Contagious Contentment

“Project log. Entry 1-1. Arrival day. On site at 5 hundred hours. Quarters settled by 7 hundred. Initial Area sweep matches details. No events or deviations to note.” The stallion pushed his glasses up his snout. He rubbed his forehead and turned away from the screen to clear his throat. “Procured sample for examination. See entry 1-2.” He paused and leaned closer to the laptop. “OK, please transcribe.”

The laptop sat for a second before picking up on the voice command. He checked to see if the OS avatar helper reactivated itself like it tended to after updates, but no pop-ups or audio responses ensued. The pegasus blinked, nodding to himself once. The clutter got in the way of efficiency, and furthermore, this was a library. He knew his voice was quiet, subdued yet discrete enough to justify using it instead of the noisy keyboard.

It helped that he was the library’s lone visitor. Old Town network complications meant his room had no connection until tomorrow. The only other pony around was the deskmare, who was likely asleep – he knew it had been over fifteen minutes since the last chair creak. The loud, old strobe lamps and the noisy desk fan ensured he couldn’t have awoken her. This allowed him to work in peace. Arguably, he would continue coming here in the weeks to come. He insisted on noise muffling for his room, but he picked backup plans in advance.

The stallion placed a plastic box on the table. He procured a set of gloves from a pocket, which nearly blended in with his beige coat. Carefully removing the seals and placing the lid in its own assorted plastic bag, he lined up the contents on a felt blanket. Several chunks of dense, rocky black substance, each in its own little bag, each with a set of acronyms and numbers recently written on it.

He spent the next hour examining each. He meticulously chipped out tiny samples and exposed to several basic stimuli from another magical tool, before being put in a purification set. The pegasus gave each rock a thorough visual examination with his own eyes, leaving reference figures and sketches in his notebook. Each molecular matter approximation taken with a magical stylus device was written down on paper, so it could be re-verified on a weekly basis. Eight out of fourteen rocks were ordinary Everfree speciments – fossilized tar, dessicated swamp blobs and generational basilisk waste. As each was taken from a different sector of the Area, they acted as the control group in case better samples weren’t found.

The remaining six produced varying anomalies when exposed to stimuli. Pitch black, jagged crystals with an irregular density and sharpness. Once intensely magical, according to the analysis pen. The stallion wrote down a set of hypotheses down, each accompanied with a sketch and a prognosis diagram for later reference. He filled in the full page before stretching out the laptop’s scanner extension.

The pegasus paused, looking at the biggest black crystal in particular. His lips twitched slightly. He took it in his hands and squinted, taking another 5 minutes of rarely blinking.

“Hrrrg…” the stallion gritted his teeth. He let out a loud breath and put the rock down to wipe his glasses. He shook his head, several spinach green hairs loosening from his mane and hanging over his face. The stallion swallowed another growl and shook his head, retrieving an electronic magnifying device from his tool pocket.

After another extra half hour of using the equipment that was created to do his very job, he updated his sketches and references. Reading through the results, he curled his lip momentarily.

“No, too biased…” the stallion sighed. He scratched his chin, the subtle crinkling of stubble perhaps the loudest sound he’d made in hours. The pegasus tucked in his wings, packed up his equipment, and left the library.

Ten minutes later, he was back. He began to set the operation back up, having made sure the library was still vacant. He made sure to occasionally stop and take a bite out of the cupcake he got at the hotel café, or to sip at the juice. They didn’t serve many greens in the Old Town. Regardless, he was told to stop forgetting to eat. Beyond the psych advice, it likely affected his judgment.

He got to the big rock in question. The pegasus’ wingtips furrowed up as he glared at it. His ears flicked in frustration. It was like he wanted something to be wrong with it. He almost thought it emitted a soft flicker of green when out of visual focus, when in reality it simply reflected his mane in bright lighting conditions. His gut told him this sample had to do with the Area’s anomaly. Gut feelings annoyed him. They were unquantifiable and inserted confirmation bias into work.

After another silent, deep breath, he took another measured bite from the cupcake. His ears folded back as he watched the crumbs land on the table right next to the sample. He hurt his gums gritting his teeth as he saw the sample’s bag wasn’t fully sealed. It took quick sweeping and very measured breathing to keep pink from flushing to his face. He was so embarrassed that it felt like lightning coursed through his entire body. His wings stood at attention, almost like how they did when an offensive spell charge went off. His cutiemark tingled.

“Hiya there!” a loud, high-pitched feminine voice piped up from behind. His pupils shrunk and his ears stood at attention, his hand instinctively reaching for his belt. “Whatcha doin’?”

“…” the stallion suppressed a groan. He was too affected and didn’t notice someone come into the library. He was too sure of how quiet it was. “Finishing up on work.”

“Cooooool!” The voice’s owner stomped over to where he sat, leaning over the back of the sofa. Earth mare in her mid-20s, either a dancer or a light athlete, tall and slightly overweight. “I dunno why’dcha study rocks in a library? My sister Maud, she just studies rocks wherever she finds ‘em!”

“That’s very nice.”

He turned around. All correct. Bright pink mare in a loose, old-fashioned T-shirt, and short pants. Enormous, cotton candy-like mane of a deeper pink hue, with messy loose strands sticking out in all directions. The mare tapped her foot compulsively, her head bobbing back and forth ever so subtly to some internal rhythm. That was likely the only reason she could see, as it moved the mane from her sky blue eyes. She sucked on a lollipop with little subtlety, further shocking the stallion.

“Yeah, she’s great! And by extension, that means you must be pretty great too!” The pink mare gave him a wink and extended a hand. There was a prevalent, faint layer of perspiration. Unsurprising, considering nearly every part of her was constantly in motion. “I’m Pinkie Pie! Now whatsername?”

He regained his composure, proceeding with the usual protocol for social interaction.

“Beryl. Pleased to make acquaintance.” The pegasus nodded. He made a mental mark of where he left off in fixing his notebook. He placed everything where it belonged as fast as he could without giving it away. “I’m here on a work assignment. It’s in the Restricted Area, so I’m afraid I’ll be scarce around the premises.”

“Oooooh!!! That’s SO EXCITING!” Pinkie Pie squeaked. Beryl’s eyelid twitched.

“It’s not that exciting, really. Most of the stories they tell don’t apply anymore. It’s mostly to attract tourists,” Beryl said. This kind of droll talk tended to repel nosy ponies. “But yes, it’s quite time-consuming. I’ll just be going from the Area to my room on most days – there’s not much time if I wasn’t to fit into my deadline,” he lied.

“No, I don’t mean the forest, silly. Everyone knows Everfree has been figured out since forever!” She giggled to what was probably a joke of some kind. “I mean you. You’re so brooding and mysterious. Ooo…”

He was not working in the library again. The chaos factor was now too high. Beryl threw out all other prospective thinking spots besides some on the other edge of the Old Town, and reorganized his work plan to account for compiling reports at his room.

The pegasus took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The extra gestures made him appear more personable, smoothening out the haste with which he rushed the encounter. He raised his hand and nodded assuringly:

“I’m a pencil pusher, Miss Pie. I have it on good authority I am incredibly plain.” The stallion forced a smile. He’d had to opt out of talks with impressionable ponies before. He hadn’t done a good enough job of degrading his physique since leaving the Guard. “My mission here isn’t even under NDA. I look at old things and write boring details about them. It’s a living, and I would prefer peace so I can make it.”

“Pfff, baaa-loney. You’re only as plain as you let yourself be!” the mare grinned, nearly splitting her mouth in half. Her eyes stared directly into his. He caught himself choking on a breath, staring at her features. Despite her uncomfortable closeness, her face was far too crisp – like distant details tended to be when he didn’t have his glasses on. “The only thing plain for sure is that it’s just plain wrong that somepony would do this to themselves!”

“Miss Pie, I’m married, I have a well-paying job, and I will be leaving Old Town very shortly,” he proceeded to lie on all but one account. Nervously rubbing the ridges of his glasses, he put them back on. He bit down hard, seeing that a piece of Pinkie’s hair detritus landed on the lens. Eye twitching, he grabbed the rest of his things. “Now if you don’t mind-“

“Nobody likes a downer!” the mare exclaimed. Her hand shot forward in piston-like fashion, her index finger pushing in Beryl’s snout. Instinctively, the stallion went into a fighting stance. Even so, by when he stepped back and half-knelt, she already managed to land a finger flick on his forehead – all in less than a second. “And I like you, Beryl, so there’s no way you’re a real downer.”

“I AM a real downer. I will be leaving now. Thank you and goodbye.”

Beryl stormed off. He puffed his nostrils, putting in effort to count to 10 and back. Nevertheless, his mind was in uproar, fuming at the mare for disturbing him. It felt like a soda bottle popped open inside his head. His snout tingled. The pegasus groaned, sensing his wings giving off the nervous twitches, their folding muscles firing off mixed signals. He was taking the stairs to his room before realizing, one flight in, that the stress of the encounter brought back his limp.

Beryl rode the elevator, praising the Princess that it was empty. He entered his room and didn’t leave until tomorrow morning, skipping dinner.

I don’t think I like- I don’t, no…

Heh-heh. Ahhh, that’s funny to hear. You know?

No. I feel… No, I don’t know how I feel.

And who the hell do you think you are?!

…nobody, really.

But that means you’re supposed to like yourself, you silly downer. See the catch, rooty-tooty-shooty man?

Beryl woke up with his pillow drenched in sweat. He lay there on crumpled sheets, the edges digging into his back. He wheezed, his chest rising and lowering. He almost reached for the nightstand with his handgun before realizing it was a dream.

After a drink of tap water, the stallion returned to bed. He couldn’t fall asleep until he changed the sheets, too irritated that he moved in his sleep for the first time in months.

The pegasus finished stretching, taking extra care with his wings and legs. He was relieved to see the tension had passed. Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander away as he compiled today’s internal checklist. Having ended up making a little over a dozen jumping jacks through sheer muscle memory, the pegasus stopped himself.

“No push-ups this time, at least,” he reprimanded himself for letting his Royal Guard routine take the wheel again.

Doing breathing exercises as he walked it off, Beryl neared the mirror. Shaking his head at the blurry close-up of himself, he went in for a shower.

The sun was almost up when he exited, having rinsed himself off thoroughly and dried his mane with both a towel and a hairdryer. He picked out the correct hair band for the day. Tying up his ponytail and giving his glasses a prolonged washing, he reluctantly had breakfast. Forcing cabbage salad down his throat, he rubbed his temple. Beryl puffed in frustration at being unable to get over yesterday’s disturbance. To compensate, he decided to skip today’s lunch to get more work done instead.

To stop thinking about the annoying mare, he focused on his food and counted to 10 and back. Before departing for the Old Town, he bothered to do a grocery run and picked out his favorite vegetables. He even pre-cooked several containers’ worth of salads, intending to smooth over the adjustment period with meals he’d enjoy back at home. However, after a minute of attempting, he put the plate away half finished.

Rolling his eyes, the stallion opened the fridge and gulped straight from a bottle of green herbal juice. He groaned, rubbing his stomach. Even the food didn’t satisfy him like it used to. Making matters worse, it hardly distanced his thoughts from that encounter – now he kept on drilling himself for getting that cupcake and eating it right over samples.

Beryl squished his forehead with his palm. He walked out to the balcony and calmed himself down counting suppression conduits around the Restricted Area’s magitech dome. For a few minutes he tried to entertain himself trying to make out the Old Canterlot castle in the distance. He was pleased enough making out one of the preserved towers between the high-rises.

His mood immediately evened out when he remembered throwing the uneaten cupcake in the bin. Beryl paced around for a short while before finally deciding to put on his work clothes. Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at himself, detecting a subtle grimace on his snout. Being irked was common enough, but he just got more and more wound up. He glared at his stubble, rubbing it, the crinkling noise causing more hyper-awareness. Flexing around, the pegasus kept staring at the stretch marks around his wing joints, the reddish mark on his lower back, the sharp protrusion of his lower ribcage onto the abdomen.

With a frustrated sigh, he returned to the table and quickly finished his breakfast, downing it with another helping of green juice. His stomach rumbled, seemingly from how quickly he absorbed the food, hardly chewing it.

Beryl shook his head. Usually, watching his physique thin out made him feel good, as it let him stand out less. Now, as he put on his button-up shirt, vest and pants, he sensed annoyance fizzling in the back of his mind, watching the shoulders, biceps and pectorals become obscured by his nondescript, bland outfit.

“Stop being a foal,” he murmured to himself, checked all the safeties one last time, left a tip for the cleaners and departed to the Restricted Area.

Beryl stepped off the cumulus platform. He took the vertical wingway up to one of the taller vines and se up there. After a half hour of exposing the test pen to this layer of the affected area, he dumped the readings to the cloud. Having tightened the respirator around his snout, he dashed across the misty fog and landed on another set of vines. Climbing up to a vantage point, he bent down and produced a series of strong wingflaps that cleared the area. He used the short period of time to take several shots of the moss-covered rock formation on the ground, all at different angles, filters and zoom levels.

The stallion rolled up his sleeve and turned on his phone to check the time. The grey background almost didn’t stand out from all the fog that’d rolled back in. He sighed and pulled up the cumulus app, calling for a platform to take him out. Filing away his findings into the correct folders before transferring them to his laptop back on the ground, Beryl struggled with breath.

As soon as he hopped off at the Area’s main section, he took off the respirator, brushed his clothes, checked the arm strap on his phone, pulled up his hood and went for a run. This part of the former Everfree Forest essentially equated to the city park, but the gloomy atmosphere and poor repute kept the weekend athletes and strollers away from the cordoned paths. Beryl liked to run so that his mind was clear to process his findings and arrange them in a neat table. Listening to his own breath and barely audible footsteps for an hour, having nothing but the dim jogging lights amid arcane gloom to focus on, he was able to speed through most of the hard analytical work in his head.

It wasn’t adding up. He couldn’t keep his mind on even the simplest things, like the origin of the samples that were polluting the Restricted Area. Half the time, he caught himself forgetting what the big deal with these rocks even was. The entire expanse of a winding hill run was spent with the assumption that this was decrepit changeling matter. Beryl nearly ran into a sedated eightacle plant when he reminded himself this was just one of half dozen theories he was working through – and not even the most likely one. Too much had happened in this area within recent history, he couldn’t just lose track of the bigger picture.

The stallion picked up his pace. He dashed through pitch blackness illuminated by the occasional will-o-wisp and roadside jogger lights. Beneath his skull, something felt droll and jelly-like. As if his brain was recovering from anesthesia – or undergoing it? Sweat drops stained his glasses. The lights and darkness, interspersed with the occasional glimpses of the sky, tinted purple by the Area’s dome, it all merged into an unprecedented assault on the senses.

Beryl stopped, his hooves digging into the ground through inertia. He bent over and wheezed. His ears flicked. He shook his head, his glasses hanging off by their back straps. He had run off the track and nearly walked into unsecured territory. Puffing his nostrils, the stallion walked back to the path, the ground quacking and crinkling with each step he took.

When he reached the light, he bent over again, grasping his head.

“HRRRGH!” he grunted, gritting his teeth. The pegasus ducked, spreading out his wings. His eyes darted, peering into the gloom. He took long, labored breaths. With his eyelid twitching, he pulled up his sleeve to check on the time. “Sun damn it. It’s… I’ve been… It’s-“

In his blurry vision, the yellow lights split into granules, the outmost ones blending with the nocturnal gloom and the errant wisps, becoming a dirty shade of magenta. He looked up, tracking the treetops and the clouds beyond the dome. He groaned again, realizing he’d ran far deeper into the forest than he intended. Checking the Area navigation app, he was proven right.

His joints wobbled. The stallion stared at the dark trees. He realized that dangerous things once wandered among those. In fact, many still did – the park rangers weren’t omnipresent. Beryl’s ears folded. His wings shuddered. His lower back shot sharp pangs up his spine. He felt uncomfortable being alone in a dark, dangerous forest full of Princess knows what.

Beryl plotted a path to get back to his work area. Then, he realized the discomfort wasn’t fading. Nervously smiling, he returned to the app and sent an executive call for the ranger to come pick him up.

He felt uncomfortable being alone.

Returning to the ranger’s station, the pegasus took a poison joke test. It returned negative. Relieved, he boiled his disturbance down to the residual static magic resonating with his cutiemark. He had been using his special talent a lot while observing the samples, after all. He needed to take slightly better care of himself – if he hadn’t been a stressed mess coming in, he wouldn’t even have been this bothered by that encounter on day 1.

Content enough with himself, he thanked the ranger and departed the Area. All things considered, he was ahead of schedule – even with all that’d occurred. Changing into his street clothes and packing his hoodie in the bag, he mulled over his decision to skip dinner.

“Have some discipline,” the stallion muttered to himself. He checked his laptop, finding everything to have transferred correctly. Cleaning his glasses, he plotted his way back to the hotel room.

When he veered off into mentally breaking down the residue on the rocks and recreating animal behavior patterns around the activity sites, he had to stop. Sitting on the benches lining the gated entrance to the Restricted Area, he would usually depart within less than a minute, too distracted by the clopping, the chatter, the passing vehicles and the advertisements blaring off from the nearby sales center. Now, he’d sat there for no less than 5 minutes, making more mental headway than he did while actively looking at the material he’d captured.

Shaking his head in disappointment, he put the laptop into his bag, swung it over his shoulder and walked. Consciously taking the empty alleyways and the quieter cul-de-sacs, he extended his travel time by half. The quiet made him feel at ease, but right now, that translated into hyper-awareness of everything that irritated him. From the light pain in his leg to the constant, light tingling at the tip of his snout, he processed too much information that once was easily dismissed.

As much as he avoided forging connections, he got too used to living in Canterlot. One errant run-in was enough to trip him up. Beryl exhaled, calm with the knowledge he’d be back to normal once this place became routine. That mental weight lifted, he paused to wonder.

“It won’t hurt to just stop at a café. I can work there. Get used to the noise.” He peeked out of the alleyway, watching the diner directly opposite the hotel. His lips curled. “No… not there. Her type would hang there. I need to get something done. Yeah…”

He nodded to himself. This time, he took a windier path on purpose, taking the extra time to pass by more of the local establishments. The evening air would have cleared his head as well. The dizzy sensation hadn’t recurred.

Beryl settled on a coffee place that was far enough and had grid connection. He picked a corner and set up, pulling up the images and getting out his notebook.

It went better than he expected. The murmuring of other patrons, the whirring of vehicles passing by outside, even the music didn’t require much effort to zone out. He set up groundwork for later table analysis of stimulus reactions and drafted up a couple gas exposure diagrams. The effort needed to distance from the noise was almost better allocated into sticking with the hard calculations – he kept being tempted to go with his gut estimations. It must have been the unusual working space.

Eventually, as he drew sketches of various aberrations, he caught his right hand drumming against the table. The lines formed together without the cognitive signals they once required to stay straight. The sheet stayed in place, hence why his non-dominant hand was free… Beryl sat up, ears folding back. He checked for the usual signs of nervous agitation. Something was causing his joints to misbehave.

When he allowed his mind to perceive the music again, he began to wonder if he just subconsciously drummed along to the tune that he’d initially drowned out. Then, his pupils shrunk. He saw that mare outside the window. She bounced in place, drilling into the menu with her eyes, twirling a lock of mane with her fingers and suckling on yet another lollipop. Through sheer luck, her bouncing tail – and posterior – avoided smashing into any passerby.

Beryl clasped his hand into a fist. His palm bore perspiration. Rolling his eyes, he quickly packed up, asked the waitress where the back exit was, and left for the hotel, hooves stomping against the wooden floor.