Ponyville’s idyllic streets seem like such an ironic backdrop for such a desperate struggle. Stallions and mares trotting happily down the dusty roads day and night, whether it be with friends going to try the Cakes’ newest confectionary treat or off to the station for a day in Canterlot. No one seemed to notice the boarded up store on the far side of town, with its once gleaming sign crying out ... to all “DAVENPORT’S QUILLS AND SOFAS”.
The gold lettering had long since faded in the months following the demise of the store as the rain from the Pegasus ponies had taken its toll on the building now that no one was keeping it up. Most ponies believed that it was empty and poor Davenport had simply vanished as fast as he had come into Ponyville. Little did they know the poor, broken, and shamed pony was holed up inside the building slowly spiraling further and further as his mind raced to rationalize how he had fallen so low.
“Yes…yes…” He muttered to himself as he lay curled up on one of the many now tattered and musty sofas that lay in the shop. Remnants of the business he had believed to be infallible. Everypony would need a sofa and everypony would need quills eventually! The idea had seemed so perfect when he had merrily wandered into Ponyville to set himself apart from his well to do Canterlot family.
“I can’t give up yet…there has to be a way to turn this all around. Think Davenport…THINK” He cried before banging his head against the wooden hoofrest of the sofa on which he laid. The quick jolt of pain snapped him back to reality, even if only for a moment. With as much effort as he could muster, Davenport lifted himself off the sofa and threw the ratty blanket that was covering him to the ground. A cough escaped him as the blanket kicked up a cloud of dust from the wooden floor, which at this point seemed to be more dirt than wood.
Slowly he walked over to the table that sat at the edge of the dimly lit store. When the store had been closed he had taken it upon himself to board up all the windows and had left only one small window near the high wood beam rafters open. The light shown down on a small corner of the store where Davenport had set a small table and a dresser in which he stored some basic necessities. His legs shook slightly as he struggled to make it over to the table, zapped of energy with red eyes and labored breathing.
He took a moment to reflect on the past few months which had been less than kind. Heh…He thought to himself, how pathetic... I could just leave this and go up to Canterlot. My mother would love to see me, hell I know the moment I walked in that door she would throw her hooves around me and demand that I eat some of her cooking. His mouth began to water as the thought of the exquisite teats she would make for him; cakes, glazed walnuts, and flower stews. The rumble from his stomach altered him to the fact that he had not eaten anything substantial, save for a few pieces of hay, in several days. A shake of his head cleared his mind of the nonsense of returning home to happy and loving family. The truth of the situation sunk in as he pictured his fathers glaring eyes, the snort of disappointment, and the mocking laughter.
He’ll never let you live this down, he though to himself, repeating that line over and over as he slammed a hoof on the table. He will never stop letting you know how much of a failure you are in his eyes. I swear it is almost as if he relishes in the thought of lording my failures over me. His hooves wandered over to a small jar that he kept on the table, and he lifted flipped the top up to reveal a greyish powder filling it to about the halfway mark. With a labored breath he lifted the jar, grinding his teeth as he spilled a small pile of the jar on a flat piece of smooth table.
“Oh, your son is a successful military stallion in the Royal Guard! I wish my son had been able to distinguish himself in such a way. YOUR son is a successful spell inventor for the Canterlot Ministry of Spells? MY SON, oh, I have nothing to say about him…”He muttered to himself in the loud mocking voice which he used when impersonating his father. The muscles in his body tightened and the bloodshot eyes grew more intense as thoughts of his fathers mocking tone pierced his mind. Never would he come begging back, never would he see them again, and no longer would he allow their voices to flood his mind.
His hoof spread the crushed up powder in a nice wide line, and he licked his lips while meticulously making sure every pint sized piece was accounted for on the table. While it didn’t look like much, this grew seemingly innocuous powder was one considered one of the most dangerous substances in Equestria: pure ground Parasprite powder. Innocuous when ingested by Unicorns, rarely encountered by Pegasus, Parasprite powder was a substance favored by the downtrodden Earth Pony folk. The magic concentrated inside of the ground up Parasprites would send euphoric waves of pleasure through the body and mind of Earth Ponies as they were filled with pulsating waves of seemingly otherworldly magic.
With one last defiant stomp of his back hooves Davenport lifted his head high towards the one light that shown into the dank musty store. His eyes closed as he let out a frustrated scream, fighting the bickering voices in his head. His mother, his father, friends, neighbors, and the various voices of his own personal monologue all fighting for their voice to be heard, for their voice to dominate, their voice being the one he should listen to. Plunging his nose into the line of powder he inhaled deeply taking up every particle he could. The burn of the powder subsided quickly, followed by an intense wave of pleasure overtook his entire body. As his eyes crossed and his breathing became more labored, he wandered over to the sofa on which he had been laying before hand. Unable to even crawl up onto the sofa he collapsed next to it, smiling to himself as the voices arguing inside his head stopped and he was left alone to bask in the sensations that overtook him.