A Dance With The Devil

Sixth

The tavern was filled to the brim with boisterous colts and men.

Once having a decision to just have a tiny sip and break, Luna and Twilight had entered the place, fully aware of the ponies chancing glances at them, but never minding it and expecting so. A buff stallion had given them their beverages, a lad who seemed to be the oldest amongst the bunch in the establishment. He was clearly under thirty, and yet all the others most were half his age. She swore she saw a little boy in here.

And even with the lingering thought of underaged foals consuming alcohol, they had some fun, nonetheless. Well, except for the first few hours, for a bunch of ‘em asked some very peculiar questions that she would rather not think of again. Luna and she were about to talk of plans, where to tread on next, but decided to leave it for later. They were burned out.

She felt like she was in those old themed restaurants with the gothic art and gilding and such, yet Twilight knew this was all either a very realistic dream or actually real. She was a little drowsy to make more thoughts right at the moment, though, even with Luna’s warnings and her own. A little sober, much?

The lunar alicorn muttered those four exact words to her, making her lift her head off the table, and then asked, “How much have you had the pleasure to drink, Twilight Sparkle?”

“One,” she said, “not including this.” It was easy for her to get that way. Twilight remembered she drank the bottle a quarter hour ago.

“What’s the concentration of this?” Luna picked her wooden mug up and scrutinized it. Twilight guessed it’s too late to revert her back easily. “I’ll snap out of it eventually.”

Then, like a curse fell upon the place, all the men left in unison, standing from their seats, leaving their mugs, and going out the single door, like some knew their mothers would come calling, slapping them for their tardiness. Boy did they leave fast; the tavern was almost empty in under a minute.

Twilight noticed the sun slowly coming down to be eaten by the horizon, drowning in the horizon’s blackness.

“That’s odd,” she noted

“Want to find a bed and breakfast, Twilight Sparkle? I am getting a bit light-headed myself.”

“There would be no harm, princess. I don’t really wanna stay in this place in the night.” Twilight took one last sip from the half-full cup; she never tasted anything so good in her entire life.

“This city sure is bigger and more crowded than I anticipated,” Luna admitted, when seeing the ponies once they were out. They managed a way through a crowd, some from the bar, packed and loud and bickering under the cool.

“Crowds like these can happen because transportation wasn’t so advanced; population densities can be two or three times higher than even the most compacted cities like Manehattan and Colt Kong,” replied Twilight, matter-of-factly.

“Interesting indeed.”

It was a very interesting, Twilight agreed, but not just of that—no. It was more of the differences comparing here and there, and there being modern day Equestria. It reeked of foul on any place they went, not mattering the place, and nopony seemed to mind. The line between peasant and commonfolk and noble was as present as it could possibly be, she needed to note again, and in these times, no matter how hard one worked, they would be stuck in the status they were birthed with for all their life. Twilight thought of it as sad, but those are how things were at the time, and nothing could be done about it. Interrupting the past was not what she needed.

Twilight accidentally bumped into somepony, a stallion donning a cape with gold stitching and a coat of a similar design—flowers gracing every edge, frilly much that it was bizarre. He raised his brow. Twilight’s heart pounded at the sight of him.

“S—sorry,” muttered Twilight.

“It is quite alright. There is not a harm in carefulness, now, is there?”

“I guess not.”

“Very good. At the moment, I ought leave; I have a very important deed that shall be completed! Thought a time on the beach is what I prefer, it is an evening so nice, agree not?”

“It’s lovely,” Twilight answered.

“Right, back to my business!” he said with pride, and with that he left. Twilight immediately came to Luna and nudged for attention.

“What is it?”

“I just met Antonio Rosa,” she announced excitedly.

“And who may he be?”

“A noblecolt, one of the most famous of the time.”

“Why’s he so?”

“His size, lands, servants, gold, and influence was unlike anypony had seen before. It’s one that basically made him king at that point.”

“Ah. And does he have a wife?”

“He does; a noblemare by the name of Tyche Valentina. A fine mare in her class too.”

By a lucky chance, they unconsciously drifted into a place where they were not met by the hassles of many moving ponies, a place of peace, Twilight may call it. It was positioned perfectly—in a way so they can see the bayside and the orange horizon, like it was made for it perfectly. Their eyes focused on the sky.

“I want to go somewhere,” the princess said.

“So am I. Where do we go?”

“Up to your liking.”

“Let’s rest by the pier then,” Twilight answered, slightly inspired by the preferences of Antonio, looking at the glistening, salty water.

“Then we shall go to the pier.”

The distance of the walking space between any building and the ledge out to sea was amazingly small, and yet ponies found their way, the pegasi wasting no time and staying in the air, whilst the unicorns and earth ponies made their way quick and in order. An occasional pony would be naughty, and that’s inevitable.

There was no railing of wood lining the border dividing the masses, so there was nothing there to stop their fall into the salty water. Speaking of salty water, its smell was powerful, as if Twilight herself could taste it in her own mouth. It lulled her, the stoical song of crashing tides.

The horizon halved the sun, light haemorrhaging to the bottom where the other part would’ve been, a bright orange she didn’t knew. The sun she knew was a different orange, not yellow, and so it was weird to her, but all the more interesting. It moved slowly, Celestia somewhere controlling the sun and the moon, simultaneously.

Luna tsked at the sight of the beauty.

Then she said very calmly, “My sister liked the idea of having different hues at different places very far away, where the other side of the world could not see it.”

“I’ve never heard about that before.” Twilight told. “I wonder why she would do that.”

“Celestia always wanted to give different people something unique,” she said. “It’s a thing she’s done for a long time.”

They waited until the sun disappeared, knowing it would rise to light another kingdom far, far away. And behind them was the moon, big, beautiful, bright. The purple sky soon disintegrated into black, dotted with stars. Luna gazed at the sight of them.

“You best leave now. It’s coming,” a voice with a thick accent said. It was from a colt draped in cloth. All the others too departed from where she knew not—back into their homes she guessed, or anywhere safe from the way the moved: haste. The colt gave a nod and disappeared with them, quickly concealing his being.

The whole area was empty, save Luna and Twilight. It was weird—the fact. Ponies had been doing business here minutes ago, and all the sudden they rushed out the streets, like it was routine, albeit with the terror still present, clearly. Unless it was a part of it.

“It is better if we go to someplace safe,” said Luna, “for I have a feeling something is wrong.”

Nodding, they headed anywhere where safe seemed to lurk.

Trudging the streets, at present it seemed as if the entire place city was abandoned—shrouded by howling winds. It reminded Twilight of ancient cities in ruin in the modern day, left clouded with lost troves of stories.

Somehow she felt a shrinking around her, like apiece of the world’s walls forged closer, and they were sneaky in their move; therefore nopony could ever suspect their sight, resulting them to rely on their feeling, the knowledge that something is there—a one of dread.

And it did dread her, greatly, and what scared her was she isn’t so sure what exactly stimulated this emotion. That she asked from herself, to find no such specific answer, but one as a whole: the newness of this. Had she gone through spooky, clammy places in the past? Yes, for certain, but if taken into consideration the fact that she and Luna may be in the past or in a dream, the physical incarnation of death possibly in their tail, and the vanishing of Lightning and Auriga, thenit would be precise to say she was terrified, utterly.

Twilight yelped. Something tossed her over like random rubbish, and she was on the cold, hard ground. A shadow’s wavy form stared back at her. It was hard to discern exactly what it was, but it turned out to be a mare who had the same emotion as her, it seemed, and she took off without a slight apology.

Luna assisted her to stand. A hair-raising scream came from the left. From a narrow walkway.

The body was lying on the floor, a pool of blood blossoming out of his neck that was snapped in half, his spine exposed, his head facing her direction, looking at her, eyes wide open—staring back in shock.

He was suddenly lifted into the air slowly by a red aura, as if his soul was ascending above this world, above this existence, to be amongst the stars in heaven. The magic slowly shut his eyelids and mouth, making it look like he was at peace. It folded his limbs in a respectful manner, wrapping it around an imaginary blanket. The stallion looked to be ready for rest.

His body drifted above, out of her sight, and all that lay by his original spot was a cloth drenched in red, a cloth of exquisite gold stitching.

★★★★★★★★★

Lightning Glare bide a time his. Time was faster as one grew he knew, for he had felt it himself, yes, but he also knew because of an article he read. Like he said, he did like to read, and he knew this for a long time. As the major life-changing experiences he had increased in number, he noticed that time felt faster, and so that may be a cause for the hands of the clock in his head to pick its pace. It isn’t what he wants. Light wanted more time, and if he can’t, then he wanted to feel as if it didn’t exist.

He soothed the keys of the typewriter: a tad pressure to wobble them, but not much to keep it from marking the paper, flaccid on its place. It appeared very old—an antique. The date engraved on the side confirmed this. It was made sixty years ago, thirty-nine years whole before he was birthed.

It already was night, a chilly one, even if the trees blocked the circulation of wind, so Light was offered a green, chunky-knitted cardigan from Athena, which he gladly accepted. He liked it very much, for a women’s garment. The grandfather was lacking of clothes at the moment. I should wear stuff like this more often,he said. It’d be interesting.

Not to mention that his velveteen rabbit has more clothing than he ought have. Light didn’t like to call him an it. He’s more than an it! Much, much more. Clearly.

“Hallo, Lightning.” A voice chirped deeply. Cronus started his way towards him, a cup on his hoof. He placed it in front of Light with no question. “Heard ya like some Cappuccino, so here.”

“Thank you.” He downed it quickly, while still a tad hot. He finished it until it was half-empty.

A chair the elder grabbed, and he seated adjacent to Light. He droned a monotone tone, looking as if he thought to himself. “Alright. Let’s start at some relatively easy and short things. Now, I’m not gonna teach you about grammar and editing and all the technical stuff like that; I’ve heard Collin say you know about that already. What I’m going to teach you . . . several things, yeah? On a personal level, they are the prerequisites—the backbones—of good writing, and just storytelling in general, in any way or form. And you know what they are?”

“Nope.”

“Guess.”

“Timing?”

“Nope.”

“Plot?”

“That’s not what I’m looking for.”

“Characters?”

“A tad close.”

“Uh . . . writing and development?”

“Not either. Think, just think. What thing is the elephant in the room, the one thing needed for a satisfying climax, ending. What is it that people tend to avoid?”

Inspiration struck him. “Conflict.”

“There we go; now you go it. Conflict. In many ways, conflict adds meaning to a plot, a story.It makes it interesting. Imagine this: a world where there is no pain, no suffering, no sadness, no anguish, no hate, nopunishment—a world where there are no consequences for your actions. If you, under these circumstances, go through no fight in your entire existence, then something’s wrong, my friend, something’s wrong. It’s just not possible for a world like that to even exist. It’s not possible to create a world like that and have ‘people’ on it. They’re not people anymore if they are subject to none of that.

“It’s what makes you and I and all of us. Pain. Even if a world like that exists theoretically, then it’s bound to crumble down, and only then will true meaning be found. Through pain and conflict we learn about us. And it can be applied to stories, too. It makes the characters feel more . . . real, if you know what I mean. And, yeah, you do want to make your characters feel more real, because the art of storytelling is a kind of escapism. Tell me, why do you read?”

“I read because it takes me to other worlds, to places no one has ever dreamt of going.”

“There. And yet some things stay the same, no? An example is how the characters react to events and what they do. Even the most wild fantasies and all fantasies have one thing in common: rules. They have a set of predefined rules that govern their everything. That’s what makes something realistic—not just if it can actually happen. There’s more to it than that!”

He grabbed a pencil and showed it to Light. “What do you see?”

“A pencil.”

“A pencil. What do you describe of this pencil?”

“It’s yellow in colour, short, with a black nib, a red eraser on the back with the bottom covered in metal.”

“Nope, nope, nope, that’s not gonna work, at all.” The grandpa stowed the little instrument away. “I was looking more of a . . .backstory.”

“Oh. Um . . . can I see it, then?”

He handed him the pencil. Upon a very close inspection, it seemed to show signs of wear, albeit handled carefully. Near the eraser’s end was the hastily written inscription: S.Y 964. Then came the epiphany.

“This is very old,” said Light. “Several decades since you wrote that over here, and the fact that its short means it's used. But I still don’t know what ‘S.Y’ means.”

“School Year,” chirped he, in a way that is awfully close to Collin’s. “I was ten at the time, attending in a small, quaint schoolhouse in Canterlot. It was an interesting experience. Need I tell more?”

“Please do.”

He hung a foreleg on his seat backrest. “There’s nothing too interesting about my life: it would be the most boring movie ever if it were made into one. I had parents, went to school, graduated, met Athena when we were both young and dumb, I remember.” He chuckled. “But it doesn’t really matter that it may seem boring. I mean, it is my life, so that’s that.”

“Huh. I guess you’re right.”

“You guess? It is right, Lightning. It just is.”

“Oh. I—I’m sorry . . .”

Cronus stifled a guffaw. “Kid, it’s alright. And the explanation I gave was farfetched, don’t you think?”

“Now, when I think of it, you did go too far.”

“There. I’ll go back into what we need to talk about. What was the importance of me telling you about this pencil? What do you think it was?”

“Well . . . you, um, showed me two different ‘sides’ of this pencil, the one that I see and the one that you see, so I think it has to do with the fact that there are different perspectives around it.”

Cronus petted his back like a friend old. “You’re getting close. It is not the same thing to you and I, when we both look at it. If we don’t see it as same, then we have a different . . . ?”

“Meaning.”

“There you go! Now you got it! What it means is not the same for us, but that doesn’t mean you cannot be on the other’s shoes, for the matter. In storytelling, things can be meant as other things—symbolism. Things that may not seem what they are, they have depth. And you want depth in your stories. They make them feel more real. Lightning, would you put symbolism in your stories?”

“I think I would.”

“And why so?”

“It’s a great way to get a point across, in a way that isn’t so obvious. All the books I read have them, and while the messages they give don’t exactly correlate to the theme and topic of the story, they do give other lessons.”

“Good! You’re aware of them, while most are oblivious. It’s nice to see you appreciate small things like these.” He patted Light’s back. “And these can be implemented in the real world. While some may seems flawed, you have to understand, interpret it. Keep your mind open in these sort of things, got that?”

“I do.”

“Well, I suppose that’s all I’ve got for now.”

“Yeah. Hey, thanks for this, even if it may seem short.”

“Not a problem, not a problem. I like sharing stuff like this to people. Say, you wanna drink some beer sometime?”

“I don’t drink. I’ve never had alcohol before.”

“What?! What are you, twelve?”

“Heh. People say that to me all the time.”

“Then we’ll prove them wrong.”

“I dunno . . .”

“Come on! It’s just a little drink, a little sip, perhaps?” His voice was low and slow, but opposite of the emotion behind it. Cronus gave a hearty chuckle.

“. . . I guess I can. There’s no harm in a ‘little sip.’”

“Great! I look forward to that.”

“I’m looking forward to that too.”

Cronus eyed a clock on the wall. “It’s time for me to go—have to make sure Athena gets to bed early. Goodnight, Lightning.”

“Goodnight.”

The grandpa tipped an imaginary hat before signing off. Light was left alone to watch nothing.

“Done?” A voice called on over. It was Flaura.

“All done and good, Flaura. where you waiting out the door the whole time?”

“It does not matter. I . . . need to talk to you about a matter very important.”

“Oh?”

“Mhmmm. And I need it be a secret, got it? Do not tell anypony of this. I needn’t let them find out.”

“Alright. Shut the door behind you.” Flaura closed it with a look of great reverence. Her walk was languid, so slow. An occasional stop was there, a while it took, and she started moving once more.

“Come . . . sit on the floor, will you?” He did what she did so, and Flaura joined him. Her eye avoided him, pleading almost. She rubbed her foreleg.

Light didn’t say a word.

“Do you know . . . how we were confused of our different points of view? Concerning the creation date of the temple and such?”

“Yes . . . why is that?”

“There is no way for me to tell in a manner lightly. I wish there was, I wish there was, but there’s not another way, I don’t understand, I don’t understand what is happening, I don’t understand what’s happening!”

“Flaura! You don’t need to be afraid in telling me. You have to let it out.” He remembered Twilight’s words.

“Nah. It’s . . . It’s nothing. I . . . It’s not important, I say.” She feigned a snicker and a grin.

He frowned, looking nervous. What do I even say? Should I just let her go? What do I do? “It’s clearly not. Flaura, something’s happening. You’re not going anywhere if you bottle it all up.”

“Lightning, it is nothing. Forget about it.”

“You’re telling me that you came all this way, looking all nervous and scared, having something important you need to say to me . . . and just run away like that? Flaura, something’s up. Please, tell me. I won’t say a thing, like you told me, I promise. I have no reason to hurt you.”

“I am beyond hurt, Lightning Glare. You know not of the pain I feel.”

“Then make me understand. Make me understand how you feel, Flaura. That’s the only thing I need to know. Please.” She gave him a piercing, sidelong glare, pressing her maw against itself.

She started to back away from him, to the door. A hoof he held out.

“Fucking . . .”

“Come here,” he uttered, his throat lodged with an unexplainable emotion. “W—we can do this together. I—It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. This is not okay!”

“Then it will be okay. You just have to let me.” Light extended his hoof a tad more. “Take my hoof. You don’t need to be alone.”

Flaura stumbled on her stand. “I—I need to be alone. I a—am alone. I don’t know where I am and w—who the lot of you are and what I’m s—supposed to do here . . . I don’t . . . why? Why?” She trailed backwards as she rambled.

“Okay, okay. You’re obviously in stress . . . and you need time, I know that, so why don’t we just sit down for a minute and cool down. I—It’s all very confusing, Flaura, but we’re going to need to cooperate with each other if we’re going to be stuck in wherever we are now, okay?”

She looked conflicted. “This . . . this is very confusing, I agree.”

“So let’s take this step by step. One at a time.” He pointed his handing-out hoof to her then himself, it waiting for anything to happen. Light nudged his head very slightly.

She rubbed her foreleg. “I don’t know what to do . . . Lightning. I don’t know what I ought do.”

“Me too, Flaura. I don’t know what I am going to do. I am confused too. But I’m here, and that’s what matters, and it would really mean the world to me if you would stay too.”

Flaura let her head hung loose, uncomfortable sounds from her maw muffled. She let her body subside. To prevent even the smallest fall, Light pushed himself to become her bulwark, cushioning Flaura. He tried pulling her up, but it was a use none, for she resisted his power, limp and dangling like a corpse, and he decided to sit her down instead.

“Mmmm . . . ” she moaned, stifling a sniffle. “I wanna see mamma.”

Light seized. I wanna . . . see mamma. “Flaura . . . I . . .”

“It’s not your problem,” she blurted inoffensively. “It’s not your fault. I should have not said that.”

“But I’m grateful that you did—Flaura, you want to see your mother?”

“I insist. But I can’t. I do not have the power to.”

“You do not have the power to and you don’t know what to do,” Lightning agreed, “but there is something that you want. You do not know how to do it or if you even can, but there is an agenda here. You came up to me and said you have something important to say. But you didn’t want to say anything in the last minute. You showed me your honest thoughts right here on the spot, trying to get away . . . This is something about me, isn’t it?”

Struck her the lightning did, her head a boiling teacup filled with embarrassment, ready to blow at a second given. She hesitated his look, but nonetheless stared at his hind, sitting legs. He awaited a response.

“Yes,” she spurted. “This is something of you and I.”

“About the temple dates and such.”

“Mmmm.”

Light informed calmly, “I’ll give you time if you want; it looks like you need it. Just know that I’ll be in the other room, only ready if you’re ready, got it?”

“No, wait! I don’t want you to leave; when had I ever stated a thing of that? Please, you can stay here with me, you know—fun!”

“Okay, then. I’ll stay.”

“Yes. Stay. I want you to stay.”

And so forth they stayed there. Flaura didn’t have her forelegs crossed, but she kept her limbs close to herself, as in trying to hide the rest of her body, looking so vulnerable. It was odd seeing her like this. Light thought it strange.

“Lightning, there’s . . . there is no doubt you can perceive of a problem with anyone. I don’t know how you do it, but nevertheless . . . thank you. I want to thank you.”

“You’re thanking . . . me?”

“I am. I have wanted to.”

“Then I have to thank you too, Flaura. Thank you.”

“Why?”

“For being here, with me. I said that it would mean the world to me if you’d stay, and you’re still here! There were times when you could’ve ran away, and even in despair, you ultimately decided to let me help you. I cannot thank you enough.”

She smiled at him for that, him smiling back, a piece of mane on a fall from her bun. Flaura held her cheeky mien and looked at his down.

“I cannot believe you have wanted to help me, in times like these. It’s something that I cannot pay back fully, albeit I said fully, so I am able to pay a part of it.” She took his hoof. “And now I recall you say a thing of taking your hoof.”

Flaura, with a suppleness, twirled his hoof around hers. Light played along, feeling her beige coat, very soft. Her smile was now sad, his eyes glimmering so bright. Flaura wrapped her forelegs around his neck, shoving her snivelling nose near his scruff. “I am not from this time,” she shakily whispered, “I am from four hundred years ago. I was that damnable painting for the time whole, and now . . . I don’t know who I am.”

It all made sense.

“I merely . . . Light, I’m so alone,” she sobbed. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Am I still Flaura? Why am I here? Why do I exist still? Why do I suffer still? Is there a reason for me being here? Can . . . can I go home?”

Light only swathed her back with the forelegs of his own. It was the only gesture he thought was appropriate at the time. She sniffled into his coat, and so did he. Light gently stroked her mane. It was the best he could do.