Soft Plaster
“Stop number six,” called the driver over the intercom. “Downtown Ponyville.”
Maud reflexively adjusted the collar on her frock as she boarded the bus.
“Good morning!” The driver chirped to her.
“Sure.”
Maud cringed internally at her torpid reply. She tried to follow up with a ‘good morning’ of her own, but all that came out was “how far to Rockville?”
The bus driver scratched his beard thoughtfully.
“I’d say six stops from here. Seven, if ya count the Hollow Shades public rest area.”
Say thank you. Maud urged herself. Say it.
“Will this cover my fare?” Maud produced a hoofull of Bits from her belt.
The driver was deflating under Maud's march of blasé responses. “That’ll cover your trip and then some,” he murmured.
Let him keep the change. If you’re not going to be polite, let him keep the change. And actually tell him to, don’t just dump the Bits in the cup and walk away.
Maud stared into the driver’s aged, wrinkle-ringed eyes. He stared back into her glazed ones.
I’m begging you.
There was no outward sign of Maud’s struggle.
“Keep the change.”
“Eh?” The driver's face brightened when the robotic onboarder’s words finally registered. “Oh. Oh! Yes. Very kind of you, young lady. Yes.”
Maud was still lingering in the bus's entryway, an unblinking bother for the confused old stallion.
Just sit down already.
Maud sat. Her face and voice never obeyed her, but occasionally the rest of her did. Shoulders on the backrest of a seat far away as possible from the sprinkling of other passengers, Maud wanted to cover her face with her hooves and scream. Or laugh. Or cry. Just do something a normal pony would do when they needed to vent frustration. But instead she stared ahead.
Maud didn’t know why she was always like this.
She prompted her foreleg to reach into her lapel pocket. It did, and after some rummaging, produced her pet rock. Maud’s rictus frown didn’t change as she held Boulder motionless in her hoof, but just looking at him was slowly replacing her self-pity with numbing calm. Boulder was made of peridotite, the densest mineral of which a common rock his size could be comprised. Despite the considerable weight his composition gave him, Maud could handle Boulder with ease. Years of doing so had formed a smooth, dark polish on his once green exterior. Slowly, Maud brought Boulder up and held him close to her chest.
You’re made of peridotite too, Maud. A featureless nopony on the outside, but weighty, complex and green on the inside. And even if other ponies can’t see you trapped inside yourself, you’re still in there. You’re still you.
This was why Maud liked rocks. They were heavy enough to keep her anchored.
She wanted to thank Boulder for being endlessly tolerant whenever she got discouraged like this. For giving her something to hold onto while she feebly kicked against the granite walls that lined her own mind. Maud wanted to lean down and kiss him.
But her posture remained straight. No kissing occurred.
In the same manner as the bus driver, Boulder would shrug off Maud’s reservedness, not knowing what she felt or how much she cared. Maud put Boulder away, back snug in her lapel pocket. She hoped she hadn’t taken up too much of his time.
“Stop number seven, Uptown Ponyville.”
Stop number seven. Five stops to go until Maud was back at the family rock farm. No wait, six more. There was the public rest area that the driver had mentioned. Six until her destination. Six, six... Maud hoped she could tolerate being alone with her thoughts until then.
A half zebra wearing a suit and satchel boarded the bus. He gave the driver a cordial greeting with an easiness that Maud envied, then began walking down the aisle. He got closer and Maud reflexively adjusted the collar of her frock. A lifetime of being unreadable to other ponies had sharpened her ability to read them in return: the “Maud Sense,” as her family called it. And right now it told her the half zebra was going to sit and chat with her.
You poor, naïve stranger, she thought. The bus chugged forward as the newcomer slid into a seat across the aisle.
“Good morning!”
“Sure.”
The half zebra pursed his lips at Maud’s ostensibly bored tone, but continued.
“I like your dress.”
It endlessly distressed Maud how often her frock became a conversation starter. Partially due to the blight it hid, but more because every time someone complimented it, she failed to respond with a ‘thank you’ and instead said-
“It’s a frock.”
Right on cue. You’re more uniform than a layer of slate, aren't you?
The half zebra surprised Maud by becoming more animated by her response, not less.
“It is a frock!” he exalted. “My eye is usually much keener with these sort of things. Some tailor I am, eh?” He hitched up his coattails to present his Cutie Mark: a coat rack adorned with a hat. “Haberdash is my name. I mostly specialize in formal wear, but frocks still fall into my knowledge as up until some decades ago they were worn by fops and everyday folk alike. Anyway, I noticed you’re the only other clothed pony on the bus; are you a seamstress?”
“I'm not.”
Maud hated this. And she hated that she hated this. The friendly half-zebra’s prattling did indeed interest her. The passions of others always did. She wanted to hear his warm voice keep talking, keep treating her like she wasn't made of stone. But the ball was in Maud's ill-equipped court now. She wondered how long she could stave off launching into a pedantic, mineral-themed monologue.
Baby steps. Tell him ‘My special talent is rocks.’
“My special talent is rocks.”
I’ve been living in Ponyville while researching my geology thesis.
“I’ve been living in Ponyville while researching my geology thesis.”
So what brought you to Ponyville, Mr Haberdash?
“The carbon samples from the Everfree cave stalagmites near here date even earlier than the oldest gastroliths in the Canterlot history museum…”
Oh for the love of… shut up, you bore. Just shut up already.
“...which means the fossils beneath them are pre-Crystal Empire. There’s also basalt veins, meaning extinct volcanic activity used to-“
Shut! Up!
Maud’s breath left her muzzle and her mouth finally sealed. She peered pleadingly out of her lusterless eyes at the half-zebra.
Haberdash was frowning. Of course he was.
“Can’t say I got much of that, even with as slow and articulate as you said it.” He gave an inviting chuckle, and as hard as Maud strained to return one of her own, she remained statuesque and silent. I laughed with you on the inside, Mr Haberdash. Honest. Please don’t think less of me.
“I talk about rocks.” Maud slothfully declared.
She was trying to explain, to be apologetic and open about her neurosis. But the flat tone of her voice only made her sound contemptuous.
“I always talk about rocks.”
“Mm-hm.” Haberdash wasn’t looking her in the eye anymore. “Well... I’m studying abroad like you are, though it’s more social work than research. Little exercises where I converse with ponies about their outfits. But I, um... I understand now you dress for practical reasons, not for fashion. I was mistaken. Sorry for any inconvenience.”
“Stop number eight, Baltimare suburbs.”
Not as sorry as I am, Mr Haberdash.
When the bus braked to a halt, the half-zebra relocated to a seat nearer to the other passengers. Maud didn’t blame him. Why sit by the nopony made of peridotite when you could sit by real ponies made of flesh and blood?
The bus doors opened with a hiss. Maud shut her eyes and laid her head against the backrest. Maybe if she pretended she was asleep, the oncoming passengers would give her a wide berth.
He said stop number eight.
There was an audible thump as somepony stepped on.
Eight of twelve.
Bits clinked into bus coffer and hoofsteps pranced down the bus aisle.
Four more stops and a rest area to go. Then you’re home. A nopony out of the way of all the someponies.
The prancing hoofsteps passed by to the back of the bus. As they did, Maud heard muffled techno music. There was even a bass line that thumped in synch with the pace of whoever it was still trotting. Curious, Maud opened her eyes and peered behind at the new passenger.
A two-toned blue mane and tail grooved happily to something funky on a massive walkmare headphones. The white unicorn to whom they were attached continued to toss her head back and forth with a rhythm so lively that Maud didn’t know how the unicorn’s sunglasses hadn’t been pitched off yet.
The unicorn reached the farthest seat, reared up, and spun deftly on her pasterns just as the bus resumed forward motion. The sudden lurch almost made Maud lose her balance, but the only effect it had on the unicorn was to nudge her backwards so she could drape across the row of seats she’d claimed. There she lay like a parody of some carefree empress reclining on a couch. The only thing she lacked was a bowl of grapes.
Haberdash, a few rows away, raised an eyebrow at the colorful interloper. Then after a moment he lost interest and returned to the fashion magazine he’d produced from his bag.
Maud meanwhile, stayed staring. The unicorn looked familiar, though Maud had no idea when she and the diva had been in the same room before. Maud wasn’t a socialite, and the white unicorn definitely wasn’t a rock farmer. Those two spheres of life had no overlap. And yet, the ‘Maud Sense’ was tingling at the base of her ears. She definitely knew this pony. Was she looking at one of Pinkie Pie’s friends?
Dumb question. Every third pony you pass on the street is one of Pinkie Pie’s friends.
Maud screened her memory like an Appleloosa prospector screened dirty streams for gold. None of Maud’s graduate school classes had included a white unicorn classmate. Nor her undergrad studies courses before that. Nor her high school days before those…
The bus hit a bump, causing Maud to bounce in her seat. She recovered without issue, but the reclining unicorn was whiplashed hard enough to finally dislodge her sunglasses. Smiling impishly at the inconvenience, the unicorn fetched her shades from the floor, wiping them clean with her chest fluff. As she did, Maud saw the mystery horse’s eyes had bright red irises. The unicorn wasn’t just white; she was albino.
By the fossils of Seaquestria, is that Vinyl Scratch??
Maud had never spoken that name in her life, and she hadn't thought it in at least a decade. She had certainly never forgotten though: Vinyl Scratch had gone to the same middle school as her. Specifically, the massive, cross-district building that doubled as the school board's dumping ground for every sixth grader in a twenty furlong radius. That was how Maud had seen such an alien pony with any regularity. Thinking back, Maud’s sixth grade class was more crowded and diverse than any fine-grain gravel mixture Maud had yet sifted through, and Maud had sifted through a lot of fine-grain gravel mixtures.
Still draped across the row of staked-out seats, Vinyl Scratch yawned and itched her stomach.
It was the dyed blue hair that had thrown Maud off. Back in the day, Vinyl’s mane and tail were whiter than the body fur they accompanied. In a class of brightly colored coats, Vinyl had stuck out sorely as the only albino student. She also sat in the front row of every class to compensate for her condition's poor eyesight. This meant when preteen Maud often zoned out during lecture, she stared at the back of Vinyl’s colorless head. Now grown up, Maud was back to staring, but at Vinyl’s face now. And instead of old boredom she felt new amazement at how much the unicorn had changed. The dyed hair. The prescription sunglasses. Even that perpetual cheshire smile was different, having swapped youthful spunkiness for cool, mature confidence. The unicorn had certainly made a mare of herself.
Maud still looked and dressed exactly the same as she had back then. Simply shorten her legs, and present-day Maud would match her yearbook photo from that grade. Ever-present frock included.
Vinyl’s lips were moving. No doubt following the lyrics to whatever song was blaring through her headphones. Either Maud was too far away to hear, or Vinyl was mouthing the words while not actually singing. Probably the latter. Even more than Vinyl’s chalky completion and chill girl demeanor, the burning reason Maud remembered the unicorn was because nopony in school heard her speak a word.
Ever.
During the one year in which their lives overlapped, Maud never once saw Vinyl Scratch raise a hoof to answer a question, nor get called on by a teacher, nor chat with other students in the lunchroom. Even during morning roll call, (which was the only reason Maud even knew the unicorn’s name), when a teacher or sub called out “Vinyl Scratch,” the response was a wave or occasionally a clicking noise accompanied by a nod. And clicking didn’t count as speaking.
Even back then, Maud's aphasic face and voice had weighed like a sandbag on her friendless shoulders. So she’d been endlessly fascinated by a peer who was chipper, silent, and eternally in-control. Maud wondered if Vinyl’s apparent vow of silence was still in effect.
Talk to her. Find out.
Maud didn’t move from her seat. She’d already flubbed her conversation with the bus driver and the one immediately afterwards with Haberdash. Why go for three?
Because maybe she remembers you too.
All the more reason not to approach. Maud was awkward and uncharismatic in middle school, just like she was now. If a cool cat like Vinyl Scratch had any memories of Maud, they wouldn’t be flattering ones.
You’re a talc-spined coward, Maud Pie. Are you going to keep pretending your lifeless pet pebble is the only friend you need to be happy for the rest of your life?
Now that was just unfair; Maud had real friends. There was Pinkie... (Family doesn’t count.) Mudbriar... (Technically, he’s your coltfriend.) Starlight... (Bonding with her was a freak accident, and you know it.)
The internal struggle wasn’t visible on Maud’s face. Why? Gods above and below, why did Maud have to be stone on the outside but churning, restless lava on the inside? Why couldn’t she just be uniform hot or cold all the way through?
Sixth grade had been the loneliest year of Maud’s life. As hopeful as she was that a talk with Vinyl Scratch would lead to shared laughs about old struggles to fit in, she knew it was far more likely she’d end up droning on about riverbank silt dispersion while Vinyl stared mutely back.
And yet... if Maud did go over there, if Maud did succeed in holding down a conversation she initiated on her own, it would be proof of something. Proof she had grown into her reticence. Unless Vinyl Scratch was ridiculously rich and successful now, Maud had no reason to feel intimidated. A talk between the two misfit mares might even (Maud barely dared to hope) lead to a new friendship.
“Stop number nine, Hollow Shades uptown district.”
This time, Maud was ready for the bus to lurch. She broke off staring at Vinyl Scratch and sat back down to avoid being thrown from her seat. After the brakes eased and the doors hissed open, Maud turned around again. She was still chiseling away at a plan to approaching that pony she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. But there was a very real possibility that Vinyl would disembark from the bus right now and be gone again. This time forever.
Fortunately, this fascinating fossil from Maud’s past made no move to sit up and leave its chosen row of seats. In fact, the Maud Sense asserted that Vinyl Scratch was settled in for a very long trip, with her back sunken deep into the cushions and her head bobbing slowly to whatever new song those headphones were playing right now. Probably a slow ballad, since the unicorn looked half-asleep.
Maud had time to convalesce her courage.
She allowed her thoughts of the unicorn to settle like sediment for now. Maybe Maud would try calming her molten mind by thinking about something else. Literally anything else. She had four stops left, after all.
“Is Seaward Shoals anywhere on this route?”
The questioner was a matronly-looking donkey (Jenny, Maud reminded herself. A female donkey is called a ‘jenny’) entering at the front of the bus.
“Sure is ma’am,” came the driver’s reply. “Stop number eleven is the Seaward Shoals coastline. Oughta be there at the top of the hour.”
A young foal, presumably the old jenny’s grandson, brayed in excitement. She hushed him and produced their fare from her purse.
Seaward Shoals. Maud remembered when her own family used to take vacations there. Okay, they weren’t vacations, they were deliveries. And it was never the whole family; her mother and father would stay behind at the farm with the twins while Maud and Limestone carted a shipment of sandbags. Seaward Shoals was a port town with the same hurricane season as any other. Floodwater barriers didn’t build themselves, after all.
Still, it was a vacation in spirit. Maud looked forward to it every year. Seaward Shoals’s residents were always relieved to see the shipment arrive, so much that they remained welcoming and contagiously civil even when dealing with Maud’s listlessness and Limestone’s dour aggression.
Speaking of Limestone, one of the few things that reliably lifted the spirits of Maud’s loutish, work-hardened elder sister was getting paid for a job well done. Maud always made sure to be standing nearby when the mayor counted out their reward from the treasury’s coffers. Seeing Limestone’s expression of genuine calm at the money was, in Maud’s mind, the most beautiful reward of their pilgrimage.
The first year of the delivery, Maud had been so privately exhausted by the trek she'd suggested resting their legs overnight. Maud expected Limestone to reject the idea via a profanity-laced tirade about how “bottomless work ethic is the only thing the Pie family has to hang our hats on” and / or “damn you to Tartarus for even thinking of wiping your hooves on our integrity.”
But, to Maud’s unexpressed delight, Limestone's atypically good mood left her open to the idea. Thus began the annual tradition: four days to cart down the sandbags, one day to relax, and four days afterwards of dragging the emptied cart back home.
Limestone did attach an ultimatum however. If Maud ever snitched to the folks about this annual day of slacking, Limestone would beat Maud thoroughly enough to "leave your brain as catatonic as your body."
Threat of violence notwithstanding, Maud was overjoyed to hear Limestone confirm she saw a living, feeling pony under her sister's "catatonic" shell. Most ponies didn't.
Maud always spent her day of vacation alone, at the reef outside of town. There she found humble entertainment digging in the sand, collecting bits of sea glass, and eventually (once she plucked up the courage to disrobe) swimming in the waves. For obvious reasons, Maud wasn’t normally a swimmer. She'd only taught herself to dog paddle because her spelunking sessions sometimes turned watery. Still, accepting the free, open embrace of the ocean was surprisingly easy. Certainly easier than braving the waters of cold, claustrophobic cave tunnels.
Seaward Shoals was a curious place. One where Limestone could loosen up while Maud managed to let light in the cracks of her exterior, even if it was only once a year. Maud could even forget the fear of someone seeing her right half, since the native residents had no reason to visit the desolate reef and Limestone preferred to spend her own evening tossing back bottles at the downtown bars. Sure, for those first few years Limestone wasn’t quite at legal drinking age, but none of the Seaward Shoals tavern keepers needed to know that.
Only once did somepony stumble upon Maud swimming. Mercifully, that somepony was Limestone.
The sun had set. Maud was floating on her back, looking up at the moon and wondering what type of rock it was made of. That was when she heard drunken giggling coming from the shore behind her. A few seconds later, her sister’s voice slurred a question to some unseen stallion.
“You’re suuure nopony will hear us out here? Cuz fair warning, I’m a huffer and puffer once I get going. Hahahahaha! Choo choo!”
Maud's mind was panicking for several seconds before the rest of her cared to catch up. And even then, all she managed to do was submerge in the dark water up to her nose. Maud had reached to reflexively adjust the collar of her frock, but of course there was nothing there. Her shame was exposed, and she couldn’t cover it with her forelegs because a portion of her shame was one of her forelegs. Maud opted for curling up as small as possible.
This beach was supposed to be her sanctuary. Her piece of the map where nopony was around to be put off by how she acted. How she talked. How she looked…
Bobbing like pumice and wishing that was what she was, Maud witnessed Limestone flop over the top of the reef. The eldest Pie was still laughing at her own inebriated vulgarity while the moonlight caught her platinum blonde mane, turning it luminous. With a few final sputters to get the giggles completely out, Limestone raised her head and surveyed her surroundings with a boorish, absentminded grin. It was replaced by a frown when she saw her little sister’s unmistakable frock lovingly folded up and tucked between two mangrove branches. Limestone scanned the rocky beach until her eyes settled on Maud, barely poking out of the shallows.
And she understood. Even heavily hazy from alcohol and lust, Limestone saw past Maud’s passionless expression, she remembered Maud’s... condition… and she understood this awful intrusion.
“Uh… there’s um, a sea turtle nest or something on the beach,” she called behind her. “Maybe we stick to this side of the thingy.” Linestone tapped to indicate the reef and listened to the stallion say something Maud couldn’t hear.
“Wha-? No, you can’t see it!” She disappeared back over the bluff and out of Maud’s sight. “You can’t just creep on animals like that. It’s bad enough I poked over. Just… forget it. And c'mere, you wad. I’ve been waiting all night for this.”
No matter how cold it got, Maud spent the next Celestia-knows-how-many minutes with her ears plugged and submerged. But even that couldn't completely drown out her sister’s so-called “huffing and puffing.”
At the time, Maud had just been scared and disgusted. In the elapsing years, the memory calcified into a lump of brittle jealousy that wasn’t dislodged until she met Mudbriar. Predictably, Maud’s teen years had been bereft of coltfriends.
The huffing and puffing took forever to end. Maud waited an indeterminate length of time to give sister and stud the chance to either leave the beachfront or fall asleep under the stars. Eventually, after Maud's stoniness was broken by her teeth starting to chatter, she left the frigid water. Alone and shivering, she slogged across the beach and wrapped her frock around herself.
The sisters never acknowledged that evening to each other. Not the next day, nor any day after. Limestone clearly didn't forget it though, because at the following Hearth's Warming, (to the rest of the family's befuddlement), Limestone’s gift to Maud was a full-body wetsuit. It was a long-sleeved marvel that covered everything.
For once, Maud had been grateful she was a slave to her own stoicism. If she had burst into tears of joy while sitting there, under the tree in her flannel jammies, Pinkie would have snapped a picture and make it the embarrassing cover photo for that year’s Seasons Greetings card.
Maud took to storing the wetsuit under the planks that lined the family wagon. That way she never forgot when it came time for her and Limestone to cart another sandbag shipment to Seaward Shoals, and she always had it for when she returned to the reef.
“Stop number ten, Hollow Shades rest area.”
Maud almost flinched. Almost. Instead she pulled her head off the window she’d leaned up against. Then prompted one of her hooves to massage her cramped neck. Having poor reception between her mind and body, that was an inescapable fact of life for Maud Pie. Having poor reception between her mind and her surroundings however, wasn’t normal.
Daydreaming was a useless habit Maud thought she’d kicked years ago. She hadn’t spaced out like that since those dull lectures in middle school. The ones when she had the back of Vinyl Scratch’s head to stare into. Was being near an old peer causing Maud to regress? She hoped not.
Maud surveyed the bus, taking stock of what she’d missed. Vinyl Scratch was still here, though now she was sitting up with her headphones around her neck. Haberdash the half zebra had returned his magazine to his satchel. The Seaward Shoals-bound jenny and grandson were already standing and moving up the aisle towards Maud.
Rest area.
The driver’s words finally registered to Maud. She wasn’t thirsty, nor did she need to pee, but some fresh air sounded good. Maud felt like she’d been riding the bus for ten lifetimes, even though it was barely mid-afternoon. A few minutes of kicking rocks might quiet her thoughts enough to where she could approach Vinyl Scratch and say something coherent.
Emphasis on ‘might.’