A Penny for the Old Guy

by Ezrienel

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Romance, Spike, Tragedy, Human, Main 6
Length: 68329

Knowing the exact moment when you're going to die can be a blessing or a curse. Having the ability to watch the clock get longer and shorter with every choice you make, well, that's just torture.

No matter the threat, autumn days in Canterlot had always seemed so golden and fair. Though it had been a fact for years that one must watch their life tick away, growing shorter or longer with each decision made, the death of a close friend elicits a more imminent response. Fumbling through their grief, six friends must learn to deal not only with the tragedy, but with their own fears and uncertainties. Each trying a different means to recover from the news, they must learn to both enjoy what time they have left, and find a means to pay their own ferryman.

Collaboration with Arby Works. Cover art by Arby Works.

Published 2014-11-01 23:20:09 UTC
Last updated 2016-10-14 21:22:15 UTC

"Sunlight on a Broken Column"

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.

"Such Deliberate Disguises"

***

"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...?

"Form Prayers to Broken Stone"

***

"Form Prayers to Broken Stone"

A sip of black coffee was normally enough to shake the morning into any young girl, but this particular girl was hardly normal. Since even the darkest roasts never seemed to serve to do the trick (especially considering she couldn't stand the stuff), she decided to try a different approach to attaining caffeine. Dipping a licked finger straight into the open tub of coffee grinds, Rainbow Dash let plenty of deep bistre speckles stick around the tip of her index digit before plopping it back into her warm mouth. Immediately, her upper lip twitched and her eyes grew wide. Following an appalled expression, Rainbow Dash spat the grains right back out, scraping the remnants off her tongue with two fingers.

“Gross, that was a shitty idea,” Rainbow growled to herself in the raspy voice she bore at such hours of the day.

As she was busy hawking mouthfuls of tinted saliva into her kitchen sink, she noticed the bobbing lights of a familiar vehicle pass by her window. Turning on an ecstatic heel to trounce out of her kitchen, Rainbow Dash slipped over her woolen socks and crashed right onto the tile beneath her. She hissed loudly and rubbed the now sore spot on her lower back, but scampered back up to her feet right away.

She made it to the door promptly, her inherent speed providing her with the skill to do so, and eagerly yanked the plank of wood inside her house. An arctic chill slammed into her, causing a wince to accompany the light watering of her eyes, but she stood there in the cold air anyway. Watching the charming two door Jeep pull up into her narrow driveway, Rainbow smiled warmly and waved wildly towards the driver.

The fairly-maintained Wrangler sighed as the ignition rested, and the driver shifted on the parking brake before casting the girl a curious look. Shaking her head with an amused chuckle, the driver pushed open her door and climbed out (having to use the step along the lip of the undercarriage to lower herself from the height provided by her winter tires). She reached once back into the Jeep to place her ranch hat onto the driver's seat, as she always wore the thing while behind the wheel, before slamming the door closed.

“Get back inside, y'dork, you're gonna freeze up,” Applejack called out to the taller girl, who looked down at herself to confirm Applejack's prescription.

She then realized quite how little she was wearing, though it was perfectly adequate attire were she to remain in her house. Her thin long-sleeved shirt hugged her athletic body, outlining her somewhat masculine figure, and her low-hanging jeans bore multiple holes (which Rainbow had cut and scratched in by herself to suit a style she appreciated) to permit the late autumn breeze to sneak inside. A cheeky grin slid over her face as Applejack came within hearing distance of her next remark.

“Freeze into the hottest ice sculpture you'll ever see,” she muttered through a charismatic smirk, spreading her arms out to show off her toned physique.

“I ain't never seen an ice sculpture with her cute little nipples perkin' up,” the blonde girl teased back, her eyes darting back and forth from Rainbow's traceable chest.

“I'll be your first,” Rainbow replied with a wink, standing entirely in Applejack's way as she got to the front door. A frown crossed her face suddenly though, and she murmured, “You're late, AJ.”

“Roads 're a spell slick,” Applejack explained simply, but she shifted uneasily in the doorway and ran her teeth over her lower lip lightly. “Your folks home?”

“Nope, I'm all yours,” the short-haired girl nearly sung, teetering on her toes to playfully compete with the slight height Applejack gained from the heels of her boots.

“Lovely,” she responded in a lower, fond voice, hardly pausing before stretching onto her toes and pressing her lips and chest against Rainbow Dash's.

A charmed hum and a prompt reciprocation from Rainbow Dash was given, and her strong hands wrapped around Applejack’s trim waist to pull her nearer. In spite of the masculine stigma attached to the casual flannel draping around the smaller girl, her feminine curves were enticingly tucked away where only Rainbow Dash could find. Reluctantly, Applejack slipped back down flat onto her feet and flashed her eyes open. As eagerly expected, Rainbow's expression melted into a pleased and loving grin, the same expression Applejack's lips always left traces of. The blonde girl mirrored the smile as she noticed it, proud that even after being with the athlete for so long, she could still stimulate such a fond response from something so common as a kiss.

“Wait,” Rainbow grumbled as the corners of her lips grew heavy and fell towards her chin. “Why'd you ask if my parents were home? They'd, like, gush gooey gobs of joy and excitement if they saw you kissing me.”

“Exactly, they always get s' darn obsessed with bein' acceptin' and all, they steal me away from you,” Applejack reminded her softly, touching a gentle finger to the tip of the stubborn girl's nose.

“They do adore you.” She rolled her eyes in a pout as she remembered how she had been ignored every time Applejack had been over for dinner (which really bothered her, considering she loved being the centre of attention). “Not that I blame them.”

“Don't be sour, sugar,” her freckles drifted like stars over her face as her words came out of a cute smile. “Besides, since they're out an' all, we could stay a while, if y'want.”

Applejack's jacket slowly slid over her shoulders, revealing more of that woolen long-sleeve shirt she wore underneath. Noticing the action, Rainbow's eyes darted down to the girls much more revealed chest, catching sight of the spattered patterns of freckles that sunshine had speckled upon her collar from the summer they had shared together. She swallowed to pretend that she hadn't been blatantly staring, and stifled a cough with the side of her fist before licking her lips and coming up with something to say.

“The guys already think that I'm the reason whenever you're late,” Rainbow retorted with a stoic voice, focused on watching Applejack's dimples dent her cheeks as she chuckled lightly at the statement.

“You are, gettin' my hands all dirtied up with that deathtrap of yours,” she murmured back, stepping close to Rainbow Dash and lacing her jawline with careful kisses.

As her amaranth eyes pleasantly floated behind flickering eyelids, Rainbow let her fingers twitch along Applejack's rounded hips. Their warm bodies fought furiously with the forceful freeze of the wind, which still crept in through the half ajar front door. However, the succulent scent of the blonde's still damp hair woke her out of her entrancement in time to purse her lips in defense.

“Hey, the Roadster's running just fine, I got him home in one piece yesterday,” Rainbow Dash growled to protect the imagined pride of her vehicle, and the vibration of her throat tickled Applejack's curious mouth.

Pulling away to cast Rainbow a skeptical raise of one pale eyebrow, Applejack muttered, “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Want to bet?” her competitive and defiant snark sounded with a high pitched crack of her husky voice, and she grabbed Applejack's jacket and roughly slung it over the girl's small shoulders. “I'll prove it.”

“You best not be thinkin' I'll ride with you in that junk heap,” the blonde spoke seriously, tugging her wrists through her sleeves as Rainbow tossed on a much too large jacket.

“Why not? I'm a great driver,” she bragged with a smirk, though Applejack's doubtful expression reminded her of her tenancy to greatly exceed the speed limits and neglect safety procedures. “I have a helmet from my old dirt bike, if you'd prefer to wear that. My parents always do tell me to wear protection.” A wink followed her playful banter, and Applejack just smiled and shook her head.

“I trust you, Rainbow,” Applejack responded easily, linking arms with the girl as she nearly sprinted out of the front door towards her half of the garage (the other half belonged to her parents, though the whole thing was connected to the neighbour's, as their townhouses were built so close together they almost merged into one structure).

“Good.” Rainbow leaned over and kissed her on the temple before idly entering the code for her garage door. As they stood there and waited for the metal to slide out of their way, Rainbow was irked by something. “Say, why are we all meeting so early, anyway?”

“Beats me, it was Pinkie’s idea, as usual,” Applejack responded with a shrug, though the answer did not seem like enough.

“Damn, that frizzy-headed slut sure is a pain in my ass, she probably hasn’t even seen her bed yet,” Rainbow spat as she pulled her phone out of her rear pocket and sifted through it with one thumb, as her other arm had made its way around Applejack once more. After an agitated grunt, Rainbow snapped at the phone, “Yo, pick up. Pick... up. Dude, you’re the worst. Answer me.”

“No answer?” Applejack gathered, peering up to Rainbow as she tried to call once more.

“Nope, dumb bitch is either ignoring me or passed out. Come on…” As no response came once more, Rainbow growled loudly and considered throwing her cellular device across the driveway.

“Maybe she’s drivin’?” the smaller girl gambled a reason, but Rainbow did not seem interested in any excuse.

“She’s an attention whore, she’d probably pick up the phone while shoving a tampon in,” Rainbow crudely remarked, and her wandering fingers strutted over Applejack’s rear until they found the sneaky peeking out of her own cell phone.

Grabbing the thing by what little bit was within reach, she slid it out of the girl’s tight pocket and flipped it open to find Pinkie Pie’s number. She pressed Applejack’s cell phone right up against her other ear, listening to the dual not-so-melodic sounds of automated ringing. While one after another reached nothing but the voice messaging system (which consisted of giggling and some optimistic spewing of jubilant phrases) Rainbow Dash groaned loudly and hung up each phone.

“It’s ringing, so her cell is on. She’s probably on the other line or trying to keep some suspense. I hate it when she does that bullshit,” Rainbow rambled irritably, slipping Applejack’s phone back into her rear pocket and patting it twice.

“Give the girl a break, honey,” Applejack politely told her, taking her by the hand and leading her towards the MGB which came into view (though Rainbow had to duck slightly under the rising garage door that Applejack was short enough to sneak beneath).

“A break? That girl’s whole life is a break,” the taller girl said with a hiss, flipping a lock of hair out of her face. “All she does is go out partying every other night.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that,” Applejack wagered softly, and Rainbow just snorted at the prospect.

“Yeah, she doesn’t give a shit about anything except having a good time.” Rainbow Dash came up alongside her vehicle and peered in through the windows fondly before trying the door.

“She cares about us,” she reminded the more abrasive girl, who looked up at her with a less irritable expression.

“Well I guess that means I can always count on a sweet-tooth juvenile birthday present every year,” Rainbow sarcastically mumbled as she slid into the seat of her compact car and stabbed her key into the ignition. Upon trying it once, which yielded no results, she tried it another three times, listening to the very few sounds the MGB Roadster made at all. “Shit.”

“Oh, it’s runnin’, is it?” Applejack teased, extending a smirk through the passenger’s side window and she leaned her arm on the roof and peeked into the old car.

“It’s no big deal, you can have a look at it when we get back,” Rainbow told her as she played it of coolly, hopping back out of the car and looking it over.

“Is that all y’keep me ‘round for?” the blonde wondered with a raise of her eyebrow.

“No,” Rainbow Dash corrected her, athletically sliding right over the hood of the car (something she had to do considering how little space there was in front of the car due to the puny garage) and stopping in front of the smaller girl. With a charming smile and a tempting wrap of her arm around Applejack’s slender waist, she explained, “I keep you for your hot bod’, too.”

“Well that eases my mind.” Applejack sarcastically rolled her eyes.

“I’m kidding, babe. You know you’re my world.” The short haired girl kissed her once more, another firm yet tender expression of her adoration.

As the two pulled slowly away, Applejack longingly looked upon the taller girl’s melting smile and spoke, “Well y’can’t have me all t’ yourself, we gotta go meet the girls.”

“I know, I know,” Rainbow whined, bouncing on her toes and chewing the inside of her cheek. An idea struck her suddenly though, “Hey, do I get to drive the Jeep today?”

“Keep dreamin’,” Applejack denied and stuck out her tongue with a wink. “You’ll crash it, I can’t afford any more repairs.”

“Jeeps always look way more awesome with dents! Come on AJ, I promise I won’t totally wreck it, scout’s honour,” she begged, following Applejack out of the garage with her fingers tugging on the rear belt loops of Applejack’s jeans like a child.

“Keys stay with me, sugarcube,” the blonde confirmed as she pulled the lapel of her jacket further closed once breaching the frigid outdoors once more.

“... Well, either way, my love,” Rainbow nearly sung, slinging her arms over Applejack’s shoulders and squeezing her in a tight and warm embrace. “It’s a beautiful morning, and you look gorgeous!”

After accepting a lengthy press of lips against her cheek, Applejack smiled back at the girl who was still draped over her, reaffirming, “Still a no.”

“Aww, man!” Rainbow Dash whined once more, but kicked her garage door button to close it and sorely followed her friend into the brisk air.

From Rainbow’s suburban townhome (which she constantly poked fun at regarding the conformity and cookie-cutter design), the run of the city skyline was barely visible from above the straight-edged mirrored buildings that lined her street. If one squinted when confronted with the harsh backlighting of the sunrise, it became clear that the city itself was magnificent at such an hour: buildings painted surreal myriads of colours, clamours of early rising feet and wheels racing through the narrow streets, and windows sweating and leaking as their rims of frost melt to the kiss of the morning sun. Of course, most inhabitants were still tucked in to their respective beds or drowsily napping on bus routes or cab rides to their destinations.

Some Canterlot residents, however, were fortunate enough to see the entire spectacle from an intimately adored and familiar location along a particular hill.

Pale arrays of rose and violet lined the dawning skyline, obscured every few seconds by a white huff of heated breath. The crisp chill that lingered in the early morning air was enough to make one’s nose hairs stand stiff to attention, and the scent was of a premature winter’s frost clinging to the gutters of rooftops and tracing blades of grass like chalk outlines. Still, shin-high woolen-insulated boots (stuffed with two pairs of socks) trod over the cracking and crunching frozen dew.

After nestling her nose under the abundantly long turtleneck of the sweater she wore beneath a windbreaker, Fluttershy hummed thoughtfully as her fingers clumsily prodded at the cell phone she clutched in her gloves (which she had to remove to navigate at all). She lifted her eyes at last, settling them on the approaching familiar lines of trees, zoning signs and foot-made paths. Even if she was usually the kind of girl who appreciated dawn walks, she was less than enticed by the summons she had received at such an hour.

Though her eyes were blurred by the stinging of harsh winds, the same winds that brushed her unwashed, straight locks of hair out in front of her face, Fluttershy squinted at the distant sight of an all too well-known friend of hers. The brilliant hues of pink and blue that always clung to her clothing would not ever go unnoticed, especially in the ambient dimming of mist and clouds rolling in from the North.

Huffing a relieved and tired sigh, Fluttershy quickened her step to close the distance between her and one of her dearest friends. Her light steps crackled over the gently stiffened grass and left small spaces between dew devoured strands. As she meekly passed out a wave, which went unnoticed since she tucked her hand back against her chest as it was slapped at by a gust of wind, Fluttershy pussy-footed her way over to her seated friend.

“P-Pinkie Pie!” she weakly called out over the clapping of the wind, and was not surprised she got no response (not that she could have seen it, since she closed her eyes against the harsh breeze).

Brushing her hair out of her face once more and nearly stumbling over an impression in the dirt she should have been well accustomed to, Fluttershy cleared her drowsy throat. The hill was a very common place for the two of them to have met, in fact, it was where most of the girls gathered if they had nothing else to do. Though now that it had grown colder, meeting outside became something of a chore, so Fluttershy was still intrigued that Pinkie had bothered to ask her there when they did not have school nearby to account for the proximity. It could well have been because Pinkie’s parents would not allow her back in the house after staying out so late, as often was the case, but Fluttershy was not one to speculate.

“Why’re you up so early?” Fluttershy asked loudly, though the answer might well have been much simpler than that. “Or have you not gone to bed yet? Pinkie, you really have to stop doing that, it’s juvenile and stupid.”

Fluttershy sighed as she got closer to the girl, rubbing her hands together as she realized she might have come off as a little overbearing. Shaking it off, she ducked beneath the overhang of an old tree and came right up to the girl who sat under it. With her back to the trunk and her eyes cast on her lap, she looked far too pensive for Pinkie Pie to have often appeared. Stalled by the oddity of her position, Fluttershy slowed in pace and stared at the frizzy-haired girl, who possibly looked to still have silly string or confetti stuck in her mane.

It was quite apparent that Pinkie Pie was not dressed for any party she usually would have done herself up for. Often some vibrant array of mismatched trendy articles would suffice for an ensemble to wear in a place that was probably too dark to see well in anyway, but her clothing that day seemed different. Her dress was well-fitted, long, and clearly expensive, perhaps made of silk. She wore what looked like pearls and diamonds (probably the most expensive jewelry she or her mother owned), and high-heels rested on the soles of her sizable feet. It was obvious that she had dressed up to meet someone very important.

“Pinkie Pie? A-Are you listening to me?” she stammered lightly with a fearful voice, going right over to the girl and leaning down in front of her before reaching to touch her face.

It was then that it became clear that Pinkie Pie was not, in fact, paying any attention at all. Honestly, she had none to spend. As Fluttershy’s cool hand brushed against the girl’s cheek, she flinched to notice how ice cold it was to the touch. She suddenly noticed exactly where Pinkie Pie sat.

The girl was positioned, hunched over, amidst a sea of debris: be it empty vials, bottles, or scattered little pills (somewhat crushed or broken, mostly hidden between the overgrown blades of grass). As Fluttershy’s frantic eyes gathered the clues, her heart raced up into her throat and choked her. Still, she reached out and took Pinkie Pie by the shoulders in both hands, furiously shaking her.

“Pinkie! Answer me! Are you—?” she was silenced by the way that Pinkie’s head rolled uselessly back and forth, as if she cared not to hold it up for herself.

Her hands trembled profusely as the young woman at arm’s reach remained statuesque at her warm and friendly touch. Her usually vivacious and glowing skin appeared dulled and pale, her often wiggling and dancing body rested still as stone, and her always bubbling personality remained entirely absent. Falling right to her knees and bottom with eyes as wide and white as the moon, Fluttershy crashed head-first into the reality of the situation.

Grabbing the girl’s submissive body, Fluttershy threw her to the ground and pressed both hands hard against her rounded and commonly squishy gut, which for once did not seem to rock with the jolly heaves of her laughter. Though water threatened to blur and dribble out of her already slightly less than adequate vision, Fluttershy squeezed her finger’s against Pinkie’s full gut. Sobs shook her thin body as she panicked trying to imagine what to do, and her frantic breathing and shaking did nothing to help the bent-up girl at her fingertips (who was too stiff to lay out flat).

“H-Help me,” she managed to squeak out, her small lips hardly managing to form around the words. “Don’t do this, d-don’t do this to me! Pinkie, please… Someone… s-someone help me! Please! Help!”

Her cries seemed so quiet in the great open air, but far too loud to have ever been a conversation between a girl so near and herself. As her horrid sniveling grew worse, she tried for more calls, but floundered in speaking them and holding the volume high enough to be noticed. The only thing she could focus on was the ringing in her ears and the sight of her dear friend as she laid before her like some crumpled up piece of newspaper. Against her chapped lips, Fluttershy could make out gobs of dried bubbles of bile, and yet, the edges of her mouth were still creased with the well earned (and only just barely aged) wrinkles from her remarkable smile.

As her wide eyes darted between the spilled pills, she tried to remember any first aid training that could possibly help her at all. But from the bloating she felt on her friend’s body and the ice cold chill of her skin, she already knew it was too late. For an instant, it was as though time had stopped, and for Pinkie Pie (whose wrist read nothing but vacant circles, faded more than usual), it really had ended.

“I-I didn’t know whether to call the ambulance or the police, I wasn’t sure what happened,” Fluttershy recounted slowly as the scene was still fresh in her mind, her words stoic and repeated more than once. Her disoriented vision shifted over her shaking hands, which clutched an untouched cup of hot chocolate that had been provided for her. Her lips moved again, though, “I couldn’t believe it was real. Or that it had been… that she had…”

Still, she had trouble getting through that part, and shook her head to try and rattle the image away. A careful hand rested on her shoulder, but it did little to ease her anxiety. Staring down at her futile hands, and perhaps catching sight of a time to mark an end of her own, she swallowed nothing except maybe her instinct to begin sobbing again.

“I sat there with her until they arrived, for so long, in that horrible silence. Still, they said she had already been gone for hours,” more bitter words told of her day.

“That’s…” Nothing natural came in response to such news. Each considered word was forced, something unusual for the girl who spoke. Attempting to compose herself, her voice cracked upon being used, “How did you even know where she was?”

Surprisingly, Fluttershy managed to respond, after choking back a sob. “She texted me late the night before. She was always there anyway, at Golden Oaks park,” her soft voice spoke as she recalled the sight by its real name rather than their colloquial and informal name for it. “More often recently, considering the new zoning in the area, and the auctioning off of those plots of land. You know that bothered her, Twilight.”

Twilight blinked, her mind wandering with possibilities of what was said. “She texted you?”

A meek nod followed by a light hum bought Fluttershy a second to consider her words, hoping the implications didn’t pin her in a bad light. “Yes, I tend to ignore the messages she sends me late at night, as usually they’re just drunken rambles,” she said, clear hesitance in her voice as she fumbled with her mobile device. “Here it is.”

Twilight delicately wrapped her fingers around the phone, taking care not to damage the tiny device. It held the last words of one of her closest friends and briefly, Twilight considered leaving it up to her imagination. Those last words could ruin her, but as a curious woman, and as Pinkie’s friend, something forced her to turn the screen towards her violet eyes.

“Hey Flutters, I need you to come find me at the hill. Sorry it has to be you.”

Twilight couldn’t hold back a gulp; in hindsight, reading this text would bring dread to anyone. Pinkie Pie knew this would happen, and apologized in advance for the ever meek member of their circle to be the one to discover what she had done. Nobody had guessed or wagered or imagined that Pinkie Pie could be pushed to that limit. Pinkie lived life to its fullest, loved every fleeting moment… this was a betrayal of the Pinkie Pie that her dearest friends thought she was.

Twilight’s left wrist twitched, thinking about what Fluttershy saw. What she probably would have seen in her attempts to save the girl. Three sets of double zeros on the left wrist, that’s what it read after someone passed away, thought that too would inevitably fade. Instinctively, Twilight checked the time and blinked, unsure how to process the way it might have felt to see the numbers decreasing significantly, as Pinkie must have. Pinkie surely knew what her timer said, yet she willingly ran the clock right out. In fact, she stopped it herself, when she took all those pills and washed them away with poisons.

“Who else knows about this?” Twilight finally asked in a steady voice.

Fluttershy could only shake her head. With a glance, Twilight noticed the poor girl shivering violently. Twilight so badly wished it was the morning chill, but more than likely, it was not. Slowly, she extended a hand and placed it on Fluttershy’s shoulder. Her response was to let out a sob and take in a shaky, sharp breath.

“I’ll talk to the others,” Twilight gently spoke, patting the girl’s shoulder once.

Shuffling forward, Twilight wrapped her arms around Fluttershy while fighting the stiffness in her body. It was a robotic motion, but one she felt necessary, for them both. Somehow still, the embrace felt vile and false, it was just like all the squishy hugs that Pinkie Pie had tricked them with to hide her intent. Feeling Fluttershy’s moist tears seeping into the collar of her cardigan, Twilight once again had to remind herself of the truth of the situation.

“... Pinkie Pie is dead,” Twilight whispered to herself, feeling her chest tighten.

“I-I can’t believe th-this is happening,” Fluttershy whimpered into Twilight’s shoulder, her thin body entirely surrounded by her friend’s stiff arms.

“I know,” the spectacle adorning girl’s eyes softened as the lenses seemed to mist lightly, though perhaps that was from the rising heat of her breath catching on them. “We’ll get through it, we’ll find a way. I promise. It has to make sense, I’ll figure out why—”

“Figure out what?” Fluttershy asked in a frantic tone, her wet eyes shifting between Twilight’s. “Th-there’s no, there’s no logical—no explanation, n-no—”

“Hey, Twilight, that you?” another voice called towards them, and Twilight and Fluttershy both turned to acknowledge the girls. If it wasn’t clear from the raspy tone and loud shouts, it was Rainbow Dash who spoke (with Applejack close by her side), “What’s going on, why are there cops everywhere?”

“Rainbow Dash, you’re here.” Twilight released Fluttershy, who closed in on herself and looked at her feet as if she was too afraid to talk to Rainbow Dash at all.

“Yeah I’m here, but that’s not an answer. What, did Pinkie get caught with that confetti launcher again?” Rainbow suggested with a laugh, placing her hands on her hips as she looked around. As Applejack curiously and seriously observed the expressions painted across their friend’s faces, she already knew the answer to the question that Rainbow Dash posed next, “Where is that crazy slut, anyway?”

“Rainbow…” Twilight tried to lead her to the answer, but it seemed she did not have to.

Just then, the coroners decided it was time enough to carry the black bag back over to their vehicle. Rainbow Dash’s bright and adventurous eyes traced the zipped-up body bag they can concealed something within, and she could outline the same rolls of fat that Pinkie Pie was always poking fun at. As her eyebrows furrowed and her gaze narrowed on the sight, her head tilted just slightly to the left. Darting her attention back to Twilight and Fluttershy, who both looked away as if ashamed or afraid. Rainbow’s jaw dropped immediately, and her knowing finger pointed over to the body bag before directing back to the girls in front of her, and she repeated that motion a few times as she pieced it together.

“Wait… wait, wait wait. That’s not…?” the short haired girl tried to ask, but found the seriousness of the question too much to speak aloud.

“This morning, Pinkie Pie came all the way out here, with a bag full of…” Twilight started to explain, but had to stall to clear the lump out of her throat. Instead, she decided it was best to just state the facts, as was her specialty, “She committed suicide.”

“What?” She was taken aback by the knowledge, and her mouth hung ajar for a moment before her inherent attitude returned. “That’s ridiculous Twilight, why would Pinkie, of all people—?”

“Dash, I don’t think she’d be lyin’ ‘bout this,” Applejack told her, pressing her lips together and looking carefully up at Rainbow Dash as she removed her wide-brimmed hat respectfully. Knowing the girl better than anyone, she was right to anticipate an explosive response.

“Pinkie, she,” Rainbow tried to speak, her tongue sliding over her teeth like she debated shouting or growling. After a roll of her shoulders, something she did when she grew particularly furious, she nearly screamed, “That dirty bitch! What the hell was she thinking? How could she be so damn selfish?!”

“Honey, please don’t talk like that, I’m sure she had—” Applejack tried with a gentle voice, but Rainbow would not have it.

“Had what? A damn mental break? A fucking stroke of idiocy?! Didn’t she give a shit about any of us? Why didn’t she come to us, talk it out, why would she be such a damn drama queen about it all?!” she shouted, accentuating her rage with wild gestures. Fluttershy had to turn away and press her hand over her mouth to quiet the waves of sobs and cries that burst out of her. As Twilight carefully analysed Rainbow’s reaction like some psychologist, the subject in question ranted on, “Fucking jerk!”

“What’s all the yelling about?” someone else broke into the conversation, and her polite voice was replaced with something of panic. As she caught her breath upon reaching them and tousled her hair, she inquired, “Is everything okay?”

“Speaking of a drama queen, here comes the crowning monarch!” Rainbow announced, spreading her arms out as Rarity came into sight and joined the group.

“Um, pardon me?” she uneasily wondered, looking Rainbow up and down and keeping her distance, as everyone knew how volatile the girl could become.

“So, Rarity, guess who decided to finally do the rest of us a great big favour and off herself?” Rainbow Dash carelessly stated, a cheery smile contrasting her irate eyes, which flashed a fiery red. “That’s right, our very own frizzy-headed clown, Pinkie Pie!”

“You’re not serious?” Rarity’s voice cracked as she shrunk under the weight of the news. As her lips quivered and she shook her head, she denied it all, “Rainbow, that’s not very funny. Don’t even say such a thing.”

“It’s hilarious!” came another enraged shout, and Rainbow put her hand against her mouth as she yelled back at the body bag being not so carefully placed into the coroner’s vehicle. “Good prank, Pinkie, even in death you’re a fucking joke!”

“Rainbow, get over here,” Applejack growled as she roughly grabbed Rainbow’s arm and yanked her away from the others.

“What? Applejack, let me go,” she complained, pulling back in vain as she was tugged beneath a nearby skeletal tree (which neither of them cared to identify even though they'd seen it hundreds of times).

“Can’t you see that everyone else is really hurtin’ about all this?” the blonde softly asked, her bright green eyes begging Rainbow to show some compassion. “And it ain’t right t’ speak of the dead so bitter like, she was your friend.”

“The dead, is that what she is now?” Rainbow Dash spat, a frown tugging at her features as she fought off her emotions. “Everyone is going to canonize the bitch for this, but all she did was give up. She gave up on all of us, Applejack!”

“Some people ain’t so strong, honey,” Applejack murmured kindly, her hands slipping under Rainbow’s clenched knuckles and easily spreading them out to entwine with her own. “There’re all kinds of reasons people have for doin’ somethin’ like this, Dash. We all have a limit, we all have somethin’ that we can’t swallow.”

“She didn’t even tell us! That blabbermouth had to spring it on us like some stupid childish birthday party, it’s not fair.” Her eyes closed up tightly as she choked back some hiss or holler. Applejack just continued to stroke the girl’s hands with her thumbs, seeing the pain she tucked beneath bursts of rage.

“I know, honey.” Applejack’s sultry southern twang was always a comfort for the athletic girl, and she relaxed into everything about the girl which was so very soft and loving. “Just take a step back. All your other friends ‘re hurtin’ too, and you’re not doin’ much t’ help.”

“It’s just, like...” Rainbow blinked something out of her eye and stared up at the sky, watching the clouds fade back to greys and whites after their brief hues of the bright spectrum. Guilt seeped into her tone as she admitted, “It just feels like we didn’t know her at all.”

“Yea’, maybe,” Applejack muttered, taking a step further into Rainbow’s embrace and placing her head on the girl’s chest. As she gazed barely over Rainbow’s shoulder, she could see the still quite lost and terrified expression on Rarity’s face. “We shouldn’t leave ‘em alone.”

“You’re right,” Rainbow Dash whispered into Applejack’s hair, softly taking in a breath before placing a kiss on the crown of her head and pulling away. “Those kids are probably taking it pretty hard.”

With a knowing smile, Applejack ignored the obvious projection of Rainbow’s own emotional instability and nodded instead. Wrapping her arm around Rainbow’s and escorting her back to the group (which seemed necessary considering Rainbow was clearly embarrassed about her outburst), Applejack chewed her lip to try and think up something correct to say. The silence hung for a moment, as no one was sure if speaking at all was respectful. There was no longer a bubbling bundle of energy to chirp up and bring them back to conversation, so their hesitance lingered on.

“So, wait, I’m confused,” Rarity finally tried for words, and all eyes (be they narrowed, moist or puffy and red) fell on her. “Is Pinkie Pie alright? What was Rainbow Dash prattling on about?”

“W-Well, I-I got here, here early this m-morning,” Fluttershy struggled to spell it out once more, and though it was very clear that something horrible had happened, Rarity just kept hanging on her words like the outcome would change. “Pinkie… Pinkie Pie was, she was…”

“She passed away, last night,” Applejack was the one who cut in next, and her voice was very calm and compassionate. “I’m sorry, Rarity.”

Twilight looked over at the blonde girl curiously, noticing how she still had a good deal of composure left to speak of. Fluttershy was clearly a wreck already, Rainbow had nearly strangled Pinkie’s memory, and though Twilight herself strove to separate fact from feeling, she still felt an immense sadness keeping her own mouth shut. But someone had to be strong at a time like that, and though Twilight wanted it to be her, it looked like the only one who knew how to handle the situation was Applejack. Twilight pinned that attitude on her selfless compulsion to take care of others before herself, or perhaps the fact that she had so recently lost her grandmother, but both of those reasons seemed to do little but make Twilight almost pity the small girl (though she would hate to hear such a thing).

“She’s…? No, that can’t be right,” Rarity tried to force a laugh, but it came out in broken shards that sounded an awful lot like some predecessor to crying. “Not Pinkie Pie, there’s just no way.”

“I’m so sorry Rarity, but it’s true. Do you need t’ sit down?” Applejack asked kindly, touching Rarity on the shoulder and trying to get a good look at her pale expression.

“How… how did it happen?” she asked blankly, and as she looked up at the blonde girl who seemed to have the answers, everyone knew that all the time she had spent that morning on her make-up would prove futile.

“Well…” That particular answer was not fully known to the little belle, and she uneasily looked over at Twilight for the truth.

“An overdose. On medications and drugs, mostly over the counter or recreational.” Twilight second-guessed exposing that particular fact, as she knew that suicides could become a string quite easily. Shaking that idea off, she revealed, “It was suicide.”

“That’s preposterous. Pinkie Pie, of all people, would never,” Rarity tried to deny it once more, but from the sorrowful looks surrounding her, she knew she did not stand a chance. The realization dawned on her abruptly, and she felt as though she could not muster a breath to summon a sob. “It can’t be…”

“Rarity, you should—” Applejack attempted to get her to sit down, but she was interrupted by the dignified young woman slapping a hand over her mouth and sprinting between herself and Twilight towards some old tree.

As Rarity reached the thick wooden trunk, she swung around behind it and doubled-over with a gasp. Though her actions were hidden by the foliage, her friends could tell from the coughing sounds that she was quite physically sickened by the whole situation. Twilight closed her eyes solemnly as she recalled the last time she had seen Rarity in such the same condition, which would have been several years ago, when Rarity had struggled with bulimia (something that Pinkie Pie’s upbeat spirit and constant praises of optimism had helped her overcome).

The vicious repulsion her body had experienced finally stopped, although the dizziness and disorientation remained. Rarity reached a shaky hand out and pressed it against the damp and rigid bark of the nearby tree for support, taking a moment to touch at her lips to be certain no traces were left. As her trembling fingers traced smoother, rounded edges of the trunk, Rarity found herself outlining them. She stood back up, carefully and timidly peering over at the grooves and markings she had placed her hand upon for support. Beneath her slender digits (which were decorated as always with shades of violet and baby blue), Rarity could make out the juvenile carving of adolescent infatuation that still read P.P and C.S (the initials of a boy Pinkie Pie had a crush on many years ago), encircled by a lop-sided heart.

Rarity shoved off the tree at once, staring at the worn old markings that Pinkie Pie had left in the bark (which Fluttershy had scolded her at the time for making at all). It had been something Rainbow Dash had teased her for, something that Rarity had loved to gossip about, and Twilight had always told her was a silly crush. Suddenly, though the whole idea seemed trivial and insignificant, it haunted the fashion favouring dame. She stumbled away from the faintly leaning tree and nearly tumbled back into the reaches of her friends, pressing a cold hand against her face.

“No, please no,” Rarity whimpered quietly, shaking her head back and forth even if it made her more dizzy. “This is… this is the… the…”

She could even imagine finishing what she was about to say, and instead fell to her knees right in front of her dearest remaining friends. As if her body was wrought once more by emotion, her loud sobs broke out in harsh intervals, and her breathing chased the abundant air around her trying to keep up with her miserable cries. Seeing such a display, Fluttershy, too, began to break into open wails, though she pressed her sleeves against her mouth to keep quiet.

Rainbow Dash ran her tongue over her lower lip and shoved her hands into her pockets, something she did when she was clearly uncomfortable. She was never the most sensitive girl, so she was uncertain what to say or do when confronted with their grief. Instead, she pretended to be preoccupied in her own mind, glancing off into the direction from which they had come and to which Pinkie had been carried off. Watching the remaining civil servants depart (and put up some cautionary tape around the perimeter for the time being), Rainbow frowned. She wondered if perhaps any of Pinkie’s actions could stall the new development plans, but that was doubtful indeed.

Alongside the caution tape, she could spot a figure sporting a pink head of hair approaching at an indeterminately slow pace. Pretending not to see, Rainbow averted her eyes and studied the still blades of grass parting beneath her crookedly angled feet. Instead of bothering to fix them, she frowned deeper into the turned up collar of her jacket, dreading the moment that the young boy would inevitably reach them. She knew that if he couldn’t even accept the impact that mortality had on his own life (or even admit that he had acquired the gauge of it), he would drown in the imminent reality of this incident. Hissing a clear breath of white condensation, Rainbow’s eyebrows clenched together to imagine how the rebellious boy might respond.

“Spike,” Twilight called to him, extending her hand out. There was clearly no way that Spike had heard her, but he seemed to vaguely notice that she was reaching to him. “H-hey.” Once again, she spoke as if he were right there, her voice hardly strong enough to escape their intimate gathering.

It took a little longer that it usually might have, but eventually Spike reached the group, nodding his head constantly. Several eyes landed on him a if he had brought something along that could distract them, but instead, he absently dragged his gaze over the familiar area. Something, he could tell, was definitely amiss, but he was less than adequately equipped with the sober focus to piece it together (something that he had inflicted upon himself with irresponsible habits, it seemed).

“What’s up, bitches?” he gurgled slowly, enunciating his words like he was afraid they’d fall apart once they breached his lips.

Caught off guard by the title, Twilight could only mouth his name oddly, and her tongue smacked from the motion. While the rest of his friends (who rarely responded to such a vulgar title anyway, save perhaps for Rainbow or Pinkie) gaped or cringed at his rudeness, there was no other response. Glancing behind him towards the blinking lights that retreated in the distance, he teetered from one foot to the other. Finally, after nervously trying to reason why he was ostracized, he leaned in close towards Rainbow’s ears.

“Jeez, who died?” Spike murmured obliviously, giggling stupidly at the prospect.

Spike could hear a light gasp come from someone (as he had not been as hushed in his tone as he had imagined) and there was a lack of the typical Rainbow Dash humour he often relied on to take the spotlight. Frowning, he looked right at the short-haired girl next to him. Her teeth clenched irritably together as she met eyelines with the boy, whose half-lidded gaze and wide pupils gave her some indication of his condition. Before Spike could inquire about her expression, a hard, painful slap to the back of his head almost knocked him over.

“Fucking stoner,” Rainbow Dash muttered as she dug her hands into the seams at the bottoms of her pockets and inched right up against Applejack.

Rarity began sobbing once more, her loud cries forcing her usually politely restricted lips to open wide and her always clean hands to dig into the cold weeds. The unnatural lack of attention to her physical appearance gave Spike an uneasy feeling in his gut. More telltale signs stood out as he looked at the others: Fluttershy shivering violently as she remain burrowed in her own sleeves; Applejack’s trademark hat remained at her side, her gaze directed to the sky; Twilight’s widened eyes, staring at the base of the tree while her fingers tapped at her arms (which always told that something was wrong).

Usually there would have hardly been a reaction to such a common and clearly joking statement, but this time there was, and that terrified him. Spike’s mouth hung slightly and his breath quickened as he started to panic. His eyes darted around, looking at all of his friends once more. Repeatedly, he counted them. One, two, three, four, five. A short pause, then again; one, two, three, four, five. He only counted five.

“Five. There are five of you. Where’s six?” Spike asked, his breath starting to come in short intervals. Already, Rainbow could spot the brat patting his coat for a lighter and cigarette. Rather than wait, Spike spoked up again, “Don’t screw with me, where is she? The sixth, where’s she at? Where is she?” He paused to gulp once and as Twilight turned towards him, he locked his gaze on her. “I counted, I counted you. One, two, three, four, five. I count five of you. There should be six. So, where is she? Where’s six? Where’s Pinkie Pie?”

“Fuck if I know, she didn’t tell us shit,” Rainbow spat out aggressively.

Spike took a step away from Rainbow, but he didn’t know why. She was mad, but Rainbow not being mad would have been strange. She seemed more unpredictable than normal, and something about her had Spike quite physically troubled. His fumbled discretion caused him to drop a rolled sliver of cannabis onto the grass below and into plain sight. After briefly glancing down at his fallen recreational accomplice, Spike and Twilight met gazes.

Twilight continued to observe the young boy, though her face contorted out of curiosity into disapproval and disgust. Faster than she could realize, Spike’s face warped, scrunching up as he bared his teeth. He took an aggressive step forward which sent a chill down Twilight’s spine.

“You answer me! Tell me right now, Twilight!” Spike shouted in a repressed voice, as he struggled against the choking in his throat. “I know that you know, that you’re hiding something from me, something is going on and I need to know. Where is Pinkie? Don’t you think that because you’re smart, you can lie to—” he was interrupted by the need to hack up some gob of phlegm or saliva, which he spat into the grass. “No more bullshit. Where is Pinkie Pie?”

Though her reluctance to speak should have been answer enough, Spike naively clutched onto any sliver of hope. Applejack seemed ready to break the news to the kid, but she paused as she noticed the firm and determined expression on Rainbow Dash’s face. The two of them had been childhood friends, and it only seemed right that she be the one to break it to him. That is, if she could get over her anger long enough to put it easily for him. Instead, she fell back on her normal brash and careless attitude.

“Well, she’s probably about half way to the morgue by now,” Rainbow Dash told him with a shrug, flexing and clenching her hands in her pockets out of sight. She couldn’t shake the urge to get physical, but she could repress it well enough that perhaps only Spike and Applejack even noticed.

“The… morgue?” Spike repeated the word as if it was in another language, and his lips struggled to pronounce it correctly. “What’s she doing there?”

“Probably laying cold in a damn body bag with her big clown feet and toe-tag sticking out one end, what do you think?” the short haired girl barked back, and Spike shrunk under the reality he faced. “It’s not like the coroner is some eccentric party host that frizz-head met at a rave. Pinkie Pie is dead, dude. She’s dead.”

With an uneasy and nervous expression, Spike measured the weight of Rainbow’s words as if he would find some humour hidden in their syllables. Finding nothing but a hint of spite and hurt, he understood that his good friend was not lying to him at all. The waving haze over his eyes (caused by the way he overindulged in a particular illegal habit that very morning) drifted back and forth with his slightly swaying body, and he wasn’t certain if it was the THC or the news that had him feeling like he was about to pass right out.

“She’s dead,” Spike repeated blankly, his lips and cheeks seeming particularly puffed out from the way he shrunk against the collar of his jacket and lowered his chin. “But I just saw her yesterday?”

“How long do you think it takes to die?” Rainbow Dash aggressively posed, making a face at the ignorance Spike presented.

“Do her parents know yet?” Applejack wondered, changing the subject before Rainbow started yelling at the poor distracted kid.

“They’re on their way to see the body now,” Twilight tried to sound helpful, but her notion that Pinkie’s name was no longer worth mention sent Rarity into deeper weeps.

“The body...” Fluttershy meekly repeated, her own sobs creeping up her throat and being swallowed back like she was sick on them.

“Yes, well,” Twilight tried to stick on a more rational topic, or else she might have crumbled herself. “I imagine there will be a funeral ceremony quite imminently, so try to keep your schedules open.”

“Not like that’s what she wanted,” Rainbow Dash remarked in a grumble, looking away from her friends and glaring at some weed in the hard dirt.

“... She’s dead,” Spike repeated once more, and it seemed more fictitious the more often he said it.

Skyward was the only place Spike could find comfort. There were no police or taped lines of any sort to remind him of what he still struggled to believe at all. A picturesque deep ocean of blue with an a few clouds, that was what seemed more comforting than eyes he dared not meet. Even with his glossy gaze locked onto the heavens, Spike still found himself kneeling down and sweeping his fingers through the blades of glass in hopes that his blunt still laid in one piece.

The cold, nearly frozen ground beneath their feet felt so impenetrably solid, even when bearing the weight of all their solemn gazes. And yet, a mere few days or so later (none of them cared to measure precisely what distance of time passed), they stood above a grave so freshly pulled open, so deep and well dug that it seemed it was carved out of salted butter. And all the more salted it became, it seemed, as the interminable whimpering of few dear friends fell around the wide, gaping obstruction in the otherwise flat Earth (though it was speckled with erect stones reciting names and years and signs of erosion, which ate away at the rock slower than any bundle of bones buried out of sight). There was, however, no hardy block to denote quite what would soon lay beneath the frostbitten soil so freshly removed, as hard times had caused the grief stricken family to settle for a plywood sign with a scribbled name, stabbed above the hole like the marker of some crop too freshly planted to identify by bud or stem.

A member of some congregation (that the gathered few could barely hope to label) stood before them, his thin and cracked lips speaking barren words that never would have been spoken about the girl who now could not prove it so. Passages from a book that the young girl hadn’t read were recited over the small, cheap box she was placed in, accompanying irrelevant numbers that probably marked pages the man had folded the corners down on so that he might find them again for the previous young loss, or the next.

Six roses laid at the head of the grave, which had ample space for them, given that the hole was not quite regular length. It hadn’t needed to be, since the box (which almost looked like some crate used for shipping products overseas) that bore what remained of a jubilant young girl was so much less sizable than seemed right. As the wind kicked at the loose pedals, turning a rose or two over on the small resting pile, one restless onlooker pressed the tip of her index finger roughly with her thumb. There was a small, somewhat painful prick on the tip of her finger, which she had carelessly received when she was fidgeting with the rose she had placed by the grave. She would be distracted from her burdensome act by a young boy, though.

“Why is the coffin so small?” Spike inquired in a whisper, which went somewhat unheard beneath the echoing sobs of Rarity (even though they were stifled by an embroidered handkerchief).

“Dude, be quiet,” Rainbow harshly hushed back. She waited until the cries grew a bit louder to actually respond, “It’s because they couldn’t afford a real one. They got her cremated first, to save space or something.”

“That seems like a lot of work.” The boy eyed the splintered wooden box uneasily, swishing the smokey saliva in his mouth like he wanted to spit it out.

“They must really want to bury her, hide her in the ground,” Rainbow Dash grumbled as if it offended her, and she tried to think up a reasonable excuse, “Traditionalists, maybe.”

“Nothing about this seems traditional,” Spike remarked quietly, noting that all of Pinkie Pie’s immediate family stood still as statues by her grave, shedding no tear nor uttering a loving word.

With a slow nod, Rainbow Dash agreed with the sentiment. A hand roughly grabbing her own stopped her from grinding her fingers together, and Rainbow looked down at the connection promptly. She recognized the freckled knuckles of her dearest friend immediately, although the black colour of her cardigan over her modest midnight dress was still strange to see rather than the cuffs of some button-up long-sleeve. Though her palm was warm, it was hardly any consolation to Rainbow’s pinkish fingers in the frigid air.

"Do any family members have anything to say on her behalf?” the statement woke any bystanders out of their respective, drifting thoughts (most of which were imagining familiar encounters with the deceased and wondering what value they had to her or cursing themselves for selfishly tuning out her eulogy).

Though Pinkie Pie’s immediate family had mostly shown up for the ceremony, and all stood dutifully in a line by the grave, none stepped forward to speak. In the absence of an adequate response, all that remained was a crisp whistle of wind in the barren trees. It was far too solemn to bear, when after a brief clearing of her throat to test the silence, Applejack stepped towards the head of the grave.

"AJ, what are you–?" Rainbow Dash tried to stall her, but the blonde girl was out of her reach too quickly and she had promised Applejack earlier that she would try not to make a scene.

"Well," Applejack started with some fragment of confidence, putting aside her mild discomfort when speaking in front of a crowd. "I reckon somebody should say somethin' first. Might as well be me, seein' as how she's my cousin and all."

She paused, giving no response to the scrunched up and incredulous questioning expression that Rainbow Dash gave her from across the grave, and looked compassionately down at the small box which stowed the girl's ashes. A brush of her teeth against her plump lower lip cracked the seal of her words and made way for some sentiment. At first it was a thoughtless motion of her mouth, but soon enough she was heard.

“I'd known Pinkie Pie for for quite some time, most of my whole life I’d reckon. I remember back when we were kids, she used to get picked on real bad about her big silly feet. Even then, she always laughed about it herself, sayin’ she was proud of them, ‘cause it made her more unique than most folks. Well, as long as any of us had known her, I bet anyone would say that if nothin’ else, she always knew how t’ make us laugh. And y’know, I think I speak for all of us when I say... we’ve never needed those big ol’ stompers and that special talent any more than we do right now.”

Taking a moment to breathe, Applejack let her jaw hang as if she was going to continue, only for nothing to come out. Her lips pushed together thoughtfully, but finally she realized that there was nothing more she had to say but that. With a solemn nod, Applejack took a slow step backwards before walking away from the centre of attention. There was a space left in her absence, once which every other of Pinkie’s companions were hesitant to fill.

As Applejack returned to Rainbow Dash’s side, she was greeted not with any consolation, but rather with a casual question, "Dude, Pinkie was your cousin?"

"Yea', how do you think she got here?" Applejack responded with a raised eyebrow, surprised that her girlfriend knew so little of her family.

Rainbow paused, a surprised expression turning pale as her lip contorted into a perplexed sneer on one side, "Like, in the grave?"

"What?” Applejack was taken aback by the accusation, but hurriedly corrected the misconception, “No, in our school, she lived in another district y’know."

"I understand some of Pinkie Pie’s closest friends have composed a few words?" another prompt was provided, but the only immediate response seemed to be uneasy shifting eyes and nervous fidgeting.

Expectantly, the attention settled on Twilight Sparkle, who had astutely written out a speech for the girl’s funeral. However, as she reluctantly hid behind the veil of her bangs (which had lately grown too long, but Twilight had been too busy with school work to have gotten cut precisely on schedule as she usually did), she realized that she was not prepared to have read it out loud. Squeezing the rolled sheet of paper in her palm, Twilight ducked her head out of the running and slunked behind her formerly much more meek friend, Fluttershy. With Rarity still hardly controlling her waves of sobs, Fluttershy shaking under any perceived pressure at all, and Spike seeming completely disinterested in the ceremony at all, that left only one candidate.

"... Well if no one else is going to do it," Rainbow Dash’s raspy voice abraded the silence of the cemetery, and her thick-soled shoes crunched the frosted weeds as she stormed up to the head of the grave.

Once reaching her platform, Rainbow Dash shifted uncomfortably, her eyes tracing the edges of the freshly dug grave as if it was carved thousands of feet into the ground and was about to swallow her whole. She had hardly prepared, as that was always her style, but while usually she jumped at a challenge, she was bothered and stalled by that particular instance. As she looked over at the familiar faces of her dear friends, she realized quite how small they all looked, quite how much they needed the colour in Pinkie Pie’s bubbly cheeks.

Scoffing stubbornly at the prospect, Rainbow Dash tried to think up something at least half decent to say at the looming solemnity. What she really wanted to do? Shout out her frustrations, curse the girl’s name, grab a shovel and start roughly filling in the gaping hole that Pinkie Pie had scarred. But instead, she made her most valiant attempt to keep her cool, and charmingly adorned a smirk while she flipped a nonchalant hand through her short, falsely portrayed hair.

A few words tumbled out of her clumsy mouth before she cared to sift them fine, “Pinkie was quite the little harlot, that’s for damn sure. Everyone knew that tramp.”

“Rainbow,” Applejack hushed a warning, her serious stare doing the job of grabbing Rainbow by the collar and setting her straight, so to speak.

“R-Right, well,” she tried again, clearing her throat as though her blonde friend had really squeezed the poorly folded white dress shirt around her neck. Though Rainbow Dash could hear Spike sniggering behind the jagged thumbnail he had been nibbling on, she continued, “As crazy as she was, she was one of our closest friends. One thing we always appreciated about her was the way she could talk us through any dumb problem we thought we had. She was someone we trusted… trusted, to…”

Her expression changed suddenly, and those who knew her long enough knew to anticipate her fluctuating moods. But that shift was unexpected, and a vertical crease appeared between her brows, signifying the dangerous thoughts she tried to pin inside her head. They would not stay there, however, and following a sharp hiss, she spoke her mind.

“We trusted her, like idiots. We thought that stupid dopey look on her face all the time was innocence, was happiness, was no lie or false conception. But she was the one who needed us, or who, who should have… should have said something, instead of being that selfish, thoughtless bitch that just up and quit on us. Fucking quit on us.” Rainbow Dash nearly choked it seemed, and her fingers twitched into and away from her palm as she tried to gather her emotions back.

“That’s enough,” Applejack tried to interject, hurrying to the volatile young woman’s side and reaching out, but Rainbow evaded her comfort.

“I’m glad she’s gone! We don’t need that shitty attitude, that fake smile, that suicidal coward!” her voice raised over the sound of the wind biting at her exposed ears. “You hear me, Bigfoot?! You hear me down there? You told us that you never wanted to be buried after you died, but guess what? These bastards are gonna put you in the ground, where you can just lie there like a goddamn lazy whore--no more dancing for you!”

“Okay, okay, you’ve said penty,” the smaller girl managed to touch her friend’s face long enough to direct her gaze away from the pit in the ground and to meet her eyeline. Making a questioning face, Applejack silently asked if Rainbow Dash was alright, to which a response was hardly necessary. “C’mon now honey.”

“Hey, quit shoving me!” Rainbow barked at her most trusted friend, who said nothing in response but continued to try and direct her away. “I’m not done, this is the last time I get to yell at that brat, she won’t be able to hear me from six feet under!”

“Dash, you know it ain’t right t’ be talkin’ like that, say your goodbyes and lets take a walk, ‘kay?” her soft voice was so soothing that Rainbow could have probably curled up in her arms and fallen asleep, but she stubbornly fought that urge.

Standing there uneasily over the seemingly endless grave of a dear friend (and all uncomfortably bundled up in a misfitted black suit and loose tie she had re-tied six times over until she was satisfied with the hang), Rainbow Dash scowled, cursing the frizzy-haired girl for having forced her into such a situation. With a swift swing, Rainbow kicked a rain of dirt down into the hole, hissing some frustrated noise before turning abruptly and walking off.

“Whatever,” she mumbled after her, waving over her shoulder as Applejack kept on her heel.

Spike (who was, by then, laughing quite hysterically despite everyone else’s bewildered expressions), found it in his best interest to follow his childhood friend. After all, the funeral wouldn’t be half as interesting with her absence. He managed to catch up to the two girls by the single lane road which circled the graveyard, where several vehicles were still parked. One such vehicle, which stood out quite prominently due to the brilliant blue paintjob, belonged to Rainbow Dash herself.

As Spike approached them, he realized that he had gone unnoticed (a fact which, due to having smoked a fair amount of his poor quality marijuana, had him convinced for an instant that he had turned invisible), and stalled in his step a few paces away. Dipping slightly behind a misshapen tree, Spike curiously watched their interchange. Rainbow Dash appeared to be very upset, and though it could prove dangerous to be so near to her while she was in such a mood, Applejack never wavered.

“Rainbow, honey, I know you feel all knotted up about this,” Applejack calmly spoke, her small fingers tracing Rainbow’s defined jawline. “But we’re gonna get through it. I promise ya that. If y’need somebody t’ blow on up at, y’all can shout at me. Scarin’ all your friends at this place? It ain’t gonna fix nothin’.”

“I know that,” she grumbled back, trying to avoid the glorious green eyes that always made her melt. “It’s just… this whole funeral thing sucks. Trying to say nice things about a girl who just abandoned all of us, having to listen to all this garbage about eternal life or whatever, it’s depressing and dumb. Besides, she never even wanted to be buried anyway. That pink pompom was a free spirit, she’d hate to be cooped up in the dirt. Anyway…”

“I understand,” Applejack murmured against Rainbow’s ear, leaning in for a soft embrace. As their bodies parted, Applejack placed a fond kiss on her silky lips. “Head on home and get some rest, okay?”

“Yeah, all right,” Rainbow grumbled, her narrowed eyes firmly set on the crease-line of graveyard dust that clung to her pant leg and snuggled into the crook between her laces.

With a sudden movement, Rainbow tore open her car door and plopped inside, slamming it shut behind her immediately. As the two blew kisses to each other (a tradition they shared whenever parting), Rainbow shifted her car into reverse and raced out of her spot.

Applejack sighed slowly, watching the sleek old vehicle slide into the distance, lightly treading over the edges of the road and knocking some loose dirt into the air. Hearing a quiet shuffle, Applejack casually peered over her shoulder and spotted Spike leaning against a tree and trying to make any proper noise with his mouth. Putting on a smile, the blonde strode past the younger yet remarkably taller boy, pausing only to pat him once firmly on the shoulder.

With a solemn gaze (or the best a stoner could manage), Spike watched Applejack recede back to the dismal cluster of his once jubilant friends, who were still regaining their composure after having the pleasure of seeing Rainbow’s outburst just moments prior. Resting his head on the tree, he let his mind wander to the fateful revelation days prior. The memory alone scratched a scowl into Spike’s face and suddenly, he found himself wishing to be anywhere but the crowd of what seemed like strangers mourning just off in the distance.

“Weeping over that pink haired spaz,” he spat out through puzzled teeth, and even he thought that it sounded more like something Rainbow would have said. With a click of his tongue, he tilted his head down and glanced at the group in question. With the effects of his particular frowned-upon habit in full swing, the journey seemed so much longer, so much further.

Each of the figures in black seemed like silhouettes; they weren’t quite people, but shadows cast by each tombstone, a stark contrast to the green grass and bright, crisp morning. Voices, so distant and despairing, whispered through the cemetery like rodents or serpents scuttering and sifting between the gaps of grass and grave until they passed Spike’s cold feet. His heels and toes were like ice, slippery and dead where his sole touched the dry dirt between dancing roots.

Too rattled to have stood against it (even if he had been emptied of his grief and stuffed up with straw like a scarecrow and propped upright), the young boy shakily slid down the bark of the tree until he was rested at the trunk. Spike happily welcomed the frosted grass thawing beneath his rear, and could feel the cold wetness inside the sweaty suit he had borrowed from his father.

Before he knew it, Spike found himself pulling his legs close to his chest, the rumble in his stomach doing nothing to sweeten the sour feeling. Though eternity felt still, thoughts raced to and from his distracted mind. Yet the anchor which kept him locked inside his clammy body (even as he was pulled from his seat and into some much more comfortable vehicle), was the inescapable truth that the rest of his life would go on without such a brightly shining star as Pinkie Pie had always seemed.

Every time he closed his eyes, he would see a series of black zeroes pasted over pale white flesh. Was it Pinkie’s wrist? Was he picturing those same numbers on the wrist of someone else? Was it his own chubby appendages, the very ones he had seemed to have been staring at for hours?

“Spike” was the first sound he heard as his earbuds were torn out of their resting place in his ears, and it took him a spell too long to realize it was his name that had been spoken.

His green eyes flashed up from under the weeping locks of his boisterously coloured hair, and he curiously stared at the girl standing before him. He had hardly noticed walking into his home, or the fact that Twilight had followed him into his house and (after spending a good deal of time talking to his parents about the funeral to buy him some time to sober up) watched him sit idly at his black computer monitor for what must have been an hour. Suddenly though, the world seemed to have colour again, and it startled him with how awake he had become.

“What? Sorry, I was thinking,” he made up what was hardly an excuse, and Twilight pressed her lips together until they wrinkled in a disbelieving manner.

“Zoning out, more like it. Are you still… high, or something?” she asked uneasily, and the words sounded foreign from her mouth. “I was talking to you.”

“No, I…” He couldn’t lie to her. “Yeah, I’m just coming down. Why are you still here?”

“You seemed really distant, all day. I thought you might want some company, and, honestly...” Twilight seemed moodier than usual, her still moist eyes turning away from the boy as her feminine voice creaked like an unused pantry door, “I didn’t really want to be alone, myself.”

“I don’t want to talk, I’m fine,” he argued in a much more adamant voice than he might have actually meant, but even so, Twilight did not seem to take it. “Look, I’m not going to sugar coat this. People die all the time, Twilight. We’re all just ticking away, what’s the use in getting all upset about it?”

“... Is that how you really feel? Or is that just what you want to feel?” she inquired weakly, and Spike hesitated to answer.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He shrugged himself lower into his chair (which sagged from use and always caught on one wheel when he tried to push it around). “I’d rather die young than spend all my time worrying, only to waste away trying to hold onto every minute and every memory as they slip through my fingers. I’m kind of clumsy, I’m going to drop it all anyway.”

“Is that what this dangerous, careless act is about?” came another question, and as she leaned against his desk, she subtly asked, “You got your Stopwatch, didn’t you?”

“That’s none of your business,” he snapped and turned away, flicking his computer on and waiting impatiently as it started up.

“Spike, it’s okay to be upset, it’s perfectly normal. Nobody has it figured out yet, and with what happened to Pinkie Pie, this is a time to be with friends, not a time to push us away,” Twilight tried to tell him, but it didn’t seem to sink in. “Teenage suicides have a devastating effect on those close, and I’m afraid—”

“Just stop talking about it already,” his voice jumped up the same as he did, and Twilight flinched at the sudden movement. She had never been afraid of Spike, but something about him in that moment nearly broke her heart (be it the despondency in his normally chipper and boyish voice, or perhaps the way his once pudgy fists now shook and defined his jagged knuckles). “Just be done with it. Pinkie Pie is dead, gone, hollow, and buried. Just like we all will be. She’s out of our lives, and she’s never coming back.”

A small clack against Spike’s bedroom window stalled them both silent. Hushed by the unspoken question of what it might have been, the two waited for a following echo, which came mere seconds later. Sucking at his teeth, Spike slunk over to the pane of glass and pushed the curtains to one side. At first, due to the dimming daylight, he could hardly see a thing. But as some familiar headlights still ran on (catching upon the few falling flakes of snow which snuck ahead of their season), Spike noticed the slender silhouette of a dear friend.

“Is that Rainbow Dash?” Twilight spoke his mind as she, too, peered out over his back yard.

“I wish it wasn’t,” he murmured, rolling his eyes as he let the curtain fall mostly back into place. “I better go down there before my parents see.”

“Does she always show up like this?” she wondered as she followed him quietly out his bedroom door and down the stairs.

“Unfortunately,” Spike whispered, slipping around the railings towards the back door, keeping an eye out for his parents as it was still too early for them to have gone to bed quite yet.

After doing a quick reconnaissance of the back hall, Spike unlocked the deadbolt on his rear door and slowly pulled it open. Twilight and he leaned curiously out from behind the door as it swayed on its hinges, revealing a sight most haunting. Though it was no surprise for Rainbow Dash to have just suddenly dropped in on him (despite his parents always shooing her away and complaining about her influence), that particular evening proved very different. Even if Spike had not already been trying to keep quiet as to not get in trouble, he was stunned silent by the sight of his childhood friend.

Stepping out from the tar-like evening shadows spilling from the weatherproofing, Rainbow Dash’s once professionally pressed blazer appeared rolled up at the sleeves and slumped over her mud hand-printed button-up. Catching the glimmer of amaranth in her eyes (beneath the smears and smudges of dirt along her cheeks and jawline and from under the drowsy fall of her mussed and dusted hair), Spike’s jaw slammed against the merely decorative doormat. Held casually in her small, pinkish fingers (and propped crooked against her shoulder) was the recently uncovered urn that bore Pinkie Pie’s ashes.

Author's Note

There we have it folks, the much anticipated Tragedy tag, or, perhaps the beginning of it...
Anyway, sorry about the hiatus, the girlfriend is taking up most of my time, also getting promoted at work and all that good stuff. But, I am trying to keep updating on here, so... watch out.

"In This Last of Meeting Places"

***

"In This Last of Meeting Places"

“Rainbow Dash, what on Earth is that?” Twilight Sparkle carefully inquired, her incredulous eyes sifting slowly from her company's to what she held in her dirtied arm.

“It's an urn, egghead.” Rainbow bounced the object nonchalantly in her arm as if she didn't care if she dropped it, though both Spike and Twilight twitched as if to reach out and catch it if she had. “Ever seen a flower vase? Kinda like that, except instead of dead botany, it holds dead bodies.”

“That's not what I—” Twilight was about to scold her for her bluntness, but she sucked on her teeth and retained a cool head before asking again. “I mean, is it... is it empty? Or...?”

“Nope, it's our good friend Pinkie Pie. Catch!” With a sudden jerk, Rainbow Dash appeared to toss the vase directly at Spike (who merely flinched and cowered behind his hands, having no idea what else to do), which turned out to be a feign as she started cackling instead and slapped the container. “Crushed it. High five, Pinkie!”

“You can't be serious,” Spike asked with a shallow breath, his wide eyes examining the vessel for their dearly departed friend.

“As a sailor with scurvy, Che,” she admitted with a hollow smirk and a hauntingly cavalier air about her. “But instead of orange juice (you know I've never been a fan), how's about I crack open one of those beers I left downstairs, and I get you two to play spin the urn?”

“Goddamn it Rainbow, my parents are right down the hall, what are you even saying?” Spike whined nervously, keeping his voice to a very shrill whisper.

“Uh, I'm wing-manning you, polka-dot dick, what do you think?” she wondered in a ridiculous sounding tone, leaning over to Twilight to explain something, “He's got a freckle on the head of his—”

“I really don't want to know,” the mild-natured girl shrunk away from such a topic and pushed her glasses up on her nose instead. “So, what, you snuck out after the funeral and went grave-robbing, is that it?”

“Well it was hardly robbing, I fully intend to give the urn back, after we finish with the ashes,” she explained matter-of-factly as though it had been a blue-printed plan they had all scrawled together earlier.

“The ashes? What are you going to do with the ashes?” Twilight almost frantically spoke, afraid to know the answer to that question.

“Not bake them into brownies if that's where your weed-saturated mind was going,” Rainbow directed the attention back to Spike with a quick quip before carrying on. “I thought we all needed a chance to really give the crazy coot the old send-off. You know?”

“No, I don't know, and can you keep it down? My parent's are—!” Spike tried to tell her, but it was too late.

“Spike? Who are you talking to?” an older female's voice drifted from the living room calmly, but it startled Spike so much he nearly yelped.

“Just Twilight, mom!” the nervous young boy managed to cry out, though he could hardly even convince himself of that lie. “Look, Dash, you gotta get out of here. If my parents see you—or that—they'll kill me!”

“What? No way, I'm not dragging this back to my place, I don't want her spilling her soot all over the old '72. I just refurbished the seats.” Rainbow defiantly puffed out her bottom lip and glowered at the younger boy.

“Why do you sound so flustered?” Spike's mother's voice called out again, and it sounded as though she had moved. “Did you break something?”

“No!” Spike sounded offended by the remark, but hurriedly carried on with his conversation. “My parents smell bullshit a mile away, you gotta—!”

“It's your problem now,” Rainbow hummed as she lightly tossed the urn into the less-than-expectant Twilight Sparkle's hands, before dodging around the pair and standing a good deal out of reach for Twilight (especially considering the girl had no confidence when it came to her lack of throwing ability).

“Is everything okay?” Spike's mother sounded closer that time, and her son gulped nervously as he looked around for a place to stash the object.

“I'm going to guess you hid my beer in your closet, I'll help myself.” Rainbow tossed a two-fingered salute their way before ducking down one hall and silently slipping out of sight.

“Come back, you—!” he started to shout after her, but silenced himself as she got out of earshot. “Damn it, we have to hide that—er, her... whatever!”

Scurrying around the hall, Spike looked on the shoe rack, behind the ficus, he even almost tried to see if it would fit in the light fixture. However, finding no where that proved adequate, Spike gestured for Twilight to sneak out the back door, but it was too late. As Spike’s mother rounded the corner from the living room, Twilight jumped to face her and hurriedly stashed the urn behind her back.

“Oh, um, hello. Having a nice quiet night in? Yes, I was thinking of doing the same,” Twilight started rambling almost too quickly to be coherent. Slinking and side-stepping towards to front stairs, Twilight kept firm hold of the urn she hid behind her back. “I was just about to leave—I have so much homework! I think I left some in your room, Spike.”

“Homework? I thought that you kids would get a break, after everything that happened,” Spike’s mother sounded sympathetic as she looked over at her son. Her expression settled to more suspicious though, “Or have you just been skipping out?”

“No, mom! I swear,” Spike defended himself in a nervous voice.

“Because using your friend’s untimely death as an excuse to cut classes is just disrespectful!” she continued with a shaming wag of her finger, but Twilight’s attention would be directed elsewhere.

“Psst! Up here!” Rainbow Dash’s hushed voice alerted Twilight to her position up on the stairs and out of sight, and the young girl held up Twilight’s bookbag for her to spy. “Give me Pinkie!”

“Don’t call it that, it’s creepy,” Twilight whispered back defiantly, but shut up when Spike’s mother looked over at her. “I mean, death is such a harsh word, don’t you think?”

“Twilight has just been hitting the books to keep her mind occupied—she’s really torn up about it, as you can see,” Spike tried to direct the attention back to himself, though Twilight had half a mind to snap at him for making her seem so emotional.

“Going to pass her or what?” Rainbow’s voice wondered once more, and she opened her hands to catch the aforementioned item.

“Maybe you should follow her lead, spending a bit of time being productive couldn’t hurt,” his mother responded as (behind her back) Twilight frantically passed the urn over the banister and into Rainbow’s eager hands.

“Just keep her hidden until tomorrow, got it?” Rainbow Dash quietly relayed her instructions as she slipped the oblong object into the furthest reaches of Twilight’s bookbag.

“Why me?!” Twilight sharply replied, but upon noticing the attention shift back to herself, she played it up. “Oh, why me? Why any of us? Such miserable circumstances are these that bring us great growth!”

“Is that from a play?” Spike dully muttered, finding her display a little over the top.

“Um, yes, I’m thinking of writing one,” she forced a bizarre sounding laugh that made her seem even more suspicious.

“Good luck,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

“Which, I should get back to. So I’ll just run up and get my bookbag,” she began to orate, but as she did, the bookbag was dropped haphazardly over the raining and Twilight clumsily fumbled it. After somehow managing not to drop it or spill the contents, she went on, “Oh nevermind, here it is, I’ll just be on my way then. Okay, bye!”

“How did that—?” Spike’s mother started to ask but Spike hurried to cut her off.

“Drive safe, Twilight! I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called loudly after her, waving his hand wildly back and forth until the girl disappeared from sight.

As the door clicked shut, Spike’s mother cheerily hummed before sharing her insights, “You know, you should spend more time with people like Twilight, and less with punks like Rainbow Dash. She’s making a bright future for herself. I can’t even imagine what shenanigans that Dash girl could be getting up to.”

“I can,” Spike subtly replied, but let the comment slip away as he did the same.

Twilight breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned her back against the front door, clutching her bookbag tightly against her chest. She could feel the strange, hard shape hidden beneath the rough fabric, and shakily pressed her fingers against it. It was haunting, like she held some ghost within such a familiar and personal belonging. As the tips of her digits curiously traced the slippery ceramic, she could trace the recession that indicated the line between open and closed, and the gentle scratching sound made a shiver run up her spine to imagine the dust settling with her literature.

Pushing off of the door, she scurried back towards her car (which she had tried three times to park most perfectly, and every time came up short). The sagging satchel bowed and wobbled each step like it was unfamiliar with the weight, although its seams had more than occasionally been tested by texts, notes and stationery. As she climbed through the driver’s side door of the newer model hatchback that her father had helped pay for, she rested the satchel upon her lap.

Her expression scrunched up as she looked down at the bag, as she contemplated what to do with it. Usually when she drove she would stash the bag on the passenger’s side, or leave it wrapped around her shoulder if it was thin enough at the time. But she was unsettled by the knowledge of what lurked unseen. And yet, it was still a great question to her, what indeed was hidden inside.

Curiosity was a very dangerous thing, and it provoked her to peel back the latched flap that enveloped an item of indeterminate value. As she revealed the dark urn to the shadows of the night, that midnight soapstone hue sucked the breath from her lungs like a hungry vortex. Trembling fingers felt the smoothed curves, and dusts of bones snagged on prints of skin. There was some portion that had possibly spilled from the container, or perhaps it was the graveyard dust that Rainbow Dash had forgotten to brush off. Whatever the case, it prompted further investigation.

The light above Twilight flicked on as her trained hand rose and prodded the button, providing just that much more vision. She carefully took hold of the lid and applied the twist of her wrist, feeling some resistance before it broke open. The creak and subsequent echo in the mostly empty container summoned a flinch and a fright, but Twilight carried dutifully on.

Peering into the hollows within, she stared plainly at the face of death. Dust, ash, debris, shards of bone: all these things lined the urn like all the sands in the bottom half of the hourglass. In there, time stood still. Time was lost.

The consuming pull of the deceased was strong, and Twilight had to summon all her will to yank herself away from its clutches. She struggled to put the lid back on correctly, as her haunted hands had great difficulty with the task. To bury her dear friend a second time within the confines of some earthly stone, it was cruel. But there, with the lid perhaps half on, she would remain.

“You’re going in the back,” Twilight’s shivering voice tried to adorn a commanding tone. “So you won’t get any more ash in my bookbag.”

She placed the silky black urn in the back seat and stared at it, considering whether or not to put a seatbelt on it. It was a strange thought, but she didn’t want it to spill over in her car, and maybe she did consider the meaningless contents valuable and worth protecting. As if anything else could hurt what was contained inside.

After strapping the object into place and vowing never to tell a soul about it, Twilight turned her car on and depressed the lever to release the parking brake. After checking her mirrors time and again as if Rainbow Dash might jump out of the bushes with another surprise, she shifted into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

Twilight lived quite a ways away from Spike, but she was always gracious when offering rides. Besides, she needed the drive to clear her head anyway. It had been a long day for all of them, most of whom had never attended a funeral at all.

As her eyes tried to lock of the high beams of the inconsiderate driver tailgating her, she found herself otherwise distracted. Her rearview mirror had a direct sightline to her sole passenger, and she couldn’t help but glance over time and again. With each turn, she made certain that it did not fall over; with each stop, she made certain it did not wiggle out of the seat belt. It was exhausting, and she wasn’t one who remained quiet under frustration.

“Why did Rainbow Dash think it was a good idea to dig you up, anyway? Is this some sick joke?” Twilight asked in a sharp tone, but she calmed down a little as there was (expectantly) no reply. “No, Rainbow Dash never jokes. Or always jokes. I’m not certain.”

The silence continued on when her lips fell shut, only opening when she anxiously licked them (a habit she had been trying to break). Again, the urn demanded her attention, and her narrowed eyes shot up to look at it there in her rearview. She let out a low sigh, or maybe it was a growl.

“You always thought my car was terribly dull looking. I call it practical.” She pulled slowly on the wheel until she completed another turn.

The sleek streets looked like soggy tar, shimmering in the orange streetlights and distant gleaming moon. Taking the route through downtown, Twilight eyed the splits and cracks along the road that seemed to her like creases marking pages she ought to turn back to. Wet fallen leaves stuck to the curb and storm drains, lining her runway home.

It seemed strange to be bringing Pinkie Pie’s ashes back home with her, as when the girl was alive, she very seldom stopped by Twilight’s house. The two were good friends, but Pinkie Pie prefered being out on the town or at her own house rather than burdening her friends. It seems she never wanted to burned them. Twilight’s eyes found that dark urn once more, even in the dark blinks between streetlights.

Twilight’s seat shook as she ran over a large pothole, and she tapped the breaks as the car skidded and bucked at the bump. She hurriedly checked for any damage or pull from the wheels, hoping she hadn’t ruined the alignment already. Softly releasing her startled breath, she tensed her jaw suspiciously.

“You’re very distracting, you know that,” she uttered accusingly back at the stationary statue. “You always were, I guess.”

Her frustration softened as she remembered the girl, who had once or twice got a lift in Twilight’s car. She was either shouting, texting, or holding her head out the window the whole time. Twilight was certain that once she had even reached over and honked the horn from her seat. But then again, this dirty urn was hardly a representation of the jubilant young girl it represented.

Her hands squeezed and twisted on the steering wheel, feelings the grooves of the grip that she was so accustomed to. She could see as the lights from neon signs and apartment buildings tumbled through her windshield, the way he watch had fallen down her arm a bit and revealed something to her. It was her Stopwatch, her timer. As she nervously gauged it, she found herself unable to pull away. Though it ticked and ticked regularly at first, it suddenly rolled back and began decreasing at an alarming rate. Twilight’s eyes grew wide as she watched it slip down to mere seconds, and caught sight of flashing high beams as they broke in through her side window.

Wrenching on the wheel and slamming her foot on the brake, Twilight spun out to one side under the shrieks of her tires on wet concrete. As her car lurched to a complete stop, the blaring of a deep toned horn residuated over the thumping of blood in her ears. Her saucer-sized eyes blankly watched as a furious truck driver screeched past her, and she was left stunned in the middle of some intersection.

“What… what happened?” Twilight’s hoarse voice meekly asked, and her tense hands slowly peeled off the ribs along her steering wheel. She shakily checked the Stopwatch as it read along her wrist, and breathlessly stared at it as it returned to the previous identifying markers. “Was that almost… the end?”

Though she was unsure if it had been some imagined premonition or the true fluctuation of time upon her body, she calmly settled back into her seat. Pressing her tingling hand against her forehead, she let out a gasp she had nearly strangled inside of her. She was forced out of the intersection by several irritated honks, and sheepishly drove off to the side of the road. As she pushed some stray hair back into the tie beneath a tight bun, the flash of one particular sign caught her attention.

“Sugarcube Corner,” she read aloud like it held some significance to her beyond mere rumour. Rumour, in fact, that had been told from the mouth of the freshly deceased. “That’s the club that you always went to, wasn’t it?”

Her hardened gaze fell upon the urn once more, and though it had tipped slightly to one side, it remained upright and suspicious. The way the object stared back at her, as if taunting her with a cocked head, it drove her mad. Twilight didn’t wait for a response, but clicked her tongue and twinged in frustration.

“What are you trying to tell me? You still want me to go out and enjoy myself, even after what all that has done to you?! You could have gotten me killed, do you realize that?!” she found herself shouting at the still object in her back seat. “Why are you haunting me? What did I ever do to you, Pinkie Pie?”

The urn made no move to respond, as surely it could not. Instead, the container only slipped slightly further out of the seatbelt that fastened it to its place. Twilight yanked on her own seatbelt, enough so that she could turn back and glower as though she could possibly intimidate an inanimate object.

“I can’t bring you home if you’re—you’re possessed!” she cried out, but again, nothing shifted except Twilight in her seat. “If I bring you somewhere else, will you leave me alone? Rarity or Fluttershy might be more, more, I don’t know, compassionate or sentimental. They’ll be better with appeasing whatever unrest you’re displaying here. Do we have a deal?”

Even without a reply, she had made her mind up. Getting back to her drive (though the route had been altered), Twilight tried better to focus on the road rather than whom she was transporting. Considering that Rarity lived quite close, it seemed like the most viable option. Her family’s townhouse was close to the downtown area (in something of a less than ideal neighbourhood due to her father’s inability to find work lately).

Twilight shifted into the narrow lot behind the compact townhouses reserved for visitor parking, which was riddled with cracks from improper pouring of concrete and potholes eroded into the drive. There were several spots occupied by rusted vehicles that seemed to have broken down months or years prior, as Twilight recognized them well. The most well maintained property on the square was easily identifiable as Rarity’s residence, and her father still kept his expensive luxury car to keep up appearances.

There was just enough space for Twilight’s car to squeeze in, though the hatchback jutted out a foot or so farther into the alley than the dumpster beside her. Parking in such a place made her very nervous, so after checking all mirrors twice and hurriedly stuffing the urn back into her book bag, she carefully crawled out of the car and made certain to lock every door. Her car was alarmed anyway, but she was quite fearful of losing the car her parents had bought for her and having to face them about it.

To spend less time walking around the building to get to the front door, Twilight slid her phone between her ear and shoulder and called Rarity to come meet her at the rear. It only took a few beats until her friend arrived, ushering her through the screen door and into the much warmer house. With a shiver, Twilight’s shoes slipped off her feet and she hustled alongside Rarity towards her bedroom.

“What was so urgent that you had to see me in person, darling? I can’t imagine my house was anywhere along your route home,” Rarity curiously inquired, peering over at the face of her clearly nervous friend.

“It’s very important, I assure you. I’m talking life or death,” Twilight spat out in a fluster, brushing her uneven bangs behind her ear.

“Goodness, you can’t be serious?!” A gasp escaped her mouth next, though she politely covered it with her hand. “After what we just went through with Pinkie?”

“A matter of unfortunate timing and lack of quick wit has left me in the possession of something most foul,” her voice sunk dangerously low as her hand slid over the buckles of her satchel. She did not unlatch it yet, not until she had safely entered the privacy of her friend’s bedroom.

“Is it,” she hesitated saying the words aloud, and when she did, it was in a whisper, “a sex toy?”

“What?” It was Fluttershy’s astounded yelp that came next, and Twilight just then became aware that she was sitting on the edge of Rarity’s bed.

“Uh,” Twilight was about to comment on Fluttershy’s presence, when she registered what Rarity had questioned first. “Wait, sex toy?”

“Did Spike slip you some… ‘natural green’?” The word sounded wonderfully foreign on her plump and coloured lips, but as brilliant as it was to hear such a thing, Twilight focused on the topic.

“No, certainly not. Please be serious,” Twilight monotonously told her.

“I thought I was,” Rarity sounded unsure of herself, but let her friend continue.

“This was no boyhood rebellion, this was Rainbow Dash’s handiwork.” Her hand twitched on the clips, and she slowly began to open her bag.

“Same thing,” Rarity murmured with a pleased tune, amused with herself.

“I can’t bring this home, so can you please take care of it for me until I figure out what to do with it?” Twilight removed the object from deep within her bag, feeling some stray specks of dust pinned between her digits and the soapstone.

Holding it up for the pair to see, she elicited both a startled gasp and a near shout, the latter coming from Fluttershy’s devastated expression. Rarity composed herself quickly, and curiously tilted her head as if she was pretending to be unsure of what it was. Meanwhile the other startled girl in the room had to stave off the feeling of a faint coming on.

“Is, is t-that,” Fluttershy meekly began, but spoke so slowly that it was uncertain if she would finish at all.

“A decorative vase?” Rarity tried to chime in, though such a thing was unlikely.

“I’m afraid not. Rainbow Dash dug it up and made me handle it, but there’s so way that I can keep it from my parents, and driving with it in my new car is precarious.” The focus of the room was still on the oblong object clutched in Twilight’s small hands. “It still contains the remains of our dear friend.”

“That can’t be so,” Rarity denied such a fact, but before Twilight could assure her, she continued on with agreement to the terms. “But of course, I’ll watch your cute little vase. It’s quite charming indeed.”

Rarity took the urn readily from Twilight’s hands and strolled over to her closet. At first, she looked for the perfect place to display it, but something irked her about the idea. Again she went to try and find space, this time in her wardrobe closet and on shelves inside, but there was too little space after it was stuffed with her clothes and projects. Instead, she rustled around in a few boxes to the left until finding some space to stash it. As she turned around, she found Twilight gently consoling her upset friend.

“Was that all, Twilight? I hate to be a rude host, but I have a project that I need to get back to. Im sure you wouldn’t be too fond of hanging around while I work,” Rarity tried to sweep the subject under the rug, and returned to her work station with a dignified stride.

“I have to be getting home actually, it’s almost my curfew,” Twilight concurred curtly, touching the bun in her hair to make certain she didn’t look as dishevelled as she felt.

“Stay safe,” Fluttershy uttered quietly, though even she was a little embarrassed and unsure why she said it at all.

“I will,” Twilight replied with a friendly smile.

The academic young lady left her friend’s room promptly, never one to overstay her welcome. However, there was a shift in the atmosphere since she arrived, and it left the remaining two occupants in silence. It wasn’t usually so uncomfortable, but there was tension, and whether or not they admitted it, their minds were stuck in the thick tar of thought.

Pulling the heavy hood over her head, Fluttershy peaked out from behind the pink hair dangling in front of her eyes. Her original reason for visiting her friend had been to discuss and possibly weep over the funeral just hours earlier, but seeing Rarity projecting no signs of grief, there was no need. She supposed that she still needed the fabric swatches that Rarity had done up for the drama club’s play, but there was little else to discuss. The remainder of the night was filled with nothing but the gentle hum of a sewing machine, and the anxious shuffling and finiking of Fluttershy’s awkward hands.

“Fluttershy, I might be a tad absorbed by this little project of mine, I do apologize,” Rarity murmured beyond the noisy machine.

“It’s alright, I understand,” she quietly replied, perhaps realizing that it was a better time for some to dive into hobbies than to dwell on painful things.

Stopping once to adjust her red-framed (and seldom worn) glasses and brush aside a frazzled stray strand of hair, she resumed her work. “The mock-ups are in a box over there, if you’d like to critique them. We’re still on for this Saturday, yes?”

“Oh, um, of course,” the shy woman muttered, twirling her own loose strand of hair. “It’s just that, are you sure you don’t want me to stay a little longer?”

“Tut-tut, Fluttershy, I require focus. And as much as I would love for you to keep me company, I must enter… the zone,” her voice took on a dull monotone, all the while Fluttershy kept her eyes glued to the bouncing wavy locks of her friend.

“I might need the company,” Fluttershy whispered, turning away in the direction of the box of costume designs and preliminary makes.

Nothing else would escape her mouth. Resigned to her removal from her friend’s home, Fluttershy dragged her feet across the room, hoping to prolong her presence as long as possible. The urge to constantly work had overtaken her friend, and she presumed to know the reason behind it. Alas, there was nothing she could do.

Thin, fragile fingers brushed against the cardboard sides, the scraping noise agitating Fluttershy’s ears for the briefest of moments. With a quick heft, she lifted the box off the ground and made her way towards the exit, stopping to glance back at the fashionista.

“Uh, goodbye, I guess,” Fluttershy said in a way that addressed nobody or nothing in particular.

Rarity remained ever ignorant of her friend’s vain attempts to stay and muttered something along the lines of a goodbye. Something compelled Fluttershy to stay regardless, but the unending silence eerily reminded her that someone special to her was no longer present. Swallowing a pool of saliva, she finally stepped out of the bedroom and made for the exit.

After a chilling near half hour waiting on Rarity’s stoop for her mother to get ready and come pick her up, Fluttershy was finally on her way home. While alone, the girl tormented herself by rereading old text messages (most of which had guiltily little to no responses on her end of the conversation) or perusing blurry camera roll photos. In almost every picture, including those of a whole group, Fluttershy was often the one standing right next to Pinkie Pie. And yet while it seemed her responsibility to know her dear friend best, she had failed everyone.

There was hardly any distance between Rarity’s house and her own, though Fluttershy’s residence was much more cosy and lived-in. It was an old, character home in a significantly nicer suburb near the university. The shallow roof made the whole place look like it was crouching, but her mother always praised that it had a charm to it that most buyers overlooked. Fluttershy might have agreed, if the sprawling layout didn’t make her feel utterly alone without the company of a spry young lady whom had so recently passed.

Fluttershy placed the box of costumes on her bed, the same place that most of her regularly used clothes ended up. Sitting down next to the rounds and folds of her messy comforter, she sighed a solemn breath that would succumb to the otherwise silent bedroom. Her phone charger laid lazily on the bedside table, and for a second she thought that plugging it in might summon the usual late night call from Pinkie Pie. But she had to come to terms that her call log would be much shorter these days.

Taking Rarity’s unspoken advice, Fluttershy decided to busy herself with a distraction. That distraction was the box of obligations to her class that rested beside her, and she shifted her knees to curl up and face it. It was an improvement, certainly, upon her earlier designs, and suited the tale better. The era was well represented, and the fabric seemed more natural and representative of the quality at the time. But as she moved a mock-up of a button-up, she froze in horror.

Stashed in the box with the rest of the costumes was the rounded soapstone urn containing what she presumed was Pinkie Pie’s ashes.

“Ahh!” she shrieked in surprise.

Her already trembling hands turned cold, and if anyone would have been there to witness it, they would have testified that all colour drained from her face. As she uneasily brought it closer to herself, she accidentally almost dropped the weighted object, causing some of the delicate dust to slip off of the lid and settle on her sheets. She frantically tried to sweep it off, but placing the urn down on the pillow next to her own left a small line of what could well have been parts of Pinkie that had accompanied her in sleepovers where they had shared that bed before.

With a sharp scream, Fluttershy grabbed the urn and set it on the dresser across the room from the foot of her bed. Her breathing laboured, she shakily shook out her comforter and nearly fell back onto the raised queen size mattress. Eyes wide and both hands clasped over her chest, she gawked at the visitor that she had not invited.

It looked terribly still and dead, the black hues swept about by thin lines of ivory and flecks of moonlight. A cold, statuesque representation of a soul lost. It felt as though it looked right back at her, perched on her waist-high dresser with the fraction crooked lid curiously observing her.

A slow and careful swallow made room for a hoarse question, “P-Pinkie Pie, is that… r-really you?”

It was as expected, with no answer returning. But Fluttershy could have sworn that she would have known what Pinkie would have said. It would have been loud, it would have been cheery, it might have shared something unspoken that she did not have the capacity to understand. She twitched uneasily as she felt attention, though she should not have felt such a thing at all.

“The only time we’ve spoken and you’ve been quiet was when I,” found you, was the end of that sentence. But she almost choked on either saliva or sobs. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you—it—this. I must sound so silly.”

She shook her head, as if it could shake away the sensations she was trying to ignore. Suddenly she was disinterested in doing anything productive, and almost angrily snatched the box of secrets and decorations, tossing it onto the floor. Without following through with any of her usual bedtime routines, she slapped the light off and jumped into bed so swiftly that the cover was the slowest thing to settle down over her tense body. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but that gave her no solace. No matter how she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t really there, she could feel so nearly unnoticeable bits of dirt or dust or ash. It was all around her, in her hair, against her fingers and toes, and it drove her mad.

She woke abruptly to the sound of her phone vibrating on the bedside table, though she had not remembered leaving it there. As it did not ring again, she imagined that it was a text. As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and crawled over to the table, she groggily entered her password and tried to comprehend the message.

Imagining the brash young girl’s voice, she read over the message that she could have known was from Rainbow Dash even if she hadn’t seen the identifier of who sent it hanging on top of the screen, “Hey kiddo, you’re coming to the hill tomorrow night. Just like trust me or some shit. Text the details later. So, later yo.”

Fluttershy blinked a few times like it might change the message, but it did not. As she dropped the phone back in its place and rolled around, she was alarmed by the sensation of small particles in her bed. Nearly flailing herself clean out of the mess of covers, she bolted to the other side of the bed.

There, across the room, clad in what seemed like an imagined shadow, was the urn that had been solemnly watching her slumber. Her eyes combatted the darkness as she tried to come up with a reasonable size to rate the object, but the lack of light made it nearly impossible to identify. Slinking back under the comforter like it was the arms of some maternal figure she thought she had outgrown, Fluttershy reminded herself of how insane it seemed to be afraid of an inanimate object such at that, no matter what it contained.

She gradually settled in as she realized how loud she might have been in the otherwise occupied house. Telling herself that it was no big deal, that she was overreacting, that sleep would make her feel better and make everything disappear for a short time, she managed to fade into the darkness behind her eyelids once more.

The urn was so black that Fluttershy wasn’t certain it might hold any light, or that anything good might emerge. She thought these things as she grasped it tighter than she probably should have, so firmly that the tips of her fingers turned white.

Around her, the rest of the day had seemed to succumb to the influence of such a devilish thing, as the sun hid away beneath the horizon long ago. She had arrived much earlier than the others, due to her lack of will to stay another moment longer with that cursed thing watching her. It was a very quiet evening, like the whole world was silently mourning. It had her on edge.

“Fluttershy, that you?” a particular twang accompanied the question, though both made Fluttershy jump with a start.

“O-Oh, um, Applejack, it’s just you,” the introverted girl shook nearly as much as her voice, and Applejack noticed her strange behaviour immediately.

“Just me, well ain’t that the most flatterin’ greetin’ a girl could ask for,” she teased, causing Fluttershy to try to stammer some apology. Judging from the crooked Stetson on her head, she had driven to the hill, as she always carried that thing around in her Jeep.

“I didn’t mean it like, like that, or mean, or anything, or,” her words jumped around and her numbing fingers wiggled over what ominous object she clutched.

“It’s fine kiddo, I was jus’ playin’,” Applejack eased her, but Fluttershy was a little bothered by the way she had adopted Rainbow Dash’s belittling colloquialism of her. They must have thought it was endearing, as Applejack often spoke in casual means, and likely didn’t intend harm.

She was never one to speak up about such things, though, and instead settled for the usual unsolicited, “Sorry.”

“So that’s her, ain’t it?” The words were few, but they spoke of some grandeur unmentioned.

“Her…?” Fluttershy flinched as she realized what Applejack intended, and she slowly raised the object between them as though she was afraid it might crack if she was not careful. She wasn’t fond of mentioning the contents, so Applejack’s mention of a familiar pronoun was hard to accept. “Oh, well, yes. I guess so.”

“It’s small, real small. Who’dda thought we could be stuffed into somethin’ this size, after all? After everythin’? Reduced t’ th’ stuff we sweep up under the carpets.” Applejack softly noted, walking right up and very gently retrieving the urn from Fluttershy’s grasping hands. She reverently looked upon it, as though all fear or disdain was wiped from her mind, and through such an admiring expression, Fluttershy’s conscience was temporarily cleared too. “Must be mighty quiet inside all that stone. A welcome change, maybe.”

“Maybe,” she wasn’t sure how to respond, but that maternal and compassionate gleam in her friend’s eyes gave her an overwhelming sense of security.

“I dunno what my Rainbow’s got t’ thinkin’, but I’m sure she means well.” The blonde lowered the urn into one arm as though she was holding a toddler against her side.

Fluttershy staved off a rude scoff, annoyed about the entire situation that they had been thrown into on Rainbow’s whim. “Does she ever mean well?”

“I can understand how y’might see that,” Applejack smiled as she spoke of her dearest companion, and seemed to leave the statement dangling between them.

“Ahh, there you are!” another voice cut in. Fluttershy had seen Rarity and Twilight approaching from behind Applejack, but had said nothing. Rarity spoke again, “Fluttershy dear, I told you that Twilight was coming to pick me up. She would have gladly given you a ride too, had you not been ignoring my calls.”

“You had us pretty worried,” Twilight added seriously, remembering their last friend who ignored calls before a meeting at the usual spot.

“I didn’t mean to, my mom was just going into town and offered me a ride.” It was a flimsy and easy excuse, but it went unquestioned.

“How long have you been here?” Rarity tried another inquiry while adjusting her fluffy earmuffs, her knowing gaze prompting a truthful response.

“Maybe an hour.” It was no wonder that her fingers and toes had begun to lose sensation, even after being wrapped up so tightly.

Fluttershy nervously tugged at the little ends of olive coloured sweater that stuck out from beneath her pale jacket. She would have instinctively checked her Stopwatch, as she had done incessantly while alone in the company of the oblong shape of soapstone, but the tightened wrists of her windbreaker prevented her prying eyes. Twilight and Applejack exchanged worried gazes, but neither spoke up about it.

“Well don’t tell me that we have to wait on Rainbow Dash,” Rarity huffed irritably as she crossed her arms in protest.

“She’s just about here, an’ she’s got Spike with ‘er,” Applejack explained simply, shuffling the urn to her other arm so she could put one hand into a pocket.

She was correct, as Rainbow Dash had just finished parking her car (which actually started for once, and trudged on long enough to pick up Spike and get them both to the hill). The bright-headed young girl jumped out of her MGB and stretched her legs, as they were quite cramped in the little convertible, hence why she always had the seat pushed all the way back. Spike had just as hard of a time, being the tallest of the bunch and often holding himself tightly for dear life when driving with his friend.

“I’m alive, by some miracle,” Spike grumbled as he nearly fell out of the car, as it was significantly lower to the ground than he was used to.

“That miracle is my insanely awesome driving skills, thank you.” She took a bow as she locked her car up tightly with a few jimmies of the keys in the door.

“Can we just get this over with already? I don’t want to get caught with all this shit,” he murmured as he swung the backpack at the length of his arm.

“Give me that,” Rainbow growled as she snatched her bag from his unsuspecting hand, throwing it roughly over her shoulders and tightening the bright straps. “Besides, you’re more than old enough to start working on your own damn rap sheet by now, man up.”

“My parents are right, you’re a terrible influence.” He made a face as he followed after her, hoping to push her buttons a bit.

“Tell your parents they can suck my ass,” she grumbled through the filter of a cigarette, which she was currently lighting. “And you shouldn’t be in such a rush all the time anyway. Try to have a little fun, will you?”

“You sound like Pinkie,” Spike quietly remarked, though he tried to fix the dip in mood by adding a few more insults to the mix. “A very bitchy Pinkie, if she had the voice of a chain-smoking fifteen-year-old boy.”

“Shots fired, shit.” Rainbow laughed and tapped the end of her smoke with her thumb. “At least my balls dropped by the time I was fifteen.”

“Do I even want to know what you two are going on about?” Rarity asked sarcastically as the two came into earshot and line of sight.

Rainbow Dash shrugged at the prospect, but walked right past the woman to whom she responded, “Probably.”

Her first instinct was to smile at the woman she loved, seeing Applejack almost immediately. However, what that small blonde held tucked beneath an arm that often draped around Rainbow Dash, that did not elicit any warm expression. With a forced laugh, Rainbow approached the green eyed girl and tried to tangle some charm into her tone.

“Bet you and Pinkie have a few questions about all this, right?” her voice raised in query, and she propped her knuckles up on her hips to appear decided. “I hope she hasn’t been talking your ear off, AJ.”

“I trust you’ve got somethin’ of a plan, don’t cha?” Applejack hoped, greeting her girlfriend with a quick kiss and a squeeze of the hand.

“You have too much faith in her,” Spike murmured in something that sounded like irritation or distaste, looking away at the sight of their little signs of affection as if it made him uncomfortable.

“Oh come off it, Che.” Rainbow Dash caught the attitude in his words and strode over to him like she was about to scold him, but there was a playful spark in her words instead of the violent outburst he anticipated. “You’re gonna love it.”

She lightly flicked his nose, causing a startled flinch from the pink-haired kid. His fluster and the subtle rosiness in his cheeks was masked by the darkness and completely missed or ignored by the girl who swung her bright backpack off of her shoulder. As she startled to rifle through it blindly, she gestured for Spike to retrieve the urn that Applejack was still holding. Their exchange was polite and awkward, Applejack and Spike’s, but the urn changed hands anyway.

Rainbow approached the most open and flat area of the field, which happened to be near the highest point (which was only now clear because of the removal of trees for the upcoming construction plans). Squatting down and slumping the worn bag between her knees, she fully parted the zippers and began removing some of the contents. Behind her, Twilight, Rarity and Fluttershy all shifted side to side and traded expressions of anxiety and suspicion.

“Well, while you’re down there,” Spike started, and Rainbow snorted as she noticed his innuendo.

“Yeah, I’ll set your balls on fire while I’m down here, that’s what I’ll do,” Rainbow Dash retorted aggressively, watching the boy out the side of her eyes. Raising her hand out in his direction, she got back on topic. “Give me the shit already.”

“Is this going to work? I mean, have you done this kind of thing before?” Spike wondered in a whisper, glancing back at the other girls to make sure they weren’t trying to get too close.

“This isn’t my first time, freshman,” she teased him as she snatched the urn from him and tossed the lid off. “Though I’ve never used a dead friend’s ashes before, or done anything quite this big.”

“That’s what she—” Spike paused as he remembered the part about ashes, and winced before following through with, “said.”

“Um, ew. But you do you, boo.” Rainbow shoved two parts of a cylindrical object together after tinkering with it a bit. Inspecting the thing over once more, she seemed pretty pleased with it, and continued on to duplicate the procedure.

“Is everything okay over there?” Twilight’s voice carried over from her spot beside the other girls. “Should we be worried?”

“Duh,” Rainbow called back loudly to one of the questions, not pausing in her duties. “Okay, it’s just about ready. Got your lighter?”

“I’m going to do it?” Spike gulped in surprise and mild fear.

“Well sure, that way if we get caught, I go down for making the things, and you go down for reckless endangerment, and a few more measly misdemeanours. Good luck.” She swung her now mostly empty bag back over one shoulder and held the urn something like a football under her arm.

“Anything I should know before I do it?” Spike watched her saunter back over to the group, not even stalling to reply.

“You’d better not have skipped track and field!” Rainbow Dash called back as she flashed him a wink. As she made it to the other girls, she gestured for them all to move back a few paces. “All right, you’re going to want to stand back a ways.”

“What is all this, anyway?” Rarity was the next to pose a question.

“Whatever it is, it sounds dangerous.” Twilight crossed her arms as she followed the directions to scoot back.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of Pinkie Pie spending eternity in a little box, underground,” Rainbow Dash’s tone became somewhat more solemn or sincere, and Applejack smiled as she was warmed by the sentiment.

“When she was little, she was terrified of the dark,” Fluttershy whispered in a sad hush, causing a brief moment of silence.

“Pinkie once told me that when she died, she wanted to be blasted off to the moon. Sounded like a joke, but it really does seem like what she’d want.” Rainbow Dash started up again, looking up at the dark evening sky. With a calm exhale, she raised her arm and proposed a thumbs-up for Spike to see from the spot she left him. “As much as I’d like to make that happen for her, this is the best that I’ve got.”

A hissing sound accompanied a distant flicker by Spike’s feet, and he backed up slowly with his gaze set upon the contraption. After several anticipatory seconds, Spike curiously stepped back towards it as nothing of interest ensued. He nearly jumped out of his jacket as the thing went off, hollering and spinning like a rocket into the sky.

Fire and sparks rained down along the trail left by the projectile, and it whistled until it nearly turned black in the dark sky. A burst and a booming clap ignited the whole hill, a flaming circle of dancing lights that slowly dwindled and sank to the ground. The whole lot of them watched in awe as the twinkling particles settled to dust and smoke.

“Fireworks,” Rainbow Dash stated simply, proudly spectating as Spike bent down to light another explosive.

“I’ll say,” Rarity agreed as she gawked.

“Did you make those?” Twilight inquired, though the answer was clear enough.

“I keep the recipe card between Enchiladas and Flan.” Her remark went mostly unheard as another projectile screamed into the sky and erupted into a rain of glitter.

“It’s beautiful, Dash,” Applejack murmured serenely, removing her old driving hat by the wide brim and placing it gently over her heart.

Spike could do nothing but stare ever so intently at the sparkles, ignorant to a falling bone fragment landing by his feet. Never having seen such a thing in his life prior, it went by easily overlooked. As a cool breeze swept the hilltop, rustling each blade of grass. As he went to take his gentle, serene next breath, a small cloud of thin dark powder hit his face, blinding the boy from the stellar light show above. With the ash stained onto his flesh, he gasped in surprise, inhaling some of the fine grainy ash that had not fully dissolved in the firework. Immediately, he began heaving and coughing something like his seldom present grandfather (who had smoked handfuls of homemade cigarettes every day since the Great War), snaring the attention of those around him.

“Are you smoking over there? Can you not wait? Have some respect.” Twilight groaned disappointedly, stepping away from any potential cannabis smoke that might waft towards her.

The sounds coming from Spike’s mouth may have been considered a defence or dispute, yet a few others followed Twilight and stepped away from the boy currently choking on what seemed to be the remains of their deceased comrade.

“Oh god,” a breathless gasp tried to interrupt the syntax. “Make it stop!” Spike wheezed as he desperately punched himself in the chest as if trying to repel the substance from his airways.

Quicker than most, Rainbow caught on to Spike’s desperate ails as another small bone fragment landed on her shoe, drawing her attention to the situation. Dancing sky snakes of smoke and smog drifted down from the fading bursts of light, and it was clear that Spike’s troubles were caused by being too near to this. With a snort, Rainbow shook a chortle loose from her lips and her eyes gazed at the dimming fireworks once more. She shuffled closer to her freckled woman and grazed her fingers over Applejack’s.

“Good one, Pinks,” Rainbow whispered to herself as Spike caught his breath, wiping the ash from his eyes. “You’re still making us laugh.”

Fluttershy neglected the chill on her thin lips, sucking icy air through her parted teeth as though she was famished for it. Rarity (who for once was disconcerned with vanity as her hair gathered microscopic flecks of ash), if for a moment, seemed to recall the absence of her friend and the reality of the situation around her. The thought that the brash and abrasive Rainbow Dash was capable of creating such a beautiful moment, it seemed incredible. But there was no sadness, not in this moment. The imagined echoes of a bubbly laugh triggered the smallest of smirks in her porcelain perfect face. It was something that suddenly felt so entirely unnatural.

Twin bursts erupted at once, and the glimmering patterns painted the sky magical. As the twinkling lights became nothing but traces of stars, the slow tails of smoke went as unnoticed as all traces of foreshadowing that Pinkie had left (like landmarks on a poorly drawn treasure map) in her wake. Yet against the stark midnight canvas, pirouetting particles of frosting precipitation flipped through the night sky towards the distracted crowd.

It was early in the autumn for snow to have fallen, but it sure suited a tragic time for many things to have fallen so soon. With mercury dipping below the point of considered freezing, those few souls were solidified beneath the hanging illumination; a personification of the most vibrant young girl that had blazed before them. The final few fireworks slammed against the troposphere, Spike stifled his troublesome coughing and fell into line beside what friends he had left.

With snowflakes clinging desperately to their clothing, the remaining young company leaned together like hollow frames of straw and skin, swinging in the wind’s singing. Whistles and shouts of munitions echoed across the valley and cusps of the river, yet faded into the perhaps silence known by inhabitants of such a cold place. Finally, six souls were stranded beneath the massive universe.

The unnatural sounds of the city filled the void left by the bombastic fireworks above: car horns, various large engine vehicles revving, gusts screaming past high rises. None of the mortal few (who seemed insignificant beneath the booming blast of the created lights dwindling to memory and fabrication) dared to be the first to speak. After all, what possible sound could do justice to the moment?

A familiar high-frequency siren squeaked through the air, accompanied by red and blue lights approaching the park. However, the twirling illumination and telling iteration was an interruption for those who for a moment thought they were alone in good company. It wasn’t entirely surprising, but it did wake them from their dazzled dreaming. The first person to react was none other than the creator of the fireworks, whose body stiffened as she recognized the agency and authority such sounds and sights held.

“Shit, scatter!” Rainbow hunched down and broke into a mad dash towards her vehicle, tugging the protesting Applejack behind her by barely a fingertip.

“Are we going to prison?!” Rarity called after her fleeing friend in a terrified tone.

“This whole shenanigan is illegal, but surely any rational officer might listen to—” Twilight tried to be reasonable, but another frantic cry interrupted her.

“I’ll never make it out of there alive!” Fluttershy squealed before crushing her bitten fingernails between her chattering teeth.

“Peace!” Spike called back as he took off after his fastest friend.

Author's Note

It's a leap day miracle! Another chapter at last, only about a year late. I'm hopefully going to try to catch up, but I doubt I'll be able to update as quickly as I used to. Arby Works and I have a lot of plans for this fic, so do continue reading, and follow me on Twitter for more teasers and bonuses!
Laterrrr

"The Supplication of a Dead Man’s Hand"

***

"The Supplication of a Dead Man’s Hand"

It was finally the day, one that had been most dreaded since the funeral (which was weeks ago but hardly forgotten, despite earnest attempts). The principal had initially gone to Twilight individually, but the girl had insisted that she not be the only one to perform the task. As such, the rest of the dearly resting student’s closest few friends had been drafted to clean and organize the few belongings their deceased peer left in her locker. Not that it was a duty that bore much esteem or one that was particularly desired, but one that had to be done. And it had to be done with the greatest of respect, something that the task force would attempt to portray.

Despite the sentimental importance of their job, Rarity resigned herself to merely flipping through the pages of the first interesting item that she had come across: namely a celebrity magazine. The halls were much less populated than usual because of the morbid atmosphere, but she found that it just made distracting herself all the easier. She slid her lace clad finger between two slivers of paper and flipped the colourful page as if it was much more enthralling than she actually found it. With her gloves stretching all the way under her three-quarter length sleeves and the masking of excessive foundation beneath the fabric, there was no possible way she might accidentally spot the numerical value of her own mortality.

“There’s that mathematics textbook she always claimed to have forgotten at home,” Twilight narrated as Fluttershy removed said object from it’s deceitful place behind scattered jewelry and accessories.

“I didn’t mind sharing mine with her,” Fluttershy murmured quietly, her eyelids falling fondly as her fingers traced the impressions left on the hard cover from when Pinkie Pie would jot notes to pass through the class.

“You’re not going to start crying again, are you?” Rainbow Dash asked with some disdainful tone, or perhaps it was uneasiness or disgust. Regardless, she made a scrunched up expression beneath the hang of her long black beanie to accompany her query.

“That’s why I put you two on sentimental sorting,” Twilight pointed a pen at the rude young girl and her blonde company, pausing from her inventory to tuck some stray hairs into her messy bun and adjust her crooked glasses. “Now Fluttershy, any more texts, or are we moving on to clothing yet?”

“Um, just a few notebooks. This one is hardly used, it could be recycled. But,” her voice quivered as her hands mirrored the motion, and she retrieved the other old notebook. It was stuffed with spare pieces of loose leaf paper, torn or worn down along the cardboard corners, and the wire binding had begun to twist out of shape. “I-I remember this one. It was where she kept her doodles, and ideas, and notes. She always carried this when…”

“I’ll take that, thank you very much,” Rainbow snatched it out of her weak hands and tossed it to Applejack casually, knowing to keep anything that might jerks some tears out away from the fragile girl.

“Thank you for keeping us on schedule,” Twilight iterated her appreciation and approval. Tugging her cardigan sleeve down over her wrists, she continued. “Who would have thought you could be so productive.”

“Uh, wow, uncalled for.” A click on her tongue accompanied the response.

“Do I have to be here?” the only boy in the group groaned and slammed his back against a nearby locker. “It seems like you guys have this handled, or whatever.”

“And cue Che acting all angsty in the corner. Truly tough as nails, fam. You’ve got us all fooled for sure.” The bright-headed girl scoffed and ignored the insulted look on Spike’s face.

“No I’m not. But I am sure bored, and this shit is trash,” he argued defiantly, his voice cracking as he tried to make his point. “No one wants all this garbage in her locker anyway, and I’m literally just standing here watching.”

“You’re fine doing that with porn though, right?” Rainbow casually remarked.

“Well then how about you do the clothes, Spike?” It was Twilight who handed him an article of Pinkie’s clothing, perhaps just to shut him up.

“I can’t even express how little interest I have in doing that,” he murmured in a curmudgeon tone, holding the object at the full extent of his arm and identifying it as a hoodie she once threw up in (and likely on).

“Can you please just help out? Please?” Twilight almost begged, though somehow it seemed like she was patronizing him.

He held his tongue as he thought up an appropriate response, but finally settled for being decent and succumbing to her pleadings. “Yeah, fine.”

His sneer searched the item reluctantly, turning it over in his hand twice before gathering the gall to dip his hands into the pockets. The first thing he found was cringeworthy, some kind of hard candy that was stuck to the lining of the pocket that left some crisp and crusty residue no matter how slowly he removed it. Scraping his tongue against his teeth like it might remove some foul taste in his mouth, he continued to sift through the sagging sweatshirt.

Though his attention span was short (especially considering he had so recently sucked fire through some grounded greenery he had hurriedly shoved into a nearly obsolete pipe he purchased at a smoke shop because he was pressured by the salesman to buy it and too proud to walk out with nothing), something sparked intrigue. In the left hand pocket, his fingers traced something that felt like a thin piece of plastic—the wrapper of that stray candy, perhaps. But the more he fondled it, the more he realized that it felt something like an undersized plastic bag.

Knowing how reckless Pinkie Pie had become lately, it was anyone’s guess what was hidden inside this ripped sweater, but Spike’s mind ran wild with ideas. Either way, he certainly thought that it was something valuable. Upon closer inspection (he cupped his hand with the item inside and caught a very slight glance under the shadow of the pocket), it looked very much like what he predicted: a clear bag with white, permissive contents. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t risk taking it out and looking at it, in case someone saw and snatched it from him. As such, he acted like the whole article was disinteresting and slung it over his arm, careful to position his free hand nearest to his devious desire.

“Hey, uh, what’s all that crap in the bottom of her locker?” Spike tried to direct attention away from himself.

“Her locker is full of stuff, Spike. Pictures, clothes, old food, school work—or I suppose, lack thereof,” their most organized friend prattled on in an annoyed tone, incessantly tapping her red ballpoint against the clipboard she gripped like she anticipated sawing one end off of it.

“Why do you always talk about her like that,” Fluttershy passive aggressively interjected, like she was offended on Pinkie’s behalf.

“Like what? Realistically?” The most studious of the bunch pressed her clipboard against her chest and moved closer to the locker. “I’m not going to suppose she was perfect. She was real, we all are. And maybe if we had all been a little more involved, or tried harder to understand what all these numbers were saying…”

“What, she’d be alive?” Rainbow snorted at the prospect, shaking her head. “Sometimes, people just die. I mean, somebody has got to. You can’t keep everyone alive, or save us all or anything. Someone has to die. So that we all start noticing shit and cherishing it.”

“That’s,” Applejack spoke at last, though she wasn’t sure how to put it, “Sweet, I guess. In your crass way.”

“Great things don’t need to be said perfectly, love.” She winked at her girlfriend flirtatiously, shuffling the pictures in her hands that she had taken from under the magnets on Pinkie’s locker door.

“Oh, shoot,” Twilight chirped in a startled voice, though it was almost unheard under the clacking sound of her glasses falling from her face and hitting the scuffed laminate.

Twilight had been leaning in to see into the darkness of Pinkie’s locker when she had forgotten how loose her worn glasses were over her ears, which allowed them to leap to the floor. Spike took this opportunity, however, to quickly transfer the questionable, plastic sealed item into his own pocket. He covered it up by adjusting his undercarriage with a shift of his thigh and hoped no one noticed either move.

“This whole catalogue is très last season,” Rarity obliviously recounted her reading, sighing as she went back to the beginning to peruse it again.

“Il est inutile d'utiliser un mot français dans une phrase anglaise,” an irritable grumble came from Twilight’s chapped lips, but Rarity made no move to respond whether she understood the jab or not. “You may continue on to the bulk of the locker now Fluttershy. There’s nothing else on the top shelf, is there?”

“Um…” Fluttershy’s solemn eyes traced the small square object she had pressed against the rear wall along the shelf (which only she and Spike would have been tall enough to see, if the boy cared to glance inside). “No. It’s empty.”

“Wonderful. Carry on, are there any more clothes Spike can sort for us?” It seemed like she was trying to include him to make him feel better, but his expression betrayed her intentions.

“Two scarves, one leg warmer, and a crop top cardigan,” she meekly identified the articles as she passed them over to the reluctant Spike.

“Put it together, and we’ve got one really ridiculous outfit,” Rainbow Dash snidely commented.

“You can’t call it an outfit without any bottoms, Rainbow Dash,” Rarity stated like she was only half listening.

“You’re right. No pants? I call it sexy.” She slammed her back against the locker and looked Applejack over like she was dressing her down.

“Eww,” Spike grunted as he tossed the useless articles of clothing into the cardboard box beside the locker.

“I ain’t wearin’ it, whatever you call it,” Applejack replied in an even tone, pausing to look at one photograph she held in her thin fingers. “Hey, remember this?”

“That was at the Freshman Fair, wasn’t it?” Rainbow peered over at it curiously.

“She must have taken a thousand pictures that day, and dripped melted ice cream all over her brand new camera,” Twilight recalled accurately, a twitch of a smile crossing her features before they sunk back to stone.

Both Spike and Fluttershy scooted closer to take a peek at the picture Applejack still held. It was taken on an old park bench that had since been vandalized and fallen apart (one that bore the name of some deceased man none of them knew engraved in a plaque). It was before Spike had hit his growth spurt, and he and Rainbow Dash were at the same height. It looked particularly funny because they both had much longer hair back then. Fluttershy wasn’t fond of having her picture taken at all, but Rarity was beside her trying to cheer her up. Twilight was squinting in the sunlight, and had a headband holding her hair back instead of tieing it up in a bun. And of course, Pinkie Pie was striking some dynamic pose and sticking her tongue out. The only person who still looked just about the same was Applejack, who stood right up close to Rainbow Dash as always. They couldn’t even remember who had taken the picture of them all, but there it was.

It seemed like a time long lost. It was before a lot of things: before Applejack and Rainbow Dash were dating, before Twilight needed glasses, before Pinkie Pie would stay out late, before stress or drama or really understanding anything. It was clear, that it was before they had their Stopwatches.

“We were all just kids then,” Applejack spoke so carefully of the subject, her soft eyes tracing the history in her hands.

“We still are,” Twilight replied calmly, but it didn’t seem like any consolation.

Their attention was torn away by a stifled whimpering, and at first they seemed uncertain as to where it came from. But as Twilight turned back towards Pinkie’s locker, she noticed that Fluttershy had slumped down on the floor beside it, biting her knees with tears spurting from her tightly closed eyes. With the familiar square digital object wrapped around her wrist and tucked into her long sleeve to keep it all for herself, Fluttershy wept with increasing volume. Her friends nervously exchanged glances, but all came to the same decision as to what to do. It was Applejack who moved first to amend the situation.

“Oh, there there sugarcube, it’s alright,” her calm and maternal voice soothed the girl but did not stop the sobbing. “Y’all don’t have to do any more o’ this, okay? C’mon now, let’s get you up.”

Applejack leaned down to her slumped height and wrapped her arms around the shrinking girl, gently lifting her into a limp embrace and rising her to her shaking knees. Her tears flowed freely onto her confidant’s button-up, but the blonde said nothing about it. Gently directing her away from the scene now rich with discomfort and heavy with sympathy, Applejack nodded to Rainbow Dash to finish what Fluttershy could not.

“Th-Thank, thank you,” her weak voice squeaked out of her thin lips.

“Don’t you worry about it kiddo,” Applejack continued, even after she felt some tension after uttering the same colloquial word that Rainbow Dash had painted the fragile girl with. “Let’s get you some hot tea and fresh air.”

Once the cries could not be heard from the site of Pinkie’s old locker, Spike spoke up, “Jeez, that girl is a fucking wreck.”

“Don’t be such a dick, dick,” Rainbow Dash smacked him on the back of the head before casually striding over to Pinkie’s locker.

“Ouch, you’re the dick,” he snapped as he reached out to try and smack her back, but she was too far away so instead he placed both hands over his bright pink skull.

“Okay, we’ve got an old tupperware container, with what looks like a taffy sandwich in it. Gross. We’ve got three deflated balloons, a handful of scattered confetti, a paper airplane,” Rainbow listed off the items as she tossed them into the cardboard box beside the locker with no regard to organization. “There’s like a bunch of Twilight’s borrowed pens and pencils, I can tell because all of those damn things are monogramed like you have your own fucking law practise.”

“It improves the chances that I’ll get them returned to me,” Twilight casually replied as she scribbled down what Rainbow Dash tossed out.

“Or you can just wait until we die and find them with the rest of our crap bequeathals,” she mused in a rough tone.

“Easy there,” Twilight warned her, casting a serious look at the distracted girl.

“Candy wrappers, miscellaneous geometry supplies,” she continued narrating as she threw items haphazardly out of their places.

“This is going to bruise,” Spike grumbled in a much angrier voice than usual.

“I wonder if this comes in a pale lavender,” Rarity added absolutely nothing to the conversation.

“A calculator with the batteries removed, probably to put in her vibrator or some shit,” she noted in a disgusted voice, noticing sticky substances between the keys.

“That’s an unlikely assumption,” Twilight responded carelessly.

“I’m serious dude, why do you always have to fucking hit me?” Spike prattled on until his usually low voice squeaked in a juvenile way that betrayed his attempt to sound intimidating.

“You gonna tell mommy?” Rainbow mocked him in a teasing voice. “Sticky notes in the shape of a heart, nail polish in blue and yellow, tampons.”

“Do try to keep it down, I’m reading here.” With a flip of her dainty wrist, Rarity flipped another page.

“Yeah, I’m sure the articles are very enthralling,” a sarcastic remark escaped Twilight in a near whisper.

“I’m sick of you treating me like a child, Rainbow Dash,” another bark from Spike was aimed at his friend, though she didn’t seem concerned.

“A cell charger, crumpled up tissues, some fluffy scrunchie thing.” Rainbow Dash didn’t even bother addressing the boy to whom she spoke, “Quit acting like a kid and I’ll stop treating you like one. A shirt button, more trash. Trash. Trash.”

Directing their attention away from their own duties and interests, the bell rang through the desolate hall indicating the end of the period. It was then that they realized something was very different, something between them. They became aware of themselves in relation to those who they once called friends, and for some reason the word felt strange. It was tense. They were more aggressive, or distant, or irritated, but none of them dared utter it aloud. Silently finishing their tasks, Rainbow reached in and grabbed the last item in Pinkie’s locker.

“A pink highlighter,” Rainbow iterated as she turned the object around between the tips of her fingers. She scowled, flicking it over her shoulder towards the box without consideration, muttering, “Too bad she never knew what was important enough to highlight.”

“Rainbow,” Twilight stated the girl’s name in a hush, but instead of listening, she whirled around and snatched up the very full box in her defined arms.

“I’ll get this to the counsellor, her parents can pick it up after school, if any of it is worth keeping,” she harshly stated as she walked off in a stride.

Spite irritably watched his best friend stroll off, rolling the small baggie of questionable substance around in his pocket out of sight. His face fell as the others muttered barely anything before parting ways. There was some kind of tug in his stomach: guilt, or shame, or detest. But he felt right to have stolen and hidden away his intentions. Those people who fought as they emptied a girl’s life out of her former casual cubby, their behaviour made him both uneasy and upset. He didn’t want to conform to their standards and bear chagrin from their conceit. He squeezed the item in his soft hands, cursing his simplicity and youth.

Perhaps he should have been closer to Pinkie Pie in his own right, if that small ivory package was what he thought it was, then perhaps they might have gotten along after all. Not that any of his other friends would seem to have been the kind to understand in the slightest, even Rainbow Dash steered clear of drugs to his knowledge. Yet now, it seemed that he would earnestly chase his potential vices alone. Maybe he should have been alone more often, as it seemed there was some supposed stain on his friendships. The scuff and skid marks along the poorly buffed floor etched black marks into his head, marring his conception that any hall he once walked was ever clean at all. Nothing was clean.

Except, perhaps, Twilight Sparkle’s glasses, which she incessantly wiped with her sleeve or shirt tail. They were not, however, in immaculate condition otherwise. They bore a small crack against the frame for some time now, but as she made her way to class and habitually cleaned them, she noticed that the crack had grown a hair longer. She frowned at it, squinting her eyes as if that might change it back.

Twilight was always something of a klutz, though she preferred to promote her more prestigious qualities if queried (and attributed her lack of mastery in the physical world with her over attentiveness to her various intellectual pursuits). Therefore it wasn’t entirely uncommon that she might happen to break a material possession or two in her wake. She hadn’t even considered, as she adorned those slightly crooked glasses once more, that she might be increasingly distracted lately, and more prone to such accidents.

She preferred this particular course to many others, she noted as she stepped into her usual classroom and took her familiar seat (front row, second from the right; as all but one of her professors were right handed, and therefore more prone to point out their question answering students with that dominant hand). It was probably because this professor’s teaching style was lecture-heavy, giving her more time to study rather than waste time doing projects or group-work. Besides, the man’s rather dull appearance left no reason to be distracted from the course material, and he was very well read.

“Please, find your seats,” he was as prompt as always, and Twilight quite literally titled her head back to look up at him as he approached his lectern (the throne of the classroom, which many new-age teachers failed to acknowledge). “I trust you know where they are by now.”

“Excuse me,” Twilight spoke in a voice that seemed like she was trying to keep the conversation between the two of them, but quite clearly intended to draw the attention of her disinterested classmates. “But are we going to be moving out of the Romantic period soon? It is all too… phenomenally portrayed, yet entirely mundane.”

“Were Wordsworth, Keats and Blake too dull for you?” His tone sounded something like a taunt, though he was rarely the teasing type. He was always the quoting kind, though, “Oh, ‘you have given your heart away, a sordid boon’.”

“I was underwhelmed,” the girl quietly responded, organizing the notebook and pens on her desk to the way that she liked them.

“Very well, perhaps you will be more kind to Eliot.” After a short breath, and making certain that most students had taken their seats, he raised his voice to the class. “Open your texts to page one-hundred and six, if you will.”

Twilight always felt challenged by her professor, but she was not deterred. She needed this distraction as much as any other. As she went to flip to the page, her glasses wobbled down her nose, and it took her an extra few seconds longer than normal to adjust them and get to the correct page. By then, her professor was speaking aloud once more.

“Though many roots of Modernism can be traced to the late nineteenth century, we have a great influx of these works in many creative fields in the beginning of the twentieth century: Frank Lloyd Wright, Picasso, Remarque, Pound, and as I mentioned and you may now be reading on the page, T.S. Eliot.” He was correct of course, the page that his pupils stared at bore the markings of such a name.

“Uh, what does the T.S. stand for?” some illiterate boy (or he might as well have been in Twilight’s mind) asked an unnecessary question before he was called upon.

“Thomas Stearns, but that’s not really a relevant question,” her professor dully responded. Running his fingers down the buttons of the dress shirt beneath his low necked and wide cardigan, he continued without pause. “He is an important figure in Modernist literature, and an excellent source on the Modernist idea. He was, among many things, a social critic, and a literary marvel. You may have heard a particularly powerful line, and perhaps a personal favourite: ‘I will show you fear in a handful of dust’.”

“Dust,” Twilight found herself quietly repeating, and remembered suddenly the smell of the fireworks on the night of the funeral. She shook off the uneasy feeling in her gut and put on a scholarly act.

“He is a good figure to aid in my introduction of our next focus.“ He paused as he noticed Twilight Sparkle shift in he seat and readily raise her hand. “Yes, is there a question?”

As her query had been noticed, Twilight proceeded to pose her proposal, “Concerning your choice of quotation, professor. Isn’t the emphasis on horror and dread more reminiscent of Romanticism?”

“Only if you consider mortality horrifying.” His amused smirk played tricks on her, but he did not elaborate on his notion. He did, however, go on with the lecture. “While Romanticism does indeed focus on awe, primarily of nature, imagination and nostalgia, Modernism, as represented in many of T.S. Eliot's works, makes a very conscious break from previous genres, even alluding to them. There is no definite order, or truth. There is only a reaction to it, to war, to politics, to society, and yes, to death.”

Twilight was silent in wake of his answer. She was always the first to speak up when she knew the answer to a problem, but at the moment, she was quiet. Something about the topic of death or order had stalled her, and she blindly stared at the page in thought. That is, until her usual cue arose once more.

“Do I have a volunteer to read the poem aloud?” She jolted when she heard his voice once more. As conditioned, she steadily rose her right hand, and was the only one to do so. He called on her, “Twilight Sparkle.”

“Ahem,” she cleared her nervous voice, lifting the small poetry book into her hands and reading it out loud, “A Penny for the Old Guy…”

No one seemed to notice the vacant chair just behind Twilight’s, as often the girl who occupied the space hid behind her more confident friend. This particular day, she had been escorted by Applejack to the nurse’s office, and from there, sent home. There was abnormal lenience for her, due to the recent loss of her dear friend. Instead of spending her afternoon in class, Fluttershy made her way home and closed herself off in her bedroom. It felt eerily quiet in there without her cell phone buzzing every few minutes with a text, but she needed the silence.

Her room felt terribly empty, with everything left nearly in its place as usual. The bed was wrinkled and ill made, but she went over and sat on one side of it anyway. Glancing once more over at the door to make sure it appeared to be locked, she relaxed and pulled her covers up over her back and arms. She pressed her pale lips together and felt around in her sleeve. With a small tug, she removed the stolen item from her loose cuffs, feeling its tremendous weight, though it weighed nearly nothing at all.

She was finally alone, with nothing but her racing thoughts and a dead girl’s most cherished possession. The small item shook between her fingers as she stared down at it between the folds of blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders. Despite all the extra layers she covered herself with, her whole body felt numb and cold. And there, at the extent of her arm was a nearly minuscule piece of technology that somehow represented something that she had lost, something that could give her some peace or tear her apart.

Though she had seen the device a thousand times, she seldom had the opportunity to hold it in her own hands. As such, it took her a good half moment to find how to even turn it on. As she did though, it lit up in her small hands and displayed a brand logo on the tiny square screen. It automatically showed her an image of her feet and floor, as it was set to be ready for pictures upon starting, but she eventually fumbled through the menu enough to find the saved pictures on the memory card. With her thin fingers absentmindedly tracing the circular lens on the rear side, her thumbs set to flicking through the pictures displayed before her.

The very first, or chronologically most recent, image she saw was a very dark frame containing some poorly angled image of Pinkie Pie’s shirt. There was a small play button pasted in the middle, indicating that it was a video rather than an image, but not only did Fluttershy have no idea how to play the thing, she wasn’t sure that she had any inclination to do so. There was no way she could have heard any muffled murmurings from her deceased friend, even if it was merely a second or two long video that she accidentally took while trying to take a photograph.

Instead of continuing backwards through chronology of the images taken, Fluttershy accidentally went the wrong direction, landing her at the very start of the camera roll. She didn’t even need to check any date to be reminded that the picture she saw (based upon the fashion choices, poor composition, and obvious carefree cheeriness) was taken years ago. It was obvious that Pinkie Pie had opted out of clearing her memory card on a regular basis. However, the picture remained there not through negligence, but due to the fact that the owner of the camera had selected to protect the photo from careless deletion. There must have been a reason for it.

The picture was a selfie that Pinkie Pie had taken, even though she sported frizzy hair blowing around wildly and many spots of acne on her pubescent face. Her teeth were still crooked, despite visibly having her braces at the time, and her thick, unkempt eyebrows reminded Fluttershy that there was a time before she would doll herself up. There was a time before Pinkie Pie had lost herself.

Indeed, Fluttershy was forced to remember, Pinkie was once the kind of girl who merely loved to spend time with her friends. Fluttershy couldn’t even pinpoint the time when that had shifted into some kind of need to throw herself into any social situation, with strangers and friend alike, to perhaps escape whatever was eating her up inside. She had thrown herself into the noise and the bustle and the night, by the time she decided to end it.

There at her fingertips was a girl that she had not seen in a very long time: throwing surprise parties for her friends, goofing around at school, annoying everyone into liking her, and cataloguing the entire journey. Fluttershy curled up even closer to herself, squeezing into a little ball like she wished she could bury her head in the sand coloured sheets. It was terribly haunting, realizing that she had pushed such a fragile girl away, and never even noticed what had changed within her.

“I’m so sorry, Pinkie,” she whispered softly, her face tugging at the corners like a frown was clambering up.

Her hands fell from limp wrists and she slammed her watering eyes shut. Her meek voice whimpered pathetic sobs beneath the edge of her blanket, and she did not even stop as she felt liquid dripping from her wide nostrils. Sniffling, she shuffled around in her bed before falling on one side and nudging herself deeper into the comfort of her mattress.

However, it wasn’t comfortable for long. With a jolt, Fluttershy flailed herself out of bed and nearly fell onto the floor, winding the blanket around her open arms. Gasping to gather her frantic breath, she darted her eyes over the wrinkled sheets until she spotted what had disrupted her rest. What first appeared to be dust caught her attention, but the closer she looked, the more obvious it became that it wasn’t just any dust. A horrified expression fell over her features like the shadow of death, and her aghast gasp twisted and tangled in her throat. Just the way that sand could be found all over the house shortly after a beach vacation, so sneaky and plentiful were the spilled ashes from Pinkie Pie’s urn.

Which, too, inhibited a young boy, who was otherwise lost in his bedroom mirror. Between fingerprints and pretentious band stickers adhered to display the illusion of diverse music taste, Spike stared into his own drooping green eyes. They watered against the prodding from his digits, and he squinted to see himself over the blurs of his tears and his own slight intoxication. The mirror (a gift from his mother when he turned thirteen that didn’t match any of the decor he had selected for himself since then) shook on its uneven screws as he bent in closer and bumped the dresser to which it was affixed.

He could smell the faint residue of marijuana smoke on his hands as they were drawn so close to his face, but he actually kind of liked the scent. It almost reminded him of a sense of uncertainty and danger, which although it made him anxious and terrified, also connected him to a fabricated personality he wished that he could replicate. However, it stung his eyes as he touched them. There seemed to still be some lingering pain from when he had been doused with Pinkie’s ashes during the firework display. He searched the corners between his tear ducts and his eyelid folds, but it the deeper he looked the more he became sure that it was the paranoia setting in. Or perhaps he had just scratched his cornea, he was too distracted to be critical or certain.

“Just my fucking luck,” he grumbled to himself with a coarse voice, pausing to cough up some phlegm he didn’t know he bore. Hacking it up and spitting it into his wastebasket, Spike raised his eyebrows and rubbed his closed eyes with his thumb and index finger.

Giving up on seeking what tormented his optics, Spike backed up clumsily and flopped back onto his own bed. There he laid, feeling the room slowly tilt around him as tears seeped from his burning eyes. Yet, his curious palms met the insides of his deep, linty pockets, and within them, a weak plastic sack of curious substance. His intrigue swirled, and the tips of his stained fingers perused and pondered the interest in what lurked in such a devilish package.

But instead, he retrieved his cell phone from the other pocket of his pants, casting the small package into the abyss between his mattresses like he was angry with his urge to discover its magic. His phone was a bit tough to get out while he was laying down, and the bulge always felt unnatural, which directed his attention there regularly. Slipping his personal pattern code, Spike stared at the blank screen as though he wished that someone would reach out from it. Yet it was still, and gradually faded to dim.

His fingers lit up as he jumped around through navigation and found his text messages, without needing to scroll down the list of recently sent before finding the conversation he was set on. Staring at it for several seconds like he was seeking new information, Spike reread the last text that he sent to someone he considered to be his best friend. It was poorly written, it was vague, and it was just one of about half a dozen unanswered notes in a row.

His frustrated swallow pulled at his frown, and his shoulders tensed up beside his irritated expression. Contemplating writing out another overly aggressive and analytical message had his mind spinning, but his body remained still. As much as he wanted the attention, the concern, the pity, he didn’t want to be perceived as just how desperate he was. So instead, he just scrutinized his own sent messages over the last few days.

“Dude, why aren’t you messaging me back? You’re being such a cunt. Just ditch her and come over. I knew this would happen when you two got together, it’s fucked up and unfair to me. We were friends first.” He could almost hear the contempt in his head as he read it over. “Sorry I guess, I’m being irrational or whatever. I just hate it when you have other things to do and don’t include me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I miss you.”

A heavy sigh blew out from his nostrils and his knuckles tensed up. He wanted to say a thousand other things, some more angry and some more pleading or pathetic, but he knew it was best to hold back. Whatever the reason may be, the girl he used to spend every other weekend playing games and pulling pranks with, she seemed to be slipping away. And it tore him apart more than he realized. One more text couldn’t hurt.

“Pinkie’s dead, Dash. And we all will be soon. If you can do whatever you want, then so can I. Whatever these manipulative games of yours are, I’m done. I’m done being your little bitch, and I’m done living in your shadow.” With a pound of his thumb, he vengefully hit the send button and threw his phone up onto his pillow.

He hardly waited for any semblance of a response before he crawled and shimmied his way up towards his window, pushing it open bit by bit with his clumsy hand. He sparked a stolen lighter three or more times before managing to catch a light on the end of some joint he had stored in a crease under his mattress, and though he pretended to be apathetic, he was careful to discretely hide each puff behind his cupped hand and through the screen of his window. He stifled a cough and pretended to adore the disgusting flavour, as if he was putting on a show for someone who wasn’t near at all.

Boredly watching the remnant smoke seep out of his nose, Spike felt his body tingle and relax against the comfort of his lumpy bed. Perhaps he wasn’t just angry with Rainbow Dash, but with all of them, with the situation, and with himself. There was all this tension, it was almost tangible. The lot of them had been distant with each other for the days following the funeral, each interaction feeling forced and stiff, and they had hardly seen each other at all until they cleaned out her locker. Which reminded him, and he wiggled closer to the side of the bed while holding his joint up against the window.

His free hand fumbled under his untucked sheet and into the crack between his mattresses. Pushing past the corners of explicit magazines, Spike fingered around until he found the small folded plastic baggie. He paused, considering what to do with the strange discovered item, and curiously considering his own safety and boundaries. With a frown, he discarded it all.

Another long drag finished the thin blunt her had clumsily rolled himself, and he squashed it out in a bottlecap he left on his windowsill for that exact purpose. He didn’t bother trying to hide the evidence of his transgressions this time, and carelessly flipped onto his back to inspect the new substance he came across. Holding it just above his face, he turned it over in his hand to get a feel for it. His watering eyes still stung, but he stared at the white powder like he was gazing into the eyes of a lover.

“You seductive siren,” his slightly intoxicated voice growled in a low tone, and it didn’t even sound like himself. But he loved that feeling.

He brought it up to his nose and smelled at it, as thought he might know what it smelled like and better identify it. But of course, that was not the case. He did, however, make up his mind about it in that self loathing and daring moment. Sitting up and opening the screenless side of his bedroom window wider than his whole body, he felt the cool bite of late autumn warning him against his terrible intention. But he heeded no one, not anymore.

“You underestimated me, Dash.” He whispered to an absent friend, feeling his adrenaline pulse down to his soft fingertips. His green eyebrows fell lower over his eyes, and through his teeth he promised, “I’m not the little pussy that you think I am, I’ll prove it.”

Slipping the ivory bag into his deep pocket, Spike grabbed either side of his window and pulled his body out through the opening. The old, hanging lattice just outside his room was rickety and bore the corpses of deceased vines, but he trusted it to carry him the few feet to the ground. Jumping off before he was too close to the grass, he tried to stifle the sound of his heels crashing to the dirt by slumping down carefully after. Slinking under the ledge of the kitchen window and hugging the wall, he sneaked his way towards the alley behind his house, only pausing to grab his skateboard from leaning against the garage.

He ducked his head just low enough to hide behind the fence until he was past any vantage point of his house. Falling into a jive of a stride, he felt himself grinning with pride after successfully sneaking out once more. He didn’t care at all about any potential consequences, not right now. His eager fingers twitched until her removed them from his pockets, shaking them out like he was about to start break dancing.

The first place that came to mind for him to go to was the skatepark, perhaps because he was hoping to find Rainbow Dash there and show her how hardcore he was pretending to be. Either way, he made his way there by throwing his skateboard down in front of himself and jumping onto it. It wasn’t that far from his house, and upon arrival he noticed a group of guys that he only recognized by seeing from a distance regularly. He knew enough to label them as Wonderbolts, a skateboarding group that Rainbow Dash had briefly been a part of before she bought her MG and sunk all her time into that ride and Applejack. She had also said something about them being reckless and selfish jackasses, but Spike was drawn to that kind of attitude right then.

For some reason, seeing them seemed to set a small fire under his skin. Like he knew that he needed to impress these slightly older kids to gain some confidence or street credit. He lightly slapped his hand against his cargo pants to feel for the strange package he carried around, and bet his faith on the contents.

Before he fully reached the skatepark, he removed the plastic sack from his pocket and carefully opened just a small corner, but hesitated thinking of where he could place it. There was no flat surface or adequate cover, so he knelt down next to his board and pretended to check the axles and wheels. He bent closer and placed just a pinch of the strange white substance on the flattest and least worn edge of his board, protecting it from the wind with his hand. Checking around himself once more to make sure he was just as invisible as he ever felt, he dove in.

“Pinkie, lend me some of that damn confidence, would you?” He whispered to the dust in his eyes, and quickly dropped his head before breathing the entire patch of powder up into his nostril.

Of course, he was inexperienced, and managed to scatter a few particles of it on his face and hands before he started coughing and tapping his thumb against his stinging nose. His eyes watered once more and he squinted to see if the Wonderbolts had seen his pathetic display, which they didn’t seem to have noticed at all. Sniffing the substance back once more, he was almost certain that he had just snorted salt or some kind of sugar or sour candy lining. Knowing Pinkie Pie, he would not have been surprised.

He stood up slowly, his shoulders sagging over his chest like they were too heavy for his weak muscles. He closed his eyes as he breathed in some clearer air, and could still feel the tingle from his last joint. But after going through all that trouble, he wasn’t about to back down and bitch out like Rainbow would have teased him for doing. He reached down and snatched his board up, wiping his face with the cuff of his black long sleeved undershirt and tapping any remnants off his deck.

Shaking his shoulders as if knocking the monkey off his back, Spike loosened himself up as he approached the bowl. He stared down at the sinking wall of concrete, and for a second it seemed to be actually falling deeper. With a huff of air, he shook his head roughly to get himself focused and psyched up. As he stood over the edge of the dip, he could feel the attention of the Wonderbolts gradually shifting to him.

“Don’t let me biff in front of all these guys,” Spike begged as though someone was listening and could protect him. “Please.”

Perhaps, if she was there, Rainbow Dash could have skated with him and watched out for him, as she did when she first taught him, but that was now a distant memory. He glanced down at his Stopwatch, peeling his sleeve back to get the best view. There it was, ticking away with some long number that he couldn’t care to remember. As he shifted his weight towards the farther edge of his skateboard, he could see it dropping in expectancy. Further and further it ticked away as he leaned closer to the drop, when suddenly he wasn’t sure what the numbers said at all.

Raising his head to look at the great obstacles of terrain that laid before him, he let his arm utterly drop to his side. Without another thought, his now numbing body tumbled forwards and he fell into the rhythm of the roll. The wind was harsh against his skin as he gained speed, but it tickled him like gentle feathers and guided him towards his tricks and turns.

There was a jolt of adrenaline and dopamine, and it felt like he was jumping out of bed and waking up for the first time. His eyes went wide despite the scratch of cold wind making them water, and an unstoppable grin sliced over his features. He felt great. He felt alive. He was invincible.

The wheels seemed to roll over air, and before he even knew it, he had traversed an edge of the concrete dip flawlessly. It was euphoric, this strange weightless sensation, and he chased it up the edge of the nearest quarter pipe and onto the neighbouring rail. But like anything else, it didn’t last long.

Skidding too quickly over a lip, Spike flew off his board and slammed against the ground in a ragdoll fashion, finally smashing his elbow against the flying deck of his board. However, despite the harmonious hums and haws of the boys just across the park, Spike immediately bounced back to his feet like they were the ones in control. His body still felt electric and full, and despite the blood trickling down his arm he leapt towards his board and flipped it back with a strangely graceful step.

He raced off again, his mind miles behind his seemingly haunted body, flipping or flying over the park like he had been born there. He was inaccurate and unsteady, but for some reason his spectators were captivated by his earnest attempts and his ability to bounce back like his body was made of rubber or tar. If nothing else, it was something interesting to look at.

But Spike fed off of it like he had been famished his whole life, adoring the few hoots and hollers he earned. Taking off of another pipe, he smashed his wheels against the flat concrete and glided over to the strangers he yearned to impress. Flipping his pink hair (and momentarily forgetting how silly the colour made him look, according to his friends), Spike stepped off his board and posed as though he knew how he was supposed to stand. A few of the kids in the group looked condescendingly at each other, but the tallest of the bunch pinched out his cigarette and tossed it to the ground haphazardly.

“Dude, you must be made of steel to take that much of a beating and keep walking,” he incredulously noted, running his dark hand through his slicked back blue hair. Spike had to try quite hard to actually comprehend what the boy was saying, but fought to stay aware as he finished his compliment or insult. “Or just fucking crazy.”

“Maybe a little of both,” Spike breathlessly responded, feeling his heart beating in his throat.

“I’ve seen you before,” a girl with bright orange hair spoke up, shifting her own cigarello from one side of her mouth to the other. “You Rainbow Dash’s friend?”

“Not lately,” he casually replied, rolling his lips under his teeth like he was making sure they were still there.

“Yeah, us either,” she responded into the filter of her smoke. “You’re a shitty skateboarder, but those balls are something to look at.”

“Oh shit,” Spike jumped back and looked at his pants as though he was afraid that he had accidentally zipped his scrotum into his fly. Noticing that she wasn’t be literal, he acted aloof and awkwardly laughed at himself.

“Dude this kid is a joke, Soarin,” she laughed loudly. “But I like it. Yo, you’re weird as shit, and it’s kind of cool. You smoke?”

“I do more than that,” Spike casually implied, twitching one eyebrow at the girl like he was interested in something harder.

“Ahh,” the fellow named as Soarin seemed impressed by the response, but it looked like the lot of them were going to take off without him regardless. He nodded back at Spike acceptingly and spoke one more comment before he ditched, “Spitfire and I have our ways around these parts. Let me know if you need anything, buddy. I know a guy.”

“Thanks, man,” Spike mouthed the colloquial word but it felt very strange to his ears and his lips.

Even though the prospect of conversing with Wonderbolts was usually a magnanimous aspiration for Spike, it felt very slow compared to the thrill he experienced flying and tumbling over concrete like a madman. Considering that was the case, he awkwardly slunk out of the conversation and skidded back over to the dips of the park. His eager, twitching fingers slammed back into his pocket as he greedily sought out the fantastic magic he had been entranced by.

Wide eyes earnestly gawked at the corner of the plastic bag that peeked meekly from his deep pocket, and his blood ran hot from their romantic connection. His thumb tapped and brushed over the deck of his board as he carried it, as if he was readying a spot for his next indulgence. Though he felt entirely lightheaded and distracted, he guided himself and his little curious friend to the edge of the obstacles. It was by no means secluded enough, nor private, but he readily dropped his board and set to making a show of fixing his wheels once more.

The white powder creased a thin line over his deck and utterly captivated the young boy, even as the whole lot disappeared into his breath once more. The euphoria was too enthralling to ignore in favour of any better judgement. Spike grinned until it felt like his skin might split, as he was so glad that none of his friends were around to scold him for any of it. He was free.

Author's Note

Wow, soooo Spike's becoming a bit "hardcore", hmm? And right when all his friends are growing apart. Can't be good. Also at this rate, this story is gonna shift into a "Mature" rating... What do you think?

"Under the Twinkle of a Fading Star"

***

"Under the Twinkle of a Fading Star"

The incessant chatter was almost enough to make the meek girl raise her voice, but luckily she had some semblance of self control to speak of. Still, what seemed like thousands of unremarkable words (separated far too often by linguistic fillers and disfluencies) burrowed through Fluttershy’s long dangling hair and into her sensitive ears. Her only defense was the thoughtless shaking of her head over and over accompanying a hum or two of blind protest, as if the speaker cared whether or not she heard anything.

“Oh, but you wouldn't believe the look on her face! It was like, oh, really, well then—not that she said a thing at all, but you just knew what she was thinking!” Rarity’s voice grew tiresome to listen to, but Fluttershy continued to eavesdrop. It was all she had left of their friendship.

“That's just insane! I can't even! Like, oh my god, what a total loser,” some other indistinct yet annoyingly shrill voice spoke to the girl who once shared her terribly superficial tales with Fluttershy.

“But darling, it's not at all surprising, the poor dear hardly speaks at all! She's got little to say, so it's all in those droll little expressions. Très amusant!” Rarity forced a loud laugh as she slammed her locker closed and flipped her perfectly styled hair and let the smell of expensive shampoo waft through the hall in her wake.

Fluttershy watched quietly as her previously dear friend strode off with a couple of strangers. It bothered her, that Rarity would recount their latest interchange with such little veracity, or that she would speak like that without checking if she was in earshot. It was as though she were fabricating some huge dramatic quarrel between the pair, while in fact it was more like distance and lack of understanding.

Not that Fluttershy was angry with Rarity, or vice versa. They had just been growing apart for the last few weeks after the funeral, and things had become uncomfortable between them. In fact, it was the same for all of their friends, and it nearly tore Fluttershy apart. It was a mockery of Pinkie Pie’s name for them to have lost touch with each other, as she was always the glue that kept them together.

With a gentle sigh, Fluttershy pushed her own locker door closed and leaned the tip of her forehead slightly against it. Shifting to one side, she noticed that the locker next to hers remained vacant, as evident by the fact that it still bore no lock to keep it protected. She could still see the pink stain on the ground and bottom of the door from the time Pinkie had shattered a bottle of nail polish in front of it. There was also the scratch marks in the metal around the lock from when she had forgotten her code and Rainbow tried to pick the backup key lock with a Swiss army knife. Rainbow Dash had then offered to carve the code into the pink haired girl's forehead, but opted instead to etch it into the back of the lock that now resided in a box of old, useless things.

She was startled by someone accidentally walking into her, to which she whispered an unneeded apology. As she stood back up to her full height, she realized that the halls were hurriedly clearing out as the final bell had long since rung to dismiss them. Fluttershy placed a soft hand to her head as a migraine seemed imminent, but she did not complain out loud. Instead, she took two narrow steps back before turning towards the rear exit of the school.

It was the back door that Fluttershy preferred to leave through, as it gave her a direct path to walk in front of the neighboring houses that she had grown accustomed to. Even though she no longer met her friends every other afternoon, it was nice to have some consistency. Besides, she had to see the neighborhood dog, Angel.

The sun was low in the sky, as the nights were waning longer and eating up the daylight. Yet it was still bright out, without a cloud to be seen. Despite the beautiful weather, it was otherwise below freezing in temperature. That prompted Fluttershy to wear one more layer than normal, a thick puffy jacket which she tucked her warm gloves into. Her heavily insulated boots brushed against each other and made a shuffling sound as she made her way to the usual yard.

As she approached the fence, she noticed that it looked different. The dead bushes that usually hung around the corners of the lot had been removed, though it was a strange time of year to do so. Perhaps they had gathered the dried sticks and branches along with the last rake of fallen leaves, Fluttershy couldn't be sure. In addition, it looked as though some rowdy hooligans had taken a go at sneaking through the fence, as a usually small gap in the chain link had been pried farther open.

“This can’t be safe,” she murmured to herself as she ran her gloved finger along the sharp edge of the fencing, which would have given her a nasty cut had she been less careful. “Angel? Are you there?”

There was no immediate response, and it had her worried. The gap in the fencing seemed plenty large enough to accommodate the lithe body of a small dog, and it had Fluttershy worried. Taking another quick look around the yard for any clues as to where the dog might have been, Fluttershy leaned up against the cold metal of the chain link despite the icy jolt it gave her.

“Angel? Here boy, are you out?” Her breath rolled like steam out of her mouth as she called for her friend, and she briefly stifled a cough caused by the sharp intake of freezing air.

As if the temperature wasn’t low enough, Fluttershy was chilled to the bone by a distant, excited barking. Her head whirled around in the direction of the sound. It took her a few seconds to fully comprehend that Angel was no longer in the safe confines of his yard, and another instant or two until she recognized the long strip of concrete that ran between them.

The barking echoed once more, and the animal’s muddy paws clashed with the bright white fur that seemed to glow in the halo of sunshine over its back. Slowly rising to her feet, Fluttershy raised her hand and extended it palm outwards to the small dog as if silently asking it to stay. Her voice was robbed away by the breath hiding in her throat, and she slowly shook her head back and forth. Another high-pitched squeak hardly qualified for a bark, but Angel continued to chirp at his familiar human friend, even from their distance.

“Angel,” it was a nearly inaudible whisper, but it seemed to elicit a response from the pooch. As the dog cheerily pranced over to Fluttershy, her wide eyes mirrored her gaping mouth. “Angel, no! Stay there!”

Terrified shouts were nothing but galvanizing to the animal, who’s eagerly wagging tail chased him as he jumped down off of the sidewalk and touched paw to pavement. Her numb legs wobbled as they carried her across the crisp, dying grass and towards the road just a mere house or two away from her. With brisk wind and worry drawing tears from her eyes, she frantically continued to scream at the lost dog.

“Please stop, please, go back, Angel go back! You have to stop, Angel please, don’t!” her high pitched squealing was hard to understand, as if the pup could understand her language at all.

Her quick stepping feet sounded off the sidewalk as she reached it. Just one lane away, Angel jumped and barked at the girl, as a car raced right behind his hind legs towards the hill just beside the neighbourhood. A squeak breached Fluttershy’s throat as she feared for how close the car had come, but with the small animal already half way across the street she could do little but guide him the last few feet. Her horrified panting broke up her crying words, but she spoke again with a few steps closer.

“Angel, hurry, hurry up! P-Please Angel,” she wheezed and waved her hands around as if directing the wind to find her, and the little dog trotted along the path she pleaded. “That’s right, right, right here Angel. I’ve got you, I’ve got—?”

Her whole body went still as the metal frame soared past her, and her breathless form remained static even as the gust from such speed blew past her. Hair flicked about around her pale expression, and the sound of screeching tires erupted over the street. With tears rolling over every dip in her thin face, Fluttershy absently glanced around the area as though she wasn’t sure what she was looking for.

“Angel?” sounded very gentle despite her tight chest and shaking hands.

Between her tear-laced lashes and the blur of her vision, she found the small form she had been watching up until the last second. Fluttershy bobbed back and forth with uneven and uncertain steps as she made her way to the end of the sickly red trail. The painted lines of lanes along the road seemed to draw on forever, as did the black streaks of tires and the many other stains she cared not to name.

Her body was statuesque against the juxtaposed rising of muffler fumes and the continuing racing by of the careless traffic around her. But there, just behind the back of a large minivan, was something else entirely still. She fell to her knees in front of it, heedless of the sharp pain she felt as she must have scraped the skin off one of them and bruised the other. Trembling hands were hesitant to reach out, but somehow they made their way to the stained ball of fur she used to recognize.

Touching the strange object felt eerily familiar to her, the same uncertain sensation she had when she went to shake the friend she had once thought to have been merely sleeping. She picked up the bundle of knotted and matted hair and clutched it at the extent of her arms before curling it nearer to herself. It felt wet, even through her thickest jacket, and she was certain that it would stain more than just the fabric, but perhaps the skin underneath.

There was some loud noise around her that she could not comprehend or recognize, and for just a moment longer she was deaf to it. It was just a distant ringing, like the memory of the sound of Angel barking at her from across the street. But finally, her heavy head tipped back and she looked into the worried and angry expression of some stranger who was calling to her. Suddenly, words were clearer, and she understood the shouting.

“—in the street like that?! Are you alright? You could have gotten yourself killed!” were some of the words that Fluttershy made out.

“I’m sorry,” she was uncertain why she was apologizing, but she did it anyway. Her tears leaked from her cheeks and chin and buried themselves into the soft fur in her arms.

“I have my kids in my car, they’re both screaming and crying! They could have been injured, or worse!” The man was flailing his arms around wildly as he exclaimed, “What were you thinking? Get out of the road!”

“Angel,” she whimpered in a sob, wavering side to side.

“Please, get up,” the man reached down and looped a hand under Fluttershy’s weak arm, pulling her carelessly to her feet despite her weeping growing louder and louder. “You’re okay, you’re okay. You have to get out of the road, it’s dangerous.”

“H-Help me,” Fluttershy repeated the words she had on her lips when she had first found Pinkie Pie, and her mind reeled as it all felt too similar and like too much to bear.

“Help you? With what?” The man looked down at her tightly wrapped arms, clutching her burdens so dearly to her chest. “I have to get back to my kids, wait here.”

“They’re gone,” her voice was empty and unsteady, her whole body shaking with each small syllable. “They’re both gone…”

“What?” His face became serious and bothered, and before saying another word he darted back to his minivan. “What’s wrong with you? They’re still here! Why would you say that?!”

“I’m so sorry,” Fluttershy whispered into her arms through the gaps in her chattering teeth. “I have to go.”

Fluttershy slumped out of the road with heavy steps, letting her hair stick to her face with the salty dampness of her tears. Her drooping shoulders hung low over the clump in her arms, and she dug her gloved fingers into the slightly curly fur as if searching for signs of life. Whatever direction she was going in, it was a mystery to her as well.

“Where are you going? You better not jump out into the road again!” he called after her sternly, though he remained next to the car.

“You killed him!” a scream escaped her mourning mouth. “I got you, Angel, I got you,” she muttered again and again, wandering down the street without destination.

“What are you talking about? Killed who?” The man shouted, but had no motivation to chase the girl down. He took a look around his vehicle, but the only signs of any accident were the few tire marks from slamming on his breaks. He didn’t know why she wrapped her arms around herself in such a manner, but didn’t question it any further.

He was entirely lost as to why the girl would have walked out into the road, or why she was acting so strange. But he had more important things to deal with, like trying to calm down his worried young children he had just picked up from the elementary school a few blocks away. With a groan, he shook his head. As if nearly hitting a young girl wasn’t bad enough, the constant sound from a few doors down was driving him mad.

“Damn noisy dog,” he muttered as he made his way back to the driver’s side of the van, pausing to take a look at the small white dog that was barking from beyond a chain link fence.

From yap to bark to growl, the canines across nearby neighbourhoods carried the sounds across great distances. The loud howls from the behemoth mutt next door interrupted Twilight’s work, and she growled lowly back at is as she approached her window. Aggressively shoving the old wooden frame shut (which she struggled with due to her frantic irritation and the age of the window itself), Twilight closed the invasion of the world away from herself. At last, there was silence; there was peace.

She set herself back down at her desk, where patiently awaited a small book she had made a habit of carrying around lately. It was bound in black leather, fastened by a long strap that hitched around the entire length twofold, though presently it lay open to the perusal of her attentive gaze. With a scoff, she bent over to retrieve the pen that had fled her demanding hand and rolled across the table onto the floor. Her composure returned, and she straightened herself once more before falling around her scribbles.

“Where was I?” she absently hummed to herself, and she read over the last several denotations of time scrawled in chronological order.

Raising her writing implement and touching the tip against the fresh page, Twilight held her breath to permit the perfect penmanship she praised. She jumped suddenly though, scratching a line across the otherwise pristine order of events. A loud groan poured from her core, and she nearly threw the utensil across the room as she realized what had alarmed her: the buzzing of her cellular phone she had forgotten to turn onto silent mode. Grabbing and strangling the device, Twilight roughly tossed it over her shoulder towards her twin sized mattress with a defiant refusal to acknowledge what it might have been.

She violently grabbed at the sleeve of her cardigan and underlying pressed dress shirt, peeling them both mercilessly off of her forearm. A stare that could nearly rip the digits from her wrist fell upon the markings she studied, tracing the font and numerical value that she could hardly describe even to herself. Her attention to detail was often unrivaled, but she realized with every passing attempt to replicate what she saw upon herself, it came to look less and less like what she perceived. The only thing that seemed to hold true value was the notations of the time stamp from her Stopwatch, which, she quickly realized, changed each time she copied it; and not in the way that might happen if it was continually counting down. Sometimes it would change by hours, by moments, or by years; though she could not decipher the correlates well enough to speculate.

As she paired the time on her wrist to the time of the day, she was stalled by an irritating sensation she could only attest to be itching, or tingling. It was a nagging desire, and she habitually turned back to look at the cellular phone she had put to bed. If there was one thing about Twilight Sparkle that bothered her, it was curiosity. After another failed attempt (or three) to continue on with her task to put herself through clinical trials, she surrendered to her detestable urges.

Jumping out of her chair and storming across the room, the young student swiped the small black device off of its rest on the plush comforter. The corner of her mouth twitched as she failed to input her password the first time, but her dull expression returned as she scrolled through the prompts and came upon the text message she had received. It was a great block of words, so before she commenced reading it, she looked up at the name that told of the sender: Fluttershy. From the beginning of the message, it was clear that it had been sent to a number of people, but Twilight read on.

“Hi girls, I know this is kinda short notice, and I mean you dont have to say yes or even reply or anything... but I was wondering if maybe anyone would be interested in coming by for a slumber party this weekend @ my house? I no that we havent seen eachother or talked lately, but we also havent had a slumber party since… well since Pinkie Pie was around to throw them when we were kids. Please RSVP soon. Bye.”

Twilight frowned as she read along, and cringed when she came upon the solemn end and the abrupt closing. Now that she had read it, she almost wished that she hadn’t, or that she had any idea of how to respond to or deal with the proposition. Sitting down on the edge of her firm mattress (which was so tightly tucked with sheets it hardly sagged at the impression of her rear), Twilight carefully concocted her response, and must have rewritten it in her head a half dozen times before committing it to text.

“That’s very sweet of you to ask Fluttershy, but are you sure that’s a good idea? Everyone’s a little on edge lately, and I don’t want to upset anyone. Are you sure you can handle throwing a party like that so short notice and having that many people at your house, either? No offence, I just don’t want you to get in over your head. Hugs.”

She felt satisfied with her mostly diplomatic approach to it, though she anticipated it might hurt the girl’s feelings a bit. It was for the best to be a little tough sometimes, Twilight knew that. Things had been tense between the lot of them over the last few weeks, and something like this could sever their friendships altogether if it didn’t go well. Twilight couldn’t let that happen, and she knew Fluttershy was too fragile herself to adequately host so many people.

She was not, however, too fragile to respond with a forcefully passive aggressive message of her own.

“I appreciate ur concern Twilight, but please dont patronize me. If u don’t want to come u dont have to, but please respect my decision to do what I want with my time. Pinkie wouldnt want us to drift apart and we havent been treating her memory with respect. Right now I just need my friends around for support and I think u do to. So just come k?”

Twilight’s eyebrows rose steadily as she came to terms with the text, and she wondered for a moment if someone else had written it. She didn’t feel like questioning such a thing though, as that could spur more snappy remarks. Instead, she relented and came up with a more reasonable and steady reply. As she did, she wondered just what the others had said to her request.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Of course I’ll be there. Text me when you have an idea of time with the other girls. Should be fun :)”

Twilight let out a sigh of relief having quelled the stirred waters. Placing her phone back down on the bed, she got to her feet and preemptively began finding items to take with her for the visit. Her overnight bag slouched lazily at the door to her closet, and she easily heaved it over to her bed and unfurled its creased corners. The lining whined and squeaked as she reached her hand inside and expanded the room to its limits.

Selecting two thinner novels (by her standards, anyway) and the set of pyjamas she kept folded in the drawer beside her casual attire, she returned to the pack and placed them gently inside. Considering she was not a heavy packer, it took her another few moments to think up anything else to pack, besides her feminine and hygiene products, which she would pack the day of as to not forget a round of teeth brushing. As she placed a few hair accessories and items of conversation, she heard the phone on her bed vibrate once more.

Turning it to face her and unlocking it once more, she pondered the question that the tiny screen inquired. She did not have an answer for it, but perhaps someone else did.

“One more thing… has anyone heard from Spike lately?”

A short hiss squeezed out from between her thin lips, and Rainbow Dash closed up her own cell phone from her position on the other side of the park, at a less than crowded downtown location. Slipping her thin silver device into the narrow rear pocket of her skinny cut jeans, she jumped skilfully over the broken concrete meridian at the edge of the parking lot. She adjusted the collar of her leather jacket to cover most of her neck, as it was a good deal colder out than she had anticipated when she adorned her wrinkled dress shirt and old hoodie beneath the outerwear.

Carefully sidestepping the black ice that covered the dark cracks splitting the pavement, Rainbow Dash raised each eyebrow with the directions she perused. The old parking lot was otherwise empty, besides her own rusted up MGB and its tire trails, which was parked crooked and no where near a marked spot (as if the lines could be seen after the fade of time and neglect, or the gentle snowfall that had buried them). Beyond that, there were crumbling brick buildings, which stood more like walls and canvases than structures in their own rights, which were covered in tags and murals from street artists.

A cigarette met fire in her mouth, and the smoke plumed like the brushing of fresh snow off of a sidewalk. With each step, the few flakes of white precipitation fled from her feet, swirling around like snakes on the bleak concrete. On either side of her: old tire rims, broken liquor bottles, scuttling grocery bags, heaps of picked-clean cigarette butts, bent and jagged pipes, smashed pallets, and deflated cans of spray paint littered the scene. Stepping gracefully over a pile of dry mortar and brick, she came around the far edge of a damaged structure.

“Ahh,” she grunted between her teeth as she pinched the edge of the cigarette nearest to her lips and removed it enough to speak more clearly. “There you are. You can’t shake me that easy, not while you’re keeping up that pink noggin. What’s up, Che?”

“What are you doing here?” the boy responded in a way that didn’t sound much like a question, and it was posed from the bottom of his tone.

After a low whistle that portrayed a feigned fear, Rainbow Dash addressed him again, “I’m wonderful, thanks for asking, you really are too considerate. Also, your stream of posts on social media was an easy string to follow through the labyrinth of the city.”

Spike remained silent as he shook up a can in his hand while taking a hard toke from the end of a rolled up joint (which looked a good deal more skillfully done than his first few attempts, he would brag to himself). A loud hissing sound erupted from the can as a mist of coloured paint dust came pouring from the little nozzle he placed his multicoloured thumb upon. In fact, he was covered in lots of paint, even his raggedy dark clothes and a bit of his freshly dyed hair.

Rainbow slowly stomped over to where he stood, shrugging her shoulders as her hands fell into her pockets and stray smoke leaked from her nostrils. Standing a ways behind him, she narrowed her eyes critically at his various attempts to come up with a tag of his own. Most of them looked ridiculously common, or poorly conceived. The colours mixed in all the wrong places, and dripped down onto his shoes as he carried on. One side of her teeth peeked out next to the bit filter of her dart, and she made a repulsed expression with the shake of her head.

“What’s with the tagging shit? You always said that stuff was stupid. Who’re you trying to impress?” Rainbow Dash plainly asked, ashing the tip of her smoke next to her hip.

“It’s art Rainbow, art isn’t stupid,” he defensively snapped, and the girl behind him made a scrunched up face and raised her eyebrow at his attitude. “I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just working through some things.”

“Is that so,” she seemed disinterested in his lies.

Her eyes traced the various patches that he haphazardly ironed onto his jacket, and she was silently impressed he owned an iron, or that he knew how to use one. It was stained already from the paint, but it didn’t do much to obscure the generic metal or rock music icons that riddled his attire, which she knew he didn’t listen to. It was clear to her that it was all an act, one that he didn’t seem very good at putting on.

“What are you even doing here with a piece of shit like me?” His voice cracked at the statement, and Rainbow waited for him to finish. “Go back to your girlfriend and carry on with your joyous life. Have fun, like you want to.”

“Are you angry with me for trying to be happy?” she kept her voice calm as she questioned him, but he did not seem to appreciate it.

“You don’t have to rub it in my face!” he barked, and finally turned around to look at her with his red and dulled eyes. “It’s like you don’t even care about me anymore! As if you ever did, as if anyone ever did! I’m literally screaming for attention here—”

“Clearly,” Rainbow muttered between his rants.

“And you don’t even notice.” He pulled back a sob that crowned beneath his near shouting. He hurriedly finished the joint and butted it on the wall nearest to him. “It’s like, none of you guys even realize how much being alone makes me just want to torture myself, or worse. I ask so little, just that you guys take some time for me, too. I need you, but you’re not here. You all just carry on, don’t you?—like robots! And you all just have better things to do.”

“Than what? Than try to talk to you while you’re insulting us, scolding us for living our own lives? No one wants that, we have our own issues too, we can’t subject ourselves to your selfish scrutiny too. We don’t do our own things in spite of you. You know, this whole world doesn’t revolve around you, Che,” her voice grew serious as she tried to warn him what he was doing.

“And stop calling me that, stop talking to me like I’m some little kid you’re babysitting,” he growled back at her, though from the way he puffed out his lip, it was hard to take him seriously.

“I’m terrible at babysitting anyway,” Rainbow absently responded, trying to take the edge off the grim subject.

“And you’re terrible at making me feel better, too!” Spike still had much to say, and he tossed the spray paint can at the ground as he turned around and pointed his coloured thumb at himself. “No one likes me, Rainbow, no one listens to me! Especially not you! Can’t you just be supportive, and talk to me, and hang out with me more, and, and—”

“And what, feed you validity and attention? Make you even more reliant upon other people for your self identity? You’re pushing us away, and then blaming us for leaving.” She felt herself getting riled up, but she stopped herself for a beat before continuing in a delicate whisper she knew he could hear, “But look around, kid, I’m still standing right here, despite you acting like a total ass. I keep coming to find you.”

“You won’t be here for long,” He murmured and lost his numbing fingers inside his pants pockets, causing his oversized jacket to bunch up at the sleeves and shoulders.

Without a motion with her body, Rainbow breathed in the last essence of the smouldering tobacco in my lips and expelled it. As she concocted some reasonable response, she plucked the butt of her dart and flicked it to the dirt to burn itself out in the cold autumn air. She licked her lips slowly to make certain Spike was not about to interrupt her with another obnoxious accusation against her.

“All right, I’m going to get real with you for a second.” Rainbow Dash’s voice was steady, and it made Spike uneasy to hear. For once, she was not about to poke fun or squirm out of the conversation. She was done with all that. “Think you can shut up and listen long enough for me to finish?”

“I guess,” he seemed reluctant, his nostrils twitching for something to smell.

“We’ve been playing this game for years, Spike,” she started slowly, but there was frustration and exhaustion in her words, especially as she actually cared to call him by his given name. “The game where you put yourself down, and I deny it and try and make you feel better, and I try to help you change those things you seem to hate yourself for, the things that drag you down. But you don’t take any advice, no matter how many times I say it and how many times you agree with it. You like being miserable because it gets you the attention that you want. The most serious, focused kind that’s all on you. And if I ever make a joke, you say that I’m attacking you, but you get to say whatever you want about me. You get to make me feel bad about anything I do that doesn’t even involve you. About carrying on, or about Applejack, or anything else you want. You really don’t care about anyone else’s happiness but your own. I am still standing here with you, I put up with all your drama and crying and bullshit, but you can’t even let me have my own life without you tagging along and scrutinizing the hell out of it.”

“That’s not true. I care about you so much,” he defensively retorted, gawking at her in a pathetically begging manner, but she would not stop to reply. “If you’re just putting up with me, then leave already. Don’t throw everything away for a wretch like me. You deserve so much better.”

“That’s not what I said, stop making yourself a victim in all this like—like we’re all so much better than you and we’re all going to leave you; you’re doing everything you can to make that a reality by acting like it’s already true. I’m just being honest with you, like I always am. And don’t think that I don’t see the way you look at me. Like I’m so perfect or some shit, despite the way you treat me. You idealize me and conjure up some fantasy you have that I might… I might choose you or fuck you or something, and then when I don’t, you use it as another thing to be upset about. You know that I’m gay, and sure, I’m a flirt and a tease, but I never lied about what our friendship was.” Rainbow ground one foot into the slowly gathering snow that fell so gently in contrast with their conversation.

“Of course I want you, I always have,” Spike’s eyes pleaded like he wanted to be seen as some sorry puppy dog to have mercy upon. He adjusted his hands in his pockets so his pants fell better, and lied, “I love you.”

“Come off it, no you don’t. You’re too focused on yourself and your flaws to see anyone else for who they really are, and you can’t love anyone until you can really see them. You say stupid things to try and make them sound magnanimous, but I know you. You don’t love me, you love wanting me—wanting anyone, especially the people you know full well you can’t be with—and torturing yourself because you can’t have them.” The girl across from him raised her chin into the frigid air to stare that silly infatuation away. “It’s a weird, backwards kind of displeasure you force upon yourself so that the few moments that you get close to someone feel like ecstasy, and then when inevitably you don’t get to keep them, you have something else to cry about.”

“I knew you wouldn’t get it, you’ve got good things in your life and I’m not one of them,” he despondently looked away, a frown creasing his features that had not grown those wrinkles yet.

“And there you go, like you’re blaming me for your shortcomings, like my life is anywhere close to perfect. Well what I see right now? Is that you just want something else to complain about, another reason to pine for sympathy from everyone. You act like you hate yourself so that someone will notice you, you rebel and whine and act like your life is so terrible, so that someone will see you. But I always saw you. You tell people the worst things about yourself so you can gauge their responses, let them try and build you up to boost your inflatable ego, so for a moment you can imagine they have any more investment in your life than something selfish, so you can harvest their filthy, symbiotic affections for you and feel for a moment like you matter based on values that other people may or may not equate to you. You criticize yourself and scold yourself, but you are all you ever talk about. You. You are all you care about.” Rainbow Dash’s stern statements felt like they penetrated Spike’s exterior, but he would never admit that to anyone, least of all her. “You are a child, you really are. You want to be the centre of attention to give your mediocre and common existence some sort of meaning. But you can't get that from someone else, that's something you discover and cultivate for yourself. Until you accept who you are and quit cutting yourself down for some backwards form of egotistical narcissism, you're going to continue to paint a big red target on your chest and wonder why people get frustrated with you. I've enabled you because we're close friends, kid, and for some reason I thought you'd come to this conclusion on your own, and somehow you'd come to understand how much I've been trying to do for you by giving you nothing but the honest and brutal truth. But to you, I'm just another problem to whine about, another reason to rationalize your conceived unhappiness. I can't bequeath any self worth upon you, I can't tell you that you're perfect or adequate and wait around for you to fall for it. You have to do that yourself. It’s all up to you.”

“What, so it’s all my fault? As usual, right? All my fucking fault. You think that’s the best thing to tell someone teetering on the edge?” His whimpering tone faltered as he came up with some delusion of her words.

“I didn’t say that,” she growled at how irritating his defensiveness could grow. “But what, do you think that your unhappiness should be everyone else’s fault? It’s on you. And it’s not a fault of anyone’s, Spike, it’s a responsibility. We all have that responsibility to ourselves. You’re not as hard done by as you think you are, you just wish you were so that you could make sense of all these feelings you’re going through, or so that you could get more pity for the life you’ve built for yourself.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, you’re just as fucked up as I am and you know it.” Spike fought back, striding up towards the girl and staring her right in the eyes. “We all want attention, Dash, I just know that I don’t deserve it. And maybe neither do you. Applejack doesn’t know you the way that I do, she doesn’t know all those flaws you hate about yourself.”

“How dare you. As if you would know anything about Applejack,” Rainbow suddenly felt a furious fire ignite in her stomach as he mentioned her name, and she stabbed him in the chest with a hard poke of her finger.

“But I know everything about you,” his declaration made Rainbow cringe and pull away, but that only served to spur him on in that same delusional way that surely only led to devastation.

Spike grabbed his dearest and more upfront of friends, and slammed his loud mouth against her own. His chapped lips caught clumsily upon her thinner, smoother set, and she recoiled immediately. Their embrace was fast and forgotten, with nicotine stained flesh grasping onto ice cold leather that writhed in protest. Rainbow Dash’s violent hands shoved the boy away from her in a flurry of strikes, causing him to nearly stumble over the various lost treasures at his feet.

“Fuck, get off!” Rainbow Dash scraped her sleeve over her face and cleaned off any trace of that exchange she had detested. “You don’t know me at all!”

“Chill, Dash, we’ve almost done it a hundred times before.” Spike licked his lips to get a better flavour, and Rainbow’s jaw dropped disgustedly open.

“Uh, no?” she bitterly denied with an incredulous musing.

“We’re alone out here—in this city, and this whole damn world—we can do what we want! No one has to know!” Spike’s arms flew out and his voice raised to prove his point.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! I will know! That’s not what I want!” Rainbow hacked a mouth full of saliva in some random direction and shivered in the wake of what had just happened between them. “Dude, could you, like, suck twenty percent less dick? You know that I have a girlfriend! You’re such an ass!”

“Who cares? You’ve never seemed like the monogamous type anyway,” Spike carelessly tossed around terms, and Rainbow Dash backed away from him as he seemed to be searching for something in his various pockets.

“Who are you? What are you on right now?” she wondered suddenly, realizing the ticks that were not normally present in his behaviour.

“What? Why would you say that? What’s it to you anyway?” his words all strung together as he tried to appear innocent. Rainbow Dash did not believe a word of it. “I can do whatever I want, you’re not the boss of me.”

“I know that, but I don’t want you getting yourself in trouble or overdosing or anything, sheesh, we’ve had enough of that shit,” Rainbow Dash turned away and ran her hand through her thin hair until it fell right.

“Whatever,” Spike snarled, fishing through his clothes until he found something he was craving, though he found it in his best interest to hide it from sight until Rainbow Dash left. Something which he expedited, “Can you go already, then? You don’t want to be here or anything anyway.”

“Look dude,” she sighed the words dully, shaking her head and gathering herself to take off. She turned off and raised a hand over her receding shoulder, strolling off from whence she came while leaving but a few statements in her lieu, “I came here to invite you to a party, but I don’t think that it’s a good idea anymore. I don’t know what’s crawled up your tiny little butthole, but I’m losing my patience with you kid. You can just keep blowing yourself out here if that’s what you want.”

“Fine, I will!” Spike’s voice squeaked as he yelled after her, but he was dissatisfied with the response and tried again, “I mean, fuck you too! Leave me out, like you jerks always do!”

Sucking on her teeth disappointedly, Rainbow Dash followed her loose but still fresh footprints back to the parking lot. She stormed around the concrete blocks and rushed back towards her car, nearly yanking the door right off its hinges as she threw it open and tumbled inside. Silence slammed around her with the door falling back into its place, and Rainbow listened painfully to the sound of her sharp breath.

Hammering her hands against her steering wheel in frustration, she scream loudly, “Fuck!” Before slapping the transmission into reverse and speeding away from that terrible place.

The snow flurried behind her skidding tires, providing a warning for the blizzard that would fall that weekend. And indeed, a mere two days later, while Rainbow Dash was still distracted by her exchange with Spike, she would continue along the narrowing roads just as carelessly. A gentle hand fell upon hers in the haze of the storm (which blew into the city the same night as Fluttershy’s slumber party) as she gripped the leather wrapped steering wheel, and a calmer voice called to her.

“Please drive a mite safer, Dash, roads ‘re slippery ‘round this time,” Applejack kindly reminded her, a warm thumb tracing Rainbow’s whitening knuckles with the casual speed of her spoken words.

“Huh? Oh, sorry babe. I was just,” her voice ran into a growl, and she shook it off. “Just stuck in my head.”

“I know,” she hummed sweetly before scooting over and leaning her head on Rainbow Dash’s shoulder, though it took a small stretch to do so while in the car. “Take a break from punishin’ yourself s’ hard. The rest o’ the world sure ain’t gonna.”

Rainbow cracked a genuine smile, adoring the way that such a small interaction between them could quell her raging heart. After placing a small kiss on the girl’s blonde hair, she nuzzled nearer in return to the touch. Rainbow Dash’s hands shifted as she took the final turn, and Applejack’s touch fell onto her lap instead, where she comforted her by drawing circles across her thigh.

Fluttershy’s house appeared in the headlights and over the dashboard, obscured by the clumps of gentle ice scattering before them. The dark bricks stood out amongst the sea of foam and clouds snuggling up against it, even though the driveway lamp wasn’t shining yet. Twilight’s vehicle was already parked on the parking pad, though there was space left for Rainbow Dash’s MGB under the carport (as if there hadn’t been, surely Rainbow would have broken into the obstructing car and hot-wired it long enough to park it crooked in the street, or so she would threaten). Rainbow pulled into the spot carefully, as it was a little tight beside the garbage cans that had been pulled under the shelter to keep dry and clear. The side door was right close beside them as she parked, and the light hanging next to it flicked on from the motion.

As she jammed the transmission into park and yanked the parking brake into place, Rainbow Dash let out a slow exhale and leaned back against her titled seat. Her head slipped a bit to the side so that she was fondly staring at Applejack, who made a face about the unfounded attention. Nervously shuffling and running her hand along the silky braid she had weaved on the drive, she worriedly stammered some question.

“What’s that look for? Do I look all silly ‘r somethin’?” Applejack meekly queried, her eyebrows creasing her forehead with a worried line.

“No, never,” her affectionate tone twirled between them like a swing dance, and the condensated breath illustrated it. “You look beautiful, as always. And I love you so much.”

“Shucks, you want me to look all flushed when we walk in?” the blonde girl bashfully grinned and buried her chin behind a plush scarf that hugged her shoulders.

Closing the slim distance, Rainbow Dash murmured in an enchanted hush, “Blame it on the cold.”

A brush of lips connected them efficaciously, and they blindly succumbed to the tantalizing effect. A content sigh passed between then, though neither were sure from whom it originated. With a kiss as magnetic as their souls (or several), the two threatened to summon steam to the windows of the MGB, as if to conceal them from any prying eyes. Such a thing would have been welcomed, considering what happened.

“Are you two about finished in there?” Rarity’s voice barely breached the weatherproofed window treatments, and the girls inside pulled away reluctantly to acknowledge her.

“Not even close,” Rainbow Dash whined grouchily, but the moment had been successfully ruined anyway, so she kicked her door open and nearly knocked Rarity into the wall with the abruptness of it. “Do you enjoy cock-blocking? You’re awfully good at it. Awful...ly.”

“Darling, I keep you modest,” she haughtily chortled, waving her thin, satin-clad hand between them.

Rainbow Dash frowned and made a rude face consisting of an exposed tongue and a wrinkled nose. By then Applejack had made her way around the Roadster and chuckled at the expression Rainbow tried on before slipping her small hand in the crook of Rainbow’s elbow and leading her up to the side door. Applejack’s usual firm three knocks were replaced by the simple pressing of an illuminated button beside the door, one which signaled with a bell to the residents. As Rarity fixed her hair in the reflection of the glass on the screen door, the inside door was pulled open.

“Applejack, um, pleasure to see you.” Fluttershy tucked her long hair behind her ear sheepishly before peeking behind the smiling girl she addressed. With a strange contortion to her cheek like she nibbled it, she added, “And you brought Rainbow Dash.”

“Unfortunately so,” Rarity teased as she pushed her way inside in front of the other two.

“Boo, you’ll live,” Rainbow blew a raspberry playfully before escorting Applejack inside along with her. “Sweet jams, kiddo.”

Rainbow gestured at the outfit that Fluttershy was wearing, which was her usual old pyjamas in a pale yellow and pink pattern. Again the young girl ignored the nickname, but she did scowl a bit at her friend, which was quite unlike her. As Rarity and Applejack set to undoing their tightly fitted shoes, Rainbow nearly jumped right out of hers and left them hunched by the door.

With a curious expression, Applejack noticed the sediments that were left along the mat from where she stepped, As she turned over one boot, she noticed some grey debris caught in the grooves, and ran her thumb along it. Her narrowed expression caught the attention of the other girls.

“What’s up?” Rainbow asked plainly, prying her scarf off of her neck so roughly she could have choked herself on it.

“Hmm? What’s on ma boots? What’s all this dust from?” Her question slowly escaped her, before she looked up to her partner. “You spill something in y’car, Dash?”

Rainbow propped one eyebrow up and leaned closer to observe the damage, before merely squeezing some careless air out from her lips and shrugging it off, leaving the explanation as, “Oh, that’s probably just ashes or grave dirt, they’re everywhere from transporting the urn.”

Such a statement stalled the advance of the conversation for a few seconds, though Rainbow seemed slightly oblivious to it. A handful of uncertain glances darted around the room and hid in the shadows of each present girl. Successful at leaving things unaddressed, Rarity was the first to dare speak, and she carried on like she knew nothing of the matter.

“Your car sure could use a hot date with a vacuum,” Rarity playfulled hummed, laughing a bit too loudly at her own joke.

“Eww, please don’t suck off the Roadster,” the owner of the car looked disgusted by the prospect. “I know you’re in a dry spell, but come on.”

“I’ll pretend I heard none of that.” Her conversation partner turned her nose away.

“Pretend away,” Rainbow sung cheerily as Applejack stepped away from the doorway and carefully observed Fluttershy’s uncomfortable shifting. “So, where’s Twilight? I saw her whip outside.”

“Her whip?” Rarity silently mouthed towards Fluttershy, who shrugged expressively like she had no idea what the word meant either.

“Um, Twilight is in my room, I came to grab snacks when you rang,” Fluttershy explained uneasily, gathering the items she had prepared and laid out over the counter and preparing them in bowls and cups. “Feel free to go on ahead, I’ll be right in.”

As most her friends continued along the way that they knew led to her room, Applejack stayed behind to ask a question that pertained to a custom she practised, “Is your mother around? I’d like t’ thank her for havin’ us.”

“She’s out for the weekend, I haven’t seen much of her lately,” was the ambiguous reply she received, and Applejack knew not to ask for more, but did help the girl with bringing the snacks to her bedroom.

As they joined the rest of their party, they found Rarity checking her nails for imperfections while lounging on Fluttershy’s bed, as Twilight recounted the most recent English class to Rainbow Dash, who had skipped it. Applejack put the snacks down on Fluttershy’s dresser, beside the beauty products Rarity had immediately unleashed from her overpacked luggage. Fluttershy did a quick headcount before deciding to bring it to the others’ attention.

“Will Spike be joining us too?” she asked gingerly, her soft voice almost going unheard.

“Unlikely,” Rainbow Dash was the only one with a response, and she snorted to think of the probability of it. “He probably psyched himself out about it and resolved to mope for his lost adolescence instead. Besides, who wants boys around anyway?”

“Not all of us are off the market, or lesbians. Or both.” Rarity superciliously stated, pursing her lips to her fingertips.

“Lucky, you mean,” Twilight added, which was a surprising joke coming from her.

“Oh, you guys are the lucky ones,” Rainbow swung her saggy knapsack from over her shoulder and started to rifle through it. “Lucky you invited me.”

Pulling out a comically-too-large bottle of clear liquid, Rainbow Dash cutely posed beside it. Twilight covered her mouth to trap in a gasp, and Applejack shook her head with a chuckle. With a quick flick of the wrist, Rainbow Dash removed the lid and shook it about temptingly. The light refracting through the curves of the glass sparkled between the group, illuminating each reaching corner.

“Is that what I think it is?” Rarity leaned forward for a better look.

“Who wants to pop the cherry? Flutters has floods of chase for you bitches,” she lowly spoke as if trying to seduce her company.

“Rainbow, not all of us need liquor to have a good time,” Twilight responsibly intervened, holding a finger up as if scolding her.

“I’m in,” Rarity swiped the bottle from Rainbow’s hands and began engorging a provided cup with the substance, fingering the few choices of beverages for her personal favourite, a pink coloured cream soda.

“Damn, that’s the spirit.” Seemingly impressed, Rainbow Dash clapped for the girl.

With a half and half mix, Rarity finished downing the whole concoction before putting the bottle of liquor down. Making herself a second highball, Rarity hummed some popular pop tune and swayed with it. Rainbow Dash went up beside her and snatched it from her hands, making an annoyed expression before making some drinks for the other girls, though Twilight politely attempted to refuse.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she protested weakly, taking the glass that Rainbow Dash handed her and pushing it to the far end of the table where she couldn’t reach it.

“Uh, duh, we’ve all been so stressed out and at each other’s throats lately. We need to chill out and get back to being the ballin’, bitchin’ crew we once knew,” Rainbow Dash struck a pose before nearly slapping another mixed drink into Fluttershy’s trembling hands. “One day when you’re twenty-something, you’ll be hanging with grown-ass intellectuals twice your age, who will all be sipping their scotch and wondering why you can’t hold your Sauvignon Blanc. Live a little, Twi. You’ve only got so long.”

Twilight glanced down at the numbers that played across her wrist, and noticed that they had steadily increased from the last time she had taken account. A curious line formed between her eyebrows, and she experimented with pinching the rim of her glass and dragging it back across the desk. As she did, the numbers continued to climb. She retrieved her little black book and proceeded to add another annotation, before taking her first sip.

“Gross,” she murmured into the liquid, and Rainbow Dash laughed.

“Hey, um,” Fluttershy started to speak, but hid behind her glass as the attention was actually given. Pooling a sip of the tainted liquid over her tongue, she felt the courage to finish, “Thanks, for, um, coming over. I was worried that you wouldn’t want to show up.”

“You made it seem so very important,” Twilight noted, raising a reluctant glass in the girl’s direction and stringing a smile up the way she pinned a dozen hairpins into her stiff bun.

“It is,” she urged with a certain tone. “I know we’ve all had a pretty tough time after everything… but we can’t keep drifting apart like this. I need you girls… don’t tell me that you don’t need this either. And we owe it to Pinkie to stick together. She never let us lose our friendship, not even when we all found different interests or made new friends.”

“Darling, is this about the other day at school?” Rarity intervened between dainty sips, speaking as straight as her pinky protruded from her grip on the cocktail. With a scoff, she fabricated some more innocent story. “Did I hurt your feelings? When I was recounting current events with some of the girls from my textiles class?”

“Gossiping, you mean,” Rainbow chimed in as she found a seat nearly right in Applejack’s lap, while the smaller girl was barely holding her own seat on the trunk beyond the foot of Fluttershy’s bed.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Rainbow Dash,” Rarity denied adamantly, flipping some hair out of her face.

“Just keeping you modest,” she murmured the quote playfully, and Rarity did not enjoy the mimicry.

“No, this isn’t about that, I understand, and you didn’t mean anything by it,” Fluttershy earnestly attested, biting her pinkish lips as she grew worried about impending confrontation. “I just wanted us all to… well, I don’t know. I just didn’t want things to change.”

There was a grim silence that snuck in from under the door, and it carried around like the breeze of a winter’s gust. Her pathetic demurs were hardly debated, but neither were they assured. Fluttershy’s bedroom twisted around them with the pull of the Earth, and the stars watched them drift about so aimlessly it merited no twinkle or twang. A symphonious ring of slurps and sips connected them and their poisons, but they waited for the liquids to reach their stomachs before the next audible expression from their mouths was summoned.

“Is it time for makeovers yet?” Rarity proposed obliviously, as if she had not noticed the lull in conversation at all. She smiled pleasantly before getting to her feet and finding the tools she had brought along and left across Fluttershy’s dresser. “You naysayers can spin a bottle or something juvenile, but I am was overdue for a good peel.”

“Uh, yeah, you guys can go ahead and… peel each other, all you want,” Rainbow cringed at the prospect, contorting a disgusted presentation of her lips and nose. “I’m going to pry my jeans off and slip into something more comfortable.”

“Your birthday suit doesn’t count,” Twilight hurriedly interjected, and Rainbow laughed at how funny it might have been to come out in nothing at all, besides the probable scolding that would be apparent in Applejack’s eyes.

“Keep dreaming,” she warbled in a high tune as she left to seek the bathroom with the remaining contents of her bag slumping on her arm.

With her obnoxious and boisterous lover out of the room, Applejack casually set to mending the harm that might have been done. “Fluttershy, we’re all real glad you invited us over. It was real considerate o’ you. And Twilight, don’t let Rainbow push you t’ drink, she does that enough of herself. I’m just glad we’re makin’ it through, the best way we know how. Let’s just try to have some fun; we’re all still s’ young, ain’t we?”

“Some of us,” is was a remark from Twilight, who shared a knowing smile with Applejack, regarding her strange mature intuitiveness more highly than most interactions with her group of friends.

With a carefree grin, Applejack raised the tip of her cup and placed it upon the plush of her lower lip. She never squirmed or coughed at any ratio of drink that Rainbow had concocted for her, for nothing of that sort bothered her. Neither was she bothered by the way that Rarity, Twilight and Fluttershy went off on incomprehensible tangents of vanity, gossip, rumours, or otherwise. She simply enjoyed the company, the noise, and the silence in between it all.

The bottle split between them was drained greedily, the refracting liquid swirling like a whirlpool with each replacement of it into its place in the middle of the masses. The clear substance, which by then had been named rum, jubilantly cherished the moments passing between such individualistic young women. For it first it seemed they had such little in common, but perhaps that was why the topics carried themselves so far, and perhaps why it seemed so necessary to argue them at all.

Her eyes crept over the top of her slender black notebook, and Twilight examined the girls in her company attentatively. While usually such a thing might have been done while secretly recording an embarrassing video, Twilight was much more studious in such matters. The sips from her given drink were abstemious, though she paid close attention to its effect upon her Stopwatch. As though the winter’s frost upon the window thawing permitted a toxic gas to seep into the bedroom, a comfortable haze hovered over heads for once less anxious and troubled.

“Well maybe, it wouldn’t be my first—first instinct, but I mean, if I was desperate,” Rarity prattled on as her finger tangled between tight curls and tugged them until they sprung just right. A thoughtful expression produced her definite answer, “Maybe I’d let him kiss me or feel me up or something, who’s to say?”

“Desperate? Wow, that’s pretty harsh,” Applejack held back a laugh behind her hand, although her eyebrows looked concerned about the topic.

“I didn’t mean it like that! Just that, just, well, he’s not the kind of guy I like. He’s fine, and kind, and all that boring such thing,” she continued more diplomatically, nodding to herself as it sounded somewhat more polite.

“Good qualities are boring?” Twilight peeped up, her eyebrow perking to the prospect.

“In this sense, yes! If I was going to do something so raunchy with someone who I had no feelings for, I’d want some romance, some draw, some heat, some… something! Not just that awkward, bumbling flopping about that he does!” She took a great gulp from her drink before she made an exuberant gesture with her free hand. “Oh, it’s so unbecoming!”

“I will relay the message,” Rainbow murmured into her own beverage, hiding a smirk behind the cup.

“Oh, please don’t! I’d hate to hurt his feelings… Spike is so sensitive, like a little boy, or a,” she squished a snigger between her tightly closed lips, but the idea fought its way out. “Or a girl!”

“Offensive!” Rainbow pointed across the room at the dramatic girl who watched herself talking in the mirror. With a snort, she posed another question and leaned further against the blonde girl who nearly propper her up at this point. “And what... are you coming out as a dyke, then?”

“Of course not! Dash, you are so… so, stark. So blunt!” Rarity roared with laughter though, placing a hand on her somewhat revealed bosom as if to contain her excitement.

“Mhmm,” Rainbow hummed skeptically as more liquid slipped through her throat and splashed into her stomach.

“No, he’s just… he’s very moody, and very predictable, and very… young.” Rarity told that to the mixed liquids that swirled into her cup with another try at indulgence. “That’s not to say that… that it couldn’t change, of course, of course it could. Oh, heavens, why are we always focusing on me?!”

“We weren’t, but you sure were,” Twilight Sparkle confirmed with a giggle of her own.

“Why must you call me out in such a manner?” Rarity squealed through laughter, fanning the blush in her cheeks like it might fade away.

“She’s right,” Fluttershy beamed as eyes tumbled upon her. “You brought up the subject, and kept it going.”

“You are all so cruel!” Rarity feigned some fluster and discomposure, before her eyes set on one individual who very carefully sipped at her own substance, and sat very cosily in her thick and modest one-piece pyjama set. “Except for you, Applejack dear, I don’t think you have a cruel bone in your body!”

“I kind of hope she does,” Rainbow debated, rolling her head against Applejack’s shoulder to show her a crooked smile she doodled over her features. “But any bone she’s got I’ll gladly take.”

“Ew, what?” Rarity winced at the innuendo.

“You wanna find out?” Applejack struck back with an equally provocative suggestion, and a mirror of Rainbow’s coquettish smile.

“That is overtly sexual,” Twilight cried with a recoiled expression as if she wished to sink into her own skin and hide away.

“Wait,” Rarity raised her hand like she was asking a question, and strode over to the middle of the room. “You two have, like, totally… you know, had… had a, like, like a ladies encounter, yes?”

Rainbow jumped up and nearly spat her mouthful of liquor onto Rarity’s satin nightgown, but managed to swallow it before she aggressively questioned her, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I think she’s meanin’ sex,” Applejack calmly supposed, sitting up better herself without the impression of Rainbow Dash pushing into her body.

“Is that even a real expression? Because it sounds super classy, and I hate it,” Rainbow hurriedly responded, scraping her tongue against her teeth and crossing her arms defiantly.

“That’s not an answer,” Twilight astutely observed, which drove the conversation more curiously.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” the scrutinized girl attempted to vindicate herself, pointing a certain thumb at herself like it was proof enough.

“Neither is that,” Twilight attested once more, her voice climbing in octaves.

To put an end to the squabbling and to ease the clear embarrassment Rainbow was trying to bury, Applejack was the one who honestly answered the question. It was unperturbed, and slipped out in a sure but delicate voice, “No, we ain’t made love yet.”

“Aww, that’s sweet of you to call it that,” Rarity gushed and jumped up and down and spun around in spot. With another statement, her tweeting became unbearably ecstatic, “You must be a virgin!”

“Or in love, dude!” Rainbow argued immediately, though her cheeks were reddening, and perhaps not just from the alcohol. She faced her partner eagerly, and nearly melted into her arms as she whispered right up against her mouth, “Damn, let her be romantic and shit, it’s really hot.”

Applejack chuckled in a girlish voice, which was somewhat unlike her. The two shared a consensual kiss, which was always a little odd when in mixed company. No one protested it, even though it was something not often seen. Applejack hummed in response, her own longing hands running down Rainbow’s spine. She was excited by the physical attention, and wished to carry it further, until she realized that the bedroom was silent beyond their mingling. Rarity seemed to notice, too.

“Oh, get a room,” she sighed loudly and successfully interrupted their union. With a huff of a laugh, she added, “And not this one. I don’t want to hear any… noises tonight.”

“No guarantees,” Rainbow sneakily refused, but not everyone was amused by such a remark.

“Don’t.” Fluttershy shifted in her seat, a dark bitterness to her normally kind tone.

After glancing around the room uneasily, Rainbow Dash thought that she would make herself more clear, “Uh, it was a joke, kiddo, relax.”

“Don’t ‘kiddo’ me, either,” Fluttershy snapped again, and the other girls fell fearfully silent. “I’m older than all of you.”

It suddenly felt like someone had let the window wide open and chilled the communion. While Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy squared off with a tense stare, the others hoped that there would be a joyous jest somewhere hiding in the drama. It would not arise, though. Instead, Rainbow Dash sat up straight and posed one hand on her knee before she spoke again.

“Uh, am I missing something? Or did it just get a whole lot more trepidatious in here?” It was an attempt at humour, which was her go to move when trying to quell the rising stress or pressure.

“Good word,” Twilight tossed in a statement of her own, but Fluttershy was not keen on accepting outside commentary.

“Don’t encourage her,” Fluttershy barked at the studious young girl, who adjusted her glasses to make certain of the girl to whom she was speaking.

“To what, expand her vocabulary?” Twilight defended her motives inquisitively.

“To be such a… such a snarky jerk!” the normally meek girl nearly shouted.

“Solid burn,” Rainbow tried once more to smother the flames with a show of good sport.

“Don’t patronize me!” She squealed, and Twilight recognized the same sentiment that she had read from Fluttershy’s texting, when she herself had merely been looking out for the girl’s best interest. Something had Fluttershy on edge, and she was cautious to observe what it might have been. “You just think you’re so much better than us, than all of this, don’t you? You think you’re so much cooler, right?”

“It sounds more like you think that,” Rainbow perceptively gauged, looking the girl up and down very carefully.

“See? Why do you have to say things like that? Like you don’t take me seriously?” Fluttershy expelled her frustrations, squeezing her hands and shaking a finger at the girl she criticized. “You know, you weren’t always so obnoxious.”

“And you weren’t always so offended by it,” she countered easily, tilting her head.

“Stop changing the subject!” she cried out and stomped a firm foot against the carpet, which made nothing of an intimidatory sound, but seemed to suit her mood. “Why are you even here? Why are you spoiling all of this with, with your booze, and your jokes, and your attitude?!”

“Fluttershy, you invited her,” Applejack reminded her, as she noticed Rainbow growing increasingly temperamental when faced with such accusations.

“Of course you would stand up for her, you’re always on her side, just like everyone else!” The prosecution called Applejack to the stand, but she would not get much time to argue her case.

“Her side?” was Applejack’s soft question.

“Hey, don’t raise your voice to her, your beef is with me.” That finally brought Rainbow Dash storming to her feet, and her body language flared in such a way that would have warded off most opposition. “So, what’d I do to piss you off so much? Because apparently, I do a pretty damn good job of that lately. So tell me what I did, so I can write a goddamn dissertation on it and teach a fucking class, so we can turn the whole next generation into big, giant assholes like me!”

Fluttershy was not stalled, not even as such ridiculous words fell out of her mouth as these, “You’re not funny! You’re just a mean, mean punk, and you won’t be happy until you kill all of us!”

“Wait, what?” Cooling herself off enough to be confused rather than confrontational, Rainbow Dash waved her hands in front of her like trying to ask for a time out or a pause in the fighting. “What are you talking about?”

“Pinkie Pie—it’s all your stupid fault!” she screamed and buried her guilty hands into her unwashed hair, trembling with the massive weight of her words pulling the corners of her lips down. “You just keep pushing everyone around until they can’t take it anymore, and I’m almost there myself!”

“I didn’t...” her fragile tone was nearly a whimper, and her eyes darted back and forth as she considered the potential in such a statement. She shook her head though, trying to keep herself together long enough. “Why is it suddenly my fault? It was all on her, dude. She made the choice Fluttershy, she left us, no one told her to do it! I didn’t make her do it!”

“You might as well have, you were always so rude, and so proud, and, and you were always calling her Bigfoot!” Fluttershy’s argument seemed to grow more flimsy, and her quarreler took notice.

“Yeah, so she killed herself because of her feet,” Rainbow sarcastically advocated, slapping her hands onto her hips.

“What other explanation is there?!” Fluttershy desperately squabbled.

It was apparent that something was eating away at the weak young girl, whose body appeared so very lithe and concave in the fall of her massive clothes. Even though she was perhaps the tallest of the girls, she had never looked so very tiny. Her eyes bulged like they were grasping for an answer, truly asking Rainbow Dash if she knew what had become of their lost Pinkie Pie. After an uncertain swallow, Rainbow continued to defend herself.

“Um, like a million,” she proposed slowly, taking a step back and really assessing the situation. Rainbow’s gaze narrowed, and she concernedly asked, “Where is this coming from?”

“Fluttershy, you’re goin’ too far, listen t’ what you’re suggestin’ here.” Applejack’s kind and considerate tone was like a lullaby, and the tension between the two girls didn’t seem important anymore. She walked past Rainbow Dash, and her strong hand landed on the glass shoulder of the shattered girl. “I know we’re all wound up and hurtin’, but I think we just need t’ be around each other for a spell. Get some perspective. You just wanted to have a nice party, get th’ girls all together an’ have a good time, didn’t ya? Can’t we just… just do our nails, make faces out o’ potato chips, an’ roll our eyes th’ way Rarity rolls her hair before bed?”

“... I’m sorry,” Fluttershy finally surrendered, her soft voice falling as quiet as her shaky breath. “You’re right Applejack. I didn’t mean to get so worked up. I’m just… really having a hard time. That’s all.”

“I know, sugar, we all know.” A simple embrace brought them together, and settled all troubles.

“Um, what does my hair have to do with anything?” Rarity asked abruptly, tucking a loose strand behind her ear before glancing at herself in the dresser mirror once more.

“Not a thing,” Twilight was the first to respond, and it accompanied a relieved laugh.

“I’m, um,” Fluttershy pulled away from Applejack and wrapped up in herself nervously. “I’m pretty tired though, maybe we can go bed, um, soon.”

“Sure,” Applejack agreed, a genuine smile replacing the hideous aggression in the air.

With a final flick of her pen, Twilight finished an observation noted along the margin of her otherwise perfectly aligned account. Her critical eyes sharpened on Fluttershy, even as the book between her fingers closed up. She was murderously curious as to what had provoked the girl, and she wondered just how many numbers were left upon the arms of her company.

Rarity took the longest to ready herself for bed, spending a good (or torturous) half hour in the only bathroom, doing who-knows-what. Fluttershy had already buried herself into the puffy plush rounds of her blanket, and had scooted over to the far side of the bed away from the linen-lined bunks that scattered the room. When Pinkie Pie used to join them, she would often coax her way into Fluttershy’s bed, so as habit commanded, she kept the space vacant. Rarity always slept nearest to the bed besides that, with Twilight flipped backwards next to her. Past the final foot of the bed, Rainbow Dash and Applejack shared a blanket to themselves. Spike normally would have been pushed to the spot next to the door (where sometimes he had been stepped on throughout the night), but he was absent more frequently since he grew of age.

As Rarity tried to step over Applejack and Rainbow Dash clumsily, Rainbow kicked her leg up and tripped the intoxicated young dame, causing her to nearly tumble right on her face, had she not caught the side of the dresser with her hand at the last second. Grumbling beneath the sound of Rainbow’s snickers, Rarity made her way past Twilight and over to her laid out bed of pillows and folded quilts. She slumped against the set happily, nestling into the warm bundles and almost immediately falling asleep, before she could even pull her eye mask down from her forehead.

“Goodnight, girls,” Twilight spoke through a yawn, and the gentle rumbling of Rarity’s unusual snoring echoed beneath the sentiment. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too,” Fluttershy replied through the fabric of her pillowcase, her eyes wide open and staring at the door as it became clearer with the adjustment of her eyes to the midnight sky and the soft fall of starlight through her translucent curtains.

Beneath the diagonal cascade of what little light pirouetted into the bedroom laid a perturbed Rainbow Dash, the clean lines of light tracing the dimensions of her features and illuminating her pale ivory skin. Applejack watched her considerately, her soft eyes caressing the sharp and somewhat masculine features of the girl whose back she pressed tenderly against. Her chartreuse eyes faded to a dim grey beneath the heavenly dimness, but they jumped over the restless body of her dearest friend just as lively as ever.

A sweet kiss replaced the gaze, and Rainbow hummed welcomingly into it, leaning her head a way as to permit further advances. Applejack’s small hands ran along the strong lines in her partner’s stomach, and though they were a bit too cold, Rainbow had no complaints. Their legs tangled like lace beneath the covers, bodies forming to one another perfectly.

“Don’t think t’ hard on all that hooey Fluttershy was spewin’,” Applejack murmured into Rainbow’s earlobe before nibbling it and consoling it with another smooch. “She was jus’ rufflin’ your feathers, honey.”

“Hmm.” Rainbow wasn’t so certain, but it was becoming hard to concentrate on being angry or solemn with all the attention she was being fed.

“Y’know I love you,” she hushed the words into Rainbow’s neck, begging her with a few prods to turn over and face her. “You’re rough, but it’s you, an’ y’don’t compromise that f’ no one. Nothin’s more attractive than someone who’s true and honest t’ the person they really are.”

“What’s got you all riled up?” Rainbow mused enjoyably, accepting the unspoken request and turning the other direction to get a good look of the heat in Applejack’s stare.

“Just thinkin’ about you,” a kiss separated the last word from the last of her statement. “Lots.”

“Hahh, yeah, I, I guess so,” Rainbow Dash cooed as her mind started to drift deviously. Something held her back though, and badgered her incessantly. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“It doesn’t take much, does it?” Applejack sniggered under the hum of the furnace.

“Not from you,” Rainbow agreed in a pleading kind of voice. From the way that Applejack set to exploring her under the veil of darkness and quilts, Rainbow was bemused to think of her motives. “Be careful, you really don’t want to get me going.”

“Really? I thought that was exactly what I wanted,” the blonde girl curled into Rainbow’s embrace, leaving a trail of kisses along her collarbone and up to her chin. With tantalizing fingers twirling under shirt tails, she tested how far her luck could take her. “You’ve been holdin’ me off for so long I’d almost think y’all were afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of anything!” Rainbow snapped back louder than she intended, but Applejack hurriedly covered her mouth with a ready hand.

“Shh, keep quiet you silly thing,” she shushed her calmly. Finally releasing the pressure between her legs that Rainbow had been so very focused on, Applejack let out a slow exhale. “I’m just teasin’. You’re funny when y’get all flustered.”

“Yeah, yeah, bite me,” Rainbow Dash pouted and grouchily, and moaned into the cup of Applejack’s hand as the girl did just what she had suggested. With a breathy voice, she murmured into her palm, “Not… literally!”

Stifling a groan of her own (albeit the annoyed sort rather than the enticed kind), Fluttershy curled tighter in her bed and dug the edges of her pillow into the cavities of her ears. Though she couldn’t really make out any of the words passed between the lovers at her feet, and not like she wanted to anyway, she was bothered by the hiss of whispers and the shuffling of blankets and lips. Her forehead wrinkled tightly as she tried to focus on the silence, but that only brought more attention to the small sounds.

With a violent twist, she flipped onto her other side, landing on the side of the bed that was vacant. Immediately she felt the troublesome sensation of disturbed sheets and crumbs in her bed. Her fingers moved over the debris and she ran it between her fingers and thumb as if trying to imagine what it could be. As it crumbled into smaller fragments and dried her skin, she came to the sick realization of what it was.

Scooting back abruptly and shaking the blanket from her body, Fluttershy nearly fell out of bed. Luckily most of the girls were asleep by then (besides the two pretending at the foot of her bed), so no one questioned her sudden moves. As she pulled back the covers and caught a very blurry and dark glimpse at what hid in plain sight, her eyes began to water and her mouth fell open.

“P-Pinkie?” she so weakly whimpered, recognizing it as the dust that once bore that name.

She got to her feet at once, choking back a sob as she hurried to the door and quietly pried it open. One last glare at the bundled pair of girls on her floor spurred her to storm out faster, and she barely resisted the urge to slam the door. After everything that had happened between them that evening, she just had to get away from Rainbow Dash.

The light from the streetlamp outside shone into the living room, though only dimly, as Fluttershy crossed the hall and made her way away from the bedroom. As she flicked on a light distant enough to have not disturbed the room at the end of the hall, she came face to face with the side door of her house. There she could see all her friends shoes, some lined up more nicely than others.

Her tired eyes set straight at the dirtied doormat, and she nearly chewed right through her lip as she glared pugnaciously at it. She was trapped between the bed and the door, and at both ends, haunting dusty memories. She hesitated moving at first, but she didn’t know what else to do. With a harsh huff, she stomped over to the door and stepped right over the ashes like she could possibly pretend that they weren’t there. The harsh wind from the midnight air stung her eyes and ears, but she wrapped herself up in a large blanket scarf she left hanging on the coatrack to try and keep warm enough.

Sitting down on the stoop in a miserable heap, Fluttershy tucked her legs up under her arms. Before she had a chance to run her hand through her tangled hair and get a better hold of herself, she was stalled once more. Squeezing the roots of her hair so hard it threatened to pull them right out of her head, Fluttershy growled through her chattering teeth. As if everything else wasn’t already too much for her, in her moment of solitude, Rainbow Dash’s junky old car stared her right in the eyes. Gently rocking back and forth on her toes and tush, her breath quickened to a pace that defied her sleeplessness.

For the first moment in her life, she felt like she might understand what Pinkie Pie went through: considering what it might feel like to have the numbers on her wrist count down to nothing.

Author's Note

At last, another slice of PFTOG. Be sure to check out my blog for art pieces inspired by this story. More is to come, I assure you, though not sure how long it will take... Anyway, what do we think so far?
The part between Spike and RD is quite personal for me, as myself and a good friend of mine have had very similar fights. Tell me how you felt about it!