Fahreneigh 451

by Liquid Truth

1 - Campfire Balefire

It was a pleasure to burn.

It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed.

Sunset Shimmer giggled as she lit her horn and let her magic flow to the stack of wooden branches and wooden twigs behind her, thoroughly soaked in kerosene. A bright pillar of fire erupted, cuddling her asbestos-clad body like a blanket, the blazing smell of fire and kerosene assaulting her nostrils like thousand-bit perfume.

A small hoof nudged her outstretched carbon-black metallic wings, eager to see the beautiful spire herself. The hoof belonged to a pair of eyes that wanted to see the beautiful fire for herself and her alone, such a selfish act for such a young filly to whom the eyes belong, Sunset thought, and Sunset shifted her wings back in place, protecting the young filly’s easily-flammable and adorably-boopable muzzle from the raging bonfire. The filly groaned. Sunset chuckled.

The spire gradually diminished, leaving behind a small campfire perfect for smores. Perfect for a social gathering. Perfect for a mundane atmosphere of crackling fire and warmth and too much heat when the wind blew the wrong way and way, way too much heat when a pony lit it on a particularly dry summer next to a particularly dry tree in a particularly dry forest. Perfect for the fillies, Sunset thought, and so Sunset folded her wings, letting the eager colts and fillies in front of her running toward the thankfully controlled fire with marshmallows, sticks, chocolate bars, and crackers.

She waited for a while, for more than a while, for an hour, watching the foals chitter and chatter and jump around the fire with laughter until, finally, one of them offered her a pair of the delicious marshmallow-based campfire treat. A pair of delicious smores, Sunset realized, such a thoughtful little filly to notice that firemares never ran their duties alone. How remarkably considerate for a filly at her first marshmallow sharing session. Sunset thanked the filly and walked back toward The Salamander, or a firetruck as ponies of old would call it before it was remodeled, or the hooray as fillies and colts would call it while waiting for their campfires to light up on their own, or oh no as users of Tools of Ignorance would call it when they saw it knowing that their houses will soon ignite, or it’s been good knowing you as distributors of Tools of Ignorance would call it before surrendering themselves to the inescapable hooves of authority.

A white pegasus mare with a white metallic horn was waiting in The Salamander’s driver’s seat by the time she reached it. When Sunset opened the door, the fire captain quickly closed the book she was reading and put it in a nook under the steering wheel. An admirably graceful gesture, Sunset mused, at how quickly the fire captain was able to close the book, apply the bookmark, and slip it inside a confined space full of dirt and grime due to all the years it had served without a single firemare caring enough to clean it with at least a wet towel, all the while managing to not apply any dirt nor grime to the pristine white of the dust cover of the book. “How goes?”

“Fine,” she answered. Closing the door, she offered Captain Celestia a smore while munching on one herself. “Could've been better, though. The foals only shared their analysis on the government’s current ruling party for about half an hour.”

Celestia nodded and stepped on the gas. Immediately The Salamander soared through the sky, shooting forward like an arrow until, a few seconds later, arrived at the fire department on the other side of Canterlot. Not many interesting things happened, Sunset thought, and she grieved at the many interesting things that could’ve happened or could’ve been witnessed if only Captain Celestia took the time and wit to break protocol.

Upon arrival, Sunset and Celestia took off their fire retardant coveralls and hung them on the wall. They also took off their black metallic hats, in the fronts emblazoned the trademarked number 451, the temperature at which marshmallow liquefies.

It’s also, coincidentally, the temperature at which octirosene ignites, creating a blue-green flame that uses magic as its oxidant. Ponies call it Balefire, for it is nearly impossible to extinguish and how it resembled the legendary Fire of Baley that Sunset just made up on the spot because it’s very interesting to do worldbuilding without an actual story for the world to be put into and apply and explore through the endless cycle of writing and rewriting and erasing and burning the precious papers to ashes at the embarrassment she felt coming if anypony found out about it and inevitably regretting the destruction of such a masterpiece.

As Sunset lingered in the hat rack, Celestia called, “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

Sunset nodded without looking back. “Why should we take a bath after every mission? It’s not like we ever have more than an hour between them unless we’re in our homes,” she said instead of the train of thought she had before because she had wanted to ask that question to her captain for a long time now. A grand total of thirty-seven centiseconds.

“And why should you eat?” Celestia asked back. “You’ll always be hungry again after a few hours. Why bother?” As Sunset turned around, Celestia locked her gaze with Sunset’s. Magenta eyes, Sunset mused, are always of beauty; always managing to steal her heart and full attention every time they met her aquamarine ones, flooding her with either utmost respect or unconditional love depending on how the metaphorical Boolean logic inside her mind and soul answered her retina’s input of whether the rest of the pony’s coat was white or lavender. “To enjoy the cleanliness in-between those hours, Sunset. That’s why we take baths.”

Sunset gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Captain.”

Celestia smiled back and grabbed the firepole with her hoof. “Never stop asking.” As soon as she finished the sentence, the firepole retracted and pulled her up to the living quarters above. How the firepole worked like that she had always wondered. How the firepole worked like that her mind always answered with a blueprint she had remembered every detail of through that one time she brought the printed piece of modern firepole schematics everywhere she went for an entire week because she had been sick of not being able to answer the question of how the firepole worked like that. It was worth all the complications of galloping around with her asbestos coverall burning from the inside because she had put the blueprint rather clumsily on the inside pocket of her asbestos coverall while on Ignorance Duty or Balefire Duty as some ponies wanted to call it because it sounded cooler.

Again, the slogan, Sunset thought after rethinking of what Captain Celestia just said: “Never stop asking.” It’s annoying to hear that in her youth, where everypony kept on repeating it whenever possible. But, as she grew up, Sunset understood the importance of it: to keep ponies asking, thinking, and ultimately, keeping apathy at bay. To keep society away from the illusionary happiness of ignorance and gain true happiness, that is, the one that came from knowledge and wisdom. Told to everypony from kindergarten and had become a doctrine of some sort, like religion! Only without all the hullaballoos of fanaticism because it fell more into the lines of philosophical thinking everypony had taken to heart and mind and soul if that existed.

And so, Sunset Shimmer took a bath and enjoyed the five minutes of pure cleanliness, before drying herself at the instant dryer and stepping back into the station, where the lingering smell of kerosene and octirosene greeted her and made her coat feel a little dirtier already. But that didn’t matter, for the smell alone was enough to lift her spirits up. The beautiful, beautiful smell of combustible hydrocarbon and octirocarbon liquids!

The fire bell rang, and Sunset galloped toward the hat rack before she could enjoy her moment of cleanliness.

She was stopped halfway by a cyan wing. “We got this. You enjoy your rest.”

Sunset gratefully nodded and let Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy gallop away to The Salamander, where Captain Celestia already waited. Such were the two, almost always going to missions together due to the latter’s insistence that the former always got into trouble every time she had gone without her on a mission.

The Salamander shot outside with tremendous speed, leaving Sunset alone in the fire department’s garage. Looking at the huge screen on the far side of the garage, she found that the bell was for an extinguishing duty. A fiery argument about the use of the metric and imperial system had already started. Definitely not her forte. She was always biased on the use of the metric system herself, mostly because she was a natural scholar. And so was Rainbow, she remembered, how the reckless mare had always insisted on the imperial system because of how the majority of ponies had accustomed themselves to the ridiculous Fahreneigh temperature range.

She predicted that the team of three would eventually just leave Fluttershy to douse the argument herself.

Sure enough, The Salamander returned a few minutes later with an absence of the yellow pegasus.

Captain Celestia and Rainbow Dash stepped out of The Salamander, the former looking cheery as always while the latter looking sullen as always whenever she didn’t get to do the action.

Sunset greeted Rainbow with a chuckle. “Usual difficulties?”

Rainbow snorted. “You better let me have the next marshmallow duty.”

“I don’t know, Rainbow. Why should I?”

Rainbow rolled her eyes. “To satiate my psychological needs of adrenaline-inducing activities. C’mon, I’m not a kindergartner.”

“And why should I help you in your endeavors of fulfilling your psychological needs? It’s not like you’re going to die if I take every other marshmallow duty and let you take the one that occurs by chance when I’m not around. It will even keep your needs satiated while at the same time not risking your mind to raise the bar for your mental needs and keeping you happy in the lower, easier-to-fulfill degree.”

Celestia stepped between them. “Alright, girls. That’s enough. You’re going to ring the alarm.”

Sunset and Rainbow stepped back, not noticing how close their muzzles had gotten and how dangerously bright both their horns (prosthetic or otherwise) were glowing. The two then apologized and hugged and giggled uneasily. An awkward gesture of apology, Sunset noticed, and she relished the realization that it’s not the not-awkwardness that made them agree to suffer each other’s presence for another day, it was the willingness to do awkward gestures itself that made them forgive each other, knowing how far into awkwardness the other’s willing to go through just so their friendship won’t be obliterated into oblivion.

As Rainbow zipped up the firepole, another pegasus mare came from the front door. Sunset raised an eyebrow. “Spitfire, you came?”

Spitfire spat not-fire into the spittoon and gave Sunset a smirk. “Thought you’d appreciate it. Go home, newbie. I know you haven’t bought an anniversary gift for your wife.”

Sunset laughed and gave Spitfire a hug. “Thanks, Spitfire. I’ll make sure Twilight finds out about this.”

---

Sunset Shimmer trotted down the familiar path to her home humming a happy tune. The newest Celestial Incognizant book was in her saddlebag, wrapped in brown paper ready to be hidden until her second wedding anniversary in a week. It wasn’t a usual book (her wife had an abundance of those), for it hadn’t been published yet and wouldn’t be for at least five months. She managed to get one directly from the author himself, thus why she was trotting under the moonlit sky instead of the usual dusk.

As she was about to turn the usual corner, she was greeted by an unusual unease. As if the air itself had gotten colder, or maybe warmer? Maybe some ladybug sneezed at her feet and sent a waft of pheromones into her nostrils. Or maybe somepony was waiting around the corner to pounce at her? Maybe it’s the local party pony wanting to celebrate her having bought the perfect present for her wife. Or maybe it was . . . something else?

She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. She was a firemare. Backdrafts should’ve been tenfold scarier than some over-energetic, personal-space-invading pony.

Nothing happened as she turned the corner. She only saw, at the end of the narrow alleyway, a white unicorn filly with a pink and purple mane and tail. Not even old enough to have her prosthetic wings. Sweetie Belle, her name was. Sunset remembered her, for she was her neighbor. A sister of the local fashionista, Rarity, who would be opening a new boutique in Manehattan in two weeks.

She remembered the celebratory party held when Rarity announced her purchase of the new building. The entire neighborhood had agreed to help her rebuild and redecorate it. She also remembered that Sweetie Belle was there, talking amicably among her peers and contemplating the philosophy of life and whether or not a supreme deity existed, as fillies her age usually did.

But the filly didn’t greet her when their eyes met and gave no indication that she had heard Sunset’s hello. Sunset knew she had already said the greeting, then worriedly trotted toward the filly when her second hello didn’t register.

The filly shook her head just before Sunset could offer her a hoof and ask what’s wrong, saying, “I heard you the first time, Ma’am.”

A ‘Ma’am’! What an odd word to hear these days. Ponies would usually greet one another with their names. Sunset recalled that Sweetie had met her when she moved into the neighborhood. She called her by her wife’s last name once, even, mistakenly using ‘Mrs. Sparkle’ and profoundly apologizing afterward for her fallible knowledge. Maybe it was just a formality? “Why didn’t you greet me back, then, Sweetie?”

“Dunno.”

“No? Not even going to think about it and cry and wail after you inevitably fall into the endless void of self-doubt and indecision?”

She shrugged. “Hm.”

“Think for a while, Sweetie. Maybe it was your laziness, or maybe your sluggish mind after a whole day at school not being able to competently use its prefrontal cortex like ponies of old would after indulging themselves with a Tool of Ignorance known as alcohol? How long did you sleep last night?”

She shrugged again. “Mhm.”

Sunset stood with mouth agape. A pony never ceased their train of thought like this! “Sweetie, are you alright?”

She nodded. “Mhm.”

“. . . And? Are you going to talk about it? What’s bothering your mind, Sweetie?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

Sunset put her hoof on Sweetie’s forehead, just below the horn. “You’re not sick, aren’t you?”

Sweetie swatted the hoof away without looking, her eyes still vacant and looking at nothing in particular. She shook her head. “Mhm.”

Sunset looked at her worried. She hadn’t seen her many times before, and Rarity never talked about her sister. Then again, maybe it was the little filly’s insecurity of meeting others? Maybe Rarity was trying to slowly introduce her to others and get out of her shell? She understood the reason perfectly, and why it’s never a good thing to rush a child’s developing mind. “Want me to walk you back?”

Sweetie nodded in silence and trailed behind.

---

The moon set and the sun rose. The day passed by like usual, the ponies happily greeting one another and the neighborhood as lively as the days before, the air filled with cosmic uncertainties and the broiling sense of insignificance. Sunset got to her usual routine: wake up at four, greet her nocturnal wife at the dining table, light up the stove and watch in fascination as her wife cooks, eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, and trot toward the fire department. Wait for the bell to ring, quickly get into her coverall and don her hat at the first ding before it even counts as ringing. Light up a bonfire, wait until it diminishes into a campfire, let fillies and colts cook smores, eat smores with Celestia as they drive back to the fire department.

At the end of the day, however, her routine changed. She walked around the corner in anticipation and, surely enough, Sweetie was standing with a vacant stare at the end of the alleyway, not bothering to think about the mare talking to her, let alone to develop a continuous loop of crippling existential dread like a filly her age should’ve begun doing. Sunset walked her back to her house like yesterday.

The second day after she first met her she found Sweetie sitting on a bench in a park, staring at nothing in particular at the lake. Sunset noticed that Sweetie wasn’t even bothered by the trickle of rain. Sunset sat beside her and tried to talk to her, who was still answering with half-hearted “Hm”s and “Mhm”s, her nodding, shrugging, and head shaking the only indication of what she really wanted to say. She tried talking about colts, which usually made any filly her age talk endlessly of how they should’ve acted, but instead she got the usual “Mhm” and a shrug. Sunset then walked her back to her house through the glimmering park of sparkling dews.

The third day they met on the street a few blocks away from Sweetie’s house. She was trotting briskly, almost a canter, as if in a hurry, without looking at her surroundings or admiring Roseluck’s rose bush, which was very beautiful and always made passersby stop to have a look. Sunset trotted faster and caught up, asking, “What’s the hurry, Sweetie?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Why are you cantering, then?”

“Dunno.”

Sunset pulled her tail in her telekinetic grip, which gave her the first reaction she got from Sweetie Belle: a scowl. Just as fast, the scowl vanished and Sweetie continued forward, slower now and only a trot like usual. Sunset walked her back to her house along the moonlit streets.

On the fourth day, Sunset met Sweetie at the local confectionery. She was sitting at a table and idly looking at a poster of a vanilla milkshake on the wall. Sunset sat across and ordered a vanilla milkshake for Sweetie, making the local confectioner ask why such a cold and sweet drink was needed at the dark of the evening. Why indeed, Sunset thought. Maybe it’s nothing more than random cravings one might get in the middle of the night, only it’s eighteen hundred hours instead of oh-two-hundred.

“Here, Sweetie. Want a drink?”

Sweetie nodded and silently took the milkshake in her hoof. She sipped on her milkshake and idly stared across the table without looking at anything in particular.

“So, you like vanilla?”

Sweetie nodded. “Mhm.”

“Why do you like it? Maybe the sweetness that got into your tongue, satiating your primal need to eat some form of polysaccharide and is blasted into the highest levels of satisfaction upon meeting the purest form of carbohydrate? Or maybe it’s a placebo effect your brain got because ponies around you kept on saying that your coat color matches the whiteness of vanilla?”

Sweetie shrugged. “I just do.”

And the night passed by without any more interesting reactions from Sweetie. After she finished her drink, Sunset walked her back to her house under the countless stars that didn’t care a single bit about their existence in the ultimate fate of the universe.

On the fifth day after she first met Sweetie, Sunset met her at the bridge. Sweetie was standing by the side and staring blankly, as usual, her eyes not caring about anything that was happening around her. Sunset took one look at her and passed by without much thought.

A few paces in, Sunset stopped dead in her tracks, her heart skipping multiple beats and her breath caught in a hitch. She whipped her head around to look at Sweetie behind her, a pony that was her neighbor, her friend’s sister. She looked at her up and down and found that, for the first time, she didn’t want to think about her. She didn’t get the impulse to analyze Sweetie like days before, or think of a way to start a conversation between them, or whether or not she’s sick with the way she was acting, or when her birthday would be and whether or not she should buy her a plastic firemare hat to encourage a new generation of Warriors of Awareness.

For the first time, she found that she didn’t care.

Sunset did not walk her back to her house.

---

The sixth day after Sunset met Sweetie in the alleyway was the day before her anniversary with Twilight. Spitfire had generously offered to cover her day shift the day after her anniversary to celebrate, that is, in two days. Not the perfect date like she hoped, but beggars can’t be choosers. Her wife surely would understand.

The day had almost ended and the sun had almost touched the horizon when the fire bell tolled.

It didn’t ring. The bell tolled.

Sunset, still at her shift, looked at Captain Celestia with abject horror.

Celestia nodded grimly. “Bring the Balefire igniter, Lieutenant.”

Not a minute later, The Salamander shot like an arrow, carrying all four firemares of the district’s fire department with its siren wailing all the way through the pre-sunset sky. Sunset’s metallic wing’s undersides had already been stuffed with magical runestones and a single Balefire igniter, a slender aquamarine tube with a safety pin in its top. The standard tool to burn down a house.

Not much was said nor thought until they reached their destination. “This is my neighborhood.”

Celestia pulled the brakes. “I noticed, Lieutenant.”

Sunset looked outside and, to her horror, found that they had stopped right in front of Rarity’s house.

All four firemares jumped outside and, with their fire retardant coveralls and black metal hats, rushed through the front door, bashing it down.

As three firemares galloped in, Rarity galloped out of her house with tears streaming down her face. Sunset caught her at the front door. “Rarity, you rang the fire bell?”

Rarity wailed and spoke between her sobs. “I did! I-It's my sister, Sunset! My own sister!”

“Sweetie Belle? What did she do?”

“It’s an Airpod, Sunset. And many more!”

At the same time, Sweetie’s cry came from the second floor. “No! Don’t take them away!”

Sunset let go of Rarity, which galloped away from her house. Sunset herself galloped upstairs.

As Sunset reached the top of the stairs, she saw Sweetie clinging into Celestia’s left foreleg, trying to reach the small white hearing device in the captain’s right hoof high in the air. “This is a Tool of Ignorance, little one. Surely, you understand how dangerous it is?”

Sweetie wailed harder.

Sunset touched Celestia’s shoulder. “Let me handle this, Captain.”

Celestia nodded and gave Sunset the device. Sweetie immediately let go of her foreleg, enabling Celestia to leave the house, and hugged Sunset’s left foreleg, desperately trying to reach the Tool of Ignorance in her right hoof. “Sweetie, calm down!”

Sweetie wailed even harder.

Sunset sat and lowered her right hoof. Immediately Sweetie took the Airpod and clung to it like oil in a pony’s coat. Sunset wrapped her hooves and wings around her, and Sweetie leaned in, still crying. She felt like a giant marshmallow, Sunset noticed, with how white and soft her coat was. “Hush, Sweetie. You know you can’t get away with it, don’t you?”

Sweetie whimpered.

Sunset sighed. “Sweetie, ignorance isn’t the choice if you want to be happy. It is the understanding—”

“I’ve heard that a lot.”

“Then you understand?”

Sweetie leaned back, breaking the wing hug, and glared at Sunset. “I totally do. In fact, I understood it perfectly. So perfectly that I found out that nopony—and I mean absolutely nopony—is, in fact, happy with it. Everypony kept on thinking and yet nopony is happy. Don’t you think there’s such a thing as too much thinking? My teacher told me it was a dumb idea. There’s no such thing as too much thinking.”

“Because there isn’t.”

“And that’s where you’re all wrong.” Sweetie grit her teeth. “Thinking too much leads to you arguing with one another. Or even with yourself. Is that happiness for you? No, I don’t think so. For me, that’s just as delusional as thinking that ignorance doesn’t give you happiness. Have you never thought that, just maybe, all our miseries came from the thinking that we do? We’re always taught that misery can be destroyed with knowledge, yet nopony ever even thought that, just maybe, it can also be destroyed—no, prevented—with ignorance?”

“Sweetie, it’s not that simple.”

“See? You said it. You said it not because it is not that simple, but because I said too much and you couldn’t keep up with the explanation for it, didn’t you? If only I were a little bit older, you’d feel challenged and this conversation would have turned into a fiery argument by now, and another firemare would’ve come here because the fire alarm went off. We’re just about to argue, Ma’am, we’re just about to fall into a bottomless rabbithole of psychological-misery-inducing that is relentless arguing and it’s all because we think.”

Sunset didn’t answer.

“There you go, ma’am. Your answer. There is such a thing as too much thinking and it gave us not happiness, but sadness. It makes us miserable. Overthinking, I call it. Overthinking kills our happiness, not make them, as our doctrine tells us.”

Sunset closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She let it out and said, slowly, “Sweetie, I know it’s hard at first, but I promise you, you will find happiness eventually. It’s not eternal happiness, no, but it’s an occasionally-occurring-happiness that keeps you going on in life. It’s not good to detach yourself from reality just because you don’t want to deal with it. You won’t be able to be happy if you keep escaping from your responsibilities because they will chase you down until the end of time, no matter how fast you’re running. Don’t you care about your future? Your pursuit of happiness?”

Sweetie pulled away, stepping back a few paces. She accidentally stepped on a Joyboy the firemares had found during her endeavor to get her Airpod back, already soaked in octirosene like the rest of her toys and the house. She looked at it for a brief second before returning her gaze toward Sunset, the same vacant and empty look she had always given her carved into her pupils like a Balefire scorch mark.

“Frankly, Ma’am, I don’t give a damn.”

Sweetie raised one of her hooves, where the Airpod wasn’t there, but something slender, bluish-green—

The Balefire igniter. “Sweetie, wait!”

A metallic click. A sizzle like a shaken soda bottle.

Sunset draped her wing over Sweetie and lit up a teleportation runestone with her magic. A flash of light and a popping noise later, Sunset stood up stumbling next to The Salamander. She raised her wing and—

“Sweetie Belle?”

She snapped her head toward the window on the second floor. Sweetie was standing up, just succeeding in slipping away from the firemare’s wing grip. She gave Sunset an empty look, a small triumphant smirk, and a clear look of the sizzling Balefire igniter.

“Sweetie Belle, no!”

An electric crackle. A bright flash of white light. A raging Balefire.

White. Such a beautiful color, so pure and so easily tainted. Such a delicious color, how Sunset saw the color dripping every day on top of a small campfire. How the picture oh so easily forgotten. How she hoped that a similar picture of a melting white skin, so soft and innocent and full of love and care, can be as easily erased. How she wondered whether molten Sweetie tasted like marshmallow as well, and how well it would taste if put between crackers with chocolate.

Fahreneigh 451: the temperature at which marshmallow liquefies and octirosene catches Balefire.

Comments

[Quinch]

That was... something. Definitely getting Bradbury vibes from the narration too, good job.

[Clopian26]

Bradbury would Be proud

[bdoubleowo]

“Frankly, Ma’am, I don’t give a damn.”

Good reference.