Rainbow over Trottingham

Rain. Lots and lots of rain. An abundance of it that can’t be understated. It was as if the entire ocean was being poured through a sieve, like a million yaks had taken to spitting on the ground from the heavens, or that the whole crowd at a Sapphire Shores and Songbird Serenade duet concert were told they had cancelled.

The entire class saw it from the ferry, and more than a few voiced their distinct displeasure, namely Diamond Tiara and Silverspoon. Although the annoyance didn’t encompass the whole class, the infamous trio of Scootaloo, Applebloom and Sweetie Belle were just ecstatic to bring their particular brand of chaos to another place in the world. Feather swore there was something sinister going on in their group, and that the ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’ was merely a front for an amateur cult that had barely expanded in membership past the initial three. Needless to say, Featherweight had to be persuaded on more than one occasion not to run that particular story.

“Cheer up, everypony, I’m sure it’s just a bad rain day. It’ll pass soon,” Cheerilee assured the class, who were all lined up on the starboard side with horrid expressions upon the face. “I’m sure it will,” Cheerilee said again, unsure, furrowing her brows and placing a hoof on her chin. “It must,” she uttered once more, the corner of her lip pulling back into a grimace.

Featherweight cast an apologetic look at Cheerilee, looking at her past all the open maws of horror and sheer looks of disappointment held by most of the class. He felt terrible by proxy, again, cringing when he looked upon the city they were ever getting closer to. “I don’t think Cheerilee expected it to be like this,” he remarked.

“Culture, rich ‘istory, the birthplace of many great ponies and many sights to see. I don’t blame Cheerilee for thinking it’s a Prance on a budget,” Pipsqueak shrugged as he said his consolatory remark, giving Featherweight a pursed-lip smile.

“M-maybe everypony will cheer up when the rain stops,” Featherweight attempted to inject optimism in his words, trying to see the silver lining like he could in the many clouds hanging over the city. Whose idea was it to put so many clouds over a town? he asked internally, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” Pipsqueak concurred, smiling with some teeth, “it’ll be great. Cobbled streets, restaurants, and plenty of fun places to see. I think if I remember there being the autumn time fa-”

“Outta the way!” Rumble’s panicked voice sounded as he charged through the ferry door, his cheeks bulging out as he threw his head over the side of the boat between Twist and Applebloom, vomiting the contents of his stomach into the water as his wings flared out from behind him. A series of ‘ewws’ erupted from all the school colts and fillies. Rumble looked up, haggard. “R-rain, that means... clouds!” he exclaimed, ecstatic, sighing in relief at seeing something more familiar and still.

This prompted smiles from the class, some shaking their heads at the bizarrity. “At least somepony is happy to see the rain,” Featherweight remarked.

“Yeah,” Pipsqueak concurred, “you know, we shouldn’t let it put a damp’ner on things. Why should rain stop us having fun?”

“Right,” Featherweight smiled at him, nodding. After the other colt looked away to set his sights back on his home city, Featherweight caught himself staring overly long at the confident visage of his friend before forcing himself to look upon Trottingham, grimacing at the familiar feeling of weightlessness in his gut.

Galloping, hooves smashing on the cobbled stones, heart pumping; every unfamiliar pair of eyes on him. Those were the primary things that Featherweight acknowledged as Cheerilee and the class galloped to their place of stay. It was surreal to him that mere rain was all it took was to make a such an atmosphere of intensiveness that’d more befit a scary story than just a bunch of foals who didn’t want to get their manes and coats wet. Although, he was sure that if anypony in the class did feel genuine fear about being under such rainfall, it’d be Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon; their expression looking somewhere balanced precariously between pure horror and seething rage. The same sentiment couldn’t be extended to Rumble, whose gallop was more like a hasty canter, and exuded relief from every pore.

“I’ve forgotten what it feels like to not have rain falling on my head,” moaned Snails, his sparse orange mane clinging to his head.

“At least you can feel your head,” gripped Snips in his trademark drawl, his hair hanging over his eyes. “I don’t even remember what having one feels like.”

“Yeah, this rain is annoying,” replied Snails.

“What about it?” Snips retorted, clueless.

Featherweight tried to survey his surroundings, as scarce he could consider his current state, the rain falling so heavily that it forced his eyes to blink the droplets away often. Trottingham looked as though parts of it were frozen in the past, with rustic wooden houses often plonked between those of stone, but somehow the brown wood and grey stone seamlessly blended together; making it fit, look natural despite the dichotomy. What’s more, Featherweight saw chocolatiers and cobblers next to arcades and general clothing stores. From looking at the sky, one could see the sunlight pouring all over the surroundings, the clouds ironically acting as a natural umbrella for the warmth and light of Celestia’s satellite. In a way, Trottingham was a city of contrasts, and upon that thought, Pipsqueak and his mottled coat flashed in Featherweight’s mind.

Pipsqueak ran alongside him Featherweight. The expression he wore wasn’t dissimilar to anypony else’s, that being, a simple grimace and squinted eyes to keep the rain from disrupting his view. “Are we nearly there?” his voice was raised in volume to sound over the rainfall, directed to Miss Cheerilee.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, the school teacher’s coat was a shade darker it was so damp. “T-the hotel Regalia should be somewhere around here.”

“’Should?’” reiterated Diamond Tiara, whining.

“Y-yes, any second now we should run into it.”

“’Should!’” Diamond said again, fuming.

Featherweight extended silent sympathy toward his teacher as they turned a corner onto what yet again appeared to be just a regular cobbled street. However, this was marked by a sigh of relief, so sharp Featherweight heard it despite the rain. “There!” Cheerilee announced with cheer, running ahead with mirth as the class followed her, Featherweight holding his breath.

She led them to a nondescript, non-detached, and non-invitatory establishment. The bricks were faded pink, with a wooden sign hanging from two rusted chains jutting out from the building that just said ‘Regalia’ in admittedly fancy looking cursive. Light barely peeked out behind two tattered curtains in the large bay windows that flanked either side of the door. Featherweight felt immediately apprehension in his gut, an anxiousness he was sure extended to the rest of the class. Regardless, Cheerilee hurriedly pushed down upon the handles and practically threw herself in, all of the school ponies pouring in behind her with varying degrees of reluctance on their face.

After he blinked away the raindrops, Featherweight immediately set his eyes upon the new surroundings. Dim was the word that called to him the loudest as he looked around, sat upon the thin red carpet. There was a single chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but it was a very tall ceiling. He looked at the floor and saw several white spots where wax had undoubtedly fallen from the high hanging source of light and hardened upon the floor. He looked around him, and besides the young ponies shaking themselves free of rainwater and generally just being relieved to be out of the rain, there was nopony here. There was, however, a vacant counter and upon it was a lone shiny call bell. Compared to the peeling wallpaper, the profusely scratched and nicked rails on the stairway and the many creepy and faded paintings upon the wall, that bell was the only ‘new’ looking object in the entire establishment.

“Um, wait here, class,” Cheerilee instructed, her hoof steps were as visibly anxious as Featherweight felt; eventually coming to hold her forehoof out over the bell, tapping it and producing a high pitched ring that sent shivers through Featherweight’s body like a gust of cold air. “Hello? Anypony?” she called out, continuously tapping the bell repeatedly.

Suddenly, a loud thunderous bang sounded from above, shaking the dust and some of the chandelier’s candle wax down to the floor; attracting the eye of everyone to the ceiling, their faces aghast. Twist gulped, looking from side to side.

“What was that?”

“That’s just, Calvino!” a cheery voice erupted from behind the counter, prompting every pair of the class’ eyes to land on the new pony, all hopping back in fear at his sudden arrival; Cheerilee’s eyes parted wide in alarm. The stallion physically looked young, his deep dark blue coat was trimmed short, and his face lagged the sag of age, but hard purple lines were etched beneath his eyes and the stallion’s cheeks had several pronounced unshaved black hairs. Furthermore, he was dressed in a painfully unwashed uniform, a red dress jacket and an accompanying fez atop a black mane; each sporting stains of something that Featherweight couldn’t deduce. “I’m hmm-mhh-uh and what can I do for all of you young and lovely faces?”

“Um…” teetered Cheerilee, visibly taken aback by the outright eccentricity of the stallion, blinking.“We’re the, uh, Ponyville class scheduled to stay here this weekend,” she ended, wearing something of a smile, although Featherweight could tell it was hard for her to do so. “I’m Miss Cheerilee. We sent the bags via pegasus delivery… r-right?”

“Class... Class…. Ponyville…. Ponyville…” the stallion tightened his expression, his hoof coming to his chin in thought before his eyes parted and he looked at Cheerilee with a wide toothy smile. “Is Ponyville where that delightful delivery mare with golden eyes was sent from?”

“Yes! That’s Derpy Hooves,” Cheerilee answered, a relieved smile on her face.

“And is Ponyville where the Elements of harmony reside?” he asked.

“Yeah, one of them’s mah sister!” Applebloom interjected, waving her hoof with a hint of pride in her smile.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, although he quickly resumed his unsure expression. “And you said you’re Miss Cheerilee?”

“Yes…?” she arched her brow, tilting her head.

“And you’re the teacher of ponyville schoolhouse?” he inquired further; jutting forward his neck and looking at Cheerilee with one wide amber eye.

“Uh… yes?” she answered, perplexed. “B-but I already told you th-”

“Good news!” he interrupted, the exclamation taking everyone by surprise. “We do have your bag!”

“Oh good,” Cheerily replied, body relaxing with ease. “Wait,” her body stiffening and brows lowering skeptically, “Bag? A-as in singular?”

“Of course!” he confirmed cheerily. “Oh, Dilap!” he called, his voice melodious.

Like some bizarre play, all the ponies followed where the receptionist’s eyes went to next, a dull wood door by the stairwell. It creaked open in almost deliberately slow manner, all the class reared back, bracing themselves for whatever horror lunged out from behind the shadow of that door.

“Y-yae?” a meek, elderly and accented voice called back. A frail old earth pony stallion was its owner, and he walked with a laborious slowness from out the darkness of the room. He was dressed similarly to the stallion at the counter; his uniform neat and clean. His coat was grey, his mane grey, everything about the stallion looked old; almost as if this was his destiny from youth. Additionally, when he stood still his entire form quivered, his legs ready to fall out beneath him at any moment. Featherweight looked him with a worried grimace, his body almost willing him to go rush to the stallion’s aid. However, there was a striking feature about the stallion that earnt a raised brow. His eyes were a lemon-like shade of yellow, which created a dichotomy with the rest of the stallion, as they looked the most youthful.

“Would you please get the lovely madam her bag?” the receptionist asked sweetly, looking at Cheerilee as he spoke.

“A-aye, sir,” he complied, retreating back into the room whence he came at farrago speed of fast yet vexingly slow.

“He’ll be just a moment,” the stallion behind the counter informed, smiling with way too many teeth.

All the students looked to the open door. The trepidation had already left them but was instead replaced with the realisation of the abode’s quality. It wasn’t scary, nor was it haunted, it was just incredibly dross. The class had only experienced their first case of bad customer service.

“Any moment,” the receptionist informed, still wearing the smile, which had already become obnoxious to Featherweight. “Any moment now.”

Several deadening minutes passed. Much of the class, Cheerilee included, had resorted to sitting on their flanks; eyes glued to the door. Featherweight could the dust setting on his open eyes, prompting him to rub his eyes and drag his hooves down his cheeks, sighing. Finally, after what felt like an eternity; a few minds considering the prospect they had landed themselves in Tartarus unknowingly, the old stallion finally appeared from the void of his quarters.

Dilap plodded into the light, Featherweight cringing at the familiar suitcase the old stallion balanced on his back. The faded green box was carefully placed upon the floor, the decrepit stallion taking a few steps back and smiling a partially toothless smile; the oddly placed triumph in the smile only made Featherweight feel more guilty for his fortune. Featherweight shyly emerged out from the other students, the feeling of many envious and angry eyes upon him as he approached the case. He looked at Dilap with a smile he found painful to wear. “Thank you,” he expressed his gratitude weakly, grabbing the grip of the large suitcase between his teeth and cowering back into the gathering of students, stopping next to Pipsqueak who flashed him an empathetic smile.

Cheerilee sighed, looking glancing to the class and Featherweight could see remorsefulness in her eyes. “Alright,” she began, looking to the still grinning receptionist, “can we get the keys to our rooms?”

“Sure thing, madam! I’ll be right back!” he said as he zipped beneath the counter, disappearing. Just as the class and Featherweight prepared to release a sigh of annoyance, he materialised from out under the counter; carrying a wicker basket, dropping it on the desk with an audible jingle. “Here you go! Sixteen rooms, plus board, for your sleeping pleasure!”

“But…” Cheerilee began, sounding exhausted, “there’s nineteen of us.”

“Oh,” the stallion began, for the first time sounding something other than jovial. “Well, I’m wholly sorry for that. And I’m afraid we’re completely booked!”

“Really?” Cheerilee retorted in disbelief before sighing into her hoof. “We’d just have to make do,” she said resentfully, turning to the class, walking to them. “I’m sorry, class. But it looks like a few of you have to have to share your rooms.”

“But if there’s nineteen of us and sixteen rooms, while true one of us has to be in a two, one of us has to group up in a three at least,” informed Snails, earning the eye of every classmate. “What?”

“We’ve got that covered,” Scootaloo announced, wrapping her hooves around Applebloom and Sweetie Belle with a grin.

“Good,” Cheerilee exhaled, likely feeling relieved something went smoothly today. “So… any takers for who want to share the double?” At this most the class began to shift in their places, awkwardly looking from side to side at each other, Cheerilee sighed. “Come on, ponies. Does the idea of sharing a bed sound that bad to you? Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon, you’re best friends. Why not share?”

“Ugh,” Diamond Tiara cried, self-entitlement exuding from every inch of her, “we can’t do that. We’ll get our natural scents all mixed up with each other. And thanks to a certain somepony we don’t have all of our perfumes!”

Cheerilee rolled her eyes. “Snips, Snails?”

“Er,” Snails began, looking to Snips.

“What she said!” the two of them said in unison, prompting a growl of frustration from Cheerilee.

“Anypony?” she asked, desperation in her voice.

Featherweight looked at Pipsqueak next to him, giving him a half smile, gesturing to Cheerilee with a shrug. Pipsqueak exhaled, and he raised his hoof, looking at Cheerilee exasperated. “Me and Featherweight will do it.”

Cheerilee sighed, relieved. “Good. Thank you colts,” she nodded to them, reluctantly turning back to the counter.

“And will that be all, madam?” he asked, innocent enough, again wearing his smile.

“Yes, thank you,” she told him, before grabbing the basket between her teeth; turning back to her students and placing it on the floor. “Come on, students. Each of you pick a key and go to your room. I can tell each of you are exhausted and annoyed,” she mumbled the last part, “so let’s all get an early night and start again in the morning. It’s a new day after all. A fresh start.”

“Why do I get the feeling she’s saying that for her own benefit,” Pipsqueak muttered, deadpan.

One by one the students filed in a line at the basket, picking a key out like a raffle ticket. What the prize was they weren’t sure, but most of them were sure each was a winner, but none of them believed they were going to be elated by the reward they were going to receive. Featherweight and Pipsqueak were last in line, and at the bottom of the basket there resided a single lonely key; the tag attached by a piece of thin white string was the number ‘12’ written on the red card in gold. Featherweight looked sideways at Pipsqueak, who gestured toward the key with a shrug. “Number twelve it is,” Pipsqueak watched Featherweight lean down to pick up the keys between his teeth; the lithe colt gripping the tag by the edge, reluctant to take more of it in his mouth than necessary.

As they walked toward the stairwell, following Cheerilee, the stallion behind the counter looked at them with mirthful eyes; also his broad beam of a smile. “Enjoy your stay.”

The smile became creepy again, Featherweight thought, hastening his pace.

The stairs creaked with every single step they took, causing Featherweight to recoil with every single one of them. The first flight ended with taking an immediate sharp turn, and they went further on, before finally finishing the first flight on a hallway of doors, marked by yet another staircase at the end. Featherweight watched as he passed them the faces of every pony who opened the doors to their room, each one pulling a face of varying disgust and disappearing inside it before he could peek into what possibly awaited him in his own room. One of the accommodations he passed was similar to the others, exempting the garish ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorknob; the smiley face above the ‘i’ screamed it the work of the receptionist. Is this Calvino? he asked internally before his attention was torn away by a voice.

“‘Ere’s us!” Pipsqueak called from near the end of the hall, trying hard to wear a smile. “Wanna let us in then?”

“O-oh, right,” Featherweight responded around the key, flustered. He cantered to Pipsqueak, using his wings to balance the suitcase on his back, the contents of which jolted around and send him careening from left to right; causing his friend to chortle at his awkwardness. Featherweight was given a sad frown by Cheerilee as she entered her room – the one next to his. Finally applying brakes, Featherweight looked to Pipsqueak with a blush, who then nodded toward the door and prompting Featherweight to swiftly slam the key into its hole; turning it with a satisfying ‘clunk’ of the lock. Featherweight spat the taste of copper from his mouth, looking at the knob with reluctant discernment. “D-do you want to do the honours?” he inquired with no spirit.

“Nope,” Pipsqueak answered drily, “but I’ll do it anyway.”

Pipsqueak raised his hoof, slowly, as if it were hefting a significant burden. He looked to Featherweight one last time before he turned the brass handle, clicking open the door and allowing it to swing open, both of their mouths dropping open. It was unexpectedly more terrible than either of their already abysmal expectations. Pipsqueak, being the braver of the two, was the first to step inside; Featherweight immediately followed.

The only source of light, a fresh candle on the bedside table, revealed more to the room than they wanted honestly to see. Flaked off paint, cold pouring in from some doubtlessly unseen crevice, and many dark corners. Featherweight suspected something lurking within them, an irrational fear that unintentionally brought Featherweight closer to Pipsqueak’s side, prompting him to deliberately take a step away as they entered the room proper; closing the door behind them. They looked around their weekend abode in silence, likely because their voices were snatched away from shock. Featherweight walked to the right side of the room, eyeing the curtains before yanking one of them open, giving him the perfect view of another building’s stern and the mountains of rainwater. “We have a view,” he informed sardonically, smiling limply at his friend.

“Bedspread’s clean,” Pipsqueak shrugged, looking at the pulled back sheet and pillow with a frown. “Well, rel’tivly speakin’. I don’t think anypony’s slept in this bed for so long that any germs they left prob’ly died of old age.”

“Or they’re lying in dormant, waiting for their next victim,” Featherweight retorted humorously, stopping at the adjacent side of the bed.

“You think somepony died ‘ere?” Pipsqueak smirked.

“It’d explain why the place is so rundown. Either nopony is staying here because of a tragedy, murder, or because it’s haunted. Hauntings are good to get readers, but nothing gets the eye quite like a good ol’ murder,” Featherweight shrugged nonchalantly, speaking matter-of-factly. “It’d make for a good scoop!”

“This place isn’t scary, Feather. It’s just a dump!” Pipsqueak marked by leaping on the bed, the audible sound of springs alerted Featherweight to the probable discomfort of the mattress, watching Pipsqueak sprawl himself out on the bed stomach down. “‘Sides, you said yourself ‘seeing is believing.’ Nopony’s going to believe you without a few snaps.”

“Aha!” Featherweight raising his hoof with a jubilant flair. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Featherweight informed as he sauntered with mild swagger over to his case, pushing the two pronounced brass buttons; the two locks unclasping with a click. Inside the case was a small yellow box in the middle of the rest of his luggage. He clasped it between his two hooves and yanked it out, rattling the contents within, pulling the top off with his teeth and spitting it out onto the green carpet. Featherweight smiled happily at the sight of his polaroid camera, the old thing had been with him since he was young. The black case had several deep scratches, the lens had a crack in it, the steel joints became stuck more often, and the clicker was sometimes unresponsive. The only new piece of this relic was the film within. It was old, on the verge of breaking, yet he couldn’t part with it. He pulled it free from the box and presented to Pipsqueak with a large smile. “Ta-da!”

Pipsqueak smirked, shifting on the bed onto his stomach, head on his hooves. “Lucky. But you could’ve lost that like everyone did. Why’d you bring something so valuable on the trip?”

“I couldn’t miss the opportunity. Not every day you come so far from Ponyville, and I just thought I’d take some pictures,” Featherweight shrugged, before taking steps towards the bed, wrapping the camera’s brace around his neck and aiming it at Pipsqueak.

“You’re taking a picture now?” Pipsqueak raised a brow toward him but eyeing the lens.

“Why not?” Featherweight grinned. “Have to capture misery and bad times too. Otherwise, it’s too… fake.”

Pipsqueak scoffed. “Well, mis’ry loves company,” Pipsqueak echoed, before patting his hoof on the bed besides him. “Come get on the bed, we’ll take it together. Two frowny faces on their face day in Trottingham.”

Together? The word made his stomach somersault for some reason. “O-okay,” he replied more promptly than he meant to, causing him to internally chastise himself as he went along with his friend's suggestion, snaking onto the bed with awkward movements. The bed was double, but loosely so. Barely enough room to hold them both. “How should be do it?”

“What’s the matter? Forgotten how to do selfi- sorry,” he caught himself, rolling his eyes, “I meant ‘self-portraits?’” the colt flexed his two hooves sarcastically, imitating Featherweight’s past lingo. “Just lie next to me and take the picture.”

“S-sure,” Featherweight swallowed. He folded his wings close to him, lying on his stomach next to his friend before placing the camera in front of them both, their shared reflection in the lens. “A-alright. Ready?”

Pipsqueak scrunched his face to one side, shaking his head. “Look at you. You’re going to barely be in the frame. Get closer to me,” Pipsqueak directed, nodding with beckon at Featherweight.

“O-okay,” Featherweight stuttered, feeling the dreaded symptoms arise within him. I don’t even have to look at him anymore, it’s getting worse! he lamented as he shuffled closer, pressing into Pipsqueak’s side, his heart beating against his ribcage as he felt the warmth from his friend’s body. “C-close enough?” he asked, feeling himself oddly placed dissatisfaction, wearing a weak smile.

“Yeah, I think that’ll do. Take the picture,” Pipsqueak prompted, looking towards the camera with a pursed smile, eyebrows raised. To Featherweight it conveyed the perfect emotion. Bad, but I’m fine with it, the expression that encapsulated this place, although Featherweight wondered what stopped him from being entirely displeased. He was pulled out of thought by Pipsqueak’s eye shifting to him once more, crease between his brows. “Are you going to take it?”

“Oh! Yeah, y-yeah!” he smiled innocently, fumbling his words. He arched his hoof off the side, reaching around so that the limb would be out of frame, his hoof coming to press upon the shutter softly. A small click followed as the button was pressed, yet no flash accompanied. “Dammit,” he muttered, mildly annoyed at the finicky nature of his camera. He pressed down again, again, and again; until Pipsqueak released an annoyed grunt.

“Let me do it,” Pipsqueak sighed, reaching forward before Featherweight could object, brushing the colt’s hoof to the side as he began pressing down on the shutter in exactly the same repetitious manner as Featherweight. The cream coloured colt came to pause at the contact, his hoof lingering close by Pipsqueak’s, face tight knitted into an expression of contemplation. “Is something the matter?” Pipsqueak asked, concern in his voice as he glanced sideways, continuing to press the shutter.

“Yes... I mean no,” he caught himself, shaking his head lightly with anxious snigger. “I’m just not feeling too good. Must be stress, it’s been piling on. Bad train ride, the sight of the city from the ferry, everypony losing their luggage and being short of rooms. It’s just been rough.”

“Oh, alright,” Pipsqueak gave to him a sympathetic smile, still pressing down upon the shutter.“should we just get the day over with then?”

“Sure,” Featherweight agreed, internally sighing with relief. “I can’t wait to get my head do-”

Pipsqueak’s eyes bulged out in surprise as a sudden flash emitted from the camera, attracting both of the bug-eyed colts to it. “Huh, it worked,” Pipsqueak pointed out, lifting his hoof off the device, looking to Pipsqueak with an unsure grin. “Does that count?”

“I think it does,” Featherweight giggled, imagining the terrible quality of the picture in his head, with Pipsqueak’s extended hoof still in frame and their surprised expressions.

“We could retake it,” Pipsqueak proposed

“Nah. It’s perfect the way it is. After today, a picture taken by mistake couldn’t be any more fitting if it wanted to,” he explained, directing a smile to his friend. “I just hope tomorrow is better.”

“It’ll ‘ave to be pretty bad t’be even worse than t’day,” Pipsqueak scoffed as he spoke, climbing up the right side of the bed before worming his way beneath the covers, looking visibly uncomfortable to even be beneath it; his body looking small beneath the sheets as he brought his hooves close to himself. “I think it might be a good day.”

Featherweight admired many things about Pipsqueak, but his optimism was always at the forefront. “Really, you think so?” he probed as he mimicked his friend, furling his wings close to his body as he climbed beneath. Warm, he thought.

“Yeah,” he nodded, curling his lip, before snaking his hoof out of the covers and held it toward the ceiling in declaration. “If it isn’t, I promise I’ll make it one.”

Featherweight grinned, rolling his eyes with scepticism. “How can you promise something like that?”

“I dunno,” Pipsqueak shrugged, looking at him sideways with a toothy grin. “I can still try. That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”

Featherweight looked to his friend, the bed being so small meant their faces were only a few inches from one another, giving him unbridled access to the other colt’s eyes. There was an odd determination within them, a subdued fire, which fuelled the symptoms Pipsqueak ailed him with to emerge once more; the cream coloured colt falling into stupor whilst looking into his eyes. “Yes,” Featherweight replied simply, the colt next to him grinned and directed his eyes back to the ceiling, grinning a smile that exuded confidence. “They are.”

Pipsqueak smirked, giving the colt a nod of agreement. “It will be a good day,” Pipsqueak assured, before his mouth opened wide, a yawn escaping his gullet; the day catching up to him. “But first, we must sleep. Been quite a day.”

“Agreed,” Featherweight replied promptly, forcing his eyes away from Pipsqueak, turning onto his side and staring with pursed lips at the flickering candle; making sure to keep all of his limbs close to himself. “Goodnight,” he barked, before closing his mouth shut tight.

“Night,” Pipsqueak replied, seemingly uncaring of Featherweight’s tone. Featherweight heard creaking, no doubt Pipsqueak turning on his side. Featherweight could feel the end of his friend’s tail flick into his back before as his friend tried to get comfortable. “Sweet dreams or whatever.”

Featherweight didn’t reply to his friend, too lost in thought to do such a thing. He watched the candle flame dance as he went so deep into mind as to get lost. Even with his back to his friend, the only sounds being the flame, rain and breathing, his heart wouldn’t stop its relentless beating. He felt through his chest the organ’s relentless pumping and thumping. It reminded him of what it felt just before vomiting, the rise of bile in his throat, but it never followed through; just teetering on the edge of making him wretch. After a while he began to hug himself crushingly tight, trying to make it stop, but it failed to relent. He tried closing his eyes but it got worse, the colt responsible for this feeling came into his vision behind the closed lids, wearing the same cocksure smile as he just was prior.

Sighing, Featherweight, with all the slowness of a sloth, turned around. His eyes landed on the back of Pipsqueak’s head, remaining stuck like glue. He watched his friend’s chest rise and fall beneath the sheet, reminding him of the afternoon on the train. He didn’t take into account how low long his eyes were unbroken in their vigilant watch of the sleeping Pipsqueak, but all he knew what that is managed to stop the deafening sound of his own heart. Soon, he began to feel a genuine drain of consciousness, as his body willingly floated into the arms of sleep.

With furrowed brows and a clenched jaw; slamming his eyes closed despite the ailment, a singular thought arrived in his head.

What is wrong with me…