Fallout: Equestria - The Hooves of Fate

by Sprocket Doggingsworth

Emotional Education

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: EMOTIONAL EDUCATION
"Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red." - Clive Barker

The strangest of the letters archived in Bananas Foster's book on the Founding Sisters was addressed to Commander Hurricane, from Clover the Clever. Being only two words long, it is the subject of rather a lot of debate amongst scholars. The letter simply read:

MEET ME.

Nopony knows whether or not Commander Hurricane actually followed the instructions, and it's even less certain where exactly she was supposed to go, or why. Even the when is tricky to nail down. Believed to have come from the late Discordian era, traditional science-y techniques used to date documents, (you know...sciencely), are said to be faulty.

If conventional methods are to be believed, Clover was 110 when it was written.

I think about that letter sometimes. What it must have been like to receive it - if Hurricane was alive to receive it at all. Did she dismiss it with anger at Clover for having retired - a recluse, abandoning her friends? Did it reignite a tired old joy over the friendship that she and the Founding Sisters had once had? Did Hurricane brush it aside? Did she come running?

And what about Clover herself? Was this part of some failed Overthrow Discord plan? Did Clover even know how to find Commander Hurricane after so many decades? Or was this simply an act of desperation? A paper hang-glider, folded up, and sent sailing into the dark. A blind hope.

I felt that way about Misty Mountain. I had reached out across time and space, and hitched a ride on Misty's mission. And all I'd heard from him was crying.

It made me wonder. Was I the one tossing the paper hang-glider into the deep dark cave o' nothingness? Or was he reaching out to me?

* * *

The morning started out hopeful, despite that nagging Misty-flavored itch in my soul. Cliff and Foster and I got up together. Brushed our teeth together. Walked to breakfast together. Like siblings.

We were gonna save Blueberry Milkshake from the shadows. My pirate crew and me. We were gonna find Misty, and figure out a way to break into the Shadow Castle escape hatch, (presuming, of course, that it existed). We'd take on Red Eye if we had to. Discord. Sombra. Shadows. Emperors. Future. Past. We'd sail to the ends of the duckyverse, skeleton flag flapping. And nothing was gonna stop us. 'Cause we were super invincible best friends forever. And pirates! Did I mention that we were pirates?!

"Yaarrrr," I said as I scraped the excess breakfast goop around my plate.

Bananas Foster buried her face in her hooves. "Could you stop that? It's been, like, a hundred times."

Cliff turned to me and chuckled. "Yarrrr," we said to her in unison. Just to be jerks.

"Finish up your peach cobbler there, sweetie," the old lunch mare said as she passed us on her rounds. Prepping everypony to polish off their meals, and get out of there.

"Yarrr," I whispered almost to myself.

"Shhh." Foster butted me with her side. Gestured her eyes at Bubblegum, who was headed our way.

I tidied the smile off my face, and joined Bananas Foster in looking grim. Cliff did too.

Hooves dragging, head hung low, Bubblegum slinked up to our table. "Sorry," she said. "No sign of her."

Cliff threw his eyeballs at me, as if to say, Rose Petal, what in Celestia's name is wrong with you?!!

But Foster nodded, stoic as a princess, "Thanks for looking," she said. "I really appreciate it. We all do."

"Yeah," I added.

"Thanks," Cliff added nervously. "So um...how many kids did you ask?"

Bubblegum swept her foreleg across the air, indicating the entire fucking cafeteria.

"No news?" Cliff asked.

Bubblegum shook her head. "There's still some hope, though," she added hastily. "Our schedules are all jumbled up. Maybe Blueberry Milkshake just doesn't know...anypony here. Like, uh...anypony...at all." She sagged like a slowly-deflating balloon, each word out of her mouth draining just a little more hope from her.

"Thanks again for all your help," said Foster.

"It's the least I could do." Bubblegum slipped somberly away.

The incident on the rooftop had allowed my friends and I a certain distance from the Safety kids. They were twice as eager to help, and half as likely to invade our privacy. Bananas Foster had weaponized that awkwardness like a social megaspell bomb, all by asserting a quiet sort of dignity.

Thunk. She kicked me under the table the second that Bubblegum was gone.

"Ow!"

"She?" Foster snapped.

"Huh?"

"Bubblegum said there was no sign of her," Cliff elaborated.

Sweet mother of Celestia.

"You know how many more kids we're gonna have to…" Cliff started to lecture me, but Bananas Foster cut him off.

"Forget that," she said. "Did we ever say we were looking for a boy? Earlier, I mean," Foster tapped her hooves three or four times, and then exclaimed. "No! We never did. Except...yesterday, when you two first came into the cafeteria, and ran off to look. And Lucky followed you to make sure that you were okay. Think. Think hard. What did you tell him? Did you say he or she?"

Cliff and I turned to one another. Uncertain.

"Come on. You can remember. Just take a breath and think. What exactly did you say?"

Cliff's eyeballs went straight to the ceiling, and I shut mine real tight as the three of us sat in silence.

"Don't overthink it," said Foster.

"I don't know!" I snapped.

"I think I just said 'friend'?" Cliff added. "...Probably."

Foster donked her head into her hoof. As if remembering every single microscopic detail of every conversation we'd ever had was not only possible, but totally normal.

"Hay!" Cliff protested. "I'm not the one who went and told everypony that Misty was a girl."

"It's Blueberry Milkshake," I said. "And I've known her my whole life, so yeah, I guess I slipped up and said she at some point. Maybe I shouldn't-a been the one to go asking about her. I mean him. I mean...Gah!" I threw my forehooves up in annoyance. Mostly at myself for having screwed up in the first place. "Foster, come on. You're the one who's good at this."

"After last night, I have to remain aloof," she answered. "Or none of this works. All you had to do was strike up a conversation. We don't even want them to know who we're actually looking for. The point is to poke around and not look suspicious for it. Inconsistencies in our story are going to make us look suspicious."

"Hay." Iris, our tour-guide from yesterday, trotted up to us.

"Ahhh!" I fell off my stool non-suspiciously.

"Whoa, you alright?" He said.

"Fine," I answered from the floor. "I'm...um...fine...How are you?"

I cringed. Hid behind my own shoulders and turned away. That's when I saw Bubblegum. Watching us anxiously from across the cafeteria. Literally chewing on her own forehooves. And she wasn't alone. That whole table looked like a row of jack in the boxes, all cranked up and ready to spring.

They were the rooftop kids, and their eyes were on Foster. Though what exactly they planned on doing if she got visibly uncomfortable? That was anypony's guess.

Iris knelt down. Propped me up to my hooves.

"Thanks," I said.

"Don't mention it." He guided me back into my seat with both forehooves - the prosthetic one and the biological. It was the first time that I actually got a good hard look at his false leg. How well it fit. How well it functioned. How shiny and new it was - for real new, not like, you know, battered-old-Wasteland-buildings-that-got-cobbled-back-together-and-splashed-with-paint new.

"They did an amazing job," I said.

"Yeah," he blushed a little. "I'm very lucky. Our infirmary is state of the art."

He held the mechanical leg out for a hoof bump. And as I lifted up my own to meet his, it dawned on me. My shadow leg. The one that garnered stares outta everypony: from doctors to Ponyville schoolfillies to hard-bitten soldiers like Colonel Wormwood. Nopony at Safety had seemed to notice it, or care.

"This doesn't alarm you?" I said, waving my evil leg around.

Iris eyed me strangely. Like I had octopuses growing out of my ears. "Should it?"

"I guess not."

A bell rang.

In half an instant, everypony was out of their seats, and headed for the doors. The crowd flowed like a river, everypony moving as one - the kind of organized chaos built on daily routine. Even Bubblegum and the rooftop kids seemed to scatter and dissolve away, (confident that we were gonna be alright).

"So do you all know where you're going next? How to get there?" Iris asked. "That's what I came to check on."

"Emotional education," Foster replied.

"Me too." Elderberry Sunset appeared suddenly.

"Ahh!" I startled.

"Green building?" Elderberry asked.

Cliff Diver plunged his muzzle into his saddle bag and rummaged for the schedule. While Foster simply replied from memory, "Yes."

"Great," Elderberry said in that dronish voice of hers that made it sound anything but great. "I'll show you the way."

"Cool," Iris laughed, and before any of us could get a word in, he was already trotting to the door. "I'm late for math class," he hollered. "But you're in good hooves."

The last of the kids trickled out of the double doors. Faster than I thought possible. Before we knew it, we were alone. Following Elderberry Sunset.

"Why was Bubblegum upset a moment ago?" She asked.

Cliff Diver tripped on his own hooves, stumbled like a jerk-itty marionette dance. But Foster answered plainly, as deadpan as Elderberry herself. "I'm not sure," she said. "I don't know Bubblegum very well."

Elderberry led us out. And dodged every crack in the floor along the way. She didn't even seem to notice them. The perilous veins of surging lava betwixt the floor tiles were still to be avoided at all costs, of course, but for her, the terrain was well-charted.

Before we reached the doors at the far end of the cafeteria, my ears pricked up. A rustling, brushing sound. Somewhere behind us. It was those grown-ups. The ones in the blue jumpsuits. They were scurrying around. Sweeping. Picking up breakfast-debris.

The Safety kids had done a damn good job of cleaning up after themselves, but the jumpsuit grown ups frantically finished the job. Like dogs lunging for fallen pie.

Cliff Diver came up beside me. "Are they okay?" He asked. And he was right to be alarmed. Something about the way those grown-ups moved. The way they hustled. There was fear in every step.

"You're not supposed to notice them," Elderberry whispered.

Lucky had said pretty much the same thing. When I met that stranger in the alleyway the night before. "They don't like it when you talk to them."

It was a profound and omnipresent truth known to all the kids at Safety. That it was best not to notice the jumpsuit ponies. For their own protection.

"Don't worry," said Elderberry. "I know what you're thinking.

"Uh, you do?" I asked.

"If innocence is sacred here at Safety, what happens when we graduate?"

Cliff Diver looked to me with scandalized eyeballs. Emphasizing that that was not, in fact, what he had been thinking.

"Don't worry." Elderberry led us out the door. Out into the Great Wide Open - a forest of rehabilitated city buildings. Painted up, all colorful-like. She gestured with her muzzle at yet another grown up in a jumpsuit, who was carrying planks into one of those doorways labeled with the letter 'R.' For restricted. Or renovations. Or whatever. "We won't end up like them. Safety kids are the best of the best. Depending on your talents, we're all going to grow into leadership positions in Red Eye's army, or better yet, his administration."

When all three of us - even Foster - answered Elderberry with a confusitty sort of silence, she elaborated. "All of this..." She waved a hoof at the buildings surrounding us - the development, the reconstruction, the colorful decor. "...It's all for us."

"I see," said Cliff Diver.

The streets were alive with hoof traffic. Children making their way to classes. Running around in all different directions, goofing off along the journey, laughing with their friends, kicking balls around. But none of them seemed to notice the jumpsuit ponies at all. Even when children of Safety navigated their way around the plank-carriers, they just sorta...did it...without noticing. Like the workers were totally invisible.

"Follow me." Elderberry Sunset disappeared around the corner of a building.

"Did you see her?" Cliff whispered to me.

"Who?"

"Blueberry Milkshake, duh."

"Him," I said. "Blueberry's a him, and no, I didn't."

"Cliff's right," Foster replied. "It's too late. We have to say 'her' now."

We rounded the corner and found Elderberry sitting on a stoop. "Here we are," she said. An actual smile on her face for once. "This is the first step. To inherit the future. I think you're really going to like emotional education. Are you excited?"

"Yes," Bananas Foster answered quickly, (before either of us could concoct a smart aleck retort).

The Green Building was unimpressive in its shape and design. I think they're called brownstones. Only there was nothing brown about it. The only thing remarkable about The Green Building was the fact that it was...well...really, really, really green.

We followed Elderberry inside. Down a bunch of narrow, winding hallways. Like when somepony converts a barn into a haunted house for Nightmare Night, and puts up a bunch of flimsy, temporary walls inside. Clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop, all sixteen of our hooves combined to form a dissonant sort of rattling sound that echoed around before vanishing into the depths of the winding path ahead.

"So, how does emotional education work?" Cliff Diver asked cautiously.

"It's where we learn how to be our better selves," Elderberry made a point to turn around. Meet us all eye-to-eye. "Where we learn how to build the kind of future that Fillydelphia needs," she added. "That Equestria needs."

"Sounds fun," I said.

"Yeah," Cliff added. "But what exactly is it?"

"Oh," said Elderberry. "Ancient magic."

"What?!" Cliff squeaked.

Bloink. Even Foster threw open her alarmitty eyelids.

"It's nothing to be afraid of," Elderberry tried - and failed - to be reassuring.

"But, but--;" Cliff stammered.

"What kind of magic?" Foster asked.

"The kind that comes in old tomes," Elderberry replied. "But I can't really describe the process. Different ponies react to it differently. I, for one, love it, but some kids resist, and…"

Just then, a pair of fillies appeared from around the flimsy plywood corner. One of the girls sobbed all over the other's shoulder - I mean really bawled her eyes out. They inched passed us. Radiating sorrow and pain. Like the sun shoots out light.

The sound of her wails buzzed against the walls.

When they were gone, Elderberry conducted us around the same rickety corner that they'd come from. It was a dead end that led to an archway with a sign hanging over it: EMOTIONAL EDUCATION. The door was open. On the other side of it was a plain room. Green. And a tribe of kids, forming a circle. One by one, their heads all turned to us, and a hush fell over them.

I waved. 'Cause I didn't know what else to do.

"No need to be scared," came a smooth, gentle voice. As deep as a whale's. "Come in," it said. "Nocreature will hurt you. I promise."

But whoever cooed us remained anonymous. Hiding suspiciously behind the door.

"Should we--;" Foster started to whisper conspiratorially, but Elderberry Sunset skipped in ahead. Beckoned us to follow.

"Come on," she said. "I'll save you a spot."

"Should we go in?" Foster finished her thought.

"No," Cliff answered.

"Of course we go in," I said. "What choice do we have?"

"They've got ancient magic," Foster protested.

"And we've got you and your freaky impenetrable bug mind."

"Don't be shy," said the voice. Out stepped a griffin. Feathers black as oil. Emerald eyes that shone out against the dark plumage. "Cliff Diver?" He said. "Bananas Foster? Rose Petal, I presume?"

"That's us," Foster replied.

The griffin made a point of looking each of my friends in the eye. And getting some kind of gesture in return. So we wouldn't have the option of shrinking away.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," said the griffin. "My name is Glenn." He curled his talons into a fist, proffered it for a bump.

Foster was the first to hoof bump him back. Then Cliff, who seemed to just want to get the whole thing over with. And that left me. Just sorta standing there like a dope. No matter what I did, I couldn't stop staring. "You're a griffin," I said at last.

"You don't think highly of griffins?" He asked, matter-of-fact-like.

"What?"

"I wouldn't blame you. The Wasteland mercenaries are most ponies' first impression."

I felt a deep-wounding shame. Appalled that Glenn thought I was anything like those zebra-hating ponies, or pony-hating zebras, or those trenchpotatoes back in No Mare's Land who hated the trenchcorns for the dumbest of all possible reasons. I wasn't hatey like that.

"No," I said. "I don’t have anything against griffins at all. I know a griffin. He stood up for me. Looked out for me in the trenches. Taught me how to light a candle in mourning, even though we didn't have candles, and had to use sticks. I was just surprised that you're a griffin because Elderberry told us there would be magic.”

"Not all magic fires from the tip of a horn," he said. "Join us, and you'll see."

Glenn stretched out a wing and pointed inside. The other kids were settling into their circle formation. A blood red cushion beneath each flank. Elderberry had saved us three cushions right next to her.

Cliff and Foster took deep breaths and guided one another inside, past the EMOTIONAL EDUCATION sign, and into the circle. I took a few steps toward the door, but Glenn called out to me, "Rose Petal?"

"Huhwhat?"

Click-clack, click-clack went his claws upon the tile. Till he was by my side, and knelt down to my level. "I'm truly sorry to have made such a presumption about you," he said softly. "It's not our way."

"Uh...okay."

"I'm glad we've come to that understanding, Rose Petal. It also reminds me of Lesson Number One of Emotional Education. And what is Lesson Number One?" He stopped whispering suddenly, and called out, through the open doorway, to the class.

"No judgments," they answered in unison.

"Good," he replied. "Are you ready?" He whispered to me once again.

I nodded.

"Go on and have a seat, Rose Petal." He gestured with his shiny black wing.

For a moment, I stared that doorway down. Like it was gonna grow teeth and gobble me up the second I stepped inside. But that was stupid. Besides, I didn't have a choice. My friends were already in there. There was nothing left to do but trust in Foster's bug brain to protect us all.

As I made my way around the circle, Glenn gave the world's briefest introduction. "Okay, everypony. We are limited on time. So Rose Petal, Cliff Diver, and Bananas Foster, while you are welcome to join if you want to, it is not required. Everypony who wants to will get a chance to talk, and that does include you three. We ask that you listen; that you be respectful; and that you wait your turn. Now Grape Fizz, why don't you start us off."

"Talk?" Cliff whispered to me.

"Shh," Foster snapped, determined to play along.

A purple unicorn boy stood up. "Hey, everypony. Most of you already know me, but I'm Grape Fizz." He looked to me and my friends directly, as if introducing himself. Like a spazz, I waved back. "11 years in. 1 year out. Six months here at Safety." He took a deep breath and continued, "I feel like a lot of my old anger is coming back. Yesterday, my friend took an apple off my tray at the cafeteria."

Everypony gasped. From the shock on their faces, I gathered that stealing food was not the Safety way.

"No, no, no, no, no," Grape Fizz said. "He wasn't really stealing it. He was borrowing it for a juggling trick he wanted to show off. It's something he does every day. And I'm not gonna name any names, but he's, like, my best friend. So of course I trust him to give it back. But this time…" Grape lowered his head to the ground. "I don't know. He didn't ask permission this time, or maybe he did and I didn't hear him, but the point is...Something inside of me snapped. I felt like I was back in the Wasteland again. I almost hit him," his voice cracked in dismay. "My best friend. I almost…" Grape Fizz babbled a bit, and trailed off.

"But you didn't," Glenn interjected softly.

Grape shook his head.

"Well I think that's a cause for some celebration, don't you?"

"I just wanna, you know, not be like this anymore," he answered.

"We all have hiccups along the way," said Glenn. "Think of how you were when you first got here. Think of your first day, even. What would…"

Grape and Glenn back-and-forthed it for a bit. Like a hypnotic game of brain ping pong. But as I watched the little mind ball volley back and forth, something dawned on me.

It should have been obvious from the start, of course. But me, being stupid, only caught on during the 20,000th exchange betwixt Glenn and Grape Fizz. This was therapy. We didn't have one of those talk doctors back home in Ponyville - not even at the hospital - but I'd read all about the process.

'Cause in this side comic to the Pinkbeard series, there was, like, a public service announcement from the Equestrian Department of Mental Hygiene - there was this weird story about how Pinkbeard had had these nightmares once, and she was forced to seek out Dr. Squidmund Frod to get them out of her brain, but then, when she found out that his treatment actually involved talking about feelings and stuff, she was like, 'Yarrr that be not the way of a captain,' and Dr. Squidmond Frod was like, 'No, really, you need to let me do my talk magic on you,' and when Pinkbeard finally agreed, the nightmares were gone, and she learned not hate her parents anymore.

"Rose Petal?" Came that velvety griffin voice.

"Yeah?" I snapped to attention.

"You look a little confused," said Glenn. "Now that Grape Fizz has shared, would you like to take a moment to ask whatever questions might be on your mind?"

Foster and Cliff looked to me with eyeballs that screamed unequivocally: don't you fucking dare. So I said, "No."

"Are you sure?" Glenn said, his ridiculously green eyes sparkling with kindness. "There's no shame in asking questions, and now is the time."

The other students were all looking my way. A weird sorta patience and understanding emanated from that ring of children. Like each and every one of them was actually eager to hear what I had to say.

"Yeah," I said. "Well, I'm just kind of surprised is all. That this is, like, you know, therapy."

Glenn opened up a claw, and scratched his chin. "I suppose you could call it that, yes. Though we prefer emotional education. 'Therapy' is a medical term - a treatment for those who are sick. But you're not sick. There's nothing wrong with any of you. What we are doing here instead is a kind of learning. Do you understand the difference?"

"I see."

"Does that answer your question?"

"Shouldn't we…" I scanned the room, nervous that I was stealing a slot from somepony else.

"This is your time too," said Pistachio, the kid who'd guided us back to our dorms after the incident on the rooftop.

"Oh, hi." I waved.

He waved back.

"I um...well, I just kinda thought there'd be more brain jellyfish involved. You know, like the kind that eat your thoughts, and make you do stuff you don't want to do."

Cliff buried his face in his hoof.

But Glenn replied without batting an eye. "That's a normal fear."

"It is?"

"You have every reason and every right to be suspicious."

"We do?" Said Cliff.

Only Bananas managed to keep a straight face.

"All the ponies of the Wasteland have suffered," said Glenn. "But you here in this room - you Children of the Stables - you all had whole lives torn out from under you. Nopony expects you to adjust overnight."

"Yeah," Pistachio said. "I remember the -- may I?" He looked to Glenn, and then to me. Just to make sure he wasn't interrupting. We both nodded at him to continue. "The day I got my pip buck." He stroked it tenderly as he spoke. "In my stable, they awarded you with a pip buck after you got your cutie mark." He lifted up his flank. It bore the image of a pair of binoculars, and, of course, a pistachio nut. "I discovered my special talent while playing a game of tag. Can you believe it? Tag! It turns out I'm good at being the lookout - organizing the other kids to coordinate their evasion of whoever is 'it'. And I thought. 'Great! What kinda career is that?'" Pistachio laughed, sighed. "I know the Stables aren't perfect. In fact, some of them are even more messed up than the outside. But I really liked mine. We got to...you know, be kids. Have fun." Slowly, the warm nostalgic smile faded from his face like sagging wax. He examined his pip buck once more. "You know, I never even finished getting lessons on how to use the damn thing. The very next day I...well...how I found the door and got stuck outside of it is a really long story, as most of you know."

The ring of Stable Kids nodded and murmured in reply.

Pistachio looked me in the eyeballs. "I'll tell you new kids some other time...but the point is...growing up, we didn't even know there was a world outside Stable 37, let alone a door to it. And once out there, in the cold, everything was just...Hell stretching out to the horizon forever and ever and ever. And there was no getting back home." Pistachio shook his head. "It turns out the talent I'd found while playing tag - of all things - ended up keeping me alive. You know what they say, survival of the fittest, right?"

The circle of kids chuckled softly. Unexpected-like. As if all of Safety was in on a running joke.

"But looking back," Pistachio continued. "It wasn't even the hiding. The Scouting. The fighting. The starving. None of that burns me now. We've all been there. It's, like, the most totally normal thing. No. What bugs me is that there'd been a world outside our stable all along. And my whole life on the inside was a lie. Just like you said, Glenn."

The ring of children once again nodded in agreement. Even gave out light applause.

"Everypony here knows that feeling," said Glenn.

"I wish I could share Stable 37 with you," Pistachio said spreading out his forehooves. Looking to each and every one of us. "'Cuz it was a beautiful lie. So beautiful that I couldn't let it go. I tried to shape the Wasteland in its image. Figuring if I could only make a difference - in some small way, to some small pony - anypony - then that lie - that dream would become real. But I couldn't. It's impossible. The Wasteland always wins."

The yellow unicorn sitting next to Pistachio put a hoof on his shoulder. Pistachio tapped it reassuringly.

"Last night I had the dream again," he continued. "Where I'm back home in my Stable. I'm in class. And all my old friends are there. Cotton Candy, and Fluffy Emerald, and Lily Breeze. But nopony wants to play with me anymore. 'Cause I'm filthy and covered in Wasteland gunk. I'm a total outcast. Except to one little foal, dressed all in white. She sees past all that, you see? She tries to play - tag, of course. And she touches me. But she tags me...I dunno...in just the wrong way, I guess.

'I get startled, and next thing I know, I see a blow-torch-wielding raider where the foal used to be. So I tackle her down a conveyer slope. And when we hit the ground, I slit her throat before she can kill me." Pistachio fell silent for a moment. It stretched into what could have been a minute or an hour or a year. Who could tell? We only knew it was over when Glenn spoke up.

"Does the dream end any differently this time?" His voice dipped real low. Till it was felt more than heard.

Pistachio simply shook his head.

"I know exactly how you feel," I blurted out.

Cliff tried to protest. But Foster rested a hoof on his leg. He took it as a signal - a signal to shut the fuck up. But at the same time, Foster's eyes never left mine. They were orbs o' caution.

I cleared my throat. Proceeded carefully. "Like, um, I didn't know the Wasteland existed until a few months ago," I said. "And I think about home all the time."

The circle of kids nodded and "mmmhmm'd" in approval.

"And it really eats at me. Trying to figure out, like, how can I fit in again? After everything I've seen? You know, hypothetically, of course. If I could go back. What do I tell them? How do I make them understand?"

"Yeah," Pistachio said.

"Make us understand," Glenn said.

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you tell the circle what you'd like to say to the folks at your stable back home?"

Every student looked to me. Encourage-ish-ly. Except Cliff and Foster. Orbs o' Caution.

"I guess I'd say 'I'm sorry,'" I mused out loud. "For not being able to blend in anymore. For ruining their good time. For making folks worry."

"It sounds like you're sorry for rather a lot, doesn't it?" Glenn said.

"Yeah, um, like, yeah," I replied. "It's actually a long story. I--I couldn't help it.…"

Glenn stared at me. Calmly. Patiently. But I didn't have any more to say. It was just babble after that.

"Couldn't help what?" He prodded me gently at long last.

"Interrupting their musical number," I said. "Ruining their innocence. Making them worry because I'm freaking out all the time."

"Is there a reason for your freaking out?" Glenn said.

"Yes, of course there's a reason."

Glenn looked at me blankly. Challenged me to name them. But I couldn't reply. Not without giving too much away.

"Okay, I've got an idea," said Glenn. He crossed the room, and came back with a slate, and a piece of chalk, which he laid in my lap. "I'd like you to take a moment to write down everything you're sorry for. Everything. Don't worry. Nopony will see. Your secrets are your own if you choose to keep them. But for now, just write it all down. Everypony. Grab a slab and make a list.

Staring down that slate, I realized that I could write in code if I had to. Just the first syllable of each word. Super secret spy stuff. In case it was a trick.

I made a list of all the things I'd done - everything I was sorry for. Worrying my sister, and Cranky, and Zecora, and Cliff, and Foster, and Cheerilee. Attacking Kettle Corn. Freaking out my class. Freaking out Ponyville. Doctors. Nurses.

It went on and on and on. Till finally, I ran outta room. So I spit the chalk out.

"Ready?" Glenn asked.

I nodded. Leaning over my slate, just in case somepony there could decipher my secret spy code. But it wasn't just fear of my story coming out inconsistently. No. Just thinking about everything I'd written down - everything I'd done. It made my stomach churn.

"I want you to look over your list carefully," Glenn said. "And imagine that a close friend or loved one came to you, and apologized for everything that you just wrote down."

"But--;" I fell silent. His sharp green eyes meant business. "Okay, um…"

I studied the list closely. Couldn't picture Cliff or Foster or Misty in my horseshoes. They were all nearby, mixed up in the here and now. For some reason, my brain conjured Twink. As if by magic spell.

"Your friend," said Glenn. "How do you feel about them now that they've confessed these things?"

"That's not fair," I said. "That's different. None of this is her fault. Twink would never--;"

I trailed off.

"Never what?" Glenn pressed me gently, but firmly.

"It's not her fault," I said, imagining Twinkle Eyes trying to integrate into polite Ponyville society. After what she'd been through. Her profanity . Her violence. Her abhorrence for authority. It would never work.

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's my fault," I said at last. "Everything is."

And just then, Twink's 2 x 4 o' Friendship clobbered me right between the eyes. Nobody. Speaks. That. Way. About. My. Friends. But it was different this time. Somehow, it split my mind wide open, and let the air inside. I dropped my slate on the ground.

"It's not," I said in a hushed voice. "It's not my fault at all, is it?"

I expected Glenn to offer reassurances in reply. Platitudes. Or at the very least, wisdom. But he didn't. "Look over the list," he said. "You tell me."

So I did. I read it over. Twice. Three times. Five. Seven. Expecting to find a loophole. But there was none. "Its not my fault," I said again. And that brain wind rushed in so hard, it made every hair on my coat stand up on end.

"Are you sure?" Glenn asked carefully.

I nodded.

"So, given the opportunity to go back into your stable - to talk to everypony there - what would you say to them now?"

"I'd tell them all about Twinkle Eyes," I said. "So somepony would remember her, and know how fucking awesome she was."

"Very good," said Glenn. A smile cracked across his beak.

"But they wouldn't understand that either," I said. "I mean really...How could they? The kind of friendship that me and Twink had? It was life or death. Slavery or freedom. Not, like, typical little kid stuff. We met in a cage for Celestia's sake."

"I understand," said Pistachio.

"What?"

"Me too," said the yellow unicorn next to him.

"Me three," came a third voice. Then a fourth. And a fifth. And a sixth.

Before I knew it, I was surrounded. Completely engulfed by a ring of encouraging faces. None of them pitied me. Not one! They weren't concernitty. Or scared or freaked out. Or anything. It was just a room full of kids who'd been there. Kids who knew.

Kids like me.

My eyes watered. To see so many children who just plain understood.

I turned to Bananas Foster. A moral compass. A safety net. Our expert in not blowing our cover. Even she dipped her head. Gave a hoof up. Urged me to continue. She was proud of me. Not just for my brain wind, but my ability to lie and tell the truth at the same time. To keep from giving myself away.

"Twinkle Eyes was the best friend a kid could have," I said. "She taught me to survive. She taught me everything…"

Author's Note:

PATREON

If this story, or my Heart Full of Pony essays have touched you, please consider supporting me on Patreon.

For those of you who already are pledging, seriously, and for real, thank you. Your support means a great deal to me. /]*[\

SPECIAL THANKS: As always, I would like to thank Seraphem for his tireless assistance providing feedback during the editing process, and Kkat for writing the original Fallout: Equestria story that inspired me to write Hooves of Fate in the first place.

THOUGHTS AND REFLECTIONS

As some of you have probably noticed, I like to release chapters on holidays, full moons, or to commemorate significant events. I may have missed the deadline for last week's Lunar Eclipse, but today is important in another way. It is the 590th anniversary of Joan of Arc's execution.

Joan and Rose actually have rather a lot in common if you stop and think about it. They are both teenage girls who changed the course of history with the help of mystical visions and voices.

As for the chapter itself, I'm really happy for Rose Petal to have made this breakthrough. It went better than I'd planned. I'm also delighted to have discovered Glenn. When I first started writing this chapter, I really wasn't sure who was going to end up running Emotional Education. 'Till suddenly, there he was!

I look forward to hearing feedback from you all. Don't be shy about commenting.

Comments

[Reese]

"and led one another inside, passed the EMOTIONAL EDUCATION sign and"
"and led one another inside, past the EMOTIONAL EDUCATION sign and"?

"and she learned not hate her parents anymore"
"and she learned to not hate her parents anymore"?

"It wasn't even the hiding. The Scouting. The fighting. The starving."
"It wasn't even the hiding. The scouting. The fighting. The starving."?

"and came back with a state. And a piece of chalk, which"
"and came back with a slate. And a piece of chalk, which"?

Wow. That was both very unexpected, and very nice. :) Of course, I'm waiting for the next horseshoe to drop still, but this was nice (Well. Emotional Education itself. There were, of course, a few more ominous bits in the chapter. These kids may be getting genuine therapy... but they are also being, apparently, conditioned to think in certain ways about those jumpsuited ponies while being prepared for positions likely in authority over ponies like that...).
I must say, I'm quite enjoying the worldbuilding of this version of this part of Red Eye's system, beyond the also-enjoyable character and plot stuff. Thank you for writing! :) And I'm glad it sounds like you're enjoying it, too.

[SilentCarto]

"Bubblegum said there was no sign of her."

Pink seems pretty sus

[Slavenger Karl]

You know, I think the jumpsuit ...serfs is propably the best term here, are the answer of where Misty Mountain might hide. Considering we are not sure on the timeline and it appears he is in trouble, the jumpsuit ponies are the ones getting the short end of the stick here.

[Sprocket Doggingsworth]

10845843
If you recall Zecora's lessons, the one rule of traveling through time and duckies is that anypony whose lives entangle with yours end up on relative timelines. One month for Misty is one month for Rose. One year is one year. It doesn't matter where or when they travel to, if they meet up again, they both will have aged the same.

This prevents weird do overs and time anomalies and holds the fabric of space time together.

[Slavenger Karl]

10846911
This assumes Zecora is a reliable information source on the matter and that Rose's situation is a type of entanglement Zecora properly recognized. I mean, we don't see anybody else with an evil hoof, so I don't trust everypony.

[Aasha]

I didn't expect emotional education to end up being a good thing.

[Ahsoka Tano]

11227691
Im sure itll end up being bad at some point :P but redeyes did have a plan for the future