Cigarettes, Coffee, and Cheap, Red Wine

A knock sounded at Luna's door.

“If it's anypony other than my dear sister, I'm going to break two or three of their legs!” she said sweetly, lifting a mascara wand to her eye.

“Of course it's me,” came Celestia's muffled voice from beyond the heavy door. Somehow, Luna could actually hear her sister's eyes rolling in the mere tone of her response.

“In that case,” said Luna, “I'll make it all four.”

She opened the door telekinetically.

“By all means,” said Celestia, stepping into her sister's bedchamber, “let's have a knock-down, drag-out fight over me disturbing you while you were applying your makeup. We'll just raze Canterlot right to the ground. It'll make for some exquisite headlines, and probably a lively novelization a few years down the road.”

“As long as we get started on Canterlot Boulevard,” said Luna, “I'm all for it.” She moved the wand to the other eye.

“Are we ever going to stop this?” asked Celestia.

“Gods, I hope not,” said Luna. “It's all that gets me out of bed, some afternoons.”

“Really?” asked Celestia, “and here I thought it was making sure the tides didn't cause catastrophic coastal flooding.”

“Do I live on the coast?” asked Luna.

“No,” said Celestia, ”but quite a few ponies do, believe it or not."

“Really, now?” asked Luna. “It's their ass if I forget to set my alarm clock, isn't it?”

“Your benevolence never ceases to astonish,” said Celestia, “but I have something important for you to do, tonight.”

“On a Saturday?” asked Luna, checking one side of her face in the mirror, then the other.

“Yes,” said Celestia. “I went to Ponyville earlier to tell Twilight Sparkle's friends that she's been returned to civilization. I'm sure you remember Shimmershine?”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Ah, you do; he's having nightmares. Might want to give that a once-over.”

“Indeed,” said Luna, morosely.

***

Rainbow Dash awoke with several faces in her field of vision. Slowly, she began to recognize them; Fleet Foot, Rapid Fire, and Soarin. There was also the doctor the Wonderbolts kept on-site at all their shows.

“Wha... Where am I?”

“You pulled a few too many Gs, cap'n,” said Rapid Fire.

“What do you mean?” she asked, attempting to sit up. The crowd cheered to see signs of movement, and she vaguely understood the announcer saying something to the effect that she seemed to be okay. Then, she fell back once more onto her back. The crowd gave a massive gasp, and now she clearly understood the announcer's voice echoing once more in the loud speaker: “or not.”

She raised a hoof, and gave the stands a wave. She was rewarded with a chorus of cheering identical to the first.

“Did I black out?” she asked, reaching up to rub at her throbbing temple. She realized at the touch of her hoof that the hood of her uniform had apparently been pulled back by somepony, probably in an effort to get her some more air.

“Hard,” said Soarin.

“Wicked hard,” said Fleet Foot. “You went out just when you were about to break the sound barrier on that Rainboom.”

“Then why am I not having this conversation from a coffin?” she asked, plainly.

“Fleet Foot and Rapid Fire caught you,” said Soarin. “Damned impressive, if you could have seen it.”

“I guess that makes us even, then,” she said, and sat up, once more. This time, she was able to keep herself upright.

“Soarin, take lead, and finish the show. Just used simplified formations.”

“Aye aye,” said the big stallion.

“I'm gonna go lie down,” said Rainbow Dash.

“Actually, you need to come back to my office for a complete exam,” said the doctor, a dark yellow unicorn stallion with brown mane and a mustache. “Standard procedure.”

“I'm fine,” said Rainbow Dash.

“Maybe,” said the doctor, “but regulations won't allow you to fly again until you've been examined.”

“Let's get this over with, then,” she huffed.

An hour later, she was sitting on an examination bench in the doctor's office.

He had scanned her with every machine and spell at his disposal, and was was scribbling something on a chart.

“Can I go, yet?” she asked, irritably.

“Yes,” said the doctor bluntly, “but I have to inform you first that you are, for the time being at least, grounded.”

“What!?” she shouted.

“Thought you might react that way,” he said. “Let me explain.”

“Please!” she shot back, incredulously.

“First, have you ever experienced any severe head trauma?”

“Yeah,” she said, “more than once.”

“Thought so,” said the doctor. “And have you, in recent memory, been experiencing sudden attacks of vertigo? This would be feelings of dizziness accompanied by nausea and...”

“I know what vertigo is,” said Rainbow Dash, sharply. “Yeah, it happens, but that's just par for the course with my job, isn't it?”

In truth, the attacks to which the doctor was referring had been happening for years. She'd had more than one during an airshow, but in every case had been able to overcome them by force of will, experience, and raw talent.

“No,” said the doctor. “It's not. It's one thing to be a bit dizzy after a barrel roll, but what you have is post concussion syndrome. I'm not sure, but you may also have some irregularities of the inner ear; Do you ever experience a ringing of the ears having no apparent cause? It may be constant, or last only a short time.”

“Sometimes, yeah,” said Rainbow Dash, now becoming concerned.

“Yes,” said the doctor. “I thought so.”

“What are you telling me?” she asked, the anger in her voice replaced by solemn fear.

“It's no fault of yours,” he said in response, “but you've reached an age where these conditions will begin to manifest themselves more aggressively.”

“Which means?” she asked.

The doctor put the chart on a nearby counter, and turned to face her.

“That Sonic Rainboom of yours; it's phenomenal – pegasus magic at its absolute best, to be sure.”

“But?” she asked.

“The G-forces involved would be a nightmare on a body much younger and, to be blunt, less abused than yours. With what I'm seeing here, though, I'm worried that even the milder forces associated with normal aerobatics could become dangerous for you, eventually.”

“Well, is there anything I can do about it?” she asked.

“I have to prescribe a rest period, at the very least," said the doctor. "Take some time off, and let yourself relax. It could be stress as much as anything that's causing the problem to worsen.”

“And if it's not?”

“Then you'll have to be discharged,” he said plainly.

“Doc,” she said quietly, her voice slightly pleading. “I'm begging you; don't report this. I'll take some leave, I'll come back, and I'll be fine.”

“I can't do that,” he said sighing. “What happens if you lose your sense of equilibrium in the middle of an airshow, or even just a training exercise? What happens if you're just a little too high or low, too left or right?”

“I die.” she said, almost whispering. “Me and somepony else who trusted me, most likely.”

Without speaking, the doctor tore a page from the top of the chart he'd been writing on, and handed it to her. She took it carefully in her teeth, and tucked it under her wing.

“I'm glad you understand,” he said. “I can't say what will come down from the top on this. It's only my job to examine you and report what I find. I will say, however, that I hope this all turns out well.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Here's hoping.”

She left the medical facility, and walked back towards the main offices of the academy feeling weak in her knees. Could this be it? After she'd come this far, was something as inane as a little dizziness going to be the end of her dream?

She looked up at the cast iron archway that stood outside the entrance, and read the inscription there for what must have been the thousandth time.

"The meek shall inherit the earth."

"Meek," she mumbled to herself. "Rainbow Dash the Meek. I hope not."

She went inside, and in a few minutes, she was at her office. She opened up the door, and looked around. This had been Spitfire's office, once. What had it been that had put an end to her career?

“Alar osteoporosis,” she said, remembering the name of the disease.

“At least she got that from good, old-fashioned wear and tear,” she said. “I'm ten years younger than she was, at least. It's not fair.”

“What's not fair?” It was Fleet Foot, standing in the hallway behind her.

“Ah,” she said, trying to think of what to say. She walked to her desk, and sat down. She leaned back and stared at the ceiling. As she did so, she heard Fleet Foot follow her into the office.

“I might be done, Fleet,” she finally said.

“What do you mean!?” asked the other pegasus, trotting up to the desk. Unlike Rainbow Dash, she still wore her show uniform, though its hood was pulled back and her goggles hung limp around her neck.

“I've got a... head thing,” said Rainbow Dash, waving her hoof, dismissively. “Makes me get dizzy for no reason.”

Fleet Foot said nothing for several seconds. Finally, she spoke.

“What are they gonna do about it?”

“Don't know,” said Rainbow Dash. “We'll have to wait and see.”

“I'm sure everything will all turn out fine, Cap'n.” said Fleet Foot.

“Ah,” came a voice from the hallway. “Is there really some positivity left in the magical land of Equestria?”

It was Princess Celestia. Fleet Foot had left the door open, and she had approached somehow unheard.

"What do you want?" asked Rainbow Dash. "I know you didn't come all the way from Canterlot just to say 'Hi.'"

“I'll keep this short,” said Celestia. “Twilight Sparkle is in the Crystal Empire. Do whatever you want to about that.”

Rainbow Dash just stared at the Princess, too stunned even to respond.

“Well,” said Celestia, “I'll be on my way. Good to see you.”

Celestia turned, and walked off down the hall. Fleet Foot looked back at Rainbow Dash, who was staring blankly across the room.

“Well, doesn't that brighten your day a bit?” she asked. “You and Princess Twilight were pretty tight, right?”

“Kinda,” said Rainbow Dash, and she rose from her chair, her eyes fixed on something across the room.

She walked towards it, and Fleet Foot watched until she realized what it was she was staring at. In a trophy case where Rainbow Dash kept various awards she had received over the years, looped over a golden laurel wreath she had won in the Best Young Flyer Competition, there hung a strange amulet. It was like a heavy, golden necklace, set with a huge ruby in the shape of a lightning bolt.

“When was the last time I took some leave, Fleet?” asked Rainbow Dash, looking past her reflection in the glass at the enormous, cut ruby suspended from the heavy, ornate chain.

“I've never seen it happen,” came her reply.

“Well, you're about to,” said Rainbow Dash, not turning her head.

***

Fluttershy stared at the cottage, unwilling to approach it and go inside, but painfully aware that eventually she must. There had been a day when she could have fed the animals to stall for a little more time, but there were no animals here, anymore.

He hated animals.

That was why she hadn't had a pet since Angel died. These days, she wouldn't dare bring an animal into her home. She hated herself for that. She should have hated him, instead, and she knew it. For some reason, though, it was always herself towards whom she chose to turn her loathing.

She thought it might be that she was terrified he might somehow detect her disapproval. If he did, he would take it as a sign of disrespect. The result of anything he perceived as disrespect was never good.

He had seemed so kind when she met him. He had been a little mean, at times, but in a funny, affectionate way. Now, he lorded over her, and if she had been quiet in the past, now she lived her life in silence, more like a deer or a rabbit than a pony – always utterly silent, as if fearful of a predator that might be lurking nearby.

“I'll just go to the park, and feed the ducks,” she said.

She dropped her head, and stared at her hooves.

“And when you got back, you'd still have to go inside.” she said. “And he'd ask why it took you so long to get back.”

At this last thought, her stomach turned.

She approached the door quietly, as she did all things in and around the prison she used to call home. She touched it gently, so that her horseshoe would not echo loudly against it, and opened it. He was not in the front room, so she flew slowly up the staircase, not allowing her hooves to touch down. She found him right where she expected him, still asleep in bed.

She loved the weekends. He always slept late, and if she got up early, she could go into town, and at least for a little while, she would feel like she was free.

“He might sleep until the middle of the afternoon,” she thought, and she felt her pulse quicken.

I wish he would sleep forever, she thought.

She watched him for a minute, and a part of her wanted desperately to see if she could perhaps smother him with a pillow, or to retrieve a knife from the kitchen, and cut his throat.

Both thoughts made her feel weak in her knees.

What if he woke up? she thought. What if he stopped me? What would he do?

Her heartbeat quickened at the images that began to flood through her mind, and she slowly glided back down the stairs, and carefully, quietly placed her hooves back on the floor.

She sat down on the couch, feeling totally alone, and began to weep.

Like everything else she did in this house, it was silent.

***

Applejack ground her teeth against the handle of the brush as she once more slapped its wet bristles against the wood of the old barn. A tiny speck of paint struck her in the left eye, and she shut it, cursing under her breath. Despite the discomfort, she continued to slather the old, weathered wood with its fresh coat of bright, red paint.

How dare Celestia show up in Ponyville? How dare Twilight Sparkle climb out of her grave?

She turned, and bent down, once more. Her open right eye saw that the paint can was empty.

“ARGH!” she shouted, spitting the brush onto the dirt.

“Goddammit!” she shouted, opening her eye, and rubbing at it with her foreleg. “This is all fucking stupid!”

She kicked the empty can across the lawn, and watched it roll to a stop at the roots of an old apple tree. A swing hung from one of its branches -- had hung there for most of three decades. Its rusty chains had long ago grown into the branch, high above, and the seat was now too rotten to be used. It moved gently back and forth in the afternoon's breeze.

She sat back on her haunches and huffed, her breathing becoming slow, regular, and heavy. She was shaking all over, and all the thoughts racing through her mind began to spill out.

“Buncha goddamn bullshit!” she shouted. “I don't need this, right now! All I'm supposed to have to do is live and die. I don't owe nopony a goddamn thing! Ain't my job to go see her!”

“Applejack! What. In. The. Hell?”

It was Big Macintosh. He had stepped around the side of the barn, at some point.

Applejack didn't look at him, but continued to stare at the old swing, where once upon a time he had pushed her as a filly, where she had pushed Applebloom, and where, one day, on a whim, she had pushed Twilight Sparkle.

She had fallen off.

Applejack laughed bitterly under her breath at the memory. They had both laughed, then, but now, like all her memories of Twilight, it was tainted and unwelcome.

“Do you really wanna know?” she asked, at long last.

“Hell yup, I do,” he said, bluntly. “You're a mean-ass little cunt, but you're still my little sister, and I ain't afraid of you or nothing you can bring, so c'mon and bring it.”

She growled in her throat for a second, then decided to just get it over with.

“They found Twilight,” she said sharply. “She's in the Crystal City, and Princess Celestia wants us all to go see her.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

“What!?” she shot him a venomous look.

“Hell, from all the commotion, I thought this was something important.”

“The fuck's wrong with you!?” she asked, utterly shocked, but then she noticed he was snickering.

“You're an asshole,” she said.

“Eeyup,” said the big stallion. “Now, go pack your bags.”

“Fuck off,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “You first.”

“I ain't going,” she said. “Don't want to.”

“Yeah, you do,” he said.

“Only to cuss her out,” said Applejack.

“Go cuss her out, then,” said Big Macintosh.

“Gotta paint the barn,” she said, “and sharpen the plowshares.” She ground her teeth again, her words growing faster and more frustrated. “And mend all the busted apple barrels, and clear the brush outta the west field, and...”

Big Macintosh cut her off.

“And all that will be right where you left it when you get back,” he said. “All of it I don't get around to first, leastways. Now, go.”

“Fuck you,” she said.

“That's Cheerilee's job,” he said. “Your job is to do what you know damned well is good for you.”

“I ain't gotta do shit you say.”

“Nope,” he replied, “but you know I'm right.”

Silence descended, and she stared at the swing for at least a minute, listening to the sound of the leaves rustling and the old swing creaking in the breeze. Her brother did not move from where he stood.

“Fuck you for being right, Big Mac.”

She got up without a further word, and went to pack her bags.

***

“Mommy, what are you looking at?”

The voice of her daughter ripped Pinkamena Diane Pie out of another place and time; a moment trapped over a decade ago in the flash of a camera. Those simple, curious words thrust her cruelly back into her own living room, where she sat on her haunches, staring down at an open photo album. She had taken the old photo off her mantle years ago, and had tucked it away, half-hoping she would forget it even existed.

There was no way her youngest child would remember it.

“I'm just...” She smiled at the little unicorn. “When you get older, you remember stuff, sometimes, and it can make you feel a little weird.” She took a sip from a mojito she'd mixed herself earlier. She didn't like for her children to see her drink, and she certainly did not want them to know that she still popped the occasional pill or smoked a little pot, from time to time. At the moment, however, she needed what she needed, and that was the end of the matter, as far as she was concerned.

“Weird how?” asked the tiny pony. She was only four years old, and shared her mother's pink coloration, though her mane and tail weren't nearly so curly as Pinkie's own.

“You miss ponies, sometimes,” she said.

The filly waddled up next to her mother, and looked down at the photo.

“But all these ponies are still around,” she said. “Except her... and her. Who are they?”

Pinkie took a deep breath. She would not let her daughter see her cry.

“Well, her name is Rainbow Dash. She's a Wonderbolt, now.”

“Like Spike wants to be?”

“Yeah,” said Pinkie Pie. “Like your brother wants to be.”

“She must be pretty cool, then,” said the filly.

“You have no idea,” said Pinkie Pie, laughing a little, and shaking her head.

“Well, who's this other pony? She's pretty.”

“That's the pony I named you after, Twi.” said Pinkie Pie, and she took another drink.

“Twilight Sparkle; she was just about the best friend I ever had. She was a real, live princess.”

“Really!?” The tiny pony's eyes spread open wide. “You knew a princess!?”

Like all little girls, Twilight was fascinated with Princesses.

“A few of 'em, actually.” She took another drink. “Momma's had a weird life.”

“Can I meet some of them?” asked her daughter.

“You met Princess Celestia this morning, didn't you?” asked Pinkie, raising an eyebrow.

“Kinda,” said Twilight. “I saw her, but I was afraid to talk to her. Pumpkin Cake says she's super-powerful.”

“She's definitely that,” said Pinkie, “but she's nice. They're all pretty nice, now that I think about it – even Princess Luna.”

“Really?” asked the little unicorn. “But the big foals all say she's really scary.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pinkie giggled. “Nightmare Night. You haven't had your first one yet, have you?” She wrapped a foreleg around her daughter, and pulled her in close.

“Don't worry,” she said. “That's all pretend. She's not gonna hurt anypony.”

“Oh, good,” said the foal.

"She even comes to the festival for a little while, every year. I'll introduce you to her."

"That'd be neat!" said the little unicorn.

Pinkie Pie forced a smile for her daughter's benefit, and then turned her eyes back to the old photograph. It glimmered faint pink, and she looked back at Twilight.

She was gritting her teeth fiercely, and her little horn twinkled dimly. The photo slid up out of the sleeve that held it in the album. Pinkie did not try to stop her. She probably just wanted a closer look at her namesake, and there seemed to be no harm in it. Then, as she slid the photo free, something fell from behind it onto the floor; something Pinkie Pie had forgotten even having put there.

It was a gold necklace set with a blue jewel in the shape of a balloon. Twilight looked down at it curiously.

“What's this thing, Mommy?” she asked. “It looks like your cutie mark.”

“That's an old piece of jewelry I used to wear,” said Pinkie. She gestured towards the old photo. “We all had one. They were..." she almost went into an explanation of what the Elements of Harmony were, but she realized that in so doing, she would elicit questions that would lead to her telling more than Twilight needed to hear or could fully understand.

"They were kind of a set," she sighed, and that was all that she said on the matter.

Twilight's eyes narrowed with mental strain, and the amulet lifted up to her own neck. It looked enormous on her tiny body, and Pinkie couldn't stifle a laugh.

“Hmph, guess it still works, after all.” she said.

“Huh?” The little unicorn looked desperately confused.

“Oh, nothing,” said Pinkie Pie.

“Put it on,” said Twilight. She took it into her hooves, and held it out towards her mother.

“I don't really want to,” said Pinkie, sipping once more at her mojito.

“Please?” Twilight poked out her lips, and gave her mother her best “do-it-for-me” face.

“Alright,” said Pinkie Pie. She put out a hoof, and took the element of laughter from her daughter. She clasped it around her neck, and struck a corny, grinning glamor pose for her daughter's amusement.

The little unicorn laughed.

Yeah, thought Pinkie. It still works.

The little filly jumped to her feet, and ran up the stairs, still laughing.

“Where are you going!?” shouted Pinkie Pie.

“That one's as crazy as I was,” she mumbled, standing up. "Maybe the voice in her head'll be nice, at least."

Pinkamena Diane Pie hadn't been troubled by her own inner demons in years. It had been Twilight, her magic, and her constant faith in Pinkie's own inner strength that had helped her get rid of them.

"If only I could have helped Twi get rid of hers," she said, and she went to sip at her drink, only to find it was empty.

"Guess we've all got a few, these days," she said, thinking of Applejack's love of the bottle.

She took her empty glass, and walked towards the kitchen, meaning to put it in the sink, or perhaps to mix herself another. She hadn't decided yet.

The mirror that hung next to the door to the dining room stopped her.

It was just an old mirror that had once been her grandmother's. It had an ornate frame with a Florentine design on it, and she'd always liked it as a filly. Her own mother had passed it down to her on the day of her first wedding, seven years earlier. Now, she saw herself reflected in it, still wearing the element of laughter.

She did not smile or laugh, but neither did she cry. She just stared at the strange image, reaching up to touch the sparkling amulet that lay against her chest. She seemed younger to herself, somehow. The laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and the few gray hairs that had crept into her mane in the last two or three years were still present, but still, the Pinkie Pie in the mirror reminded her vividly of the one she had seen in a faded, old photograph only a few minutes earlier.

“The foals haven't visited their grandparents in months,” she heard herself say, “and the Cakes owe me some vacation time, anyway.”

“Why not?” she asked the grinning Pinkie Pie in the mirror.

***

Twilight Sparkle stared into her own reflection, disgusted by it. She stood in a familiar chamber of the Crystal Palace, observing herself in a mirror that had once cast her into another world. It had been a strange journey to a strange place. Now, all that remained to mark her odyssey in that alternate reality was this room, this mirror, and a faint, old stain on the carpet – her blood.

She looked down at the place where she had dyed the floor crimson those eight years past, and sighed. The wounds she had received in the other world had remained when Sunset Shimmer had cast her back into Equestria and shut the gate behind her. She reached up and touched the three tiny dimples in the fur of her chest; the only superficial evidence that still remained of the wounds inflicted upon her by the strange, loud weapon. Nothing like that weird, metal gun had existed in Equestria for ages. Somewhere inside her, the surgeon had told her, she would always have a few fragments of what had seemed to be lead and copper. It was too dangerous and difficult to remove them so close to her heart, even with magic.

That was how she had become Twilight Sparkle, the Uncrowned Princess. It was how she had lost Spike, her number one assistant and best friend. It was how her world had been deprived of its most powerful, vital magic, the Elements of Harmony.

Everything that she had come to believe in so sincerely about herself had been proven wrong that night. She had failed – not on a test, but in a quest. At a moment when she had needed to succeed for the sake of every single pony in her entire world, she had allowed herself to be taken off-guard.

She turned her eyes back to her own image, reflected in that strange, magical mirror. She looked so different now than she had back then, and more different still than she had for that brief time in that bizarre, alternate world where magic didn't exist, equines couldn't talk, and where her closest friend – and her greatest responsibility – had met his fate, though she would never know what that fate might have been.

“Really fucked it all up, didn't I, Spike?”

She gritted her teeth, and scowled at herself in the mirror. She was tempted to destroy it, and for a moment, she almost did. Forgoing magic altogether, she drew back a hoof, meaning to smash it with her horseshoe. Her nostrils flared and she breathed heavily, grinding her teeth. She could wipe this monument to her own inadequacy from existence with just one, sharp thrust. She could see her own image shatter into a hundred, tiny replications of itself for a few brief moments, and then never have to see it again reflected in this abomination. She could have some tiny solace for the failure to which this wicked thing's mere presence bore testament, if only she would drive that hoof forward with all her strength.

But she did not. She just hung her head, and walked out of the room.

She wandered to the main balcony of the palace, and was surprised to see Shining Armor. He was smoking a pipe, and looking out over the city. From the Crystal amphitheater, which stood near the Palace, there were many lights, and the sound of a gathering crowd.

“What's going on over there, tonight?” asked Twilight.

“You really wanna know?” asked her brother, in response.

“Why wouldn't I?” asked Twilight.

“I guess there's no harm in it,” he replied. “There's a concert; Equestria's most darling starlet, Sweetie Belle, herself.”

“Oh,” said Twilight. She stepped up beside her brother, and stared out over the crystalline sprawl. “Glad to know she made something of herself,” she said, but her tone was devoid of the gladness her words professed.

The pair stood in silence for a few minutes, and the smell of Shining Armor's tobacco smoke drifting on the breeze awoke in Twilight an old craving.

“I want some cigarettes,” said Twilight, suddenly. “For the first time in eight years, I just really wanna smoke.”

“I can send somepony to get you some,” said her brother. “Cadance'll have my ass for it, though.”

“I'll get them myself,” said Twilight. “I just need some money.”

“My wallet's on my dresser,” said her brother. “Just take what's in it; I can always get more. You need some spending money, anyway. Might give you a reason to get out of the Palace, for a change.”

“Thanks,” she said, and she turned, and headed back inside.

“Cigarettes and a bottle of that awful, cheap Merlot I used to drink,” said Twilight, trotting purposefully towards her brother and sister-in-law's bedroom. “And a bigass cup of shitty instant coffee. Fuck, I miss coffee.”

***

Fluttershy sat huddled next to the toilet in her bathroom, holding a wad of toilet paper to her nose with her head tilted back. She was shaking, and the scent of blood pervaded her left nostril, which bubbled and rattled with each breath. She wasn't really sure what she had said or done to upset him. She rarely was, anymore.

He had apologized. He always apologized, and he meant it, every time. If nothing else, she was sure that he was always sorry. He loved her, after all, didn't he?

At least he had hit her only once, this time.

“It might have been an accident, even; maybe he just meant to scare me.”

That was ridiculous, and she knew it was. It took next to nothing to scare her – certainly not a hoof across the muzzle.

She pulled the paper away from her nose, disgusted by how completely and darkly it had been reddened. The image of the blood caused her thoughts to stray towards the pack of razor blades he kept in the cabinet.

“I wish I was dead,” she mouthed, but did not say.

She wanted to cry, to sob and to wail at the top of her lungs, but she knew better. One thin wall separated her from him. If he heard her crying, he would be upset. It would remind him of what he had done, and he would want her to be quiet.

He would make her be quiet.

She gritted her teeth to keep from sobbing aloud. Her chin quivered with the strain.

She realized, in that moment, sitting in her tiny bathroom in shame, fear, and silence, that she could not live this way, any longer. She would be dead soon, by his hoof or her own.

Something about that realization brought clarity into the little pegasus' mind. She understood, for the first time, that her own survival was at stake. Her heart was dead by now, she knew; sacrificed to another who had neither power nor inclination to resurrect it. She had not felt real joy in ages, but somewhere inside her there was a faint recollection of what it had been like. It was a memory attached to another time and what seemed another world; attached to old songs, to old friends, and to old hopes and dreams.

Was there any chance she could feel that way, again? That she could feel even something even vaguely like it? Was that tiny chance worth the risk, or should she just sit there, clinging to this pitiful little bit of life that she had huddled beside her toilet?

As those thoughts wove through her mind, her eyes fixed on the bloody toilet paper, and an idea came to her. It was foolish. She might not even make it out the door, if he wasn't inclined to let her leave.

If it worked, though, he would have no idea where she had gone.

She stood, and walked quietly out the bathroom door.

He stood at a window, a hoof on his temple, staring outward in obvious shame. He was always ashamed when he'd done something like this. That was what made it okay.

That was what she told herself, anyway.

She summoned up the courage to speak, hyperventilating for a moment at the very thought.

“I started,” she said. “I'm out of tampons. I need to go to the mini mart.”

He shrugged, and said nothing. She had been dismissed.

She walked slowly up the stairs. She could take only what she could fit in her saddlebags – and pack quickly. If she took too long, or her bags were too full when she walked through the den to leave, he would grow suspicious.

She threw into her saddlebags only a small travel bag with a toothbrush and some other necessities, and her coin purse with the few bits it contained. She hoped there was enough there for a train ticket.

It was a chilly night – the first of the year – she should at least wear a sweater. He wouldn't think anything odd about that.

She opened her closet, and searched through the cold weather clothes, all unworn in months. In a moment, she found her favorite sweater, plain and green. She pulled if off the hanger, and slipped it onto her body. As her head popped up through its neck, she saw a faint glimmer on the hanger behind it. Looking closer, she realized that it was the Element of Kindness.

She had clasped it around the hook of the hanger where she kept her Winter Wrap-Up vest, itself unworn in years.

He said that if a pegasus couldn't help with the weather, she ought not help, at all.

Fluttershy had not had it in her to throw these two old keepsakes away, so she had pushed them to the back of the closet to keep them out of sight and out of mind – his and her own. She realized as she stared at them that they were, in essence, the only remaining physical symbols she possessed of what it was she hoped to find, if she could make good this feeble, ill-conceived escape attempt.

She reached out, and took them off the hanger. A moment more to look at them, and she stuffed them into one of her saddlebags. She was at first dismayed to realize that she could take no more; the bags would begin to bulge, and draw suspicion. Then, however, she looked around.

There was nothing else here that would not always remind her of these last few years. In hiding those two artifacts of her past away, she had accidentally protected them from the malaise that had slowly settled on everything else with which she had once so gladly chosen to surround herself.

They were all she wanted.

“Okay,” she said, and she walked down the stairs, stepping lightly, to avoid drawing his gaze.

He did not so much as look at her as she walked past.

She stepped out of her door, at once hopeful and sad that she might never step through it, again, and shut it quietly behind her. Then, she turned towards town, and began to walk.

***

“Where's wardrobe!?”

Rarity heard her sister shouting frantically from the other end of the amphitheater's cavernous backstage area.

“I'm at the costume rack, of course,” she shouted back.

The sound of her hoofbeats betrayed Sweetie Belle's all-out gallop well before Rarity could see her, and when she did, the reason for her frenetic approach was not difficult to spot. Rarity watched calmly as Sweetie Belle skidded to a halt, right in front of her.

“It goes like this,” she said bluntly, and a loose lace hanging from Sweetie Belle's ornate saddle glowed for a moment before quickly rewinding itself through a series of eye loops. “Start it from the top, at the front, every time. Zig down, zag up, and tie it off with the other one right in the center.”

“Uh-huh,” said Sweetie Belle, her breathing beginning to slow and regulate.

“Calm down,” said Rarity. “It's not any different than any other show.”

“Yes it is,” replied Sweetie, her words thick with anxiety. “Did you even look at this place when we loaded in? It's huge! And sold out.”

“Just like Manehatten, Baltimare...”

“But these are crystal ponies!” said Sweetie Belle. “Their music and everything is totally different than everywhere else in Equestria. What if they don't like me?”

“Well, they can all fuck off, then,” said Rarity.

“Uh, y'all, I don't mean to interrupt...”

Sweetie Belle and Rarity turned to see Applebloom, who was standing nearby wearing a headset and a khaki vest in which she kept various odds and ends she needed to do the job of a light and sound technician.

“Thirty minutes,” she said, not bothering to finish her previous sentence.

“Thank you, thirty,” said both ponies, reflexively and in unison.

“Gonna go check the light cues,” said the earth pony, and she turned to leave.

“Could you check the EQ and the levels on the monitors, too?” asked Sweetie Belle. “If it starts feeding back like last night...”

“It'll be a goddamned miracle,” said Applebloom. "I've got you running through a compressor to compensate for the crazy-ass acoustics in this place.” She huffed. “Honestly. You move the wrong fader just one time.” She wandered off, shaking her head.

“Thank you so much!” Sweetie shouted after her. “Best friends forever and ever!”

“She'll be fine,” said Sweetie Belle, turning back to her sister.

“Probably,” said Rarity, “but don't take that for granted; trust me. Go tell her you appreciate her, and give her a hug, or something.”

She watched, bemused, as Sweetie Belle wandered off wordlessly after her friend. When was it that she had picked up that little nugget of wisdom?

“Ah yes; the incident with the doll.” She allowed herself a laugh. “Odd times, those, but fun.”

About an hour and a half later, Sweetie Belle's final costume change was done, and Rarity was eager to find some escape from the stuffy backstage area. Normally, she would stay all the way through loadout, but the tour had been scheduled for a two-night event in the Crystal City with Sweetie opening for Sapphire Shores tomorrow. Wherever Sweetie Belle dropped her last outfit, it would still be there tomorrow.

“Probably with a popped seam or a missing button,” said Rarity.

She took a hot purple jacket with white, faux fur trim -- her own design, of course -- from where she had earlier laid it on a table, and quickly threw it on. Then, she walked towards a door with a glowing, crystalline “EXIT” sign posted above it.

As she stepped into the night air, she was immediately grateful for the slight chill it brought to her face.

“Where are you going?” sounded a raspy female voice immediately to her left.

It was Scootaloo, clad in a brown bomber jacket, and leaning the length of her body against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

“To get a bite to eat,” said Rarity. “I'll be back before the final number; don't worry.”

“Just don't go get stoned, and then forget, again,” said Scootaloo. “She's gonna come offstage in hysterics like she always does, even though the crowd's gonna love her.”

“I'll be back,” said Rarity. “Besides, you're here, and so is Applebloom.”

“She listens to you, though,” said Scootaloo. “She believes in your junkie ass, for some reason, and for that, she gets a proud place as your walking, talking, singing billboard.”

It was true. Every magazine spread, paparazzi photo, and of course every show in which Sweetie appeared was essentially a free ad for whatever creation happened to be newly out from under Rarity's hooves.

“She asked for me to do this, the same as she asked for you to be her choreographer – and what I choose to do with my spare time has nothing to do with that.”

“Rarity,” said Scootaloo, standing upright, and taking a drag. “Anypony can replace a missing button. Hell, I could probably do it.”

“Ha,” said Rarity.

“My point is that she doesn't have you along on this for what you can do; she has you here for who you are, same as Applebloom and me. If you're not here, then you're no good to her.”

“Do you honestly think I don't know that?” asked Rarity.

“Sometimes I wonder,” said Scootaloo.

Rarity huffed, and shook her head.

“I'll be back,” she said, an edge of irritation in her voice.

To some extent, Scootaloo was right, but Rarity did genuinely care about her sister, whether the pegasus understood that, or not. True, it was a boon to her business to have Sweetie Belle on stage and in the papers wearing her designs, but that wasn't all that motivated her to be here.

“Is it?” she asked herself, walking slowly across the street.

To her good fortune, there was a small, twenty-four-hour package store located adjacent to the amphitheater.

“Thank goodness some modern concepts have caught on so quickly up here in the north,” she laughed, as she trotted up and opened the door, causing the bell to jingle.

“I'll just find myself a granola bar or someth...,” she began, but then her heart absolutely stopped, mid-beat.

Standing at the counter, across from a crystal pony clerk who appeared out-of-sorts with disbelief, there stood a purple alicorn.

Her hair was too long, and her highlights needed a touch-up terribly. Still, the color was right, the cutie mark was right, the wings and the horn were undeniable, and as if that hadn't been enough, she was buying what appeared to be a carton of Lucky Strikes and a bottle of cheap red wine.

“One other thing,” said the alicorn, and it was her voice, too. “Is there anywhere around here I can get a cup of coffee?”

“There's a little coffee shop on the corner,” said the clerk, sounding totally confused as he tucked the wine and the cigarettes into a paper sack. He took a white Bic lighter from a rack, and pitched it in, also. “You'll need that, too,” he said. “On the house.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, seemingly confused by something that was half an act of kindness and half one of perceived duty. Levitating her bag from the counter, she turned to leave, and that was when she saw Rarity.

Neither said anything. Twilight recoiled a little, and made eye contact only briefly before looking straight down at the floor. Rarity could hear her sigh. Soon, she looked up, again, and locked her eyes into the gaze of the white unicorn. Those eyes seemed sad and somehow ashamed, and they were set in a face that was too thin and too weary. Still, however, they were Twilight Sparkle's eyes.

A pair of tears spilled down Rarity's cheeks.

“My makeup's going to run,” she said, her words awash in that peculiar blend of a sob and a laugh that can only exist in moments of profound joy. “Of all... the things... that could happen...”

She could not finish.

Author's Note

Changed the title of this chapter because I'll be damned if they didn't name an arc of the comic the same thing.

I've been tempted to go back and rework Luna's speech into that pseudo-Elizabethan English she uses in the show, but it just really doesn't fit this world. Instead, I try to make her and Celestia use more formal speech patterns with fewer contractions and more precise, literary sentence structure. Big words, sometimes, but not always.

I went back and corrected "An Echo" to fit with Rainbow Dash's story arc chronologically. I thought about making this all happen much later, but I felt thirty-ish was a better age range for the mane six in this story, given that I consider pony ages equivalent to human ages in this universe.

I listened to Alice in Chains' new album "The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here" a lot while I was writing this, and when I was editing the scene where Fluttershy decides to leave home, I put the song "Choke" on loop. Now, I always think of that scene when I hear it.

Yeah, I know; equine mares don't have exactly the same kind of cycle human women do, but they don't talk, either. I needed some kind of excuse for Fluttershy to get the hell out there that I thought this guy wouldn't call her out on. It's what I would have written had this been a human woman trying to escape the same situation, and the whole point of what I'm doing is to make these characters more human. So, I thought, "Why not?" It's effective. and uniquely feminine, which is something I try to halfway hold onto when writing pony fics.