23 – Realities, Rechecked (v2)
Laurence's View
Stupid blind side...
Watching the scenery has always been my favorite activity during car rides. There's a constant renewal of landscapes and buildings and such to hold my attention, the world's natural complexity staving off the restlessness. If by chance the view ever gets too monotonous, I like to superimpose over it airships or fantastical animals racing against our car, swerving and jumping in my mind's eye around the obstacles of the real world...
So it's more than a little frustrating that I ended up sitting on the right side. I have to keep my head turned and nose squashed against the cold, rain-streaked window if I want to see anything else than the interior of the vehicle!
My first idea was to ride shotgun, but Mél vetoed it – as we're driving in broad daylight it'd be too risky for me to be in full view, which I guess is a pertinent observation... I then tried to sit behind her, but there just wasn't enough leg room for me, as this is a small city car and I'm forced to slouch if I don't want my head to hit the roof. Serves me right – I shouldn't have waited so long to plan things out, maybe she could've rented a bigger one, like last time...
At least this shouldn't take us more than two hours. I can put up with it. And Dusky's behaving himself for now – I was wary of 'are we there yet'-type shenanigans or other puerile performances, but he's just laying pony-style on his side of the bench, napping.
Predictably, the colt wouldn't hear anything when that Antoine guy decided he couldn't come. I was tempted to play on this convenient restriction to have him stay in Coursac, but after our talk in the barn, it... I don't know, it would've felt like betraying him. I wouldn't betray a friend this way, even if it proved advantageous, and Dusky's more or less a friend, huh?
For some obscure reason it feels weird to put it in those terms.
Anyway, the secondary goal of this trip is to avoid pony drama, so no more thinking about this for the time being – my primary goal is already daunting enough as it is..! I haven't even tried to stop myself from clawing at where my thighs should be, guts twisting into knots just thinking about all this, and... And that's why I would've liked to be able to focus exclusively on the outside view, to allow myself some respite from the mounting anxiety! But alas, that's a lost cause...
Mom... Dad...
How will they react..?
Will they even recognize me? Will they accept to recognize me..?
I was fairly confident that Mél would be able to see through this foreign flesh, to see me – but she's special. I've never been closer to another human being, she knows and understands me better than anyone ever could, even Séb or, hell, even myself...
My sister's been my anchor since my birth, while my parents... Well, not that we aren't close, or that we don't like one another, but it feels like they never really accepted who I am, that I could be different from their first daughter.
With the passing years, and some pointers from Mél and my therapists, I've come to admit that they didn't just hate me, that it wasn't resentfulness for my very existence or willful disregard for my needs – that they just had trouble understanding me, weren't sure how to act, and thus convinced themselves that my issues weren't that important, or that, with some 'effort', all the problems could've been solved...
All my childhood it's been 'why don't you try a little harder, Laurence', or 'don't worry, it's difficult for everybody else too, Laurence', 'it's a lot of efforts now Laurence, but it'll only become easier the more you do it' – always downplaying my feelings, the idea that I wouldn't have perfect control on my own behavior... Always putting me as responsible for my failures... Because of course, it's not that I could be sick, no, I was just too lazy and looked for a convenient excuse!
Then came my teenage years, and after I started seeing a therapist, after I got a nice little official diagnosis, then suddenly they believed me! Then my issues were real, and not just attempts at avoiding responsibilities... To their credit, they worked to learn and understand my issues from this point on, though it didn't help that my anxieties don't always appear logical – it often feels like they abide by their own internal, inscrutable logic. As a result, Mom and Dad sometimes acted as if I were made of glass, underscoring just how 'broken' I am...
And now, this...
*sigh*
Something tells me it's somehow going to be my fault again... Like, 'did you try not being a pony, Laurence', or 'what did you do to end up in this situation, Laurence'...
And what could I say in my defense? I wouldn't touch all this reincarnation business with a three meters pole, so where does that leave me, exactly? They probably won't be satisfied if I don't give them some sort of credible explanation, even if it still amounts to 'a god of chaos did it'. I can tell them that it's random, which is true – I don't think my parents were predisposed to have a child with past-life issues, it's just bad luck. Other major points would be that it's out of my control, that I'm far from the only one affected, that even if the government keeps it under wraps this is still a recognized condition, that given the chance I'll do everything so I can to be normal again...
To reclaim my real body, my real life...
To get away from this constant waking nightmare...
No more Rafale and her despicable legacy. No more wings, or hooves, or ears that keep on swiveling, or unnatural, sickening proportions. No more of all these little details that pile up into an unavoidable mountain of 'not right' – eye slightly angled to the side, blue muzzle always in my field of vision, overpowering scents, play of fabric over fur, seat belt either going up my neck for lack of real shoulders or compressing my distended chest, highlighting all the more the uncomfortable tightness of my clothes that I'm usually able to forget..!
I shift a little, letting that damn seat belt rest a little less obtrusively against me, at least for the time being.
Glancing in Mél's direction, I blink, seeing her look right back at me in the rear view mirror before quickly averting her eyes. At the same time her fingers drum briefly against the wheel – an unconscious behavior reminiscent of my own clawing, and that I associate with her feeling anxious or uncertain.
Does she share my doubts and fears? Probably, yes. “Don't worry Mél, I'm sure it's going to work out...”, I lie.
Once more her gaze meets mine through the mirror, but again she almost immediately brings her attention back on the road. “Of course, of course!”, she blurts out. “It's all a question of presenting the facts in the most... Well, the most palatable way possible, you know?”
I nod slowly, but I can't shake this nagging impression, that she's nervous about something quite a bit more immediate than the coming confrontation: “Is something the matter?”
“Uh, well I'm sure you can understand that I'd get a little apprehensive of the task ahead, right?”
Obviously. But, even though I've never been very good at discerning deceptions or deflections before, I'm pretty sure this is an attempt at one – and her fiddling with the wheel confirms it.
“Mél... What is it that you're not telling me?”
Silence.
Her nails rake the wheel's plastic.
“We're a team Mél,” I say with conviction, “and I'm your sister. If there's a problem you can tell me, and we will address it together. Right?”
Our eyes meet, and this time she doesn't look away so abruptly – I can see the trepidation in hers. “Don't worry Laurence, it's just... Well, it's just the, uh, the way you sit...”, she finally admits... to my own confusion.
“Uh... How many ways to sit in a car seat do you know of?”, I ask bluntly.
“It's just– never mind!”
Hey, not so fast! I need to be aware of all the relevant parameters before deciding on how to act, and she clearly thinks this is important enough to be a cause of stress! I affect my sternest tone: “Mélanie..?”
My big sister only stares at the road for a moment, before sighing: “It's just... I'm sorry, it looks a bit fr– a bit odd, I mean...”, she lets out, voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned by the rumbling of the car and the swish of the wipers.
“What.”, I mouth, thoughts screeching to a halt. Did she...
“You know of the 'uncanny valley' principle, huh?”, she brings up nervously.
The question puts me back on tracks. “Of course...”, I answer carefully. “What does it have to do with anything?”
“Well, it's just, you sitting like that, with this body, like...”
“Like what?”, I insist, already bristling at her evasiveness, and now frowning all the more as I get an idea of what she's not telling me.
“Well I mean, anatomically speaking it's not what this type of body has been designed for,” she babbles, gesticulating uneasily, “this is by humans for hu—”
“I AM HUMAN!!”, I cut her off, my outraged roar ringing out in the cramped car, making her jump and almost swerve from our lane.
Mél quickly seizes the wheel with both hands, forcing her full focus back on the highway and rectifying our course – good thing traffic's pretty light.
The brunt of my sudden fury gone as soon as the words escaped my lips, I'm left to deal with the violence of my reaction, and its consequences. My sister is biting on her lower lip, her breath halting like she's fighting back tears, while a woken-up Dusky is simply looking at me, impassive, as if waiting for my next move.
I...
What got into me!?
It's far from the first time I've been confronted to this very subject, and I know what she meant, she wasn't being consciously cruel or anything, just awkward at worst, but...
But from my own sister, it... It hurts so much more..!
If she isn't fully on my side, what can I even hope for!? She's supposed to be my best ally, my advocate, my anchor! She's the one supposed to understand me! Without her support, her acceptance, I'm virtually alone..!
Alone to face Mom and Dad...
Dammit, how did I ever think this trip could be a good idea!? If Mél doesn't really see me as I am, they certainly won't! And if my skin's so thin that I can't even deal with this without exploding, how could I even—
“Laurence.”, Mél surprises me, voice firm and steady. Her 'big sis voice'. “I'm sorry.”
Brought down from my anxious high, I don't have time to collect my wits before she goes on:
“You're my li'l sis, and you are human. But,” my heart tightens as she utters this single, dreadful syllable, “you are also... 'pony-shaped', for lack of a better term.”
My first impulse is to contest, to deny this mortifying truth – though fortunately I have just enough neurons left in this stupid skull of mine to stay my words.
“I know it's hard for you Laurence, but we can't just reject this fact. Mom and Dad expect their regular, human-looking daughter, and at first they will only see a pony. I know that it'll hurt, that it'll be hard, but we are here for you, and this won't ever change, whatever happens. You know that, right?”
Of course I do, intellectually... when I'm not agonizing over the possibility of the exact inverse scenario. But it's just the anxiety talking. I should take a page from Amber's book, and allow myself a little optimism, at least when it comes to my big sister. Mél has proven time and again – hell, for as long as I've been alive – that I can count on her! It's only the situation getting on our nerves, we have to stay strong, together! It's the only way that, maybe, we'll be able to convince our parents...
“I know...”, I answer softly, at last, before speaking a bit louder to be sure she hears me: “I know, and I'm sorry I shouted, that was uncalled for...”
“Well, to be honest I...”, she mutters, dropping out of big-sis mode for a moment, “I could have phrased that better in the first place...”
“It's all right. I love you, Mél...”
“I love you, Lolo.”
With her free hand she reaches for me while still looking at the road, and after some hesitation, I hold out mine. Her fingers find my knuckle, and she squeezes gently, stroking the skin with her nails.
It's very soothing... And I'm pretty sure I've heard a faint 'awwww..!' coming from the other backseat. Another good point for you, Dusky – you know when to keep quiet.
Mél reclaims her hand after a while, and as I sit back, I force myself to inquire:
“So, uh... I should work on my stance, in your opinion?”
Sweetchard's View
Hmm...
I'm getting short on available space with that layout. But this is still a glaring gap in my defense strategy...
What should I do..?
I fiddle with the stylus held between my lips, pondering my next move. In the end I decide to sacrifice one elixir collector for a shiny new air defense, I think I can spare it for now.
Playing silly games on my phone really does help the day pass faster... I'll have to properly thank Pippin tonight.
Once the mare dares opening her mouth she can give some pretty good advice: most apps don't need a SIM card to work, so I can use them with no risk of receiving a call or text. She even offered to remove the card herself, with those nimble wing-finger things of hers – they can be quite a bit more precise than hooftips. Not that it was just from the bottom of her heart, in exchange she got to check her email and stuff, but still – thanks are in order.
Maybe I could get her to play with me? That could be a fun way to spend our nights. Who knows, maybe she—
“Oooh, is that a smile I see..?”
My mood takes a nosedive at hearing Violette's lilting voice. Yet the unicorn doesn't seem to mind my sudden sourness, as she sits with me in this usually calm corner of the garage:
“It's good to see you a little more active, Sweetchard.”, she says warmly.
Tsk... I'd appreciate more her show of concern if I didn't know just how fake and forced it really is.
“What do you want?”, I grumble, spitting out my stylus. “This better not be another intervention...” Is Bilberry getting that desperate she needs to send somepony else in her stead?
“Perish the thought.”, the purple mare answers with a dismissive wave of the hoof. “I was hoping for a little chat with you, nothing more.”
I frown. This doesn't sound fishy at all... but I still take the bait: “About what?”
“Well, to be honest,”, she leans closer, quieting down to a hushed whisper, “I may be in need of your experience and opinion...”
Uuuuuh... Come again?
“See, I'm kind of, er, let's say in a pickle. You probably didn't fail to notice our latest guest, right..?”
“The human..? Pretty hard to miss, yeah.”
“His name is Antoine, and... Oh this is quite embarrassing, excuse me...”, Violette mutters with reddening cheeks. “We used to be in a relationship, back in the day...”
“So..?” What does it have to do with me?
“Well, our break up was more a question of practicality and petty politics than anything else...”, she laments. “I've never really stopped pining for him, but there was just too much in the way, want it or not this was the correct decision at the time. But that was then, and things have changed now! Or so I hoped...”
... Oh yuck. Human as a whole are bad enough, but this particular one's even worse! She's not actually suggesting that, is she? “Uh, you... You want to...”
“To rekindle our relationship? Yes, very much so. But I'm not sure what to do..!”
“And you're asking for my opinion!?”, I blurt out, completely baffled!
“Shh, not so loud..!”, she hisses. “He's not here right now, but I'd rather have this conversation stay between us..!”
“What 'conversation'!? What do you even expect me of all ponies to have to say about that!?”
“But you and Crispy—”
“Are you bucking blind!? There's nothing between Crispy and I anymore! She dumped me!”
“How can you be so sure?”, she has the gall to ask, blinking innocently. “Did you two even talk about it, or is it just your own interpretation?”
Where is she going with that!? “Of course we didn't talk about it, darn it! She's been avoiding me ever since she didn't have to look after me anymore!”
“So you actually don't know...”, she muses, almost to herself.
“I, uh...”
This... This is nonsense! I'm not an idiot, I can see Crispy doesn't want anything to do with me! Whatever fiction we had between us, it broke that night she showed her true colors!
She... She only took care of me out of guilt, I'm sure! And rightly so, it was her fault in the first place! It's... It's all her fault, she... She...
Did she... Was it her way to try to make amends..? Why wouldn't she just say so, if that was the case? I didn't reject her, not... Well, not overtly!
...
*sigh*
“What do you want from me, Violette..?”, I ask wearily.
She look at me with a sad smile, as if she could plainly see my inner turmoil. “Like I said, I wanted to have your perspective on things. I didn't want to upset you so much...”
“It's... It's alright.”, I affirm, though I know she won't buy it. “I'm not sure my advice would really help you anyway.”
“But still, you can relate, I think? I'm not sure either where he stands when it comes to me. Is our relationship truly in the past for him, or is he just trying to keep his distances?”
“At least you and your human aren't avoiding each other...”, I huff.
“Not while we work, no, because we have responsibilities, so we push against the awkwardness for everybody's sake. It's another matter altogether once it's just the two of us...”
“You didn't try to talk to him about it?”
“It's like it's never the right time, or the right place, you know?”, she winces ruefully. “Yet I fear that, the longer I wait, the less likely I am to be satisfied by his answer...”
“Then I guess... You need to make a decision and stop putting it back, ask him before it's too late, uh?”
“I know, but it's so terrifying..!”, she whines, ears drawn back. “It's so much easier to... Well, to wait for a deliverance that'll probably never come on its own...”
“Yeah, it's... I know the feeling.”, I admit. “Not being sure what the other think, and how they'll react if you confront them...”
“Actually, you may have a little more luck than I do on that front...”, she surprises me, a semblance of a smile coming back to her lips.
Despite myself, I can't help but press her for more details: “What do you mean?”
“You've heard of the meetings organized by Rustcrust, right?”
I nod warily. Of course I have – it's where ponies go to cry about what they lost from when they were humans. They quickly stopped pestering me when I made clear I'd never take part in this idiocy.
“Well I've been told that Crispy finally agreed to attend!”
“She did..?” I wouldn't see her attending this kind of thing any more than I would.
“Yes! I didn't believe it either!”
This doesn't make sense... Crispy always said that we shouldn't look back, that we should leave the past in the past. And I thought the same thing – as long as we were together, that we were focusing on what we gained, we could just forget about what we lost.
If now we're alone... Then maybe she's reconsidering, like I almost did?
Violette goes on: “She'll be there to act as translator for Sassie, but... Crispy's been so out of sorts since the events of last weekend, I really hope she'll use this opportunity to unload at least a little.”
“You... You think she would?”
She shrugs. “I'd be surprised if helping Sassie were her sole reason to attend, to be honest. So, yes, maybe? They talk about all kinds of things during these meetings; it's a safe space to open up. About the past, but mostly about the future, about how they're dealing with things, what they hope, what they fear...”
Then... Maybe...
I've been keeping my distances, because I thought that's what she wanted. Was it the wrong thing to do? Or maybe she just needed some time for herself? I've not been the most... The most 'receptive' individual recently, I have to admit.
She hurt me so much that night... In truth, I'm not even sure if she deserves a second chance, even if she asked for one.
But now...
I suppose that, even if I don't talk to her directly, this could still be an opportunity to test the waters?
What do I have to lose anyway, uh..?
Amber Spire's View
Drip...
Drip...
Something's dribbling, somewhere...
I look around. A door, closed. Walls, extending around.
But that's not all.
An oily black fluid is creeping inside, slithering under the door and through the cracks, flowing forth to parts unseen...
What's outside?
A window, here. I get closer, and peer through.
Outside, a void darker than the starless night, and yet... Yet I can feel something, out there, I'm sure of it. I keep looking.
Yes, there, it flickers! A distant mote of blue and purple, blinking in and out of existence. Maybe another window like mine, far away? Do I even have lights here?
Looking back, yes I have my own. Nice little lamps on the walls, giving out a soothing red glow.
My attention drifts back to the black rivulet on the floor, and I follow it away from the door, until I find another door. This one is open.
It doesn't lead outside, no; it leads down. The fluid trickles down the stairs into the depths, towards the foundations. Some of the red lamps reveal the first steps, but I can only perceive the bottom thanks to the speckles of strange light shimmering over the sloshing black liquid.
This isn't right...
I close the door to the depths.
The fluid builds up, tries to push through the unexpected barrage.
The door to the outside rattles, flashes of blue and purple through the window!
It rattles again, and again, and a—
My eyes shoot open and I flail wildly, kicking and thrashing from being pulled out of my sleep so abruptly!
But I'm safe, there's nothing to fear; a quick look around confirms I'm alone in the barn. Just me, heart still hammering in my chest, surrounded by innocent pillows strewn about in my surprise...
Gosh that was unpleasant! I'm not even sure what could've woken me up. I... I think I was dreaming, but... I remember some kind of door, and not much else. It's probably not that important.
At least it feels like this little nap did me some good! After what happened earlier this afternoon, the frustration and the fright and the exhaustion, some shuteye was exactly what I needed. I don't think my magic's back to one hundred percent yet, but that should do it.
It's not like it'd change much anyway...
Back on my hooves, I tidy things up a little then give my mane and tail a good brushing before leaving the barn. It seems the weather cleared somewhat during my nap, the sun peeking from behind the gray clouds, and my fellow ponies are back at work transforming the sloped fields into a series of terraces. It reminds me of these pictures of Asian paddy fields built on hillsides, and... er, I suppose I should try to make myself useful...
What could I help with, though? The bulk of the work is in the fields, packing earth and setting rocks and stones to form the terraces, but we only have a hoofful of shovels, already used by ponies better suited for this kind of activity than a slender unicorn. I'm not as much of a rackabones as Éclat d'Astre, sure, but I can't really compensate with my magic either...
I could always go back to supplying water and snacks; that's what I did for most of the week, after all. Not the best way to avoid uncomfortable discussions, though it is both useful and appreciated, at the very least...
No. I can do better than that.
... But what, exactly?
My ears swivel, tracking a clanging sound coming from the forest. It's like metal against stone... Oh, yes! We still have a couple teams going through the woods to collect large rocks for the terraces, that must be one of them. Maybe I could lend a hoof!
I jump on this promising opportunity, both my compass and my ears guiding me towards the source of the sound, southeast of the farm grounds. The terrain gets rougher and rockier eastward, and although I know my sinkhole is way up north, I can't help but stay wary of where I put my hooves...
A cautious walk later, I find Sangaree Spice standing next to a small outcropping, pickaxe held in her pale purple aura and perplexed look on her face. “Hi Sangie! Need any help?”
“Oh hey Amber,” the older unicorn greets me amiably, putting the unwieldy tool down at her hooves, “where had you vanished to?”
It's true that I made myself pretty scarce this afternoon, between my walk in the forest and then napping in the barn...
No need to talk about what happened with the sinkhole and the cave. Nopony has to know, after all.
“Just been careless with my magic earlier, so I took a little time off...”, I explain with a self-conscious smile. “But I'm all good now, and ready to help! You have trouble with this one?”
“Uh, well,” she stammers, letting out an embarrassed little titter, “Golden Gale is already trying to find Feldspark, they should be back any minute. You know, he has this knack for dealing with rocks and stuff.”
It's true that Feldspark's magic reacts well to minerals, just as much as Mom has a thing with flowers... But that doesn't mean he has to take care of every single rock-related issue! “You want to pull this one out, right?”, I point to the part of the outcropping she has clearly started to dig around, a large one-piece boulder. “I'm sure we could do it if we combine our auras!”
Sangaree shuffles awkwardly. “It's... That's not the issue Amber, we thought it'd be easy too at first. Even half dug up it barely budges, so either it's just too heavy, or it's actually connected to the other rocks, I don't know. I've tried to feel it out and find cracks to break it down a little, but... Oh well,” she shrugs with a 'whatever'-style sigh, “you can always give it a try I guess, if you really want to.”
And then she puts on the same kind of patient smile one would use when indulging an overconfident foal.
I hate it.
You think I'm in way over my horn, don't you..? So sure that I'm going to fail!
I... To be honest, it is a very big rock... I could still try to look for cracks or follow its contour into the ground; that'd be something, at least, and less embarrassing if I fail...
No, I can do way more than that!
... Even if I certainly don't have the magical juices to tear it out from the earth just by myself.
But what if I had?
Well if my magic were this strong, I'd have noticed by now. Maybe I really am overconfident...
For this, just as for everything else...
There's only so much that blind optimism can accomplish, at the end of the day.
I can't lift this rock, and I probably can't guide my friends back to Equestria either... Try as I might, there's just too many things out of my control, too many ways to fail, and—
Not this time.
This time I take control.
I stare down that stupid rock, and the magic flows out of my horn. Red aura washes over the cold, rugose stone, quickly enveloping the parts above ground before pushing downward.
The interface between earth and rock is a little tricky to follow, more so than for the barrels in the well, but that won't stop me. Soon enough my mental picture takes shape: it's a large slab, about twice as long as it is wide, angled twenty or thirty degrees from the surface. Sangie's 'rock' was but the tip of that iceberg; no wonder she couldn't make it budge.
She couldn't do it. Even if her magic is less precise than mine, her energy output is greater. Logically, I shouldn't be able to make it budge either. So of course she'd act all condescending, and have us wait like two dummies for Mr. Rock to take care of it...
Well I'll show you, just you wait..! I'll show all of you!
Yes!
Enough of always depending on others and waiting after them to solve my problems, I'll take matters into my own hooves from now on!
Never again!
Oh yes, I can feel it! I'm so much stronger than you ever imagined, and I'll prove it to all of you!!
I channel this sudden strength blossoming deep in my chest, right through my horn and into my aura, ensnaring the rock in a red wave veined of blue and purple, and I PULL!
The earth dares resisting, trying to rob me of my prize, but it will be in vain! Soil cracks and churns against my unyielding magic, as the large boulder starts to rise upward in defiance of gravity!
YES!
Up and up I draw this mass a hundred times heavier than myself, yet I'm barely breaking a sweat! I lift it ever higher until it floats well off the ground in my vice-like hold, and only now do I deign to cast a smug look Sangie's way.
Ah! The mare's eyes are right about to pop out of their sockets! You believed me weak and impotent, now see the extent of your mistake!
However, her shock doesn't last as long as I would've liked, her attention shifting to something else, something behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Feldspark and Golden Gale slowly making their way to us, the former gawking at me slack-jawed, and the latter looking quite pleased with himself.
The pegasus trots up to the hovering slab of stone, whistling in approval: “See Sangaree, I told you it'd be a nice one! We didn't even need to break it!”
Well what can I say? It just needed a real magical tou—
“Uh, Amber..?”
I start at Feldspark's whisper, now coming from so close to me, almost right in my ear! My inner fire suddenly falters, aura crumbling, and the boulder falls back on the loose soil with a big loud thud. Fortunately Gale had good reflexes and he narrowly avoided being squashed, darting away like a spooked pigeon.
“Oh, sorry!”, Feldspark is quick to apologize when we both shoot him an annoyed glare. “It's just... I didn't know you had it in you Amber! One of that size all by yourself, that's quite the feat!”
“Well, er, yes... Yes, of course!”, I sputter lamely, all my blazing confidence seemingly gone in a puff.
“I've to admit, I didn't expect this either!”, Sangie adds, which doesn't surprise me at all. “And that shine in your eyes... Really impressive!”
“Oh well, you know, the training's paying off, at last!”, I claim... even though I'm not exactly sure of what happened myself..?
“In that case, uh... There's still a lot of rocks to set in place for the terraces, so you... You wanna help?”, Felds asks me, smiling almost bashfully.
“I'd love to!”, I answer immediately!
Hehe, he's actually cute when he blushes. “G– great! Well then, first let's take this one back to the fields, alright?”
I nod, and start gathering magic to do just that. However, I quickly realize that whatever got into me earlier has no intention to perform an encore, the blaze reduced to mere embers; worse, my 'feat' has clearly cost me a far bigger chunk of my reserves than I anticipated! It's only thanks to both Felds and Sangie, who spontaneously join my effort to get the boulder aloft, that I don't make a complete fool of myself...
With the three of us it's not too difficult to keep it stable in the air, but Gale still keeps his distances: “Well, if you'll excuse me, I'll let you take care of that, okay? And don't crush anybody on the way...”, he quips, claiming Sangie's pickaxe and heading off to prospect for more rocks, I suppose.
Feldspark leads the way out of the woods. I do my best to provide my share of magic, but at this rate the migraine will be coming fast. What am I going to do, now that I've agreed to help out..? If only I still had some of this impetuous energy to spare!
That surge of power, it was... so exhilarating! I can still feel these faint traces, deep inside me; will it recharge, like the rest of my magic? Gosh I hope so...
Whatever it was...
... I'm eager to put it to good use!
Laurence's View
I never liked this house.
It's not its fault, really. I guess I was always more attached to the apartment I grew up in, the one we left behind when I was eleven. Maybe the move was just so hard on me, all the bad memories and emotions crystallized into these then-unfamiliar walls, to feel forever foreboding.
Now the unassuming structure fires up my anxiety for all-new, far more legitimate reasons.
Dusky and I are waiting in the car, parked in the shaded driveway. Mél went inside six and a half minutes ago to prepare the terrain. Mom and Dad know that I will be here, and that I will give them some explanation for my forced silence, but of course we left out any details on the 'why' when we called earlier...
I'm glad I couldn't eat anything at lunch – I'm not sure I could've kept it down.
This wait is excruciating... I'm counting each passing second, eye glued to the front door.
Finally, finally, Mél comes out, a pair of sheets scrunched up under her arm. She joins us in the car for our very last briefing:
“All right... I asked them to just sit and wait in the living room, that you had something important to tell them, that it was hard for you, and, uh, that they should try to keep an open mind...” She puts on a brave face, but I see she's as stressed as I am. At least it's somewhat reassuring that, whatever our parents may be picturing right now, they sure can't come up with anything worse than the truth... “So, we'll go inside. First, I'll try to, uh, introduce them to all this pony business, just like we discussed, then Laurence, you will join us, and... And everything will be fine I'm sure! Though Dusky, I think it'd be better if you stayed back in the entrance at first, just to limit the shock, okay?”
“Okay!”, the colt chirps with a smile.
She hands us the sheets. “All right, so now put on these, and let's not dally outside!”
Not sure that's really needed, but better safe than sorry... Donning the larger piece of brown fabric and Dusky draping the dark pink one over himself, we leave the car and hurry after Mél under the light rain. The gravel is very unpleasant under my sockless hands, but at least the sound of hoofbeats isn't much different than regular footsteps here, and it won't leave mud on the mat.
As the door closes behind us and we cast the sheets off, the first thing that hits me is the smell of Mom's incense. She still uses the stuff for meditating and as a general deodorant, even though Dad and I don't really care for it – not that we would have much ground to protest, both of us being smokers.
Damn... I could really use a cig right now, actually! How long has it been since the last one? Feels like ages...
It's been even longer since I've been in this house, that's for sure, and yet it hasn't changed much, at least from the entrance. I guess it's not so surprising, Dad isn't fond of moving things around and Mom has strict interior management rules. The old but well cared-for rug under my feet is still the same, though that incense burner, on the little gueridon at the foot of the wooden stairs, seems to be a new model. Same collection of pictures along the staircase's walls, same spiral luminaire overhead... I can't see much of the kitchen yet, the doorway being a little further on our right down the rectangular entrance. Same for the living room's, on our left. That's a good thing in the present situation, though – you can only have a direct view of the front door, and of where we're standing, from the staircase.
“Just stay right here for now,” Mél whispers, “and try to be quiet... I'll call for you, Laurence.”
I nod, and she disappears into the living room, where I can hear the soft cling of a cup or glass being put on a plastic tray. Mél doesn't have time to utter a word though:
“Li'l Ace?”, Dad calls.
I almost answer to my childhood nickname, by force of habit. The sudden lump in my throat prevents me.
Would he even recognize my voice..?
They must know it's me, that Mél just let me in, otherwise he wouldn't have any reason to think I'm within earshot, so by the same token responding isn't required!
Yes, waiting silently is perfectly acceptable in these circumstances – hell, it's Mél's plan in the first place! I don't need to answer, don't have to take that risk!
Just waiting here, in the entrance, quiet and all... Letting her lay the groundwork, like she said, preparing them for the incoming shock, before I have to brave their gaze!
“Laurence..?”
My breath catches. The notes of worry are unmistakable, unavoidable – why would I not answer, after all, if I were all right?
But I'm far from 'all right'...
They have very good reasons to be worried, and getting even more so with each passing second, and– and dammit, I can't keep on like this!
“Hey, Chief. Hi, Mom...”, I croak, managing to force the words out even if they're warped by an alien larynx. This damn voice, so dissonant to my own ears, even more so than usual somehow, as if just to spite me..!
“So guys!”, Mél blurts out with a nervous giggle, trying to bring their attention back on herself: “Like I told you, the matter at hand is a little... well, a little unusual – but very significant, too! See, there's so many things in the universe that we don't know, or don't really understand, and most of the time we go about our lives without thinking about these things because, well, we don't have much reason to, you know?”
Oh god where is she going with this..?
“But then, it's not because we don't think about it that it doesn't exist, right? So sooner or later we're faced with this great big unknown, in one form or another, and I know it can be hard to accept, to admit that there's more to the world than what we were led to believe... And then—”
“Mélanie, stop this charade and get to the point, if you would...”, Mom cuts her off, mercifully.
Was this clunky spiel part of her plan, or is she just winging it!? She's prone to improvise and follow her instincts, but for something so important I would expect her to be a bit more prepared! She told me she had it figured out, and I trusted her!
Shadows of disastrous scenarios rise in the back of my mind, echoes of angry voices berating us for one reason or the other! As I grow restless, I must force my hand to not claw at the rug, and I almost jump out of my skin when Dusky snouts gently at my arm.
Goddammit Mél, don't let me down..!
“Yes, sorry, got carried away for a minute here...”, my sister apologizes, before regaining some of her usual assurance: “My point is that sometimes, well, our world can be surprising, not limited to what we'd call 'the mundane', so to speak. You know, how in many films and books the setting is clearly our world, but with a little something else that's specific to that universe? Like a school for wizards hidden somewhere, or vampires pulling the strings behind the scenes, whatever?”
“And in all these cases this only works thanks to a masquerade that is profoundly unrealistic in both extent and effectiveness, especially in this day and age of information technologies, defeating the whole purpose of the exercise...”, Dad rambles, as he's wont to do, before clearing his throat – I can easily picture Mom elbowing his ribs to bring him back on topic. “But, uh, all right, let's entertain the notion for a bit. So what, then?”
“Then, what if, in spite of all these fictional versions with their own various touches of fantasy... The real world, our world, turned out to actually not be a vanilla, purely mundane one..?”
Mom groans in remarkably unladylike fashion. “Please don't tell me your sister has shut herself in because she's obsessing over writing a fantasy novel or something of the like..!”
“What, no!”, Mél contests, pulling the words right out of my mouth! “This is really serious!”
“Stop me if I'm wrong, but if I'm following you,” Dad asks much more reasonably, “then you're suggesting that you would have proof of real, bona fide supernatural occurrences?”
“Got it in one!”
“'Supernatural'? Are we really, seriously, contemplating this issue..?”, Mom grumbles.
Why am I not surprised she doesn't believe us? Especially ironic, coming from a woman so firmly convinced that her homeopathic granules are worth a damn!
“I'm skeptical too, but knowing our Li'l Ace, she wouldn't stand for anything that would not, at the very least, be suggested by empirical evidence.”
Thank. You!
“Uh, are we talking about the same daughter, Philippe? The same one who argued, so vehemently, that the government was hiding evidence of extraterrestrial life..?”
That happened once, only once, dammit!! That book's argument sounded really convincing at the time!
Hell, now I'm technically in the right anyway!
“Besides, if she's so sure, why does she need her sister to speak in her stead? She came all the way up here, I'd like to hear what she has to say in person now.”
“Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, Mom...”
“Did she do something to herself? Is it a tattoo? Oh please don't tell she joined a cult!”
Uuuuuuuuurgh..! This is precisely why I don't tell her anything if I can help it! Either she doesn't believe me or she imagines the most ridiculous things!
The sharp clop of a little hoof draws my attention to the foal standing next to me, and to how his face is scrunching up in determination: “This is getting us nowhere... Let's speed things up!”
And he dashes forward before I can catch him, scampering into the living room while I stay rooted in place!
No no no no no, bad Dusky, bad!! I take back all the points!
I strain my ears, listening breathlessly as hooves beat against the hardwood floor, followed by the brief buzz of small wings, then a thump and the minute shake of ceramic or glass over plastic – what I would expect to hear if he were to lay his forelegs on the coffee table!
“Hello! My name's Dusky, nice to meet you!”, the little imp proclaims with his most saccharine, foalish inflection.
The ensuing silence is deafening.
Part of me screams for rounding the corner immediately and see what's happening. But the other, larger part is pretty content to stay right here in the entrance, delaying the inevitable apocalypse as much as possible, the rug bundling in thick folds under me as I claw down furiously..!
Why isn't anybody saying anything!?
Please don't freak out!
“So, uh...”, Mél eventually starts mumbling, irritation rising with each word: “Well, this is Dusky... Who was supposed to wait in the other room.”
“I was getting bored!”, he protests childishly.
“Mélanie, is... Is this thing talking!?”, Mom chokes, voice rising painfully high.
“He's a pony Mom, not a 'thing'...”
Dad's nervous, halting laugh fills the living room. “I– I'd say this is some proof all right!”
“Uh, yeah... This was what I was trying to say – these, uh, magical talking ponies actually exist for real, in our world. I know it's a big pill to swallow, so that's why I... Well I thought best to ease you into the correct mindset first, you know?”
“Well you were taking your sweet time...”, comments the impertinent colt.
“I was just about to get to that point!”
“And... And this is a breathing, sentient, sapient organism? It's incredible!”
“Yeah, I'm pretty incredible!”, Dusky giggles, and then I hear his wings buzzing again, lifting him through the air. There's some kind of commotion on the couch, and someone getting up in a rush just as the buzzing stops.
“It's okay Mom, he's not going to hurt you.”
“Can... Can I?”, Dad asks for some reason, sounding almost timid. No verbal answer, but he soon starts laughing again: “Incredible..!”
“Philippe, stop that!!”, Mom screeches from somewhere else in the living room.
“Oh come on Adèle, you're the one who always says I should broaden my horizons! Come back here and pet the pony.”
Mom seems perfectly happy to stay on her side of the room for now: “This isn't some– some kind of winged, big-eyed cat! How can you act so damn calm!?”
“Eh. I guess I'm just too overwhelmed to care right now..?”, Dad chuckles humorlessly. “At least he clearly likes it!”
“Mmmh yes, just behind the ears, please..!”
I want to gag at the utter silliness of the scene, but I'm also forced to admit that Dusky's impudence, and this weaponized cuteness I'm well acquainted with, have moved things along. Not really what we had planned... but you can't argue with the results. They know about ponies, that they're real, so the only thing left is...
... Well, me.
How am I supposed to make my entrance, now? Mél said she would give me some sort of cue, but we've gone completely off-script! Should I just keep on waiting? Or take advantage of Dusky's distraction by sneaking in?
Mél saves me from my indecision, fortunately: “So as you can see, these ponies are very real, just like magic itself, but... There's more.”, she states, interrupting our father as he's grilling Dusky on impossible flight mechanics.
“You mean how Laurence is supposed to fit into all this, huh..?”, Dad questions, easily connecting the dots.
“Exactly, yes... Lolo?”
I straighten up. Here's my cue, at last.
...
Oh come on Laurence, that's what you were waiting for!
It's not difficult! Just enter the living room and let's be done with it!
Walk forward, one step at a time, turn the corner, through the opened door, find a place to sit, talk to them...
But I– I can't have them see me walking like some sort of animal..!
I can stand upright at least for a little while, as ungainly as it may look – long enough for me to reach a seat, I'm sure! Leaning against the wall as much as possible, keeping my back straight, neck bent, finding this elusive balance...
... And probably looking even more like a damn freak...
Mél had a point, pony features are already disturbing enough on their own, no need to make it worse – especially seeing how Mom is reacting to a cute little colt like Dusky... And remember Laurence, you discussed this very point with Amber! Ponies aren't animals any more than humans are, there's nothing to be ashamed of! Using all four limbs is more functional for now, that's simple fact! I mean, it's pretty much the same as if I had to use a wheelchair, right? That'd be the pragmatic thing to do!
So be pragmatic! Be fucking pragmatic, Laurence!!
“Lolo?”
All right, no more ruminating! Just act!
I finally bring myself to move, forcing any other thought out of my mind, and pass through the living room's door.
Yet the instant I cross this innocuous threshold, my initial momentum starts to falter, like gravity's been amped up a notch. It becomes a battle to shuffle forward, trying to not focus on the workings of my limbs and the lumps of lead anchored at each extremity, just to avoid tripping over myself... But I can't stop now!
This acrid, familiar feeling wells up in my heart, its poison pulsing through my veins...
Hardwood planks slowly scroll past under me as I make my way, eye fixated on the floor. Still, out of focus, my brain registers Mél standing close by, and I move in her direction. At the rightmost edge of my vision, the slight glint of light over glasses could indicate Mom. And it must be Dad on the maroon couch beyond the coffee table, next to the purple and white blob of Dusky.
I stop next to my sister.
I still don't look up.
I just can't.
I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..!
“This... is this some sort of joke, Mélanie!?”, comes Mom's voice from my right. “You're not actually suggesting what I think you're suggesting!?”
Shame is gnawing at every fiber of my body.
“You can't expect us to believe that this– this creature is your sister!?”
Can't hold it anymore.
All the hurt and guilt and grief burst from behind my eyelids, limbs shaking and trembling.
Mél says something, but her words are lost to me. Little hooves clatter against wood. My legs give up on me, but somehow I keep standing.
I wish I could just disappear and leave it all behind and never look back and—
“Hey, Li'l Ace..?”
My father's voice, coming from so close, cuts through the inner chaos.
I dare look up, and through the blurriness I meet his clear, piercing gray eyes, as he's crouched right in front of me.
He stares, but not harshly. He stares, as if his gaze could see plainly through the veil of foreign bone and flesh, and a smile that may be kind, or maybe sad, or even both, graces his lips: “Magic, huh..?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I'm sorry, Chief...”, I whisper between two sniffs.
Dad inches closer, on his knees, one hand reaching out gingerly. I'm probably more afraid of physical contact than he is, though.
... And only now do I fully notice that both Mél and Dusky are already pressed against my sides. They're the only reason I haven't fallen over.
Mistaking my distraction for consent, Dad hugs me. It's awkward at first, his hands and arms unsure of where to go, how to bring me closer to his chest, but he manages. I don't have the strength nor the will to push him away, and soon I find relish in the warmth of his tight embrace...
His scent is stronger than ever before, despite my runny nose. Cold cigarette, shaving cream, his usual brand of lavender-scented soap, and this ineffable ruggedness that is 'Dad' – strength, comfort, and safety...
We definitely should hug more often Dad, you're good at this... I'm sorry I've always tried to avoid it before.
“This is not happening..!”, comes Mom's quavering voice like an ice-cold shower. “This can't be happening!! She had to find something new, she just couldn't help herself!!”
The acrid shame flares anew, and even redoubled tears have no hope to wash it out. Each of my mother's anguished cries is like one more knife driven through my heart, piercing and twisting and searing..!
I'm so sorry..!
“Adèle..?”, Dad pleads, his own voice sounding so strained. Is he crying, too?
It's all my fault..!
Fumbling steps in our direction. The support on my right vanishes as Mél rises to help Mom, but my father and Dusky hold me steady.
Soon, too soon, I see my mother kneeling just behind Dad, and just in front of me. Her face is flushed, glasses sitting slightly askew on the bridge of her nose, perfect coiffure ruined, and she glares. I can only maintain eye contact for an instant, but she doesn't relent, frowning, almost aggressive, as if daring me to really be her daughter.
And after a moment, I dare – I dare to look again, to confront her, to gaze deep into these blue irises, and to abandon myself to her judgment.
It takes a bit longer to feel the urge to look away this time, but before I can succumb to it, Mom lets out a little gasp, and her ire melts into sorrow.
Her pale hand finds my cheek, like she's done so often in my youth, her sure-fire way to hold my attention. Her wedding ring catches on one of the straps of my eyepatch, but either she doesn't notice, or doesn't care.
Even if her fingers are cold, this simple, familiar contact, however unwanted it could've been in the past, is like a warm balm put over my aching soul. She recognizes me... They both do.
“Always looking for new ways to make me question my sanity, uh..?”, she whispers, her attempt at sounding exasperated overshadowed by the sadness.
I almost chuckle.
Almost.
Sweetchard's View
“Wine?”
“No thanks...”
“You don't miss anything.”, Keensight smirks. “It's pure slush.”
That doesn't stop her from taking a good swig from her glass.
We're sitting around the low table in the barn, still waiting for the last participants to arrive – which should include Crispy. In the meantime Keensight has embarked on her one-mare mission to empty that cheap box wine, Bilberry isn't forcing her stuff on me for once, only bringing me up to speed on the progress in the fields, and Musème is busy drawing with his colorful crayons.
Then there's Rustcrust, who's standing by at the head of the table, smiling eagerly. Despite being second youngest among us, the scrawny colt is our master of ceremonies. Not so surprising, when you consider that he actually got his cutie mark – some sort of half-rusted shiny ingot – during a meeting just like the one that's about to take place. From what I understood, it's supposed to represent his desire to always try to see what's beyond the first impression, or the good in the bad, I guess.
I was still mostly bedridden at the time, but I've been told it caused quite the ruckus. Though for some it raised questions of destiny and how magic shapes us, most celebrated the event, as it proved that we're not just stand-in ponies. And of course, one colt was beyond happy to have found his calling. Lucky him...
At last, our ears turn towards the barn doors. Perchelongue is first to enter, his bulk almost eclipsing the two mares behind him – but I'd recognize that speckled coat anywhere.
Crispy freezes when she spots me, and I can tell she's thinking about turning tail, from the look in her eyes to the half-raised foreleg and those ears that she has to stop from fully swiveling back.
Well, if I ever needed confirmation that she's trying to avoid me...
Now that I've let go of my rose-tinted glasses and I'm really looking at her, it's clear that she has put on more than a little weight since we arrived in Coursac, especially in the midsection. I'd bet it's mostly due to a lack of physical activity, as her fetlock took some time to heal. Though in that case I'm probably on a similar trajectory...
I wonder what attracted past-me to her, back in Equestria. Was it just the prestigious position in the castle staff? That's not the vibe I got from Sweetchard, in my dreams; he, or rather I, seemed to be of the rustic, down-to-earth type. Maybe it was just her looks...
How long did we even know each other? How long had we been together, before the curse?
Was she a better pony, back then?
If I'm being honest with myself, and with these parts of my dream I wish I didn't remember, I must admit that both Crispys are probably more similar than I would like to believe...
But for all her faults, past or present, she's definitely not a coward. Reining in her unease, Crispy quickly catches up with Sassaflash and Perchelongue, the three taking place around the table, though she selects a spot where she won't be directly in my line of sight. That's all Rustcrust was waiting for:
“Alright everybody, thank you all for coming! It's nice to see some new faces at this table, I really hope you'll feel welcome! We're all friends here, this is a safe space where you can talk about anything, and you'll be listened to without being judged. Can we all agree on that?” He actually waits for every single one of us to say yes or at least nod before concluding: “Perfect! So let's get started, ponies! Keensight, would you do us the honors of being first?”
The green mare snorts, sipping at her wine some more before answering: “Well guess what, nothing new since yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that! My life's still ruined, I've still lost years of hard study and a buckload of money for nothing, and everything's just peachy keen..!”
... Well she's forthright, at the very least.
Rustcrust isn't put off one bit though: “Did they respond to your email?”
All the boisterousness is drained out of the pegasus, her head drooping and eyes downcast. I've never seen her so... so openly vulnerable! “I... I'm still in the process of writing it...”, she admits, almost shamefully.
“I understand it's still difficult for you. Remember, you don't have to explain everything in one go, it's just the first step in reestablishing contact. If you want we can help you take care of that, once we're done?”
Keensight doesn't reject the offer, but she doesn't outright accept it either, just drinking more wine.
Rustcrust turns to me now! “Sweetchard, would you like to talk about something in particular?”
Dang it!! What should I say!? I latch onto the first thing that comes to mind: “Well, uh, I sent an email, for the family, you know...”
“That's good!”
“I... I don't really expect an answer, though.”
Or rather, I don't want one...
“At least you tried.”, the colt smiles encouragingly. “We don't have control over many aspects of our new lives, but we don't have to stop trying to make things better either!”
Yeah, if you say so...
The non-existent mic is then passed to Perchelongue, who talks about his fear that he's become too different from who he was before, and that things won't ever be the same with his family, even if they accept him as a pony and a stallion. Bilberry jumps on this, expressing her doubts that even with her family's approval, she probably won't be able to get back into the professional world and preserve her career.
I pretend to pay attention as they keep expounding on their woes. They really think talking about it will change anything..? I've gone through the same fears and pains, and for what? I don't care anymore... It's just better that way.
When is it going to be Crispy's turn? It's the only reason I'm here...
But instead Musème is next, sobbing as he explains that his family isn't faring well without his old source of income, and he's now useless to them, unable to help... Rustcrust, despite having always acted tough with the other foals of the Cartoon Club, doesn't hesitate to stand up to hug the younger colt; Perchelongue and Bilberry join in an instant later. I think I'd have, too, if I had been sitting closer...
And then Sassie's turn comes.
“So Sassaflash, what would you like to talk about?”, Rustcrust asks, still holding Musème close.
Her understanding of spoken French has clearly improved enough that she doesn't need Crispy's help to make sense of this question, if I were to guess from her sudden nervousness.
“I... I still have a hard time believing that we could be the... Well, the real ponies from the show, you know?”, she says in English, Crispy providing a quick translation for us. “We look the same, okay, but it doesn't go further than that! I'm nothing like the real Sassaflash, like, at all! I know you can't tell, but trust me, our personalities, our likes and dislikes, they don't match! You must see it too, right?”
Eh... She's always been fond of her pet hypothesis, but by now she must have realized she was slightly off the mark.
“Sounds like suspiciously specific denial to me..!”, Keensight chuckles, in English too. “What did you do in that cartoon that you're so ashamed of?”
Whatever she said, it must have stung, seeing how Sassie's bristling: “That's not the point, details aren't important! We don't have to act like them, that's all I wanna say!”
Keensight keeps looking slyly at the American mare, but doesn't comment further. As for Rustcrust, he seems to have come to his own conclusion:
“It's true that we're not the exact same as we were in Equestria, just as we're not the exact same as we were while human. I know how scary it can be, to realize how much we've changed, as persons, as individuals... We're not who we were in the past anymore, and we can't go back to how things were, but that's okay. We're still 'us'! We still have the same core, the same essential components! This change isn't something we would necessarily have wanted, but it happened, and you know, it doesn't have to be all bad! We can still make the most of it, evolve and change, together, and become new 'us' in the process! That's how life works, how we'll come out of top of this change!”
Nice speech, but I'm not sure everypony's quite on board just yet – Keensight's eye-roll isn't discreet at all.
“That's easy for you to say, Rust...”, Bilberry mutters. “At least you know what your cutie mark's about, there's like the Magic of Destiny pointing you in the right direction! I've got a freakin' jam jar, what am I supposed to make of this? That I should quit my job and go squish fruits on a farm for the rest of my days? What if we don't have that choice, that we're basically branded to be something and not the other, because of these past lives? How do you 'make the most' of that? It's just not that simple...”
“Amen to that!”, Keensight approves with a toast.
“Well, uh...”, Rustcrust hesitates, looking a bit lost in the face of that counter-argument. Cutie mark or not, he's still just a colt, after all. “I think you have a point, yes, but... I don't think I've been, like, brainwashed by magic or something. That cutie mark, it represents what I want to do – like helping you see the glass half-full, you know?”
“Sure, but you discovered it yourself,” Perchelongue argues, “you haven't been saddled with it, like us. And at least you know what it means...”
“Hey, stop being so hard on him!”, Musème protests, defending his friend. “He's doing his best to help, it's not his fault if you don't like your cutie marks!”
Keensight empties her glass, slamming it down on the table. “You can't like or dislike what you don't know kid, that's the issue... Here, take a look at my butt tattoo.”
Musème does just that. “It's a bird.”
“Right. So you'd think that my grand destiny is to work in an aviary, tame wild eagles or whatnot?”
“I... guess?”
“Guess again. Thanks to that nice recurring nightmare, I can tell you that Keensight was just a lowly accountant. Who knows, maybe she had a sharp eye for details and such, hence the bird of prey, and maybe the name too. What if I found myself with Rustcrust's ingot instead? To me it'd probably mean I'm a blacksmith or at least working with metals, and I'd be far off the mark – pun very much intended...”
Nopony has an answer to that.
I've always supposed that Sweetchard must have been a farmer, or working with plants at least – all based on my cutie mark. But Keensight has a point, I can't be sure I interpret it correctly. I've certainly not shown any particular talent in this domain...
“Maybe... Maybe we're just missing some pieces of the puzzle.”, Perchelongue muses. “I mean, what do we know of cutie marks, of magic, of Equestria itself? Just bits and pieces from dreams, and a cartoon that we can't be sure is faithful or accurate beyond some characters. Our only real answers are probably over there...”
Bilberry looks doubtful. “In Equestria? That'd be just our luck... I'm not interested in another world, not when we already have so many problems dealing with this one...”
“Really? A whole other world of magic, and you're not even curious? It'd be interesting to visit, at the very least!”, the big stallion chuckles.
“That's not gonna happen...”
Every pair of eyes turn towards me. I should've kept my darn mouth closed... But they deserve the truth. Maybe they'll understand why there's no going back for us.
It's Sassie who breaks the sudden silence: “What do you mean?”
No need for Crispy to translate that one either. “I hear them talk, with that human... Yeah sure, at first they discussed getting to the US, to Equestria, but they gave up right away. Now they're talking about finding money, to make Coursac a permanent settlement. No Equestria, for anyone... They won't help us.”
“Well, this is all complicated political stuff, right?”, Rustcrust says, still trying to put a positive spin on things. “It's not so surprising that it'd take time, maybe they've just re-prioritized their plans? Mister de Cerdan and his friends are on our side, after all!”
If only I could believe that... “They're human. We shouldn't trust them so easily.”
“That's your take on this, really..?”, Keensight scoffs between two sips. “Last I've heard, it's one of these 'untrustworthy humans' who patched you up before you bled out...”
More than one pony gasps in shock around the table.
I lean forward, glaring at the tipsy pegasus:
“They could've saved my hoof, you know.”, I answer coldly. “They could've grafted it back right away. But no. They didn't even try. And you know why? Because that wasn't a doctor. That was a veterinarian. They just didn't care, because we're not like them. Because we're not human anymore. So yes, that's my take. Some humans want us dead. Others barely care about us, treat us like animals. As far as I'm concerned, they don't deserve my trust.”
I sit back. Nopony dares uttering a word, until Rustcrust looks at me with wide, distressed eyes: “But... But at least you still trust your own family, right?”
“I've no family anymore.”
He chews on his lower lip, and for a moment I think he'll just turn away, focus back on the ponies he can help. “That doesn't mean you have to be alone...”, he says. “We're all here, if you... If you want to talk more about it.”
Brave colt... “It's okay, thank you.”
“Sweetchard, I know how hard things are for you right now...”, Bilberry begins.
Uuuuuugh... And here we go again..! Darn filly just can't help herself.
“... But we are still all here. We're here for you. And we—”
“Drop it.”, I cut her off right away. I won't let her launch into another stupid 'intervention'. “Go back to pondering if making jelly stops you from pushing pencils in an office. You know nothing.”
Oh, did I finally manage to anger her..? Haven't seen her frown like this since Toulouse. “Chard, I've spent ten years of my life in a wheelchair, I lost my best friend in that accident, don't you dare say I don't know how it feels!”
Uh. Forgot about that... Getting her leg back with the change and everything, I remember now. “So what's why you just can't leave me alone?”, I scoff. “Getting nostalgic for some good ol' misery?”
She glares at me, with a couple more weak gasps from the others. “That's really the only thing you care to do, wallowing in your pain and lashing out at anyone trying to help! I don't know why I care so much, you sound perfectly fine as you are, and at least you can still walk!”
I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah, lucky me, huh..?”
“Billie, please... Enough for now, we've tried.”, Rustcrust says, and she at least she listens to him, biting back her frustration. Good. Got enough of their brand of 'help' for tonight.
I turn away, lying down to get more comfortable on my leg. After a moment they start talking again, almost whispering, but I stop paying attention, retreating into my own head. Here, at least, I won't bother anypony...
Here I won't spit in the face of a foal or a filly who're only trying to help.
I shouldn't have listened to Violette... This was a stupid idea from the start.
The meeting comes to an end soon enough after that, and ponies leave the table. Maybe it's time to move to the garage for dinner. More likely, they flee from the three-legged madstallion.
I wouldn't blame them.
Glancing briefly at the barn doors, I see Crispy standing there. Looking back at me.
She doesn't say anything.
Neither do I.
She leaves, closing the doors behind her.
I stay by the table, with a wine-stained glass and a half-finished drawing as sole company. I probably don't deserve better...
*sigh*
So much for testing the waters, uh..?
I've just poisoned them all the more.
Laurence's View
“So, this is what that 'Discord' creature is supposed to look like..?”
Dad turns the tablet my way. On the screen is that hideous chimera, in Flash animation form. A simple drawing can't quite account for the true effect this repulsive mismatch of animal parts can have on the mind, but that smug, vainglorious expression is still here. It's the eyes I think.
Those eyes...
I curb the rage before it has a chance to overtake me. “Yes.”, I answer curtly, looking away.
He seems to get the message, going back to browsing the MLP wiki for a bit. Still, his natural curiosity can't be held back for long: “It doesn't make sense... How is a creature like this supposed to work, biologically? How could it even evolve?”
“Don't ask me...”, I shrug. “Though the answer must be 'magic' – and yes, before all this I would've felt like this is some trite cop-out, too. Once I'm done with him I'll let you put whatever's left under a microscope.”
Wishful thinking, I know. If a mare with probably years of training and experience could do barely more than piss herself when she faced Discord, I don't really stand a chance.
Feels good to contemplate delivering some much-needed payback, though.
I catch Dusky's sour expression, though he hides it behind his usual jolliness as soon as he notices I've noticed, snuggling more comfortably against Dad on the couch. The colt still hasn't elected to share his own nightmare, but I bet he too has a bone to pick with that evil chaos monster, even if it's not for the exact same reasons.
Explaining it all to our parents turned out to be easier than I feared. After the initial maelstrom of stress and shame started to subside, we simply sat. We sat, and we talked. I locked myself into 'pragmatic mode', going methodically from sentence to sentence, as dispassionate as I could.
Granted, I don't think I'll ever really be 'dispassionate' when it comes to my predicament, but damn it if I didn't try to sound like it. Focusing on the descriptive, on taking an outsider's perspective, staying away from precarious subjects, sounding clinical... After all, you're more likely to listen to someone if they speak calmly, or so I've once been told.
For Dad, it worked like a charm. Of course it did – he's analytical, striving for detachment and objectivity, sometimes to a fault. Once he accepted the basic axiom that I must be who I am, he was open to all the necessary leaps of logic required to apprehend the concepts of Equestria, of magic, of curses... Despite being a man of science, he had to agree that they sounded like pretty sensible hypotheses, considering he had living, breathing, speaking proof right in front of him. In the process I was struck with some sort of ironic mise-en-abyme, realizing that this time I was the one trying to convince a skeptic that magic's very, very real. Some of the very same arguments I once levied against Amber or Chard, now turned against me... How the world has gone mad, in just a month's span.
As for Mom, well... It...
It could've gone better. Though I guess it could've gone far worse, too..?
Accepting the first truth, my identity, wasn't the problem I thought it would be. But as I was revealing each new layer of our altered reality...
The distress, in her bloodshot eyes, but also the horror, and the naked pity, and so many, many things too subtle for me to interpret confidently...
Now she's in the kitchen, with Mél to look after her, fixing dinner and talking too low for me to hear.
I'm still not sure what, specifically, hurt her so much that she couldn't stay in the same room. Dad is predictable, orderly, and easier to get along with, even if he's sometimes clueless to issues he can't see or touch. Giving answers to his questions, resolving the equation, it was enough for him. But Mom... I don't know. It's like our brains are wired completely differently. I've always relied on Mél as an interpreter, as a go-between, though sometimes our priorities just don't mesh. Even my sister's support didn't work this time...
Maybe it's seeing me like this, like... Well, a sub-human thing, with a different face, a different voice, and the resulting cognitive dissonance of still recognizing me..? Or how much this clashes with how she thought the world worked? But she warmed to Dusky quickly enough, soon treating him like the child he appears to be, so clearly the problem is with me specifically. Maybe there's no reason, and it's just irrational, her emotions too overwhelming to be dealt with? Not that these would be mutually exclusive anyway.
*sigh*
Why does it always have to be so complicated?
Though let's be honest, my whole life has become awfully complicated period since these cursed things appeared on my thighs. The latest example is that it took me a good five minutes to find how to sit on the floor, against the couch, in a way that was both not-too-human, for my parents' sake, and not-too-pony for mine. And it's not even comfortable.
“That Discord is voiced by John de Lancie? Seriously?”
The name doesn't sound familiar, though it clearly means something to Dad. “The cartoon version, maybe. So?”
“Well how would you explain that? I know you never really clicked with Star Trek, but if I've read that right, the whole Discord character is heavily inspired by Q, god-like powers and attitude to match. So... Is it the other way around, in reality – Discord somehow inspiring the creation of Q? Or just a massive coincidence? This is confusing.”
You tell me...
“And I've also read that there's been pony toys for a while before the version including Discord, so how would that work?”
What can I answer to that? “No idea, Chief. For all we know, this isn't the first time we've been in contact with the ponies' world.”
Dad puts the tablet down, frowning. “If I'm perfectly honest, I have to admit to be a bit... frustrated, I guess, that out of all the more 'grounded' alternatives, our universe turned out to be the one with magic and a world of little pastel ponies... I'd prefer starships and food replicators.”
“So would I...”
Though... Would I even exist, if once, in Equestria, a chaotic god hadn't cast a mare's soul out into the void, to be reborn here..?
Ugh... Don't want to think along those lines. I didn't avoid mentioning the reincarnation business if it's still to end up torturing myself with it!
Mél is a welcome distraction, as she arrives with a stack of plates and silverware in her hands. She heads for the dinner table, but doesn't make it all the way – stopping to glance in our direction, brow furrowed. Is there a problem?
Before I can ask she spins on her feet and walks to us, setting her load on the coffee table. Dad raises an eyebrow: “What are you doing?”
“I thought maybe we could eat here tonight? It's a little less formal.”, she replies easily.
Uh? There's barely enough space to sit five persons here, why not use the dinner table? Is there a—
My eye widens, as I finally pay closer attention to the narrow, high-backed chairs around that dinner table – the bane of pony bodies... Mél winks at me as she goes back to the kitchen, having saved me from a very uncomfortable evening, and I answer with a wry smile. Big sis, always to the rescue!
When Mom comes in with the salad bowl, she does a double-take, blinking slowly as her gaze goes from the bare dinner table, to me setting things on the coffee table, and back again. I freeze, expecting her to grouse and scold that I've transgressed house rules – and she well may have, if she weren't so obviously tired. Instead, she sighs, and without a word she joins us and starts filling our five plates. Mél soon comes back with bread, vinaigrette, and drinks, so we can all proceed with this awkward dinner...
We eat in silence, Dusky and I sitting pony-style on blankets, Mél cross-legged at my side, and our parents on the couch. That green salad isn't bad, with most ingredients probably bought on the local market – on par with the best produce ponies have been able to grow in Coursac. I'm a little self-conscious though, because Dad doesn't really hide that he's watching how me and the colt use the silverware. The latter is quite deft with his little wings, manipulating the knife and fork almost as well as if he were using hands, while I'm making do with the utensils held between fingers and former palms. Thank god pony wrists are able to rotate..!
Plates empty quickly, Mél taking care of fetching the next course by herself. It's probably for the best – seeing how fast Mom downed her glass of vodka, a trip to the kitchen could have allowed her to refill. She's still avoiding me... I can tell, because she has no problem looking at Dusky from time to time, but her eyes never stray in my direction.
A bowl of purée is then laid between us, and—
Wait, what's that smell?
The answer should've been obvious, yet I'm still surprised to see this platter of sliced roasted beef.
... How long has it been since I've eaten – or hell, even been near any kind of meat product? I can't remember any on Coursac's tables, or even in Toulouse, so... I guess that would push it back to when we were still holing up in my apartment! Is it why the smell is somehow more pungent than usual? If I trusted my nose, I'd have mistaken this beef for something with a stronger flavor, like boar or venison.
It's strange. After a whole month, I should have missed it! Not that I've ever been a big meat eater in the first place, but pork sausages and beef patties have always been a regular part of my diet...
My thoughts are interrupted by Dad putting one of these slices in each of our plates, including mine and Dusky's, while Mél dishes out the purée. He probably did it by force of habit – it's only as he's about to get his own slice that he seems to realize the potential blunder.
I turn to the colt. His face is scrunching up, as he stares at this piece of meat leaking jus in the corner of his plate.
“You don't have to eat it if you—”
I don't finish my sentence, startled by Mom uttering the exact same one at the same time. Of course she did – it's what she would say to my younger self after I'd been served some unfamiliar aliment.
She didn't finish the sentence either, looking at me oddly for a moment, before refocusing on Dusky. And yet, it's to me that the colt turns: “I'd rather not, if that's okay..?”
“It's okay.”, I reassure him, before turning to Dad: “Could you switch plates with him, please?”
Dusky soon finds himself with a double portion of purée, and... And now all eyes converge on me.
I look down at my own plate. Without a word, I seize knife and fork, then pierce, cut, bring to my mouth, and chew.
The perfectly normal taste of roasted beef on my tongue has never been more comforting.
I close the bathroom door, though I don't lock it.
Not that I could not if I tried, but Mél thought it would be more prudent that way. Just in case I slipped.
Putting my towel by the sink, I pull the curtain open, revealing the large bathtub. The single-handle mixer shouldn't be a problem, and the shower head is already set at human head-level.
After a moment to fully refresh my memory of the room's layout, I turn the lights off.
It's not total darkness, thanks to the small window high on the wall, but it'll do. Can't see the details of my own body, and opening my right eye doesn't have such a glaring effect. Mél wanted to fix the eyepatch while she could, and it suits me fine, as I have yet to master how to untie and re-tie it.
Slowly, I begin to remove my clothes. The socks and shorts are easy, but the hoodie, with its zipper and long sleeves, demands some careful efforts if I don't want to ruin it. Well, ruin it more than it already is... My garments of choice have been thoroughly mistreated these past few weeks, by intensive use but even more so because of the inhuman proportions they have to accommodate.
At least I put on a set of mostly-clean ones this morning... I'm getting too used to just keeping the same clothes day after day. It's true that I don't have a lot of them to begin with, but... It's also easier. And this way I don't have to be confronted to that body any more than necessary.
I feel my way into the tub, drawing the curtain behind me, and in no time I've managed to work the faucet so that a warm rain falls upon me.
Uh. Why is it so much easier to use these overgrown nails when I can't see what I'm doing..?
Anyway...
Just the warm water now, splashing all around and drowning me in white noise, seeping through me and washing away all the tensions of the day...
Mmmh...
That day...
In the end, it wasn't so bad...
They recognized me... They know I'm their daughter...
Sure it's not perfect, not yet... But the hardest part is done.
Mom avoids me still, but it'll change. She just needs a little more time. Mél and Dad are already on board, they'll help... Hell, maybe Dusky will be a good influence too, she always had a soft spot for kids.
He made me laugh, during dinner, when in the end he asked to taste the beef after seeing me eat it without issue... T'was just a little nibble, and yet he almost turned green!
Maybe it's some sort of deeply-ingrained Equestrian taboo... In all likelihood ponies should be able to digest meat just fine, but what do I know, huh? I didn't risk a second helping, just in case.
Ugh... Now I hope Dusky's not gonna be sick because of that... I know my system can take meat, but he's just a little colt, maybe I shouldn't have agreed..?
Nah, he spit almost all of it, that should do it... And he looked well enough when I left, sprawled on Dad's lap as they're watching TV. Damn that foal has no manners, Dad shouldn't allow this kind of behavior..! If he wants a cat so much he should work at convincing his wife and that's that.
They'll probably be still watching when I'm done here, Dad doesn't hit the hay before eleven most of the time. Eh, if I'm lucky, he'll have set things up for us by then.
The couch is comfy enough, fortunately. Dusky gained another good point, not asking why we wouldn't sleep in my old room tonight.
I...
I tried..!
I tried, dammit I tried, but..!
...
*sigh*
Good thing about showers in the dark: can't see the tears, can't hear the cries...
Bad thing, well... You have to get out, sooner or later. And towel.
...
Yeah, I think I'll stay here a while longer.
Until the water runs cold.
...
Maybe even after that...
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How many chapters long will this story be?
Hope things are going well, always excited to see a new chapter of the story! Really loved how you handled Laurence's family in a way that feels so realistic and relatable. Really liked the addition about how they were treated compared to a normal human in terms of medicine. And NO AMBER! Don't listen to the voices! They're bad! Haven't you learned anything from the movies!?
10025319
It'll be 68 chapters long (excluding prologue and epilogue), so we're about one-third of the way!
Well now, that didn't go nearly as bad as it could have. Not as well as it could have either though... Dear me, all involved seem quite determined to flounder in their own little bubbles of misery, no? They need a shakeup, still waters stagnate.
10027251
It must mean something about just how much my characters are messed up as a rule that I'm not quite sure which one(s) you're referring to ^^
But the waters of change will stir and froth, not to worry – for better and/or for worse...
10027773
Well I did say "all involved"...
10101006
10102232
Indeed; our dear Sarah doesn't seem to be much of a bookworm, huh? If she were, maybe she'd know better than to tempt fate like this...
10102250
Unfortunately for her, Laurence doesn't share our appreciation for pony fics... She may soon regret being in one!
10102483
Both are correct, actually! Using 'su' is formal, while 'tu' is informal. Sarah isn't fluent in Spanish, and the informal, singular 'you' in French is also spelled 'tu', so she went for that one. Silly things like propriety and seemliness won't stand in the way of wild partying!
10102464
FF8 was also one of my first, if not the first game I got for PS1! I'm kinda sad that its legacy seems to have been so thoroughly overshadowed by FF7 and its derivatives nowadays...
10107197
That's Ambre's poison of choice alright; goes well with a cup of coffee! (disclaimer: may be bad for your health, mix at your own risk). Laurence herself is partial to the C8H17NO2
*sigh*. It's always moms isn't it? At least in my experience.
I fear for all of my favorite French ponies. I hope things work out okay!! I'm glued to it now!
Amber is using some dark magic! It doesn't look good.
Laurence is still having issues with using her pony body or even acknowledging it, despite her attempts to be pragmatic. But with the magical mirror, she should gain her human body back when she chooses too, even if it's going to be different than her original one. Hope she learns about it soon, it should give her some strength in knowing that such a possibility exists.
And Chard is still in some denial, I see.
The biggest shoutout to Laurence's dad! He reminds me of Annabeth's dad from the Percy Jackson books.