Marjoram

by Nekiyha

Week From Hell Finale

The Week From Hell Pt 3

A bit of gore in this chapter, be warned.

Thursday

Thursday morning was spent by letting the police do their work. Marjoram sat on the stairs to his morgue, sipping a hot cup of tea, watching with tired eyes as the police earth ponies and unicorns went about doing their work.

Twilight was with him, thankfully, her violet eyes looking just as angry as Marjoram felt defeated. She watched the police work, and glared at anypony who stopped to whisper at the sight of the police examining the morgue.

Twilight figured they all found it a good thing, that the mortician was being investigated or some such thing. Only the ponies who had trashed the place would likely know anything differently, and for the most part, this section of Town Square was less busy than usual.

The police cleared the place by noon, allowing the repair ponies to come in and do their work. The windows and doors were fixed, and the carpet of Marjoram’s office was deep-cleaned, as well as the wall reading necromancer.

Wisely, nopony made any comments. At least while Twilight and Marjoram were in hearing range.

After that, Marjoram and Twilight moved out the broken furniture, saving what paperwork that they could. They ordered new furniture, and locked up the morgue as tightly as possible.

Marjoram was dead on his feet, and the defeat in his eyes spoke more than his stiff body language did.

Twilight sighed, “It’s really been a bad week so far, hasn’t it?”

“Wasn’t all bad,” Marjoram croaked, “Building the clubhouse wasn’t bad.”

Twilight nodded, “Fair enough. I’m-I’m sorry this happened. I never thought anything like this could happen in Ponyville-”

“Even after what happened to Zecora for Creator’s know how long?”

That stopped Twilight mid sputter. She hung her head, her ears pressed back into her skull miserably, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Especially not after Zecora. I sometimes forget this isn’t like Canterlot.”

“I know,” Marjoram whispered, “I forgot that, too. Until yesterday.”

Twilight smiled reassuringly, “I’m sure things will settle again soon.”

Marjoram nodded weakly, his eyes half-lidded because of exhaustion. He opened his mouth, as if to reply, and was cut off by a violent sneeze. His eyes widened, and he looked at Twilight in sudden horror.

“It’s spring.”

“And?”

“Canterlot has the anti-pollen wards.”

“So? It’s been spring for weeks, and you were out all yesterday-” Twilight interrupted herself, “and you’ve been living in Canterlot all your life. Until yesterday night, your body was still protected. After spending all of yesterday outside, plus not sleeping at all last night, and the shock-”

“My stupid immune system kicked into full gear,” Marjoram replied miserably, “I’m spending the rest of the week inside the library.”

“I’ll cast a few anti-pollen wards on the library,” Twilight said.

“Thanks.”

“Go get some sleep. I’ll make you some more tea, and we’ll have soup or something.”

Marjoram nodded, “Thank you.”

Twilight smiled, “Not a problem. Now go get some rest.”

Marjoram nodded, and plodded into the library. He descended into his basement, and flopped onto the bed. He got himself comfortable, propping up his chest with several pillows to help him breathe. He put the stuffed dog Spike had got him under his chin. Pulling his blanket over himself, Marjoram did his best to try to breathe through his clogged nose, phlegmier than usual lungs, and a pounding head.

It took a long time, but Marjoram must have eventually dropped off. When he next opened his eyes, he had expected an empty room, but that wasn’t what was in front of him. Rarity sat in a chair, flipping through a fashion magazine.

Marjoram let out an ungentlemanly like groan, struggling to prop himself up. His eyes felt swollen, and grit made it difficult to see. He felt infinitely worse than when he had fallen asleep, his whole body pulsating with pain and discomfort. Rarity looked up, her blue eyes meeting Marjoram’s dull gold ones.

“I see you’re awake.”

Marjoram nodded, immediately regretting the action when the room swam out of focus. Marjoram rested again, trying to focus through throbbing eyes at Rarity.

“Sweetie Belle told me what you told her; about our parents loving her very much to send her here.”

Marjoram froze, recalling his words, “Was I wrong?” Was that his voice? It sounded worse than usual; which usually took quite a lot of coughing, not just a nap.

Rarity paused, staring at Marjoram with cool eyes, “I know you meant well, but you barely know me, don’t know Sweetie Belle at all, and haven’t even seen my parents, much less met them yourself. Before you get too worried, my parents aren’t horrible ponies. They are kind, and love Sweetie and I dearly. However, Sweetie wasn’t exactly...planned. My parents hadn’t expected a child so late in life, especially when I was in the process of moving out and trying to make a name for myself here. They love Sweetie, they really do, but they’ve left her here for mostly selfish reasons. Without her with them, they can spend their early retirement doing things they want to do, and not have to worry about dragging her along with them. They pay me a small sum every month, which I’ve been putting into a fund for Sweetie ever since they started sending me it. While I agree that Ponyville is a much better choice for schooling; my parents were born here in town. They only moved out to the backwater village before they realized my mother was pregnant.”

Marjoram’s dizzy mind spun even faster, making him thankful he hadn’t had anything to eat recently, “I-uh-”

“I have no need for your pity, or an expression of your sorrow, or anything else. This arrangement works out better for everypony, Sweetie most of all. That’s who’s important in this matter: Sweetie Belle. I would appreciate it if you don’t mention our parents, or this talk, to Sweetie again. I don’t want her getting any more hurt than she already is.”

Marjoram inclined his head in a nod, being careful so not to upset his oversensitive head, “I understand. I...apologize.”

Rarity offered a small smile, “I know you were only trying to help, and help Sweetie Belle move past the recent fiasco. Thank you for that. Now, Twilight told me to get her when you awoke. Twilight will be down in a few minutes I expect.”

Rarity left, bringing the magazine with her. Marjoram was struck dumb, his overtired, ill mind trying to process what Rarity had just told him. Filing her speech away to comprehend later, Marjoram got himself comfortable once more, content to quietly wait for Twilight to arrive.

Soon enough, the door opening and closing, as well as the sound of hoofsteps on the stairs made Twilight’s presence known. She came bearing allergy medicine and soup, which churned Marjoram’s stomach.

“Here you go. Hopefully you’ll feel better after the medicine kicks in.”

“Unlikely,” Marjoram croaked, “Allergies are a pain.”

Twilight sighed, “I’ll do some research, see if there are any spells that can help. I’ve cast a few wards on the library, so do your best to get rid of the allergens in your lungs and nose, alright? I’ll be back in a bit for the tray and the empty bowl.”

Marjoram could feel the unsaid threat about what would happen to him if Twilight came back to find he hadn’t eaten anything. Offering a sarcastic smile, Marjoram watched as Twilight disappeared upstairs again.

Today sucks. Maybe we should all go somewhere once this is all done.

Friday

Marjoram woke up after a fitful night, feeling marginally better, but not hopeful for the day ahead. If the last four days had proven anything; it was that the next three would be horrible. Marjoram sat on the edge of his bed, hoping that if he could plan his day, he would avert disaster.

Marjoram had to ensure the new furniture was where it was supposed to be, ward the morgue so future destruction would be kept at a minimum, and work on the last autopsy he had left. Then, he would come back to the library, and cook dinner. If Marjoram couldn’t cook dinner, he was supposed to make breakfast for everypony the following morning.

Marjoram sighed, getting to his hooves. There was no point delaying the inevitable. Bypassing breakfast, Marjoram managed to get out of the library while Twilight was busy trying to cook for Spike and talk to Pinkie at the same time.

The furniture arrived without a hitch, and the moving ponies were happy to stay until everything was arranged in the way Marjoram wanted it to be. Marjoram paid them, adding a generous tip for their help. Once they were gone, Marjoram retreated into his workroom, content to see the mess cleaned and gone.

Just one more autopsy. Just one more, then I can go home and read the new Daring Do book with Twilight and Spike. Spaghetti and wheatballs or something for dinner. Something Neightalian.

Marjoram opened the only occupied cooler in his morgue and was hit with the stench of decay, a rush of warm air, and a sudden urge to puke.

Most scents related to his job were things that Marjoram was used to, but this was advanced decay, in a warm room, for at least forty-eight hours, presumably without a stasis spell in at least that long either.

Dreading to look, Marjoram peered around the corner to find the plug that connected the coolers to the power they needed was unplugged. Marjoram sighed, levitated the body out, trying not to think too much about the rotting, and set it on the table. I’ll just tell the police that the vandals unplugged it. No way to know if it was them or the police up here. Ugh.

Marjoram prepared himself, dressing in a mask, gloves, scrubs, and a lab coat. He pulled his hair back into a bun, and got ready to work. Just as he was leaning over the body, scalpel held in his magical grasp, the swollen abdomen of the body exploded.

Marjoram closed his eyes reflexively, just in time to avoid getting rotting flesh, tissue, and blood in them. The gore was cool, room temperature, and sticky. Unwilling to open his eyes, mouth, or even breathe, Marjoram dropped the scalpel onto the table, and stumbled to the emergency shower. He punched the button with blind aim, and hit true.

A powerful, cold spray rained down, soaking Marjoram in seconds. He angled his head up a little, eyes still squeezed shut. The gore was rinsed away, and Marjoram finally felt comfortable opening his eyes. He wished he hadn’t. The workroom was spattered with gore, his lab coat was ruined, and he would smell like he’d died until he could get back to the library and shower.

As much as Marjoram wanted to go home, and wash everything off properly with soap, the showerhead was enchanted to release sterile, disinfecting water, onto the pony who pressed the button. He needed to stay and finish the autopsy to the best of his ability, and finish the report before he finally gave up on the day. After that, the rest of Equestria could fall into Tartarus for all he cared.

For now, Marjoram would stand under the cold spray, and internally scream at the universe at large.

(LINE BREAK)

Twilight was shocked when Marjoram dragged himself into the library, mane dripping wet, shivering, and smelling like he’d died several days ago. Twilight put down her book, “Do I want to know?”

“Nope. I’m sorry,Twilight, but I’m done with today. I’m going to have a shower, drink some tea, and snuggle into bed.”

Twilight nodded, “Hungry?”

Marjoram shook his head, “Nauseous. Don’t even open the door to tell me dinner’s ready.”

“Okay. Have a good night.”

Marjoram winced at the words, trotting quickly into the bathroom, and shutting the door. Twilight sighed, and returned to her book, hoping that he would be alright.

Saturday

Marjoram stared into the pan that was on the stovetop, eyes rapidly filling with frustrated tears. What was supposed to be eggs, resembled some burnt offering to a cruel god. The smell of burnt food had burned away all other smells that could be smelt in the library.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think this week is be cursed or something,” Marjoram stated to no one in particular. Twilight and Spike were still asleep, though it was likely they wouldn’t remain so for much longer. Not with the smells of such burnt food permeating through the library.

Dumping the mess into the garbage, Marjoram contemplated what to do next. It was unlikely that he would burn something so spectacularly again, but with how the week had gone Marjoram would expect it to happen. Sighing, Marjoram turned off the stove, wrote Twilight and Spike a note, grabbed some bits, and left the library.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t cook it, something from Sugarcube Corner would be better than nothing. Marjoram moved through the streets of Ponyville like a stallion haunted; cautiously, head and ears swiveling so he wouldn’t trip and break his neck or something else that would be ridiculously possible during this apparent week from Tartarus.

Marjoram made it to Sugarcube Corner unscathed. Pinkie was at the counter, ringing up somepony’s order. When she saw Marjoram, she brightened considerably.

“Hi, Marjoram! Do you need something for Twilight? Oh, is Twilight okay, since you don’t usually come here! Do I need to plan a party so Twilight can get better again!?”-

“She’s fine. I’m just here to get some breakfast for all of us. For-”

“You’re getting breakfast because you’ve had horrible luck this week. I’m sorry about the burnt eggs, I’m sure they would have been good if you made them on Monday! Anyway, do you want Twilight and Spike’s usual orders for when they get breakfast? What about you, you haven’t come here for breakfast, so I don’t know what you like!”

Marjoram’s head was spinning, “Did you see me making eggs? How?!-”

Pinkie shrugged, “A lucky guess, I guess. Anyway, what would you like?”

“Spike and TWilight’s usual for them. Um,” Marjoram looked around for a menu somewhere, and spotted none. A bit of fear bubbled into his chest, but he pushed past it and pressed on, “I have no idea for me...What do you recommend?”

Pinkie swelled, a huge smile distorting her features, “I’m so glad you asked me that! I like the muffins, but they’re in the ovens right now being baked. I like cherry chungas, and churros, but we don’t even make them yet. I really like cake, but you don’t eat much so that won’t be a good idea-”

Marjoram felt a headache coming on, “Short version of whatever this is, please.”

A timer rang from the back, Pinkie jumped away from the counter, “Gottagetthatberightback!”

Before Marjoram had a chance to blink, Pinkie was back, her smile even bigger than it had been, “Those were the cheese croissants. Do you want two of those!?”

“Please.”

“Okay, go sit down. I’ll bring everything over when I’m done packing them in bags for you to bring back to the library.”

Marjoram plodded to a table that was in a corner, away from everypony else. Though he hadn’t realized it when he had been talking to Pinkie, he could feel everypony else’s eyes on him. Please let them be rational and not act on any stupid impulses. Please let them be rational and not attack me in the early morning. Please let me get my food and get back in one peace. I promise I’ll stay in the library for all of tommorrow, please oh please oh please-

“Here you go! That’ll be fifteen bits please!”

Marjoram counted out the bits, and gave Pinkie five more, “For a tip. Have a good day, Pinkie.”

“You too, even though this week has sucked. I’m sure everything’ll only get better!” With that, Pinkie bounced back into the kitchen, out of sight.

Marjoram sighed, putting the bits into the bag of food. With his magic, he carried the bag just behind his head, noting that everypony was still staring. Thinking back, Marjoram began to count to ten in different languages in his head. Hopefully he wouldn’t say anything mean if somepony started anything.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Chairs scraped back, just as Marjoram shut the bottom half of the door behind him. He picked up the pace, hoping the early spring morning air wouldn’t try to clog his lungs until he got to the library.

Une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix. He could hear ponies behind him, and Marjoram refused to look. He kept his pace quick, but tried to keep himself relaxed. I’m on a brisk morning stroll, trying to get back home to my family. If you kind gentlemen would kindly buck off that would be great.

Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sech, sieben, acht, nuen, zehn. A hoof jabbed into Marjoram’s left flank. Marjoram briefly shut his eyes, trying to remember whatever words he could from whatever languages he knew, not caring if they were mixed together or wrong-

“What do you have in the bag? Something for some spell?”

“Breakfast,” Marjoram replied, not looking behind him. He didn’t need to know how many ponies were behind him. There was more than two, less than ten judging from the hoofbeats, “For my family and I.”

“You’re related to the dragon?” The male pony clearly conveyed how disgusting he thought it was to be related to Spike. It made Marjoram bristle, but he swallowed his anger.

“I’m not by blood. I helped raise him, so the term ‘friend’ doesn’t adequately describe our relationship.”

There was a moment of silent, and another hoof jab, more hurried and clumsy. Marjoram hadn’t realized it, but he’d sped up during the ‘discussion’. Now, he was on the edge of Town Square. Hopefully, hopefully he could make it to the library. Thankfully, his long legs were giving him a slight advantage over whoever was following him.

“That’s weird. I’ve never met a dragon before.”

“Spike certainly is one of a kind. If you’ll excuse me, Twilight and Spike must be getting hungry. I should get going.”

“Oh, can’t you stay out here and chat,” The voice sounded a little out of breath now, and Marjoram had practically stopped breathing himself. Just a little longer. Halfway there, past the fountain, and I’ll be home free.

“Sorry. Busy today. Reshelving day, I think...was what...Twilight said.”

“That sounds exciting,” the tone the pony used spelled out that he viewed it as anything but.

“It is...for us.”

“No ritual sacrifices today?”

Marjoram remembered, faded words of Megen’s warnings. Some ponies never learn the difference between mortician and necromancer. Beware these ponies; for their kind brought down the school around my ears.

“Never planned any, really. I’m not a necromancer.”

An out of breath snort. Marjoram caught sight of the library. He sped up once again, feeling faint and severely out of breath. Marjoram all but flat out sprinted for the door, his mind swirling. Were any of them unicorns? Could he call out for help loud enough for Twilight and/or Spike to hear? If they couldn’t, would anypony else bother to help him?

Marjoram opened the library door, and galloped through it, shutting it just as the pony who had been talking to him tried to gain entry. The lock slid shut as the pony rammed into the thick wooden door head first.

“Let us in!” A different voice called, “This is a public building!”

“It’s...reshelving...day! Closed to...the public!” Marjoram called back, collapsing onto the plush carpet. Thankfully, the food was safe, and so was he.

There was a bit of grumbling from the other side of the door, but by the time Marjoram’s heart rate and breathing had gone down, they had left. Marjoram slumped against the door, breathing shallowly and evenly.

I need to get out of Ponyville for a while. They’re seriously thinking about hurting a fellow pony. I need to tell the Princess, see if she can do something-

“Marjoram! There you are! Are you okay? You look pretty winded. Take too long of a walk trying to get breakfast?” Twilight asked, sipping a cup of coffee from where she could see him from the kitchn.

Marjoram debated what to tell her for a split second while he was getting his hooves under him. He decided on the truth while he gave Twilight her breakfast, set Spike’s out, and grabbed his croissants. Nestled in the bottom of the bag was a note, and a chocolate chip muffin.

Hi Marjoram!

I’m sorry about what those meanie-heads are going to try to do. I know you’ll get back to the library safe and sound though, so don’t worry. I hope this muffin helps make your crappy day turn into a slightly less crappy day.

Pinkie

Marjoram sighed, setting the note down and fishing out the muffin, “I’m going downstairs. Call if you need help with anything.”

Twilight nodded, still processing what Marjoram had told her, “Should we tell somepony?”

“I’m going to write a letter to the Princesses. See if they can’t do something about it. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold!” Marjoram scolded before slipping back downstairs.

Twilight sighed, taking a bite out of her danish. Let’s hope the rest of the day isn’t so bad.

Marjoram, meanwhile, had picked up The Heartspire, the book Princess Luna had given him for Hearth’s Warming. He’d flipped through it, not really reading it because he’d been too busy trying not to puke because of the train. Marjoram flopped onto his bed, made himself comfortable, and began to read.

That was what he did the rest of the day, reading about a far away ruin of unicorn civilization.

Sunday

Marjoram had woken up, hoping that after Sunday, that all the bad luck that had been chasing him would leave. Marjoram was tired, grumpy, and done. He wanted the week to be done and over with, and if he could have slept through it, he would have.

Instead, he was actually helping Twilight reshelve the library. For the third time in three weeks. This is getting ridiculous. I know I can be anal, but three times in as many weeks!?

Spike was off reading A Tale of Two Kitties for his Literature lesson of the week. Thankfully, he was nowhere near Marjoram when one of the bookshelves tipped over from being unbalanced.

Marjoram had been sorting through books a meter or so away from the base of the shelf, shelving them in the way Twilight wanted them as he went. Unfortunately, he was facing the opposite direction of the bookshelf when it fell. All he had as warning was a gasp, and a resounding pain in his head, neck, back, and shoulders.

When Marjoram woke up in the Ponyville Hospital with several bruises, a possible concussion, and a black eye, he knew it was time to leave Ponyville and go explore the Heartspire.

Author's Note:

So, the next chapter of this story, will actually be part of a stand alone story. This is because I will be writing about the Heartspire, from Cold in Gardez's story Lost Cities. When I'm complete writing that piece of writing, I'll go back to writing the next arc of the main storyline: which will be an adaption of Suited For Success. We're getting to the end of S1 folks, hold onto your hats.

When I'm done writing the Heartspire, I'll post a link to it in this author's note. I'll also probably write a blog post about it, so just keep an eye out if you are so interested.

Don't hesitate to tell me what you liked, didn't like, or any suggestions you may have. Trust me, I love talking to people about ideas and stuff. So yeah, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and keep an eye out for Exploring the Lost Cities. It should be posted soon.

The first chapter of Exploring is up! Please check it out here.

Comments

[Elsaack]

I'm surprised Marjoram or Twilight didn't try to get a description or cutie mark of the stallion who started giving him trouble. He screams person of interest in the vandalism and seems to be working himself up to something serious.