//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 - Roommate. // Story: The Life and Times of Literary Scroll // by Freedom Flash //------------------------------// “Hello?” The sandy earth pony with the dark brown raggedy mane knocked at the door in front of him again, looking around cautiously. “Hello, is anypony there?” the pony asked again, knocking once more. His name, or rather, my name, was Literary Scroll. Columnist, writer, and at this point, roommate. Or at least, potential roommate, if someone ever got around to answering the door. A few days ago, I had hit a road block. The normally inexhaustible supply of random ideas that flows through my brain on a daily basis had, for some reason, dried up. No creative ideas, no stories, no money. I needed inspiration, fast. So I packed up, and shipped out to Ponyville (having already found a roommate ad in the local rag), and now I was standing on this pony’s doorstep, waiting. There was a sound from inside, next minute the door opened revealing one of the most unusual ponies I had ever seen. The pegasus was pure white, with rainbow streaks in her styled mane and tail. But what was unusual were her eyes, the right one was a wonderful crimson, but the left one was shocking violet. “You must be Literary Scroll,” she said, glancing at my flank. I wasn’t surprised, there had to be many ponies with a quill cutie mark, but how many had a mark where it ended with a key head? “And you’re Spectrum?” I replied. The mare smiled. “Do come in,” she said. As the she turned inside I caught a glance of the pony’s own cutie mark, it was a geometric shape of multi-coloured triangles, with a single pure white one in the middle. I marvelled, not for the fist time, at the way ponies’ names and marks always seem to line up perfectly. It was as if it were some sort of narrative convenience. Several cups of coffee and some getting-to-know-each-other-as-potential-roommates later, I had discovered (perhaps, unsurprisingly) that Spectrum was an artist. She took commissions for artwork and had a secondary line as a design consultant. She could paint, but her main pleasure was drawing, especially abstract. However, not many ponies commissioned abstract work so this area of her talent was reserved as a hobby. “So, what do you think?” Spectrum asked as our last topic of conversation (digital graphics, another area of her expertise) petered out. “What?” I responded, confused as to what she was referring to. The pegasus smiled again. “Do you want the room?” I nodded. “Yes please.” Spectrum got up, “Then, Mr Scroll, we have a deal.” * * * A week later, I had moved into the extra room in Spectrum's house, along with a few good books and some other paraphernalia. I was in the living room, trying to devise a limerick with as many Ws as possible when Spectrum looked up from the book I had lent her and looked at me. “You, my friend, need to get out more,” she said, staring at me over her reading glasses. “I get out,” I said, surprised. “No, you go outside,” Spectrum corrected. It was true that I went outside regularly, I enjoyed walking and always seemed to have my best ideas while doing so. “What you don’t do is get out. I have never seen you talk to anypony unless you had to, and even then you said as little as possible.” I frowned. “I talk to you,” I said. “I talk to you quite a lot.” “Yes,” Spectrum conceded, “But you only started talking to me after I had been talking to you for at least five minutes,” she continued. “You only talked to me after you got comfortable around me, and as quick as that was, you never give anypony else that opportunity.” Much like her, I conceded this. It was true that while I may be clever with a quill, I have the social confidence of a whelk in a soufflé. “And so, to this end,” Spectrum said, “you are coming with me when I visit some friends this weekend.” “But…” I tried, taken aback. I stopped when I saw the look on her face. There was no debating this. * * * And thus I found myself, once again, standing on a doorstep waiting to be let in. But this time I was not alone, Spectrum was standing beside me, the pegasus a good two hands shorter than myself. She knocked. The door was answered by a dark brown pony with a wild hay coloured mane and a hammer cutie mark. Standing behind him was a female pegasus with a light brown coat and a short, chocolate coloured mane with small yellow streaks in it. “Hello,” Spectrum said, “guys, this is Literary Scroll.” “Hello,” I said. Automatically. The hammer flanked pony scrutinised me for a moment, before turning to the pegasus behind him. “Whaddaya think?” he asked. “Lit,” the mare replied. “Five bits says it’s scry?” The mare nodded. “Y’er on.” This little conversation completed, the stallion turned back to my puzzled expression. “ ‘Lo Literary, I’m Hoofcraft,” he said, before jerking his head at the mare behind him, “an’ this is Peregrine.” The mare nodded. “Everyone inside, there’s sandwiches.” There were indeed sandwiches inside the house, mustard and cress ones. Although according to Hoof there was apparently one peanut butter sandwich in there, as a booby trap. “So, Literary,” Peregrine started once they were all seated. “What do you do?” I sighed inwardly, it was going to be one of those conversations. The ones where I wasn’t allowed to just sit in the corner, carefully avoiding talking to anypony. “I’m a writer.” I said. “A writer? What kind of writer?” “Fiction.” “What kind of fiction?” I sighed inwardly again, definitely one of those conversations. But before I could answer, Hoofcraft cut in. “Peregrine, fiction’s fiction, there’s only one kind,” he said. Now, there is something that others should know about me. Like a coin, my verbosity has a flip side. Normally I barely say anything, but if you line me up right, you can't shut me up. And Hoofcraft's last comment had teed up the ball beautifully and then offered me a selection of clubs. “Actually, there are many types of fiction,” I started, my terminal shyness evaporating like smoke. “Comedy, romance, action, adventure, horror, personal…” Hoofcraft seemed slightly taken aback by the sudden increase in confidence in my voice. “…and contemplative. Oh, contemplative. Such a powerful tool! The ability to weave any situation or concept into a narrative where the normal rules of reality can be safely abandoned, where what is possible can be warped beyond recognition, allowing concepts to be pushed to ridiculous extremes. Take Fallout: Equestria. Kkat weaves a brilliant narrative, with multiple layers of subplot, all of which tie back into the main narrative. While at the same time, exploring such concepts as good and evil, right and wrong, showing how even the greatest of virtues can be corrupted, and blurring the line between the light and the dark to the point where the reader can no longer tell what the right choice is.” I was winding down now, my speech slowing. “It’s brilliant, if violent. A piece of post-apocalyptic splendour.” Peregrine's mouth was hanging open, Hoofcraft was sitting in stunned silence, Spectrum was staring at me with pride glistening in her eyes. Hoofcraft was the first to break the silence. “Well, that’s put me in mah place,” he said. He glanced at Peregrine and chuckled. “Ya tryin’ ta catch flies there Par?” The pegasus’s mouth snapped shut. She shot a look at Hoofcraft. “So, what do you do?” I asked Peregrine, more confident after my monologue. “Mooches off me, mostly,” Hoofcraft answered, ignoring Peregrine's glare, “an’ ah build an’ repair pretty well everything ‘round here,” he continued. “Ya may have seen th’ large shed on th’ way here?” I nodded, the house was on the outskirts of town, and as such it was almost impossible to miss the huge, barn sized shed that neighboured the house we were in. “Well, that’s mah work shed,” Hoofcraft said, leaning back on his chair with another sandwich in his mouth. His eyes widened suddenly before his face settled into an expression of reassignment. “Peanut butter,” he explained. As Hoofcraft was trying to lick the peanut butter off the roof of his mouth, and as Peregrine ribbed him for putting the sandwich in there in the first place, there was the sound of the front door opening and closing. “Wah-” Hoofcraft managed to get out before a dark brown mane-spiked pony entered the room, with a pair of red headphones hanging around his neck. “Waveform!” Hoofcraft said, exasperatedly addressing the newcomer. “Ah thought ah told ya ta knock before comin’ inta mah house!” “Yes,” Waveform said shortly, turning to myself and Spectrum. I marvelled once more at the way a ponies cutie mark and name always seemed to line up, as Waveform's cutie mark was, in fact, a waveform. “Uh… Waveform, this is Literary Scroll,” Spectrum said. Waveform eyed me for a moment, before turning directly to Spectrum, saying: “Lit.” There were soft exclamations of victory and defeat form Hoofcraft and Peregrine's end of the table, and the sound of bits changing hoofs. “Spec, I need a word about the banner commissions,” Waveform said. Spectrum sighed. “Now?” she asked, before pre-empting his response. “Yes, I’m coming,” she said, getting up. “I’d better go too,” I said thoughtfully. “I’ve had a few ideas that I need to get down on paper.” “All right,” Hoofcraft said, turning to Peregrine. “Can you stay? I need some help with a shelf.” he said, gesturing at the offending pile of wood in a corner. Peregrine sighed. “All right.” Goodbyes where exchanged, Spectrum and Waveform leaving at a tangent to myself. I thought for a few paces before reaching into my saddle bag for quill and paper. Blast! I thought. I must have left them at Hoofcraft's. I returned to the house and entered through the still open door. As I walked down the hall I could hear the sound of Hoofcraft and Peregrine fumbling with the shelves. “Damn!” Peregrine said, one end of the shelves collapsing. “Hang on.” I froze in the doorway as a plume of emerald fire enveloped the pegasus, completely obscuring her for a moment, before fading to reveal a blackened and pockmarked form, with bright blue eyes, insectile wings, and a glistening black horn. Peregrine, was a changeling.