> Contagious Contentment
>  by Jicho
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Annoying Acquaintance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Project log. Entry 1-1. Arrival day. On site at 5 hundred hours. Quarters settled by 7 hundred. Initial Area sweep matches details. No events or deviations to note.” The stallion pushed his glasses up his snout. He rubbed his forehead and turned away from the screen to clear his throat. “Procured sample for examination. See entry 1-2.” He paused and leaned closer to the laptop. “OK, please transcribe.”

The laptop sat for a second before picking up on the voice command. He checked to see if the OS avatar helper reactivated itself like it tended to after updates, but no pop-ups or audio responses ensued. The pegasus blinked, nodding to himself once. The clutter got in the way of efficiency, and furthermore, this was a library. He knew his voice was quiet, subdued yet discrete enough to justify using it instead of the noisy keyboard.

It helped that he was the library’s lone visitor. Old Town network complications meant his room had no connection until tomorrow. The only other pony around was the deskmare, who was likely asleep – he knew it had been over fifteen minutes since the last chair creak. The loud, old strobe lamps and the noisy desk fan ensured he couldn’t have awoken her. This allowed him to work in peace. Arguably, he would continue coming here in the weeks to come. He insisted on noise muffling for his room, but he picked backup plans in advance.

The stallion placed a plastic box on the table. He procured a set of gloves from a pocket, which nearly blended in with his beige coat. Carefully removing the seals and placing the lid in its own assorted plastic bag, he lined up the contents on a felt blanket. Several chunks of dense, rocky black substance, each in its own little bag, each with a set of acronyms and numbers recently written on it.

He spent the next hour examining each. He meticulously chipped out tiny samples and exposed to several basic stimuli from another magical tool, before being put in a purification set. The pegasus gave each rock a thorough visual examination with his own eyes, leaving reference figures and sketches in his notebook.  Each molecular matter approximation taken with a magical stylus device was written down on paper, so it could be re-verified on a weekly basis.  Eight out of fourteen rocks were ordinary Everfree speciments – fossilized tar, dessicated swamp blobs and generational basilisk waste. As each was taken from a different sector of the Area, they acted as the control group in case better samples weren’t found.

The remaining six produced varying anomalies when exposed to stimuli. Pitch black, jagged crystals with an irregular density and sharpness. Once intensely magical, according to the analysis pen. The stallion wrote down a set of hypotheses down, each accompanied with a sketch and a prognosis diagram for later reference. He filled in the full page before stretching out the laptop’s scanner extension.

The pegasus paused, looking at the biggest black crystal in particular. His lips twitched slightly. He took it in his hands and squinted, taking another 5 minutes of rarely blinking.

“Hrrrg…” the stallion gritted his teeth. He let out a loud breath and put the rock down to wipe his glasses. He shook his head, several spinach green hairs loosening from his mane and hanging over his face. The stallion swallowed another growl and shook his head, retrieving an electronic magnifying device from his tool pocket.

After another extra half hour of using the equipment that was created to do his very job, he updated his sketches and references. Reading through the results, he curled his lip momentarily.

“No, too biased…” the stallion sighed. He scratched his chin, the subtle crinkling of stubble perhaps the loudest sound he’d made in hours. The pegasus tucked in his wings, packed up his equipment, and left the library.

Ten minutes later, he was back. He began to set the operation back up, having made sure the library was still vacant. He made sure to occasionally stop and take a bite out of the cupcake he got at the hotel café, or to sip at the juice. They didn’t serve many greens in the Old Town. Regardless, he was told to stop forgetting to eat. Beyond the psych advice, it likely affected his judgment.

He got to the big rock in question. The pegasus’ wingtips furrowed up as he glared at it. His ears flicked in frustration. It was like he wanted something to be wrong with it. He almost thought it emitted a soft flicker of green when out of visual focus, when in reality it simply reflected his mane in bright lighting conditions. His gut told him this sample had to do with the Area’s anomaly. Gut feelings annoyed him. They were unquantifiable and inserted confirmation bias into work.

After another silent, deep breath, he took another measured bite from the cupcake. His ears folded back as he watched the crumbs land on the table right next to the sample. He hurt his gums gritting his teeth as he saw the sample’s bag wasn’t fully sealed. It took quick sweeping and very measured breathing to keep pink from flushing to his face. He was so embarrassed that it felt like lightning coursed through his entire body. His wings stood at attention, almost like how they did when an offensive spell charge went off. His cutiemark tingled.

“Hiya there!” a loud, high-pitched feminine voice piped up from behind. His pupils shrunk and his ears stood at attention, his hand instinctively reaching for his belt. “Whatcha doin’?”

“…” the stallion suppressed a groan. He was too affected and didn’t notice someone come into the library. He was too sure of how quiet it was. “Finishing up on work.”

“Cooooool!” The voice’s owner stomped over to where he sat, leaning over the back of the sofa. Earth mare in her mid-20s, either a dancer or a light athlete, tall and slightly overweight. “I dunno why’dcha study rocks in a library? My sister Maud, she just studies rocks wherever she finds ‘em!”

“That’s very nice.”

He turned around. All correct. Bright pink mare in a loose, old-fashioned T-shirt, and short pants. Enormous, cotton candy-like mane of a deeper pink hue, with messy loose strands sticking out in all directions. The mare tapped her foot compulsively, her head bobbing back and forth ever so subtly to some internal rhythm. That was likely the only reason she could see, as it moved the mane from her sky blue eyes. She sucked on a lollipop with little subtlety, further shocking the stallion.

“Yeah, she’s great! And by extension, that means you must be pretty great too!” The pink mare gave him a wink and extended a hand. There was a prevalent, faint layer of perspiration. Unsurprising, considering nearly every part of her was constantly in motion. “I’m Pinkie Pie! Now whatsername?”

He regained his composure, proceeding with the usual protocol for social interaction.

“Beryl. Pleased to make acquaintance.” The pegasus nodded. He made a mental mark of where he left off in fixing his notebook. He placed everything where it belonged as fast as he could without giving it away. “I’m here on a work assignment. It’s in the Restricted Area, so I’m afraid I’ll be scarce around the premises.”

“Oooooh!!! That’s SO EXCITING!” Pinkie Pie squeaked. Beryl’s eyelid twitched.

“It’s not that exciting, really. Most of the stories they tell don’t apply anymore. It’s mostly to attract tourists,” Beryl said. This kind of droll talk tended to repel nosy ponies. “But yes, it’s quite time-consuming. I’ll just be going from the Area to my room on most days – there’s not much time if I wasn’t to fit into my deadline,” he lied.

“No, I don’t mean the forest, silly. Everyone knows Everfree has been figured out since forever!” She giggled to what was probably a joke of some kind. “I mean you. You’re so brooding and mysterious. Ooo…”

He was not working in the library again. The chaos factor was now too high. Beryl threw out all other prospective thinking spots besides some on the other edge of the Old Town, and reorganized his work plan to account for compiling reports at his room.

The pegasus took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The extra gestures made him appear more personable, smoothening out the haste with which he rushed the encounter. He raised his hand and nodded assuringly:

“I’m a pencil pusher, Miss Pie. I have it on good authority I am incredibly plain.” The stallion forced a smile. He’d had to opt out of talks with impressionable ponies before. He hadn’t done a good enough job of degrading his physique since leaving the Guard. “My mission here isn’t even under NDA. I look at old things and write boring details about them. It’s a living, and I would prefer peace so I can make it.”

“Pfff, baaa-loney. You’re only as plain as you let yourself be!” the mare grinned, nearly splitting her mouth in half. Her eyes stared directly into his. He caught himself choking on a breath, staring at her features. Despite her uncomfortable closeness, her face was far too crisp – like distant details tended to be when he didn’t have his glasses on. “The only thing plain for sure is that it’s just plain wrong that somepony would do this to themselves!”

“Miss Pie, I’m married, I have a well-paying job, and I will be leaving Old Town very shortly,” he proceeded to lie on all but one account. Nervously rubbing the ridges of his glasses, he put them back on. He bit down hard, seeing that a piece of Pinkie’s hair detritus landed on the lens. Eye twitching, he grabbed the rest of his things. “Now if you don’t mind-“

“Nobody likes a downer!” the mare exclaimed. Her hand shot forward in piston-like fashion, her index finger pushing in Beryl’s snout. Instinctively, the stallion went into a fighting stance. Even so, by when he stepped back and half-knelt, she already managed to land a finger flick on his forehead – all in less than a second. “And I like you, Beryl, so there’s no way you’re a real downer.”

“I AM a real downer. I will be leaving now. Thank you and goodbye.”

Beryl stormed off. He puffed his nostrils, putting in effort to count to 10 and back. Nevertheless, his mind was in uproar, fuming at the mare for disturbing him. It felt like a soda bottle popped open inside his head. His snout tingled. The pegasus groaned, sensing his wings giving off the nervous twitches, their folding muscles firing off mixed signals. He was taking the stairs to his room before realizing, one flight in, that the stress of the encounter brought back his limp.

Beryl rode the elevator, praising the Princess that it was empty. He entered his room and didn’t leave until tomorrow morning, skipping dinner.






I don’t think I like- I don’t, no…



Heh-heh. Ahhh, that’s funny to hear. You know?



No. I feel… No, I don’t know how I feel.



And who the hell do you think you are?!



…nobody, really.



But that means you’re supposed to like yourself, you silly downer. See the catch, rooty-tooty-shooty man?


Beryl woke up with his pillow drenched in sweat. He lay there on crumpled sheets, the edges digging into his back. He wheezed, his chest rising and lowering. He almost reached for the nightstand with his handgun before realizing it was a dream.

After a drink of tap water, the stallion returned to bed. He couldn’t fall asleep until he changed the sheets, too irritated that he moved in his sleep for the first time in months.





The pegasus finished stretching, taking extra care with his wings and legs. He was relieved to see the tension had passed. Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander away as he compiled today’s internal checklist. Having ended up making a little over a dozen jumping jacks through sheer muscle memory, the pegasus stopped himself.

“No push-ups this time, at least,” he reprimanded himself for letting his Royal Guard routine take the wheel again.

Doing breathing exercises as he walked it off, Beryl neared the mirror. Shaking his head at the blurry close-up of himself, he went in for a shower.

The sun was almost up when he exited, having rinsed himself off thoroughly and dried his mane with both a towel and a hairdryer. He picked out the correct hair band for the day. Tying up his ponytail and giving his glasses a prolonged washing, he reluctantly had breakfast. Forcing cabbage salad down his throat, he rubbed his temple. Beryl puffed in frustration at being unable to get over yesterday’s disturbance. To compensate, he decided to skip today’s lunch to get more work done instead.

To stop thinking about the annoying mare, he focused on his food and counted to 10 and back. Before departing for the Old Town, he bothered to do a grocery run and picked out his favorite vegetables. He even pre-cooked several containers’ worth of salads, intending to smooth over the adjustment period with meals he’d enjoy back at home. However, after a minute of attempting, he put the plate away half finished.

Rolling his eyes, the stallion opened the fridge and gulped straight from a bottle of green herbal juice. He groaned, rubbing his stomach. Even the food didn’t satisfy him like it used to. Making matters worse, it hardly distanced his thoughts from that encounter – now he kept on drilling himself for getting that cupcake and eating it right over samples.

Beryl squished his forehead with his palm. He walked out to the balcony and calmed himself down counting suppression conduits around the Restricted Area’s magitech dome. For a few minutes he tried to entertain himself trying to make out the Old Canterlot castle in the distance. He was pleased enough making out one of the preserved towers between the high-rises.

His mood immediately evened out when he remembered throwing the uneaten cupcake in the bin. Beryl paced around for a short while before finally deciding to put on his work clothes. Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at himself, detecting a subtle grimace on his snout. Being irked was common enough, but he just got more and more wound up. He glared at his stubble, rubbing it, the crinkling noise causing more hyper-awareness. Flexing around, the pegasus kept staring at the stretch marks around his wing joints, the reddish mark on his lower back, the sharp protrusion of his lower ribcage onto the abdomen.

With a frustrated sigh, he returned to the table and quickly finished his breakfast, downing it with another helping of green juice. His stomach rumbled, seemingly from how quickly he absorbed the food, hardly chewing it.

Beryl shook his head. Usually, watching his physique thin out made him feel good, as it let him stand out less. Now, as he put on his button-up shirt, vest and pants, he sensed annoyance fizzling in the back of his mind, watching the shoulders, biceps and pectorals become obscured by his nondescript, bland outfit.

“Stop being a foal,” he murmured to himself, checked all the safeties one last time, left a tip for the cleaners and departed to the Restricted Area.





Beryl stepped off the cumulus platform. He took the vertical wingway up to one of the taller vines and se up there. After a half hour of exposing the test pen to this layer of the affected area, he dumped the readings to the cloud. Having tightened the respirator around his snout, he dashed across the misty fog and landed on another set of vines. Climbing up to a vantage point, he bent down and produced a series of strong wingflaps that cleared the area. He used the short period of time to take several shots of the moss-covered rock formation on the ground, all at different angles, filters and zoom levels.

The stallion rolled up his sleeve and turned on his phone to check the time. The grey background almost didn’t stand out from all the fog that’d rolled back in. He sighed and pulled up the cumulus app, calling for a platform to take him out. Filing away his findings into the correct folders before transferring them to his laptop back on the ground, Beryl struggled with breath.

As soon as he hopped off at the Area’s main section, he took off the respirator, brushed his clothes, checked the arm strap on his phone, pulled up his hood and went for a run. This part of the former Everfree Forest essentially equated to the city park, but the gloomy atmosphere and poor repute kept the weekend athletes and strollers away from the cordoned paths. Beryl liked to run so that his mind was clear to process his findings and arrange them in a neat table. Listening to his own breath and barely audible footsteps for an hour, having nothing but the dim jogging lights amid arcane gloom to focus on, he was able to speed through most of the hard analytical work in his head.

It wasn’t adding up. He couldn’t keep his mind on even the simplest things, like the origin of the samples that were polluting the Restricted Area. Half the time, he caught himself forgetting what the big deal with these rocks even was. The entire expanse of a winding hill run was spent with the assumption that this was decrepit changeling matter. Beryl nearly ran into a sedated eightacle plant when he reminded himself this was just one of half dozen theories he was working through – and not even the most likely one. Too much had happened in this area within recent history, he couldn’t just lose track of the bigger picture.

The stallion picked up his pace. He dashed through pitch blackness illuminated by the occasional will-o-wisp and roadside jogger lights. Beneath his skull, something felt droll and jelly-like. As if his brain was recovering from anesthesia – or undergoing it? Sweat drops stained his glasses. The lights and darkness, interspersed with the occasional glimpses of the sky, tinted purple by the Area’s dome, it all merged into an unprecedented assault on the senses.

Beryl stopped, his hooves digging into the ground through inertia. He bent over and wheezed. His ears flicked. He shook his head, his glasses hanging off by their back straps. He had run off the track and nearly walked into unsecured territory. Puffing his nostrils, the stallion walked back to the path, the ground quacking and crinkling with each step he took.

When he reached the light, he bent over again, grasping his head.

“HRRRGH!” he grunted, gritting his teeth. The pegasus ducked, spreading out his wings. His eyes darted, peering into the gloom. He took long, labored breaths. With his eyelid twitching, he pulled up his sleeve to check on the time. “Sun damn it. It’s… I’ve been… It’s-“

In his blurry vision, the yellow lights split into granules, the outmost ones blending with the nocturnal gloom and the errant wisps, becoming a dirty shade of magenta. He looked up, tracking the treetops and the clouds beyond the dome. He groaned again, realizing he’d ran far deeper into the forest than he intended. Checking the Area navigation app, he was proven right.

His joints wobbled. The stallion stared at the dark trees. He realized that dangerous things once wandered among those. In fact, many still did – the park rangers weren’t omnipresent. Beryl’s ears folded. His wings shuddered. His lower back shot sharp pangs up his spine. He felt uncomfortable being alone in a dark, dangerous forest full of Princess knows what.

Beryl plotted a path to get back to his work area. Then, he realized the discomfort wasn’t fading. Nervously smiling, he returned to the app and sent an executive call for the ranger to come pick him up.

He felt uncomfortable being alone.





Returning to the ranger’s station, the pegasus took a poison joke test. It returned negative. Relieved, he boiled his disturbance down to the residual static magic resonating with his cutiemark. He had been using his special talent a lot while observing the samples, after all. He needed to take slightly better care of himself – if he hadn’t been a stressed mess coming in, he wouldn’t even have been this bothered by that encounter on day 1.

Content enough with himself, he thanked the ranger and departed the Area. All things considered, he was ahead of schedule – even with all that’d occurred. Changing into his street clothes and packing his hoodie in the bag, he mulled over his decision to skip dinner.

“Have some discipline,” the stallion muttered to himself. He checked his laptop, finding everything to have transferred correctly. Cleaning his glasses, he plotted his way back to the hotel room.

When he veered off into mentally breaking down the residue on the rocks and recreating animal behavior patterns around the activity sites, he had to stop. Sitting on the benches lining the gated entrance to the Restricted Area, he would usually depart within less than a minute, too distracted by the clopping, the chatter, the passing vehicles and the advertisements blaring off from the nearby sales center. Now, he’d sat there for no less than 5 minutes, making more mental headway than he did while actively looking at the material he’d captured.

Shaking his head in disappointment, he put the laptop into his bag, swung it over his shoulder and walked. Consciously taking the empty alleyways and the quieter cul-de-sacs, he extended his travel time by half. The quiet made him feel at ease, but right now, that translated into hyper-awareness of everything that irritated him. From the light pain in his leg to the constant, light tingling at the tip of his snout, he processed too much information that once was easily dismissed.

As much as he avoided forging connections, he got too used to living in Canterlot. One errant run-in was enough to trip him up. Beryl exhaled, calm with the knowledge he’d be back to normal once this place became routine. That mental weight lifted, he paused to wonder.

“It won’t hurt to just stop at a café. I can work there. Get used to the noise.” He peeked out of the alleyway, watching the diner directly opposite the hotel. His lips curled. “No… not there. Her type would hang there. I need to get something done. Yeah…”

He nodded to himself. This time, he took a windier path on purpose, taking the extra time to pass by more of the local establishments. The evening air would have cleared his head as well. The dizzy sensation hadn’t recurred.

Beryl settled on a coffee place that was far enough and had grid connection. He picked a corner and set up, pulling up the images and getting out his notebook.

It went better than he expected. The murmuring of other patrons, the whirring of vehicles passing by outside, even the music didn’t require much effort to zone out. He set up groundwork for later table analysis of stimulus reactions and drafted up a couple gas exposure diagrams. The effort needed to distance from the noise was almost better allocated into sticking with the hard calculations – he kept being tempted to go with his gut estimations. It must have been the unusual working space.

Eventually, as he drew sketches of various aberrations, he caught his right hand drumming against the table. The lines formed together without the cognitive signals they once required to stay straight. The sheet stayed in place, hence why his non-dominant hand was free… Beryl sat up, ears folding back. He checked for the usual signs of nervous agitation. Something was causing his joints to misbehave.

When he allowed his mind to perceive the music again, he began to wonder if he just subconsciously drummed along to the tune that he’d initially drowned out. Then, his pupils shrunk. He saw that mare outside the window. She bounced in place, drilling into the menu with her eyes, twirling a lock of mane with her fingers and suckling on yet another lollipop. Through sheer luck, her bouncing tail – and posterior – avoided smashing into any passerby.

Beryl clasped his hand into a fist. His palm bore perspiration. Rolling his eyes, he quickly packed up, asked the waitress where the back exit was, and left for the hotel, hooves stomping against the wooden floor.
> Persistent Presence
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hiya, neighbor!” a needlessly cheery, high-pitched voice greeted the pegasus as he walked onto his balcony.

“???” Beryl pressed against the side railing, covering his naked torso up with his wings. He stared.

There she was. Wearing a plain white singlet and nothing but her panties down below, Pinkie Pie noisily crunched a jawbreaker, leaning precariously over the railing of her own balcony. One that Beryl never even noticed before.

For all he knew, his number had no neighbors. On his wing of the floor, only 403 was occupied. He also assumed only his room would have its balcony facing towards the forest. Eyes darting side to side, he was able to confirm he was indeed wrong. Every room appeared to face the Area.

Beryl rolled his eyes and put his elbows on the railing. He hung his head.

“Yes, we’re neighbors. Hello. Good morning,” the stallion drawled. Ordinarily he’d be barely audible – on purpose – but now it croaked. He was way too bothered. “I’ll put a shirt on and go to work.”

“Heeeeey, now that’s not very neighborly. I wasn’t done ogling!” Pinkie chirped with laughter. She stuck out her tongue. “Whatcha’ feeling shy over, Beryl?”

“We’ve barely met,” he reminded her, raising a finger. He took a deep breath. “Please recall. I have… work to do…”

“But the sun is barely up!" the mare complained. "Nooo waaay. This just isn’t right.”

“Being out in the cold at oh five hundred hours gets me down, I’m very sorry.” He could hear her swaying around as he turned back.

“You’re not down, you’re stressed!” Pinkie Pie argued. Beryl clutched his chest. He puffed his nostrils, snout having gotten tingly again. “Come on, what sort of pony gets up to go to boring work so early! Nopony’s even tracking you, you can walk in at any time, whooo caaares!”

Beryl covered his face. He reclined against the balcony’s door frame. He raised his head to look at her. Somehow, she was already staring him right in the eyes.

“Miss Pie, that sort of attitude is how you lose job security,” he replied.

“PFFFHAHAHA! Security-shmecurity!” The earth pony waved her hand in dismissal and spat the rest of her jawbreaker out onto the street. She then hopped in place, and before Beryl’s eyes transferred the images to his brain, she was doing a handstand on her balcony’s railing. With one hand. With her body  hanging over the edge.

“Check this out! How’s this for security, huh? Ya’ jealous???”

Her mane swung in the wind, barely matching the cotton-like consistency it typically possessed. Her tail wrapped idly around one of the hooves raised high in the air, the chubby thighs hardly tightening up to match the pressure it had to put on her body. Her shirt just barely clung onto her breasts, which just nearly avoided smacking the mare on her chin.

Beryl’s instincts would have had him rush in to save her from an obvious suicide attempt, but he was frozen in place, staring, jaw agape. This wasn’t physically possible.

“Hahaha, I knew you would be! Silly mister. Prfffft!” She blew him an upside-down raspberry. “Y’know why I’m up at heck knows how early?!”

“…” Beryl could swear his mind crackled and popped. Like popcorn in a microwave. His ear flicked uncontrollably. “What are you-“

“Blah-blah-blah. It’s simple! I’m SSSOOOO EAGER FOR LIIIFE!” the mare declared. Her squeak was so loud, he didn’t see how it didn’t shatter the windows. He felt himself tense up for complaints from patrons on other floors. He then nearly laughed, realizing it wasn’t his fault anyway. It was… whoever this Pinkie Pie was. “I get up and I SMILE! Unlike a certain somepony who gets up-“

Pinkie Pie somersaulted off the railing and landed square on her hooves, managing to perform multiple full revolutions within the length of about half a meter. She then hunched over, her limbs falling limp, her cerulean eyes losing their shine, her mane visibly diminishing. Beryl could swear extra cloud layer passed them over, because her coat seemed to skip several hues of pink down the spectrum.

“-and skulks around like a walking corpse! GuuuAAAAHHHH!” she spoke in a horribly croaked voice, breaching barely within normal pony hearing. It must have been awful for her vocal chords – she practically emitted infrasound. Her body shuffled around, each limb moving independently, joints desperately out of sync. “BrrrAAAINS! I mean, uhhh, RRRROOOCKSSS! Ssssciiiience!”

Beryl stared at her. His heart ran at a good two hundred beats per minute. His eyeballs had gotten crusty and dry, but he only blinked when the mare was directly in front of him. He could almost feel the warmth of her body, but it was too cold, and he never did put on a shirt. This mare was setting his instincts off, fiercely so. There were three balloons on her flank, and Beryl did not see how that correlated with such ability for uncanny impersonation. For all he knew, in front of him was not an overly energetic, obnoxious mare, but a thing that belonged into the Restricted Area’s ancient past.

He exhaled and blinked when she finally stopped, inches away from his naked torso, raised her finger and cleared her throat. Her eyes darted side to side, aglimmer once again. With a concerned look, she pulled in and whispered to his ear:

“That was you, by the way… That totally wasn’t me!..” she elaborated. Her breath tingled his inner ears. Any less resolve and the sensation would’ve made him smile. He fought back on reflex. “I’m SO sorry, I didn’t realize you lost your sense of humor in a freak chemical fire…” The mare pulled back, grinning widely. The sun must have come back – her teeth practically sparkled. “Aaaahhhh, loosen up already!!!”

“…you’re on my balcony,” Beryl said, having forced his breath under control. He glared at the five meter gap between their rooms. Then, he glared at her. “You should… be in your room. It’s really early. Find something else to do, please.”

“Pssshhh. Says you! You get up heck knows when, and you’re not even excited for your day! Sounds to me like I’m not the one who’s lost control of my life!” Pinkie put her fists on her hips and cocked them. Her entire mane swayed with force enough to practically blur the entire pony. “Sounds like your life controls you, instead!”

“It’s how I… Can’t we just-“

His vision blurred. Beryl reeled at the fact he missed her cross the gap. On top of the mare’s perturbing hijinks, this detail stung his pride. At least, his cutiemark was certainly stinging. He grasped his forehead with one hand, and rubbed his flank with the other through his pants.

“Oh you’ll be sweet and sound, Beryl. Dontcha’ worry. Just learn to relax! Smile! Is’sall I gotta do!” the mare cheered him up, as he could tell by his eardrums not reverberating. “Ya’ seen what I can do. That’s pretty cool, huh?! And I don’t even have THESE!”

The mare squished his wings. She mushed the tips and caressed down their length, his feathers nearly standing on end from the sudden contact. He let out a struggled, croaky breath. Whether it was her body temperature or just his abject embarrassment, he felt no more cold – he was feverish, nerves tingling.

“I-I think you’re right. I’ll… I’ll sleep in a little… Just, please, return to your room. I want to be-“Beryl spoke, trying to keep emotion out of his voice. He stopped when he realized the mare was no longer standing uncomfortably close to him. Opening his eyes, he saw the mare’s hand giving him some complicated gesture, poking out the door from her own room. “I want to be… ???...”

“Nobody likes a downer!” the mare declared from her own room.





The pegasus nearly fell out of his bed. He gasped, clutching his chest. His eyes desperately scanned the room. He scampered, pulling himself up by the nightstand. When he got up, his palm turning white from the tight grip he had on the handgun, he paused.

“Oh Sun damn it. It was-…” Beryl shook his head. “It was a dream.” He checked his phone and groaned. Three past ten. “Great.” He limped over to the window. Along the way, he clutched his fist in frustration – he was limping again. Pulling back the curtain, he saw the neighboring balcony all the same – now complete with pink heart-patterned napkins and other laundry hanging on the clothesline to boot. “Whatever…”

He paced around his room, rubbing his temple. Eventually he put the gun away, locking it back in the drawer.

“Ugh. What do I-“ he cut himself off. “Ten. Ten in the morning. Now where do I go? What… How…”

Beryl wandered over to the wardrobe. He pulled out whatever fit on top, as he slept in his pants this time. Halfway through putting on his sleeveless summertime camo T-shirt, he walked over to the balcony and stuck out a wing.

“Egh…” The stallion stopped stretching the shirt’s wing slot before it tore, and finished pulling it over his abdomen. Reflectively, he stroked it, feeling the distance between the fabric and his belly line. “Fine. Good enough.”

Having examined his fridge, he shrugged and picked out a salad container at random. He pulled the lid open and gave the vegetable mush a sniff. He grit his teeth and scratched the back of his head, shaking his head.

“I dunnooo…” the pegasus mumbled. Like all his other supplies, this container bore all his favorite vegetables – even some corn. He’d calculated the exact amount of vitamins when he was making these. He remembered how long that took. Be it that memory or the generally less than solid consistency of the meal (he wished he could cook), the prospective breakfast didn’t look appetizing. “It’s not even breakfast. It’s lunchtime. I slept through breakfast, Moon damn me…”

He took a half-hearted swig of kale juice, grimaced, and put everything back into the fridge.

Beryl walked around, watching the gemstone patterns on the walls. He did a couple leg exercises out of sheer aimlessness, deprived of his routine. Setting down on the bed, he thought to plan out the day the way he usually did when something sent it askew – by reassembling his gun. He gave up on that plan before he even shook the gun drawer key from the hoof slippers he refused to wear.

With a shrug, he entered the shower. He removed his clothes and spun the knob.

“Huh- Aaah!” The stallion bit his tongue, assaulted by the volume of his own voice reflected off the tiles. really did set him completely off-script – he turned it counter-clockwise, turning on the hot water. He desperately cranked the knob back. The cold shower brought a sense of familiarity. Beryl withstood it for a few minutes before grunting and evening the water out to be relatively lukewarm. “What’s with the water?.. It wasn’t this cold before… Hrrrgh.”

The shower improved things, after a fashion. He didn’t feel sharp and energized like he tended to after his usual cold showers. He felt less tense from this messy morning, which allowed him to walk normally and stopping his wings from twitching, even while preening. His head still felt like something was going off inside it, but it was a less unpleasant dizziness.

“This is fine… Easier to make routine when you’re starting from scratch, right?..” the pegasus talked to himself as he posed in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around his hips. He clicked his tongue, compulsively passing his palms over his sunken in stomach. “Right.”

The stallion came up to the mirror. He eyed himself from different angles. His cheeks were sunken in, his stubble was getting worse, and he hadn’t even remembered to tie up his hair. Beryl’s breath spread a misty cloud over the glass.

“So I can see even worse up close. Good to know,” he said. The perspiration went away. He stared at his own face with its subtle smile. His lips immediately curled and he stepped away to put his clothes back on. Why didn’t he shower before picking clothes? “Nevermind…”

When he returned to his bed, the stallion pulled out his laptop. He laid back, uneasily placing his ponytail on the pillow. After some shifting, he managed to keep the computer in place without pressing down on his wings. It whirred to life, greeting him with the OS jingle.

“Load already!” he grumbled. He resigned to wait until the desktop loaded through.

Finally, Beryl froze, a realization flashing through his fuzzy, destabilized mind.

“I… I’ve got to shut up,” he whispered shakily. “S-shut up already.”

He returned to his reliable breathing exercise. He counted to ten and back, then again, then again. Finally, he felt in place and ready to write up more addendums to his sketches and leave another research log entry. His stomach rumbled.

“I’m hungry.”





“Project log, entry… uh… um, let me see…” Beryl scratched his nose with his right hand while he moused around searching for the log folder. “Oh, here it is… Project log, entry 3-4. Focused on updating old info and, um, renewing the notebook scans. Having an, ahm… stay of distance from the Area until, uh- until…” He tapped his fingers against the table, biting on lip. “Until Friday. See entries 1-2 to 3-1 for progress with examination… will be having solid progress after this short theory break. OK, please transcribe?”

The stallion reclined against the couch and flipped through his notebook. The recently verified sketches still looked good to his eye, though the number crunching pages made his gut curl. He pulled and stretched, a few feathers coming loose. Looking above his glasses at the screen, he groaned.

“Oh, come on! How are you not reading this?!” the stallion complained, his voice croaking. He smacked his chest a few times, helping clear his throat. “Great. So much for voice recognition. Fine, screw you…”

Beryl crossed his arms, glaring at the screen. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, then another, nearly staining his glasses. His hoof switched from tapping to the rhythm of the café’s music to simply rattling against the floor. The stallion dug his fingernails into his palm to avoid flipping a rude gesture toward the computer. With an exasperated sigh, he resorted to pulling up the text editor and typing the log entry up instead.

A few minutes passed. Beryl stayed alert to his surroundings, picking up on the movements and noises of the café. Time and again he was sure someone was coming over to him, but every time he’d look up, no one was there. He kept on shifting in his seat, giving his flanks a mild burn. The feeling came again, a suctioning, hollow tension within his chest – the usual tell for inevitable socialization. Beryl quit typing and just sat there; maybe they were just too polite to approach a pony at work?

He waited out a minute, and nothing happened. He looked up, eyelashes fluttering in disbelief. They left off-white chunks on his lenses. There was still no one there.

“Hrrrgh! Okay. I guess I really am invisible. Good job, me,” he grumbled, climbing out of his corner.

Beryl yawned, hopping down from the elevation his corner was on and stepping out onto the main floor. He put his arms in his pockets, wandering around. He watched the menus, noticing that like most hotel cafes, this one was quite pricey. Then again, money was never an issue, as even with his high paying investigation and research job, he hardly spent. For what it was worth, the Old Town at least had some style to it, with the faux-retro woodwork, gingerbread decorations and soft color palette.

He kept finding himself distracted, both by the décor and by the monitors hung up on the walls. The former he always took for granted, the latter, appropriately tuned to the retro music channel, he used to outright ignore. Eventually, he was too irritated by the specks on his glasses to keep staring at the music videos, and approached the desk.

As the mare at the counter gave him the usual greetings, Beryl realized he hadn’t actually settled on what to get.

“Uhhh, I’d like… umm, geez.” He bit his lip and blushed in embarrassment. His ears twitched, the insides of his head turning fuzzy. “Ohhh, Moon, I’m sorry, it just… slipped my mind what I wanted.”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all, sir. You aren’t holding anyone up, take your time,” the mare at the counter replied. Beryl jolted, staring right at her, when her pitch neared a familiar uncomfortable height. He exhaled and rubbed his face, seeing the brown-coated, green-haired mare stare back at him with her eyebrow raised. “You aren’t in a hurry, correct?”

“…no, I guess I’m not.”

“Well… Let me pull up our top sellers for you.” The mare ducked and returned with a tablet. She turned it over to the stallion, displaying a list of meals with prices attached. He examined it, elbows sliding outwards along the desk. Before his snout began to touch the screen, he rose back up and shook his head.

“Umm. That’s a lot of options…” he mumbled. “Uh, ummm, maybe you could suggest something, miss?”

“Huh?” The mare tilted her head. She shrugged. “Gosh. No one usually asks me… Are you sure?”

“Well, I’m quite sure that I… am not sure what I want. Please, don’t be shy. Money’s not a problem,” he said, trying to put on a smile. He probably wasn’t making a positive impression. “I’m just… I’m new here.”

“Oh, no, no, that’s okay! Take it easy, mister, please.” The mare flashed him a wide, bright grin. Beryl’s chest panged. He definitely couldn’t do that. “You look a little stressed. Try… this one here.”

Beryl looked at the order template. A hot chocolate, a cold milkshake and a bowl of melt candies. He shrugged.

“Sure!”  He nodded.

“Extra sugar around the rim?”

“Please.”

The stallion let out a deep breath as the mare smiled and departed to punch his order in. He clutched his chest and shook his head. Before he got the poor mare any more worried, he walked back to his table, and even managed a semi-coherent smile when she brought his order. He even had a small laugh in him, though the mare didn’t know that he chuckled at himself, having almost convinced his brain that when he lifted his eyes, he’d see that strange pink neighbor of his.

Beryl managed to get some work done as he ate, trying not to spill any of his drinks on the laptop. He never planned to actually do much at the café, thinking he’d take it to his room, but it was smoother than it could have been. All the new tastes and smells apparently made one feel like putting on a new pair of glasses. For your brain.

He certainly didn’t feel the sting of social interaction as clearly as he used to.





“No, it’s not crystalline corruption. Why would it be. Decades since that takeover incident. Material consistency should be all wrong,” the stallion pondered. He didn’t speak, but he did move his lips. “Still… It wouldn’t hurt to test the soil… If the soil mutated over time, then maybe- AGH!”

Beryl stumbled back, having walked right into a lightpost. Suddenly, he could hear a couple scarce chuckles, and feel a few ponies coming over.

He was helped back up, asked if he was okay, and amicably told to watch his step. He thanked them with a smile and waved as the late night teen squad ran along.

The pegasus wandered on for a couple moments, crossing the road and looking at the city lights. Then, his entire body seized up. The stallion let out a sharp gasp, his glasses flying off this time, hanging by their straps. He ducked, his wings twitching. His leg jolted, hoof scraping against the sidewalk. Knuckles turning wide, he squished the holster on his belt.

“They could’ve… They… they could… Why did… Why didn’t…” he growled. Then, he realized that his speech now sounded almost the same as when he thought he wasn’t speaking at all. Just more taxing on the throat. “Aaahhh, shit… shiiit… Okay, breathe in.”

A brightly colored delivery truck raced by, speeding through the vacant road. He cleared his throat, lungs full of pastry air. The few seconds of its jingle he got to hear nearly stung his ears.

For better or worse, clearing his throat seemed to help him calm down. Beryl grunted, pressing his temples, and convinced himself to be happy he was helped out, instead of lashing out on himself for being off guard. Old Town was statistically the safest place in all of Equestria.

His breath returning, he now felt an acute ache in his stomach. The incident, as well as his lashing out, stressed his abdominal muscles, which were already dealing with the enormous amount of unusual food he’d consumed. Rubbing his stomach, he decided to walk it off. Following what survived of his routine, the stallion chose one of the wider, darker alleyways, which he’d picked out for his out-of-forest walks and runs.

The alleyway was quiet and peaceful, softly glowing lanterns illuminating the well-cleaned pavement. The buildings housed businesses, all of them closed by now. Here and there you could still see oldschool heart decals, and a few lanters even had fireflies in them.

“I’m practically on vacation…” he spoke silently once again. His ears twitched. He could swear his voice was still audible in this quiet alleyway. He tried again: “Gotta quit being so down all the time.”

Not without some effort, he managed to stop making noise as he spoke to himself. This was more or less the best of both worlds – he’s tried something new, now he was back in his element.

“It’s so quiet,” he said. “It’s really quiet… damn… How do I… Sun, my head…”

Beryl grimaced. He extended his wing and produced a couple loud pops with its joints, sighing in relief as he heard them echo off the walls.

“Damn near thought I went deaf back there.” His snout wrinkled, itching badly. He scratched it. “Can hear myself scratching. Can’t hear my own hoofsteps. Ugh. Typical.”

His ears were ringing any time he couldn’t detect any sound. Maybe this was just a little quiet. His skull could as well be caving in. There wasn’t enough to think about, and he’d had his daily dose of work related thoughts. His thoughts raced, and there wasn’t even much to race through – he groaned as he kept thinking back to the pink mare, the café mare, the park ranger, the-

“Okay… this is TOO quiet.” Beryl shook his fist and headed for the nearest sidewalk entrance, back to the lights and the late nighters. “Laying on a hill for seven hours was less quiet than this! Geez!” He stopped, realizing his glasses were still hanging off. Pulling them back up, he sighed, seeing them all stained and smudged. “Beats having optics glued to my face though, huh?..”

He strutted forward, testing out his leg, pleased to see he avoided the limp. Entering the well-lit sidewalk, he almost felt alarmed by the dimly lit darkness he left behind. The pegasus turned around, peering into the dark, making out all the little details in the distance. For a moment, he imagined a couple shapes to be a curvaceous earth pony mare. He sighed, shrugging to himself.

“What can I say, that lady really gets into your damn head,” he joked to himself. “Weirdo.”

He spurted with a brief chuckle. It’d been years since he last made a joke.

“Shouldn’t let THAT into my routine!”





Beryl rubbed his sides and shoulders, twitching and bending to let the shower hit more nooks and creases of his body. He raised his head and let the water flow into his mouth, gurgling on it for nearly half a minute, making various noises. If this sensation was anything to go by, he was missing out on a lot with his trademark cold showers.

Why DID he take them cold, anyway? Beryl couldn’t remember. He felt chipper, if nothing else – if his routine was being altered, he may as well pick up good habits, right? He spat out the water and scratched his back with a brush.

“Heeey”

The stallion spread several shampoos on his mane. Not like he knew which was best. He’d always used bar soap.

“You made me a- You made me a-“

He lowered his head to wash the foamy concoction off. Rainbow tinted bubbles floated all over the bathroom.

“Believe her- Believe her-“

The pegasus moaned and groaned in relief as his nails dug into his scalp. He scratched himself, hoof kicking the shower pad.

“Heeey”

“You break me down- You build me up-“

“Believe her- Believe heeer-“

His wet wings bumped into the shower curtain as he played air keyboard with his hands. The water hardly tinkled against the floor as he kept on catching most of the waves. It was when that relative silence kicked in, pressing down on his ears, that Beryl realized he’d been singing in the shower.

Feeling the vibrations of his voice coming off the walls felt natural, expected even. There was also the fact that he hardly recognized it. Somewhere in his subconscious, he was assuming that was inklings of his neighbor’s voice peering through the walls, but his senses hadn’t dulled that much from lack of routine. No, this was definitely him.

“Uuuhhhh… testing, testing?” he said out loud. His ears perked up. Yes, this was his voice. It just sounded… more natural. His usual subdued, low-toned half-whisper would reverberate through his body and take effort. “Huh. This is weird.”

The pegasus shivered, stepping back into the water. He finished scrubbing himself and stepped out, quickly working himself over with the towel. His mind churned along, filing his vocal proclivity along with the assorted effects of turning his routine upside down. Clicking his tongue, the stallion bent over the sink, aiming to brush his teeth.

He stared at his reflection for a while, brushing more intensely than he usually did. He could see his tangerine colored eyes, oddly bloodshot, their pupils shrunk. Something made him twitch, panging at his chest, head and eyes. He splashed his face vigorously, removing the excessive amount of toothpaste he’d smeared all over his snout. Wondering if that was the source of his annoyance, Beryl raised his head and stared again.

“Wait… wait a minute…” he mumbled, the sound of his voice dulling the pangs. “I don’t remember shaving…”

He wondered if all these life changes made him forget shaving off his two week old stubble. Beryl stroked his chin. Now, his pupils widened. It was smooth.

“No way… How could I forget shaving myself?..” he said. He could see sweat beads gathering on his forehead. His cheeks flared up. He forgot he shaved. And it was clearly done with cream – as opposed to cheap bar soap, which was always his go-to, as with anything hygienic. No other explanation for how supple his skin had become, or how smooth his formerly sharp coat felt to the touch.  “Did I get shaved? Was I drunk???”

It was nice to look at, but unnerving to see. Beryl shook his head rapidly, his wet green mane getting stuck all over his face. He stomped out of the bathroom, breathing noisily. He even bumped his wing against the door frame – he was so shocked that his flight nerves flared up, perking the wing tips way above his head. The stallion felt a loose feather detach, adding poor preening practice to his growing list of concerns.

“Harmony’s sakes!!! How RIDICULOUS is this?!” he complained. He spooked himself with his own tone – his throat produced a bondafide whine. The stallion sat down by the kitchen table, reaching over to turn on the coffee machine. “Get a Moon-damned grip! Next I’ll forget to save my project! Yes, the agency will love that! Oh, I am sorry, I decided that instead of doing the job you pay me for, I’m going to lose control of my life and get-“

He raised his hand, closed his eyes and began to breathe. Whistling and wheezing, he curled a finger for each successful breath. The tightness in his chest went away, but the fizzling in his head didn’t. In fact, he couldn’t sit still. Uncomfortably rubbing his flanks against the chair’s padded surface, Beryl realized he’d been unable to sit still for at least a day now. Now aware of it, he recognized that his cutiemarks were itching. It was subtle yet intermittent, keeping his lower body agitated at all times.

He banged his fist against the table.

“A-argh! S-sun!..” he whimpered again. How badly did he misjudge his strength? His nails dug deep into his palm, which was a feat, considering they never ever grew out. “No, this is just stupid. One thing doesn’t go my way, and look at me now! That’s pathetic.” He shook his head, his mane slapping the back of his neck. It’d already dried out, strands spreading all over, some getting in his mouth. “Prrrf- Things are fine! I’m not dying. I’ve got all my limbs, I’ve got my mind… my eyes… I just lost touch. That’s right. I can figure this out.”

Beryl got back up and immediately felt his stomach gurgle. Rubbing it, he rolled his eyes and headed out to the balcony to breathe. He leered at his neighbor’s side. Keen senses permitting, he could hear the mare shuffle around in her room, clanking and trampling her way through whatever routine kept her going.

He rested against the railing. His senses were still clear. He heard little details and discerned exact points of origin for the subtlest noises. He easily recalled how many different ponies he heard outside after he got up. He recalled the words of that stupid song, and he wasn’t even paying attention to it at the time! Just to prove a point, Beryl stared downwards. He was able to detect and memorize the license plates of a couple vehicles passing over on the other side of the Everfree dome. He looked at passerby after passerby, making out smallest details of their outfits. Just a few quick glances, and he knew that the blonde mare crossing the street was a fashion addict flaunting a freshly bought purse, that the hot bun vendor was putting extra toppings on for attractive mares, and the young stallion with a backpack across his shoulder was lost and couldn’t tell where to turn.

He felt tired and woozy. Staying in his room sucked. He could just hop down and mingle about – it was much more exciting down there. His whole talent was noticing things. So why shouldn’t he be happy about noticing things that make life more interesting?

The stallion exhaled, raising a fist to himself.

“There. I’ve still got it!”

He smacked his own flank, intending to tell his cutiemarks to stop acting up – after all, his special talent was perfectly operational, and anything else had to be miscellaneous.

He let out an uncharacteristic warbling squeak: first from how loud that came off, then from how much that hurt, then from realizing he’d been standing out on his balcony with but a towel wrapped around his neck and a pair of subtle underpants. 

Face turning bright red, he scampered back. His wings borderline solidified in shame as he realized he almost took a hop.

“Quit being so down all the time. It’s making you a Sun-damned mess!” he told himself. He spun in front of the mirror, shaking his head at his mostly naked body. His stomach gurgled again – he swore he could almost see it reverberating. “Way to be a drama queen, geez… You can do your job, you’re feeling fine. It’s been worse. Ugh… I’m gonna be sick. Just look at this… I need to put something on!”

Beryl dedicated himself to getting dressed, rummaging through his wardrobe and putting unproductive worries aside. The worries ended up making place for frustration. Suddenly far more aware of his appearance thanks to his balcony stunt, the stallion found himself displeased with every article of clothes in his repertoire. Back in the day, all he wanted was something subtle and wearable. Now, his sharp senses irrevocably stated one thing: he was a fashion disaster.

If anything, his topsy-turvy routine was digging up objective issues. Beryl could but shake his head and gasp at the myriads of identical button-ups, polo shirts, singlets and hoodies, not to mention the grand total of three pairs of pants – one for the summer, one for the winter, and one for when he had to patch either of the other two. The other two were covered in patches. He didn’t even own a wing slip! And the colors?

“Was I colorblind? Goodness gracious. I haven’t become a disaster…” he shook his head, lifting up the shirt he wore the other day. He winced. “I’ve been one for years! No wonder nobody likes me…”

His cheeks flared up. His wings twitched. His gums felt buzzy, and his mouth filled with saliva. He lowered the shirt and knelt down next to the pile of clothes, rubbing his stomach and his face.

“Ugh… I guess I AM going to be sick…”

He reclined against the side of the bed before going quiet. He picked up on his neighbor, Pinkie Pie, walking onto her balcony and began to dry her hair. He could tell by the foundation creaking, the loud whirring of the machine, and the faint smell of pastries. And then, he could hear her voice.

“Heeeeeey~”

“You make me a~ you make me a~”

“Beliiieve heeer~ ooooh~ Beliiieve heeer~”

She sung to herself, coming off reasonably high-pitched and hardly even assaulting his hearing. His keen senses once again permitting, Beryl would say she was actually not a bad singer at all.

That certainly smoothed over his disappointment. If the pink spastic next door could have something so… pleasant about her, then who’s to say he can’t turn himself around? Starting pretty much anywhere. Beryl smacked his fist against the bed.

“Yeah! Channel it into something positive. It’s not megaspell science!” he told himself.

Over the next week, he went from putting up with her presence to actively wondering if he should talk to her. The mare seemed to get around – he couldn’t get a hold of her, and any time he thought to ask the desk for her contact info, something else came up. She only ever showed up just barely out of sight, always heading elsewhere, and if she was at her number, he was either working or feeling off.

Some days, Beryl still felt a little sick. All of a sudden, things would quit making sense. Or he’d try eating his old cooking again and nearly throw up – now that part of his routine was dying hard. Nevertheless, he wasn’t starving, as the food he had served to him elsewhere did just fine. He elected not to grieve over the time and effort he spent on it and instead march on forward.

Why dwell on the past if the past was so… droll?..






I don’t know how I feel. I don’t feel right. I won’t stay. It’s crazy…



Beryl half-sat on his couch. Nothing on but his camo shorts and dog tags. Crumbs of food in his coat. He tossed a rubber ball at the wall. It bounced off the packed boxes and back into his hand. Warm night air stroked at his chest. Decommissioning tomorrow. He will leave early and no one will crowd him. He looked at the wall clock and sighed.



Crazy night. Every night. How you feeling? I’m feeling… hunnngry.



His vision blurred. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. The ball never returned. There was no air, and it was hard to breathe. Standing up now, he wandered off, clearing his throat. Colors and ideas swung by. He just had to wash his face.



I haven’t got a place here. Look at me. I don’t have it in me. I’ll just put these on…



Beryl felt his glasses on his snout. He breathed in and felt like coughing, but didn’t. It was hot, but he still felt cold. When his lungs cleared, his eyes opened. He bent over the sink. Was it his old room? He looked in the mirror.



Security. Bleh! Sounding like an unhappy colt who can’t tell right from wrong, mhm!



If it was his room, it didn’t matter. It was cold, dusty and featureless. He grunted, spitting out bits of greens. He stared at his face, scowling in return. He wasn’t tired, but he felt tired. Like always.



This is all so stupid. I shouldn’t care. Don’t I have all I need? I’m normal. I’m nobody, really.



Beryl walked with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He could fly. He really could. He could talk. He could dance. He could sing. He saw himself doing all those things. He just didn’t want to. He did work, but he didn’t see himself doing it.



You’re actually so, so sweet… Just look. Look with your special eyes!



The stallion paced side to side in his hotel room, criss-crossing the mirror. He wasn’t alone. His whole body jolted. He fell on the floor, though he felt soft and comfortable. He hasn’t been alone all this time. Standing up, he was in front of the mirror.



Why would anyone bother? I don’t bother. Just leave me be… I have work to do…



Well, of course he wasn’t alone. She was there. He sighed in relief, but then he didn’t understand why. He followed her around, and he didn’t understand why. A pink blur hopped, skipped and crashed through places and times all across memory. He couldn’t catch up, and he had wings. He smiled and laughed, but he didn’t understand why. He tripped and fell, speeding along, like riding a cloud coaster. The pink loomed over him and extended itself towards his fallen frame.


You’re sweet and I’m hungry. Let’s be together!


His snout rubbed against the mirror. It was cold, getting warmer, his breath blurring it. His lips caressed the glass, but it didn’t feel like glass. Tangerine eyes didn’t look back at him. Thick, strong arms wrapped around his back and stroked his shoulders, his wings, his waist. An umbrella of soft, cotton mane shielded his snout. There were balloons all over the room. There was no glass. He was warm.



“Why is- AAH!”


Beryl awoke with his face sliding down the mirror, leaving a stain of moisture and saliva. He fell on the floor, unable to brace for impact. He heaved for breath and stared into the darkness. Inside his head were industrial jackhammers and a small orchestra. The stallion hacked and spat, getting the taste of glass off his tongue. He wasn’t just warm – he was hot all over, beads of perspiration trailing down the contours of his body. The breeze made him shiver.

Thoughts spun around like a carousel. He couldn’t recall where he went or what he did today. He knew he did some work. He knew he talked to some ponies. He knew he did some fun things. Rolling around on the floor, it took him a minute to realize he needed to get up. It took him even longer to realize how he woke up.

“Was I… Was I sleepwalking?” Beryl murmured, his voice calming the thumping in his ears. He rubbed his eyes, which stung. “What… was that?.. Odd. Odd dream… Ohhh, what did I do today?.. I’m parched.”

He’d been having fun for a week now, and nothing bothered him. Besides the itching, the rashing, the constant hunger. That was routine. His cutiemarks still worked… That was all fine.

“And hungry…” Beryl wandered over to the kitchen. He shook his fists in triumph, seeing an entire table full of donuts, cupcakes, muffins and an unopened can of strawberry juice. “Phew! Sun and Moon… I forgot my supper. Must’ve just passed out like a dummy… Dummy. Dummy, dummy, dummy.” He licked his lips, stroking his stomach with his hands as it rumbled. It felt funny, almost like a palm massage. “Okay, let’s rectify that. No more strange dreams.”

He had been studying these damn rocks, these Harmony-era artifacts that just showed up in the formerly safe Restricted Area. Even the ranger would tell him that it made all the critters act weird – when she wasn’t staring at his abs! Yeah. He was probably texting her on his phone before bed, and that made him forget about his supper.

He’d been having teensy memory lapses of late. For example, he didn’t remember forgetting supper, or even getting all that food to go. Then again, what sort of butt tyrant expects one to remember forgetting? Beryl laughed to himself, almost choking on a donut. What a silly idea.

Chomping through his abandoned meal, he was grateful it wasn’t even that crusty, but he was getting bored – another recent development. He shrugged, put all the food on a tray, and took it with him to bed. He pulled out his laptop and ate away as it started up. The pegasus’ hoof kicked in pleasure – getting to recline, stretch and eat something that had actual taste, all while on no solid schedule and no higher-ups barking orders at him.

“That’s a whopper!” he said when his mouth was free.

The laptop finished whirring up. Beryl rose up to shake the crumbs off his naked chest and onto the floor. Before showing him the desktop, it went dark for a moment, as it did. Behind himself, through the window, he saw the Moon. It missed a piece. A piece in the shape of bobbing, fluffy cotton candy.

He felt sleepy. No wonder, considering he woke up at five o’clock. Or ‘1700’, as his laptop would put it.

When the pegasus awoke again, it was around seven in the morning. Relaxed after a calm, uneventful sleep, he cleaned up, made his bed, took a hot shower (practicing his singing), put on some clothes and finished his food, which helpfully ended up at his nightstand. Some reflexes were still worth it!

Along the way he remembered he wanted to set something up at the Area. He pulled up his phone, phoned his contact – the park ranger – and realized he had no idea what he wanted. New samples? Some fresh shots? More magi-stick stats? What was that tool actually called?.. Darnit. Well, he improvised.

On the bright side, if everything worked out, they’d hang out on the weekend. She said she could make it!
> Intertwined Images
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hmmmm. Naaaaaah. This doesn’t, y’know… accentuate my… aaaagh. I don’t know, it’s just too droll, y’get what I’m saying?” Beryl hesitated, trying out a new shirt. He raised his eyebrow at the clerk. “Look at this. It’s not bringing any of my… features!.. out. At all.”

The clerk rubbed his chin. He eyed the pegasus up and down.

“Well, you’re certainly an, uhm… promising work-in-progress, sir, if I say so myself,” the clerk concluded. He twiddled with his suit, proceeding to rub his chin some more. “So you’re absolutely positive you want brighter colors?”

“Of course I do! Look at me, I’m—“ Beryl pointed himself. He pulled at the skin of his arm, accentuating the coloration. He chuckled, beaming at the unicorn salespony. He took some time to stop chuckling. “BEIGE! Any more dreary, and I’ll turn invisible. And I’m not a unicorn! I’m a pegasus! Pegasi aren’t meant to be invisible! That’s something you guys do.”

“I… cannot argue with that, no, sir, I cannot.” The clerk gulped. He scratched his neck. “All right. Let us see what we can do for you, then, shall we?”

“Yeah, I need some professional help over here!”

The unicorn’s eyes darted as he muttered ‘Looks like it’ with the very edge of his mouth.

“Whu-what was that?”

“Oh, nothing, sir, nothing.” The pegasus chuckled and waved his hand. The clerk cleared his throat. “Now, if you’ll just follow me?”

Beryl hopped up from his seat, spun on his heels and slid on the smooth tiled floor to catch up with the clerk. He absorbed the fashion joint with his eyes as they walked. His wings and hooves twitched and jolted to the distant tune of the radio they had turned up in the main sales area. Two aisles in, and frankly, he was bored.

“Hey, can YOU turn invisible?” he pitched in for small talk.

“Uhhhh… No, sir. Invisibility isn’t something a unicorn needs in my line of work,” the clerk replied. “I, uhm, get by with telekinesis.”

“Sheesh. What’s the point of having a horn if you can’t turn yourself invisible and, like, nab some inventory for yourself?! Isn’t that why most of you fashion guys are hornheads?” Beryl asked, barely managing to keep laughter at bay. When it spilled out, he slapped his mouth to keep it in, producing a terse rippling noise. “Man, it’s like if I didn’t use my wings!”

“…that’s an interesting perspective…” The unicorn cleared his throat. He raised a finger and stopped. Walking behind a curtain into a special orders aisle, he poked back out: “Please wait here, sir. I’ll see what we can offer you.”

Beryl stood at attention and saluted, barely containing himself. The unicorn disappeared, and he was left to his own devices. He hopped onto a couch and reclined, pivoting around on his rump. Spinning wasn’t fun for particularly long. Sighing, he clapped at his knees, hoping time would speed up. Beryl fumed, Beryl drooled, Beryl also snoozed for a short period. He memorized every article of clothing hung up all around the couch he’d been left on, able to recreate the room forwards and backwards in his mind. Then, he did the same with the lame fashion mags on the table.

“Uuuugh!” he shook his fist at the clock. “Move faster!” He then actually looked at the clock. “ONLY three minutes??? What a ripoff. I have things to do! Screw this!”

The pegasus stormed off back into the aisles. While they walked here, he’d memorized the entire layout anyway. He browsed manually, skipping and hoping from hopeful article to hopeful article, knowing what would fit without even glancing at the size tags. He had a good gut for numbers, anyway. That’s how he optimized his work routine.

He spun and posed in front of the numerous mirrors, holding each of the many pieces he’d picked up for comparison. Speaking of optimizing – he quickly threw many of them right back where they belonged, landing every shelf and rack shot (probably). Beige, green and tangerine were tough colors to match, but there were a few unorthodox options in there that really spoke to him.

Beryl did end up just posing and flexing for at least a full minute, trying to catch himself in as many mirrors as possible. By then, the patrons and other clerks had learned to keep their distance. He considered doing the paradise bird mating dance when he remembered he was trying to try on clothes. Grunting and just barely removing his glasses on time to slap his face, he slid back over to the enormous pile he’d left on one of the sitting benches.

“Oh yeah, of course none of this feels right!” he scolded himself, taking off his polo shirt. “Yeah, now this will—“

He then heard the shuffling of curtains, coming from the special orders zone. Beryl picked up what few favorites he could find and used his discarded shirt as a slide-board to get to his faithful assistant before the poor unicorn got worried.

The clerk just stared at him as he arrived. His eyes slowly moved from the bare-chested pegasus to the stack of hoodies, shirts and pants over his shoulder. He nervously fitted his necktie. His pupils shrunk as he saw that Beryl was standing on top of his own shirt.

“Sir,” he acknowledged Beryl’s existence. “I don’t think we have anything that quite… fits… your parameters… but we could-

“Yep, see, so, while you were out there, I thought I’d browse around myself? See what’s what? Mind giving me an unbiased third-party look-see?” the stallion asked, slapping the stack on his shoulder.

“Well, I suppose I might, but your…” The unicorn flexed his neck and sucked in a breath. “…unusual qualities do call for unorthodox design decisions that we could only—“

“Aaahhhh, we’ll resolve all that in a bit, now, how about—“ He threw most of the would-be clothes onto a nearby chair and had one of the shirts on before the unicorn could react. ”How ‘bout this? Don’t it match my wings? Look at these shoulders!”

“Uhhh- Ummm… Sir…” The unicorn exhaled and raised his hand. “It… IS a very aerodynamic item, but it seems to hug your physique somewhat… uncomfortably… And your wings. Ohhh…”

“Okay! Now, how about this?” He put on a pair of baggy, loose pants. Right above his old pair. “This sits SO naturally!”

“I… would have erred on the side of our a-athletic templates? You seem to—“

“Oh, how about these, then?” Beryl posed in a set of tight, squeaky, technicolor workout pants that rained sparkles all around him as he moved.

“W-well, you may have o-outgrown this particular line, but—“

“Wow, look at THIS!” Beryl flexed , stretching a chaotic comic book pattern street hoodie. He tugged at the hood laces, popping his snout in and out. “This REALLY matches my eyes, don’t it?”

The unicorn put his palms up against his face and breathed. He then cleared his throat and approached the stallion. Beryl’s pupils shrunk as he saw his finger subtly shifting to hover over the security button on his suit.

“Sir. All of the clothes you brought for evaluation are from our mares’ section.” He put his hand on the stallion’s shoulder and walked him to the mirror. He removed his hand as soon as he could and nervously motioned towards it. “And to briefly explain the exact reason I suggest special ordering… You, u-uhm, are aware of the correct criteria for a proper fashion purchase, but, the issue is…”

Beryl stared at himself. Then, he tore the hoodie off. He approached the mirror.

“Y-you’re heterochromic,” the unicorn listed nervously. He gingerly walked to the mirror’s side and motioned at Beryl’s eyeline. “Your wings are a very rare dual-color palette – v-very now, very chique! – a-and, the rather irregular pattern of pastel pink present on your coat…”

“Harmony,” Beryl said. He scared himself with his voice – low, scratchy, breathy and incredibly quiet. He shook his head and slapped himself on the cheeks. “I… I didn’t—“

“Oh, and please don’t take it the wrong way, but you are positively TONED, but I cannot help but see peculiar… p-peculiarities in your body mass distribution, so I suppose-“ The clerk paused, catching his breath. Beryl could hear something about ‘paying’ and ‘for this’. He didn’t really care. His flanks itched. “-it would be best if you followed me so we can have your measurements.”

“I… i…” Beryl stumbled away from the mirror. He stared into space, the AC blowing against his exposed coat. He stared at his wings, torso and into his eyes. His head hurt. “I think I’ll… visit another time… Nnno. H-hahah. Aaaah, I’ve got to run!!!”

His left eye was tangerine. His right eye - cerulean. Between his pecs, a whole patch of pink. A splotch above the left hip, on his upper arms, his neck. All of his primary feathers, pink as well. His permanent sixpack, now… subtle. And he never tied his hair today. It… bounced, curly strands touching as low as his nipples.

He strepped back, looking at his hands. His body spun slowly, staring at its many reflections on the mirrors amid white walls. Beige, green, pink. Pink, pink, pink. Some reflections, better than others. Some a lot better. More popcorn in his head. He liked popcorn and all, but not like this.

“Sir?! Sir, hold on, should we call a— Your shirt!“

“YOU CAN KEEP IT! I’M A BUSY MA— STALLION! BUSY STALLION COMING THROUGH!!!”

Beryl felt fine again after he had his usual sit-down, snack and chat at the hotel café. They could keep the shirt, anyway. It didn’t fit him at all. He outgrew it - in every way.

He bought a new bunch of gear at the bit store – less time spent on pickiness, more money to spend on fun stuff.





Electricity surged through the stallion’s body, fueling him with spicy, warm energy, kicking up his limbs and letting his motor functions follow the beat. It felt liberating to let the rhythm and vibration take the driver’s seat. Sometimes it was simply prudent to exchange pilots – there were entities that were far more familiar with all the little buttons. Whatever the heck they played at this club? Not amazing, not totally optimal, but it had its charm. It was good. Why would he be smiling so much if it wasn’t?

Beryl just mingled among the crowd, his body and his senses partnering up to let him drink deep of the party’s sweet nectar. He picked up on every shuffle, every breath, every pattern in the crowd’s dancing motions, he felt the bassy tune in his very bones. He felt everything. To think he caught himself thinking something within him was falling out of touch. His senses were on point. Maybe that constant stinging on his flanks – the stinging that made his gyrations really stand out; thanks, stinging – maybe that was his talent elevating?

He didn’t even wear glasses tonight! Blurry vision is not a problem when your day is itself a blur of fun, stimulating activities. Today, for example, was party day. Who knew Old Town had night clubs? Not him. He acutely remembered never stepping foot in one before now. Well, clearly, he was shaped to party. When he was on his high, his body felt like water.

Beryl didn’t even know what it looked like. He wasn’t aware of what moves he pulled off, what limbs he used, or who he even danced with. All of him was in motion, body and soul and then some. Turns out it’s way more efficient not to bother about how you come off instead of the… ludicrous number of things he formerly spent effort on not bothering with. What were these again? That thought was lost before it was born. He’d had a few drinks.

Besides, this was pragmatic. Being here, amidst the bouncing, sweaty, loud crowd, it was like sticking your fingers in a socket. Only you feed off electricity. Which he was full of. He’d do SO much work after he was home! They’d pay him so much, he’d party all over Equestria after this gig. In fact, maybe he’d even bring that mare along. Not the one he was currently spinning in the air, miraculously hovering in the air with his wings. That weird neighbor of his.

Actually, he started perusing these clubs so he could find her. Maybe get closer with her. She wasn’t all that weird. Well, she was weird, yes… but he was weird too. There was less distance between them than he once thought. And hey, she may have been a big one, but he was definitely gonna be able to support an globetrotting party adventure! He had the money.

Sun and Moon, he remembered laughing for ten minutes straight when he checked his banking app. He was sitting on HOW MUCH again? He laughed so hard, he had to go roof-jump for an hour straight to blow off some energy.

Energy was energy. But then there was hunger. Beryl discarded his dance partner, shared a few hot, dark hugs, bumps and kisses and slithered his way over to the bar. The cravings needed sating. Hungry for far too long.

“Hello there! Fix something up for you?” the bartender shouted over the loud music. He bounced to the beat, much like Beryl did on the stool.

“YEEEAH!” the pegasus replied, spreading his wings with effort, nearly getting someone else’s liquor all over his new shiny star wing slips.

“Whatcha want?”

“WHATEVER’S SWEET AND STRONG!”

“Aight, sweetie, you asked for it!”

The stallion okayed the motion and eagerly caught the glass when it slid over to him. He emitted a loud, hollering screech as the murderously sweet liquid roiled and rippled through his body.

“THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER!!!” he proclaimed.

The bartender motioned if he wanted another. Beryl nodded with all available extremities, nearly tripping up a mingling patron.

So he had another. And then another. And then two more. Then he ordered a muffin, balked at the price, which was egregious even for him. After another shot, the muffin was now acceptable. Needless to say, his enthusiasm for the party and the drinks they served only grew. At a certain point, Beryl loved pretty much everything.

Interestingly, it wasn’t that different from how he felt prior. Really, he was taking it for the taste.

“Hey now! You SURE you can take so many?” the bartender shouted over the music. Beryl wheezed and laughed.

“It’s NOTHING! Gimme mooore!” he squealed.

“They ain’t free!”

“No problem! Tap my c-card!” Beryl waved his wallet.

“Let me set up a tab! You look like you’ll want that discount when the juice wears off,” the bartender informed him. Beryl didn’t hear most of it, but then again, he understood everything, so no big loss.

“WhAAAT?”

“Look, what’s your NAME, sweetheart?” the bartender pulled closer. He raised his voice and repeated: “GIMME YOUR NAME!”

“BERYL!”

“BERRY WHAT?”

“…” The stallion hiccupped. “JUST WRITE ‘BERRY’!”

The pegasus waved the bartender over with his wing, asking for another shot. As he did so, his wing bumped into a patron who’d sat down next to him while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Hey there, beautiful,” a smarmy, blurry voice uttered.

Beryl looked up and hiccupped with laughter. Whoever that was, he liked them. He liked ponies. Ponies were friends. And friends were good.

“Heyheeeyyyyyy,” he replied. He flicked a lock of hair out of his face, revealing his snout.

“Wanna—“ the fellow clubgoer stopped for a hiccup of his own. “Wanna h-hang out?”

“Ooo…” Beryl chuckled, cocked his head and twirled a lock of hair. His wings shuddered and jolted with warm tension. “Whatchu wanna dooo?”

“You look fun…” the patron neared in, breathing a sweet mixture into his face. “Berry, r-right?”

“Maybe I am…” Beryl grinned. He grabbed the fun guy by the collar. “Let’s go see ‘bout that, mmm?...”

The pegasus snagged one last shot with his wing and dragged himself and the patron over to the bathroom.

A bunch of things happened. Sweet things. Warm things. Physical things. Fun things. Very, very fun things. Why process them? He rode the waves. He surfed the fun. He was on top of the world.

Oh yeah, he was on top. He paused. Why did that feel off? Oh. Because the guy he dragged to the bathroom felt off too.

“W-whhuh??? Wha... oh... what’s THAAAT?!” the guy babbled, pointing at Beryl’s lower waist. Beryl wasn’t wearing pants, which was very funny in the moment. He just laughed, on and on, while the fun guy incessantly pointed at the general pelvis region.

Eventually, he looked down to see what was so weird down there. His eyebrows shot up.

“WHAT ARE— WHAT? Holy shit, Berry, I am, like, a-a-ah, I DIDN’T THINK—“

“Oh, those are…” Beryl squinted, looking at the obvious things in question. He did a half-split with one of his legs to observe his flank better. “…those are l-like, oculars. Three, like… optical thingies. They’re sorta—HIC—sorta pink… that’s… huh that’s weird…”

“Look man I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were…. I-I mean, your face, like, wow, like, and your… ohhh Moooooon!.. Just—” The guy muttered from underneath Beryl. The guy was actually less clothed than Beryl. Beryl didn’t have pants on. “I don’t swing that way, dude! You’re r-r-really pretty, I’m n-not implying anything, but-“

“Oh.” Beryl gulped. “Oh f—“ He froze. His body took a few steps back as his head spun. The fun guy kind of evaporated, dragging his clothes along with him. The other ponies in the bathroom laughed their asses off. He felt a little sick. “O-oh f… fudge… I need to go home…”

There was just enough sentience in him to pay off the Berry tab before slipping out and heading off. No dreams that night.





“Hahaha, ahhh wooow! It’s. So. Bouncy. This. Is. In. Sane!” the stallion commented, hopping repeatedly on top of the floaty cloud thing. He altered which limb to land on, and even tried to land on his tail, which collapsed and landed him on his butt. That gave him the chance to look over to his side and wave his hands madly. “You’ve GOT to try this!!!”

“…well, I have, when I just took up the job. It gets a little mundane,” the park ranger asked, scratching the back of her neck. She smiled nervously. “And at this kind of altitude, it’s somewhat unsafe, so how about you take it easy on the bouncing?”

“Pfff! Unsafe! I’m a pegasus, I can fly! So are you! C’mon, what even IS ‘mundane’ anyway? ‘Mundane’ is a state of mind!” he declared, continuing to bounce as their clouds navigated through the twisting treetops of good old Everfree Forest. “Everfree is also preeeetty dangerous, so what, do we lock it up?!”

“My JOB is to keep it locked up!” The ranger sputtered with laughter. “Yours too, kind of! Now you can stop bouncing?”

“…” He did indeed pause. He sat on the cloud, his hooves hanging off. He shrugged. “Yeah, sheesh. Well, back in the day, it was wide open and things we fine! You people are boring. Like Everfree ever did anyone any harm! Any real harm, anyways.”

“Yooou’re an interesting stallion, Beryl,” the ranger said, pulling up her phone to tap through to something probably not that important. “Very… interesting. What are we getting? I’ve got—“

“Oh, can it, you silly. It’s on me. We’ll just have some food in your cabin!” the stallion procured a plastic bag containing numerous other plastic bags that together housed an enormous amount of food – mostly pastries. The ranger stared at him with pinprick eyes. It was adorable, he couldn’t help but smile.

“That… can… work?..” the mare replied, slowly nodding. He could almost hear her gears churning, trying to figure out where he got that bag from. The trick was not to think too hard about boring things.

But that was a very advanced technique, and it was a while until she could be educated in such ways. He took a while too. She was promising, though, quite promising – they’d been hanging out for a while now. It started out as catchups on his morbidly tedious work, but his natural charm was doing its job. His heart bled streams of sweet juicy nectar at the thought of that poor mare’s lonely life, watching the tamed, lame, boring Everfree Forest for hours and keeping park-goers from accessing the places that were actually fun. At least HIS job involved those areas! Beryl wept at the injustice in the world.

She was also quite moved, especially on their past few meetups. That mare certainly felt SOMETHING. You don’t stare at the stallion you’re hanging out with in such implicative ways unless you’re feeling SOMETHING. He hoped it wasn’t anything romantic, though. He had entirely too much love to spread, budding up within him. She did ask a whole lot if he was feeling okay and if he wanted to see a doctor, which may have been her way of showing that?

When that happened again after he’d swallowed his fifth donut without even chewing, he knew it was time to press the question.

“Beryl… That does NOT look healthy. The cragadiles in Area 5 do this with rocks, and I have to clean their teeth. Manually.” The ranger rubbed her forehead. She was way too prudey of late. Even made sure to sit on the other end of the needlessly long table in her cabin. “And Area 5 is where we were looking into the possible infestation from the Restricted Area. You DID see a doctor last week, right, Beryl?”

“Healthy? Healthy-shmealthy. It’s delicious and I need more of it and honestly, if I can’t feel something so deliciously sweet with every last particle of my being, sometimes I just need to take the shortcut and skip the boring parts! With all the toothy clacks! I like the sound it makes, but ponies get mad sometimes. What, you don’t?” he fired off, twirling a donut around his finger. The ranger, meanwhile, ate mostly out of courtesy. “That’s how life should be!”

“But you said too much activity makes you less efficient! Then, next week, youre... Next week, you tell me you have mood swings!” the mare tried to explain. “These are extreme! I mean, I know what mood swings are, I-I’ve been to high school – but I’m just saying, you’re the expert, you should be able to see that—“

“Oh, should I?! Good grief! Every time we hang out! Go do this, go do that, you should think of this, you should think of that! Gaaaah! I’ve done things MY way and I’ll have you know my project is nearly complete!” He made triumphant gestures with his hands. The ranger slowly dragged her own chair back. “Yes! I’ve got everything figured out!”

“Beryl...”

“Beryl! F-F-Finking! Shmeryl!!!” He hung back and balanced on the back legs of his chair. His hoodie spread open and his thick, voluminous mane spilled into the hood. “That’s not even my name!”

“Pardon?..” the mare half-whispered. He knew she was pulling out her phone.

“Yeah! It’s just a nickname I go by on my… on my… down periods! I mean look at me, is this—“ He hopped up onto his chair. His hooves balanced on its very back, while the chair itself tilted precariously on one leg. He twisted around fashion model-like, showing off his pink wings with their occasional green highlights, unzipping his hoodie to reveal his toned pink chest with cutesy beige dots, and generously waving his head like a mare from the shampoo commercials. His pink curls spun around him in a magical, mystifying fashion, allowing his eyelash flutter to come off in a particularly convincing light. “—is this looking like a ‘Beryl’ to you? What am I, a CRYSTAL PONY? PfffffBWAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!”

“…okaaay…” The mare put on a fairly low-effort smile. Maybe an F for effort. “Sooo, ‘down periods’, huh? S-sounds like a preeettty nasty, uhm… issue… H-how about I hook you up with a specialist who might—“

“Wooow. WOW. Wow!” The pegasus collapsed onto the chair, crossing his arms on the table. He looked at the mare, firing volleys of disappointment missiles out his eyes. Well, okay, he wouldn’t do that to her. She was kinda nice. Just stuck up. Stuck up ponies… miffed him. “You didn’t even ask me my name! That’s RUDE!”

“…”

He rolled his eyes. Waving his hand at the ranger, he threw a few more pastries into his mouth and squeezed an entire soda can in there to boot. Burping loudly, he exhaled and patted his stomach, squeezing his hips for good measure.

“It’s Berry.” He flung over his hood for lack of sunglasses. “Berry Bun.”

Well, at least it wasn’t a date. Good thing he – an expert in all things scrupulous – knew that he’d win her over. It was just a matter of taking himself to task and measuring the exact amount of cake and cup.

He was good at measuring things. Right?

Maybe not. Maybe he was? He needed help. He needed help.

“Yooouuu… might need some help, Bery... Berry. Y-yes, Berry. Not with your work, no, no, no! No need to go over THAT again! I get it! I mean… you know?.. Some different kind of help?..”

He needed that chubby, energetic, happy, friendly neighborhood mare to help him out convincing the silly ranger lady. She’d help. They had so much in common. Why did his flank sting every time he thought of her?






They’re not listening! They’re not listening, Sun damn it, what’s wrong with them!


The pegasus collapsed over at his kitchen table. He rolled back and forth, feeling the wooden surface press through the fat and to his muscles. A moan escaped his throat. He extended his hand off to the side and groped around, tumbling over kitchen utensils and various food items. Finding an unfinished soda, he guzzled it down in a heartbeat.


What’s the big problem? I’m better than ever! But no, I have to feel… DOWN! Ugh… something in my eye.


The pegasus observed the empty chairs next to him. His ears hurt from perking, trying to pick up on any noise or conversation from the outside. He had to be with someone! With everyone, ideally! That was his talent, right?! Making ponies happy - or, well, being able to tell what’s wrong with anyone at any given time, and then, by extension making them happy. Yes, that was right.


Ugh! You massive dummy. So you don’t want to feel right, huh?! Well, I’ll show you!!!


He climbed out and wandered out into the room proper. His eyes stung, leaking. Beryl raised a hand to fix up his glasses. His phantom glasses. He hadn’t worn those in… What time was it? The pegasus looked around, his wavy, multicolor mane slapping his cheeks. He flexed his wings, rolled his eyes at the door, and climbed out the window.

“Doors are boring. I’m not boring. I’m… not… boring.” Berry nodded to himself as he scaled the gap between balconies. He spun ballet-style as he did so and landed in a superhero pose, flexing his muscles, accidentally punching himself in the chin with a bicep. “Hey, neighbor! Hey-“


This isn’t funny. It’s supposed to be funny, damn it! Be funny! Things were ‘not funny’ before, remember?!


The pegasus shivered. Clothes scattered everywhere. Ribbons and balloons. Empty food packs and soda bottles. A mangled bed. A smell of candy, perfume and alcohol. Beauty implements lying on the floor alongside hoof socks and wing slips. This was his room? It was just that similar.

“Hoo-wee, we really are two pods in a pie…” He groaned and sat down at the table to quell his headache. “Heeey! Pinkie! Come on, pop out of somewhere, you’re cool, you can do that, right?!” He sighed. “I need help. I don’t feel right.”


Berry. Cute name! Berry Berry Berry Bun. You’re a pod, I’m a Pie.


His wings stood at attention. He felt compelled to wing-hug himself, his pink feathers shuddering as they stroked his bare torso. Something felt extraordinarily tense, to the point that his abs and pecs arose, steel-tight, from the blanket of chub he concealed them with. More popcorn in his head… He liked popcorn, but not like this. It made him think of things that were wrong. When things itched and tingled instead of feeling right. When things felt like they did now, for some reason.

“Come on, this isn’t very neighborly… Quit playing games!” he whined. With a pained wheeze, he rubbed his eyes. For a moment there, he could hardly see in front of himself. His beautiful cerulean eyes were all bloodshot now. Great.


Whatchu’ asking for? I’m not playing any games. You know that, silly.


“I don’t wanna play hide and seek! Stop messing with my head.” He wasn’t convinced he was doing much of anything right, and really, that was a problem. He squinted and glared at the chairs near him, and despite his proximity vision being blurry, he saw it.

Berry’s wings poofed up. He grinned and waved enthusiastically at Pinkie Pie. All of her. Wow, now he saw so clear.


THIS is me playing games!


“Hiya!” Pinkie exclaimed.

“Hey!” Pinkie welcomed.

“Heeellloooo nurse!” Pinkie swooned.

His eyes pointed in separate directions. His grin was roughly the span of his wings. This was weird. How did he feel?

“You’re a smart pony. You know what’s up, dontcha?” Pinkie asked him, dancing back and forth on her chair.

“This is so exciting! Golly-goo-gaa-gaa, I’d BURST WITH EXCITEMENT! IF I COULD!!!” Pinkie proclaimed, jumping up and down on hers.

“You come to me, on the day of my birth into this world…” Pinkie spoke in a forced, hoarse voice, reclining into her seat. “…and you ask me to help you feel right.” She rocketed forward and splattered herself across the table. “OKIE-DOKIE THEN!”

His eyes hurt. He considered that maybe there shouldn’t be three Pinkie Pies sitting at the table with him. Or that their rooms were identical. Or that maybe a lot of the things he’d buried under food, drink, dance and odd thought were also quite fishy.

Stroking his rumbling tummy, he departed the table, muttering to himself. He crashed on Pinkie Pie’s bed. His laptop was there.


Hi! So you’re probably wondering, what in the actual heckity-heck is going on? Well, you know… You know.


The stallion stared at the OS helper avatar. The pink cupcake glared at him with its googly eyes and cotton candy wad of hair on top. He moused over the message and clicked on it.


Fine, let me help you. You want it, baby!


His work folder popped up. Numerous pictures he’d taken popped up. Entry after entry, record after record. Theories and diagrams. Horrendously boring stuff. Harmony era artifacts… Arcane magical imprints… Changeling magic tests, Sombra magic tests, who knows what other tests… A special file with frantic theories on one particular rock, one ‘contaminated with pastry’. A file he currently couldn’t even remember writing.

That must’ve been back when his cutiemark was still three boring green oculars. When he wore glasses like some kinda nerd. When he limped every time something spooked him. When everything was boring and everything was right… Everything was right back then… It was so boring, but it was right…


There ya go! See? It’s so BORING! Who CARES? I’m not the problem! A certain grumpy pegasus is.


“I... I...“ he choked up. His eyes watered. He looked at facts indicating that rock was part of a Harmony era artifact. An artifact that was shattered. Likely a piece of jewelry. A piece of jewelry that was nearly vaporized and left to rot in the dirt.

His heart nearly stopped. He groaned and shrieked. The stallion knew what was going on this entire time. He was just too… dry, to comprehend it. Beryl was doomed.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW BORING THIS IS!!!” Berry declared. “How could I waste time on this?! Nobody CAAARES! I’m sending in what I got and they’re paying me anyway!”

Berry tossed all the files into a folder and dumped them all into an email.  Job complete. 


HAAA! There! Now you see it!


“Yes! Thank you!” Berry jumped on the bed. Pink wings hugged pudgy hips, squeezing their owner tight. “I just need to stop… getting this… feeling!.. that I’m not… myself…”


You want it?


“I… I don’t feel right! Of course I want to feel right.”

He felt like this once. He was training for wingless air drops. He did best out of the whole squad. It still scared him. The abyss below.

What sort of boring traumatic memory was THAT?! Where were the bad guys, the explosions, the grotesque torture scenes, the heroic rescues? He didn’t need these memories. They weren’t interesting. The Royal Guard was SO BORING!!!


What about Beryl?


The stallion rolled off the floor. He grit his teeth and slapped his head. Why did he do that? So silly. Acting out like this wasn’t fun. It made ponies worry. And that was exactly what he was trying to fix. Very unproductive.

He rose back up to his hooves and walked to the mirror.

“Hrrrg…” the pegasus knelt next to a pile of bunched up, discarded clothes. Shirts and pants, bland and boring. Gathering dust. His handgun lay there on the floor, half disassembled.

Well of course it did, he didn’t need it. Back in the day, ponies fought bad guys by shoving their hooves up their asses and blasting them with friendship. They didn’t need lame, noisy, stinky firework machines that were an enormous pain in the butt to put together. Beryl would do that to calm down.

Whoever did that kind of dumb stuff wasn’t worth listening to, Berry figured.


So bored… sooo booored. Bored and huuungry! Yes. Yes we are. Come here. You want it.


“But… but what if… I... I am...“ Berry unbuckled his pants. He stepped towards the mirror and leaned against it. His whole body was hot, scalding hot – no, really, it was literally hot. He sweated actual buckets.

The heat came from his cutiemarks. Those baloony things were little power generators all unto themselves. His wavy, curly hair wobbled and puffed up, stroking his abdomen. His back stung as he could feel the old, boring injury go away. His eyes shut and then opened wide, staring into the pure cerulean mirror images of themselves in such perfect clarity. As it should be.

“How do I explain this? My friends… My friends think I’m-“ Berry hung his head. His hand began to pull down his underwear. “A-and I think-“


Overthinking! Something Beryl was quite fond of! A boring downer. What’s worse – a super-duper bad fit!


He couldn’t be happier to do this. It just felt like… like that one time he forgot to take off the gun safety… or that one that rock fell on his back… or that one time he didn’t duck on time and broke his knee… or when they told him he’d need years of effort to have his eyes get better. It felt like bad things. Bad things that weren’t good.

Bad things that weren’t him.

“Bwah, fudge! My eyes! I can see so… so clearly! No, this is OBVIOUSLY working. I mean, sheesh, look at me, deliberating like a total doofus! What the heck! ” Berry stepped back and admired himself in the mirror. He spread his wings proudly, and felt appreciated for it, too. “Everyone is gonna like me! Everyone! I’ll be irresistible! EVERYONE! WILL! BE! MY! FRIEND!!!”


Suuure they will!.. Now just come over here.


Berry laughed and skipped over to the mirror. He was absolutely drenched in sweat. Feverish. Feverish and happy.

About to plunge into the abyss.


Shhh…


He stared into the mirror. She was there, hugging him from behind. Hot, shaking, his heart racing. Her hands stroked him all over. Goosebumps covered his pink coat. Tears welled in his cerulean eyes. He felt heavy. She clung, she clung so tight, nuzzling, hugging, her legs locking around his.

And then it ripped. So sweet and hot and cold and fresh. Twisting, contorting, pulling in. Warmth for two. Space for one. Snug as a bug in a rug.

The abyss stared back and the abyss stepped in. Pink lips caressed themselves in the mirror, pulled out, and dropped on the floor with a ‘whee’ of relief. Not the lips. The pink.
> Spectrum
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spectrum Sweep, the resident Restricted Area ranger, got off the phone and gathered her courage. Thank Twilight’s grace, the doc was reasonable. She was gonna owe a favor, but hey, give it some time and stuff can get forgotten. Life’s tempo was pretty swift, no reason not to cruise by on freebies now and again. Not to mention, this favor wasn’t for her.

The speedy tempo is what kept her from getting worried earlier. Honestly, could she blame herself? That guy they sent in from Canterlot was practically invisible. She’d forget he was there if not for that one time he had a panic attack and needed to be escorted out. Silly bugger. He didn’t look like the type to be spooked by trees – ex-mil, no doubt. But she didn’t budge, and besides, he had himself tested right after, so the… oddities took time to register.

It was cool having someone new to chat with at first. He even asked her out, which was cute and everything. Not enough of a date to satisfy her, though, but, still, all quite sweet. Sweep was enjoying his company, especially as he’d talk less and less about work and more and more about… whatever.

Yeah, and then one of his eyes was fuckin’ blue. Dude lost his glasses, began talking to himself, and everyone else, really. He started bouncing around like if a snakewisp crawled up his butthole. He’d laugh and holler at anything remotely resembling a joke. He’d switched to a strict diet of pastries and confections, and honestly, not even that explained how much larger he’d become. Sweep had to sigh at herself. She liked bigger stallions! Maybe if she wasn’t so self-absorbed, she would’ve noticed that the bugger was infected by the same damn thing he’d been sent here to research.

Halfway up to his floor, the ranger just had to blame herself. Mood swings. Down periods. Berry fuckin’ Bun! Yeah, right. The desk had a booking for ‘Beryl Bastion’. The mare fondled her tazer to calm down. With any luck, she won’t need to use it… the dude was sharp when they first met, but as of late- well, maybe she could trick him.

It was all so weird, though. Pink. The poor bastard started turning pink. Sweep had heard of weird-ass sicknesses that can do something similar, but this wasn’t exactly the Uncharted Territories. Pink, bouncy, chubby and giggly. This is what made it hard to be entirely on edge.

Like, what, was he turning into Pinkie Pie? Sovereign Princess Twilight’s honorable Wielder of Laughter? Bitch, please. They were likely dealing with… well… Actually, it was his job to find out. Maybe after the good doctor pumped him full of the right stuff, he’d explain.

The elevator stopped.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeyyooooo!!!” a high-pitched screech spooked the absolute shit out of Sweep. The ranger hugged the wall. The light flickered.

The escape vent dislodged, Beryl’s face stared down at her. His morbidly outgrown, curly, pink mane spilled inside – goodness, this guy used to wear a tail, how could she… Well, really, looking at how his Sun-damned snout had shaved off most of its right angles, there really were bigger problems to look at.

They had transfiguration magics back in the day. Harmony watch poor Beryl, they’d fix his face, because that there was bones moving around.

“…oookay. H-hi. H-how you doing.” Sweep caressed the tazer. “I was just coming to—“

“Oh yeah yeah yeah whatever. Ah!” The light flickered again, and Beryl was directly in front of her. That spooked her some more, because he was not borderline anorexic like he once was. In fact, she could tell he couldn’t possibly have squeezed through. “Surpriiiise! That’s me!”

“Y-yep. I… I sure was going to surprise you… with a visit… yeah.”

“You get it? Surprise?” Beryl flexed his wings, adorned with tacky, glittery wing slips. Even the base feathers turned pink… “Me? Aaahhhh. You’re no meta at all! Man I love these SO MUCH!”

There was one good thing about this. They’d probably give her a bonus when she brought him in. The extra bits won’t hurt, especially if her coltfriend – or her marefriend… - can stay in the dark. The thought help put up a smile.

“So, uh. Yeah. Stuck in an elevator, huh.”

“Pfffff! Stuck. I’m never stuck!” Beryl pulled her in, hugging tight and soft. Goodness, he was pretty good at it too. She expected to be choked, or punched out, but no. Would be feeling good if not for the whole… thing with him. Poor guy. “See, one thing I learned over the maaahahahahaaaHAAAny years of being around is – you are never truly stuck. Even in this… super-duper tighty-wighty connected-shmonnected modern world of yours... I mean ours.”

Sweep nodded and just waited for a good time to zap. Thank goodness the elevator sent out an alarm by itself. Her wings were pretty much just for show.

“Wow, that’s really, uhm, profound. Saaay. You wanna… go out somewhere, once they pry us outta here?” the ranger suggested. Her mane clung to her face, damp with sweat. She elected not to wonder why the elevator stopped. Or how Beryl was on top of it.

“Hmmm… sounds fun.” Beryl smiled, and you could fit most of Sweep’s head in that smile. “But I got a better idea!”

“Uhhh… huh?” All she needed was for him to turn around.

“You ever been to Canterlot? I’m from Ponyville – I mean Canterlot! And wow, have you SEEN Princess Twilight’s castle?!” the stallion motor-mouthed.

Come to think of it… Harmony’s sakes, he had breasts. Not these ugly male pattern chub breasts. Should-be-wearing-a-bra breasts, that’s what Beryl had. Actually… he was wearing one. Sweep stared at the fellow pegasus’ crotch (like she did many times, knowing he couldn’t possibly pick up on that). Her jaw dropped.

“U-uhhh… h-huhhh…” Sweep cleared her throat. Her mouth was dry. “Sovereign Princess Twilight’s m-marvelous castle… really fun…”

“Yeah, yeah, fancy words. Anyway, I wanna go and meet her!” Beryl declared.

There was a long, tense pause. Spectrum Sweep tilted her head, and if she could, she’d merge with the wall.

“I don’t think that’s—“

“Exactly! Just me… isn’t enough! There’s so many things to check off first! Hoo-wee, believe me, Twilight likes her checklists!” the afflicted stallion nudged her shoulder as if Sweep was in on some kind of joke. “So I was thinking, before we do that, we meet with a friend of mine.”

“You know that’s quite a coincidence. I wanted you to meet with a... friend of mine! Yeah.” Sweep nodded. Maybe this could be peaceful?

“Oh, who’s the friend?” Beryl asked. “Are they fast? Mine is really really fast. I miss her so much!!!”

The… stallion?... began to motion with his arms, mimicking the motion of an old train. Or something. Sweep didn’t really care at this point. She took a deep breath, put the tazer up against the pink pony’s neck, and let it off.

“HAHAHAHAHAAA!!!” the pegasus’ distorted voice warbled. “GOHOHOHOTTTCHAAAA!!!”

And as lightning coursed through formerly Beryl’s body, delivering a slight tickle at worst, the pegasus turned to face her. Grinning wide, he grabbed her with a strong, jiggling hand, and plastered a rock up against her face.

“That was fun.” 

Sweep slid down against the wall, jolting and shaking, her whole mind clouded, her body tingling from being hugged by someone she just tazed. The rock… The rock clung to her forehead, still fizzling with electricity. She felt like she’d downed a gallon of energy drink in one go. Her heart hammered, odd colors seeping into her vision before everything went dark.

Pinkie Pie grabbed the unconscious ranger, took a skip, hop and a jump, and arrived back at her room.

“Now let’s dash you up to speed! Pfff… PaaaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! AAAAHAHAHAHH!” She rolled on the floor, only stopping when she had to blow her nose on some of the old owner’s discarded clothes. “Aaaahhh, I kill me. Oops! Too soon…”