Fleur's Friendly Advice

by SwiperTheFox


Every Breath You Take (Part II)

You lean back in the seat, hand still pressed against the cold glass. You watch the rain streaking across the window. The hills, valleys, and rivers, although looking as huge and picturesque as you had expected, faded into mere background before too long. Canterlot, tall bright white buildings stretching on and on besides each other with the magnificent royal castle behind them, had impressed you at the very first sight.

You can't help but feel on edge. You may have had such a great party, you may have seen pony after pony from Colgate to Lyra to Roseluck and others in tears of joy, and you may have had such an easy time getting on the train with Twilight accompanying you until the last possible moment. That didn't change the fact that seeing the pretty purple unicorn fading into nothingness on the platform behind you had felt almost like having your face shoved into a mound of snow. Ripples of apprehension and nervousness had crawled across your skin.

You glance back from the window over at the other passengers. You haven't minded them. They haven't cared about you. I guess that's the thing about 'tolerance' for humans. It doesn't mean the same thing as 'acceptance'. You sit still as a young, bouncy foal with a short dark green mane trots down the aisle. He meets eyes with you for a split-second before going on, probably thinking of you no differently than a piece of scenery just like a stack of luggage.

You see him waggling his short, even darker green tail as he reaches the end of the train car. He slaps against the wall and turns to the side, clutching one of the sparkling white sodas from the tray besides the train car's door. He sucks it down in a split-second, not even leaving the ice cubes. He lets out a comic burp.

You chuckle. You hear a disapproving feminine moan from a few rows over, and you freeze. You see the foal tossing himself over, hooves out, and an older mare with a ragged light green mane and a long, slender white body shifts around in that row. Your eyes meet with hers. She blinks, and she immediately glances at the floor. Her foal, most likely her son, grabs onto her leg and mutters something about wanting more snacks. You keep on looking that way, but you realize that she probably doesn't want your attention.

You rest your face on your right hand, and you glance back over at the ceiling above you. You rest you head against the comfy crimson-colored pillow-ish thing on the top of your seat. Once upon a time, back on earth, I could have struck up a conversation with a random stranger. I could have just been nice enough to them, and they would have been nice enough to me. And now... now, with ponies around... they'll just stare at me. "Oh, it's a human! The human is talking to me! What should I do!"-- they'll think to themselves. And then I'll see the confusion and tension just melting their faces off, almost.

You sigh. 'Tolerance' is pretty goddamn cold. You "tolerate" a fly on your shoulder. You hear somepony announcing from way over at the other end of the train car that you'll approach the Canterlot station in just a few minutes. You close your eyes and relax once again, forgetting about the ponies around you.

It had occurred to you after Twilight had disappeared on the horizon that Canterlot will be filled with ponies like that. Ponies that you didn't know and that didn't want to know you, even though they wouldn't be overly mean or nasty or discriminatory or anything like that. You don't know a soul in Canterlot. You know of several ponies, especially Fluer de Lis, but that mean the same thing.

You flash back to your first meeting with Applejack, just minutes after you had materialized time and space on the roof atop a Sweet Apple Acres barn. Applebloom, Big Mac, and her had helped you down, trying their best to ease your shock. You felt totally out of it, hardly able to even breathe let alone speak, as gobs of grassy dirt and ice cold water poured off your sides.

Applejack recounted later that you simply gasped over and over again about "mud", "mud", and more "mud" as you shivered, your eyes bulging out. Applebloom had wrapped you softly with a fuzzy blanket. For whatever reason, she had given you her hair bow, her hooves nudging against your freezing wet legs. You had clutched it and held it close as you tried to keep your hands from trembling.

Just like with every other humans she had met, from Scamper to Peaches to you and everyone else, Applejack had stood back and eyed you from head to toe, sizing you up. It only took a matter of seconds for her to see something within you. Whatever she had seen in your soul, it flicked a switch in her mind that made her think of you as surrogate family. She'd defend you and stand up for you to the ends of Equestria no matter what.

Most Ponyville ponies act like that, albeit not as dramatically. They either feel totally terrified or distrustful for a newcomer, human or otherwise, or they take him or him in and accept him or her completely. In fairness, a lot of human visitors haven't behaved very well. You can't blame Fluttershy in particular for either dashing away or freezing like a block of ice whenever you walk around. Thank goodness Angel Bunny didn't end up in that guy's rabbit stew, or else she'd never ever stand to be on the same block as a human. He still lost over a dozen friends and family, though. You picture the gravesite a stone's throw from Fluttershy's house where she laid down the guy's collection of bunny skulls.

You flash back to seeing Fluttershy leaning up against her house, her face locked at the forest as her delicate yellow hooves rubbed up against wooden blocks. Gosh, she's so incredibly beautiful. Her long, flowing mane especially. Another 'perfect ten' that I could never talk to, let alone ever have a chance with. You've long since abandoned the idea that you be ashamed for finding mares attractive. They couldn't seem more different from ponies back on Earth, from their magic to their voices to their moves and more. And you know that you're not really 'you' either, being dead. You also have the same pastel shaded colors and halo-effect around your own body, pictures of you looking like comic book scenes rather than photographs back on Earth. Your voice even sounds somewhat lighter and even a bit squeakier.

*Creak!*

You jolt around, waking up from your flashbacks, as your train slows down. You hear steam escaping in front of you as a torrent of slightly quieter clangs and creaks goes off below you. You stand up straight, your fingers tapping on the seat in front of you. You glance around at the wide variety of ponies sitting around, most of them chatting with the travelers besides them. You have your own particular row to yourself, feeling like a bad omen although the conductor pony just chalked that up to last minute cancellations.

You see the front door to the train car open, and two burly stallions with dark brown bodies and frizzy golden manes step in. They have their hooves out in supplication, making resigned expressions. One of them, standing a foot or more shorter than his compatriot, magically carries a large black box underneath him.

"Sorry, folks, I know you've been waiting, but we--"

A chorus of frustrated moans and groans erupts throughout the train car. The taller stallion twitches his short, thin mustache. You can't help thinking of Charlie Chaplain, especially with the twain wearing such sharp black bowler hats.

"It's a simple precaution that you all know the reason for, wot-wot. We've had a call giving a hot tip for another--" He makes a long, angry sigh. "Another prank." His compatriot nods.

"Prank Yankers?" asks the same foal from before, standing up atop a stack of luggage.

"Yeah, yeah, it's the stupid blasted 'Prank Yankers'," groses the stallion. He slides over the box and opens it up. You watch intently as the shorter stallion magically holds out a long, thin instrument with tubes and wires going from it over to a small grey pack-- the pack itself covered in knobs and sliders beneath a meter of some kind.

You can't stop yourself from laughing. You immediately think back to the first scenes from Ghostbusters-- Venkman and the rest trying to detect the library ghost. You gauge the other ponies reactions. About half seem bored. Another half look deeply anxious, some even chattering their teeth.

"What's the prank this time?" asks the green-maned foal.

"Schultz?" asks the short stallion.

"Yes, Schuz?" asks the tall stallion.

"We can tell them, right?"

Schultz stops for a moment, tapping a hoof against his chin. He sniffs from his huge, bulbous nose. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh... yes."

"Chocolate Pudding Bomb." Schuz declares, walking around in the aisles. "Or, what we in the security biz call 'C.P.B.s'. It's supposedly going to burst out and coat the entire train from car to car with sticky black sugary goop dripping everywhere, even-- like--" He stops, sliding his head back and forth. "Like it'll be dripping from the insides of your eyelids. Another Prank Yanker insanity." He bucks up on his hind legs and guesteurs melodramatically over at the ceiling.

"Right," Schultz says.

"And it'll be the third prank this month!"

"Right..."

"While the first time was that Spontaneous Farting Powder prank on Wednesday. No, wait!" He bounces around the alise, reminding you of Pinkie Pie. "It was the two-weeks-ago-Wednesday. Yippers! That was rather annoying."

"Right..."

"But at least the rain diluted that one. Although, I guess it was pretty funny to see Princess Candence blowing her dress up around her sides from the never ending-- uh-- mare-gusts of her flanks. She turned so red." Schuz seems to be really getting into it, hopping up on empty chairs and acting out the scene.

"Right..."

"And then, and then!" Schuz says sliding over to right next to you and waving his hooves over your head. "There was that thing with the Human Space Invaders prank. The H.S.I.s incident, right. They were actually balloons. Only they didn't do anything at first, 'cuz they were like filled up with air so they didn't lift, but then-- like-- like--" Shuz grabs your hands, and he tugs them up into the air.

"Right..."

"And the humans had their balloon-y air insides magically replaced with helium at the right moment, and they sailed over the Franciso District."

Before you can even think, Shuz grabs your body and picks you up into the air. You freeze with your hands and legs in a crab position as the stallion wiggles you up and down.

"The Prank Yankers brought everyone all crazy as they hacked the city PA system and went like-- 'Help! Help! The humans are invading from outer space! They're here to steal our new, fashionable outfits!' Ponies like buckin' lost it! I swear that I saw Fancy Pants tinkling in his trousers! And ol' Rarity opened up her mouth and--"

"Shuz!" Shultz screams.

The stallions lock eyes, Schuz breathing hard.

"I think you're getting carried away."

Schuz looks up at you, and you frown. He looks over at Schultz and the travelers across the train-car, eyes all focused on him. Schuz seems to turn many different colors.

"Sorry," he whispers. He gently puts you down onto your seat, your legs sliding back down. Schuz walks over besides the door that he came in. Shultz keeps on staring at Schuz. The younger stallion slides a hoof across his face-- his lips well zipped.

Holy Cheese and Crackers! That kid stallion is strong! Good think he isn't, like, an evil changeling or something. I've only ever seen Big Mac showing that kind of ability. You take a very deep breath.

"Anyways," Schultz begins, putting on his odd electronic device, "the long-story-short version of events is that we'll be scanning all the passengers. Checking your a-values with my e-meter here, and it will only take a few minutes, max."

A few frustration groans go off, but most passangers have resigned to your fate. You sit back and relax once again. Human beings have the Oklahoma City bombing and 9/11. Ponies have the 'Prank Yankers'. Sounds like a massive step up, doesn't it? You hear squeaking noises coming out of the machine as Schultz waves through pony after pony. You hardly care. As long as he doesn't go full TSA on me and stick a quivering white-gloved hoof up my butt, I'm A-OK with this.

You think about Fleur de Lis. You haven't ever seen her before. You've only seen official portrait-type things in various brochures and parenthetical references in TV news programs. You feel pretty happy that she'll meet you right at the train station, first thing as you get off. You hate being along in really big, really crowded places where others that don't care about will bump into you and talk around you as blinding lights and flashing noises go off overhead. You had medication for that, of course, but it still didn't help that much.

Back on Earth, of course, you could always count on people you know. Your mother, most of all, understood those sorts of symptoms very well. Your had father suffered through it all with twice the intensity. The poor man couldn't even socially function, literally having to step on every stair as he walked and having his breathing go crazy as rooms got too full. He rarely went to places that he didn't know.

Your brother did't have that same kind of sickness. You stop, rubbing your nose. You flash back to seeing your brother playing with his new lazer pointer that you got him-- with 'Welcome To The Space Age' carved on the side. He had to keep getting told over and over again to be careful not to flash it into someone's eyes. At least, he didn't carry it everywhere. He couldn't carry it on the plane, obviously. You feel your breathing getting tense.

The plane.

You slide your feet forwards, having such an odd sensation coming over you. You press your fingers against your temples, repeating the trick that your mother had drilled down over and over again. You curse your inability to have an iPod that you could brainwash yourself with, blasting constant happy music. That pre-migraine like sensation seeps through your insides, feeling something like cold, wet mud going over your skin.

Of course, your brother isn't sick.

You blink. You can hear the ponies getting security checked from around you, beeping from their e-meter going into your ears. You still feel half in one world and half in another.

Your brother is dead. Remember?

You shudder. "No..."

I'll bet his internal organs have totally decayed by now. Still, maybe there are a few pieces of his lungs, spleen, and other things providing for the worms. Their little mouths are probably going through lines of his flesh as we speak. Isn't that fascinating, the circle of life in action?

"No..." You feel yourself slipping into darkness.

How does it make you feel to see your little brother die before you? To have you fail and fail completely to protect him?

"No!"

No, what? He's dead. Oh, and-- news flash-- so is someone else. You're breathing really hard right now, aren't you? Every breath you take is pointless, though. Fat lot of good it'll do you.

"NOOO!"

"Excuse me, sir?" asks Schultz.

You feel your whole body convulse. You slide over in your chair. You try to slow your breathing. The whole world around you fades in from total darkness over to the same familiar train-car.

"I guess you just knickered off into a small mini-dream with a mini-nightmare," Schultz says, leaning his head back. "Nothing to worry about, sir." He hits his chest with a hoof. "Even the strongest ponies can have particular things bugging them after walking up. No skin off of your teeth, wot-wot."

"Okay," you reply. You see the stallion fiddling with his pack, and he gets totally engrossed in the various knobs.

You imagine your little red vial in your backpack. You replay seeing Nurse Redheart stack vial after vial into a special medicine box for you, nudging it into the pack, and then tucking an emergency dose into a side pocket. You had both hugged, her tender hooves rubbing against your back, and you had cried a little. Peaches had hugged you just a moment later. Damn lucky Peaches... together with what seems like the most beautiful mare in Equestria outside of royalty.

"Ready to be scanned, sir?"

Rather than say anything, you simply move over to the edge of your seat and hold both hands as well as both feet out. You take a little breath. I hope I don't have too much iron in my blood or something. I did have some of Applejack's really mineral and vitamin filled cereal this morning, didn't I? Well, crap. You see the stallion running his instrument over your head and then down your chest.

*Beep!*

Schultz examines the pack. He frowns. He looks over at the wand and holds it even closer to your skin. He locks his eyes on the pack, and his frown expands into a full scowl.

"Uhh..."

"Don't tell me it's acting up again," he says to himself. He pats on the pack. You notice that it's lighting up with an alien red glow. Whatever meter thing is on there, the needle has moved all the way to the side over besides an infinity symbol.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

"May I move a bit closer?" he asks you. After you nod ever so slightly, he runs the wand down across your arms and over to your sides. He takes frustrated little breaths.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

"Oh, for the love of Luna!" Schultz calls out. His compatriot pops up right besides him.

"What's his a-value?" Schuz says.

"Infinity," Schultz replies.

"I don't understand..."

"Of course, you don't understand!" Schultz retorts, going up on his hind hooves. "It's an illogical response, wot-wot. It's as if you asked me, "Is it raining outside', and I replied with, 'The waffle people are warring the outer space radioactive hamsters and dripping their syrup blood onto Equestria.' It's sheer nonsense."

"What's an a-value again?" you ask.

The stallions ignore you. You start feeling rather worried. You lean up in your seat, eyeing the exit behind you. Every breath you take feels like it gives an injection of adreline right into your heart.

To Be Continued...