Anarchy in the Equestrian Nation

The apartment building loomed in front of me, its height towering from this angle. Actually it was only about six stories, but you get why I was intimidated.

I'd been offered a flat on the first floor by Dad, who'd gone back to court early to file for custody, and thankfully won. He'd be living right across the hall from me, saying I was able to fend for myself now that I was 17. I was, of course, jobless, however. I had been for at least a week since I quit working at the music shop.

A light orange Vespony scooter was parked next to me, Dad's reward for my winning of the talent show, with a helmet dangling from one of the handlebars and a pair of boxes attached to the side. A perfect conveyance, considering the apartment was on the outskirts of the Shipyard District, about a mile from school and two miles from the cafe.

I steeled myself and stepped into the lobby of the apartment building, eyes taking in the sight of the ornate red rug spread across the tile, the cleanly polished desk. My nose took note of a thousand different aromas: furniture polish, freshly made coffee, a slight hint of perfume, recently sharpened pencils, new ink, cleaning solvent. All of it blended together to form the smell of my new home. The sounds were just as varied, ranging from the steady thrum of the elevators to the whir of desktop fans to the idle chatter of a pair of secretaries.

However, the most attention-attracting feature of the room was Dad, standing in the stairwell with a clean suit, the same one he'd been wearing when we last met at Clockwork's house. "Hey, sport. Good to see you again!" he remarked just before I rushed in for a hug. My hooves wrapped around his neck, sudden impact jostling Takkun (who had been asleep in my saddlebag) to awake and protest rather loudly, as did my father.

"Uh, Jack. You're crushing me." he wheezed, pushing slightly outward with his shoulders. I let go and straightened his tie.

"Sorry bout that, Dad. I must've picked up a little something from Pitch-Perfect." I said, tittering nervously as I blushed and looked away. Takkun shifted in my saddlebags before jumping out of them, landing gracefully on the rug and giving his cutest look to my dad.

"Well, if it isn't little Takkun, too." he said, grinning widely at the grey tomkit who was staring at him. "C'mon, let me show you two your apartment." Dad began the trek up the stairwell (apparently the elevator was out of order, not that we needed it. The flat was only on the first floor, after all.), hooves making a steady thump-thump-thump against the wood of the steps. After about thirty seconds (the ceilings here were really high for some strange reason) we made it to the first floor, where the first door that came into view was 106. I stepped onto the doormat, a broad grin plastered across my face.

The door swung open in a brief flash of magic, and I was promptly greeted with a shout of “Attack hug!” and the high velocity impact of Pitch-Perfect, who’d launched herself at terrifying speeds into a constricting hug that rivaled the crushing power of a cart compactor. But hell, I wasn’t going to complain. Upon contact with the floor, Pitch let out a contented sigh and gave me a quick peck on the cheek as I began to get my bearings.

Once I had stood, I found that in the living room stood all my friends, plus most of their parents. Even Vinyl Scratch and Red’s parents had turned out to see me. Each friend was greeted with a cordial hug and a warm hello, same for their parents.

“So,” Turntable began, “You got your own place, eh?”

“Yep. Two bed, one bath. Running water, electricity, and a stocked pantry. Plus Dad lives across the hall if I need anything.”

“Nice,” the DJ remarked, “Think I could move in?”

“What.”

“I’m serious, bro.” Turntable reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his ‘I’m serious’ sunglasses, a rather silly pair of orange triangular shades.

“I’ll think about it. I need to get a new job first.” I replied lucidly, forgetting the fact that Dad didn’t know I quit.

“Wait, what?” Dad queried from inside the kitchen.

“I forgot to tell you that I quit my job at the music shop,” My statement was followed up with a nervous titter.

“You have a month.” he instructed sternly, before changing to his normal friendly demeanor. Turntable’s face broke into a wide frown, obviously startled at my father’s sudden mood swing.

I bode each of my friends farewell in turn, save for Red Tear, who had asked and gained permission to stay the night. We took seats on my couch, one cushion between us for personal space reasons.

“Red, you and I are going to have a talk.”

“Dude I already know about rutting-” I cut him off from his snarky comment by placing a hoof over his mouth.

“There’s a time and a place, and this is neither.” I countered. “The incident at school. The no-holds-barred beatdown you placed on Rampage.” I said, voice radiating authority. “You can’t go off doing shit like that.”

        “I’ll get myself arrested again, I know-” I once more cut him short.

        “I’m not concerned about that. I’m worried about you getting hurt.”

        His expression was questioning, one eyebrow raised and mouth flat. It was the closest visual representation of “Huh?”

        “Red, you’re one of my closest friends. I don’t want to see you hurt. Not by Rampage, not by anypony.” I paused to let it sink in for a second before continuing. “And most of all, not yourself.”

        His countenance changed almost instantly to one of shame. “I try to cover up the scars, but there’s too many. I don’t cut anymore, and yet that stigma is still there.”

        “Tear, it’s not a stigma. Don’t cover the scars. They’re part of what makes you, well, you. Why hide something that makes you stand out?”

        “Because I’ve been picked on for the scars because I cut because I was picked on for the scars because I cut-” I halted the recursive cycle before smiling at my friend.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” A smile slowly spread across his face. “No more worries. You have friends now. We will be here. You will never be alone.” He nodded strongly before we bro-hoofed and turned on the TV.