Contagious Contentment

“Hiya, neighbor!” a needlessly cheery, high-pitched voice greeted the pegasus as he walked onto his balcony.

“???” Beryl pressed against the side railing, covering his naked torso up with his wings. He stared.

There she was. Wearing a plain white singlet and nothing but her panties down below, Pinkie Pie noisily crunched a jawbreaker, leaning precariously over the railing of her own balcony. One that Beryl never even noticed before.

For all he knew, his number had no neighbors. On his wing of the floor, only 403 was occupied. He also assumed only his room would have its balcony facing towards the forest. Eyes darting side to side, he was able to confirm he was indeed wrong. Every room appeared to face the Area.

Beryl rolled his eyes and put his elbows on the railing. He hung his head.

“Yes, we’re neighbors. Hello. Good morning,” the stallion drawled. Ordinarily he’d be barely audible – on purpose – but now it croaked. He was way too bothered. “I’ll put a shirt on and go to work.”

“Heeeeey, now that’s not very neighborly. I wasn’t done ogling!” Pinkie chirped with laughter. She stuck out her tongue. “Whatcha’ feeling shy over, Beryl?”

“We’ve barely met,” he reminded her, raising a finger. He took a deep breath. “Please recall. I have… work to do…”

“But the sun is barely up!" the mare complained. "Nooo waaay. This just isn’t right.”

“Being out in the cold at oh five hundred hours gets me down, I’m very sorry.” He could hear her swaying around as he turned back.

“You’re not down, you’re stressed!” Pinkie Pie argued. Beryl clutched his chest. He puffed his nostrils, snout having gotten tingly again. “Come on, what sort of pony gets up to go to boring work so early! Nopony’s even tracking you, you can walk in at any time, whooo caaares!”

Beryl covered his face. He reclined against the balcony’s door frame. He raised his head to look at her. Somehow, she was already staring him right in the eyes.

“Miss Pie, that sort of attitude is how you lose job security,” he replied.

“PFFFHAHAHA! Security-shmecurity!” The earth pony waved her hand in dismissal and spat the rest of her jawbreaker out onto the street. She then hopped in place, and before Beryl’s eyes transferred the images to his brain, she was doing a handstand on her balcony’s railing. With one hand. With her body hanging over the edge.

“Check this out! How’s this for security, huh? Ya’ jealous???”

Her mane swung in the wind, barely matching the cotton-like consistency it typically possessed. Her tail wrapped idly around one of the hooves raised high in the air, the chubby thighs hardly tightening up to match the pressure it had to put on her body. Her shirt just barely clung onto her breasts, which just nearly avoided smacking the mare on her chin.

Beryl’s instincts would have had him rush in to save her from an obvious suicide attempt, but he was frozen in place, staring, jaw agape. This wasn’t physically possible.

“Hahaha, I knew you would be! Silly mister. Prfffft!” She blew him an upside-down raspberry. “Y’know why I’m up at heck knows how early?!”

“…” Beryl could swear his mind crackled and popped. Like popcorn in a microwave. His ear flicked uncontrollably. “What are you-“

“Blah-blah-blah. It’s simple! I’m SSSOOOO EAGER FOR LIIIFE!” the mare declared. Her squeak was so loud, he didn’t see how it didn’t shatter the windows. He felt himself tense up for complaints from patrons on other floors. He then nearly laughed, realizing it wasn’t his fault anyway. It was… whoever this Pinkie Pie was. “I get up and I SMILE! Unlike a certain somepony who gets up-“

Pinkie Pie somersaulted off the railing and landed square on her hooves, managing to perform multiple full revolutions within the length of about half a meter. She then hunched over, her limbs falling limp, her cerulean eyes losing their shine, her mane visibly diminishing. Beryl could swear extra cloud layer passed them over, because her coat seemed to skip several hues of pink down the spectrum.

“-and skulks around like a walking corpse! GuuuAAAAHHHH!” she spoke in a horribly croaked voice, breaching barely within normal pony hearing. It must have been awful for her vocal chords – she practically emitted infrasound. Her body shuffled around, each limb moving independently, joints desperately out of sync. “BrrrAAAINS! I mean, uhhh, RRRROOOCKSSS! Ssssciiiience!”

Beryl stared at her. His heart ran at a good two hundred beats per minute. His eyeballs had gotten crusty and dry, but he only blinked when the mare was directly in front of him. He could almost feel the warmth of her body, but it was too cold, and he never did put on a shirt. This mare was setting his instincts off, fiercely so. There were three balloons on her flank, and Beryl did not see how that correlated with such ability for uncanny impersonation. For all he knew, in front of him was not an overly energetic, obnoxious mare, but a thing that belonged into the Restricted Area’s ancient past.

He exhaled and blinked when she finally stopped, inches away from his naked torso, raised her finger and cleared her throat. Her eyes darted side to side, aglimmer once again. With a concerned look, she pulled in and whispered to his ear:

“That was you, by the way… That totally wasn’t me!..” she elaborated. Her breath tingled his inner ears. Any less resolve and the sensation would’ve made him smile. He fought back on reflex. “I’m SO sorry, I didn’t realize you lost your sense of humor in a freak chemical fire…” The mare pulled back, grinning widely. The sun must have come back – her teeth practically sparkled. “Aaaahhhh, loosen up already!!!”

“…you’re on my balcony,” Beryl said, having forced his breath under control. He glared at the five meter gap between their rooms. Then, he glared at her. “You should… be in your room. It’s really early. Find something else to do, please.”

“Pssshhh. Says you! You get up heck knows when, and you’re not even excited for your day! Sounds to me like I’m not the one who’s lost control of my life!” Pinkie put her fists on her hips and cocked them. Her entire mane swayed with force enough to practically blur the entire pony. “Sounds like your life controls you, instead!”

“It’s how I… Can’t we just-“

His vision blurred. Beryl reeled at the fact he missed her cross the gap. On top of the mare’s perturbing hijinks, this detail stung his pride. At least, his cutiemark was certainly stinging. He grasped his forehead with one hand, and rubbed his flank with the other through his pants.

“Oh you’ll be sweet and sound, Beryl. Dontcha’ worry. Just learn to relax! Smile! Is’sall I gotta do!” the mare cheered him up, as he could tell by his eardrums not reverberating. “Ya’ seen what I can do. That’s pretty cool, huh?! And I don’t even have THESE!”

The mare squished his wings. She mushed the tips and caressed down their length, his feathers nearly standing on end from the sudden contact. He let out a struggled, croaky breath. Whether it was her body temperature or just his abject embarrassment, he felt no more cold – he was feverish, nerves tingling.

“I-I think you’re right. I’ll… I’ll sleep in a little… Just, please, return to your room. I want to be-“Beryl spoke, trying to keep emotion out of his voice. He stopped when he realized the mare was no longer standing uncomfortably close to him. Opening his eyes, he saw the mare’s hand giving him some complicated gesture, poking out the door from her own room. “I want to be… ???...”

“Nobody likes a downer!” the mare declared from her own room.

The pegasus nearly fell out of his bed. He gasped, clutching his chest. His eyes desperately scanned the room. He scampered, pulling himself up by the nightstand. When he got up, his palm turning white from the tight grip he had on the handgun, he paused.

“Oh Sun damn it. It was-…” Beryl shook his head. “It was a dream.” He checked his phone and groaned. Three past ten. “Great.” He limped over to the window. Along the way, he clutched his fist in frustration – he was limping again. Pulling back the curtain, he saw the neighboring balcony all the same – now complete with pink heart-patterned napkins and other laundry hanging on the clothesline to boot. “Whatever…”

He paced around his room, rubbing his temple. Eventually he put the gun away, locking it back in the drawer.

“Ugh. What do I-“ he cut himself off. “Ten. Ten in the morning. Now where do I go? What… How…”

Beryl wandered over to the wardrobe. He pulled out whatever fit on top, as he slept in his pants this time. Halfway through putting on his sleeveless summertime camo T-shirt, he walked over to the balcony and stuck out a wing.

“Egh…” The stallion stopped stretching the shirt’s wing slot before it tore, and finished pulling it over his abdomen. Reflectively, he stroked it, feeling the distance between the fabric and his belly line. “Fine. Good enough.”

Having examined his fridge, he shrugged and picked out a salad container at random. He pulled the lid open and gave the vegetable mush a sniff. He grit his teeth and scratched the back of his head, shaking his head.

“I dunnooo…” the pegasus mumbled. Like all his other supplies, this container bore all his favorite vegetables – even some corn. He’d calculated the exact amount of vitamins when he was making these. He remembered how long that took. Be it that memory or the generally less than solid consistency of the meal (he wished he could cook), the prospective breakfast didn’t look appetizing. “It’s not even breakfast. It’s lunchtime. I slept through breakfast, Moon damn me…”

He took a half-hearted swig of kale juice, grimaced, and put everything back into the fridge.

Beryl walked around, watching the gemstone patterns on the walls. He did a couple leg exercises out of sheer aimlessness, deprived of his routine. Setting down on the bed, he thought to plan out the day the way he usually did when something sent it askew – by reassembling his gun. He gave up on that plan before he even shook the gun drawer key from the hoof slippers he refused to wear.

With a shrug, he entered the shower. He removed his clothes and spun the knob.

“Huh- Aaah!” The stallion bit his tongue, assaulted by the volume of his own voice reflected off the tiles. really did set him completely off-script – he turned it counter-clockwise, turning on the hot water. He desperately cranked the knob back. The cold shower brought a sense of familiarity. Beryl withstood it for a few minutes before grunting and evening the water out to be relatively lukewarm. “What’s with the water?.. It wasn’t this cold before… Hrrrgh.”

The shower improved things, after a fashion. He didn’t feel sharp and energized like he tended to after his usual cold showers. He felt less tense from this messy morning, which allowed him to walk normally and stopping his wings from twitching, even while preening. His head still felt like something was going off inside it, but it was a less unpleasant dizziness.

“This is fine… Easier to make routine when you’re starting from scratch, right?..” the pegasus talked to himself as he posed in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around his hips. He clicked his tongue, compulsively passing his palms over his sunken in stomach. “Right.”

The stallion came up to the mirror. He eyed himself from different angles. His cheeks were sunken in, his stubble was getting worse, and he hadn’t even remembered to tie up his hair. Beryl’s breath spread a misty cloud over the glass.

“So I can see even worse up close. Good to know,” he said. The perspiration went away. He stared at his own face with its subtle smile. His lips immediately curled and he stepped away to put his clothes back on. Why didn’t he shower before picking clothes? “Nevermind…”

When he returned to his bed, the stallion pulled out his laptop. He laid back, uneasily placing his ponytail on the pillow. After some shifting, he managed to keep the computer in place without pressing down on his wings. It whirred to life, greeting him with the OS jingle.

“Load already!” he grumbled. He resigned to wait until the desktop loaded through.

Finally, Beryl froze, a realization flashing through his fuzzy, destabilized mind.

“I… I’ve got to shut up,” he whispered shakily. “S-shut up already.”

He returned to his reliable breathing exercise. He counted to ten and back, then again, then again. Finally, he felt in place and ready to write up more addendums to his sketches and leave another research log entry. His stomach rumbled.

“I’m hungry.”

“Project log, entry… uh… um, let me see…” Beryl scratched his nose with his right hand while he moused around searching for the log folder. “Oh, here it is… Project log, entry 3-4. Focused on updating old info and, um, renewing the notebook scans. Having an, ahm… stay of distance from the Area until, uh- until…” He tapped his fingers against the table, biting on lip. “Until Friday. See entries 1-2 to 3-1 for progress with examination… will be having solid progress after this short theory break. OK, please transcribe?”

The stallion reclined against the couch and flipped through his notebook. The recently verified sketches still looked good to his eye, though the number crunching pages made his gut curl. He pulled and stretched, a few feathers coming loose. Looking above his glasses at the screen, he groaned.

“Oh, come on! How are you not reading this?!” the stallion complained, his voice croaking. He smacked his chest a few times, helping clear his throat. “Great. So much for voice recognition. Fine, screw you…”

Beryl crossed his arms, glaring at the screen. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, then another, nearly staining his glasses. His hoof switched from tapping to the rhythm of the café’s music to simply rattling against the floor. The stallion dug his fingernails into his palm to avoid flipping a rude gesture toward the computer. With an exasperated sigh, he resorted to pulling up the text editor and typing the log entry up instead.

A few minutes passed. Beryl stayed alert to his surroundings, picking up on the movements and noises of the café. Time and again he was sure someone was coming over to him, but every time he’d look up, no one was there. He kept on shifting in his seat, giving his flanks a mild burn. The feeling came again, a suctioning, hollow tension within his chest – the usual tell for inevitable socialization. Beryl quit typing and just sat there; maybe they were just too polite to approach a pony at work?

He waited out a minute, and nothing happened. He looked up, eyelashes fluttering in disbelief. They left off-white chunks on his lenses. There was still no one there.

“Hrrrgh! Okay. I guess I really am invisible. Good job, me,” he grumbled, climbing out of his corner.

Beryl yawned, hopping down from the elevation his corner was on and stepping out onto the main floor. He put his arms in his pockets, wandering around. He watched the menus, noticing that like most hotel cafes, this one was quite pricey. Then again, money was never an issue, as even with his high paying investigation and research job, he hardly spent. For what it was worth, the Old Town at least had some style to it, with the faux-retro woodwork, gingerbread decorations and soft color palette.

He kept finding himself distracted, both by the décor and by the monitors hung up on the walls. The former he always took for granted, the latter, appropriately tuned to the retro music channel, he used to outright ignore. Eventually, he was too irritated by the specks on his glasses to keep staring at the music videos, and approached the desk.

As the mare at the counter gave him the usual greetings, Beryl realized he hadn’t actually settled on what to get.

“Uhhh, I’d like… umm, geez.” He bit his lip and blushed in embarrassment. His ears twitched, the insides of his head turning fuzzy. “Ohhh, Moon, I’m sorry, it just… slipped my mind what I wanted.”

“Oh, that’s no problem at all, sir. You aren’t holding anyone up, take your time,” the mare at the counter replied. Beryl jolted, staring right at her, when her pitch neared a familiar uncomfortable height. He exhaled and rubbed his face, seeing the brown-coated, green-haired mare stare back at him with her eyebrow raised. “You aren’t in a hurry, correct?”

“…no, I guess I’m not.”

“Well… Let me pull up our top sellers for you.” The mare ducked and returned with a tablet. She turned it over to the stallion, displaying a list of meals with prices attached. He examined it, elbows sliding outwards along the desk. Before his snout began to touch the screen, he rose back up and shook his head.

“Umm. That’s a lot of options…” he mumbled. “Uh, ummm, maybe you could suggest something, miss?”

“Huh?” The mare tilted her head. She shrugged. “Gosh. No one usually asks me… Are you sure?”

“Well, I’m quite sure that I… am not sure what I want. Please, don’t be shy. Money’s not a problem,” he said, trying to put on a smile. He probably wasn’t making a positive impression. “I’m just… I’m new here.”

“Oh, no, no, that’s okay! Take it easy, mister, please.” The mare flashed him a wide, bright grin. Beryl’s chest panged. He definitely couldn’t do that. “You look a little stressed. Try… this one here.”

Beryl looked at the order template. A hot chocolate, a cold milkshake and a bowl of melt candies. He shrugged.

“Sure!” He nodded.

“Extra sugar around the rim?”

“Please.”

The stallion let out a deep breath as the mare smiled and departed to punch his order in. He clutched his chest and shook his head. Before he got the poor mare any more worried, he walked back to his table, and even managed a semi-coherent smile when she brought his order. He even had a small laugh in him, though the mare didn’t know that he chuckled at himself, having almost convinced his brain that when he lifted his eyes, he’d see that strange pink neighbor of his.

Beryl managed to get some work done as he ate, trying not to spill any of his drinks on the laptop. He never planned to actually do much at the café, thinking he’d take it to his room, but it was smoother than it could have been. All the new tastes and smells apparently made one feel like putting on a new pair of glasses. For your brain.

He certainly didn’t feel the sting of social interaction as clearly as he used to.

“No, it’s not crystalline corruption. Why would it be. Decades since that takeover incident. Material consistency should be all wrong,” the stallion pondered. He didn’t speak, but he did move his lips. “Still… It wouldn’t hurt to test the soil… If the soil mutated over time, then maybe- AGH!”

Beryl stumbled back, having walked right into a lightpost. Suddenly, he could hear a couple scarce chuckles, and feel a few ponies coming over.

He was helped back up, asked if he was okay, and amicably told to watch his step. He thanked them with a smile and waved as the late night teen squad ran along.

The pegasus wandered on for a couple moments, crossing the road and looking at the city lights. Then, his entire body seized up. The stallion let out a sharp gasp, his glasses flying off this time, hanging by their straps. He ducked, his wings twitching. His leg jolted, hoof scraping against the sidewalk. Knuckles turning wide, he squished the holster on his belt.

“They could’ve… They… they could… Why did… Why didn’t…” he growled. Then, he realized that his speech now sounded almost the same as when he thought he wasn’t speaking at all. Just more taxing on the throat. “Aaahhh, shit… shiiit… Okay, breathe in.”

A brightly colored delivery truck raced by, speeding through the vacant road. He cleared his throat, lungs full of pastry air. The few seconds of its jingle he got to hear nearly stung his ears.

For better or worse, clearing his throat seemed to help him calm down. Beryl grunted, pressing his temples, and convinced himself to be happy he was helped out, instead of lashing out on himself for being off guard. Old Town was statistically the safest place in all of Equestria.

His breath returning, he now felt an acute ache in his stomach. The incident, as well as his lashing out, stressed his abdominal muscles, which were already dealing with the enormous amount of unusual food he’d consumed. Rubbing his stomach, he decided to walk it off. Following what survived of his routine, the stallion chose one of the wider, darker alleyways, which he’d picked out for his out-of-forest walks and runs.

The alleyway was quiet and peaceful, softly glowing lanterns illuminating the well-cleaned pavement. The buildings housed businesses, all of them closed by now. Here and there you could still see oldschool heart decals, and a few lanters even had fireflies in them.

“I’m practically on vacation…” he spoke silently once again. His ears twitched. He could swear his voice was still audible in this quiet alleyway. He tried again: “Gotta quit being so down all the time.”

Not without some effort, he managed to stop making noise as he spoke to himself. This was more or less the best of both worlds – he’s tried something new, now he was back in his element.

“It’s so quiet,” he said. “It’s really quiet… damn… How do I… Sun, my head…”

Beryl grimaced. He extended his wing and produced a couple loud pops with its joints, sighing in relief as he heard them echo off the walls.

“Damn near thought I went deaf back there.” His snout wrinkled, itching badly. He scratched it. “Can hear myself scratching. Can’t hear my own hoofsteps. Ugh. Typical.”

His ears were ringing any time he couldn’t detect any sound. Maybe this was just a little quiet. His skull could as well be caving in. There wasn’t enough to think about, and he’d had his daily dose of work related thoughts. His thoughts raced, and there wasn’t even much to race through – he groaned as he kept thinking back to the pink mare, the café mare, the park ranger, the-

“Okay… this is TOO quiet.” Beryl shook his fist and headed for the nearest sidewalk entrance, back to the lights and the late nighters. “Laying on a hill for seven hours was less quiet than this! Geez!” He stopped, realizing his glasses were still hanging off. Pulling them back up, he sighed, seeing them all stained and smudged. “Beats having optics glued to my face though, huh?..”

He strutted forward, testing out his leg, pleased to see he avoided the limp. Entering the well-lit sidewalk, he almost felt alarmed by the dimly lit darkness he left behind. The pegasus turned around, peering into the dark, making out all the little details in the distance. For a moment, he imagined a couple shapes to be a curvaceous earth pony mare. He sighed, shrugging to himself.

“What can I say, that lady really gets into your damn head,” he joked to himself. “Weirdo.”

He spurted with a brief chuckle. It’d been years since he last made a joke.

“Shouldn’t let THAT into my routine!”

Beryl rubbed his sides and shoulders, twitching and bending to let the shower hit more nooks and creases of his body. He raised his head and let the water flow into his mouth, gurgling on it for nearly half a minute, making various noises. If this sensation was anything to go by, he was missing out on a lot with his trademark cold showers.

Why DID he take them cold, anyway? Beryl couldn’t remember. He felt chipper, if nothing else – if his routine was being altered, he may as well pick up good habits, right? He spat out the water and scratched his back with a brush.

“Heeey”

The stallion spread several shampoos on his mane. Not like he knew which was best. He’d always used bar soap.

“You made me a- You made me a-“

He lowered his head to wash the foamy concoction off. Rainbow tinted bubbles floated all over the bathroom.

“Believe her- Believe her-“

The pegasus moaned and groaned in relief as his nails dug into his scalp. He scratched himself, hoof kicking the shower pad.

“Heeey”

“You break me down- You build me up-“

“Believe her- Believe heeer-“

His wet wings bumped into the shower curtain as he played air keyboard with his hands. The water hardly tinkled against the floor as he kept on catching most of the waves. It was when that relative silence kicked in, pressing down on his ears, that Beryl realized he’d been singing in the shower.

Feeling the vibrations of his voice coming off the walls felt natural, expected even. There was also the fact that he hardly recognized it. Somewhere in his subconscious, he was assuming that was inklings of his neighbor’s voice peering through the walls, but his senses hadn’t dulled that much from lack of routine. No, this was definitely him.

“Uuuhhhh… testing, testing?” he said out loud. His ears perked up. Yes, this was his voice. It just sounded… more natural. His usual subdued, low-toned half-whisper would reverberate through his body and take effort. “Huh. This is weird.”

The pegasus shivered, stepping back into the water. He finished scrubbing himself and stepped out, quickly working himself over with the towel. His mind churned along, filing his vocal proclivity along with the assorted effects of turning his routine upside down. Clicking his tongue, the stallion bent over the sink, aiming to brush his teeth.

He stared at his reflection for a while, brushing more intensely than he usually did. He could see his tangerine colored eyes, oddly bloodshot, their pupils shrunk. Something made him twitch, panging at his chest, head and eyes. He splashed his face vigorously, removing the excessive amount of toothpaste he’d smeared all over his snout. Wondering if that was the source of his annoyance, Beryl raised his head and stared again.

“Wait… wait a minute…” he mumbled, the sound of his voice dulling the pangs. “I don’t remember shaving…”

He wondered if all these life changes made him forget shaving off his two week old stubble. Beryl stroked his chin. Now, his pupils widened. It was smooth.

“No way… How could I forget shaving myself?..” he said. He could see sweat beads gathering on his forehead. His cheeks flared up. He forgot he shaved. And it was clearly done with cream – as opposed to cheap bar soap, which was always his go-to, as with anything hygienic. No other explanation for how supple his skin had become, or how smooth his formerly sharp coat felt to the touch. “Did I get shaved? Was I drunk???”

It was nice to look at, but unnerving to see. Beryl shook his head rapidly, his wet green mane getting stuck all over his face. He stomped out of the bathroom, breathing noisily. He even bumped his wing against the door frame – he was so shocked that his flight nerves flared up, perking the wing tips way above his head. The stallion felt a loose feather detach, adding poor preening practice to his growing list of concerns.

“Harmony’s sakes!!! How RIDICULOUS is this?!” he complained. He spooked himself with his own tone – his throat produced a bondafide whine. The stallion sat down by the kitchen table, reaching over to turn on the coffee machine. “Get a Moon-damned grip! Next I’ll forget to save my project! Yes, the agency will love that! Oh, I am sorry, I decided that instead of doing the job you pay me for, I’m going to lose control of my life and get-“

He raised his hand, closed his eyes and began to breathe. Whistling and wheezing, he curled a finger for each successful breath. The tightness in his chest went away, but the fizzling in his head didn’t. In fact, he couldn’t sit still. Uncomfortably rubbing his flanks against the chair’s padded surface, Beryl realized he’d been unable to sit still for at least a day now. Now aware of it, he recognized that his cutiemarks were itching. It was subtle yet intermittent, keeping his lower body agitated at all times.

He banged his fist against the table.

“A-argh! S-sun!..” he whimpered again. How badly did he misjudge his strength? His nails dug deep into his palm, which was a feat, considering they never ever grew out. “No, this is just stupid. One thing doesn’t go my way, and look at me now! That’s pathetic.” He shook his head, his mane slapping the back of his neck. It’d already dried out, strands spreading all over, some getting in his mouth. “Prrrf- Things are fine! I’m not dying. I’ve got all my limbs, I’ve got my mind… my eyes… I just lost touch. That’s right. I can figure this out.”

Beryl got back up and immediately felt his stomach gurgle. Rubbing it, he rolled his eyes and headed out to the balcony to breathe. He leered at his neighbor’s side. Keen senses permitting, he could hear the mare shuffle around in her room, clanking and trampling her way through whatever routine kept her going.

He rested against the railing. His senses were still clear. He heard little details and discerned exact points of origin for the subtlest noises. He easily recalled how many different ponies he heard outside after he got up. He recalled the words of that stupid song, and he wasn’t even paying attention to it at the time! Just to prove a point, Beryl stared downwards. He was able to detect and memorize the license plates of a couple vehicles passing over on the other side of the Everfree dome. He looked at passerby after passerby, making out smallest details of their outfits. Just a few quick glances, and he knew that the blonde mare crossing the street was a fashion addict flaunting a freshly bought purse, that the hot bun vendor was putting extra toppings on for attractive mares, and the young stallion with a backpack across his shoulder was lost and couldn’t tell where to turn.

He felt tired and woozy. Staying in his room sucked. He could just hop down and mingle about – it was much more exciting down there. His whole talent was noticing things. So why shouldn’t he be happy about noticing things that make life more interesting?

The stallion exhaled, raising a fist to himself.

“There. I’ve still got it!”

He smacked his own flank, intending to tell his cutiemarks to stop acting up – after all, his special talent was perfectly operational, and anything else had to be miscellaneous.

He let out an uncharacteristic warbling squeak: first from how loud that came off, then from how much that hurt, then from realizing he’d been standing out on his balcony with but a towel wrapped around his neck and a pair of subtle underpants.

Face turning bright red, he scampered back. His wings borderline solidified in shame as he realized he almost took a hop.

“Quit being so down all the time. It’s making you a Sun-damned mess!” he told himself. He spun in front of the mirror, shaking his head at his mostly naked body. His stomach gurgled again – he swore he could almost see it reverberating. “Way to be a drama queen, geez… You can do your job, you’re feeling fine. It’s been worse. Ugh… I’m gonna be sick. Just look at this… I need to put something on!”

Beryl dedicated himself to getting dressed, rummaging through his wardrobe and putting unproductive worries aside. The worries ended up making place for frustration. Suddenly far more aware of his appearance thanks to his balcony stunt, the stallion found himself displeased with every article of clothes in his repertoire. Back in the day, all he wanted was something subtle and wearable. Now, his sharp senses irrevocably stated one thing: he was a fashion disaster.

If anything, his topsy-turvy routine was digging up objective issues. Beryl could but shake his head and gasp at the myriads of identical button-ups, polo shirts, singlets and hoodies, not to mention the grand total of three pairs of pants – one for the summer, one for the winter, and one for when he had to patch either of the other two. The other two were covered in patches. He didn’t even own a wing slip! And the colors?

“Was I colorblind? Goodness gracious. I haven’t become a disaster…” he shook his head, lifting up the shirt he wore the other day. He winced. “I’ve been one for years! No wonder nobody likes me…”

His cheeks flared up. His wings twitched. His gums felt buzzy, and his mouth filled with saliva. He lowered the shirt and knelt down next to the pile of clothes, rubbing his stomach and his face.

“Ugh… I guess I AM going to be sick…”

He reclined against the side of the bed before going quiet. He picked up on his neighbor, Pinkie Pie, walking onto her balcony and began to dry her hair. He could tell by the foundation creaking, the loud whirring of the machine, and the faint smell of pastries. And then, he could hear her voice.

“Heeeeeey~”

“You make me a~ you make me a~”

“Beliiieve heeer~ ooooh~ Beliiieve heeer~”

She sung to herself, coming off reasonably high-pitched and hardly even assaulting his hearing. His keen senses once again permitting, Beryl would say she was actually not a bad singer at all.

That certainly smoothed over his disappointment. If the pink spastic next door could have something so… pleasant about her, then who’s to say he can’t turn himself around? Starting pretty much anywhere. Beryl smacked his fist against the bed.

“Yeah! Channel it into something positive. It’s not megaspell science!” he told himself.

Over the next week, he went from putting up with her presence to actively wondering if he should talk to her. The mare seemed to get around – he couldn’t get a hold of her, and any time he thought to ask the desk for her contact info, something else came up. She only ever showed up just barely out of sight, always heading elsewhere, and if she was at her number, he was either working or feeling off.

Some days, Beryl still felt a little sick. All of a sudden, things would quit making sense. Or he’d try eating his old cooking again and nearly throw up – now that part of his routine was dying hard. Nevertheless, he wasn’t starving, as the food he had served to him elsewhere did just fine. He elected not to grieve over the time and effort he spent on it and instead march on forward.

Why dwell on the past if the past was so… droll?..

I don’t know how I feel. I don’t feel right. I won’t stay. It’s crazy…

Beryl half-sat on his couch. Nothing on but his camo shorts and dog tags. Crumbs of food in his coat. He tossed a rubber ball at the wall. It bounced off the packed boxes and back into his hand. Warm night air stroked at his chest. Decommissioning tomorrow. He will leave early and no one will crowd him. He looked at the wall clock and sighed.

Crazy night. Every night. How you feeling? I’m feeling… hunnngry.

His vision blurred. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. The ball never returned. There was no air, and it was hard to breathe. Standing up now, he wandered off, clearing his throat. Colors and ideas swung by. He just had to wash his face.

I haven’t got a place here. Look at me. I don’t have it in me. I’ll just put these on…

Beryl felt his glasses on his snout. He breathed in and felt like coughing, but didn’t. It was hot, but he still felt cold. When his lungs cleared, his eyes opened. He bent over the sink. Was it his old room? He looked in the mirror.

Security. Bleh! Sounding like an unhappy colt who can’t tell right from wrong, mhm!

If it was his room, it didn’t matter. It was cold, dusty and featureless. He grunted, spitting out bits of greens. He stared at his face, scowling in return. He wasn’t tired, but he felt tired. Like always.

This is all so stupid. I shouldn’t care. Don’t I have all I need? I’m normal. I’m nobody, really.

Beryl walked with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He could fly. He really could. He could talk. He could dance. He could sing. He saw himself doing all those things. He just didn’t want to. He did work, but he didn’t see himself doing it.

You’re actually so, so sweet… Just look. Look with your special eyes!

The stallion paced side to side in his hotel room, criss-crossing the mirror. He wasn’t alone. His whole body jolted. He fell on the floor, though he felt soft and comfortable. He hasn’t been alone all this time. Standing up, he was in front of the mirror.

Why would anyone bother? I don’t bother. Just leave me be… I have work to do…

Well, of course he wasn’t alone. She was there. He sighed in relief, but then he didn’t understand why. He followed her around, and he didn’t understand why. A pink blur hopped, skipped and crashed through places and times all across memory. He couldn’t catch up, and he had wings. He smiled and laughed, but he didn’t understand why. He tripped and fell, speeding along, like riding a cloud coaster. The pink loomed over him and extended itself towards his fallen frame.

You’re sweet and I’m hungry. Let’s be together!

His snout rubbed against the mirror. It was cold, getting warmer, his breath blurring it. His lips caressed the glass, but it didn’t feel like glass. Tangerine eyes didn’t look back at him. Thick, strong arms wrapped around his back and stroked his shoulders, his wings, his waist. An umbrella of soft, cotton mane shielded his snout. There were balloons all over the room. There was no glass. He was warm.

“Why is- AAH!”

Beryl awoke with his face sliding down the mirror, leaving a stain of moisture and saliva. He fell on the floor, unable to brace for impact. He heaved for breath and stared into the darkness. Inside his head were industrial jackhammers and a small orchestra. The stallion hacked and spat, getting the taste of glass off his tongue. He wasn’t just warm – he was hot all over, beads of perspiration trailing down the contours of his body. The breeze made him shiver.

Thoughts spun around like a carousel. He couldn’t recall where he went or what he did today. He knew he did some work. He knew he talked to some ponies. He knew he did some fun things. Rolling around on the floor, it took him a minute to realize he needed to get up. It took him even longer to realize how he woke up.

“Was I… Was I sleepwalking?” Beryl murmured, his voice calming the thumping in his ears. He rubbed his eyes, which stung. “What… was that?.. Odd. Odd dream… Ohhh, what did I do today?.. I’m parched.”

He’d been having fun for a week now, and nothing bothered him. Besides the itching, the rashing, the constant hunger. That was routine. His cutiemarks still worked… That was all fine.

“And hungry…” Beryl wandered over to the kitchen. He shook his fists in triumph, seeing an entire table full of donuts, cupcakes, muffins and an unopened can of strawberry juice. “Phew! Sun and Moon… I forgot my supper. Must’ve just passed out like a dummy… Dummy. Dummy, dummy, dummy.” He licked his lips, stroking his stomach with his hands as it rumbled. It felt funny, almost like a palm massage. “Okay, let’s rectify that. No more strange dreams.”

He had been studying these damn rocks, these Harmony-era artifacts that just showed up in the formerly safe Restricted Area. Even the ranger would tell him that it made all the critters act weird – when she wasn’t staring at his abs! Yeah. He was probably texting her on his phone before bed, and that made him forget about his supper.

He’d been having teensy memory lapses of late. For example, he didn’t remember forgetting supper, or even getting all that food to go. Then again, what sort of butt tyrant expects one to remember forgetting? Beryl laughed to himself, almost choking on a donut. What a silly idea.

Chomping through his abandoned meal, he was grateful it wasn’t even that crusty, but he was getting bored – another recent development. He shrugged, put all the food on a tray, and took it with him to bed. He pulled out his laptop and ate away as it started up. The pegasus’ hoof kicked in pleasure – getting to recline, stretch and eat something that had actual taste, all while on no solid schedule and no higher-ups barking orders at him.

“That’s a whopper!” he said when his mouth was free.

The laptop finished whirring up. Beryl rose up to shake the crumbs off his naked chest and onto the floor. Before showing him the desktop, it went dark for a moment, as it did. Behind himself, through the window, he saw the Moon. It missed a piece. A piece in the shape of bobbing, fluffy cotton candy.

He felt sleepy. No wonder, considering he woke up at five o’clock. Or ‘1700’, as his laptop would put it.

When the pegasus awoke again, it was around seven in the morning. Relaxed after a calm, uneventful sleep, he cleaned up, made his bed, took a hot shower (practicing his singing), put on some clothes and finished his food, which helpfully ended up at his nightstand. Some reflexes were still worth it!

Along the way he remembered he wanted to set something up at the Area. He pulled up his phone, phoned his contact – the park ranger – and realized he had no idea what he wanted. New samples? Some fresh shots? More magi-stick stats? What was that tool actually called?.. Darnit. Well, he improvised.

On the bright side, if everything worked out, they’d hang out on the weekend. She said she could make it!