Background Currents

by Artrageous

Leaving Broke Mountain

Leaving was a little harder than anticipated, Arty discovered he had to speak to a counselling officer, which was one more pony he didn’t want to talk to. It was an uncomfortable walk to find her in the administration building, which despite a lot of long flowing ramps, and even a couple balconies between levels that a pegasus could jump across, somehow impressed a certain amount of formality. Both the walk and the building said, you are here to see official people on official business and you will not be silly.

Not that Artrageous was prone to being silly. He was very serious, for a pegasus, that qualifier being an important point. He checked himself in a reflection off a pillar. How am I looking? I know I look fantastic, but am I still looking as fantastic as I could be? Mane, braids look good. Coat, yup, tail? Fine. Teeth. Yes, I look great when I smile. Okay, let’s stun this ponycrat with my sheer fantasticness and get the flock outta here.

He’d never admit to being nervous, but apparently having to check in now and then was going to be a staple of his new life, and it was a tether he didn’t want. It was also, the third door on the right at the top of the second balcony past the waterfall, which he’d finally found.

Artrageous nosed open the door and pushed inside, “Hello, are you expecting me? I’m Artrageous.” The back of the room was a giant bay window he could have flown in with everything fully extended, and his eyes closed. Why they simply hadn’t painted a number on the outside of the building to let him do so, he couldn’t imagine. Well, some ponies can’t fly, came the counter-thought.

Between freedom and the door was a desk, in front of which were a few pillows and a bench, behind which was seated a mare in medical scrubs. She had a pale green coat, robin-shell hair, and pretty eyes. She was an earth pony, with a nice smile, and a desk full of well chewed pens. Most doctors were unicorns, at least, most of the ones Arty had met were, and he knew it was a study heavy profession with a lot of writing. He briefly wondered how skilled an earth pony would have to be with her mouth to keep up, then quickly put that thought out of his mind. He sat quickly.

The rest of the room was strangely empty, there was a single diploma on the wall, but little signs of personalization. The doctor read from the folder in front of her for a few moments, then looked up.

“Yes, I had just a few questions then you’ll be cleared to go. Everything is working correctly?” She asked, keeping a very steady gaze locked on his eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“No need to be so formal, Artrageous, this isn’t a court martial. I just need to know how you’re doing, you haven’t had any thoughts about hurting yourself, have you?”

The answer to this is always no, regardless of what the real answer is. Beyond the desk, beyond the window was blue sky, and while he could fly away anytime some pony, some where, would find a loose thread and pull it all the way back to him so he might as well get it all wrapped up neatly now, so nopony would worry.

“I’m fine, yes, I don’t need any more pain than I currently have. I haven’t been thinking of hurting myself.”

“Have you been feeling suicidal?”

Another trap question, where the answer is always no. Still, Arty could hardly sing a song about sunny skies forever, “I’ll admit to feeling severely disillusioned with how things have transpired, but I’m looking forward to moving on.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No!” That was a bit too harsh, that would set off warning flags, that would interrupt her pleasant trip through her checklist. Arty rushed to qualify, closing his eyes, “I mean, no sir. I’ve talked, and talked, and talked until I’m even more blue in the face, and I don’t want to relive it again. I’ve said all I can about it, I know what I did wrong, the past is the past and I can’t change it, and I assure you it will never happen again.” He flared his wings, then folded them back against his sides, “It is what it is, and I accept the consequences, I’m just embarrassed talking about it now.”

“Okay,” she stared at him for a long while. Artrageous took a deep breath to relax, shaking to relax some of the tension through his back, and smiled. “Have you thought where you’ll be going?”

Away, thought Arty, “No,’ is what he said. This prompted a frown, she wanted to see he had a plan, presumably, and no medical officer, no matter how optimistic, was going to release an estranged pony who had no ties and no where to go. It was important to have something, Arty improvised, “I... thought about going to Manehatten, big place, I’ve got a couple contacts there. I was thinking of writing a book. Or Fillydelphia, I hear it’s nice. That’s the good thing about writing, you can do it anywhere.” Once you master the tongue-tango that is needed for manipulating a pen, that is.

“Have you thought about Ponyville?”

Ponyville? He hadn’t thought of the moon either. Oh wait, he had, last night, so Ponyville was even further from his awareness, “Um... no. What’s in Ponyville?”

“Well, I am, for one,” She smiled and turned her head in a way that made him blush. That familiar look, she was a fan! It was all there in his file, of course, and some were more forgiving than others. She was old enough, she’d probably seen him perform in his prime, maybe even had a word during the blur of the meet-and-greets. Some fillies, especially those devoted to a difficult profession, would nurse a crush into a full blow love affair even in the absence of any contact. Then, when a pony stepped out of the poster, they’d latch on. It was... something.

“Oh, I’m not interested in a relationship,” she said, after he’d gotten the wrong idea. “I live there normally, I’m out here as part of the medical exchange. Anyhow, Ponyville is nice and... well I wouldn’t say quiet, there is always something going on, but it isn’t stressful. You need to check in with someone every two weeks, and I wouldn’t be comfortable releasing you to anywhere else, since you didn’t have a really concrete plan.”

And that was it. She wanted him there, but didn’t want him there, and he was stuck to this mare’s whim. His legs clenched, matching the stiffness in his jaw, breathing was becoming shallow again, the room narrowing into a tunnel where all he could see was... sky.

And he exhaled, “Sure, it sounds like a nice place to vacation. I can probably find a few things around town to do while I make bigger plans. I’ll drop in, we can have lunch, maybe dinner.” Hey, it never hurt to try, “So where is this Ponyville? I wanted to get moving today.”

“It’s south of Canterlot, a couple hours journey. Look for the farmlands and apple orchards. If you reach the Everfree Forest, you’ve gone too far.”

The Everfree Forest? That would be a good place for a pony that wanted to loose himself, “Ponyville it is then. I’ll look you up. I’ll have a cloud set up by the time you get back.”

“Allright Artrageous, you’re cleared for take off.” She grinned at him, “and keep focusing on the future. Things will get better.”

He nodded, like he was digesting sound advice, but he had heard these platitudes before. Some things never get better, some things are never forgiven, and as much as he wanted to pretend, and ignore, like scars, your past is with you for the rest of your life. “Thanks, I will.” He got up and walked through the door.

“Fly safe Arty,” she called as he left.

“Always do,” he waved his left wing, then winced as it banged the door-frame. A bad omen, “I wasn’t flying then!” He laughed it off as he disappeared down the hall. Now to see a pony about a cart.

* * * * * *

Artrageous didn’t leave that day. His departure was late in the morning following. That’s the beauty of having no specific plan, things can be allowed to slip. Slipping too much would be a problem, but one more day wouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t as if he was expected, and by the time he had finished packing the cart it was late into the night. The mare-less moon was watching him, and it would be foolish to depart at night. Equally foolish to kick apart his cloud when he needed a bed.

So, he slept till morning, then a little later, because there was no sense starting out tired. Then it was time, he slipped out of his house and left all the doors and windows open. Some other pony might find it useful, and if not it would eventually drift off and break up, raining down a bunch of pens and change he misplaced and forgotten. Just to be clear, he wrote ‘Take Me’ at the front door. It would last a day before the cloudstuff shifted it into obscurity, or transformed it to something else. With his luck, it would be ‘Go away’.

Arty gave his cart a pre-flight inspection. It was a closed in affair which would save him having to protect the contents from the weather. It had two wheels and a simple harness, and wasn’t large enough to sleep in, not with his things. Like sleeping in a bathtub or closet, the prospect of which seemed somehow even more lower class than stretching out on a cloud or under a bridge. Arty hadn’t thought his nighttime arrangements through fully, but a pegasus always has a consideration for good places to take a nap processing in the back of their mind. Just in case one gets suddenly tired and it’s real important to lie down.

He slipped into the harness, twisted and shook it into a comfortable position and tightened the straps with his teeth. The weight settled on his shoulders and collarbone, just in front of his wings. He pulled, the cart rolled easily and he started flying with it.

Okay, turns are going to be slow and wide, and it’ll take a lot longer to slow down and stop, he thought, fly like you’re someone’s grandpa. He took one last look at his cloud, at the town below, nestled in the crags and steeps of the mountain and flew on. “Bye,” he said, adding, “thanks,” a moment later. For nothing, wasn’t voiced, but came very close to being.

He flew, he ran, he pulled the cart. He didn’t have a lot to think about, so he tried to remember why this wasn’t much harder than pulling it along the ground. It certainly wasn’t the equivalent of a dead lift, straight up. The steeper the angle of attack, the harder it was, just like climbing a hill. Well, Magic, was the answer, but there was still a logic behind it, especially pegasus magic which concentrated on atmospheric manipulation. Ah, he remembered, that particular physics course had interested him because it related to his cutie-mark. A pegasus can manipulate cloud-stuff, allow it to bear the weight of itself or objects, and carts work because a pegasus is effectively laying down an invisible contrail that the cart is following on. It still has to be pulled, which is why it’s a similar effort as doing so on the ground, and why the wheels turn, but the road is smoother.

It’s also possible to leave the cart for a while, so the pegasus doesn’t have to be in constant contact. This generally isn’t a good idea, because there is no set time for the support to remain. It usually lasts as long as the pegasus is thinking about it, and then a little while longer. Invariably, if attention goes elsewhere then suddenly snaps back with the thought ‘I’ve left a cart hanging’, that’s when it falls. It meant continually worrying about where you parked and whether the timer was running out. For a breed as easily distracted as the pegasai are, it’s a bit of a cruel joke, but it keeps the skies clear.

In any case, flying is both physical exertion and continual spell-casting, the limits of which are roughly the same and vary from pegasus to pegasus. As a former Wonderbolt, Artrageous had practiced and pushed his and was quite aware of far his current limits had slipped from his former glory days. If the wall wasn’t physical exhaustion, it manifested as a sudden urge to sleep. In actuality it was the magic reserves running low, and it unfairly gave the pegasai a reputation of being lazy, but it was a protective instinct to ensure they allowed their magic batteries a chance to recharge and still maintain their active spells. Only a really old or sick pegasus had their magic cut out mid-air. Or a really foolish one, thought Artrageous. He knew how to push right up to the point the magic ended, and all the warning signs before that brink.

It was a good day, the skies were clear and there was an intermittent breeze. Arty would wait for that gust and use it to soar himself and the cart higher. The road on the ground analogy wasn’t strictly true, a road on water could apply equally well, because there were some techniques to saving effort and riding a thermal was one. Once he’d gained altitude and the air stilled again, he would fly on a slight downslope, gliding. Gliding was much easier on his wings. Too much flapping and his left would start to stiffen. So he flew, or sailed, or surfed in the sky with his cart in an undulating path. It was great to be able to see so far, the haze settling on mountains, the fields and tended forests slipping by below, the way the sun would sparkle and light up a river when he reached just the right point.

This was free, this was as good as it gets, and worries can’t fly, or at least, can’t fly fast. Artrageous was happy.

* * * * * *

Comments

[DreadedCandiru2]

Old. sick or FOOLISH pegasi, eh? Twilight knows about that.......