A Penny for the Old Guy

***

“Sunlight on a Broken Column”

For someone so very fond of noise, the wordless hush of wind seemed silent. For someone so truly fond of company, the kinship of solitude seemed uncomfortable. But still, in that timeless and entirely forgettable moment, for someone so very, truly fond of flashing lights and black-out intoxication, the gentle mirage of daylight seemed gorgeous.

Indeed one of the most magnificent sights (save for natural beauties) granted to the youth of Canterlot was the gleaming skyline. It was often the reason for relocation, seldom a sight gazed upon with any fraction less of a breath than a gasp, always renowned as the crowning masterpiece of artistic expression in a rational world. This was what made it so charming and charismatic, so enticing and enchanting, so pulling and perfect. Yet this painted silhouette, a collection of broad and clumsy strokes, it reminded one too entirely of mortality. All of those wonderful pinnacles of structural integrity, they would stand forever like tombstones, never growing an inch, never changing or learning or loving a thing at all. And perhaps what bothered an onlooker, if anything at all dared bother them between awe struck gazes, was how true such a sensation could echo within their own silly, spectacular lives.

Closer than the always more adored pillars of civilization was the foundation of it, specifically, the institution usually accredited to the social conditioning of any civil subject. Canterlot High School, as it was, marched on beneath one particular girl's slightly large (and often teased about) feet. Distantly, from her position on the corner of the roof, she could catch sights of the harder workers hanging back to finish their duties or studies, and those lascivious or boisterous bunches scampering around and prattling about this or that. It was a common and well known time the girl could call the end of the school day; a more longed-for and anticipated time than most others, surely.

Each speck of familiarity that moved or shifted around the campus seemed like a grain of sand from her angle, but she loved how the patterns danced in their dizzying destinations after something so meaningless as a school bell tone rung out. The girl on the roof had always made a custom of humming along to the annoying melody, but she made no such attempt as she stood alone above those she would usually bother or amuse with her juvenile antics. Just as how she would always cook up ridiculous schemes for attention or draw the spotlight to herself, she briefly tap-danced her tip-toes along the roof ledge. It was a playful line she pranced along between the steadiness and the fall.

Yet perhaps that was not the reason for her vantage point being quite so high above the rest of the school yard, perhaps it was not the distant call of the city life she adored that strung her up on the edge of the third-story rooftop (which was anyone's guess how she could climb such an obstacle at all). Catching a glimpse of much more familiar sights, the usual chin-splitting smile stretched over her wearing features. Along with it, as always, a blaring shout and a frantically waving hand.

“Hey, girls! Girls! Up here!” she called out over the whole rear stairwell, field and basketball court. Though each and every bypasser either gasped or flinched with surprise, the targets of her shouts were almost accustomed to her outrageous calls to assemble. As accustomed one could be, of course, to such reckless endeavours. Teetering on her toes wildly, she commanded once more before turning on her heel and heading to the said destination herself, though the timeline was hardly realistic, “Meet me at the hill, be there five minutes ago!”

“Sheesh, Pinkie! Get down, you're going to get yourself killed up there!” one of her summoned friends demanded in a mild panic, holding her books tightly to her pounding chest and crossing one wrist over the other. “We have cell phones, for Pete's sake.”

“Heavens, your friend sure isn't afraid of much, is she?” the professor at her side mumbled in slight awe as he shook his head and fixed the ill-folded collar of his jacket.

“No, she's, well, she's a little eccentric, perhaps, but I wouldn't worry. Regardless,” the girl stammered to get back onto the subject, making certain Pinkie had stepped away from the ledge before she got back onto her topic of choice. “My response, the thesis of the third body paragraph—here, let me show you the reference—it was also less than adequately supported by any quoted notions in the text.”

“That's not to say it's an incorrect thesis, Twilight,” her professor tried to tell her once more, loosening his necktie to make space for a woollen scarf he wore every year from October to March, whether it matched his shoes or not (despite his wife's protests), simply because his father had looked so dashing in it in an old photograph he had found after the man's death.

“No, of course not,” Twilight agreed as she bounced her textbook off her lap in a fidget when she noticed the man's eyes roll with the toss of his hideous garment's frayed end. “But there should be some corresponding sanction to rebuke such ill-prepared work, wouldn't you say?”

“You're... asking me to lower your grade?” He seemed less than invested in the idea, and his incredulously curled lip seemed oddly critical for a man who cared not for criticism.

“I just think I deserve the correct mark, professor, not just a high one,” Twilight told him firmly, devoted to the argument.

Though her debate was admirable and stood up to most scrutiny, the way she presented herself fell short of her own impeccable standards. Her deep violet cardigan sagged on the right side: not because her heavy book bag pulled at it as it hopped about against her hip with each swaying step, but because it was something she instinctively tugged at to make doubly sure that the article covered her shapely, yet never flaunted, rear end. A similar stretch appeared on her left sleeve, as she had a habit of pulling that up and down with her teeth, fingertips or satchel strap, depending on how many hard-studied textbooks she clasped in her dominant hand while she participated in the action. Another twitch and fidget had her professor sighing as he tried to think up some reason to let her relax, if she could physically manage that.

“Look, your work is perfectly on par with the curriculum requirements for your allotted mark. If I start marking much stricter, it could raise the standards for the rest of your class, who, though intelligent of their own accords, may not be adequately prepared for such a steep curve. You understand?” he explained in very plain terms, and after a few attentive nods, his student paused.

“Not really,” she honestly admitted, flicking the hair out of her eyes with a motion of her head but pinching her glasses brim and manually adjusting them, perhaps just to catch a glimpse of the time she carried on her wrist that she was always so concerned about.

“We can't hold everyone up to the same scrutiny as the brightest few, Twilight Sparkle. Not every bird can fly as high as an eagle, some feathers are preened for different skills,” his gentle voice reminded her, and his masculine but thin hand landed on her tense shoulder. Miming an approving smile, he continued, “You did an excellent job. Now, go out and enjoy yourself for the weekend. All right?”

After nibbling at her lip quizzically and shuffling in the doorway of his classroom, she decided to reveal, “I was hoping for an extra credit report to rectify the less than perfect mark of my paper.”

“Twilight,” he spoke her name once more, in a deeper tone that he rarely took on, though it made him seem a lot more intimidating and superior than his usual soft scruff and old scarf had him appearing. “Don't be tardy for meeting your friends.”

Swallowing her disappointment, she conceided, “... Yes, sir.”

Her straight-cut bangs bounced slightly out of place as she nodded, but she chose to duck her head and turn away rather than fix them. With a dejected frown, Twilight slunk away from her professor as he made his way through the crunching leaves to his eggplant-coloured Volvo, which was parked in the staff parking lot and thus in the opposite direction of where Twilight was headed. Shuffling her body with the swirling winds to avoid having her skirt flutter or her hair smack into her face, she made her way over the ever shifting autumn tags (be they brown, yellow or red, and from oak, beech or maple trees, catching on grass, weeds or concrete) towards the school building.

Twilight was the kind of girl who was always impeccably prepared, so even as she attended her final class of the day, which she had just left, she would bring all her belongings for optimal efficiency, saving her a trip back to the school. However, she was also the kind of girl who cared dearly for her friends, and as such, would return to the school building had she received a particularly concerning text. Which, at that moment, she had. Pocketing her slim cellular device, she shifted the books in her arms back to a comfortable position and navigated her way on campus until she found the chain-link fence to which she had been summoned.

Upon spying the crouched-down young girl she had been searching for, Twilight shrugged her book-bag off her shoulder and placed it by the corner of the fence. She tilted her head to the side to try and imagine what had spooked her presently quiet friend, but saw nothing of an answer. Finally, Twilight came up behind the thin girl and placed a hand on her shoulder (which elicited a nervous flinch, something that was a usual occurrence), silently asking for more details. The silence, however, was insufficient.

“What's wrong? You sounded a little distraught in your text,” Twilight carefully started, examining the way her friend shivered and took short, sharp breaths as though she was about to lose her cookies.

“H-He's not, he's not here,” she mumbled in a squeaky and uneven voice. When the girl touched her face, Twilight could not tell if she was moving her long, flowing bangs, checking the time, or wiping an eye. “Angel, he's... he's not here.”

“You mean that little mutt who lived in that house?” Twilight wondered as she recognized the other side of the fencing as some backyard of a neighbouring house, which at this point had been a familiar sight for the past three years of their high school careers.

“He's not a mutt!” came a sudden outburst, and Twilight was the one to flinch that time. Another few small sobs speckled her speech, and Twilight tried desperately to listen. “H-He was my f-friend, he always came to, to see me after s-school.”

“Maybe he's out for a walk, or taking a nap. Dogs do that, you know,” she tried to keep a light mood, but the girl on her knees just shrunk even smaller, if that was possible for someone who towered over most girls at 5'11". Even though the loose-haired girl was the tallest of all her friends, she had a knack for looking small and innocent when it suited her.

“He hasn't come out... in, in a week,” she whimpered through more abrupt sobs. Pressing her head against the hands she had clasping against the chain-link fence, she squeaked out, “Angel's never, never b-been gone so... so long. I-I shouldn't have gi-given him my, my sandwich last week, maybe he was, was allergic to the mayonnaise. It's all my fault, it, it's all... my...”

“Fluttershy,” Twilight carefully spoke her name, sliding down onto her own knees while pinching the front of her skirt down to hide her modesty. “It's getting colder, maybe they just have him inside. Or maybe they moved, that house is a little run-down. I'm sure it's fine. I'm sure Angel is okay.”

“I don't think so,” Fluttershy quietly responded, her voice hollow and empty.

Staring at her hands, Fluttershy carefully turned her palm up and rested her eyes on her wrist as the multiple wooden or hemp bracelets slid down to her elbows. Angel had always loved the sound her bracelets made when she patted his head or when she would shake his paw through the fence, but now the wooden rings were quiet on her arm. Closing her eyes up, she felt the hot salt of her tears run over her thin and rosy cheeks. Her lengthy skirt bunched up on the damp grass, but Fluttershy didn't mind, especially since she had already been waiting there for a good long time by then anyway.

“It's all my fault, and, and I never even, even got to say good-bye,” came more pitiful snivels, and Twilight merely expelled a slow compassionate breath.

As she gingerly rubbed her friend's bony back (which seemed plush enough considering the two sweaters and three undershirts she always opted to wear), Twilight tried to think up a decent consolation, which came out as, “Listen, Fluttershy, you can't blame yourself. Dogs die all the time, it's a fact of life.”

“You've never had a dog,” Fluttershy reminded Twilight, which was true enough, but hardly the issue. “Y-You can rationalize it all y-you want, b-but some things... some things aren't rational.”

“Yes, but—” Twilight would not get to argue her point (something that would normally bother her), as a sound interrupted her.

It was a rough, sliding sound, with a small squeak at the end. It was familiar enough to identify, but startling still. Fluttershy knew it as the sound of a sliding glass door, something the house on the other side of the fence had on their patio. Before she could wonder why it was being opened, she heard the scratchy clambering of little feet, a scuttle of paws over wood planks. Glancing up at the sound, Fluttershy saw the eager sprinting of a familiar little mutt, though she would never call him so to his muzzle.

“Angel!” Fluttershy gasped in relief, her wet eyes widening and catching on the small dog's scruffy white fur. As the animal rushed over to the fence, Fluttershy beamed. “Oh, Angel! Thank goodness!”

The little dog hurried over to Fluttershy (barely stalling to mark a corner of the shed as his own, which was probably the reason he had been let outside at all) and put his paws up on the fence in front of her. Patting his damp nose and ruffling the fur around his ears, Fluttershy lovingly spoke to the little dog as if he could understand. Twilight merely laughed a little at how ridiculous the situation seemed, but let that slide.

“I told you so,” Twilight teased her friend, though she really did love the sensation of being proved right. Fluttershy flashed her a little pout, but laughed to know it was just a friendly joke.

“Yeah, yeah,” she admitted with a giggle, letting the dog bark a few times before running off to do his business. Meanwhile, Fluttershy got to her feet and adjusted her sagging old burlap satchel, before turning away from the fence and uttering, “I feel a little silly now. But I'm glad.”

“You're glad to feel silly?” Twilight seemed confused by the statement, but cracked a smile through her incredulous gaze. “That is silly.”

“Oh hush,” Fluttershy softly nudged her friend, accentuating her move with another stifled laugh. “I'm just happy that he's okay.”

“It's ridiculous to be relieved by nothing happening at all,” Twilight told her with a matter-of-fact tone, raising one eyebrow in interest of the subject.

“Whether or not it's true, if you believe something enough, it... might as...” she trailed off slowly, and instead put her energy into patting down her pockets as if searching for something.

“Yes, I know. Truth is subjective, dependent upon the perceiver's own conception. So if something is true in your mind, it matters just as much as if it were real. But if we're going to—what are you doing?” Twilight finally realized her friend had stopped walking to reach into her limp bag. As her hand retracted out of the object, the annoying sound of vibrating became clearer, and a simple ringtone played on from the cellphone Fluttershy had grabbed. “Oh, someone's calling you?”

“Uh oh,” Fluttershy murmured to herself as she read the identification on the display, and she hesitated in answering it. Instead, she turned the phone around and showed Twilight the name it read.

“Why don't you want to talk to her? Something wrong?” Twilight wondered, pulling absently at her cardigan as she anticipated walking up the hill towards the student parking lot, an angle which might reveal more to those below her than she was willing.

“I don't... want to hurt her feelings. She's calling to find out what our drama class thought of something she made for us,” Fluttershy vaguely recalled, and she fidgeted with the phone (which slipped and slid a bit considering she held it with her long sleeves dangling over her palms) as it rang on.

“I bet she's dying to know, she loves talking about herself,” Twilight mumbled lowly as she checked the time, tugging her sleeve back down roughly as she did and mentally making a note of it. “Just tell her, unless you want to do it in front of the others. She'll want to compose herself before seeing them if it's bad news, which I deduce it is.”

“Yes, but...” she uneasily tried to argue, but could not come up with another point. Again, the phone rang. Swallowing and pursing her dry lips, Fluttershy brought the phone a little closer to herself. “I guess... you're probably right.”

“I'm just happy that I never applied for the drama department, you sure get what you sign up for,” Twilight added in a whisper as Fluttershy seemed to answer her phone.

“H-Hello?” Fluttershy nervously started, and Twilight kept quiet as they continued along towards her corner of the parking lot. “Rarity?”

“Darling! I've been calling you all afternoon. I understand you had class, but dear this is much more important,” the girl on the other end stated, which was something of an exaggeration. Curling a piece of her long, waving hair around the tip of her index finger as she strode along the paved path towards the student parking lot at the other side of the school yard from her friends, she went on, “Pardon my earnestness, but I wanted to know what the drama department thought of my designs for the play. Did you talk to them?”

Rarity was always a work-oriented woman, though often it came off like she didn't care for her friends quite as much. Case in point, her hardly pausing for salutations and formalities before asking about feedback and concerns. It would be an error to construe that any of her pretentious self-involvement was intentional or unfriendly, as she was always working her hardest to impress and lavish her closest acquaintances with gifts and attention. It was just hard to see at times. Fluttershy was accustomed to this behaviour by now though, so instead of stalling to call her friend on the mistake, she merely stammered a response.

“They, um, well,” Fluttershy's voice was soft over the phone, and Rarity adjusted it on her ear to try and hear it a little better.

“Yes, dear? Please speak up,” Rarity responded eagerly, fixing the barrette she had pinned into her bangs to keep them flowing just right.

“They didn't like it.” The words were gentle, but they sounded so cold.

Rarity stopped in her stride and went over the statement again and again, waiting impatiently for some giggle or admission of jest. As nothing more came but a hesitant silence, Rarity huffed a short laugh and rested a sassy hand upon her hip as if glaring incredulously at the girl on the other end of her cell phone (one of many melodramatic moves she employed regularly). Pursing and puffing out her lips in irritation until she found the most polite way to respond, Rarity tapped one foot and tilted her hips to one side.

“That's not a funny joke, Fluttershy. What did they really say?” she told the girl in a sterner voice, running her tongue along her pearly white teeth as if to keep from baring them.

“I-I'm not lying,” Fluttershy responded over the line, though Rarity could hear a few stifled whispers from someone else, which made her feel all the more humiliated.

“Well that simply cannot be so. I put a lot of time and effort into each piece, Fluttershy, surely if you tell them that—” she began defending herself adamantly, but the soft voice over her phone calmly interrupted her rambling.

“We all know that, Rarity. We do.” As Fluttershy searched for the right phrasing, Rarity leaned the phone on her shoulder and over-zealously retied the thin, glittery scarf she hung around her neck. “It's just... the pieces were great, it's just—”

“Well if they were great, why didn't they like them?” Rarity haughtily remarked, and in response to the uncertain pause on the other end, she continued, “It's settled, they're great. Right?”

“Yes, but, um, they're not quite... right for the play, i-if that makes sense,” Fluttershy told her cautiously, and Rarity could tell that it was difficult for the poor girl to do, but gave her no sympathy.

“What a ridiculous excuse,” Rarity pouted with a deep frown, though she corrected that and touched her face as if checking for new wrinkles or fluster. Clearing her throat and fiddling with the dangling charm bracelet that reminded her of the victorious sentiment of gold, she debated once more, “I've read Gone With The Wind a hundred times, I designed each ensemble to reflect each character's personality perfectly.”

“That's the problem. You, um... didn't quite stick to the setting, you only thought about the characters.” She stood corrected, and Rarity moved the phone to her other ear as if the message would change. “It was written in the thirties and set during the Civil War, the outfits have to be much... simpler.”

“Simpler? Well then why did you bother hiring a designer at all?” she inquired, more hurt than anything. Looking down at her own outfit, she second-guessed the way her white top hugged her prominent feminine features (which were a debatable reason for her elevated popularity since reaching secondary school), and nearly wondered if she was suited for her craft at all.

“We still want—need, your help, Rarity,” Fluttershy appealed to her ego, and though Rarity knew such a trick, she let herself fall for it. It was easier than admitting she was still trying to figure out her own style and become unquestionably adept at her hobby. “I-It's just the first draft. You could try again?”

“Well, despite the overly-critical response,” Rarity snidely remarked, but her voice became calm once more as she agreed to the terms, “I suppose I could give it one more go.”

“Perfect, thank you, Rarity,” Fluttershy overflowed with gratitude, which was not false.

Rarity smiled once more, a much prouder smile. She chose not to think of the negative remarks, but to instead lean on what positivity was left, finding solace and motivation in it. Patting her lap with her hands as if dusting herself off, Rarity fell back into the confident swing of her step. Over the sound of her clacking violet heels (which were a good deal higher than even most of the female professors chose to wear), she hummed thoughtfully before going on with the conversation.

“Oh of course, darling. Even if the costumes were marvellous as they were,” Rarity tickled her own ego, prompting an unseen eye-roll on the other side of the phone. “I can take a few suggestions.”

Fluttershy was particularly careful with her words, making certain they were understood, “Just... simpler, if you can. You know, traditional, rustic, country.”

“Country? Well, you might as well have just rummaged through Applejack's dresser...” the designer remarked as a snide joke, but paused to actually consider such a thing. Her eyes lit up as if she had just discovered her muse, and she simply had to praise it aloud, “Wait! That's genius! I'll ask Applejack if she has any old 'duds' I can use as a reference. It's perfect!”

“You don't think...” Fluttershy's voice drifted a bit, which Rarity attributed to her possibly listening to more inaudible whispers on the other end of the line. She finished, though, “She might take that the wrong way?”

“Of course not! She's far too good natured to take offence to something like that,” Rarity stated with certainty, raising her nose to the dim skies and taking in an anticipatory breath. “Worry not Fluttershy, I'll request Applejack's help, and I'll have a new ensemble ready for Monday.”

“... If you say so.” Fluttershy calmly agreed, accepting it as an answer.

“Now, if I was Applejack, where would I...” Rarity's voice trailed off as she laughed in a most refined way, raising her dainty hand as if something had struck her as obvious. “Nevermind, I know exactly where to find the little rascal. I'll find her lesser half.”

“Don't say that to her face,” came a warning hidden beneath an amused giggle.

“Do I have a death wish?” Rarity responded with a smug grin. Wiggling her bosom better into her clearly-too-tight top, Rarity went on, “Anyway, dear, I'll see you shortly.”

“Yeah, you too,” Fluttershy replied easily, and after another polite word, the call was ended: “Bye.”

“Farewell,” Rarity mused as she lightly flicked a red button on her phone before stowing it safely away.

While most students would usually cut up the overgrown pathway towards the parking lot, or even take the short cut along the field, Rarity was one of the few who would take the long way around to make certain she followed the concrete pavement. This was not to abide by any rule, however, besides perhaps some arbitrary law of fashion (which held higher regard for the well-being of stilettos above any conceived shortened route or fragment of time). Hurrying along until her well-cared-for shoes found the hard embrace of oil-stained parking lot pavement, she set immediately to the destination she wagered would harbour the girl she sought.

Even from afar, anyone could spot the oldest, most classic automobile in the entire lot. It was always parked in the far corner, to avoid being scratched by other drivers, in the shadow of a tall oak tree (though never directly underneath it, as leaves or avian excrement were things the driver would loath cleaning off the little beauty). Catching and wrestling with the scarce beams of sunlight that dared squabble through the now mostly absent leaves, the metallic blue paint job sparkled like the water of a secret swimming hole. Complete with perfectly polished silver rims and a black convertible top over two small seats, the well-loved coupe welcomed attention. Much like its driver.

Positioned like some cross-armed, impatient bombshell pin-up, the owner of such a fine automobile relaxed on the permissive hood of her treasure leisurely. Her gloriously (somehow simultaneously trimmed and hap-hazard) wind-swept hair seemed like slivers of white light refracting out of a prism. With one foot bent up and resting on the grill of her beloved steed, the sunglasses-adorning girl silently acknowledged Rarity's presence with a mere glance.

“Oh, Rainbow Dash, it's just you, for once.” Rarity sighed in what sounded like disappointment, while her audience scoffed and made a very irritable expression. Clearing her throat, Rarity went on in a more polite tone, “Have you seen Applejack?”

A perfectly arced and angled eyebrow was lifted in the dame's direction, but little else. Behind the raised collar of a famously worn leather jacket, which merely sat on the girl's shoulders like a cloak rather than sliding over her arms, hung a characteristic scowl. She clicked her tongue and let out an audible sigh (a tell which twice had lost her a hand of poker to the girl whom she was being asked about) before leaning a hand on her usually rumbling car hood and knocking her aviators onto her multi-coloured head.

“No, I'm not her damn keeper,” the brash young girl bit back, almost snarling at the mere idea.

“No, darling, she's yours,” her friend lightly teased back, and Rainbow snorted loudly and crossed her arms deeper in an attempt to appear much more furious than she was.

“Shut up,” Rainbow barked, though her higher-pitched voice nearly cracked with the growl she tried to force into it and contradicted the masculine short hair she had adorned to make herself look more unique.

“Well, then I've no reason to wager how long I can stand your attitude. I'll see you at the hill.” Rarity passively waved the subject away, turning from Rainbow and heading up the winding path towards her own parking spot. “Do try not to be late.”

“Don't count on it,” came the aggressive reply grinding against her open palm, which she positioned beside her mouth as if it would make it louder or more seemingly apathetic. Shrugging her arms back into their crossed position and itching her sweat-band clad wrist on her opposite forearm, she grumbled about it, “Sheesh, who does she think she is? Telling me what to do like that. She should mind her own business, is what she should do.”

“Mhmm,” a stoic hum of agreement crawled out from under the car she leaned against, but nothing else did.

“I mean seriously! As if I wasn't pissed off enough already, what with the car thing,” Rainbow snarled, gesturing towards the car under her lazy rear, as if the person to whom she spoke could see her movements at all. “People should really watch it. If I didn't spend so much time working out, I'd have the energy to kick the shit out of the whole football team.”

“Mhmm,” another calm musing satisfied the girl's need to vent to someone who would willingly listen, even if she was merely talking to the lower half of a torso and some legs that stuck out from under her car and tapped to some unheard rhythm; which Rarity would have noticed had she taken the time to walk around the contraption.

“And if I didn't spend so much of my free time on the old Roadster,” Rainbow added in a lighter voice, reaching down and patting the reflective hood of her much-loved vehicle.

“Mhmm,” could barely be heard over the shuffling of gravel and the twisting of tools, and such sounds attracted Rainbow's attention curiously.

“It's just another hiccup. He'll start, I swear. If anyone can get him running, it's you,” she seemed grateful, though she always did her best to hide such a fact. At the silence, she shifted on the hood and played a little nicer to who had slid under her automobile in her stead. “Thanks again, by the way. For fixing him up. And for keeping it quiet.”

“Yep,” sounded a lot more pleasant and friendly, and Rainbow smiled to hear the voice.

“I know, I know, I owe you,” she toyed with her words, enunciating them in an odd fashion and twirling her wrist around with a smile. She did love the sound of her own voice, even if her conversation partner was otherwise occupied. She couldn't help going on, “Don't worry, I have every intention of paying you back, with interest.”

“I'll believe that when I see it,” words echoed from beneath the metallic underbelly of Rainbow's prized possession, and her spirit leapt to hear it.

After a knowing snicker, Rainbow Dash ran her finger along the hood of her cobalt-coloured MGB convertible and she sunk into a more suave tone of voice, “Don't test me baby, I'll come down there." She left the business end of that threat tauntingly open.

“You're welcome to; nothin' I'm doin' is takin',” the girl admitted with a tired sigh, and Rainbow could hear tools sliding back into a thick travel bag. “Looks like your death-trap's gonna sleep at school tonight, honey. Did everythin' I could. Sometimes, that just ain't enough.”

“Shit dude,” Rainbow Dash groaned sadly, leaning her head back and pouting her lips for a few seconds. However, a brighter idea irked her. “But, I get to go home with you then, right?”

“Yea', I'll drive ya,” accompanied a light chuckle, and Rainbow moved to the side as she saw hands come out from under her short car to pull the built yet thin body of her mechanic into sight. “If I ever get out from under here.”

Glancing stubbornly over her shoulder at the small blonde-haired girl rolling out from underneath her car, Rainbow Dash finally cracked a genuine smile, and blatantly stated, “Damn, you sure look hot with your hands all over my ride, Applejack.”

A few amused laughs followed as the other girl meandered out of the surprisingly miniscule space between the old car and the parking spot. Flashing Rainbow Dash a playful smile and sharing a knowing spark in her eyes, she murmured, “Don't go gettin' any ideas.”

“You know, the ignition doesn't work, but I bet the shocks and suspension are still golden,” she teasingly suggested, giving a quick couple of presses on the hood while the little car whined and bowed up and down. Those charismatic amaranth eyes always snatched Applejack's heart away, and as always, she plummeted into Rainbow's charm willingly.

“You randy lil' tramp,” Applejack spoke in a hush as she stood up to her usual height (which was a couple inches shorter than her athletic friend, a factor that made it easier for her to duck under the vehicle she was now accustomed to fixing up), finishing the mindless task of rubbing some grease or oil off her hands with a stained old rag. Leaning right close to Rainbow Dash, Applejack's sultry tone begged for satisfaction. “C'mere.”

Bringing her body right against Rainbow's, Applejack crawled over the hood with a press or two of her palms, slipping her arms around the girl who captivated her. Though to make up the distance that the hood and their height differences put between them, Applejack had to reach up onto the tips of her toes, but she found she always loved going the extra mile. Without needing to move an inch to or from, Rainbow Dash was certain she had enough dominance over the girl to compel her to chase—and oh, how she loved to be chased. Their lips were together at once, and as ever it seemed, it was so warm and comfortable that neither needed to peek to know of mutual fondness, though the black-fingered, braid-haired blonde wistfully breathed a light hum. A contrast to the cold, mechanical pipes, lines and rods that made the machine beneath them roar, their entwined legs galvanized a more ferocious fire to ignite.

As they pulled away, their pounding hearts beat through their hot, fleshy chests harder with each passing instant. Applejack always adored the way that Rainbow's expression softened into a delighted smile after every little kiss, so she often rushed to catch a glimpse of it. The sharp edge of her grin was accentuated by an arrow-like crease in her pale and youthful cheeks, and Applejack would be darned if it didn't strike her smitten every time she saw it.

“Wipe that dorky smirk off your face,” Applejack demanded with a chuckle, reaching out and wiping her thumb over Rainbow's creased cheek, though it left a nearly untraceable smudge of black against her otherwise fair skin (which Applejack thought looked cute, but she would eventually wipe off). “We're gonna be late.”

“Even later, since my noble steed is taking a nap,” Rainbow Dash grumbled as she glared into the windshield of her Roadster.

“An’ here I thought you were flexible,” the blonde teased with a wink, pushing off the hood of the car and swinging her travel-sized tool-kit over her toned shoulder. “C'mon, we'll hoof it.”

“I guess I could use a little jaunt,” she concurred pleasantly, hopping off the car and swinging her mostly empty backpack onto one shoulder.

As one of many drifting clouds made its way in front of the drowsy sun, the hiss of wind through dry leaves sounded something like shards of glass scampering around their feet. Not that either girl remarked on the noise, they were too captivated by the sight. The fiery orange leaves burned the skeleton-like trees, the playful bundles of decay forsook their aged appearance for the juvenile jubilance that so intrinsically reminded one of falling into freshly raked autumn. Still, though the air smelled of damp concrete and moulting bark, the crisp claws of a coming chill were hard to ignore.

“Heavens, it's gettin' brisk out,” Applejack nearly whispered as she rubbed her hands along the length of her sleeves, digging her fingers into the crooks of her elbows.

“You're cold?” Rainbow hid her concern with a more surprised and teasing tone. “I thought you country folk were a little tougher than that, babe.”

“I’ve gotta be plenty thick-skinned to deal with you, honey,” the shorter girl remarked just as playfully, an adorable smile swinging across her features (a joyously carefree way that reminded Rainbow of jumping off a tire swing in Applejack's back yard, something the two of them had done a lot when they were younger).

“Yeah, probably,” she agreed promptly, but instead of casting another stone at her frost-burdened friend, she merely pulled her leather jacket off her shoulders and draped it over the smaller girl's. Gently brushing Applejack’s loose braid in front of her shoulder and the collar of her leather jacket, Rainbow spoke, “But here, just in case my arm's not warm enough.”

“Your arm?” Applejack wondered curiously, but her question was answered as Rainbow's whole arm wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders and pulled her in close. Blushing as she stepped gratefully into Rainbow's familiar chest, she fondly murmured, “Oh, thanks.”

“Can't have you shivering on my watch,” Rainbow Dash told her firmly, and another proud smirk melted her expression as she looked down at the girl enveloped in her embrace.

Kissing the blonde girl's hair lovingly, she continued to guide them up the old winding trail towards the hill as if she knew the way well enough to have jotted a treasure map for it. Though Applejack was no longer shuddering in the evening air, it seemed everything else from a bush to a tall pine was still bothered by the wind, and the flora shook and shifted against the cool nips of coming winter. The burdensome breeze, in fact, would beat the two young girls to their destination with hardly a whistling breath.

Five layers betrayed their inherent purpose and any conceived belief, as Fluttershy shivered to some chill creeping up her spine. Rubbing her arms, Fluttershy’s lagoon-blue eyes scanned the area, the view being one of the perks of the hill that Pinkie Pie had always spoken so highly of (so highly in fact that it often fell short of expectations to those who were not so personally invested in the area). Even though the new zoning signs and some old chain link fences made it less familiar and remarkable than it once was, the frizzy-haired girl still led them there as often as she could. Unfortunately, the breeze continued to blow her flowing pink locks into the most timid girl's face. With her teeth chattering, Fluttershy diverted her attention towards those who were not present.

“I-I wonder what’s taking everyone so long? Rainbow h-has a faster car than anyone, with the way she drives, she should have been here first,” Fluttershy questioned between her teeth. “And I haven’t even heard from Spike…”

“I saw Rainbow Dash back at the school, dilly-dallying on her car as usual. She probably got into another drag race in that contraption. Heaven forbid Rainbow Dash obeys the safety of the road, for once. She probably has Applejack in her clutches, too.” Rarity fidgeted with the loose ring of keys she had just pulled out of the ignition of her own vehicle, her hair staying in place against the burdensome wind thanks to her dearest and most abused friend, hairspray. “Spike is probably learning how to skateboard, or being taught how to siphon gasoline, whatever delinquent tactic he’s got himself into now.”

“Oh, come off it, Rarity,” Twilight piped up to the absent boy’s defence. “He’s not a thug, he’s just indulging in normal adolescent experimentation. I never knew what I wanted to do at his age.”

“That’s not true!” Pinkie Pie chimed in loudly, and all three of the other girls winced at the volume she always cranked up from her larynx. Pulling up the elbow-warmers she mix-matched to cover her goose-bump riddled arms, she went on, “You knew you wanted to be a super smart smarty pants when you were, like, three, right?”

“Realistically, no, but I see your point. The difference is, Spike isn’t me. I never went around bleaching my hair, tearing up my pants, any of that ridiculous rebellious rubbish, did I?” Twilight rhetorically pondered, and no one was in line to disagree with that. Tilting her head down, Twilight glanced at her watch briefly. “But I understand he’s a little lost, and certainly I can’t help being at least a little concerned. He should study more, and focus on getting good grades, rather than spend all his time trying to look some part that he’ll outgrow.”

“There’s nothing wrong with expressing oneself,” Rarity admitted, but she too seemed worried about the young boy. “I just don’t want to see him get himself into serious trouble.”

“Trouble? Oh, Spike's no trouble-maker,” Pinkie Pie decided to correct the misconception, and in an experienced tone, she added, “Trust me, I've seen my share of trouble-makers.”

“Yes, Pinkie, we have all met Rainbow Dash,” Rarity responded with a mocking smile, not taking the bubbly young girl very seriously.

“That's not what I meant,” she defended herself sternly, her usual boisterous behaviour wavering for an instant. It came back just as quickly, however, “Spike's not that bad. In fact, most of the antics he's been getting himself into have been pretty funny!”

“Funny? Since when is lung cancer funny?” Twilight interjected with a scrunched up expression. Her sense of humour was wildly different from Pinkie's, it seemed.

“He hasn't been smoking nearly long enough for that, don't be dramatic,” Rarity argued, trying to lighten the heavy mood that drifted over the usually friendly conversation. Simultaneously, as if they were too awkward to speak up or trying to seem distracted, Twilight and Fluttershy both nervously checked the time once more.

“Besides, he usually coughs his damn lungs up before he can do any serious damage,” another voice cut in, following the crunch of dying grass and deceased leaves under a rough step. The girls paused to glance back at the direction of the remark, only to catch sight of a familiar rainbow-haired party gaining on them (towing the less opinionated Applejack close behind). “What? The kid's a wimp. I should know.”

“Speak of the devil, and she arrives,” Rarity murmured with a nod in Rainbow’s direction, and Fluttershy stifled an amused giggle.

“Like I’m surprised my name comes up in conversation,” Rainbow sarcastically retorted, flipping her short multi-coloured hair and settling her dark shades back onto her nose.

“It's all bad remarks, I assure you,” Twilight reminded her in a dull tone, knowing Rainbow Dash would actually take it as a compliment.

“It sounded more like the topic of interest was whatever Guevara was screwing up lately,” the eccentric girl noted, and following the uneasy shift of expressions, knew it to be true. She had always found it amusing to call Spike by most any ridiculously hyperbolic name she could concoct (much to the boy's chagrin or dismay, which only spurred her on). “What's got you all hot and bothered now?”

The others were hesitant to discuss it then, as they were somewhat surprised that Rainbow Dash did not know. After all, her and Spike were dearly close friends, though one would never know from looking at their rough relationship objectively. Yet as they continued to amble slowly around a few scattered trees and bushes towards the familiar hill, it was in their best interests to keep some conversation up above the crisp hissing of breaking leaves.

“H-Have you not seen his hair?” Fluttershy asked quietly, and Rainbow's eyes widened immediately as she pieced it together.

“Oh shit, he dyed it?” Rainbow's voice went up high, and she groaned loudly as if it was some horrible loss. “Damn! That little punk said he'd tell me when he was going to pull that shit.”

“I can see you're really torn up about it,” Rarity grumbled lowly, rolling her eyes at Rainbow's juvenile reaction.

“Or afraid it'll outshine her own stylish mop,” Applejack cut in with a joke, and Rainbow twisted her face into some suspicion of betrayal aimed at the girl.

“Like that's possible,” she growled, but relaxed again once Applejack chuckled and ran a hand through her short locks, something that always made her hum in pleasure. Kicking at the dirt in her frayed, beaten-up and torn old grey jeans, Rainbow Dash let the girl's earlier remark slide in favour of enjoying her magic hands.

“But seriously, I have no clue what he was thinking,” Rarity spoke through a sigh, fluffing the collar of her frilled shirt and examining her own recent stylistic choices.

“He clearly wasn't thinking at all,” Twilight added with the shuffle of her book-bag. Tucking her straight-cut bangs a little behind her ear, she started again with her opinion, “If he wanted so badly to make a spectacle of himself, he should have—”

“Should have just minded his own business?” a remark stopped them all still in their tracks, and everyone paused to hear more. Which came, in the familiarly irritable and boyish tone they knew to attribute to he whom they were already discussing, “Oh wait, no. That would be his friends.”

“Spike, there you are, we were just...” Rarity tried to think up a less hurtful thing to say, but had trouble coming up with one.

“Just talking about you!” the frizzy-headed Pinkie Pie blurted as she turned around to face him, a normally sloppy and excited grin painted between her lips.

“I noticed,” Spike mumbled lowly (a tone which concealed the bruised ego or scraped feelings he didn't want to reveal).

“About time you got your sorry sack—” Rainbow was about to chew him out for making her wait, but was halted immediately by the sight of him. “What the—?!”

Staring wide-eyed at the boy before her, Rainbow Dash was (for once) quite speechless. His normally green spiked Mohawk had shifted hues entirely, and her jaw hit the dust as it nearly blinded her. There, framing his troubled expression, were countless spiked locks of neon pink hair. It was an awful contrast to the obscure heavy metal sweater he wore as well as the thick black jacket hugging his arms. From the excited look on Rainbow's normally insulting and taunting face, everyone braced themselves for her predictable outburst.

“Here it comes,” Twilight called it first, settling her hands on her hips to watch the verbal fireworks.

“No. No, no-no no, no way.” Rainbow could not contain it any longer, and her mouth ran amok through disbelieving words. As laughs broke through, she tried more desperately to form cognitive statements, “No way!”

“Way,” Spike simply stated, and hearing his voice come out of that fuchsia-dyed mess nearly floored her.

“Holy fucking shit—o-oh my—lord.” The brash young athlete held her stomach like she was afraid of stitches ripping out. Literally slapping her knee and spinning around with a hand over her mouth, she finally let it out, “That is the most—the most—holy fuck—hideous thing I have ever—ever seen!”

“Rainbow,” Applejack whispered her name seriously, but she was too far gone to pay heed.

“No, no seriously, I can't—I can't handle this!” Rainbow cried out between obnoxious bursts of laughter. Grabbing firmly onto Applejack's shoulders and falling right into her arms, she begged, “Applejack, hold me steady!”

“Is it really that bad?” Spike asked, and it was difficult to tell whether his voice drifted into a worried octave or a frustrated one.

“You—you look like an exploded pixie stick!” she finally managed to spit out, her voice cracking at the height of her range as more guffaws leaked out. Wiping a false (or possibly laughter-induced) tear out of her eye, she told him in a softer tone, “Oh Che, red was always more your colour.”

“Don't call me that.” he snapped back irritably, digging his hands wrist-deep into his cargo pants pockets.

“I'm going to have a heart attack, or rupture a lung, or give myself an aneurysm,” Rainbow heaved, her breath short as she found an excuse to nuzzle against Applejack's chest. “This is how I die!”

“Oh relax, honey.” Applejack picked her back up to standing height by the collar of her shirt (which prompted a choking-like sound to come out of Rainbow's throat, but no complaints) and glared at her. “Leave the poor kid alone. He's got enough t' worry about without your gob gnawin' at him.”

“Yeah, yeah... You're lucky mom's around, Che,” she prodded at Spike again, this time nudging him as he walked past her (so hard she almost knocked him off his feet). “Daddy was going to rip you a new one.”

“Charming dictation as always, Dash,” Rarity muttered dully as her eyes followed Spike and the spotlight on his head. “Despite what Rainbow Dash says, I think it looks marvelously unique.”

“Enough about my hair already,” Spike grumbled, patting the lower pocket of his pants to make certain anything was in there before reaching inside.

Revealing the thin, rectangular cigarette holder out of his pocket, he clicked it open and peered inside. With nothing but a half-sized butt and a lighter, Spike growled, but grabbed the fraction of a cigarette and plopped it back into his mouth (fitting the old impression of his gappy bite back onto his teeth). Flicking his lighter three times before getting it to light properly, Spike sucked loudly on the stick and took in a mouthful of smoke, blowing it back out before it even burrowed down to his lungs.

“Yeah, no more bickering!” Pinkie Pie commanded, bouncing in front of everyone and rushing towards the familiar run of terrain they had often trod.

Doing a loop around the most suitable spot with her arms outstretched like some airplane, Pinkie Pie whistled and skipped until the others found their way to her position. It was not unusual that the seven of them would meet along the hill (considering it was but a mere kilometre or so from the school, a distance which proved minuscule for most, who drove to and from school or caught rides with friends), as it was, to that day, still the one of the most beautiful sights in the city. Despite the fact that most of the trees along the city scape had since been removed for new suburbs or shopping districts, there was still some enchanting juxtaposition of the beauty of natural life to the equally hypnotic stillness of the buildings and lights. Though everyone found some merit in the hill, it was always Pinkie Pie who gathered the lot or forced them to meet up, simply because the others often found themselves too busy to plan anything out.

Rarity, arriving prepared, unfurled a blanket she had draped over her handbag and laid it out over the soft, weed-ridden grass. Meanwhile, Twilight unpacked several books she would peruse while somehow keeping up conversation, and Fluttershy sank into the grass and played with the blades on her bare fingers. As Rainbow Dash nearly tumbled and tackled Applejack to the ground, Spike stood as the odd one out, a deadly cigarette hanging out of his mouth and threatening the lively flora at his feet.

“Spikey? What’s wrong?” Rarity spoke to him, and though he heard her, found it more interesting to wait for further attention. “Come sit down. Are you all right?”

“Can’t you tell by the fuchsia firework going off on his noggin? The brat’s right out of his mind,” Rainbow remarked loudly, sprawling out on the grass like she was making a snow angel.

“Anyone who could be friends with you for so long must have a sanity deficiency,” Twilight proposed a jab at the girl, who found it funny more than insulting.

“I was just thinking,” Spike finally responded, but listened to Rarity and went over to her side, plopping his rear against the hard ground. As he sucked the last breath of his cigarette, he plucked it from his mouth and rudely ground the butt into the dirt.

“Don’t you just love that view?” Pinkie Pie asked out of the blue, and everyone paused to listen. Certainly the girl was never known for sticking to the subject, but a hint in her voice actually sounded like she had something to say beyond trivial babbling.

Her attention on the skyline did not waver, and following her addressal of it, the others peered at what she seemed so lost in. Certainly it was a breathtaking view, even more entrancing than the skyline-fingertips Pinkie could see when she stood on her tip toes on top of the roof at school. The paling horizon was laced with flakes of gold, and the drifting slivers of clouds tangoed with tints of salmon or violet. But what always struck her hardest was the invisible veil of nostalgia curtaining the vision, the reminder of more simple times (like perhaps when she once tried to run away from home, only to find herself searching for her very own residence along the skyline).

“Sure is somethin’,” Applejack agreed, absently fixing the tie at the end of her long braid while staring out where attention demanded.

“I just wish every day was so bright and beautiful,” Pinkie mused (in a voice so musically rhythmic it mimicked the chatter of the loose beads around her neck clacking about in the breeze), her frizzy hair tickling her shoulders as it shook in the breeze. It was an odd thing for the girl to say, as being such an optimist often had her praising even the most dismal of days.

“It can’t be. All those people, in the city? They have a gorgeous sky above them,” Spike started to respond, and his voice got a good deal more serious. “But I bet everyone, from the most successful to the homeless old men, they’ve got just one thing on their minds.” After a long pause, he shifted in his seat and itched under his multiple troublesome sleeves, reciting the words, “How much time they have left.”

“Whoa buzz kill alert, at Defcon three,” Rainbow Dash immediately piped up, nearly choking on surprise from his little soliloquy. “Rarity, sounds like someone needs a good romp to get his priorities straight. Want to take the reigns on this one?”

“I’m sure it’s just a little teenage angst getting you all worked up,” Rarity spoke much kinder to him, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder warmly.

“Actually, it’s because I’m out of smokes,” Spike replied, a smirk creeping up onto his face.

“You little shit!” Rainbow Dash burst into laughter, finding his deceptive little cry for attention rather hilarious. “You should have just said so, instead of concocting that load of whiny bullcrap.”

Rainbow instinctively touched her own chest in search of something, but found nothing but her shirt. Rolling her eyes at her own thoughtlessness, she proceeded to lean closer to Applejack and reach into the leather jacket that the smaller girl had put on (of course, this meant rummaging around near the warm, plush rounds of her chest, which Rainbow had no qualms with but Applejack squirmed about and yelped in surprise). Finding a small, slightly squashed box tucked into the inner chest pocket, Rainbow plucked the object out and flicked the top up with her thumb. Applejack recognized it as Rainbow’s particular brand of cigarettes, which sported an interesting design and was moderately inexpensive, and watched as the girl tapped the bottom of the pack against her knee and bit the butt end of a stick that sprang up a few centimetres.

“Here you go,” Rainbow murmured over the filter in her mouth, tilting her head back and baring her teeth at Spike, who sat just behind her. Instead of taking the offering from her teeth, he gave her a false disgusted look, prompting her to take another smoke from her pack and extend her arm over her head towards the younger boy. “Choosy bastard.”

“Thanks,” Spike accepted her offer that time, raising the smoke into the air like he was clacking a glass of wine against her own. “Damn, I really need more smokes. It sucks being under-aged.”

“Don't worry, kid. I'll hook you up,” Rainbow told him easily, grinning as she looked over at him with something left intentionally unspoken. “I know a guy.”

Rainbow rolled nearly on top of Applejack that time, as she reached into the far pocket of her leather jacket to retrieve her beat-up old zippo. Being the rascal that she was, she fiddled around in the pocket long enough to sneak a feel of Applejack’s rear end and plant a quick kiss on her cheek before removing the metal lighter from its confines. Expertly lighting the zippo on her sleeve, Rainbow ignited her own slightly bent cigarette before leaning back and holding the still flaming zippo behind her head for Spike to light his own with.

“It’s nice, being with all of you guys,” Pinkie Pie praised with a wide smile, teetering on her toes and heels while she breathed in the ambiance.

“We have almost every class together,” Fluttershy spoke up, brushing her long hair with her hands, though it was difficult to do so with her lengthy and bulky sleeves. “I’ve seen you all day.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” the frizzy-haired girl giggled as she pulled down her shirt to hide the pudgy lumps of her stomach. “But we hardly see each other anymore, outside of school.”

“That’s because someone has decided to fill every waking moment with excitement and life, rather than studying or going out to lunch with boring folks like us,” Twilight spoke next, trusting her statement was clearly enough about Pinkie Pie that she would not have to take her eyes off her notes.

“That’s not true! I went to lunch with you yesterday, silly!” Pinkie defended herself firmly.

“When you were so hungover you couldn’t hold down a glass of water?” the most studious of her friends wondered, though it did not sound as angry or resentful as the words could have come out.

“Not fair! I wasn’t that bad!” her voice squeaked as she stomped loudly on the grass and pouted.

“Whoa there Bigfoot, don’t want to cause an earthquake,” Rainbow Dash jested a quip, and a few others chuckled.

“We’re back to the feet jokes?” Rarity wondered, daintily waving some drifting smoke out of her face.

“What’s wrong with my feet?” Pinkie asked curiously, though she sounded somewhat offended.

“Nothing’s wrong with them, Pinks,” Rainbow told her with a shrug, pausing for a drag of smoke, but she could not resist going on with, “Clowns are supposed to wear big shoes.”

Instead of getting angry about the hazing, Pinkie chose to take the high road and laugh it off. She was well accustomed to Rainbow’s rough teasing by now, as it was known she never intended any real harm.

Without a pause, Pinkie Pie stuffed her hand into the throat of her purse. After yanking her hand from the inside of her tightly packed handbag, a small digital device dangled from her wrist. Leaping clean over the rainbow-haired girl in front of her (who luckily was leaning on her elbows, or Pinkie never would have made the jump), she stumbled over the uneven grass to catch her shifting weight. With a few additional steps, Pinkie spun around and held the camera at the ready. Without much time to respond, most sets of eyes present turned towards her, confused from the sudden movement. With a flash, Pinkie Pie allowed a large smile to appear on her face once more.

“Damn it, I wanted my eyes for another few seconds,” Rainbow complained irritably, rubbing one eye while her other hand was feeling around as if to sell some impression that she had gone blind.

“I’m surprised you’re not used to the camera flash by now,” Spike spoke monotonously.

“That was your first photo of the day, wasn’t it? That’s quite a deviation from your usual... unusual routine,” Twilight muttered as she took her eyes off her notes in a rare moment of displaced curiosity.

“I figured that if I held off for a while, my next photo would seem more unique… more special,” Pinkie beamed, fiddling with the buttons of her camera as if inspecting every corner of the photo. As her voice became calmer, she added, “Or maybe I was caught up in thought.”

“An hour’s break from non-stop flashing doesn’t quite count as unique, I imagine,” Spike mentioned as if he was hardly concerned either way.

“Yeah, like the ‘caught up in thought’ thing was more likely,” Rainbow murmured sarcastically, though she went mostly ignored.

“I’d go so far as to say I’m proud, it’s clearly an addiction our Pinkie Pie is trying to get over,” Rarity said with an air of certainty.

“I’d like a copy,” Fluttershy whispered shyly, raising her sleeve-obscured hand.

Rather than respond to her friends, Pinkie kept a warm smile on her face, almost a loving gaze accompanying it as she remained fixated on the small preview on her camera’s tiny screen. But in what span of time seemed shorter than it might take for the little screen to fade to black, Pinkie Pie found that the photograph was just another representation of the ever fleeting memories she clung so tightly onto. Glancing up from the camera, she found the same scene as her now dearly beloved photograph displayed, save for her now absent friends.

Due to the changing time of year, it seemed the evening chill settled in much sooner than usual, and before long, everyone was sent along their respective routes. After the others had left, only Pinkie Pie was left standing on the hill, which now bore prints of where her departed friends had once stood, sat, or leisurely laid. Taking in one last adoring breath of the amethyst coloured sky, Pinkie Pie hurried along to the next distractingly delightful party she had planned for that evening.

Though Pinkie Pie’s schedule was always stuffed to the margin with prospective plans, there were others who did not have quite as much to direct their attention towards. The most prominent example would be one attention deprived young man, whose now fluorescent pink hair (though moderately spoken about) was hardly any consolation for his solitary reclusion. For him, Spike by namesake, it was just another dull evening spent perusing the internet for new pirated music or pornography, which became easier as the blameless obscurity of the night fell through his window.

Before he could delve into the deepest pits of his browser, Spike was startled by the sound of his doorbell ringing. But instead of just one polite ring, he was perturbed to hear it repeat radically, as if someone was trying to mash it out of the wall entirely. Scooting back on his rolling computer chair and leaving the safety of his bedroom, Spike descended the stairs towards his foyer. The heavy door swung open and was stopped before it hit the wall by Spike’s outstretched arm. He hardly had to guess who was on the other side of his double-locked front door, and found his suspicions substantiated as the girl on the other side was lit up in the darkness by the porch light and opened her mouth.

“S’up?” The simple word bore nothing of any reason for her presence, and Spike just dumbly stared at her. Before letting him even adequately construct a response, she went on, “Still sticking to the cotton-candy cranium? Well, we can’t all pull off edgy and comedic, can we?”

“What is it, Rainbow Dash?” Spike directly addressed her, leaning against his doorframe casually and crossing his half bare legs, as he often adorned shorts when he had no one to impress.

“Your hemlock, Socrates.” Raising both of her hands led Spike to notice that she had come bearing gifts: two packs of Spike’s flauntingly pretentious brand of cigarettes and a six-pack of some kind of alcohol that looked so obscure she must have grabbed it at random.

“Smokes?” Spike graciously accepted the gift, but made an uncertain face as he inquired further, “I thought you said you knew a guy?”

“Surprise,” Rainbow nearly sung the word, her grin growing increasingly amused. “I am that guy.”

“Shit, Dash, you’re lucky my parents aren’t here to chew you out. You’re such a dick,” Spike told her with a laugh, shaking his head and running a hand through his bright hair.

“A dick that brings you beer, be grateful.” Rainbow roughly reached into the cardboard carrier that housed the liquor and removed one tall bottle. Opening it with the edge of the siding along Spike’s house (and leaving the bottle-cap on the welcome mat), she emptied a good deal into her mouth and shoved her way inside. “I checked to see if their cars were in the garage first, I’m not an idiot. Now come on, invite a girl inside.”

“You never wait for an invitation,” Spike reminded her as he slid out of the way and watched her barge inside, kicking off her worn shoes and leaving them wherever they landed, letting her torn-up pant legs to drag on the fresh carpeting.

“Are they working late again?” she strayed back to the previous topic, hardly glancing over at him as she strode towards the basement door.

“Probably,” Spike responded with a shrug, disinterested in discussing it.

“That’s for the best, they’ve never been my biggest fans,” Rainbow admitted without hesitation. With a smirk, she looked back at Spike and examined his poorly styled hair. “They probably blame that hideous hairstyle on me, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Spike agreed, trying to fluff up a cowlick that stuck out on the back of his skull.

“If it’s any consolation, you look like more of a dyke than I do,” she offered the remark, but Spike frowned to hear it. As Rainbow started down the stairs, she called back, “Take it as a compliment.”

“That’s obviously what I was going for,” Spike replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes but following Rainbow down into his basement. “But honestly, I’m thinking I need to do more. What do you think of me getting a piercing?”

“Ear or otherwise?” Rainbow asked simply, jumping over the last three steps onto the clean carpet below. Wiggling her toes through it as she removed her leather jacket and haphazardly threw it at an old recliner, she stopped to consider his suggestion. “Because a tongue ring might shut your stupid mouth up for a while.”

“Ouch, kidney shot to the self esteem,” he grumbled as his hands sunk lower into his pockets.

“Have to toughen it up somehow, can’t be a pretty little pansy forever,” she teased again, going over to the pool table in the middle of the wide room and placing the six-pack right onto the green fabric, even though there was a perfectly fine bar counter in the far corner (something Spike’s father had installed when he had enough time to invite his work buddies over). “But seriously? I can see you pulling off an earring or two. Why the hell not.”

“You think so?” Spike seemed hopeful about the prospect, but inquisitive. Silently moving Rainbow’s box of beer onto the edge of the table instead, he asked, “Where would I even go for that? Like a tattoo place?”

“Don’t worry about it, Che,” Rainbow brushed the subject off with ease, jumping up onto the pool table and crossing her legs in a falsely classy act. “I know a guy.”

“The same guy as the guy who brought me beer and smokes?” he proposed, finding the idea amusing as he now knew that fictitious gentleman to be the girl before him.

“Nah, he’s not nearly as drop-dead gorgeous,” she not so modestly responded, grabbing one of the aforementioned brews and tossing it his way. Knowing the move well enough by now, he did not hesitate to catch it (though he always was a bit spastic and hardly a good catch). “Drink up, bub. Drinking alone is almost as sad as orgasming alone... Or was that your plan for this marvelously mundane evening? Did I kill the mood? Will your lubricant and tube sock make you sleep on the couch tonight?”

“Shut up, Dash,” Spike silenced her with a glare, though he could not hide the smirk she had doodled onto his face. Even if she was a bit of a wild card, she was nothing short of an entertaining house guest.

“Make me,” Rainbow dared him, and for a moment, he was stalled silent. Looking over at her elevated position on his billiards table, Spike was reluctant to stave the slight arousal that her challenge had stirred. She, however, didn’t seem the least bit distracted or tempted, and instead, threw another object at him, identifying it aloud, “Put your cue where your mouth is, pretty boy.”

After a short chuckle as Spike twisted the long stick between his fingers, he revealed, “I’ll make you eat those words.”

“If the words are ‘Applejack’s pussy’, you don’t have to ask twice,” Rainbow joked, jumping down off the table and chugging another portion of her beverage.

“Just break, you jackass,” Spike demanded as he gestured to the triangular pattern the balls were already set up in. Watching her casually hum as she set the white ball up along the line, he proposed another question, “How are things with Applejack, anyway?”

“Great. She’s a traditional girl, so we’re still taking things slow, but I kind of like it like that. Despite my obnoxious remarks, I respect the shit out of her,” Rainbow prattled on, and took her first strike of the white ball.

“I just, well, I rarely see you guys kiss or anything. From the way you talk about her, I’d think you’d be all over her,” he asked a more detailed question, fumbling to open his beer while holding the pool cue upright.

“I know it’s pretty apparent that I don’t give one damn about what people say, but I don’t want to put Applejack in the position to have to explain anything to anyone. She kisses me plenty, but that doesn’t mean we go around shoving it in people’s faces. You know?” Rainbow explained quite clearly, watching two striped balls fall into pockets and setting herself up for another shot.

“Rainbow Dash: the type of girl to commit to a mature relationship? Now I’ve seen everything.” Spike seemed quite impressed by Rainbow’s resolve, and smiled warmly about it.

“For Applejack, I’d do just about anything,” she admitted certainly, sinking another stripe into the leather pouch and blowing the tip of her pool cue like it was a revolver. “That’s love, Guevara. Suck it.”

“I will never understand how you can say such nice things and have them sound so crude.” He shrugged casually, taking his first few sips (though he had to take his lips off the bottle with a sucking sound as he let air back into it to down some more).

“It’s a gift,” she simply replied, sucking her teeth irritably as she missed her next shot. “What about you? How’s the love life, or lack there of?”

“Just the tube sock for now,” he joked with a short chuckle, adding chalk to the tip of his cue before setting himself up for a shot. “And the playboy you got me for my birthday last year.”

“Glad to know it’s getting used, even if just for semen shot-put,” Rainbow pleasantly said, leaning her elbows back against the table as she watched Spike miss the shot entirely. “But I know the tube sock gag is a lie, I know you masturbate by humping the shit out of your mattress.”

“We really have been friends for too long,” he mumbled in a low voice, stepping aside as Rainbow twirled her cue confidently.

“And yet you still can’t shoot straight,” she taunted him as she bent over the table, and Spike’s eyes lingered for too long on parts of her he had witnessed grow over the years.

“Says the girl who’s as straight as a slinky,” came another quip as he raised his bottle to her next (quite predictably successful) move.

“Nothing wrong with a little,” she paused for a strained grunt, rolling onto her back and closing one eye and she aimed her shot upside-down. Tapping the white ball perfectly to sink another striped number, and subsequently scratch by losing her own ball to the leather pocket, she sighed out the last word, “Bend.”

“I’ll say,” Spike murmured suggestively, raising his eyebrows as he observed the way she stood back up to her usual height. Such a statement prompted an amused smile to crawl out over Rainbow’s features, and she snickered as she shook her head.

“Keep it in your pants, lover boy,” Rainbow Dash quickly and accurately prodded him with the tip of her pool cue, causing him to choke on his beer in the process. “Besides that… how are you holding up? Knowing, and all.”

After a short suspicious pause, Spike finally asked, “What do you mean?”

“Come on, you can’t hide jack-shit from me. The others may be fooled, but all this Guevara rebellion crap is pretty obvious. I know you got yours. The long sleeves, burying your hands in your pockets? Tell tale signs.” She busied herself by peeling the label off her beer bottle and adjusting the sweatband she had on her left wrist as if it was itching her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to lecture you on it. You’re your own man, Che.”

“It doesn’t bother me, Dash,” he told her firmly, taking his shot before even trying to set up, though it worked in his favour and he sank a ball.

“Of course not,” Rainbow agreed promptly, nodding as she swallowed the last of her beer and cracked another one off the edge of the table. “I’m just saying, if it did? Well, I’m right here, if you want to talk and shit.”

“I don’t need to talk about it, what would that change?” he rhetorically wondered, and his whole body seemed to tense up and get defensive. “It’s not like you ever open up to me, either. You can’t tell me you’ve never been afraid or angry.”

“You’re deflecting,” Rainbow reminded him in a sing-song tune, which was followed by a frustrated sigh. “We’re not talking about me, and if you don’t want to even address the issue, then we don’t have to—”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud, poor quality recording of some rock song playing out of Rainbow’s pocket. With a curious expression, she reached down and removed it from her pants, reading the name of the caller.

“Whoa. Someone actually wants to talk to you?” sounded like a mean jab from Spike, but Rainbow just put on an equally surprised expression.

“It’s my girl,” she revealed, and immediately answered the call and pressed the phone to her ear. With a wide grin melting over her lips, she spoke, “Applejack? Hey babe, miss me already?”

Leaning the cue against the table and slowly sighing, Spike guessed, “I take it that means the game is over?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s just Spike, he’s whining about getting his ass kicked in pool.” Rainbow ignored the boy in favour of Applejack. After a short laugh, she jumped up onto the pool table once more and kicked her feet back and forth like some lovestruck teenager, answering an unheard question over the phone. “Me? Just thinking about you, and those toned thighs.”

“Oh, kill me now,” Spike growled as he rolled his eyes once more, already anticipating that this phone call marked the end of their time together that evening (as ever since Rainbow Dash had acquired a girlfriend, Spike hardly got any time alone with her at all).

“Dork? I'm not a dork!” Rainbow denied playfully, almost giggling giddily as she laid down on the pool table, forsaking the game she had clearly been winning. “You're just trying to push my buttons. I love that about you.”

“Rainbow? Are you listening?” he tried once more in vain, his voice and will weak as he felt her slipping away once more.

“AJ, I would, if you didn’t have to stay home every other night to watch the brat,” she continued with some other topic, and Spike’s hopes deflated at her neglect. “Well it’s what makes me think you’d make a marvelous wife, too. Yeah, mine, why not mine?”

“Nice talking to you,” Spike sarcastically grumbled. Letting disappointment wash over him, he turned from his old friend and started towards the stairwell once more. He knew it was futile to wait around for however long it might take for Rainbow to come down off her ecstatic cloud and open up again, so he didn't bother. “I trust you know how to let yourself out.”

“Spike,” Rainbow spoke his real name with her hand blocking the receiver, and he paused on the bottom step to listen, surprised she had actually said anything to him at all. “It’s kind of counter-productive to beg for attention and then hide whenever someone shows compassion, being mopey for the sake of being mopey. You're not interesting enough to pull off that melodramatic shit. I’m not just going to baby you and funnel you validation, and I can't wait around for you to get the gall to talk to me, I've got my own stuff going on too.”

Glaring over his shoulder in an accusatory and resentful way, he dug his teeth into his lower lip to keep from saying something he might have regretted. Instead, he murmured, “Thanks for the advice.”

Though their gazes mirrored each other for a moment, Spike inevitably surrendered, turning around and heading back up stairs. Less than pleased by his predictably boring response, Rainbow Dash shrugged and sank back onto the pool table. Another fond smile seeped over her features as Applejack’s voice came back over the line, and she eagerly listened to the girl talk.

“Yeah, well she’s getting near that age, you’re going to have to have the talk soon,” Rainbow’s fading voice drifted away as Spike closed the door to the basement, tiredly leaning against it once it clicked into place.

Even though it was so early in the evening, the sun had set already, and Spike felt exhausted. Though he wanted nothing more than for Rainbow Dash to get off the phone, come into his room, curl up in his bed and apologize to him, it all sounded terribly selfish and irrational. As he waited for that impossible favour, he laid, sprawled out over his messed up comforter, pretending the wrinkles didn’t bother him either.

His room felt so wide and empty, which was something he should have been thankful for. Still, all that concerned him was how warm and alive his body felt, how terribly neglected and useless it was, how untouched it was. Glancing over at his hand, he found himself pulled to stare as if he could see through the bulky long-sleeved shirt he nearly lived in. But still, he did nothing but lay there and watch his time drift by. Before long, he had forgotten how to stay conscious entirely.

Usually, Spike was a rather heavy sleeper. As someone who had known him for a good deal of time, this was not news for Rainbow Dash. She was surprised, however, to find the limits of his slumber. Instead of an abrupt alert from his alarm clock startling him back to awareness, he was roused by the sound of his heart beating in his ears and a dull throbbing in his head. Drowsily opening his eyes, he was certain that a dream still had him in its clutches. That is, until he reached up and felt the wet, sticky trace of liquid trickling from his ear down to his neck.

“What… what’s going on?” his numb voice tried for words, and he squinted trying to see over the blinding light of his bedside lamp.

“It’s not as bad as it probably feels, I think,” was the response, and Spike identified it as Rainbow Dash’s voice. By then, he had peeled his fingers off his ear and looked at the tips, nearly going into cardiac arrest when he noticed that the strange substance was coagulating blood.

“Rainbow?! What the hell did you—?” he started nearly screaming, but as he sat up, felt the lack of blood in his head and fell right back down. Groaning at the pain, he felt around a little more until his fingers pinched something that felt like metal. “You… you pierced my ear?! I-I thought you said that you knew a—?!”

“I am that guy,” she repeated through a nervous grin, holding up some sewing needle above a plate covered in strange makeshift surgical instruments, a lemon, and some ice. In response to Spike’s blind shock and stunned silence, she explained herself, “Granted, I kind of jumped the gun a bit here. My bad.”

Author's Note

An... interesting first chapter for a soon-to-be quite dismal story. It's a little different than Arby and my usual works, in fact, we're taking just about everything a new way. In fact, you probably noticed the extensive use of parentheses, yes? A little unusual, I agree, but I kind of like trying something new.
So... what do you think? I realize the premise hasn't even come into play yet, but worry not, there are a few surprises coming your way.