Rain fell lightly but consistently on this Friday afternoon as the city bus came to a halt at its regular stop at Third and Civility. Its hydraulics hissed as its door opened and out stepped a teenage girl – lavender skin, long navy blue hair with violet and pink streaks tied up in a bun, and thick horn-rimmed glasses, clad in a lightweight purple coat and charcoal slacks which any sane person would declare not warm enough for a day like this even with a large rainbow umbrella for protection.
Upon her galoshes impacting a puddle on the sidewalk in front of a tiny bus shelter, the girl sniffed the air – rain mixed with the odours of an urban center – and gave a slight frown as she tried to critically analyze the mix of smells. A gruff man who may or may not have been a vagabond shoved her out of his way as he stepped into the bus, followed by about four other people. Luckily, the girl did not lose her balance and fall into the puddle or otherwise further soak herself as she opened her umbrella. She spoke to it.
“I wish I could have brought Spike with me,” she said with a sigh. “He wouldn’t put up with that sort of treatment.”
Out of nowhere inside the bus, just as the doors closed, a bass voice sang out, “No Dogs Allowed.”
The girl frowned as the bus drove away. Doing a slow half-twirl as she observed her surroundings, she reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a small spiral notepad from which hung an errant length of red string attached to the steel coil.
“Okay,” she told the inanimate sheets of paper, “If my triangulations are correct, it seems a disproportionate amount of suspicious activity has occurred in this vicinity: theft, assault, sexual harassment, the death of a popular – at least with everyone I know – politician.”
The paper said nothing.
“I know, I know!” she answered it. “But I can’t get onto the grounds of that school to check; they’re in session today while we’re out for professorial inservice.”
Her stomach chimed in with a gurgle.
“You do have a point,” she admitted. “Third Street has several eateries all in a row of which I could perhaps take advantage.”
She scanned the other side of the street, where she saw a handsome-looking bistro on the corner, “Le Connard Prétentieux”, which she had visited with her mother a few times; a noodle bar, “Nunu-don”; and in between those sat the significantly lower scale eatery named “Big Beulah’s Burrito Barn”.
Looking at her notepad again, she nodded to herself and, upon deducing it safe, crossed the street at the corner, never venturing even an inch outside of the white lines of the legal path. That chore completed, the girl frowned again as she adjusted her glasses and made her way into the Burrito Barn.
Inside, she found a few customers – likely people who worked in nearby businesses or lived in the apartment buildings and condominium buildings in the area – as well as a large, surly-looking woman with curly black hair standing behind the counter.
The girl ordered a ground beef burrito with a few random vegetables and cheese with sour cream. As a prematurely greying man in dreadlocks wearing a dashiki made the wrap in front of her, she mulled over her notes and thought.
This place, this sorry excuse for a restaurant, I believe, is one of the epicentres of all the unusual goings-on in this city. Is it the food? As a researcher, I must discover the answer. If I can say one thing in my defense, it is that I, Twilight Sparkle, will never give up, even if I’m effectively driving blind.
I suppose I should consider myself lucky I was able to venture out on my own at all. Not just because Headmistress Cinch has been pressing me to produce results of my independent study, or because my parents keep haranguing me about my grades – as if I didn’t already push myself regardless of my physical state – it is difficult to do any sort of study, much less intensive research, when you feel so sick that you genuinely believe your internal organs are rotting away. It may have been four weeks ago, but the mental scars remain.
That was the second time I felt such a sensation, that helplessness no drug could cure. The first time was this past Autumn… and it disappeared after about three days just as quickly as it had set in. I had hoped never to feel it again. I was not fortunate. Some days when the weather is poor, I catch myself holding my gut without realizing it: an autonomic response to the memory.
Obviously the various vegetable components of a burrito (plus tomato, technically a fruit) could not possibly feel such dread at the possibility of being plucked, cleaned, and eaten; they lack a peripheral nervous system… or any nervous system at all. One may wonder about the cows, however. They do feel pain, yet we justify eating them because they lack higher cognitive functions – they do not speak, nor do they think about much of anything beyond eating, comfort, and perhaps coitus, though even that is unlikely without a bull nearby.
Does the ground beef in a burrito come from male or female cows? Worth knowing.
I feel no shame in eating a fellow mammal. I cannot understand those who do. Yes, there is an argument to be made that beef in particular leaves too large a carbon footprint that hurts the land in the long run. However, the standard alternative given of eschewing all meat is not viable. I have discovered through seventeen years of life that people strongly dislike being told what to eat, and even more so being guilted out of partaking in what they want.
I would much rather have a burger, but this place only serves Burritos and other tortilla dishes. So be it.
What is a burrito but the sum of its components? A tortilla contains flour, either of wheat or of corn, starchy, perhaps with some flavouring – spinach, tomato, herbs, etc. It may be fortified with extra fibre but, in this case, probably not. A plain white flour tortilla will suffice for this gastronomical experiment.
All of its inner ingredients are simply a combination of proteins making up chemicals that could have positive or negative effects on the body. Meat contains fat and calories, of course, but also protein. Beans have both protein and fibre but are also extremely high in carbohydrates, not unlike the tortilla itself. Rice is a more complex carbohydrate, but seems rather pointless except as a filler. Why would anyone in their right mind add potatoes? It’s starch on top of starch on top of starch! Peppers contain high amounts of vitamin C, but onions provide little but a savoury flavour. Corn is similar in its uselessness. Tomatoes have small amounts of various vitamins, particularly C, but nothing outstanding. Lettuce, depending on the type, contains significant amounts of vitamins K and A. Olives contain vitamin E. Cheese has calcium but also much fat and can be deleterious to those who are unable to handle lactose.
Is this man crudely making my meal, such as it can be called, aware of any of this? Of course not. He is merely concerned with the “look” and the “taste” and other big picture things that matter little in the grand scheme of things. Who is left to quibble over the tiny details? Me. That is what I do.
My lot in life is to see the world as a series of tiny details and try to discover the connections between them. For instance, what has been happening in this city over the past decade? Why do I, on incredibly random occasions, suffer from the same symptoms – extreme internal pain – that took the life of my mentor and closest friend? Well, ‘friend’ to the extent I had any then. I no longer do. I still have Spike, who will never betray me, though I will very likely outlive him, especially if I can discover the cause of all the anomalies in this city. Dogs are loyal creatures thanks to millennia of selective breeding.
Burrito in tray and tray in hand, I give the man the money owed. Money is such a dirty thing, in the most literal sense. However, I cannot be sure if switching from bills to coins would improve the situation.
There is a table in the far corner with only one chair. No one should bother me in that spot, with any luck.
Twilight sat in the lone chair and, after applying some hand sanitizer, unwrapped the tinfoil from one end of her burrito. However, before she could take a bite, she heard a chair scooting across the floor towards her. She tried to ignore it, as she did most things in life, but a clack and thump in front of her forced her to notice.
Looking up, Twilight saw a girl with golden skin and ridiculously poofy but unkempt long orange hair glaring at her. The bags under the girl’s eyes along with her tattered clothes indicated that she had fallen upon hard times. The girl’s glare reminded Twilight of how her headmistress often regarded her. For her part, the girl wasted no time in starting up an unwanted conversation.
“Twilight Sparkle,” the girl practically spat out the words with more than a small air of menace.
Twilight blinked, confused. “Um, hi. Do I know you?” she asked with dull curiosity.
This only served to make the interloper angrier. “W-what?! Look, you. I may be a mere shadow of my former self, but I never forget a face. Those glasses won’t fool me!” she reached for Twilight’s glasses, but Twilight stopped her.
“Please don’t touch my glasses,” Twilight said sternly. “And, I’m sorry, but I can say with certainty we’ve never met before, although you seem to know me. I believe I would remember someone like you.”
The orange girl’s jaw dropped. “A-are you shitting me right now? How could you forget what you did to me and those idiots calling themselves my sisters? I know I may look worse for wear, but it’s only been four weeks since our encounter!”
Twilight shook her head. “Ah. See, that’s impossible. Four weeks ago, I was home with severe gastrointestinal distress for the second time in half a year. I don’t want to go into the details as we are in what passes for a restaurant, suffice to say I felt like I was going to die.”
At this, the angry girl blinked in confusion. “Absurd! The CHS Battle Of The Bands? That insane DJ-Mobile? The stupid gaudy outfi—”
“Okay, let me stop you right there,” Twilight interrupted, her thumbs and forefingers pressed together as she regarded her unwelcome visitor. “I don’t attend CHS. Never have. I am enrolled at Crystal Preparatory Academy and have been since acceding to their elementary division, just like everyone else in my family.”
“B-but… you were there!” the girl insisted. “You utilized Equestrian magic to rob me of my power! You and your dumb friends and Sunset Shimmer!”
At this, Twilight’s eyes went wide before settling into an expression that looked like a cross between shock, bewilderment, and a pit viper about to strike its unlucky target.
“Did you say ‘Sunset Shimmer’?” Twilight asked, her voice an unusual mix of curiosity mixed with a touch of barely concealed rage.
“Of course I did!” the girl spat. “You two ruined my life with your little duet!”
Twilight’s expression hardened into a pursed-lip frown. “That. Is. Impossible,” she gravely intoned.
The orange girl stared at Twilight, befuddled, scratching her head – in so doing, releasing dandruff, twigs, and the occasional leaf. Whatever bits of detritus landed on the table, she swept off with her hand, trembling slightly from lack of food. “Seriously? Do you not read the news? Granted, Sunset does seem to have the pull to keep herself out of it. Nonetheless, through sleuthing, I discovered more than a few skeletons in her closet, things she wants kept under wraps, such as colluding to falsify studen— what are you doing?”
Meanwhile, Twilight had assumed a deep-in-thought posture, her large purple eyes staring through everything off into the unseen infinite void. She leaned back in her chair, making sure for once not to topple over backwards, and licked her lips.
“Or, maybe it’s not impossible,” she finally said. “Tell me, uh… Sorry; I really don’t know your name.”
“Adagio Dazzle,” Adagio said abruptly. “The blue idiot who calls herself my sister gave me the nickname ‘Dagi’, but if anyone else calls me that, I’ll slit their throat.”
Twilight nodded slowly. “Well, Adagio. Even if you didn’t intend it, I think you may have helped me immensely in my research.”
“Research into what?”
“The strange goings-on that have occurred since this past Fall,” Twilight said simply. “Incredible energy surges, people who should not be here resurfacing, my own illnesses. Her illness. I think it truly is all connected. Do you have time? I would love to hear what more you may have to say on this subject.”
Adagio blinked in confusion. “I can, but… I have a question for you.”
“Go ahead,” Twilight said with a furtive nod.
“Does that burrito have cilantro in it? I’m…” Adagio’s stomach growled loud enough a man at a nearby table looked over at them; Adagio flipped him off. “I haven’t had anything to eat in a few days.”
Twilight looked down sadly. “It does. Sorry.”
“Shit,” Adagio replied reflexively. But she found herself surprised as Twilight gently pulled her wrist close to her and shoved a ten Bux bill into her hand.
Adagio looked perplexed. “Normally, I’m more than happy to take generosity for granted, but… you’re not under any kind of spell I could cook up. So, why?”
Twilight shrugged. “Call this payment for helping me answer questions. I know you could take my money and run, but I know you won’t because you’re just as curious as I am. Your eyes give you away, as does that growing smile. Or is it a sneer?”
“Interpret it how you want,” Adagio replied. “Your own face doesn’t look much different right now.”
Twilight nodded. “I suppose not. But a breakthrough is a breakthrough, however it may arrive.”
“I think this may be the beginning of a… mutually advantageous… relationship,” said Adagio.
“I agree,” replied Twilight. “Now go get yourself some food. You’re no use to me if you’re starved to death.”
Adagio left the table but returned a few minutes later carrying a tray with the Burrito Barn’s signature ‘El Cheapo’ – tortilla, beans, and shredded cheese. Twilight stared at her like a fashion designer would at a man wearing nothing but a burlap sack and duct tape sandals.
Adagio gave Twilight an irritated look as she sat back down. “What?”
Author's Note
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