Sempre
It started as a normal day.
(It would be the last hours in which 'normal' could still exist.)
When it came to mornings at home, Snowflake had a certain (recently-adjusted) routine. He just about always got up early: this time of year would generally see him greeting Moon, and Sun would be raised before he finished. Admittedly, he had to get up a little earlier now, because he was now living with a hare who hadn't been litter-trained and since Genova had once again jumped onto his bed, the first morning consequence was extra laundry.
He spent a little time playing with her, because Fluttershy had told him socialization partially came from such playtimes. (Also that he had to get her used to being around other ponies, and quickly -- but he was working with a certain lack of other ponies.) But after that, he went into the oldest part of the routine: something which began with a healthy breakfast. It was exceptionally healthy, and the fact that the rare grasses required to provide his exact nutritional balance also rendered it into something which mostly tasted like hoof shavings was something he hoped to eventually get past. He retained that hope even after a decade and a half hadn't done it, and was willing to give it two more before giving up.
After the usual coughing and facial contortions had both stopped, it was time for his workout. He'd stopped trying to add mass years ago (and suspected that any additional attempts in that direction would start to hurt his flexibility), but muscles required a certain amount of maintenance. It was a level of effort which his daily labors didn't always provide, and so Snowflake had an exercise regimen which was more strict than the weather schedule. He worked out in every season, in all kinds of conditions, and all injury generally did was force out a few extra winces along the way. He couldn't give up too many sessions. To lose too much muscle tone would be to potentially lose the sky.
(All he had gained was flight. He knew that, often thought about how much had been lost, and was still unwilling to forfeit the lone goal achieved.)
There were wing harnesses: complex systems of fabric and elastic which fit precisely over the stunted remnants: carefully-balanced dangling end loops were quickly loaded with weights. An exacting check to make certain that nothing would be banging into his sides, and then he carefully began to flap. Ten minutes on, ten minutes off, and as the 'off' minutes approached, he trotted out his back door, to where the other weights were waiting.
He had things designed to be hauled with shoulder hitches: loaded carts where the wheels had been created to not turn. Other masses were meant to be pushed with his head, and it had taken a lot of practice before a younger Snowflake had figured out how to avoid pressure bruising. A few padded items were there for kicking: Snowflake was well-known around Ponyville for not fighting (at least when called upon to merely defend himself), but kicking was good exercise in itself and the movements required helped to maintain that precious flexibility.
Snowflake pushed. Shoved. Hauled. Lifted, lowering his body to get his back under a broad padded plank, then pushing with all four legs at once. And as always, he hurt. His body was still somewhat injured from the battle which had been part of Genova's rescue and had he been fully whole, there still would have been pain. The pain was part of the point.
He knew more about strength training than anypony in the nation (while realizing that it was a lot like saying he knew more about air bubble maintenance than any seapony, and seaponies didn't even exist). It hadn't taken long to figure out that 'pleasantly sore' was a marketing slogan, a failed one which had been poorly designed to make ponies believe the agonies they were putting themselves through were normal. But in part, muscle development was the process of deliberately causing a series of injuries to yourself. Maintenance wasn't much better. There was always going to be pain: something he generally had trouble getting the few ponies who'd (initially) accepted his tutelage to believe.
It didn't mean he liked pain. Snowflake didn't enjoy suffering or inflicting it, made the usual efforts to avoid it when exercise wasn't involved. He just understood that pain was necessary. It was going to be present no matter what anypony did, so you might as well figure out how to work with it. How to draw on it.
So he didn't express the pain, not beyond the rare soft, half choked-back grunt. (He always muffled his sounds when working out: he had neighbors and the bulk of them were still sleeping.) He just used it as he pushed, hauled, and lifted under Moon, continued his efforts until some time after Sun was brought into view. It was what he had to do, and so he did it. Snowflake saw that as a natural thing, while most of the amateur athletes who'd fled after one week of basic strength-training instruction regarded it as something closer to making trees grow backwards.
But he knew the truth. You were broken. You healed. And then you were stronger in the broken places. When it came to muscles, it was just that basic.
When it came to living...
The second normal thing was meeting with Scootaloo, and that was something which had initially made most of the town ask some serious questions about Snowflake's personal definition of 'normal'.
Well... the meeting, in so far as it was happening at all, counted for normal. Even the filly's opening topic, angrily shouted at him as she semi-jumped down from her scooter (before it had finished coming to a full stop, leaving it to a rather undignified slow-motion solo crash into the pasture's tall grass) was typical: marks and how she felt a pony was supposed to go about getting one. It was the subject on which she would never entertain an outside opinion, and it also happened to be the one for which she was perpetually, agonizingly wrong.
Which didn't prevent her from adding a new rant every now and again.
"-- and what if the next one would have done it? Because it totally could have been the next one!" she yelled as she pushed through the grass. "I had a really good idea for the next one, and I'm sure we could have done something about the ship! And it's not like Chief Rights can keep guards around the cannon all the time! So it could have been the next one, Snowflake! What if she quit just before everything came together? What if not doing it together is why it doesn't work? What if it's all her fault? Because it could have been the next one, or the one after that, and now it might not be any because she --"
Carefully, "Scootaloo." (His tongue had now healed enough for normal speech, although he was still trying to be careful about not overdoing it.) He was already getting up.
"-- ruined everything --"
And then there was a golden hoof gently pressed against her mouth.
She stopped. (Physically, this took an extra second, but she had no chance of budging him and so mostly wound up slightly indenting her lips.) Backed up enough to glare up at him.
"So you're on her side," she furiously accused.
He shook his head.
With sudden hope, "Then you know she messed up! You know I'm right!"
Snowflake sighed.
From the town's perspective, the relationship looked odd. On the exterior, the pegasi had but two things in common: each could be considered an outcast (and in some ways, a self-made one) and there was a certain lack of size to their wings. However, in Snowflake's case, the latter was incurable. With Scootaloo...
She'd come to him in the middle of spring. He worked for whoever would hire him, and she'd decided a few scavenged bits were clearly enough to turn her into his long-term employer. (He'd never told her that she'd nosed over funds for, at best, seven minutes.) She'd wanted instruction in strength training. Because her wings were small, she'd convinced herself that they always would be, and so she had to get herself into the air his way. Flight through raw muscle power.
He'd tried to dissuade her, done his best to tell her there was no problem at all. Snowflake had dedicated so much of his life to overcoming a rare birth defect, and there had been so many prices to pay for that. Scootaloo's lack of flight came from something much more basic, something she still refused to accept.
Some pegasi got into the air earlier than others. Somepony was always first and in Scootaloo's mind, anything other than first might as well be nothing at all.
It wasn't exactly the best perspective for a late bloomer to have.
Snowflake knew a lot about wing development, had spent long hours comparing himself against the normal. Scootaloo's wings were whole. She just hadn't had an early puberty, had in fact only started into it a few moons ago. He could see where the adult flight feathers were coming in, how her wingspan was gradually increasing moon by moon. Occasionally, he got to watch as she preened herself at odd moments, instinct driven by the itching sensation of that fresh growth. And seconds earlier, he'd seen the usual leap from the scooter turn into something more like a subconscious glide.
Scootaloo would fly, and soon. But when she'd come to him, it had been with the same temporal goal she'd applied to her mark: now. And that was something which couldn't be done.
He'd done everything he could to make her quit, refusing to see anypony else go through what he'd done to himself, not when they were normal. But she'd been stubborn -- to start. Because his method took years, and with Scootaloo...
Fluttershy had been the one to propose that Snowflake had met somepony who potentially shared his talent. Scootaloo had set a goal: to achieve her mark. She was committed, couldn't be dissuaded from her ever-failing path, not even by the forever-increasing disaster count and associated number of tree sap incidents. But at the same time... she didn't have patience. She had her long-term goal -- but any method chosen to produce it would either grant near-instant results or be replaced.
It was possible that the key to freeing her mark was to take a slower route. To work towards something one hoofstep at a time, instead of trying to accomplish everything in one giant leap. But she couldn't see that, and so she'd quickly abandoned his training, just like she quit on everything except that one goal. It was just that... something else had happened first.
They'd ultimately understood each other, just a little. But it was more than that. She respected him, a courtesy she extended to very few. Part of that was the same reason she offered up to Rainbow: both Bearer and Snowflake had gotten through the Wonderbolts practical auditions.
(However, Snowflake had flunked out of camp -- and had known he would when he'd applied. His strength got him in the air and long practice made him maneuverable, but his field strength was too low to use the techniques incorporated into so many performances. A Wonderbolt had to be capable of creating a storm cloud contrail: Snowflake considered himself to be having an exceptionally good day if fifty jumps into the darkest thunderhead ever created wound up producing a light drizzle. But he'd proven he could fly with them...)
She'd also learned a little about his life, purely by accident. And after that... she'd rejected strength training, but she still needed tutoring in magic. The use of pegasus techniques. And in a mixed town with no specialized flight camps, it was something which normally would have been done by her parents, but -- he'd eventually learned something about that as well.
It wasn't easy for either of them. His field strength was low enough that he had trouble even demonstrating certain things, with others forever beyond his reach: she kept insisting that everything had to be for now. But they kept meeting in the pasture for lessons, while the town wondered how Snowflake had developed an immunity to the Crusade and felt vaguely thankful for any hours which Scootaloo wasn't putting towards it. He taught her most of whatever he could, had reviewed her homework while school was still in session, and, incidentally, had provided some hints on how to render the World's Worst Mouthwriting into something which occasionally approached the edge of legibility.
Nopony in town understood the relationship. For Snowflake, it was simple: he'd never had a sister, and moving to Ponyville had provided him with two.
Fluttershy was technically the elder sibling: born a few moons before him, the very first foal delivered by their mutual first friend, and they were each a part of that huge extended family. But with Scootaloo... Snowflake had been a lone foal. Most capless births were: for pegasi, the parents were generally afraid to try again, and with unicorns... for unicorns, the rounded cap was found on the head, presenting a smooth surface to the birth canal. With a unicorn capless birth and a sharp horn, the surviving parent would have other concerns.
There were ways in which Scootaloo and Snowflake had similarities. There was a chance they shared that rare talent, and he had been subtly nudging her towards ways in which it might emerge: the magic instruction was part of that. But they simply got along, as the big brother doing his best to make his headstrong little sister see sense.
As quests went, it was just about as futile as the Crusade itself, and nearly as exhausting.
"I think... she's just tired, Scootaloo," he tried, knowing she was going to ignore most of it. "I know how I feel after a day in the tent with nopony coming in to book me. I start wondering what I did wrong. What somepony might have said about me, to keep everypony else away. It's hard to think about the good things when you feel like you've failed, and I --"
Sure enough, "-- she trotted away!" Wings buzzed in rage, and the filly was too furious to notice hooves briefly parting from ground.
"-- start to blame myself." More softly, "Scootaloo, you three went the whole day without a sale. It's a long time to think about everything you might have done wrong. Maybe she just needs a break."
It was a partial lie: he felt that what Apple Bloom needed was to stay out of the Crusade. But Scootaloo was angry, there were things she wasn't ready to hear -- and ultimately, he was dealing with more than just the anger.
"How can she be my friend if she doesn't stay with me?" the filly raged, tail lashing through the grass. "If she just leaves? She can't be! She can't be my friend and Sweetie, dumb Sweetie just hides up in her room and her dad says 'she doesn't want to come down right now' because suddenly Sweetie's scared and she's always been a little scared of the cool stuff like jumps and zip lines and I had this idea for a flaming hoop --"
He was suddenly very alert. "A what?" (He'd heard her perfectly: he just wanted to get a better description. Imagining the full disaster before it happened required extra details.)
"-- but now she's afraid to even talk to me!" Ribs were heaving now, the breaths too short for the shouts. "Because of Apple Bloom, stupid Apple Bloom, it was supposed to be three of us, three at the same time, a triple manifest would have been the coolest thing ever and now it can't ever be --"
She stopped. The orange head briefly dipped, and then purple eyes slowly looked up at him.
Her next words were just above a whisper. The level of volume which told him she hadn't even wanted to hear herself.
"...how am I supposed to do this alone?"
"You're not," he softly replied.
"I am." That whisper had denoted fact. "Nopony's doing it with me, and everypony else already has their marks. Everypony in our class. I guess I can finally do all the cool stuff which they were too scared to try --"
"-- like flaming hoops --" Because that still seemed fairly important.
"-- but what's the point in trying to be cool by yourself?"
He held back most of the sigh, carefully lowered his body into the tall grass until they were just about on a mutual eye level.
"Maybe you're cool enough already," he carefully suggested. (He wasn't sure about the vocabulary. He'd heard Rainbow talk from a distance, and vaguely suspected that 'radical' could have been swapped in.)
Her head dipped again. "You can't be cool if you don't do cool things. If you don't have the right mark. It's like she doesn't want a great mark any more." And with the rage starting to return, "She's settling! I heard about where she wound up! What she's allowed to do! Gears and clockwork! Pulleys and wheels! What's cool about that? Maybe if she was working with magic like Ratchette does --"
It was a name he knew. Snowflake's devices were limited to a few reliable household appliances: he'd never had to seek out the services of the fix-it shop. But in terms of that extended family, those brought to Sun by his first friend were everywhere, and so he'd told himself that really, he'd just been waiting for a proper chance at that initial meeting. Even with that connection, his shyness didn't help.
(He'd almost backed out on Fluttershy, had nearly reached the other side of the bridge when he'd heard the cottage door open, but he'd glanced back at the sound and something about just seeing her...)
"-- then that's obviously better, but it's just the boring stuff! You can't be cool and boring at the same time! And Apple Bloom can't do anything with devices to start with, not when she's --"
She stopped.
More awkwardly, "...um..."
He managed a small smile. "You can't either."
"Ratchette can," Scootaloo protested. "It's her mark. If it wasn't for all the dumb grease and wire stuff, it would be one of the best marks ever. A mark that lets you do what only unicorns could?" Fuming now, "If we -- I wasn't banned from her shop for no reason at all..."
You took the device which lets a balloon fly and called it 'borrowing'. It only went back after the crash, needing more repairs than it went into the shop for. That's why you're banned. But Scootaloo couldn't see that, and it wasn't the first priority anyway.
"It's her mark," he agreed. "That makes a difference. But I've heard ponies talking about her, mostly before they get on the train to Canterlot. She only works on the physical aspects of devices, Scootaloo. Adjusting the wire, checking the internal structure. She doesn't even work on wonders." Pegasi had their own enchanted creations, and he'd briefly wondered why the shop didn't offer services for them, but... mark. "So there's times when ponies have to go elsewhere. No wonders, and when it comes to devices, she can't cast or enchant."
(He didn't know.)
"But at least magic's a little cool," she fumed. "Gears..."
I remember the net-thrower. The one you said you took the lead on making after Apple Bloom was taking too long. A few adjusted gears probably would have helped.
"It's her choice," he softly told her.
"She made the wrong one," she stridently insisted. "It's supposed to be three. Now it's just me, and if it's just me..."
Purple eyes squeezed shut. The resulting dislodged tear could have been produced by anger or sadness: either way, he knew it would be denied.
She was angry. But she was also lonely. And she wasn't ready to listen. There was a certain art to figuring out when Scootaloo was ready to listen, and it involved a lot of waiting. A few days, more likely a week, and anything before that would be prying: the scooter's axles turned lubricant into smoke when its owner thought somepony was prying. For now, all she would accept was company.
It meant he was going to be late for his next appointment. But the mare he was meeting had her own problems with sticking to an exact schedule, and for this... Fluttershy would understand.
Snowflake straightened up.
"I thought we could work on something fun today."
Her eyes almost instantly opened, seemed to be lit from within. "Lightning?"
He'd been putting her off for moons, and that was just based on her normal behavior. Giving an upset Crusader -- potentially the last Crusader -- a means of electrically expressing her anger was never going to happen. Besides, everypony knew he'd been tutoring her. He suspected several townsponies had been waiting for that lesson, mostly because they already had an envelope ready for mailing off the lawsuits.
Additionally, showing her lightning would be hard: even with a cloud so full of ions as to just about leak, it took extraordinary effort for him to make it discharge something more suited to hooves being scraped across carpet. And her field strength was much higher than his: Scootaloo hadn't been formally tested yet, but he suspected she was well above average. She usually surpassed him at anything he taught her, and quickly. He expected the same result today.
"Molding," he replied.
"Molding," she dubiously repeated, mostly to see if he'd been trying to say 'lightning' and somehow missed.
"Making a cloud hold a shape long-term." And before she could start to talk about how boring that was, he added "It won't be long before you make your first swagger-lair, camp out there for a week. I did." Although his effort had been substandard, and he'd hated sleeping in it: it had felt as if the cloud had been even more tacky than usual. "Eventually, you might even want to make your own house..."
The trailoff had been deliberate, and it served its purpose: giving her a place to land.
"My own house," she considered, tail finding some degree of loft. "My house -- what's a swagger-lair?"
"The first step," he told her. "I'm going to wrangle a cloud down for you. Let's see how long it takes for you to create a stable hollow."
Just about as expected, "And I could make words --"
...well, the good news about her now-very-short-term grounded status was that no rude terms would be skywritten above the Acres. Yet. (He'd already figured out that she was the last pony he could tell about the date. Guilt by association or in this case, by presumed dinner-and-a-movie.)
"I've seen your mouthwriting," he reminded her with a grin, beginning his takeoff. "How could anypony tell?"
He went into the sky, chased by her snort of half-mock offense. They knew each other well enough to tease. That was normal.
(Nothing would ever be normal again.)
Technically, the next (late) appointment shouldn't have been available. The cottage had a myriad of ways to demand its mistress' time, and the visitors who came over the bridge provided a few more. And with Snowflake... well, he had encountered some issues in booking fresh assignments. He didn't expect it to last long: harvest season was coming, and some of the largest farms would pay for temporary help to haul the loaded carts. But at the same time, Fluttershy had been on a mission, and everypony knew that when such came calling, Snowflake took over at the cottage. (He'd never quite been able to tell her that in the event of previous bookings, the palace overrode his schedule: Canterlot ponies took those prebooked hours while he looked after the menagerie. His employers weren't always happy about receiving substitutes, but -- it was the palace.)
The Bearers had been back for a few days, and that was news which generally spread through Ponyville in a hurry. It just hadn't seemed to completely reach most of their respective paying customers. In part, he had the day free because several ponies seemed to feel he was still temporarily living at the cottage, and some of Fluttershy's regulars had booked their pet's grooming elsewhere.
It gave them both a little extra time. And when they could spend that time together...
Filling in at the cottage required several things from the substitute, and the most prominent was impossible: Snowflake's mark would never change. He could only communicate with the residents as a normal pony would -- but that was still something which had to be taught, especially when dealing with species which most ponies never encountered. Some of them simply never accepted him: he'd been glad to see the departing backside of the grumpy walrus and due to the extra-slow speed of the water cart, it had taken some time before he'd stopped.
And then there was the veterinary training. A loophole in Equestria's laws allowed Fluttershy to practice without a degree: it had originally been intended to let students try out recently-learned information between terms, and the existence of correspondence courses meant his near-sister could treat animals without any more than the usual legal concerns. (The emotional toll was worse.) Registering herself as a teacher subsequently allowed her to tutor Snowflake in a few of the basics: simple diagnosis, treating wounds --
-- but she would not tell him how to take a life. It was a burden she had solely taken onto herself, one which became heavier every year, and she would not allow him to carry any part of it.
There were no emergencies (although that was never guaranteed to last): nopony was pounding on the cottage door. The residents were giving them some peace, largely because their mistress was a few days past that return. The initial post-mission arrival at the cottage could see Fluttershy temporarily lost in a blanket of fur and feathers, with semi-optional scales -- but everyone had found their chance to welcome her home, and so relative privacy was possible. If you ignored the rodent eyes glinting within the many holes in the walls, which could take some doing.
It had been a quiet arrival. He'd explained the delay, she'd silently nodded, and they'd gone inside. Even Angel was giving them some space.
He was camped on the recently-cleaned floor, reading notes which he'd taken from one of the thicker texts, asking her questions. She would answer, occasionally kicking in a query for him: seeing how much he remembered from previous sessions. But that was just about all the speech there was, and... it was what so many other ponies expected from Fluttershy. A level of silence which seemed designed to win contests.
With just about everypony else, it was normal. With her friends, she was more open. And with him...
He glances back when he hears the cottage door open. It is, in many ways, involuntary: a colthood spent among those prone to what they saw as fun has attuned him to such things. (Most of that was listening for voices and wingbeats: cloud doors don't exactly make noise.) His first friend talked him into going there, meeting the owner, but... he just moved to Ponyville, and the stares began at the moment he touched down. He's been having trouble dealing with it: at least those in Las Pegasus were staring at him with the disgust of familiarity. He made himself reach the cottage, he even got a forehoof to carefully knock, but no immediate answer came and -- he's shy. Almost painfully so.
So he'd told himself that she clearly wasn't home, or had looked out a window and decided she had no interest in her visitor. Workable excuses, things which freed him to cross the bridge and get away from all the animals in the trees and grass and stream, everything that's very visibly questioning what right he has to be there. But the door opens, he involuntarily glances back and --
On some level, he understands she's beautiful. But it's a purely intellectual one: when it comes to a hormonal reaction, any response instantaneously drops into a chasm of internal forbiddance, never to be seen again. (He doesn't have a type, at least that he will allow himself to admit. There's no point in having one -- but he knows she isn't it.) He isn't looking at the extraordinary fullness of her tail or those slightly-oversized wings. He's looking at the one visible blue-green eye, and it feels as if everything he needs to see is right there.
He's heard of love at first sight. (He mostly considers it a subject for stories: tales he's never going to be part of.) This isn't it. It's... something he can't identify, something deep. He looks at her, she looks at him, and for two ponies who were outcasts in their own society, it never turns into that horrible staring. Instead, there's a silent invitation to keep looking. They just stand there on a warm spring morning and see each other.
(It is recognition, and it will be more than two years before he starts to understand that. It is a greeting which reaches into the soul.)
She blinks. Her head tilts slightly to the right.
"...Snowflake?" The tilt increases. "He... said you might be coming. Um..." The blush starts to rise. "...if you have something else to do..."
Which is something he might have said, if he'd been able to say anything at all.
He shakes his head, and it counts for the most social interaction he's had since his arrival.
Awkwardly, "...oh. Um... do you -- want to come in?"
He does, and he doesn't understand why. He wants to talk to her. He actually wants to speak with somepony he doesn't know --
-- except that he does know her.
After all, they share a friend.
"Yeah."
He turns. He goes inside, and so many little eyes watch him enter.
The single syllable gets them through the first two minutes. After that, he has to talk. So does she.
And then Sun is being lowered.
...they were just about brother and sister. (He was one of the few ponies to know about the sibling tied to her by actual blood. Snowflake, who did everything he could to avoid violence, had still come very close to deciding Zephyr was the kind of pony for whom there were two ideal meetings: never and just long enough.) There were ways in which they understood each other.
She was more quiet than usual. Answers and questions appeared by rote. There were times when she seemed to be having difficulty looking at him, and that had never happened before. There was teaching -- but there was no conversation.
It had been different on the night when she returned -- but all of those nights tended to go the same way. A fog of love would flow through the open door, and she would spend hours within that mist. That was typical. But this time, she'd cleared the throng, seen he was hurt, started to panic -- and then she'd seen Genova. She'd instantly figured out what the hare's proximity to Snowflake had meant, she had spent an hour just in being happy because she'd been very openly trying to match him with anything for years, but she'd also been fussing over his injuries, checking Zecora's dressings, and of course she'd wanted the whole story and his tongue hadn't quite healed yet, but he'd pressed on...
On the nights Fluttershy came home from a mission, she was happy. That was the way it always went. The stress hit later.
He knew her, better than just about anypony. And it was possible that she'd had a rough day since coming home -- but it was much more likely that the mission had been a bad one.
With Scootaloo, any unwelcome questions always counted as prying. When it was Fluttershy... the first move had to be his. She would talk, he would listen and then if all went well, she would feel better for a while.
He didn't consider himself to be a strong speaker: among other things, he lacked practice. Her friends might have been better, but -- they would have gone through everything with her. There were times when an outside perspective was needed and when it was Fluttershy... he tried.
However, because it was Fluttershy, you didn't go in for the speed landing: you descended slowly and hoped for a minimum of verbal WHUMP! upon touchdown. And so he decided to start with an unrelated topic, working his way down to the heart of the issue from there. They might even manage to reach the set-up date with Applejack along the way.
Besides, there was something they'd never gotten a chance to discuss during the joy of her return. A subject important to both. In a way, it was the most important topic of their lives, for it was the reason they were alive at all.
(He didn't know.)
"How current are you on the news?" And immediately decided he'd phrased it badly.
She froze in place, halfway to an overpriced journal and the article which was undoubtedly about to update everything. "...um... I heard about the Crusade breaking up. Two mares were gossiping about it while they were waiting." A soft sigh. "...I need to talk to Applejack and Rarity. See how their sisters are doing. How's Scootaloo?"
The one visible eye was looking at the journal's cover. (Two otters playing in the water. It didn't bode well for the contents: he'd already learned that the cuter the picture, the more graphic the featured disease.) Not him.
"Angry," Snowflake admitted, followed by "Lonely. Not that she'll admit that part." He sighed, pushed himself upright. "Not ready to talk about it yet, because it's Scootaloo." And it almost felt like a natural segue. "Or to write about it, because it's still Scootaloo, and not only is writing boring, Sun help the pony who has to try and figure out what she put down."
It got the smallest smile out of her -- but only for a moment. "...yes. Just try to watch her. She doesn't... exactly have the best judgment when she isn't upset."
He nodded, sighed again. "I wish she did have a quill companion. Somepony she could tell anything to, partially because they weren't there." And smiled. "I'm just glad we still have ours."
Fluttershy blinked. "...ours?"
Red eyes briefly went wide. Maybe she doesn't know. Maybe she's been worried for days because she's trying to get the cottage in order, she hasn't been able to go into town and nopony's told her...
If that was the case, he had the perfect means of cheering her up: genuine good news.
"They found Doctor Gentle." It emerged with a genuine grin. "The news came in a little after you left. Just about as fast as it could have: there must have been pegasi flying relays under Sun and Moon to spread the word. And I know you were going to join the search before the mission came in: you told me back at the tent. I know you've been worried --"
-- which was when he saw it.
The dipped head. The closed eye. The sagging tail. A half-collapsed spine. And a voice which barely reached the level of whisper, something which still didn't mask the layer of sob.
"...I know."
He moved as quickly as he could without getting in the air, reached her side in seconds. "Fluttershy?"
"...I -- know, Snowflake. I..." Moisture began to well. "...I know..."
He could only guess, and he made the wrong one. "Is it because you weren't there for him?" Gently, "Fluttershy, he understands. We all have our own lives. You had a mission: you can't control that. I had to watch the cottage for you. What matters is that he was found, and I heard he wasn't badly hurt. Just --" and this was a good idea "-- write to him." With a warm smile, "I know you write to him a lot." And with slight embarrassment, "More than I do." Although to be fair, Fluttershy's life gave her a lot more to write about. "And he'll write back. He'll tell you there's nothing to forgive. He's always understood, and when it comes to the missions --"
"-- the -- mission..."
He froze. Waited.
She still wouldn't look at him. "...the mission -- was Doctor Gentle."
The next guess was perfectly natural, and still wrong. "The palace sent you out to find him?" Snowflake was quickly elated -- and then very briefly confused. "But when you hired me, you didn't know... Did they give you the briefing at the palace?" It made sense now: their first friend, who possessed a trick nopony had been able to replicate, was registered as a vital resource. The palace had simply sent out what they had seen as the best chance of finding him.
But she was gone for days.
Perhaps there had been something else which needed taking care of in the area. Or the palace had just given the Bearers a few days to relax, let Fluttershy catch up with her first friend --
-- but the latter didn't explain the falling tears.
He was okay. The last I heard, he was okay...
"Fluttershy?" Trying not to panic, and it wasn't prying, not with his near-sister -- but he still hated pushing her too hard. "If it's classified, I'll understand --" because the palace did occasionally lock down mission details "-- but if you can tell me -- please, it's him --"
Which was when she choked.
It was one of the worst sounds he'd ever heard. It was a mare trying to swallow back agony, only to find it burning her throat. It was coming from somepony he cared about, and it got him in front of her.
Snowflake carefully learned forward.
"Fluttershy?"
It was an awkward nuzzle. All he really knew was the one meant for family, and the only prior recipients had been his parents and a stallion he was now worried about to the point of terror.
She didn't nuzzle back.
"...it's classified..."
A dozen nightmares galloped through his agonized mind, with every last one leaving a hoofprint of No.
"...and I'm allowed to tell you." The tears were falling faster now. "Just about nopony except you. And I didn't... at first, I was just happy to be home, but then I saw you and I'd forgotten. I forgot you were going to be here, that you're always here when I get back, and I forgot because I didn't want to tell you. But I had to, and -- then I saw you were hurt, and that was an excuse. Then I saw Genova, and it wasn't just something to be happy about, it was a better excuse. And then I had to -- get back to my life. Which meant staying at the cottage. Excuse after excuse, Snowflake. I didn't want to tell you because I know what it did when I heard it. I didn't want to see what it did to you. But you have to know, and I don't want you to know because as long as you don't... maybe you're happy. Maybe you're..."
He didn't understand.
(He would wish he never had.)
His tail was vibrating. He could feel the bandaged ear trying to move within the dressings. Down and flat against the skull. The sign of purest fear.
"Fluttershy?"
"...maybe you can just think everything's -- normal. And when I tell you --" The visible eye opened. More tears fell. "-- that goes away. Forever."
He took a deep, shuddering breath. "You're scaring me." It was something he could say, when it was her. It also happened to be true.
She was shaking now. "...it'll be worse than that. But you have to know. And I... can't just keep looking for excuses. You have to know, from me. Because the mission was about Doctor Gentle. It was about us..."
And in his own terror, he went directly for what he believed to be the worst. "Is -- is he dead?"
Which was when she nuzzled him back.
They stayed that way for a while. He felt she was trying to comfort him in the face of tragedy and for that, he was not wrong. His fur took on her tears, joined them to his own. And after they had simply reminded each other that they were both still alive, she found the strength for a "...no."
A powerful heart nearly collapsed under the weight of relief. But she was still so hurt...
"I don't understand." (It was the last minutes where that would be true. In many ways, they were the last minutes of his life.) "He's not dead, but it's bad." Crippled, broken... "It's classified, but you're allowed to tell me? Because we're both his?"
She choked again, as the shaking increased. (He was seconds away from takeoff, getting her into a leg press and flying her to the hospital. He could manage that burden.) "...just... sit down. On the fainting couch. And... promise me you'll listen. All the way through, until it's over. Because you'll probably want to leave. You might not even believe me. But I was there, Snowflake. It happened. And I have to be the one who tells you, because... I care about you. I love you."
From her, he could believe it. The words made him smile, because he knew how she meant it. She loved him like --
"...like a brother. And..." Another sob, followed by a wet sniff: her snout always became clogged when she cried for too long. "...you have to know why..."
He didn't understand.
(He was about to learn everything.)
But he went to the couch. He sat. Waited.
Following their first meeting, it had taken very little time to realize that there were ways in which she was stronger than he was. She took the burden of her charges' deaths and got up every day to face the certainty of having to take a life again. She went into the missions and came back. She faced things ponies dreaded and even if she was trembling, kept facing them. He knew her strength, realized he would never match it, and respected her all the more for that.
She was stronger than he was. And through tears and agony, she was strong enough to tell him what he was.
He didn't believe her.
He didn't want to believe her.
He wanted her to stop talking, and wished for that more than anything.
He...
...I'm...
He was supposed to be dead. He had known that almost from the start. One stallion had gifted him with every moment under Sun, and a lonely life was so much better than none at all. He had accepted that, long ago. Been grateful, always.
...I'm not even...
She finished. Waited.
For several minutes, his only movement had been from breathing, and even that had been enough to shed the last of the poultices. But now he felt as if he was vibrating. As if everything was. A vase on the other side of the room was dancing, and he noticed that because it was so much better than thinking.
"...Snowflake?"
But he couldn't stop thinking. The same thought, over and over.
"...Snowflake..." More weeping. She always had more tears to give. "...please..."
Amputations flared, stretched out to their joke of a full wingspan. And then there was a door and then, because it was in his way, there wasn't.
He flew, and was barely aware that it was happening at all. Just that he couldn't be there any longer, he had to get away and he couldn't get away and no matter how far he flew (and he hadn't yet realized that he was oriented on Canterlot, the capitol already starting to swell in front of his unseeing eyes), he would never escape from the truth.
The flood of denial was already rushing forth, trying to carry him to safety in its rushing waters. The inner lies that preserved sanity, that would make everything she had said not have been. But a deeper part, the same aspect which had greeted a sibling on first meeting -- that knew the truth. And no matter what he told himself, words which formed a shield destined to break within hours... the opposing current flowed.
He wasn't a pegasus.
He had never been a pegasus.
He wasn't anything.
I'm not even real.
Stats
Page generated in 0.025 seconds
Total duration
700 users online
986,303 hits today, 2,364,530 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.®
So this version of Snowflake is like the cannon version of Big Mac? I can roll with that.
Ouch.
I knew this was coming, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but... Ouch.
Don’t hate the messenger, Snowflake. Go back and apologise. And fix the door.
Ouch this is going to hurt Snowflake hard. I hope he can find more friends to lean on through this difficult time and Applejack will lead the charge.
Somebody still has to tell Rachette. Let the good times roll
You have to wonder "What will happen when he figures out that AJ knows this?"
Okay, first of all: Scootaloo, just stop. PLEASE tell me this story will finally see the end of the Crusade.
Second: I just want to grab both Fluttershy and Snowflake and hug the stuffings out of them. Especially Fluttershy.
Quiet Presence, Gentle Arrival
Good old Stare Master reference.
9508487
I know how I'd do it (or have it done), but...
Poor Snowflake. He took it bad... will he make it to Canterlot? What will he do there?
And poor Flutershy, she probably took his reaction harder than he took the news.
Buddy, you don't even know the half of it.
So seaponies officially don't exist in the 'verse or he has no reason to believe they exist and thus doesn't? Very well written chapter, I'm just caught up on that because anything seapony related gets me excited, especially in works such as yours. (i.e. well written/planned)
Mercy I love your stories.
Wow... just.. I knew there’d be dark times but ouch.
There’s going to be a lot of pain before a lot of beings can start healing.
Another great chapter. It’s heartbreaking to see how poor Snowflake took the news, though it’s understandable that he’d be upset to find out that he’s not entirely Pegasus.
There’s one thing that occurs to me, an interesting question I need to ask; when Tirek comes, assuming that things go like they do in the show, how will that returning magic work on the hybrids? Will all their chaos magic go back to Discord? Will their essences be the same, or will the wave of Harmony returning their magic give them the magic they’re supposed to have?
I’ll be happy to follow the Tryptich Continuum to find out the answer to those questions, though.
And we won't for a while yet, if ever.
An unpiloted scooter crashing in slow motion seems like an accurate depiction of Scootaloo at the moment. Maybe getting airborne will finally teach her that some things have to come in their own time. Maybe.
As for Snowflake... yeah, that was pretty much the worst way he could have taken that. And whatever he thinks he'll do in Canterlot, it won't help (though "think" isn't the best word one could use right now...)
And, of course, he's completely forgotten about the date. This won't go well at all.
oh, reminded me of this story:
https://www.fimfiction.net/story/9135/a-slice-of-life
and a character named " Schwarzwälder."
Estee, every time I see that this story and, back when it was incomplete, tryptic update i get an overwhelming feeling of joy.
I was just rereading this and hoping for an update yesterday. I was expecting it to go back to Snowflake’s perspective, but I was not expecting this to come up.
Though now that I gather my thoughts, I wonder if Mac is going to get blamed for him not showing up? Big Mac disappears to go blow off steam. Snowflake doesn’t show up for the date. AJ hunts Mac down accusing him of running Snowflake off. Things get even worse from there.
I think that’s more likely than my first thoughts. Go Team Miscommunication!
Given your usual choices of chapter titles, I'm very curious what the 'Always' here refers to.
9509609
I can make a few guesses. This:
...was the first thing to come to mind, and feels like it might be the major meaning. The finality of knowledge: Now that he knows what he knows, he can't unknow it, no matter how much he may want to, or want to deny it. He may be taking the implications of that knowledge a little far at this point, but it's always going to be in his head somewhere.
Selected results for Ctrl + F-ing "always":
Any of these could be additional significances, and in this, it reminds me of The Hypocrisy Of Tolerance, with its repeated "Again. Always." referring to various things.
Which leads to Why She Fails.
As for Snowflake himself, his reaction to what he is seems to me to be what to expect from most of the hybrids.
Oh, that's rough
Did Fluttershy directly tell him that she was a hybrid as well, or just imply it because they were both delivered by Gentle Arrival? Because I think he would have taken it better if he were thinking that his best friend was different the same way he is.
9508487
I think (hope) Ratchette will be the easiest to tell, since she already knows there's something strange.
9508846
That's Snowflake's POV thoughts. He believes seaponies don't exist. It seems to be common knowledge that they don't exist (Spike has a similar thought in Drunk Little Ponies).
I don't recall any actual in-universe evidence saying they don't, beyond "everypony knows". And that sort of thing doesn't fare well in this continuity.
9508593
Daily Equestria Life with Monster Girl suggests that Tirek is going to play out roughly the same as canon (but with a lot more PTSD). I'm assuming that all non-crossover elements are meant to be consistent with the Triptych continuity. But you know what they say about assumptions.
What matters is that he was found.
Pegasai call their first cloud-workings swagger-lairs? That is amazing.
Powerfully strong emotion is one of the best ways to tap magic, though 'tis also one of the worst ways to control it. Brushing the other half of his birthright is he?
My reaction:
... 
... 
Wonderfully done, powerful, and ow.
oh, this reminds me of a crazy scene in an old comic book, i think it was Cyberforce:
a villain is torturing someone, while babbling insane nonsense about how WONDERFUL Pain is...
then a young woman hits him in the face with something, a Shuriken, if i remember...
he screams and runs away, and the girl shouts after him:
"what's the matter? i thought you LIKED pain!
aren't you ENJOYING it?
isn't it WONDERFUL?"
Oh man these lines hit much harder in the context of the whole verse and what happens with her parents after.