Chapter One – A Visitor
As the sun rose directly ahead of him, the vagabond stallion set down his ramshackle pack and looked out over the top of the hill he had just peaked.
A pleasant little town lay stretched across the valley before him. The stallion felt his mind reel as the pastoral colors were branded into his mind. He could already imagine his hooves twitching in nervous anticipation as he painted a faux image in his mind of the township before him. Hitching up his saddlebag, he began his trek down the hill, anxiously anticipating whatever it that lay before him in this quaint little place his crumpled-up map called Ponyville.
Twilight was up with the sun, as usual. There were too many things to be done here than to just sleep, after all. A busy day, evening layaway, as she always told herself.
Dusting off the Mystery section for the second time in the past hour, she contemplated what would come next. History, Reference Books, Catalogues, Mystery, then on to the Fiction section… she listed off lazily in her head. Her feather duster worried away meticulously, though, held in a purple phantasm of magic’s grip.
Her keen ears detected a sound she didn’t hear too often in the morning: a tingle announced the entrance of somepony, probably here to check out a book. Or, perhaps it was one of her friends: Pinkie Pie with some crazy idea, Rainbow Dash with a brand new stunt that was liable to almost kill her, Rarity with a fashionista request, Fluttershy for another reference book on mammals, or maybe even Applejack to stop by and ask her how her newest fruit creation tasted to somepony else.
She was struck with a sense of mild shock as she turned to see an orange pony with a flowing maneful of rainbow hair. She thought it was Rainbow Dash at first, playing some trick, but as she did a double take, she realized it was, in fact, an earth pony stallion with her very technicolor mane.
“Welcome to the Ponyville Library. My name’s Twilight Sparkle.” Setting down her duster, she walked over to shake her guest’s hoof. As she extended it, she said “What’s your name?”
The ochre pony merely glanced at her proffered hoof. “My name’s Angelastro,” he said vaguely. Twilight lowered her extended hoof as she realized the smile on her face felt exceptionally awkward, though she tried her best to hold it steady. Shooting a sidelong glance at the pony's cutie mark, she spotted with a shock what looked like a splatter of blood... But, taking the benefit of the doubt, assumed it to be a blotch of red paint.
“What brings you here?” she said, breaking off her staring eye and gesturing at the room with a wandering gaze. The orange pony merely sniffed and said:
“You wouldn’t happen to have, maybe, some paintings here? This is a library after all? Most libraries carry some pieces of art.” He glanced at Twilight with a queer look. Mind wandering, the lavender unicorn nodded in agreement.
“Yes, I believe there’s some in the basement…” she trailed off, deep in thought. “If you’ll follow me,” she started, and began to walk towards the cellar door. “You can leave your things in the entryway closet, if you like, Angelastro,” she added as she approached the tall door.
“Uh, no thank you. I’ll just hold on to it for now,” Angelastro said apprehensively, cinching the bag tighter to his back. Twilight merely shrugged, and opened up the door with a sparkle of magic. Clacking the power bar into place, the magical bulbs exploded in dazzling light, bathing the stairway in a rich warm light.
“Just down here,” she said, descending with a brisk trot. Angelastro followed behind, though his gait was far less inspired than Twilight’s. As he rounded the corner, he spotted her as she ripped a large white cover-cloth from a rectangular stack with her teeth. It fell away to reveal a multitude of paintings.
Angelastro could feel his eyes turn to moons as he gazed upon the works that lay before him. Surrealist paintings from Devoné stood brilliantly swathed with bold colors. He spotted the more illustrious pastoral paintings of Sugar Grass, as delicate cottages lay nestled between hills of orchard trees. Another overlook revealed some paintings by Gerrosette, whose specialty was particularly abstract cubism that captured both the mind and eye. Several other works lay among these noble masters of fine art, as well, and caught his attention equally so.
“Here we are. This is what you were looking for, right?” she asked expectantly into the cold space of the basement. Angelastro could feel bitter anger rise up as her echoing voice seemed to cut straight into his psyche as he tried to concentrate on the portraits before him.
“Er, yes, thank you,” he said rather irritated, not breaking his gaze from the works of art before him. Twilight took the hint, and silently saw herself out of the room.
Angelastro merely stood immobile, mind captured in brilliant thought as the paintings before him seemed to come alive before his very eyes…
Twilight turned towards the basement door as she heard the familiar click of it shutting, and the gentle clopping of hooves on the hard oak floor.
“You found everything you were looking for, I hope?” she asked quizzically. The ochre pony nodded to her, and opened his mouth to speak as he cinched up his pack once more.
“Yes, yes I did. Thank you for that. I also apologize for acting so short earlier, it’s just that, well…” His voice trailed off as his eyes seemed to defocus behind her. Twilight set down her duster once again, and glanced behind her to see what it was that Angelastro was staring at. With a frown, she saw nopony, and looked back at her guest. He seemed to snap back into reality at her gaze.
“Just uh, tired ‘sall,” he slurred slightly. He broke into an endearing grin, and glanced up and down Twilight with a keen eye. Twilight could feel herself blush at the stallion’s once-over of her personage.
“You know,” he remarked finally, “you should try a new color in your mane sometime. Not that I don’t like what it is now, I promise you,” he added hastily, realizing what he had said. “Now, a gentle amethyst, or maybe even some angelic yellow would bring out those radiant violet eyes of yours.” Twilight felt her blush increase profusely, and laughed slightly as she figured that she should probably say something before he remarked about a color that would go well with her chagrinned complexion, as well.
“So, I’m assuming you are a painter, yes?” she added, a heavy breath hung on the end of her sentence as she tried to chase out her embarrassment. She looked to the colorful stallion expectantly; he merely shrugged.
“Some ponies call me that. I like to think of myself as a, well, pioneer, if you will.” He glanced at Twilight, who was nodding along thoughtfully. “I don’t exactly paint in the physical sense… Though, what am I saying, of course I do, when I can,” he added with a slight huff of indignation at his thick-headedness. “Generally, though, I am what ponies refer to as a … Philosopher.”
“A what, exactly?” Twilight asked, head cocked as the strange word fell on her experienced ears. Angelastro smiled a slight bit as he looked onto the confused mare before him.
“A philosopher. A truth-seeker, a dreamer, a visionary, an idealist, even a romantic, if you are feeling a bit passé. I study truth, and reason, and I try to come up with a sense of understanding. Of completion,” he added. “I believe that art is a medium to which ponies exhibit true feelings, far gone from the normal use of words, books, or even music."
“And what limitations do words, books, and music have upon them exactly?” Twilight inquired carefully. To this, a strange glimmer sparked in Angelastro’s ebony eyes.
“Words are cheap, as the old saying goes. Not a single pony means what they say, because if one word means something else to another, then where is the purpose in using words? There is a reason that there are over twenty languages alone here in Equestria.”
“Books,” he continued, “are simply hollow vessels for words. Certainly an author is a wordsmith, but if we take what I have just said into account, then what is the point of books? Not to mention, the printed word is so easily malleable, incomprehensible, and destroyable,” he added with a tone of smugness.
“What do you mean, exactly?” Twilight asked of her guest. Her mind was whirring away fiercely as she tried to assimilate, analyze, and sort data all at the same time.
“You of all ponies must have knowledge of ‘banned’ books, here in Equestria? I would hope so,” the earth pony added rather haughtily. He glanced down at Twilight.
“Well, yes… I don’t know what they are about, but then again, if the Princess believes them to be harmful then why question what she thinks?” she said plainly. The earth pony merely tsked to Twilight, shaking his head slowly.
“That, my dear, is why I have devoted my life to the philosopher’s practice. Think. Why should these books be damned to the bonfire, simply because the princess says it to be so? Are they not privileged to be read, simply because that’s what they have been created to do?” He looked on Twilight once again, though his elitist persona seemed to have dissolved away to reveal genuine concern.
“I, well,” Twilight started, but found she couldn’t finish her sentence. Shutting her mouth, she felt a frown worry away at her face. ‘I don’t know,” she finally admitted with a small shake of her head.
“I don’t mean to be a shadow on your thoughts today, my friend,” Angelastro added gently. “Anyways, put that thought aside for the time being, okay?” His smile softened at Twilight’s curt nod.
“Now, music is certainly a beautiful medium for feelings and an ingenious expression for any individual. But,” he added huskily, “how many ponies do you know that can actually make the music that truly reflects what they think? Music is, as I like to see it, a genius’ outlet for creation, and the common pony’s bane. It can take many, many years before any pony is able to competently play an instrument, or even write and compose a decent piece of music.”
Twilight nodded along in agreement. Her thoughts brushed upon her friends Octavia, and Vinyl Scratch, who were both extremely privileged musicians, though they both existed on separate spectrums of what was considered “music.” Other than that pair, she could not, for the life of her, dredge up any thoughts of ponies that had music’s talent.
Unless of course you count Pinky’s eccentric singing skills, she remarked mildly.
“I guess you are right about that, Angelastro,” she finally admitted to her guest. The tawny pony nodded to her, rainbow mane falling about unkempt down his face.
“Now, art; art comes naturally from every pony in the entire world. Since the dawn of time, ponies have been scratching out pictures on cave walls. From this, the very ideas, memories, and ideals of ponkykind have been preserved in what is simply paint upon a canvas. Anypony can do it, unless of course you work towards being an artist by trade and you desire to capture your ideas in crystal clarity. It doesn’t take more than a single idea to spark a painting. And what a grand idea it can be!” Twilight noticed as a private flame was lit in Angelastro’s eyes. He went on, enthusiasm building to a fantastic spectacle.
“Painting offers new mediums for ideas! Words, music, writing… It’s all thrown away when you consider art’s bold impact on ponykind!” He was pacing about the room as a furious energy built up inside him. Angelastro could feel his hooves floating off the ground, his form effervescent…
“You can’t subjugate art! Why, sure, there is an artist’s trashy depiction of something bloody here, a bit of gore, maybe some carnal romp or two… But these things can be skirted around, can so effortlessly be sidestepped to show something that isn’t just a parallel, it’s simply brilliant!” Angelastro was panting heavily now, getting worked up, as he always did when he was discussion the business of abstract thought. He turned to Twilight with a dazzling smile.
“Do you understand, now, Twilight Sparkle?” he asked, exasperated.
The curious purple unicorn didn’t know what to say to what she had just seen and heard. Since Angelastro had seemingly bashed her Princess, she felt as though she had fallen off the bandwagon that was this vivacious pony’s idea. Though, she had an inkling of what it was that he was going on about.
“So, what you’re saying is, that…” she trailed off, mind reeling. “Art is the only true form of expression? That everything else…?”
“Simply pales in comparison!” Angelastro added. A gallant smile was spread across his wild features.
“Ah, I see,” the purple mare finished, ears dropping slightly. Her look brought up a curious remark from her exceptional guest.
“What seems to be the matter, Twilight Sparkle?” Angelastro inquired as his smile dropped in a similar manner.
“Well,” she began, taking a deep breath, “you seem to be putting an awful lot of credit on Princess Celestia as some ‘tyrant ruler.’ But it’s not like that, not at all, Angelastro,” she said, shaking her head solemnly. Her response brought a curious eyebrow raised by her guest.
“Oh? And what makes you say that, Twilight Sparkle?” he asked smartly.
“Because, Angelastro, I serve directly under the princess. I am her faithful student, after all.” She looked up at Angelastro, whose stare of confusion was replaced with mild shock.
“You? The Princess’… Protégé?” he asked, incredulous. Twilight merely nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes. I’ve grown up next to her, Angelastro. Not once have I seen her act cruel, or oppressive. She is just and fair, all the time. I’ve seen it, with my own eyes!” As if to give credibility to her statement, she indicated a violet eye with her hoof. Angelastro’s mien was still caught in dumb confusion, though shock was starting to rival misunderstanding. The ochre pony huffed indignantly.
“It seems that growing next to her would simply lessen your susceptibility to question her, Ms. Sparkle,” he added haughtily. Twilight was somewhat taken aback by this pony’s tone, and shook her head once more.
“I don’t think so. Why are you so gung-ho about Princess Celestia? What has she done to you to make you so upset?” At her gentle questioning, Angelastro merely raised a single eyebrow.
“Have you ever made something, Twilight Sparkle? Have you ever poured pure passion, happiness, malice, confusion, shock, anger, obsession and love into something? A book, perhaps? Maybe a painting?”
“Well, yes, I certainly do love to write. In fact, I actually hope to publish-” Twilight stopped as she was cut off by an orange hoof waved callously in her face.
“And what has happened to your writings, exactly?” Angelastro’s face sat in dead seriousness.
“Well, they’re sitting up in room, still in parchment. I haven’t ever gotten around to publishing them…” she trailed off. “Why do you ask?” she inquired intuitively.
“You love what you do, yes?” In response to the question, Twilight nodded promptly.
“And you have put into as much passion as anything you possible could, yes?” Another nod, though this one hesitated at first, but still won out to surety.
“Now, tell me: how incredible would it be if you were to publish your writings? If somepony felt the exact same way, lived the feelings and emotions you poured so carefully into your book?”
“Well, that would be… Simply an indescribable feeling, Angelastro,” Twilight replied. As she said it, she felt butterflies alight in her stomach; to have somepony read her works, and love them just as much as she loved writing it… It was a private dream of hers that she had held since she was a little filly roaming the vast halls of the Canterlot Archives.
Angelastro nodded in agreement to the unicorn’s answer.
“Now imagine, if you will, that this beauty and passion was snapped up, gone forever simply on the whim of some unstoppable force. Maybe you cover a particularly controversial topic, or write about the embrace that a couple finds on some passionate midsummer’s evening. To you, it is pure art; to that indomitable force, it is some act of rebellion. Some sort of travesty.” Angelastro seemed to spit out that word, as though he had just taken some sort of vile poison.
Twilight was stunned. This pony before him had unlocked some strange door in her mind. It opened so many different hallways, each ending in long assemblies of further possibilities. The scenario he had placed before her seemed so obvious. And yet… why is this the first time she had tackled it?
Finally overwhelmed with a naked insecurity, Twilight opened her mouth to ask something of her guest.
“What happened to you?” she asked, flatly; it was all she could muster.
Angelastro’s face merely dropped. Looking down, he shuffled a hoof in anxiety, his face draped in a shaggy, multihued curtain. After a time, he looked back up. A solitary flame lay flickering behind the veil of his soul.
“There’s a reason I’m on the run, Twilight Sparkle.”
His voice held more enigma and intrigue than Twilight thought was ever possible.
