Short Scraps and Explosions

by shortskirtsandexplosions

Person Mare pt 4

Persephone trembled in the darkness.

Chains rattled.

A sliver of sunlight flickered across the room, causing a whimper to escape her lips.

Bare hooves scraped against concrete as she shifted against the rattling chains.

Just as she was about to fall into even more uncontrollable sobs...

The doors rattled, and the sliver of sunlight widened.

Persephone looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.

Something shrieked from the brightness, like a ghostly whinny.

Her ears twitched.

Once more... twice more... in succession, the whinnying repeated.

Her ears twitched again and again...

---

Wrii—Wrii—Wrii—Wrii—Wrii—Wrii!

Persephone's amber eyes flew open in the darkness. Her fuzzy nose twitched. She smelled smoke.

"Crap!" she hissed, kicking against her bed. As always, she fell, and as always, it hurt. "Ooomph! Dammit!" Her world spun, the universe throbbing against her skull with underwater reverberations of panic. The smoke alarm kept blaring, piercing her eadrums with each undulating shriek. "Guhhh—Tr-Trish! Cael! The alarm! Friggin'... Unngh!"

She galloped towards the bedroom door, tripping on the trailing length of her nightgown more times than she dared to count. After a floundering puppet act with her forelimbs, she turned the knob and flung her door open. Lamplight stabbed her eyes as she chased a cloud of smoke across the apartment ceiling, around the bend, and straight into the kitchen.

She came to a stunned stop, watching as Caelus spun like a half-naked top in his pajama buttons, paddling across the counter and kitchen table in search for his glasses. All the while, a skillet on the stove top blazed brightly, licking at the air with orange tongues of undeniably real indoor flame.

"V-v-vegetable oil sh-shouldn't reach two hundred and th-thirty two degrees celsius!" Cael stammered, his hands twitching in deep, deep panic. He flinched from the flames and pulled at his hair. "Mmmmm... fifty point two percent that of Venus on an average day—!"

"Cael! For heaven's sake! Move over!" Persephone rushed into the room. She nearly slid into the base of the inferno, her amber eyes reflecting the bright plume of heat. "How in the Hell did this happen?!"

"I-I-I was just wanting to have some eggs for breakfast because Rene Descartes invented the Cartesian Oval in 1637 when Fermat's Theorem was postulated and Andrew Wiles supported the proof when he tackled modularity for semistable elliptic c-curves in 1995 a-a-and while trying to retrace the equations I-I remembered the menu full of triangles from the diner yesterday and th-thought of a simpler systematic postulation and... and... and..."

"Awww hell's bells, stand back!" Persephone winced as she nervously reached for the edge of the stove. The heat from the fire licked at her hooves, but she nevertheless succeeded in grasping the dial beneath the skillet and turning the heat off. Exhaling with relief, she stepped back from the blaze, her heart beating a mile-per-second.

Through the cacophonous shrieks of the smoke detector, Persephone heard the rush of faucet water, followed by Caelus' stammering voice. "Two hydrogen atoms for every oxygen atom! Rapid expansion of m-molecules and—"

"No, Caelus, no!" Persephone stretched a hoof out, stopping him in mid-lunge of a coffee mug full of water. "It's a grease fire! I dunno how burning shit works on Mars or Mercury or whatever, but that's only going to make things worse!"

He dropped the container into the sink with a splash and hugged himself, rocking back and forth. "But... b-but Pythagorus and the isoceceles..."

"Gotta put it out. Gotta put it out." Persephone danced on her hooves, then finally flashed a look behind herself with a gasp. "The closet!" She dashed out of the kitchen, just in time to breeze by Trisha—half awake—who was hopping her way into a pair of loose pants.

"What in the Chicken McChristnuggets is going on?!" The woman almost pratfalled at the edge of the kitchen. "Holy ballsacks, Cael! What'd you do?! Wage war on chickens?!"

"It's okay! I got it!" Persephone flung the sliding closet door open and pulled at a dusty red fire extinguisher. The weight of the thing fell over her flank, shooting the breath out of her lungs. Wincing, she nevertheless limped back towards the kitchen, dragging the heavy canister with her. "Trisha! I-I could use a little help with the nozzel here!"

"Don't worry! I got it!"

"No, I got it!" Persephone grunted, wrenching the tube loose from its restraints and pulling at the stopper with her teeth. "Gnnnnnrrrghhh! Cael nearly—mmmf—burned the whole apartment down like Dustin Hoffman on valium! Just gimme a secon and I'll—"

"It's okay!" The refrigerator door opened and shut with a hiss. "I've got this! I read up on this on the Internet!"

"Dammit, Trish! Hold up!" Persephone yanked the pin out of the chemical sprayer and pulled it into the kitchen. "I said I got this—" Her blunt hoof slapped over the trigger. The nozzel sprayed a burst of white powder straight into her face, instantly blinding her and sending the pony reeling. She coughed and sputtered, rolling helplessly across the floor as the fire extinguisher vomited its contents all over her. "Glrllgggh—bleachkkk—Hauckkkt—Dammit!"

Suddenly, the heat in the room dissipated. Persephone felt a wave of dust coating her already-drenched coat from afar. When she finally disentangled herself from the contraption, she opened her eyes and glanced thinly at the hazy scene.

Trisha stood victorious besides the stove, holding upside down an empty orange box of Arm and Hammer. "Haaaah! I knew it! Baking soda to the rescue!" She waved fumes away from her nose and stepped back from the thoroughly doused skillet. "Whew! And who said the Internet was only good for watching Brazillian chicks go to town on a street cone?"

"Sao Paulo..." Caelus sniffled, hugging himself as his lips quivered. "...was f-founded in 1554, same year that a gr-great fire consumed the Dutch city of Eindhoven..."

"Awwwwww..." Trisha smiled tiredly. She tossed the box behind her and crossed the tile floor, pulling Caelus into a gentle hug. "Don't stress it, Cael. You just gotta remember what we said about you cooking stuff on your own, especially in the middle of the night when neither Percy or me is up!" She rubbed his shoulder and leaned back to smile in his face. "You're a smart, handsome guy, but you kiiiiiinda have a hard time concentrating on kitchen stuff." She giggled slightly. "Next time you wanna make love to scrambled eggs, try waking one of us up, okay?"

"But... you and... Percy have had long days..." He winced. "Growing longer and longer n-now that we have passed the vernal equinox... and..."

"Hey! I'd rather be tired and cranky than burnt to a crisp!" Trisha gazed up at the smoke alarm that had now gone mute. She crossed the room and turned on an electric fan before opening the windows of the apartment. "The same goes for our fellow tenants! Isn't that right, Percy?" She stopped dead in her tracks, staring down at the pony.

Persephone sat in a slump, covered from head to hoof in fire retardant powder and baking soda.

Trisha blinked. She snorted, giggle-snorted, then fell into an incurable wave of laughter. Hugging her chest, she slumped against the kitchen counter and slid down to her fanny, seated across from Persephone on the thoroughly stained floor. "Oh jeez... oh Percy, just look at yoooouuu! Snkkkkt—Ha ha ha! You look like Stevie Nicks and the Patron God of Cocaine spat out a love child in the middle of the floor! Hahahaha!"

"Mmmmnnnghhh..." Persephone folded her forelimbs, pouting.

"Ah... ah come on, brighten up..." Trisha chuckled and chuckled. "Face it. Living around me so long, you've been woken up by worse!"

"Don't remind me."

"Here." Grunting, Trisha scampered back onto her feet. "Lemme take care of you." She came back half a minute later with an old towel and proceeded to wipe and dab Persephone's shoulders and muzzle. "Brave Percy." The woman smiled. "Trying to be a superhero."

"That dayum alarm woke me up in a heartbeat," Persephone grunted, wincing slightly under Trisha's ministrations. "Why didn't it startle you out of bed?"

"I was already dreaming that I was Ripley saving Newt from James Cameron's ravenous asshole. The siren just... y'know... blended in."

"Trishaaaaaa..."

"Percyyyyyy..." Trisha chuckled again, then—once she was done wiping the muck off Persephone's coat—draped the towel over her head and sat across from her, cross-legged. "Come on! We're both alive and nothing burned down! You should be happy!"

"I'm not," Persephone grumbled, gazing lethargically at her stubby hooves. "I'm not anything." She winced. "I'm not even useful..."

"You kidding?" Trisha smirked. "You turned the oven off! That was like half of the day-saving right there!"

"That's barely anything. What if you weren't here? What if it was just me and Cael? What then?"

"Pfffft! You would have gotten the fire out!"

"Heh..." Persephone kicked the heavy red canister away from her with a lower leg. "Yeah right."

"Come on. You're being too hard on yourself."

"Am I?" Persephone took a deep, shuddering breath. "Trisha, face it. I'm a total friggin' klutz."

"No..." Trisha winked and leaned in for a side-hug. "You're our total friggin' klutz—"

"Gnnngh!" Persephone shoved her away. "It's not funny! It's downright pathetic!"

Trisha leaned back, squinting. "Only if you want it to be, girl."

"Well obviously it's more than a matter of choice for me!" Persephone waved her forelimbs out in front of her. "Why can't I use these right?! Why can't I... I-I handle things like you and Cael and the rest of the world?! Why can't I..." She gritted her teeth, sighed, and hugged herself once more. "Why do I gotta act like my fingers aren't even there?"

"Hey. You'll get around to it someday." Trisha smiled gently. "And until then..." She shrugged. "Cael and I like you just the way you are. You don't have to impress us any."

"'Someday' just isn't soon enough, Trisha," Persephone grumbled. "How many times do I have to convince you that something's wrong with me? I'm sick. I'm damaged. And until I get myself worked out, all I am to you and Cael is a burden."

Trisha was still smirking.

Persephone squinted at that. "What?"

"Hate to brake it to ya, silly filly, but it hasn't been all that easy for you living with the two of us either." Trisha winked. "Between Mister Universe here nearly making the apartment go nova and me driving you batty left and right, it's a wonder that you haven't imploded by now."

"Oh please." Persephone rolled her eyes. "Face it. You guys have it all together."

"Hah!" Trisha pointed at herself. "You th-think that I have it all together?" She panted slightly, gulped, and grunted, "At least you get to lay on a couch when you need to have your therapy sessions. Me? I'm lucky I don't get crucified at every family reunion!" She pointed into the center of the kitchen. "If Cael didn't have his watch to stare at or an abicus to make love to, he'd never leave the house to buy groceries and avoid starving to death!"

"Well at least you know what you friggin' are!" Persephone snapped, teeth gritting. "Or at least you get to choose it, no problem! Me? I can't even decide what I wanna be without the world stepping all over my tail, regardless!"

Trisha mouthed the word "decide" multiple times. She nodded her head, tearing her gaze away from Persephone as she fought a monsterous scowl. At last, she composed herself, although the words that poured out of her lips were blunt. "Good. Wonderful. Great to know that Cael and I have the luxury of choice. That just makes this whole stinkin' ride easier, Percy." She got up, almost slipping on the slick tile.

"Pffft..." Persephone's brow furrowed in frustrated confusion. "Please. Stop dramatizing."

"Only once you—" Trisha jabbed a finger towards the collapsed mared. "—stop acting like the whole dayum universe revolves around you and you alone. We all struggle to find ourselves, sister. Some of us longer than others. Would it kill ya to stop lookin' so dayum hard? Worst off, don't bite at our tails just cuz yours keeps being stepped on." She grabbed the burnt skillet and tossed it into the sink with a clatter. "You know, you may be sick, but that doesn't mean you gotta be contagious!"

And then she stormed off across the apartment. Seconds later, her bedroom door slammed shut.

Persephone rolled her eyes, and yet she sighed. Depressingly. She gazed at the floor that was stained with powdery residue. Quietly, she stretched her forelimb down and pressed it against the tile, rubbing it until it was tight against the cold surface. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and released her grip. Reopening her eyes, she was disappointed to see a round shape—the image of a hoofprint.

With bored eyes, she gazed across the still-hazy apartment in thought.

---

"I've been thinking all morning about the last time in my life that I tried defending what I am—or at least, what I've always perceived myself as being," Persephone calmly said. "And I think it finally came to me when I approached the front doors to this building. You see, my mother was always a working woman. That is, she was until she had to raise me up like the problem child that she had inadvertently adopted. Dad kept his job as a disgruntled American salesman while mother became a stay-at-home disgruntled American former-saleswoman. Being around her all the time, I felt really, really self-conscious. I don't think she ever meant to be bitter to me, but she was, and more and more so with each passing day. Looking back, I don't blame her. It's gotta be tough to give up what you believe in—as well as the money involved with it—for a little brat who doesn't even know how to fix herself much less think she even needs to."

Dr. Sharp nodded from across his office. "Did she ever call you that?"

"Hmmm?" Persephone looked up from the couch.

"A 'brat.'"

"Oh, n-no..." Persephone smirked, but it barely lasted two seconds. "At least not to my face. I really don't understand where parents get the false assumption that the walls of a home are made of some sort of insulated steel. I could hear every nasty thing she ever felt about me to my dad. It made it all the harder to be alone around her everyday, because I could tell in every little fake smile and every little fake laugh that she was doing her damnedest not to wring my neck."

Persephone sighed, leaning back until she was staring at the ceiling with her forelimbs folded at her chest.

"So, I soon realized—if she could fake it, then I could fake it too." Her lips curved. "Heh..." She glanced aside at him. "Maybe that's the first step in realizing I'm a woman and not a pony. 'I know how to fake it.' Eh? Ehhh?"

Dr. Sharp continued staring at her.

"Erm... right..." She cleared her throat and gazed upwards again. "So, I started... just..." She shrugged. "...pretending that everything was alright. I started acting as if I didn't have stubby hooves or a short height or a scruncy muzzle for a face. And, if I practiced well enough, it wasn't all that hard to keep others from noticing how clumsy I was. I figured it would work on my mother. And for a few years, it did work." She gulped. "But not forever."

"What changed?" the doctor asked.

"I did. Well..." She winced. "That is—I was supposed to. I turned fourteen. My mother had given me the talk. My father had... pretended to give me his 'version' of the talk. I didn't really have much to say—because, even though I'm pretty sure I knew what both of them expected—or my mother at least—I couldn't really be square with them. I mean, I couldn't tell them about how broad my flank had grown or the fuzz in my ears or the fact that this godawfully bright horseshoe brand had appeared on my butt overnight."

"You mean you weren't born with it?" Sharp asked.

"Heh... I almost wish I was," Persephone said with a groan. "Truth is, I was sprinting at P.E one day, and it so happened that I outraced all the other students. I actually got a few kids to cheer me on. I felt so... proud of myself that day." She exhaled long, her features growing soft. "It's like I wanted nothing better than to run and run as fast as I could." She gulped. "When I came back to the gym and changed, I noticed that something had... uhm... changed about my coat."

She paused, allowing silence to reign.

Sighing, she turned over on the couch and faced him in the bright morning light. "It's not exactly easy to brag to your parents or your marefriends: 'Oh look! I have a horseshoe on my butt! I've become a woman now!' Every other girl my age was going through the whole afterschool special magic. Slipping into training bras. Waking up to Mother Nature's blessing in their underwear." She shrugged. "I didn't think much of it... until I realized my parents were thinking much of it."

Dr. Sharp pointed with a finger or two. "Your parents or..."

Persephone was already nodding. "Mom." Her brow furrowed. "She was super creepy about it too. I swear, she camped outside my bedroom and bathroom just to see if there was anything different about me. One summer, just before eighth grade was about to start, she bought me a whole bunch of stuff from the store. By about halfway through the semester, I hadn't used any of them, and she started to get... mad."

"Mad?"

"Yeah..." Persephone nodded. "As if I was somehow trying to hide something from her. As if I was still... like... stuck in the form of the same petulant child that had forced her to give up her job and watch over me several years before. She called me out on it week after week, until finally it was becoming some... big nasty thing, and I just couldn't slip by and pr-pretend that everything was all hunky-dory anymore. I mean, how was I supposed to tell her that a box of tampons was just about as useful to me as a feather duster is to an ostrich? So, finally, I figured... 'What the hell?' So long as I lived with her, I was gonna be myself, and there was no point in hiding that. After all, she was only going to get angrier and angrier."

"And did you do something different?"

"If you can call it that." Persephone looked up. "I told her that there was no point in her buying me all that stuff. I told her that I'll never be the woman that she was, because the estrus cycle of a horse is different from the menstrual cycle of a human, and for all she cared, I was going to live with clean pants for the rest of my life—as if I even needed pants." She chuckled slightly.

Sharp helplessly smiled along with her.

Persephone exhaled, then stopped smiling. "And then she slapped me."

The ticking of Dr. Sharp's clock reverberated across the office.

"That's not the part that hurt," Persephone said. "What hurt was that it was late in the evening and Dad was across the apartment. And when she hit me, it was loud. He totally heard it. Hell, I'm surprised the whole complex didn't hear it. And yet—even as Mom stormed off to her bedroom in a huff—he did nothing." She gulped. "As a matter of fact, he never did. He never defended me, never came to my rescue, never... even talked to me really. That winter and on, I sort of... became strangers with my foster parents. We only ever hugged or cried together when shit hit the fan with my psychiatric evaluations, and then it was back to your regularly scheduled apathy."

She stirred on the couch, fidgeting with the sleeves of her blouse.

"That's when I finally realized that—no matter what—I would always be alone with what I knew and what I felt. Even if I made close friends, they could never be a fully functioning part of my life, because I would always have this... this lonesome corner where only I would sit, and to expect anyone to relate to me would be like expecting the rain to fall upwards."

"And..." Sharp leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands together. "...did this ring true with the companions you did ultimately make?"

"Hmmm?" She glanced over at him. "What companions?"

He stared in silence.

She blinked. "You mean my roommates?" A dry chuckle, and she stared up at the ceiling with a bitter smirk. "Oh, I could go on and on and on about them. Not like they have anything to do with hooves and horse-hockey, mind you. But—for better or for worse—I couldn't land myself with any other kind of people to share an apartment with. We're the quintessential motley crew, and I think the only reason we ever found each other is because the rest of the world threw us out."

"I'm guessing they have their own fair share of quirks."

"Oh, Doc, I'm tellin' ya!" Persephone chuckled. "Between Trisha's crazy streak and Caelus' Mr. Wizarding, we're a regular side show. And yet... even with them..." She sighed. "I'm different."

"We're all different, in a way, wouldn't you agree?" Dr. Sharp asked.

"Well, sure, Doc. I just... sometimes wish I had their 'different' more," Persephone said. "Take Caelus, for example. He can just sit dead-still, staring into space for hours, not moving a single muscle. And I look at him and I think: 'Jee, it's like he's not feeling anything at all. Just thinking a mile a minute while the whole universe spins around him.' Ahem. It's gotta be very powerful to not have to feel. But, then again..." She shrugged with a sigh. "It's not like he tries. Any social situation he gets himself into, he clams up, drenching his head in numbers and theorems instead, as if it's his only recourse for finding structure in his life."

"And yet, you would prefer to be like him than to be like yourself?" Dr. Sharp asked.

"Well... I dunno. Do we even have choices? I mean—" Persephone suddenly winced. Her ears drooped as she sighed towards the floor beneath the couch.

Sharp tilted his head curiously at that.

Eventually, Persephone spoke up. "I had... uhm... something of an argument with Trisha, this morning."

"Your other roommate?"

The mare nodded. "Though it wasn't an argument really. Whatever the case, I made her mad. I'm used to seeing her mad, but not at me. I was too proud to show it at the time, but it really hurts... coming from her."

"Do you know what triggered it?"

"Yeah. Me." Persephone grumbled. "I told her that she was what she was because she chose to be that way. I should have known Trisha better than to say that." She rubbed her hooves over her face, grimacing for half-a-minute, before slumping loosely against the couch with a sigh. She spoke more towards the ceiling than towards the doctor. "It can't be easy, feeling like you gotta choose to be what the rest of the world expects you to be. For all my life, I've felt as if I was the one pony—er... person for whom this choice wasn't possible. No matter what I've always done, it all comes blowing up in my face, just like my mother's slap."

"And when things turned dramatic with Mr. Clemens, was this one such explosion?" Dr. Sharp asked.

Persephone tilted her head towards him. She smirked bitterly. "You're nothing if not persistent, Doc."

"An apt diagnosis," he said with a slight nod and an even slighter smile.

"I had a choice with Roger," Persephone mumbled. "To kick his ass or not to kick his ass."

"Do you think the choice you made was the right one?"

Persephone gave him a weird look. "What... it... huh?" She blinked off into space, shrugging, "I mean... was spontaneously hurting a co-worker in such a way that threatened my job and landed me once again in psychiatric therapy a right choice?"

"Perhaps a more proper question is..." Dr. Sharp leaned forward. "...was it the better choice?"

"I suppose I could have just ignored what he said," Persephone remarked. "I could have just trott—er... walked past him and his favorite water cooler, ignored the glaring shine on his forehead, cast away the snickers and sneers of his buddies. It would have been just like it was with my parents." She inhaled heavily. "Settling for the status quo. Choosing to be what everyone wants me to be. The normal citizen. The sane person."

"And yet, that's not what you did, was it?" Dr. Sharp said.

Persephone's mouth lingered open.

"Do you remember what you did, Persephone?"

The mare's amber eyes darted across the ceiling.

---

Bright fluorescent lights and fire sprinklers glistened overhead.

"Unnngh!" Persephone grunted, mane tousled and hooves flailing as she rocked to a stop on her backside. A sea of papers fluttered to a stop across the office floor around her. Their rampant rustling failed to cancel out the unmistakable sound of snickering voices a few steps away.

"Oh! Oh my goodness!" A young latina woman in a dark red dress sat up against the edge of a cubicle, straightening her hair as a mess of files pooled around her. "Percy, I-I didn't even see you!"

"It's n-not your fault, Mable." Persephone winced as she used her tail to tilt herself back up on wobbly hooves. She fussed with her shoes, trying to regain balance. "I rushed around the corner. You didn't see me."

"I-I don't understand how I could have tripped! I guess I was in such a hurry!"

"It's... it's fine, Mable," Persephone sighed as she picked her backpack up once more. The shadows of curious office workers collected in her peripheral. She did her best to cloud them out. "It happens. Believe me." She gulped. "Y-you're not hurt, are you?"

"Heh..." Mable smirked as she knelt down to pick up all the sheets from the office floor. "Only my pride."

"Here, let me help." Persephone trotted over and started nudging files into a single pile with her nose.

"Oh, please, Percy. It's not... uhm..." Mable winced, trying not to stare too long at how her co-worker was using her face, muzzle, and teeth to reshuffle the papers. "I-I mean, I know how d-difficult it is for you to... to..."

"Just let me help you for once, okay? It's the least I can do since—"

More chuckles lit the air. A couple of shadows gathered around the water cooler just a few steps away. One figure in particular reflected a gloss of electric light from his skull, stabbing the peripheral of Persephone's vision. The mare simply clenched her eyes shut, taking a deep, deep breath.

"Having a little trouble there, Ceres?" a male voice paused in cackling just long enough to sneer.

---

Persephone blinked. She leaned her head back against the couch and exhaled.

"I made a choice that day, Doc," Persephone murmured. "And it was the wrong one."

Sharp squinted at her. "Are you certain of that?"

Persephone said nothing.

The doctor folded his hands together. "Until you can be sure of where you stood in this most recent situation, Miss Ceres, I do not believe you will be at ease with your own conscience. And I also doubt that you will be at ease with those who might antagonize you in the future, regardless of what you are or what you think you are."

The pony swallowed. Finally, she murmured, "You know what I think, Doc?"

"What is it, Miss Ceres?"

She clenched and unclenched her jaw. "I think I was a great deal less confused before I came here."

---

With a slap, Mable shut the refrigerator and turned around, glaring. "If you ask me, it's Roger who needs to be in therapy, not you." She unscrewed the water bottle and stepped across the tiny break room until she sat at the table across from Persephone. "That man has Napoleon's complex super-bad! He wants the big whig's seat, and he's never going to get it." She took a swig of water, gulped, and exhaled, "But instead of owning up to it like an adult, he keeps taking his frustrations out on everyone around him. Most especially you!"

"Mable, please..." Persephone sighed. A ham sandwich lay on a paper plate beneath her, but it was barely nibbled. "Roger is not the issue. It's me."

"Que va!" Mable frowned. "Is that you talking or the shrink talking through you?"

"Please. I just got out of my therapy session." Persephone glared out the door, eyeing the ocean of cubicles and wandering bodies beyond. "Can we just chillax and talk about something that isn't stupid, stressful, or centered around me?" She took another measly bite, swallowed, and said, "How's the whole New Yorican thing going? Do you burn VHS copies of West Side Story every year or what?"

"Percy, don't be a goof." Mable smirked. "You begin to sound like your roommate."

"Ugh, don't you even start." Persephone rolled her eyes. "I love Trisha to death, but she and I are like oil and water. You know that."

"And yet you get along so well."

"Pffft. When we can afford to."

Mable raised an eyebrow. "Trouble on the farm?"

"Yeah. We tried planting a field of land mines and it went off in our faces. Well, mostly mine." Persephone squinted at her co-worker. "Don't you have better things to do than ask me questions about my problems?"

"It's just that you're such a sweet, meek, well-to-do girl, Percy."

"Heh..." Persephone glared at a distant water cooler. "Most of the time."

"And yet you keep to yourself so much. Which is fine, I guess, but people can't help but want to get to you know you better." Mable shrugged. "It's my fault. The only questions I have to ask are about—"

"—how screwed up I am," Persephone muttered. Her ears drooped at the thought. "Gods, that's depressing."

Mable smiled hopefully. "I like to think that all of our individual issues are what make us special. We're unique like that."

"Unique, huh?" Persephone smirked awkwardly, took a bite of her sandwich, and muttered. "Mmmmf... that makes me one of a kind."

"If you ask me, I think it's unfair."

"Mmmf... what is?"

"The way that Mr. Hayton is singling you out n'all!" Mable frowned. "The man isn't an idiot! He should see that you're a person who doesn't like the spotlight!"

Persephone swallowed and glanced curiously at the other woman. "What are you getting at?"

"Think about it! All of the opportunities he's given you! All the presentations you've been made to give at the big meetings. The speed at which you've been promoted."

"Well, I'm a hard worker, Mable."

"No denying that! And kudos to believing in yourself, girl!" Mable pointed. "But you gotta admit that Hayton's gone a long way to make sure you stay in these offices, especially with what went down."

"Yeah. I've been over that with him."

"And you think he's gonna tell you the truth?"

Persephone sighed and looked tiredly at the woman. "And just what is the 'truth,' Mable?"

"That man is shaping you into some sort of protege! He wants you to be the very model of In Step employment! That's why he's going all out, forcing you into these stupid re-programming sessions!"

"They're n-not reprogramming sessions, Mable!" Persephone chuckled. "Not to scare you or nothing, but this ain't my first rodeo, girl. I can deal with any shrink Pluto would like to toss at me."

"Then how come you didn't have a choice in the matter?"

Persephone opened her mouth, hesitated, and slumped back in her seat. She fidgeted, shrugged, and said, "Well... y'know..."

Mable simply raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look," Persephone said with a frown.

"What look am I supposed to give you?" Mable took a sip from her bottle, then said, "Face it. This is the situation Hayton needs to shape you into whatever he wants you to be. He'll convince you that you gotta dance to his song or else you have no chance with the company."

"And just what is he turning me into?"

"A lackey? A liability?" Mable shrugged. "Listen, Percy, when you first came to this office, I was a little put off."

"Oh really..."

"Yeah, girl! The way you climbed through the ranks! You practically breezed by the rest of the girls! Including me! But later, as I learned to appreciate you, I also started to feel bad for you."

"In what way?"

"You don't seem like the kind of woman who likes being forced to do something, and yet you go through the motions day in and day out. You're like a square peg that somehow forced itself to fit through a round hole. All the edges are frayed, but it's still there. You're still the square."

"Well, since we're speaking metaphorically, then all I need to do is get a grinder and rub those raw edges round forevermore."

"Percy, I'm just worried about you," Mable said with a long face. "What happened with Roger—what you did with everyone watching—was the first and only real, honset thing that ever happened at this office. I may have been scared at the time, but looking back, I'm real proud. And now with Hayton patting your shoulder and forcing you through these sessions... well..."

Persephone stared quietly at the woman.

Mable sighed. "I think that something that was very real and very true is being hammered into the shape that it shouldn't be. And, y'know, it may get you far in this company, but will someone like you be happy there?"

"I suspect someone like you would be happier," Persephone said.

Mable sighed. "That's not what I mean—"

"Sure it isn't. Mable, has it ever occurred to you that the reason I keep things to myself is that I believe everyone else talks too damn much?"

"Erm..."

"And maybe I'm not the one who's occasionally being real and true, but every friggin' person in this office—Hell—the whole world is just full of shit and I'm the only one who notices?!" Fuming, Persephone raised the sandwich to her lips, but paused. She blinked at the ragged meat dripping out of the half-eaten slices of bread. Fighting back a nauseous expression, Persephone hopped out of her chair, picked up the paper plate, and hobbled on three legs towards the trash can in the corner of the room.

"I... I don't understand..." Mable leaned forward. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I hate ham," Persephone grunted. "Ham and all meats. Always have." She tossed the stuff away, dusted her hooves off, and swooped her backpack up before shuffling once more into the offices. "If you ask me, I'm sick and friggin' tired of faking it."

---

Hours later, Persephone was in bliss. She tilted her head back, eyelids fluttering, as her mane billowed and flounced behind her.

At last, after several mental seconds had passed, the mare opened her eyes to see the bend in the running path. She veered to the left, turning about so that she came upon the gymnasium's straightaway once more. Outside, the city glistened with yellow brilliance beyond the glassy black windows. A smattered group of random night owls stood and stretched upon various mats along the side of the large room, sweating up a storm.

Persephone ran around and around the path, her hooves kicking up dust in circles, much like how her mind was constantly spinning. Dr. Sharp's socratic words, Mable's worrisome voice, and Mr. Hayton's cheeky grin all merged into one, forming a nebulous gloss like the glint of light off of Roger's furrowed forehead. By the tenth lap, Persephone was as witless as she was breathless. She trotted over to a bench where her backpack lay and fumbled for her water bottle. The cool moisture sliding down her throat did little to wash the dizzying ache away in her skull. Her head felt like it was full of people, and the mare was sick of it.

So she sat down, tilting her head back as she focused on the tickling sensation of the sweat running down her coat hairs and into her blue spandex. Seconds passed, a minute, and finally a pair of scuffling sneakers scuffed up.

"Taking a break?" a thick-accented voice implored. "I don't know whether to be scared or thankful."

"Hmmmm..." Without opening her eyes, the pony murmured, "How so, Irma?"

"Well..." The sandy-haired employee sat down on the bench beside her, adjusting her blue jumpsuit. "Scared because it's the first time I've ever seen you pause in running here. Thankful because I can no longer be bloody jealous of your superhuman endurance."

"Heh..." Persephone took a sip, wiped her brow, and smirked aside at the familiar face. "I'll settle for the 'super' part, at least."

Irma chuckled. "I really mean it. You put the rest of the runners here to shame."

"Irma, you're Australian, aren't you?"

"Born and raised in Sydney."

Persephone squinted at her. "Then how come you don't sound it?"

"Trade secret, darling," Irma uttered with a wink. "I suspect you have yours."

"Yeah, well..." Persephone shrugged. "Everyone seems like they wanna get to them lately."

"Not this woman," Irma said. "Though I'd be remiss if I didn't take the opportunity to use them."

Persephone's eyes darted back. "I beg your pardon?"

"How long have you been coming here, Persephone? Night after night? Running the same path and doing it all splendid-like?"

"Going on a few years, isn't it?"

"Exactly." Irma nodded. "And you do know that we've been seeking a professional jogging trainer for a long time."

Persephone blinked. "What are you getting at, Irma?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you, girl?" Irma smirked. "You would do wonders for this gymnasium as a running coach. Somewhere in that athletic masterpiece of a body, you've got the know-how for pure endurance, and it would do a lot of good to a lot of people if you were gracious enough to share it."

"Eh... eheheh..." Persephone flicked her tail and wriggled her hooves right underneath the lady's gaze. "Some secrets aren't so easy to exploit, Irma. Thanks for the invitation, but—"

"You do realize that this is something that pays, right?" Irma raised an eyebrow. "I'm serious about this, Persephone. The gym here has gone through tons of people in desperation for a running coach who would stick. And between all of the posers, juicers, and losers of this city, I feel like I'm at my wit's end!"

"Then try searching the other side of your wit, Irma." Persephone took another sip of her bottle. "I come here and run laps because it's a hobby. It keeps me happy."

"Then why not consider taking on a job that'll make you happy and get you paid?" Irma grinned. "Seems very win-win to me."

"You don't understand, Irma." Persephone gave her a tired smile. "Jogging like this? This late at night? And at this place of all places? It's..." She fidgeted. "...it's one of the few good things I have."

Irma blinked at that.

"And I'm not about to ruin that by turning it into some sort of obligation. Forgive me, Irma. I know you mean well n'all. But..." Persephone sighed. "I already have a job."

"Hmmm..." Irma nodded. "Must be a right proper job, then, for you to love it so much."

Persephone blinked at that, almost letting the water bottle slip. "It... uhm... it pays well..."

"I imagine so!" Irma stood up, smiling. "Well, the offer still stands. If ya think you might fancy yourself doing a bit of running on the side—only, y'know—allowing others to run along with you..." She winked and gave a thumb's up. "You'll know where I'll be."

"Right..." Persephone nodded quietly. "Always." She watched as the woman walked away, then gazed down at her own hooves as they dangled off the bench. She sighed.

---

With slow, sluggish steps, Persephone trotted down the night-drenched sidewalk towards her apartment. The city hung in a grimy hush above her, and grated water drains steamed on either side of her as if the underworld itself lingered beneath her very hooves.

She sighed out her nostrils, eyes darting back and forth, sweeping clean the concrete slabs that stretched beneath pale gold lamplight. Every now and then, an errant car horn, distant shout, or police siren would echo across the gritty surfaces of the buildings looming above the little pony. She tilted her head up, glancing across the street as shadows shifted and fluttered from lit window to lit window.

Even in the nighttime, the city kept moving, and it never once stopped to notice the petite equine in its midst.

Persephone heard the rattle of metal scrap. Her heart jumped, and she flung a look to her right. A dark alleyway stretched into utter blackness. Squinting, the mare could make out the faintest hint of delapidated shapes in the edge of shadow. Something shifted, tail flicking. Then, with a flash of pale paw pads, a stray cat zoomed in and out of sight, retreating into inky night with freakish speed.

Persephone stood still, her amber eyes turning glossy as she envisioned the shapes of garbage cans in the onyx maw of concrete yawning before her. Somewhere, an infant foal lay in the bowels of one of those aluminum sarcophaguses, wailing for comfort, for love, for a pair of loving hooves to hold it.

She didn't realize that she was trotting towards the darkness until one of her hooves knocked aside an empty soup can. Then she froze in place, shivering in her uncomfortable clothes, weighed down by a backpack full of an alien world's detritus.

Suffering a deep chill, Persephone backtrotted until she stood beneath the fogged up window to an apartment's bottom floor. She pressed herself against the wall, resting her shoulders as she allowed her lungs to gather as much oxygen as she could. Even when running laps inside a gymnasium, she didn't feel this exhausted, this drained. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to shake the trailing sensations of her infancy away. Instead, a darker memory invaded the empty space left behind, and she heard the rattling of chains as a beam of light fountained into the room from a pair of bulging doors.

"Persephone..."

The mare gasped, her eyes flying wide open. Her ears twitched, still resonating with the echo of her name's ghostly pronunciation. She spun about and looked straight up.

The window to the apartment loomed above her. Trails of moisture ran down the slick surface, as if a sudden tremor had shaken much of the condensation loose, trickling the moisture towards her like a singular rain cloud.

A panic flew through the little pony's body, a fear that Persephone could not explain. Without a second thought, she trotted towards the nearest intersection. That trot turned into a jog and soon she was gallopping—darting breathlessly through the sleepy streets—until she reached the front steps to her apartment building and afforded herself a chance to inhale.

She plunged into the lobby, gladly leaving the darkness behind.

---

The elevator reached her floor and the doors opened with a half-melodic ding. She trotted out and immediately found herself faltering. Her eyebrow raised as she focused on a familiar shape squatting just outside her apartment, a few feet away from the door. Quietly, she approached the figure, holding her breath with worrisome a pause.

Caelus sat, legs-folded, with a graphing calculator propped on one knee and a notepad in the other. He was busy ambidexterously popping numbers into the keypad with one hand and using the opposite to draw insanely complicated quadratic formulae.

"Uhm..." Persephone blinked. "H-hey there, Caelus. What's up?"

"Venus should be seen passing through Capricornus in thirty-six hours," Caelus murmured out the side of his mouth with a slight tremble. "Jupiter crawls a serpentine path through Gemini between Castor and Pollux—"

"Cael..." Persephone trotted over and rested a hoof softly on his shoulder. "Please, tell me, why are you sitting out here like this? What's the matter?"

Caelus bit his lip. He tilted his head up, turning away from the equations as he murmured, "Integers... mmmmm... escape me when she is upset." He squirmed, twitching a tiny bit. "Forty-five minutes and twenty-two point five seconds longer than the last time she spent shedding tears." He gulped. "Someone has to measure it. She pays so much attention to me. Just like you d-do, Percy..."

"Alright, Cael." Persephone tapped his shoulder, then craned her neck towards the slightly cracked apartment door. "Everything's gonna be alright. Just stick around here for a while." Cautiously, she approached the entrance.

"Mmmm... the m-m-mail," Caelus stuttered.

"Huh?"

This time, he looked at her directly, his eyes flinching sadly beneath their bulbous lenses. "The mail came forty-five minutes and thirty-eight seconds ago." He bit his lip. "And then the tears. Just like l-last time..."

---

Persephone slowly pushed the door open. Instantly, she could hear the scuffle of pacing sneakers, punctuated by hyperventilating gasps. The little pony shuffled her way in, eyes darting left and right across the dimly-lit abode. The further she trotted into the front room, she heard Trisha's sniffling breaths with greater and greater volume.

The mare rounded the bend, seeing the shuffling shadows of a distraught woman.

"Come on... come on, ya bastards!" Trisha could be heard hissing above the dull sound of a dialtone. "Goddess, how I hate being on the other end of the line! Your offices gotta still be open at this hour! Friggin' answer!"

Persephone squinted confusedly, but then her hoof brushed into something. She glanced down to see an envelope that had been torn open. A half-folded letter hung out of the paper sleeve. She pivoted the thing around with her hoof until the thing was legible.

At the very top, she saw a string of words addressed to a "Patrick Trinidad." Glancing down, her amber eyes scanned every other line, catching various doctors' notes and medical review statements. At last, on the second-to-last paragraph of the letter, she spotted a sentence in bold. All she needed to see was a glaring "operation postponed," and her muzzle scrunched up.

"Ah jeez... not again," Persephone mumbled. Just then, a slamming sound issued from the kitchen, startling her.

"Shit!" Trisha grunted, having dropped the phone completely as she leaned—heaving—against the kitchen counter. "It's crap like this that makes me wish I moved to California." She gulped, then grumbled, "Yank my chain left and right like I'm their god damn yo-yo. Aren't the friggin' hormones enough, you soulless money grabbers?!"

Her fists clenched, shook, then went loose, palming the counter as her body went limp, shaking at the end of each pent-up sob.

"Goddess... Goddess alive, I'm so fr-friggin' tired of the waiting game..." She whimpered into the back of her wrist as her body quaked. "This whole life. I'm sick of it. So help m-me..."

Persephone battled a lump in her throat. With a brave breath, she snuck forward, shuffling into the kitchen. Once her hooves clopped over bare tile, Trisha jumped.

"Guh!" The woman held a hand over her chest, shivering. "Jesus, Percy. Put a bell on, will ya?" She wiped her smeared cheek and tried putting on a smile that had no business being there. "Funny world we live in. Some day you piledrive the bear..."

"Yeah. Uhm... I feel ya, Trisha."

"Sure ya do, Percy." The roommate bit her lip and gazed off towards the nightlit windows, trembling. "Fraid that... m-my tank of jokes is running low tonight." She gulped hard. "But... b-but did you want me to slice you some apples or...?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me with that..." Persephone pointed across the kitchen.

Trisha's eyes followed the path of her hoof. "What, the stool?"

"Yeah. You know how... uh... bad my grip is."

Trisha sighed. She pulled the wooden thing over with a scraping noise and slapped it down before the pony. "Honestly, silly filly." She managed a weak smile. "You gotta hire yourself a maid or a nurse soon because this is getting—"

Persephone dropped her backpack, hopped up the stool like a cat, and flung her forelimbs around Trisha's neck.

The girl gasped, her teary eyes twitching. "Percy...?"

"I was just remembering..." Persephone smiled gently as she leaned in, giving the girl's neck a warm nuzzle. "My arms are good for one thing."

Trisha blinked, then reached up to pat the pony's shoulders. She nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah..." Her face cracked as the tears flowed freely. "Ain't th-that funny?"

"Shhhh..." Persephone rubbed the side of Trisha's cheek with her mane. "No moping. Because moping is—"

"Shut up, Percy." Trisha sobbed, burying her face in the pony's hair. "Mmmm—I know the rest, ya beautiful idiot."

Persephone merely smiled, standing her ground as the woman wrapped her arms around her and sobbed quietly. No matter how loosely Trisha's body went slack, Persephone held her there, keeping her engulfed in the tiniest—yet strongest—of hugs.

It's not as if her roommate had any choice in the matter.