Sick and Tired Life
Given recent history, this interview could have been worse.
Painted Quill Gallery featured art by predominantly pegasus and griffon artists. Quill, the gallery owner/event organizer was great to talk to. Within moments we were conversing like old friends, in spite of everything I’d ever heard about griffons.
His featured artist, on the other hoof, was a total pain. I was guided to the most prominent piece in the gallery by the pegasus himself. Color Wheel was a white pegasus, although his wings and flanks had been dyed haphazardly, likely due to his method of painting. Color Wheel’s artwork was in style in the city, though it was beyond me. Perhaps there are things about art I’ll never understand but the random splatterings on the canvas looked more like a mess than a work of art.
“It looks…lovely.” I hazarded a compliment.
Apparently, that was wrong. “It’s not about what the painting looks like! It’s about how the piece was created.”
I resisted the urge to sigh. “Oh, my apologies. How was this piece created?”
“Of course you’d ask that question.” Color Wheel huffed and walked away haughtily. If I never met another prideful pegasus artist, it would be too soon.
Quill steered me away from the puffed up multi-colored artist. From Open’s expression of mirth, my irritation must have been plain to see.
“Have you ever had traditional Griffon cooking? I don’t exactly have the best of kitchens here, but I’m sure I could tickle your palate.” Not wanting to be rude, I accepted.
Quill proffered a platter of griffon scones. Biting into one proved to be challenging, but I surmised the toughness went unnoticed to a griffon’s beak. The taste wasn’t altogether horrible, but the tough texture made for an eating experience I was sure I’d try to experience as little as possible from now on. Open wisely turned down the offer.
“No thank you, Quill, I ate at a café downtown.” Why hadn't I thought of that?
Quill selected one for himself. “Too bad, I think this is my best batch yet! Wouldn’t you say so, Blot?”
I realized I hadn’t actually been able to swallow the first bite. My strategy was to chew it into submission, but I’d run out of saliva somewhere along the way. Hastily, I tried swallowing. Tears ran down my face as my throat was scoured by the rough scone. In spite of myself, I coughed into my hoof. I tried to speak and coughed again.
When I had control of myself, I answered. “A little dry, but rather enjoyable.”
“Well, let’s get you a glass of juice and another scone!” Quill announced heartily and slapped me on the back with one talon. I managed to suppress the fit of coughing this time until Quill disappeared back into the kitchen.
Open laughed openly. I scowled at her. “Well, your lying is getting better.” She teased.
"Thanks." I replied sarcastically.
***
“Inkwell! Wake up!” My body felt like I’d been tossed about; I was sore from top to tail. Shooting pains struck through my brain as I neared consciousness. These were followed by a echoing series of bone-deep aches. Perspiration soaked the bed beneath me like parched land. Everywhere I could possibly feel felt hotter than a summer rain.
I was blinded momentarily when my compartment door opened. I flinched away, body screaming with the effort it took to move quickly away from the pain of the light. Open's voice crested over me with reckless disregard. "Blot! Get your plot in gear before I..." The cacophony cut itself short. I shivered in the silence, although I still felt too hot.
Oversensitive, I could practically feel each staccato beat of her hooves on my compartment's floor. She leaned over me, pulling my blanket down enough to survey my ailing form. Softly, she spoke. "You look like crap, Blot."
The storm in my head reached another crescendo, blasting apart the witty retort I'd been trying to form. My voice was unfamiliar to my own ears. "Feel...worse." I croaked.
She turned to the sideboard and quickly poured me a cup of water. I tried to take it from her with my magic, but my horn barely glowed. “I’ll help you, just try not to get it everywhere.” The water helped a little. I moaned softly when the cup was empty.
"Hang on, one of the other writers is a medical expert for Equestria Today's health section." She trotted away, forgetting to close the door to relieve my misery. I pulled my pillow over my head.
I must have drifted in and out of sleep, because it seemed like moments later the medical expert was at my side. She was a portly pony, gray mane neatly tucked into a bun. Her forest green coat glowed in the silver light of her magic as she worked a spell to check my condition. Years of doctor's visits conditioned me to sit still, but I couldn't bear the light of her magic in my eyes. With a firm but gentle touch, she held my head.
She touched her glowing horn to mine and relief poured in, quieting the storm of misery. To my great irritation, it didn't fully eliminate my symptoms. The weight on me was diminished, but still slowed me. The sensitivity to light receded, but the light from the open doorway was still too much. My head and full body ache had likewise been nearly eradicated, but only nearly. I tried to sit up but two hooves held me down. The medical writer and Open prevented me from rising.
My condition had done my mood no favors, but I realized the anger I felt was misplaced. I sighed and relaxed. "Thank you, doc."
"Call me Cross. And don’t thank me; I should knock you out, Mr. Inkwell. I still might, given your state."
"What's the situation, Cross?" Open asked.
"Seems to be a moderate flu. The headaches and light sensitivity also seems to suggest a sinus infection. My guess is you got lucky and have both."
"Guess?" Open asked.
"Lucky?" I asked at the same time.
"Pardon me, poor word choice. That's part of why I'm writing about medicine." She drew herself up and spoke professionally. "Without extensive and superfluous testing I am of the opinion that, unless this condition worsens or new symptoms arise, Mr. Inkwell is suffering from both the flu and a sinus infection."
"Will he be able to make the next few stops? He has three guest writer articles in local papers and a deadline from GCQ coming up fast. This is the busiest leg of the tour!"
Cross sighed and shrugged. "I'd advise against it."
"You can't cast something to cure him?" Open asked in irritation.
The doctor snorted. "No, I can't. A unicorn’s immune system is already boosted by their own magic, which is why Mr. Inkblot can’t even levitate things presently. At best, I can relieve the symptoms. That will reduce the severity and the length, but he'll still be miserable. Not to mention the flu is contagious. The best course of action is to let his body recover with only as much magic as necessary."
Open looked crushed. This had to happen at the worst time possible.
“Let’s get his bedsheets changed; they’re soaked through. He’ll develop bedsores otherwise.” She turned to address me. “This won’t likely be any fun for you, but you’ll need to get up. My levitation skills aren’t quite good enough to lift a full grown stallion.”
In the end, it took help from Open to get up and out of bed. My head spun dangerously, but Open pinned me between her and the wall to keep me upright. Cross quickly removed the sheets, cast a drying spell on the mattress and levitated a new set of linen.
I stepped towards the bed, but Cross held up a hoof to stop me. “You need to dry up a little yourself. Close your eyes and your mouth.” I did as she bid and felt her magic engulf me, cleaning off the sweat still clinging to my sides and forehead. Didn’t do much for my smell, but at least I could lie down without soaking things.
As I drifted off, I heard the two mares talking.
“Thanks Crimson Cross, I…I don’t know how I’d have managed without you.” Open sounded concerned.
Cross reassured her. “I know you’ll take good care of your writer, Open. Just make sure you take care of yourself along the way.”
***
Waking up wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than before. Looking around, I could tell it was early morning. I sat up in bed, wincing slightly at the stiffness and soreness that remained. Turning the bedside lamp on, I nearly jumped out of bed. Open was at my bedside, asleep; her upper half resting on the bed and her lower half seated on a cushion.
She must’ve been at my side all night, I thought. Idly, I ran a hoof over her mane.
Her eyes opened. For a moment, she smiled. A real, genuine smile. Then she bolted upright, then winced at the pain in her back. “Guess I slept a little longer than I expected. How are you feeling?”
I surveyed my body. “Not bad. Not good, but not bad. Seems I had an angel watching over me.”
Her face flushed red. “You owe me one.”
“I guess I do.” I said, grinning.
She sighed and offered me a glass of water. I tried levitating it, but Open pulled the cup away. "Honestly, you're as bad as a foal. Use your hooves."
I complied and drained the cup completely. "Thanks, Open."
She nodded, then looked hesitant. “Who’s Div?”
I was poleaxed. “Wh-wha-where did you hear that?”
She looked even more embarrassed. “You were talking in your sleep. Something about being sorry to someone named Div.”
I looked at my hooves. For once, they were still. I felt fairly confident that I could lie to her. Even if I wasn’t convincing, she probably wouldn’t call me on it if she saw I was uncomfortable. I looked back up at her.
Her face showed signs of crying. She really was worried about me. My hoof shook. I took a deep breath and sighed. I couldn’t lie to her; she’d been too good to me. “Div is…was my best friend in Canterlot. He was never anything but good to me and I pushed him away.”
“Who are you?” She asked. I looked down at my hooves again. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask. It’s not like I’ve been completely open to you.” She stood up stiffly and headed to the door.
“My name is Life Story.” I called as she reached for the door.
She stopped and turned around. “You don’t have to…”
“I don’t want to live a lie. It's just a cover I need in case things go south.” I said. She winced, although I’m sure it wasn’t physical pain this time.
Shrugging, she continued. “Why the fake name and cutie mark?”
Wait a minute. “I didn’t say anything about my cutie mark.”
She walked over and pulled the covers off. My ankh on a scroll was clearly visible on both flanks. “That charm must have been tied to your own magic. Your magic is currently tied up with boosting your immune system. I noticed when we got you up to dry you. It’s part of why I pinned you to the wall. Crimson Cross didn’t ever get a good look at it.”
I sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
She waved dismissively. “You can throw a cloak on until your magic is back.”
As she turned to leave, I decided to ask a question of my own. “Open, will you answer my question honestly.”
She stopped and looked at me sideways. “That depends on what it is.”
I held a hoof up. Then I thought better and lowered it. “Fair enough. Why help me?”
She tossed her head, a derisive smile on her lips. “I’m your coordinator. I’d look pretty bad if I didn’t get you back on your hooves.”
I locked eyes with her. “You know what I mean. You’re going to keep my secret just because I’m your writer? Is that the only reason?”
For once, she looked away. “What other reason would there be? ”
I definitely had her in a lie. “I’m not trying to flatter myself, but…”
“Then don’t.” She replied sternly as she turned to leave once more.
“Wait.” I called out as I stood on shaky legs. “I’m sorry, Open. I was just wondering…”
She spoke without turning around. “Don’t worry about me, Life. Your secret is safe with me.” She opened the door and closed it behind her without so much as a backward glance.
***
Being sick had to be one of the worst ways to visit Whinnyappolis. Not to mention the number of parties I’d been to in just one night. So it was just my luck that the one below me that night was the noisiest. It was my luck that I was the only one on the roof. And it was my luck that my magic hadn’t recovered enough to unlock the door that had somehow been locked behind me.
At least the cloak I had on kept me decently warm. I looked up at the stars. They were a little harder to see than they were in Canterlot. I was lost in thought as I heard the door open behind me.
When it finally hit me, I turned around. “Don’t let the door close!” I said, just in time for the door to close behind an ice blue Pegasus.
Startled, she backed up into the locked door and cried out. I got up to check on her and the door and noticed her wing was bandaged. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She said as she bit her lower lip. A lie. Judging by how quickly she answered, it was one she'd told often lately.
My only response was a knowing stare. I'd managed to pick that up from Open as well. Hers was better, of course. “Well, no, but I’ve been to a doctor about this already.” She explained, indicating her bandaged wing.
“I didn’t expect anypony to be up here.” She stated softly when I didn't speak.
“I just came out for some fresh air.” That was the most disconcerting lie of the bunch. Aside from the bandages, she wasn’t wearing anything. It was a very cold night to go out unclad. “And you?”
Time to play it cool. She wouldn't just burst out of her shell if I came barging into it. “Just getting some air myself. It’s cold out, why don’t you take my cloak?” I asked.
“Well, you’re a unicorn. Why don’t you just unlock the door?” She asked, evading my offer.
“I can’t. The lock is unfamiliar and my magic is at an all time low at the moment.” I explained. She shook a little. I took off my cloak and draped it over her back, taking care to lay it gently on her injured wing.
She couldn't keep eye contact. “You don’t have to…”
“You need it more than I do. Please.” She stopped arguing and walked over to where I’d been sitting. She looked out over the city.
Concerned about her new seat, I joined her. “Well, if we’re stuck, at least we’re together. What’s your name?”
She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Velocity Windwing.”
That sounded familiar to me. “I know that name! You’re one of the premier junior flyers in Northern Equestria.”
She looked at me in surprise. “How do you know that? Hardly anypony pays attention to Northern flyers.”
“My best friend kept tabs on the up and coming flyers. His parents were involved in the world aerialist scene before they retired.” I said cheerfully. I realized how much I missed Div. As the silence grew I wondered if I could make it up to him.
“What’s your name?” Velocity asked.
I paused, belatedly realizing my cutie mark was in plain view. Might as well tell the truth. “Life Story.”
“The writer from Celerity?” She asked.
Now it was my turn to be surprised! “How did you know?”
“I used to watch fashion trends. Your articles stood out. It always seemed like you really got to know the story behind the scenes. You haven’t been writing lately.” She eyed me in silent expectation.
I acquiesced. “I’ve had some personal business to take care of.”
“I see. I guess I can understand that. I’ve been sidelined myself.” She sighed.
I looked at her wing. “Is it bad?”
“It’ll be fine.” She said, biting her lip again.
“I’m sorry.” I offered.
“It’s not like it’s your fault.” She said irritably. Her eyes misted up. “It’s my own dumb fault…” She looked down, covering her face with her good wing as she shook in barely audible sobs.
Unsure of what to do, I gently laid a hoof over her shoulders. “Is this alright?” I asked. She didn’t respond verbally, but she dropped her wing and put her face in my chest. Gently, I massaged the back of her neck and where her neck met her shoulders. The muscles in her shoulders were firm under my hooves. She must have been a very strong flyer, before her wing…
“Would it help to talk about it? How did you hurt your wing?” I asked.
“Not… hurt. Ruined.” She squeezed out around sobs.
Not knowing quite what else to say, I repeated. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head in my chest. “Don’t apologize.”
“No, I’m sorry you’re going through this. Nopony deserves to be miserable.” I tried to reassure her.
“I do.” She said miserably. “I was such a heartless, selfish mare. I pushed myself relentlessly to be the best. Recklessly, even. I…crashed. My wing… They don’t think I’ll ever fly again.” Her admission out, she broke into deeper sobs and sank to a seated position. I sank with her, cradling her head against my chest.
When her sobs subsided, I ventured an observation. “No matter had bad you were, you didn’t deserve this.”
She pulled away to look me in the eye angrily. “How can you say that? You barely know me. My best friends said that it was my reward for hogging the spotlight.”
"I don't need to know you to know that those must have been some horrible friends. I would be devastated at the loss of my magic. I can't imagine losing the ability to fly." I held her gaze and she shook her head in wonder.
"How can you say something like that to some random pony?" She wondered aloud.
“Because I know a Pegasus who says they were a lot like you.” I stated calmly. “She took everything for granted, even her own flightsuit designer. She was sidelined with what should have been a career-ending injury and found out all the ponies she thought were her friends were just along for the ride while she was on top. All of her friends abandoned her, except one.”
“Who stayed with her?” Velocity asked, much like I had when I first heard the story.
“Progetta della Forma. Her designer. The very pony she had shown the least amount of kindness towards.” Mamma Pro loved that part. At this point of the story Ma Amore usually pointed out how many pins ‘accidentally’ were left in her flightsuits before the accident. Progetta was usually unsympathetic towards her lover, insisting each pin was well earned.
I’d neglected to notice Velocity’s shocked expression. She spoke in half sentences, barely believing what I said. “Wait. Are you talking about…? There’s no way you actually know…! But I don’t remember Her ever being injured.” From the reverence in her voice, I could tell how highly she regarded 'Her.' Ma Amore would love this.
I resisted the urge to laugh at the image of the old aerialist mare puffing up her chest and wings with pride. “It was pretty early in her career. But yes, I’m talking about my best friend’s mother; Amore diVolare. Although growing up, I called her Ma or Ma Amore.”
Suddenly, the mare was full of energy. She practically bounced to her hooves, good wing flapping excitedly. “I love her! She’s my favorite flyer of all time!”
The image in my head turned to Ma Amore doing victory laps. I smiled. “Well, if you’re ever in Canterlot, look up Mamma Pro’s House of Clothes. I’m sure she’d love to meet a fan. She’s convinced most of her fans are old stallions she broke up with in Bitaly.” I laughed.
Behind us, the door opened with a bang. “Life Story! What did I tell you about going off alone!” Open chastised from the doorway.
“Don’t let the door close!” I called out as I turned around.
“Who would be silly enough to let a roof door close behind them? Oh, yeah. The same dolt colt who decided to go stargazing when he should be inside schmoozing with the architect!” Open looked seriously annoyed.
“After you.” I gestured towards the door. Velocity walked ahead of me. She turned around once we were inside. Open threw me a dirty look over her shoulder.
“I promise I’ll be right down in a minute, Open.” I said. She huffed and walked downstairs.
“Your cloak.” Velocity reminded me as she held it out on one hoof.
“Promise me you won’t go out there again.” I said sternly.
Her eyes opened wide. I answered the unspoken question. "Yes, I can guess what would bring a mare with a career ending injury up to the top of one of the tallest buildings in the city. A building that's supposed to be closed down for the night."
Velocity looked down and then back up at me. “It was a moment of weakness.”
“I won’t lie to you and say it will be the last time. What will you do next time?” I pushed.
“I have family here. I’m long overdue for a visit. They might actually be happy to see me.” She offered the cloak again. I waited in silence. Finally, she looked me in the eye. "I promise I'll talk to somepony next time I feel like this. I swear."
I took the proffered cloak and rummaged through a pocket. I pulled out my pad and writing supplies. “This is my parent’s address in Canterlot. Write me there as often as you can. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll never forgive you.”
She smiled and took the slip of paper. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a filly.”
I smiled, intent on being tough on her. “You’re not just any filly. Remember that.”
She turned to leave, but then glanced over her shoulder. “Believe me, I’ll never forget this, Life.”
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Now the title makes so much more sense! I feel daft now.
To be honest, when I think of a pony called 'Life Story' I think of some super jaded, ultra-grizzled mildly apathetic person with a plethora of life experiences who sits around in a bar swapping stories with everyone; literally, trading life stories from personal experience. Until they run out of stories to swap and it turns into story time.
Life Story as you've interpreted is very different. Very different.
Keep it coming!
Damn, I was ready for the glorious orgy that was obviously planned for his return in Canterlot :(
Funny fact I was slightly hangover when I read the part where Life was waking up, I was feeling his pain.
6199301 That kind of character could be a lot of fun to write! Life Story is fairly far removed from that, though. Especially with the schedule I've planned, expect to see more of Life.
6199938 I've watched my fair share of intentional (and unintentional) harem anime shows to realize that Life was starting to fall into the hapless harem protagonist role. Thankfully, I caught it, so he's not completely oblivious, he's definitely not flawless, and he's not a blank slate for the reader to insert themselves into (like the stereotypical harem main character).
I've never been hungover, lol, but I've had my fair share of mornings like the one described above.