chapter 51. Tray tables up
I pull Angel the car out of the parking lot and swing it around the corner to head into the residential area, my mind still abuzz with distracting thoughts of the future, which are made less relevant by the fact that we haven’t figured out the current crisis yet. As I drive and Pinkie fiddles, I decide to speak, to at least carry on some sort of conversation.
“So... how are you both doing?” I ask curiously.
"Me and Pinkie? Or me and Reid?" She laughs, giving me that beaming smile that I’ve found I miss, since many of my friends are more uptight here on earth.
"We're... well, I dunno, we're okay. If you're asking how our mind is... I don't know how to put it. We're syncing but separate, I guess?" Pinkie looks back at the other vehicles, who are slowly making their way out of the parking lot we left behind. I ease up on the pedal just in case I’m going too fast.
"Do you think Cadance and Linda will... are they going to be alright, do you think?" I ask, concerned that my new friends could be in a conflict we can’t see.
"I think they need to learn to respect each other, but I also think that Linda needs a guiding force, someone that can take charge, to make her feel secure. Cadance can do that, I'm sure,” Pinkie says definitively, and I feel that I can trust this judgement call.
"Are you worried about Ian?" I ask after another moment or two, glancing over at her.
"He moved out of the house before I did, he's got a console, and he reigns over a small empire of cats. With a roommate, true, but he was doing fine before this." Pinkie shrugs. "If he'd been caught up early I'd be worried but as is... I think he'll handle himself and Apple Bloom pretty well. I don't...."
She sighs. But it isn’t a sad sigh, more one cautious from being judged.
"I don't usually worry... about people or things. Is that bad?"
I quickly equate “worry” with “care”, in a very me-ish fashion.
"Well, you could learn how to. You just have to find a reason to care." I say as we pull into the driveway of our mysterious benefactor. Pulling the shifty lever into park, I relax a little, ready for a good chat.
"Oh it's not that I don't care, it's just... I don't worry,” she clarifies, as I lean back into the car seat and take a deep breath in, letting it out in an attempt at settling the jitters about my confusion about the pink mare right next to me.
"Ever been homeless?" I finally ask, looking up through the windshield at the sky.
"No and yes," Pinkie smiles cheekily. "Guess which is which."
"Pinkie has been, I'm pretty sure. Right?" I ask as I turn my head to engage more fully in the conversation.
"...good guess," she admits grudgingly. "Look... I want to make this clear. I don't actually worry about things I can't change... usually. I worry sometimes but it's... not something I control you know?"
"I know." I reach over to put a hoof over hers in what I hope is a comforting gesture. "It's okay. I need to stop worrying in general,” I admit.
"I think it's less you need to stop worrying and more you need to stop... being chained by your worries."
Chained by my worries... Chained by all of what I am, chained by my feelings... I look down at my hoof resting comfortably on hers, our coats brushing together in a soft pinkish mix.
I pull my foreleg away, as the proximity of our position makes itself apparent.
"Y... yeah,” I mumble.
For a bit we are silent, both looking out the windows.
She speaks first, as my heart pounds in my chest, frustrating me. I can’t keep calm, I can’t stay in control of myself.
"....sooooooo. Um. We're all going to sleep here tonight... right?" She asks me in a mix of hopefulness and concern.
"I don't think so. With everything packed, I think we will fly out tonight, and you all will drive to the next city. Time is of the essence, you know?" I reply gently, feeling at fault for something, though I know not what. It’s painful to sit here. It’s painful to not know what I feel, and even less know the reception any such feelings would actually have. All I can do is wait.
"Well... if you think that's best," Pinkie says, definitely disappointed. "You'll e-mail me when you land, right?"
"Sure."
We trade our contact information in a sort of rushed social obligation, when it should be a moment for quips and silly jokes about getting somepony’s number.
Again we sit quietly.
The car is warm, but only from the sunlight still filtering through the bugs that pepper the windshield. Outside the wind slowly pushes a few branches, carrying with it winter winds. Just as I would have an excuse to beg for physical comfort, to sleep in the same tent as somepony I seek comfort from as more than a friend, in a deceptive but desperate ploy for attention, I am whisked away by circumstance. I could stay here, I could keep traveling, and fulfill my own desires, but we have a goal that will not wait for us.
I cannot help but wonder if I am the wrong pony for this position. Is this a task that Twilight, with her brains and skill would be fit for? Is this the sort of public power that Rainbow would wield so much better?
But this is not a moment in which I can call on them. This is a moment for me to do what I can. This is my dragon.
I let my mind wander for a little longer before it hits back upon Gilda.
"So... Gilda is probably learning to drive,” I mention, as a reason to fill the space outside of my mind with words, just to keep myself aware of the equally nervous and likely confused pink pony beside me.
"Or remembering." Pinkie shrugs. "I... like I said, me and vehicles don't talk."
"Well... cars don't talk,” I point out with a giggle. "not yet, at least."
"Sure they do! I mean, a lot of people say animals don't talk but you can talk to animals, right? Same thing here!" Pinkie pats the plastic and rubber barrier between us emphatically, before spotting the aforementioned Griffon and rolling down her window to wave.
I wave to the group too, before turning off the car, after realizing it was on the whole time, and getting out.
As we make our way towards the group, I can see that everyone really has arrived, and Gilda does not seem pleased. That alone is enough for me to slow down and let Pinkie arrive at the group first. I may have become Gilda’s friend, but I make it a long standing policy not to present myself to an angry predator. After all, I am a quintessential prey animal.
Shining, or Julien, is talking to the princess of the party as we approach.
"My dear, you are fragile as well, but I understand. I'm hoping it can be enjoyable for both of you." He says as we all gather together.
Pinkie points at Julien, halting the conversation. "Right, so as I understand it the plan is you and... you?" Her gaze and pointing hoof select Cadance next, waiting for an answer.
"No, Linda's not back yet,” she says simply, dismissively.
"Right, well. Those two will go on a date while the rest of us set up a sleepover and hash out tomorrow with the old lady." Pinkie looks around at the gathered group. "Am I wrong?"
"No...." Ginny says cautiously, looking at Pinkie with possible concern that she may need help, which upsets me for some reason. "I thought that we all knew the plan?"
"I like confirming things," Pinkie says, shrugging as the group starts to mobilize.
As Ian rolls his, or her eyes and turns to face her, or his brother, or sister, Julien gestures to my car, and leads Cadance to it so they can be on their way. The rest of us wait until our defacto leader in pink goes up to the door and knocks.
Gilda actually sticks towards the back, near me. For a moment I worry, but I realize quickly that she is just trying not to become the center of attention, and who am I to deny someone that?
The elderly woman answers the door after a moment, and smiles out on all of us, spreading a warm feeling of appreciation and friendship.
"Please, come inside, it's so nice to see you all." She says in a warm tone, making her own way to the main room which is covered in pillows and sofas.
I wait for the rest to go in before me, to make sure there will be room, but suddenly Pinkie is behind Gilda.
"Gilda, don't make me push you in there," she says firmly. "I will do it, and it will be embarrassing for you."
Ian heads into the house as we socially inept hang back, quickly followed by a less-than-pleased-with-Pinkie-Pie Gilda, and Pinkie. I head in after them as Ian starts to speak.
"Thank ya kindly fer setting us up on tha plane. Um... would it be okay if we stayed tha night?"
"Well dear, I had thought that time would be important, so I figured we could fly out tonight. Oh my, I didn't introduce myself, my name is Samantha Grent." She holds out her hand, crouching slightly to make it easier on the tiny pony.
Meanwhile I make my way into the room, slipping onto a cushion halfway between Pinkie and Ian, out of fear that being too close to Pinkie could upset her, or possible being too far away could upset her more.
Ian shakes the proffered hand carefully, nodding before turning to look at the rest of us.
"Ah'm Ian. And... well, apparently there's been some planning complications..."
Pinkie nods in agreement before speaking, her smile apologetic. "Yeah, some members of our crew have legitimate Hoplophobia and can't stand to be in the terminal for very long. So, we decided to split the party, which is something I thought I'd never say."
Hoplophobia... Would Pinkie have ever said that word? Would she have needed to? Does it matter?
My ears flick towards the door as Ginny walks in, giggling at the ‘split the party’ reference.
I continue to watch Pinkie as I hear both of the girls sit down and Harold follow them into the room after closing the door. I turn to look for just a moment to see him take one of the chairs, where he can see us all. Like a guard, or a mother hen.
To avoid staring, I look around the room. Warm colors, a comfortable home but unattended. Small portions of the desk, table, and wall space used. It’s almost like she is waiting for somepony... Someone else to come home and fill in the empty spaces. Of course she is, and for a moment I hang my head and ponder death, despite the inviting and cheery decor.
"Dearie, if you want something to do while we talk, my son's room is back there, feel free to use his computer,” the elderly woman calls out to Gilda, who apparently had started to wander off. “The password is axemurder, no spaces."
She smiles and turns back to the gathered ponies and humans.
"I think that we could still make it out tonight, even if we wait for your friends to be ready to leave. I could even give them the house keys so that they could stay here when we leave." She offers, relaxing into the well worn green velvet chair, which seems like a burst of life in this red and brown home.
"That's... actually pretty reasonable," Jackie says.
"The Key thing or the Axemurder thing?" Pinkie retorts, with a sheepish smile, as though knowing she is off kilter, her usual impeccable timing askew. Am I off as well? Have I been ignoring inconsistencies which make me some other creature, not all of the good and all of the bad, like I had thought? Too much dwelling on such things would be bad for a pony.
Jackie gives Pinkie a scolding glance. "The keys. I'm sure Nathan had his reasons."
I hear Ian speaking to Gilda, and they slip out of the main room as the human lady discusses the particulars of getting this all figured out and planned in such a short span of time.
So short... A week now? Somewhere close to ten days of life just slightly off? It feels like so much longer, years even. It feels like a lifetime for somepony like me, who would rather go home, feel safe, and sip some tea while finishing some little project that makes me smile.
I count my hours in stitches and words on paper, and my months in completed projects, so now time stands still for me.
Except for one pink pony who seems to make it all go so fast...
I look up. She is looking at me. I wonder for a moment if the myth of a soul being captured by a camera would allow me to hold onto that look of playful innocence from animation stills and fan art made by humans who never met her. I wonder if I could find Pinkie again, somewhere deep inside of this pony in front of me.
Pinkie looks away from me, and back to Mrs. Grent again before speaking.
“Listen. We really do appreciate this. And that's why some of us are going with you..." She leans forward with uncharacteristic sincerity. "But... there are scared people out there, and I kind of promised to hold a... sort of press conference interview thing, I don't know the real term in this case. So, only the ladies here and the yellow ponies will be joining you on the plane. It's not because we don't appreciate this--we really do--it's just... as tragic as your son's death is, I've been forced into a sort of leadership role here and I've got to think of everyone. So... yeah. I'm... going to be staying behind...."
She rubs the back of her neck with a hoof, seeming lost for a moment. "And... that's pretty much it, actually. Um."
"Don't sweat it, dear. I'll go ahead and purchase the tickets for those of us who will be flying, the house key is on a hook in the kitchen." She says, going back to squinting at her computer, while I return my gaze to the element of laughter around Pinkie’s neck.
She relaxes, and it shifts to settle a little more naturally around her neck, softly shining like my own necklace in the lamplight.
She then looks to me, and I choose to speak rather than wait for her to come up with a question.
"you sure Ian will be okay without you?" I ask in a whisper.
"He lives on his own, he'll be... okay, the filly thing might get to him, but I'm sure he'll be okay." Pinkie looks at me with an odd expression I can’t place, something more than pity, but almost confusion. "I'm more worried about you, actually... although that's probably..."
For a little while, the tap of laptop keys is the only sound beside talking in the other room.
Then, of course, she randomly sits up straight again, the wind once again beneath her wings.
"So! Anyway. Um. Miss Grent, just... what do you do, I mean, usually?" There's a self appreciative giggle. "I mean, it's hard to believe you're just a philanthropist. Or would that be philequinest? Is it the target or the giver that counts here?”
I look away, and back to one of the many hallways leading into this empty home, a sad thing, really. Somthing I would try to remedy if I were not so lost already.
"You're the pony, you should know,” Harold replies as I look at the corner of the door where Gilda vanished off to.
"Well, I was a school teacher, and later on I became a professor of philosophy. What do you do in your pony world, dear? I do remember my son saying something about sweets." She says, and I look back t her to see a warm and inviting smile. I really must be projecting to see this as an empty home. She seems so peaceful.
Pinkie blinks in the short pause, seeming taken aback, or maybe switching places in her head. "Well, I... do work at a bakery, confectionery shop. My primary 'job' is actually more setting up parties for everypony." She smiles and rolls her eyes. "It's actually a lot more intensive than it sounds, you have to be ready to celebrate anything at the drop of a hat. Even a drop of a hat! But you also have to judge when a party is needed and when you just need to say something encouraging."
Ginny nods in agreement. "Judgment can be hard. I mean, I teach martial arts and for the longest time I couldn't figure out who was developing at what rate, I just put up monthly tests for each level. Harold here helped me with that."
The man shrugs off the compliment. "I used to be a green belt, but I thought I could jump the ranks. So I took the test early, a test a week. Now I have a black belt in karate."
Pinkie nods. "I have a black belt in closet,” she says with a straight face.
Jackie clears her throat, an eyebrow raised. "You... what?"
"...In my closet! That's... I have a black belt in my closet." Pinkie blushes a little in embarrassment. "That is what I said. It's a belt and it's black."
I giggle a little at the thought of fighting with a closet door. "Black belt in closet, hmm?"
Pinkie’s cheeks seem to burn, bright red, as she quickly switches the topic.
"So what's the dinner plan?"
"Well, we will have to leave for the airport very soon, in order to deal with the security issues we will have to face." The kindly old woman says, as she rises from her armchair, leaning on a cane, and pulling a large navy blue suitcase from behind her chair.
"We can get our food in the airport."
I nod, trying to remember where my things are, for some reason completely forgetting, finally just deciding I must have put them in Pinkie’s car.
"My things are in the pinkie car, or Priddy car, um anyway I think we are ready to go."
Ginny nods as she stands. "I'll go get Ian."
Pinkie rubs the back of her head. "That sounds good for you guys, but... me and Harold and Gilda are staying behind. Should I just raid your fridge or...?
"Oh of course, wouldn't want any of it to go bad while we are gone." Mrs. Grent chuckles, moving her luggage to the door, before turning to a coat rack to put on a coat. "Take anything you need, my dear. It's the least I can do."
For a moment, looking at Pinkie, I want to say that I’ll miss her. I want to ask her if she will be okay. I desperately want to beg her to come with us, to fly to New York together.
But it lasts only a moment, and I turn my back, and listen to the tap of my hooves on the wood flooring, all the way to the door, and the click of cement until I reach their vehicle, and tug my bag out from the mass of bags and supplies.
I can hear her trot up next to me as I slump against the backpack that holds my laptop and various personal effects.
I can’t tell her the truth, what is really bothering me. I can’t tell her to hold me because everything feels wrong. No, instead I pick another topic of concern out of my long list of worries.
"Relative fictionality. It should make me feel better, it really should. I should be happy that we might be able to fix this..." I whisper, my fears showing through as my frown turns into a look and feeling of despair.
"This is a very vague word," Pinkie says, unemotionally, which raises the hair on the back of my neck. "Are you referring to Discord, the mental merge, our potential relationship, the oil crisis, your car's hubcaps, my persistent insanity...?"
Despite my reservations, I feel my worry go, a small smile take it’s place. Maybe this isn’t exactly the Pinkie I knew. But maybe this Pinkie can still make me feel better.
I roll my eyes, letting that bit of apprehension go.
"In order; yes, kind of, I'm too scared to address that, that is something I've stopped worrying about because I don't think it would do any good, what the heck is wrong with the three hubcaps I have left? Oh, and you aren't insane. Silly pony."
Behind her, Gilda and a few of the cosplayers exit the house, apparently setting up some sort of pose for the griffin on the roof of a car.
"No matter what the crisis is, there's always one person who's willing to do a photoshoot,” Pinkie says, rolling her eyes as well.
I stand up, feeling better, though still a little nervous, I smile.
"A spot of normalcy."
Mrs. Grent follows the picture taking group out of the house, rolling her bag and carrying a large purse that seems to be decorated in stitched clouds and planes. I silently thank Celestia that the woman didn’t grab a leather bag, or one with fur on it. It’s hard enough to know that in one life I have worn leather. I would rather not have a pile of it sitting around.
"The taxi should be here soon, all ready to go?" She asks us, a motherly bit of concern.
"Right, that's good!" Ginny says from the car-top photography studio, as she snaps a picture of Gilda.
Ian shrugs. "Let me get mah things... er... Ah may need help with that." She droops a bit, and I silently note to try to figure out a way for Ian to feel more comfortable with this whole thing, but sadly it seems like it will have to wait for a while.
"I'll do it," Pinkie offers, crawling into the car hatch without a seconds hesitation and pulling out suitcases, her tail twitching side to side as she digs through the pile. Happily she didn’t seem to shove her tail down her shorts this time. "That's yours, that's mine, that's yours, that's yours, that's yours..."
The last few cosplayers exit the house, seeming a bit out of breath and flushed, as Gilda hops down from her perch, asking what a tire is, apparently. But everyone seems occupied with their goodbyes.
I look from them to Pinkie, then I feel my cheeks grow warm as I look away, and see the checkered white and black taxi arriving.
"Well it looks like we are out of time." I whisper, looking back to the pink pony, and her awkward smile, her awkward shirt, and her silly shorts. Yet I smile.
She takes a gasp of air to brace herself, puts the rest of the bags down, and moves up to me, looking around as though to make sure no one is paying any undue attention to our farewell.
Then she nuzzles me. A nuzzle, is so soft, so intimate. I feel her breath on my cheek in the slightly chilled air, as she murmurs “Good luck.”
"Thank you... I'll see you again, soon." I whisper, leaning forward to keep that contact as long as possible, but so soon she has moved away. I don’t even flinch when the crazy griffon blows a tire and the gunshot noise echoes between the houses. I just sit there, watching Pinkie to go show her how to replace it.
All too soon, we are riding away in the taxi, and I can’t even bring up the strength to fasten my own seatbelt, as I stare at the seat-back in front of me.
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It has been coming for months but the sad day has finally arrived...
...
...
Is it too late to start screaming "Kiss her, Dammit!" ?
I'm sorry to hear that, did it get better in later chapters in your opinion?
Also, my Razer Blackwidow keyboard has roughly twice the total area per key than the laptop I was using at the time, and a bit more than the standard rubber button style keyboard I had for comparison. I took a Cd case in my hand as a comparison for size and curve, and I was able to type on that keyboard better than the other two.
I am planning on a complete cleanup as well as changing the first chapters to better reflect the mood of the rest of the story. I never thought that this story would get the attention it has, and it has helped me improve my writing skills considerably. I hope to bring the beginning up to that standard.
3608837
Yes, you did. And is nothing to be ashamed of. When you write a story for a long time, early chapters tend to suck compared to later ones.
I'm happy this story is finally updated!
Sadly, they have bigger things to worry than Romance...
3609709
In a way, your point and the point Discord is trying to make here are cooperative. He isn't saying that those definitions don't match, he is saying that at the heart of things he still sees chaos, and he still sees the beauty of the unknowable. We can't know "Light" in the same way we know "a sandwich" in that it behaves differently than anything else we can measure or interact with. But anyway, thank you for commenting.
3609232
This is very much the result of this being a collaboration. I sadly cannot play or change the things that are said or done by Pinkie, Apple Bloom, Cadance, any of the cosplayers, or a great number of other characters. I have control over Discord, Luna, Celestia, Erishy, Shining Armor/Julien, and a few others in special circumstances.
I could technically rewrite the entire story as a standalone story and fix the pacing, but it would destroy a lot of the collab moments. I will be fixing the first few chapters though.
Also! upcoming in a chapter or so, I will be starting a new story arc that will let me explore Erishy alone. This should be interesting and give a less skewed view of my writing on its own.
3609068 That's a big part of why i like long stories. They tend to show one's progression to being a better writer. The story becomes a timeline of what an author knows. Also, they're long, so more story
'Philanthropist' is derived from philos (friend) and anthropos (man), meaning 'friend of man'. So it is the receiver that matters, but the appropriate word is Greek hippos, not Latin equus, and 'philohippist' just doesn't have the same ring to it.
Sorry, Pinkie.
Edit: Oh, I've taken the time to read the story, and left all these little random comments, I should probably say something about the story itself, huh?
Hm... I must agree that the first few chapters seemed quite rushed and a bit bland. The way that most of the characters just sorta shrugged off the world-changing bizarreness and went about their lives. While this improved with time, I feel like we never really got a good look at Erica's personality before the merge. Which is a waste of so much dramatic potential. There are a few snippets of detail here and there, but we really need the stand-alone perspective from before to properly appreciate what's changed.
The later parts of the story do seem to struggle with pacing as well, dragging on a lot, but I gather that's just a result of the collaboration. Everyone wants to get their two bits in, after all. As a standalone story, it would benefit from cutting out a lot of the clutter and secondary characters. As a big multi-author multi-fic universe collab with an overarching plotline... well, it could still stand some condensing.
Also, as a new reader to this universe, it'd be nice to have some kind of focused introduction. Hard to figure out where to start among fifteen (plus?) stories, especially since nothing is complete yet.
*hmm hmm hmm*
~One step at a time; don't know where we're going
All started with those first awkward few steps
Years pass in real life, progress has been slowing
But we shouldn't be solely writing for the reps~
~Is it romance? A mystery?
Read or write, take what you can get
My sleepless mind puts my thoughts into song
Are we there yet? A-A-Are we there yet?~
The potential is endless.
3610587
As far as an introduction to the Verse, it's tough because the creator of the verse hasn't written in quite a while, and one of our main stories self destructed (We had to get a new Twilight, thus the whole "Two Twilights" bit.) It's all a bit crazy, really.
Also, I am strongly considering a "chapter 0" that could help give some perspective to Erica. Originally doing so would have made the story impossible to publish as it would have been a story about a human who likes MLP.
3612744
As an interesting aside, I actually see the vast majority of humanity as being good, and inherently helpful. It is those who stand out who tend to be cruel or destructive. This character was a sort of exercise in seeing what would have to happen to "me" to flip that view.
3616156 I have left up my first ever fanfic on my user page, as a reminder to myself that everyone has to start somewhere. It is not completely unreadable, so I suppose I wasn't a "fresh writer" but pretty close to it.
Thank you everyone for your comments and likes, now if I can only figure out where I picked up 8 dislikes without any negative comments or explanation. It really bothers me that every time I seem to be doing well, I get another batch of dislikes that drop me below that 1/10 ratio.
3617282 I wouldn't worry too much about that, I have a story that is probably legitimately bad and I haven't been told why, from what I can guess it's probably the concept and the group, but I could be wrong.
Well, this split up is bananas. I seriously want to see you cream some of the nuts on the opposition.
Hope, this is my favorite story on fimfiction!!!
She is shell-shocked. She might want some help with that.
Fell asleep for an hour. I'm really disappointed in myself. This proves that you should never let your mind wander while focusing on a task. It leads you astray.