The Spices of Fairies

by GingerNutGin

Rating: teen
Tags: Rumble, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Thunderlane, Sad, Original Character
Length: 4983

Flutterponies are curious creatures though most commonly known to be extinct

Rumble always loved fairy tales, but he never thought that he would actually get to meet their characters.

((Edited by Bronymaster))

Published 2012-08-16 03:54:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-16 03:54:01 UTC

Mixture

"'Once upon a time, there was a huge forest as big as a sea...'"

"Bigger than the Everfree. Thunder?" Rumble asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. "And what's a 'sea'?" Eagerly, he struggled about in his little cocoon of cottony sheets, his frail hooves struggling against all of the tubes and prickly needles that had been so carefully stuck into him.

He felt like a little pincushion. It wasn't a nice feeling.

Thunderlane frowned and placed the cumbersome storybook onto his lap to place a hoof against the foal's knobby shoulder. "Keep rustling around and I won't tell you, okay?" he warned. "Didn't you promise Miss Redheart that you wouldn't move so much?"

Rumble stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout, his unwashed mane flopping down over his eyes. "Nuh uh! I'm not moving! See?" he stuck out his encumbered forelegs, stiff as boards as he let the back of his head gently sink into the mass of pillows that had been stuffed behind him. "Not moving."

"No, but you gotta relax, okay? Put your legs down." The stallion reached over to gently press his brother's forelegs down, his mouth twisted in an annoyed frown. "You're not gonna get better if you keep pulling stunts like this..."

Stubborn as ever, Rumble said nothing, preferring to keep his eyes locked to the wall at the foot of his cot, freshly painted for his own view. It was either that or the window to his right, and that had nothing but a boring view of empty countrysides. He had already long since memorized all of the details, from the number of trees that he could make out to the usual shapes of the clouds that drifted by.

"Rumble?" Thunderlane felt his unfurled wings brush against the rough fabric of the curtain that loomed behind him. It didn't feel good at all. "Buddy, come on, okay? I'm sorry I got mad at you..."

Upon the apology, the colt grinned a little, his eyes seeming to brighten against the paleness of his cheeks. "S'okay!" he chirped. "Keep reading, please? I promise I won't ask anything else."

"Well, since you asked nicely, might as well." Grunting, Thunderlane lifted up the massive tome onto the cot once more, its springs creaking in shrill protest as he pointed his hoof at where he had left off. "'In this forest was a little patch of poppies, all red as fresh pony blo... ah... ketchup," he faltered, a nervous smile tugging at his lips as he read on. "and in this patch of poppies lived an unknown race called the flutter ponies."

Rumble tried to lean up to catch a view of the illustration that graced the following page, but he couldn't. His shattered spine wouldn't allow for it. "Can you push the book closer, Thunder? I wanna see," he pleaded softly.

"Be patient, Rum. I was gonna do that when I finished reading the page." The stallion huffed and slid the book around to his brother's side.

While Rumble wasn't yet able to read, he was certainly able enough to appreciate art, and what art is was! Stamped upon the second page of the book was a tapestry of warm hues, all melting into one another to create a haphazard rainbow of visual delight. A cluster of bright crimson dots beaded the center, behind a pair of two curious looking ponies.

"Are they pegasuses?" Rumble asked, pointing at the two drawn figures. They had wings, yes, but they were bigger and less laden with feathers.

"It's 'pegasi'," his brother corrected, tugging the book away. "And no, I just told you. They're flutter ponies. See the girly butterfly wings?" He raised up the book on his lap and poked at the drawing, his brow furrowed. "Geez, you miss one month of school and already you're dumb as a seagull," he scoffed teasingly.

On any normal occasion, Rumble would have probably laughed at such a harmless little insult and given an equally absurd retort, but not now. As much as he tried, and as much as he smiled, the ache in his spine always persisted. It was like a haunting ghost, a chilling reminder of an event that the colt would have given anything to forget.

Thunderlane stared at his brother for a few moments, worriedly chewing on his lower lip. "What? You okay?" In a not so discreet manner, he shot a glance over his shoulder to look at the room's door, as if expecting a team of scrubs-clad doctors to just burst in and push him away. That was a silly thought, a product of an overactive imagination, yet it certainly didn't help.

For at least a little while, the story was forgotten. Rumble stared off into the ceiling, his eyes closing just halfway, just enough to cloud the clinical whiteness of his surroundings. "Why'd you have to get the feather flu, Thundy?" he asked.

The stallion at his bedside stiffened. "I dunno, Rumble," he murmured. "sometimes things just happen like that." He let his hoof stroke the velvet binding of the tome that lay upon the cot, his eyes locked to the two pastel ponies that rested on the thick yellow page. "You just gotta roll with the punches, you know?"

"I did, though," Rumble weakly protested. He tried to blow away the lingering strands of his mane that coated his face with a puff of air. "and it still really hurts."

Thunderlane sighed and bent over to gently brush away his brother's mane. "You're getting better. Don't worry," he reassured him, forcing a tiny smile. "Not long now before you get to go home."

"You said that last week, y'know," the colt accused, but not angrily. His voice was calm and steady against the torrent of liquid drugs being pumped into his system. In any other occasion he would have likely thrown a small tantrum. "It smells funny in here."

"That's just pine sol, Rum." Thunderlane chortled weakly. "Pine sol always smells funny." He kept a hoof planted onto his brother's shoulder, his touch light as a feather as to not jostle him. "You want me to keep on reading?" he asked.

Rumble ran a tongue over his chapped lips in thought. "Sleepy... but yeah. I wanna know what happens."

The stallion had to suppress a sigh of relief as he cocked a mock salute. "Yes sir, Captain! It's getting to be your bedtime anyway," he mused, glancing over at the clock mounted upon the wall. "One minute you're wiggling around and the next you're all mopey and tired... Being here does some weird things to you, right?" He chuckled nervously and ran a hoof through his maintained mohawk. "Okay, ready?" he dragged the book towards himself and tapped the spot where he had left off.

"Mhm..." Rumble's eyes were closed now. The sheets that tightly ensnared him stretched taut about his battered body, crinkling softly at every short breath of air.

The light of the falling sun had tinted the sterilized whiteness of the room into a welcoming burgundy. It made getting sleep easier to come by, less daunting and scary.

Thunderlane ran the base of his hoof along the book’s page as he read on. “‘You’ve probably never seen a flutter pony, save for in pictures, but they’ve probably seen you. For you see, flutter ponies adore watching their larger sized brethren, but they’re very shy.’”

“Why are they shy?” Rumble murmured, his voice nearly lost as his breath erupted into a loud yawn.

“Who the buck knows?” Thunderlane closed the book and placed it the bed’s edge, far away from his brother’s reach.

Rumble gasped and unthinkingly pointed an accusatory hoof. “You swore!” he cried, his shrill voice echoing across the narrow room. “You’re not supposed to swear, Thunder!”

“Oh, geez, did I?” The stallion brought a hoof to his forehead, rubbing its base against his temple. “Sorry, sorry... I’m just tired too, okay? You know how Mom would sometimes say things that she didn’t mean to when she was tired, right?”

“If Mom was here, she’d make you stick soap in your mouth,” Rumble declared righteously. He slowly brought his foreleg back down to rest against the mattress. That little movement alone had made it start aching again.

Thunderlane helplessly shook his head. “Regardless, what I do know is that it’s time for you to go to bed.” Wincing, he stifled a groan as he arched up his back, wings unfurling with a few satisfying pops and cracks.

“You’re not gonna go, are you?” The colt’s eyes were wide open now, his neck straining to lift his head from his sea of fluffy pillows. He tried to keep a straight, stoic frown, but the slight quiver of his lip was enough to give him away. “It’s scary when you aren’t here!”

It already was scary, what with the endless pitter patter of hooves running up and down the hallway, coupled with the occasional groan from his roommates, their enigmatic forms nothing but a bare silhouette against a baby blue curtain.

Thunderlane slowly slid down from his rickety chair, his hooves clicking against the cheap linoleum. He kept a cheery smile pasted to his face. “Hey, don’t be like that, okay?” he gently poked his hoof against the foal’s frail chest. “Soon enough this’ll all be over and done with, right?”

Rumble knew better. He knew that his big brother was just trying to act tough. “It’s still scary,” he murmured. “I keep having that nightmare.”

“Which one?” Thunderlane asked, his hoof grazing up to rest against his brother’s furred cheek. “The bad one?”

“The really bad one,” Rumble corrected, his teeth tugging against his lower lip. “The one with... y’know...”

The stallion planted his hoof onto his brother’s mouth. “Yeah, I know.” He chuckled. “Don’t talk about it; you’re just gonna end up scaring yourself.” He glanced over at the clock, then at the setting sun before he looked back to Rumble. “Tell you what, would you like it if I stayed with you till you fell asleep?”

Rumble closed his eyes. “No, you don’t have to,” he mumbled, his words sleepily slurring into one another. “You got a date tonight with Blossomforth.”

Thunderlane grimaced. “How’d you know that?”

“Your mane is extra poofy,” the colt whispered before his head began to slump, his chin resting against the matted fur on his chest. He was always tired, so insomnia wasn’t that much of a worry. It was just the fear of nightmares, the ever-nagging sensation that his sleeping brain was going to turn onto him.

Even so, his exhaustion overran his fear without any problem, and Thunderlane watched as his brother quickly lapsed into a sort of peaceful slumber. It wasn’t complete bliss, especially for a frightened, sick foal, but it was close enough that Thunderlane could feel at ease.in leaving him alone.

Gingerly, he craned his neck over to kiss the colt's cheek, his lips just barely touching as to not wake him. "Sweet dreams, little bro."

With not another word to spare, Thunderlane tiptoed over to the window at the bed's side and slid it open with a soft creak. He didn't bother to close it as he flew away into the setting sun.

The wind was especially fierce, ripping, tearing, clawing. It burned. It seared flesh and tore at bones, snapping tendons and sucking the blood from his very veins.

He was there, legs outstretched, goggles placed upon his eyes.

"Stay in position! Flap those wings! Faster!"

A streak of rainbow, and a shrill order rang true in the windy cacophony. His little wings pumped harder, faster.

"Come on! Just a little harder! I can see the water trying to funnel through!"

It was working! He could feel tears dotting the corners of his eyes. Blurs of color melted into the blazing wind, passing him and racing forward.

He was falling behind, but it didn't matter, for the wind was dispersing, slowly fading against the noonday sky. It was over, It was done; he could tell by the cheering that it was.

But he couldn't stop. His wings were still flapping, completely out of control. Round and round he went, completely ignored in favor of the incoming evening celebrations.

Fear began to well up inside of him, a cold, dreading fear that took hold of his tiny heart and squeezed so tightly that his chest began to hurt.

"Thundy!" He tried to scream, but his chapped throat could only manage a harsh squeal.

Unthinkingly, his wings snapped back into his sides.

He started to fall.

His eyes were pasted shut, and time slowed as a cold rush of air whipped against his fur, caressing him in apology.

Out of his own terror of the unknown, he opened his eyes just as his back smashed against the empty reservoirs' stony ground.

A merciless 'crack' echoed throughout the hollow walls.

And the sky came crashing down.

Rumble woke up crying.

It used to be worse. Usually he would have woken screaming, his hoof smashing the call button resting at his side for a nurse to gallop to his side, but the doctors had long since weaned him out of that habit.

His head sank into his pillows, the cloth around his head soaked with sticky tears. The fabric chaffed his cheeks, making his discomfort all the more unpleasant.

He stared up at the ceiling, seeing as how there was no other place to look unless he strained his neck. It was no longer a blinding white, but a hazy grey against the blackened darkness. It made for a disorienting view, one that usually sprouted even more nightmares of a darker nature.

His right hoof was aching, even more so than the rest of his battered self. It was almost as if someone had driven a cluster of pins through it, digging deep into the bedding of his hoof's base.

Wincing, he painfully turned his head to look out the opened window. It was pitch black save for the dull glow of the moon, but even then all that could be discerned was the faint outlines of the rolling hills that scattered the landscape.

Rumble had seen it all before, yet he always had to bother to take a peek. As boring as the scenery was, it just seemed like something interesting could have popped up.

He was wide awake, and the nagging pain in his hoof wasn't letting up. Annoyed, the colt strained to lift his head to try and take a look.

As he looked down the short length of his body, he noticed something rather peculiar on his hurting hoof, something that took a few moments for his muddled mind to fully register.

Out of the haze of his vision, blinded by tears, he could make out a likeness of a tiny pony, as small as a baseball. It's needle-sharp teeth sank into Rumble's hoof, with a trickle of blood blossoming from the wound. Its muzzle was completely soaked, it's lower legs crusted with dried fluids.

Upon the back of the creature was a pair of delicate butterfly wings, thin as tissue paper and as fragile and completely transparent against the shine of the moon's light.

Rumble watched, transfixed as the little pony silently suckled his oozing wound, his lips parted in morbid curiosity as it fed.

He heard a soft rustle, and he forced himself to pry away his eyes toward the forgotten book. There was another one there, another tiny pony with the same wings as the other. It was chattering something underneath its breath, struggling to push open the book's cover with all its might. Its wings fluttered wildly, nearly invisible from the speed at which they flapped.

For a few moments, the pair seemed oblivious to Rumble, and it gave the foal time enough to gather his shock.

"Flutter ponies!" he blurted out in a cracked whisper.

The winged creatures snapped their beady eyes over to him, though not with fear. The one that had been nibbling the foal's hoof looked up with a quiet hiss, its blood stained teeth glittering against the moonlight.

The other dropped itself upon the cover of the book, and Rumble could then clearly see that its chestnut fur was also caked with blood, including the peculiar spectacles that rested upon the bridge of its snout. It seemed almost out of place compared to its feral nature,

Any child would be terrified of such a sight, to be fed on by such vampiric beasts, and yet Rumble found himself strangely calm. Perhaps it was the tranquilizers that were being pumped into his system that made him so content, or perhaps the fairy-like creatures had put him into a hypnotic trance.

Either way, he finally managed to find his words after a few moments of unsettling silence. "Um... hello?" he whispered, hoping desperately that he wouldn't scare the beasts off. After all, his brother had explicitly told him that flutter ponies were known to be shy.

The one that was settled in front of his hoof chirped. It was tinted an olive green, an earthy color that seemed to clash horribly with the sanguine of the blood splattered around its mouth. It's foreign tongue was high-pitched, and to Rumble it's chattering was nothing but nonsense. It sounded annoyed, whatever it was saying.

"I'm sorry," Rumble said. "I don't quite understand you..."

"Then you are just like the rest. Foolish."

The voice was so sudden, and so loud that the colt nearly squealed in shock, his forelegs instinctively lifting to cover his ears. The movement caused for a surge of pain to erupt through them, and a harsh cry sprang from the child's throat. One of the many needles planted in his leg was jerked away, causing for a bead of fresh blood to bubble up towards the surface of the prick.

Sniveling, Rumble forced himself to lower his forelegs. "Wh-What was that?" he stuttered.

The earthy green pony hissed once more, and the voice that followed was quieter. "Me."

Rumble felt as if there were another presence inside his mind, an invader that was speaking into his head. The voice was feminine, though a deep contralto, and it echoed with every uttered word. "What's your name?" he asked. It was the first question that popped into his head, irrelevant as it was

"My name is Chives." The greenish fairy lifted itself into the air and brought itself closer, landing square in the middle of the foal's chest.

Rumble wasn't perturbed by the contact, if anything he found himself more and more fascinated by how otherworldly the beast seemed. "Are you a lady?" he asked curiously.

"I am female, yes."

"What about that one behind you?" the colt pointed toward the brown pony. "What's that one's name? The one with the weird glasses."

Chives lifted a small hoof and licked at it, shaking her head. "He is a Nameless. We are not named until after our first taste."

Rumble couldn't help but look down at his mangled hoof, and a sick sense of dread began to creep up on him. "You drink pony blood? But..."

"It is no less revolting than the cakes and candy that you fatten yourselves with," the tiny pony retorted. "The wound is deeper than we intended, but that is my fault, for which I apologize."

"It's okay," Rumble said. He forced a smile. "I forgive you. I mean, I don't think many ponies can say that they've seen things like you before, so it's worth it." He was reasoning with himself, quenching the fear that had begun to boil up in his chest.

The nameless chestnut pony chirped and waved towards his partner. He was floating above the book, his fur matted with sweat from the strain of opening its cover. A bright, childish smile graced his little face, exposing his strained teeth as he gesticulated towards the cluster of illustrations on the thick pages.

Chives ignored her partner's antics, though Rumble could see by the twitching of her ears that his behavior bothered her. "What is your name, child?" she asked, clearly aiming to grab the foal's full attention.

"I'm Rumble," the colt murmured. He cast a glance over to his left, towards the blue curtain that shielded his view of the other roommates. "We better be quiet. I dunno what the others will do if they see you," he cautioned. In a way, it was all a little exciting despite the dull throbbing in his hoof and foreleg, considering how boring his life had been for some time.

His meandering thoughts were broken up as Chives lifted herself from her perch, with her nameless partner curiously following behind.

"I wouldn't worry, Rumble." She floated upwards to curtain's bar and peeked over it. "The adults can't see us, nor can they hear us."

"But they aren't adults, they're kids too," Rumble murmured.

"Children are no longer children when they've found their purpose in life," Chives retorted, though not angrily. Despite her crustily stained fur, her otherworldly voice had taken on a warmer tone. "They lose their innocence, and their blood turns sour." She turned to Rumble with a cynical smile. "You're quite the rare breed these days, a child that doesn't have a clue."

Rumble thought of his own mark-less flank, hidden underneath the white sheets. He chewed on his lower lip and let the back of his head sink back into his pillows.

The two flutter ponies glanced at one another and gently floated back to down to Rumble's side, each landing on separate ends of his huge pillow. Chives lightly reached out a tiny hoof and poked the colt's cheek. "This is a place where sick ponies go," she stated. "What's wrong with you?" she asked bluntly

"I broke my back." Rumble sighed and closed his eyes. "They dunno if I'll get better or not."

The nameless clicked his tongue and pointed back to the book. His gibberish babbling lasted for nearly a minute, all the while Rumble stared at him with vacant, uncomprehending eyes as Chives nodded in understanding.

”He says that you’ve got stories about us in that book,” she translated simply. ”Do you read them?”

“Oh, yeah!” Rumble grinned. “My big brother reads them to me though. I can’t read much yet,” he admitted sheepishly.

The darkness had begun to fade, and if Rumble were to look, he would have seen the moon begin its descent. The sky around it melded into a pinkish gold, sculpting night into dawn.

Chirping, the nameless brown pony flew towards the windowsill, his glasses glaring against the approaching light. For once, he seemed melancholic from the way that he held himself.

Chives frowned as she glanced towards him, her tiny ears flattening against her scruffy olive mane. ”You indecisive children are all the same.” Her telepathic voice seemed forlorn, fading in a quiet whisper. “Peculiar.”

Rumble found that it was becoming increasingly difficult to open his eyes. His lips hung open, betraying his tired nature. “I was a little scared, though.” he mumbled sleepily. “You seem nice though, even if you were eating me.”

”Don’t take it personally.” The flutter pony tittered softly, a sound that could only be perceived as laughter. ”We do it for survival’s sake. Usually children aren’t as compliant as you are.”

“Usually kids don’t have broken backs,” Rumble replied, his words slurring into one another. His mouth unhinged in a loud yawn. “I think I should go to sleep now...”

Chives blinked slowly, her stoic expression melding into a soft smile. ”Yes, it looks like you should” She beat her wings and settled next to her chestnut partner.

As dawn approached with greater fervor, Rumble watched as the two tiny ponies seemed to fade, their skin becoming as translucent as their fragile wings. He watched as their hideously blood-stained fur bled away, cleaning itself to show their true earthy colors.

With the blood fading, Rumble used the last of his strength to glance at his hoof. It was as smooth as it was before, with not a cut or trickle of redness in sight.

It should have been impossible. He should have been questioning the logic, but what logic was there in the pair of creatures that bore the wings of butterflies?

His eyes shut, and even the sounds of his surroundings had begun to fade. He could only hear Chives’ voice drumming throughout his brain.

”We’ll meet again, Rumble. Perhaps not in the flesh, but somewhere less tangible.”

For a few moments, Rumble felt nothing but a strong hoof nudge his shoulder.

“Hey, bro? You awake?”

Groaning, the colt forced himself to pry open his eyes, only to immediately shut them as the light stabbed into them. “Thunder?” he murmured sleepily. “Izzat you?”

He heard a low, breathy chuckle. “Yeah. You got everyone a little worried for a second, not waking up like that. One of your IV things got loose too. You must have jostled it or something... I don’t know,” he explained quickly.

Rumble could tell just by his tone that his brother seemed tired, or at least strained. “Mm... what time is it?” he asked.

“Twelve AM. I mean, it’s not that bad, all things considered, but you gave us a little scare.”

The colt forced his eyes open, and he saw Thunderlane sitting in his usual chair, grating the bottoms of his hooves together. His usually neat mohawk looked more frazzled than usual. “I’m sorry that I got you worried,” he mumbled. Curiously, he saw that the stallion was holding the book of fairy tales open in his lap.

For the first time, he noticed that the two flutter ponies in the illustration were a distinct shade of green and brown, though vastly different from his mind’s sculpted counterparts.

“Heh, no sweat!” Thunderlane waved a hoof in dismissal. “You’re all better now, that’s all that matters, right?”

“Mhm...” Rumble sighed and stared up at the ceiling’s textureless surface, just to let the reality of it all sink in. There was never any Chives, nor was there ever the odd mute partner of hers with the peculiar spectacles. They didn’t exist, just another dream from his overactive imagination.

He almost wanted to cry, not because he grown attached to the little creatures, but because the one unique thing that had happened over the last few months turned out to be nothing more than a fabrication of his own mind.

It had all seemed so real, though, from the pricking of sharp teeth in his flesh to the booming voice that had echoed throughout his head.

We’ll meet again

Nervously, Thunderlane bent over to poke at his brother’s shoulder. “Rum? You alright?” he asked. “You’re kind of creeping me out a bit...”

The colt bit down on his lower lip and winced. “No, I’m okay. I’m just trying to figure something out,” he muttered, a bit testily.

Perhaps not in the flesh, but somewhere less tangible.

“Hey, Thunder?” Rumble suddenly turned to his brother with a weak smile. “Could you do something for me?”

The stallion’s demeanor seemed to brighten a little. “Whatever you want, Rum.” He reached over to ruffle his brother’s limp mane. “Just as long as you don’t make me go out to get you any greasy food like last week. Hospital food is gross, yeah, but...” he trailed off when he saw Rumble’s expectant smile.

The foal took a deep breath. “Could you go and get a pencil and some paper?” he asked. “I want to try and write a story, kinda like the ones in the book, but I can’t write.”

Thunderlane raised a hoof to scratch at his temple. “Wow... wasn’t expecting that, but hey, I don’t mind!” He rolled back his shoulders in an easygoing shrug. “Whatever makes you happy, little bro. Lemme go barter some off of the nurse” He leaned up and carelessly threw the book back onto the bed’s corner, tail swishing as he strolled out the narrow room.

Rumble watched him leave, a wry smile crossing his lips as he relaxed against his ample mound of soft pillows, the thoughts of his peculiar dream racing through his head.

“Once upon a time in a little cot next to a window,” he recited under his breath, constructing the plot of the first of one of many stories that he would one day write.

It took a few days for him to realize the cutie mark that had appeared upon his flank, of a simplistic quill against a wooden podium.

Many years would pass since that day. While Rumble survived his fatal fall, he certainly suffered from the consequences. There was no more flying for the little pegasus, and certainly no more tornado duty for the rest of his life.

Yet many ponies will often tell about an odd, flightless pegasus that roams about the cities of Equestria, slate grey with a curious brace planted upon the whole of his spine. He would carry a cart of scrolls wherever he went.

He would read his stories aloud to any little filly or colt that might have interest in fairy tales, and his rumbling voice would carry out emotions that even the most hardy of stallions could find reason to weep or laugh by.
Sometimes his stories were about adult matters, boring things like romance or mystery. More than often, though, he would write children’s tales.

His critics would always say his stories about the flutter ponies were his finest, specifically his series about the adventures of two characters in particular, Chives and the newly dubbed Nut.

As fictitious as she was, Chives was always right. The three of them had indeed met again, and for several times afterwards. Yet it was through Rumble’s quill, ink and rumbling voice that their relationships stayed alight.