Apropos of the Sinners

by SpitFlame

Part III – Chapter VI – In the Dark

This pub Cluster went to visit was called Happy Dreams. Funny, considering most ponies went there with the intention of drowning themselves away from real life responsibilities, to gain a mere hour of happy ignorance. Those were the so-called dreams: a vestige of their former selves. Cluster had deigned to visit the establishment a couple of times during his stay in Baltimare; he had even met some ponies who could certainly recognize his somber and humourless face, and word of his presence was spreading quickly around town.

At first he was addled to realize it was his birthday, and that he was now twenty-eight. The idea had slipped his mind, but the thought to celebrate, as it were, leaped out at him without any connection to preceding thoughts, as if moulding into something tangible in his understanding. But this, too, he readily put off, without any desire to think of it again. He probably wouldn't even tell Daisy about it. And to any other ponies? It would be over by the time he returned to Ponyville.

With all of this swimming in his head, though it by no means troubled him, Cluster strode into the pub. It was a small, brick-layered building, with a pink neon sign of a pony laughing and holding a bubbling mug. Upon entering the little bell indoors rang; he went over to the row of stools, picked one out in the middle, and took a seat.

"Ah, my good Cluster Tale!" said the bartender, flashing him an amiable grin. "Welcome. It's been far too long, eh?"

"It's Cluster Tale. Cluster's here," called one of the stallions in the back, who was halfway into a drunken state and smiling stupidly.

"Cluster! Come sit over here, Cluster," said a mare beside the stallion, tapping a hoof next to her. She, too, was putting out the sort of amicable countenance which assumes something of happy importance is going to take place. They both greeted him happily yet distantly.

They still remember me? thought Cluster, but he ignored them. "One glass of lambic beer please, extra on the lambic."

"Should you be drinking?" asked the bartender in some surprise, though he nevertheless began pouring the requested drink.

"Yeah," muttered Cluster in response. He received the glass and started sipping.

The regulars here are ponies who don't have much to look forward to in the way of life. They look for ponies to vent their problems to... and relieve their stress at this pub. It's a place where a bunch of weak ponies get together. So why am I here?

He stared for a long time at the fizzling surface of his drink, the ice cubes inside beginning to melt. He felt completely blank now, without purpose, as if his own soul were alien to him. He still had a life plan—to become a famous wizard. Or, at least, that was his goal. Now he wasn't so sure. He had everything: respect, untold magical power, the Princess herself by his side. And yet he slid those qualities away from him for that night, as if it didn't matter in the moment. Even the thought of Airglow, whose company he enjoyed, was considerably muted in him.

In my opinion, Cluster, while being a pony of action, that is, the type of pony whose primary virtue was a rare display of honesty and practicality, in the end felt the inertia of consciousness. He was practical, but overly conscious, and those two things, dear reader, do not mix all that well.

"Cluster, hear me out!" exclaimed the stallion from the back, who had come up beside him. "A while ago this very pretty mare talked to me, but then she became bored with me and I haven't heard from her in two whole weeks. I don't know what to do!"

"Don't do anything," replied Cluster. "If you keep wasting your time chasing mares who aren't interested in you, you'll find yourself stuck in a self-defeating cycle. Move on. There are plenty of fish in the sea."

This apparently allayed the stallion's worries, and he was cheered up at once.

Because of his social position, he was the perfect pony to talk to about their problems. Sometimes he would hear them out and give them his word of advice, even if it was ultimately superficial, something anypony could come up with. Apparently, that was enough for them to respect him.

"It's my birthday today," said Cluster, staring intently at the fragments of ice left in his drink, without raising his head.

"Oh, happy birthday," said the bartender.

"Happy birthday!" said the mare, quietly clapping her hooves together.

It was as if he wanted to smile but could not will himself to do so. At first he reasoned that something might be wrong with him, bordering on depression, but then came to see that he cared very little—or didn't care at all—for the ponies in that room.

Cluster gulped down the rest of his drink and exhaled at length. "Tab, please," he said, paid what was owed, and was off without any goodbyes.

The city streets were completely cleared at this time, with the odd pony or two wandering by. By now the silver moon was waning—it was past one o'clock. At first, in much agitation, he considered if he had any romantic feelings for Daisy, because she obviously had feelings for him. He would not get anything else out of her. To his disappointment he thought of her only as a friend, or not even a friend but an acquaintance that he would not see again for a long time. None of this scrutiny stirred even the slightest fluttering in his heart. He felt some inner, as if delayed, sensation in him, a dreary premonition that could not be ignored. Cluster, for all intents and purposes, felt almost relieved to have talked about Snowfall, in spite of his reticent attitude, because even at his lowest point, after all this time, he still missed her.

I went to the pub thinking I could talk to somepony, anypony, he thought glumly, but that backfired. I guess I don't have any friends. I didn't think of it that way.

Cluster returned to Daisy's home at last and saw that she was sleeping, unsurprisingly. Somewhere between one and two in the morning, Cluster had developed a minor headache. With a slight chill he lay stretched out on the couch (he was provided with a bed in another room, but he chose the couch), in the dark, without a candle, unable to decide when he'd be returning to Ponyville, only to pick up his belongings, then off to Canterlot again. What did torment him, however, to the point anger, were the signs of ponies losing their magic. This had been under some strict and prominent investigation by the Royal Guard, and, as he learned last week, it had spread in some small part to Baltimare. He did tell Princess Celestia that he made no promises pertaining to the whole thing. It perturbed him almost as much as reading about some of the ponies in the reports. Was somepony out there stealing magic for their own gain? He was even accused of being some "magic swindler," or whatever it was. But now was not the time to think about these trifles.

Gradually he dozed off into a momentary, light sleep, and in his dreams had something like a nightmare; he dreamed that he was in Bronze Pocket's house, except Bronze was dead and he was the owner. The servants were running about. Neither Airglow nor Nova were anywhere to be seen. At first this pleased him, but right afterward he became terribly sad. He then saw some kind of figure standing before him, a pony who looked very much like him in appearance; the biggest difference was that this one had an almost pitch black mane. This twin-like figure possessed a stoic expression and stared straight at him. Cluster became startled, then calmed down, feeling very strongly that he recognized him, as if some voice were whispering ancient memories in the back of his mind. He did not know what to think. There came a pause, and the figure vanished. The whole house was resounding from terrible knocking on the front door, on the gate, on the fence, so that the whole place was trembling, and some distant and familiar, but for him tormenting, voice was piteously calling him.

He suddenly came to his senses and raised himself on the couch. To his surprise, the knocking on the door continued, so that even Daisy had gotten up and made her way to the living room to see what this was all about. Though the knocking was hardly as strong as it had seemed in his dream, it was rapid and persistent, and the strange and "tormenting" voice, though not piteous enough, still came alternating with another more restrained and ordinary voice.

He got up, gestured at Daisy to stay where she was, and pressed his head to the door.

"Who's there?" he called.

"If you're Cluster," the voice came firmly through, "please tell me whether you'll agree to let me in or not..."

Cluster recognized that voice! He immediately opened the door.

"Snowfall! Is that you...?" he said, trying to make her out in the darkness.

Right enough, it was her.