Fallout: Equestria - The Hooves of Fate

by Sprocket Doggingsworth

Pivotyness

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR - PIVOTYNESS
“Human identity is the most fragile thing that we have, and it's often only found in moments of truth.” - Alan Rudolph

Misty started sniffing around. Not like, literally sniffing. Well, maybe a little. But mostly he just paced in tight circles and zig-zaggity lines, studying the ground.

I examined it too. The concrete was busted to shreds. Broken hunks driven into tender soil not cold enough to freeze. The soft earthstuff musta absorbified the sound of all those turbine growls above - 'cause it created a weird little oasis of quiet at the punchbowl's basin. While that aggressive hummmm hung over us like a ceiling of sound you could leap up and almost touch with your forehoof.

We were there for quite a while. Waiting for Misty to orient himself. But he didn't. He couldn't. He simply…paced. For a really really really long time.

"Uh…this is the right place, right?" said Cliff.

Misty stopped in his tracks. And stood there. Staring at the ground. "The clown hole," he replied at last. "Am lookink for clown hole."

"What?" said Foster.

"A clown…hole?" said Cliff. "Now you're talking like Rose."

"Haaayyy," I protested.

"Ees book from my mother's shelf. About evil clown who live in sewer and make eat of children. I was forbidden to read it because it's 'too scary for colts.'" Misty scoffed. And marched along the splintered edge of the final stair, eyes hunting for a gap in the debris. "I was not scared," he added.

Cliff, Foster, and me all snickered, and exchanged skeptical eyeballs.

"Shut up and help me make find of clown hole!" said Misty.

We fanned out, traced the broken outline of the bottom stair, squinting at rubble in the dark. It was pretty pointless. There was nothing to see but vague shapes. Jagged shadows. Black, and grey, and black, and grey, and black and black, and grey.

Till FWooOrRrrrrssSsshhh!

The sky erupted with Pinkie fire - like neon splashes on a black velvet painting. The entire punchbowl amphitheater canyon-a-majig glowed. From the zigzagitty edge of the collapsed bottom stair to the flashing crescent at the tippy top.

"Here!" Misty dashed and skidded, and stooped to examine the gap he'd found underneath the stair.

Then, poof! The flames were gone, leaving only darkness and smoke.

Foster and Cliff fumbled after Misty, over the amphitheater's frosted flake floor.

But a pebble pa-twang'ed out of the darkness and grazed my hindquarters. As a cloud of grit and dust rolled down the amphitheater stairs and stung my face.

"Ow!" I stopped, rubbed my eyes, and gazed up at those long rings of crescent stairs towering above. But there was no motion. No sign of Super Sneakers descending the punchbowl in search of us. No sound, either. Except for the wubbing hum of nearby turbines.

I lingered a moment, expecting Meadow Blade to emerge, and smack us like he did to that poor filly. Or for Red Eye himself to leap out of the shadows, stab my liver out, and laugh maniacally as he added my liver to his evil throne made out of livers. Or the worst fate of all: for Scribbles to spring forward and tell me what a horrible friend I had been.

But even after my eyes had adjusted, they couldn't see anything at all. Just the crescent rim of the canyon, strobing like a giant, fake-ass Moon.

"What are you looking at?" I snapped.

The fake ass Moon, of course, didn't answer. Not even in feelings, or in intuition like the actual Moon does. The punchbowl simply went about its business.

"Rose," came a voice from somewhere off to my side. "Come on!"

It was Misty - deep under the bottom stair, halfway into the clown hole. He waved his forelegs all over the place. "Over here!"

I trotted up to him. Dodging all the cement hunks that jutted out of the soil like broken nacho-splinters stuck in a bowl of salsa.

Misty retreated further into the hole and turned into a pair of disembodied eyes floating in the darkness below. I crouched down on all four knees. Stuck my head inside.

"Down here...here...here...here," came an echoey voice from below. It was Foster.

"Shhh!" I said.

"Nopony can hear us...hear us
...hear us...hear us," echoed Cliff.

Misty lit up his horn, and extended a helping hoof. I could see now that he was standing on a platform. It spiraled down the inner wall of something like a silo.

Cliff and Foster were all the way at the bottom already. Their heads poked out from under a cloud of rolling fog.

"Kill the light," I whisper-shouted.

Yoink! I pulled my head out of the hole, and hucked my eyeballs upwards, searching the punchbowl stairs yet again.

But nothing had changed. It was empty out there. Just me, the turbine hum, the darkness, and some stupid wind.

"I think we're being followed," I shoved my head back into the hole, and proclaimed.

"How do you know?" asked Foster.

"A pebble," I replied. "It rolled all the way down the punchbowl."

"Punchbowl?" said Misty.

"You know," I replied. "The moon stairs."

"Moon stairs?"

"Arg!" I grunted. "The amphitheater. The crescent steps. Whatever!"

Misty, Cliff, and Foster tossed confuse-itty glances to one another, all the way from opposite ends of the silo.

But Misty shook the confuzzlement out of his head, and stretched a hoof out toward me. "Come on,” he said. “If thees ees true, we can still make lose of them in the dark if we get a head start."

I made my way down the spiraling ledge inside the clown silo. Round and around and around. When at last, I reached the end of the ramp, there was no floor. Just mist.

"Make careful of last step," said Misty. "Ees doozy."

I planted my forelegs on the stone ledge, and lowered a hind leg into the eerie cloud. Down down down down down. Inch by delicate inch. Reaching for some unseen floor. Till sploosh! My hoof hit the water below.

Oily and warm and super gross.

"Eee!" I screeched, lost my grip and plunked down, all four hooves into the nasty water.

Misty lunged at me, and threw a hoof into my mouth. While the entire silo boomed with the echo of my squeaky cry.

EeeeeeEEEEeeeEEEeeee!

And even though Misty's hoof tasted like nasty drainage water, and stale popcorn, I didn't dare spit it out.

I just…froze.

All of us did. One by one, my friends and I each lifted our heads, and cast our gaze at the tiny rectangular splinter-of-light - way up high by the ceiling. The clown hole.

It flickered and fritzed like a film strip. Cool air spilled through it too - a gentle breeze, whistling against the uneven bricks.

But no sign of any ponies, or creatures, or shadows storming the sewers to come down and capture us, or torture us, or tell us what terrible friends we were.

Cliff Diver snorted out a tiny little laugh. But the joy ran from his face the second he spun around and saw Foster, gazing upwards at the light. Eyes wide with terror.

"What?" Cliff squeaked.

"Someone's up there," she said.

"Where?"

"I don't know," Foster replied. "I think they came in through the clown hole."

"Fuck," I said.

"We need to go," said Misty. "Now."

He trotted ahead. Cliff followed, not far behind.

But I just kept staring at the clown hole till Foster swept me away. “Come on!" she whisper-shouted.

We all splooshed, and splashed, and powerwalked together in the dark. It was only an inch of water. But every step sprayed my legs with totally gross gook that smelled like popcorn and ashes and mildew and kerosene and sour apple candy crammed together in a gym sock. I wished we hadn't jettisoned our boots back in Safety.

"Do you know where we're going?" Cliff asked Misty.

"Of course! I've navigated sewers twenty times more confusing than..."

"No," Cliff snapped, voice like flint. "Do you know where we're going for real?"

Misty peered down the path ahead.

The fog seemed to follow a lazy current. The water beneath it rolled faster now - making sssshhhhhhhhh noises all over the place as it rushed down a subtle decline in the ground beneath our hooves, and disappeared into the dark.

"Yes," said Misty. "I know the way. The path splits up ahead, and soon become like labyrinth. We just need to escape around the corner, and nopony will make find of us. I'm positive."

"Shh!" said Foster, quickening her pace.

Splish-splosh. Splish-splosh. Splish-splosh. Splish-splosh.

We all slushed our way down the hall, following the gray haze in the air as shadows whirled around and danced with random streaks of light that came seeping in from Luna-knows-where. It was like descending into a dream. Claustrophobic and infinite - all at once. There was no space, nor time. Just endless layers of gray.

…Till Misty's silhouette suddenly pointed his muzzle at a spot dead ahead. Where the fog washed against some unseen wall at the end of the tunnel, and the vague shape of water crashed and foamed and bubbled underneath it, super angry-like. "That's it!" Misty whisper-shouted.

He and Cliff glided ahead. Way faster than Foster and me. But nopony dared to break into a full gallop. (It was one thing to whisper-shout over the shhhhhhhh of the flowing popcorn waters. It was quite another to go stampedifying with sixteen clonkitty hooves).

Foster and I just powertrotted as best we could, while Misty Mountain and Cliff scouted up ahead, powertrotting even more powerishly. We all rushed and rushed and rushed and rushed and rushed.

Eventually, the darkness up ahead began to take shape. Gray came into focus against the black. I could even make out the end of the sewer-corridor that Misty had told us about. All of the fog was mashing up against a wall ahead. A crossroads - like the bar atop a capital letter 'T.' The water below it raged and foamed and bubbled against the bricks before disappearing down some unseen channel.

Misty and Cliff made it to those crossroads, and disappeared around the T corner. While Foster hurried me forward with quiet, careful, erratic steps. Like the floor was made of lava.

"What?" I whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Listen," she said.

I pricked up my ears. Sploosh sploosh, sploosh-sploosh sploosh-sploosh, sploosh-sploosh, sploosh-sploosh, sploosh-sploosh, sploosh-sploosh, went a set of hooves that wasn't ours at all.

"It's Scribbles," said Foster.

"What?!"

"It would appear she's no longer…conflicted."

"Waaaaait!" screeched a bitter voice from far behind. Though all I could see back there was a whole lotta black, and the pale glow of the distant clown hole, straining to pierce the fog.

Bananas Foster threw a hoof around my shoulder and rushed me forward. The end of the water-corridor was clearer now. I could even make out the brick wall, and the belly-high chute at the bottom of it where all the angry water ran down.

“Fucking wait!" said the voice once again. Stomping. Splashing. Galloping to catch up.

Bananas Foster grabbed my saddlebag and chomped down on it. Whirled around, and swung me.

I spun in the air - a starfish doing clumsy cartwheels, around and around and around till…

Cla-donk-donk-donk! My staggering hooves hit solid ground - scrambled chaos-ishly. Like a deer learning to ice skate, I tripped and fumbled and swayed. But Cliff Diver leapt outta nowhere and grabbed me. Yaaaanked me into a little nook built deep into the slimy brick walls of the new hallway.

We were on dry ground.

"Foster's a good tosser," I mumbled to myself as birds and stars circled my head.

"Shhh," said Cliff, cramming a nasty hoof straight into my mouth.

But before I could gag or squirm or spit, Foster came racing down the watery hallway like a herd of manticores was on her tail, and every one of those manitcores spat fire-breathing bees.

When she reached the intersection, Foster leapt up, and splashed! Hard. A wave crashed against the chute that channeled all the popcorn water to Luna-only-knows-where.

And for a moment, the darkness sparkled with mist, exploding everywhere. Trillions of tiny droplets glimmered with pale refractions of some faraway light. And from that glittery cloud, Foster reemerged. Suddenly right beside me.

"Ahhhhhh!" I tried to say, but the second that Cliff removed his nasty hoof from my mouth, Foster thrust her nasty hoof into it. And yanked us both deeper into the nook where Cliff and Misty hid.

There, we huddled together. While Foster panted. Gasping. Heaving. Fighting a hopeless battle to catch her breath. But she still didn't dare to unplug her hoof from my mouth. 'Cause in moments like this, everypony knew I was liable to blurt out something stupid.

So I winced. Gagged. Tried really really hard not to choke on the ashy water trickling off of Bananas Foster's hoof. And she just kept on struggling in silence to catch her breath. While her free hoof clutched her chest - as though her heart might beat loud enough to tattle on us all.

Sploosh. Sploosh. Sploosh. Sploosh. Sploosh, went Scribbles' hoofsteps.

Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! went Bananas Foster's heart.

"..., …, …, …, …," went Cliff Diver and Misty Mountain. They’d both seized up - as still as villains turned to stone. Nopony knew what to do.

…Which was totally crazy! 'Cause Scribbles was just, like, one kid. Not a demon. Or a dragon. Or a slaver.

But that just...made it worse somehow. 'Cause yeah, sure, we could escape her if we needed to. And she probably wasn't gonna try to hurt us.

But Scribbles also had the power to ring, like…175,000 warning bells; draw a tidal wave of attention our way; and fuck everything up for that poor zebra, Xenith - who was undoubtedly shivering in servitude, waiting to be rescued.

The element of surprise was the only advantage we had. We couldn't afford to let Xenith down.

Sploosh. Sploosh. Sploosh. Sploosh. Sploosh. Scribbles stepped into the sparkling mists and followed the drainage canal to the mystery chute. She seemed to flash in and out of the darkness, glistering like a disco ball as the fog parted, and the droplets around her caught the last traces of light from some distant clown hole.

"Rose?" said Scribbles. Calling towards us.

"Ose…ose…ose," answered the walls. Echoing all over the place.

"Rose Petal?" she called again, this time facing the opposite way. "Cliff? Foster? Misty?"

When no answer came, she called out once more, "I just wanna talk!"

"...anna talk…anna talk…anna talk…anna talk," the walls seemed to mock her with her own voice.

Scribbles sighed, and shoved her head halfway down the drainage chute. "Rose Petal?" She put one hoof in.

She was gonna follow the chute! And ride it towards a horrible fate. Lost, afraid, and alone in the middle of a sewer that nopony even knew was there! Was she crazy? Was she stupid? What the hell was she doing???

Scribbles raised another forehoof. Leaned it against the arch of the world's most abandoned-est water slide, and eeeeased her shoulder in.

"No," I leapt out. "Don't!"

Donk! Scribbles jumped up - banged her head on the roof of the arch. "Oww!"

"Jeez, careful!" I said.

The next thing I knew, Scribbles and I were face-to-face. Like an Appleoosa standoff.

She was a silhouette to me. Except for a random haze of super-dim light brushing her face through the fog. Her coat was soaked. Her eyes were sad. And angry. And hurt and afraid. And a gazillion other feelings that I didn't know how to read.

Bananas Foster had been correct. Whatever desperation may have plagued Scribbles, she was no longer uncertain.

"I'm sorry," both of us said at once.

"What?" I asked.

"You were right," Scribbles replied. "I'm a coward."

"No, you're not! You're–;"

"Shut up, Rose." Scribbles lowered her head. "I've got something to say."

She fixed her eyeballs on the vague shape of water hushhhhhh'ing against her hooves, and sighed. "Everyday I think about what it might be like...To live in a world without slavers - to have real communities without landlords demanding protection-pay all the fucking time." Scribbles chuckled to herself. And ran a soaking wet hoof through her frizzed-up mane. "It sounds so dumb when you say it out loud, doesn't it? So impossible. But I've always thought we should at least…like…try, you know? To do something better. To be something better."

The waters whispered against her hooves some more as she sucked in a shuddering breath.

I could almost feel my friends creeping up behind me in the quietude that followed. So I threw a hoof out. Waving them back.
Thankfully, Scribbles didn't notice.

"I thought I was soooo fucking special for figuring it all out." She spat out a laugh that might as well have been made outta hydrofluoric acid. "But I never put up a fight either. "I'm no better."

"What were you supposed to do?" I replied. "We're just kids!"

"Yeah," she replied. "I know. But I look down on all the other kids. And grown ups too. For going along with it."

Scribbles fell silent again.
...
...
...
"The Hard Yellow Line," I whispered to myself.

"Huh?"

"When I was crammed into a cage," I said. "Waiting to be processed. And sent down into the Mines of Tro—" my tongue stopped short - stumbled all over itself as my brain realized that naming Trottica might be super anachronismy. "Tro, tro, tro…trouble!" I said. "The Mines of Trouble!

‘They lined us kids up, and told us we were going to 'class.'" I made quotation marks with my hooves. "None of us actually believed it. We thought they were gonna slaughter us. But nopony could be totally sure. So when the cloak-o's threatened to–;"

"The what?" said Scribbles.

"The cloak-o's…uh, you know. The slavers. The soldiers. The Knights of the Ancient Secret Order of Hating Children or Whatever. They warned us not to cross this stupid yellow line that they'd painted on the floor. And we all just sorta…stood behind it. Waiting. Like they told us to."

"Why?"

"There was no signal," I said. "No flag at the start of the race. No sign that the time was ripe to rush all the cloak-o's, and free ourselves. Even though there were totally enough of us to pull it off. Even though we suspected that death would be right around the corner if we allowed ourselves to get herded."

"What did you do?" A weak, reflecty halo lit up Scribbles' face as she pressed forward, eager to hear more. She wasn't categorized as a bunker stunker. So she’d never heard my Trottica stories in Emotional Education class.

"Oh," I said. "Um…I did as I was told."
My brain scrambled its way through a hundred memories. To sort out the possible from the impossible. The probable from the unlikely. To come up with something I could tell Scribbles that wouldn't involve voices and visions and shadows attacking us, and Twink dying cause Fate took her instead of Strawberry Lemonade, who was destined to become somepony so important that she'd get a medal of honor named after her and that medal would end up getting poisoned with a nerve-o-toxin that a hero Colonel (who I'd originally presumed to be a villain) would use to extort a peace treaty out of Major What's-His-Face, and get every soldier cheering till the Crystal Empire doors opened up and made everypony magic and shimmery and semi-transparent.

"We got lucky," I said at last. "Eventually, a moment opened up - a pivoty moment - and we all just…kinda…took it, I guess. If that makes any sense?"

"It does." The whites of Scribbles' eyes erupted with eyeball lightning. “It was a…do-or-die moment."

"Literally," I laughed. "Yeah."

Scribbles stepped out of the last light of the watery tunnel, and drew even closer. "Rose," her shadow whispered. "This is gonna sound stupid, but I need to know - do you believe in fate?"

"Fate?" I squeaked. And hacked. And coughed. Like the word itself was made out of peppercorns, and my lungs were filling up with them as some invisible waitress stood over me, grinding pepper down my throat and never ever ever stopping because I was choking too hard to say 'when'.

"Are you okay?" said Scribbles.

A magic orb suddenly appeared outta nowhere, illuminatizing the gloom.

"You should not be here," said Misty. He stepped forward into the brand new light. As the orb wafted downwards, it threw violent shadows against his face.

"Neither should you," Scribbles retorted without batting an eye.

I kept on coughing.

"Do you need water?" Scribbles produced a canteen.

I waved it away, and got a good glimpse of my friends for the first time since we hit the sewers. Misty was stabbing Scribbles with eyeballs o' rage. Eyeballs of steel. Eyeballs chock full of the coldest fire I'd ever seen in him.

…While Foster hung back. Hiding in the shadows of an infinite web of winding tunnels. Her eyeballs were quivery. Floating in a sea of darkness.

…Cliff took cautious steps forward. Weighing absolutely everypony with his concernitty eyes

"A moment," begged Scribbles. "Please."

But nopony budged. Till Cliff Diver jabbed Misty in the ribs with his knee.

"Ow."

"Come on," said Cliff.

"Fine," answered Misty. "But when you're done, Scribbles, make fucking-of-the-off."

"Dude, back off!" I snapped.

Misty receded into the dark with a huff. And Cliff followed. The glowy orb remained with me.

"Sorry," I said to Scribbles.

"It's okay," she replied.

But then a gloom hung over us again. I didn't know what the Hell I was supposed to say. So I just sorta…stood there. As the sewers boomed with echoey shhhhhhh noises.

"What did you see?" Scribbles broke the silence between us. "You know, when you looked into the mirror?"

"A foal," I answered honestly.

"Hmm," said Scribbles, brushing her mane aside to get a better look at me. "Was it you?"

"Yeah," I said. "I guess so."

Shhhhhh, said the sewer waters some more. Shhhhhh. Shhhhhh. Shhhhhh.

"You don't believe in fate," said Scribbles at last. "Do you?"

I shrugged in reply. There was no way to lie convincingly while using my mouthwords.

"Rose," she said. "I'm really sorry to jump in like this with you and your friends." She threw a sour glance over my shoulder - Misty's general direction. "I know I'm putting a lot on you, but this moment…right now. It's…pivotish."

"Pivoty," I corrected her.

"I can't go back," Scribbles' voice squeaked with fear. "I can't! If I turn around now, I'll go back to being a coward all over again. Forever and ever. And I'll end up fighting in Red Eye's Army and being a slaver just like my mom used to be. Please," her voice crumbled in on itself like a ball of crinkly wrapping paper scratching against gravel.

I froze. As my heart kicked me from inside my chest, and my head pounded in reply.

Whatever Scribbles had seen in the mirror house? It would've happened whether I’d showed up in Safety or not. That meant that Scribbles was destined to see that pivotish vision no matter what. Destined to get scared out of her mind. Destined to flee her own cowardice, and seek a way to make a stand.

But my friends and I had made a mess of everything by showing up in Safety. By messing with future history. By getting so entanglified in Scribbles’ life that she believed that the only way to make a stand against tyranny was through us.

Damnit. Unless we found a way to grab a hold of her pivoty moment right now, and steer it elsewhere, we'd fuck up Scribbles' life forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever!

"I cannot hear what you are saying, but you should still make the fucking off," Misty called out at us from far behind.

"Dude, shut up," said Cliff. Thonk! Misty got whacked so loud that his horn flickered, and the orb that lit the way for all of us sputtered out of existence.

Scribbles was just a pair of eyeballs floating in the darkness now. Staring me down.

Cliff and Misty may have been squabbling and bickering and fighting behind me, but the commotion of it seemed a thousand miles away. The only things that felt real to me were Scribbles' glowing white eyeballs.

"Come on," she begged me in a whisper. "I can help. You're gonna need a sneaker."

"I, I, I…I, I," my voice tremored as my brain struggled for a logical rebuttal.

'Cause Scribbles was right about that part. We would benefit from bringing an experienced sneaker along. But she still couldn't come. And I had no idea how to explain that to her.

“Time is a blanket," my mouth said without bothering to consult my brain.

"Huh?"

Fuck fuck fuck, what the ass are you doing? Screamed a Rose Voice from inside my head. Shut up!

But Scribbles' eyeballs were too confusitty to stop now.

"Well, you see,” I said. “Me, and my friends. We…um…we're not from a Stable. We lied about that. We're actually from two hundred years in the past. That's why I got all accusation-y and upset at you when you called us pre-war ponies the worst generation.

‘We're from Ponyville twenty years or so before the war, and I have the ability to sorta…dream my way into the future - pivoty moments in the future. And these hornets in my brain - they yell at me to make sure stuff happens the way fate wants it to, and they sting me in my brain until I do what they say.

‘But I'm lost this time. I’m trying to get home to Ponyville. And I accidentally dragged my friends with me. Except for Misty, of course. He was already here and he's not from Ponyville. He's from a bunch of places: Fillydelphia and Romaneia and Jerhoovesalem. But…like, you know, actually during the war, not before it, so we're trying to get him home too. By rescuing this one slave he couldn't save back on his last brain hornet mission before he escaped the brain hornets altogether and tried to leap through time on his own like Z'orange the zebra shaman apprentice did back when she got lost in the Duckyverse. And now Misty is lost in the duckyverse too - or the emuverse, as he calls it. (Which is a totally stupid name, I know)." I snickered. "And we have to try to rescue this one slave 'cause like, we hope it'll get us unlost, and send us home. Or at the very least, give us a reason to, like, right an old wrong. So that Misty can be a river again, 'cause you know, deep down inside, we aren't running waters nor dried up basins, but the rivers themselves."

I panted. Struggled for breath as I opened up my heart and spilled my guts all over Scribbles. But she just staggered back. Startled and confused.

"Listen," I said. "The important part is that I think you're a really cool filly and I'm sooo sorry I hurt your feelings by calling you the worst generation. And I wish you could come with us. You'd be helpful and awesome and great company because I don't think you're at all comparable to the Worst Generation. In fact, it's fucking amazing that you've found…you know…morals and stuff. On your own. All by yourself. When everypony else around here seems to only care about other Safety kids.

‘Us and them.

'You're really really really really really cool! And I know that you are fated for great things. Cage-smashing things. Maybe you'll be a rebel or something when the toaster repair pony saves Equestria and brings back the Sun - which has gotta be a few years off at most. Or maybe you'll help rebuild it all after Red Eye falls. You’re an amazing pony, and I truly believe you can make something amazing of your life. Just not, you know…with us. I'm sorry.”

Scribbles' eyeballs dipped down. Gazed mopey-like at the floor. I could almost hear the tink! of glass shattering as her heart broke.

But it got cut off by the sound of Misty Mountain hollering at us from somewhere deeper in the tunnels. "Tell Scribbles to make a changingk of heart and soul somewhere else, and just go home already."

"Dude, shut up!" Foster, Scribbles, Cliff, and me all snapped at the same time.

"I'm sorry," I spun back around to apologize.

But Scribbles' eyes were no longer mopey. They were furious balls of fire now. "You coulda just said you don't want me around."

"No!" I said. "I'm telling the truth."

"Whatever." Scribbles' eyeballs went from red with flames to pink with tears. "Fuck you, Rose."

And just like that, her eyes disappeared. As her clip-cloppity hooves turned around and splished their way back into the watery tunnel.

"I'm sorry!" I called out.

Scribbles didn't stop or slow down or anything. I didn't follow either. My hooves simply locked into position, determined to keep me from doing anything stupid, while she slipped from me, deeper and deeper into the mists.

I could make out only the faintest glow reflecting off the shimmery muck below her. Just enough to give form to a lingering silhouette. It dragged its splishing hooves like anchors.

But she didn't look back. Not once. Scribbles simply disappeared around the corner. And was gone.

I gazed into the darkness. As the sad fwooshing sound of her hooves drifted further and further away.

When, at last, her hoof splashes got swallowed up by the din of the sewer’s rushing waters, I was left listening to - and staring at - nothing,

Then, at last, Misty's horn lit up once again. "I liked her," he said. "She was alright."

Cliff, Foster, and me all turned our heads to glower at Misty in unison.

…
…
…

"What the Hell was all that? Can you go just five minutes without being a total jerk?" -erk, -erk, -erk, -erk. My words reverberated against all the long rows of arches lining the sewer corridors.

But Misty didn't reply. He didn't snap at me. Nor defend himself. Nor say he was sorry. He just stiffened. And looked me over with dispassionate eyeballs. Like nothing was going on behind them.

"We ruined Scribbles' future, you know?" I said. "This was a pivoty moment for her. Really fucking pivoty!"

"I do not know what thees means," Misty replied. "Pivoty."

"It means that whatever Scribbles saw in the mirror - it changed her! And she had a very very very narrow window to choose a different course for her life, and I fucking ruined it. And you ruined it too. By making it impossible for me to unruin what I had ruined 'cause you wouldn't shut the fuck up."

"Pfft," said Misty. "Scribbles is a bright girl. And mirrors - they are not smart."

"Mirrors don't need to be smart," said Cliff. "They just need to know how to hurt you."

The rest of us fell silent. While RrrrrssSsshhhhhhhh. The whispering waters rang out against the walls.

"Omigosh," Cliff whispered to himself.
"Scribbles would have seen the mirror tonight. No matter what. But...we changed how she would have reacted. Just by showing up.”

“By giving her hope," I added.

"We need to help her!" said Cliff. He threw his panicked eyeballs down the corridor - gazing intentishly at the corner where Scribbles had last been seen.

"The damage," said Misty. "Sadly, eet is done."

"Then we undo it," Cliff squeaked.

"What will you say to her?" said Misty. "Hello. We are from the past and we are freeing slave. You cannot make join with us because you'll die? But just so you know, eet ees cool that you hate slavery, and you must keep doingk that?!"

"No," said Cliff. "I'm not stupid!"

"Yeah," I said. "Nopony could be that stupid. Aha! Ha! Ha-ha-ha!" I laughed - totally unsuspicious-ish-ly.

Then all of my friends' eyeballs turned to me. Two at a time.

"...Rose Petal," said Cliff.

“Uh, yeah?”

"What did you say to Scribbles?"

"Nothing," I answered, turning away, averting my eyes.

"You told her about time travel?" Foster spoke up at last. She was white with fear - really fucking white - like flour white.

I finally realized - just then - how quiet Bananas Foster had been up to that point.

"Will this hurt the time blanket?" said Misty.

"No," I said.

"Maybe," Cliff replied. "It theoretically could. Rose, what did you say to Scribbles?"

"Nothing!" I snapped, defensive-like. "I mean, yeah. I told her about time stuff. Maybe a little. Or a lot. I'm not sure."

"Think," Cliff said. All signs of mopeyness and fear and sadness and terror and dread were totally gone now. Cliff seemed to have forgotten about the mirror entirely. He only cared about making absolutely, positively, 100,000,000% certain that I hadn't just broken the entire duckyverse by shooting my stupid mouth. "What did you say to Scribbles. Exactly?"

"I don't fucking know!" I explained. "There were a lot of, you know, words and stuff that came out of my mouth. I don't remember all of them. It just sorta...well...happened."

Misty facehooved so hard he got mud on his wizard hat.

"Hay," I snapped at him. "I would have been able to explain, and get through to Scribbles. I could have made her understand that we really are from the past if you hadn't been shouting so many insults. What the fuck was that?"

"Rose, that's not important right now," said Cliff. "We need to–;"

"I was doing for you favor," Misty replied matter-of-fact-ish-like.

"A favor?!" I snapped. "You were a total jerk!"

"Goodbyes are hard," Misty answered. "Thees way ees less hard," he shrugged. "You? You do not have experience with such theengs. You cannot make good saying of goodbyes, so I help you."

-elp you, -elp you, -elp you, -elp you…A hush fell over the sewer yet again, but Misty's voice still echoed all over the place.

We all took a moment to contemplatize how many goodbyes Misty Mountain must have said in all his travels - or failed to say.
How hard that must have been for him.

Misty didn't flinch at the scrutiny. He just held his head high. Determined to face me with dignity. A practiced hardening - like he'd walked this kind of plank a hundred times before.

"Thanks," I said at long last.

Misty Mountain, totally unprepared for affection of any sort, blink-bloinked his eyes at me. And became himself again. "Yes, well, uh, we cannot make travellingk through time and space and emu if we are whining like pirate. So, um…you're welcome? I suppose?"

"Omigosh," I said.

"What?" Misty replied.

"Omigosh omigosh omigosh omigosh omigosh," I repeated. "You're right!"

"I am?"

“Pirates!” I cried out.

“...Pirates,” Misty said dryly.

"Keep the light on me," I said to him. Then I whipped around, and sprinted back the way we'd come. Down the dry corridor. Towards the splashy part, and the fog and all that.

I had to catch up with Scribbles. For her own sake. For the time blanket's sake, and the duckyverse's! It wasn't too late! There was still a tiny chance that I could make things right!!!! That I could fix her pivoty moment. That I could…

CLONK! I slammed into something, and tumbled down hard into the nasty waters.

My legs flailed. My head reeled. My mane got soaking wet. And I sprung up. Ready to fight. But I found no cloak-o's or shadows or slavers - only the mists of the Fillydelphia Sewer System, and Scribbles, laying in the nasty slush. Rubbing her head in pain.

"I'm sooo sorry!" we both said in unison.

"I believe you, Rose." Scribbles threw her forehooves up in the air, apologetical-like.

I didn't have a chance to figure out left from right or up from down. Partly because Scribbles had just splashed some nasty water in my eye with her gesture and I tried to rub it clean but my hoof was also nasty so I just blinked my eyelids like a moth panic-flapping its wings while Scribbles kept on going...

"You're the worst liar I've ever met," she said. "But you seemed totally convinced of everything you were telling me about Equestria’s past. And duckies…or something?”

"Actually," I replied.

But Scribbles didn't let up. "So I got to thinking! Rose actually believes this stuff. Why?" She snorted out a tiny laugh through her gaping, flappity nostrils. "Is this bunker stunker out of her damn mind, or what?!"

The water below shimmered with reflections of Misty's distant orb, making Scribbles’ eyes sparkle with a million billion trillion stars. "Then I remembered your cutie mark," she said. "And all of a sudden, everything made sense!"

"My cutie m--;"

"So I turned around and listened," Scribbles interruptified. "And I heard you and your friends arguing. 'Cause everypony was so loud. And they were all saying the same. Exact. Thing. You all believed it."

My heart slammed against my ribs. Like cannon fire. Boom! Boom! Doom!

What the fuck was Scribbles talking about? What had she noticed? What did she know?!

"My cutie ma--;" I tried to cut in yet again, but Scribbles wouldn't stop.

"What's it like?" she said. "Is it true that before the war, there was less slavery under Princess Celestia? Some kids told me once that they'd learned that as foals. But the Safety teachers, and their Army historians - they all say that Red Eye's teams had better access to information - that they'd poured through all the recovered documents - everywhere, all over Equestria, and pieced history together properly. To show that it was the princesses' systematic implementation of slavery that made Equestria great in the first place."

"No," I said. "Now about my cutie mar-;"

"That's not true!" Cliff came charging from behind. Cloppa cloppa cloppa cloppa cloppa. "Celestia would never do that!"

Scribbles squealed. "I knew it!" She looked to me - smile so wide I thought her face would split in half, and we'd have to duct tape her head back together.

"Are frogs real?" she asked.

"Frogs?" said Cliff.

"Yeah," said Scribbles. "They bend kinda weird," she flapped her hooves around, trying - and failing - to imitate the shape of a frog. "And they live in swamps and have big giant eyes like in this book I borrowed from Glenn once.”

"Wait!" I exclaimed. And the walls exclaimified it right back to me, -ait, -ait, -ait, -ait.

I panted to catch my breath. "Yes," I stumbled forward. "Frogs. Are. Real," I gasped for breath. "Now please! About my cutie mark?"

Scribbles wrinkled her nose. Squinted at me like I was a speck of dust with math homework written on it and she couldn't tell the 1’s from the 7’s.

Then, boom. Suddenly, it musta dawned on her what I’d meant. 'Cause she shamed her eyelids open and closed at me in purest astonishment. "You…don't…know what your own cutie mark means?"

I shook my head.

"Isn't that like, the opposite of how cutie marks are supposed to wor…" Scribbles froze when her eyeballs met mine. She gasped, and nodded back at me in a hurry. "Yes! Yeah, I'm sorry. Well, uh… I'm not an expert. I'm just an artist who's used to…y'know…coming up with cutie marks for the characters that I draw.

‘But it's like…you're scattered to the wind. And roses are flowers, and like…they only come in one color at a time. At least, I think they do."

"They do," I said.

"So that gust on your cutie mark. It's kinda picking up…uh, Rose bits. Rose Petals. They're coming from all over the place. Just like you, and your, time ducks…or whatever you call 'em…That's my theory, anyway,” Scribbles cringed like she thought I was gonna lash out at her or something. "I'm sorry,” she added. “I hope that isn't a bad thing?"

I shook my head no. While the rest of Scribbles' cutiewords swirled around the inside of my brain. Was it true? What Scribbles had said about scattering to the wind? It felt like it might be. But I couldn't be sure.

Were…all of my friends that I'd dragged with me across time and space and duckies - were they the petals of different colors? From, you know, different flowerverses or whatever? Or was I, myself, scattered to the wind? A tapestry of overlapping roses? Overlapping worlds? A spirit in a thousand places at once. Like a broken mirror.

My brain brained so hard that it lost control of my body. My legs shook so hard that they forgot how to be legs. I plopped my flank down. Forgetting, of course, that there was nasty sewer-water down there.

"Ahh!" I leapt back up. Spun around.

"I'm sorry," said Scribbles.

"No," I said. "Don't be." I chuckled. Then I turned around and hollered back to Misty and Foster, who still hung waaayyy the fuck back in the dry hallway around the corner, "Hay, guess what! I'm scattered to the winds!"

Saying it out loud, everything all made sense somehow. I gripped my winter coat. Tugged at it. Yanked so hard I tipped over, and staggered into the wall.

Oof! One final yank, and my flank was free from that soggy, nasty jacket. And I could see for myself. My cutie mark. My namesake. My rose petals. They were scattered to the wind. Just like I was!

Tears ripped down my cheeks as I snorted, and cackled, and coughed, and wiped a river of laughter-snot from my nose.

"Are you okay?" Scribbles crept in closer. "I'm so–;"

I leapt in her direction. Hugged her. Threw my forelegs around her shoulders, and laughed. "Sweet merciful Luna, I think you're right!"

But she didn't hug me back. She just went rigid. Like a pirate turned to stone by the Ancient Emerald of Petrificatia.

Fuck. I eased off. Threw my forehooves up in the air. Caught my breath a little. And said, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, um..."

Next thing I knew, Scribbles broke whatever petrifcation curse had been bolting her into place, and she lunged forward. Hugged me back. And planted a kiss square on my lips.

All my muscles and bones clenched up. Locking together. Like I myself had been cursed by the Emerald of Petrificia!

275,346 thoughts rushed through my head at that moment. And I'm not going to trouble you, O Book of Magical Things That Have Happened to Me, with every single one of them. It's kind of a thought-slurry to me anyway. To jot it all down would end up being longer than everything I've written in you about my adventures so far.

But I can say this: I never dreamt in a thousand years that my first kiss - my first ever kiss - would be with a girl. Or a boy for that matter. I hadn't given either much thought.

I hadn't given any of it much thought! I'd never imagined that we would both be drenched in popcorn-oil balloon-coolant water-muck at the time. In a stank and ancient sewer. That mere minutes later, she and I would part ways forever - never to speak to one another again.

Or that, later on that night, I would actually lay eyes on her one final time. Under circumstances that neither of us could ever have predicted.

But I will say that when Scribbles finally withdrew her kiss, a brief moment of terror flashed across her eyeballs. Like she'd made me mad, or done something wrong, or whatever.

So I kissed her back. And we both tumbled over like cackling morons. Chuckle-snorting all over the ground in a dried up patch of sludgey old muck.

And when we finally caught our breaths, there was Bananas Foster. Standing over us. No longer pale. No longer terrified. No longer cautiously hanging back in the distance, biting her Foster-tongue to keep the Foster-words from spilling out of her Foster-mouth.

She just took a deep, deep breath and sighed. "Predictable."

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. /]*[\

The earnings for this particular chapter will go towards American Near East Refugee Aid, (a highly rated charity currently providing humanitarian aid in Gaza to those who need it most [they do not work or coordinate with Hamas]).

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:

When I first started writing this story I created a series of guidelines to abide by.

- I'd fight for happy endings and positive spins on events but wouldn't force them. (Sorry, Twink)
- I wouldn't pull punches (Sorry, Twink)
- I'd let the characters be themselves.
- No Romance.

I've been conflicted throughout the Safety storyline because, for the first time since I started writing Hooves of Fate, two of my rules were in direct, unresolvable conflict with one another. Sure, there had always been the tension between honesty and optimism, but that tension has driven the story fairly well so far, and has never come down to a binary decision.

I noticed early on in this storyline, however, that something different was happening. Scribbles had a crush on Rose Petal, and I didn't know what to do about it. Try though I may, there was simply no way to be true to the life of the story, and abide by the No Romance rule I'd set for myself.

Ultimately, Scribbles chose to act on her feelings. Who was I to stop her?

I'm glad Rose got to experience this, and, while I have no intention of writing a whole lot of whiny piratetry, exploring Rose's feelings about it as the Safety storyline finally starts seeing action? That's exciting for me.

She also knows what her cutie mark means now. How's that for a Hearth's Warming Eve's Eve gift?

Happy belated Hearths Warming, everypony. I hope you're all doing well, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on all this!

Also...this is the only chapter not to use one of these...***

Make of that what you may.

Comments

[Cyana Flame]

Rose's problem of picking up fillyfriends in the far future

[Munro]

i just knew this was coming one way ore another

in the sewer tho i dont even wanna know how filthy these foals are

not to mention the other's constantly sticking there hoof's in poor pedal's fase. JUCK!

[earth]

She just took a deep, deep breath and sighed. "Predictable."

Easy for you to say!

[MasterNotWriter6626]

I just knew Scribbles was gonna eavesdrop. No way she wasn't gonna question herself after receiving that Rose spiel.

[Screw]

I miss my younger days when I was more attentive to the wild emotions around me. Just like Scribbles. Involuntarily and voluntarily eavesdrop on others to help deal with spastic decisions and indecisions.

I'm glad you at least kept what I feel is the most important rule when you had to bend some of them: let the creatures be themselves.

This has certainly made this story very captivating even during the down or lull times. Rose's filly views and fucked up experience certainly made any moment feel like it belongs. That feeling... I don't remember if I had mentioned this before, but this feels very homey and inviting. The draw to Rose Petal's life is intense!

Rest in peace Twink. She could have been Rose's first kiss. Or watch over Rose, I guess.

In the theme of piratey, I would love if you managed to reword and put this heavy quote somewhere in the story (Assassin's Creed: Blackflag):

"In a world without gold, we might have been heroes!" - Blackbeard, fighting their last stand with the protagonist, boarded by the British.

[Isenlyn]

I have the feeling Banana Foster was leaching love for some times. ^^

I have no idea where all of this going exactly, but I hope they all get away safely. Yet in Fillidelphia, it usually isn't the case...
Hope will get us through.

[Reese]

Sorry it took me so long to get to this, but thank you for writing!

"never put up a fight either. "I'm no better.""
"never put up a fight either. I'm no better.""?

"and Scribbles, laying in the nasty slush"
"and Scribbles, lying in the nasty slush"?

"In a stank and ancient sewer."
I'm not sure if that's a Roseism or a typo, so just in case:
"In a dank and ancient sewer."?

A good chapter, with interesting events and much delightful phrasing, unsurprisingly. :)
And, of course, a few anticipation-building specific pieces of information about the near future at the end. :D

[An everfree rat]

aw, and i was onboard for the fosters/rose ship, (still a chance!)