Hues: The Haphazard Tale of Lilac Dreams

by Jet Cannon

Chapter One: in which the Protagonist's strange medical problem is finally explained to Him

I’ll skip ahead to the examination itself. Because, you know, who really wants to know about my nearly dying twice on my way to Cloudsdale from Neighsley, or the trials and tribulations of getting a chariot brought down for a Pegasus (me) because they (I) can’t really fly, or all the strange looks I got for my appearance, or the even stranger looks I got for walking everywhere… you get where I’m going? I’d rather forget it all, thanks.

Eventually I found myself in the city’s big main hospital, which rather pompously referred to itself as the “Cloudsdale Sanatorium”. Hoo hoo. Cue one session lying on a machine which pointed several scarily phallic-looking probes in my general direction, and about an hour later I was sat in a small office, a cloud desk separating me from the latest medical “professional” to think they could solve my problem. Considering how successful her peers had been, I was not at that point very hopeful.

“So, Lilac…” Dr Breeze began, consulting a chart on the desk before her.

“If it’s ok, I prefer ‘Dreams’, Doctor.”

“Of course, of course. Well then, Dreams,” she began again, now looking up at me with her wide teal eyes and giving me a small smile, “we know what’s wrong with you!”

…wow, really? Nopony’s even been able to figure that out before, so this was quite something. Taking my stunned silence as encouragement, Dr Breeze coughed slightly before excitedly going over some basic details.

“Ever since I met your father at the charity fundraiser last month, I’ve had my theories about what could have been causing your condition. Most of these went out of the window once I read through your medical history and saw what other doctors had already disproven, but enough remained to justify the use of my new Latent Mana Field Distribution Scanner!” The older blue Pegasus was getting increasingly animated about her chosen subject, and I prepared myself for a barrage of scientific jargon which I would be clueless about. Fortunately this proved unnecessary.

“As you know, Pegasi have latent magical abilities. Whilst the magical energy, or mana, flowing through us is tiny relative to a Unicorn’s mana, and it cannot be directed like a Unicorn’s either, it is this mana which allows us to function as we do.” I nodded. I did indeed know this, and she knew that I knew, but there is an unwritten rule which specifies that, when a pony says things like that, one keeps schtum anyway and lets them continue.

“Without the mana in our bodies we wouldn’t be able to interact with the weather as we do, and we probably wouldn’t even be able to fly either, hollow bones or no hollow bones. And of course, our hollow bones wouldn’t be magically strengthened to protect them, either.” Mare, get on with it already! Keep nodding, keep nodding…

“What would appear to be wrong in your case is that your body completely fails to regulate its mana flow properly. The mana within you flows around haphazardly, without being directed precisely where it needs to go at any given moment. In this state of flux it does manage to keep your bones strong and enable contact with clouds without passing straight through, but during flight your mana instead pools, as it were, in the part of your brainstem which should control mana flow, but doesn’t.”

“Jings, that’s a bit… exciting. How dangerous is that?”

“How often have you had your blackouts?”

“About twenty or so over my lifetime.”

“Ok, it’s a miracle you’re still alive. Such concentrated mana pooling in such a delicate part of a pony’s body could have completely ruptured your brainstem’s tissues.”

It took me several moments to digest all of that. I knew from the situations that I had been in whenever I had a blackout that I had been in mortal peril, but that had been because I nearly fell to the ground from high in the air. The fact that the blackouts themselves could have killed me before I was even rescued was quite a shock to the system. They were not merely an inconvenience any more, they could be deadly…

“So… now that we know this, is there anything you can do for me, doctor?” Dr Breeze’s eyes, which had been full of excitement even when discussing the more morbid aspects of my state, now lost some of their glow and her smile faltered into a frown.

“Well… no, I’m afraid not, actually.” Well, buck.

“I… see.”

“The problem is that there hasn’t been a case like yours before in recorded medical history. My assistants are working on the machine’s findings as we speak, and we seem to be making good progress with what we have, but in all honesty if your condition is treatable then it could be several years before anything actionable is confirmed.” She half-smiled again, adding that:

“If it’s any consolation, we’re going to name the condition after you!”

---

So you now see why I felt the need to go and get exceptionally drunk at the nearest bar I could find. Fortunately it was quite a good one, with a selection of better quality drinks available than your average watering hole, but not stuffy and high class like all-too-many Canterlot bars. I proceeded to order myself a Bellini, was slightly disappointed to note that they used yellow peaches instead of white, promptly sighed and then face-planted on the bar after downing my drink. I wasn’t drunk yet, it simply seemed the right thing to do at the time.

“You ok there, buddy?” asked the barman, an older Pegasus with a light green coat and a cider mug on his flank. You have to wonder how a pony comes across a talent like that, and I did so for a second or two before remembering his question.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Just thinking about life.”

“Mm, deep.”

“Yup. Or at least, if not deep then low. Ground level low, as a rule.”

“Try thinking about it like this: baby zebras in Africanter are starving, so you’ve probably got it better than them.”

“Touché.” I raised my head and spent the next hour or so indulging in alcoholic beverages both simple and sophisticated, and engaging the barman in an increasingly strange existential discussion, before eventually staggering outside (ok, it was more than an hour later, I completely lost track of time) and crashing into a passing mare.

The sheer and abject horror of believing you have accidentally killed a pony is a marvellous cure for drunkenness.

“Celestia’s teats! Are you alright?” I scrabbled as quickly as my off-kilter balance would allow me to help the poor mare to her trembling hooves, glancing around worriedly as I did so to see if anypony might misinterpret the situation. Fortunately, the street seemed deserted. Odd, given the fact that it was only early evening, but I wasn’t complaining.

“Um, I… I think so.” The young mare was, unsurprisingly, a Pegasus. “Duh, Cloudsdale, Pegasus city” you say, but you can get an enchantment done or drink a potion if you’re not, so shush: it’s description time.

She was probably one of the most attractive mares I had ever laid eyes upon (although I was dimly aware that the alcohol could have had something to do with that), with a light yellow coat and a simply, though beautifully, styled pink mane which half covered her face. As I waited for her to expand upon her explanation, or indeed to say or do anything at all, it became clear that she was actually hiding behind her mane.

Ok, I thought, she is really shy. Have to… say something… make… conversation…

I swayed and fell over.

“Oh my goodness! Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you did I?” Hmm, apparently that did the trick. The alcohol swirling through my veins had clearly become tired of not being the focus of my attention, and decided to introduce my face to the clouds as punishment.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’m simply feeling a little inebriated after spending the last hour or so drinking away my sorrows, such as they are. And besides that, great clumsy oaf that I am, I would be more worried about causing you harm.” I tried to say this, really I did, but my mouthful of cloud prevented it. Which was probably just as well: I couldn’t stand, what was the likelihood of actually being able to string a proper sentence together?

“Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.” Didn’t think you would.

“Basically,” I began again, spitting out the cloud this time, “I’m ok, just really, reeeeeeeeaaally pissed.”

“Oh my!” She flinched a bit at the slightly rude word, but then she steeled herself and a severe look came into her eye, a look every pony knows and comes to fear: I was, in no uncertain terms, about to get a dressing down.

“You shouldn’t let yourself get so drunk! Do you know how ill you can make yourself with alcohol? Your liver can get really damaged!” I cowered into the cloud beneath me, for once hoping my ability to walk on clouds would abandon me as well, but no mercy was granted from those beautiful yet terrifying eyes!

After a few seconds though, her stare reduced to the meek look she had worn previously, before she quietly added:

“So, um, I think you should stop drinking so much. That is, if it’s ok with you…” I was utterly nonplussed, and I hadn’t regained control of my jaw before she continued, in a kinder tone:

“What got you drinking so much in the first place? You don’t look like much of a drinker.” I think she might have added “I should know…” in an undertone afterwards but I wasn’t sure. Having nothing better to do with my evening than lie on the clouds outside a bar and talk with this lovely creature, I explained, as lucidly as I could, my reasons for getting smashed.

“Oh my, that must be awful for you!” she said sympathetically once I had finished. “I’m not really that great a flier myself, so I kind of know how you feel.” She looked at the kerb despondently for a second or two, but then she brightened up all of a sudden and looked at me with some degree of excitement.

“Oh! I know! My friend back in Ponyville, Twilight Sparkle, is one of the smartest ponies in Equestria, maybe even the smartest! I’ll bet she could probably help you out, and she’d enjoy the challenge, too! And another of my friends in Ponyville, Rainbow Dash, she won last year’s Best Young Flier Competition! She could probably help too, because she knows so much about flying! I mean,” and she quietened down again, having almost reached a large enough decibel level for normal conversation, “if you want to, that is…”

A large swathe of what she said went completely over my head at the time (I only managed to figure it all out once I sobered up) but I got the general gist of things. And it did sound like an interesting idea, admittedly. I had never been to Ponyville before, and from what I had heard it was a lovely corner of the world. There were stories abound that it was primarily populated with beautiful mares and hardly any stallions in comparison; I had failed to believe such tales previously, but seeing the fine example standing over me I thought that at least the part about the mares being beautiful could be true.

“…Issat ssso?” The alcohol was really starting to take hold again, and I could tell that I had an increasingly short length of consciousness available to myself in the near future.

“Are you feeling ok?” the mare asked again, as I slowly began to succumb to sleep.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goooooooood… just havva snooze… for a bit…” And I did just that.

Passing out on the street. Nice one, Lilac. Real classy. Yeah, well… shut up. Not my proudest moment, ok? Never did it before, haven’t done it since. When I woke up I had one helluva hangover, if that’ll make you feel better.

But that’s a story for next time, I can’t be bothered right now.

Tune in at the aforementioned next time, kids! Whenever that is…