Salvation | Rebirth

There was a number of small coffee shops scattered all around the Artist Artery, which was honestly what Wild expected to see. In his mind, artists drink tea or coffee and discuss or sketch whatever they did at places like those. Or was it about the writers? He wasn’t sure, but he was certain some sort of stereotype relating to coffee shops and some kind of artists existed. Not that he knew overly much about artists, and he only ever had an arts class in school. There was a marching band, some other art-related things, but he had never truly been all that interested in anything his school had to offer. And now... well, in truth, he couldn’t really say whether he wanted to know more or not.

Wild shook his head lightly, banishing those thoughts. There were more important things to see and think of, after all. For example, he had observed enough of this street to know that it was safe. Or, at least, it was safe during the day, and the absence of any serious anti-robbery defenses told him it wasn’t particularly dangerous at night either. There was no rubbish, no graffiti, and no other signs of danger as far as he could see. It was certain that he would be safe to simply exist in this space during the day. At night, however... Either he would be more or less fine or the police - the guards - would get him. He remembered what he knew about Canterlot, and it was certainly a city full of wealth. It wasn’t particularly large either. Chances were, many ponies living in this city knew each other or were, at least, aware of others. If he ever found himself all alone on the streets again, he would likely stick out. So far, though, no one had looked at him twice.

Wild spotted a few dumpsters tucked away inside inner alleys behind the corners, barely visible from the street. With luck, he would be able to salvage some food from there. Besides, he knew richer neighborhoods often had better trash because people living there were very used to not having to worry about using all that they could to the best of their abilities.

Of course, he knew he didn’t have to worry about such things... for now, and hopefully forever. He reminded himself that he was allowed to stay at the Royal Orphanage until he got his things in order, including whatever future housing he would have. With his magical power, he would surely be able to find a decent job to support himself with, and a decent job meant a decent amount of money. He didn’t know whether whatever amount he would get would be enough for him to live comfortably on, but he could certainly hope. Perhaps he would also get some education to get an even better job, though all of it was in the future, and he needed to focus on the now.

Wild kept an eye out for someone possibly calling him out for being out and about so openly with Artful. They walked side by side, very close, although not so close that they were touching. To Wild, it seemed like anyone was able to look at them and see that they were a couple. Without a single doubt, if they were in his old world, what they were doing would result in them getting beaten or worse. In Equestria, that was far less likely, he knew, but that didn’t stop him from paying attention to his surroundings, looking out for any hostile looks or thoughts. So far, he had detected none, and he had actually noticed another gay couple. They were lying on top of a bench, cuddling together, enjoying some sort of hot drink, coffee or tea, and smiles were on their faces. It made Wild’s heart ache a bit - perhaps, with time, he would be able to do those same things with Artful. To be out in the open, in public... that would be nice.

Wild was not at all ashamed of being with Artful or of displaying affection, but his brain still told him it would be far too dangerous to show it in public without care. Perhaps it was not factually true anymore, but he knew it would take time to change his mindset and to accept that Equestria was far, far safer than his old world. At least Artful seemed perfectly alright with Wild’s... deficiencies.

Artful and Wild made a few more visits to various art-related shops. Artful browsed them thoughtfully, humming to himself as he looked over various brushes, eyeing interesting paint colors - one of which was a rainbow, a mix of colors that somehow still managed to stay separate no matter how one painted them. There were also enchanted brushes that would allow the user to give them mental commands so that they could paint in multiple places on the canvas at once. Another was a brush that changed the tip shape in many different ways, also enchanted. There were also more tools for Artful to buy and use, although Wild couldn’t name over half of them in any of the three languages that he knew.

They also visited a shop called ‘Wingit’s Writings and Writing Equipment’. It was a book store solely dedicated to fiction, all sorts of it sorted by genres standing proudly on the bookshelves of the shop. In addition, there were plenty of guides for a beginner writer, including a trope encyclopedia - which was the thickest book Wild had ever seen - and various biographies of a great many authors.

“I’m thinking about maybe writing something,” Artful admitted, “I don’t know what yet, but, I mean, it could be nice. I have all those scenarios in my head, you know, and while I can put them as, uh, visual things, paintings and drawings and all that, I wonder if I can also put them on paper like a story.”

Wild bobbed his head in acknowledgment, though didn’t say anything. If any of his parents had ever written anything for the fun of it, he didn’t know, and he had never felt drawn to it himself. He enjoyed reading, he could admit that much, but he had rarely thought about it in depth. In truth, however, he hadn’t read much in a long while, at least when it came to fiction. In this new world, so far, he had been focused on learning things, never having time or true desire to sit down with a nice novel and relax. As for writing one... he didn’t think he had a talent for it. He still found it difficult to find appropriate words to use in his day to day speech, and his writing wasn’t much better. He sincerely doubted anyone would want to read whatever came to his head.

A thought struck him - perhaps he could write an autobiography. A case of a human in a different world... that would, at least, be unique, and it would warn ponies of the dangers of humanity. It could help them all prepare, as well as help them learn to recognize a human no matter which body one happened to occupy at the time. However, writing that sort of book meant outing himself to the entire world. He shuddered when he thought of all those suspicious look he would be getting for the rest of his life, perhaps even... maybe someone would try to kill him. Worse, someone could decide that he had to be utterly destroyed, and they would do it by killing those he loved, perhaps deeming them ‘corrupted’ or ‘unclean’ or some other thing.

Wild shook his head to himself - writing a true autobiography was a bad, bad idea. It would still be bad even if he decided to write it on his deathbed, so that it would only be released after he was dead and buried. However... would he want others to read it after his passing? Assuming he would die, assuming his death was complete and final, a proper end where there would be no more him.

Wild had no plans for children, so he didn’t see why he would want to leave that sort of legacy to anyone. If he had children, they would at least deserve to know the truth about him, as much as it would likely hurt them. At least there was no chance he would pass anything of himself on biologically because the only way for him to ever have children would be to adopt them. However, that point was entirely moot since he would never have children. So, if he were to die, and do so before those he knew did, would he want them to know everything there was to know about him? Would they mourn his passing or would they spit on his grave because they would rightfully deem him a liar?

No, he could not write an autobiography. It would be an extremely bad idea with no good benefits to anyone. The only person who should perhaps know things about him was Artful, whom he was already considering telling it all. Well, perhaps not all of it, he would hate to see the pity in his eyes. Some things, Wild also wanted to just forget, to move on from them and never look back. If Wild told Artful about his... experiences with his old body, would Artful grow afraid to touch him? Could it perhaps ruin any sense of intimacy between the two of them that there could be?

Wild decided to put that thought to the metaphorical shelf where he kept everything ‘for later consideration’. He was, at most, barely above twenty years of age. Eventually, he would figure it all out, he had time, and he had help. He had two amazing therapists, Luna and Doctor Fay, and the two of them would help him choose the best path for himself, which he was certain of. He could and should put it all aside, for now, and focus on what was happening around him right this moment. He was in Canterlot, he was there on his own four hooves, and he wanted to enjoy that time.

The crowd had grown in size since they entered the Artist Artery as the last morning hours slowly passed. Wild made sure to stay close to Artful and to never let him out of his sight, although the crowds weren’t dense enough for Artful to simply disappear into them, at least not yet. Wild couldn’t help but let his eyes jump from one pony to another, quickly and silently assessing them before moving on to the next one. He was taller than most ponies, which helped to prevent his anxiety from growing out of control. However, it was still there, simmering, and he had to keep an iron grip on himself, making reassurances that Artful wouldn’t simply disappear to leave him to deal with all the other ponies alone.

Wild had grown used to the amount of ponies in the Royal Orphanage, which wasn’t more than possibly a couple hundred, perhaps a thousand at most. He had been to Ponyville, which didn’t appear all that much more populated, although he was reasonably sure there were more ponies living in the village than in the orphanage. However, the Artist Artery alone could fit all of them with space to spare.

Wild had learned that there was no true safety in numbers, that more people only meant that it was easier to disappear and not be missed, easier to be ignored and forgotten. Canterlot had seemed cheery and relaxed on the surface, that was true, but he sensed, felt there was more to it. How many ponies were there that most weren’t even aware of? He hadn’t yet noticed one, but then he had hardly seen even a fifth of the city, and this seemingly idyllic street couldn’t possibly represent Canterlot in its entirety.

“Is everything alright?” Artful asked him, an expression of concern on his face. It was then when Wild realized there was noticeable tension in his face, which he proceeded to consciously relax. The muscles keeping his jaws together, after relaxing, sent pulses of discomfort to him, signaling that they had been under tension for a bit too long.

“...Crowds,” Wild ended up saying. He grimaced internally - perhaps it hadn't been a good idea to go to a busy city. He had traveled on the train just fine, and he went through the relatively crowded train station without issue, but now...

With a bit of a start, he realized that it was the pressure of the thoughts of others swirling all around him. If he focused, he could almost feel where everyone around him was. Previously, thoughts of others were like a calm stream that barely rippled as it went around him, but now it was more of a rushing river, growing stronger as more ponies ventured out, each one adding more on top. As he felt someone, his eyes moved to a shop that was yet closed, and he found the name of it above a window curtained on the inside, which spelled ‘Arty’s Afternoon Tea’. The tea shop owner, Wild understood, was waking up from their slumber, and that was what he was now feeling. With their mind slowly adding into the mix of all the rest, now Wild understood why he felt more and more uneasy as time went on, and why he was eyeing the street with his mind on his own personal safety.

“Alright, let’s get somewhere quiet,” Artful said with a nod, “The Royal Art Gallery isn’t that far ahead, and we can hurry up a bit.”

Wild nodded in gratitude, and the two made their way with some haste towards the grand building that seemed to almost dominate the Artist Artery. In front of it was a small park, and Wild could spot a unicorn artist, their mind focused on capturing the view of the Gallery from where they stood. The Gallery itself had a design that reminded Wild somewhat of Russian churches, pictures of which he had seen a couple times. While there was no Orthodox cross on top of them, they still had those round domes - or whatever they were called, he didn’t remember - that stretched into a sharp peak at the top, and they were golden in color, shining underneath unobstructed sunlight.

Once Artful and Wild entered the building, Wild felt a sense of relief washing over him like a gust of fresh air. The thick walls, for a reason he didn’t know, seemed to block the thoughts of others outside of the building from reaching in. He let out an audible sigh, tension fading from him. At this hour, there was no one at the Gallery save for the staff and a couple of ponies, at least as far as Wild could sense.

He focused on breathing for a short while, inhaling deeply and rhythmically, reasserting his place in the imaginary river of minds. He shook off the impression of the thoughts of others from his head, and soon enough he was nearly perfectly steady again.

Art Gallery. Right. He could use some time to simply look at famous paintings. And then... who knew. Wild would figure something out. And, if not, he could always return to that Entrance Park and rest there. Perhaps there would be some other quiet place where he could rest with Artful. Artful’s presence, in body and in mind, was calming and reassuring, a point of familiarity in the city of strangers.

Wild reassured himself that he would be fine. Now, however, he knew that he would not want to live in Canterlot. If it was this busy on a calm day, he shuddered to imagine how bad it would be during celebrations or nice summer days. Perhaps his best bet would be getting a house in some village, and he was definitely gravitating towards that idea. While a village life wouldn’t offer him nearly as many things as a city did, it would be calmer, perhaps even peaceful, and that was all Wild cared about having at this point in his life.

“You okay now?” Artful asked him, and he gave a reassuring nod, and then allowed Artful to give him a quick compassionate nuzzle, “Alright. Let’s go see some art, right? You know, there’s a really old piece, a copy of one of the very first paintings from the foundation of Equestria, and...”

As Artful talked, Wild let a small smile spread on his face. If he could trust anyone to distract him from unfortunately heavy thoughts, it would be Artful, and Wild was very grateful for that. Paintings were, perhaps, not the most interesting topic, as far as he was concerned, but the way Artful talked about them made him pay attention and actually want to see them.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he did to deserve someone this good and thoughtful as a partner.