Truth Needs No Colors

by Lastingimage24

19. Go For Broke (This Time)

““Family ties mean that no matter how much you might want to run from your family, you can’t.”

-Unknown

You could hear a pin drop, Sketch thought, slowly glancing at everyone in the room. Books’ deadpan face, trademark as always, never shifted once as he mimicked Sketch’s motions, glancing at every actor around him in utter silence. Sketch cleared his throat subconsciously, and instantly regretted the comparatively ear splitting noise it made. Suddenly, Books started moving, which everybody was embarrassingly startled by, flinching at the completely unintimidating lawyer.

Sketch suddenly had a thought. Lawyer. His dad was a lawyer. That’s why he’s so understanding and willing to give all this a chance. He had to see every side. Sketch felt stupid. But, if that were true, that means these first impressions were all the more important. This was his opening statement.

Yikes.

Well at least Haren had a positive first impression with Books already, so he wouldn’t have to worry about that. Anthem, on the other hand....

Books and Anthem had already met once. It didn’t go well. It didn’t go poorly either so there was that.

Sketch remembered that day... “Hey Mr. Books! Your son hates drugs!” Anthem shouted, beaming wildly, completely oblivious to how to interact proper adults. He behaved as he had just said the exact right thing he needed to say, smugly buffing his chest with a hoof.

“Umm, okay?” Books replied, understandably confused. “Anthem, I assume? I’m taking my son home...”

“Sure thing, Mr. Books! He has no drugs.”

“Fucking kill me now,” Sketch grumbled rubbing his eyes and walking away from the resturaunt Anthem had treated him to.

Books had never liked Anthem, he had never made that subtle or unapparent in any way. Sketch couldn’t exactly blame his father, especially since he was never dishonest about the kind of person Anthem was. In fact, looking back at it, Sketch should probably appreciate how much his parents trusted him to hang around someone like Anthem, him being a classic example of a bad influence. But thanks to the superficial relationship that the two had, good first impressions were still possible. And, on top of that, Sweet Night seemed to like Anthem. But... well that was probably to be expected, the kind of mare Sweet was.

Then there was Trust. Oh Celestia, there was Trust. Trust’s defence mechanism of being very rude and smarmy probably wouldn’t bode well here. Hell, the only way he got his mother to accept her was straight up emotional blackmail. That’s not something Sketch wanted to intentionally employ.

On the surface, Trust was an incredibly disagreeable person, now that Sketch considered it. Kind of an asshole, really. Sketch was probably one of the few ponies who didn’t care and gave her more of a modicum of a chance. He wondered how this meeting would play out for them...

Books sat down on his poofy recliner chair and grabbed his newspaper, which Sketch wondered was more for the aesthetic of it rather than the news, and fluffed it while beginning to read. He probably wasn’t actually reading it considering the situation.

Suddenly, he spoke, clearly and a normal volume, which was ear splitting since everyone was expecting a whisper. “Anthem, why the hell are you bleeding all over my couch?”

Oh. Oh crap. Sketch forgot that Anthem was severely injured. He’s a bad friend.

“Hey Mr. Books! Your son-” Anthem started cheerily, clearly having rehearsed a response in his head. The wrong response. He grunted, and one could practically hear the gears going into overdrive in his head. “Your son... helped me out! You see... I... got... in... bit... of... a... tizzy.”

“A tizzy?” Books asked, eyes wide.

“A tizzy?” Sketch asked, eyes wider.

“A tizzy?” Trust asked, breaking her shy silence out of pure confusion.

“A tizzy,” Anthem clarified using the same term. “You know... a... like...”

“A fight?” Books offered incredulously.

“Haha, a fight implies fairness.” Anthem flinched at his own boast, clenching one eye shut. Sketch facehoofed.

“Not a fair fight? You got jumped, then.” Books sounded so... unimpressed. Quite astonishing really. In fact, he sounded bored.

“Uhh... yeah,” he confirmed, rubbing the back of his head, cursing when it caused him pain. Again, silence took hold of the room, before Anthem realized what Books had been saying in his head. “It doesn’t happen to me, honest!” Anthem shouted defensively, a little louder than he probably meant. “It doesn’t. I stay out of trouble, despite my lifestyle. Generally, I don’t get jumped.”

“Mhmm,” Books agreed half-heartedly, not even looking at the injured stallion.

“I’m serious! I don’t look for trouble! Trouble never even looks for me. It’s just-”

Books cut him off with a terse question. “Why did you come here, then?”

“I-” he stuttered, unprepared for the subject change. “I... trust your son, Books. I knew he could help.”

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital.” He phrased it like a statement rather than a question.

“I don’t do hospitals,” Anthem replied darkly, looking at him out the sides of his eyes.

“Why not.”

Suddenly Anthem was shouting. Strangely, Sketch noted, Haren was clutching her arm tightly and wincing. Did she know something Sketch didn’t?

“Because I don’t!” he screamed. “I ain’t never going back there!”

“So you put the burden on us instead?” Books followed up, a little louder this time, but still not yelling.

“The hospital here took my father!” Anthem screamed, earning a recoil from Sketch and his mother. Trust was far enough away that she simply opened her mouth in shock. This wasn’t something any of them knew about. “It took away my uncle!” he punded his good hoof into the cushion at his side. “It’s not going to take me too! Everyone I knew lied alone in those pure white sheets -- alone -- as they drifted away. It’s not going to happen to me.” Anthem growled through gritted teeth. “Mama never got better after that... she was lonely... she... but it was her fault she did that.” He began to mutter to himself. “No, she shouldn’t have done that....”

Sketch inhaled sharply, making the motions to move to Anthem’s side. The outburst may have been healthy, but now he was just muttering nonsense and probably needed someone to calm him down.

Why hadn’t Sketch seen this coming? Anthem had been going through a lot of stress, of course he would be ready to burst. No one was expecting it to be now of all times. Books’ accusatory questions probably was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Hell, even Books looked horrified at the sudden breakdown. Before Sketch could make it to the couch Anthem occupied, his father exhaled.

“Okay,” he relinquished, closing his eyes. He knew had pushed too hard this time.

“Sorry,” Anthem breathed.

“Okay,” he reaffirmed, fluffing his newspaper again.

Sketch had instinctively stopped moving when his father spoke, and slowly began moving again once silence took hold. Haren was already tenderly stroking Anthem’s mane whose breathing had become labored. Sketch kneeled next to his friend’s ear. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Anthem confirmed, a few rings having appeared under his eyes. “Sorry about freaking out like that, I just wasn’t expecting your dad to-”

“I know, don’t worry about it,” Sketch reassured, chortling softly. “Anthem, you’re the victim here. You’re allowed.”

He just laughed back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sketch noticed his father looking away from his newspaper to face him. When he noticed that Sketch noticed, he cleared his throat and made a show of returning his attention to the paper. Sketch rolled his eyes.

“So, why were you targeted?” Books asked again, this time a little more tenderly, actually facing the stallion this time. Haren stopped stroking Anthem’s mane and cleared her throat. The couple started fidgeting nervously and looking to each other for help, shrugging slightly. They finally faced Sketch, who wasn’t too far away anymore, and motioned to books quizzically. Incredulous, Sketch grunted.

“Guys, he already knows.”

“Know what?” Books asked, unable to understand the invisible conversation.

“Maybe we can convince him we were just goofing around?” Anthem offered, smiling sheepishly.

“Even I know that’s horseshit...” Sweet muttered, looking off to the side, just loud enough for someone to hear.

“No, that’s dumb,” Haren sighed, her distance from Sweet Night unlocking her beak. “Me and Anthem are a thing. We don’t do a great job of hiding it. Someone didn’t like that, obviously.”

“Barbaric,” Books said plainly. Not even a scoff, no tone of shock. Just dismissive disdain, that was somehow more effective than any passionate display. “I don’t like it either, but you don’t see me ganging up on folk.”

“You don’t?” Anthem asked.

“He doesn’t,” Haren answered. She had already kind of experienced it earlier, when Books had laughed off the idea of a griffin and pony union.

“Why the hell not?” Anthem questioned with intensity. He probably couldn’t do so without putting a little venom in his speech since someone with the same beliefs as Books had just decided that Anthem wasn’t worth a fair fight.

Everyone flinched when Books firmly rose his voice. “Because I think it’s an overindulgence in degeneracy! Spitting in the face of Celestia’s light and the balance of nature. There’s no end goal, no propagation, just a commitment to a lack of commitments. You’ve got to understand, Anthem, I think you’re a useless piece of pony garbage. An absolute disgrace and drain of the supplies of society. A hedonist with no limit and no perspective. Think about it, think about where we are and where we’re sitting. I worked hard to get here. I work hard to stay here. You did neither.”

The absolute onslaught of Anthem’s character left him speechless. Hell, it left everyone speechless.

Books continued. “But for some benign and outlandish reason, my son likes you. And he doesn’t like anyone. In fact, I find Sketch’s taste in others absolutely flabbergasting. And if my son thinks your worth something, I have to trust and believe him, as much as I don’t want to. Remind yourself -- that’s the only thing keeping you on my couch.” Books faced his newspaper once again and cartoonishly straightened it out with a flourish. “Regardless, as much as I dislike this relationship you have with Haren, or my son for that matter, that doesn’t excuse such...” He gritted his teeth. “Violence. It’s absolutely disgusting, the lack of communication these days despite it being the foundation of progress. Despite my lack of enthusiasm for your person, Anthem, I wish you the best recovery.”

Everyone looked away, almost as if they were looking at themselves. Books monologue was so verbose and well spoken, no one knew what to do with it. One could argue, sure, but where to start? No one was able to rehearse a response as well as he obviously had.

Anthem swallowed, having calmed down despite the digs. Something about someone rationally explaining their stupid opinions to you made you kind of respect it. “Okay. Where does that leave us?” he finally asked, tapping the side of the couch anxiously.

Sketch was confused, but luckily Books knew exactly what he meant. “Whatever you want to do you is your business. I’m not going to try to convince you to my point of view. As long as you don’t do the same to me. As far as my son goes...” Books looked to his son, but still spoke to Anthem.. “I’m not going to prevent you from seeing him, or anything like that. Sketch has no friends. He needs the few he already has.”

Sketch pouted, and his mother snickered.

“You just have to promise to try and keep your... disagreements with others out of his business. Because if you cause Sketch any harm, whether directly or indirectly... I’ll sue all the blood out of your body.”

“Of course, sir.” Anthem was unintimidated, but agreed to the terms out of respect for the stallion.

“Good.” Books finally set aside his paper, the act visibly signifying the end of his point. He set one hoof over the other on his arm rest, softly smiling at the couple. “I’m sorry about your injuries.”

“Cool,” Anthem responded. There was a beat where everyone in the room tried to figure out if that was an appropriate response.

Appropriately, Sketch’s mother chose to ignore the strange word choice. “So, we all square?”

“Square, Mrs. NIght,” Anthem chuckled. “Square.”

“Good,” Night mimicked her husband grinning broadly.

Another silence.

“So we all gonna pretend like I don’t fucking exist, or...?”

Unfortunately, Books was drinking a glass of water that his Sweet wife had given him, the contents of which were now on the floor as he coughed from the sudden expletive. Sketch broke into a nigh sprint to Trust’s side, lest she say something else completely outrageous. He swore he could spy a smirk from his mother, but more apparent than that was the blank expressions of his older friends, who weren’t aware of how to deal with Trust’s blatant disrespect.

Sketch had to resist shoving his hoof into Trust’s gigantic mouth.

“HAHA NO OF COURSE NOT TRUST SHE’S FUNNY VERY FUNNY!”

Sketch was too loud.

“A-” Trust started to say, but Sketch was smart enough to cut her off.

“Trust,” he whispered in her ear. “Trust I know you do this all-or-nothing thing when meeting new people, but could you dial it down like this one time for me?”

“Uh-” Trust started, but bit her lip. “I... I... what?”

“I’m sorry Trust, but... please be nice. This is important to me.” He smiled boyishly at her with a pleading in his eyes.

Looking back at them, there was something... in her eyes. I kind of spark, as her eyes went wide, and all expressions drained from her face. Whether it was a lightning fast weighing of options or... something else, she nodded her head and evenly said, “Okay.”

When she broke her gaze from her coltfriend, her ears matted themselves against her head, and she began to speak. “I... I... H... Hi...”

Sweet Night had taken her place near her husband. They both glanced at each other before looking at the batpony. “Uhm, hello. My name is Law Books-” Trust bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing at his name. “-and this is my wife, Sweet Night; I’m sure you’ve met her already.” Books shot Sketch an evil glare, and he smiled sheepishly back at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Trust opened her mouth, but glanced at her coltfriend beside her. She closed her mouth and opened it again after some apparent internal debate. “Pleasure’s... all... all mine.” She struggled to get the words out, and she squeaked a few times while talking. She was having trouble maintaining eye contact. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, watching Trust grappling with herself like this. A part of him wanted to take back his request, but... well, it was too late now.

And it was his fault it was too late now.

“What’s your name?”

Sketch jumped in.“It’s Trust, Dad.” Answering for a mare was typically considered rude, but this wasn’t a typical situation.

“Trust, huh? Cool name.” Another seething glare was shot at Sketch. “Bit ironic.”

Yeah, yeah, yuk it up.

“So Trust, now don’t take this the wrong way, but I noticed that you have... erm... features, that uhh... that... are, let’s say, atypical for the average pony. You mind explaining this?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know why I was made like this. I just am.” Trust pouted, kicking the floor and looking off to the side. “It’s not like I wanted to look like this.”

“I see.... So you have no recollection?”

“No.”

“Who raised you?”

Trust winced. Sketch would have to take this one. “There was an old deer named Deecha out in the outskirts of Canterlot. He passed away some time ago.”

“The only person that wanted to help,” Trust clarified.

Books cleared his throat in a rare display of shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Trust chuckled dryly. “You didn’t kill him.”

Silence.

“So, you don’t know anything about your condition, either.” Books shook his head. “Not exactly what I wanted to hear...”

“What did you want to hear?” Sketch inquired innocently.

“Anything, honestly. I want to know she’s not dangerous. Or... uh contagious.” Books nodded his head towards the increasingly uncomfortable batpony. “What if she accidentally bites somepony? Will they become a bat as well?”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Haren snidely commented.

“Why not?”

Oh no. He didn’t get the joke. Sketch facehoofed alongside his mother. “Dear, it means Arthur might have already experienced a ‘bite’, and had no adverse effects.”

“But why would she-” Realization occurred for Books a little to late in his sentence. “Oh! Uhh, right.” WIth a red face, Books cleared his throat again and sniffed. “Regardless, I’d like to know that you don’t pose a threat to my son. And like... the universe.” Books tilted his head. “So. As it looks from here, I can only take you at your word. So. What do you say? Are you going to hurt my son?”

Sketch was expecting an immediate denial, but strangely Trust was quiet.

Moments passed. Seconds turned into dozens of seconds. Anthem’s eyes were shooting all over the place, and his patience was the first to pass. “Uhh, Trust?”

“No,” she finally answered, breaking some of the ice that had been building from her lack of action. Unfortunately, before the ice could melt, Trust took a step forward, determination adorning her face. “But what if I said that I was?”

Flummoxed, Books leaned forward when he spoke. “Pardon?”

“What would you do to me if I said I had planned to hurt Sketchy, huh? Would you gang up on me?” Trust was grinning madly as her face scrunched with anger. “Call the cops?”

“Trust,” Sketch tried to reason, but she ignored him.

“Kill me?” Her creepy grin faded. “You ponies are all the same. See something you don’t like and shout piss and vinegar until it goes away.” Suddenly she shouted, smashing her hoof into the floorboards. “Well I’m tired of it! Sketch is the only pony I’ve ever met that gave me a chance, so I don’t have to take all these looks from you! I don’t have to take your bullshit!” She hooked a leg around Sketch’s neck and leaned on him, almost knocking him off balance. “So, I’m not going to answer stupid fucking questions like that anymore. I’m tired of trying to explain myself to others. Of course I’m not going to hurt Sketchy, why the fuck would I do that? He’s the only one I really care about.” She glared at books, narrowing her eyes, as Sketch looked back and forth between them, unsure of what to do. “So why don’t you ask yourself that question before you ask me?”

This outburst was different. It wasn’t her defense mechanism. It was just pure frustration. Maybe it wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

“I see,” Books said, eyes wide. He had been rendered speechless, unexpecting the vitriol. He tapped his hooves together. “Yes, perhaps that was a stupid question.”

“Honey, she means well. You were right, we met before, and...” Sweet nodded at the mare before her. “I don’t think she’s very much different than us, rather than the obvious.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, honestly,” Books sighed. “That makes all of this so much more difficult to handle.” He nodded at the batpony in acknowledgement. “I’m not going to mince words, Trust. The only reason I’m not smacking you with a tennis racket right now is the foreknowledge that you are friends with my son. You look like a vampony.”

“All shit I already know,” she pouted, rubbing her shoulder ashamedly.

“And you know that any hardships that come with that... it’s going to affect my son secondhoof. You’re okay with that?”

“Of course she’s not,” Sketch answered for her, blood beginning to rush to his ears. “That’s something you should be asking me anyways, Dad.”

“Right,” he acknowledged, looking to the floor. “I know I’m not going to be able to convince either of you that all of this is a terrible idea. But I want you to know where I stand in all of this.”

“What else should I have done, Dad? Answer me that,” Sketch snapped, wrapping his forelegs back around Trust. She couldn’t help but smile despite their position.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I met Trust, and she wasn’t a homicidal monster. She was just a lonely mare. What would’ve been the right thing to do in my shoes?”

Books opened his mouth, but didn’t answer. He just grumbled and closed his eyes.

“Well, you still should’ve told us,” Sweet Night scolded, sitting up and putting her wrists on her hips. “And you shouldn’t have complicated things by becoming romantically involved, but I understand that would be a ridiculous thing to ask of teenagers.” She sighed wistfully whilst looking at the ceiling with a ‘to-be-young-again’ look of nostalgia. “Plus, Trust is super cute. I honestly can’t blame you Sketchy.”

Trust blinked a few times. She hadn’t been complimented by anyone other than Sketch before, as far as he understood.

Books looked incredulous, raising a brow. Clearly, he didn’t see it. Thankfully, Trust didn’t notice, instead choosing to swim in her temporarily inflated ego.

“Well,” Books coughed, looking away. “Clearly, things have already gotten out of hoof for the lot of us. The best thing to do now is try to get along and try to keep this all underwraps to keep us safe, as much as you all might not like to hear that.”

Everyone winced except Books. Yup. Everyone.

“What?” Books demanded, noticing the dramatic turn of atmosphere.

“Well,” Sketch chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “About that...”

---

“Good lord...” Books exclaimed, sinking further into his chair after getting filled in.

Everything had been disclosed: Syntax, the intrusive photojournalist with no respect for a child’s privacy that had somehow been befriended by Sketch, Royal, the second batpony who was even less socially inclined than Trust, the threat of the entire public knowing about Sketch’s relationship with Trust, the dangerous tram incident that nearly killed them -- everything. It took a good time to explain everything that had happened in the past few months, some of which Sketch had forgotten about until now, and when they were done everyone was too exhausted to say anything more.

“Syntax...” Books breathed. “I think I’ve heard of her before... I’m pretty sure I defended someone against some of her claims at some point. I remember losing, too, her piece was simply too strong.”

“She prosecuted against you?” Sketch asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s not a lawyer. Her work was used in evidence.” He rubbed his temples. “Ugh... what are we going to do. This is all terrifying for us, Sketch.”

“I know,” Sketch admitted bashfully. “I didn’t mean for things to get so dire.”

“We could always just kill Syntax,” Haren offered plainly, raising a talon.

“Yes, that would make things so much easier for us, wouldn’t it?” his mother dubious muttered aside, kicking the ground.

“We’re not killing a mare!” Sketch squeaked in disbelief. He didn’t know he was talking to a bunch of bloodthirsty criminals.

“Relax, Son, they’re joking,” Books explained to him. “I think.”

“Um, guys?” Trust said, raising a hoof.

“What is it?”

“We may have solved this problem already. Remember that little project I mentioned?”

Sketch nodded. “Yeah, you wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Well,” She grumbled, trying to ignore his rudeness. “That project was a little thing I like to call, Royal Interference.” Her legs crossed over one another as she grinned madly, with a face of one who had just said the smartest thing in existence.

Everyone blinked.

Trust cleared her throat. “It means I told Royal to see if he could convince Syntax to lay off.”

“WHAT?!” Sketch exclaimed, hooves in his hair. “Are you insane?! Why on earth did you do that?!”

She shrugged. “What’s the big deal? Royal’s got nothing to lose, plus he’s all muscle-y. If anyone can strong-arm the bitch, it’s him.”

“Okay, you guys won’t have to kill her,” Sketch deadpanned. “She’s probably already dead.”

Trust laughed and flicked her wrist. “Oh, p’shaw Sketchy, my lad. Royal’s a big ol’ teddy bear, he wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, he had already started talking to her like a week ago, and you’ve seen her since then, right?” She wrapped both her forelegs around Sketch’s neck in exaggerated familiarity. “It’s fiiiiiiiine.”

“This is absolutely gonna blow up in our faces,” Sketch droned.

“Knowing everything that’s happened so far, they’re probably already sleeping together,” Haren joked, covering her beak like she always did.

Everyone who knew the mare laughed heartily, nearly losing their balance at the absurd thought. “As if anyone can melt the ice around that bitch’s heart,” Trust snarked.

“Speaking of which,” Sketch’s mother began, ending her more demure chuckle prematurely. “Haren, Anthem. When did you two meet?”

The voice of the matriarch immediately caused Haren to shrink behind the couch. As the conversation progressed throughout the night, Haren retreating every time Sweet Night spoke was an unfortunate eventuality, though the severity of occasions lessened as time went on. Haren didn’t even leave the room this time. Progress!

Anthem gave his girlfriend the grace of not needing to answer. “About four years ago.”

“Ooh, five years!” She turned to her husband, beaming. “You hear that, hon? Four years. That’s commitment!” Clearly, she was much more supportive of the stallion and gryphon combo sandwich.

“Okay?” Books nodded, confused. “Are you trying to say something specific?”

She stared at him with an expressionless face for a beat, before droning, “No.”

“Uhh, well, we weren’t in a relationship for four years... we just got in one a couple of weeks ago.” Anthem looked to the side and chuckled, the realization of his inaction barely beginning to eat at him. “We just... were... room... roommates.” The thousand yard stare he was beginning to adopt told all.

“Wait,” Sweet Night deadpanned, pointing an accusing hoof at Anthem. “You mean to tell me you lived four years with our sweet Haren over here before you two... uhh... did the dirty?”

Anthem flattened his ears in utter shame, the wasted years weighing heavy on his heart. Meanwhile, Sketch gagged.

“Ugh, Mom, why did you have to say it like that?”

Laughing, Sweet Night, brushed her shoulder, smugly pursing her lips. “Oh come on, Sketchy. There are much worse ways I could have said that.”

“Not many.”

A beat passed as everyone looked to Sketch’s mother. She looked as if she were preparing to say something important. Facing towards the sky with a thoughtful look about her. The ponies in the room leaned forward as she opened her mouth. “I coulda said ffffffffffffffuck.”

“Mom!” Sketch pleaded, yet far too late.

“Please, dear,” Books said, looking away bashfully. Seems it was too much even for him. She simply giggled, satisfied out of the rise she got.

“I don’t know why I waited so long,” Anthem regaled suddenly earning the attention of the room. “Really it should’ve been obvious, even to someone like me. She was the only one that mattered to me. She was the only one that cared. She was my world, it sounds cheesy as hell, but it’s the truth. I just... didn’t see it. I wish I had done something earlier. Thinking about what I could have loss if I didn’t meet her, or your son... it terrifies me.”

Sketch bit his lip. I know why. It's because of our society. You were conditioned to believe that you couldn’t love Haren, no matter how much you actually did. O‘Course I can’t say any of that in front of dad. Hmph.

“Hm,” Books grunted dismissively, earning some incredulous puffed up cheeks from Anthem.

Dear old Mom, however, countered that negative attitude with some sugar of her own. “Ohh, that’s so sweet! Don’t worry Anthem, I’m pretty sure that obliviousness is a male thing. It took my husband two years to ask me out.”

Books wasted no time. “I didn’t ask you out, you asked me out. And I told you no three times before I gave up and said yes.” He fluffed his paper with a flair.

“Okay okay,” she giggled hysterically, beaming at her audience before snapping her neck towards her husband. “You said you’d tell ponies you pined over me.”

“There’s a griffin in here.”

Night’s eyes widened before she harrumphed and crossed her legs in defeat. “...So there is.”

Sketch couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. Everyone was... getting along? Despite the differences in dogma, despite the differences in backgrounds, everyone was bantering and laughing like they had known each other for years. Is this just... how adults mingled? Or was it more than that?

Was it all for Sketch’s sake?

Sketch laughed at another exchange between his mother and Trust, pausing as his father humorlessly threw his two cents in, which only made the room laugh at the absurdity of his dry delivery. Aside from the occasional panic attack from Haren powering through her irrational fear of Night, everything was going well.

Sketch held a drink, taking a break from the sport of conversation, watching from the sidelines as Haren shared some stories about her more recent job at a nearby pharmacy before getting fired. As he sipped, Trust slid by next to him holding a drink of her own -- lemonade that Sketch’s mother had provided.

“So,” she said, sipping loud, her abnormal teeth causing some difficulty in getting a proper lip grip on the glass. “Everything’s okay now?”

Shrugging, the exhausted teen sipped demurely on the juice he had poured for himself. He mused on how the cranberry fluid resembles blood, and the irony of current company. “No it’s not. But it isn’t bad. ‘Sall we could hope for really.”

“I still see it in their eyes, you know.” Trust set her glass down. “The fear I talked about. The apprehension. It’s in all of them, in different amounts. Your dad the most. Haren the least. All of them except you.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

She shook her head after thinking for a beat. “No. No I don’t think so. I’m tired of pushing ponies away. I think I’m going to go for broke this time.”

“What changed?”

“You did.” She smiled. “Because if they hurt me, like the last times I tried to get along with ponies, I know I’ve got you to fall back on.” She rested her head on his neck, slowly rubbing her muzzle and nose up to his chin.

It made him a little nervous, the sudden display of affection, but the anxiety melted away when he noticed his mom giving him a little wink.

He breathed out his nose, nuzzling her in turn, and closed his eyes. “I’ll always be here, no matter who hurts you, whether it be my family, or any random schmuck that pisses his bed at night that can’t handle the idea of anyone different from himself. I’ll always be here, no matter how dark it gets.”

Because he wasn’t afraid anymore.

Sketch remembered something he was told one time. That instead of shying away from the dark he embraced it. At the time, the mare who told him didn’t understand why he did this, and at the time he didn’t know either.

But he knew now.

It’s because of the darkness within his family, and the darkness within himself. He had reached out to that part of them that they tried to hide all the time. It was the best way for them to be comfortable with him.

Anthem’s Violence.

Haren’s Desires.

Night’s Vulgarity.

Books’ Prejudice.

Royal’s Naivete.

And Trust’s everything.

Maybe he was looking too much into it, or maybe he was over simplifying it. But it didn’t matter. Everyone was here. All his allies.

Maybe, just maybe.

He was gonna get through all of this okay.

---

Day drinking.

Ha. Syntax was relaxed. She was happy. Maybe a little sluggish, but altogether, it was a positive mood. But she was still drinking.

She didn’t have a problem... but isn’t that was ponies with a problem say? It was funny, at least to her, that despite getting what she wanted, despited making the choice she wanted to make, she was still drinking first thing in the morning.

Whatever.

Syntax eyed the trash can, blocking another impulse to grab the completed article back. She fiddled the the lighter in her hooves, biting her lip.

Ugh. It’s not hard! Just do it. You’ll be keeping your promise to Royal, and you’ll still publish your paper on him. It’s a win-win. You get what you want, the report on the bat ponies, and you don’t break the poor Bats’ heart. His life will be harder, but you can make it easier on him. You win.

She nodded, striking the wheel on the lighter, conjuring the flame from the depths of her mind. She lowered the lighter to the flammable contents-

Knock knock knock!

Syntax rolled her eyes. “Just a minute!” she called to the front door. To no one in particular, she scoffed, “Geezus, can’t have an important second to myself can I?”

Placing the lighter on the desk aside her typewriter, she sauntered over to the front door, carefully double checking that all evidence of Royal’s presence was gone from the living room, as well as the half-spent wine bottle. She swung the door open, eager to end the conversation quickly. “I’m sorry,” she preemptively apologized. “I’m not interested in hearing the good word about Celestia.”

“Hello, Miss Axiom! How’re you doing?”

Syntax froze.

It was her editor, TIm Press!

“Do you have an article ready? I’m afraid I cannot wait any longer, investors and what not, hahaha!”

This wasn’t good.

Why did she keep forgetting to check the peephole?

Author's Note:

This was really, SUPER tough to write. but it's finally here. It's all coming together.

I had a blast writing for Sweet Night. She really preforms the best in groups. Trust wasn't easy though, her entire character was built on one on one interactions. Whatever. It's here!

Comments

[mustangdrew4]

I prefer Trust's "take no shit" attitude tbh. But it was nice seeing her curb her personality for sketch. And I do like how night helps diffuse conversational tension with a curse or two here and there. Really puts an enphasis on the contrast between her an books. The yin yang thing they have.

All in all, great chapter. I look forward to the next one. Looks like its going to be interesting if that last chapter is anything to go by.

[Mortefleur]

It’s nice to see this story still going.

[WARGAMES]

Looking at how many stories returned because the show ended, I need to kill 500 dogs, and this place will revive

[Amos Anon]

Ay! Awkward conversations are some of the hardest to write, especially when two or more characters dislike each other or have some sort of innate fear, but are still trying to get along.
Well done.