Somepony's Keeping Secrets
It's really quite strange how
how
repeated words
repeated words
mean the most
mean
?
“Pinkie Pie.” I wailed, the world around me revolving in a skittles tornado whispering sweet nothings into my ear.
I looked down to see myself standing in icing. Minty-thick, succulent, and fressshhhhhhhh...
Once again, I cried out in agony. “Pinkie Pie. Pinkie Pieeeeeee...I need to taste-”
Gumdrops started to thud into the frosting around me, quickly scattering the skittle tornado. I saw, from the tiny particulates on each individual gumdrop, that they were the sour kind.
I looked at them suspiciously, not at all aware of the danger around me. “Don't you look at me like that. Sour is not the right kind to trust and you know it.” The gumdrop I'd focused my attention on melted into the minty frosting. Over the period of fifteen seconds the gumdrop hail stopped, of which the aftermath quickly melted into the ground.
The sun moved higher in the sky, a large popsicle stick clearly stuck to one end. I felt as if I were beholden to a god, looking at this heavenly body, so I immediately went prostrate into the soft, relaxing, fresshhhh, mint-frosting. However, in the middle of my humble procedure of making a face down frosting-angel, my ears were struck by the powerful vibrations of the TRUE god of Partland.
I lifted my shaking head to behold a sight of wonder. There before me, stood a throne of candied chestnuts, large enough to hold an army of even the most vicious candy clans. Supporting this creation of divine wonder stood a fifty layer cake, each layer reinforced with the Fondant of Ages, known throughout for its steel-like resilience in the presence of honey, our nation's most feared weapon of mass destruction.
Upon this fifty-layered cake and candied chestnut throne sat the most confectionery of all creations that there were to exist. Our ruler, Pinkie Pie. The clothes she bore on that fateful day consisted of nothing but mousse, known in all the land as the most unstable, least usable, but tastiest treat known to the chocolate specimen.
Her voice, resounding with the sound of five hundred gumdrop storms all meeting together in a glorious conglomeration of frightening chaos stated thus. “YOU BOW TO THE WRONG CONFECTION. WHAT SAY YOU, OH CITIZEN?”
Stunned and humbled beyond all words, my mere mortal self managed to utter, “All that I ask, O great one, is that you allow me just one bite of that cotton candy mane you hold so dear.” My eyes watered at the prospect of tasting the very personage of all that Candytopia held dear. Clearly, having just the chance to ask her this question was a great honor.
“FOOL!” she bellowed. “DO YOU KNOW MY ELEVATION IN COMPARISON TO YOUR MERE MORTAL STATUS?! TO OFFER EVEN A PIECE OF MY CLOTHING WOULD BE UNSPEAKABLE.” Just as these words were uttered, the Pink Pony disappeared from her candied throne, just to appear right in front of me, her royal mousse clothing nowhere to be seen.
“Buuuut,” she said in a much calmer voice. “I'm feelin' it today, so have a try.”
It was then that my jaw dropped eons wide as Pinkie sidled closer to me, thrusting out her mane for me to have a sampling of her glorious candy-hair.
Full of anticipation and excitement, I opened my mouth wide and leaned towards her as the seconds ticked sluggishly by.
There it was, right there.
It was filling my vision.
Delicious cotton candy.
Nom.
I find out very quickly that what I'm nomming on isn't cotton candy. After all cotton candy tastes like sugar...sweet stuff. What I taste is fur...and flesh.
My eyes pop open. I'd been eating Lyra's hoof.
I pull her hoof away from my mouth and embarrassingly enough, it makes a short sucking noise before I let it drop to the ground in front of me.
My whole body goes tense as I squeak out, “Sorry.” Naturally, my ears and forehead turn a deep shade of red.
Lyra looks at me for a moment, emotionless, then looks down at her hoof with disgust. “Ewww. You definitely slobber a lot more than most ponies.”
I don't respond, practically dying from embarrassment.
She giggles a bit, dispelling a bit of the awkward tension. “I probably shouldn't have let you do that.”
“Y-you mean you let me do that?”
“Yeah.”
I sigh. “Why would you let me do that?”
“I kinda...wanted to see what it felt like.”
“That's really weird, disturbing actually.”
Lyra remains unashamed. “I'm not a normal pony...aaaaand...well...I kinda let you do that because you would have to let me lick your hand in response as an apology.” At this, she hoofs at the ground abashedly.
I'm not about to let my hand get Shanghai'd to Lyra of all ponies. “Hahaha no.” My face goes expressionless. “Not going to happen.”
“Mmhmmm. You owe me.”
“I owe you for doing something that I had no control over? How about I also mention how you could've stopped that from happening by yourself?”
Lyra shrugs. “What can I say? Your grip was too strong. I tried to escape, but two hoofs are nothing compared to ten digits.”
I cock my eyebrows at her. “That's not what I heard just a few seconds ago. You told me yourself that you let it happen.”
“I don't remember that.” She looks at me coolly.
I try to respond, but am quickly interrupted.
“What were you even dreaming about anyways? You were moaning 'Pinkie' over and over again.”
I blush, again. “I-it's not what you think. I swear.”
Lyra grins. “You were trying to get a taste of that cotton candy mane huh?” she says, winking. “...you're blushing.”
“Could you stop?” I say, a bit too loudly. “If you're that curious, I was trying to get a literal bite out of her cotton candy mane, which in my dream, was actually made out of cotton candy. Nothing sensual.”
Both of us stop talking to hear Bon Bon laughing it up in the room right next to us.
Lyra looks at me.
I look at Lyra.
She smirks.
“Don't you start,” I say, my voice trying its best to sound serious.
“Uuugh, I'm so bored,” I complain.
Lyra stops strumming her harp. “Go do something.”
“I've got nothing to do. I don't know Ponyville enough to go wandering around.” Exasperated, I sink lower into the bench we're resting on, to the delight of the ring of ponies that had gathered around my side.
“What an odd way to sit,” one whispers. “I wonder if it's comfortable.” Another one adds, “It'd definitely do to air out my gen-”
I choose to block out the rest of the conversation.
Lyra says, “It's okay. I'll find you, well, maybe, but Pinkie's pretty good at helping out townsfolk, so you should be fine. If you want to stay, stay. I could use the extra attention.” She gestures to the group of ponies that had started to emulate my sitting style, revealing to all the world their gender.
“Yeahhhh, I'll be leaving now.”
After about ten minutes of wandering aimlessly through Ponyville, I could genuinely say I was lost. But not the scary kind of lost that you feel when separated from your parents at Disneyland. I was simply...lost.
At least I'd shaken my followers.
I walk down yet another one of Ponyville's beaten cobblestone paths, hoping against all odds that something strange and exciting would happen to me. Truly, with Pinkie Pie on the prowl, something would happen.
Beautiful gardens begin to flank the path I walk on, full of vibrant flowers. Chrysanthemums, lilies, and hydrangeas dot the landscape to my left and right, striking me with their immaculate hues of yellow, pink, and blue.
Further out to my right, I see a nice shaded spot in a green meadow, where a tree stands on its own.
It strikes me that taking a nap there would be heavenly, with the scent of the flowers intoxicating my nostrils, so, I walk over to the tree, being careful not to trample any flowers.
Just as I'm about to lay down, however, I see a bush rustle along the treeline bordering the meadow. A long pink tail pokes out from the back of it, and every now and then, I see a light yellow face peek out from the other end.
...the heck? Did I intrude on a picnic spot or something? Wait...it's Fluttershy!
“Hi,” I say, feeling a little awkward. “You don't need to hide from me you know.”
No response.
“I'm harmless. I promise.”
Still nothing.
I won't be able to take a nap if she keeps peeking at me like that.
I go for the pity approach. “Why is it ponies never want to talk to me?” I wail, in a terrible acting voice. “Is it because I'm ugly?” I try to squeeze tears out, but it doesn't work. Instead, I just make loud sniffing noises.
No response.
“It's like I'm the plague or something...nopony will ever love me will they?” I look at my feet miserably.
Fluttershy speaks up in that quiet voice of hers. “Hey! That's not true!”
I look up at her.
She squeaks and hides behind the bush again.
I sigh. “That's what everypony told me when I was a foal. They always made fun of my looks. Why can't two legged creatures and four legged creatures just get along?” I pull off a very fake sob.
I hear a pattering of footsteps and soon, Fluttershy is by my side. “Who made fun of you?! I'll teach them a lesson right away!” she says, her voice stern, but ever so soft.
“Oh, it's nothing to worry about.” I take a moment to sniff. “I just want company is all.”
She pats my hip with her hoof. “That's perfectly fine. As long as it makes you feel better.”
I sit down and she curls up next to me.
Well, at least I have something to do now, even if it isn't napping.
“Why were you hiding from me?” I ask.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I just get so nervous when meeting strangers. Please don't think it's because you look weird.”
“I won't, don't worry.” Why was she here in the first place? “Still, why did you come here?”
“Oh.” Fluttershy blushes a little bit. “This is my favorite picnic spot. After I'm done tending to Angel and all the other animals, it's nice to relax under this tree.”
Who's Angel...probably just some pet dog. “Wait, you said this is your favorite picnic spot. Where'd you leave the food?”
“Oh sh-” she cuts herself off. “Gimme just a second,” she says, scurrying off for the bush she had been hiding in.
A few seconds later, she comes back with a picnic basket in her mouth. A cliché red and white checkered-board blanket covers the food. “I'm really sorry I didn't make any food for you. Once I'm finished, I'd be glad to make something for you though.”
“I'm okay,” I quickly respond. I'd just eaten well at the Hearthfire Cafe with Lyra, making sure to order something other than apple juice to drink.
“Move for a second please,” she says.
I scoot out of the way as she unfurls the red and white blanket and spreads it under the tree cover. She sits on it and motions for me to follow.
I plop down, the warm afternoon sun sapping the strength from me. Cute munching noises ensue from the corner of my vision and I try my best to keep my heart from dissolving. As preventative measures, I take a deep breath and sigh.
Something about hanging out with Fluttershy feels so reverent, calm. It's kinda ironic considering she gets really nervous around strangers.
I lay down on the blanket, passively absorbing the sun while letting myself drift off into the comforting embrace of Fluttershy's company.
*poke*
Something is poking my face very very softly. I don't move at first, waiting a few seconds to get my bearings. Eventually though, I open my eyes, expecting to see Fluttershy.
Turns out it's just a small bunny. It continues to poke my face in an effort to get me up.
I sit up and look around. Fluttershy is nowhere to be seen, but right behind me I notice a basket of cheese, bread, and carrots.
The bunny tugs on my pants leg, motioning with its other paw to get moving.
I oblige, but not without my own groans of protest.
After I step off the checkered blanket the bunny starts to fold it up.
I look at the basket again, not sure if it's a gift, or if the bunny itself had set up its own picnic. After walking away for a few seconds, I feel a little tug on my pants again.
The bunny gestures to the gift basket and makes an eating motion with his paws, then points to me.
“Ohhhhh,” I say, finally understanding. “You want me to take it?”
It nods, then goes about folding the blanket again.
I take the basket and make to leave, but at the last second, add, “Make sure to thank Fluttershy for me.” You idiot, bunnies can't talk. How's he going to pass on that message?
I ignore my thoughts and walk back in the direction of the city, hoping that Pinkie will somehow find me and guide the way back to Lyra.
It didn't take her very long to poof into existence right next to me, but I admit, she was a few minutes later than usual.
“What's up?” exclaims the pink pony that had suddenly materialized next to me.
“Hey Pinkie. Could you tell me how to get back to Lyra?”
She scratches her chin shrewdly, taking a moment to stop walking. “That depends.”
I jerk to a halt. “Why's that?”
“I think I'm gonna have to ask you a favor.”
I narrow my eyes. “What kind of favor exactly?”
“It's nothing too big really...”
“Why, exactly am I holding a picket sign at an old mare's convention?” I ask, holding a picket sign at an old mare's convention.
Before me, the meeting hall consists of one large table meant to seat around twenty ponies. About half of the participants are seated, and already, I’m getting the occasional death stare from them.
“You're helping me fulfill a promise!” she exclaims.
I look down at the picket sign I'd been given a few seconds ago. It reads, 'Why grow old, when you can get bold!'
“What does it even mean?”
“Oh, the picket sign? Not much really, its just I lost a bet with a friend, and this was my punishment.”
“...isn't making someone else do the punishment breaking your promise?”
She thinks about it for a moment. “Nah, I think we're good. It wasn't a Pinkie Promise so I don't have to get all technical.”
“How long do I have to stand here? The death stares are already making me quiver,” I say gesturing to the few elderly folks that had decided laser beam vision would indeed work on me.
“'Till I get back.”
“Wai-” I start to say, but somehow, in that split second of time, she'd managed to leave through the only door on the opposite side of the room.
The first few minutes of waiting go by seamlessly, the elderly only choosing to glance angrily at me from time to time.
At about five minutes though, multiple loud conversations spring up among the hearing-deficient ponies about how I'm being 'most definitely rude.'
“...truly. I'd think a draconeques would learn to be more polite after taking six elements of harmony to the face...”
I can't help but fidget a little at their complaints, but I have to do this, lest Pinkie leave me in Ponyville, completely lost.
Ten minutes later, the meeting starts, making me feel awkward as all get out. The head of the committee announces that two new seniors would be joining the monthly meetings shortly due to their recent shift into the Apple Acres Establishment. Even with this distraction, about half the board seems to be more focused on me than these two potential members.
A total of thirty minutes later, I stand shivering as all of the ponies of the board meeting swarm around me.
“What is the meaning of this?” the leader of the committee asks, having not seen me until a few seconds ago.
What could pass for the elderly as seething is what they were doing to me now.
“Ummmmm, I'm not sure...”
This offends the committee leader. “Chap. Are you making fun of our loosey goosey memories?!”
“I, no! I'm sorry. I'll go if you want me to.” Already, I can feel my ears going red as I bashfully look at the floor.
He thinks for a moment. “Ehhhhh. To be honest, I'm just not sure what the sign means. Why grow old, when you can get bold? Is that meant to be a euphemism? I dearly hope not.”
“Oh, of course not. I'm just helping a friend settle a bet. I doubt the message is meant to mean anything at all.”
I look up to see the elderly brown pony scratching his long, scraggly beard. “It definitely doesn't seem that way...”
I start to panic. “I'm really sorry sir. I'll be going now.”
“Oh no!” he protests. “I'm actually intrigued by this message. There's something profound about it. Would you mind sitting at the table with us?”
“Sure, I guess.”
And just like that, I find myself in the middle of a debate among elderly ponies at an old mare's convention.
“Ludicrous,” I say. “The answer is most definitely not forty two. It's not even a prime number for goodness sake. I'm telling you, the message is about...”
“Young colt! You say you have all this experience, yet we out-age you five to one. I'm telling you, the answer is forty-two. I read it in a book!”
I've just about had it with this pony. “Just because you read it in a book doesn't mean it's true! Who was the author?! Are they even trustable?! Beyond that, the answer to forty-two doesn't even make sense! What does 'why grow old, when you can be bold' mean?” I say this next part sarcastically. “Forty-two.”
The old, pale-green pony looks at me dejectedly, then slouches back into his seat. “Harrumph.”
The leader of the committee butts in. “Now, I don't mean to interrupt, but I believe human speaks the truth. The answer 'forty-two' just doesn't make sense. We can come to a consensus on that right?”
Slowly, the stubborn old pony nods. “I suppose. Still, what is the message supposed to mean then?” The pony nods aggressively in my direction. “Since you seem to know it all, why don't you tell us?”
I'm a little taken aback, but recover quickly. “I think this message is telling us that we should never give up on what we want to do, no matter how old we get. Age, disabilities, even hum--er...pony limitations mean nothing when you move forward, fearless of what might go wrong.”
No pony speaks up for some time, and I get excited that my opinion has finally been taken into account.
“I still think forty-two is the answer,” the old green pony grumbles.
I sigh. “Oh, for goodness sakes. Something tells me I'm never going to convince you guys.”
“Don't worry. You've convinced me a great deal!” I hear a different pony say.
“Good!” I look for the pony that'd said that. Finding nopony, I continue. “At least one pony understands me.”
“You ready to go human?” the same pony asks.
“Who's saying that?” I look frantically around.
“Me!”
I jump back in fright, accidentally hitting Pinkie Pie with my chair, where she'd been standing behind me.
“Ow!”
“Oh! Sorry Pinkie.” I rub my face into my hands. “Just having an argument with these old folks. I might've been a little high-strung.”
“No problem!”
I look at her and notice that she's wearing socks again. They'd turned from white to brown, and a few holes were starting to form near her hoof-heels. “Today's a Wednesday isn't it?” I say, expecting her to understand.
“Uhhhh, I'm not sure. Is it? Why'd you even ask me in the first place?”
“But...didn't you say that you'd only wear s-”
She interrupts me. “Socks? Ohhhhh, the socks. Yeah...they're comfy! Wearing them one day a week isn't nearly enough!”
“You need to treat them better though. Do you see how quickly they're wearing out? Something tells me socks in the shape of Swiss cheese aren't comfortable.”
She smiles. “I bet it would taste yummy!”
I give her a horrified look. “You really mean that?! They're all dirty...and sweat infused...”
“Ahahaha! The hoof cheese would spice it up!”
I look at her, not in the mood to continue this conversation. “Uhuh.”
“You ready to go?”
“Sure,” I say, but look back at all the old folks. “Would you guys mind if I left?” I ask them.
“Please leave,” the old green pony mumbles.
I seethe a little at that, but wait for the leader pony to dismiss me.
“Go on, young one,” he says.
I nod to the wise old leader. “Thanks for having me.”
With that, I let Pinkie Pie lead me out the building.
“So? How'd it go?” she asks, her mane bouncing from side to side as she trots in front of me. We're on our way to Lyra's house now.
My adventures had taken up the entire day.
“Better than expected,” I say. “It was bad at first, but we ended up having a pretty deep discussion.”
“Thanks!”
“What?” I say, my brow furrowing. “I didn't mean to compliment you or anything.”
“I still put you in that situation!” she says. “Seriously, I'd expect someone like you to keep better track of my mental processes.”
I sigh.
“What'd you talk about?” she asks.
“We were talking about that sign you asked us to carry. You said it meant nothing...is that true?”
Without blinking, she says, “Depends on what you think.”
I scratch my head. “Ok...”
“Sooooo, am I gonna have to keep asking questions to keep this conversation going? I mean, I don't mind it at all. I enjoy it a lot actually, but from what I've gathered with talking to other ponies, conversations usually involve two sides. And this isn't two sides. It's like one and a half, no...hmmmm...two-thirds...no! Too small. Something around one and three quarters. Yeah, that sounds about right. Two-thirds...”
I try to clear my brain of Pinkie's incessant chattering, clenching my eyes shut in the process. There was something she'd said earlier. It was disturbing... It comes to me.
“Hey...Pinkie?”
“Yeah?”
“About what you said earlier, with the falling asleep in front of hard metal objects...”
“Yeah?” she says, her ears perking up a bit.
“Is that true? You might need to see a doctor.”
She giggles. “Oh no silly! I just do that to catch ponies off guard. I don't let folks have their guard up around me, no sirree. It wouldn't do.” Her brow furrows in contemplation. “If it means anything though, you were the first pony to ask me about that. I can't tell you how many others I've told that line to, just to have them go about their business again.” A hint of sadness seeps into her eyes.
I try to make her feel better. “I'm sure I've got a better memory than them is all.”
“No. Well, sorry. I just...don't think that's it...” Her eyes display a little bit of hurt before she clears them up.
I see Lyra's house looming up from the side of the street.
“Hey look!” she says. “You're home! Hope you enjoyed hangin' out with me!”
Before I can so much as call her name, get her to come back, she's gone, leaving a few pink hairs spiraling in the air next to me.
I'm not in the mood to argue with Lyra about the possession of my hands tonight.
I go straight to bed.
Throwing down my blankets, sheets.
I rest.
Twirling a thin pink strand between my fingers.
He's responding again...somewhat.
The serotonin’s having an effect?
Hard to believe huh?
Seems so, but let's not jump to conclusions, it could be any number of causes...I hope you've been recording these readings.
Yes
“School sucks mom, are you sure I've still got to go?” I ask.
“Yes, honey. Bear the pain for me, okay?” Her gaze is temperate, but understanding.
A familiar pain wells up inside me. I try to ignore it, pretend it's not there. “What about homeschooling? You're smart enough, I believe in you.”
“You're right, I could home school you.”
“You'll do it?” I can't help but feel a little hopeful.
“No. Sorry, but public schools help you in other ways than just education.”
The all-too-familiar pain comes back, stronger. I start to lose control of myself. “Like what? How to keep you head down so people don't get up in your business? How to take insults about how ugly you are while maintaining shreds of dignity? How to cope with getting ostracized by people you want to be friends with? School is screwed-up mom.”
“My answer to all those questions are yes...”
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