Just a Stone’s Throw from Sanity

by Pascoite

Rating: teen
Tags: Limestone Pie, Profanity, Cloudy Quartz, Slice of Life, Drama, Mrs. Cake, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 11515

Roam-springa: a period of self-reflection. At least that’s what Mom calls it. Who has time for that? Especially when Limestone is the one in charge. She doesn’t need a stupid waste of a couple weeks to know where she belongs.

Roam-springa: a period of self-reflection. At least that’s what Mom calls it. Who has time for that? Especially when Limestone is the one in charge. She doesn’t need a stupid waste of a couple weeks to know where she belongs.

Featured on Equestria Daily.

Published 2019-09-03 23:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-09-03 23:20:01 UTC

Just a Stone’s Throw from Sanity

“I won’t make thee leave,” Cloudy Quartz said, “but I think it is a good idea.” She stood at the open door of their house and beckoned toward the exterior.

Limestone Pie frowned at the creaky old floorboards and the creaky old hinges and the creaky old mare. Mom had tried this same tactic about once a month for several years now. It hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t work now.

“It’s tradition,” Mom repeated for the tenth time.

Dammit, she was like a tick, burrowing into her skin. “You never stood much on tradition. For as long as I’ve been alive, anyway.”

Mom only clicked her tongue, but she wore a gentle smile and draped a hoof over Limestone’s shoulder. “Thou dost, though. I know my daughters well.”

But that was the thing. Hearth’s Warming, Holder’s Boulder, running the farm… she’d simply soaked all that up. It had danced and strutted around her for her entire life, and it had just made up the fabric of everything. Nopony had told her to.

“Why do you always have to bother me about this? Can’t I be happy here?” Limestone’s own arguments had become just as repetitive. She’d tried every one she could think of, and Mom didn’t even have to give her standard replies anymore.

Yes thou canst, but thou couldst be happier somewhere else, and thou wouldst never know.

“Times are different now. We’re not even that far away from ‘civilization.’”

Times are different, and the more the world changeth, the more thou needest to try life outside of a place that changeth not.

“Do you want me to leave?”

No matter where thou goest or stayest, I will love thee.

Mom only watched, and her face drooped the way it always did. “Someday, maybe I will tell thee of mine own experiences while on roam-springa.” But instead of slinking back into the house, she got a far-off look in her eyes, and she smiled at whatever tableau had occupied her mind. “It was a special time. Not everypony hath such a meaningful one, of course, but I would not dismiss it lightly.” And then Mom did go back to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water.

She’d left the door standing open.

But without anypony around telling her to… Limestone inched toward the front porch. If enough time passed between her mother saying it and her doing it, then it was her choice, right? She’d just… waited and considered it, and maybe she wanted to in the first place. She did.

At least it would get Mom off her back.

Fine.

So just walk somewhere? Then decide that standing around in some stupid town wasn’t worth it, come back home, tell Mom it was a waste of time. A journey of self-discovery. Yeah, right. Maud had never taken a roam-springa. They’d never bother asking Pinkie to. The whole point was to decide whether life on the farm suited you. Pinkie’d leave this place first chance she got. Nothing about her said “farm.” That just left Marble, and… well, Marble was Marble. It’d be equally pointless to think she’d ever leave.

But if Limestone did want to take off for rockier pastures? This place would fall apart.

She started out the door, down the front path. Because she’d made a decision. Her decision. Nopony else’s.

Limestone was in charge.

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

She winced. She’d almost made it to the mailbox before she heard Mom’s voice, quietly. “Ask after Cup Cake when thou hast gotten there,” she said.

What in Tartarus did Cup Cake have to do with this? As far as Limestone knew, she was just some baker Mom had arranged for Pinkie to apprentice with this coming summer, once school let out. Her sister had a cutie mark now for that “party” stuff, and they’d decided she should go there to learn more. Whatever.

Mom got letters from Cup Cake sometimes, and maybe Limestone remembered Mom going to visit her. But none of the rest of the family had ever laid eyes on her.

If Limestone could go anywhere she wanted, why’d Mom keep pushing her toward Ponyville? It wasn’t exactly an easy walk, and oh no, she couldn’t take the train, because that would make sense and avoid wasting an extra day in each direction on this fool’s errand.

She’d even stomped the last few miles, and when a Pie stomped the ground, it knew it had been stomped. Nice, regularly spaced gouges in the dirt. Next time a wagon came by here, its driver would get a good shake.

Forest had given way to mountain and back to forest again, and at least she’d looked the place up on a map before. Not much further to go, especially judging by the occasional shout she heard up ahead. Then she merged into a larger road, and for the first time…

Ponies. Lots of them. She’d seen a few at the small markets around home, but not so many and so colorfully dressed. So what? Mom probably expected her to get all lightheaded about it and collapse wheezing against a tree. Ponies were ponies, no matter where in Equestria, and as long as nopony bothered her, they could get along fine.

“Mornin’,” one called out to her as she passed him.

Then another. Ponies around home knew how to mind their own business. She grunted back at them.

“Good day,” added another, doffing his hat.

“For Celestia’s sake, would you ponies leave me alone!?”

After weaving through the growing crowd for a while, she did finally find some who knew to keep their traps shut, and she stayed by them. One with his nose buried in a book and another who occupied herself with deftly avoiding any little twig or tree root in her path.

A couple dozen ponies within sight, if she made a quick count. More than she’d been around before, but no big deal. Get Marble out here? A cockatrice would pass her up for thinking it’d already petrified her. Limestone could handle it.

Her ears twitched. Did that mean something? Pinkie had some weird kind of body spasms that gave her premonitions, and if Limestone was heading to a place with maybe even hundreds of ponies, fate just might give her fair warning.

Couldn’t some of these ponies go somewhere else? Every time the road split, a few more would join their loose assembly, and absolutely none would leave. A light blue filly fiddling with a deck of cards while following a similarly colored stallion who wore a silk cape. Toward the rear, a magenta mare who kept shuffling through what looked like a folder of graded test papers. An old stallion with a tank of… twittermites? What in Tartarus did he need those for? Almost as much trouble as dumb old parasprites. Unless there was a spare trombone around, but Pinkie always handled that.

Anyway, she hadn’t noticed the crowd noise getting louder until she suddenly stood in the middle of a bunch of buildings. And she stopped.

This was… a town?

She shut her mouth and glared at anypony who might have caught her gaping, but everypony had their own course to follow. Mom had made it sound like any one of them should know where to find this ‘Cup Cake.’ “Pardon,” Limestone said, stepping toward one. Funny, on the road, nopony knew when to shut up, but here, they all had nothing to say to her.

“‘Scuse me,” she tried, and yet another pony walked straight on as if she hadn’t noticed Limestone standing there.

Alright, that was enough. “Where in Tartarus do I find Cup Cake?” she bellowed.

They all stopped. But half looked at her like she’d just set a hydra loose on them, and the other half as if she’d spat on their mothers’ graves. Idiots. “Cup Cake,” she repeated, not quite as loud.

A few hooves gestured toward a shop that looked like a gigantic gingerbread house, but a mare was already coming out the door and heading straight for her. Limestone only watched as this mare approached with a keen stare that reminded her of a mountain lion stalking an injured quail, making eye contact and not even bothering with stealth anymore. Finally, the mare stopped in front of her and sized her up, the crowd dispersing and diverting their attention back to whatever dumb stuff they had going on.

“Pinkie?” the mare asked, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting you for another month or two.”

Pinkie. Why’d everything always have to be about Pinkie? Back at home, it was avoiding confetti bombs or figuring out where she’d bounced off to at dinnertime or waking up with her screeching in your face. And lately planning for her apprenticeship. Other ponies lived on the farm, too.

“No,” Limestone growled. “She’s my sister.”

“Oh.” Then the mare’s eyes widened. “Oh. Cloudy said she might send another along. You must be Maudelina.”

Limestone set her jaw and glared once more.

“Marble then?”

Her glare intensified.

“Sorry. I’m Cup Cake. It’s nice to meet you!” She grabbed Limestone’s hoof and shook it—

Limestone’s shoulders knotted up, and her face got hot, but she choked it down. Mom always said ponies didn’t mean anything by it, to let them shake her hoof, to go to her calm place, and it would end soon enough. When she opened her clenched eyes, Cup Cake had let her hoof go. She took a deep breath. “Hey. ’M Limestone,” she mumbled.

“Limestone, of course!” Cup Cake gushed, then hooked an arm over Limestone’s withers and corralled her toward that gaudy building, but Limestone ducked out from under her grip. “Here, you can use the room I’ve prepared for Pinkie, and if she shows up before you’re finished, you can bunk together.”

Perfect.

“Is this your roam-springa?” Cup Cake opened the door, led her through to the back and beckoned from halfway up the stairs. Good thing the inside didn’t look as candy-coated as the outside.

Up a second flight, then to a cupola-like room at the top, and… this was actually pretty cool. Nice view, not much pink, very private. Limestone smiled and cleared her throat. “I guess so. Mom told me I ought to do one, but I still don’t know why she makes a big thing out of it.”

“Did she ever tell you about hers?”

Limestone poked her nose into the empty wardrobe, peered out a couple of the windows, and pressed a hoof into the mattress. “No.”

A small tendril of laughter followed, and Cup Cake shook her head. “Well, I wouldn’t presume to do that in her place. She’ll tell you sometime, when she’s ready.”

Limestone shrugged. As if she cared what happened decades ago.

“I just know this will be a special time for you, and if I can do anything to help, please ask,” Cup Cake continued. “We’ll have dinner ready soon, and I’ll call you down when it’s on the table, if you’d like to get settled in.”

So far, Limestone had never looked directly at her, but now she stared right into her host’s eyes. “Um… what am I supposed to do here?”

Cup Cake had begun turning back toward the stairs, but she paused, and her face went pale. “You mean… Cloudy didn’t tell you?”

“Some business about ‘finding myself.’ Whatever that means.”

A sharp sigh rang out. “Okay. Tomorrow we should look into getting you a job while you’re here, so you can support yourself, earn some spending money—what kinds of things do you like to do?”

“How in Tartarus should I know?”

Cup Cake pursed her lips. “Word to the wise, you should watch what you say. Things like—” she averted her eyes and lowered her voice “—‘Tartarus’ are considered impolite to use in public.”

Really? Something had always told her not to say that around Mom, but for completely different reasons. “Sorry. Then, um… how the fuck should I know?”

And now Cup Cake’s eyes shot wide open. “That’s… even worse. Does Cloudy know you talk like that?”

Limestone’s cheeks burned, and her head felt as if it might pop like an overripe blueberry. Why didn’t anypony tell her about all these rules? “Sorry, I—” She gripped her temples and clenched her teeth.

“It’s okay,” Cup Cake said softly. “Now you know. No problem. Just take some time to get settled, and I’ll call you for dinner.” Limestone could practically feel a hoof hovering over her shoulder, but something must have told Cup Cake to keep it that way.

“And about tomorrow—I’m afraid we don’t have any quarries in town, but I know a blacksmith who could use some help. Would that interest you?”

So lush in here. All Limestone had back home was a small wooden bunk with a thin mattress. This place would feel like sleeping on air. And a whole room to herself? A whole big room? “Yeah. I do all the metalwork on the farm, and I’ve got a certification from a correspondence school.”

“Great! Then you wouldn’t need supervision like an apprentice. I bet he’ll be happy to hear that. We can go talk to him, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” It wouldn’t need to last her long anyway. Technically, she could go back home tomorrow, and it would count, but since she’d come this far, she’d give it a try.

“See you at dinner, then,” Cup Cake said from the stairs.

So quiet now, just like in the mine at home, when the silence had the weight of all the strata overhead, and it almost hummed at her. Limestone crawled up on the bed, where the covers had been turned down. Mom’s name was embroidered there, on the back corner of the quilt, along with two names she didn’t recognize. What was that about? Some kind of fancy blanket lay atop it all, and ruffles on the pillows. But perched right between them was a stuffed toy. It looked like a bear.

She curled up with it and closed her eyes.

“Are you certain you didn’t want another helping of breakfast? You did sleep through dinner last night,” Cup Cake said as they trotted out into the road.

“No, I’m fine,” Limestone answered. Something didn’t feel right. Like it’d settle her stomach if she could just throw up.

Cup Cake turned a gentle smile on her. “Okay. But you may be in for a hard day of work, so don’t forget to keep your strength up.” She patted her saddlebag. “I packed a lunch for you. Spinach wrap, cauliflower salad and a couple of pecan twirls.” For whatever reason, that last one made her giggle. “Oh, and I put some slate chips in the wrap. I hope you don’t mind; I think your mother likes it that way.”

That did sound good. Why would Cup Cake go out of her way to help? Was that normal? Would Limestone do it in her place?

No matter where thou goest or stayest, I will love thee.

The feeling in her stomach only got worse.

They wound past an electric fan store and a cart selling flowers and another shop with an odd combination of merchandise: quills and sofas. Limestone couldn’t see the need for either one. Good thing Cup Cake somehow sensed to keep quiet, or… maybe not such a good thing. It might have made her finally throw up.

At last they came to an open stall in a side alley with a great deal of hiss and clang firing out. Limestone peered over the racks and bins of merchandise, all gleaming metal in tin whites, lead grays, and brassy bronzes. “…And she’s certified as well. It would be a big help if you’d let her work with you for a short time, maybe a few weeks.”

Limestone hadn’t caught the beginning of that, but she could have sworn Cup Cake had called the stallion ‘Malice.’

“Sure,” he said in a growly voice. He was very stocky, and dark brown with a black mane. “I could use an assistant. Construction boom lately’s got me short on nails all the time.” Then he strode over and gave Limestone a rather rough pat on the shoulder.

He didn’t mean it, he didn’t know, he… didn’t know! Limestone took in a sharp breath, and another, and another, and her head felt stuffed with cotton, sparkles dancing in front of her eyes.

“Good to meet ya,” he said, holding out a hoof. Limestone held her breath and pressed her own hoof to his, pressed harder, sliding him back a bit. “Whoa, quite a grip ya got there! You’ll do fine here. What should I call ya?”

“Limestone.” She blinked, let her breath out, and forced the knots out of her muscles. “Did… she call you Malice? That doesn’t sound right.”

“Naw,” he replied through a guffaw. Then he turned and pointed to his cutie mark, a golden hammer. “Malleus, an old Roamin’ word for hammer. My parents thought they’d be all clever, but—” he shrugged “—eh, whaddya gonna do? Say, can ya start right now? I got a wagon comin’ for the next shipment this afternoon, I’m already behind, and to be honest, I’d rather work on the more interesting things like tools and knives than cast a bunch more nails, but hey, I bet you feel the same way, so I’ll let you work on that stuff some, too, don’t want ya gettin’ bored, right? Ha!” He clapped her shoulder again.

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but glanced after the sound of receding hoofsteps. “I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get off work,” Cup Cake called. “Have a nice day, and I just know you’ll like it in Ponyville!”

“Right,” Malleus said, “spare apron’s in the back, I got a batch of iron meltin’ in the furnace, nail molds are next to it, got any questions? Naw, it should all be self-explanatory. Tank o’ water if you need a drink.” He vaguely waved at the shadowed area behind the stall. “When ya get those nails filled and cooling, I’ll have ya help me polish some o’ the cutlery, should be no problem, right? Yeah, you’re good.”

Did he ever stop talking?

Thank goodness a customer walked up then, so Malleus could bend his ear for a while. Limestone tied the apron on—a nice, heavy, thick one—and tilted up one of the nail molds. Ceramic, and space for two dozen nails in it.

Back by the furnace she found a small crucible and a pair of tongs, so she gripped the tongs firmly in her teeth and used the crucible to scoop some molten iron out of the container in the furnace.

Something about the smell of it: sharp, metallic, burnt. Plus the way it sparked and glowed, yet sloshed around thickly. Limestone stared at it a moment, but she couldn’t waste too much time or it’d start to solidify. Over the mold it went, then a second and a third. On the fourth, she paused.

A tiny chip of iron sat in one of the depressions, near the head. She poured just a little liquid on it, waited. It lost its glow, turned a glossy grey, then she poured a little more on and waited again. Little by little the nail grew, until it had filled its small reservoir. She set down the crucible, took the nail in her tongs, and dipped it in the quenching bucket, then grabbed a polishing cloth and wiped it down. Soon it gleamed, a very alluring deep gray, with ridges running down it.

What a beauty! She popped it in the apron’s pocket and, with a grin, slowly filled up the last mold the same way. That one would be hers. Her mold, her way. She emptied the other molds into the bin, tinging and clattering their contents all the way down the barrel, refilled them over and over again.

Her pocket full of nails, bulging now, and here came Malleus… closing up shop?

She’d missed lunch. Her bag still sat under the table where Cup Cake had slipped it this morning, and an anemic sun blazed at her from the horizon. The three barrels of nails she’d filled were gone, off on the wagon, she guessed.

What would she do with all the nails in her pocket though? With a sigh, she dumped them into the bin of loose ones for sale on the counter and only kept one for herself. Malleus rolled his eyes and shook his head at her, but he did smile.

Then he walked over, chucked her on the shoulder again—she was far too tired to get angry—and opened his cash box. He handed her a stack of bits. “Good day’s work. Ya earned it,” he said.

How much? It’d probably be rude to stand there and count it, so she just shoved it in her lunch bag. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“If ya get bored, the Vanhoover-Cloudsdale buckball match is tonight. It’ll be on the radio over at the Berried Treasure Bar. Berry Punch always tunes in.” In the lengthening shadows, he gathered up his saddlebag, folded down the front of the stall, and locked it. “Up the road a piece,” he added, leaning in and sighting it down his outstretched leg.

“Cloudsdale’s defense sucks this year.” Limestone wrinkled her nose. “They should have traded for Dodge Junction’s backup pegasus while she was still injured. Now they can’t afford her, and she’d be the starter for most teams in the league.”

Malleus gave a hearty chuckle. “Fan, huh? I didn’t know they followed buckball out on the rock farms.”

“M… my Granny Pie gave me a transistor radio for my birthday a few years back. I listen to all the games, at least the late ones after dinner.”

“Speakin’ of…” He patted his stomach. “Gonna grab a bite, then off to Berry’s. If I don’t see ya there, then catch ya first thing in the mornin’.”

Limestone had never gone to a bar before, but she’d read about them enough. She pushed through the front door and peered around at all the faces. Few looked her way.

So tight and hot and stuffy! Across the room, she spotted Malleus, but he looked like he was enjoying his friends, and she didn’t need him talking her ear off and abusing her shoulder right now.

The counter had a few bowls of peanuts, and she hadn’t eaten much dinner, so she took what may well have been the last empty stool and started crunching away. Not as satisfying as gravel, but not too bad either.

“What can I get you?”

Limestone jerked her head up and stopped chewing. “Um…” Mom had warned her about this. “Virgin cider.”

Behind the counter, a thump sounded, and the server came back up with a bottle and pried the cap off with a towel. “Here you go!”

The roar of voices all around her drowned out pretty much anything, except a speaker up near her head had—

Oh yeah! The buckball game. She stared at the mirror behind the array of bottles and swiveled her ears forward. Some cheering, a little play by play, and—announce the score already!

She grumbled and tossed another few peanuts in her mouth. Yeah, she didn’t need to know Wingbeat’s dad was in the stands and cheering on his son. Then a sharp whistle, the ball must have gone out of bounds, and…

Crap. Cloudsdale down three to one.

“Woo-hoo!” shrieked the pony next to her. “Beat those featherbrains to the ground!”

Limestone turned her head, clenched her jaw, resumed staring at the mirror. She shouldn’t. Oh, fuck it.

“You know every team has one pegasus, right?” she said.

The stallion paused in mid-chug. His bottle clunked on the wooden surface. “Well, yeah. That’s the rules.”

“So what featherbrains are you talking about?”

He raised his eyebrows and jutted his bottle toward the sky. “Fans. Only featherbrained pansies would like Cloudsdale.”

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

With a deep breath, she stood from her seat. “They have the second-highest points per game in the league, their unicorn is on pace to set the single-season record for catches—”

“Because they get in high-scoring games all the time! Their defense sucks, their pegasus couldn’t stop a butterfly, their earth pony hardly ever wins a kickoff—”

“And you think Vanhoover is better? They finished in last place three years running!”

“’Cause the refs have it in for them, and why is an earth pony rooting for Cloudsdale anyway? You got a problem showing some loyalty?” He rolled his eyes and did a stumbling dance. “You got something for that little pegasus and—” with his lips puckered, he made kissy noises “—her tiny little wings?”

Limestone’s cheeks blazed. “No, I—”

He started laughing. He laughed, and he elbowed the pony on the other side of him, and he shoved her… her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” she screeched, and she punched him in his smug face. “I don’t like to be touched!” She punched him again, but she hit something else as she toppled, and three or four ponies piled on her, touching her—she kicked and writhed as more weight fell on her, shouting all around, glass breaking. She gasped. Couldn’t breathe! Couldn’t…

Her chest ached, the knot of ponies had covered her in darkness. Just punching in any direction, but something seized her shoulders, and she couldn’t… breathe...

Limestone sucked in a breath, and her eyes shot open.

She tossed the blanket off her and scooted back until she hit a wall, then pushed against it to sit up. She was on a canvas cot. The room had stone walls. Well, cement blocks. And… and bars on the door.

“Hey,” drawled a voice beside her.

That wall had bars, too, and a tan stallion reclined on a similar cot in the next room over.

“How much did you have to drink last night?” he asked.

She watched him for a second. His mane had a deep blue tint, like the azurite they sometimes found in the mine at home. With another glance at him, she let out a long sigh. “One bottle. But I didn’t even get to drink any.”

“Or you just don’t remember drinking any,” he said. He had one hind leg crossed over the other, and he rhythmically fidgeted a hoof.

With a rough snort, Limestone turned away from him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Whoa, how’d you learn to talk like that on a rock farm?”

She whipped her head back around and squinted at him. “How do you know where I’m from?”

Only a quiet chuckle greeted her. At least until she got up and walked over to the bars between them.

“Listen, I’ve been all around, I know every type. It’s in your eyes.” He then jutted his snout toward the wall behind her. “You also did that in your sleep.”

She followed his line of sight, and the concrete blocks had several large gouges out of them. “Oh. I… I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He closed his eyes again and stifled a yawn. “Odd enough you get intimidated by law enforcement. You don’t seem to let anything else do that.”

No, she wouldn’t go against the police, because… well, she wouldn’t just do what Mom said unless—

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

Limestone gritted her teeth and pressed her hooves to her forehead. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You still didn’t tell me where you learned to talk like that. I’m betting it wasn’t your mother.”

Fine. She flopped back into her cot. “Heavy metal magazines.”

From the creaking sound, he must have sat up quickly. “Really? And your parents didn’t object?”

“No.”

“How’s that work?”

“In the mail.”

“They wouldn’t see it there?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I get the mail.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“And if you get sick and can’t?”

Limestone pulled the blanket over her again and rolled her shoulder to the wall, amid the craters she’d made. “I get the mail. Nopony else. They’d leave it until I got it.”

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

She swallowed hard. “If I died, somepony else would get the mail, and I guess they’d know then, but who the fuck would care at that point?”

“So you don’t use that language around them because…?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” She glanced over, and he only shrugged. “Because they might figure out where I learned it. I honestly didn’t know until yesterday it was considered bad, but you don’t seem to mind.”

Another low chuckle. “Been to any shows?”

“When I can sneak out, yeah,” she replied with a grin. “Not easy when you have three sisters. Um, I went to a Rocky Goddess concert when I helped my sister Maud move in to summer geology camp. Neighlander, Princessrÿche, uh… Timberwolves at the Gate.”

“I think I heard some death metal in there.”

“Deader the better. You a fan?” Maybe this town wasn’t too bad.

“You know it,” he answered with a couple headbangs. “I think I’ve seen just about—”

“Right in here, ma’am,” another voice echoed down the hall.

Not a second later, Cup Cake rushed up to the bars. “Oh you sweet dear, I hope you’re okay! Did anything bad happen to you?” she erupted. “When you didn’t come home last night, I was so worried!”

The officer sorted through his keys and turned one of them in the lock. “She’s free to go, ma’am. The bar owner doesn’t want to press charges.”

Right away, Cup Cake slumped and rolled her eyes up. “Oh thank goodness! I’ll have to thank Berry Punch later.”

“Berry doesn’t care. Pretty tame as bar fights go.” The metal groaned momentarily, and then the door swung open. So that was it?

“What about the stallion she hit?” Cup Cake asked.

With a knowing smirk, the officer motioned Limestone out. “He knows better. Always been a troublemaker. If he starts pressing charges, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of a lot more.”

Cup Cake hooked an arm around Limestone’s shoulder and corralled her along. For some reason, she didn’t mind when Cup Cake touched her. But nopony else. “Come with me, dear. I was prepared to pay your bail, but I guess that isn’t necessary now.”

Limestone stopped in the hallway. “You’d… pay my bail? Why?”

“Your mother and I go back a long way. And I know how hard it is for folks like you to try out a new life here. Anything to make it easier. But—” She walked around Limestone to face her directly and held onto both of her shoulders. “You have to be more careful. You don’t want to lose your job, but even worse if you really got in trouble. Cloudy would never forgive me, plus it wouldn’t give you a realistic look at what life is like here.”

She seemed to be waiting for an answer. “…Okay?” Limestone said.

“Good.” Another pat on the withers. “Then let’s get you off to Malleus. He’s been waiting all morning. And maybe don’t drink whatever it was you had last night again.”

Her too? “I didn’t drink anything,” Limestone growled.

“‘S true,” the officer chimed in. “Berry confirmed it with her bartender. She ordered a virgin cider and never got to touch it.”

Cup Cake gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry for doubting you. Now Malleus is waiting…”

“See ya, metal filly!” the stallion from the other cell called.

“Ha, you gave that guy what for,” Malleus said, miming a couple punches. “Didn’t know what hit him, and his friends tried to swarm you, but for their trouble, they all got a beating they won’t soon forget.” He clapped Limestone’s shoulder, and she gritted her teeth. “Comin’ here and badmouthin’ Cloudsdale like that. Got what they deserved. Listen, ya gotta pick your battles though. Ya missed a mornin’ o’ work, not that I can’t keep up, but that just looks bad in general. Alright?”

Did he ever stop talking?

“Anyway, I need ya on nails again, but y’know? Those special ones ya put in the loose bin yesterday—they got a lot of attention today. Somepony bought a few ’cause they liked the smooth finish, plus the ridges would grab the wood better. Said they wanted ’em for a furniture piece where the nail heads’d be left visible. Told a friend, who came back and bought up all we had. So I wouldn’t mind doing a few more of those, but still a lot o’ demand for general construction, so mostly keep the standard ones comin’, right? By the way, how you make those?” He actually stopped. And waited for an answer.

“You, um, pour them in the mold slowly, with a little seed crystal in there first. They grow off it, and you can get columns of crystals to go down the length, or if you’re more careful, you can get the whole thing to be one crystal. It makes them a lot stronger.”

At some point, she’d started smiling. She hadn’t said so many words to anypony since coming to town, but the further she got into the explanation, the more his eyes glazed over.

“Crystal, huh?” he said. “How’s that make it stronger? I’ll put a little carbon in the steel, but if you’re growin’ a crystal for the entire nail, well, there’s a reason we don’t make nails outta sand. Heh.”

“No, metal can grow as crystals, too. Either alloys or pure, and…” His eyes had gone dim again. “Never mind.” He scratched his head, and she went back to the nail molds, furnace, crucible, and apron.

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

Limestone leaned in close to the molds and felt the iron’s heat radiating on her nose. It had taken her a good twenty minutes to form these ones, a second batch was cooling, and a third should have set enough to splash a little water on them and put them in the stock bin. Then what? They’d go out into the world, like her little children, and hold somepony’s bookshelf or cabin together.

The clink of bits in the cash box jerked her attention back, and she watched another customer go off with a bag of her nails. She’d need to refill them! They kept selling out, and she’d tried having a nice deep metallic finish on them—kind of like a cat’s eye stone, they cast a feeling of depth—or oxidizing them a bit for an iridescent look, and neither kind would stay around long.

Limestone rushed off to empty the coolest mold into a water bath and get them on the counter. She couldn’t make do with only three molds of these! She might need to convert a few more over, or all of them.

“Um…” Malleus said over her shoulder. “I thought we agreed to keep those things to one mold at a time.”

Limestone’s eye twitched. “But these are so much better.”

“But…” Malleus let out a long sigh. “Look, it’s nice we can sell ’em for a premium to the artsy folks, but the real demand is for basic construction nails. We’re fallin’ behind.”

How’d he survive in business this long if he didn’t understand some pretty basic things? “We can get more molds then.”

“We already got the right number for the pace I can melt down iron.”

“But I don’t use it as fast on the good nails.”

Another long sigh, and he rubbed a hoof down his nose. “See, time is money, kid. Yeah I can charge more for the fancy stuff, but not enough to make up for how slow they come out. Bits per hour’s the thing. Yeah, the material cost goes up for faster production, but the margin on ’em is still better’n what you’re doin’.”

“They’re…” With a shake of her head, Limestone jabbed a hoof toward the line of customers waiting at the empty bin. “They’re better. I don’t know why you’d buy something worse when you don’t have to.”

“The simple ones are good enough,” he said, his voice rising. “You don’t see houses around here comin’ apart, so why spend more when you don’t hafta? If we sell only the nice ones, we nickel-and-dime the low-volume market while my competitors undercut me in bulk. The builders can’t afford it otherwise. You know how many nails go in a house? How much more a house would cost for that? I’d price myself outta business!”

But that was just stupid! “Why are the other blacksmiths making cheap nails if they know how to do it better? It doesn’t make sense! You… you do your best, and you—when you improve something—they all need to be making these!” She picked up the next mold, and dumped them in the sale bin, and the next, it wasn’t quite cool yet, but she splashed a little water on it, dumped them in anyway. “They all do! They have to! Because it’s better!”

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

No, this made sense. She took the next mold, already with the seed crystals in it, and ladled some hot iron over it, slowly. And cool water, she had to solidify it gradually, from one end to the other. No time, they needed another three barrels of the stupid dumb crappy nails before the wagon came in an hour, but she didn’t have any molds. She needed all these ones for the nice nails, but maybe a few here and there would do.

Another full crucible of iron, and she slopped it over a mold, splashed a bit on her apron, and a few drops on her arm, and it hurt but no time. Someone was shouting now, but it didn’t matter, they had to do it this way. It was right. The nails were still mostly liquid, but she dumped them in the bin anyway, and the wooden box started to smoke, and her arm fucking hurt. “They’re better,” she mumbled. “They’re just… they’re better.”

Her other arm wouldn’t move, and when she looked up to see why, Malleus had a hold of it. “Stop!” he said.

Her teeth clenched, hard. “Don’t fucking touch me!” she shrieked, and she took a swing at him. But she missed and stumbled into a rack of tools, the hammers and tongs clattering everywhere. So she kicked out at whatever she could reach, a wooden post, a shin, a stone wall. “I don’t like to be touched!”

She twisted, but her head cranked to the side on its own—he had her in a choke hold from behind! “No!” she screeched, and she writhed on the ground, throwing elbows right and left. “You… don’t… understand!” Her chest heaved—as hard as she could suck in air, she couldn’t breathe, and it felt like her throat was packed with dirt.

The last thing she heard was a sharp whistle as her head lolled and the daylight faded.

“Welcome back, metal filly,” Limestone heard through her groaning.

Her neck ached, but when she went to rub it, her hoof was huge. She cracked an eye open—oh. Some kind of bulky bandage. Her coat was charred around the edges of it. She let a long breath out, her chest shaking.

“You okay?”

The blacksmith shop. She’d felt like tearing it down, but not much else lived in the fragments of her memory. And her leg still hurt. With her good one, she pulled the blanket over her head and stared at the little piece of wall in front of her face. None of the craters in it seemed new enough to be from last night.

“Sorry, dudette,” the voice cut in again. “They brought you in and dumped you there like a sack of potatoes. At least they aimed for the bed.”

“They?” Limestone rasped. She’d only seen one cop in town. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed her headache until now.

He didn’t answer. She could imagine that azurite mane bobbing as he shrugged. Then his hoof tapped against the bars. “You slept through breakfast, but Barn left you a cup of water. You oughtta drink it. It’ll help your head.”

“No, no, when I get a headache, water just makes it worse,” Limestone said through gritted teeth.

His chuckle echoed off the walls like they were in a crypt. “What do you do after a nice, loud concert then?”

“Some fruit juice. Or soda.” If he’d shut up, maybe she could sleep off the migraine.

But a soft, metallic scraping sounded. “Here. I didn’t want my OJ from breakfast. You can have it.”

She lifted the blanket just enough to peek out with one eye. He’d shoved a metal cup through the bars, on the floor next to her bed. What would hurt worse? Sitting here glaring at it or rolling over to get it?

“Go on. It’s yours.”

With a rough sigh, she corralled it over and brought it into her blanket mineshaft. One sip, then a second. Kinda watery, but not bad. She gulped it down, held the empty cup under her nose for something other than mildew to smell, and curled up, imagining the pain evaporating from her head like smoke.

When Limestone awoke again, she still had the cup in her grip, but it just smelled metallic now. Mostly tin, a little zinc. Some iron where it had scraped the bars. Her arm burned worse than earlier, but at least the pain in her head had subsided. Maud always told her she slept too much.

A different voice from earlier, quiet and female: “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

Limestone sat up, shoved the blanket off, and rubbed her head. “C… Cup Cake?”

Cup Cake immediately stood up from her bench, rushed to the bars, and held a hoof to her chest. “Oh, thank goodness! Are you alright? Does that hurt? Oh dear, oh dear, what is Cloudy going to say about this? I’ve failed her, I’ve failed you, oh dear, how could I let this happen?”

Something told Limestone if she tried to stand too quickly, she’d soon find herself on the floor. “It’s not your fault,” she said, but forcing those words out felt like fighting a strong wind.

And apparently Cup Cake would have none of it. “I promised! I said I’d take care of any children she entrusted to me!”

Despite her swimming head, Limestone staggered over and leaned heavily against the bars. She barely flinched when Cup Cake hugged her through them. “I’m serious. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But your roam-springa is supposed to be a wonderful time of finding out who you are, and this has just gone about as wrong as it could so far—”

“Wait,” Limestone said, looking up. “How do you know so much about roam-springas?”

Cloudy cleared her throat and cast a furtive glance down the hall. “Your mother spent a fair amount of hers here with me, and I got to hear lots of stories about what happened when she traveled around.”

Why did she have to learn about all this from a virtual stranger? “She didn’t stay here the whole time?”

With a quick breath, Cloudy stared just beside Limestone’s face, and her eyes widened. “She really didn’t tell you anything about it, did she?”

“No. Whatever.” Limestone flicked a hoof. “Anyway, was everything all shits and grins—” and if possible, Cup Cake opened her eyes further yet “—sorry, was everything rosy all the time for her?”

“Well… no,” Cup Cake replied, pursing her lips and slouching a bit.

“And wouldn’t ‘finding yourself’ also include figuring out you don’t want to have anything to do with this place?”

A long sigh followed. “I suppose so.”

“There. Not a failed roam-springa then.”

For a minute, Cup Cake kept working her jaw as if to say something, but she remained silent. So Limestone sank to her haunches and held a hoof over her right eye, where the pressure had started building again. “Just say it,” Limestone groaned.

A sniffle? With a huff, Limestone sat up straighter. Yeah, Cup Cake had begun crying. Fucking great.

“Do you really hate it here that much?” Cup Cake said, her voice wavering.

Mom could have at least warned her that ponies acted this way. “No, no, look—I like you. You’ve been very nice to me. And this town’s not so bad. It’s just not for me.”

“But everything’s gone to Tartarus—” Cup Cake covered her mouth with both forehooves and flashed a grimace as if Limestone might report her to the police. As if they weren’t already in jail.

Hiding a smile, Limestone let out a long, relaxing breath. “I said I liked you.”

“Thank you for saying so, but that doesn’t make everything else right.”

And Limestone waited for Cup Cake to look at her again. “You don’t know me, do you? I don’t like ponies.”

“Oh.” Then Cup Cake blushed. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Oh.”

Limestone still teetered on her way back to the cot, so she made sure not to flop into it too quickly. But when she glanced back—oh shit, did she have to get up again?

“I… I’ll just leave these here for you,” Cup Cake said, pushing a cloth bag through the bars. “Pecan twirls. They were your mother’s favorite.” Her smile turned toward somewhere in the distance.

Was that the smell growing too strong to ignore? Pretty cloying. No way Mom would want to eat something that sweet. Oh yeah, Cup Cake had packed her some in a lunch a while back, a lunch she never got to eat. “Thanks.”

The same officer as before ambled in and gave Cup Cake a pat on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s your lucky day again. Malleus won’t press charges. As long as you apologize to him.”

“Did you hear that?” Cup Cake gushed, her forehooves clenched to her chin. “Just tell him you’re sorry, and you can go!”

No.

“Yeah,” the officer added. “In public, though.”

No.

Cup Cake squinted a bit at that, but she nodded. “You can do it right now! Maybe he’ll even let you keep working—”

“No!” Limestone huddled against the wall, and cold, cold, she wrapped the blanket around her.

“But—”

“No!” Limestone shouted. She bashed a hoof on the barred wall, a metallic screech sounded, some mortar rained down on her. “Stop telling me what to do!” She whimpered, and that stupid sweet smell, pryng at her head, burning her hoof. “No, no, no!”

Didn’t they understand? Why did they keep bothering her and ordering her around? No, she wouldn’t, everypony needed to leave her alone, just go away, away from her, go away, and she’d just stay in her own place, where she was in control, and nopony could touch her or tell her what to do. “Stop it, stop it!”

She rocked on her cot over and over with the blanket covering her head. Maybe somepony spoke through the clamor in her mind and maybe not. But it eventually got quiet.

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

Her body shook. Damn it, why did she have to be like this? Metal didn’t cry. It never had at home. She just wanted to go home.

Had Limestone fallen asleep again? Maud would be angry. She didn’t remember, but then the fading sunlight came in the shallow windows near the ceiling at a pretty low angle. If so, why was she still panting?

She slid the blanket back from her face and wrapped it around her neck like a cowl. Over by the door, the cup of water still sat there, but someone had overfilled it or knocked it over. The remains of a puddle lay on the floor below it.

Her stomach growled.

No tray of food around, but she hadn’t seen one yet, so she didn’t even know what to look for. The bag Cup Cake had left sat beside the cot, the top unrolled. “Somepony eat my pecan twirls?”

“Sorry,” a familiar voice said from the next cell. “You told me I could.”

Limestone let out a sigh hard enough that her head throbbed for a heartbeat or two. If she’d told him that, it would have been while delirious. “Fine.”

“I thought you were serious. I didn’t mean…”

“I don’t care,” Limestone replied, eyeing the wall for any new craters. Still the same old ones, from what she could tell.

“Sorry…”

“I don’t fucking care.”

With a grunt, he walked up to the bars between them. “Maybe you should have eaten them, metal filly. They might have made you a bit sweeter. Or maybe I should call you mental filly.”

“Fuck off.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move, either. Minute after minute went by, and still that silence pressed on her like sediment. Finally she glared up at him. “What do you want?” she said.

At first, he opened his mouth to say something, but then he flicked his eyes toward the window. “Not so bad here, is it? Three meals a day, roof over your head. As jails go, it’s pretty sparse. You’ll rarely have a roommate. Could be a nice little safe place for somepony who wanted to be alone.”

Except she hadn’t done anything to stay here long-term. And she probably couldn’t. But get in a bar fight every couple of weeks? Maybe. And the more that happened, the longer the terms would get. Maybe.

Maybe she belonged here. She wouldn’t do anything bad on purpose, but when ponies just didn’t know to fucking leave her alone… Some idiot in a bar, a blacksmith she’d probably never meet again. But Cup Cake had pushed her to apologize. Would Limestone ever hit her? Or Mom?

Maybe she belonged here.

“Look, take some advice from me, metal filly.”

“You seem happy enough here,” she grumbled, glaring out of the corner of her eye.

“You’d think so, huh? Always happy, always in a good mood, always ready with a joke.” He sank to his haunches and shook his head. “I’ve run scams in every town from here to Vanhoover, pulled petty theft, pickpocketing, rigged games…” With a shrug, he gazed down at his cutie mark: a playing card. Red queen, creased down the middle. “Name’s Monte, by the way.”

Limestone huffed out a breath. “So what’s your sob story?”

“Oh, nothing. I won’t stand here and tell you this life is torture. I do okay. But having Barn come in here and make offers to you—did you see his face? He was happy to. That mare who came to visit? She cares. You think anyone asks after me, brings me pecan twirls, comes to visit?”

“I’m guessing ‘no,’” Limestone replied with a roll of her eyes.

Monte only chuckled. “Oh, they used to, long ago. Now it’s nothing to them. Just another day. That mare doesn’t want to see you become me. Once it’s obvious you have for good, she’ll stop visiting, too.”

Why’d Cup Cake even come here? They barely knew each other. For Mom’s sake, probably, but… Cup Cake had hugged her, desperately.

Of course Limestone wasn’t the prison type. Not that she knew what that even was, but why did this have to be so hard? Find some brilliant revelation about herself, leave the farm, or stay at home like Mom did, and she didn’t belong there either—no, that wasn’t right!

She could do the work, run the place, all that, no problem. But nopony else was like her. Nopony else had trouble fitting in, getting along. Not freaking out and going into berserk mode just because… Just because…

Limestone couldn’t say it, not even to herself. Nopony else was like her.

Just like nopony else was quite like Maud or Pinkie or Marble. Or Mom.

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

Her lip trembled, and she sniffled. “I just want to go home.”

“Don’t we all? Except Barn told you exactly how you could.” Monte clicked his tongue and strolled back to his cot. “Just apologize, like he said.”

And the pressure built in Limestone’s ears again. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Who’s telling you?” he said. She stared at that infuriating picture of calmness, simply tapping his hoof as he bobbed his head and did some pretty crappy air drumming. By the rhythm of it, it had to be Princessrÿche’s “Crystal Empire.” He stopped just long enough to say, “It’s your choice. You’re the one in charge.”

He didn’t need to make fun of her. “Shut—”

“I mean… have you ever talked to someone about that?”

“About what?”

Thankfully, the air drumming stopped. “You haven’t noticed? How you melt down every time somepony tells you to do something?”

That wasn’t true. Only if somepony touched her. She didn’t like to be touched. “No I don’t.”

“Do it right now, then. Call Barn in here, and tell him you’ll apologize “

The fire seethed in her chest, she jolted over to face him, took a deep breath… and bit her tongue. “Shut the fuck up,” she muttered.

He pantomimed tipping a hat to her. “You got it, metal filly.”

Fuck.

The heavy door down the hall clanged shut, and Cup Cake trudged over to the cell. She wouldn’t look up. “I brought you some more pecan twirls,” she said. But her hoof flinched.

Limestone sat up and frowned. What was wrong…?

“I’m sorry,” Cup Cake continued, drawing the bag back and dropping it on the floor, then fumbling after it. “I tried to make you into your mother. Same host, same bedroom, same snacks.” She wiped her eyes and swallowed. “I didn’t even realize it until I was waiting upstairs for visiting hours to start.”

That didn’t sound right. Limestone didn’t remember much about actually being at Sugarcube Corner. Wake up, go to work early, come home, have dinner, fall asleep. She didn’t exactly interact with the Cakes much. “You never set her up at a blacksmith’s shop, did you? Or…” Nothing else came to mind. She really didn’t know anything about Mom’s roam-springa. Why not? “Nopony else is like me.”

Then, as a muttered afterthought: “Thank Celestia for that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t treat you like an individual.” Cup Cake stood back up and left the bag on the floor.

“But—” Limestone smoothed her mane down, and of course it popped out in the back again. “You don’t understand. It’s all running together for me. How many days did I work for Malleus? I don’t know. I don’t remember just hanging out after work and doing nothing at your house. If you did such a bad job, don’t you think I’d have noticed?”

“I just had this bright and sunny picture that I’d take you in, find you a place to work, and everything would turn out perfectly. I never even thought about deviating from that script.” Cup Cake tapped the bag by her feet with a hoof. “I mean, if you like them, you can still have them. But”—she pointed toward the other cell—“he’s the one with crumbs on his face.”

Limestone cracked a smile then shook her head. “But I don’t remember, y’know? Look—once when I was a kid, I convinced Mom to let me go out on Nightmare Night. She said the costumes might spook me, but I didn’t listen. I came home and cried for two hours.”

Her head jerking up, Cup Cake blinked.

“How do I know that happened? Because Mom loves to tell me the story. I don’t remember it. Not one bit. How bad could it have been?” Limestone rolled out of bed, and the orange juice cup came clattering out from wherever it had lodged in a fold of blanket. “You’ve been so kind to me, and the only bad things that stuck with me are some jerk at the bar and Malleus getting all stubborn about—”

Briefly, a grimace flashed across Cup Cake’s face.

Limestone sighed. “That was my fault, too, wasn’t it?” Cup Cake’s silence said plenty.

“I just want to go home,” Limestone continued. Like before, that stupid thought got her crying. She didn’t belong out here, Mom should have known, and this was all pointless.

“Metal filly decided she didn’t like the easy life in here,” Monte’s voice floated over from next door. “But something tells me she won’t do what it takes to make it happen.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Limestone grumbled, and Cup Cake’s eyes widened abruptly. Monte only gave a little salute.

Maybe Cup Cake had noticed her tears—something had got her crying as well. So Limestone finished walking over to her, reached through the bars, and with gritted teeth, curled an arm around Cup Cake, who immediately leaned in and hugged her back tightly. Limestone tried to fit her other arm under—no, around, o-or through—how did ponies do this?

She just sagged and let Cup Cake hug her. And for once, it didn’t grate on her nerves to do so.

Then the jingle of keys caught both their attention, and Barn came waddling in. He eyed her like a daughter who’d had to bring a disciplinary note home from the teacher. “Why don’t you just apologize to Malleus?” he said.

“I… I can’t.” Limestone clenched her jaw.

“Why not? I mean, he said he wouldn’t press charges if you did, and if you don’t, I think he’s just gonna wait you out, but honestly, I can’t hold you here long without. I’d have to let you go on that eventually, but I still got you on disturbing the peace, which we can prosecute you for anyway, and—” he picked something out of his teeth with the tip of a hoof and shrugged “—let’s just not put me in that spot, okay? Simple answer’s usually the best one.”

Monte chuckled. “You don’t know her, Barn.”

“And you do?” With a click of his tongue, Barn started back for the stairs. “Shoot, you spend most of your time here, and you don’t even know me.”

“I know Barn’s a weird name for a cop.”

That stopped him. Barn turned and looked at Monte as if he’d sprouted a second head. “I came from a farm, and I’m a good piper: Barn Fife.” He took his hat off and fanned himself with it. “Talent doesn’t have to match your job, y’know.” Then he glanced back at Limestone. “Make up your mind soon. I can’t finagle it anymore to stretch you out on the original charges. I’m trying to help you, I really am, but it’s about to come down to an apology or state charges. It’s been over a week already.”

Limestone turned cold, like a windigo had stabbed her in the gut. A week? Only two, maybe three days existed as distinct in her memory. What had happened? Where had the time gone? She slid out of Cup Cake’s grip and sank to the floor. She started to shake, and Cup Cake said something that sounded far-off, and a taste of metal filled her mouth. No, no, she couldn’t breathe, but—

Limestone took a breath.

Still she shook, but if she kept her mind on it, she could keep her head from feeling like it might erupt. But not her chest from splitting at its crystal grains and lurching along the fault line.

She trembled with countless pairs of eyes on her, and the fire rose, but it never consumed her.

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

Except maybe Monte was right. She chose to do this, so she was the one in charge. Maybe.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and Malleus gave a quick, satisfied nod. But more of the crowd peered at her. Had she hit any of them? Or just disrupted their day? Her jaw trembled so much she could barely get the words out.

“I’m sorry I damaged your stall and lost control of myself, and I won’t do anything like that again.” A shiver ran up her body unchecked, and her head jerked sideways. Sweating, breathing harder and harder, if only she could cry, scream, run. “I just… I just want to go home,” she whispered with what breath she could muster. Everything sounded distant, and she swayed.

She… she’d been rubbing the back of her head with her burned hoof. Over and over again. It hurt. She didn’t stop. Briefly, her eyes met Cup Cake’s in the crowd. “It was my own fault and nopony else’s.”

A few murmurs sounded, but nothing else, until Malleus grinned and thundered, “Good enough for me!” Then he turned to his work as if nothing had ever interrupted it and struck the anvil with his hammer.

“But you dented my watering can!” a mare said.

Limestone winced.

“And you made me drop my peaches!” somepony else added.

She cowered on the ground and covered her head. Why couldn’t she…?

Damn it! Every time this happened, she’d shut down, wouldn’t see, but now she lurched forward, grabbed hold, finally took possession of it: what the fuck was wrong with her?

Amid the rising voices, Malleus’s carried through: “What are you all gawking at? Don’t you have lives to get back to? Go on, nothing to see here.”

And so the crowd dispersed, all but Cup Cake. Limestone still couldn’t stop shaking. Had it gotten even worse? Her strength melted from her, and if she needed to stand, she didn’t know if she could. A little—a little weight on her burned leg, and it hurt, it hurt.

A chill ricocheted through her shoulders, and she almost toppled sideways, but Cup Cake braced her. “Are you okay?” Cup Cake asked, her brow creasing.

“I don’t know.” She couldn’t get enough air, and a mire of sweat ran down her back. Cup Cake never left her, only helping her little by little to a shady spot under a sturdy hickory tree. “If…” She coughed, took a deeper breath, and finally her chest felt like it had come unknotted. “If the purpose of the roam-springa is self-discovery, then I think I’ve discovered I can’t make it out here.”

Cup Cake pursed her lips, but she nodded. “I could offer some cliche about how ponies learn more from failures than successes, but I don’t think it’d help. However, I will tell you what my mother used to say: sometimes the most helpful answer we can get is ‘no.’”

That sounded about right. “I just want to go home.”

“And I think your roam-springa wasn’t a failure at all,” Cup Cake replied with a smile. “That’s one of the two possible answers for the question it’s intended to ask.”

Limestone felt strong enough to stand. So she did. And she hugged Cup Cake, inexplicably one of the few ponies who could touch her without making her skin crawl. “Thank you. And I do like you. I hope you don’t still feel responsible for how this all turned out.”

Cup Cake sagged a little in her embrace. “I wish I’d understood the situation better so that I could have helped you get to your conclusion more gently. But no, If you don’t want me to, I won’t carry around that guilt.”

“Good.”

One last squeeze, and Limestone limped toward the road home. Cup Cake stood waving until Limestone lost sight of her around the corner. But as she passed the police station, a voice called to her from one of the narrow barred windows along the ground: “See you around, metal filly.”

Limestone crested the low hill just before their rocky acreage as the colors streaming over the horizon had faded from a brilliant orange to a bluish green. She’d left this house with nothing and returned with nothing. Not even the little pay she’d earned after taking out rent and food. If Cup Cake found a few extra bits lying around, she could have them. It’s not like twenty or thirty wouldn’t be plausible as an amount she’d misplaced, and maybe they could repair a dented watering can or replace bruised peaches.

An aroma of warm gypsum floated low over the grass, and she sniffed it in. That broth would taste good when she got settled at the table. Mom’s recipe always had some nice, crunchy pyrite in it, too.

Years ago, she and Maud would sneak an extra piece, or stash one in a cheek, then after they’d gone to bed, bite them in the dimness and watch each other’s sparks across the room. They’d found out the hard way not to bite on pyrite too firmly, or it’d start a small fire, but they’d stomped it out right away, and Mom had pretended not to notice.

Why did things have to get complicated when she grew up?

She’d almost made it to the mailbox when she stopped short and picked up her throbbing leg. A rather large scar there, but her coat had started to grow back and cover it. Soon enough, nopony would be able to see.

The gray against the backdrop of gray tree trunks and gray rocks hadn’t stood out at a distance, but now, there sat Marble, staring down with large, trembling eyes as if she’d just received a scathing lecture.

It only took half a second for the pieces to fall into place. “You on your roam-springa?” Limestone asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Mom tell you to stay off the farm for twenty-four hours?”

“Mmhmm.”

Limestone cocked her head to the side. The property line ended at the road, and Marble had sidled right up to it. Maybe a grain of sand or two could fit between her and the farm, except her shivering probably had her trespassing periodically by a quarter inch or so.

With a shrug, Limestone opened the mailbox, stuffed with over two weeks’ worth of mail. Junk, junk, bill, letter from one of Mom’s friends—sweet! New issue of Reinkiller magazine! She folded the whole wad under her sore arm and jutted her chin toward the house. “C’mon inside and get some dinner.”

“Mmm?” Marble looked up, and if possible, she seemed even more terrified.

Then a spear of illumination extended from the house’s front door. “Is that thou, Limestone?” Mom asked.

“Yeah.” Limestone maneuvered her side holding the mail away from Mom, and Marble returned to staring at the dirt.

“Leave Marble alone. She is almost halfway through her roam-springa.”

Mom had stepped out onto the porch far enough that the glow from the house only left any view of her expression hidden in shadow, but by the clinking of the chain on her glasses, that wasn’t a simple request. “Marble doesn’t even want to be out here. Just let her go inside.”

“But it’s—”

“Who’s in charge here!?” Limestone barked.

Mom had turned back toward the open door, and the firelight caught her eyes just right. Something inside her had died. “It’s tradition,” she said so quietly that Limestone might not have heard it right. Then the door closed behind her, and through the window, Limestone could see Mom setting two more places at the table.

Tradition. The things they did because they had become a part of their history, not because somepony explicitly told her to.

Thou dost not always need to be in charge.

And it was her choice to do it, meaning she was in charge. Yes, but that look in her mother’s eyes. She didn’t really care whether Marble actually went through with her roam-springa or whether Limestone supported her. Not that much. But it was important to Mom. Important to try, important because—“Dammit!”

Marble jumped.

With a heavy sigh, Limestone stepped just off the property and sat beside Marble. Fine. Because Mom had told her to.

“It’s alright,” Limestone said, wrapping her free arm around her sister. “It’s only until morning, and I’ll keep you company.”

A hint of movement, and one eye appeared from behind Marble’s forelock.

“It’s alright. We both love you. No matter what.”

Then Marble finally stopped shivering and leaned against Limestone, and maybe it helped Limestone still her own tremors. “Mmhmm.”

Author's Note

I have to give CoffeeMinion the credit for Limestone being a metal fan. I must also credit forbloodysummer for the seed idea of what Limestone did on her roam-springa and howard035 for how Marble spent hers.

I envision Limestone as somepony on the autism spectrum. She doesn't like to be touched, except by specific ponies she knows well or just gets along with well enough. And when she for any reason feels like she should be an authority on something, she has a need to be in charge of it, and she can't comprehend that anypony might think otherwise.