Truth Needs No Colors

by Lastingimage24

17. You Should See the Other Guys

Let me tell you a story. I know, I know. I’m just getting to the best parts, and I haven’t really done something like this the whole book, so it’s a little out of left field, but just stick with me here. I mean, I’m writing this in italics where I usually put in a quote I like from a famous author, but I didn’t do it in chapter 7, 14, and 15, so this shouldn’t be very jarring. My insecurities aside, lemme just get into it.

So, it starts off like this: There was an injured snake, out in the wilderness. He called for help, pleading with the world around him, whatever gods were listening, to aid him in his most dire hour. To his jubilance, a woman answered his call.

“Oh, poor snake,” she said, “I shall aid you in your suffering, so that you may be well once again.”

The snake smiled, and allowed himself to be carried by the woman back to her humble abode, where she nursed him day and night until he was again up and about. Months passed, and the snake was well.

Pleased with herself and the snake, the woman smiled, and offered her hand in friendship.

But that was when the snake struck, biting her and injecting her with a deadly venom.

Wounded just as he once was, the woman cried,” Snake, oh Snake, why must you transgress me so? In your time of need I aided you, and in thanks you have bitten me!”

The snake laughed and laughed! He laughed and laughed! “Foolish woman!” he shouted. “You have aided me in my most dire straits, but there was a detail you should never have overlooked.”

“You knew damn well I was a snake when you took me in!”

And... well that’s the way the story goes. I always hated that story. But no matter what happened, no matter what I did, it was always lingering in the back of my mind.

For the most part it worked out for me. As long as I didn’t trust anyone, they couldn’t hurt me. Everyone was a snake.

But... I wasn’t happy.

Quite the opposite, in fact. I was spiteful. I was angry.

And after one last spiteful, angry betrayal, I realized in horror...

I had become the snake.

...Now, I now this is kind of a bummer of a story, or monologue, or whatever the hell this is. But it has a happy ending, I promise.

Because I realized that I’m a fucking writer. I can write whatever the hell I want! Look at me! Boobies! Square marshmallows! Celestia is secretly an animate sausage!

You see? Once I realized this, I figured that I could just change the story of the snake myself!

Okay so, snake is well, yadda yadda, and then the woman reaches out in friendship, but then the snake doesn’t bite her!

In fact, it kisses her! In fact, full on Prench! Nothin’ but tongue! Then she’s all like, “Woah dude wasn’t expecting that.”

And then he’s all, “I think I might have some sort of sexual dysfunction cuz you’re like woah,”

Then she’s like, “We might be able to make this work because I’m actually pretty lonely and kinda a loser,”

And then they live happily ever after, with little snake-pony baby hybrids. Was she a pony? I don’t think I ever said. Maybe it’d be better if she were a zebra. Yeah. And she could’ve healed him using some of that weird alchemy shit they’re famous for.

And maybe she could develop some magic potion that turns the snake into a handsome prince, but only for a few hours, and then-

...

I think I lost the plot a little there.

Look, moral of the story is...

Be a writer, not a reader.

And I mean that in a symbolic way, there’s nothing wrong with reading! Or writing! Just... just...

Ah nevermind. Let’s just get back to Sketch.

The boy really is something special, isn’t he?

---

The ceiling looked so different, now. That may have been a little too introspective for Sketch’s taste, but he couldn’t deny the feeling. He felt like the room in his own house wasn’t his own room anymore. All it did was house his insecurities, his problems. The place just wasn’t safe. At least, not anymore.

He was dreading the return of his parents. They hadn’t returned home yet since he had, and it was getting late. Any moment now, they would arrive, and he’d have a new mess of issues at hoof.

There was a slam downstairs.

“I’m home!” a voice yelled below, a mare’s voice.

Sketch sighed. At least it was the easier of the two. Maybe he could convince her that he didn’t need to tell his dad about Trust.

It was ridiculous to even muse about it.

Sketch immediately headed downstairs, every step a note leading to the crescendo of confrontation. Sweet Night was in the kitchen, setting her belongings on the counter. When Sketch made himself known, Sweet Night froze for a moment, before continuing her routine with a little less fervor. “Sketch,” she breathed. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, looking away instinctually. “I’m home.”

She bit her lip, hanging her head low. “Are you gonna tell him tonight?”

Sketch kicked the ground. “I guess.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Mom, I didn’t even want to tell you.” Sketch winced as the words came out of his mouth. Brutal, but honest. His mom looked as though she took a blow from a boxer. “Much less Dad.”

“I don’t see why you insist on dealing with this on your own, Sketchy. What do you think we’re going to do, stop you from seeing her?”

Sketch seethed. “Really Mom? Look me in the eye and tell me that isn’t exactly what Dad would do.”

Sweet Night opened her mouth, but she didn’t speak. She just looked off to the side. “You’re seventeen, Sketchy. It wouldn’t be for very long.”

“I don’t think I could afford that wait, Mom.” Sketch shut his eyes and thought of Syntax. “Things are bad.”

His mother arched a brow. “Bad? Bad how?”

“Remember what I told you about the reporter, Syntax?” Sketch rolled his eyes. “It’s gonna be bad.”

Sweet Night sighed heavily. An uncomfortable lull in the conversation later, she droned, “You still have to tell him Sketch. I’m not going to keep a secret like this from my own husband, you understand. I’ll give you until tomorrow dinner, okay? Otherwise I’ll tell him.”

“That sucks,” he replied plainly. Sweet Night bit her cheek in annoyance. “But I get it.”

She smiled and nodded resolutely. “Good. Now, I hope you’ll tell him tonight, but for now, how about I just work on dinner, huh?”

“Sounds good, thanks.”

Sketch found time to once again ruminate in his thoughts. How the hell would his dad take this? He couldn’t figure it out. The nuance to this whole situation made the answer vague.

Truly relaxing was impossible in this atmosphere, the dread casting a thin veil of humidity in the air. That, and the steam from the sauteed vegetables in the kitchen. Delicious, spicy dread.

Knock knock kna-knock knock.

There he is. Strange, Books never used Shave and a haircut as a knock pattern. It typically was much too whimsical for his tastes, but maybe he was just in a good mood.

“Sketch, can you get that? I’m a little busy,” his mother called from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, rolling off the sofa and trotting towards the door.

Sketch magically reached for the deadbolt, only to find...

It was already unlocked.

Huh.

Weird.

Why would his dad knock if the door was already unlocked? It’s his house...

Knock knock kna-knock knock.

Sketch blinked. Who on earth would be here? Reporters? Police? Did Syntax publish the story without him noticing? Sketch swallowed, sweat beading around his eyebrows. Well, it wouldn’t help to just stand here for eternity, so...

The door swung open.

Nothing could have prepared him for what was on the other side.

“Hey Sketch! How you doin’ kid!” Anthem jubilantly exclaimed...

...with his face bloody, an eye completely red from a popped vessel and a chunk of his ear hanging off. Bruises were lining his cheeks, an eyebrow was split, his mane was tousled... holy hell, a tooth was missing in the corner of his mouth.

“Anthem?”

Anthem was favoring one of his legs, the other hanging in the air, black and blue.

“Anthem what the fuck happened to you?!”

He strangely looked surprised at Sketch’s outburst. After what looked like Anthem reminding himself that he was grievously injured by looking at his own leg, he chortled awkwardly.

“Oh this?” he asked, waving his wounded leg. “This is nothing. You should see the other guys!”

Sketch blinked in horror. “What? Guys? Like more than one? Anthem, we need to get you to a hospital!”

Anthem grimaced, his face tightening in determination. “No. No hospitals. I just... I wanted to ask if you had any bandages to stop this bleeding. I can take care of myself.”

Are you... are you for real? “Anthem. Shut the hell up. If you don’t want a hospital, come inside so I can treat you. My mom’s a nurse.”

“That’s not necessary, Sketchy, just, look, it’s fine, I’ll just-”

Sketch didn’t have the patience for this. He grabbed the back of Anthem’s head with his magic and pressed his hoof as hard as he could into one of the bruises on his cheek.

“AhhhhHHHHAHHHH!!!” Anthem shouted as he stumbled forward into the house, guided by Sketch’s magic.

“You’re getting treated now,” he ordered with resolve.

“Honey, is that you?” Sweet Night called from the kitchen. “You’re home a lot earlier than you said you’d b-EE HEE HEE! Anthem?! What are you...?” She nearly dropped the bowl she was tossing a salad in when she stepped into the living room.

“Hello, Mrs. Night! It’s Mrs., right?” He faced Sketch aside. “You’re parents are married, right?” he whispered.

“Stop trying to change the subject, Anthem.” Sketch led his friend to the living room sofa and motioned him to lay on it. “Get on my couch.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get blood all over it,” Sweet Night whined, tossing her salad so hard it’d make anyone blush.

“Mom,” Sketch droned, looking unamused.

“I-I mean, it doesn’t matter because it's- I’m sorry, i’m just nervous! Anthem why are you so beat up- ah!” Sweet Night’s panic was punctuated by her dropping the salad bowl in her arms.

“Mom, you’re a nurse, why are you freaking out? Just get the first aid kit,” he ordered with exasperation. She cleared her throat, embarrassed.

“I know, I just wasn’t expecting... okay I’m going!” She quickly stepped over the spilled greens and flew up the stairs with impressive speed, the skills of her occupation showing their head.

When she was gone, Anthem smirked. “Your mom’s kinda cute, Sketch.”

Sketch furrowed his brows. “Anthem, stop acting like everything’s okay. What the hell happened?”

“Oh come on, Sketch, it was-”

“So help me Anthem, I’m not asking again.” Sketch intimidatingly hovered over Anthem and began to poke his nose with his hoof. “Tell me what happened or I’m full body tackling your broken body.”

Anthem opened his mouth with a smile, letting out a small groan. But as he weighed the consequence, he slowly let his mirthful expression fade into a frown. “Fine,” he conceded. “Got jumped.”

“By who?” Sketch quickly followed. That was something he already figured.

“Dunno,” the injured stallion answered.

“Why?”

This question earned Sketch silence. Anthem simply stared at the ceiling from his position on the couch.

“Bigots,” he finally said with a sigh.

“Bigots?”

“Some dudes were all fucked outta shape cuz of me an’ Haren. We were making out at a concert and I guess they followed us home. They were making a big stink while we were there, but I thought they’d be all bark, y’know? Guess they weren’t stallion enough to take on me an Haren at the same time, so they waited until I went out on my own.” Anthem’s lack of emotion in his retelling was unsettling, the stallion being quite loud and thunderous most of the time.

Sketch but his lip. “Damn. That sucks.” He felt like he should say more. “What were you doing?”

“Getting food for me an’ Haren. Ugh... should’ve just survived off of sex juice for a day.”

Sketch couldn’t help but chuckle, earning a smile from his friend. “Anthem, you shouldn’t have to be afraid to leave your house. This isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah I guess I should be happy it was me and not-” Anthem shot up from his recline and grabbed both of Sketch’s shoulders. “HAREN!”

“What?” Sketch exclaimed, resting his hooves onto Anthem’s.

“I can’t be here, I gotta make sure Haren’s all right! I gotta, erk!” He winced and retracted his hooves when a wave of pain shot through his body. “Damn leg...”

“Anthem, you aren’t going anywhere.” He sighed and tentatively rested a hoof on his friends shoulder.

“That’s right!” Sweet Night sing-songed as she returned to the living room. “You are in no condition to move. You should be in the hospital right now.”

“No hospitals,” Anthem reiterated. “I can’t do hospitals.”

Sketch’s mother bit her cheek, disappointed. “You really need-”

“If you try to get me to a hospital, I will walk out of here,” he intoned. “I’m not trying to threaten you, but I... I don’t do hospitals.”

Sweet Night blinked a few times, and groaned. “Alright. But at the very least you should keep still.”

“I could do that,” Anthem laughed. “But Haren... I don’t... I can’t...”

“I’ll go get Haren,” Sketch offered. “Just rest.”

“What?” Sweet Night spoke up. “Now? After what just happened to your friend? No way.”

“What do you mean?” Sketch asked, sure she hadn’t heard Anthem’s explanation.

“Oh come on, Sketchy, neither of us are stupid. It’s obvious Anthem got his shit rocked.”

Out the corner of his eye, Sketch could see Anthem’s eyebrows raise at his mother’s seemingly sudden use of profanity and slang.

“That doesn’t mean the streets are any more dangerous than they usually are! Come on, it’s not even that late yet.” Sketch decided to leave out the possibility of Haren being targeted as well.

“Sketch...”

“Mom, I’m doing this,” he definitely stated, stopping his hoof. “I’ll be fine. Haren’s one of my best friends.”

Sweet Night grumbled something, taking a deep breath. “...Alright. You better be fast.”

Sketch smiled, and nodded furiously. “Yes, yes! Of course, I’ll be quick.” Without another word, Sketch rushed out the door.

---

Sketch never once actually directly thought of the distance between his house and Anthem’s apartment. He’d always dilly-dally between the two places, either getting a bite to eat, chilling at the park, or taking a purposeful detour to see the sights. The time frame was always muddied by a lack of urgency. But now, traveling to the apartment at a brisk speed, Sketch was now realizing just how close together they were. Well, it was Canterlot, so everything was kind of a stone’s throw away from each other, but Sketch was expecting a longer trip than a half an hour. If he had wings, it’d probably be less than a dozen minutes.

His journey was almost at an end, with Anthem’s apartment complex in sight. He trotted up the steps, knocking before he even finished walking. He shifted his weight between his two halves in anticipation of Haren’s arrival.

The familiar footfalls of Haren’s foreign paws and talons grew louder as the doorknob turned.

“Hey Anthem, took you awhile,” Haren breathed, words dripping with saucy seduction. Sketch was expecting this for once, simply arching a brow and smirking as Haren leaned on the door with a provocative flair.

When Haren finally bothered to look at the pony in front of her, her eyes went wide, totally aghast at her misfire. Haren caught unaware was uncommon, so Sketch savored every second.

“Sketch! Wh- why are you here? Are you here to see Trust? I, uh, think she’s still here.”

Brows raised at this new information, Sketch shook his head, intent on delivering on his current objective. “No I’m...” He tried to get the words out quickly, but he lost his nerve faster than he could. He groaned and shut his eyes. “Ugh, Haren...”

“What?” she asked, concern blossoming forth. “You aren’t gonna confess your love to me, are you?”

Sketch grinned in spite of himself, Haren’s trademark humor in the face of grave situations appreciated by him on a spiritual level. Anthem had that method of coping as well, Sketch notes. “No, Haren, not today at least.” Sketch decided to maintain eye contact as a sign of respect, deciding he’d want the same gratuity imposed on himself. “Listen,” he began, gripping the bandage. “He’s okay, alright? He’s fine, but... Anthem got jumped.”

Rip. The bandage was off now.

Haren’s mouth became agape. “What? Wh-where is he? Is he okay?!” Her grip on the doorknob tightened, nearly ripping it out of the door.

“I just told you he’s okay!” Sketch shrieked, throwing his hooves up in mild defence. “He’s at my house.”

“WHAT?!” Haren shouted louder than before. “What is he doing there?!”

“Well, I’m assuming he was closer to my home than yours, so he came to us for hel-”

“How bad is it? Is he okay?!” Haren interrupted with a repeated question.

“Well, I don’t know yet, he was limping and he was bleedi-”

“Who’s taking care of him?” Haren spat, grabbing Sketch’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

“My mother, she’s a nurse.” Sketch calmly spoke, hoping his leveled voice would reduce the griffin’s stress. Haren went limp, dropping Sketch back onto his own haunches. “Haren, I came here to ask if you wanted to see him, since we don’t want him moving until his condition improves.”

“Your mother...?” she whispered.

“Uh, yeah?” Sketch coughed into his hoof. “Is that a problem? I know you acted kinda weird when my mom came over. Do you have some sort of problem with her?”

“Not... not her, specifically.” She began rubbing her elbow while breathing shallow breaths. “It’s just...”

“Just what?”

“It’s...” She groaned, squinting her eyes. “Ugh. I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to tell you this, but I guess I can’t avoid it now that we’re becoming better friends. But uh... I, uh...

“I’m afraid of mothers.”

Sketch could’ve sworn he had just heard the punchline to a joke. Like, a really bad joke. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Well I mean, afraid might be the wrong word, but they make me weak in the knees, and make it hard to breathe, and cause me to feel light headed. It’s some kind of anxiety that I can’t explain.” Haren subconsciously covered her beak, dejected. “I don’t know why... I think it has to do something with my fucking shit awful fuck shit of a mom.”

“Uh... wow.” Honestly, Sketch couldn’t think of anything to say. Hell, if he didn’t know Haren better, he would’ve probably laughed at something so ludicrous. “What... what’s it called? Maternaphobia?”

“I uh... don’t think it has a name, heh.” Haren was uneasily smiling, rubbing the back of her neck. She widened her eyes, staring at an open space in the street behind Sketch. She contemplated something for some time, before she shook her head vehemently. “Agh! Whatever! I don’t have time to consider this, I’m going to see Anthem!” Haren gritted herself and took off, nearly knocking Sketch off the porch of the apartment.

“Woah, Haren, don’t- Haren!” He called out into the night. It was too late, she was way too far off into the night. After a few more moments of staring out into the place that Haren used to be, Sketch banged his head into the open door in frustration. “Those two are too much.”

A few seconds dedicated to planning his next actions later, he made his way into the apartment, down to Haren’s old room.

Knock knock. “Trust? You there? It’s me, Sketch! You can come out if you wanna.”

The door cracked open, revealing Trust’s beautiful glowing golden eyes. “Sketch? I... I heard what happened to Anthem.”

“Eavesdropping?” he asked, smiling.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sketch excused. “Hey, if you want to, you can go check up on him at my house. My mom and Haren are the only ones there, so it’ll be safe.”

Trust nodded her head. “Yeah, I’d like that. Damned idiot, getting himself hurt like that.”

“Yeah.” Sketch could never imagine a world that anyone would want to harm Anthem. “Idiot.”

---

“You’re lucky nothing’s broken, Anthem,” Sweet Night gently remarked. “This is really bad.”

“It’s nothing,” he lied. “I’ve been in worse shape.” That, however was the truth.

Sweet Night had a incredulous look about her, as she dipped another cotton swab in alcohol with a large pair of tweezers. “That’s not a good thing, you know. Silly stallion.”

Anthem sighed heavily as the familiar sting of a sanitized wound shot through his joints.

“Why so huffy?” she asked, never taking her eyes off her work.

“Huffy?”

“Yeah. You’re acting like my son, being all huffy and puffy.”

Anthem smiled, confused as to why he liked this mare so much, before remembering that bedside manner is pretty important for a good nurse. “Huffy, huh? Yeah that describes Sketch pretty well.” He felt the urge to throw his hooves around his neck to lounge a little better, but figured that’d probably earn him some ire from the nurse. “Well... it’s nothing really, but if Haren is actually coming... well it might not be too great for her.”

“Why not? It’s not like griffins aren’t welcome here. We’re not that kind of family.”

“No, not like that.” Anthem chuckled dryly, eyeing a nondescript cushion out the corner of his eye, studying the texture of it. “Haren uhh... she scared of moms. Scared of you.”

“Scared?” This made the mare eye Anthem curiously. “How so?”

“It just makes her extremely uncomfortable. There’s personal reasons for it, I can’t get into it. Just try not to be offended, because it’s nothing that you’ve done.”

Sweet Night nodded wordlessly. She grabbed a bit of gauze and dexterously began wrapping it around his discolored leg. Luckily, it was only sprained and was suffering from extreme bruising, rather than being broken. She had reset dislocated limbs before, but it was something much better suited to professionals. Celestia help him if it was actually fractured.

“Hey, Anthem...”

“Yes, Mrs. Night?”

“Please, just call me ‘Sweet’.” She paused, putting a hoof to her chin. “You know what, my husband may be home soon, so that may not be a good idea. Call me ‘Night’.”

“Haha, alright.”

“So, Anthem... is my son... doing alright?” She scratched at her elbow, unable to word her thoughts any further.

Frowning, Anthem looked to the side. “That’s a loaded question, NIght.”

“Is it now?” she asked with the slightest hint of venom. Matriarchal fury was a sight to behold.

“...Night. Your son is doing the best he can with what he’s got. A kid his age shouldn’t be having to deal with crap like this.” He shook his head at the forces that be. “Celestia knows that I wouldn’t have been able to handle the stuff thrown at him.” He frustratingly pounds a cushion next to him. “And he insists on dealing with it himself, too! I mean, there’s being virtuous, and then there’s being dumb. It took a long time to convince him he could use our help, but it still isn’t as much as I’d like.”

Night focused extra hard on nursing Anthem’s next injury, silently ashamed she had initially underestimated his principles. She may have said to Sketch that she believed Anthem to be a good pony on the simple virtue that Sketch believed it, but it was never as visceral as it was now. “Well I’m glad he has someone he can rely one.”

“Oh, don’t knock yourself short, Night. I think you just did too good of a job raising him. He doesn’t want you to have to deal with his troubles. That’s probably why he started distancing himself with you.”

“Distancing himself?” Night repeated, the words sour on her lips. “Is... is that what he’s doing?”

Anthem didn’t answer, nor did he establish eye contact. His wounds were nursed in silence after that.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock “Oh dear, is that your griffin friend?” knock knock knock knock knock knock knock

“Oh my god, tell her to stop.” knock knock knock knock knock knock knock kno-

Night almost got herself punched in the face when she answered the door, the yellow talon stopping inches from her face. “Eep!”

“Oh, uh sorry,” Haren breathed, clearly out of breath. “I uhh-uh-uh I’m Haren, hi, I’m friends with Sketch and Anthem and I’m here to see how they’re doing and I’m... I’m.” Haren tried to get all her conversation out at once, before her phobia caught up to her. Unfortunately for her, her eyes went wide, and she began to take small steps back before she could finish her speil.

“Come in, Haren, your friend is right on her couch,” Night said joyfully, motioning her inside, trying to present herself as disarming. This seemed to have the opposite effect on Haren, unfortunately, as she averted eye contact and playing with her beak. Night looked back at Anthem, who was worryingly eyeing the two of them from his couch, ears splayed out behind him. It probably wasn’t very comfortable with his ears bandaged to all hell.

Night sighed, weighing her options. Anthem was stable, and while there were a few more things she could do to bring down the swelling from his bruises, a familiar friend would probably be better for the healing process than anything she could do. “I’ll leave you two alone a minute, I, uh, have to go take care of the food.” She turned tail and headed to the kitchen, confused as to how her house had suddenly become so popular.

---

Sketch saw the familiar lights of an ambulance wagon out of the corner of his eye, it nestled firmly on a street corner next to an alley. On any normal day, this would be an unremarkable occurrence, but today, curiosity got the better of him, and he approached the police tape cordoning off the alleyway.

He leaned over the tape, trying to eye the contents of the alley, but his poor vantage point combined with the disorienting flashing lights prevented any useful information from being gleamed.

“Hey, kid, clear out! Nothing to see here,” the booming voice of a policemare sounded from behind one of the wagons.

“Uh, hello! I was wondering what happened here,” Sketch insisted, taking a few steps away from the tape.

“Really not at liberty to say right now, kid. Ongoing investigation. Move along.” She spoke with resolve, her words iron. Sketch had to keep from rolling his eyes, and decided to change his approach.

“Please,” he began, attempting to sound more pathetic. “My friends and family live in the area! I want to make sure nobody I know is hurt!” Sketch blinked a few times to moisten his eyes and appear more... boyish.

The policemare took pause at this, looking back at the alley as if she were asking it for permission. She shook her head, and buckled. “Fine. You can see the victims. Maybe you can help with identifying them. Stick to me like glue, kid.”

She lifted the tape and allowed Sketch through. He thanked her with a genuine smile, and approached a couple gurneys being loaded into the wagon. They must have gotten there just in time since the policemare motioned violently for them to stop. “Wait up. I got somepony that might be able to identify our friends here.”

A few EMTs nodded to each other and stepped aside, allowing Sketch and his new friend through. “Try to be quick, one of these guys may have a concussion.”

There were three stallions here, a dull green earth pony with jet black hair, a lanky grey pegasus with garish yellow hair, and a stubby grape colored earth pony. No one Sketch knew, but that was something Sketch was expecting. “What happened?”

“These three must’ve gotten in a pretty big tousle to put it lightly. Maybe some sort of gang fight from the Canterlot outskirts.”

One of the EMTs nodded sagely, agreeing with his cop colleague. “What’s amazing is that it was probably one guy that fought them off. Before grey colt here lost consciousness, he mentioned one ‘asshole’. Would’ve loved to see that.”

Sketch’s mouth went agape. This... this couldn’t have actually been Anthem’s fight, right? He had been entertaining the idea, but there’s no way Anthem could fight off three whole people...

You should see the other guys. That’s what he said when he showed up at Sketch’s house. Guys, as in plural. Maybe he wasn’t embellishing. If that were the case, that means despite his condition, Anthem... won. Pretty whole handedly.

“Kid, what’s up, you know them?” the policemare asked with terse patience.

“Are they okay?”

“They might be,” one of the EMTs answered, earning some angry looks from his coworkers. “Everypony else should recover, but Purple boy might be in a coma.”

“Lator, we’re not supposed to talk about patient status! Insurance-”

“Yeah yeah,” he cut them off dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Sketch didn’t know what to do with this information. Anthem hospitalized three people. They may have deserved it, but... Anthem wasn’t someone he associated with violence. Still, this was better than the alternative of Anthem getting killed or something. “I uhh... I don’t know them.”

The policemare let out a breath Sketch didn’t realize she was holding. “Good. I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with this, kid.” She slapped him on the back, earning a wince from the frail boy. “Now beat it.”

Sketch obliged.

---

Sketch waltzed through the front door as he sighed, glad to be out of the slight nip of a spring night and into the comfortable home. “Someone really needs to lock this door,” he idly commented in order to announce his presence.

“Sketch,” Haren acknowledged from Anthem’s side, holding his hoof in her talons. “Sorry I rushed ahead like that.”

“It’s alright, I probably would’ve done the same. Where’s my mother?”

“She’s upstairs I think. Wanted to give us a room, I guess.”

“That’s probably not right, she doesn’t know about you two.” Sketch trudged along and took a seat in the chair perpendicular to Anthem’s couch. To his surprise, the couple scoffed at him.

“You mean, you haven’t told your parents about us? Why?” Haren scolded, arms crossed.

Sketch reared his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was important to you two.”

“Sketch, I thought you weren’t going to lie to your parents anymore,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“It’s not lying if I just omit information. Hell, my dad doesn’t even know about Trust.”

“You really should tell him, Sketch. He’s going to find out from Syntax anyway,” Anthem tagged in, unable to face him directly because of the angle of his neck.

“You don’t think I know that? This has been really hard for me, alright?”

There was a slight bump upstairs, so faint that only Sketch heard it. “That might be Trust.”

“She’s coming?” Haren asked, the obvious joke dying in everyone’s heads from the severity of past events.

“Yeah.”

Sketch skirted upstairs, making his way to his room. The halls felt darker tonight.

“Sketch, that you?” Sketch’s mom asked from the bathroom.

“Yeah, Trust might be here too.”

“Ooh,” she whistled. “Interesting. Finally bringing the mare home for a proper introduction? I’m sure your father will love this.”

“Maybe,” Sketch said faintly. He wasn’t sure what he was saying maybe to. He knocked on his own door, which was probably the most surreal experience he’s ever had. “Hey, Trust, it’s me Sketch, don’t run away.” He opened his door to see Trust lounging in his bed. It brought a smile to his lips in spite of recent events.

“Why would I run away?” she snorted, flipping off of the bed. “Can I see Anthem?”

“You don’t have to ask permission,” he chuckled, leading her downstairs.

Trust jumped off the side of the railing when she got the chance, deftly landing without even disturbing the wind. Haren waved when she saw her, and Anthem waved from the other side of the couch, his hoof appearing as a dislocated limb floating behind the fabric.

Trust quickly wrapped herself around the opposite side of the couch, squinting at the injured earth pony. He sheepishly grinned whilst looking off at the wall.

“How did you get yourself in this mess, dummy?” she faintly teased, cocking her head.

“This is what being in love does to you Trust,” he quipped. “Physical bodily harm.”

Haren guffawed, placing a talon onto his shoulder. “You’re such an ass,” she remarked, giving him a long, tasteful kiss. More reserved than she usually was, but not as respectable as a peck on the lips.

Heh. Peck. Bird. She has a beak. That’s funny.

“How’s my patient do- O-oh my!” Sweet Night, with her patented awful timing, peaked down from upstairs at the perfect angle to witness the kiss. Sketch nearly bit his tongue he cringed so hard. This is going to be hassle.

“You guys should really start locking this doo-” Books had walked into the room from the front door, holding a grocery bag filled with a few sodas. He had not seen the scene before him as he took his hat off and onto the nearby hat rack, but was assaulted with the truth when he was done. He froze, stunned at the plethora of individuals before him. His keys were still in his mouth, no doubt a remnant of a stallion who assumed the front door was locked. They dropped to the floor as his jaw dropped.

Haren was on top of Anthem, her thin tongue still hanging out of her beak from her kiss. Anthem was frozen in a vulnerable position, his posture awkward from cradling Haren. Trust was frantically eyeing the whole room, searching for a escape route. Sweet night was holding the railing lest she faint from the overdose of stimuli.

And Sketch was left slamming his hoof into his forehead.

Why did it have to be today?

Well, it looked like Sweet Night was going to get what she wanted.

Author's Note:

Roughly 3 more chapters left (I might split one of them to make 4 but I'm not sure yet). I'm getting those finishing-a-story-insecurities!

Enjoy, my friends.

Comments

[Lastingimage24]

9322043
Royal Syntax sounds like a language you would have to learn as an aristocrat

And come on, Syntax is trying ;P

[jxj]

9331559

Royal Syntax sounds like a language you would have to learn as an aristocrat

lol, that it does

And come on, Syntax is trying ;P

from the beginning of this chapter (i assume that's her), it sounds like she did realize that she realized she's a bad pony.

I'm glad to see that you're updating this again. I really enjoy this story. And the next chapter better be fast after that cliffhanger, lol. (JK, take as long as you need)

[Amos Anon]

Dang! Noooooo!!! I hate reading cliffhangers!

But I love writing them.

[mustangdrew4]

Darn. All out of chapters. Guess I'll just have to stalk the auth- I mean watch for notifications intently.

All jokes aside, I'm really enjoying this story so far and I would be remiss if I didn't mention that when I went to press the next chapter button I found myself sad it wasn't there. Great stuff you got here.

[WonderboltWing]

*ahem*

Aw, frick.

As (unsaid) always, good hecking work! I've came back to this a multitude of times before, and each time I always get that 'feel-good'-feeling feel kinda thing, y'know? Excellent work, my friend.
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