Don't Ask Anymore.
Spike looked over the plastic bags. There were really quite a lot of them, more each time they moved.
A small mountain, gathered up and heaped on the bed among quills and clothes, piles of letters and mounds of books, toothbrushes and cookware. The plastic bags had been a thing the first time they’d moved on, leaving the Ponyville library.
“I can’t just throw those out,” she’d explained, “they have a multitude of post-consumer uses and are mostly waterproof.” She hadn’t even looked up from where she was packaging a bottle of hoof polish, Burnished Purple, whatever that meant. The bottle and a brush, an old rag stained with polish of the years, a smaller brush for cleaning out the frogs and crannies, a bottle of gloss. These small things fit in the old ,plastic bag, and it folded around them magically before vanishing into a case that was far more expensive than warranted such contents.
He had made a mistake then, as was so often in his younger days. “But you don’t need to use this garbage, you can just buy-”
His words had triggered something, a landslide within the mare who spun on her hooves. Her wings were spread, voice stubborn and attitude inflexible. He had, for a moment, been afraid she would strike him.
What had come, instead, was more painful than any beating. A lecture. Very patiently, the newly minted princess had explained how important it was, especially among the newly elevated, that they not be seen to be putting on airs. Phrases like nouveau riche and irresponsible consumerism had appeared in their turn. It was irresponsible to waste just because one could. To simply discard and replace would soon leave Equestria impoverished and lost among the world. She couldn’t simply throw anything away.
So the plastic bags had been saved, and they had followed them. Just the two of them, Owlowiscious couldn’t be removed from the Everfree. Another lecture, about apex predators and the natural environment of critters. This one marginally more tolerable for the lack of a political angle.
And so the owl had remained with Ponyville and the rest of their friends, but the bags had followed. From Ponyville to Canterlot, from Canterlot to Phillydelphia, from Phillydelphia to Manehattan through half of Saddle Arabia, and from there back to Manehattan. When they’d first set foot back in Equestria, Spike had been filled with elation, and the strange desire to set the plastic bags free in their home and native environment. They could fly freely through the streets, liberated and enjoying the peculiar smog of Manehattan and the heaviness of fall in the temperate zones.
He was filled with many strange desires, none of which he performed anymore. Instead, he continued to follow his travelling companion through the world, and the plastic bags came with. The little yellow sun on the bags advised all and sundry to “Have a Nice Day.” It was good advice, if you felt like taking it.
A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts on the purpose of late capitalist products and the literary meaning perhaps contained within. He hurried on his legs, no longer so stubby as they had been once, and opened the door.
The grinning landlord with his fussy mustache forced his way into their ... his apartment. The lease was terminated, so it wasn’t really theirs anymore. Still, Spike resented the intrusion. There was no excuse for this one being so pushy, but maybe he had dreams of writing himself a check from the royal coffers.
His disappointment as he noted the freshly cleaned carpet was almost palpable. As he walked through the nearly empty rooms, Twilight made sure to remind him of every nick and scratch she’d inventoried upon arrival. Yes, the door to the balcony had squeaked like that two months ago. No, the dragon had not smoked anywhere inside the premises. Spike had followed them at first, but quickly realized he was unneeded, so when they returned to the apartment from the balcony (No, there was no rust on the railing), he’d remained without.
The balcony last night had seemed so solemn as he stood on it, wishing there were some send off the inanimate could participate in. In the distance, the lights of the towers had blinked red and cheery, and he remembered the first night, imagining that he was living within the protection of some sort of shield. An ancient evil of the sort that always lurked in the earlier days was out there, just past the towers. He could send a letter back to Ponyville, calling Pinkie Pie and Applejack and Fluttershy to their aid, and on the way they’d pick up Rarity in Canterlot and Rainbow Dash in Cloudsdale.
It had taken him six weeks to give up on that illusion.
As he stared over the empty streets, knowing that this was the end again, he wished he could bring the thought back one more time. Maybe it would be better to have left even earlier this time? There was a sense of contempt that came from their languages and accents, a sense of bitterness that grew out of being in one place and learning the habits only to discard them weeks later. It would be better to have fond memories for once.
Maybe it would be better, he wondered as he traced his claw across the concrete floor that was too hot during the day and too cold at night, to never be anywhere for more than one night.
When he returned to the small apartment, the landlord was gone. He must have been dissatisfied with his satisfaction, because Twilight was wearing the quietly triumphant grin of one who would be getting at least some portion of her deposit back. Even the toilet had been scrubbed until it sparkled.
He looked through into the bathroom, baffled again by how huge it was, and the empty medicine cabinet with its swept shelves. The shower curtain had been theirs, the shower had not. The empty basin expanded his little private world until it bore no resemblance to the familiar. The air reeked of disinfectant, not the familiar smell of almost mold and faint ammonia that a bathroom should have. The tiles were bereft of familiar clippings to be swept up tomorrow, because there would be no more tomorrows here.
It was a clean bathroom.
It was a good bathroom to come into or go out of.
It was thoroughly disturbing to stand in, and for a moment he tried to entertain the idea that he might vanish into the vast, untamed expanse of clean linoleum.
It was unlikely such would be the case, and he left the toilet, with the water spinning in glistening pristinity. The toilet paper holder beside it bereft of its roll, and the towel rack empty. Even the garbage can and hamper were gone, leaving huge gaping spaces of perfection behind them.
After resolving the matter of turnover, Twilight had returned to the bed, sorting her belongings into their appropriate bags. Everything had been hauled out of its old place and deposited on the burgundy sheets, it was important to leave nothing behind.
A bundle of socks flew across the room, and another bag locked up. Another little steel click as two months of sprawl was reconsolidated.
The mare froze. A single key floated before her eyes, hanging in her grasp. It had been buried in one of the bags, dislodged into the present as she sorted the detritus of her life.
The little blue ring had paralyzed her, with its black cloth strap and tiny metal rod burnished with a logo almost faded from wear.
He could inquire what it was, but there was no value in it. She’d never explain; she never did explain. This same scene played out every time they moved, at least seven times a year. It was a ritual as solidified as Twilight misplacing her day planner, or leaving a book in the night stand, or throwing out the packets of soy sauce which had been saved.
Spike supposed he should be grateful that Twilight didn’t insist on bringing the soy sauce packets with her every time they moved. The local griffon take-away had been particularly insistent on loading them down with the little containers of black liquid, and Twilight had stashed two months worth away in a drawer of her desk, as if she were a squirrel preparing for a long winter without take-out growing on trees.
It had been long enough contemplating the nature of griffon cuisine, and Spike cleared his throat, preparing for his traditional question and the lack of a response that would move them along to the next step. For the first time in three years she preempted him.
“It’s the key to my parent’s house,” she whispered.
Spike stuttered, the ritual lost. He should say something anyway, and so he found the first response that wasn’t a nonsequitur. “Didn’t you say your dad changes the locks every year?”
“At least as often.”
Twilight let the weight of the key pull it to the ground. The key was a leftover from the last time she’d been home, and the lock it went into would be rotting in a dump somewhere. Worthless, it bounced on the mattress.
“Just this once,” she said, gesturing her hoof across the bed, “let’s not bring all this with us.”
“You mean the bed sheets?”
“All of it,” Twilight said, pulling up the sheets and bundling them with a small collection of old papers and half the mountain of plastic bags. The hoof polish and a framed picture and a tube of toothpaste, and then the suitcases soon joined the heap, a huge pile of earthly belongings unceremoniously dropped out onto the balcony.
With a twist of her mind, Twilight captured the mess in a bubble of energy that began to shrink. Pressure built as it was contained and compressed until it all fizzled out with a whiff of ozone. Nothing but air and ash remaining.
Except for the books. Even in her most extreme, Twilight could never neglect her travelling library. Instead, they were left in the lobby, contained within a cardboard box, with a small piece of notepaper attached.
“Please adopt us :)” said nearly 500 bits worth of Equestrian knowledge.
Spike thought the idea, and especially the smiley face, hopelessly naive. The books would probably be used for fire fuel or torn apart by children or just dropped in the dumpster out back. Not that it truly mattered, Twilight would never come back this way again, and so she could imagine whatever fate she chose for them. Completely removed from effect, her magnanimous actions could stand on their own and spin off a thousand magical scenarios.
As naked as their forebears, Twilight and Spike left the hotel, and never returned in their steps.
Keep in touch.