Chapters The View From The WindowIntroduction: Disturbed Reverie
Reverie Dreamflight stared out through her train cabin window at the picturesque vista, trying to ignore the comparatively dull reflection that was laid atop it.
This wasn't altogether difficult, as the landscape rushing by was mostly composed of vibrant summery green tones, which easily blended away her teal coat color, allowing it to be ignored. Less easy to miss, however, was the mass of cold blue-gray mane that framed her teal-coated face and fell off to the left in a lazy braid - unless one had a view that opened out onto the ocean.
This she'd had on her way in to Manehatten, as opposed to the current return trip. It had been a lovely morning train ride, at just the perfect time to place the sun low over the water so that it cast its light onto the wavetops and formed a sparkling golden road to the horizon. She'd even made a sketch of it, to commit it to canvas when she returned from her trip.
Now that she was returning, she wasn't sure she was going to bother. There was no ocean view this time, at least not unless she wanted to leave her cabin and go stand in the hallway to look south, an idea that held little merit given the drab, overcast weather. Granted, if she really wanted some sun, she could just fly up above the cloud layer and sprawl out for a warm nap once she got home, but such ideas were relegated to the few distant parts of her mind that weren't currently rented out en-masse to her annoyed brooding mood.
The showing had gone well, really. They usually did, considering the sort of ponies that were recommending her to the Manehatten galleries, and this one had been arguably her most prestigious yet, given it had been held not two blocks from the Giggleheim. She hadn't been the only painter on display - she'd yet to have that happen, and idly wondered if she even cared if it would - but her work had unquestionably seen the most traffic.
One would expect, not unreasonably, that this sort of development would please a professional painter. And yes, it indeed would have, had that traffic been for the whole of her displayed work. She'd had six pieces showing: three of them had been obsessed over, while the other half were barely noticed.
It was exactly as she had expected - exactly as it always happened. It was also entirely unsurprising, as these had been the paintings that had made her name in the first place.
They were called Dreamscapes. And that's exactly what they were - wild, untamed imaginings from the depths of the subconscious, shaped by hope and dream and desire unchained, and then rendered in oils with no reservations.
She had hung her three best, just like the gallery had asked. The same three that were always asked for, and yet strangely never attracted permanent buyers.
The set had opened with Rampant Pandemonic: a rough-stroke and harsh-color depiction of a shattered world. Floating stone islands among the clouds, broken and fallen towers in Canterlot architecture, and both the sun and moon in the sky at the same time, while off to the left of the center sat Princess Celestia, her crown crooked, sipping chocolate milk from a fluted wineglass, her mane turned dull gray and eyes in a glassy stare...
Following that had been the most provocative: Master of Harems . A carefully sculpted palette of soft colors rendering a chamber both massive and egregiously ostentatious, tapestried in royal blues and loaded to bursting with gold everywhere - oh, and over a dozen very explicitly sexualized mares, all lavishing their sultry attention on the sole stallion seated high on the central throne, presented as a singular paragon of masculinity. Special focus was also given a particular white unicorn mare, who had pride of place laying next to his throne, her eyes closed in delirious ecstasy simply because he had a hoof laid on her shoulder.
And then, finally, viewers set their eyes upon Light of Moon and Fire.
This was her opus, her pièce de résistance, according to everypony who had ever been asked. It was a brooding, seething canvas of extremes; a bright white full moon central to the heavy black night sky that yielded only to the light that rose from below, where a studiously detailed Canterlot was being consumed in blazing conflagration. The particularly sharp eye could pick out a subtle shadowy figure above the city, poised in victorious triumph, almost as black as the smoke-and-ash-choked sky.
In the beginning, when she had first unveiled these portraits - the eldest only a few years past - there had been more than a few critics who had thought that her Dreamscapes were little more than elaborate contrivance, pandering for shock value on canvas - a few of the portraits had even been described as 'depraved pornographic titillations'. Still others had inspired debate about the mental stability of their creator.
Those voices had been quickly drowned out by the aficionados, with their cheerful cries of avant-garde! and other such enamored compliments.
The great irony, of course, was that those long-since silenced critics had been exactly right all along. The Dreamscapes were in many cases depraved, almost always titillating in some way or another, and occasionally yes, even pornographic in content - Master of Harems especially. And their creator most likely was - in a few cases absolutely was - a little unbalanced.
Reverie lost no sleep over those statements, accusatory though they had been, as she had already been busy losing sleep over something else; the fact that she was unwillingly seeing those depraved dreams, as they ran through the repressed unconscious minds of their true owners.
And she would wake up in the morning, commonly feeling only annoyed and a little in need of a shower, but sometimes...sometimes she would wake up sickened, and shivering, and revolted at what she had seen in someone else's sleeping mind, and the only way to get it out of her own was to pull it out of her thoughts kicking and screaming and trap it on canvas, lest it somehow infect her.
This was because, as her name quietly implied, Reverie Dreamflight didn't just enter the dream world at night, like any other pony. No, she traveled it, her wings taking her from one mind to the next until they hit something that weighed them down enough that she had to endure it. This would at least have been somewhat redeemable if she had any choice in the matter, but perhaps in cruel fate, perhaps in destiny balance for her virtuoso brush skills, she had no choice as to where she went in dreams.
All too often it was somewhere she regretted.
These were the Dreamscapes she painted. These indignities she witnessed, these fantasies and secret desires of which she learned, these night terrors she at times only narrowly survived.
These were the paintings that everyone adored her for.
Sometimes she managed - somehow - to forget that. She would have none of her own dreams stolen for a little while, and she would see something like that morning-sun-over-ocean and be inspired to paint a lovely vista, perhaps embellished with a personal impressionistic touch. And she would step back from the canvas, and stare at it while the paint dried, lost back in the moment she had first seen the portrait form in her mind, and she would remember why she absolutely loved to paint.
And then a viewing would come up, or on those not-quite-rare occasions a Manehatten gallery showing, like the one of the past few days. And she would pack up these vistas and emotive portraits in broad strokes, her paintings, even though she knew the galleries wanted to hang the Dreamscapes - the portraits that she painted, but that were never hers , though Celestia be thanked for that...
And she would hang her paintings in the gallery, and then she would hope . She would hope that somehow, though the ponies came to see the Dreamscapes, that they would linger on her other works, that something in those would call to them, and she would be appreciated for her own sense of artistry, her own idea of beauty, and not just as a revealer of dark and sordid secrets.
It never happened that way, in the end.
Reverie Dreamflight stared out at the picturesque vista, trying to ignore the comparatively tear-streaked reflection that was laid atop it, wishing the bleak gray clouds would just rain .
It would be so much easier to ignore the tears if it were raining.
The View From The WindowDreamscape: Shameful Reflection
Reverie had dried her tears and restored most of her usual composure by the time the train slowed, and when it finally pulled to a stop at the open platform of Mareford Station she was plenty happy just to be off of it.
She'd always loved trains. There was just something about the time-keeping clack of wheels over the track connections, the gentle sway of the car back and forth after a bend in the route, the rushing vistas she could idly watch through her cabin window. It was quiet, and undisturbed, and peaceful, and unfortunately becoming associated with going to showings built around the paintings she detested.
In theory she could send the paintings by train, and then she herself could instead fly to Manehatten, taking in the pegasus-eye view of the Lengthy Island countryside, lazily napping on a sun-bathed cloud--
Fwoooo! Tsss...
Or she could forget she was on standing a train platform just behind the engine, and get blasted with exhaust steam.
She'd reflexively closed her eyes, at least, but she didn't even need to open them to feel the wet grit that was now ingrained into her right side fur. And getting steel shavings and coal dust out of her feathers?
Reverie groaned, and very deliberately took herself a half dozen steps away from the blast area.
And then a large drop of water impacted the tip of her muzzle, and she sighed deeply as now - now that she was out on the open train platform? - now it started to rain, like she'd wanted it to twenty minutes ago, when she'd been quietly crying, which she pointedly was not anymore.
She gritted her teeth as she felt her oft-ignored temper bubble up, and then she glared at the dull gray sky and furiously thought: Really? You don't think that piling it on like this is a little much, maybe?!
She'd wanted to shout at the clouds, maybe take a little sadistic glee in any local weather pegasi who might be in earshot...no. No, she just wanted to scream, to unleash a primal yell into the world so that it wasn't filling her to bursting on the inside anymore.
She couldn't do that, though; not here, anyway. Her reputation as a painter already had some ponies wondering if she was off her rocker as it was.
So she bottled it up, as she was so practiced in doing, and shoved it away with a deep breath, and instead chose to think that if it rained enough, maybe she wouldn't need a shower to wash the coal dust off after all. That thought actually managed to carry a little weight, bless it, and it calmed her enough that she trusted her voice again.
"Porter? Porter Steward?" she called, politely but loudly, that it would carry over the conversation and shuffling sounds of the other debarking passengers. And she soon saw a red hat in the crowd, making its way toward her, until a honey brown-coated pony with a white mane and a pleasant smile broke into view, and his deep blue eyes presently went wide.
"...Oh my, Miss Dreamflight. Are you entirely alright?" he asked concernedly, his eyes discreetly avoiding lingering on her grit-blasted coat.
For her part, Reverie offered a lopsided smile. "Oh, I've been better, certainly, but nothing the station keeper need concern of. I'll just be needing the usual assistance with my luggage."
Porter Steward, platform manager of Mareford Station along the Sunrise Express Line, simply nodded. "Certainly." he said, as he stepped over to the nearby passenger car's undercarriage compartment. With the quiet sound of chimes, the latches were enveloped in a light gray aura, and the compartment eased open to reveal its contents - among other things, a large lacquered wooden case, say about large enough for a half dozen medium paintings.
This insightfully waterproofed case was next enveloped by Porter Steward's light gray magical aura - convenient, that red cap of his, for hiding the horn - and he carried it over the heads of the ponies yet milling about, his authoritative, deliberate hoofsteps wordlessly clearing a path which Reverie followed toward the station exit.
~~~~~
"If you could set it there, on the second shelf? That'd be lovely, thank you."
Reverie pulled off her forest-green silk scarf as she kept a subtle eye on the bellhop's handling of her paintings case, and was satisfied when the younger mare slipped it into place on the middle shelf without so much as a bump or scratch, her blue magical aura vanishing as it was settled among its other peers.
Not that she'd really expected any sort of disaster - Porter Steward was a quality station keeper, and his employees held to that standard - but Reverie's paintings were her children, after a fashion; even the ones she...less than adored? And so it was a long standing habit to quietly hover nearby when they were in the care of another pony.
And then, as she was wont to do, she distantly considered again the idea of having a carrying case specially made with a pegasus flight harness so that she could move them herself...and again, reminded herself that she wasn't that strong a flyer, that she could just up and carry a hundred extra pounds of wood and artwork.
She absently shut her studio apartment door with a brush of her left wing, her mind faintly noting that yes, she'd tipped the young mare a hoofful of bits for her help, as usual, and then her thoughts turned to three things in precise order.
First, she was going to have a soothing warm shower, as the rain had thinned to a depressing drizzle soon after leaving the station, and she still had grit and dust ingrained into her fur. After that, she was going to put on a nice pot of chamomile and lemongrass tea, and flop onto her fluffy cloud chair to just relax.
And assuming she didn't end up snoring by then, she was going to crawl into her soft, comfortable bed, and she was going to have a nice long restful nap, and probably sleep in until brunch tomorrow.
Yes, Reverie thought, as she nudged the faucets on her bath toward the warmer ranges of temperature. Yes, that sounds like a lovely plan.
~~~~~
It would have been a lovely plan, except for the last bit - the nice long restful nap? She wasn't having that, as it turned out. No, she was busy getting sucked into somepony else's dreams again. And, as usual, there was nothing she could do about it; so she resigned herself to endure it, quietly hoping it was only a little naughty, rather than a soul-rending terror.
With a deep breath, Reverie opened her eyes, and looked through those of another.
~~~
She just couldn't help it.
Even now, after so many a scandalous rendezvous, she still felt too embarrassed and ashamed.
Even after so long as it had been, after so many visits that her dearest Twilight had now learned so very well indeed just how to elicit those cute filly's squeaks from her...she still could not bring herself to look at the lavender unicorn who was just now so intensely attending to her every hidden desire.
Instead, as had become habit, she guiltily matched her eyes to those reflected in the dressing mirror which stood across the room from her exceptionally occupied bed. She could still see certain... details in the periphery, of course, and there was a part of her that so very enjoyed that...the part that had conspired to provoke these midnight meetings in the first place, no doubt.
But her higher self - her nobler side, as she preferred to think - studiously spent its time searching her reflected eyes for some way to reconcile her actions; some way to justify, or at least explain these things she was doing. Well, these things she was having done to her, technically. And to say nothing of by who--
But tonight, as with every time previous, though she stared deeply into that mirror, she did not find her answer.
No, she found no answer, and so instead, she found her thoughts drifting to a distant, designer's sort of consideration of her pearly white coat, and thinking just then that it really ought to have been black, such a terrible mare as she obviously was.
Would she need new accessories if her coat were black, she wondered? Oh, probably not; she already had such a wide selection at hoof, after all. Maybe she could ask her sister what looked best--no, no, terrible idea. She would want to know why she was being asked, and then to have to explain this to her younger sister?
It didn't matter; no doubt there were pieces to go with just about everything.
But even such self-recriminating musings as these could not long endure under the delicate ministrations of her attentive companion, her dearest friend...her willing lover. And so all thought was soon pushed aside, and all that mattered was the feeling; the rushes of the sort of ecstasy that exceeded the greatest feats of flying, the electric sensations that rivalled being the eye of a wild magical storm, until that inevitable rise - that final climb before the collapse...into free fall.
Such was, of course, always the intended goal of Twilight's increasingly clever and ever-dedicated efforts: that singular moment at the apex of the rise, poised on the edge of falling...and then she would scream into the night air in rapturous release, giving voice to words that were entirely unbecoming of a mare of her character and station. Terrible, sordid, honest words that were known only to the ears of the one she had for so long loved, that she had so desperately yearned for...the one that she now, finally, possessed...
Eventually, of course, even the strongest feelings would ebb away like the falling seashore tide, and she would slowly return to herself. And then, even with Twilight curled up comfortably against her, even while feeling the scholarly unicorn's soothing warmth, and looking into her sparkling amethyst eyes, seeing her soft, pleasant smile...
She would never outwardly show it, of course. She could never. But after receiving Twilight's affectionate touch...she always felt so deeply ashamed. And then she would tell herself, again, that this was all so very wrong...knowing all too well that it was far too late to stop.
~~~~~
It was not, as had been planned, time for brunch when Reverie exhaustedly forced open her eyes. In fact, judging by the anemically pale light out on the horizon visible through the window nearest her bed, it was barely even dawn.
But she dragged herself out from under the covers nonetheless, and once again nudged the bath faucets, this time with drowsy hooves; not toward comfortable warmth like the previous evening, but instead to a shower that would be a touch colder than she would have otherwise preferred.
And then she would eschew her usual soothing tea in favor of the electric espresso coffee, and resolutely dig out her brushes and oils, and once again start committing to a blank canvas someone else's dream.
She wasn't going to be able to sleep again until she did.
The View From The WindowOriginal: The Golden Road
As often happened upon completing a dreamscape, the last thing Reverie wanted to do afterward was paint.
It wasn't just that her own dreams had been stolen away, replaced by the inexorable endurance of other ponies' clandestine fantasies and undisclosed desires. It was also being forced to then either commit them to canvas, or suffer them never leaving her mind - and thus having her ability as a painter be exploited in turn.
One might imagine that she was left somewhat disgruntled after such an affair. It would vary in intensity, of course, depending on what sort of dream it ended up being, but the end result was always the same: for days - occasionally weeks - afterward, Reverie could not stand so much as the idea of picking up a brush.
She was not an overly outgoing mare by nature - it was difficult to be so, you see, when one's professional reputation ranged between brilliant visionary artist and mentally disturbed pornographer? With both the public adulation and condemnation to match - and so it happened that Reverie didn't exactly get out all that much. She was accordingly somewhat lacking in an at-hoof social circle in which to take comfort.
But when staying home meant she could do little but be reminded...
The virtue of necessity had turned even this post-artistic fatigue state to its particular advantages. This was time she always spent out of the apartment; taking in everyday sights, enjoying lovely sunlit moments in parks, lazily dozing above rainclouds, or even just doing some idle shopping now and then. While her painting career wasn't quite padding her wallet enough to be dropping bits at say, Hoity Toity, she still had what she considered a comfortable disposable income.
That was how she had spent the past four days. A few cafe lunches, some park afternoons, a trip to refresh her grocery stock following her return from the city - her dwindled tea stash in particular. She'd even splurged, just once and with a touch of guiltiness, on a new sun dress and matching summer hat. But they had been on sale, after all, what with Equestria scheduled to come into autumn next week.
This new sun dress and its accompanying hat she now wore, as she set down her field kit on the grassy hill overlooking the southern Lengthy Island shore. It was still a touch chilly, being only a little less than an hour past dawn - far too cool for just a sun dress, one would typically say - but the fluffy down of her wings, in addition to her inherent pegasus nature, allowed Reverie to easily shrug off the temperature.
This same tolerance would not apply to her paints, however, which were likely to be rather less cooperative than usual out here on the breezy shore. Hopefully being left in the sun for a while would warm them up, so that she could then capture that same sun reflecting off the wavetops when it hit the right spot.
She could have done it from memory if she'd ended up having to wait for another day, of course. That had been the original idea to begin with - she'd sketched the scene on her way to Manehatten for her recent showing, excited by the beautiful sparkling waves, the way they made the golden light shimmer and dance...
But that sketch had ended up too attached to the events of that trip, and while it was by no fault of its own, such relations all too easily distorted the original feeling of the piece.
And so, now that she'd taken these past four days to distance herself from her most recent vision, once she'd again felt refreshed and ready to tackle a portrait without any shadows tugging at the edges, she'd gathered her kit and walked the early morning Mareford roads off to the south shore, so she could recapture the image directly.
Though it was notably cooler than ten days' previous, the weather was essentially the same, and Princess Celestia's timing was reliable as ever.
So Reverie delved into her kit, and dragged out her weighted easel, popping it open and setting it on the grass. She set her blank canvas upon it and secured it in place with the attached snaps, and then she dug out her collection of travel paints, and placed them on top of the carrying bag to soak up some sun and warm up.
Then, Reverie pulled from the bag one other thing - a small lacquered wooden case that was popped open to reveal lightly sugared strawberries - and she casually snacked while the sun rose above the horizon and edged toward the desired height.
It was midway through biting into the third of these cool, sweet fruits that a thought occurred to Reverie. A thought that, upon reflection, she was surprised had not made itself known at some earlier point over the preceding four days.
This was the sudden realization that, in retrospect, her most recent vision had been very much different from the usual.
It had been...well, the common sort of dream to see, the standard fare of somepony's unspoken sexual desires. She'd seen these commonly enough over the years that they didn't even make her blush anymore - regardless of the fact that this sort of vision always involved the dreams of ponies she knew. Often not personally or even socially, but she was typically acquainted with them, or at least could place the name and face from some local event. They were always local - short range, as she'd come to think of it.
The less common sort of vision was the heavier, harsher kind. Imaginings of dark intent: revenge plots, domination fantasies, sinister manipulations, deep-seated inclinations to violence...but these were rare, and never featured ponies she knew. She thought - and hoped, a little - that they were long range visions, distant thoughts that carried on their greater strength of emotion.
Her most recent vision broke these patterns. In content it was the common, short-ranged sort, but in subject it was most certainly the latter, having hailed from very far afield indeed.
And though Reverie didn't know the subjects of the dream, she was at least aware of who Twilight Sparkle was, if only from the newspaper pages she'd seen covering the Bearers of Harmony. There was that medal ceremony in Canterlot about a year ago, after the whole Discord debacle (for Manehatten's part, the whimsical draconequus had suffused Lengthy Island Sound with chocolate milk via a transformed Hoofson River), and there had been the matter of the Grand Galloping Gala only a few weeks previous that had consumed the social pages for days on end, and then of course the whole royal release upon the return of Princess Luna two years ago...
Through these things, she had learned enough of Twilight Sparkle to know that she was a resident of Ponyville, south of Canterlot in central Equestria. And Reverie was on the north-eastern seaboard!
Just how had a...well, run of the mill carnal fantasy made such a lengthy trip? Who so intensely yearned for Twilight Sparkle that Reverie had caught their dream from half the country away?
But then Reverie's eyes were caught by flashes of dancing golden light off the wavetops to the south, and thus those thoughts were put aside for possible later contemplation. A quick comparison to memory placed the sun at perhaps twenty minutes short of ideal position, and the following check of her paints found that yes, the sun had warmed them as hoped. Not to their usual easy thinness, perhaps, but easily enough to be usable.
So she took up her wide-stroke one-inch fan brush between her teeth, dabbed it into the light blue, and began filling in expanses of clear sky to begin to warm up and pass the intervening time. This roughing in of the sky over the top half of the canvas - especially with her mildly disobedient paints - ended up taking a fair few minutes, and then the brush was washed and dipped a little more lightly into the darker blue that she needed less of for the comparatively smaller section of cool ocean surface.
With a reference glance with an eye to solar ascendance, Reverie was quickly brushing in the more nuanced section of waves, the deeper blue thinning on the right side where the distant east coast would soon be dabbed in. The rough ocean was finished in only a minute or two, and after a thorough washing, the fan brush was put aside and switched for the half-inch angle brush, which was generously dipped into the green and then applied to the empty bottom of the canvas that would soon be filled with grasses, trees, and other detailed foliage.
The distant east coast would run up the side of the canvas on the right...so a collection of bushes and small trees nearer the viewpoint would rise up the left, forming a visual bowl that guided the eyes out onto the central ocean. It wasn't strictly accurate to the actual scenery, Reverie noted, her brushwork half-consciously sprouting grasses and outlining bushes in single strokes, but then the original had been seen from a train window while further inland, twenty miles to the west.
Another reference glance, and the angle brush was washed and dipped into the brown paint, to quickly rough in the missing eastern coastline and complete the backdrop...and then the canvas was suddenly something more than it had been. Fifteen minutes earlier it had been blank white cloth, and now, for all its blurry lack of detail and flat swaths of single color, it was identifiably a portrait of some distant vista.
The detailing of the waves, rocky coast, and windswept brush would have to wait, though, as the sun now approached its reflective zenith for the focus of the morning piece.
Reverie washed her half inch angle brush and clicked her teeth around the handle of her quarter-inch round, carefully dipping only its tip into the white, and then she began the process: long, intense stares at the shimmering golden reflections of the southern waves, until the image was driven deep into her mind, and light sweeps of the brush tip to place those distant flashes of perfect brilliance onto the ocean surface on the canvas.
There was no thought to the cold breeze still blowing in from the northeast, no guilt about having spent good bits on a summer dress at which that cool wind tugged, a dress she would be able to wear for perhaps all of three weeks before the weather turned. No worrying about the sugared strawberries she'd forgotten to cover up again, so lost as she'd become in her earlier introspection.
There was only the view and the brush.
The View From The WindowInterlude: Tea with Temperance
As she returned from her morning outing to her local paint shop, The Delicate Palette, Reverie had been surprised to find a letter waiting in her mailbox. Snatching it thence and dropping it into her saddlebag to settle alongside her recently purchased painting supplies, she pushed the box shut with a hoof and locked it. With the keys still set in her teeth, she climbed the stairs up to her third floor apartment, then sorted through the set with a free hoof until she found the one needed. She clicked her teeth around the newly chosen house key and slotted it into the lock, twisting with her neck and pushing the door open with an extended wing.
Dropping her keys onto their tray on the nearby side table as she stepped inside, Reverie absent-mindedly muttered something about the dignified lifestyle of the Hooftons mare as she dug into her saddlebag for the letter, which was then also dropped onto that same table for more practical accessibility. Finally, she shrugged her bags down onto a waiting hoof and hung them up in their place on the wall.
She brushed the door closed with a wing, and set toward the kitchenette to address the far more immediately pressing need for tea. Taking the kettle handle in her teeth, she dipped it into the sink and hoofed the water on until it filled, then turned the faucet back off with its usual squeak and settled the now far heavier vessel onto the nearby stove. After then dialing the heat all the way up, Reverie was satisfied enough with her progress toward tea to give consideration to other things.
The first of these things was to raise a hoof to rub at her dully aching jaw, as it protested its handling an iron kettle full of water.
Really, it’s something of a wonder my teeth haven't all broken and chipped away, given how much they're used for. Almost enough to make me wish I were a unicorn.
The second of these things was her recently purchased paints, still settled in the saddlebags now hung on the wall near the door. With a head shake and a sigh, she stepped back toward the bags, reached up and took them down again, and brought them over to her supply shelf to rifle through them and sort the enclosed items.
Fresh tubes of blue, yellow, white, healthy helping of gesso...
She was reminded, just then, of the time when the proprietor of The Delicate Palette had thought it a lovely idea to regale her about how painters in the old days, before soy-based gesso, had to keep very quiet about how they primed their canvases, and she couldn't help but shudder. Thankfully that had not come up ever again.
Finally, with the kettle working toward a boil and her paint supplies organized, she hung her bags back on the wall and turned her attention to the letter she'd found waiting for her earlier.
It wasn't really getting a letter that had been unexpected; she got them often enough, alternating between glowing praise and vicious condemnation. What was surprising was that this letter was from her mother.
This was something of a rarity, so Reverie nipped the envelop open with a quick bite and pulled the letter free, beginning to read.
My Dearest Reverie,
Well, I suppose I ought to begin with a nostalgic recollection of how long it's been since we've seen each other, shan't I? That seems formulaic enough to start with.
Not that we don't know why that is, of course, between my constant business trips on top of your increasingly common gallery showings. Congratulations on that, by the way. I know you've earned them.
But every now and then - typically when I'm not in the middle of aggressively negotiating trade acquisitions - a mother still laments how little she sees of her daughter. And while that train of thought does terminate its route at Retirement Station, I'm not quite ready for that yet, I think.
But I've drifted from the point, dear. And that point is I'm going to be stopping by the Manehatten office for a few days. Long enough, I think, that I can sneak away for a lunch, or at least afternoon tea, at my favorite Mareford cafe?
While I understand that this is likely extremely short notice, especially given that I tend to travel faster than the mail does...
It would be lovely to see you, dear. It's been too long...again.
Well, in any case. If you should happen to be free about midday this coming Wednesday, the third, I'll be at Gia's.
With love and sincerest wishes, Your Mother,
Temperance Dreamflight
Reverie couldn't help but chuckle. Every time her mother signed her letters...
Because obviously it's been so long that I've forgotten who my mother is.
But the moment was cut short when the kettle she'd previously set to boil water for tea was now proceeding to proclaim its shrill whistled battlecry. Stepping back over to the stove, Reverie turned the heat off, and smiled kindly at the kettle.
Sorry, but I won't be having my tea out of you after all.
With a glance at the clock hanging on the far wall - 11:37 AM - Reverie snatched her smaller purse off its hook next to the previously worn saddlebags, dropped her keys and a few spare bits inside, and pulled her forest green silk scarf off the nearby stand, tossing it around her neck.
It wouldn't do to meet her jet-setting financier mother wearing naught but her fur, after all.
~~~~~
As her mother was likely to have already arrived, Reverie couldn't really walk the Mareford roads downtown. This worked out neatly, in the end, as more and more often recently she'd craved the wind under her wings.
She hadn't even left her apartment through the door. She'd just thrown open the wide main window and sprung out onto the warm afternoon air, currents tugging at her braided mane and feathers singing of the autumn breeze.
It just wasn't done in the Hooftons, of course, a pegasus mare jumping out her apartment windows and skimming the rooftops through town. But given that everyone had already committed to either loving or hating her, Reverie had long since ceased to care about those pettier social mores.
She was reminded of earlier days, those less suffused with petulant snobbery, when her destination came into view. Cafe Gia Istallian Light Cuisine and Refreshments was a Mareford fixture, having been widely renowned since before she was even old enough to fly on her own. It was also, relatedly, one of the few businesses in the city that maintained a pegasus landing space aside the rooftop patio. It was there that Reverie flew, dipping her right primaries to dig into the air and pull her into a lazy curve before flaring the secondaries low to drag and scoop the air for a gentle landing. And then she ran a hoof through her mane, breathed deeply of the fresh air tinged with a hint of ocean salt, and trotted down the nearby stairs to the cafe interior wearing a smile and pointedly ignoring the handful of irritated glares that had been levelled toward her.
Contrary to most places in Mareford, she felt welcomed, at home here. Memories of years gone by flickered through her mind as she turned from the stairs and walked alongside the serving counter, behind which stood the original proprietor of the cafe. Gia Bello, a deep green-coated and scarlet-maned earth pony mare, her hair tinged with silver; she still carried herself with every bit of the confidence she'd had over the past twenty years or more. Ancora Bello, her gray-coated, wheat-blonde-maned unicorn son, was at the moment managing the register.
"Reveranza!" the elder Bello exclaimed upon sight of her, bringing Reverie out of her dip into memory. Coming out from behind the counter, the lively Istallian mare almost tackled her with a hug, planting greeting kisses on her cheeks.
"It has been near to a week since I have seen you, child. I was beginning to worry."
Reverie smiled, leaning in to lightly nuzzle Gia, who could easily be called an aunt or even godmother, so long a family friend she'd been.
"Scuse, Mamma Bello. I was working on a new painting, you know how I am."
Gia laughed, quiet but hearty, and prodded the younger mare with a good-natured nudge.
"Mamma Bello, she says to me. Temperanza waits for you, there, in the corner."
She gestured over to the far corner of the cafe beyond the central counter, and Reverie could indeed see wispings of pale green fur and steely blue hair. And then she jumped, as she felt a hoof prodding her flank.
"Go, Reveranza. She has already waited too long to see you, yes? I will send tea."
"Per favore," she called after Gia, as the elder mare was already disappearing behind the counter and into the kitchen. Reverie set her hooves moving again, pausing briefly at the far side of the counter to say "Salve, Ancora," to the young stallion, only a few years her junior, who she'd played with as a child.
He favored her with a nod and smile, and she continued the last few steps until she poked her head around the corner of the last little booth, and saw herself.
Well, herself in twenty or thirty years.
Temperance was in almost every respect her daughter's mother. Same slender pegasus build, same teal coat, same cobalt-steel mane, though it was trending more towards the steel than the cobalt these days. Only her eyes were different; compared to Reverie's own harsh icy blue, her mothers were a soft and rich hazel.
Those eyes were currently fixed onto what looked to be some manner of financial report, which was about par for the course.
"Ciao, Temperanza. I hope I'm not interrupting?"
The elder pegasus mare perked up immediately, her gaze sweeping up from charts and figures to find her smiling daughter a hoof's reach away.
"Reverie!"
The report she'd been reading fell forgotten to the table, and Temperance immediately swept her daughter into a long hug.
"I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten my letter."
Reverie sighed contentedly, accepting the hug foisted upon her.
"Hello, mother. And yes, I got your letter - about twenty minutes ago."
The pair shared a quiet laugh.
"Yes, well, when I say I travel faster than the mail, it's not idly."
They parted with exchanged nuzzles, and Temperance took a moment to look over her daughter.
"...You're looking well, Reverie. I'm glad to see it. Please, sit! It's been months since we've talked."
The younger mare sat on the empty cushion opposite her mother, and her eyes were caught by a steaming cup of tea floating over, wrapped in a slate-gray aura, which set down on the table. She cast an appreciative smile over to Ancora in thanks, before turning to her tea and breathing in the heady aroma of chocolate and peppermint atop the soft backing of oolong.
She sipped her tea, savoring the soft melding of flavors, and then smiled nervously as she noticed her mother watching her.
"...What?"
"You and your tea. I'd forgotten," said Temperance, smiling. "But yes, you really are looking well, dear. Everything in order, I imagine? No...financial concerns?"
Reverie giggled, sipping at her tea again.
"No, mother, no troubles. Between my paintings sales and the not inconsiderable investment portfolio you insisted on setting up for me? I'm doing fine. Although..."
She leaned in, glancing about furtively and dropping her voice to a hushed whisper.
"I did splurge on a new dress recently."
Temperance snickered, arching a brow in amusement.
"Clearly, the pinnacle of fiscal irresponsibility."
The pair paused for a moment of tea sipping, almost forming a mirrored image.
"...Now, you had a showing recently, didn't you, dear? How did that go?"
Reverie blinked, surprised.
"Er, well, it went fine. But you've been out of the city for weeks, how did you—"
"I have my assistant watch the social pages, dear. You didn't think I would be going through all my requisite stuffy social functions without being able to mention that my daughter is a rising star in the art world, did you?"
Temperance just smiled, matter of fact, as though this should have been obvious to her daughter for years.
"...Well," Reverie began with a nervous smile, "It went fine. Just the same as they usually go, really. Everypony alternately gushes in praise or gasps in shock at the dreamscapes, and my other paintings are more or less ignored. But I get my fee and publicity for future showings and sales, so I can't complain all that much."
"You would prefer, though, that all your work was appreciated, rather than only the more shocking side of it."
Another pause, and sipping of tea.
"Well, yes, of course, but it’s certainly better than no showings at all. And what about you, mother? What manner of exotic locales and high-stakes negotiations have you tackled recently?"
The elder mare giggled, and rested her head on a supporting hoof as she pondered.
"Well, I don't know that Fillydelphia can really be described as exotic ...but high-stakes, certainly. I've recently considered just setting up a permanent office there, so long as these latest deals have taken. Weeks, Reverie, to settle such matters as the redirection of local apple exports to Canterlot. I'd not have thought that fruit sales were such serious business."
The younger mare perked a brow in curiosity.
"Tensions running high over fruit?"
Temperance nodded, waving her hoof dismissively.
"Something about which orchard was chosen to supply the royal kitchen next year, accusations of favoritism toward Ponyville, the usual silliness of supposedly grown-up ponies putting pride before business. Tantruming foals, more like...still, it makes them easy to handle at the table."
Tea was further sipped, and idle chatter exchanged about recent events in each other's lives: Temperance's business travels, manifold investment negotiations, and acquisition deals; Reverie's recent paintings, gallery appearances, and adventures in train exhaust. All the while, though, the daughter was waiting until the question was asked.
"So, dear. Have you...had any dreams lately?"
Reverie chuckled grimly, suppressing the urge to sigh. Here it was at last, the alicorn in the room.
"Why, yes, mother, I had one just last night. As I do every night, actually. Don't you?"
"Reverie, you know what I mean."
She set free the held-back sigh, raising a hoof to her forehead, trying to press back the oncoming headache.
"Yes, mother, I know what you mean. And we've talked about this. We always talk about this. Yes, I have bizarre dreams occasionally. No, I'm not crazy."
Temperance frowned, raising her hooves plaintively.
"I've never said that, dear. I just...worry, you know that. I'm your mother, it's what I do."
Reverie sighed, now resigned to bearing the headache.
"Yes, I know. I also know that you don't have to. I've been having these dreams for years, mother, remember? If I were going to go crazy, I would have gotten around to it by now."
Temperance joined her daughter both in sigh and headache, regretting bringing up the subject just as surely as she'd known she would inevitably raise it.
"I know, dear. You're right, of course. You're a strong young mare, and plenty capable of taking care of yourself. I just – I don't know, I wish you didn't have to bear this. Is there no – now, I use this word only because I haven't much other choice, but is there no...therapy, or something, that could help? Surely somepony knows about things like this?"
Reverie found herself torn, just then, between her conflicting desires to slump to the table and groan, to just shake her head in disbelief and walk out, or the old favorite of wishing she could just scream up at the sky. Somewhat difficult, that last one, given she was inside a cafe, but still.
It took a long moment, and more than a few calming breaths to put that aside, and this was something her mother did not fail to notice. Cringing, Temperance reached out a halting, hesitant hoof toward her daughter, speaking in a remorseful whisper.
"I'm sorry, dear, I...I shouldn't have said such a thing. I ought to know better. Again, I'm sorry, and...well, I'll just hush up now."
Her sixth calming breath releasing in a long sigh, Reverie finally felt more or less herself again. She raised her eyes to find her mother's own gaze fixed firmly on the table in front of her, her hooves pulled in close to her chest and fidgeting nervously.
It was the double-edged blade of motherhood, of course. Reverie knew that her mother loved her dearly, that she always had and always would, and so in addition to being fiercely proud of her, Temperance also couldn't help but anxiously hover over her, jumping at any shadow she saw.
This was regardless of the fact that Reverie was now plenty capable of jumping at those shadows herself. But even for the attached aggravation, it was still far more endearing than anything else that her mother so sincerely cared.
Reverie reached out across the table and took her mother's restless hooves into her own, and Temperance's eyes looked a touch misted when they rose in turn.
"To answer your first question, yes, I had a dream recently. A little under two weeks ago."
Her mother sniffled quietly, her lips creasing with concern.
"Was it...was it bad?"
"Well, I don't know that I would call any of them good, but it wasn't one of the harsher ones, no. The usual fare, scandalous fantasy, that sort. Though...well, there was one thing about it..."
She gently tugged with her hooves, pulling her mother in close for a conspiratorial whisper.
"It was two mares."
Temperance gasped, her eyes going wide in utter shock! ...Except that she was smiling and not quite holding in a giggle.
"Anyone I know?"
"I wouldn't say know, but somepony you would definitely recognize."
They shared a quiet laugh, the previous tension now almost entirely banished.
"And...as for seeing a specialist—"
Her mother shook her head.
"It was a silly idea. Forget I ever said anything."
"...I already have."
The elder mare really wanted to say something to that, Reverie could tell, but apparently it wasn't working out so well.
"Last year, when I took that vacation to Baltimare, spent two weeks out around Horseshoe Bay? Since I was far enough away to go unnoticed...well, I had a long chat with a nice unicorn psychiatrist. Suffice to say that he had never heard of, let alone previously seen, anything like my dreams."
She probably could have left it at that, Reverie knew. And part of her wanted to, the same part she'd had to fight past that year before.
"...But because I asked for it, he gave me a full examination and mental evaluation. He found no discernable physical ailments, and after a lengthy interview session declared me 'surprisingly well adjusted'. All the more so, he said, given the dreams."
Temperance raised a hoof to her daughter's face, stroking her cheek softly.
"Well, I'm glad to hear that. And also proud of you, Reverie, for telling me...and being brave enough to see someone in the first place. I know it can't have been easy for you to ask those questions of yourself."
Reverie smiled, leaning her head into the comforting touch.
"Just...don't tell anyone, please? I have enough ponies calling me crazy without it being common knowledge I've seen a therapist."
"Not a word, dear."
They shared a quiet moment, mother and daughter, with no lingering worries.
"...Now, on the subject of not talking to people, have you spoken to your father at all lately?"
Reverie nickered, and rolled her eyes.
"Not since I shouted 'goodbye' up at his window when I moved out seven years ago. What about you? You haven't split up, so I assume you still manage not to attack each other on sight."
Temperance laughed, her lips parting into a genuine smile.
"You know, it's strange? We get along so well with me being away on business for most of the year."
The younger mare smiled deviously, and prodded her mother with a playful hoof.
"And what about that? Spending all your time away from your husband on business trips, handling tense negotiations? Any salacious gossip?"
The elder feigned shock, with a touch of affront.
"Why, I would never! Honestly, that you would imply such a thing...though now that I think about it, you know, maybe that's not such a bad idea, dear. It's not like I'm starved for prospects, after all, and what with your father probably rolling around in bed with two mares half his age..."
"Not an image I want in my head, mother. I've had to put enough sordid fantasies on canvas already."
Temperance laughed again, and took a moment to attend to her neglected tea, prompting Reverie to do the same. She took up her cup, once again breathing deep of the chocolate scent, and savored the revitalizing flavor as the mint hit her tongue.
"So tell me, Reverie. Are you seeing anyone?"
The View From The WindowDreamscape: Diamond in the Rough
Reverie ambled her way along the quiet Mareford roads at a leisurely stroll, basking in the sunset tones and savoring the soothing coolness of the evening air. The morning winds had blown in from the south, carrying with them the sun-warmed ocean salt air, but with the sky now darkening into the rich reds and violets of twilight, a cool breeze from the northwest was rolling out like the tide, carrying with it the musty scent of freshly fallen leaves.
Lunch with her mother had eventually turned into afternoon tea. It had then furthermore progressed into dinner, when Temperance had decided that she saw little enough of her daughter as it was, and the office could wait a few more hours. But that had been lovely, really, after the mild bit of drama had been dealt with.
As a matter of course, her mother had asked if she was seeing somepony. She always asked if she was seeing somepony...but Reverie had rather walked right into it, today. And as usual, 'No, mother, I'm not seeing anyone' she'd answered, then not even waiting for the next question before explaining 'for the same reason I wasn't the last time you asked: because everyone I meet is already taken, with either lavishing praise upon or fiercely denouncing me?'
And then Temperance had glanced over toward the center of Gia's cafe, and with a sly smile suggested Reverie perhaps weigh the potential of her childhood playmate Ancora Bello; something about how it could be nice, having an energetic younger stallion wrapped up in your pinions...
At least she had the courtesy to keep her voice down at the time—
Much the same as Reverie had been doing with her eyes, while caught up in reminiscence. Thus why she found herself fallen back on her haunches, head dizzily spinning, having just blundered head-first into somepony.
"Oh, hello there, miss. That's one way to introduce yourself..."
Reverie shook her head a few times to clear it, and brought her eyes up to see the pony she'd just run into. A stallion by voice, he was revealed to be an earth pony: around her age at a glance, with a soft blue coat and black mane. His eyes, a deep sapphire, currently seemed torn between concern and...well, something less genuine.
It was just the sort of mischievous glint that Reverie had come to know so well, living her life in the Hooftons—that of an affluent stallion who had grown used to mares swooning over him.
He's got the looks for it, I'll grant, Reverie thought as she got herself fixed on her hooves again, shaking the ruffles out of her feathers and pointedly ignoring the steadying hoof the stallion had offered her.
"...Right, my apologies, sir. I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere for a moment. Sorry for troubling you."
She favored him with a pleasant, if thin, smile, got her bearings, and with a turn to the right was back on her way. And the expression she'd caught on the stallion's face as she flatly dismissed him...well, if perhaps not priceless, at the least it had been comparatively well-valued.
Accordingly, Reverie was not entirely surprised to see a second shadow draw up beside her own only a moment later.
"Oh no, miss, please, don't be sorry. I'd rather that lovely mares would run into me more often."
The evening air was quiet for a few moments, with only the clicking of hooves upon cobblestone, until Reverie laughed quietly, turning her head to glance sidelong at her new companion.
"You must be new here."
He cringed, screwing his eyes tightly shut in a grimace with a quiet groan.
"...That bad, huh."
Reverie laughed again, returning her eyes to the darkening eastern horizon.
"Well, that too. Try not to take it too hard, though, it's really not that much of a loss."
She couldn't help but smile to herself, as it had been quite a while since she'd had the chance to shoot down an attempt to pick her up. She'd forgotten what fun the little social dance could be at times like these.
"Not a loss? Why, I must disagree."
Driven by curiosity if nothing else, Reverie returned her gaze to the stallion still keeping pace beside her.
My, a persistent one it seems.
"Oh?" she prompted him, her brow raised in expectation.
To his credit, he didn't stumble this time.
"Yes, and ardently at that. I shall presume that you know yourself to be the clearly beautiful mare my eyes place aside me?"
She shrugged, then nodded.
"Well, yes. To believe otherwise would be rather silly."
She giggled as he was momentarily shocked again, resulting in his missing a step and nearly tangling his legs together.
"...Ahem. Yes, well, you'll forgive me if I'm unaccustomedto meeting mares as unflappable as you seem to be, Miss...?"
His being readily willing to admit to his short-sightedness legitimately surprised her – most Hooftons stallions were far too pride-obsessed – and so she decided to reward him, just a little.
"Reverie." she said warmly, favoring him with a genuine smile.
He brightened at that.
"Reverie...a beautiful name, for a beautiful mare. No, really! ...Well, alright, that was pouring it on a little thick, wasn't it."
"Just a little," she replied, laughing sincerely. "And you?"
"Would be remiss if I allowed this conversation to end without acquiring a guarantee of its later continuation. But as for my name? Justice, Miss Reverie. Chase Justice."
There was a long moment of silence, and eventually Reverie drew her slow walk to a stop. Chase was about to ask if she was quite alright...when she just couldn't hold it in anymore, and burst out laughing.
"Chase Justice? Really?"
It took him a moment to pick his jaw up off the cobblestone street, but finally Chase exchanged his shocked silence for indignant glowering.
"What? It's a great name! Oh, I suppose I should have seen this coming, given how the rest has gone. I'll have you know that most mares find my name very auspicious."
"Which would be why I think it's so...so cheesy," she managed to say between snickers.
He shook his head, casting his eyes down to the stone roadway and breathing a deep sigh.
"You know, this really hasn't gone at all like I'd expected."
Reverie allowed herself one last little musical laugh before composing herself again.
"I imagine it hasn't. But you can't say I didn't warn you."
He raised his head to look her in the eyes, a response already forming in mind—
"Horseapples. You really did, didn't you."
He sighed again, ears flopping down to lifelessly frame his downcast expression, and he scuffed an annoyed hoof at the stonework in defeat.
"...Well, Miss Reverie, this has been...educational. You have yourself a lovely evening, and I'm sorry to have troubled you."
He turned and began walking back down the street to the west, his shadow drawing long against the backdrop of sunset sky, and Reverie heard her mother's voice in her mind, matched to a vividly pictured expression of disapproval.
You're not just going to let him go like that, are you dear? I'll never let you hear the end of it.
And she wouldn't, least of all upon finding out that it had been today. Fitting words popped into mind, and with them in hoof, Reverie made her decision.
"Oh no, please, don't be sorry. I'd rather that I run into charming stallions able to swallow their pride more often."
Chase's ears perked up at this, and he tentatively turned to look back, finding a smile waiting for him.
"Since you're new to Mareford," she began pleasantly, "the least I can do is advise you of some of our better features. One of the prime examples of which would be Gia's Istallian Cafe, downtown on Station Road, just north of Sunshine Square. Fabulous refreshments, light meals..."
She let it hang in the air, giving a moment for his mind to whisper quiet hopes, before continuing in her aloof, matter-of-fact tone.
"...And I may happen to be there this Friday at, oh, say around four? If anypony wanted to find me and chat, or such."
His expression by then was clearly one of utter bewilderment, though Reverie was rather pleased to see his eyes saying would you just make up your mind? Yes, she'd forgotten how much fun this could be.
"Welcome to Mareford, Chase Justice," she said, bringing the conversation into closing before he could ask just that question—it was far more entertaining if he lost a little sleep over her. "It was a pleasure to meet you."
Waving goodbye with some lazily outstretched pinions, she turned and resumed her leisurely stroll to the east, toward her waiting apartment.
It only took a moment for her to realize how much she was smiling.
~~~~~
Dropping her keys in their tray, Reverie pushed her apartment door shut with its quiet click. The sun and moon had changed places now, the latter now beginning its ascent over the darker half of the Equestrian cycle. Just as well for it, as she was suddenly very tired, her mind having chosen the climb up the stairs to the third floor to remind her that she'd been up since shortly after dawn to run her errands.
As she hung her purse on the wall and pulled her scarf off, she was mildly shocked to note that she was even willing to go without her usual evening cup of chamomile and lemon grass, such was the siren's call of her warm and fluffy bedding...
With the scarf hung in place on the nearby rack, she stepped over to the far side of the apartment, swinging and latching shut the main window she'd flown out of when she left, and cast her eyes to the nearby easel that hosted The Golden Road , which still looked just as lovely as it had the morning it was painted, and was now almost fully dried. Another day or two, and it could be set into a protective case alongside its peers.
But that's for tomorrow , Reverie thought tiredly, as she strode through the moonlight streaming in past the glass of her windows, hopping up onto her bed and promptly flopping over. Not bothering to actually get under the blankets, she just pulled them around and over herself, digging her head into the soft pillows while her mind swam between competing thoughts of soft warmth and subtle intrigues involving a recently-met stallion.
The thought that consumed her mind most of all, though, was that of a nice, hours-long nap.
~~~~~
I really ought to have expected this. It has been about long enough, I suppose.
Reverie sighed, inasmuch as she could do so in the world of distant dreams. It had been such a nice day; such a nice week , really...and that made it all the more unsurprising, didn't it?
Well, the last time wasn't so bad, in the end...
Being foolish enough only to hope that luck would hold, Reverie opened her eyes, and again looked through those of another.
~~~
The sun shone strong through the boughs of the orchard trees, lending the long stretches of greenery a brilliant radiance with its powerfully warming glow.
Not that it weren't like this most every morning on the Acres, but still, it always struck her. More artsy-like ponies, the 'froufrou type' if you would, would probably want to settle in to paint pictures, or write poems, or some such nonsense as that, no doubt. To her, though, it was a far simpler thing. The sun was out and shining, the trees were healthy and growing, and it was a fine morning to do some buckin'.
Season was just getting started, though, and she had the whole south field to herself today, so nothing wrong with taking a moment or two to appreciate the natural beauty of Equestria, in that way only earth ponies seemed to do anymore.
From the sound of things, Mac was already out and started, the loud thunk of solid hooves connecting with a thick, strong trunk ringing through the quiet air...
Now wait a minute. Mac was in town with the market cart. She'd seen him leave not an hour ago!
Her hooves picked up almost on their own, kicking her into a strong gallop and driving up a dusty trail along the orchard path, and she shortly came up on the nearest wagon clearing, a half-dozen buckets of apples already filled nearby—
Another strong, solid thunk rang out, this one so close that it ought've been her very own hooves, but that was most certainly not the case, as she was too busy staring.
She had not, after all, expected to see an artsy-like, froufrou pony out here in the south field today. And she hadn't expected to see that pony buckin' apple trees, let alone like she were born to it...well, ever.
Just what in tarnation was Rarity doing here?
She hadn't asked her, she was sure of that. And the unicorn hadn't recently offered or any such...though, fair to say the help would've been turned down if she had, family pride n'all.
But here the ivory mare was, buckin' apples like she'd done it her whole life, and plum looking the part. Her usually painstakingly-sculpted mane and tail were now just hanging loose, bunched at the ends with a bow-tied indigo ribbon to each; she wore a shimmery scarlet vest, embroidered with sparkling golden thread in simple, modest patterns; and finally, atop her head Rarity had a genuine stetson, a little ragged at the edges, inset around the crown with sparkling emeralds.
You know, scratch that; she knew exactly what Rarity was doing here—looking drop-dead gorgeous.
Wait, what'd she just...?
She didn't have time to consider it, as the unicorn was now looking at her and laughing, having said...well, something. She'd been too lost in thought to catch just what it may have been.
It occurred to her that in the end, it really didn't matter all that much, did it? Unexpected, yeah, that was for sure, but hardly unwelcome. And, well, Element of Generosity and all that...so if Rarity wanted to toss on a cowgirl outfit and put in a day's work out on the farm, then what the hay? If nothing else, she could snicker and grin when the unicorn broke down and cried defeat under the strain of real work.
So she put it aside, and went to work on the local trees herself, those that Rarity hadn't yet bucked bare – and land sakes, that was something she'd never expected to think.
She didn't quite work so fast as she might've otherwise; she could afford to pace herself, given that she had the unexpected help. Yeah, that was it. She was pacing herself, not constantly getting distracted. And absolutely not catching herself staring at a normally persnickety unicorn mare who was now capably pursuing a day's hard farm labor without a word of complaint...and who now, owing to that labor, was coated in a glistening sheen of sweat that caught the bright morning sunlight, lending her an ethereal glow that set her sapphire eyes sparkling...
Right, she was definitely not noticing things like that.
Apparently Rarity wasn't noticing anything either, pleasantly carrying on with her side of the field while humming a quiet tune to herself, almost like applebuckin' and dressmaking weren't no different to the mare...
She'd gone and gotten lost in thought again, and Rarity was all giggles and smiles across the way—hay if she knew what she'd just missed, but now the unicorn was heading back toward the barn?
A quick look at the wagon – and hoof upside the head maybe, for measure – explained that, as there wasn't much point in buckin' now that the local buckets were all full. A couple words rang in her ears, and it pieced together: taking the apples in, having a short break.
She was inclined to think Rarity had the right of it, and slipped her way into the wagon harness, her strong hooves going to work pulling the hefty weight along the rough path with practiced ease.
A glance ahead at her friend almost made her pause – the unicorn had the strangest expression, looking back at her...nah, just imagining things. Had to be.
It didn't take all that long to pull into the barn, and as she slipped out from the harness, giving her legs a satisfying stretch, she asked Rarity if she was hungry at all; she had red delicious, golden delicious, macintosh, granny smiths, honey crisps...
Now, why was Rarity looking at her like that? And what'd she say—interested in a different kind of apple...?
The answer dawned on her somewhat late – as Rarity tackled her into the hay bales, actually.
This kind of apple, she realized, as the ivory unicorn brought sweet, impatient lips down onto hers. And much like the rest of the morning, yeah, it was unexpected...but not unwelcome.
And land sakes, that was something she'd never expected to think.
~~~~~
When Reverie opened her eyes, a glance out the nearby window showed it to be thankfully well past dawn, and by that she'd gotten a fair amount of sleep.
But still, just like every other time, she woke up exhausted. Also like every other time, she groggily dragged herself out of bed, meandering her way over toward the bathroom. And less like every time, but similar to the last time, her morning shower was going to be a touch colder than usual.
This is the second time I've seen the Bearers of Harmony in dreams, she thought, as drowsy hooves fumbled with her shower faucets. Do I see the beginnings of a pattern...?
Stepping into the porcelain bathtub and relishing the cool, soothing water now cascading down through her mane and coat, Reverie started to actually wake up.
And for that matter, all this tension between them. But then, the last time wasn't it...?
With the cool water washing over her, she busied her hooves with pulling her mane out of its braid, her mind chewing on this wild tangent her dreamsight seemed intent on after years in a steady pattern.
Is there something about those Elements? Or some recent event, or...
Oh, it's far too early for this.
Pulling her mane free and loose, she let the water soak through it, taking in a few deep, calming breaths.
First of all, coffee. And then...
The last of those deep breaths released in a familiar sigh.
At least I have plenty of paint.
The View From The WindowInterlude: Tea with Chase
Reverie lazily flew through the cold, gray clouds of the dull overcast sky, and felt like she belonged.
She allowed herself to be aimlessly cast about by the frigid breezes that spoke of the oncoming winter. She ignored the long minutes of shivering caused by misty water vapor condensed into a veneer of sleet over her coat and feathers. The cold had made her body numb, and her mind had already been numb besides.
They're coming faster now.
She was buffeted by a gust from the west, and her ears twitched to the sound of cracking icicles as her wings flapped to regain lost altitude, shaking off a layer of frost in the process. But these things, like the little tufts of down caught in bits of ice and pulled from her wings, went unnoticed.
When her visions had first started, in her early teen years, it had been only a comparative handful; two or three a year. At present, eight years later, it was typical for her to have a vision about once every month or so. But these past two dreams...
Her recent visions had been comparatively mild, but Reverie was growing increasingly aware that this wasn't going to keep. How long would it be now until she saw something darker? How long until the next Rampant Pandemonic – the next Light of Moon and Fire?
Reverie was not the worrying type. She had flirted with the idea when she was younger, spent a few months panicking now and then about whether these dreams had doomed her to insanity, particularly after one of them had left her shivering through the night in abject horror for weeks on end, haunted by the enduring vision of all-seeing serpentine eyes. In the end, though, she had – more or less by inevitable necessity – decided to forgo the degree program in screaming terror and instead chosen to adapt, living her life as it came and not fixating on how things could go wrong years in the future. She thought, when it sprang to mind from time to time, that it was one of her more insightful decisions.
Today was a very different day.
Nineteen days. Not even three weeks apart.
Reverie was worrying. More accurately, Reverie was frightened. She had years ago noticed that her visions were coming more quickly as time progressed, yes, but it had always been subtle – gradual. Over the course of a few months, there would be a day or two less between dreams. But her most recent two...
Not only had they broken the years-established patterns of content and distance, but the time between them had jumped from thirty-odd days to only twenty. Even with roughly monthly visions, her usual post-dream fugue was already affecting a good quarter of her waking life. For that now to be increased again by half?
...And how long until the interval shortened again? Would it jump just as abruptly? After another few visions, would it be fifteen days between? Ten?
How long would it be now, before she was having these visions every time she slept?
Could I even live like that?
And another thought, one from so many years ago, that had for so long been silent:
...Would I want to?
She wasn't entirely sure, just then, whether she wanted to burst into tears or cry out in furious grief—
The wind shifted, suddenly stolen from beneath her wings, and Reverie tumbled through the air, her head suddenly pounding with the ringing of funeral bells, and it was so cold , just so cold—
Her eyes snapped open and her wings followed suit, their coating of frost flung off into a corona of sparkling crystals; her pinions flared and dug into the air, tearing from it the strength to soar, and with a great rush of wind she pitched up into the bleak gray clouds—
And then she broke into the sunlight.
She shivered a few times, suddenly aware of how frosty she'd become, as she glided along the calm air above the cloud bank, basking in the warming sun.
Was I really just thinking...?
Reverie gave her head a good thrashing shake to drive the dark thoughts away, pausing when her ears twitched to the sound of distant ringing.
Bells...
Not funeral bells, as her terror-gripped panicking mind had earlier perceived. Rather more mundanely, it was the Mareford clock tower striking the hour.
Counting the first, rather grievously misinterpreted ring, the tower bell rang four times, which about lined up with the position of the sun angling toward the western horizon.
Four in the afternoon already? My how the time flies when one's mind is lost in wild panic, chasing its—
Oh, ponyfeathers.
Reverie took just a brief moment to smack herself on the forehead with a hoof, before diving back through the cloud bank, and angling for Gia's cafe.
By virtue of flight the journey only took her a few minutes, and she was soon setting her hooves down on the smooth cobblestones of Station Road. The wide avenue was conspicuously unoccupied for a Friday afternoon, an unexpected blessing courtesy of the scheduled rain in the coming evening.
A quick glance around did not find a certain blue stallion cantering up any nearby streets toward the cafe, which meant that Chase was either late, or had already arrived early.
She hadn't really asked him to tea, of course, but he would be here. This wasn't the first time that Reverie had danced this particular waltz with a Hooftons stallion, and she knew well enough how to dictate the steps.
Those steps did not typically include her being late to her own appointment, but in the end it was easy enough to take advantage of. A lady, after all, arrived when she wished to.
Stepping into Gia's cafe, she shrugged off a persisting shiver, and tried not to think about just how much she was hoping to find company awaiting her.
It was a different place, the cafe, without the sunlight streaming in through the broad front windows. But the sky was dark, and drab, and gray today, and so the interior lamps were all lit, lending their warm orange oil-flame glow to the polished brass and carved oak woodwork that made up the structure. It was one of the few places in Mareford that eschewed mana crystal lighting, and very much by intent, as Gia refused to trade the welcoming glow of the flickering lamp flames for the cold hum of industrial magic.
As she stepped up to the counter, Reverie felt the last lingering cold falling away.
"Buonasera, Mamma Bello," she called softly over the serving counter to the elder mare sorting stocks of tea on the rear shelf. Gia quickly turned, and her face blossomed into a matronly smile upon sight of her may-as-well-be-goddaughter.
"Ah, Reveranza," Gia said warmly, reaching a hoof over the counter to gently brush the young pegasus' cheek, in place of leaping it entirely to wrap her in the more traditional hug.
Reverie leaned into the comforting touch, part of her mind flitting to a time that Gia had just up and jumped the counter, and the memory brought to her face a thin smile.
The peace didn't last though, and Gia soon brought herself in close, her expression turned to concern. "You have paled since we last spoke, child. Another of your troubled nights?"
Reverie said nothing, gently nodding with a quiet mm, and bless her, Gia was always kind enough never to ask anything more about it.
"...Well then," the elder mare began quietly – and was that a touch of mischief? – "perhaps it is not such a bad thing that a handsome stallion came in just recently asking after you. What better way to banish an uneasy night, then with a little restlessness of your own, hmm?"
Yes. Definitely mischief. For all that blessed silence that Gia kept in never asking about her dreams, such did not extend to her giving advice in how to deal with them.
Reverie perked a brow, staring at the earth pony matron with an expression diplomatically called skeptical, but the calm and composed Gia Bello shrugged it off like so much rainwater, returning the younger mare only a pleasant, genuine smile.
"I directed him to your usual table." Gia said casually, returning to sorting her teas.
Reverie was caught rather unawares by that, blinking a few times as it processed.
"...Did you now?"
Gia's silver-flecked scarlet mane bounced with her nonchalant nod.
"I did. I thought him handsome enough that if you did not yet know him, then perhaps you should come to."
"Well, my, how considerate of you," Reverie said, forcing just a hint of politeness out through her gritted teeth as she turned her head to the right, spotting a touch of lamp-lit blue visible where her mother had been sitting two days before. "Luckily enough, however, I was expecting him."
Gia cast a glance back at that, her eyes glittering and smile lopsided – weighed down by all the implications she was trying, and plainly failing, not to make.
"I shall send tea, then?" The elder mare asked simply.
Reverie nodded, conceding the point. There was no victory to be had here – only the minuscule dignity of a hobbling retreat.
"My chocolate and mint again, per favore."
Reverie then set her hooves to a walk toward her usual booth, glancing about and taking stock of the cafe. It was impressively quiet today; there was a well-presented older stallion in a sport coat by the front window engrossed in a paper, probably the finance section; a pair of mares over on the far side near the stairs to the rooftop patio, a white pegasus and lemon-yellow earth pony, conspiring in subdued gossip.
It was a far cry from the usual bustling business, but she welcomed the privacy, not least because she was essentially, if not officially, here on a bit of a date.
Something that was not lost on Ancora, apparently, as he glanced toward her usual table and its unexpected visitor, then back to her with an arched brow and curious expression, as she passed by the register. She answered his unspoken query with a pleasant smile and gentle shake of the head, which the younger stallion promptly did not believe for a second.
Well, she couldn't exactly blame either him or his mother for their assumptions. They didn't really know just what it was that truly separated her from the typical Hooftons mare—only that she occasionally had problems sleeping. The critical difference, though, was that they were good-natured about their teasing, and that made it easy for her to forgive.
Much the same as she had done with Chase himself, when he'd shown his willingness to swallow his pride that first meeting a few days ago, and why she was currently here in the first place, she remembered.
Pushing aside her budding hesitation and its usual collection of groundless worries, Reverie took a few final steps to the waiting table, and smiled as Chase looked to up to greet her.
"Ah, Miss Reverie! I was starting to—er, well..."
Is he blushing? Already?
"...Starting to wonder if I wasn't coming?"
She laughed quietly, taking her seat across from the fidgeting stallion, who chuckled nervously, and eventually nodded.
"Well, uh, yes, basically. I've already tipped what little hand I had to play, haven't I?"
Reverie matter-of-factly nodded.
"Forfeited the game entirely. Really, in a way it's adorable."
Chase raised a hoof to his face with a sigh, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Never before have I met a mare who so easily trounces me in social graces. How do you do that?" he asked, a hint of incredulity in his tone.
"Composure, Chase Justice,” she answered simply. “A great deal I was taught by my mother, but I've also learned how to weave my way through Hooftons intrigues by necessity."
A pair of teacups enveloped in slate-gray magic floated over from the counter, setting gently down on the table after Chase pushed aside the papers he'd been reading earlier. Reverie thanked Ancora with a smile, in response to which he offered a disinterested shrug, followed by a pointed glare toward the other side of her table. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, shaking her head at him, but he simply walked away to the far side of the serving counter.
Her view panning back to Chase, Reverie saw him staring off after Ancora with an expression of curiosity.
"Ancora's a friend," she said, bringing his attention back to the present, "going back some years. He's just feeling a little protective, is all."
"Protective, is it?" Chase replied, glancing back toward the younger stallion presumptively. "You're sure 'jealous' isn't a better word?"
At that Reverie arched a brow, snickering.
"I think it's perhaps a little too cliché for my childhood friend's secret feelings to be revealed just as I'm meeting a prospective love interest. Besides, he's been seeing a lovely unicorn mare for several months now."
"Ah. Protective, then," Chase said quickly, taking a sudden and pointed interest in his cup of tea, which he nearly spilled in his haste to put something in his mouth aside from his hoof. He paused, though, eyes widening as he actually drank some of the warm refreshment.
"...Chocolate and peppermint?"
Reverie smiled.
"You see? Nothing to worry about."
He sipped at the tea again, taking a moment to more carefully evaluate the unexpected flavor, before setting his cup down and looking to Reverie.
"I have nothing to worry about based on the flavor of my tea? I'm going to need an explanation for that one."
Reverie took a deep drink of her own, savoring it for a moment, before answering.
"Chocolate and mint oolong is my tea, Chase. Gia obviously knows that, but she made you a cup, and Ancora also knows that, but he didn't angrily dump it in the sink – or on your head when he floated it over. So you've passed inspection."
Taking a moment to consider her point, Chase took up his cup of tea again, swirling it around a few times before once more sampling the rich and refreshing liquid. He was lost in thought for a long moment, before he eventually looked up from the cup.
"...Alright, I’ve decided."
Reverie tilted her head to the side, curious.
"Hm? Decided what?"
He matched her impenetrable icy blue eyes with his own deep sapphire, serious and intense.
"I'm taking you to dinner."
She raised a brow and creased her lips into an intrigued smile, but nonetheless wagged a reproachful hoof.
"Ah, ah, Chase; you passed their inspection. I didn't say that you've passed mine."
The rules of the game dictated that at this point, Chase was supposed to relent, perhaps playfully ask her as to just how he could do that. Maybe suggest surprising her with flowers, or serenades at her window.
To her surprise, however, Chase didn't relent. Rather just the opposite.
"You've captured my interest, Miss Reverie, and I freely admit it. So give me that chance, and let me take you to dinner."
Her eyes went wide, not at all having expected him to so directly cut through the social ritual around which the Hooftons revolved. Accordingly shocked, Reverie found herself scrambling for something to say.
"Er, well, are you...so sure that's a good idea, based on how your time with me has gone so far?"
It was a desperate play toward the usual game, and she knew it wasn't going to take before she'd even finished saying it. Chase didn’t hesitate even a moment in his response.
"You are the most interesting mare I've met in, you know, maybe ever; there isn't just something about you, there's a whole cadre of somethings. So yes, I'm sure seeing you is a good idea. Quite possibly one of my best."
Reverie contemplated him for a long moment, reading the clear determination in his expression, the spark of fascination in his eyes, and the sudden confidence in his smile. But no, he wasn't trying to be clever and pull one over on her. He was completely serious, calling the round, laying down his cards.
I suppose I ought to myself, then.
A sip of tea was taken, and the Reverie that set down her cup was not quite the same one who had picked it up.
"Before you go jumping into commitment on this, Chase, there's something you should know."
"And what might that be? Wait—you're not going to tell me you're actually married," he asked, eying her curiously.
"No, no," she replied with a shake of her head, "nothing so dramatic as that. I just feel I should advise you, Chase, that I'm not all charm and wittiness and dancing through social graces. I come with some...strings attached."
He nickered, and shrugged.
"This is the Hooftons, Miss Reverie. I'd challenge you to find me a pony who doesn't have some kind of strings, or baggage, or skeletons in their closets, sometimes literally."
She laughed quietly, shaking her head again.
"You're right, but that isn't quite what I mean. Chase...I know you're relatively new to Mareford, but you're still a Hooftons pony. Does the name Reverie Dreamflight really not mean anything to you?"
He leaned in closer to her, that confident smile returned, and Reverie was surprised to be unable to tear her eyes from his.
"It means plenty to me. It means a beautiful, intelligent mare, who as I said, is the most interesting pony I may have ever met; and I'm taking her to dinner, and nothing else really matters."
Reverie found herself looking across the table at a different Chase than she had sat down with. The one she'd met two days before, the one that had been waiting for her when she'd arrived at the cafe...well, he was cute, and endearing, and absolutely adorable when he tried to lay on the charm.
Looking back at her now, though was one who was unabashedly bold, unquestionably sincere, and indisputably more her type than she'd previously thought.
Her cheeks were hot. She knew she was blushing, and she knew he could tell.
I should tell him plainly, she thought, her mind still spinning. I should explain my reputation, what being seen with me could do to him—
How long has it been since I blushed like this?
I should tell him to run away from me before it ends up costing him something. Or I should just save him the trouble...and say no.
Reverie took a deep breath, calming herself, and opened the eyes she hadn't noticed she'd closed to find Chase still sitting across from her, waiting and smiling patiently.
This evening tea had not gone at all like she had expected. But she knew what she had to say. She knew all too well.
"Well, I'm...I'm free this wednesday?"
