//------------------------------// // Chapter 13: Dreams, Unbecoming // Story: The Last Vacation // by Noble Thought //------------------------------// “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you!” Sunset Shimmer snorted and flipped channels again. “You knew who it was, idiot, you stared at him for half an hour before you kissed him.” Late night TV continued to disappoint her with stupid plots, stupid characters, and dumber antagonists—but it kept her awake. That, and her fourth mug of coffee cooling on the side-table. Squeaker, the Peaches’ aging cat, mrowled happily in her lap and purred louder and louder as she stroked his ears. “Yes, you like everyone, don’t you,” she purred, lips pursed, and flipped channels past several color-barred channels. “…buy now and get not one, not two, but three…” “Three cans of shut up.” Click. “…Spitfire goes for the goal, shoots, and that’s the game! The Wonderbolts move on to the quarterfinals!” “Of course, just caught the end.” She sighed as the program moved on past the freeze-frame of Spitfire being mobbed by her team. Apparently, it was a late night sports commentary show, and the two chuckleheads going back and forth started grating on her nerves before ten seconds passed. She shut off the TV, yawning. “At least Rainbow’s gonna be happy about that.” “Because of you, I had to miss tryouts for lacrosse! You and your stupid problems. Why can’t you just leave?” “Mrow?” “It’s okay, Squeaker. Just a dream,” she told the cat, fondling his velvet ears and scratching that one spot, right behind his ears, that made him go limp as a noodle. “Mm, yes, you like that,” she purred. She laid her head back and closed her eyes for a long moment, stroking his ears slowly, enjoying his company and the nonjudgmental manner he lavished affection on her, and almost drifted away, but jerked awake before the nightmare could rise up and claim her. She glanced at the slowly ticking clock on the mantlepiece, ten o’clock, and nearly leapt out of her skin when the house phone bleep-bleep-bleeped as loud as a stampede of cows. Squeaker sank his old, sharp claws into her pajamas, ears flat, the points digging into her legs, and growled when she tried to shove him off, his crooked tail lashing back and forth. “Ow, ow, ow! Stop! Soft paws, soft paws!” She cried the safeword that worked maybe half the time. When it didn’t, and he only growled louder when the phone rang again, she worked her fingers under his paws, prizing the claws free of her legs one by one. “See, this is why I don’t like you on my lap, but you keep on charming your way there.” The phone stopped ringing and went to the voicemail machine, an ancient box that was half as loud as the phone’s ring. Twilight’s voice crackled from the speaker. “Hey, Sunny. You must be asleep, you’re not answering your cell. Um… Hope you had a good day. Talk to you later. Oh! This is Twilight. Um, you have my number. Bye!” Bleep! Maybe it was time to let a little bit of her allowance go to investing in the voice mail feature for her cell phone, except she was usually never far from it. “One new message,” said the stilted, mechanical voice of the answering machine. “Duh! Get off!” She finally prized his claws free and rubbed at her leg where they’d had such a firm grip, and pushed him to the floor. “Bad kitty!” His ears folded back, and he slunk away to hide under the couch. She sighed and rubbed a hand over the sudden ache in her chest. “Why do you always have to be so hasty?” she asked herself, and slumped back into the chair. She glanced at the phone, then at the couch where she could just see the place where a cow had stepped on and broken his tail last fall, a sharp crook near the end that came out when it lashed back and forth under the dust ruffle. He’d taken to scrambling away, or up, when the house phone rang since, a rare occurrence but often enough that Mrs. Peach had declared “It’ll keep him on his toes! I’d rather he freak out at the phone than get stepped on again,” in response to Mr. Peach suggesting they replace the phone. “Keep it as a reminder.” “Squeaker, I’m sorry.” She levered herself off the chair and knelt with a thump by the couch, careful not to kneel on his tail, and lifted the ruffle. “Are you okay?” He slouched further under the couch, quiet, and turned so she could see the glow of his eyes reflecting back light from the single, fabric shaded lamp in the Peaches’ living room. “Hey, don’t be like that.” She twiddled her fingers just below the edge of the couch. “Kiss, kiss, kiss.” Instead of her fingers, he focused a baleful glare at her face, his kitty expression saying: “Really? You can do better than that.”  He folded his forepaws under his chest and closed his eyes, shutting her out. No amount of making kissy noises or waggling her fingers did more than make his ears fold back. “Ugh! Fine.” She threw down the ruffle and stood, forcing herself to calm again. “He’s just a cat.” “Mrowr.” “Just a cat.” She stamped a foot for emphasis and tromped into the kitchen, glowering at the cabinet, his food, his bowl, and finally his royal, orange behind as he purred and rubbed up against her bare calves. As soon as he was settled by his bowl, happily eating his messy way through the wet kibble, her glower slipped away. “Ah… if only people were as simple as cats.” She slid down to sit beside him and stroked his back from neck to tail, earning a louder purr and a cessation of eating to appreciate her attention. “That’s more like it.” The ache in her chest eased, and she let her head thump back against the counter, closing her eyes for just a moment, listening to his intermittent buzzing purr and messy, wet feeding. Some time later, she called Twilight, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she stroked slowly over Squeaker’s back. To her surprise, the phone didn’t even get to its first ring before she got an answer. “Sunset! I didn’t mean to wake you up!” “Nah, you didn’t,” she said, smiling. “It’s good just to hear your voice, and worth a little lost sleep.” Why’d you say that? “I mean… I couldn’t sleep. And it’s nice to, uh…” She scrubbed at her face, grimacing at the greasy feeling of her own skin, reminding her that she still hadn’t showered. “Can I start over?” “No…” Twilight laughed, and someone else’s voice, indistinct, warbled something through a low hum on the line. “No, she’s still awake, Flash. Just—” The phone thumped, and more muffled voices joined in, too watery sounding to make out. “Flash is with you?” No answer right away. “Twilight? He didn’t—” She clipped off the rest of the words, realizing Twilight would hardly be laughing if she was upset. Suspicion followed, but she kept her lips shut, trying to think of valid reasons why things would be happening as they appeared to be. ”Never mind.” She had to wait several minutes, watching the clock tick down towards half past ten, and tried to make sense of the muted conversation when she only had the shapes of the voices, not the words. “Sorry about that. Rainbow and Flash had a disagreement, and Sonata’s being stubborn.” “Old news,” Sunset grunted. “Rainbow and Flash have been at each other since Other Twilight left.” “Just a sec.” Twilight’s voice got quieter, but more forceful at the same time. “If you two don’t stop fighting, I swear I will walk the rest of the way!” The background babble immediately stopped. “Whoa. Since when did you get so assertive? I like.” The last part clicked something in her head. “Walk? Walk where? Aren’t you still at—” Realization kicked in, and the probable chain of events unfolded in her mind, linking one to the next, from the moment she’d agreed to let Twilight talk to the others about her issues, to the moment Twilight called, even to the reason Flash and Sonata were there, too. “Twilight…” Sunset rubbed at her brow, fighting back a sudden headache. “Please tell me you’re not driving all the way back to Canterlot in the middle of the night. Please? I need to hear that right now.” “Well… I’m not driving.” Twilight paused, and Sunset could almost hear the smile in it. “Flash is.” “I knew this would happen! I knew it!” She thumped her head back against the counter, startling Squeaker into looking up briefly. “I tell you I’m having trouble, and you all ride in on some kind of crusade to save me from the boogeyman. Twilight, you needed this vacation. Maybe you don’t think it’s been stressful this last month, but I—” “No, Sunset.” Twilight’s voice was firm. “I’m glad you told me. If you hadn’t, I would have felt awful when I came back. And if I stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the rest of the vacation. I need to be there for you, okay?” Sunset drew in a ragged breath, nodded once, and sighed. “I-if you say so.” Squeaker looked up from his meal, drops of gravy hanging from his whiskers, and butted his head against her elbow before dropping back to his meal. “Thanks, fuzzball.” “Um… what?” “Squeaker, the Peaches’ cat.” She rubbed at her forehead. “So you’re coming here. I… I can’t say I’m not happy. I’ve missed all of you.” But you, most of all. It almost slipped out, and she buried her head in the crook of her arm. “I miss talking to you about magic, and Equestria, and spending time together.” The silence stretched out after that, an uncomfortable edge to it. “I do, too.” Twilight’s voice was barely a whisper. “And I miss Applejack’s cider, Fluttershy’s animals, and Pinkie’s… crazy everything. I even miss Rarity nagging me about styling my hair for once, and Rainbow’s… well, Rainbow’s…” She pursed her lips, trying to think of something nice to say. “Vivacity?” “Yeah. Let’s go with that.” She sighed. “No… I miss her bossiness. I miss butting heads with her over every little thing, and smoothing things over later. I miss her singing, too, I guess, and our guitar practice.” Squeaker rolled himself over and presented his belly for post-dinner rubs. She smiled and obliged. He rolled himself around on his back, wriggling and kicking at her wrist with his back feet until he got tired of it and snapped himself over and darted back under the couch. “Little stinker.” Twilight giggled. “She is, sometimes.” “What? No, the cat.” She laughed. “But Rainbow is, too. And don’t you dare tell her I said that.” “I won’t… Stars above, I don’t need any more complications.” The Twilight on the other end of the line sounded suddenly weary, on the border of exhausted collapse, not the cheerful, happy Twilight who’d called. “Hey, what’re you talking about?” Rainbow’s voice, just loud enough to come over the mic. “You okay?” Sunset’s heart skipped a beat. “It’s okay, Dash…” Twilight’s yawn sounded so convincing Sunset almost believed it was real. “Just a caffeine crash…” “You didn’t need to cover for me.” Sunset chuckled. “I’ve called her worse than a stinker before.” She didn’t add ‘In jest,’ and pushed away the memories of calling her worse, and treating her worse. Not that Dash had been much kinder to her. “I would have deserved whatever came.” “No, you wouldn’t have, and I wasn’t.” The stern iron came back into Twilight’s voice briefly, and flaked away just as quickly. “Ugh… today’s just been…” Twilight yawned again, through loud just before it cut out. “I’m exhausted, Sunny.” “You go sleep. I need to get ready anyway.” “You’re not tired?” “Heh, no.” Of course her body betrayed her, letting loose a deep, loud yawn. “Ignore me… I’m wide awake.” And I need a shower, and to shave my legs, and maybe do my hair… “Go on, sleep. I’m hanging up now.” “‘Kay. Love you, mom. Bye.” A startled squeak came from the phone. “Sunset, bye!” There was a brief rustle, and Twilight squeaking something else unintelligible. “She’s adorable,” Rainbow said, voice clear. “Hey, give that back!” Another brief rustle, and Twilight’s voice came through clearer again. “We’re about three hours out.” Sunset laughed. “Go take a nap.” She waited for the phone to go dead, blinked at it when she got a rapid dial tone, shrugged, and added, “Love you, too.” She sat there, the phone bleeping loudly in her ear, for a long time before she shook herself, yawned, and pulled herself up. She really didn’t feel tired as she bounced up the steps to take a shower, and she laughed at her smile in the hallway mirror. So corny, that smile, but it felt right. She giggled, bit her lip, and bounced into the bathroom. If this were a dream, she didn’t want to wake from it. Everything felt right about it. The feeling didn’t last long past the shower. Sunset swiped another damp strand of hair from her face, sighed, and surveyed the mess on her bed. Hangars lay strewn everywhere, and a bevy of blouses already dangled from one of the posts. It looked better than it had before her shower, but she was regretting showering first, now. Laundry should have been first, and a set of clean towels. Underwear was priority one, now. For a moment, she was thankful she wasn’t currently suffering that peculiar human cycle, the period, and added both tampons and pads to her mental shopping list for the next time she went out. It was getting quite long, she mused as she sorted out something to wear from the detritus of days gone without fully keeping up with her chores. Shampoo, conditioner, lotion, exfoliating scrub… She sighed, filed the mental list away for later, and shoved everything off the bed and into the hamper. Fabric softener, detergent… She would just have to hope Twilight wouldn’t arrive before the dryer was done—and was doubly thankful that the Peaches hadn’t opted for the full rural experience of a clothesline in their old age. Both washer and dryer were modern, to be easier on their aging backs, they claimed. Once the washer was going, she settled down in front of the mirror, drawing closed the borrowed bathrobe, with its faint smell of talcum powder and old lady scents, and contemplated what to do about her hair. She quite liked the way her hair went wild when she did nothing with it, just curly enough to avoid being boringly straight, but not so unruly that it turned into a wild mess of frizz in the least humidity. But she wanted to do something special with it. Rarity was always going on about this or that hairstyle, despite the fact she never did anything different with her own. And when asked: “Why mess with perfection, darling? If it was good enough for Mare Lynn Monroe… well, who am I to argue with the classics?” At that point, she had begun tuning Rarity out whenever she went on about changing other’s styles. Now, she wished she had at least paid a little more attention. Her damp, lank hair defied her imagination. Sunset gold and red, more suited to the fire her hair usually ended up resembling than anything she had seen other girls sporting. She plucked at a strand, then gathered it all up in both hands behind her head and studied herself in the mirror. She looked alien, her face far too large with her hair pulled back, every feature emphasized rather than framed and offset by a stray curl here or there, and ears sticking out when they usually stayed under cover. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around how to manage a change, much less what to change it to. She let her hair drop again from the ponytail and flicked the tip of her nose, stubbornly intruding into her peripheral vision. She got up to check the wash again. In went a cap of softener, and she closed it again. Instead of returning to her room, she slumped down against the whirring machine and flicked an unruly strand back and forth where it dangled just shy of her nose. “It’s just hair! Why is this so hard to manage?” She snapped the strand back into her mane and smoothed her hair against her neck with suddenly shaky hands as she pressed a cheek to her knee, grateful for the solidity. “Why do I even care?” Because I care. The tiny voice, Twilight’s voice, sent a crack through a wall she’d only barely shored up when she had first texted Twilight. In the moment after, she had immediately wished she could recall it and, instead, had only compounded the fracture. It had broken again when Twilight had pushed her to tell her the truth, and only numb shock had allowed her to recover. Squeaker found her again, nuzzled against her knee and jumped to her shoulder. Just when she thought he was going to settle there, his weight a comforting warmth, he abandoned her to seek the whirring, warm top of the washer, his tail slapping her in the face as he leapt. “Fine!” He’s just a cat. He was her cat as much as he was the Peaches’. Even at the height of her arrogance, she had loved him. He was no obstacle, and never demanded more than food for his affection. “Darn cat…” She pressed harder to the washer, imagining for a moment that its whirring was his, and that he was pressed against her back. But it was not, and he didn’t. She swallowed a sob and pressed her cheek to her knee more firmly, eyes squeezed shut over tears that still flooded down her cheeks, despite her attempts to hold herself above and away from the lonely ache in her heart. The washer shook, or she did, but she held onto the edge of her sanity with the promise that she would not be alone for long. Her friends would come, and she wouldn’t be alone. Twilight would come and fix everything, one methodical solution at a time. It became her mantra for a long moment, as it had when she had waited that long day for Twilight’s call, hope fading away slowly until the moment her cell phone rang. The washer shuddered to a stop, but it was a long time before it felt like her world stopped quaking and could bring herself to stand and shift her clothes from washer to dryer. It was longer still, leaning against the warm, humming machine, feeling the chill in her fingers and the icy knot in her stomach melt away before she could bring herself to acknowledge the salty crust under her eyes for what it was and wipe it away. “Not long, Sunny,” she whispered, and sniffled. She didn’t want to imagine what she looked like, but she should look as best as she could for Twilight. She won’t care if you look like a wreck. “But I do.” Why? She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest and shrugging deeper into the borrowed robe. The slow countdown of minutes on the digital readout gave no answer. “Because she cares,” she murmured finally, repeating the soft, imagined voice. “She really cares about me. And I want to show that I care, too.” “But, why?” She stared at herself in the mirror, running a hand through the almost dry, wavy half-curls of her hair, still warm from the hair dryer. “What does me looking my best have to do with me caring about her?” She sighed and picked up the bristle brush, swiping it through the still damp, tighter curls at the nape of her neck, and watched herself in the mirror. She thought, with her hair almost dry and nearing the full body she loved—something she couldn’t have had as a pony—that she looked healthier than she felt, more or less. Even the dark circles under her eyes looked a little less puffy after a shower. She really should have something other than snack food to eat, but she was actually dressed in clean clothes, freshly scented and still warm, for the first time in days. Fixing something to eat felt like too monumental a task for her flagging reserves. But… maybe a little makeup, to reduce the darkness even further. Or concealer, to hide all but the slight puffiness. The impulse to do just that struck her as so odd for a moment that she stopped and stared at herself. “You don’t want her to worry. You’re planning on hiding it again, aren’t you? Pretending like the dreams don’t bother you?” She snorted and slashed the brush through her hair, closing her eyes against the absurdity. “You already told her everything, idiot.” There wasn’t any more hiding. She tried to recall the last time she’d slept clean through the night, but a month of worsening nightmares following the Rainbow Cascade and the Sirens’ defeat had turned everything before then into a muddle of confusion. She pursed her lips at her reflection and shook her head. No makeup. No artifice. No hiding how much she was hurting. She resumed brushing out her hair. Not hiding her pain was no reason to look like a slob. Half an hour later, with maybe half an hour left, she sat back down in the recliner but left the TV off. Squeaker was back underneath the couch, his crooked tail just barely visible under the ruffle, twitching to the sound of the mantlepiece clock. The clock ticking down, or up, to the moment when Twilight would knock on the door, and… And what? The question and the slow ticking chased her down into sleep. She jerked awake as soon as her eyes closed. The clock said less than a minute had gone by. No. She squinted at it again, rubbing away the cruft gumming her eyelids, and blinked as the calculation, not quite automatic anymore after years of getting used to digital, meandered through her mind. An hour had passed. Three in the morning, and no knock from Twilight. She checked her cell. No missed calls. Squeaker’s tail was still where it had been when she’d fallen asleep, though the twitch of his tail had slowed to once every fourth or fifth tick of the clock. It was happenstance that made her look outside to see the flare of headlights against the windbreak trees. Against, not through. She jerked upright, aware with adrenaline clarity of the low rumble of a car’s engine, the crunch of gravel under tires, and the almost inaudible thundering of her own heart. No time to check her appearance one last time, and none at all to conceal her haggard look. One last swipe at her eyes before she stood and flicked on the porchlight, then opened the inner door. The muscle car rumbled into the pool of bright light in front of the house, purred briefly, and wound down to the quiet humming of the engine block’s fan and the tick-tick-tick of cooling metal. Interior lights bloomed as the car’s doors swung open, highlighting Flash Sentry and Sonata Dusk as they scrambled out. Behind them, already pushing past folded down seats, were Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle. A moment of fear, of wondering if it was a dream, and she laughed aloud at herself. In her dreams, the Twilight who tormented her was graceful and cold as winter, always logical and precise. This Twilight, stumbling out of the car and hanging onto Sonata for balance, was neither graceful nor cool, instead giggling at her own wobbliness and making a joke about noodle-legs and long trips. The laughter faded when Twilight looked up, meeting her eyes. Sunset felt the sudden panic she saw there as though it were her own, and tugged at her shirt sleeve, wondering how she must look to them in a mismatched pair of shorts, a too-long tee, and no makeup. She tried to smile to make up for her disheveled appearance, but the trembling of it threatened to break down the dam holding her emotions in check. “Hey, Sunny. We’re here,” Twilight’s voice trembled in the night air, and it felt like she shook with it, to the core of her. “I-I—” Even her voice sent cracks through her crumbling control. She nodded, pushing open the storm door and stumbling out onto the porch, past the scattered few early bugs attracted by the bright floodlight, and collapsed, shaking on the top step, fighting to control the pain, and to keep herself from throwing herself at her friend. She couldn’t be too desperate. She had to… to… Breathe. But she was breathing. She had to be. Chest rising and falling. Check. Something else was wrong… “You’re here,” she whispered. She stood up and took another step forward as Twilight leapt towards her. She laughed at the giddy feeling bubbling up in her stomach, at the shakiness in her hands and voice, and the pain in her chest. But when she closed her eyes to push back the ache, Other Twilight was there with slapping hoof, fire in her eyes, anger in her voice, and blackness closing all around. “You will rot in this cell, Sunset Shimmer. For treason, for enslaving the minds of sentient beings, and for the attempted murder of a crowned Princess.” Princess Twilight’s cold, stony face did not flinch or turn aside from the pronouncement of sentence. “For these crimes, you will spend the rest of a very, very long life alone.” Nopony and no one came to wake her from the nightmare. The black void swallowed her whole, cutting off the last whispers of sound as Twilight’s hooves carried her away, leaving Sunset to drift in darkness, the void so complete not even her scream made a sound. Alone. So it was all just a dream. Just another dream. In the silent darkness, she wept for its loss.