You've been held prisoner in Chrysalis's dungeon for nearly a year. After a month of freedom, you find that you didn't get the hero's welcome you thought you'd get. Instead, all you got was a permanent reminder of what she di
Growing up, you always thought getting an eye-scar would be cool. Like it would be a symbol of your many victories in battle. Now that you have one, you realize that it's just a testament to your weakness. That you couldn't be stronger. That you failed.
Now you walk the streets of Ponyville alone. The ponies you once called your acquaintances shun you and pay you no mind. All except for one cross-eyed Pegasus who's blatantly unaware of your hell.
Perhaps she's the first in a long time you can call 'friend.'
Here’s a theme I think could work for the story. Got a better one? Let me know in the comments. Take Us Back by Alela Diane.
Hey, if you liked the story, you think you could add it to a group or two?
It’s hot in here. It’s dark in here, the only light being that of the fireplace in front of you. It’s lonely in here. It’s humid in here. It’s dusty in here. But best of all, it’s quiet in here. You sit with your knees in front of your face on the floor. The faint sounds of birds chirping outside; the faint sounds of happiness fill your ears. Besides that, there are no sounds next to the crackling of the fireplace.
It’s been a month since your return. A month since they found you.
It’s hard to believe that one month ago, you were being tortured for information by Chrysalis and her changeling soldiers. All because you’re a royal guard. Well… You were a royal guard. Only a fool would go back and run that risk again. You quit last week. Running a risk isn’t the only reason you quit though. There’s another, much more material reason you left.
And that reason is scraped along your left eye.
It’s the only scar that can’t be covered by clothing. There are more scars. Oh yes, there are many more. But they can be concealed. You can hide those ones. No one could ever know you have them, save maybe one or two on your arms. But who cares about those ones? Many ponies have scars on their arms.
It’s the mark on your eye, though, that keeps you alone. That’s not to say, though, that you haven’t tried talking with others. Not that you had a whole lot of friends to begin with, but after your near-year-long span of torture, it’s nice to be out in the open. That was, until the ponies you’d see every day that would pass you with a cheerful ‘Hello!’ now pass you with a look of disgust and concern. Only makes sense though. It’s hideous. It blinds your left eye, rendering your vision impaired. It’s disgusting to look at. It’s pink and utterly contrasts with your ashy gray coat. There’s no use covering it with your long hair, either. It runs from the top of your forehead to the bottom of your jawline, effectively splitting your face in two.
Of course, the ponies aforementioned were the citizens of Canterlot, not Ponyville.
Your peaceful silence is broken by a knock at the door. “Mail mare!”
“Slide it under the door!” you call out rather bitterly. Sometimes you regret being so harsh to anyone that knocks on your door. Princess Celestia last week was only trying to help, yet you did everything in your power to get her out the door. Obviously you weren’t harsh with her, but that never-escaping tone in your voice was hard to miss. But you always feel the guiltiest about being so snappy with the mail mare. Her name is still unknown to you, but you can still somewhat relate to her. Her eyes are like nothing you’ve ever seen. One would look you in the eye while the other would peer down at the ground. She often gets the mail mixed up and her flight routine is… well… for lack of a better term… impaired. It’s mean to say, but the mail mare is in and of herself impaired. Perhaps it would be best to be nicer to her. She’s obviously been made fun of her entire life.
“Are you alright?” she asks from the other side of the door, “You sound sad!”
The ponies of Ponyville astounded you when you moved here two weeks ago. They were, and are, so nice. Sure they could get in your business sometimes but they meant well. Much different than the filth in Canterlot. Noses high in the air and egos even higher. Standing up with a low groan, you walk over to the door. Fixing your mane to make it look somewhat presentable, you open the door. The mail mare stands before you. She’s an entire head shorter than you. Her clothes are stuck to her thin body and her mane is a wreck. She looks sweaty and the wings on her feathers are ruffled like mad. She has dark circles under her eyes. Even her breathing sounds like she tried to compete in a Wonderbolts tournament.
“You okay?” you ask her, tilting your head slightly.
“Yeah… I’m fine,” she says, her cheerful tone obviously faked, “I just got out of bed late and I’m making up for lost time!” You look down at your watch quickly.
“Funny,” you say with a chuckle, “You’re twenty minutes earlier than usual.” A blush paints her light gray face.
“Oh… I am? Sorry…”
“No, it’s fine,” you reassure her. The more you look into her crossed golden eyes, the more you can see what she has to go through on a daily basis. “Hey, you wanna come in? You look like you could use a drink.” you say, looking into your kitchen. One of the few perks to coming back alive last month was that Celestia repaid your ‘commitment’ (which we all know is really you’re stubbornness) with a nice house, a fully stocked fridge, and a perfect location close enough and far away enough from Ponyville.
“Sure!” she exclaims, lighting up like a firework. Her overly cheerful demeanor is suddenly replaced by one of shyness. “U-um… I mean… Sounds nice.” You let a smile show itself on your face. Stepping aside, you let the mare walk in. As she takes a step in, you open one of the windows, letting light befall your living room. “Nice house,” says the mare, admiring your kitchen. “Where’d you get the bits for all this?”
“I… I saved up.” Sure. Let’s go with that. You walk over to your large fridge and open it up, blue light immediately striking your face. “What’ll you have? I’ve got tea, soda, milk, and water.” You purposely leave out mentioning your alcohol. Not that you’re greedy or anything, but she doesn’t seem the type to drink.
“What kind of soda?”
“I got ParaSprite, Dr. Pony, Root Bear, Orange, and Grape.”
“Can I have some ParaSprite?” You take out the green bottle and grab two cups from the cupboard. With bartender-like speed, you pour two glasses of lemon-lime soda. Handing her a cup with one hand and putting the bottle in the fridge, you take a drink. You kick the door closed and open the kitchen window. The mail mare takes a long drink and sighs. A slight chuckle escapes your lips as you watch satisfaction paint her face. You lead her into the living room and sit down in the chair. She sits on the couch and smiles at you.
“So what’s your name?” you ask her.
“My name’s Ditzy Doo, but you can call me Derpy. Everypony does.” Derpy?
“You… Don’t think that’s a little… mean?”
“Nope!” she says with a smile, “I think it’s cute.”
“Well… Alright, Derpy. My name’s…” you begin to say your name, but Derpy finishes your sentence. “How’d you know?”
“Well, I have to check your name on the mail, silly!” She suddenly looks as if she’s forgotten something. “Oh! I completely forgot!” She dives into her mailbag, somehow fitting half of her body into the small leather bag. She comes out with a gold letter in her hand. “Sorry there’s not much for you.”
“I wasn’t expecting any mail,” you say matter-of-factly. Taking the letter, you notice just how shiny the gold letter is. With a sigh, you open Celestia’s letter. The letter begins with the stupid royal formalities you’ve grown to hate. you skip down past all that crap and get to the actual letter.
“The reason I am writing to you, my former guard, is to tell you that I will only be supporting you for another month. That should give you enough time to get back on your feet and make enough to get by. I know it seems rather harsh, but after ten long months, you must be reintegrated with society. Supporting you for too long will result in an attachment to said support. It's happened before with the Red Leaf incident. I do hope you will not hold this against me. Good day, my friend.
-Princess Celestia”
“Great,” you mutter under your breath.
“What’s wrong?” You look up at her and notice her curiosity.
“I… Nothing… It’s… It’s just family stuff.” Suddenly, she gasps loudly.
“You’re in a family with the Princess?!”
“No… Fine,” you can tell her the truth. But perhaps not all of it. “I only have a month to find a job. I tried to get one but no one’ll give me a chance…”
“Why? Is it because of your scar?” A loud sigh escapes your lips.
“Yes. Because of my scar.”
“That’s just mean! I mean, my vision’s not very good either and I got a job okay!" She pauses for a moment to look at you, and seems to be putting two mysterious twos together. "Wait… If you don’t have a job… then how did you afford this house?”
Arching your back forward, you respond in a forced tone. Derpy stares at you with a confused, yet faintly concerned expression. The crackling of the fireplace echoes throughout the house as you think of an excuse. Perhaps it isn’t right to lie to a mare this innocent, but the wound is too fresh to retell the incidents out loud. “…Parents… lent me some bits a while back.”
“Oh… Okay,” she says, a little quieter than before. Perhaps even she, with her imperfection, can see right through you.
No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop staring into Derpy’s eyes. They glow with the most subtle of glows. They twinkle with the light of the sun outside. Even though one eye looks at you while the other stares at the ceiling, you can’t help but feel she’s looking right back at you. After a few minutes, the sounds of vigorous coughing and hacking break the otherwise peaceful silence. You soon realize it’s you that’s hacking your throat raw. Ever since you returned, you’d felt ill in the throat. Even for a month or two in Chrysalis’s personal dungeon you’d coughed up a lung, so to speak. And you know exactly why. Two words.
Gas chamber.
In one of the many attempts to break you, Chrysalis had sentenced you to the gas chamber, where a near-deadly toxin filled your lungs. Hell, your lungs are probably still black. You’d coughed up blood. You’d vomited blood. You’d nearly died from blood loss, but Chrysalis filled your arteries with her own concoction. It was one that could sustain life on its own. But it burned. It stung.
But now it’s all just numb.
“Are you okay?” asks the Pegasus in front of you. Recovering from your spasm, you clear your throat.
“Yeah,” you answer, your voice a little more gruff than before. A low growl follows your answer. Derpy smiles a sheepish smile and places a hand over her stomach.
“Ahem…” she whispers, looking away.
“Hungry?” you ask her. She slowly nods.
“A little. I haven’t eaten yet today,” she says with a giggle. You stand up and walk in the kitchen.
“Here. I’ll fix you somethin’ up. Anything you like?” you ask, opening up a cupboard.
“Well… I- I don’t wanna impose…” she says, her hands behind her back. Her cheeks glow just a tad bit red. A smile creeps onto your face.
“Nonsense. You deserve a good snack.” And you meant it. Not just feeling a kindred spirit with her, she worked herself nearly to death today because she thought she was late. She brings you your mail (what little you get) right on time each day, even if it’s sometimes a bit mixed up. But who can blame her? Nobody else you’ve ever met had eyes like those. “So, Derpy, anything catch your eye?” you ask, stepping aside and letting her get a good view of the shelves of the pantry. She eyes it over for a moment or two before reaching for a basket of muffins. She takes out a big blueberry one. She looks at you and you nod, giving her the ‘ok.’ She lights up a bit and munches away on the pastry hungrily. That muffin basket was given to you by your cousin the other day. She was the happiest to see you back; probably because she’s the only family you’ve got left. Honestly, you’re more of a cupcake kind of guy.
She gives you a smile as you reach for a chocolate chip muffin. A low ringing can be heard emitting from the wooden clock on the wall. You look up at the clock as you take a bite of the muffin. 12:30. The clock dongs three times and silences. Derpy takes a look at the clock. Her eyes widen and she takes one last bite of the muffin.
“Ohmygosh!” she says with a full mouth. She looks at you and blushes before smiling sheepishly. Swallowing the muffin, she walks toward you. “I gotta go soon. Thanks for the drink and the muffin,” she says with a smile.
“Anytime,” you say after swallowing, “I’m glad to help out.”
“I’ll…” she looks toward the door and back to you, “I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe?”
“I thought Sunday was your day off…?” you say after taking another bite of your pastry. The Pegasus smiles and walks toward the door, a subtle blush on her face. Her pale golden tail swishes back and forth a few times as she grabs her mailbag.
“Th-that... was my point,” she says quietly before walking out the door. You feel your cheeks heat up as the door closes. Did… Did she just ask you out? Looking out the window, you watch as she takes off into the sky. And suddenly…
…You feel alone. The room seems emptier, darker, and hotter. You’re left standing in the living room with nothing to do, no one to talk to, and no one to comfort you. Yes… That’s it. Derpy comforted you, even if she did nothing more than ask you a few questions, only to be given less than the truth. It’s now you realize… She said nothing of your scar. In fact, she came to your defense about your scar. Perhaps…
A heavy bead of sweat drips down your dirty face. Your hair is greasy and stringy. Your body aches all over. Arms high above your head, you let out a low groan. The stone on the makeshift bed is cold and hard. Your back had long since been broken by it all, but Chrysalis’ healing spell made you survive. It didn’t help the excruciating pain, but it sustained your life and made it possible to walk. Not that you have a choice whether to walk or not anyway. The shackles on your wrists jingle as you try to lower your arms. Your wrists only go down to the top of your forehead.
A low growl echoes throughout the pitch black dungeon. Your stomach feels as though it’s about to crumble in on itself. Chrysalis’s never ending arsenal of torture spells continued when she cast a hunger spell on you. You don’t need food or drink, but the spell keeps your body from thinking you’re malnourished. You always feel like you’re on the verge of starvation and dehydration. You haven’t eaten in what you can only assume is months. But perhaps it’s been years. Hell, it could’ve just been a few weeks.
Suddenly, a green light fills the room. You’re familiar with this light. A torch has just been lit. Huh. It must be morning already. Hard to tell. Most hours in the day are spent in total darkness, not a single figure or shadow passing your vision. Now your eyes hurt from the sudden light. A throaty chuckle breaks the silence.
“Sleep well?” asks an all too familiar voice. A simple scowl answers her question. The changeling queen struts toward you before locking you in a magical grip. “Me too.” She hovers over your stone bed and looks you in the eye. Something’s wrong about her. Her usually acid green eyes are a golden yellow. Her pupils aren’t slitted. And they are pointing in two different directions.
“…I’m here to save you…”
Brightness fills your vision as you open your eyes. Your eyelids close as soon as they open and you’re jerked from your laying position as you cough and sputter. The bed shakes as you jerk forward, hacking into your hand. Eventually, your body lets you calm down. Clearing your throat a few times, you sit proper. A loud sigh passes through your lips as you look into the hand you coughed into.
A pale green liquid now stains your hand and sticks to your fur. It feels scratchy and smells like salt. It’s the toxin that was injected in you to keep you alive. It acts as blood but feels like poison. Very little natural blood runs through your veins. That’s why you tend to avoid ponies now. If you trip and fall, hit your head, get a shot, or even blow your nose too hard, they’ll see just how much of a freak you are.
A low moan escapes your lips as you rub your brow. Standing up, you hear a few satisfying pops in your back. With a stretch, you unfurl your two long wings—
Never mind. You’re an Earth pony now. Get used to it.
With yet another loud sigh, you lift up your black sweat-soaked nightshirt. Two long pink scars run down your back, both parallel to each other. That’s where your wings used to be. The first week in Chrysalis’s dungeon, they removed them.
“Mommy, why do I have to have wings? They just get in the way.”
“Oh, don’t worry about them, sweetheart. You’ll grow to love them.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a Pegasus too, remember?”
A loud crack sounds throughout the house as your fist collides with the wall. The wood is sent into the dark hollowness of the building. A small cloud of dust rises from the impact zone as your remove your fist from the hole. Gritting your teeth, you place both of your hands on the wall. Rearing back, you prepare yourself for the blow.
Once again, the pain in your forehead does nothing to soothe the memories. Twice, three times, four times, five times, six times your head collides with the wall in a vain attempt to cool your rage. A lava hot tear runs down your face as you kneel to the ground, clawing at your poor wall all the way. It’s not just the sheer thought of losing your wings. It’s not the thoughts of what they did to you, even though they don’t help. It’s not even the thought of how helpless you were.
It’s the memories of what they did before all that.
"You're going to come with us, Lieutenant."
“Guh… K-Kiss my flank!”
“Oh, I think you’ll want to watch your tone, my dear… Otherwise, this lovely mare will pay the price.”
“Mom? Mom!”
"...Calm down, sweetheart."
Once again, you slam your head into the wall.
"Take your mother’s advice, guard. You’ll come with me and my soldiers. And you’re going to tell us all we need to know. Otherwise, the mare dies.”
“Wait! Wait…”
Slam!
"Don't do it, honey... Think of Equestria..."
“…I’ll… I…”
"Don't..."
SLAM!
"I... I'll tell you nothing!"
SLAM!!
"Very well..."
"Stop! No!"
"I love you, sweetheart."
"NO!"
SLAM!!!
"No! I'm so sorry!!"
“STOP!!”
Suddenly, loud coughs bring you out of your flashback. Loud, heavy breaths in between hacks and sputters fill the silence in the room. Green splotches of toxic fluids drip onto the rug with every loud cough.
After what seems like an hour, you’re reduced to pitiful wheezing and panting. Your legs and arms weak, you decide to go back to sleep, and perhaps the memories will go away for a while.
But that bed is just so damned far away. So you do the only logical thing to do. Curling up into a ball, you fade into sleep on the floor, in a small puddle of your own toxic blood.
Your feet ache. The world is spinning around you. The water droplets on your coat feel like needles. Your long hair sticks to your face as green streaks of liquid run down your body. In your despair, you had fallen asleep in a small puddle of your own toxicity. Not only did you cough up large splatters, you had created a large gash in your head. Pale green blood cakes the wall and surrounds the hole you had created.
It’s hardly uncommon for you to have these attacks. It’s just a matter of what part of your house you destroy. Today it was part of your bedroom wall. Yesterday it was the lamp in the living room. Last week it was the mirror in the bathroom. When you first got home it was the front door. You even managed to snap one of the shackles in Chrysalis’s dungeon from an attack. Princess Celestia witnessed one of these attacks herself, and signed you up for treatment meetings, which you never attend. She put you on a lifetime supply of pills, which you never take. Why should you suppress it?
Drying your hair, you step out of the bathroom. Your gray coat is still a bit damp, but it’ll air dry. Walking into the living room, you hear the phone ring. With a sigh, you pick the white device off the receiver. Looking at the caller ID, you see that it is your only remaining family member, your cousin Cloudburst.
“Hey, Cloudburst,” you say to the phone. Your voice is a little gruffer from screaming your head off earlier.
“Hey you,” she says in her naturally sassy voice, “What’s up? How’re you doin’?”
“Not bad,” you lie, “Just got outta the shower.”
“Don’t lie,” she says, her tone a bit more serious, “I can tell you’ve been coughing again. And I can tell you’ve had another panic attack. Your voice is shaky and raspy. How bad was it?”
“…I…” Honestly, how can she tell these things? Might as well tell her. You’ve told her the truth in full already. “I trashed my wall pretty bad this morning.”
“Really?! Have you even taken your medication? They make it better! They soothe the pain!”
“No they don’t, Cloudburst! They don’t soothe the pain! They make it worse because they force me to act all calm about it! A few meds and a therapist aren’t gonna make me forget everything! I watched my mother’s throat get sliced! I was tortured beyond what was supposed to be death for ten months! My own blood is toxic all because of some changeling queen!”
For a few moments, the line is silent. All you can do is stand and stare into oblivion. Suddenly, your cousin speaks up.
“I’m coming over in a little while.”
“Fine.” As soon as you speak, the phone clicks and a monotone is heard from the other end. With a heavy sigh followed by a short cough, you hang up the phone. Just as the phone snaps into place on the receiver, a knock on the door is heard. Your expression lightens immediately as you remember who was going to drop by today. Opening the door with a smile, you see who is actually waiting for you.
Your expression drops slightly as you see none other than Princess Luna at the door.
“Princess,” you say, stepping to the side so as to let her in. She remains outside, however.
“Knight. Er… Former knight, I should say,” she says in a rather forced tone. You can tell whatever this is about, she had to either stay up late, or get out of bed for. “I will not be staying. I have many places to go, many a citizen to see. And as you can assume, I’m not exactly excited for staying up this late.”
“Of course,” you say with a slight bow, “And why, may I ask, are you here?” Straightening her back (making her eye-level with you) and looking as straight forward as possible, she speaks.
“Dear former knight, you are cordially invited on this fine day to attend the marriage of Captain of the Royal Guard Shining Armor, and Princess Mi Amora Cadenza. This note should provide invitations and all information regarding said festivities,” she says, while handing you a small envelope (that was conjured out of thin air, I might add). To be perfectly honest, Luna’s kind of cute when she’s trying to be formal. Something about the way she does it is just so off balance and awkward to the point where it’s laughable. Even though she’s the most well-versed in ye olden tongue in Equestria, making her arguably the most formal being in the country, she still slips up. Not that it’s bad or anything. It’s somewhat amusing.
“My sincerest apologies for my sister, as she could not make it to tell you herself. We did not want to send the invitations over the mail, as this is an extremely high class event.”
“So… Armor finally asked her, huh?” you ask no one in particular. Luna’s pose is broken when she slightly arches her back and lets her wings unfurl a bit.
“Informally speaking… He totally did. Good day, knight,” she says with a slight wink and smile. She always insists on calling you ‘knight.’ Even though they’re just called guards now.
“Good day,” you say, closing the door. A quiet fizzling sound is heard as Luna teleports away. With a heavy sigh, you plop down onto the couch. With a quick glance at the invitation, you take note of the date. On this day three months from now, your humble captain is marrying a princess. Huh. To be honest, you never knew Shining Armor had it in him, no matter how much he seemed to tower over you all. You always took notice of his constant stuttering around Princess Cadance.
It’s about five to 1:00 right now. Half an hour until the bakery closes. Normally, you’d go to Sugarcube Corner just down the street, but they’ve been growing so popular all over Equestria, their prices have risen immensely. You can hardly blame them. That place is always packed full. Honestly, it’s a wonder they’ve kept their prices low for so long. Whatever. There’s a cute quaint little bakery just twenty minutes from town. An easy jog, even without wings.
Later…
Munching hungrily on a cupcake, you reenter your house. The air conditioning immediately cools your hot skin and you’re hit with a wave of contentment. The familiar smell of dust and fabric enters your nose as you finish the pastry.
A slight tingle enters through your cheek. Your left cheek. Ever so slowly, you raise a hand and touch your scar. It’s always tingled like this when you’re happy or content. It’s like your very anatomy wishes nothing more than to remind you of how you got… No. No more thinking about it. It’ll just send you into another fit of rage.
A knock comes at the door. Only until you are snapped out of your thinking do you realize your fists are clenched, and your nails have come quite close to breaking skin. The knock comes again as you puff a sigh of relief. Standing up with a groan, you walk over to the door. The knocking comes once again, only considerably louder.
“Hold on a minute!” you shout as you close the distance between you and the door. As you rest your hand on the silver knob, you immediately make out the sounds of breathing from the other side. The door is two inches thick, but you can still hear. The breathing isn’t just breathing; it’s a sort of gasping and sighing. Heavy breathing, laced with a bit of whimpering.
Opening the door, you see just what you were not expecting.
“Cloudburst? What’s wrong?”
In front of you stands your cousin Cloudburst. Her usual spunky demeanor is nowhere to be found. Her gray hood is pulled up over her short light blue hair. Her white coat seems darker now. Tears stream her face and her eyes are bloodshot behind her rounded rectangle glasses. “What happened?” you ask her, putting your hand on her right shoulder.
“It’s… It’s Blazer…” she says, her voice shaky and quiet. Blazer… Blazer… That name sounds familiar… Oh, yeah, Blazer is Cloudburst’s boyfriend. They’ve been seeing each other for three years now. His image slowly reenters your head. Pale orange coat, red hair, short tail, slight goatee. He’s a nice guy, from what you can recall. Though his obsession with the word ‘bro’ sometimes got on your nerves.
“What happened to him?” you ask, leading your cousin inside. Closing the door with your foot, you sit your cousin down on the couch and sit next to her and put an arm around her. She leans into you.
“Nothing happened to him… It’s what he did…”
“Cloudburst… What did he do?”
“I was at his house when I called you earlier… I told him I had to leave, but he didn’t want me to…”
“What do you mean?” This isn’t going where we both think it’s going is it?
Slowly, she leans back and pulls her sweatshirt up to her ribs, exposing a large bruise on her side. The bruise can be easily seen through her silky coat, and completely contrasts with the stark white of the fur.
That son of a bitch.
Ever so slowly, you place two fingers on the bruise. At the lightest touch, your cousin flinches and grimaces. The mark extends from her lower ribs to her upper waist.
“Where is he now?” you ask, your voice dark and laced with venom.
“His house,” she says, the shakiness still ever present in her voice. “I know what you’re thinking, and I know what you wanna do. But please… Just don’t. It’ll make this easier on everyone.”
“No. No it won’t,” you say as you stand up, “Not for the next girl he brings in. Did he hit you anywhere else?”
“…Just my forehead,” she whispers as she lifts up her bangs. Another dark purple mark in visible.
Your nails just broke skin.
“…Wait here,” you say, turning around.
“No!” She grabs your shoulder as you reach for the door. “Don’t! You’ll make it all worse!”
“For who, Cloudburst?!”
For a moment, she simply stares at you. Another tear runs down her cheek. “Please… Just don’t…” Her head leans onto your chest and her arms wrap around your neck. Soft sobs are heard from your cousin. Slowly, you place your arms around her back and pull her in closer.
“…I’m sorry,” you whisper into her hair. She continues to cry into your chest and you continue to rub her back. You begin to rock her slowly back and forth. After a while, the two of you make your way to the couch, where you continue to console her. After what seems like an hour, her sobs die down.
“You alright?” you ask her quietly. She doesn’t respond. As you look down at her, you notice she’s fallen asleep in your arms. Ever so gently, you maneuver yourself off the couch and lay her down, careful not to disturb her slumber. As you rest her head on a pillow, you place her legs onto the couch. With a quiet sigh, you walk over to the thermostat and turn off the AC. As you walk to the front of the living room, you close the blinds. Finally, you reach your destination and light the fireplace. Cloudburst always loved quiet places, with the only sound being the crackling of the fire. It reminded her of the holidays for some reason.
It’s hot in here. It’s dark in here, the only light being that of the fireplace in front of you. It’s sad in here. But worst of all, it’s quiet in here. You sit in the chair; half watching your cousin sleep off her sadness, and half watching the dancing fire. The faint sounds of Cloudburst’s breathing and occasional moan or coo add to the light sounds of the fire. You’ve been sitting here for a few hours. It’s five o’clock. The day is almost over. It’s not like you had plans for the rest of the day. You had been expecting a friend all day.
The chair you’ve been in since the afternoon makes your legs feel numb. It’s impossible to sleep. Not while Cloudburst is like this. It’s about 3:30 in the morning. The fireplace is still crackling with a soothing tune. The quiet grunts and other noises come from your sleeping relative hardly soothe you. She hasn’t awoken yet, but it’s only a matter of time until she does.
Can’t blame her for having nightmares.
Blazer. That name is more acidic than your blood. You hadn’t known him very well, but you know his face. Those orange eyes that pierce through darkness. That greasy hair that was always swept backwards, a cheap imitation of Wonderbolt Leader Spitfire’s hair. He wasn’t all that harsh, in fact, he was actually quite nice. In the one or two talks you had with him, he was quite the gentlecolt. But then again, a lot can change in ten months.
Just look at you.
Those dark bruises on your cousin’s face are like a symbiote, corrupting your morality. The only time you ever had these sorts of feelings was when you’d engage in a battle as a guard, or whenever you would see Chrysalis’s face. Though you’d like for these feelings to remain a mystery to you, you already know what they are.
You want to kill Blazer.
He hurt the only family, and the one last connection to the outside world you have left. Even besides that, he hurt an innocent mare, for doing what she thought was right. He hurt her for nothing. She trusted him- you trusted him to look after her, and he hurt her. Physically and mentally. She could never date again. You know Cloudburst. She’s always had a bit of a tendency to go a bit too far with her emotions. This likeness could also be found within a certain alabaster unicorn at the clothes store.
Something about white fur must have that effect.
You let out a dry chuckle at your thought. But your soft smile fades as you return to your train of thought.
She’s overreacted. Every mare has. But she takes it a tad too far. She’ll say things like ‘I’ll never date again,’ or ‘All colts are just like that. Can’t trust a single one of them.’ The worst part is, however, she sticks to it. After a boyfriend she once had for a few weeks dumped her for some other mare, she went an entire year without dating again. An entire year. And now… She’s been seeing Blazer for three years. They loved each other. You were sure they’d get married. Have children. Grow old together. When they were going out, it certainly didn’t seem too far from the truth. They were happy. Cloudburst was happy. And so, you were happy. She finally found ‘the one.’
And now look where you are. Sitting in your chair at three in the morning watching the fire dance before you as you contemplate your current position in life. Look at where Cloudburst is. Sitting up on your couch rubbing her eye whispering your name.
…Wait, what?
“Cloudburst…?” you whisper.
“Have you gone to sleep?” she tiredly asks you. A sigh escapes your lips as you tell her the truth. “Why?”
“I can’t. Not while you’re like this,” you say a little louder. She lets a comforting smile creep across her face.
“Hey…” she whispers, shuffling closer to you. She extends an arm out to you and touches your shoulder. “I’ll… I’ll be just fine now. I just… Needed a shoulder to cry on for a while, that’s all.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” you say, looking her straight in her bloodshot blue eyes.
“Because you’re the most stubborn colt I’ve ever had the pleasure to know,” she says, lifting herself off the couch. Kneeling before you, she wraps her arms around your back. You return the embrace, basking in the warmth of your cousin’s touch. Heh… She still smells of her house. Oatmeal cookies and apple juice. She’s always had that smell about her, even though she couldn’t bake to save her life. “You should go to bed,” she whispers into your shoulder.
“You take the bed. I’m staying here.”
“I won’t take your bed from you.”
“Take the bed or the couch. I’ll be right here, Cloudy,” you say with a wide smile. It’s… It’s been eight years since you called her that. You remember fun times with your cousin playing on the playground or in your mother’s yard. The laughs you shared. The good times you had. The jokes you cracked. The teasing, the smiling, the comfort, the love. She’s always been there… She’s always been by your side…
And she’s the only family you have left.
“…I love you, Cloudburst…” you say, your embrace tightening around her back.
A heavy yawn escapes your lips as you pour the milk into your cereal. Cloudburst is a lot more rested than you, but tired all the same. Your cousin sits across the table from you, quietly munching on her waffle. With a quiet slurp, you put the spoon in your mouth, taking in more milk than food. This action is met with a volley of scratchy coughs. Your throat is raw and dry, and coughing now doesn’t help. After your little fit, you look down at your bowl. A thick pale green liquid now discolors your milk.
Ah, fuck it.
You take another bite. It tastes much more like dirt. Saltier, with a bitter aftertaste. Sucks to be you. You take yet another bite.
“I’m worried about you,” says a familiar voice. Another sigh comes out through your nose. “You’ve been coughing like that all morning.”
“Been coughing since I got home,” you say in a quiet voice. It hurts to talk.
“I mean… You haven’t been coughing this much. It’s only nine and you’ve already coughed up at least a quart of blood,” she says, looking at you with very slightly bloodshot blue eyes.
“Hm,” is your only answer. She’s right. You’ve coughed up a lot of blood before, but it’s only nine in the morning. Granted, you’ve been awake since yesterday, but still. You’ve been coughing nonstop all morning. Taking a deep breath, you look back up at your cousin. Her expression shows one of complete and utter concern and fear. You know this feeling she’s having.
You had this feeling all throughout your childhood.
Your father was diagnosed with some disease he got from guard duty in Saddle Arabia- you were too young to even begin to pronounce it and it hurts too much to bring it back up. Every day, every morning, every night, every moment spent with him was spent in fear. Bless him, he was a great stallion and a true role model for you, but he always coughed. He would spend a full minute coughing into a tissue and purposely hide it from you. When you would get up for school, you could hear him vomiting in his bathroom. Your mother told you he was just sick for a while, and that he would get better soon.
He died when you were thirteen.
“You should take a nap.”
“Wait… What?” you ask, snapping out of your thoughts.
“I know you didn’t sleep last night,” says Cloudburst, “And it’ll just be better if you take a few hours to sleep.” She’s smarter than she looks. After all this time with her, you still doubt the fact that she knows everything. And she’s stubborn when she wants to be. She’s like a female you, if you were twenty times smarter.
“…Yeah… Okay…” you murmur, the concept of sleep becoming more and more tempting. In your ten months in the dungeon, you accidentally taught yourself to be awake for a full twenty-four hours. It’s fucking scary down there.
…Or perhaps you really did fall asleep some of those times. It’s so dark in there, it’s hardly unbelievable. And it might not have even been twenty-four hours. It could’ve been a few minutes. Or even more than twenty-four. Were you even awake half the time?
…Why does your head hurt all of a sudden?
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” says Cloudburst, once again breaking you from your thoughts.
“Thanks,” you say, beginning your ascent up the stairs. Opening the door to your room, your eyes are immediately drawn to the enormous hole in the wall. But, weird thing is, the wall is clean besides that. Where did all the blood you spilt go?
…Oh yeah. You cleaned it all to give you something to do last night after Cloudburst went back to sleep. Flopping down onto your bed, your eyelids immediately close and you drift into sleep…
“My dear, you squirm too much.”
“…”
“Why are you so silent? Do I offend? I’m trying to be the good Queen here. Please tell me where the Princess’s documents are.”
“…”
“I know you must be hurting. I mean, I would be too, but you left me with no choice.”
“You killed her.”
“I kill a lot of people. Don’t take it personally. I know for a fact that you worked with the royal documents for a good three years. You know them like the back of your hand. Isn’t that right, my spy?”
“Yes, my queen.”
“See? Now… I’ll ask again. Where are they? Are they in a safe? What’s the combination? In a room? Where’s the key?”
“…”
“You’re getting on my nerves. I’m not asking anymore. Tell me what I need to know or you will die.”
“…”
"...Hit him again."
“AH! Gak!”
"Tell me now! Or I'll rip out your throat!"
“………F… Fu…”
"Mm?"
“F… Fuck… you…”
"You impudent little worm!"
“Gah!”
“AH!!”
Your eyelids jerk open as you’re snapped out of your dream.
Noontime comes around rather quickly. Cloudburst is at the market, getting some things for her typewriter. Cloudy had always been a remarkable author. Her stories brought you to tears once when you were seven. That was the day she got her Cutie Mark: an image of a small typewriter. She figured it was something about bringing out ‘girly’ emotions in one of the most ‘manly’ of children. She even sold a book once, though it didn’t receive too much attention. It was given fair reviews, but it wasn’t very popular compared to some other novels. She’s working on a new one. She told you a while ago that it was going to be the saddest story ever. From what you’ve read so far, ‘My Little Ashy’ isn’t all that impressive. She told you to wait till the end.
Can’t be that bad.
You sit in your chair in the living room. Your fur is still a bit wet from washing your face a few minutes ago. As with every nightmare, waking up was met with a volley of barks and hacks. Your arms are numb and your legs hurt. Your eyes strain at the bright sunlight. Cloudy had insisted that you keep the blinds open.
Your mind wanders to your cousin once again. After you woke up and finished your episode, Cloudburst told you some bad news. Eventually, she had to get all of her possessions back from Blazer. She had moved in with him about a year and a half ago, a few months before your capture. Right before she left for the market, you invited her to stay with you, to which she happily agreed.
She had brought her typewriter with her when she came to you yesterday. She carries that little thing around with her everywhere. With the help of some Unicorn librarian a few years ago, her typewriter had been enchanted to be able to shrink down to be carried around with ease, and grow back to normal size when in use. It’s pretty handy actually, though the concept of such a thing was honestly ridiculous.
Nevertheless, she still has many things still at Blazer’s house near the Everfree. He lives about a half a mile away from the Element of Kindness, Fluttershy. His cabin, from what you can remember, is small, made for no more than two inhabitants. It’s not very welcoming, but you’ve never been inside.
But that’s about to change.
In fact, what’s stopping you from leaving right now? Some good ol fashioned intimidation will make him listen. Though you wish for the contrary, who wouldn’t fear someone with scars like yours?
Grabbing a black jacket from the closet, you hum a tune in a deep tone. You had this jacket specially made. The hood is enormous and can cover your entire face if need be. You slide said hood over your forehead and over the crusty green gash on your head, effectively covering it from view. Just as you reach for the doorknob, you stop. Someone’s approaching the door. Light footsteps slowly increase in pitch as they come closer. As predicted, a few slow, deep knocks come at the door, followed by two words you know will hinder your sudden burst of confidence.
“M-Mail Mare!”
Oh, great.
You wait a few seconds, so as to not seem like you were waiting for her at the door. After about five, you open it up, to see the expected mare standing on the porch, a light hue of red on her cheeks and nose. She’s smiling nervously.
“…Hi,” she says quietly.
“Hey,” you reply, “Any mail?”
“Well… No,” says Derpy with a bit of a stutter. “But I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” you ask, tilting you head a bit.
“For not coming over yesterday. The post office called me in again and I had to pick my daughter up from her friend’s house. I tried to get back to you, but I couldn’t find time,” she explains, her tone diminishing with each word spoken. Wow. She’s really sorry about this. She sounds completely genuine. She…
She has a daughter?
“I-It’s alright,” you say after a few seconds. “I was busy yesterday too. No harm done, right?”
“I guess,” she says, looking up at you, “I just feel really bad about it.”
“Don’t,” you say, raising a hand, “I don’t like it when people feel bad for me. How ‘bout this: We’ll do something tomorrow, you and me. Have a cup of coffee or something.”
“Sure!” she says, her expression lighting up, “I’ll meet you at Joe’s Donuts at three. Er… I hope you don’t mind if I bring my daughter…”
“It’s fine. I gotta go right now, but I’ll be there,” you say, stepping outside and shutting the door. Her smile returns tenfold.
“Great! Her name’s Dinky. Don’t worry. She’s not shy or anything and she’s really nice,” she says as her wings unfurl. “I’ll see you then!” she says as she begins to fly away.
“Count on it!” you yell back to her. As you watch her fly away, you can’t help but feel your mood brighten.
And you know what happens when your mood brightens. You feel that familiar tingle running down your left cheek and you’re reminded how you got your scar.
"Wake up, worm."
“Nng… OOF!!”
“Your queen brought you a present.”
“Guh… Wha…? What?! Frostbite?!”
“No! Not him, please!"
CRACK!!
Your eyes snap open and you proceed to partake in your usual coughing fit. You use your arm to prevent green liquid from staining your pale blue house. After a few eternity-long seconds, you silence yourself. Standing up straight, you inspect the damages of your little rage attack.
Geez, you snapped that beam right in half… Aaand now your knuckles are all bloody. Great.
Later…
You’ve been walking for about ten minutes. You’d passed Fluttershy’s cottage about two minutes ago and Blazer’s cabin is in sight. The sky is all blue with one or two clouds off in the distance. The grass seems a paler green than usual. Your fists are clenched hard as you remind yourself why you’re here.
He hurt her.
You bang on the door.
He hurt you.
After a few seconds, he opens the door and you see that ugly face of his. He has pale red eyes and red greasy hair. His slight goatee hasn’t grown a bit. He wears ragged jeans shorts and a dirty white t-shirt. His muscles have grown a bit. He holds a can of beer in his left hand.
But what interests you, however, is the height difference between the two of you.
“Who’re you?” he says, looking up at you.
“Look at you,” you say, eyeing him over, “Less than a year ago, you were a humble bartender.”
“Yeah, yeah, heard that song,” he says, waving a hand in the air, “Look, if you won’t tell me what you want, it’d be better if you leave.”
“I’m Cloudburst’s cousin. And you have some things of hers.” He looks taken back a bit.
“You? Fuck happened to you, bro? You’re all, like, ragged n’ stuff.”
“I’m well aware,” you say, straightening your back, making you even taller. He dons the slightest look of worry.
“Y-Yeah, whatever… I-I got Cloudburst’s stuff right here. Take it easy,” he says a bit quieter. He walks into the house and you follow, nearly clocking your head on the doorframe. He disappears into the next room. For a few moments, you can hear shuffling and banging in the room, Blazer obviously trying to get you out of his house as fast as possible.
It’s humid and musty in here. The entire house is cramped and smells like tobacco and alcohol. The overall environment is unwelcoming. How did Cloudburst live here as long as she did?
“A-Alright, alright, I got her stuff,” you hear from the room. Blazer walks into the living room (if you can even call it that) with various bags in hand. He looks to be struggling with them. “You need any help gettin’ these back to her new place?” he asks quickly. Forcefully, you snatch a bag from him.
“No.”
Wow, this bag is heavy. Cloudburst, what do you own?
You take the other bags from him, slumping some over your shoulder and some on your arms. Though, through it all, you keep your intimidating demeanor. You exit the house, thankful to breathe non-polluted air. You hear the door quickly close behind you.
An air of unfulfillment sticks with you the entire journey home. The heavy bags are nothing you can’t handle, you did lug around heavy steel armor for a good number of years, but the sheer thought of being face to face with… him and not putting him in his place just rubs you the wrong way. Though you try consoling yourself with the thought that he fears you, it’s just not the same.
Cloudburst returns home a few minutes after you do. She inquires how you got her stuff home already and you respond with “Just did.” She gives you a subtle scowl and walks to her new room, where you put all her things. For a few minutes, you simply stare at the wall in your chair.
Honestly, it’s a surprise this chair doesn’t have a permanent butt groove. Nearly every moment, both waking and not, since you got home has been in this chair. Thinking, watching the fire, listening to the birds, watching the weather, all of these activities have kept you well occupied. It’s one of the few things you have left from your childhood.
It’s your father’s chair.
You always wondered why he would just sit and stare at the wall or look out the window. Why he would only move if supper was ready, or you wanted to play. Why he always seemed content about it. But you know now. The answer is clear as day.
He’s been thinking. Thinking about his experiences as a guard. Thinking about his place in life. Thinking about what he has, and how not to lose it. Thinking about your mother. Thinking about your uncle. Thinking about you.
And now you’re doing exactly the same thing.
He always seemed so deep in thought, your father. Always seemed like he could fall dead and not feel a thing. He wasn’t stoic by any means, in fact, he was quite easy going. But hours on end of him sitting in this chair always perplexed you. Once, you had bet Cloudburst you could sit with him during one of those long stays on the chair. If you did, she would have to play war with you whenever you wanted, and if you didn’t, you would have to read one of her stories.
Thus she got her Cutie Mark. You couldn’t do it.
You were amazed at how long that old stallion could sit and think. You sometimes wonder if he even knew you were there at all. You did, however, gain a new respect for him. Sitting with him for a couple hours got you thinking yourself. What would you be when you grew up? When is the sequel to that one movie coming out? Did that one filly like you back?
Back in reality, you cringe when you think of her.
Her name is… was Frostbite.
“Your queen brought you a present.”
“Guh… Wha…? What?! Frostbite?!”
“No! Not him, please!”
“Ah, so you ARE acquainted. Good. This’ll be all the more enjoyable.”
“I’ll have your head, you monster!!”
“Ha hah ha hah! I’d like to see you try, whelp!”
“…Frostbite…”
“Now, my little pony. Take this and do what I told you. Down his left cheek.”
“…I… I’m so sorry…”
“…Frostbite… Frostbite, what did she tell you to do?”
“P…Please… Forgive me… I love you…”
“Frostbite?!”
One would expect you to have an attack over this. These thoughts. These damned memories. But something about being in this chair, your father’s chair, YOUR chair… It keeps you calm enough. You don’t claw at your body or anything around you. You don’t hack up a lung at breathing’s expense. You don’t throw things. You don’t scream.
For the first time in what seems like years, you gently open your eyes with no disturbance. Your mouth opens and your jaw gives a slight pop as you let out a deep yawn. Maneuvering yourself ever so slightly, you look at the clock. 11:30. Sunlight fills the room in a golden light, illuminating your white sheets.
Why does she insist on opening that stupid window?
With a loud groan, you lift yourself to your feet. The smell of your unclean body fills your nose. Walking over to the window, you put as much distance between your head and your body as possible. You shut the window. The sky is a monotonous light gray. The air feels cold, even with the window shut. The wind is blowing gently enough to not cause a major disturbance, yet strongly enough to blow back the leaves on the trees. Fallen leaves blow freely in the strong breeze. Oranges, light greens, reds, and yellows all blowing softly with nothing holding them back.
Cloudburst sometimes wonders why these are your favorite kinds of days.
Later…
The door closes with an audible SLAM! Your ears fall flat against your head as the noise catches you off guard. You didn’t mean to slam the door; the wind caught it.
Your hair is still a bit damp from your shower a few minutes ago, but that’s just another reason you’re out here now: to air dry. You’re wearing the same black jacket from yesterday, but you don’t bother with the hood. The wind feels nice against your wet hair. Your hands are in the pockets of the jacket. The watch on your right wrist beeps subtly, marking the passing of another hour. It is now afternoon. The soothing wind brushes your long hair to the side. You slowly close your eyes and lift your chin to the sky, letting the cool breeze ruffle the fur on your neck as you hum an old familiar tune.
All around me are familiar faces, Worn out places, Worn out faces…
Bright and early for the daily races, Going nowhere, Going nowhere…
The tears are filling up their glasses, No expression, No expression…
Hide my head; I wanna drown my sorrow, No tomorrow, No tomorrow…
And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take, When people run in circles, it’s a very, very…
Mad World.
This was the song. This was the song you sang to yourself in your imprisonment. Ten long months in that humid, hot, smelly, dark dungeon were spent singing this song (at least when you found the strength to speak, which was very rarely). This song reminded, and still reminds you, of how much your outlook on the world, and the world’s outlook on you, has changed. Everything seems duller, more monotonous. The people have grown sourer, even when none of them seemed to have changed a bit. The colors are muted. Music means nothing anymore, except your song. Clothes feel brittle and cold. Water feels thicker than blood. The very planet on which you tread feels harder and more unforgiving. You haven’t felt happiness, genuine, doesn’t-need-a-reason happiness in over ten months. You don’t have ‘those days.’ The days where you wake up on the right side of the bed and just feel good. You just feel like a void. An emotionless, lifeless, self-loathing void.
A sudden pressure is felt on your back, wrapping around your sides to your stomach. Someone is hugging you. And that someone is crying.
“Don’t do it,” the voice says to you, shakily and breathily, “Please don’t do it…”
“Cloudburst? What are you talking about?” you ask, not moving a muscle.
“Don’t say that,” she says, squeezing you tighter, “You know… I’ve seen it…”
“Seen what?”
“I’ve seen the signs…” she says, letting go of you. You turn around and face her. The expression on her face makes your heart drop. Her eyes are badly bloodshot. Her fur is in knots and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her ears are planted firmly to the top of her head. Her usually well-kept hair is tangled and messy. The bags under her eyes show that she either didn’t, or hardly slept at all last night. Her clothes seem to be thrown on, rather than put on.
“Y-You’re always… always by y-yourself,” she continues, still struggling to form a complete sentence, “You’re alw-ways sitting in your chair n-not moving an i-inch for hours on end… You’re o-out here by yourself again… singing ab-about dreaming of death… I kn-know what you’re thinking…”
Suddenly, it all fits together.
“Cloudburst,” you say, your eyes wide, “I… I wasn’t…” Slowly, she moves toward you and wraps her arms tightly around your neck.
“Please don’t do it… Y-You’re the only family I-I have left…” she lets it all out into your shoulder, crying and sobbing heavily. “Don’t leave me,” she repeats over and over. “Don’t leave me.”
Her words bite deep into your skin. It makes you think. What if you were to do what she feels so strongly over? What if you were to leave? To take your own life? What would the world be like? Besides Cloudburst or the princess, who would miss you? Who would come to your funeral? Who would put flowers on your grave?
You’ll find out when you find out. That day is no day soon.
“Cloudburst…” you whisper, rubbing your cousin’s back slowly, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Your watch beeps again, signaling the passing of the second hour of today’s afternoon. 3:00. Derpy and her daughter should be here any minute. Of course, you also have to take into account what a struggle it is getting out of school in a hurry. Bumping into people, watching your step, being careful not to trip over the littler ones…
Wait. She’s probably not as tall as you were.
Still, school gets out at three. Meaning the real time for this whole deal should’ve been something like three-fifteen, or three-thirty. Oh well, as long as she doesn’t skip out on you again…
…No… She was busy Sunday. She didn’t skip out on you…
Did she?
Taking a small bite of your donut, you continue to look out the window at the bustling street. You can see Sugarcube Corner a few blocks away. As always, a line of both kids and adults runs out the door. You overheard Donut Joe a few minutes ago talking to a customer about how good this is for business. Confused, the customer asked why. He responded with: “F’That place’s so busy all ‘e time, mo’ people won’t bodder widda line and come ta me.”
You’ve been sitting in this booth for about half an hour. Only in part to wait for Derpy and Dinky. The bigger reason was to think. To think about what Cloudburst said. That was the hardest you’ve ever seen her cry. Ever. It makes you think. She reacted so strongly to thinking you were going to take your life, even when the thought never crossed your mind. Hell, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your blood keeps you from it. It gives you a healing factor. That giant gash in your forehead from the other day? It’s already gone without a trace of it ever being there. It heals the wound quickly, but doubles the pain and makes it last longer. How Chrysalis made that happen, you’re not sure, but it worked. And it still works. Say, if you were shot by a gun. The wound would reseal in a matter of a day, but the burning and stinging would last a week.
The more serious the wound, the longer the pain lasts.
You lower your head into your folded arms on the table. The jacket you’re wearing warms your cheeks and neck. The bell on the door chimes twice. Someone has either entered or left the establishment. Peering up at the door, you see just the Pegasus you hoped to see. On Derpy’s shoulder hangs a small brown purse. She looks around a bit until her gaze falls upon you. Her lips rise into a smile and she waves to you. A smile graces your lips as well and you sit upright. Extending your arm a bit, you wave back. She looks behind her and whispers something. Then, you see her daughter step into view. She looks just like her mother, with three exceptions. Her coat isn’t so much gray, as it is a pale purple. In the stead of wings on her back, she has a tiny horn on her head. And her eyes point forward. She carries a small backpack with her. She wears a light blue t-shirt and jean shorts.
Sitting down across from you, Derpy greets you and looks to her daughter, who is staring wide-eyed at you.
“Say hello, Dinky,” says Derpy soothingly. The child simply stares at you. Looking at Derpy then to the girl, you extend your hand and introduce yourself. This time, Dinky quickly grabs your hand and admires it. She runs her soft, tiny hand gently over your palm as she quietly mutters to herself. Looking back to Derpy, you see that she’s as confused as you are.
“Ahem… Dinky,” she says sternly. The child is unmoved as she starts to lightly prod your knuckles. “Dinky Hooves. What did I tell you?” This time, Dinky looks up at her mother and then to you. As she realizes what she did, she smiles sheepishly and blushes immensely. With a nervous giggle, she sets your hand on the table. Derpy, with red cheeks, giggles as well. “I’m sorry. She acts like this when she’s interested in something. I think she likes you.” A smile spreads on your face.
“I was just… fascinated,” says the five year old, eyeing your hand again.
“In my hand?” you ask with a hint of sarcasm.
“No, silly. Hands aren’t interesting. It’s what’s on your hands.” Oh great. You probably have jelly or something all over you. Looking down at your hand, you see what she meant.
“…Ah…” you say as you look at a fair sized scar on your hand. A short period of silence follows. The sounds of the usual three-o-clock bustle can be heard from outside. Eventually, the silence is broken by Dinky.
“Mom, can we get something to eat now?” Derpy smiles as she stands.
“Sure. Want the usual?” The child nods vigorously in agreement. Derpy looks over at you. “Anything for you?” she asks. Flicking a single bit in the air, you give her the pay for a small chocolate milk if she’s offering. As she begins to walk to the counter, she turns back to you. “I’ll leave you two to bond,” she says with a large smile. When she reaches the line for the counter, which had grown a bit in the last few minutes, you turn to the child across from you, who is playing with her pale golden bangs.
“So,” you begin, leaning back into the cushion of the booth, “You like my scars, huh?”
“Yeah!” the child quickly responds, “Y’know, sir, in some cultures, especially Griffon cultures, scars are a sign of loyalty and trustworthiness. But not here, though. Here they just look cool. Anyway, I’m just dying for a milkshake right about now.”
…
Did that five-year-old just say that?
Has she been talking to that librarian?
“Er… Yeah…” is all you can come up with. Yeah. That five-year-old just said that.
“By the way, sir,” says, leaning forward, “How did you get them? Those scars there?”
“That, young lady,” you say, leaning forward, your forearms resting on the table, “Is a story for special friends and family only.”
“Yes sir,” she says, resting her head on the back of the booth. Suddenly, a loud gout of laughter comes from the line in front of the counter. About four male voices. Looking over at them, you see them recovering from their little fit. You can see the back of Derpy’s head in front of them. A short cough rattles your sore throat as you look to the right out the window. The streets of Ponyville are, as always, peaceful and quiet. Not too many things happen in this quaint little town. At least, not since you got home. Apparently, from what Cloudburst told you, a lot of shit went down here. You were a part of an escort in Cloudsdale when Nightmare Moon returned a year and a half ago. After she was defeated and Luna took her place once more by Celestia’s side as co-ruler, you were assigned to be her assistant, then to advisor. She needed assistance with modern technology and linguistics. She could speak the language just fine, but something had to be done about that ye olden tongue crap. Just as you were reassigned to your old squad a month and a half later, Chrysalis captured you.
As Cloudburst had told you, something major and incredible happened. Discord, the god of chaos and disharmony, had returned. He turned the Elements of Harmony against each other and seized control of Ponyville. He almost won, but was defeated once more.
“Sir?”
“Mm?” you mumble, snapped out of your thoughts once again.
“Do you space out like that a lot?”
Do you?
“Yeah. Now that I think about it.”
Huh.
“It’s fine,” replies Dinky, “I space out sometimes too.”
“Do you now?” you ask, resting your chin on your fist. She doesn’t answer. She seems to be staring straight into the eyes of oblivion. Her posture becomes all but straightened out. Her face is the definition of expressionless. You say her name in the hopes of bringing her back to reality, but it’s in vain. Suddenly, another figure sits down next to the child. Looking up, you see that Derpy has returned.
“Here’s your milk,” she says, handing you a small cup. You thank her. As you go to take a sip, something falls into your lap. Looking down, you see a single golden bit. As you look back up, you see a smile form on Derpy’s face. “My treat.” You chuckle slightly.
“Thanks,” you say, tilting the cup to her. As the Styrofoam cup touches your lips, you move the coin around in your hand. As Derpy takes a sip of her drink, you flick the coin to the other seat under the table. With a quiet leathery thump, the coin lands in her purse. Your smile widens ever so slightly.
“Oh!” Derpy says, setting her drink down. “I almost forgot! Here’s the usual, Dinky—” She looks to her daughter who still looks paralyzed by nothing. A long sigh escapes Derpy’s lips. “She spaced out again, didn’t she?”
“Right before you came back,” you say, examining the child.
“Then she’ll be back in a few minutes,” says Derpy with a chuckle.
“This sort of thing happens a lot?”
“More than you’d think. The longest she’s gone like this was an hour.”
“Man. So… What’s new?”
Derpy tells you that the post office is looking for Earth ponies to carry heavy loads of mail for extremely long distances, a feat that the Pegasi in the office can’t do. This gets you to think again. You used to be a royal guard. That meant vigorous training in both air and on land. You may not look it, but you could carry heavy loads with ease. Not only that, but you’re pretty familiar with the way paper jobs and the mail system work, as you used to work with the princess’s top secret and not-so-top secret documents. When you started serving Luna, she told you that you had a pretty good eye for this sort of thing. That, and sometimes Luna would have you run errands, and said you were the fastest and most skilled she’d ever seen in her presence. With a blush, you responded by telling her she was making you think you were a Mary-Sue. She asked what you meant, and you explained it to her. Thus she moved you from errand-colt to advisor.
“So,” you say, breaking the short period of silence, “Anyone applied yet?”
“No,” Derpy says with a shake of her head, “The ad for it says the weight of most of the loads, and that usually scares people off.”
“How much?”
“Lowest is around twenty pounds, and the highest is around a hundred or more.”
Seriously? That scared some stallions off? Earth stallions no less? What are they? Fillies with their tails planted firmly between their legs? You had to lug around a hundred and fifty pounds of armor around daily! Including the fifty pound shield and sword! And you were a Pegasus!
A snort followed by a snicker is your answer. “Where do I sign up?”
“…OH, THE PHONE NUMBER!!!” exclaims a frightened looking Dinky Doo. “…What? Where…? Oh. I’m still here. Good… That’s good… Ooh! Milkshake!” She then proceeds to gulp down her vanilla milkshake, the cherry included (which somehow fits through the straw).
You and Derpy both look on in confusion as the most content of smiles graces the five-year-old’s face.
With a quiet grunt, you heave the heavy metal bar upwards. It seems that in the past ten months, you had grown a tad flabby in the arms from hardly moving. As stated before, Chrysalis’s hunger spell kept you alive. You didn’t lose a single pound, but it certainly felt like the contrary. In fact, when you weighed yourself when you got home yesterday, you had gained a few pounds. Back in the royal guard, you could lift seventy pounds with ease. Now it’s a strain to lift fifty-five.
When you and Derpy parted ways yesterday, she told you she’d tell her boss about you. The post office had apparently been looking for a new Earth pony for a while now. The local farmer Big Macintosh was asked to help out, but he simply had too much work to attend to.
A stinging bead of sweat rolls slowly into your right eye. Now completely blinded, you let out an inaudible squeal. You sit up after you place the dumbbell on the rack above you and rub your eye. After the pain goes away and reopening your eye becomes possible again, you jerk your head to the right. The sounds of popping bones become audible, and your neck and upper spine suddenly become a whole lot more flexible. With a sigh, you lie back down and lift the weighted bar. As you grit your teeth and lower the bar to your chest, you start to think again. But this time, you think of something a little more comforting than Cloudburst or job interviews.
Children waiting for the day they feel good, Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday…
And I feel the way that every child should. Sit and listen. Sit and listen…
Went to school and I was very nervous. No one knew me. No one knew me…
Hello, Teacher, tell me, what’s my lesson? Look right through me. Look right through me…
“Hey.”
The voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Huh. You really do space out a lot. Setting the dumbbell on the rack, you sit up and look at the stallion talking to you. You see that it’s the manager of the gym. “Closin’ time, bub.” With a slightly confused expression, you look up at the clock. 6:00. Whoa, wasn’t it 5:30, like, five minutes ago? As the passage of time becomes more and more real to you, your muscles start to ache more and more.
Later…
You stare up at the white ceiling. The two rice bags on your arms have grown cold and your arms are about to fall off. In your absence from time, your body subconsciously pumped iron for you. How your muscles aren’t shredded down to your bones is still unknown to you. The sound of the heater fills the house.
“Wake up.”
“…”
“I said WAKE UP, maggot!”
“GAH!”
“There. All better. How's your back, sweetie?”
“…”
“Oh, whatever. Now, let’s start the day. We’re going to the market in a bit.”
“…”
“C’mon, wake up, lazy-face. Hoo… My, it’s stuffy in here.”
“Nng…” The room fills with light suddenly and a cool breeze flows in. Your stone bed feels much softer. And suddenly, you realize you’ve woken up. Opening your eyes ever so slightly, you see Cloudburst at your window, staring out into the town. Slowly, she speaks your name and looks back at you. You ask what’s wrong.
“You bastard.”
“Excuse me?” You are now awake in full. Did Cloudburst just call you a bastard?
“I just found THIS in your study!” she exclaims, waving a pink sheet of paper in front of your face. You sit up and take the sheet, which you see is your invitation to Armor and Cadence’s wedding. Reading a smaller print under the giant cursive heading, you see that the invitee may bring up to and not exceeding three guests.
Huh. Never saw that before.
“You never thought to tell me about this?” she exclaims with the slightest hint of a smirk.
“I was going to. I just completely forgot about it,” you say, sliding the covers off and standing up. Suddenly, Cloudburst starts to cough. It sounds like one of your coughs. Her hacking fit lasts a full two and a half minutes before she settles down. Your hand on her back, you ask her if she’s alright.
“Yeah,” she says in a gravelly voice, “I’ve… I’ve been getting signs of a cold for a while now.” She clears her throat and sniffles. You ask her if she’s sure. She responds with ‘Of course.’ All you can do is stare at her. Now that you think about it, her fur is rather matted as of late. Of course, that could just be due to all the recent life stresses. With a tiny smile that looks to be forced, she pats your broad chest a couple times and walks a few steps away. “You’re lucky the wedding is three months away and not too soon for me not to prepare. Otherwise you’d be in a LOT of trouble,” she says, nearly growling. She bares her teeth to you in a sinister smile, and it seems she’s sprouted a pair of fangs. With a sheepish smirk, you nod. Her smile becomes less frightening, but still intimidating nonetheless. She walks out of the room, but not before telling you to take a shower. You raise your arm and sniff your pit.
Oh… She ain’t kidding.
Later…
Most stallions your age wouldn’t have to do this. Most stallions your age wouldn’t have to carry their cousin’s bags for them. Most stallions don’t have Cloudburst as a cousin. Honestly, if she could shop any more than she does, she’d give the tailor a run for her money. Literally. Three overstuffed bags in one hand, a variety of blankets and pillows in the other. Oh well. A little heavy lifting never hurt anyone.
Well, except you. Yesterday.
Cloudburst continues to ramble to herself whilst checking her list over and over, a short cough worming its way into her speech a few times. A cold can’t be the only thing making her cough. You’ve seen her sick. Her coughs aren’t like yours. She has little petite coughs, even when nearly-deathly ill a few years ago. Her coughing was quiet. But now she’s barking and hacking as bad as you do. Not just in your room a few hours ago, but in the living room, the bathroom, and on the walk here to the marketplace. Something’s up.
A loud crash sounds out behind you. Jumping a foot and spinning around, you see what caused the crash. Someone- a Pegasus- has flown headfirst into a blue mailbox. Only her legs are sticking out.
That fur color is familiar. So is that of the hair on her tail.
“Derpy?” Your acquaintance worms her way out of the box and stands up straight. She adjusts her mailbag and waves to the crowd.
“Sorry!” she exclaims with a sheepish grin, a slight blush on her face. The passersby nod, some smile and chuckle, others give a little wave. They’re not asking if she’s alright?! She just flew (and pretty quickly to put a dent in the firm metal box) headfirst into a mailbox! She could have serious mental trauma! A concussion! She can’t be just fine!
“Derpy! Are you okay?!” you shout, stopping in front of her. She turns around and her expression switches a full 180. She looks absolutely mortified.
“O-Oh! It’s you! I… I didn’t expect to see you in town…ever… Y-You didn’t see that… did you?”
“I didn’t see it, but I heard it. It was only a few feet away. Are you… alright?” you ask, looking down at her torso and arms, checking for any signs of harm.
“I’m fine…” she says with an intense blush on her face. “Oh, this is so embarrassing!”
Didn’t she just dismiss it to an entire crowd of people? Why is it embarrassing that you saw it?
“Er… Seriously, though. No headaches? Distorted vision? Ringing in the ears?” you ask, nodding toward the slight bump on her head.
“Not at all. Wow… You… really care, don’t you?” she asks you, her hands now behind her back.
“I tend to care about people who just smashed headfirst into a big metal box, yes. How are you just passing this off as nothing?”
She lets out a long sigh. “I… Oh! Look at the time! Gotta deliver the mail! See ya later!” And with that she flies off.
