***

"Such Deliberate Disguises"

Like beams of moonlight cascading through her bedroom curtains, the smooth runs of glistening silk were fed between Rarity’s slender fingers. Bunching and pinching at one end, she carefully pinned the milky rose frills into place. Lined with creamy pearl lace, the small article was a perfect blend of functional and beautiful. Her narrowed, tired eyes traced the ring of fabric for errors, but finding none, she set to sewing the pleats in with a pale violet thread.

Perhaps it would have been a little more productive of her to have been working on the second draft of the costumes she had done up for the upcoming performance of Gone With The Wind, but she was otherwise distracted. She did have to keep her fingers moving to stave her mind from drifting onto topics that were less than amiable. Hissing as she negligently pierced her index finger (a rare occurrence indeed for someone like Rarity, who lived with needles and string around her hands), Rarity checked for any trace of blood before shaking her head and getting back to her task.

It was a good deal harder to see now that it was dark outside and she had been forced to scoot nearly right underneath her desk lamp to accurately sew, but she diligently worked on. Glancing at the almost identical article she wore on her left wrist, she duplicated her own adept stitching in intricate designs. Though something so small and imperative might usually have merited the use of her dear sewing machine, there was something particularly unique about using her own fingers, especially for something sentimental that she may soon gift.

Peering through the doorway to another room, which was left ever so slightly ajar, Rarity could see the closed and darkened entry to her younger sister’s bedroom. Usually, knowing the young girl was tucked away and sleeping soundly would have given her some sense of peace, but that evening, Rarity was stuffed with anticipation. The little girl she had grown up beside (the one she had snuck around with on Christmas Eve or scolded for stealing her make-up), she was growing up too quickly for Rarity to have prepared for. As she looked back at the wrist accessory she had nearly finished (though she had put it off for what seemed like years, perhaps waiting for her skills to be adequately honed), she wondered if a gentle pink was still her sister’s favourite colour.

She dreaded the day that she would have to hand the small cuff to her younger sister, for though it was a gift which celebrated that she was becoming a woman of her own standing, it also bore some dismal significance. She would have to dutifully explain what being an adult entailed, and come to accept that her baby sister was no longer just a baby, no longer someone to look after and take care of. She would be her very own woman.

But luckily, that day had not come yet. There was still time to look upon the face of innocence and succumb to the naive and ignorant smile and the young light in brilliantly fortunate eyes. There was still weeks until her next birthday, when such an occasion would come that this gift could be given without motive questioned, and still so much for the girl to learn.

As she realized she had done enough for one late evening, Rarity opened the miniscule desk drawer she had reserved for the small article and carefully placed it inside. Running her fingers so gingerly over the delicate waves of fabric, she released a slow sigh. Rarity stood at once, looking longingly at the luxurious queen sized bed that summoned her, before reaching to flick her desk lamp off and grabbing the handle of the drawer to push it closed.

While some girls filled their drawers with lace, accessories, clothing and gifts, other girls stuffed theirs with pages and pages of seemingly endless notes. One such a girl, Twilight Sparkle as she was known, mirrored Rarity’s action by trying to close her own desk drawer. However, instead of the quiet slide that Rarity’s desk had as one closed it, Twilight’s made a small scratching noise and defied the girl, disobeying her command by jamming on the mountain of lined paper that she had tried to close inside. Falling to her knees for a better angle, she tried one more heave, to no avail.

“Damn,” she cursed through frustration, reaching up and knocking several loose strands of hair out of her face.

She continued to run her hands over her head, tucking locks of stray hair back into the loose bun she had done up to keep all her troublesome hair out of her way. Accidentally knocking her glasses out of place, she proceeded to groan while she adjusted them once more and leaned against her old desk. The still protruding drawer made for some uncomfortable form of pillow, but she just pressed her back up against it and sat down over crossed legs.

Her right hand was sore from all the cursive scribbling she had been doing, but she gave it little more than a firm massage and a short rest. It was clear even to her that she was troubled, but it didn’t bother her as much as it might have troubled her friends. They were always telling her to go out and participate rather than sit at home all day and theorize about it. However, they had always been convinced that Twilight was merely focused too fully upon her grades, but that was not the case.

Growing up with something of a personal library in her father’s study, Twilight was taught at an early age to revere the written word. The books of philosophy, psychology, science or theory, they were (unlike her hardworking, preoccupied father) always there for her. But like her father, the written word was elusive, difficult to understand, and always challenging her with riddles and puzzles.

Presently, those compelling works were what had her captive, what kept her up so late at night though she knew (from studies she had read) how important a good night’s sleep was to a developing mind. However, It was no intervention of her structured education on her schedule, but an interception of her own curiosity that had her tired mind dancing on puppet strings. Besides that, she was kept up and irritated by the quiet ticking of her analog watch, which she could still hear even though she had buried it beneath the tower of scribbled notes.

With the absence of her regular keeper of present time, she stared at her naked wrist, her gentle yet sunken eyes entranced by the lines and curves of the veins that ran like fresh streams along her skin. She traced those and any marking along with her fingertips, as if asking her thoughtless, mortal body for the answers.

“Is this… all there is?” a quiet question slipped out, and even Twilight didn’t seem to understand why she had spoken to the solitude of her room at all.

Leaning her head back against the crowded and cluttered drawer, she wondered what use all of her pursuits really had. All the thousands of words she had sacrificed her time and her hands to write, they could just as easily lay in her desk forever, and not a thing in the world would change. Not a thing, save perhaps the incessant ticking on of time that drove her to the depravity of sanity and slumber.

It had already come to her, through her own findings rather than a blind belief of essays on the subject, that her own present questions and concerns were irrelevant or absent from the conception of many past thinkers. They mentioned nothing of the burdens that her time was cursed to bear, but perhaps there was some merit in sifting through the past. Accordingly, she tucked away the old writings of Epicurus in favour of critiques of Kant and McTaggart and retrieved a handful of the notes she had so carelessly used for insulation.

Shaking her pen once more to get what little ink was left moving again, Twilight pulled up her rolling chair (though the wheels had already made irreparable scratch marks along her pristine hardwood floors from her thoughtful scooting in and out) and plopped back into it. Tapping her pen along what little of the desk was visible, Twilight flipped to the more relatable sections of her chosen text, but paused before reading. Ignoring the urge to check her wrist or the bottom of the drawer for the times, she glanced over at the alarm clock next to her small bed, reading over the red letters to confirm the wee hour she knew too well.

At just such an early time in the morning, so early in fact that it hardly passed for morning at all, Twilight would be surprised to find that she was not the only one who was awake. The city life still raged on, and though the streets were quieter, not every young girl got to sleep peacefully through the night. For example, one other frail adolescent some distance away was currently battling the rousing sound of her cell phone vibrating along her nightstand, and losing.

Peeking one open eye out of the giant rounds of a duvet cover, Fluttershy groggily read the time before staring at the lit-up device as it hummed in short circles. After passing over to voicemail once or twice, the cellular lit up again, telling Fluttershy that whoever was calling her was not about to give up. Sighing in defeat, Fluttershy wiggled over to the nightstand and pulled the charger out of the socket (as it was too short to permit the girl to remove it from the nightstand and bring into her covers with her to speak). Curling up in a drowsy little ball and sliding her finger over the answer button (which she could only look at while squinting since her eyes were so sensitive to the bright flashing light), she brought the phone to her ear and closed her eyes as she spoke.

“It’s late,” Fluttershy stated bluntly, her voice for once sounding somewhat scratchy.

“No way! The night’s still young, unlike you,” came a sing-song response over the phone, though it was hard to hear over blasting music and muffled voices.

Fluttershy sighed before rolling over and bringing her head out of the mess of covers to speak more clearly, “What’s up? You... need to talk?”

“Yes, about you never coming out with me,” sounded both hurt and whiny, and Fluttershy decided to evade the suggestion with a joke.

“Coming out is Rainbow’s domain,” she teased with her gay friend’s name.

“That’s funny, but obviously not what I meant!” accompanied a loud giggle, and Fluttershy had to pull the phone away from her ear and wince as it echoed through her quiet room. “Come on Fluttershy, I’ll take you out to the best clubs in the city, and I promise, I promise, Fluttershy, I won’t ditch you.”

“Again,” Fluttershy corrected with an irritable tone. Relaxing into her plush pillow, she tried to sound less angry. “Pinkie Pie, how much… how much have you had to drink?”

“Nothing, mom,” Pinkie remarked sarcastically, and Fluttershy could envision the girl sticking her tongue out rudely. “Just, like, well some guys bought me shots, and you know I always start my night with… (Shh, I’m on the phone… sambuca, double) with some fruity cocktails.”

“Uh-huh,” Fluttershy monotonously and skeptically replied. “Listen, Pinkie, I really have to—”

“No, I will not take no for an answer!” the loud girl on the other end nearly shouted. “Get a cab down here, I’ll pay. We’re going to this cute guy’s house after last call—he says he knows Soarin, from the Wonderbolts, Soarin!”

“Pinkie, I—” she tried again, but once more was cut off.

“He has a hot tub, Flutters, a hot, steamy, sexy bubble bath, hot tub. And I did not bring a swimsuit, you shouldn’t either,” she blabbered on, and Fluttershy’s expression contorted worse into worry the more she went on. “What part of this does not scream get-your-lame-ass-down-here?!”

“The part where I have to leave my bed,” Fluttershy mumbled into her covers, and wasn’t sure if Pinkie heard it at all.

“What?” was not said to Fluttershy, and the phone got quieter as Pinkie Pie pressed her hand over the receiver to talk to some guy Fluttershy could not understand. “Oh, Fluttershy, he has a bed too.”

“As tempting as that sounds…” she mumbled sarcastically before getting back to her opinion, “I think you should go home, that seems like a really bad idea.”

“You’re a bad idea,” came a ridiculous retort, but Pinkie hurriedly gathered her words. “He’s cute, Flutters. We only made out for like five minutes, if you want him, he’s yours, I’m cool.”

“Goodnight, Pinkie Pie,” Fluttershy simply stated, reaching to hang up the call.

“No, don’t you dare hang up!” Pinkie shouted, and Fluttershy held the phone away from her but paused before ending the call. “Fluttershy, you spend way too long sitting at home, afraid to have a good time. What are you afraid of, anyway? Time’s running out for all of us, come out and enjoy what’s left. Come out with me, please.”

After a careful and uneasy pause, Fluttershy fell back on the decision she had always made, repeating, “... Goodnight, Pinkie Pie.”

Half-lidded eyes scanned the small screen emitting a bright glow in the dark room, blinking in response to the sudden end. Pinkie Pie remained focus on the cold piece of technology in her fingers, as if that would revive the call and bring the little device back to life. A gentle nudge on her rear and a coarse grab against her thigh snapped her out of the trance and Pinkie glanced to her right, trying to remember the names of the two guys sandwiching her. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what was prodding her rear, nor was it difficult to expel an amused giggle. Pocketing her phone, Pinkie Pie let the music haunt and control the rolls of her body and danced in the heavy, heaving darkness.

Flashing lights and pounding bass added to the sensation that she could hardly keep herself balanced, supported by the fact that she was leaning on the man behind her. Not that he minded in the slightest. With a characteristic shout, Pinkie Pie closed her eyes and continued to shake her hips while some faceless figure in front of her leaned in to suck on her neck. It was lazy, sloppy and messy, which served Pinkie just fine. All of it was exactly her style: loud, wild and distracting. It was everything she surrounded herself with, all the noise, the exhaustion, the haze of intoxication, the bright lights and stark darkness dragging at each curve and bend of her plump body; for that perhaps she would feel anything at all (besides the wet presses of foreign lips against her chest and large hands wrapping over her).

A simple gurgle from her gut bothered Pinkie, but she ignored the unpleasant feeling and grasped at the drink she had forgotten she ordered until it was passed over to her. With a quick swig, Pinkie knew that the burning in her throat would get a good buzz going once more, and that another expected rejection from Fluttershy would not ruin her evening. Unfortunately, a horrible scalding fire in her stomach made its way slowly up her throat, a warning she knew well.

Pinkie pushed back on one of the guys fondling her, stumbling in the general direction of the washrooms (or where she last remembered seeing them). Despite an irritable protest from the man whose mouth still tasted of the abundant perfume she doused herself with (which faded quickly as he seamlessly acquired a new target), Pinkie weaved and wavered through the crashing waves of the drifting crowd. It was as comforting as the lull of a bedtime story: the smouldering heat of hundreds of swinging strangers, the strong scent of sweat and body spray, the sticky feeling of her shoes peeling off spilled drinks or other fluids, and the deafening roar of the blasting speakers riddling the room. Still, with a dopey smile slung across her face and a few passing waves to new acquaintances, Pinkie Pie found her way along the graffiti stained wall into some push-door bathroom.

While the music was quieter, the bathroom was a good deal more solitary than the rest of the club. This was surprising, considering Pinkie almost always found groups of girls gossiping loudly or fixing their sweat-damaged makeup. Nearly diving into the second stall (as the first was clearly broken, what with the door hanging crooked and closed against the lock), Pinkie hardly caught herself on the ivory white throne as she doused one side and a few tiles of linoleum with regurgitated and once-enjoyed liquids. Though they stung just as much coming up as they did going down, Pinkie was unfazed as she allowed her body to cleanse itself. The whole ordeal ended abruptly, and though she breathed heavily and wiped forced tears out of her eyes, she was not satisfied.

“That’s all?” she asked her tingling body, leaving her noodle-limp arms clinging to the cold toilet. “We have a whole night ahead… make some room.”

And with that, she reached back and tickled the rear reaches of her throat, provoking more of the unfavourable act. After a few inaccurate tousles and amused giggles, she managed to expel a few more heaves of wanted poisons. More salty tears were dabbed away with her elbow-warmers (careful not to smudge her mascara), and Pinkie spat gobs of saliva into the murky waters to battle the flavours on her tongue.

As she waited for any more quarrels with her mortal body, Pinkie’s eyes drifted to the various markings all over her left hand, which were more visible now that she had moved her arm covers to dab her blurry eyes. She focused harder on the marks, most of which were black and faded or smeared. She could still make out what names of clubs or clever words or phrases had clung to her skin from the press of a careless stamp. To Pinkie, they seemed like badges of honour, all spelling out a wonderfully compelling few nights on the town. While she had painted it red, they had dampened her with black markings, which partially concealed the more permanent marks along her wrist. Tugging the woolen article back over her forearm, Pinkie ran her hands through her hair and over her head to compose herself.

“That, that wasn’t so bad, Fluttershy’s missing out,” Pinkie chimed to herself, pressing an open palm against the stall wall to hold herself steady as she got to her wobbling feet. “Fluttershy’s missing out… what’s there to be so darn afraid of?”

There was no answer from the empty bathroom, save perhaps for an echo of her question. Shaking her dizzy head until the motion returned to a rhythmic bob, Pinkie continued to twirl her fingers through the frizzy curls and tuck loose strands out of her face and dangling earrings. The call of pounding trance and techno was impossible for the girl to ignore, but she once again focused on the markings along her wrist, until the shake of her head rattled those thoughts away.

“Pinkie, you gotta stand up tall,” she sung lightly, a smile creeping over her face as she tapped her hand against her hip.

A joyful and jubilant guffaw broke out from her cracking lips, and she once again made certain to dab her eyes and fluff up the vibrant rays of colour that swirled around her. Humming as the tune from her head mingled with the ringing of passing sirens, shouts and loud music that summoned her back to the dance floor, Pinkie knew where she belonged. Reaching out to the little silver handle that hung slightly out of place, she tugged until a swirling flush spun at her feet. Hearing the hissing of old winding pipes, Pinkie closed her eyes and let the water run out and gurgle loudly.

Such a song was familiar not only to Pinkie Pie, as there was just such another place where shiplap walls could hardly interrupt the tumultuous tune of rusty lines.

While pounding music and loose morals may have been absent, the rushing sound of water was not uncommon in the distant ranch house. In fact, the pipes ran through the thin walls almost like veins of blood rushing through the old bones that the Apple family resided in. However, that particular evening, the water did not stop. Gushing from the pipes until hot ran cold, until the well gurgled for life, until the elder of two sisters was roused from her well-deserved slumber, the water ran on. The hushed hissing of hardy pipelines was unmistakable, and as Applejack let out a throaty breath and rolled herself out of bed (and out from beneath both a well-used blanket and a home-knitted quilt), it became all the more enchanting.

Surely no one in her family would dare have showers so long, they all knew just how little their archaic hot water tank could store, and it was either too late or too early for anyone else to have been cleaning up before bed or before work. Still, the trembling of the cold lines and the distant spray of drops had Applejack leaving the usual comfort of her bedroom. Following what little her sleep-deprived eyes could spot, the blonde carelessly tossed her annoyingly long hair over her solid shoulder and dragged one hand along the hallway wall for guidance. At the end of the narrow hall, a sliver of light scampering across the hardwood seemed like some golden archway, beckoning her forth.

Besides the hollow sounds of squeaking floorboards and used pipes, the young girl could hear something very disturbing. It was soft, so gentle and small she knew immediately who it was who had been awake. Taking both another firm, driven step and a brave inhale, Applejack allowed herself to be led along by the distant and distorted sound of something so weak as a mere snivel. Such a sound was tortuously telling to the older sister; no shout nor laugh nor scamper could compare to the chilling echo of a simple stifled whimper.

“Come off, please, please come off!” quiet whispers squeaked through the thin door, which was left carelessly an inch ajar.

As Applejack peeked through the parted frame, she caught sight of her younger sister's reflection in the mirror. And what a devastating sight it was. There stood the small girl, clad in her usual too-loose hand-me-down pyjamas, staring red-eyed into the rust-bucket sink and grinding her hands together under the steady stream of water. Upon closer inspection, Applejack noticed the welling of tears in her eyes and the abundance of shimmering rivers that ran down her bright, rosy cheeks. Applejack's glistening green eyes trailed down the young girl's body as she moved herself against the fraction of light peeking between them, and there she saw the very thing she had dreaded for so many miserable years. There, beneath the constantly scrubbing fingers of her dear younger sister, was an accurate gauge of time.

Swallowing her own impulse to choke up some pathetic sob, Applejack touched her calloused fingers against the bathroom door and carefully pushed it open. The younger girl's golden eyes flickered up to her older sister's with both embarrassment and relief, and she jumped away from the sink at once. Rubbing her face against the damp shoulder of the one-piece pyjama ensemble, the younger girl tried to summon the courage to try to explain a thing.

“It just—it won't come out, Applejack,” came stammered, stumbling words, and her breath drew in and out in sharp changes. “Applejack, help, okay? It—it just—it done showed up, an' I, an' I can't get it out.”

“Calm down, Apple Bloom,” Applejack spoke softly, calming her with a smooth tone as she turned off the sputtering tap. “Trust me. It's perfectly normal, got that?”

“It can’t be! It just can’t be, Applejack.. what even is—is it?” she managed to work out over her sniffling.

“Listen close, what I'm 'bout t' tell you is real important. Okay? It's a great big secret, one that y'get let in on once y'become an adult. Got it?” Applejack began carefully, kneeling down in front of her younger sister and taking her trembling hands. “Right, now if y'all're gonna be a grown up, like your brother an' me, y'gotta promise y'won't tell no one what I'm about t' tell you. Not even your friends—not even your best friends. Y'understand?”

“Yea'... I understand.” She nodded slowly, looking at her sister's larger and supportive hands, which rested under her own and caressed her cold and damp skin.

“Good. Now, stick with me when I tell ya,” the blonde paused to clear her throat, trying to make sure she explained it in a way that wouldn't startle the younger girl. She had been preparing for this for a good long time now, but her heart raced as she realized how real it all was. It didn't matter how much she had rehearsed. “This mark, this timer? Y'see how it's changin', yea'?”

Apple Bloom nodded over and over, looking back at the roughed-up part of her wrist, which was rubbed raw and red by the constant friction she had been applying. There, just as Applejack had told her, was a mark that looked exactly like some measure of time. Dark and buried deep under the young girl's skin, numbers flashed before her, changing each second. But while Apple Bloom gawked at it like it was some poison seeping into her blood, her sister looked upon it so gently it was as though she loved the hellish thing.

“It—it's countin' down, Applejack,” she nervously whimpered out.

“Right. It is,” Applejack agreed, nodding along with the girl. With a light-hearted chuckle that she forced to keep the mood easy, she looked into her sister's wet eyes and told her, “Y'all're only gonna speed it up tryn'a dig it out like that, hurting yourself.”

“... What is it?” she finally gathered the gall to ask, though she was afraid to know.

“Apple Bloom.” Her most trusted idol slowly took in a breath to ready herself for the world-shattering news she held on her tongue. “It's how long y'got left.”

“How long I... I got left? 'Til what?” Apple Bloom wondered, though from the way her face went pale, Applejack already knew she could understand.

“'Til the end.” Applejack revealed at last, her voice stern and stoic. Gulping back her fear and uneasiness, she forced her voice to stay even as she explained, “This timer's how much life y'got left in you.”

“It tells me...” Her face went white and her eyes grew wide as she pieced it together. With a shrill shriek, Apple Bloom realized, “It tells me when I'm gonna die?! I'm gonna die?!”

“Shh, shh, it's okay.” Applejack immediately grabbed the young girl, yanking her forward into a tight embrace. She could feel her sister sobbing loudly into her shoulder, and soothingly rubbed the girl's back over and over. As she began to get a little quieter, Applejack touched her sister's wrist and asked her, “Look, since y'stopped scratchin' away at it, it's gotten longer, hasn't it?”

“Wha-at?” she sniveled out, but listened to her older sister and looked down. Indeed, it had gotten longer, and she wiped her eyes to be certain. “Y-Yea', it—it did.”

“See, everythin' you choose, it's gonna change your time,” Applejack said with a more hopeful tone, taking her by the chin and raising her head back up. With a more familiar and remarkable smile, she pushed some stray hair out of her younger sister's face. “An' others, those closest t' you? They can change it, too.”

“B-But what if I do it wrong? What if I screw it up an' make it real short, what if I stop someone else's?!” Apple Bloom inquired over a shaky voice, her breath sputtering in and out unevenly. “What's wrong with me, sis? This—this thing'll kill me, I gotta, I gotta—it's all wrong!”

“There ain't nothin' wrong with it, Apple Bloom,” her older sister so gently told her, leaning down over the sobbing girl's shaking wrist and placing a warm and familiar kiss upon the cursed spot. As her tender and smooth lips left the wounded skin to the open air, her words caressed it instead with the heat of her breath. “This is your life. It's everythin' you get t' love, an' everythin' you get t' treasure. It's a gift, Apple Bloom. Every darned second of it.”

“A gift?” she repeated the words as if she was uncertain she had heard them correctly.

“You bet. Stuffed up in every changin' second is memories: of your family, of your friends... of people you love,” Applejack explained reverently, gingerly stroking the spot her sister had nearly scarred.

“But... but then why can't I tell no one?” she asked in a calmer voice, touching the spot tenderly herself, though she flinched as it hurt her.

“Everybody sees it different, be it a curse 'r a blessin'. Some people might get real scared by it, real upset. Some people get real concerned with makin’ it mean somethin’, or tryin’ to figure out why, or fightin’ it. But y'all ain't gotta be like that. Granny always told me t' cherish every moment, up 'til th' day her own clock ran on out,” she went on easily, though she nervously tugged at the long sleeve she kept pulled over her own mark. “You can stress over it an' lose faith or what have ya, or you can just accept it for what it is an' soldier on.”

As another few sobs and tears found their way out, Apple Bloom admitted, “I'm scared, sis.”

“That's fine, it's okay t' feel however y'feel, al'right?” Applejack stroked her sister's hair affectionately, calming her with the steadiness in her own resolve. “Ain't nothin' t' be ashamed of.”

Curiously, Apple Bloom looked over at her sister's wrist, as it was so near to her face. She wanted to reach out and touch it, to look at it and compare their times and their similarities. But instead, she merely tried for permission, “What... what does yours say?”

“Y’all don’t wanna know, you’ll start tryin’ t’ figure stuff out in your head. Y’can’t go 'round askin' that, sis,” Applejack told her with a chuckle, making sure the cuff button was done up tight around her time. “Most folks don't like t' have their most personal secrets known.”

“How come I ain't never seen yours before? Don't ya ever check?” Apple Bloom pondered, wondering how such a big secret could have slipped past her, how she had never seen Applejack staring at the spot herself.

“You'll drive yourself nuts thinkin' like that,” Applejack said as she tousled her sister's ginger hair. “No, I don’t check, it ain’t important to me. B'sides, I got you t' worry about. I got you, and Mac, an' th' farm, an’ my friends. An' heck, someone's gotta take care o’ Rainbow Dash, don't ya think? I ain't gonna spend all my precious time lookin' at it.”

“So you’ve… you’ve had it for a while?” Carefully, Apple Bloom reached her now sore left hand out, wrapping it around her sister’s larger hand and positioning her thumb over where her sister’s time must have been stamped.

“I reckon since I was darn near your age. These numbers, most of us call ‘em Stopwatches, but we ain’t figured out much about ‘em, really,” her sister admitted casually, turning her wrist and looking lovingly at the sleeve that obscured it from sight. “Everybody gets ‘em, an’ everybody finds a way of hidin’ it. Rarity makes these fancy arm covers, Rainbow Dash wears a sweat band, and I use my long sleeves. It ain’t somethin’ to go ‘round showin’ everybody, especially kids like y’all who don’t know nothing ‘bout it.”

“Why’s it such a big secret?” she inquired, furrowing her brow as she observed her own timer fluctuate.

“No one wants their youngin’s thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ so grim, we all wanna protect y’all,” Applejack told her certainly, touching the younger girl’s round face fondly. “But you’re growin’ up, Apple Bloom. It’s a good thing.”

“I don’t…” Apple Bloom’s head hung lowly as she tried to comprehend everything she had just been told, and she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re just like me, now,” her older sister leaned closer and raised her head until they could look into each other’s eyes. She turned her hand easily and placed it into her sister’s smaller palm, clasping her hand until their two timers were mirrored between them, though unseen. With a strong smile, she told her, “You’re a guardian of the most important secret there is. It’s your life, Apple Bloom. Keep it safe.”

Bowing her head once more to her younger sister’s newfound disposition, Applejack placed a hand behind the girl’s red head and pulled her closer. Her angled and shapely lips pressed lovingly against Apple Bloom’s forehead, and for a moment, there was no other movement to speak of. There was stillness, there was an intimate meeting of two siblings, two equal women who bore the weight of their impending ends upon young and compassionate shoulders. In that eternal moment, Apple Bloom thoughtfully gazed down at her wrist once more, as if memorizing the numbers, font and size of the simple measure of time she could hardly gauge or imagine. There, in the comforting embrace of her most trusted company, Apple Bloom’s narrowed eyes traced the loquacious cursive of death.

But though one young girl was held lovingly in spite of her destiny, there were others who faced such a trial alone.

Even when surrounded by the familiar gazes of dear friends, one such young boy was not greeted with a warm or tender kiss, nor any easing words of wisdom. Lost hours had slipped by already since such a dark evening, allowing the sun to rise once more. But instead of any familiar embrace, this particular fellow was reminded of his fleeting mortality by the skilless spin of a rogue wheel and a consequent loss of balance. As he had been watching his own Stopwatch beneath the looming clouds of an overcast sky, he had forgotten the inertia his skateboard followed truly, and obstructed it with the slip of a shoe and a hard tumble.

“Do a flip!” was called out in response to his fall, though all that served to do was cause the boy to hit the ground with a bashful and embarrassed expression instead of a pained one. Following a few obnoxious guffaws, his audience, Rainbow Dash in particular, went on, “Did you guys see that? Spike just ate shit!”

“Dear, are you all right?” Rarity called out in a much more concerned voice, having to raise her normally polite tone to be heard over her friend’s careless laughing.

“Oh man! That was awesome,” she managed to say between her snickers, holding her gut like it was about to bust.

“Your abundant support of his dangerous hobby is paralleled only by your mockery of it, Rainbow Dash,” it was Twilight who spoke next, her eyes lifting off the page of some novel to watch Rainbow nearly fall off her perch on the metal safety bars along the skate park boundaries.

“I can’t help it, it’s free entertainment,” she wheezed, pounding against her chest like she was short on air. After a quick amused whistle, she settled back into her seat along the bars and folded her arms on the top one close in front of her, offering a cheeky grin to the boy as he tried to stand.

Pushing off the unwavering concrete, Spike sucked at his teeth and winced at the pain he felt on his knee. A simple push of his pant leg revealed a patch of rougher skin, most of which had been scraped nearly off to make way for beads of blood to begin seeping through the epidermis. He would have thought of bandaging that up the same as he had done to his newly pierced ear, but from the way Rainbow Dash had teased him about the use of his 'bitch stickers', he decided against it. Brushing the incident off and waving a lazy hand to his friends on the sidelines, Spike retrieved his fallen (and newly scarred) skateboard and flipped it onto its belly once more. He pounced back onto it without hesitation and shoved off the ground with his foot, gaining enough speed to drag himself out of the lowest curve in the park.

“Anyone want to bet on what he breaks first?” Rainbow asked audibly enough for the boy to overhear, who, discouraged by the remark, skidded over a crack in the pavement and fell face-first once more. “My money’s on his skull.”

“That’s pretty morbid,” Fluttershy murmured quietly, her lips frowning beneath the sleeves of her sizeable winter jacket (which she breathed into to get some heat to her fingers, which were kept cold by poor circulation).

“What? If anyone’s going to get themselves killed, it’s going to be negligent-as-fuck Guevara over there,” Rainbow replied with a casual shrug, bouncing her eyebrows at the idea.

“That’s not true,” Pinkie Pie chimed in playfully, pausing to down another over-the-counter pill to stave the wicked headache pounding in her temples. “You make so many enemies, you’ll beat him by a landslide. Fluttershy’s probably just biding her time, plotting out your murder.”

“Me?! N-No way!” the quiet girl squeakily defended herself, holding her cold hands out in front of her and waving them.

“She’s hardly the plotting type. Besides, I think I’ll take my chances with noodle-limbs any day,” Rainbow Dash teased back, and though Fluttershy was relieved she was no longer the centre of attention, she was bothered by the insult.

“She’s still not picking up,” Rarity interrupted abruptly, her tone somewhat worried. As she looked down at the cell phone she had just been holding to her ear, she pursed her lips in intrigue.

“That’s odd,” Twilight spoke up then, actually lowering the book in her hands to consider the news. “Applejack’s never late, and since Rainbow’s not with her, she has no reason to be.”

“Hey, I can hear you, jerks,” Rainbow grumbled into her crossed arms, though she didn’t seem all that offended.

“You’re not worried?” Rarity wondered curiously as she pocketed her phone once more into the purse hanging by her hip. “She’s your girlfriend.”

“Like I don’t know that,” the short-haired girl snidely and sarcastically retorted, flipping her locks in the cool breeze. “Applejack’s fine, she’s always fine.”

“Here I thought you were just confident about yourself,” Twilight spoke up in a distracted tone, re-reading a line she had just skimmed over.

“And about Che bailing on his next trick,” she directed the topic elsewhere, nodding at the boy who approached a rail to grind. As predicted, he hit the obstacle at an odd angle and slipped off, landing on his side before rolling over and clasping his shoulder. “Called it!”

“I don’t know how he’s remained your friend for so long,” Rarity spoke with a hint of accusation, but Rainbow wasn’t fazed, merely agreeing with a lazy shrug.

“Uh,” some sigh sounded from behind the girls, and before another word was spoken, Rainbow Dash knew who it was. Leaning back and glancing over her shoulder, she stared fondly at the other girl as she approached them. “Beg pardon, I know I’m late as heck. Would’a answered your call, but I was just ‘round the corner.”

“Hey there gorgeous,” Rainbow mused her salutations lovingly, holding the bar in front of her by her hands as she leaned and tipped her head all the way back. With a great big grin and sparkling eyes set on the upside-down seeming girl who approached her, she added, “I told you guys not to worry.”

“Dash, honey,” Applejack hummed her name and wasted not an instant before striding right over to the goofy young girl.

Rainbow blinked in surprise at the speed in which Applejack sauntered over to her, and tilted her head a fraction to the left. Before she could pose a question, the small blonde bent right down to her height sitting on the bars (needing to tilt her beloved hat back lest it fall over her eyes) and placed a passionate kiss directly on her lips. An approving hum escaped Rainbow’s throat, and she returned the gesture just as fervently. While the other girls curiously stared at the unusual spectacle (some nearly slamming novels onto their laps or blushing beet red), Applejack placed a hand beneath Rainbow’s head so she could rest it for the duration of their interesting kiss.

Though it was not uncommon to see the two of them exchanging flirtatious gestures, rarely was it a custom of Applejack’s to so suddenly shove her tongue into Rainbow’s mouth. Their friends nervously exchanged glances, including Spike, who was still collecting himself after his last fall. At last, however, their mouths parted, and a breath of shared air escaped between their rosied lips.

“Whew,” Rainbow sung her agreeable gasp, slowly opening her eyes and gawking up into Applejack’s. “What’d I do right to deserve a greeting like that?”

“I missed you,” Applejack gently told her, brushing a rebellious strand of hair to the side. Glancing along the girl’s arm, she caught sight of the remarkable, vibrant sweatband that still hugged her left wrist, where always it resided. Following a gulp, she added, “Had a rough night, ‘s all.”

“Hmm?” The girl was clearly alarmed to hear something of a complaint from Applejack. Spinning around on her makeshift seat, she dropped her eyebrows seriously on her gaze and spoke in an even tone, “You okay, babe?”

“Yea’, no, I’m fine. I’m fine.” Applejack waved her hand quickly, but no one bought it.

“You can tell us, Applejack,” Fluttershy spoke up softly, shifting on the bench she and Twilight shared a mere few feet away.

“I know, it’s just,” Applejack paused as she watched Spike get back onto his board and ride on. Her eyes carefully followed him as he rolled up a portion of the park, but she seemed to relax as he drifted farther away once more, obviously not having heard them. “A sensitive topic.”

“Applejack,” Twilight’s voice came next, accompanying the sound of her novel closing up all together. As she pushed her glasses back up her nose to where they sat when she wasn’t reading over the rims, she prompted the girl to continue, “What’s going on?”

“I knew this day was comin’ and all, but still,” she murmured to herself, making some troubled expression as she tried to spell it out without addressing a normally taboo subject. “They just grow up so soon, y’know?”

“Who, darling?” Rarity wondered, her own tone sounded quite invested in the issue.

“Last night, my little sister, Apple Bloom,” her name came out so carefully, like she was afraid of wounding it with her teeth. Shaking the idea off, she went on, “She, uh, well… she’s becomin’ an adult, already.”

There was a short silence as that sank in, but Pinkie Pie would not have it, so she spoke up with, “What, like her period came?”

“No, not that. It was,” Applejack toyed with the words as if they were dangerous to spill, but her eyes caught once more on Spike’s back as he passed them. Shaking it off, she decided just to say it already, and revealed, “It was her Stopwatch.”

“Oh shit,” Rainbow spat before thinking, and ignored the glare she got from Twilight for being too blunt.

“Already?” the wavy-haired diva seemed most perplexed by the suggestion. “How? She’s younger than Sweetie Belle!”

“Us Apples do tend t’ mature pretty quick, I got mine first too, remember,” Applejack told her with a few nods before laying out a level sigh. “I had t’ give her the talk, and all.”

“That must have been difficult. How did it go?” the quietest of the group inquired, nervously tugging at her sleeves and pulling all her dangling bracelets right up to her palms.

“She was cryin’... a lot,” the blonde’s southern twang dipped low as she recounted the incident. Rainbow’s eyes softened on her melancholy expression, tracing the way it seemed like Applejack herself was swallowing some urge to whimper. “But what’s to expect, with somethin’ so heavy a burden as that, for just a kid.”

“We all have to get it, sometime,” Twilight reminded her carefully, her fingers outlining the indents of the novel’s title along the cover in a way she did when she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“I know, I just hoped she’d get a little more o’ that kid stuff in before it showed up.” Applejack pulled up a smile, hanging it falsely by her dimpled cheeks like she had to screw it on to hold it in place. Glancing back over to the skateboarding young man, she added, “Spike’s plenty older than my sis, and he’s still waitin’ on his, ain’t he?”

Rainbow Dash’s eyes immediately darted over to Spike, flashing as they grappled with the flickering tail of his leather jacket. Perhaps she was the only one who knew, as she had already guessed that he acquired his own Stopwatch rather recently. She wouldn’t speak of it though, it was not her secret to tell (even if she knew he only hid it as a matter of pride, not wanting to be acknowledged as a rookie to the fact of knowing).

“Something like that,” Rainbow ambiguously murmured, settling herself against the safety bars once more and slinging her arms around them.

“We haven’t discussed them in some time now,” Twilight said slowly, her eyes drifting from one friend to another and eyeing their respective means to hide their most intimate secrets. “I don’t mean to pry, but… is everyone… doing well?”

“We’re all still here, aren’t we?” Rainbow growled back with a defensive glare. “That’s half the damn battle.”

“It was just a question, Rainbow Dash,” Rarity huffed with a raise of her nose. “She’s just worried about her friends, which is more than I can say for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked angrily, her voice cracking (something that happened when she was irritated, even though she hated it).

“It’s the worst,” Fluttershy’s voice rang in louder than usual, and the attention fell on her without fail. “Looking or not, there’s no right answer. The time, it’s always right there, whether you want to know or not. The temptation is so strong it drives you mad, but when you look, you wish you hadn’t.”

“You girls can be so dramatic,” Pinkie Pie nearly sung, bouncing one leg over the other from her place leaning on the backrest of the bench Fluttershy occupied. “We’re all going to die one day. What’s it matter, knowing when? Why bother worrying so much?”

“Easy for you to say, you forsake caring to fulfill all your simple pleasures,” the spectacle-adorning girl remarked with a condescending tone. "It's not dealing with anything at all."

“Nothing wrong with living to the fullest.” Pinkie giggled as she jumped off her seat and patted her stretchy pants. “You should try it sometime!”

“Pass. Sorry, Pinkie, some of us don’t have the luxury of turning our minds off,” Twilight said with a solemn tone and a heavy sigh.

“Suit yourself.” Pinkie let it slide, stretching her arms up above her head and making some noise as she did it. “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to hang around talking about death all day. I’ve got to go find the perfect outfit for tonight! I want to look my best.”

“You’re going out again?” Rarity questioned with an uneasy tone, as everyone noticed the toll her antics had wrought on her body and mind. “I will never understand you.”

“Bye-bye!” Pinkie Pie wrapped her arms around Fluttershy and Twilight’s necks from behind, engulfing them in tight hugs before just as abruptly releasing them.

“See ya,” Applejack waved a courteous goodbye as always, meeting gazes with Pinkie before she skipped off towards her vehicle (a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle, which her sister had picked out for her on her sixteenth birthday).

As the atmosphere grew darker once more (something that often happened when Pinkie left), Fluttershy shivered through her multiple layers again. Almost simultaneously, a raindrop landed on Rarity’s nose, directing her attention to the clouded sky. Rarity was never a fan of the rain, or anything that messed up her makeup or hair for that matter, so she was never pleasantly surprised by a change in weather like that. Meanwhile, Rainbow Dash was staring at the lengthy sleeve of Applejack’s corduroy jacket as it hung over her arm and she casually leaned against the bars beside her.

“Have you even looked yet? At yours?” Rainbow wondered in a quiet whisper, and Applejack glanced over at the girl innocently. Following a small smile and a subtle shake of the head, Rainbow replied, “I don’t know how you have that will power.”

“I got more on my mind than that, hot stuff,” she murmured back, reaching out and tousling Rainbow’s bright hair until she got the pouty expression she adored, greeting it with a chuckle.

“Aww, it’s going to rain,” Rarity whined loudly, frowning at the sky and glaring curses.

“We could move under the restroom overhang,” Twilight Sparkle suggested promptly as she held her novel up against her chest to keep it dry from any impending downpour.

“Brilliant! After you.” Rarity graciously extended her hand in the direction of their destination.

“Lame, what's wrong with a little rain?” Rainbow Dash whined, looking up as a few drops landed on her cheeks and lips. Clicking her tongue and glaring over at the complaining diva, she remarked, “You could use a shower anyway, to wash off that mud around your eyes.”

“It's called eyeshadow, darling, not that you'd know. I imagine that colour you're wearing is called I Stayed Up Too Late Last Night Piercing My Friends Without Their Consent,” Rarity corrected her in a haughty tone, flipping her hair and starting towards the restrooms.

“Not that I'd care,” the short-haired girl amended her friend’s choice of words, accentuating her point by flipping backwards off the bars and touching her hands to the ground to propel herself into a handstand and subsequently to her feet. Spinning around and fixing her leather jacket, she gestured for the girl beside her to follow. “Come on, AJ.”

“Spike,” Applejack called over her shoulder to the boy who barely managed to pull of an Ollie. “We're just goin’ under the roof by th’ Johns.”

“Oh, I'm coming,” he replied as he wobbled on the top of his board before hurrying after them.

“Try not to slip in a puddle and drown,” Rainbow warned with a laugh and a careless wave behind her.

“It hasn't been raining nearly long enough to form a puddle,” Twilight Sparkle murmured back, wiping some stray drops off the cover of her novel.

“Way to smother a joke, Twilight,” the athlete growled irritably, slinging her arm over Applejack’s shoulders as they got under the cover of the protruding roof side.

The girls settled along the old graffiti tagged wall of the lavatories, watching the rain fall harder and leak down the roof in front of them. Their pale breaths rose before them, stabbed into parting puffs by the heavy drops (though it seemed nearly cold enough for it to have been an early snow instead). The late fall was a tricky time indeed, and surrounded by the decay of foliage and the harsh bite of arctic winds, it was a miracle the topics strayed from death at all.

“I-It doesn't look like it's going to let up,” Fluttershy’s high pitched voice abraded the sounds of the hissing rain, and a few eyes drifted to her instead. “Maybe we should... go somewhere else.”

“Ooh, like the mall?” Rarity perked up with an excited tone, bringing about a couple of doubtful groans.

“Like the fires of hell, you mean?” Rainbow Dash joked in a low tone, frowning and casting a glare at the more feminine girl.

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked back with both curiosity and aggravation on her lips.

With a shrug, Rainbow Dash fell silent. Though a few little mists of rain splattered up threateningly at their feet from the edge of the overhang, no one had any better ideas to contribute. In the silence, Fluttershy felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, but instead of instinctively answering it, she just glanced down as it peeked out of her sweater. She recognized the called identification as the name of the girl who had just left (and who often kept her up late at night and filled her inbox with notifications of missed calls), and merely guiltily hid a sigh and shuffled it back into her clothing. Just then, Spike rode over to them, nearly falling off his board as he stepped off and grabbed it off the ground.

“... We could keep watching Che get his ass kicked by a skateboard, and ruin that shit he calls a face,” Rainbow proposed in a lighter tone, a smirk sliding under her sharp gaze.

“Lay off, and quit with the nicknames,” Spike snapped back at her, a more serious glare directed her way as he reached up and checked the swelling peeking out from under the bandage that covered his earlobe.

“Whoa, somebody's a bit more of a pussy than usual today,” Rainbow Dash grumbled with a snigger, hiding her words behind her hand as if she spoke quietly enough for them to have gone unheard.

“Why do you call him that, anyway?” Fluttershy inquired suddenly, and Rainbow made a surprised face to hear such a question.

“Che Guevara? Like, the famous rebel?” Twilight Sparkle was the one who answered, and she looked over at Rainbow Dash to confirm her explanation.

“Sheesh, read a book,” Rainbow teasingly told the shy girl, but quickly diverted her attention to the boy who stood before them, still in the rain. “And you, rip that lame bandage off your awesome new stud and get back on that skateboard, you quitter.”

“No way, you keep making fun of me,” Spike denied, and he seemed more hurt than he wanted to let on. Kicking at the stray bits of dirt and dead leaves that had collected in a crease in the pavement, he went on to prod his aggressive friend, “It's not like you could do any better.”

“Is that a challenge?” Rainbow asked in an interested tone, and her arm slipped off of Applejack’s shoulders to cross over her chest.

“Well it's not a suggestion,” the boy concurred ambiguously, tilting his head.

“That does it, hand me the board.” Rainbow swiftly snatched the skateboard by the deck (which bore some unremarkable image on it from when he purchased the object) and threw it onto the ground. “I'm going to show you how to really shred, Che.”

"I said stop calling me that,” Spike repeated with a roll of his eyes, shifting in his stance as he watched her line herself up with the rest of the skate park.

“Whatever you say... Patti Smith,” Rainbow teased with a wink, choosing a (somewhat) more feminine rebel’s name to push his buttons even more.

With a firm push with her hind heel, Rainbow leapt towards the skateboard in her trademark astounding speed. However, as it had been raining, the toe of her shoe slid slightly over the smooth concrete and altered her trajectory. She let out a shrill squeak as she realized her mistake, but it was far too late for her to save face by then, and she merely flailed a bit in the air before landing half on the board and half on the ground. Due to her landing, she sent the board sliding in one direction and her body in another, causing nothing short of a spastic slide and an ungraceful tumble. Slamming almost rear-first into the ground clumsily, Rainbow grunted and took the hit in the usual stubborn and obnoxious way she did most things.

“Sweet moves, James Dean!” Spike immediately called out to her (using the same rebel-reliant jest that Rainbow usually posed to him), holding his stomach as he threw his head back with a loud laugh.

“Shut up,” Rainbow hissed back with a frown that accentuated her embarrassed blush, which grew darker as she noticed even Applejack was hiding a chuckle beneath her hand.

Author's Note

Another surprisingly bright chapter... besides the whole plot thing with the Stopwatches. At least now it's getting clearer what the story is really about. Also, the transitions at the beginning may be hard for some to follow, but I like them anyway. No boring "elsewhere/meanwhile" transitions.
Next stop? The Tragedy tag. Who might it be...?