//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Her Life, In a Pan // by ThatGirl2147 //------------------------------// “So,” began Berry Punch, trotting alongside her green friend down the streets of Fillydelphia, “how long have you been like this, Pan?” Pan Sear thought about the question intently, his features making it clear. “I think it’s something you’re born with.” He then thought for a few more seconds and added, “I’ve known something was amiss all my life; I just never knew what it was until a couple years ago.” The mulberry mare nodded at the explanation. “Have you,” asked she cautiously, “told anypony else?” Pan shook his head. “Well, why am I the first pony you told?” The stallion shrugged. “I don’t know; I guess you’re just the first pony who asked.” The pair had walked for about an hour when they arrived at Pan Sear’s apartment complex. Leading his friend to his apartment, the pair relaxed and the stallion began to prepare the drink he’d promised Berry Punch. The apartment was modest, with a standard, dark carpet and tan walls, with doors leading to different rooms of the small home. The living room was decorated only with a sofa, a small wooden table, and a record player. The kitchen was an open area, only a small wall separating it and the living area. Between the sounds of crushing ice, corks popping from bottles, and other noises made by Pan’s drink preparation, Berry asked, “so, why haven’t you told anypony else? I don’t know, but I think that that’s a rather big issue that should be shared.” As if by instinct, Pan replied quickly. “I don’t know. Say, do you like The Red Hot Chili Peppers?” “Ummm, yeah; they’re okay. Why?” The quick topic change took Berry by surprise, and she could only answer. “I got their new record,” said the green stallion. “It’s over next to the record player if you’d like to give it a listen.” With that, he continued work on the drink. The mare shrugged, and trotted over to the aforementioned record player. Under the first couple records, also Red Hot Chili Peppers records, she found the album: a plain white background with an extremely close photo of a housefly lit on a pill that read “I’m With You.” She slid the record from its sleeve and placed it on the player. Dropping the needle, the disc began to spin and the song, “Monarchy of Roses” filled the room. “That’s got a nice sound to it,” complimented Berry near the end of the first song. “It’s good.” “Not as good as this,” beamed Pan as he emerged from the kitchen, holding a platter containing two glasses filled with finely crushed ice mixed with a light cyan liquid. The two ponies stood around Pan’s table as they drank. After taking a drink, Berry remarked, “it’s even better than I remember. Did you go and change the recipe on me?” Pan smiled at his friend. “Not at all; I guess the wait made it better.” “Or,” suggested the mare, “maybe it’s better homemade.” “I don’t know. I’m just glad you enjoyed it.” Pan noticed that Berry had left little more than a few traces of ice in her glass. Berry’s mulberry face began to noticeably shift to scarlet. “You know you spoil me, right?” “I do not. I just gave you what you wanted.” Pan took Berry’s glass and put it with his own in his kitchen sink. “After all, you did come this far just for one drink; I should really have made you two. THAT would be spoiling you.” The mare giggled as she slid her saddlebags onto the table and reached a hoof into them. “So, how much do I owe you for that drink?” Pan Sear held up a green hoof. “None at all, Miss,” said he staunchly. “I only accept payments at work; your bits are no good here.” The pair shared a laugh at the remark. After a few seconds, Pan spoke again. “So, when are you scheduled to head back to Ponyville? You must’ve taken a train or something.” “Oh, yeah,” said the mulberry mare in realisation. Producing a ticket from her bag and reading it, she explained, “yeah, the train back to Ponyville’s set to depart in about an hour.” She then nodded to herself and, as she donned her saddlebags and slowly trotted toward the exit, stated, “I guess I should get going, then.” Before the mare could reach the door, Pan opened it for her, telling her, “I’ll walk you there.” As the pair walked through Downtown Fillydelphia to the train station, they discussed none too much in particular, until they reached the train station. “So,” began Berry as she thought, “are you planning on telling anypony else what you told me?” “I’m not sure.” Pan glanced about the area nervously. “I figure I could deal with it myself; I just think it’s something I needed to tell at least one pony. I think one is enough.” “Are you sure?” Berry stopped, prompting Pan to do so as well. “Do you even know how you’re going to deal with it?” Her cerise eyes beamed genuine curiosity and concern as she spoke. “I could do some research, learn some things, and talk as it’s needed.” The mare nodded. “I see. I could do some research as well; Ponyville’s got a great library. I could write you and tell you what I find.” Pan shook his head slowly. “You don’t have to do that,” said he, finality in his tone. “I can handle myself.” Berry held her friend’s face towards hers with both of her forehooves. “Please,” pleaded she in worry, “I want to help you. I won’t tell anypony; I’ll just read up on it myself.” Pan sighed heavily, an all too familiar sound to Berry Punch. “Perhaps I didn’t get the words right.” He then stared on his own accord into the mare’s eyes and bluntly told her, “not only do you not need to help, but I don’t want your help. I can handle myself.” He motioned with his head toward an arriving train as it docked at the station. “Go. Go home, and don’t worry about me; you’ll be better off if you forgot seeing me, and all of today.” The mare opened her mouth, but before she could reply, Pan closed his eyes and turned face, preparing to walk away. “You’re not getting away that easy,” thought she to herself as she grabbed the stallion with her hooves and snapped him into a tight embrace. Neither pony said anything for the duration of the embrace, but when Berry let her friend go, Pan spoke, albeit quietly. “Go,” said he, “before the train leaves you behind." As if by signal, the conductor of the train in question shouted a resounding “ALL ABOARD!” which anypony in the vicinity could have clearly heard. The mulberry mare said nothing, but simply trotted towards her ride home. A few tears in her eyes, she said to herself, “what happened to you, Pan? I don’t mind the whole ‘mare’ thing, but when did you turn so harsh? So grisly?” Meanwhile, Pan Sear trotted back to his apartment, focusing solely on where he was going. He had a look of scorn on his face as he walked, slowly but surely progressing to a steady canter as he went along towards his apartment. When he finally arrived, nothing in his small home had changed; everything was in the exact place it was when he left, even the Red Hot Chili Peppers record that was on the player. “Good,” thought he as he scanned the room once again. He quickly removed the record from the player and replaced it in its case. “Can’t have it scratch,” said he to himself. “I’m famished.” That thought in mind, he opened his refrigerator and a couple cabinets and began to set things out on his counter. He had out a pair of fresh fish, some exotic spices, such as curry, and some rice and vegetables to make himself dinner. He touched his mane with a hoof to confirm that it was still held tightly in place behind his head. His next step was to switch on his stovetop and gather the necessary cooking utensils: a thin fillet knife, a spatula, and a wooden spoon, as well as a frying pan and a small pot. He boiled water in the pot, and filled it with rice and a few spices, and, while that cooked, sliced the fish into elegant fillets and sautéed them, along with some vegetables, in the frying pan. After several minutes, Pan produced a plate from a cabinet and set it on the counter. He then spread out the rice on the plate, and gently slid the fish and vegetables onto the bed of rice. Observing the meal, and ultimately satisfied with his work, he took a fork from a drawer and trotted to his table and ate his meal. Pan savoured his dinner, not rushing a single bite. When he was finished, he smiled and said, to nopony in particular, “Shred, My Friend, you sure do know how to cook. I’m glad I learned from you.” His tone then became heavy as he continued, “rest in peace, Old Friend.” Glancing at his clock, he saw that it was rather late, and decided to clean up his dishes and retire for the night. He didn’t have much in his sink to begin with; he’d always cleaned what he’d used the day he used them, so he never had much to clean. He washed and dried each piece by hoof, and put them away in an impeccably organised fashion. He cleaned until he only had two things left to clean: the glasses he and Berry had drank from. He seemed to forget completely about the event, for he bore a puzzled look as he picked up one glass and began to clean it. He noticed the faint blue residue left in the glass, and his memory returned. Once everything was cleaned and returned to its place, Pan switched off the lights to the main room and retired into his bedroom. His bedroom was a bit smaller than his living room, and was just as modestly decorated: a steel bed lay under a window overlooking the street outside, which was almost dead at that hour, a small closet door adorned a wall, while the other was covered by shelves and a bookcase, containing, among books, various odds and ends. Pan stood in the centre of his room, his mind still focused on the drink he and his friend had shared earlier that day. His eyes widened, as if several thoughts entered his head all at once. He thought of what he told her when they spoke in the park, what she said to him repeatedly throughout her visit, and, most of all, his last few words to her, and how he said them. The words danced mockingly as he thought. “Let me help you.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I want to help you.” “I don’t want your help.” “Please.” “You’ll be better off if you forgot seeing me, and all of today.” As the words haunted his thoughts, Pan had dropped to his haunches and buried his face in his hooves. His tears had stained the coat on his face and his fetlocks, and several had dropped past his hooves and stained his carpet. Between sobs, he spoke aloud. ”She only wanted to help! She could have helped more than anypony! Why didn’t I let her?!” After a few more seconds of silent sobs, he spoke again. “What happened to me? When did I become so harsh? So grisly?”