Sea Change, Part 2
Humm. Buzz. Tick. Tock. The lights of Vision cycle, and all the clocks of the city tick with them. The lights in my room are off, but I can still feel the beat, and even the dim illumination is enough to see the second hand on my bedside clock swing forward one slot. Thirty seconds.
Humm. Buzz. Tick. Tock. The long, narrow hand advances again, leaving only twenty-nine seconds left. I did a mental tally of how long I’ve been in Vision, plus the voyage at sea to get here and, including all the days I’ve been unconscious, I’m pretty sure this is the thirty-seventh day of spring. That means the sun is going to rise at exactly six fifty-one in the morning, assuming that Vision hasn’t dulled my memory and that Princess Celestia keeps her schedule. She always keeps her schedule though, and my memory is pretty good. When I’m interested. Twenty seconds.
Nineteen. Eighteen. I tense up a little, even if I know it’s stupid. Look at the door. Like fate was going to snatch me up at the last moment, just to give me some false hope. I listen for the pounding of horseshoes on stone, and the ring of metal, and the crash of a ram taking down the door. I imagine a shout of “Security! Freeze!” and I imagine it in Echo’s voice. That actually fits, though. I know way too much about him. If there was a raid on my apartment, he’d find a way to make sure he led it. So I could die resisting arrest. I can’t be too upset about that though. He’s only doing his bit. I look back at the clock. Five seconds.
Four. Three. Two. One. The minute hand turns over. Six fifty-one. I tense up a little more at the moment it changes, but nothing happens.
That’s it then—start of day three. That’s sixty-something hours since I gave Golden Palm everything he needed to figure out that Siren Song and Sea Change were the same person. Three days since I paraded my laughably thin cover identity in front of him and told him to take a good long look. Three days since I should, by all rights, have died of a severe case of stupid. But there’s nothing. No officers breaking down my door. Nopony trying to sneak in. No alarms. So, I guess he didn’t figure it out.
Of course, he hasn’t wired me either, so I don’t really know. Maybe he did figure it out and he’s fretting over if he should turn me in. Maybe Trixie saw us talk and had him killed. Maybe I... drove him off. Heart-attack mare isn’t exactly a great first impression.
I don’t know.
I spend a while thinking about that. And staring at the clock. Watching as the seconds tick past and the minute hand slowly advances. I also think about pulling up the blankets, but I don’t. They’ve gotten kind of sweaty, and besides, it’s not like blankets really serve any purpose in a city with no weather. They’re just there for ponies who remember Equestria. I bet Golden Palm doesn’t bother with them.
Wait. No. I glance back at the clock, and the hands are still slowly turning, but I just remembered. I remembered that the clocks aren’t right. Because they go off the lights and the lights are irregular. I figured that out after the Pavilion. So I don’t know if it’s six fifty-five or not. I don’t know if the sun is rising. I guess it doesn’t matter, but it bothers me. I could go to the window to check—look up at the sky for some distant glimmer of sunlight. But I don’t. No point. Instead, I roll over and stare at something else.
The city is the only source of illumination here—its pale white lights shining in through the windows. If I punched those forcefields, I’d get to see a nice purple flash, but as it is, all I see is white. Rippling white dots and lines that curl up and down the wall and floor and ceiling, revealing the mess around me only to conceal it a moment later. Like a shadow play.
I don’t need the light though. My eyes are sufficiently adjusted to see the outlines, and that’s seeing enough. My things are scattered all over the floor—tools and medical supplies and bits of hay. The bathroom door is ajar, and the way the light plays off the tiles inside reveals that the floor is still damp. The trash bin is overflowing with apple cores. That’s what three days of sitting in the dark and gorging yourself on apples will do to a room. Lucky for me that Applejack gave me so many. The hay ran out a while ago.
I could get more, if I wanted. Could have gotten more. I have another little bag of bits now, to replace the one I spent. Trixie wired me on the first day after I got back from my supply run. I got to see the world through a wiredoll’s eyes, which was neat, and then she sent some medical goons to check on me and make sure I had food and stuff. I think they were surprised I’d gone out on my own already. Apparently the doctor told them I’d be too weak to get out of bed for a while. But that’s me. Tough as nails. My wanted poster says so.
Anyway. I just smiled and told them what they wanted to hear and flirted with the old one until they went away. I’m sure they told Trixie I’m fine. Staying in bed and eating fresh food is what ponies are supposed to do when they’re sick, right?
Right.
It’s the smell that’s the worst part. Three days of lying in bed like a stupid foal and feeling sorry for myself should produce a distinctive odor. Throw in the fact that heavy blankets make me feel good and I’ve been sweating like a pig, and I should stink so bad they could smell me in Cloudsdale. But I don’t. I smell like flowers. I smell like sugar. I smell like I did the backstroke in a lake of perfume.
“So no, Epiphany,” I say to the apple cores. “Since you’re so insistent I answer your stupid question—no, I don’t think you stink. I think you smell fantastic. I think this is the best you’ve ever smelled in your life!” The apple core doesn’t answer. Which really shouldn't come as a surprise. It’s an apple core—what was it going to say exactly!? I sweep up one of my knives, but the light from my own stupid horn blinds me, and the throw goes wild. I hear the knife hit the stone, clattering down to the floor, and... and...
“Ponyfeathers!” I shout, lashing out with my rear hooves and slamming my head back into the headboard. The kick takes what’s left of the blankets clear off the bed, sending them flying into the darkness. Of course I can’t see where they go since I blinded myself! “Stupid!” I shout, pounding the back of my head against the board. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
My eyes are starting to mist up, but I don’t want to cry again. I’ve done that too much already, and all my wailing and screaming is doing is giving me a nice bruise on the back of my head! “Shut up!” I snap, slamming on the headboard with a hoof. It hits the wall behind the bed hard, electing a little thunderclap of impact, but I also hear something under that. Splintering wood.
Splintering wood. The headboard didn’t smack against the wall the other times I hit it. I think I broke the strut that connects it to the bed. My crying slows for a moment, and I give it a little nudge to be sure. It tilts back, leaning freely against the wall.
Great. I destroyed my bed. That’s something that reasonable, adult mares do. Yeah right! “You’re starting to sound a bit aggressive, Ms. Song,” I growl, in my best impression of Echo’s rolling, mocking cadence. “You know, for a marker, it’s never too early to get into the habit of watching your temper. I know you feel normal now, but the symptoms have a way of sneaking up on you.” I’m crying again, and squeezing my eyes shut doesn’t help! “Thanks, Echo. That’s some great advice right there. I’ll be sure to remember that you heartless, drunken monster!” I pound the mattress. I scream. And I lash out—bucking with my rear hooves.
This time, I feel my hooves connect with something more substantive than blankets. There’s a sense of motion, something flying across the room. I see its outline hit the wall, and then hear glass shatter, the individual pieces audible as they tumble down all over the floor.
My crying stops. I sniffle, and look up. What did I hit? There’s nothing made of glass in this room. I can’t think of anything in my stuff I could have hit. It felt solid. I don’t know.
It guess it doesn’t matter, though. I’ve just about destroyed everything else in this room. What does it matter? I slump back down to the sheets.
Maybe Green will finally get out of the hospital today. Or Trixie will wire. That would be nice. I like talking to Trixie. She’s so easy to hate. Every other pony can make me feel bad. Even Berry. Even Echo. But Trixie? Trixie is such a miserable ball of caustic malevolence that I don’t feel bad when I lie to her. She makes me feel like the good guy, and when we argue, I always get what I want. I guess I should be worried that she’s letting me win.
But... whatever. I lie there. Stare at the lights for a while. Think about things. I still have Trixie’s token. I could wire her. To say hello. Ask her how she’s been. That’d be funny—just to mess with her.
I wish I had Berry’s token. She wasn’t one of my handlers, so I assume Trixie has assigned her to some other job. I don’t even know if I’ll ever see her again. She was nice. Or at least she wasn’t bad. I mean, sure, she was annoying and sneaky but I could trust her. About the little things. I could trust that she wouldn't hurt me or poison my tea. I could sleep and trust she’d watch over me. And she never meant any harm. She tried to help the ponies around her, even if she wasn’t exactly a pony herself. Getting to hear her voice again would be nice. I do have Echo’s token. And Green’s. But no. Wiring Echo would give away my cover.
And I don’t want Green to see me this way.
I spend a while like that—staring at the ceiling. Then I hear a quiet tinkle from across the room. A little shard of glass falling over. What did I hit? One of the water bottles in my belt, maybe? They’re the right size. But I left my belt on the floor.
It takes a few minutes for me to work up the nerve. I keep lifting my head, only to let it fall back to the sheets, unable to conjure the effort of caring. Eventually though, I push myself up and slowly light my horn, careful to give my eyes time to adjust. My room is an absolute mess, with broken glass, spilled water, and abandoned items scattered over the floor in equal measure. There’s my blanket, wadded up against the far wall. And beside it, a crumpled bag.
I try to levitate the bag over, but the bottom gives out, and the contents spill out all over the floor. Shards of glass, bits of paper. And a few little round bottles that roll out in all directions.
Oh. Right. Of course. I’d forgotten. I levitate one of the bottles over. It’s a little cylindrical thing, with a clear label around the outside. “Vultiphine Solution,” it reads, in plain blocky letters. “Diluted 1:9 By Volume. Total Active Contents: 150mg.” I turn it around to look at the back, and there’s more information there. A bunch of numbers, some seals and stamps. Medical data I don’t understand. And an ingredients list. “By Volume: Distilled Water (90%), Morphine (9%), Extract of Heart’s Desire (1%).”
Oh. I get it. Vultis is Latin for ‘desires of the heart.’ Princess Celestia taught me that. Vultis-Morphine. Vultiphine.
I slump back against the bed, pulling the levitated bottle with me. So, the drug that tasted like Rarity’s tea—that gave me visions and... and other things I don’t want to think about. It was only painkillers and Heart's Desire. I somehow doubt morphine gave me visions. If nothing else, I’ve been on it at least three times in my life already—twice with Green, and once when I was a foal. I didn’t have any visions then.
That leaves Heart's Desire as the secret ingredient in Rarity’s tea, though that also raises more questions. Like, don’t mantles contain Heart's Desire? Why didn’t drinking Daring Do give me visions? And why me? If it’s such a common drug, shouldn’t ponies be tripping out all over the city?
Thinking about it for a while doesn’t get me any closer to an answer. Maybe this is the wrong drug—a different drug gave me visions, and it was coincidence I saw them after I took my painkillers. Maybe Rarity did something and the drugs aren’t responsible at all. Maybe it’s me, or the quantity, or the amount or... something. I don’t know.
“Drink your tea, Siren,” I mumble as I stare up at the ceiling. Do I even want to seek the truth? Do I want to know why I had visions in the Pavilion and again in Doctor Stable’s? “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed.” A whimper escapes me when I say it. It’s not fair. The Pavilion can’t follow me here. Rarity can’t! I’m past all that now. I’m free. I’m not even supposed to be Siren Song anymore. I’m Sea Change! “Drink it and wish to know who you truly are. Shut up!”
The headboard makes another thunderous clap when it hits the wall, my head slamming back into it. “Just shut up,” I say again, resting my head against the board and shutting my eyes. The back of my head is throbbing now. I’m going to have a nasty mark there.
“Fine. Fine! You want me to know so bad?” I pull up the bottle. I don’t have an eye-dropper or anything, but that’s fine. The dose is thirty milligrams, the container in total has a hundred and fifty. I just eyeball it, twisting off the cap and downing what I judge to be about a fifth of the container. I think I got it right, and I snap the cap back on, tossing the bottle onto the end table. It does taste like Rarity’s tea—foul and caustic with this really bitter aftertaste.
“Fine,” I say again. I steel myself. Get ready. “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed. Show me why I’m such a terrible pony.” I brace.
But nothing happens.
I give it a bit. I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid. Maybe it doesn’t take effect right away. Maybe I have to say the phrase again. Maybe I have to be more specific. I try other things. Show me Equestria. Show me Green. Show me music. Show me Trixie. Show me how to hide from Rarity. Nothing.
I don’t even have the energy to shout anymore. Or cry. All that’s left to do is fall to the sheets, go back to watching the clock, and wait. Wait for security, for Trixie, for Green, for Golden Palm, or for anypony in the world to even remember I exist.
Eventually, I get tired of it all, and I shut my eyes.
Then I open them again.
Something is different. That’s the first thing I’m aware of—a vague but really strong sense that something has changed between when I shut my eyes and when I opened them. It’s disorienting for a moment, but then I notice that the sheets are more tangled than they were a second ago, and that the clock says nine-thirty. That makes sense. I fell asleep.
Well, good. I’m still a bit foggy, so it takes me a little while to sort things out, but sleeping seems like a positive thing. I was in kind of a state there. I suppose I’m due a chance to vent some stress, but that was really unhealthy. A nap to clear my head was probably for the best. And it did really help. I don’t feel good exactly, because my circumstances still aren’t good, and that can be really upsetting sometimes, but I definitely feel better. It’s kind of a hard feeling to describe, but I think I would say I’m calm. It’s a different sort of calm than I’ve felt before, but I like it. I’m really mellow. Relaxed.
It’s nice. Not great, but... nice. Makes it easy to curl up and enjoy the little things. Like a soft bed, and the pretty city lights on the ceiling.
I’m not in any rush to get up, so I lie there for a while and take some time to not think about things—to not think about all the things in my life that are going wrong. But eventually, they start to filter though. Like how I’m soaked with sweat. It’s not uncomfortable exactly, because this bed—this bed right here—this bed is super comfy, and my sweat makes me smell awesome now, but I’m sticky and it’s kind of gross. I should shower.
Yeah, that'd be perfect. It would feel good and help me wake up and get clean when I’m dirty, and I love showers. Just love ’em. They’re like getting a hug made of warm.
“Lights on,” I say, squinting in anticipation of the glare. The cute little mini wiredoll thing by the bed springs to life at my command, and the lights flicker on, pulsing with the rest of the city. I roll over—there’s no pain, which is nice, because I’ve had a lot of pain lately—and mind the spots in my vision. I give them a second to clear, then take in the room around me.
Wow. I really let this place fall apart. There’s trash and broken glass everywhere and water on the floor, and the blankets are kicked over into the corner. I’ve only been here three days, and the room already looks like it’s been given over to vandals for weeks.
“Wow,” I say. “I really let this place fall apart.” Saying it out loud makes it better. “Guess I went kind of crazy there.”
I spend a second more taking it in, then shrug. “Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do today but clean. Not sure I can do anything about the headboard, but... eh.” I bet some glue will fix it right up. And if not, it’s not the end of the world. It’s important to keep these things in perspective.
So I get up, mindful not to step on any broken glass, and I stretch. That feels good—twisting my spine around until it pops, and cracking out all my knees and ankles. Of course, it doesn’t feel nearly as good as the shower. The showers in Vision are fantastic. I can feel the heat radiating out of the pipes, and even after the water comes on, I’m practically nuzzling up against them to try and get it out. So I’m not in any rush to finish. I can take my time. Sing a bit. My voice is different now, but it’s still beautiful, and I’m a great singer. Also I can use my sound spells to provide my own chorus, so there’s that too.
“At the gala, at the gala, with the Princess, with the Princess, is where I’m going to be, where I’ll be,” I’m singing as I hop out. There are no towels to dry off with, but a good shake fixes that problem! “Standing proudly by her side, for all of Canterlot to see, wealth and class. Everypony will see I’m special, and they’ll make time just for—”
Thump.
I snap my jaw shut at once, and my ears perk up. That sound. Did that come from the next apartment up? I don’t know. I can’t hear anything. My horn is already aglow, so I throw a quick amplification spell over my ears, focusing the magic so I won’t constantly be hearing my own magnified breath. Yes! There it was again. A thump, and a metallic sound, and they’re definitely not from the next apartment over.
They’re in the living room.
Okay, Siren. Keep it together. I should... I should ah... check the door! Right. I lean out of the bathroom, and no, the door to my room is still closed and braced with the divan. Okay. Next, get knives. One on the nightstand, one on the floor where I threw it. Undamaged. My ears are tracking the living room as my body turns, and I keep hearing things. Scraping. Glass and metal objects clinking together. Like Echo’s tool set? I strain, but I can’t make out anything more. For all I know, it could be one thug or an entire security team. Horseapples! Okay, Siren. Think. There must be some way I can see what’s on the other side. Maybe I can peek through the keyhole and—
I twist my ankle as hard as I can and shove it down, trying to grind it into the brace and scratch that infernal itch. Of course, it doesn’t come to nothing. For all of my snorting and shoving and grinding my teeth, the binding cords keep twisting around my leg, making sure that wretched false hoof can’t get comfortable. Push down hard enough to actually scratch anything, and the cords get so tight they cut off my circulation, and all I’ve done is traded an itch for pins and needles. Add to that that this thing somehow manages to be too tight and keep falling off at the same time, probably because whoever made it didn’t think I’d be covered in grease!
I hike up my rear leg and give it a good slam into the back of the elevator, listening to the clang and feeling that prosthetic beat against my stump. It doesn’t help anything, but it feels good anyway. The blight take this stupid thing and the doctors who came up with it!
No. I have to calm down. Take a breath. I ain’t always the most self-aware of ponies, but I can tell that my temper’s been a lot worse these past few days. Part of that is due to circumstances. Doc Stable... well, he ain’t a parasite, but getting shown up by a rube doesn’t sting any less. And another part is due to perfectly understandable stress. I may have known before that I was falling apart, but having one of my pieces actually fall off was a reminder I didn’t need!
Consarnit. Slow breath. Slow breaths. It feels like all I can think about right now is my missing hoof and my empty stomach and that dirty, greasy feeling in my coat that won’t ever go away. I am falling apart and I know it. But during the blight, when we were starving and we all knew it, Mom and Dad would distract us by making us all play jacks. The whole family. I lost my set awhile ago, but the rhyme still does wonders for me. One-jack two-jack three-jack four. Five-jack six-jack seven-jack more.
I repeat that a few times, and by the end I feel better. Better enough to calm down and admit that while one part and another may be owed to stress, that ain’t all of it. Not all.
The lift door’s opened by now, but it’s not my floor, and there’s nopony there. Somepony must have called the lift and had a change of heart.
I take another long breath and wait for the doors to shut. I make myself ignore the itch in my hoof. No twisting, no scratching, no grinding it against things like some animal with stitches. No thinking about the sweat collecting down in the brace and how soaked the cords must be by now. No thinking about how I must smell and how that’s only going to get worse. No. No! One-jack two-jack three-jack four. Five-jack six-jack seven-jack more.
I do that a few more times in my head, and the lift doors close.
It wouldn't be so bad if it was just the discomfort. Pain I can stand, hunger I can stand. I’ll even learn to stand having one less hoof. Uncertainty though, that’s worse. And this situation is another thing entirely.
It doesn’t make any sense is the problem. Trixie could have Siren stuffed into a cell any time it suited her, and if there was some reason she needed Siren up and about, she owns a hundred cheap apartment buildings where nopony would notice a new face. So why the fancy digs? She’s spending more bits and more time for an option that puts us in more danger, and all so... what? The foal can have a nice place? No. That ain’t in Trixie’s character.
No. No, that ain’t it at all. Puppeting Siren into fighting Rarity may have been strange, and long on the odds, but it at least had a sort of reason to it. Rarity crossed Trixie, so Trixie had a knife stuck in her eye. It’s a story as old as Neptune’s Bounty. This though? This doesn’t make any sense at all. Trixie’s playing us both like cheap fiddles, and it’s obvious she’s playing us, but there’s nothing we can do about it! I can’t do anything because Trixie’s got me by the heart, and Siren can’t do anything because Celestia emotionally crippled her to the point she’ll ruin her life just for a hug!
Some mechanism clicks, and the lift doors open again. My floor. I levitate my bags and step out into the hall. Enough already. As long as I’m this tired and hungry, I’m going to keep getting upset by little things. I need to eat and sleep, and shower most of all. That’ll... that’ll help.
According to the key, Siren and I are in apartment four-eleven. The lift opens by four hundred, and the numbers seem to be going up, so that’s easy enough. I find the apartment door in short order, and give a quick knock to be polite. There’s no answer, but the key does its job fine.
“Sweetheart?” I call out as I push inside. What was that new alias Trixie gave her? “Sea Change?” I check around for any sign of her, but there’s nothing to see. It’s a really nice place, but it looks like it’s never been occupied. There’s nothing on the counters, nothing on the tables. What’s going on here? Is this a trap? Why would Trixie send me to an empty—
“At the gala!” carries through one of the walls. The walls here are thick, and muffle it well, but whoever’s singing is really belting it out—getting into it like it was a proper Equestrian musical. “With the Princess! Is where I’m going to be!”
Oh. That brings a little smile to my face. So that’s what she sounds like now. It’s good. More mature. Her old voice was kind of squeaky. “Standing proudly by her side for all of Canterlot to see!” I’ll have to have a word about her choice of songs. The walls here are thick and muffle sound well, so I don’t think anypony can hear her, but it’s a habit she needs to grow out of. Both her song choice and being Celestia’s kicked puppy. It’s sweet that she means so well, but...
Well, sweetness don’t count for much. Particularly when the only reason she’s so sweet on me is that wretched mule trained her to crave approval. The smile fades from my face, and the angry itching in my ankle comes to the fore again. I reach a hoof up to scratch at my shoulders, where the greasy feeling is seeping in and spreading the itch all up and down my side. No matter, I’ll be able to shower soon. I toss my bags to the floor, and they land with a thump. I’ve got stuff to unpack, but I can wait for a bit. Maybe there’s food in some of these cabinets.
—get a better look?
What?
All I can do is stand there dumbfounded. What just happened? My head is still so foggy it’s hard to think. Okay, I had a vision. That’s what happened. But why? I was just standing here. I didn’t say the words or anything. I was standing here and suddenly I was Green and... Green!
The floor is still covered in glass, but I sweep it away with my horn and dash for the door. My head is still foggy, my motions sluggish, and when I grab the divan to yank it out of the way, it slams back into my legs and nearly knocks me to the floor! But no, I’m good. I’m good. Stay alert, Siren. Green is out there! I throw the deadbolt, and the door swings open. There she is! Out in the kitchen, looking through the empty cabinets, a pile of duffel bags tossed onto the living room floor beside her. She looks terrible—gaunt and oily and unsteady—and where her back-left hoof should be, there’s a brass prosthetic, strapped to her leg by a web of strong little cords.
“Oh, hey Sweetheart. Is that you?” she asks, turning to face me. “Hope I didn’t startle—”
I dash across the room in two big bounds, plowing into Green and throwing both forehooves around her. It’s not, like, my brightest move, and with how weak we both are, the impact leaves us staggering and nearly sends us crashing to the floor. But I recover it in time! I recover it, and we get back to our hooves, and we stand back up and I’m suddenly hugging her! I squeeze her tight and bury my head in her mane and never let go. Hugging her feels like hugging an oil slick, but she smells like wildflowers, so that’s all I think about. I think about how nice she smells and I hold her.
I don’t know how long I stay like that. She feels so good I can forget myself and I think I lose track of time. But I suddenly realize she’s laughing. And then I’m laughing. Not for the same reason though, I think. “It’s good to see you too, Sweetheart,” she says, her amused little chuckle running through the words. My laugh is different. That vision may have snapped me out of time, but my blood is still full of adrenaline. It’s trying to wake me up, to cut through that persistent calm, but all they’re doing is mixing together and producing this sort of passive tension. It’s a feeling I need to let out. And letting it out feels good.
“Yeah, Green,” I say, pulling back when I sense her starting to stiffen up. I’m loving this hug, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome. She’s watching me, taking in my new appearance, and I need to make a good impression. So I step back, and look her in the eye without fear or doubt, and I smile a gentle little smile. She has such pretty eyes. “Yeah, it’s good to see you too.”
It’s nice to watch her. To stare and breathe her in. It’s not just her eyes. All of her is pretty, even through the sweat and her injuries. I could admire her for hours, but I don’t want her thinking of me that way. She already thinks I’m... passive. No. No, I need to take action. I’m a big pony now! A hero even! “Sorry if I gave you a scare there,” I say with a little waggle of a hoof. I’m careful to blush when I say it. I don’t want to risk coming on too strong, and a little bashfulness moderates that. “I know I don’t really look like myself.”
“It’s alright, Sweetheart. I somehow managed to figure out who you were,” Green says, smiling to show I didn’t offend her. That’s really nice of her. “It’s a good look for you, actually—pretty in a working-class sort of way. A little tomboyish, a little practical, but still feminine. I like it.”
“Eh.” I brush off the compliment with a little shrug, to show that I don’t need her approval. Which I don’t! I mean, I knew I was pretty. I don’t need her to tell me that. I’m just happy she noticed I’m pretty. In a working-class sort of way. Is that good? I think it’s good. She means I look determined and honest. “I... don’t think it’s that flattering. But I’ll get used to it.” I smile and then, because Green loves it when I look up to her, add, “I was actually going to ask you for a few tips, if you don’t mind. I’ve never really done anything special with my mane or fashion before, and I’d hoped...”
Exactly what I’d hoped is left to Green’s imagination, but I can tell from how her expression warms that she’s filled in the blanks wonderfully. I add a little paw at the ground for effect, and it’s like all spotlights are on her. I don’t even wait for her to reply before I mumble, “Thanks, Green...” And she likes it. She loves it.
“Well, uh... anyway.” I wrap things up and press on yet again. Big pony Siren, forward! “Come on then. You must be exhausted.” I nod to the stair leading up to her room and levitate as many of her bags as I can lift at once. “Why don’t we get you settled in? You can take a shower to get that grease out of your coat, and I’ll make up some food. It’s just apples and hay for now, but I bet you’re starving. We can get something proper later.”
“Uh...” she blinks at me. She doesn’t quite know how to deal with that, because I am so super competent she can’t handle it! It’s okay though—it’s super okay. She may intellectually know I have the Daring Do mark now, but emotionally, she still thinks of me as the pony she found hiding in her bathroom. She needs time to learn, but that’s okay. I’m willing to wait. In fact, I don’t even mind those mean things she thought about Celestia, because I know she doesn’t mean them. “Thanks, Sweetheart. That actually sounds nice.” She needs a second to collect her wits, blinking twice to clear her thoughts. “First though, about your singing—”
“A song about Celestia, I know,” I assure her, keeping a quick, light tone. “I realized how stupid I was being as you walked in. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”
“Well, good,” she says. After a moment, she picks up her bags—including the ones I’d already taken. Her magic easily overpowers mine, and the aura around them shifts from blue to red. “I can carry my own things though.”
“Alright, if you’re sure,” I say, letting her trudge up the stairs. Maybe she’ll want help unpacking. We could talk about her dresses and mane and stuff. I haven’t had any mare talk since Epiphany! I start after her—
“I’m sure,” she says as she gives me a gentle shove back. “There are some things we should talk about later. Practical stuff, that is. But I need to eat and rest first.”
She nods, and then heads up the steps, carefully managing her missing hoof and floating her bags up behind her. I watch her in case she slips or something, but she’s fine. Then she’s upstairs, and away.
And then I start grinning. Grinning like an idiot.
I did it. I did it! I got Green to stay with me, to like me. I made her feel good. I made me feel good. I got her living in a real place again. I kept it together. And I learned something. I learned that Heart's Desire is the secret ingredient in Rarity’s tea, and that it can cause visions in some ponies.
More than that, I learned how those visions work. That’s why I didn’t see anything earlier. “To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed,” isn’t some mantra that makes the visions happen—it’s an explanation of how the magic works. Visions come to those who genuinely want to know. When I was ranting and raving in bed, I was saying the words, but I didn’t really want to see anything. But trying to peer into the living room? I really, really wanted to know what was out there. So I did.
That’s cool. It doesn’t explain why I saw myself biting Green’s ear in the hospital or all that other disturbing stuff, but I was on a lot of other drugs at the time. Maybe that was a genuine hallucination, or maybe I was hallucinating while having a vision. Can that happen? It makes me curious precisely how useful this is. Is this how Rarity sometimes seems to be all-knowing? If so, there must be some limitations on it. After all, she hasn’t used it to find Siren or find Trixie’s weaknesses, and Green did say that Rarity’s omniscience is a lot weaker outside the Pavilion.
I want to experiment with this more, but first, food for Green. She needs to eat, and I need to clean up my room before Green sees it and starts to worry. Still! Feeling good. Score one, two, three for Siren! I head off into my room, grab all the little bits of hay that are left and a bunch of apples, and float them out into the kitchen. I’ll need to find a bowl for this first, then get as much cleaning done as I can before Green is done upstairs.
I’m finishing up with the hay when my hoofboot starts to glow—flashing an intermittent blue. Incoming wire. I glance at the stairs to check if Green needs me, but she’s not there, and whatever spells powers these things doesn’t wait long before it decides you’re busy. So I light up my horn and grip the boot, letting my magic flow into it. My body goes numb, and the apartment dissolves around me. In its place grows a world in sepia-tone, distorted by lenses and scratched glass. A tiny universe, consisting of nothing more than booth, a doll, and a single pony. Looking up at me.
“Hello, Sea Change,” he says. It’s an odd custom, that the one who initiated the wire is the first one to speak. But it’s the way things are done in Vision. “I hope this is a good time?”
The doll can’t smile or move its eyes, so I’m careful to emote more with my body. Like Trixie! Only not evil and also a witch. I show approval with a nod, and familiarity by lowering my head down to his level—extending a leg so I’ll tilt on the stand. “Of course, Golden Palm,” I say sweetly. “I was starting to get worried you’d forgotten me.”
“Oh, I couldn’t forget you.” He blushes and smiles. “In fact, I was wondering—”
“It’s not that I don’t like her,” I say, trying to find a comfortable spot on this couch. It’s too hard and too uneven, and the fabric ruffles my coat every time I move. I don’t want to complain, because I already asked for help finding a cup of water after the fountain broke, and I don’t want to sound like the pony who's always asking for things, but I thought the point of these couches was to help you relax. “It’s that I don’t know her. Literally all I know about this mare is that she’s blue with a lighter mane, that she takes Daring Do, and that she has some kind of blood pressure condition she takes medication for. It doesn’t seem like something to start seeing somepony over.”
The hoof-holder—I can’t think of him as a doctor—nods, picking up the pen in his teeth and making a note on his little pad. “I see,” he says. He’s a mint green stallion. Earth pony. He introduced himself when I came in, but I’ve already forgotten. Sky Lake or Far Lake or something. “But I thought she was the one who asked you out?”
“She gave me her wiredoll token and said we should catch lunch sometime right after I saved her life. That’s not exactly a declaration of love,” I say, a bit bitterly. I don’t add that there’s not a lot of other reasons a mare would ask me out. That’s perfectly obvious even to this twit. “She’s probably just trying to be nice.”
“And do you think that’s enough of a reason to start seeing somepony?” the hoof-holder asks, jotting something down again.
“Well, I’m talking to you about it, so obviously I don’t,” I grumble as I shift in place again. Now the hairs on my back are all messed up, and it feels weird. “I mean, if I do something nice for a mare, and she wants to ask me out because she wants to date the sort of stallion who does nice things, that’s fine. But if I do something nice for her and she asks me out because she feels she has to repay me? That’s messed up! It’s a gift. You don’t repay it.”
“And you think this sense of obligation is why she gave you her wiredoll token?” the hoof-holder asks. Whatever. I nod. “And how does that make you feel?”
“It makes me feel like that’s the fourth time you’ve asked that stupid question since we started this session. When’s the point that you actually contribute to this process?” I don’t yell or anything, but I’m getting pretty ticked off and he knows it. I snort—a quick blast of air. “I’m sorry, but I was told I could have the same therapist I had last time? No offense, but she was a lot better at this than you are.”
I can see him grimace like he swallowed a rock. Serves him right. He keeps his cool though—doesn’t yell back or anything. “As I said earlier, I’m sorry. We had a flood in one of our offices, and everypony’s schedules are really flipped around this week while we look for additional space. We’ll have everypony back to their regular therapists next week, and I’ll be passing along my notes. So please.” He pushes his little glasses up. “Let’s try and be constructive?”
I sigh, and shut my eyes. Whatever. We’re most of the way through the hour anyway, I can endure this for another fifteen minutes. “Sure,” I say. “Where does that leave us?”
“Well, as I recall, the reason you brought this up in the first place is you were trying to decide if you wanted to ask this mare out,” he says, picking up his pen again.
“—if that offer for lunch still stands?” Golden Palm finishes. It takes me a second to place myself, but only a second. From the strange clarity of the vision, gears and lenses and sepia tone all reassert themselves, gently sliding back into my awareness like the clockwork they are.
“Well, I’ve got some stuff to finish with my roommate first,” I say, thinking things over. Green is more important of course, but I know for a fact she’ll want to nap soon. “How about, say... an hour?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but he doesn’t need to.
“It’s weird—thinking that there’s some alternate version of me living in Equestria?” I keep up a fast cadence and make broad gestures as I talk, gesticulating a lot with a horn and one forehoof. It’s memorable, and friendly, and something that Siren Song didn’t do that won’t seem like a blatant change from the last time we met. Besides, it’s also fun. “I have no idea what she’s like, but I always imagined her as this overly saccharine version of me? Cheerful and bubbly and full of unconditional love for all the fuzzy little creatures. You get what I mean?”
“I don’t know,” Golden Palm says. He’s smiling too, if not as broadly as me. He doesn’t know quite how to be playful, but he understands the concept, and he’s trying—keeping things light. It’s awkward, but in this really cute way so I don’t mind. Besides, I can tell he’s interested because I know he’s hungry but he hasn’t looked at the table once since I started talking. “You’re kind of cheerful and bubbly yourself, when you’re not recovering from a heart attack.”
“I am not,” I insist, with a degree of petulance. Even if I do feel pretty good! “And I didn’t have a heart attack. I had... the other thing. That isn’t that.” I’ve already thanked him enough that he asked me to stop, but that’s even better, because it means I can smile and look embarrassed and he knows what I want to say but I’m respecting his wishes not to say it. We both let the moment live itself out and pause to nibble a bit. I really should be using a fork, but he can’t, so instead I lower my head to the plate like he does. It shows sympathy, and it’s nice! And it helps that I love Saddle Arabian food. Just love it. It’s tasty stuff—all spicy and sour and sharp.
“Anyway,” I say, as I tilt my head back up, taking a moment to lick a bit of sauce off my nose. “I’ll probably never see her, but it keeps me awake at night sometimes. I sort of feel like it’s a no-win situation. Because if she’s exactly like me, then I feel like my life was predetermined and that’s super depressing. But if she’s nothing like me, then... well. There but for the grace of the sea go I.”
“It is kind of neat,” he admits. Not quite sure what to say. That’s fine—as long as he’s enjoying himself. “Though I think that might have less to do with having a twin and more to do with how you feel about reality in general.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I didn’t even think of that. Maybe I do have a negative outlook. “Putting myself in a no-win scenario like that. I do think that having a twin helps though.” I say it with more moderation than my previous exuberance. A little relaxation of the tone. Shoot—maybe I do have a negative outlook. “Didn’t you say you had a sister?”
He takes a second to answer, using a bite of bread to stall for time. He is adorably bad at this, but I give him his time anyway. I’ve done most of the talking so far, and I probably will for the rest of lunch. He wants to get to know who Sea Change really is, and so I’m providing that information, liberally sprinkled with interesting details. I’m twenty-four. My father brought me to Vision after my parents broke up. I have an identical twin sister who stayed in Equestria with my mother, but I don’t really remember her. I take Daring Do because I’m aquaphobic, which is difficult when you live underwater. I’m a little ignorant of the city, partially because I used to live in Neptune’s Bounty, and partially because I’ve spent most of my life moving from aquaphobic panic attack to panic attack. Now that I’m over my fear, I’ve finally gotten my own place. Trixie’s voice annoys me, but I love the way she styles her mane. I have a major weakness for fresh-squeezed orange juice, but it’s too expensive for me to have regularly.
Okay, I may have put that last detail in just because it’s on the menu and he’s paying, but he felt good about it. It gave him a chance to insist, and for me to look embarrassed and accept. It’s a good backstory for this character too. It paints her as somepony kind, but friendless, finally emerging out into the world and looking for friends to share it with. It makes it more believable that I’d actually want to spend time with him, and gives me a good excuse to blab about myself nonstop without it seeming like I’m in love with the sound of my own voice. A voice which, I might add, I’m kind of coming around to. Green was right—it does sound more mature.
He swallows. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Younger. Her name is Ash Can. She’s a cook right now, but she’s studying to join the fire brigade.” Warning, warning! More talented younger sibling detected. All hooves to battle stations. Reports indicate career accomplishments significantly in excess of her brother, and she’s still working to do better. Prepare to intercept inferiority complex! “She’s really the hard worker in the family.”
“Eh.” I shrug. “Hard work is for assembly line drones and wiredolls.” I sit up a little sharply, like I suddenly realized how offensive that could have sounded, quickly backtracking. “Don’t get me wrong, if that’s what makes her happy in life, all the power to her.” I add a little verbal stumble. Yeah, that’s good. I nailed that. “But, living in Neptune’s Bounty, you learn real quick that hard work isn’t inherently virtuous. It’s all about what you get out of it at the end, you know? What cool stories you have to tell.”
“Oh, I love stories.” He laughs a little, and it’s a relieved sound. Boom! Target destroyed. All stations stand down, intercept complete. “I don’t think I mentioned yet, but that’s actually my special talent. I collect pegasus folklore and traditional faerie tales?”
“Ooh. That must be hard to come by down here.” I draw the sentence out, making a long and slow gesture as I lean across the table. “Do we have friends maybe? Who are good at getting things off submarines?”
“No.” He laughs, and this time it’s a sound of real amusement. “It’s all down here in the public libraries, it’s just not that well organized. Do I really look like a smuggler?”
“No,” I reply, glancing down at the table a bit so I’ll seem embarrassed. That feels good. This is a good lunch. “I was being silly because I couldn't think of what to say. I don’t really know anything about folklore, and the first thing that came to mind was, ‘Do you have a favorite?’ But that’s a pretty silly question.” I reach up to rub the back of my head. Partially so I’ll seem embarrassed, but it is actually starting to feel a little sore again.
“It’s not silly,” he insists. “I don’t think I have a single favorite, but there are definitely some I like more than others.” He’s starting to get into it, sitting up and making a few animated gestures of his own. “Like, there’s an entire genre of pegasus folklore called the ‘shapeshifter morality play.’ The basic premise is that a stranger arrives in town, some things happen, and at the end it’s revealed that the stranger was somepony else. Usually Princess Luna or a wicked changeling. It’s a morality play because it’s all about how you treat strangers, and it’s kind of similar to a series of earth pony fables about hospitality that also use Princess Luna as a guest, but there are some really interesting differences—”
And suddenly, the dam is broken, and it all comes spilling out: stories and history and literary discussion and context of themes and aesops. It wasn’t what I intended to happen, but I think I like it. All I have to do is relax, and nod, and listen, and he happily talks, without a trace of that dumpy bitterness he had the first time we met. Maybe he’s not such a loser after all. Maybe he just never had a chance to really express himself. I can see how that would stunt a pony, figuratively and literally. It’s even kind of enjoyable. Storytelling has never really been my focus, but once I start seeing it as art and culture, it’s... kind of like being back in Canterlot.
I think we even hit it off a little. Like, genuinely! I was not expecting to have this much fun. Not that I’m actually interested in him, of course. Knowing why he’s a dumpy cripple may make him more sympathetic, but it doesn’t change the facts. Still, we can date. I’ll have fun; it’ll make him feel special. It’ll be great! I think I’m actually looking forward to doing this again.
Eventually though, I have to start glancing at the clock. Twelve-thirty. Wow, have we really been here over an hour? After I fed Green—I swear that mare can eat her weight in apples—she needed a chance to unpack and lie down, and I still needed to discreetly clean my room, so that suited me fine. We ended up resolving to get together later this afternoon, after I got back from lunch. Green seemed really surprised that I’d met somepony so quickly. Of course, I didn’t mention it was Golden Palm. She had some more practical worries as well, but other than checking to make sure I knew how to find my way, she didn’t make any comment on them. That’s good, I’m pretty sure.
I thought about staying behind to help take care of her, but she’ll be fine. That little glimpse I had into her head let me know that she’s not feeling too depressed or upset just yet. She’s frustrated, yes, but that’s nothing I can’t fix, and she’ll be better once she’s slept. There’s still a lot I can do to help her, but I don’t need to smother her or anything. We’ll have a long time together to work on that stuff.
Eesh, the back of my head is really starting to hurt. My limbs too. “Hey, Golden Palm?” I say, and he falls quiet at once. “I’m sorry to interrupt—I’m really enjoying this—but I’m still not supposed to be out for too long. I’m starting to feel really tired. And weren’t you supposed to be back at work at twelve?”
“Why? What time is it—oh, horsefeathers!” A few other patrons look out way at the outburst, and Golden Palm scrunches up into a little ball of embarrassment. I can actually see his wings cling even tighter to his side. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I really do have to go.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say as I rise from the table. He’s fishing around for his coinpurse. “I had a lot of fun. Do you want to... I don’t know. Do this again sometime? Maybe the next time you’re on this side of town?”
“Oh, um... sure!” he says, nodding quickly as he tosses bits onto the table. “I’m over here for therapy Tuesdays and Thursdays. So... Tuesday then? Eleven?”
“I’d like that,” I say, giving him an encouraging little nod. I’m about to let him go, when he noses down into his bag one more time and pulls something out with his teeth. A wiredoll token. He puts it down on the table and nudges it over my way before he says a word. “Um... in case we need to get in touch.”
He’s so tense, so wound up and eager it’s like that wiredoll token was his self-esteem given physical form. That’s a funny thought, and it only gets funnier when I pick up the token with my teeth. I could totally just... bite down and snap this thing clear in half. Crush his little ego. But of course, I don’t want to. It’s equally satisfying to levitate it out of my grip and watch him quiver in anticipation as I examine the end—two crossed palm fronds. Then I smile and tuck it away into my bag. “Thank you,” I say. He blushes, and we mumble some things, and then go our separate ways.
I leave the restaurant and start the walk back, though it isn’t far. That was good. It felt good. I got confirmation that Golden Palm has no idea who I am, I got to reward him for saving my life twice, and I even had a little bit of fun with it. It was refreshingly normal. Like being back in Equestria again. Yeah.
I am starting to feel kind of bad though. That pain in the back of my head has gotten steadily worse, and all my joints are starting to ache as well. I guess I have been out for a while, but I was feeling fine for most of it. I don’t know how I’d overexert myself sitting at the table and making conversation, unless... shoot. Of course. The morphine kicked in about five hours ago now. It must be wearing off. I wore myself out on the walk there and just didn’t feel it until now. I guess that’s better, but I don’t want a repeat of three days ago, so I’m careful not to strain my heart getting home. A slow walk back to the apartment building seems safest, and I take the elevator down just to avoid any exertion from the stairs. By the time I get to the apartment door, the pain is... well, not excruciating, but getting significant. I need to get off my hooves.
Green is already up when I get back in. She has all the pots and pans that came with the apartment piled up in the sink, and she’s washing them, with more set out to dry over the counter. I knew she was a homemaker. She’s turning sharply when I walk in, and I see the red glow of her magic surround a heavy cutting knife, but then she realizes it’s me and releases it without lifting. “Hey, Sweetheart. How was lunch?”
“Good. I think I made a friend,” I say, making a beeline for the couch and lying out on my side. Oof! That helped. And it got the strain off my heart, which is probably more important. The pain isn’t going away though, particularly the throbbing in my head. “He seems really nice, for a guy who thinks hangings are public entertainment.” And it just occured to me where he might end up taking me next time. Better nip that in the bud—suggest a movie or something. Anyway. Time to focus on Green.
“So...” I start, easing into the topic. “Do you like the new apartment? I gave you the upstairs because it has the big vanity setup. I’ve never really used makeup, so—”
“It’s fine, Sir—Sea Change,” she catches herself. I look up, and it seems almost making that mistake put her on edge. She’s set her jaw a bit and flicked out her tail. It’s not a good expression, and I don’t know what to make of it. “It’s good, even. That’s the first bed I’ve slept in for a long time that didn’t have a bit of damp at the edges.”
“I’m glad,” I say, but I can see her expression hasn’t changed. “Is something wrong with it though? You don’t look very happy.” Maybe she’s still stressed from earlier? I really thought a nap and food would help.
“You do realize that I’ve been living in a bathroom for two years, and now I’m in an upscale apartment in Palomino Tower?” she says, and suddenly, her voice is hostile. Clipped. My ears perk up. What did I do? “Sweetheart, if this was mine, I’d be so overcome with joy I’d do a flipping maypole dance in the middle of New Canterlot Square. But it’s not mine. It’s Trixie’s. And our staying here? That’s not a gift. That’s a loan. With interest.”
“And all our debts come due eventually, I know,” I say, careful to moderate my tone to show I’m listening. “But look. We need Trixie right now. We need her support to keep us hidden from security and from Rarity, and we need her money for mantles and food. Now, we can do something about—”
“No, no.” I try to talk over her, ignoring her interruption. “No, Siren!” She finally slams her hoof down. I look left, look right. What? Did anypony hear that? How thick are the walls between us and our neighbors?
“Ya heard me,” Green insists, moving close and lowering her head to couch level so she can glare at me. “Ya ain’t Sea Change, Siren. You aren’t one of Trixie’s elite agents, and you’re not some storybook hero who is going to save me from this terrible life. You’re not even a marker! Markers are addicts. You have taken Daring Do exactly once. Maybe your tonics have added a little to that, but not much. You are still wholly capable of quitting.” She lowers her voice, leaning in close to hiss, “because you are Siren freaking Song, personal protege of Princess Celestia, and an Equestrian. You do not belong here. Get it? Everything you just said is why I need Trixie. You are free to walk out the door at any time.”
This again. I thought I’d settled this in Doctor Stable’s office. I mean, no. Of course I didn’t. She cares about me a lot. Of course this is going to keep coming up. “Green, keep your voice down, or we’ll both hang,” I say. That gets her attention, and she stands up a little straighter. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not like her to make that sort of mistake. And she corrected me earlier when I was singing about Princess Celestia, so it’s not like she isn’t worried about security. She must be really upset to be overlooking things like that. “Green, are you feeling okay? Like, emotionally? How have you been doing since Doctor Stable’s?”
“Don’t change the subject!” she snaps. But that’s all the confirmation I need. The way she gets defensive, the lash in her tail. Wait. She looks all sweaty again. Oh no.
“Green?” I ask, gesturing at her. “You’re all... greasy again. Didn’t you shower an hour ago?” She doesn’t answer. “I saw you sweating like that in the hospital, but I assumed it was because of the drugs you were on, or your injuries or something. Did Doctor Stable say how long that’s going to—”
“Forever. It is going to keep happenin’ forever,” she says brusquely. She’s stopped shouting though. “Whatever part of my body decides what temperature my skin is has mutated and is convinced that I’m on fire. As a result, I will be sweating nonstop, every hour of every day, for the rest of my life.” She isn’t shouting, but her voice is up, and her cadence is quick and forceful. “This is very frustrating. Much like other frustrations I have suffered recently. Like the fact that the reason I inhaled those apples is because they’re the first thing I’ve been able to keep down, because my gut doesn’t work right anymore, and I keep pukin’ up everything I eat!”
“Green, you’re getting upset—”
“Yes, Sweetheart!” Her volume picks up, getting louder, and faster as her eyes go wide. “Yes I’m gettin’ upset! Did you just notice that now? Did y’all just realize that maybe this is a slightly emotional moment for me!?” Her voice rises to a screech, and her horn shines a bright red. Her magic violently shoves the table out of the way so she can stalk around to scream at me head on. “Well!?”
I’m in danger. I know I’m in danger, but I can’t freak out now. My heart is pounding and my head is throbbing, but she’s too unstable for me to play this anything less than perfectly. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” I say patiently. “I should have thought about how distressing it would be for you. That was senseless of me.” A pause would sell this, but I don’t dare stop talking in case she jumps into the silence. I do the best I can without it, letting my tension show so I won’t seem patronizing, but keeping my tone clear and respectful. “I wish there was more I could to help you. When I’m upset, I try playing games in my head to calm down. Like tic-tac-toe or six degrees. Do you have anything like that?”
“Yes, Siren!” she bellows, throwing a sneer in to signify that my attempt not to sound patronizing failed. “Yes, in fact, I do! And you know what!?” Her tone is rising as her pace increases, and she’s all set to launch into a screaming rant, but suddenly, her voice stumbles. She catches herself. “I don’t... it doesn’t help that way!” she insists, still loud, but much quieter, and calming down as I watch. “It... I mean. I play jacks. Sometimes.”
I say nothing. All I have to do is wait, and listen to the gears turn inside her head. One-jack two-jack three-jack four. Five-jack six-jack seven-jack more. And then, she’s calm.
“That’s good,” I say, keeping my voice soothing. “Green, I’m worried about you. You’re not just physically sick. You’re getting emotional more easily. Your accent is getting less consistent. A little while ago, you used ain’t, aren’t, and are not all in a row, and I don’t think you realized you were doing it.” Delivering the words smoothly and evenly seems to be working, and she’s listening. “Those are all signs of mental degradation. I know you don’t like that I’m incurring debts to Trixie, but they’re my debts to have, and right now I am going to take out whatever loan she thinks is fair to get you another visit to Doc Stable. I’m sure there’s something he can do for you.”
“There’s no cure for withdrawal,” she insists, shaking her head. She’s not shouting anymore though. “Even if Doc Stable could buy me time, I’m still dying.”
“We’re all dying the moment we’re born,” I shoot back. That actually surprises her a bit—she pulls her head back and looks up. I guess it wasn’t a very Equestrian sentiment. “That’s all we have, Green. We take on debt to buy time, and I want time with you. Green, Rarity thinks you’re dead. You’re free! You can have your life back.” I’m pleading with her. Trying to make her see reason. “I won’t let you throw that all away.”
“That ain’t your choice to make, Sweetheart.” Green lets out a breath, and then shakes her head. “I’m not going to indulge this. And I’m not going to let you dig yourself deeper in with Trixie on account of me.”
“You’re not going to indulge this?” I ask—at a bit of a loss, frankly! I don’t even know how to respond to that and... horsefeathers, my head hurts. “Green, I’m trying to help you. Maybe I don’t want you to have to live in a slum!”
Green looks at me for a long time. Probably only a few seconds but a long time in conversation. Her face is flat, still. “I had an argument with Trixie after you left Doc Stable’s,” she says. “Told her I wasn’t going along with her game. That she can smother me to death if she likes, I’m not sure I much care.” She pauses a moment. Shakes her head. “Do you know what Trixie said to that?”
“She obviously found a way to persuade you—”
“She said that if I took that tone with her again, she’d drag you back in and force you to watch as she cut off my horn, broke every single bone in my legs one at a time, and then left me on the floor helpless so the Little Sisters could eat my heart.” Green enunciates every word clearly, delivering the threat cleanly, and slowly. Watching me. “That’s what your favors are getting me.”
“Well... that...” What am I supposed to say to that? What is she expecting me to say? “Come on, Green. That’s ridiculous. You know Trixie. She delivers over-the-top threats all the time. She said she was going to have Diamond Tiara drawn and quartered, remember? It’s only hot air.”
“But it’s hot air that distracted Diamond Tiara.” Green gives a little shake of her head. “Distracted her long enough she didn’t notice the alchemist in the room about to give her the touch of death.” What? Berry? Berry killed Diamond Tiara? But that encounter was weeks before she died.
“Trixie doesn’t tell ponies what she’s going to do to them, Sweetheart,” Green continues, still in that steady tone. But I can hear a wavering under it—a tension. “If she did that, they’d be able to prepare, or at least have the comfort of knowin’ how they’re going to die. She likes to keep us all guessing. The threats are a reminder that no matter how little you think you’ve got to lose, she can find something. She always finds something.”
“Well what do you expect me to do, Green? Huh?” I demand, and now it’s my voice that’s getting emotional. “Leave you to die in a slum? Go enjoy life knowing that you’re down here slowly falling apart!?” I’m tearing up. I’m tearing up and that throbbing is getting worse and every part of me hurts!
“Yes!” Now Green is shouting. “Ponies die, Sir-Sweetheart!” she catches herself again, and actually snarls in frustration. “Ponies die. Friends die. It hurts but you move on! You move on and you live your life because that’s what a real dying friend would want for you.”
“Well that’s not what I want for me!” I scream, jumping up to my hooves. “I don’t want to go back, Green! I want to undo all the damage I did. I want to make it all right again. Just you and me. That’s what I promised, and that’s what I’m going to do!”
My hoof slams on the floor for emphasis, and my reward is a shooting pain all up and down my leg. I cry out in surprise as my knee buckles, and I have to scramble to catch myself on the edge of the couch. I’m stumbling, but suddenly, I’m wrapped up in a red aura, and the weight from my legs is gone. “What’s wrong?” Green asks, up and alert. She looks so worried.
“Nothing!” I insist, shaking my head. “Nothing. I... my painkillers wore off over lunch. That’s all.” After a moment, I add, “Put me back down. Please.”
Green moves me back to the couch and slowly puts me down, making sure I’m okay before she lets me hold any weight. “Well... okay. You should take those then,” she says, and I know she’s about to back out. Because she can’t admit she’s wrong! “I’m... going to go wire Trixie. We just did a lot of shouting that involved your name and that you’re from Equestria. I’m sure Trixie knows who lives in the apartments all around us, but we should make sure. You... go lie down. Try and recover.”
“The Green I remember would never slink out of an argument when she knows she’s losing,” I insist, trying to draw her back in. “Whatever happened to taking your lumps? Whatever happened to your pride, and your dignity, and honesty? Huh!?”
“I heard you, Sweetheart,” she says, but it’s soft, and she shakes her head. “And I do appreciate it. Everything you’ve gone through for me. But some things you can’t fix. And...” She pauses, looks away. “I’m going to go wire Trixie.”
She heads upstairs. Private wire, something she doesn’t want me to hear. Fine. Fine.
I manage to stumble back into my room and tumble into bed. The sheets are still soaked, so the whole room smells like poison joke, but that’ll do for now. I’m not planning to nod off yet. Instead, I reach out to the end table and pick up the little bottle. Vultiphine, one hundred and fifty miligrams. Well, one-twenty now. Give or take.
“You’re wrong, Green. I can fix it. I did fix it! I made it all right once, and I’ll do it again.” I yank the top out of the bottle and slosh the contents in front of me. “This city has what it takes to fix anypony. It fixed you when you were ugly. And it fixed me when I was cowardly and cruel. And it...” I sniffle a bit. Shake my head. No tears! Not now. “And it is my choice, Green. I’m going to fix you if you want it or not.”
I tilt the bottle back and eyeball it a second time, downing about another fifth of the container. I don’t actually need the morphine, but I don’t know where I’m going to get another Heart's Desire source in the right concentration, and besides, I’m in a bit of pain. I get it about right, and when I’m done, I twist the cap back onto the bottle and toss it onto the dresser.
To those who seek the truth are all truths revealed. And I want to know the truth. I want to see. Show me... Show me how to make Green better.
Show me how to make it all better.
Stats
Page generated in 0.033 seconds
Total duration
980 users online
58,442 hits today, 2,244,100 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Damn gonna have to wait till I get off of work to read this one
4720667
And now I shall dangle food just out of your reach.
Why do I have the feeling that's going to end up being a monkey's paw type wish?
4720763
A basic sense of pattern recognition?
New Vision update! Yay!
Looks like the drug works after all…
Yeah, this smell thing isn't so good as you seem to think, Sea.
And this isn't a terribly good time for a vision. Interesting, though!
Ah, but it seems that they happen very quickly.
On the one hoof, it's nice seeing Sea (whose psychological health has been… not so very good) connecting with Golden Palm like this. On the other hoof, in this story, it probably just means that something horrible is going to happen. :)
"I'm really not interested in him; I mean, he's a dumpy cripple, how could I be? I'm only planning to go on more dates with him because I think it'll be fun, and it'll make him happy. Which doesn't mean I like him! There are perfectly… um… There are nonspecific but valid other ways for this to make sense!"
Well, things seem to be going just splendidly! :D
Ooh, and now that IFIWT is finished, you'll have more time to work on Vision, right? :)
Well the events following this'll be interesting to watch unfold...
Still feel like Siren is trying to play in the big kid's game. A tad confused; was that a segment from Green's Point of View in the chapter? Nice to hear her befriending someone other than her target of obsession. That just means the betrayal or harming of Golden Palm will cut that much more into her. Do not believe that the smell is actually all flowery, more like the drugs have messed with her senses. Green is trying to drive her away to keep her safe, but Siren keeps insisting otherwise. Waiting to see if a cure attempt has been done somewhere in Vision. Still don't know why a combination of Truth Bloom and the herbal bath wouldn't get rid of the extra marks. Thinking the supplies are limited or nonexistent in Vision.
Dang, color me fascinated. I'm curious as hell to see whats going to happen next, I'm actually expecting nothing to happen since she asked such a broad question, but I wouldn't be surprised if she somehow ended up talking to Trixie and finding out something useful. Hmm, I wonder if she might end up getting visions of Rarity, maybe even end up having to converse with Rarity since if anyone would have a resistances to being passively observed with this odd new ability, it would be Rarity since she seems to have it also. Anyway I am certainly looking forward to the next chapter.
4721798
Ugh, Siren is only dating him, like ironically. You just don't get it. *hipster Siren*
Sadly, no. My schedule is somewhere between awful and poo right now. I'm working 12 hours a day or more every day of the week.
4721992
I generally endeavor to write interesting stories. Except that one fic, Siren Spends an Inordinate Amount of Time Picking Her Nose.
Man that fic was a bad idea.
4729205
Siren is a big pony!
Yup! The narrator made a hop, skip, and a jump over to Green's point of view.
Why are all my readers so mistrusting? I'm not George RR Martin!
That'll come up in a few chapters.
4734488
Eeee!
I hope to have the next chapter up in a few weeks. I shall endeavor to pleasantly surprise you.
4734586
"Ugh, Siren is only dating him, like ironically. You just don't get it. *hipster Siren*"
:)
"Sadly, no. My schedule is somewhere between awful and poo right now. I'm working 12 hours a day or more every day of the week."
Yikes, sorry about that. Good luck.
4734592
Don't sell that story short, it was a brilliant and lovingly crafted piece of literature.
Oh, i see it's time to get on Sirens wild ride again. Surely nothing will go wrong
Also, m-muh Green.
PS. Congrats on finishing up I Forgot I Was There. I'll be reading it from start sometime next week probably. I did accidentally read your blog post about the ending, so i kinda spoiled it for myself. Thankfully i'm not to bothered by spoilers as most people seem to be. Even huge ones.
Back to the waiting game again
4734603
Why distrust?
Vision is an ok place to live. It is a magi-technological wonder of an accomplishment under the sea. You can get any cutie mark you wish for, so long as you are cut your sanity and health that much shorter. Do not mind the little sisters, they are just here for cleanup. But touch a hair on their fur and be prepared to deal with their Big Brother. The place has not started to fall apart yet, so don't mind some of the lack of maintenance.
So I can't believe it took me this long to figure out, but Siren is pretty much the protagonist from Spec Ops: The Line. She keeps going further and further down the rabbit hole into hell in a quest to fix everything, not out of a sense of moral obligation but because it makes her feel better about herself. She just has to be the conquering hero because her need for validation is that bad.
She seems to have this complex where she recognizes that she is really a coward and a manipulator deep down, but instead of addressing the issue and actually maturing she just alternates between beating herself up emotionally and embarking on increasingly self-destructive quests to "prove" her goodness to herself, apparently not realizing that these quests will produce the same results as always if she doesn't actually change herself first.
Before I didn't like her, but I didn't just realize how pathetic, petty, and self-obsessed she really is. It's like staring in a mirror, and I think I might actually hate her for it.
What I'm saying is that I really liked this chapter.
4736670
NO BRAKES ON THE FRIENDSHIP TRAIN.
4737314
Man, you make it sound so appealing. A great place to buy some fixer-upper real estate. Get a cutie mark for contracting and patch some leaks. Flip it to a nice family of murderous markers who need to build a den.
4737951
This is incredibly flattering. Thank you!
Absolutely spot on. I always love seeing when a reader picks out my intentions right away.
Maaaaan.
Why are all my readers so weird?
4740245
Heh, I like to compare her to Amelia from The Well of Pirene, well, up until the point where she get phenomenal cosmic power. They know what they are doing, but keep going, trying to 'fix it'.
Re: Crazy
Eh, I tend to think of it like us being the positive depiction of a vocal minority.
Vision fixes things? Oh dear. On the other hand, heart's desire was a poison joke cure in the show..
Deeper and deeper we go!
Edit: Ignore the bit about the cure in the show, I got my facts mixed up.
4740724
What? No it was not. Poison joke cure was an unspecified herbal bath.
4740245 Um...sorry?
I mean, it is meant as a compliment! After all, it's one thing to get people to identify with or project onto a character they like. It's another to get someone to look at a character they dislike and go, "yep, that's me".
Also I'm starting to think that the way Siren narrates every conversation she has, outlining all her manipulations and tactics, is actually the old gag wherein a character embarrasses themselves and says "I meant to do that!" writ large. Except seeing it go on so long and with such serious repercussions starts to make it less funny and more unsettling.
Man this fic is good.
4741551 Ooh. Yeah, I totally mixed those up. Heart's desire was the thing that gave the cutie pox, wasn't it? My bad!
I can't figure out what it is about Siren that makes Heart's Desire do that to her.
I do enjoy watching Siren abuse her new-found power. She really would have made a great successor to Rarity. This is a thing that both of them know about, and yet the general public doesn't seem to have found out. It's interesting that Rarity felt compelled to keep it a secret for so long, and that Siren is following the same track. I wonder if Siren will end up sharing her Vultiphine with anyone.
It's really hard to hate Rarity knowing that her power and personality stem almost entirely from her curiosity. I wonder how much of Rarity's life is spent in a Vision.
--
That was a nice touch.
--
I've been spending some time thinking of the S4 finale as science fiction rather than fantasy. What kind of society and technology would we need for friendship to be the ultimate trump card in virtually any situation? It makes a little more sense after reading this chapter. If any obstacle can be overcome given the right knowledge, and if the right knowledge for any situation can be acquired through friends, then we can have our figurative magical blasts of friendship and death.
(1) Friendship -> Knowledge
(2) Knowledge -> Death
That's a simple enough blueprint. In a world like Vision, (2) is very easy (just ask Berry). It's just (1) that's difficult. Vultiphine isn't a complete answer, but it seems highly conducive to acquiring (1).
Food for fraught.
--
I saw a homeless woman digging through the trash for food outside of a grocery store yesterday. It reminded me of Vision.
Bagels cost 50 cents each. She was gone by the time I checked out. Damn woman ruined my day.
What I'd give for some Vultiphine.
4751107
Thank you!
No, bad, I retract my thank you! Go to your hole!
4762668
It can't just be a good old case of protagonitus?
Protagonitus: The disease that makes everything, inexplicably, about you!
Siren would have made a fantastic successor to Rarity. No comment on the Vultiphine, but I will say that the reason Rarity doesn't talk about Siren being her student is the same reason narrator-Siren doesn't talk about Rarity being her mentor.
It was a bad breakup. It's hard to love again once you've loved and lost.
Was that pun intentional? Because I saw that pun.
Your mind is a strange and labyrinthine place. I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.
Oh my gosh, I helped make a reader a better person! This is fantastic! This is the best outcome a morality play story can possibly ha-
No wait, nevermind. You're back to real-life Siren now.
4764398
Neither of them talk about what Heart's Desire lets them do*
There were two in the part you quoted
Pff, you mean Siren is back to being me.
4764384
Awww...
*Sulks in his hole*
I will be looking forward to what comes of this vision...
It's nice to see Green again. Not so nice to see how unstable she and Sea have become. The first thing either of them did when the other walked in was draw a knife.
I liked that Sea got to spend some time with Golden Palm again, especially for his sake. However, Green is right: No matter how much Sea may want to deny it, she is still underhanded, manipulative Siren. She really hasn't changed, except for an unhealthy level of self-loathing, and apparently, emotional instability.
Also, why do I get the feeling that Golden Palm's story about morality plays will become even more real to him in the future?
Thank you for continuing to work on this, and congratulations on finishing another story.
Any update on when ex pink pony returns for another thrilling descent into madness?
4924306
I'm afraid not. I just got out of another straight week of 12+ hour days and sleep deprivation, and I am currently running a fever. No way am I writing this weekend. I will try to write next weekend though, and with luck, we might have a chapter in another four weeks.
4924338 Ouch that sucks.
I shall wait patiently for more ex pink pony.
I hope you feel better soon!
Another master piece.
Hehehehe. Rarity lost an eye.
I enjoyed this about as much as the original (Which is to say: A lot).
Hope you get back to this eventually.
4734603
Prove it...
I suposse this is not going to continue this year or the next, right?
6056424
I hope to resume writing this month.
(That's when my new job starts so my life can finally get some stability.)
6056808 any luck about the fic? I finished part 1, it maintained me reading and reading and I don't want to begin part 2 until I know is going to continue.
6153454
I will resume writing it this weekend.
6153461 Thank you :)
Haha! Called Berry killing DT!
Siren downright refusing to go home is very believable, but only because of who she is and what she's done. As an outside observer, it looks liked you'd have to be insane to want to stay in Vision, but I'm pretty sure Siren is insane in one way or another. Question is, how much of the damage happened in Vision, and how much was caused by Celestia.
Analytically, he's right. It's picking a method of killing requiring a partially restrained subject and elaborate enough to not feel like "casual random murder" which also necessitates elevating said subject to make a crowd-friendly spectacle. Vision isn't using enough security to clearly be preventing interference from the crowd, conveying the message that the pony doing the hanging is the crowd's representative and hero rather than oppressor. The overall message is the crowd should feel cheered and entertained watching the pony die.
That wasn't a negative comment about execution; while I do believe killing is never the best option for either an individual or a society everybody has their own priorities and limited attention, energy, and foresight to allocate towards them. But given both the alternatives for law enforcement disposing of lives (and the messages they carry) and the final datum that in Vision it's natural to assume anypony society doesn't approve of and who's disappeared has been killed, hangings are absolutely being done as public entertainment - and this is exactly an observation detached relaxed artiste Siren would make. Ironically, detached relaxed artiste Siren is both better equipped to live undercover and better equipped to analyze society for flaws and fixes. Natural she'd still be in love with the sound of her own voice.