Chapters Book 1: Chapter 1: The Buildings
In my time alone in this world, I've learned the truth: Wherever you go, there will be some-pony who would love you. May it be a family member who loves you because you share the same thick, crimson blood running through your veins, or a friend who loves you because you share those deep, dark secrets that you would never share with any-pony else, or a stranger who loves you for the brain matter that spills out of your busted skull after it gets whacked hard enough, like that carnival game with the hammer and the bell.......
I do love you Rarity.
A dense, heavy, white fog floated about the crumbling buildings, covering them from sight like a predator hidden in the shadows. The gravel road crunched ominously under Sweetie Belle's slow-moving hooves as she journeyed onward, with no real goal in mind but to see her home again.
Knowing just how deadly this fog was, the unicorn mare wore a large gas mask with a special filter fitted over the breathing tube to keep the parasite out of her body. It made it harder to breathe, but that was for sure much better than losing her mind by far. To become a Host that needed to feed to keep the parasite in check: Sweetie couldn't even think of a worse way to live. To have your mind taken, but still be sentient throughout the experience as if it was her own thoughts. Only to fail and to see what your guts looked like when turned to blackened glass. What a way to die from what she'd seen of it, if she couldn't find any living creature, pony or not, her slimy innards and her increasingly appetizing flesh would be slowly devoured from the inside out, until nothing was left as the parasite multiplied to search for another body to use.
The predatory buildings suddenly loomed above, and looked more threatening closer up. Sweetie Belle had to stop for a moment before she could make herself to take another step. Apprehension held her back in its bony hands. How long had it been since she had last seen these buildings? When did she leave? What did it matter, she most likely hadn't been missed much from the looks of the emptiness of the land. She would've used a spell to make sure there wasn't anything around that would do her harm, but any unicorn inside the fog couldn't use magic at all. No pony has really taken the precious time to figure out the answer as to why that happened, since survival is a little more important than the sharing of unneeded knowledge.
For this, she carried a wooden, ring-handled pistol that would go around her hoof and could be fired with just a thought for it to do so. It had the charred initials W.L. branded into its maple surface and held a chilling reminder for Sweetie that this weapon probably hadn't been able to save its last owner, so she would only want to use it in dire situations. She had found it while salvaging in this one junk filled building building, and she had seen that it was good. Ponies had rarely used them in times before the plague. So rare in fact that Sweetie first saw one in Applejack's room under the mare's bed when the CMC was snooping around. She had only touched and held this one.
Keeping on edge, and using her eyes as a personal forward radar, she scanned her surroundings as she walked down the empty street that would either lead to her temporary safety or her eternal loss.Once again, no pony would miss her: in fact, she probably wouldn't miss herself either, if she wasn't in this body. The Celestial Body sounded mighty nice right now. To just end it all. The mask felt uncomfortable, strapped tightly to her face, and that added assurance that kept her mind awake.
It wasn't until Sweetie had reached the center of town did she have a more detailed look at the twisted remains of her childhood's home. They looked even more threatening with the crudely boarded up doors and windows with pieces of worn plywood and rusty nails, and the uncared for planks on the wood-paneled walls were slowly falling apart to reveal the the rotten, bug eaten internal skeleton underneath the once detailed architecture. In the very middle, surrounded by the faded past, was the twisted remains of a once tall and proud clock tower and town hall, now a crumbled heap that stood barely higher than the buildings around it. The bronze clock, probably one of the oldest things in Ponyville, was now rusted, fallen and broken in half with springs and wires all around it. It was such a depressing sight to see for Sweetie Belle, as she rubbed her hoof over the time worn metal and felt its chipped roughness.
The mare walked on further, ever vigilant with her eyes and her ears pointed towards the fog. The sun behind the clouds was high in the sky as always, but it still felt cool and damp in the fog, as if the fog was trying to trick her into thinking that it was normal. It didn't help that Ponyville was nowhere near a coast line.
Across where the town hall was, the dead tree branches of the Golden Oaks Library were bare of the green leaves that once flourished on the hollowed tree. Seeing it, Sweetie couldn't help but smile with the corners of her mouth just barely moving up at the memory of learning her first magic spell there and the happiness it had brought her... and the life saving strategies it gave her.
She realized that she had once lived on this street as could just make out her old home in the distance. Slowly moving forward, she began to approach the building's features. The peeling blue paint still gave a vibrant look to the walls-much better than the rest of the still standing buildings- and the large glass windows were shattered, open with jagged teeth ready for her. Even though it was still just as rotten as the other buildings, it still held somewhat of a homely feeling. Guess Rarity had known what she was doing when she, according to her parents, designed the building, but Sweetie was too young to remember this.
She heard the distant crunch of the gravel road from behind her, but years of honing her skills in stealth and lying had made her a mare of almost stone, so she didn't flinch her limbs and muscles or instinctively twitch her ears to hear the sound better. It sounded slow, almost like her own movements were being recorded and played back. They had a stealthy quality to them. If Sweetie hadn't been listening to the silence around her, she would've missed them. Whoever this was, was no fool...possibly not one of them, but you could never really be sure until their yellowed teeth were ripping into your soft flesh and slurping your blood like a milkshake. You would never know until the parasite's hunger began to take its toll on it's host's body.
They were coming at an angle, almost like the owner was slowly circling around her. Were they playing with her or were they testing to see what she would do. Out of the corner of her eye, Sweetie saw turquoise.
The mare's breathing uncomfortably stopped in her throat like a plug, and a small bead of sweat tickled along her brow as it trickled down her forehead. She knew who this was, back when she lived in Ponyville... Yeah, the one who would rave about the mythical creatures known as humans, or something like that.
"Lyra?" Sweetie spoke softly, half fearing that some pony she knew was one of them. Her voice pushed up the plug in her throat; it felt dry.
"I thought you were a Host....Was going to take you out with this stake to your heart....but I see you're not." Sweetie saw the weapon. But how would've Lyra been able to use it without magic in the fog? "But I do suggest you get yourself some shelter soon, the fog is about to get much worse."
The warning didn't seem right to Sweetie. No heart, just words. Other than hygiene, from the looks of the uncut, tangled hair and mane that almost completely covered her eyes, Lyra wasn't acting like a pony. More on edge than ever, Sweetie kept her eyes on the mare who stood there, looking back at her before she gave giving a single "hmm" and just walked back into the fog. Sweetie watched her go until her eyes couldn't make out the mare's figure past the sheet, but she didn't move until the gravel hoof steps could be heard no more.
While the mare was being suspiciously creepy and dramatic, she was right....She needed to get to shelter underground fast. She turned back to the Carousel Boutique.
Book 1: Chapter 2: Carousel Boutique
Grey dust had gathered all over the remains of the busted furniture and torn fabrics and curtains. They seemed to glow when the last faint traces of sunlight made it through the fog, to gently shine in through the broken window that adorned the front of the building.
While the mask protected her from the parasite right now, the musty, pungent smell of mildew filled her nostrils. Sweetie walked into the old shop of memories and closed the squeaky door behind her.
Other than the look of utter abandonment, nothing had really changed, as the building still somewhat held a homely feel to it. Except for what Sweetie saw in the corner of the boutique, and she had to resist the urge to book it out the door right then. Those damn, creepy, plastic colticans were still placed there like they always had been when she had lived here. She didn't like them then and she had never gotten any better: if anything, her fear of them had maybe gotten a little worse. Unfortunately, the magenta curtain that had usually concealed them had fallen from neglect and bugs, and was now draped over one of the non-ponies that wished they were so. Sweetie shivered and decided to look somewhere else.
In the opposite corner was the metal borders of the mirrors that once customers would use to look all over themselves in their new attire that was meant to hide their disgusting skin and pelt. Sweetie had used them for the same reasons, too, so she wasn't without fault, the mare reminded herself. Rarity had always hated it when she would get into any clothes left discarded and played dress-up in them: she would get hilariously over dramatic about it. Hmmm. Yeah, those were the days.
Broken shards of the mirrors laid scattered all over the floor in front and around the table there...Some pony must've smashed them from the looks of them. Because, from her experiences with mirrors, they only shattered when force has been applied to them. Heh, listen to that, she sounded like Twilight.
Between these was the indigo stairs that led up to the bedrooms on the second floor. Sweetie quickly walked at an almost jog so she wouldn't drown in the overflowing memories, as well as to get past those eerie colticons. Stay away, Sweetie, stay away. She stalked her way up the stairs.
Her bedroom was first on the left. She rambled over in a dream-like state on overload to the things that had long since been buried in deep graves with no headstones. The door was on the floor, fallen off its hinges with a large gash down the center, as if somepony had kicked it hard. What was with ponies and destroying things in this home? Oh, the latch where the door once closed was broken from force. The wooden frame of the door where the lock was smashed. The lock itself was turned outward, which explained why it was kicked.
Not much light made it into the dim room. The window had been boarded up, except for a tiny sliver of light at the top. This was interesting to Sweetie, the boards were neatly hammered up, Rarity must've done it, she always loved doing things with grace and perfection, even if it would make the job that much more difficult. Numbers were drawn in along the ends of all the boards like a ruler to where the nails were to be lodged in and straight lines were all over. Yep, Rarity. Hehe, even in defense, she would take the sweetest time to make sure it looked good, and boy did this look good.
Sweetie carefully stepped over the door into the room. To her confusion, there was no dust or decay anywhere compared to the rest of the home. Only a few things were thrown around, like the same pony had gone through everything rather quickly for anything they may have needed.
On her old bed, the original covers still laid out over it, including a quilt was folded neatly upon the untouched covers, much too small for her and covered with a checkered pattern of diamonds in many warm, bright colors: red, yellow, lime green, and many more than Sweetie could possibly think of in her world of grey. It had been so long since real color caught her eye, and it was good.
Everything was sewn into each part of the fabric so professionally, and it was so beautiful. She carefully stroked the glorious piece of artwork, feeling its soft cotton comfort shoot up her foreleg. At least for once, she didn't feel in danger of a slow, and most likely painful, death. She couldn't bring herself to get away from this wonderful feeling. It was almost...intimate.
Sweetie didn't care how much time had passed before she pulled away from the quilt. The large saddlebags that laid across her back weren't very heavy, so Sweetie gently picked the blanket up and placed it in her left saddlebag to bring along. She continued her past-marry-present journey of memories and nostalgia.
Next to the bed was a closet with a rolling door covering it, painted the same color as the walls around her... white. She remembered how much she loved the color, going so far as to refuse any ice cream that wasn't vanilla. Her mouth watered at the thought of ice cream, that creamy frozen treat that would revolt if you enjoyed it too fast and too much, like it hated going away so quickly. What would she do to feel a brain freeze tear apart her skull, mmmm...non-violently of course. Sweetie swatted the thought of death away.
Remember, happy thoughts. The adventures of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Yeah.....
Rolling the door open with a careful slid of a hoof, Sweetie only found a small wooden chair. Its color was obscured by the dimness of the room, and the near complete darkness of the closet. The carved letters painted bright yellow on the back rest could still be read through the created night: Mr. Teddy. Her bear...her first friend. Was he here? It would be great to have him back. To snuggle with and to love, completely platonic of course, although she had no idea what he would do if he didn't approve. Haha, what was she thinking? Mr. Teddy wasn't alive, he was just a stuffed bear... but she still missed him now that her mind was on him.
She frantically stuck her head into the closet and looked around for her friend, but she couldn't see anything through the darkness. She reached into the saddlebag with her mouth and pulled out a flashlight, which she proceeded to click on to brighten the darkness. Wow, maybe she needed a flashlight for her brain. Looking back inside the closet, to her complete disappointment, the interior was completely cleaned out. No bear.
Sweetie felt her ears involuntarily fold down as a strange sad feeling overcame her. Depression? Everything felt hopeless suddenly, and with no apparent cause. She needed to get away from the memories, she obviously couldn't handle them as expertly as she thought she would be able to. What lies is this!? Damn youth! She wandered away out of the room of the past, and back into the hallway of the present. That chair was dangerous to her mental health, as thrown up as it was. Revolting thought puke was. But the spores, like a parasite, had already spread throughout her body.
Rarity's room was next. But Sweetie felt anticipation towards its door, another fear of a portal to the distant past to bring about tears that the mare had to keep down silently, and she didn't know if she could handle it anymore. Yet, no pony would get anything done if they let fear take them over. It was overcoming fear that Equestria had been founded on and created by. Fear was normal, especially in this world now, you just had to be more afraid of not overcoming it.
The door never squeaked as she pushed it open. It was well oiled after this time? Just like her own room, Rarity's was dark, wooden boards were covering the window. But there was a hint of sloppiness that wasn't present in the boards of her own. Even the wood used wasn't the best that could've been used. It made Sweetie wonder if Rarity had locked her room to leave it like a memorial... no, that sounded creepy. More like to keep it the same for her little sister's return: something that hadn’t happened until now
No, just keep away from memory, away from the past. The past was NOT friendly. Ponies using ponies. No neighborly attitude. But the memory overtook her mind with ease.
~~~
A filly Sweetie Belle stood next to her older sister at the train station platform, with tears threatening to mess up the annoying mascara that Rarity had forced her to wear at her own displeasure. So many ponies were congratulating her on going off to get a higher education, but why would anypony want to congratulate another on their unhappiness? She was going to be just like Rarity, they say, and Sweetie noticed that many stallions were looking at her sister with a strange glare, unknown to her pre-adolescent mind. Just like Rarity, they say.
The filly felt unready for this, unwilling, as she turned back towards the town that she would have to leave for so long. Her best friends, and fellow Cutie Mark Crusaders, Applebloom and Scootaloo stood further back to watch her go off. Rarity's friends, the ones she would go to for advice, mostly bad advice, were beyond the platform with ranged expression from happiness, to sadness, to pride, and to indifference.
Looking back to her friends, she noticed that even Scoots was having a difficult time keeping the tears at bay, and Sweetie couldn't blame her or Applebloom. They were a team, they stuck together through whatever came their way. Now, that team would be missing one of their own, and that made the goodbyes so much more difficult to say.
She couldn't do it! Not now! Sweetie frantically leapt from her sister's side and galloped over to her surprised friends before tackling them into a big bear hug, refusing to let go. The others had the same idea. Sweetie felt her tears finally wet her cheeks as the same thing happened to the others. The sound of a far off train whistle wailed the call of the banshee, coming closer. Killer of youthful happiness. Sweetie just couldn't and didn't want to leave.
Sweetie felt a hoof carefully and calmly pat her on the back comfortingly. She say Rarity was looking down at her, smiling warmly. "It's alright Sweetie, you can say your goodbyes, though I'm going to have to redo your make up on the train: need to make a good impression on the school administrators. You'll be able to see them whenever they can visit. I'll even close up the shop and and bring them down there myself if I must."
"We'll miss ya, Sweetie Belle. Ah’ll visit ya as much as Ah can." Applebloom smiled a forced smile through the tears.
"Yeah, me too. And write to us and tell us how awesome it is down there, you better not forget. Though, I don't see any reason for school to be awesome. I mean, come on, it's school." Scootaloo rambled a bit there before the trio gave one last hug as the train whistle came closer.
~~~
The haunting cry if a siren brought Sweetie out of her daydream. The wailing message whirled around her, warning her that the parasite fog was getting so thick that even the mask she wore wouldn't work properly, and thus fail to protect her against the massive amounts of spores in the air. She needed to quickly get herself out of the fog, or underground. Thankfully, the building had a basement where Rarity had always stored the unused supplies. If it was unlocked, that was: she mentally kicked herself for not checking when she had the chance.
By the time Sweetie had made her way out of the shop and home and around the building, the siren had finished its call and the silence of the wind could only be heard. Oh thank you Rarity! She had left it unlocked, as if she’d known that Sweetie was going to return and would need shelter. Sweetie smiled faintly in the mask. Pulling the metal doors open, Sweetie scrambled inside to shut the hatch behind her to keep as much of the parasite out as much as possible. It was very dark, and the place still reeked of blood down here.
Book 1: Chapter 3: Underground
The darkness had a hold of everything, and the rusty iron smell filled the air around her with putrid memories, like it had infected the entire underground room. The green glow of Sweetie’s magic scared the darkness away to illuminate the water-stained cement walls. Where was the sickly smell of death coming from? There was no blood anywhere, yet the constant smell of it flooded her nostrils. Maybe it really was a memory. The smell disappeared, leaving only mildew. What a day of those, Sweetie was starting to feel sick from all these memories. Maybe coming back to Ponyville wasn’t worth it all.
The distressed mare walked further into the underground room until Sweetie became aware of shapes sitting on a jumbled pile. Boxes and equipment such as sewing machines lay about in an organized fashion, like everything else about the building. What really caught Sweetie’s attention was a mirror sitting untouched in a corner. Was it crying like a foal on time out in the corner?
Before she could do anything else, she ruffled through her bag and carefully pulled out what looked like a simple coffee can with no label covering the thin metal sides, which it was. She she twisted the top off, oh so gently, and gave it a sniff to test and see if it was going to work. She jerked away, crinkling her nose in disgust, as the sickening smell of rotten meat made her eyes water a bit. Yep, it’ll work. Fully opening the can, she placed it in the middle of the room and took a step back, not taking her eyes off the trap of her own creation.
The trap didn’t take long to begin working, as she saw the edges of the rotten meat begin to slowly disintegrate by what only looked like air. But just as quickly as it had started, it ended with the rotten meat being only a fraction of what it was by quite an amount...Hey, ponies could be useful! Through the mask she wore, Sweetie Belle smiled like a little foal on Hearth’s Warming Eve at her ingenious device. She had poisoned the meat with an herb that she noticed killed off the parasite...trial and error was how she knew.
She almost pranced back over to the can and carefully screwed the lid back on. She gingerly returned it to her saddlebag. The biggest problem with the trap was that it left such a disgusting smell in the air, as if she was having sex with Celestia herself with how old she was, if she wasn’t dead. The bucking shrew...no not that word, she can’t say that word...Oh well...buck, buck, buckity, buck, buck, buck. No pony was around to hear her anyway!
It should be safe enough to take off her mask...it was safe. If there were any parasites left, there would be too few to really affect her...trial and error. She unbuckled the strap that held the breathing tool, apparatus, whatever it was... the important thing. It struck the ground with a plastic sound, and Sweetie took a deep breath in. Such freedom. Can’t school teach such a concept? Freedom?
Sweetie felt the prickling feeling of the hairs at the base of her tail, she knew that damn mirror was right behind her. Was it silently calling her name on the breath of the wind to the past? It better not be. Curiousity was a strange thing, though she was somewhat uninterested with how she looked. She had seen her reflection in a pond she had passed on her way here from Canterlot. Well, thankfully she wasn’t a cat, because Sweetie allowed herself to turn around and see.
Sweetie’s vision blurred a bit from the first of many salty tears, but it unfortunately wasn’t enough to block out the image that Sweetie saw. The sorry sight that was of her maneless head, shining against the glow of her magic. Protection? She looked terrible! Though just a bit safer.
She felt the exhaustion of overusing her magic beginning to affect her. She felt so drained. But thankfully, she was prepared, but needed to get her priorities straight. Reaching into her saddlebag...then she stopped. She kept having to reach behind her to get something, why couldn’t she take the saddlebag off of her back and lay it down on the floor?
The magical light from her horn began to flicker like a flashlight running low on batteries. She carefully sat her saddlebag on the dusty cement floor. She wouldn’t be able to hold the flashlight, so she used the next best thing. She pulled a lantern out with her mouth and clicked the switch on the side to have the light burst from the center, partially blinding Sweetie with black spots in her vision from stupidly staring at it. The room seemed much larger now and the creepy shapes from the boxes weren’t so creepy anymore.
Sweetie could still hear the childish call of the mirror. Why did she have to see herself? But she turned around anyway. So mentally weak.
Dark-greyish-blue rings encircled her still bright emerald-green eyes with large bags that told the tale of many sleepless nights, spent watching the ring of darkness around her for signs of movement. “RUN SWEETIE RUN!” A female’s voice from her past called into the present, threatening Sweetie...Deep breath, happy thought.
A large pink scar ran across her neck from ear to ear. Okay! That was enough of looking. Was that the fear of seeing them or just the fear of remembering? She wanted to learn from her past, but the past was too scary to look at.
Sweetie raised her eyes to notice from the first time to her utter horror that spiders and their silk webs dotted the ceiling and walls. The cracks and crevices made perfect homes. Beautiful things webs were, especially when heavy with dew that made them look like they were decorated with crystals, but spiders deserved to die! Their eight legs and large eyes, aliens more like it. They just better stay away as she slept.
Speaking of sleep, Sweetie felt the exhaustion start to creep around. She slowly walked over to her bag for one last time and pulled out the folded quilt. She carefully unfolded it out of a complete respect for the work of art. Taking another look at the beautiful blanket, Sweetie noticed a strange pattern on the inside that she wouldn’t have been able to see with the fabric folded up. A message? From Rarity?
Within the creative amounts of colors and shapes, Sweetie could see that the colors made words...a deep, connecting message that made Sweetie’s heart jump. It was almost like she could hear her sister’s voice talk to her. “I Love You, Sweetie Belle.”
Sweetie felt like a foal once again as she pulled as much of the quilt as she could around her body in her forelimbs in a hug. A warm, comfortable hug. She closed her eyes and sighed a deep, comforted sigh.
She whispered, “I love you too, Rarity.”
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The tall buildings of Canterlot made Sweetie feel even smaller than she normally did in Ponyville. She couldn't help but gasp in wonderment and curiosity at how everything was so much faster moving than out in the country environment. She couldn't say that she hated that idea of not slowing down; she didn't like the idea of having to learn to follow in their hoof-steps for the next two years. Everything was so ear-splittingly loud; the roar of the manticore was drowned out by the mess of sound. Everything Sweetie could smell was dirty or stinky, nothing fresh. She had witnessed a pedestrian pony almost get struck by a wagon going too fast to stop properly. After that, she didn't want to leave Rarity's constantly moving side. She was talking excessively about the shops that she knew or had been to, but why would Sweetie want to listen to her going on about that? Only a few pieces of information were really needed.
"And this is the school that you would be attending for your higher studies. Well, what do you think?" Rarity's voice cut through the clouds of the daydream with ease with its shrillness. For once, Sweetie was beginning to see how annoying that voice could be. It no longer brought up a feeling of joy, but instead brought up resentment. Maybe Sweetie was silent throughout the trip up here past Ponyville train station, but harsh words rocketed through her mind with how much betrayal she was feeling now.
"I think this place is dangerous. Didn't you see that pony almost get hit by that wagon?" Sweetie asked her sister in a tone that was between a child's quality and dark, gritty anger.
"Oh, that happens all the time. Maybe ponies should watch where they are going. I better not find you in the hospital after such an accident." Rarity shrugged off Sweetie's question.
Was that all she had to say? Did lives even mean anything to Rarity?
Sweetie looked up at her new school and was appalled by what she saw. No wood, barely any windows allowed light to filter inside. "It looks like a prison."
Rarity obviously didn't like that comment from the skunk eye Sweetie saw out of the corner of her eye.
BANG, BANG, BANG!!!
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The echoing sound of metal being struck interrupted the dream. Why would some pony want to bang on that metal hatch? Hitting that with such force could hurt them. Maybe break a few bones before she got to them for waking her up. Of course, after she had hugged them with a passion for getting her out of that horrifying memory pile of rotten vegetables. Dreamswere very evil. In this world, everything could be pretty much evil. Maybe that was why she wanted to break this pony's hoof for waking her up from an evil dream. They were just being evil too. Right?
BANG! BANG! BANG!
From the sound of the frantic pounding, they were in a hurry. Maybe she should take a bit more time to prove to them that they could wait a few seconds for her to get over to the door and open it. But she couldn't do that; it would be mean. Unless it was an infected, then she could smash the door into their necks, cracking the vertebrae and see them die right there on the spot. Though that might be a bit quick for them to go.
But they were still sentient ponies, so was thinking this way even right?
Sweetie didn't notice that she was moving towards the door absentmindedly. Well, that was a way to choose what to do next, congrats to involuntary movement.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"Shut up!" she shouted at the door. She had to stop herself from taking another step. What about her mask? Maybe the parasite fog was still out there and this pony wanted her to make a morning stupor mistake. Well, she was too smart for that. She used her magic to bring the lifesaver over to her and to strap it onto her face.
BANG! BANG!
Sweetie had no idea what she would do if they struck that door one more time. Sweetie thought about what punishment would fit the annoyance of this. Why would it even have to be something with death? To everypony else it was only about death and survival. Didn't they find the irony in that? She grabbed the hoof pistol while she thought about punishment.
She marched over to the doorway and threw it open in a blind anger. "What!!!?" She shouted in Lyra's face. The green mare seemed unaware of Sweetie's anger, and she continued banging on the now open door. BANG! BANG! BANG! Sweetie could feel her blood pressure rising and was betting on how much steam was whistling out of her ears.
Then she heard the strange humming of Lyra laughing. It wasn't a happy laugh, but one that was scraped dry like the sand on the beach. It was…just dry. "You get angry far too quickly, Sweetie. That could cause you to lose sight of the goal that's right in front of your muzzle." Lyra spoke like a mare teaching to her foal the values of life. How young did Lyra think she was? "Why are you still wearing that mask? You haven't realized it yet, but I'm standing outside without one. The fog has moved on to look for other ponies, so it's safe to take that off. Unless it's a new fashion statement; I haven't been keeping up on the latest fads after the first time I almost got eaten."
No, Sweetie had never noticed that. And she was the one who paid attention to details and her surroundings. Good going, smart one.
Lyra curled her brow as she shook her head. "How did you even survive walking all the way to Ponyville from Canterlot? It was Canterlot you were sent to, right? That school that wasn't as good as the one that Celestia had started. Oh well, I can't remember."
Oh, what a punch to face, and Sweetie felt it alright. Maybe she should fire the gun nonchalantly at the mare's hoof…Click…nope, it was out of bullets.
"And then you allow your anger to, once again, control your actions and thoughts to try and shoot me in the hoof, right? I heard that click and it revealed another mistake of yours. You just showed me that you have no ammo to protect yourself. I also see that you have no melee weapon, and I do," She showed Sweetie that same long piece of wood she had seen yesterday. "You would be in a pickle if I was infected."
Sweetie couldn't hold back the boiling hot question that she felt she had to say to try and get the information. "Why are you acting like a master of survival, and treating me like a foal?" She had not been here even a day and Lyra was acting like she was the queen of the town. Was she really and master of survival, or the fool in a costume?
She could see Lyra's eyes just cloud over and her body language started to become more rapid like she couldn't stay still: maybe she had something stuck to the bottom of her foot. It was an awkward silence for a while before the green mare said anything in the form of a question back to Sweetie. "Do you know anything about sacrifice?"
What type of question was that? "Yeah I do. I've watched my best friend die right in front of me…"
"That's not sacrifice, that is loss." Lyra interrupted Sweetie. "Maybe you haven't had to choose to let somepony you care about become infected because of a mistake you, yourself, made. With loss, you had no place to choose. Which do you think is more difficult to live with?" Lyra brought her forelimb up onto Sweetie's shoulder. SKIN! Sweetie promptly jumped from under her caress. Lyra was obviously confused but none-the-less let it go. "You are still young. Thirteen years can come and go so fast. I am getting older and older, while you're still young and beautiful. When I first saw you come into town. I could believe that I could help you get in the right direction."
"I don't need another Rarity." Sweetie promptly said. No one could take her place. But she betrayed her. What was the right thinking for this? Was Rarity a good sister or not?
"Of course. But think of me as not Rarity, but as Lyra." Lyra gave another forced creepy smile.
Book 1: Chapter 5: Ne'er-do-Wells
Sweetie followed Lyra into a small garden that she knew had once been full of blooming red roses and delicious vegetables. Now all that remained were the yellow thorns and disgusting vines that had overgrown everywhere and crunched greasily under the pair’s hooves. The mare turned to face the fresher of the pair, as her eyes became as dead as the past’s roses. “Do you remember Carrot Top?” She asked, almost with a bit of anger tied into her words.
Lyra’s changing attitude was beginning to worry Sweetie with the tips and the angry rants and questions on what she remembered from the town’s long gone past life. Why would the past come back every time they went seeking it? Was it because she was seeking it with a closed hoof to what information was being given, or was it because it was seeking her, and by seeking it at the same time, it was making her easier to find.
Sweetie thought hard about that, worried about how Lyra had said it. Her tone was once again cold and menacing with no real motive behind it. Could it be a river? “I kinda remember I would sometimes see a mare with an orange fuzzy mane in town. I never really talked to many ponies in town when the CMC were out and about.”
“Ah yes, your little club that you had with Applejack’s little sister and that homeless pegasus.” Lyra looked at the dead flowers like they held the answer to all that was good in this world.
How could she say that about Scoots, she had been a glorious friend when Sweetie needed one. Had she ever been this angry at one pony at a single time so quickly? She could only think of one other time, back at school. But that was for another day.
“Hey, Scootaloo was much more than an orphan! She was a friend, and a much better one than you could possibly hope to be with that attitude!” She had to be right about that. It was much too simple to believe that she wasn’t.
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was homeless. You just cemented my statement of her being homeless by saying that she was an orphan. Your argument went against what you wanted, so what was the point of arguing to begin with? Also, I have no wish to make friends, since everypony I know is dead…with exceptions. We really need to work on your anger because it’s starting to get a little annoying.” She turned back to the rose bushes and began to shift through them with her hoof, the thorns cutting deep into the flesh, and Sweetie could see the blood was oozing out and surrounding the limb like the vines covering the ground.
How could Lyra not have a shred of care about anything... and by the look of it, herself including. It was like she was a dead star, ready to explode or flake off into the abyss. The major question for Sweetie was whether she was going to flake off or explode?
“Are you just going to stand there or am I just going to get home myself? Even with no fog, the prospect of getting jumped by ne'er-do-wells is higher when the fog isn’t here to protect us against them.” Lyra continued on after she had pulled her forelimb from the bush without even wincing, continued on as if nothing happened. Sweetie didn’t feel like asking if she was okay, and was kind of hoping that she would get an infection and die. Or maybe get a parasite in her so Sweetie would have an excuse to cut off her head.
“Ne'er-do-wells?” Sweetie asked Lyra, curiosity filling her voice for some reason. That statement for some reason, made a made Sweetie’s ears prick up. Was she still angry?
“Yes. They are the ones who have banded together to take what is not theirs and kill those who are not a part of them or if they are bored. To me, they are a bunch of pricks who deserve to all die in a vat of cooking oil, or staked over a nice warm fire to cook, and have ourselves a barbeque.”
From behind Lyra’s back, Sweetie’s eyes widened and her heart quickened. Maybe she should keep on her hooves around Lyra. “Why would they do that?” She decided not to question why Lyra had said that, but not letting get far from memory.
“Who knows? Let’s just get back inside before they show up, and believe me, they will show up at some time.” Sweetie couldn’t disagree with that logic.
Lyra directed Sweetie into a rickety shack that was falling apart at the edge of town. Underneath a pile of old tarps, tool boxes, and gardening equipment, she lifted a metal trapdoor that revealed a ladder going down into a dark, cavernous room. To Sweetie, it didn’t have the feel of just a hole in the ground, but something more.
“Is this your humble abode?” She asked to Lyra, who didn’t answer. Instead, she unleashed her golden colored magic with its normal sparkling glow, and the room flashed with light. Craning her head, Sweetie saw a large fire in the center of the room. “How do you have that without suffocating from the smoke?” Wonderment like a child came back to her with the prospect of learning something new.
“Look up and see for yourself. You can’t always ask some pony and expect to get an answer every time. You should look around and figure it out on your own. Only when the answer is not so obvious should you ask for an explanation. And even then, you might not even like the answer.” Lyra never looked at Sweetie throughout that whole lecture. She only laid down on a pillow on top of a smooth rock that stuck out from the walls. “But to answer your question from before,” She continued. “Yes, this is the rotten stink-hole of a home. It’s connected to the town’s sewer system, so don’t go traveling through the dark halls, for I fear that you may not come back.”
“It doesn’t stink down here as much as it should be.” Sweetie snuck in a little conversation to try and lighten the mood that hung around Lyra. She could almost see a strange change in the mare’s eyes when she had some pony to talk to.
“I found some cement in the work shack above and sealed the way up.”
“Then, what was the use of telling me not to go off into the tunnels?”
“I remember back to how you three were. I would have to tell you not to light a match after some pony farts, and then watch to make sure you wouldn’t do it.”
“You do realize that thirteen years have passed. Most likely I would be a new mare. Especially after thirteen years of what has been going on out there.”
Lyra played with a small rock in the dirt of the floor. “I don’t know. I would only talk to you when you three would come into Bon-Bon’s candy shop.”
That reminded Sweetie that she had not seen Bon-Bon at all. The two had used to be inseparable. Now Lyra has not even said a word about the mare. “Where is Bon-Bon anyway?”
Lyra’s eyes shifted back to their original mood once again, and Sweetie knew that she had said something wrong. There was that nervous pause that followed that made the wait on the mare’s reaction and atmosphere even worse. Down here, and alone. No pony would miss her if Lyra decided that Sweetie needed to be silenced. “The Bon-Bon I know is gone, don’t ever bring it up again.”
Sweetie decided that it was best that she changed the subject. “So, what are we waiting for?”
“I didn’t tell you? Oh, silly me. We are waiting for those ne'er-do-wells to leave. I have it down to a system of what time they come in and what time they leave. I am always right. Their leader is very punctual and concise.”
Very punctual and concise…why did that stand out to Sweetie so much? It was like another memory, but this one was only sound. “Sweetie Belle…” The memory said. Could they be calling her name to the ticking of her life’s clock? Was she to die?
“Are they the type of ponies that would throw a crowbar at another’s face to see it stick in their eye to watch it bleed out before silencing them for good with a snapped vertebrae?” For some reason, Sweetie always liked the sound of vertebrae snapping. Maybe it was purely the sound, or it could be the fact of making sure that the enemy…other pony…was dead and then she knew for sure that she was safe. Maybe…
“Oh yes,” It sounded like she had an orgasm right there. Her voice was breathy and it wavered from strength to a weakness. “They would do that and so much more. But it wouldn’t be as much fun if it was done to you, so I would keep out of their way. I’ve found a friend for the first time in so long and I wouldn’t want to lose her yet.”
Sweetie blinked at the green mare, who had rolled over onto her back was sticking her legs up in the air and slowly rocking back and forth. She is a crazy one, but Sweetie felt that she could kind of relate to Lyra. “You think of me as a friend?” Her heart fluttered and beat faster from more blood circulating. Was Lyra a friend? Like a real friend? One that had your back through the thick and thin?
Lyra took her usual sweet time to answer a question. “Somewhat. Though I could kill you later and feed you to the timberwolves. I don’t know. You want a drink? I think I might have some fermented fruit in the back there.”
“I think I might just do that. Where would I find it?”
“Ummm.” Lyra, for once, looked a little scared like something was going to go wrong. “J-Just let me get it myself. Like I said, don’t want you getting lost out there.”
Lyra left Sweetie alone. She was once again worried about Lyra and her changing moods. She looked and saw a large pipe sticking out from the rock and she could see the smoke from the burning fire being sucked into the tube and out of the room.
