Icebox

Chapter 3

Viridi

The winding sound of the gale working its way around each and every tree. The snow sparkling like fizzy soda water--untouched by the mark of civilization’s many pony hooves. It’d almost be pretty, if not for how sickly all the twisted flora looked. Masq and I continued down the trail, the 6 o’clock Stop nowhere in sight.

And just what are the repercussions of using a unicorn’s magic, hmm? I speak of it like it were a devil--what with my Earthen hooves--but just how much of that is conjecture? Do stupid little spells really belong somewhere more arcane, or can they really be practically applied in the realm of an engineer?

Maybe I am just a little closed-minded. Maybe there really is no magic in friendship--but only psychology.

Maybe magic is just for eccentric idiots.

The air pockets beneath the snow crushed under my hooves. My breath, shown by fog, floated upwards like from the top of a chimney. I couldn’t really see too well from this angle, but it looked as though we were approaching some kind of open valley.

It’s a practical problem though, isn’t it? It’s not philosophical or magic. It needs pony minds and pony hooves. It’s…

“I never noticed how quiet it can get in a place like this.” Masq noted, looking around at her surroundings. I gave her a nod, continuing to look forward. “I guess you never see it all in the same light in Ponyville, do you?”

“Yep.” She didn’t seem very content with my take on the matter, but shrugged her feelings off to the side.

“I just think it’s so weird, ya know?” We were nearing whatever lay ahead. An open space. A pasture? “It’s like somepony hit the off switch on whatever used to be here before.” She continued.

“Mhm.” I nodded.

A few steps more and (and some further crushed air pockets), and there it was. A lake. A frigid, icebound lake. Long and expansive. Stretched far across the greater area that was my former theoretical plain. Lined with the dark, crooked toothpicks that were the trees of this wannabe forest. Masq, seeming taken by the sight, moved forward for a better view.

“Wow… wish we brought some ice skates.” She said, then turned back to me, bearing a smirk. “Assuming it’s thick enough to support us, of course.” She turned her head back again, then trotted ahead to the shore. I followed, not too hot in pursuit, watching her as she sat her coated rump down on what was presumably once a beach so very long ago--sands now lost forever to time.

Spells? Spells. I don’t think I’m even qualified to examine the spellwork here. No, I’m better off ignoring it. I should polarize--focus--towards the gears.

I took my place beside Masq, eyes in direction of the sub-zero water, but not really seeing, nor hearing anything around me.

That’s what really matters, after all. Tangible. Real. It can be measured. Recorded. Tested over time. Popping it open later tonight might do me some good. It would-

“Tinker?” A voice to my left called me. I turned and saw Masq, blinking at me with long, dark black eyelashes.

“Yes?”

“Is something on your mind?”

I sighed, breaking eye contact and looking off. Off to the bent toothpicks some few hundred meters away. “I’m doing well, thank you.”

She cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head. “You’re not stuck thinking about your ballerina?” She knew me all too well. Had a divorce ever transpired, I may have just killed her for it. I looked back to her. Back to those long, dark eyelashes.

A kiss on the lips took me by surprise.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” She said, pulling back.

“I just really want to figure it out, you know?”

“Tinker, you’re brilliant. You’re the smartest stallion I’ve ever met. Give or take some time, and there’s no way you won’t figure it out--figure it out like you always do.” She laid the side of her head on my chest, looking out at the low-level vista. I smiled and wrapped my hoof around her, looking in the same direction, taking my other hoof out of my pocket--away from the dancer within.

Dusk began to beset us, and with it, a punishing drop in temperature for lingering outside too long. We were nearing the motel--I could tell--but like the lake, I didn’t have the greatest angle.

“So you just wanna go on the nature trails? Maybe sit inside and watch some movies?” Masq asked me.

“I think that sounds all right. A fireplace would be nice, though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She teased. “I’ll be your fireplace.”

“Well try not to combust too much.” I said, pushing up my glasses. “I don’t think I’d particularly enjoy sweeping up after your ashes.”

The 6 o’ Clock Stop came into perspective. Just over the top of the hill--clouded by the stripes of bark that shot up from the ground.

As we got closer to our room, Masq pulled out our only set of keys. Key, I should say. You’d think it a card, for which you’d swipe, but that wasn’t the case. Our room, fitting for the building’s outer decor, came equipped with an opener made of a hardy nickel silver.

My eye caught the caging on the window. The formidable bars that had something in common with the key. Eternal. Unshaken.

Masq, the mare, opened up the door and stood to the side for myself, the stallion.

“Ladies first?” She suggested.

I tried flipping a hoof at the gentlepony before me, charmed by his chivalry, but didn’t really know how to follow through and play along with the act. I gave a big, toothy smile, the socially inept dork I was, and walked inside.

All around me. At every corner I turned to. When Masq shut the door, there was no escape.

Green. The wallpaper around us was an olden, decomposing shade of green. A tear in the surface at the corner beside me. The pencil-drawn scribblings of a twelve-year-old foal’s petty obscenities and doodles by the lightswitch. A small strip that disconnected from the baseboard and peeled up like the skin of a stripped orange. Place could really have used a paint job.

Aside from all that, ‘twas a modest setup. Two beds. A nightstand in the middle with a digital alarm clock which told the time in a blinding blue font. A lamp that looked like it was ready for retirement. A midget of a refrigerator. A metal door connecting us to a neighboring room. A television that sat upon a wooden set of drawers. Our suitcases sat beside them. At least the heater seemed to be working fine. Not like the carriage, but still cozy.

Slink! Went the sliding chain lock from behind. Masq stepped out in front of me.

“I’m going to go pack our clothes. Wanna help?” She asked me.

“In a minute. I need to use the bathroom.”

“All right. I’ll go ahead and get started.”

I walked past her towards the lavatory across the room as she picked up each suitcase, one by one, and laid them up on the bed closest to the door--one by one.

The bathroom door’s knob decided to be more than a little obtuse. Stiff. A good jiggle was enough to bring about submission.

The dim light tries its absolute hardest to illuminate the area around me, but, like a vegetable trapped in a hospital bed, was bound to go out anytime soon. “Pop!” As I imagined it. A quick glance at the shower, and I suddenly felt like I was trapped in the remaster of a vintage murder movie of some form.

The side of the toilet bowl, covered in leaky, dry stains of brown, looked like it had one too many unwelcome guests over the course of its 30 year lifespan. My bladder suddenly seemed a lot stronger than it had before, but I sucked it up and did my business anyways--didn’t have to make a lot of physical contact with the wretched thing, after all.

Washing my hooves and looking in the mirror, I saw a white medicine cabinet on my reflection’s right. I opened it.

A used toothpaste bottle, squeezed and curled up into a static roll. A pencil that had no earthly business being there. A razor ready to aid one’s snorting endeavors. A box of sleeping pills.

I pulled out the medication and undid the top. A sheet of green pills, wrapped in plastic. “NeighQuil” read the striped purple label. I put them back and shut the cabinet door, stepping out of the horrorshow to help organize our burdens.

Masq was standing. She was standing, but she was not working as she said she would.

“Masq?” I called to her. No response.

She stared down at the floor--somber; almost like she were mourning.

“Masq?” I called to her again. Her eyes darted up to me.

“Yes?” She asked me.

“You all right?”

Her eyes moved across the floor, then back to the clothes in our open bags. “Yeah…” she sighed. “Yeah, I’m all right.” Instantly, she turned to the contents of our luggage and, with a strange haste, began sorting and stuffing them into the dresser. I took a seat at the corner of the neighboring bed, watching her.

Grab. Stuff. Pack it down. Repeat. Masq was getting forceful with the items in question. Grab. Stuff. Pack it down. Repeat. Almost like she had forgotten she, once upon a time ago, wanted my help.

I saw the fridge that suffered from dwarfism and felt hunger swelter into a self-aware knot in my stomach. Hadn’t eaten all day, what with the travel. Unfortunately, it was not nearly as brimming as were our suitcases. No food. Nothing.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask if the owner’s got any food available?” I asked Masq. She was still stuck in her overdrive state. “Masq?”

Her senses came flying back at her. “Uh… yeah. Sure. I’ll be here.”

I nodded and took my leave of the place, adjusting my coat, slinking the chain lock open, and pushing against the door--closing it quickly--as not to expose her to the cold.

Night. All beyond the light fixtures surrounding the motel and the main road was a boundless void one could find only during deep space exploration. The greeting desk/ lobby stood a ways away from me--a pair of lit bulbs on either side of the screen glass double doors.

I stood at the foot of those doors. The owner, as if in the stasis of his natural environment, sat at the desk with his hind hooves kicked up, a catalogue shoved in his face, and a new sour apple soda by his side.

I looked down to my left. She was still there. That sweet little foal’s doll, rotting in the cold, wept alone with nary a tear to show.

I made my way inside. Ding! Sounded the doorbells before my host jumped up, setting his articles to the side.

“Heh, well heya there!” He said, still corny as ever in his green flannel and ushanka hat. Fucking northerner. “Anything I can help ya with?”

I stepped forward, leaning on the desk and looking down to it, thinking. A quick comfort adjustment of my hoof revealed the tally marks. Eight.

“I was just wondering if you serve any food. I know it’s kind of late, but I could really go for a snack right now.” I said, pushing my glasses up.

“Sure thing.” He got up, moving to the back room, back turned to me. I looked down to the tally marks.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Eight. Six. Eight.

I looked back up as he returned with a set of succulent red apples. They almost looked too good to be true.

“I appreciate the gesture, but were you requesting payment or are these-”

“On the house.” He said, setting them on the desk and pushing them in my direction. “One for you and your lady friend.” He scratched his nose, looking at the pair. “We also have a vending machine in the back and breakfast in the morning.”

“Right.” I grabbed them with a hoof. “Much obliged. Very kind of you.”

“No problem.”

He sat back down in his seat, but maintained the eye contact. “Anything else I can do for you?”

My eyes fixed to the tally marks, then back at him, but my mouth remained shut. The owner leaned forward, noticing what I was staring at.

“I was curious about those.” I said, beating him to it. “I saw you take down two after we checked in.”

“Eh, just something I do. I’ve only owned this place a few weeks ever since the last guy handed it down to me. Like to keep track of all the customers I’ve checked in. I’m weird like that.”

“Who was the old owner?”

“Just some guy. Don’t remember his name.”

“Ah.” I tapped my hoof on the marks, staring them over and feeling across the imprint of the indentions. “Well, I appreciate the free food.”

“No problem.” He said, kicking his hooves back and peeling his magazine open, sipping from his fruity soda. “You need anything else, you let me know.”

“Sure.” I said, turning around, walking out the door, apples-in-hoof.

There I was. Out again. Out in the darkness. The stuffed mare on the curb still sat without a guardian--soaking up the snow. My eyes turned to our room. A single light to pit against the desk keeper’s pair.

Approaching it, I held a hoof to the doorknob, but then decided to pull it back. A muttered, muffled yammering raved on from within--tuned to the voice of a mare I knew. It was unintelligible; I couldn’t tell what she was saying.

Opening the door, I found a very surprised-looking Masq.

“Oh, uh… hey.” She murmured, frozen in place.

“Hey…” I murmured back, shutting the entryway behind me. A few seconds count--1… 2… 3…--and she was back at it again. Back to stuffing clothes into drawers. Forcefully.

The middle drawer shut and the bottom one slid out. Grab. Stuff. Pack it down. Repeat. Grab. Stuff. Pack it down. Repeat.

“Masq…” I put a halt to the viscous cycle with a touch of my hoof, setting the apples down on the bed. “Are you all right?”

It took her a moment to collect herself. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m all right.”

She was about to start on her frenzy again, so I put my hoof over hers and asked, “Shall I take it from here?”

Another moment to collect herself. “Yeah.. sure." Her voice a far cry from anything audible. "Go ahead.” She went down to lay on the bed in the back.

I uncomfortably took out each member of our small apparel army individually and neatly set it down in its appropriate section--invisible borders dictating their placement that I alone could see. A stallion’s scarf. A mare’s coat. A stallion’s ear muffs. A mare’s red beanie--perfect to match with her pretty red eyes.

The drawer shut resolutely before I opened the one at the top--pulling off my winter clothes and jumping to a spot on the bed in the back beside Masq. I just noticed that she still had hers on.

“You ready to sleep hon?” I asked her. She rolled to my side, groaning and looking down at the covers. I sat and watched her, trying to deduce the odds, or perhaps waiting for her to speak.

She took in a long, weary breath. “Did you see that mare in the train?”

“The mare in the train?”

She sighed. “The one who.. ya know… looked at me funny?”

“Ah. I recall. What about her?”

“What did you think of her?”

I blinked twice, puzzled by the motive in her questions. “What bearing does that have on anything?”

Masq did not seem like she was having it. Shaking her head in a defiant "no", she got up from her spot and refused to face me. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” She returned to the drawers, opening the one at the top and rearranging the contents within.

“What are you doing?” I asked her, sitting up from my place in the bed.

“I need to sort these properly.” She insisted. “I didn’t do it right the first time. I should be more organized. Like how you do it.”

“Masq.” My voice boomed into her ears. She stopped in her tracks. “Are you getting insecure again?” She didn't much of a returning response. She never would when she started fixating on little things like this. Silly mare. I patted twice on the bed to her. “Come here.”

She pushed the drawer shut and took her place on the bed beside me--still in a full winter getup.

“I know it may be hard, but you know what I always tell you, don’t you?” She didn’t have much to say. “Do you remember?” Again--silence.

“Masq,” I began, leaning in. “You’ve got to learn to get your mind off of it.”

What a tough audience.

“Just push it out! Think of something else, you know? To the void! To oblivion! Suck and spit it out like you would with poison from a snake. You can do that, can’t you?” Slowly but surely, she gave a cautious, conservative, affirmatory nod. I pointed a hoof to her. “There you go. And that’s the attitude you need to have.”

I tucked myself under the sheets and comforter. “Now go ahead and get dressed, all right?” I reached across to switch the lamp off. Flick! “We’ve got a long vacation ahead of us.”

She sat there--only for a moment--then got up to change.