//------------------------------// // 17. Hold Me In Your Arms // Story: Buggy and the Beast // by Georg //------------------------------// Buggy and the Beast Hold Me In Your Arms By the time the morning sun had risen outside his apartment, Beet Salad was starting to feel just a little stir-crazy. The changeling psychologist had stayed far longer than he was comfortable with, even to the point of asking if Beets would like to step out for a late breakfast. He still was unsure if Idiosyncrasy was just toying with his emotions to see inside his head, if she was feeding on his ‘humorous emotional state,’ or if perhaps she was seriously interested in him as a friend. “If I wanted friends, I would write Twilight Sparkle,” he grumbled. “You still okay in there, honey?” He patted the gloopy green glob of the cocoon using the same hoof he had touched it with previously, so any future changeling magic detection would still only show one bright green spot in his aura. Nothing patted back or even seemed to shift positions inside, which did not improve his mood in the slightest. “If I’m foalsitting a corpse, the aftereffects are really going to suck. I’ll be standing in front of Judge Bald Spot, trying to sound like I’m not some necrophiliac while every newspaper photographer in the world tries to get pictures.” He took his shower and brushed his teeth, grumbling all the while. Tomorrow was going to be a worknight again, at a job where every high and mighty pony in the Port Authority was deluded enough to think he was a changeling, and being followed by Inspector Clopseau of the Night Guard. After which, he would have the privilege of returning to a home with a cocooned changeling who could hatch at any moment and eat his brains. Things could not get any better. Deciding to read for a while before going to bed for the day, he opened one of Nectarine’s butterfly books. Hopefully, a reading list of benign butterflies would keep the words ‘parasitic’ and ‘implanted’ from affecting his sleeping today. He had just started into a second book when a quiet scratching noise from his front door made him slip a bookmark into the ‘butterfly migration’ chapter and go see who was trying to get in. “Nectarine?” he asked once the door swung open to the end of the security chain. “What are you doing up at this time of day? You’ve got work tonight.” “You do too,” whispered Nectarine, glancing back up the hallway. “Look, can you let me in? I’ve got something important?” “Is it contagious? I’ve told you to always wear a— Alright, alright.” Beets grumbled while he took off the chain and opened the door slightly, allowing his friend to slip inside, although he did light his horn up with the changeling detection spell and play it over Nectarine for a few moments, just in case. “Good—” Nectarine hesitated while he looked around the apartment in the glow of Beet Salad’s horn. “Good heavens, Beets!” The spell revealed green hoofprints and streaks of light adorning almost every surface of the apartment walls and ceiling, with a pale green blotch where Idiosyncrasy had been sitting all morning which looked much as if she had peed on the brand new carpet in glowing green urine. Beets turned off the spell, relieved to see the apartment shift back into normality almost instantly, except for the panicked batpony and changeling cocoon, of course. “Roquefort is going to have kittens tomorrow,” murmured Nectarine. “Oh! Yeah. Princess Luna’s making a trip to Baltimare tomorrow night, and Roquefort is planning on asking her personally for permission to raid your apartment. For your own good, of course.” Beets shrugged. “No prob. I’ve got a box of matches. I’ll just bring Buggy over to your clan house, and she can share Arianie’s terrarium while the fire crews go through the smoldering wreckage.” “Don’t even joke about — uh.” Nectarine pointed at the green lump in the corner. “It moved.” Beets turned to look. “I don’t see anything,” he offered after a few moments of close examination. “It did, Beets. I’m sure.” Nectarine shoved his sunglasses up on his forehead and squinted. “It was right after you threatened to put your nasty pet bug in with my beautiful Arianie — look! It happened again!” The two stallions watched the slowly-pulsing green mass for awhile before Nectarine opened his mouth and Beets promptly put a hoof into it. “You were going to say… her name again, weren’t you?” whispered Beets. Nectarine nodded. “Bad idea.” Beets ground his teeth briefly. “Look, you don’t have a problem. I have a potential problem. If she hatches by tomorrow, out she goes, and your cousin can snoop around here to his heart’s content. If she hasn’t hatched by then, I’ll… stall, or something.” “Or something?” Nectarine lifted an eyebrow and made a moue with his lips. “I don’t think you’re his type.” “Your type is going to be a gelding if you don’t get out of here right now,” whispered Beets. “The last thing she needs right now is stress, and that’s your middle name.” “Ha.” Nectarine stuck his chest out. “My middle name is Studly. I’m going, I’m going,” he added when Beets lit up his horn. “Just… be careful, Beets.” “You too, Studly.” Beets undid the locks on the door and shoved Nectarine out, although he had to go through all of the unlocking again when a faint tapping sounded through the door again. “What?” asked Beets just as soon as the door was open to the extent of the security chain again. “You wouldn’t really try to burn down your apartment, would you, Beets?” asked Nectarine. “I mean, the walls and ceiling at this floor are almost all concrete, and you could hurt a lot—” “I won’t,” said Beets, holding a hoof over his friend’s muzzle. “After all, we just remodeled.” * ♥ * There were still several hours to catch a nap before work, and Beets was not getting anything useful done sitting in his dark apartment, staring at the clock. Still, there was something missing, and he did not realize what it was until he set his alarm clock and reached out with one hoof to touch the photograph of his family which normally sat next to it. Lighting his horn, Beets picked the gold-framed photo off the wall where he had put it a few days ago and placed it back on the nightstand, arranging it so the long-departed images of his family seemed to be looking back at him in the lamp light. “Good night, Sprout. Mom. Dad. See you soon.” There was nothing left to do but try to sleep, so he took a shower, brushed his teeth, and checked the immobile lump of green goop one more time before crawling under the sheets and staring at the ceiling in the darkness of his closed apartment. After about an hour, he looked at the clock. Five minutes had gone by. “This is stupid,” he muttered, crawling out of bed and turning on his lights. “I’m not eight anymore, and I don’t need anypony to read me a night-night story.” He dragged two of the more interesting butterfly books over to a pile of cushions next to the glowing green lump and arranged a nest before settling down again. “Lepidoptera migrations across Equestria happen twice every year,” he read. “Filling the sky with their colorful forms, pegasi guide our beautiful forest friends to and from their wintering spots in Mexicolt. Huh. I wonder if they mean the pegasi or the butterflies. Anyway, the sound of butterflies in flight is like nothing anypony has ever heard before. Thousands of tiny wings all beating at once make a quiet hissing noise that fills the senses when they fly overhead. I hope the writers don’t have their mouths open while they’re looking up.” Beets stole a glance at the glowing green lump to his side. Although it did not look any different to his observation, he felt better knowing the the bug inside could at least hear and understand speech outside. Beets seriously considered saying the name of Nectarine’s pet spider again, just to reassure himself about the changeling’s survival, but decided to continue reading instead. If by some slim chance, everything went perfectly and Sultry did survive her hatching… and he did too, she would probably carry a grudge. After all, he would in her situation. * ♥ * He must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to a strange sound. It was much like a balloon being stretched and twisted to the extent of its stress limits and then some in a high-pitched series of squeaks and screeches right by his ear. The quivering green blob which had sat quietly for the last several days was twitching and jerking around the floor while a dark shape inside fought to escape. Beets jumped to his hooves, sending the books on his chest flying. There had been so many picky little details about bugs and caterpillars he had read over the last two days, but the one thing sticking out above all the rest was the story about the little colt who helped a butterfly out of its chrysalis. Without the struggle to free itself, the butterfly’s wings never developed, and it died horribly, or at least as horribly as a college-level textbook could imply without spelling it out in so many words. Using his magic to clear the immediate area of newspapers and other debris, Beets crouched next to the jerking bundle of goo and tried to project as strong of a sense of support as he could muster while being disconcerted enough at the sight to desperately want to throw up. The changeling inside struggled and fought until her horn punched a small hole in the fragile-seeming blob. Glowing green goop seeped out, as if reluctant to get far away from the struggling changeling. With a convulsive jerk, the changeling punched a second hole in the side of the blob, then a third, twisting and spasming with increasing fervor until the skin of the blob began to split around her horn. Finally, she managed to get her head outside of the blob and Beet Salad’s heart lurched at the expression of pure panic and fear on her face. “Come on,” he murmured, feeling totally useless and somewhat like a stallion at the birth of a very weird foal. “You can do it.” Several convulsive jerks later, the changeling managed to get one holey hoof out of the hole and struggled fiercely, but it was as far as she seemed to be able to go. “Just a little bit further,” he said with as much encouragement as he could muster. The changeling glared at him with such vehemence that it was amazing the goo covering her body did not burst into flames. After a series of coughs splattered more green goop across the newspapers on the floor, she rasped, “What the buck are you doing?” “Offering encouragement?” he hazarded. The goop-covered changeling stopped struggling and glared. “Come here.” Beets hesitantly shuffled forward one step, then after a little more encouragement, shuffled forward another step, and then a third, only to have the changeling slap him straight across the face with one gooey hoof. He stumbled backwards, holding one hoof to the stinging sensation on his goopy cheek. “What was that for!” “For being an idiot! Get over here and help me out of this thing!” He edged forward, keeping an eye on her exposed hoof. “You’re not going to hit me again, are you?” “Come here!” she bellowed, struggling and fighting to get out of the green blob, with one hoof waving just barely in front of his nose. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to help you out of your cocoon because the struggle makes your wings stronger.” “I’ll show you stronger!” she frothed, lunging and swinging her freed hoof so close to his nose he could feel the breeze. “But the book said that butterflies—” “I’m not a butterfly!” screeched the changeling while thrashing around. “Why the buck do you think I’m a bucking butterfly? Get a bucking knife or something. Why are you smiling? Wipe that smile off your face!” “I can’t help it,” said Beets, his vision getting blurry from the tears welling up. “I was worried.” “Really?” The changeling stopped waving her hoof so frantically and just stared while panting in short raspy breaths. The tight grip of the cocoon still left her with only a goo-smeared head and one leg out of the narrow hole she had torn in the tough membrane, but her struggle for freedom seemed secondary to the task of just pausing and looking in utter disbelief at Beets. “Really?” she repeated. Beets swallowed and lit his horn to float a roll of paper towels out of the kitchen, a gesture which seemed about as useful as bailing out a steamship with a spoon due to the amount of green goo smeared around and still leaking out all over the thin layer of newspapers. “Really,” he replied, using a wad of paper towels to dab ineffectually at the mess on the floor without actually looking up. After a series of brief heaves, the changeling managed to get a second hoof out of the narrow exit to her elastic prison. Despite all the shoving and pushing she did afterwards, the tight confines could only be shoved down as far as her hips, where it stuck, making her look much like a old mare in some sort of odd green skirt. She paused in her struggle and looked up at Beet Salad from the floor. “You were worried,” she said while wiping some of the goop from her eyes with a loose paper towel. “About me.” “Yeah.” Beets looked away again before moving forward slightly and reaching out to the changeling’s cocoon with his magic. “It was stupid. You’re fine, just stuck, I guess. Hold still.” The membrane of the cocoon was unusually tough, making Beets concentrate while he helped the changeling wriggle free from its clinging embrace. Once her slimy tail had been pulled out of the rapidly-shrinking prison, the remainder of the cocoon shriveled up into a small ball about the size of a pony’s head in a growing puddle of the slippery green goop. The sight was so distracting he did not even notice when the changeling slipped up behind him until her goop-covered forelimbs wrapped around his neck and she bit him on the ear. “You were worried about me,” she whispered while nibbling down his ear towards more interesting areas. “I can taste it. There’s so much love in there, and I want it.” It was all Beets could do to keep his knees from collapsing when the slime-covered changeling slithered across his back and began to coil around him, running wet kisses down his face in obvious pursuit of his lips while interspacing the damp kisses with soft murmurs of “Want you!” and “Need you!” as she drew nearer and nearer to her target. She shuddered with anticipation when she touched her lips to his with an ever so gentle brush across them, bringing fire across Beet Salad’s lips and a roaring noise filling his empty head. “So hungry,” she murmured, kissing harder and harder until Beets could feel the points of her fangs pressing against his jaw. “Eat you up. Drain you dry. Suck all of your delicious love out until…” There was a rush of emotions like a blazing fire filling up Beet Salad in a way he had never been filled before. He felt alive from his tingling lips to his itchy hooves, as if he had swallowed a room full of caffeinated butterflies that were slamming around in his chest in a futile attempt at escape. Locked together, the two of them fell backwards into the puddle of green sludge on the floor while frantically kissing, but the splash of cold changeling goo against his coat only seemed to make the tingles encompassing his hot body burst into a wave of fiery lava. The changeling was just as consumed by emotions as Beets while they rolled around on the floor until their erratic path came to an abrupt stop at the bedstand and a picture frame fell onto the floor right in front of their noses. The glass in the picture frame did not break, but the changeling stopped her frantic kisses long enough to take a shuddering breath. Through the pink haze filling his vision, Beets could see the changeling freeze in place and nearly stop breathing even while Beets continued to pant in a desperate attempt to keep from fainting. Time seemed to hold still as the world spun around him. There was only one thing important enough to break through the burning fire filling Beet Salad’s brain and shutting off any ability to think, and that was her. He only wanted to do whatever she desired, obey whatever commands she gave, sacrifice whatever bits of love he had inside in order to feed her needs. The last thing he expected was to see the changeling bring both holey forelegs up in front of her face and utter a keening cry, much like a dying rabbit. She fought back and forth in wordless agony while shoving at his face with her hooves, scratching at his cheeks and banging her short horn against his. After thrashing around briefly, she grabbed him by the back of the head and yanked Beets nearer until their lips mashed together again. The hammering of his heartbeat made the changeling’s next whispered words almost inaudible. “run” “No,” he whispered back, trying to resume their interrupted kiss. “You idiot!” she snapped, her eyes spitting fire and her hot lips still pressed against his. “I can’t stop! I’ll suck out every emotion you have and leave you a lifeless husk!” She brought up all four hooves in front of her and shoved them against Beets until he fell to one side and she could scramble free of his crushing embrace. “Get out of here!” she bellowed before struggling to a standing position in the middle of the gooey mess and swinging a forehoof at Beets with every bit of strength she could muster, only to have him block it. Beets placed his trembling pony hoof against the changeling’s holey hoof and tried to swallow away what felt like an anvil. Sticky green goo had smeared across every inch of his coat and was getting into his watery eyes, but he did not run away as she had commanded. “I know it could kill me,” he whispered. “I don’t care.” “I do!” she screamed in his face, hesitating afterwards and adding in a much quieter voice, “I do. I don’t want… I’m so hungry! It hurts! Why won’t you just leave!” “I can’t.” Beets took several long, deep breaths while the pink fog in his brain began to clear. “I can’t go away and leave you alone. You need me.” “I know!” sobbed the changeling. “I can feel it. Go away! Just go!” She beat her shiny black hooves against Beet Salad’s goo-covered chest with little splattering noises. The new chitin felt softer than her old skin, much as if she had emerged from the cocoon before she had enough time to properly harden, but the edges of her hooves were still sharp and painful despite her ineffective blows. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she added in a near whisper. “I don’t want to kill you.” “Do you know what hurts?” Beet Salad picked up the photograph which had fallen off the bedstand and tried to wipe a smear of green goo off the front. It only smeared more, making the cheerful scene take on a macabre aspect as if his whole family were covered in splatters of green blood. He took a deep, shuddering breath and held the picture to his chest, unable to look at it for one more moment in his life. “Dad went so fast. The heart attack dropped him in his tracks, and I never even knew about it until hours later. They say the stress of having my little brother in an oxygen tent probably triggered his heart attack. Mom never even left the hospital room for the funeral, just sat there next to Bean Sprout and cried. I tried and tried to be there for her, I really did, but she had just retreated from everypony by then. Even when Sprout died, she never seemed to realize he was gone.” Beets took a deep breath and placed the photograph back on the bedstand. “I know why now. She could never let go. So much of herself went into my little brother that she didn’t have anything left for me. She’d ask me about him every morning while she faded away until one morning she just… wasn’t. Can you take those memories away from me? Can you make the pain go away?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” There was a faint glare of green magic that Beets could see out of the corner of his eyes while he stared at the ruined carpet. Then a small and frail hoof was placed on his cheek, and a young male voice said, “You never got to say goodbye to your brother, did you? You never let go.” Beets looked up into the blue eyes of his little brother, who was attempting and failing to blink away tears of his own. Admittedly, the changeling’s disguise was not exactly correct, and her voice was not even close, but for the time being, he chose to overlook the imperfections in her effort and concentrated on the intent. “No, I didn’t,” he whispered back. “Mother wouldn't even let me in the room near the end. I c-couldn’t—” He broke off and wrapped the disguised changeling up in a cautious embrace, heedless of the tears pouring down his cheeks or the blubbering sobs wracking his chest. For now, the only important thing in the world was that he was able to do what he had not been able to do for years. Beet Salad held onto his brother and wept.