that of a moose emanated from both parties as they fell to the ground.
A giant cloud of papers, fliers, and a couple books puffed through the air before unceremoniously dropping to the ground. Sketch attempted to apologize, but was cut off by the poor mare before he could manage anything.
“S-sorry. Sorry! Sorry.” The mare sounded a lot more exasperated than apologetic, but that didn’t make her apologies any less genuine. It was odd. Like a kind soul buried beneath anxiety and responsibility. At least Sketch could relate.
“Don’t worry, it was my fault, I was... distracted.” As Sketch bent down to help the mare pick up her papers he snuck a better look at her. She couldn’t have been past adolescence, probably being no more than three to five years younger than Sketch. She was a lavender color, with a deep purple mane and a pink streak through it. The mane was set up in a classic bun, a look not befitting someone so young, and she wore a pair of thin plastic rimmed glasses, an accessory that would look good had she been a bit older, but it did not go well with her features at all. Despite all this, she definitely had an attractive face and figure, she just made some strange decisions with her looks.
“No, no, no,” she whined, sounding more annoyed at Sketch’s attempt at taking the blame than being grateful for it. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. It was my fault to expect everypony else get out of the way for me.” Sketch was attempting very hard to not accidently cross his magic with the unicorn’s, but he didn’t have much time to think as she proved very dexterous with her magic and accomplished gathering up all her supplies very quickly. Sketch’s caught something on one of the pages he had picked up, though he didn’t have the time or the lack of morality to read any further
Dear Princess Celes--...
Sketch quickly hoofed her the dropped supplies. That couldn’t have possibly been legitimate...
“Thanks,” she said, almost mechanically. She looked away as she said it, adorning a face relating somewhat to frustration, though it seemed more appointed at herself than Sketch. He knew she wasn’t trying to be rude, but something about her attitude rubbed him the wrong way.
He decided to relieve the tension by giving her a warm smile. “Don’t mention it.”
She seemed to ease, releasing a slight smirk. But just as quickly she acknowledged him, she trotted away to her destination at a very brisk pace.
“Very mature for her age,” he whispered to himself, unsure of what to make of the strange mare. Then again, he wasn’t in the mood for strange mares anymore, he had his fill after Syntax.
Speaking of Syntax... Sketch furrowed his brow as he returned to his route. The hell is she planning? She knows Haren won’t let her target me anymore, and I don’t think Haren and Anthem have anything to hide. Still... she’s crafty... I can’t underestimate her again. I have way too much to lose.
Sketch felt ill. He had no idea he was going to have to keep watching over his shoulders like this. It was like a thriller story, except slightly more dumb. All he wanted to do now was get today over with and...
And...
And...
And... see... Trust...
Sketch’s vision blurred and he lost his balance, biting his tongue as he keeled over. Attempting to avoid a scene, he immediately corrected himself and leaned on a wall. It felt like... his heart had left him, and all his energy dissipated.
How come he hadn’t noticed? It had only been... one day. And he felt broken, Incomplete, without Trust. He needed to hear her voice to get out of bed in the morning, to motivate himself out of his reveries. He just had to see her to let in some light. He just had to... feel her.
How come he hadn’t noticed? How dependent he was on her presence. He had been getting his dose every day... and now he quit cold turkey.
Damn...
He hadn’t lied to himself for a while. Hell, he hadn’t lied to himself the first day that they had met, but he wasn’t stupid; you can’t just be honest with yourself that quickly. Still, never before has it been so obvious.
It was so obvious now.
Sketch sighed, and trudged to school.
And now he had to sit and hear about how vertices on multiple axis can do something he couldn’t give two shits about.
Brilliant.
“Hmm... Twilight Sparkle,” Syntax whispered to herself, the name and the face finally finding each other. The mare that the boy had bumped into was Twilight Sparkle, an apparent magic prodigy. Didn’t seem that impressive now, though.
The bell rung, and Syntax adjusted her pose into a more seductive manner. It was sure to not help any, but perhaps the pose would put him on edge. Despite being a hormone-crazed teenager, it seemed his interests were more... feathery, if his relationship with that crazy griffin was any indication. Strange boy.
Realizing her left hoof was slightly off to properly show her features, she shifted subtly in order to maximize her potential. It definitely wasn’t the first time she used such tactics against stallions (and a few mares), and it won’t be her last. Though her most recent attempt had gone awry when finding out that damned principal was a coltcuddler. She really could have saved that blackmail of him for something a bit harder to find... Oh well.
All she had to do was gently caress the info out of him, instead of trying to squeeze like before. At first he appeared weak and brittle. And maybe he was. But something obviously was making him more steadfast. More stubborn. Even if that griffin hadn’t come, he wasn’t going to play her game. He was going to refuse, she could see it in his eyes. Still, every fish can be caught. One just needs to have the right bait.
The familiar boy trotted out of the school with a solemn expression.
Speaking of fish...
His eyes widened as his gaze met her’s.
It’s time to reel in the line...