Worth a Thousand Words

Recap: Rarity came back with the bits and takes the painting, leaving them in a bag. Art goes for a walk to let the first layer of his new piece dry. Later, he comes back to find that he is hungry. He takes the bits to count them, and finds a train ticket to Ponyville.

    Why? This was all so sudden. All his time spent here, he had been longing to go to other places. Places where ponies were not always so disrespectful to him. The only thing about this was that he wanted to earn it himself. Not to receive it out of sympathy. That's what this was, wasn't it. Charity was normally something he would not take, but this decision could turn his life around for the better.

    If he went, ponies would want his artwork for how they looked, not who painted them. He could get a proper form of shelter, and never have to worry about food again. On the other hoof, if he left the city, he would be forever in debt of Rarity. He would also never appreciate his life as much as he had been. Painting may have been Art's passion, but they all reflected the artist's mood. Most of his works were incomparable, but if he moved, they would be tainted by guilt and sorrow. Sorrow for leaving the city behind, and guilt for accepting the gift.

    He needed this though. There was no getting around that fact. He needed the bits to get by. The ones given to him were obviously intended for a new life in Ponyville. If he declined though, how would he feel? Now would he feel if he spent the bits on something in Manehattan? The guilt would still get to him. There was no escaping it. Either way, he would still go through the same things, but if he moved to Ponyville, he wouldn't feel like he had just outright betrayed her.

    It was decided. He needed to get to Ponyville, in order to establish a proper lifestyle, and repay the one responsible. The anguish would no longer bother him, and the questions of 'what of I stayed' would no longer taunt him. There was no question now. He needed to get packed and ready. The ticket was only intended to produce a small time for decisions, as the train it was scheduled for left in two hours.

    Quick business was made of his setup. All of the items he had strewn about the landing below the bridge could be carried around without much difficulty. Since the canvas he had recently finished the first layer of was now dry, he could stack it on top of the others. All of his personal belongings were levitated in from of him. allowing no extra energy to add the finished works so they were settled atop his back in a wobbly fashion.

    It was time to leave. He struggled slightly to carry everything he needed to the station. He had been here a few times before, but it was to study a map of Manehattan. Once it was burned to the back of his eyelids, he visited less frequently. Then, it was only to watch the birds. They had inspired him to paint a dove, even though it turned out to look like modern art. That was effect of no practice. He had just been starting out then, and could paint it much better now.

    The benches were nicer than any in the city. He could easily find sleep on them, only to be resurrected to the unforgiving world by his train arrival. About fifty ponies loaded out, but only seven others, that he could count, boarded it. He hoped Rarity was right, even though he knew the town from train maps and ponies' stories. It was said to be a small town with many exciting events. From descriptions, he could almost guarantee that there would be more than one pony who would want his artwork.

    Everypony turned in their tickets and entered the train to take a seat. All of them sported a fine official looking suitcase, making Art feel out of place. No eyes fell in his direction though. All of them had brought aboard a book or something to occupy themselves. He would have tried to paint, but every now and then the train would hit a small bump.

    The scenery that flew by could entertain him for a while, but quickly grew boring after the wide expanse of trees took full view. It seemed that it would be a long ride. Leaning back in his chair to finally relax, he drifted off again. It may have been his short sleep last night that made him want to enter a deep REM phase.

    During the ride, he dreamt of a paintbrush. It could lay down every shade without touching another color on a palette. It swirled around on a large blank canvas, only to split into three smaller brushes. They started to make spirals in identical thirds. Before one of them could finish up the train lurched to a halt, sending the brushes downward into the depths of unexplainable darkness. That caused him to wake.

    Groggy and anxious, Art waited patiently in line to allow all of the other passengers to slowly board the locomotive he had just gotten out of. It was so noisy here but nowhere near as crowded as the station from his prior town. After exiting, the sunny skies and bright green grass nearly blinded him. In Manehattan it was all grey, with the exception of the few things Art had found to paint.

    For the first twenty or thirty minutes after his arrival, he just wandered around. There were so many beautiful things to look at. So many vibrant colors to admire. So many kind and wonderful inhabitants. And there were so many opportunities.

    From what Rarity had left him, he could build a sort of makeshift home until something more permanent could come along. He wanted to inspect an area that was a fair ways away from town. Most of it was level, and the scenery surrounding it was breathtaking.

    The purest, whitest clouds hung over snow capped mountains. At the bottom of the mountains was a pond, but it was obscured by a jutting hill. This would surely inspire some sort of artwork. Hopefully it would sell. If things were like Manehattan, he would run out of the money, he decided on saving, in a matter of months.

    After concealing his things in a thicket of undergrowth, he headed off to the nearest supply store he could think of. The train maps were more useful than he could have thought. On the way over, he drifted into autopilot as if it were a habit. On the jutting rock was something small but very distinct. It only stood out because of its neon orange color. His imagination would produce ideas at an alarming rate to make peace with the out of place object. The handy supplies store was now in front of him. The name had escaped him earlier, but now that it was in front of him, he scolded himself for not remembering the obvious title. 'Common Crafts'

    A short browsing session seemed to clear his mind on what he was going to build. It now seemed to be a sort of fort-shack in his head. Whitewash and decor would make it homely enough though. Surely an improvement from his last home. He was quick about purchasing some four inch (11.6cm) by forty-eight inches (121.92cm) boards in order to craft his planned shelter.

    The cashier offered a bag, but carrying things had become a habit. That's all he had ever done. Walk long distances while carrying art supplies. He could have done without the hauling, but walking calmed him down. Isolation was great, but too much of it will drive a pony insane. Art was still far from that mark.

    Reaching the Site of building, he set down his material and began planning. Building a house couldn't be too hard right? He glanced over at the hill to see if the object was still there. It was gone. Assuming it was nothing more than his mind, Art set to work.