The View From The Window

by Sunchaser

Shameful Reflection

The View From The Window
Dreamscape: Shameful Reflection

Reverie had dried her tears and restored most of her usual composure by the time the train slowed, and when it finally pulled to a stop at the open platform of Mareford Station she was plenty happy just to be off of it.

She'd always loved trains. There was just something about the time-keeping clack of wheels over the track connections, the gentle sway of the car back and forth after a bend in the route, the rushing vistas she could idly watch through her cabin window. It was quiet, and undisturbed, and peaceful, and unfortunately becoming associated with going to showings built around the paintings she detested.

In theory she could send the paintings by train, and then she herself could instead fly to Manehatten, taking in the pegasus-eye view of the Lengthy Island countryside, lazily napping on a sun-bathed cloud--

Fwoooo! Tsss...

Or she could forget she was on standing a train platform just behind the engine, and get blasted with exhaust steam.

She'd reflexively closed her eyes, at least, but she didn't even need to open them to feel the wet grit that was now ingrained into her right side fur. And getting steel shavings and coal dust out of her feathers?

Reverie groaned, and very deliberately took herself a half dozen steps away from the blast area.

And then a large drop of water impacted the tip of her muzzle, and she sighed deeply as now - now that she was out on the open train platform? - now it started to rain, like she'd wanted it to twenty minutes ago, when she'd been quietly crying, which she pointedly was not anymore.

She gritted her teeth as she felt her oft-ignored temper bubble up, and then she glared at the dull gray sky and furiously thought: Really? You don't think that piling it on like this is a little much, maybe?!

She'd wanted to shout at the clouds, maybe take a little sadistic glee in any local weather pegasi who might be in earshot...no. No, she just wanted to scream, to unleash a primal yell into the world so that it wasn't filling her to bursting on the inside anymore.

She couldn't do that, though; not here, anyway. Her reputation as a painter already had some ponies wondering if she was off her rocker as it was.

So she bottled it up, as she was so practiced in doing, and shoved it away with a deep breath, and instead chose to think that if it rained enough, maybe she wouldn't need a shower to wash the coal dust off after all. That thought actually managed to carry a little weight, bless it, and it calmed her enough that she trusted her voice again.

"Porter? Porter Steward?" she called, politely but loudly, that it would carry over the conversation and shuffling sounds of the other debarking passengers. And she soon saw a red hat in the crowd, making its way toward her, until a honey brown-coated pony with a white mane and a pleasant smile broke into view, and his deep blue eyes presently went wide.

"...Oh my, Miss Dreamflight. Are you entirely alright?" he asked concernedly, his eyes discreetly avoiding lingering on her grit-blasted coat.

For her part, Reverie offered a lopsided smile. "Oh, I've been better, certainly, but nothing the station keeper need concern of. I'll just be needing the usual assistance with my luggage."

Porter Steward, platform manager of Mareford Station along the Sunrise Express Line, simply nodded. "Certainly." he said, as he stepped over to the nearby passenger car's undercarriage compartment. With the quiet sound of chimes, the latches were enveloped in a light gray aura, and the compartment eased open to reveal its contents - among other things, a large lacquered wooden case, say about large enough for a half dozen medium paintings.

This insightfully waterproofed case was next enveloped by Porter Steward's light gray magical aura - convenient, that red cap of his, for hiding the horn - and he carried it over the heads of the ponies yet milling about, his authoritative, deliberate hoofsteps wordlessly clearing a path which Reverie followed toward the station exit.

~~~~~

"If you could set it there, on the second shelf? That'd be lovely, thank you."

Reverie pulled off her forest-green silk scarf as she kept a subtle eye on the bellhop's handling of her paintings case, and was satisfied when the younger mare slipped it into place on the middle shelf without so much as a bump or scratch, her blue magical aura vanishing as it was settled among its other peers.

Not that she'd really expected any sort of disaster - Porter Steward was a quality station keeper, and his employees held to that standard - but Reverie's paintings were her children, after a fashion; even the ones she...less than adored? And so it was a long standing habit to quietly hover nearby when they were in the care of another pony.

And then, as she was wont to do, she distantly considered again the idea of having a carrying case specially made with a pegasus flight harness so that she could move them herself...and again, reminded herself that she wasn't that strong a flyer, that she could just up and carry a hundred extra pounds of wood and artwork.

She absently shut her studio apartment door with a brush of her left wing, her mind faintly noting that yes, she'd tipped the young mare a hoofful of bits for her help, as usual, and then her thoughts turned to three things in precise order.

First, she was going to have a soothing warm shower, as the rain had thinned to a depressing drizzle soon after leaving the station, and she still had grit and dust ingrained into her fur. After that, she was going to put on a nice pot of chamomile and lemongrass tea, and flop onto her fluffy cloud chair to just relax.

And assuming she didn't end up snoring by then, she was going to crawl into her soft, comfortable bed, and she was going to have a nice long restful nap, and probably sleep in until brunch tomorrow.

Yes, Reverie thought, as she nudged the faucets on her bath toward the warmer ranges of temperature. Yes, that sounds like a lovely plan.

~~~~~

It would have been a lovely plan, except for the last bit - the nice long restful nap? She wasn't having that, as it turned out. No, she was busy getting sucked into somepony else's dreams again. And, as usual, there was nothing she could do about it; so she resigned herself to endure it, quietly hoping it was only a little naughty, rather than a soul-rending terror.

With a deep breath, Reverie opened her eyes, and looked through those of another.

~~~

She just couldn't help it.

Even now, after so many a scandalous rendezvous, she still felt too embarrassed and ashamed.

Even after so long as it had been, after so many visits that her dearest Twilight had now learned so very well indeed just how to elicit those cute filly's squeaks from her...she still could not bring herself to look at the lavender unicorn who was just now so intensely attending to her every hidden desire.

Instead, as had become habit, she guiltily matched her eyes to those reflected in the dressing mirror which stood across the room from her exceptionally occupied bed. She could still see certain...details in the periphery, of course, and there was a part of her that so very enjoyed that...the part that had conspired to provoke these midnight meetings in the first place, no doubt.

But her higher self - her nobler side, as she preferred to think - studiously spent its time searching her reflected eyes for some way to reconcile her actions; some way to justify, or at least explain these things she was doing. Well, these things she was having done to her, technically. And to say nothing of by who--

But tonight, as with every time previous, though she stared deeply into that mirror, she did not find her answer.

No, she found no answer, and so instead, she found her thoughts drifting to a distant, designer's sort of consideration of her pearly white coat, and thinking just then that it really ought to have been black, such a terrible mare as she obviously was.

Would she need new accessories if her coat were black, she wondered? Oh, probably not; she already had such a wide selection at hoof, after all. Maybe she could ask her sister what looked best--no, no, terrible idea. She would want to know why she was being asked, and then to have to explain this to her younger sister?

It didn't matter; no doubt there were pieces to go with just about everything.

But even such self-recriminating musings as these could not long endure under the delicate ministrations of her attentive companion, her dearest friend...her willing lover. And so all thought was soon pushed aside, and all that mattered was the feeling; the rushes of the sort of ecstasy that exceeded the greatest feats of flying, the electric sensations that rivalled being the eye of a wild magical storm, until that inevitable rise - that final climb before the collapse...into free fall.

Such was, of course, always the intended goal of Twilight's increasingly clever and ever-dedicated efforts: that singular moment at the apex of the rise, poised on the edge of falling...and then she would scream into the night air in rapturous release, giving voice to words that were entirely unbecoming of a mare of her character and station. Terrible, sordid, honest words that were known only to the ears of the one she had for so long loved, that she had so desperately yearned for...the one that she now, finally, possessed...

Eventually, of course, even the strongest feelings would ebb away like the falling seashore tide, and she would slowly return to herself. And then, even with Twilight curled up comfortably against her, even while feeling the scholarly unicorn's soothing warmth, and looking into her sparkling amethyst eyes, seeing her soft, pleasant smile...

She would never outwardly show it, of course. She could never. But after receiving Twilight's affectionate touch...she always felt so deeply ashamed. And then she would tell herself, again, that this was all so very wrong...knowing all too well that it was far too late to stop.

~~~~~

It was not, as had been planned, time for brunch when Reverie exhaustedly forced open her eyes. In fact, judging by the anemically pale light out on the horizon visible through the window nearest her bed, it was barely even dawn.

But she dragged herself out from under the covers nonetheless, and once again nudged the bath faucets, this time with drowsy hooves; not toward comfortable warmth like the previous evening, but instead to a shower that would be a touch colder than she would have otherwise preferred.

And then she would eschew her usual soothing tea in favor of the electric espresso coffee, and resolutely dig out her brushes and oils, and once again start committing to a blank canvas someone else's dream.

She wasn't going to be able to sleep again until she did.

Comments

[Church]

bookplayer says you are amazing, and whatever bookplayer says goes. Seriously. Anyway, here I am, reading your story. Thought I'd make my presence known.

[Seether00]

Ooooh, so is Rarity or Celestia's fantasy? Probably Rarity.

[Midnight Calm]

No words to say other than this is amazing. I am greatly looking forward to the next chapters.

[Emberspeak]

" ... And getting steel shavings and coal dust out of her feathers?

Reverie groaned,"

Hmm, this sentence could probably do with some rewording, as beginning it with 'and' makes it slightly awkward and disrupts the flow. Also, if you're going to use it as a question, you will probably need to make it more evident that it is her own thoughts, because right now it looks like the narrator is asking the question. Perhaps re-phrase it from:
" ... And getting steel shavings and coal dust out of her feathers?

Reverie groaned, and very deliberately took herself a half dozen steps away from the blast area."

to:
"The thought of getting the steel shavings and coal dust out of her feathers caused Reverie to groan. With a few tired [or any adjective really] steps, she took herself away from the blast area."

There was maybe one or two more instances in there where you could tighten up your grammar and the flow of your sentences, but they were only minor things. On the whole, the chapter was very enjoyable, and I'm liking this concept you've got. However, does the dream-viewing have a range limit on it? (Heh, I'm going to feel like a fool if this is explained in the next chapet )

[Bradel]

Okay, I'm going to do this one the other way around: criticism first, then praise.

So, I definitely feel like the language could be tightened up in this chapter. At the same time, there are just so many turns of phrase that I wouldn't pick, I have to assume that a good chunk of this is a difference between my voice and yours. Because of that, I find it hard to really evaluate particular passages for flow because I suspect I have a bit of a biased viewpoint. I think this might be a great case for the "read your chapter out loud" advice (which I'll admit I wasn't doing), to see how these passages flow in natural speech. I suspect they flow fine if you're used to that sort of structure, but I don't really know for sure.

Two points I want to highlight, because again they come so close to the start of the chapter, and thus impact a reader's ability to engage.

she was plenty happy just to be off of it

The 'plenty' here seems a bit jarring and unneeded.

It was quiet, and undisturbed, and peaceful, and unfortunately becoming associated with going to showings built around the paintings she detested.

This feels like it would work better as two sentences.

Okay, on to the good. I absolutely loved the train station work. Your descriptions there really sucked me into the story, far more than in the first chapter. I think one of the big factors was the addition of some active storytelling, with the steam blast and the station manager, but it goes beyond that as well. The clack of the train was a nice touch. I've heard it say that descriptions work best when they engage three or more senses. You're hitting visual plenty, but you pick up aural well here, and the image of Reverie getting blasted by the train really makes the hat trick. Excellent stuff.

And the dream. Well, I knew you favored Twilestia already (and were my first exposure to it, and were good enough to make me a fan of it despite some initial reservations). But I hadn't been paying attention to the Teen rating on the story, so that scene... shall we say... took me by surprise.

I have... some... small experience with more mature fiction (no, really, that's not me being coy – it is small). And I've come to the belief that in writing stuff like that, less is absolutely more. Readers have lurid imaginations, and there's probably nothing better to do than cue them up and let them deliver for themselves. Despite this story only being rated Teen, I found that passage substantially more hot-and-bothersome than I suspect most full-on clopfics ever manage. It was very... intimate. And very well done, particularly in Celestia's characterization. Hints and characterization trump a trip to IKEA any day of the week. Once again, excellent stuff.