Deafly Hollow

The clock ticks, another second passes.

Roseluck stirs, her mind is drifting faster.

She slips, staring at the world that collapses.

Nothing stays, nothing continues forever.

Roseluck sighs as she stares at the door. Outside, night has taken its toll: the darkness prevalent, black as can be. She can’t help but feel the black being stronger, must it be the red who wills the strength of the black? Did the red come to take her back?

No, not this night, she mustn’t think of that.

After all, this is just a harmless meeting… right?

“Roseluck!” a voice happily calls.

She looks and eyes her partner: the charcoal mane swept to the side, bangs cut short; her attire not to fire, but intricate in its pattern, pink and all; and lovely her eyes glow, the night light shines bright to quell her fright. The red shall not harm them, for the light of the blue may still be shining through.

Roseluck smiles and approaches her, entrapping her visitor in her grasp. Even though they just met, it feels like forever. “Octavia!”

She holds Rose tight under the peering moonlight, their bodies melding together. A brief silence rules over the shop, their eyes closed in the embrace. Soothing as it is, Roseluck peels away, taking a quick lookover at the stunning mare. “I’ve been waiting for a while now!”

The clock ticks.

Octavia’s smile leaves her face momentarily. “I hope I wasn’t late…” She looks down.

“No, no!” Roseluck says nervously, pointing her hoof to her red clock. “It’s a minute before nine!”

Octavia steers her vision clear of Roseluck’s pointing hoof, carrying it towards the clock that hangs delicately on the wall which graces it. It ticks, tocks; showing the time rapidly moving. “I see…” Octavia says quietly, her soft tones hard to pick up for the flower girl.

Roseluck sighs, she’ll have to try harder to hear Octavia if she talks too low. She does not want her client to feel unheard, for her voice is delicate. “So,” Roseluck begins, bringing Octavia’s eyes back to life. “Where are we going?”

Contrasts vary as the light begins to fade, the darkness sweeping in: clouds covering the sky. Her mane loses its light glow, the charcoal blending in with the night. “Le Rouge Désolé (The Red Apology), a restaurant on the outskirts of town.”

Roseluck tries to recall the restaurant, but to no avail. She never knew such a thing existed, let alone on such a remote location outside of town. Why would something sounding so fancy be so far?

“Sounds great,” Roseluck lies, her false image fooling the other, that bright smile concealing the mask of one who writhes in pain.

Octavia gives her a coy grin. “Good!” she says with glee, turning around to exit the shop. Octavia looks over her shoulder, glancing at her partner’s attire. “Are we ready, Miss Rose?”

Roseluck’s mind thinks of another, a royal red flush appears lush on her face. Roseluck couldn’t think, for her own sake was being measured. She nods as a result, her mind gravitating towards its keeper.

Octavia giggles before turning her gaze promptly to the path. They travel down the center of it, nothing could not harm them as their hooves collide with the gravel. The hooves did not sound the same as they usually do, the clip-clopping noise pales in comparison to this foreign soundwave. Roseluck couldn’t shake the intruder’s alien sounds as she awkwardly walks forth with the light grey mare rubbing along her side.

The two walk close, not for affection but for protection. Out here, anything could happen. To Roseluck, this is a survival situation. She has heard stories of the past where one pony walked at night, hoping to deliver a midnight snack when they were never seen again. According to some local sources, the pony may have been taken.

Not to mention that Roseluck does not acquire the will to love any mare, for she would not be able to bear the countless glares that could rise from winning the ‘prize’. Besides, she could not and would not think of her company in that aspect. She is the keeper of the blue. Blue is not who she must love.

Roseluck’s mind begins to drift to the red. It comforted her when she did not know of it, for the red is supposed to be her enemy. Yet, she cannot help but remember Big Macintosh: his warm body resting as their furs mixed, his eyes fixed on her face, the smile he wore when he gave her comfort; everything this stallion is is what Roseluck needs.

Yet, he is red.

Can she break free from the stigma that the red placed upon her being?

The question lingers as they pass the many trees that dot the path they slowly walk on. Side-by-side they trudge on, the gravel making its presence known as if it was a god of aching and shaking.

“You too?” Roseluck hears her company ask.

Roseluck looks over, the mare of which speaks her concern stares back with a slight tilt of her head. She wears a bright, radiant smile, something that shines in this dark, unknown realm. Roseluck returns the gesture, content with herself due to the blue being ever-so-present.

Octavia grimaces as she steps on another sharp rock. “They should really make this a dirt path…”

“I agree,” Roseluck says with a giggle. “Or at least something that’s a bit more pony-friendly.”

Octavia chuckles with Rose as the two walk into the night, the moon lighting their way.

Thank Luna for the blue…

It sure looks… red.

Roseluck stares at the distinct rounded hill, upon it lies the restaurant of which she and Octavia are to dine. The windy path in front of them twists up the grassy knoll, leading to the castle-like construct of red and white. Roseluck sighs.

It reminds her of her time at the hospital, the red and white streaks that blot the glowing white room makes residence in her mind. The specific patterns that swirl into one circular unified piece is the sight on the restaurant’s sign, which looks quite odd for something such as this. The main entrance consists of two, simple wooden doors that had a small square opening for those to peak in. Roseluck walks close, peering inside the establishment. The lights were at a dim output, allowing enough light to bring out the true condition of the restaurant: simple, plain, yet had a surprising twist with booths laid out in a circle, the center being a large, round table.

Roseluck sighs as she pulls away, giving Octavia a chance to peek at the sight she saw. Most of it was dark, in her mind that is. The blacks and whites always dance in ways that Roseluck could not imagine: tints of several various shades make way into the desaturated climate; Roseluck wishes she could see more, but all is red and blue.

While her mind drifts, reality exists, traveling so fast that she could not even comprehend Octavia’s departure, the doors shutting just enough to wake Roseluck out of her visual world. She opens the door with her hoof and walks in, letting energy take the wheel as the door closes, leaving the darkness outside.

Roseluck trots over to Octavia’s side, the two waiting for the waiter to usher them in.

Of course, that was not the case.

“Hello, Octavia Melody!” a stallion whose voice transcends the normal barriers of pitch calls, his being coming into fruition as he enters, his white puff fit snug on his head. He turns to me, his blue eyes gazing into mine. “Oh! Who must you be?”

“I could ask the same of you, sir,” Roseluck replies lamely.

The stallion stutters as he slinks down to her height, “S-sorry, ma’am!” The stallion pauses, gaging Roseluck’s reaction, who stands still as a board, stiff and deadpanning. He takes note of this and continues his speech, much of the chagrin to the already annoyed Rose, whose luck must be played by a stallion. “My name is Blues, the proud owner of Le Rouge Désolé!”

Sounds like one of those traveling salesponies…

Roseluck shakes the thought. It’s impolite of her to judge this pony this way, even though it is natural.

Octavia gives her a sheepish smile. “He’s a good friend of mine.”

“Friend?”

The stallion answers that question with pride. “Of course! I’ve known her for a long, long time.” He turns to Octavia. “Ever since the first tier, hasn’t it?”

Octavia nods. “First Tier of school, the grades where you not only pretended to cook meals in the cafeteria, but also the year that you hooked up with Minuette.”

“You hooked up with Minuette?” Roseluck asks, her mouth agape.

Blues grins. “Yep, she was a looker!” As if the world crashes on him in an instant, his eager demeanor shifts to a melancholy-like state, his eyes taking notice of the grey carpet. “She’s not around anymore,” he mutters before turning to the wide assortment of booths.

Octavia shrugs at Rose, the two looking at each other with varying degrees of confusion. “So…” Octavia mutters, stifling the mood of the owner, who pays them heed as she continues, “Where can we sit?”

The now happy stallion chirps, “Anywhere you’d like.”

The two pass the stallion and journey over to the farthest booth from the door. “Would here be fine?” Octavia asks, her eyes pinned on the booth in question. “Because none of the others look.... sanitary.”

Roseluck eyes them, the smell of the room alone reeks of prior use, the vision of unclean tables and possible projectile vomit enters Roseluck’s mind before she could even stop them. Rose turns away from the booth, grimacing. “You alright, miss...?”

“Roseluck,” Rose replies, the stallion’s concern rather appealing to her, but the drastic measures that needs to be done in order for her to even think of sitting her body in that booth. “And I’d like to know if there are any clean seats here?”

The stallion looks around. Each booth had something used or from previous customers on them. Whether they’d be plates that needed to be washed, or items that certainly did not belong to Blues' does not matter. What matters is the disgusting stench that still pierces Roseluck’s nostrils with agonizing pain.

He gasps as he spots a booth, clean and pristine. “That one,” he says with glee, apparently glad that he found a spot for the two lone mares. He sighs and begins his trek without noticing the two staring at the rest of the wreck. He smiles and presents the table, standing proudly beside the not-so-disgusting table. “Your seats, mademoiselles.”

Flattery gets you no where when you can’t even clean your own restaurant…

Roseluck smiles as she wishes she addressed the issue, but Octavia beats her to it, her voice projecting her distaste of the whole matter. “Thank you for not giving us one that isn’t infested with toxic fumes!”

The stallion ignores the insult, returning to his post from behind the curtains.

Curtains?

The two take their seats, settling into the lush, cushioned padding of the booths. Roseluck smiles as she sits.

At least the seats are comfortable.

She sighs, placing her forehooves on the table. Rose loves to dine, but when things like this happen, she can’t help but feel irritated. Besides, this was all Octavia’s idea, it would be too late to try and head back to one of the other places anyway.

“I’m sorry about this, Roseluck,” Octavia apologizes as she looks down, twiddling her hooves. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Roseluck gazes at her. “It’s alright, Octavia,” Roseluck replies. “No one knew this would happen.”

“I’m glad,” Octavia responds with a half smile. “I didn’t suspect he’d be this untidy.”

Roseluck raises an eyebrow. “What you do mean?”

A snort from Octavia tells the tale, but not without Octavia’s commentary did she really understand. “It’s… complicated.”

“Ho—”

“Blues used to be my roommate,” Octavia explains with her hooves laying gently on the wooden table. “He was a slob.”

“Way to put it bluntly,” Roseluck says with a chuckle.

Octavia begins to crack a smile, but as soon as it came, so does it leave. “He had gotten this behavior due to his brothers picking up everything for him.”

“Everything?”

Roseluck spots an affirmative, her mind racing at the possibilities of this… unkempt pony being influenced by his own kin. “How could one let themselves go like that?”

“He was a rebel, a whining slacker when it came to chores,” Octavia answers.

Roseluck tilts her head slightly to the right. “He wasn’t responsible?”

“Not one bit,” she says blankly.

Roseluck sighs. “Then how does he have control of an entire restaurant?”

Octavia eye rolls as she looks at the curtains. “His father passed the business onto him.”

“Figures,” Roseluck says with an eye roll. “He was the youngest too, right?”

“Yes,” Octavia states with a venomous tone. “Blues got the whole business to himself, I guess his brothers didn’t want it.”

Roseluck cranes her neck around, checking each and every spot of the restaurant. From the outside, it looked interesting, appealing to the naked eye. The castle wall-like theme definitely brings about the idea that homey, yet outlandish feel. However, the inside gives it a sense of wear and tear, a sign that a building is beginning to give way.

“I wouldn’t blame them,” Octavia continues, her eyes still settling on the curtains. “He doesn’t even show provide maintenance for the building, but greets the customers like it’s in top shape.”

“Sounds bizarre,” Roseluck unconsciously states. “But I wouldn’t doubt it now that I know him more.”

The two sit quietly as they wait. For some reason, the stallion is taking longer than expected. They haven’t even ordered yet.

Roseluck sighs.

Red doesn’t die.

She looks around.

Red doesn’t cry.

She glances at the floor.

Red doesn’t fly.

Roseluck gasps.

Red doesn’t *sigh*.

“O-octavia!” Blues shouts before falling silent.

“What was that,” Octavia states as she slides out of the booth and on all fours.

The chilling, blood-curdling screams soon follow.

Roseluck slides out as well, her eyes set forth on the curtain.

A pot falls.

The light bulb flickers.

The voice begins to groan.

“Rose!” Octavia shouts as she whizzes on by, keeping up a quick, speedy trot. Roseluck follows close behind her partner, the two entering behind the curtain.

The lights flicker.

A moan emits.

Another trench, another ditch.

A loud groan.

A slice of bone.

The red has returned.

She can smell him.

Roseluck slides in, her mind tapping into his scent.

“He went that way,” Roseluck states as she points with her forehoof, moving swiftly towards the swinging door. She passes through the entrance and into a hallway. The culprit had vanished.

The scent is gone.

Roseluck curses underneath her breath. The red is quick, forceful, unrelenting; she can’t stop the red.

Octavia rushes to her side. “Where did he go?”

“You mean it,” Roseluck corrects her friend. “And I have no idea.”

The two look at each other before shrugging, returning to the kitchen to help the stallion server who lies on the ground, covered in the red. He moans, the red exiting his being. The skin of his is crying, for agony loves to take heed in those who deceive others. Roseluck shakes her head as Octavia bends down to assist the poor soul.

“Blues, climb on my back!”

He groans, before nodding, red dripping from his cheek. Roseluck shakes her head again. She smells him.

“Octavia, get him out of here,” Roseluck states. “I’ll meet you outside.”

“You’re su—”

“Just get going!” Roseluck shouts as Blues climbs onto Octavia, his weight weighing her down.

“Oh sweet Luna, you’re heavy!” Octavia turns to look at her luggage. “What did you eat to get that big?”

He stifles a laugh before coughing the red.

Octavia sighs, nuzzling him as she begins to trot. “Don’t worry, hold on tight!”

With that, Octavia leaves the vicinity, the red curtain sways from her sudden departure.

Roseluck sniffs the air, trying to track the red, her eyes glazing over the black and white kitchen. She walks beside the metallic table, a variety of knives and other assortments of kitchen must-have utensils lie, scattered about.

With another whiff of the air, Roseluck gasps and proceeds to grab the base of the knife with her straight teeth. She slowly approaches the swinging door again, the large beige door not intimidating her in the slightest. She hesitantly pushes it open. It swings wide once again, the air that whips past Roseluck’s spine sends a tingly, sharp cold shiver down her back, the hairs standing on end.

A deep breath and two checks behind her later, the mare enters the hallway she previously entered, the deep descent begins. She must find the culprit, so that Octavia can tell her what she needs.

No one ever interrupts Roseluck’s dinner.